"And, of course, I'm going by the Tube, I feel sort of a half-partnership in it because you were one of the designers."
A curious half-pained look crossed his face. We had finished our meal, and were smoking with pushed-back chairs. He finished filling his pipe, and scowled.
"Well? Why don't you say something? Thought you'd be—well, sort of pleased."
He struck his automatic lighter and drew in a long puff of smoke before answering.
"Wish you'd take another route, Bob."
"Take another route?"
"Yes. If you want it straight, the Tube is not safe."
"You are joking."
But as I looked into his cold, thoughtful blue eyes, I knew he had never been more serious.
"I wish that you would go by the Trans-Atlantic Air Liners. They are just as fast."