The Man Who Was Nobody by Edgar Wallace

Marjorie kept her eyes straight ahead of her, sinking back into a corner of the car, not daring to look at the man she had married in such extraordinary circumstances. When they had passed the gates of the Chase and had reached the open country she did look round. The man was asleep, breathing heavily His fingers, which lay clasped lightly on his lap, were twitching.

"He may choke," she thought, for though his shirt was collarless except for the soft collar which was attached to it, it had been buttoned up to his neck. She bent over and loosened the button with icy fingers and his breath came against her cheek. She looked at him in amazement. Once she had been kissed by a man in wine (the memory recalled Lady Tynewood and the parties she gave) and she had never forgotten the hated smell of that vinous breath. But there was no such scent here.