Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to a small couch which was standing against the wall.
"Tell me, Nancy," he whispered, "tell me. Are you hurt?"
With a gallant effort she smiled up reassuringly into his face.
"No," she said. "I am only tired out and a little faint. I—I've been through a good deal since this morning, Colin."
He sat down beside her, taking her hands in his.
"They brought you a forged letter from Penwarren, didn't they? The girl who lives next door to you told us something about it."
She nodded. "I suppose it was foolish of me to be taken in, but it looked to me just like his handwriting. It said that he had suddenly discovered the truth about my father and mother, and that he had come up to town especially to see me. I went off in the car almost without thinking."
"Where did they take you to?"
"Some house close to Kensington High Street. There was another man there besides Major Fenton—a horrible middle-aged, smiling man—and when they got me inside they held me down and drugged me with a hypodermic syringe. I think it must have been opium they gave me. Anyhow, the next thing I remember is waking up with a frightful headache, and finding myself locked up alone in that room."
With great difficulty Colin managed to steady his voice. "How long ago was that?" he asked.