Ten o'clock approached, and he began looking at the clock apprehensively. Martha said, "I'll fix a sandwich and coffee to take with you."
At just five minutes to ten when he was getting his hat on, the phone rang.
"Hello, Chris." said Kennely. "I haven't got much time to tell you this. Maybe only a couple of minutes. I made a deal with Tarman and Croul. I thought I wouldn't call you, but I wanted to say good-by. I left a note in your desk here —"
"Brian! What are you going to do?"
"The only thing possible, Chris. You know what it is. I saw it in your eyes. That's why I couldn't say anything. Read my note. Got to go now. Tarman's —"
The phone went suddenly dead. Devon dropped it and raced for the front door. "That was Brian, Martha. He's at the plant now. Got to run. Don't wait up for me."
He ran down the front walk and jumped into the car. He swung savagely away from the curb and into the stream of traffic.
As he drove, the surging hatred within him boiled like steaming, corrosive add, eating at the structure of the lifelong friendship between him and Kennely.
Kennely had known that Devon planned and wanted to go into the future. That's why he had condemned Devon's plan the previous night. He'd gone on alone, because he couldn't share the adventure and the glory. Devon should have known, instead of being blinded by Kennely's bland insistence upon the danger of the project.
The night lights illuminated the front of the plant in glaring brilliance as he drove through the wide gates. It took him five precious minutes to get the watchman. The latter was disturbed by Devon's agitation.