He had known men to fall in love, just as he had known men to suffer from malaria or yellow fever, without considering that the same experience might overtake him.

A shy, reticent man, behind that hard mask was a diffidence unsuspected by his closest friends.
So that the possibility of being in love with Odette Rider disturbed his mind, because he lacked sufficient conceit to believe that such a passion could be anything but hopeless.

That any woman could love him he could not conceive.

And now her very presence, the fragrant nearness of her, at once soothed and alarmed him.

Here was a detective virtually in charge of a woman suspected of murder--and he was frightened of her! He knew the warrant in his pocket would never be executed, and that Scotland Yard would not proceed with the prosecution, because, though Scotland Yard makes some big errors, it does not like to have its errors made public.
The journey was all too short, and it was not until the train was running slowly through a thin fog which had descended on London that he returned to the subject of the murder, and only then with an effort.
"I am going to take you to an hotel for the night," he said, "and in the morning I will ask you to come with me to Scotland Yard to talk to the Chief." "Then I am not arrested ?" she smiled.
"No, I don't think you're arrested." He smiled responsively.