and he stretched his big frame lazily. "By the way," he remarked, turning to Sir Lyster, "did you see about that convoy a hundred miles off its course, bleating like a lost goat to know where it was?"

"It might have been very serious," said Sir Lyster gravely.

"Oh! the luck of the navy," laughed Sir Bridgman. "We have to do it all, even teach the other fellows their job. Mark it, Grayne, we shall take over the whole blessed country before we've finished, then perhaps they'll raise our screws," and with that he left the room.

Two minutes later his cheery laugh was heard outside again as he enquired of Mr. Blair if it were true that he was going to double the reward for the discovery of John Dene. A moment later he rejoined Sir Lyster and Admiral Heyworth.

"I forgot about that flying-boat business," he said, and soon the three were engaged in a technical discussion.

For more than three months Mr. Blair had known peace. He had been able to walk leisurely across St. James's Park from his chambers in St.

Mary's Mansions, pause for a moment to look at the pelicans, dwell upon the memory of past social engagements and antic.i.p.ate those to come, receive the salute of the policeman at the door of the Admiralty and the respectful bows of the attendants within and walk up the stairs and along the corridors to his room, conscious that in his heart was an abiding peace.

It was true that a war raged in various parts of the world, and that Mr. Blair's work brought him constantly into close touch with the horrors of that war; but it was all so far away, and his was a nature that permitted the contemplation of such matters with philosophical detachment. A scorched shirt-front, an ill-ironed collar, or an omelette that was not all an omelette should be, bulked vastly more in Mr. Blair's imagination than the fall of Kut, the over-running of Roumania, or the tragedy of Caporetto. National disaster he could bear with a stoical calm befitting in a man of long ancestry; but personal discomfort reduced him to a state of acute nervousness.

The Hun ravaged Belgium, invaded Russia, over-ran Lombardy; Mr. Blair was appropriately shocked and, on occasion, expressed his indignation in a restrained and well-bred manner; but John Dene crashing in upon the atmosphere of intellectual quiet and material content with which Mr. Blair was surrounded, ravaged his nerves and produced in him something of a mental palpitation. Therefore of the two events the irruptions of John Dene were infinitely more disturbing to Mr. Blair than those of the hordes of the modern Attila.

Mr. Blair sat at his table, pen in hand, before him a pad of virgin blotting paper. His thoughts had wandered back to a dinner-party at which he had been present the previous night. His eyes were fixed upon an antique family ring he wore upon the fourth finger of his left-hand.

The dinner had been a success, a conspicuous success. He was conscious of having shone by virtue of the tactful way in which he had parried certain direct and rather impertinent questions of a professional nature addressed to him by one of the guests. They related to the disappearance of John Dene. Mr. Blair had experienced an additional gratification from the discovery that he had been able to hear mentioned the name of John Dene without experiencing an inward thrill of misgiving.

As he sat this morning, pen in hand, he pondered over the subject of John Dene in relation to himself, Reginald Blair. Possibly he had been a little weak in not standing more upon his dignity with this rough and uncouth colonial. In such cases a bold and determined front was all that was necessary. Of course there would have been one great contest, and Mr. Blair detested such things; but--yes, he had been weak. In future he----

"Here, who the h.e.l.l's shut my offices, and where's Miss West?"

The pen slipped from Mr. Blair's limp hand, and his jaw dropped as he found himself gazing up into the angry eyes of John Dene, who had entered the room like a tornado.

"This ain't a seal tank and it's not feeding time," cried John Dene angrily. "Who's shut my offices?" Then with a sudden look in the direction of the door he called out, "Here, come in, Jasp."

Mr. Blair looked more than ever like a seal as he gazed stupidly at John Dene. His eyes widened at the uncouth appearance of "Spotty"

Quinton. Mr. Blair started violently as Spotty, seeing the fireplace, expectorated towards it with astonishing accuracy. Spotty could always be depended upon to observe the rules of good breeding in such matters.

When a room possessed a fireplace, the ornaments and carpet were always safe as far as he was concerned.

Mr. Blair gazed stupidly at his visitors.

"I--I----" he stammered.

Without a word John Dene turned, strode across the room and, opening Sir Lyster's door, disappeared, closing the door behind him with a bang. Sir Lyster was in the act of reaching across the table for a letter that Sir Bridgman was handing him. Both men turned to see the cause of the interruption. Sir Bridgman dropped the letter, and Sir Lyster slowly withdrew his arm as he gazed in a dazed manner at John Dene.

Sir Bridgman was the first to recover from his surprise.

"Why, it's John Dene!" he cried heartily, as he rose and grasped the interrupter's hand. "Where the deuce have you been hiding all this time?"

"What the h.e.l.l have you done with that girl, and who's closed my offices?" demanded John Dene, looking from Sir Bridgman to the First Lord.

"Girl! what girl?" enquired Sir Lyster.

"Miss West," snapped John Dene.

"Miss West!" repeated Sir Lyster vaguely, then memory suddenly coming to his aid he added weakly, "Yes, I remember. She became your secretary."

John Dene regarded him steadily. Sir Bridgman hid a smile, he always enjoyed a situation that brought Sir Lyster into antagonism with John Dene.

"Yes; but that don't help any," cried John Dene irascibly. "Where is she now?"

"Really, Mr. Dene," began Sir Lyster stiffly, when his gaze suddenly became fixed on the door, which had opened slowly, whilst round the corner appeared the unprepossessing features of Spotty Quinton.

Following the direction of Sir Lyster's eyes, John Dene saw his henchman.

"Come right in, Jasp," he cried, and Spotty sidled round the door cap in hand. Catching sight of the fireplace, he expectorated neatly into it. Sir Lyster stared at him as if he had suddenly appeared from another planet.

"This is Jasp. Quinton, one of my boys," announced John Dene, looking from Sir Lyster to Sir Bridgman with a "take it or leave it" air.

Sir Bridgman advanced a step and held out his hand, which Spotty clasped warmly, first however, wiping his hand on the leg of his trousers with the air of a man unaccustomed to his hands being in a fit condition for the purpose of greeting.

"Pleased to meet you," said Spotty briefly.

"How's the _Destroyer_?" asked Sir Bridgman with some eagerness.

"Ruddy miracle," said Spotty, as he once more got the fireplace dead in the centre.

Sir Lyster seemed temporarily to have lost the power of speech. He gazed at Quinton as if hypnotised by the inequality of his complexion.

When he expectorated Sir Lyster's eyes wandered from Spotty to the fireplace, as if to a.s.sure himself that a bull had really been registered.

At last by an obvious effort he turned to John Dene.

"I congratulate you upon your escape," he said, "but I thought you were too ill to----"

"My escape!" replied John Dene.

"Yes, from that place--where was it, North?" He turned to Sir Bridgman.

"Streatham."

"Ah! yes, Streatham."

"I've been up north sending Huns to merry h.e.l.l, where I'd like to send the whole Admiralty outfit," was the uncompromising retort. "I've come into contact with some fools----" John Dene broke off.

"Shutting up my offices," he muttered.

"But----" began Sir Lyster, then paused.

"I've been over to Chiswick and she's not there; flat's shut,"

continued John Dene.

"Chiswick!" repeated Sir Lyster. "Whose flat?"

"Mrs. West's, and you've shut my offices," he added, with the air of one unwilling to relinquish an obvious grievance.

"But I understood that you had just been released from a house in Streatham," persisted Sir Lyster.