"Then again I like him because he's always courteous and kind. At Department Z they'd have had their appendixes out if Mr. Sage wanted them. Now have you made up your mind?" "Made it up to what?" he asked, lighting a cigar. "That you're going to set him up as a private detective," she said coolly. "I don't want him to come here and not find everything planned out." "He won't do that," said Sir John Dene with conviction. "He's no lap-dog." "I wrote and asked him to call at ten to-day," she said coolly. "Snakes, you did!" he cried, sitting up in his chair. "Alligators, I did!" she mocked. "You're sure some wife;" he looked at her admiringly. "I sure am," she laughed lightly, "but I'm only just beginning, John dear. By the way, I asked Sir James Walton to come too," she added casually. "You----" he began, when the door opened and a little, silver-haired lady entered. Sir John Dene jumped to his feet. "Behold the mother of the bride," cried Dorothy gaily. "Good morning, John," said Mrs. West as he bent and kissed her cheek. She always breakfasted in her room; she abounded in tact. "Now we'll get away from the eggs and bacon," cried Dorothy. "In the language of the woolly West, we'll vamoose," and she led the way out of the dining-room along the corridor to Sir John Dene's den. "Come along, mother-mine," she cried over her shoulder. "We've got a lot to discuss before ten o'clock." Sir John Dene's "den" was a room of untidiness and comfort. As Dorothy said, he was responsible for the untidiness and she the comfort. "Heigh-ho!" she sighed, as she sank down into a comfortable chair. "I wonder what Whitehall would have done without Mr. Sage;" she smiled reminiscently. "He was the source of half its gossip." "He was very kind to you, Dorothy, when John was--was lost," said Mrs. West gently, referring to the time when Sir John Dene had disappeared and a reward of 20,000 pounds had been offered for news of him. "Sure!" Sir John Dene acquiesced. "He's a white man, clean to the bone." "It was very wonderful that an accountant should become such a clever detective," said Mrs. West. "It shows----" she paused. "You see, he wasn't a success as an accountant," said Dorothy. "He was always finding out little wangles that he wasn't supposed to see. So when they wouldn't have him in the army, he went to the Ministry of Supply and found out a great, big wangle, and Mr. Llewellyn John was very pleased. You get me, Honest John?" she demanded, turning to her husband. Sir John Dene nodded and blew clouds of cigar smoke from his lips. He liked nothing better than to sit listening to his wife's reminiscences of Whitehall, despite the fact that he had heard most of them before. "Poor Mr. Sage," continued Dorothy, "nobody liked him, and he's got such lovely down on his head, just like a baby," she added, with a far-away look in her eyes. "Perhaps no one understood him," suggested Mrs. West, with instinctive charity for the Ishmaels of the world.