"Why, it's Clifford! What have you been doing to yourself? Why have you changed your appearance? Why are you here? What's the meaning of all this?"

"It's a long story," cut in Larssen, and "there are two versions to it.

Which will you hear first, your husband's or mine?"

She hesitated to answer, her mind buzzing with surprise, resentment, and anger. She hated to be caught at a disadvantage, as in this case. She was uncertain as to what her att.i.tude ought to be.

Had Clifford, suspecting her feelings towards Larssen, returned hurriedly in order to trap her? What did he know? What did he guess?

Evidently she ought to be on her guard.

"Of course I will hear my husband first," she answered coldly, and Larssen took it as an ill omen. He offered her a chair again, and seated himself so as to command them both.

Matheson, who remained standing, waved his hand towards the shipowner.

"Let him speak first."

"I'm not anxious to," countered Larssen. "Fire away with your own version."

"I hate all this mystery!" snapped Olive irritably. "Mr Larssen, you tell me what it all means."

"Very well. _This_ is Mr John Riviere."

"Riviere?"

"Yes; that's your husband's _nom de discretion_."

"I thought it was Dean."

"No--Riviere."

"Why is he back from Canada so soon?"

"He never went to Canada."

"You don't mean to say that the letter I received from Arles was written by Clifford himself?"

"At his dictation."

"Who wrote it?"

Larssen turned to Matheson. "Do you wish me to explain who wrote it, or will you do it yourself?"

"It was written at my dictation by a Miss Verney--a lady whom I met for the first time on my visit to Arles. Her relation to myself is that of a mere tourist acquaintanceship."

"Why were you at Arles? Why was she at Arles?"

"Miss Verney is--was--a professional scene-painter. She was making a brief tour in Provence to collect material for a Roman drama for which she was commissioned to design the scenery."

"How old is she?"

"I don't know--what does it matter?"

"I want to know."

"About twenty-five, I should say."

"And what were you doing at Arles?"

Matheson found it very difficult to frame his reasons under this remorseless cross-examination. He felt as though he were in the witness-box at a divorce trial, replying to hostile counsel.

"When I left Paris," he answered, "it was to take a quiet holiday for a couple of months before settling down to my new work."

"What new work?"

"I'll explain in detail later. Scientific research, in brief."

Larssen sc.r.a.ped his chair scornfully. He would not comment with words at the present juncture. Matheson was convicting himself out of his own mouth--the revelation was unfolding excellently.

"You went to Arles for research?" pursued Olive.

"No; for a holiday."

"A holiday from what--from whom?"

"From financial matters."

"Why did you take the name of John Riviere?"

"Because I intended to take that name permanently."

Olive was startled. "You meant to leave me!" she exclaimed.

"I meant to disappear and give you your freedom and the greater part of my property," answered Matheson steadily.

"How freedom?"

"On the night of March 14th, the night I said good-bye to you at the Gare de Lyon, I made a sudden decision to take up my brother's work and live his life. He has been dead a couple of years. I happened to be attacked by a couple of _apaches_, and that gave me the opportunity. I contrived evidence of a violent death, and then cut loose entirely from the name of Clifford Matheson. You would be given leave by the courts to presume death, on the evidence of my coat and stick left by the river-bank at Neuilly. You would come into my money and property, and you would be free to marry again if you chose."

Olive had become very thoughtful. Her chin was buried in her hand. When she spoke again after a few moments' pause, it was in a strangely altered tone.

"Why did you come back?" she said.

"Because Larssen was using my name in a way I won't countenance. I was forced to return in order to put a stop to it."

"Was that the only reason that made you return?"

"Yes, that was it."

"You came back because Mr Larssen called you back?"