There was an almost imperceptible stiffening in the girl's demeanour; but a glance at the homely figure of John Dene, with its ill-made clothes, reassured her. "Yes, that is the Admiralty," she replied gravely in a voice that caused John Dene momentarily to forget the Admiralty and all its works. "Much obliged," he said, again lifting his hat as she walked away; but instead of continuing on his way, John Dene stood watching the girl until she disappeared up the Duke of York's steps. Then once more twirling his cigar in his mouth and hunching his shoulders, he walked towards the doorway she had indicated. "This the Admiralty?" he enquired of the policeman. "Yes, sir," was the reply. "Did you want to see any one?" John Dene looked at the man in surprise. "Why should I be here if I didn't?" he asked. "I want to see the First Lord." The man's manner underwent a change. "If you'll step inside, sir, you'll see an attendant." John Dene stepped inside and repeated his request, this time to a frock-coated attendant. "Have you an appointment?" enquired the man. "No," responded John Dene indifferently. The attendant hesitated. It was not customary for unknown callers to demand to see the First Lord without an appointment. After a momentary pause the man indicated a desk on which lay some printed slips. "Will you please fill in your name, sir, and state your business." "State my business," exclaimed John Dene, "not on your life." "I'm afraid----" began the man. "Never mind what you're afraid of," said John Dene, "just you take my name up to the First Lord. Here, I'll write it down." Seizing a pen he wrote his name, "John Dene of Toronto," and then underneath, "I've come three thousand miles to tell you something; perhaps it's worth three minutes of your time to listen." "There, take that up and I'll wait," he said. The attendant read the message, then beckoning to another frock-coated servitor, he handed him the paper, at the same time whispering some instructions. John Dene looked about him with interest. He was frankly disappointed. He had conceived the administrative buildings of the greatest navy in the world as something grand and impressive; yet here was the British Admiralty with an entrance that would compare unfavourably with a second-rate hotel in Toronto. He turned suddenly and almost ran into a shifty-eyed little man in a grey tweed suit, who had entered the Admiralty a moment after him. The man apologised profusely as John Dene eyed him grimly. He had become aware of the man's interest in his colloquy with the attendant, and of the way in which he had endeavoured to catch sight of what was written on the slip of paper. John Dene proceeded to stride up and down with short, jerky steps, twirling his unlit cigar round in his mouth. "Excuse me, sir," said the attendant, approaching, "but smoking is not permitted." "That so?" remarked John Dene without interest, as he continued to roll his cigar in his mouth.