“I believe that some one tried to take my life.” “Rubbish! Why, whom could you suspect? I was the only soul on board who knew of your presence there. Surely you don’t suspect me of attempted murder?” “Of course not,” she answered decisively. “Then don’t give way to any wild imaginings of that sort. Keep a cool head in this affair.” The remainder of the conversation was lost to me, although I strained my ears to catch every sound. His words made it plain that she was in ignorance of the knowledge possessed by the unseen man whose voice I had overheard, and further that both were acting in accord in order to obtain some object the nature of which was to me a complete mystery. She came a short time afterwards and inquired kindly how I felt. They were going to change into the dining-car, and she hoped I would not starve altogether. As I talked to her I recollected the strange marks I had seen upon her throat--those distinct impressions of finger and thumb. I looked again for them, but they were concealed by the lace of her high-necked bodice. There seemed a strange, half-tragic beauty about her face. She was certainly fifty, if not more, yet in the broad daylight I could detect no thread of silver in her hair. She was extremely well-preserved. The conductor brought me a cutlet and a bottle of Beaujolais after we had passed through the Mont Cenis, and for some hours afterwards I lay, reading and thinking. We were on our way to Paris, but with what motive I had no idea. I wondered what they would think on board the Vispera when they found me missing, and laughed aloud when I reflected that the natural conclusion would be that I had eloped with old Mr. Keppel. I rather regretted that I had told Ulrica nothing, but of course a telegram to her would explain everything on the morrow. The yacht would be lying safely in Genoa harbor awaiting her owner, who never intended to return. And where was the unseen man? That was a puzzling problem which I could not solve. I could not even form the slightest theory as to whom he might really be. The day passed slowly and evening fell. We were nearing Culoz. The woman with the mysterious marks upon her returned with her escort from the dining-car and sat chatting with him in the corridor. Their voices reached me, but I could distinguish little of their conversation. Suddenly, however, I thought I could hear a third voice in conversation, the voice of a man. It sounded familiar; I listened again. Yes, it seemed as though I had heard that voice somewhere before. Indeed, I knew its tone perfectly well. For some minutes I lay listening, trying to catch the words. But the train was roaring through a deep cutting, and I could only hear disjointed words or parts of sentences. In determination to see who it was I carefully opened the door of the compartment so that I could peer through the chink.