tainly can't
come from the register."

Riviere's face became coldly impassive as he waited for her to explain
further.

"You are a scientist," she continued slowly, watching him to note the
effect of her words. "You are to meet a lady for the first time at Monte
Carlo. Yet she knows you by your first name, John. You see that I know a
good deal about you."

She waited for him to question her further, but he remained silent, deep
in thought.

More than a little piqued that he would not question further, she gave
him abruptly the solution of the riddle.

"Two nights ago I travelled here from Paris in the same train with an
Englishwoman and her father. They took breakfast at the table near to
mine in the restaurant car, and I could scarcely help overhearing what
they were saying. They chatted about you. Then I found your name in the
hotel register."

"But why did you look it up?" he challenged abruptly.

She parried the question. "The name caught my eye by accident. Naturally
I was interested by the coincidence."

Riviere turned the conversation to the impersonal subject of Arles and
its Roman remains, and soon after they said good-night.

"Shall I see you at breakfast?"

"I hope so," he answered.

As she moved out of the room, a splendidly graceful figure radiating
health and energy and life full-tide, Riviere could not help following
her with his eyes. His innermost being thrilled despite himself to the
magic of her splendid womanhood.

It plucked at the strings of the primitive man within him.

In his room that evening he took up the blood-drenched handkerchief. In
the corner was the name "Elaine Verney." The name conveyed nothing to
him. He threw the handkerchief away, and shut her from his thoughts. He
wanted no woman in this new life of his.

With the morning came a resolution to avoid her altogether. He rose very
early and took the first train out of Arles.

It took him to Nimes.

CHAPTER VIII

WHO AND WHERE IS RIVIERE?

"Who is Riviere?"

Here was a new factor in the situation. Lars Larssen mentally docketed
it as a matter to be dealt with immediately. After sending off a reply
telegram to Cherbourg (which reached the quayside too late and was
afterwards returned to him), the shipowner got a telephone call through
to Olive at the Hotel des Hesperides.

"This is Mr Larssen speaking. Are you Mrs Matheson?"

"Yes. Good morning."

"Good morning. I called you up to say that your hus