ive,
would suddenly drop out, apparently being superseded by someone else
with whom he had not previously been in contact. Later, the man who
had dropped out would pick up an entirely different thread. This meant
innumerable loose ends, all of which had to be followed up and then
held until they began to develop along new lines.

"It's a great game played slow, Gladys," Thompson remarked one day to
Gladys Norman as they sat waiting for Malcolm Sage.

"Slow," cried the girl. "If this is slow, what's fast?"

"Her initials are G. N.," was the reply.

Malcolm Sage entered at the moment when Gladys had succeeded in making
her colleague's hair look like that of an Australian aborigine.

CHAPTER X

JOHN DENE GOES TO KEW

"And now we'll go to Kew and say how-do-you-do to the rhododendrons,"
cried Dorothy, as she rolled up her napkin and slipped it into the
silver ring that lay beside her plate. "I'll go and make myself smart;
and mother"--she paused at the door--"mind you put on your new hat that
makes you look so wicked."

Mrs. West smiled what Dorothy called her "Saturday afternoon smile."

Half an hour later Dorothy was gazing at herself in the looking-glass
over the dining-room mantelpiece. With a sigh half of content, half of
rebelliousness she turned as Mrs. West entered. For a moment she stood
looking enquiringly at her daughter.

"Shall I do?" she demanded impudently. "I've put on my very best,
undies and all."

"But why, Dorothy?" began Mrs. West.

"Oh, I just wanted to feel best to-day. I wonder if John Dene notices
legs, mother," she added inconsequently.

"Really, Dorothy!" began Mrs. West, with widening eyes.

"Well, I've got rather nice legs, and--Oh! but I'm sure he doesn't. We
had fillets of sole done up in a most wonderful way the other day, and
he asked if it was cod. He's got cod on the brain, poor dear." With a
sigh she turned once more to regard herself in the looking-glass. "If
he could see me in this hat, it would be all 'u.p.' with Honest John;"
and she laughed wickedly as she caught her mother's eye.

"I wish you wouldn't use such expressions," protested Mrs. West gently,
"and--and----" She stopped and looked appealingly at her daughter.

"I know I'm a horrid little beast," she cried, turning quickly, "and I
say outrageous things, don't I?" Then with a sudden change of mood she
added: "But why shouldn't a girl be pleased because she's got nice
legs, mother?"

"I