"Your address, Sir George?" Groves inquired, as he brought it down.
"A little doubtful," Duncombe answered. "I will wire."
"In front, please, Sir George," Monsieur Louis insisted.
So they drove off, Duncombe in the front seat, the other three behind. The car gathered speed rapidly. In less than an hour they were half-way to Norwich. Then suddenly the driver took a sharp corner and turned down a long desolate lane.
"You're off the main road," Duncombe explained. "You should have kept straight on for Norwich."
The man took no notice. He even increased his speed. Duncombe was in the act of turning round when he felt the sudden swish of a wet cloth upon his face. He tried to break away, but he was held from behind as in a vise. Then his head fell back, and he remembered no more.