"Tell me all about it--and about her. Keep nothing back, Mr. Ryder. Think of me as though I were your sister. And let that be no empty term, please. For, perhaps----" She did not finish the sentence but added instead: "Tell me all!" For a few moments Ryder was silent, trying to collect his thoughts in order to tell his story with some clarity. He fully realized that his thoughts were somewhat confused, that the emotions which had been let loose within him had, for the time being, impaired his usual judgment, a little confused his clear, keen mind, which ordinarily decided matters so rapidly and so surely. Moreover he felt, rather than reasoned out, that in some way Miss Mont held the key to the situation, that if she knew the whole story and knew it accurately, she could be of help. So he sat, pondering, for a few moments, and again came the command: "Tell me all!" And Ryder told her. It was a long ride to the hotel uptown where Miss Mont was housed and there was time for him to relate every detail of his experience from the moment he had landed on the dock and met the strange woman who bore Miss Mont's name and looked so much like her. When the story was finished the woman beside him turned to Ryder with tears in her voice, but with them a note of joy, as well. "Let me tell you something, Mr. Ryder," she said. "And, believe me, I would stake my life upon it: This woman you have married loves you!" "Do you believe so?" he whispered. Then, starting up angrily, he began to say harshly: "Love me? How can she and treat me so? To run away with that man, White----" "Wait. Let us know all first. With the confidence that you should have in your heart of her love for you, you must not say that." "But they left the hotel; they took the same train." "Perhaps." "And what hold has he over her? What is he to her? Is she my wife, or is she the wife of another? And where is she now?" "Your last question is the most important," Miss Mont said quietly. "That is the first problem we have to solve. 'We,' I say, for I believe I am as much interested in finding Ruth Mont as you." He looked at her curiously and in surprise. But she made no explanation, saying only: "As for your first queries, we can only guess at the proper answers for them. And guessing is poor business. Who the man White is I cannot be sure, of course. But I should not be surprised if he were the man she was really waiting for that morning on the dock when the _Minnequago_ got in." "What?" he gasped. "Yes. I remember well that there was a passenger named White aboard. He was ill most of the time coming over. His stateroom was near mine. He was being helped ashore by one of the stewards at the time we got Mrs. Gurthrie into the ambulance. You say he signed 'John B. White, Rome,' on the hotel register. It was Rome, Italy, of course. He must have been out of America for years.