The White Glove by Fred M. White — Read

So the game was beginning in real earnest. Clifford would have preferred to have had a few more details as to the task expected of him, but his spirits rose as he thought of the money in his pocket. He first glanced at Mrs. Manton again, but she had turned her back upon him, and was talking vivaciously to her companion. Clifford felt that he was left to his own resources now.

He looked casually at the man called Michel Rayne. Under the glow of the electric lights he saw many little peculiarities that had failed to attract his attention in the chemist's shop. The man was not tall or powerful, but he was supple and graceful, with the lithe elasticity of the cat. His manner was quiet and self-restrained, with a latent suggestion of power below it; the dark eyes seemed to take everything in; Clifford could see that the mouth under the moustache was hard.