I dashed across to the door. It was locked. "Now tell me, what do you
make of it?" Faulkner asked, when he had looked about the unfamiliar
room and stared blankly out of the window.
"The solution seems pretty obvious," I said. "We've been drugged, or in
some way made unconscious last night in Paulton's car, and driven here.
I distinctly remember trying to keep awake. You gave me that cigar I
smoked. Was it one of your own?"