at once about trains.

Entering the station gates, the now familiar initials appearing on a row of offices before them to the left, Peter's companion demanded the train to Albert.
"Two-thirty a.m., change at Amiens, sir," said a clerk in uniform within, and the Fusilier passed on.
"What time is the Rouen train ?" asked Peter in his turn, and was told 9.30 p.m.
"You're in luck, padre," said the other.

"It's bally rotten getting in at two-thirty, and probably the beastly thing won't go till five.

Still, it might be worse.

You can get on board at midnight, and with luck get to sleep.