She hesitated.
'A small place called Blakeney, between Sheringham and Wells.'
He figured it out.
'Let me see,' he said,—'two hours to Newmarket, two more to Fakenham, saving a little on both runs if we escaped a puncture—say four hours and a half, Suzanne.'
'And your car?'
'In the garage, five minutes away in a taxicab.'
She breathed another sigh of relief.
'Now I shall eat some luncheon,' she declared. 'You will not mind if we commit ourselves to rather a wild-goose adventure?'
'I shall enjoy it immensely,' he assured her, 'if one can use such a word at all these days.'
He ordered some wine and watched the colour come back to her cheeks. Towards the end of the meal, however, she glanced often at the clock. He read her thoughts, signed his bill and stood up.