Agatha Christie

Mr. Mayherne adjusted his pince-nez and cleared his throat with a little
dry-as-dust cough that was wholly typical of him. Then he looked
again at the man opposite him, the man charged with willful murder.

Mr. Mayherne was a small man, precise in manner, neatly, not to
say foppishly, dressed, with a pair of very shrewd and piercing gray
eyes. By no means a fool. Indeed, as a solicitor, Mr. Mayherne's repu-
tation stood very high. His voice, when he spoke to his client, was
dry but not unsympathetic.

"I must impress upon you again that you are in very grave danger,
and that the utmost frankness is necessary."

Leonard Vole, who had been staring in a dazed fashion at the blank
wall in front of him, transferred his glance to the solicitor.

"I know," he said hopelessly. "You keep telling me so. But I can't
seem to realize yet that I'm charged with murder--murder. And such
a dastardly crime too."

Mr. Mayherne was practical, not emotional. He coughed again, took
off his pince-nez, polished them carefully, and replaced them on his
nose. Then he said, "Yes, yes, yes. Now, my dear Mr. Vole, we're
going to make a determined effort to get you off--and we shall succeed
--we shall succeed. But I must have all the facts. I must know just
how damaging the case against you is likely to be. Then we can fix the
best line of defense."

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