The Case for the Crown by Fred M. White — Read

It was not without a certain feeling of nervousness that Cecil found herself setting out to pay her visit to Max Archenfield and his sister-in-law. To begin with, there was something about the man that impressed her with a feeling of something approaching fear. His manner had been convincing enough, he bore the impression of suffering, and bore it with a dignity; but, at the same time, other men who had come under the suspicion of the law, and deservedly, had conveyed a suggestion of innocence on very slender grounds. And, again, why was it that Archenfield should have gone out of his way to interest himself over a woman whom he had probably never seen before the tragedy of her life had overwhelmed her. True, he was in the habit of taking up such cases; but that, after all, might have been no more than a pose.

Still, she had promised now, she was desperately situated, and therefore it could not much matter either way. So Cecil found herself on the Friday afternoon seated in a small car, which was driven, so far as she could see, by a silent self-contained individual who looked like a foreigner. He spoke the few necessary words in good enough English, but with just the suspicion of a lisp and a smoothing away of the sibilants. He was dressed, not in the usual uniform of a chauffeur, but in a plain loose long blouse that fitted tight to the neck, and underneath that a pair of loose baggy trousers of the same hue and material. His black hair was closely cropped; he had a thin, pencilled moustache, and his eyes were large and slanting. They were wonderfully cool and observant eyes, Cecil noticed, restless and eager, with a certain hidden power behind them. The man conveyed a decided air of mystery.