"Seems to be a sort of stunt of yours," said John Dene as he rose.

"Going, Mr. Dene?" enquired Colonel Walton.

"Yep!" he said, as he shook hands with each in turn, then with an air of conviction added: "I take it all back. You'd do well in T'ronto:"

and with a nod he went out.

"I wonder if that's a testimonial to us, or a reflection upon Toronto,"

murmured Malcolm Sage, as he polished his nails with a silk handkerchief.

"What I like about colonials," remarked Colonel Walton drily, "is their uncompromising directness."

Whilst John Dene was removing, from the list of things that required gingering-up, Department Z. and its two chiefs, Mr. Llewellyn John was engaged in reading Commander Ryles's report upon the operations of the _Destroyer_. It proved to be one of the most remarkable doc.u.ments of the war. First it described how the _Destroyer_ had hung about the Danish coast, but had been greatly embarra.s.sed by the density of the water, owing to the shallowness of the North Sea. She had carefully to seek out the clear pa.s.sages where the depth was sufficiently great to prevent the discolouration of water by sand.

After the first few weeks the _Destroyer_ had been brought south, there to catch U-boats soon after they submerged. That was where the Germans suffered their greatest losses. Once the _Destroyer_ had penetrated right into the Heligoland Bight, her "eyes" enabling her to avoid submerged mines and entanglements.

Commander Ryles had himself witnessed the destruction of thirty-four U-boats. Three times the _Destroyer_ had returned to her base to re-victual and recharge her batteries, also to rest her crew. At the termination of the third trip, it had been decided that the boat was badly in need of a thorough overhaul, and in accordance with the instructions received, he had prepared his report and brought it south in order that he might deliver it in person to the First Lord.

When he had finished the lengthy doc.u.ment, Mr. Llewellyn John laid it on the table beside him. For some minutes he sat thinking. Presently he pressed the k.n.o.b of the bell. As a secretary appeared he said, "Ring through to Sir Roger Flynn, and tell him I shall be delighted if he can breakfast with me to-morrow."

And Mr. Llewellyn John smiled.

CHAPTER XX

JOHN DENE'S PROPOSAL

Marjorie Rogers had entered the outer office at Waterloo Place expecting to find Dorothy. Instead, John Dene sat half-turned in her direction, with one arm over the back of the chair.

"She's gone home," he said, divining the cause of Marjorie's call.

The girl slipped into the room, softly closing the door behind her, and walked a hesitating step or two in John Dene's direction, a picture of shy maidenhood. Marjorie Rogers was an instinctive actress.

"Gone home!" she repeated as a conversational opening. "Is she ill?"

She gave him a look from beneath her lashes, a look she had found equally deadly with subs and captains.

John Dene shook his head, but continued to gaze at her.

He was a very difficult man to talk to, Marjorie decided. She had already come to the conclusion that she had been wrong in her suspicion that he made love to Dorothy.

"You don't like us, do you, Mr. Dene?" She made a half-step in his direction, dropping her eyes and drawing in her under lip in a way that had once nearly caused a rear-admiral to strike his colours.

"Like who?" demanded John Dene, wondering why the girl stayed now that he had told her Dorothy had gone home.

"Us girls." Marjorie flashed at him the sub-captain look. "May I sit down?" she asked softly.

"Sure." John Dene was regarding her much as he might a blue zebra that had strayed into his office.

"Thank you, Mr. Dene." Marjorie sat down, crossing her legs in a way that gave him the full benefit of a dainty foot and ankle. She had on her very best silk stockings, silk all the way up, so that there need be no anxiety as to the exact whereabouts of her skirt.

"I have been wondering about Wessie----"

"Wessie, who's she, a cat?"

Marjorie dimpled, then she laughed outright.

"You are funny, Mr. Dene," and again she drew in her lower lip and raked him with her eyes.

"Who's Wessie, anyhow?" he demanded.

"Wessie's Dorothy," she explained. "You see," she went on, "her name's West and----"

"I get you." John Dene continued to regard her with a look that suggested he was still at a loss to account for her presence.

"As I said," she continued, "I've been wondering about Dorothy."

"Wondering what?"

John Dene was certainly a most difficult man to talk to, she decided.

"She's thinner," announced Marjorie after a slight pause.

"Thinner?"

"Yes, not so fat." How absurd he was with his----

"She never was fat." There was decision in John Dene's tone.

"You know, Mr. Dene, you're very difficult for a girl to talk to," said Marjorie.

"I never had time to learn," he said simply.

"I think it's through you, Mr. Dene." She gave him a little fugitive smile she had learned from an American film, and had practised a.s.siduously at home.

"What's through me?" he demanded, hopelessly at sea as to her drift.

"At first I thought you were working her too hard, Mr. Dene, but," she added hastily, as if in antic.i.p.ation of protest, "but--but----"

"But what?" John Dene rapped out the words with a peremptoriness that startled Marjorie.

"But when you got lost----" She hesitated.

"Got what?"

"I mean when you disappeared," she added hastily, "then I knew."

"Knew what?"