Mr. Blair glanced uncertainly from Sir Lyster to John Dene, then back again to his chief. Seeing no contradiction in his eye, he turned and held open the door to admit Dorothy West. "Ah! here you are," cried John Dene, rising and indicating that the girl should occupy his chair. "There's your pound of tea," pointing to the package lying before Sir Lyster, "and there's a new teapot for you," he added, indicating that object, which seemed to flaunt its pink and white and gold as if determined to brazen things out. The girl looked at the teapot, at Sir Lyster and on to John Dene, and back to the teapot. Then she laughed. She had pretty teeth, John Dene decided. "It's very kind of you," she said, "but there wasn't a pound of tea in the teapot you broke yesterday, and--and----" "Never mind," said John Dene, "you can keep the rest. Now see here, I want someone to take down my letters. You're a stenographer?" he asked. The girl nodded her head. "Speeds?" enquired John Dene. "A hundred and twenty----" was the response. "Typing?" "Sixty-five words----" "You'll do," said John Dene with decision. "In future you'll do my work only. Nine o'clock, every morning." The girl looked enquiringly at Sir Lyster, who coughed slightly. "We will take up your references, Miss--er----" "Oh! cut it out," said John Dene impatiently, "I don't want references." "But," replied Sir Lyster, "this is work of a confidential nature.". "See here," cried John Dene. "I started life selling newspapers in T'ronto. I never had a reference, I never gave a reference and I never asked a reference, and the man who can get ahead of John Dene had better stay up all night for fear of missing the buzzer in the morning. That girl's straight, else she wouldn't be asked to do my letters," he added. "Now, don't you wait," he said to Dorothy, seeing she was embarrassed at his remark; "nine o'clock to-morrow morning." "I think it will be necessary to take up references," began Sir Lyster as John Dene closed the door on Dorothy. John Dene span round on his heel. "I run my business on Canadian lines, not on British," he cried. "If you're always going to be around telling me what to do, then I'll see this country to hell before they get my _Destroyer_. The man who deals with John Dene does so on his terms," and with that he left the room, closing the door with a bang behind him. For a moment he stood gazing down at Mr. Blair. "Can you tell me," he asked slowly, "why the British Empire has not gone to blazes long ago?" Mr. Blair gazed at him, mild surprise in his prominent eyes. "I am afraid I don't--I cannot----" he began. "Neither can I," said John Dene. "You're all just about as cute as dead weasels." John Dene walked along the corridor and down the staircase in high dudgeon. "Ha! Mr. Dene, what's happened?" enquired Sir Bridgman, who was mounting the stairs as John Dene descended.