THE STRANGENESS OF JOHN DENE
"Here, I'm being trailed."
Mr. Blair looked up from his writing-table with a startled expression
as John Dene burst into his room. In entering a room John Dene gave
the impression of first endeavouring to break through the panels, and
appearing to turn the handle only as an afterthought.
"Trailed," repeated Mr. Blair in an uncomprehending manner.
John Dene stood looking down at him accusingly, as if he were
responsible.
"Yes, trailed, watched, tracked, shadowed, followed, bumped-into,
trodden-on," snapped John Dene irritably. He was annoyed that a man
occupying an important position should not be able to grasp his meaning
without repetition. "You know anything about it?" he demanded.
Mr. Blair merely shook his head.
"He in?" John Dene jerked his head in the direction of Sir Lyster's
room.
"He's--he's rather busy," began Mr. Blair.
"Oh, shucks!" cried John Dene, and striding across to the door he
passed into Sir Lyster's room. "Morning," he cried, as Sir Lyster
looked up from his table. "Someone's following me around again," he
announced, "and I want to know whether it's you or them."
"Me or who?" queried Sir Lyster.
"Whether it's some of your boys, or the other lot."
After a moment's reflection Sir Lyster seemed to grasp John Dene's
meaning. "I'll make enquiry," he said suavely.
"Well, you might suggest that it doesn't please me mightily. I don't
like being trailed in this fashion, so if it's any of your boys just
you whistle 'em off."
"I doubt if you would be aware of the fact if we were having you
shadowed, Mr. Dene," said Sir Lyster quietly, "and in any case it would
be for your own safety."
"When John Dene can't take care of himself," was the reply, "he'd
better give up and start a dairy."
"How is the _Destroyer_ progressing?" enquired Sir Lyster with the
object of changing the conversation.
"Fine," was the reply. "Your man had better be ready on Friday. One
of my boys'll pick him up, Jim Grant's his name."
"Sir Goliath Maggie has appointed Commander Ryles," said Sir Lyster.
"Well, let him be ready by Friday. Grant'll pick him up on his way
north. Your man can't mistake him, little chap with red hair all over
him. Don't forget to call off your boys;" and with that John Dene was
gone.
Ten minutes later Sir Bridgman North found the First Lord sitting at
his table, apparently deep in thought.
"I can see John Dene's been here," laughed Sir Bridgman. "You and
Blair both show all the outward visible signs of having been
'gingered-up.'"
Sir Lyster smiled feebly. He felt that Sir Bridgman was wearing the
joke a little threadbare.
"He's been here about one of his men picking up Ryles on his way to
Auchinlech," said Sir Lyster. "A little man with red hair all over him
was his description."
"That seems pretty comprehensive," remarked Sir Bridgman. "He'd better
go right through and pick up Ryles at Scapa. They'll probably
appreciate him there. It's rather dull for 'em."
"I take it that Mr. Dene will follow in a day or two. It----" Sir
Lyster paused; then, seeing that he was expected to finish his
sentence, he added, "It will really be something of a relief. He quite
upset Rickards a few days ago over some requisitions. I've never known
him so annoyed."
"Profane, you mean," laughed Sir Bridgman. "What happened?"
"Apparently he objected to being called a dancing lizard, and told to
quit his funny work." Sir Lyster smiled as if finding consolation in
the fact that another had suffered at the hands of John Dene.
"It's nothing to what he did to poor old Rayner," laughed Sir Bridgman.
"A dear old chap, you know, but rather of the old blue-water school."
Sir Lyster nodded. He remembered that Admiral Rayner seemed to take a
delight in reminding him of his civilian status. With Sir Lyster he
was always as technical in his language as a midshipman back from his
first cruise.
"Rayner wanted to fit up the Toronto with an Archie gun, and John Dene
told him to cut it out. Rayner protested that he was the better judge
and all that sort of thing. John Dene ended by telling poor old Rayner
that next time he'd better come in a dressing-gown, as he'd be damned
if gold bands went with the colour of his skin. Rayner hasn't been
civil to anyone since;" and Sir Bridgman laughed loudly.
