n't the Americans?"

"Impossible," said Sir Bridgman. "You can't base ships on ether, and
we were bound to know, besides frankness is their strong point. They
are almost aggressively open," he added.

"I----" began Sir Lyster, then paused.

"It's damned funny," murmured Sir Bridgman for the third time. "Well,
I must buzz off," he added, rising. "I shall see you at L.J.'s this
afternoon."

"It's a conference, I think," said Sir Lyster. "Walton is to tell us
what has been discovered." Again there was the note of patronage in
his voice.

"Well," said Sir Bridgman, "I'll try and prevent it spoiling my lunch,"
and he stretched his big frame lazily. "By the way," he remarked,
turning to Sir Lyster, "did you see about that convoy a hundred miles
off its course, bleating like a lost goat to know where it was?"

"It might have been very serious," said Sir Lyster gravely.

"Oh! the luck of the navy," laughed Sir Bridgman. "We have to do it
all, even teach the other fellows their job. Mark it, Grayne, we shall
take over the whole blessed country before we've finished, then perhaps
they'll raise our screws," and with that he left the room.

Two minutes later his cheery laugh was heard outside again as he
enquired of Mr. Blair if it were true that he was going to double the
reward for the discovery of John Dene. A moment later he rejoined Sir
Lyster and Admiral Heyworth.

"I forgot about that flying-boat business," he said, and soon the three
were engaged in a technical discussion.

For more than three months Mr. Blair had known peace. He had been able
to walk leisurely across St. James's Park from his chambers in St.
Mary's Mansions, pause for a moment to look at the pelicans, dwell upon
the memory of past social engagements and anticipate those to come,
receive the salute of the policeman at the door of the Admiralty and
the respectful bows of the attendants within and walk up the stairs and
along the corridors to his room, conscious that in his heart was an
abiding peace.

It was true that a war raged in various parts of the world, and that
Mr. Blair's work brought him constantly into close touch with the
horrors of that war; but it was all so far away, and his was a nature
that permitted the contemplation of such matters with philosophical
detachment. A scorched shirt-front, an ill-ironed collar, or an
omelette that was not all an omelette should be, bulked vastly more in
Mr. Blair's imagination than