False Evidence by E. Phillips Oppenheim — Read

For a second everything swam before my eyes, and it always seemed to me afterwards a miracle that I recovered myself sufficiently to accept his outstretched hand, and mutter some intelligible response to his courteous speech of greeting. For the stately, white-haired, military-looking man who had entered the room was so like my father that I had very nearly called him by name.

At the sound of my voice he started slightly, and, adjusting an eye-glass, looked at me steadily. Then he, too, seemed to receive something of a shock, for he turned abruptly away towards the window, and I could see that his long white fingers were shaking.