ou're coming too," added Colonel Walton, as he lighted a fresh
cigar. "What about Finlay?"

"Gone home to see his wife," said Sage. "He's as domesticated as a
Persian kitten," he added with all the superiority of a confirmed
bachelor.

In another room Gladys Norman was fussing over a wounded hero.

"Poor 'ickle Tommikins." she crooned, as she sat on the arm of his
chair and rumpled the hair of Special Service Officer Thompson. "Did
'ums hurt 'ums poor 'ickle arm. Brave boy!" and then she bent down and
kissed him lightly on the cheek, whereat Thompson blushed crimson.

"Department Z. makes its traditions as it goes along," Malcolm Sage had
once said. "It's more natural."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE RETURN OF JOHN DENE

"It's very strange," murmured Sir Lyster Grayne, as he raised his eyes
from an official-looking document. "What are the official figures for
the last six weeks, Heyworth?" he enquired.

"Seven certainties and two doubtful," was the reply.

"About normal, then?"

Admiral Heyworth nodded.

"Then why the devil should the Hun get the wind up?" demanded Sir
Bridgman, a look of puzzlement taking the place of the usual smile in
his eyes. "What does the I.D. say?"

"That during the last four weeks thirty-seven U-boats have failed to
return to their bases as they should have done," replied Admiral
Heyworth, referring to a buff-coloured paper before him.

"That leaves twenty-eight in the air," said Sir Bridgman, more to
himself than to the others.

Sir Lyster nodded thoughtfully.

"No wonder they're getting the wind up," mused Sir Bridgman.

"The I.D. says that Kiel and Wilhelmshaven are in a state of panic,"
said Admiral Heyworth.

"It's damned funny," remarked Sir Bridgman thoughtfully. "Structural
defects won't explain it?" He looked interrogatingly across at Admiral
Heyworth, who shook his head in negation.

"It might of course be wangle," murmured Sir Bridgman.

Sir Lyster shook his head decidedly.

"The I.D. says no," he remarked. "They're doing everything they can to
keep it dark."

"Well, it's damned funny," repeated Sir Bridgman. "What does L. J.
say?"

"He's as puzzled as the rest of us," said Sir Lyster in response.
"He's making enquiries through Department Z." There was the merest
suggestion of patronage in Sir Lyster's voice at the mention of
Department Z.

Sir Bridgman lit a cigarette, then after a short silence Sir Lyster
said tentatively:

"I suppose it is