John Dene Of Toronto Part 34

"Jim there?"

Quinton jerked his thumb in the direction of the _Toronto_, for which the motor-boat was making. As they reached her the two men nimbly climbed up the side and, Quinton leading, dived below to the office of works. As they entered Blake was sitting exactly as Quinton had left him an hour and a half previously. At the sight of Grant his eyes seemed to flash; but he made no movement except to hold out his hand, which Grant gripped.

"Through with everything?" he enquired, as he seated himself, and Quinton threw himself on a locker.

"Sure," replied Blake.

"I----" began Grant, then breaking off cast a swift look over his shoulder.

Blake nodded his head comprehendingly, whilst Quinton spat in the direction of the door as if to defy eavesdroppers.

From his pocket Grant drew a map, which he proceeded to unfold upon the table. Quinton walked across and the three bent over, studying it with absorbed interest. Meanwhile Commander Ryles had been shown to his cabin.

CHAPTER XIII

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF JOHN DENE

"No more Sat.u.r.day afternoons for you and John Dene, little mother,"

cried Dorothy with forced gaiety as she rose from the breakfast table.

Mrs. West looked up quickly. "Why?" she asked, a falter in her voice.

"He's going away," announced Dorothy indifferently, as she pinned on her hat.

"To Canada?" asked Mrs. West anxiously.

"No," replied Dorothy in a toneless voice, "he's going away on business."

"Oh!" Mrs. West's relief was too obvious for dissimulation.

"He won't be back for months," continued Dorothy relentlessly, "and I shall spend my time in counting my fingers and flirting with Sir Bridgman. Good-byeeeeee," and brushing a kiss on her mother's cheek she was gone, leaving Mrs. West puzzled, more by her manner than the announcement she had made.

Arrived at the office Dorothy cleared up what remained of the previous night's work, ordered luncheon, tidied things generally, and then sat down to wait. From time to time she glanced at the watch upon her wrist, at first mechanically, then curiously, finally anxiously. For the last few days she had been more concerned than she was prepared to admit by John Dene's strangeness of manner. She was hurt that he should now treat her as if she were a stranger, whereas. .h.i.therto he had been so confidential and friendly.

Womanlike she ascribed it to illness. He had been over-working. He was a man of such impulsive energy, so full of ideas, so impatient of delays. He seemed always to want to do everything at the moment he thought of it. Incidentally he expected others to be imbued with his own vitality. He had worn himself out, she decided, or was it that he was being drugged? Time after time the idea had suggested itself to her, only to be dismissed as melodramatic.

Sometimes there would cross her mind a suspicion so strange, so fantastic that she would brush it aside as utterly ridiculous.

Luncheon arrived and no John Dene. Dorothy made an indifferent meal.

One o'clock pa.s.sed, two o'clock came. She had visions of him lying in his room at the hotel too ill to summon a.s.sistance. She determined upon action and rang up the Ritzton. To her enquiry as to whether or no Mr. John Dene were in came the reply that he was not. Would they find out at what time he left the hotel? It was his secretary speaking. Yes, they would if Dorothy would hold on.

At the end of what seemed an age came the reply: Mr. John Dene had left the hotel on the previous morning and had not since returned.

With a clatter the receiver fell from Dorothy's hand. It was something worse than illness then that had kept John Dene from his office! This she saw clearly. Probably he was lying dead in some out of the way spot, a victim of the hidden hand. She felt physically sick at the thought. He was such a splendid man, she told herself. Ready to give everything for nothing. The sort of man that made for victory.

Suddenly she remembered the episode of the taxi on the previous evening and became galvanised to action. What a fool she had been. Seizing the receiver of the private line to the Admiralty, she demanded to be put through to Mr. Blair. Presently she heard his mellow, patient voice. No, he had heard nothing of John Dene, nor had he seen him for several days. There was a note of plaintive grat.i.tude in Mr. Blair's voice; but Dorothy was too worried to notice it.

Putting up the receiver, she s.n.a.t.c.hed up her hat, jabbed the pins through it, one of them into her head, and almost throwing herself into her coat, dashed down the stairs and literally ran across Waterloo Place, down the Duke of York's steps into the Admiralty. She pa.s.sed swiftly in and up to Mr. Blair's room, into which she burst with a lack of ceremony that convinced him she had already imbibed the qualities that made John Dene the terror of his existence.

"I want to see Sir Lyster at once," she panted.

Mr. Blair looked up at her in surprise.

"He's engaged just now, Miss West," he said mildly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"It doesn't matter whether he's engaged, you must go into him at once, Mr. Blair, and tell him I must see him."

Mr. Blair still continued to gaze at her with bovine wonder.

"Oh, you stupid creature!" Dorothy stamped her foot in her impatience.

Then with a sudden movement she made for Sir Lyster's door, knocked and entered, leaving Mr. Blair gazing before him, marvelling that so short an a.s.sociation with John Dene should have produced such startling results. However, it was for Sir Lyster to snub her now, and he resumed his work.

Sir Lyster, Sir Bridgman North and Admiral Heyworth were bending over a table on which a large plan lay spread out. Sir Lyster was the first to look up; at the sight of the flushed and excited girl his gaze became fixed. Sir Bridgman and Admiral Heyworth followed the direction of his eyes to where Dorothy stood with heaving breast and fear in her eyes.

"Mr. Dene has disappeared!" she gasped without any preliminary apology.

"The devil!" exclaimed Sir Bridgman.

Admiral Heyworth jumped to his feet. Sir Bridgman rose and placed a chair for Dorothy into which she sank. Then she told her story, concluding with "It's all my fault for not doing something about the taxi." The three men listened without interruption. When she had concluded they looked anxiously from one to the other. It was Sir Bridgman who broke the silence.

"We had better get Walton here."

Sir Lyster nodded and going to the door requested Mr. Blair to ask Colonel Walton to come round at once on a matter of importance. Then it was that Sir Bridgman seemed to notice Dorothy's excited state.

With that courtesy that made him a great favourite with women, he poured out a gla.s.s of water from a carafe on a side table and handed it to her. With her eyes she thanked him. Sir Bridgman decided that she was an extremely pretty girl. The water seemed to co-ordinate Dorothy's ideas. For the first time she appreciated that she had unceremoniously burst into the private room of the First Lord of the Admiralty.

"I--I'm very sorry," she faltered, "but it seemed so important, and Mr.

Blair wouldn't let me come in."

Sir Lyster nodded his approval of her action. "You did quite right, Miss----"

"West," said Dorothy.

"Miss West," continued Sir Lyster. "There are occasions when----" He hesitated for a word.

"John Dene's methods are best," suggested Sir Bridgman.

Sir Lyster smiled; but there was no answering smile in Dorothy's eyes.

"What do you think has happened?" she asked, looking from one to the other.

"It's impossible to say," began Sir Lyster, "it's--it's----"

"Spies," she said with a catch in her voice. "I'm sure of it. They've drugged him. They tried to poison our food."

"Poison your food," repeated Sir Lyster uncomprehendingly.