ing, he pushed open the door of Mr. Blair's room, walked
swiftly across and opened the door leading to that of the First Lord.

"Here!" he cried, "where can I buy a pound of tea?"

If John Dene had asked where he could borrow an ichthyosaurus, Sir
Lyster and Sir Bridgman could not have gazed at him with more
astonishment.

"You can't," said Sir Bridgman, at length, his eyes twinkling as he
watched the expression on Sir Lyster's face.

"Can't!" cried John Dene.

"Tea's rationed--two ounces a week," explained Sir Bridgman.

"Anyhow I've got to buy a pound of tea. I've just smashed up the
teapot of a girl in the corridor."

"I'm afraid it's impossible," said Sir Lyster with quiet dignity.

"Impossible!" said John Dene irritably. "Here am I giving more'n a
million dollars to the country and I can't get a pound of tea. I'll
see about that. She'll be here in this room to-morrow at eleven
o'clock," and with that the door closed and John Dene disappeared.

"I've told a girl to be here at eleven o'clock to-morrow. She's going
to be my secretary," he explained to Mr. Blair as he passed through his
office.

Mr. Blair blinked his eyes vigorously. He had seen Sir Lyster and
Admiral Heyworth leave the Admiralty with John Dene, he gathered that
they had had a long interview with the Prime Minister, then they had
returned again and, for two hours, had sat in consultation with the
First Sea Lord. Now the amazing John Dene had made an appointment to
meet some girl in the First Lord's room at eleven o'clock the next
morning.

As John Dene left the Admiralty puffing clouds of blue content from his
cigar, the shifty-eyed man, in a grey suit, who had been examining the
Royal Marines statue, drew a white handkerchief with a flourish from
his pocket and proceeded to blow his nose vigorously. The act seemed
to pass unnoticed save by a young girl sitting on a neighbouring seat.
She immediately appeared to become greatly interested in the movements
of John Dene, whilst the man in the grey suit walked away in the
direction of Birdcage Walk.

"Where's the tea?" was the cry with which Dorothy West was greeted as
she entered the room she occupied with a number of other girls after
her encounter with John Dene.

"It's in the corridor," she replied.

"Oh! go and get it, there's a dear; I'm simply parched," cried Marjorie
Rogers, a pretty little brunette at the further corner.

"It's all gone," said Dorothy West; "a Hun just