"Listen," continued Van Helder. "John Dene has brought over here an invention, a submarine that is to end the war. He has given it to the Admiralty."

"Given it!" involuntarily repeated Mr. Naylor.

"Given it. There are patriots even in England. You think he is trying to sell it, therefore you try to remove him."

"Not selling it." Mr. Naylor leaned slightly forward.

"He gives it on condition that he commands it with his own men. It makes easy the matter."

"Then it is true what----" Mr. Naylor stopped.

"How did you learn this?" He s...o...b..red his words slightly as he spoke.

"I know things, it is my duty," was the response.

"But what proof----?"

With great deliberation Van Helder drew from his pocket a large envelope; extracting a single sheet of paper he handed it across the table. Mr. Naylor s.n.a.t.c.hed it eagerly and proceeded to devour it with his eyes. "I also got a set of plans of a submarine; but it was one of our own. He is clever, this man."

"How did you get it?"

Van Helder smiled. "How did you get the copy?" he enquired.

"The copy! How did you know?"

Mr. Naylor stared at him, his jaw a little dropped. He swallowed noisily.

"You have been clumsy," repeated Van Helder. "You try to kill the c.o.c.k that lays the eggs of gold." He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

Mr. Naylor flushed angrily. "And you?" he almost snarled.

"I am here to watch." He looked across at Mr. Naylor with a cunning smile. He was at last sure of his ground.

"Watch who?"

Van Helder shrugged his shoulders, and proceeded to light a new cigarette from the burning end of the old one.

"You must not kill--yet," he said, gazing at the end of his cigarette to see that it was well alight.

"What then?" demanded Mr. Naylor. His jowls had returned and the yellow of his teeth was visible between his slightly parted lips.

"Wait and watch," was the reply.

"And let him go North," sneered the other.

"If you kill, where are the plans? Do as you would," he continued indifferently. "There will be The Day for you, too. Now I go." He made a movement to rise; but Mr. Naylor motioned him back into his chair.

Two hours later Mr. Naylor himself let out his visitor. Closing the front door, he returned to his study, where for an hour he sat at his table gazing straight in front of him. Mr. Naylor was puzzled.

Conscious that he was being followed by a small man in a grey suit with shifty eyes, James Finlay made his way leisurely to the High Road where he took a 'bus bound for Piccadilly Circus.

CHAPTER VIII

DOROTHY WEST AT HOME

"Mother mine," cried Dorothy West, as she withdrew the pins from her hat, "John Dene's a dear, and I think his pa.s.sion for me is developing."

"Dorothy!" cried Mrs. West, a tiny white-haired lady whose face still retained traces of youthful beauty.

"You needn't be shocked, lovie; John Dene is as worthy as his namesake in _Evangeline_." She laughed lightly. "Now I must eat. John Dene's like sea air, he's so stimulating;" and she began to eat the dinner that Mrs. West always prepared with such care.

For some minutes she watched with a smile of approval her daughter's healthy appet.i.te.

"I think I should like Mr. Dene, Dorothy," she said at length. "I have always heard that Canadians are very nice to women. You must ask him to call."

"Oh, you funny little mother!" she laughed. "You forget that we have come down in the world, and that I'm a typist."

"A secretary, dear," corrected Mrs. West gently.

"Well, secretary, then; but even a secretary doesn't invite her employer to tea, even when the tea is as mother makes it. It's not done, so the less that's said of John, I think, the better," she quoted gaily. "Oh! by the way," she added, "you might get his goat; Sir Lyster does."

"His goat, dear!" Mrs. West looked up with a puzzled expression.

Dorothy explained the allusion. She went on to tell of some of the doings of John Dene, his impatience, his indifference to and contempt for const.i.tuted authority. In short she added a few vivid side-lights to the picture she had already given her mother of how John Dene had come and carried all before him.

"I think," she said in conclusion, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her pretty features, "that John Dene is rather a dear." Then after a pause she added, "You see, he is also a man."

"A man, my dear," questioned Mrs. West, looking at her daughter with a smile.

"Yes, mother, he's so intensely masculine. I get so fed up with----"

"Dorothy!" expostulated Mrs. West.

"Yes, I know it's trying, mother, but I get so weary of the subaltern and junior naval officer. Of course they're splendid and brave; but they don't seem men."

"But think of how they have given their lives," began Mrs. West.

"Yes; but we see those who haven't, mother, and very few of them have chevrons on their sleeves. Now John Dene is quite different. He always seems to be a man; yet he never forgets that you are a woman, although he never appears to be conscious of your being a woman."

Dorothy caught her mother's eye, and laughed.

"Of course it sounds utterly ridiculous I know; but there it is, and then think of what----" She suddenly broke off.

"Yes, dear," said Mrs. West gently.