The last of the drawings was not finished until Desmond had settled down in the flat in Aubrey Walk. You couldn't hurry Desmond. Nicky hadn't even waited to sign his name in the margins before he had packed the plans in his dispatch box and taken them to the works, and thence, hidden under a pile of Morss estimates, to Eltham. He couldn't rest till he had shown them to Frank Drayton. He could hardly wait till they had dined, and till Drayton, who thought he was on the track of a new and horrible explosive, had told him as much as he could about it. Nicky gave his whole mind to Drayton's new explosive in the hope that, when his turn came, Drayton would do as much for him. "You know," he said at last, "the old idea of the _forteresse mobile_? "Yes." He couldn't tell whether Drayton was going to be interested or not. He rather thought he wasn't. "It hasn't come to anything, _has_ it?" Drayton smiled and his eyes glittered. He knew what that excited gleam in Drayton's eyes meant. "No," he said. "Not yet." And Nicky had an awful premonition of his doom. "Well," he said, "I believe there's something in it." "So do I, Nicky." Drayton went on. "I believe there's so much in it that--Look here, I don't know what put it into your head, and I'm not asking, but that idea's a dead secret. For God's sake don't talk about it. You mustn't breathe it, or it'll get into the air. And if it does my five years' work goes for nothing. Besides we don't want Germany to collar it." And then: "Don't look so scared, old chap. I was going to tell you about it when I'd got the plans drawn." He told him about it then and there. "Low on the ground like a racing-car--" "Yes," said Nicky. "Revolving turret for the guns--no higher than _that_--" "Yes," said Nicky. "Sort of armoured train. Only it mustn't run on rails. It's got to go everywhere, through anything, over anything, if it goes at all. It must turn in its own length. It must wade and burrow and climb, Nicky. It must have caterpillar wheels--" "By Jove, of course it must," said Nicky, as if the idea had struck him for the first time. "What have you got there?" said Drayton finally as Nicky rose and picked up his dispatch-box. "Anything interesting? "No," said Nicky. "Mostly estimates." For a long time afterwards he loathed the fields between Eltham and Kidbrooke, and the Mid-Kent line, and Charing Cross Station. He felt as a man feels when the woman he loves goes from him to another man. His idea had gone from him to Drayton. And that, he said to himself, was just like his luck, just like the jolly sells that happened to him when he was a kid. To be sure, there was such a thing as sharing. He had only to produce his plans and his finished model, and he and Drayton would go partners in the Moving Fortress. There was no reason why he shouldn't do it. Drayton had not even drawn his plans yet; he hadn't thought out the mechanical details. He thought, "I could go back now and tell him."