“Why, yes. Didn't I tell you that Harry Gill and Jack are waiting outside in the carriage? The ticket man at the gate wouldn't let them in. I was the least suspicious-looking of the three, I suppose.”
“Let's be off, then,” said Roy.
Both made a grab simultaneously at Roy's suitcase.
“No, you don't.”
“Yes, I do,” answered Ambrose, keeping hold of it. They both tugged for a moment or two, much to the amusement of two ladies in an opposite train who burst out into merry laughter at the friendly contest.
Warm greetings awaited Roy in the carriage. After the welcoming was over, and the delicate condolences tendered, Roy leaned over to Gill's ear and whispered something. Whatever the whispering was about it ended by Roy putting his finger over his lips as an admonition to remain silent.
The information conveyed to Gill must have been of a startling nature for he immediately proceeded to behave as if he were suffering from a fit. He threw up his heels into Bracebridge's lap, clutched the carriage strap with one hand and Beecham's
coat collar by the other, and began to scream at the top of his voice. Roy held his sides at the other's antics. Ambrose guessed the cause of Gill's jubilation, but Jack Beecham was quite in the dark.
“Here! take this maniac off, or I'll soon be a physical wreck,” he shouted.
“By the way, Ambrose,” asked Henning, “what is the great news you wired you had for me? But first how did the great game come off?”