Paulton bent over her hand, and when the doors of the lift had shut he came across to us.
“You’d better get into your coats,” he said. “My car is just coming round!”
“Who is the lady?” Faulkner asked carelessly.
“Who?” Paulton exclaimed. “You don’t mean to say you don’t know Baronne de Coudron? I thought everybody in Monte knew the Baronne—by sight. She’s one of my best friends.”
As the big grey Rolls-Royce sped through the darkness, the storm still raged. None of us spoke. Three glowing cigars alone indicated our whereabouts.
Whether or not it was the stiff brandy-and-soda I had had in the smoking-room, I know not, but I suddenly realised that I was becoming curiously drowsy. I tried to keep awake. My eyelids felt like lead. They were smarting, too. Presently I was aware that something glowing red had fallen to the ground. Afterwards I came to know it had been Faulkner’s cigar.
I do not know what happened immediately afterwards. My mind suddenly became a complete blank.
At last, hours afterwards, I suppose, I slowly struggled back to consciousness.
Where was I?
The room, and all in it, was strange to me. All was utterly unfamiliar. My head ached very badly. My back and limbs were stiff. I got off the sofa where I had lain asleep, scrambled to my feet, and looked about me. At once I saw Faulkner. He was asleep still, in a most uncomfortable attitude, in a big leather armchair. His mouth was wide open.