When he joined Reg in the room they shared, he was taken aback at what he saw. Reg was polishing his die with a chamois leather, and his face wore an expression of sternness.
"Hal, old chap. We must get this in use at once."
"My dear boy, we cannot go faster than we are going. We have not lost an instant up till now."
"Where does this Goodchild live?"
"His place is ten miles from here, on the North-Western line. He has a private siding called Lewisham."
"One of us had better go and see him. How do the trains run? Where's the guide?"
"Here you are. The first train leaves at 8.10. I think I had better go, and leave you to get our things packed and square up, in case I send you a wire."
"Yes, all right. I should like to sympathize with him, but I may get another chance. This is the only thing that gives me relief," added Reg, holding up his die, "when I think that some day it will be used for the purpose that I had it made for."
"Let's hope so, old chap. But now to bed."