Duncombe glanced at the clock. It was past midnight.
"Three gentlemen," he repeated, "at this time of night. But where on earth have they come from, Groves?"
"They did not say, sir," the man answered. "One of them I should judge to be a foreigner. They have a motor car outside."
Lord Runton held out his hand.
"Well, it's time I was off, anyhow," he remarked. "Come over and have lunch to-morrow. Don't bother about me. I'll stroll round to the stables and start from there. Good night."
Duncombe hesitated. He was on the point of asking his friend to stay, but before he could make up his mind Runton had lit a cigarette and strolled away.
"You can show the gentlemen in here, Groves," Duncombe said.
"Very good, sir."
The man disappeared. Duncombe, after a moment's hesitation, crossed the room, and opening an oak cupboard, slipped a small revolver into his pocket.