"I think my sympathies are with Rayner," smiled Sir Lyster, as Sir
Bridgman moved towards the door. "Frankly, I don't like John Dene."
"Don't like him! Why?"
"Well," Sir Lyster hesitated for the fraction of a second, "he will
persist in treating us as equals."
"Now I call that damned nice of him;" and Sir Bridgman left the First
Lord gazing at the panels of the door that closed behind him.
Whilst Sir Lyster and Sir Bridgman were discussing his unconventional
methods with admirals, John Dene had returned to his office and was
working at high pressure. Sometimes Dorothy wondered if his energy
were like the widow's cruse. Finishing touches had to be put to
everything. Instructions had to be sent to Blake as to where to pick
up Grant and Commander Ryles, and a hundred and one things
"rounded-off," as John Dene phrased it.
During his absence, Dorothy was to be at the office each day until
lunch time to attend to any matters that might crop up. If John Dene
required anything, it was arranged that he would wireless for it, and
Dorothy was to see that his instructions were carried out to the letter.
The quality about John Dene that had most impressed Dorothy was his
power of concentration. He would become so absorbed in his work that
nothing else seemed to have the power of penetrating to his brain. A
question addressed to him that was unrelated to what was in hand he
would ignore, appearing not to have heard it; on the other hand a
remark germane to the trend of his thoughts would produce an instant
reply. It appeared as if his mind were so attuned as to throw off all
extraneous matter.
His quickness of decision and amazing vitality Dorothy found
bewildering, accustomed as she was to the more methodical procedure of
a Government department. "When you know all you're likely to know
about a thing, then make up your mind," he had said on one occasion.
He had "no use for" a man who would wait until to-morrow afternoon to
see how things looked then. "I sleep on a bed, not on an idea," was
another of his remarks that she remembered, and once when commenting
upon the cautiousness of Sir Lyster Grayne he had said, "The man who
takes risks makes dollars."
Gradually Dorothy had fallen under the spell of John Dene's masterful
personality. She found herself becoming critical of others by the
simple process of comparing them with the self-centred John Dene.
She would smile at his eccentricities, his intolerance, his supreme
belief in himself, and his almost fanatical determination to
"ginger-up" any and every one in the British Empire whose misfortune it
was to exist outside the Dominion of Canada.
At odd moments he told her much about Canada, and how little that
country was understood in England. How blind British statesmen were to
the fact that the eyes of many Canadians were turned anxiously towards
the great republic upon their borders; how in the rapid growth of the
U.S.A. they saw a convincing argument in favour of a tightening of the
bonds that bound the Dominion to the Old Country.
When on the subject he would stride restlessly up and down the room,
snapping out short, sharp sentences of protest and criticism. His
Imperialism was that of the enthusiast. To him a Canada lost to the
British Empire meant a British Empire lost to itself. His great idea
was to see the Old Country control the world by virtue of its power,
its brain and its justice.
His memory was amazing. If Dorothy found her notes obscure, and to
complete a sentence happened to insert a word that was not the one he
had dictated, John Dene would note it as he read the letter with a
little grunt, sometimes of approval, sometimes of doubt or correction.
There were times when she felt, as she expressed it to her mother, as
if she had been dining off beef essence and oxygen. Sometimes she
wondered where John Dene obtained all his amazing vitality. He was a
small eater, seeming to regard meals as a waste of time, and he seldom
drank anything but water.
At the end of the day Dorothy would feel more tired than she had ever
felt before; but she had caught something of John Dene's enthusiasm,
which seemed to carry her along and defy the fatigues of the body. Had
it not been for the Saturday afternoons, and the whole day's rest on
Sunday, she felt that she would not have been able to continue.
In his intolerance John Dene was sometimes amusing, sometimes
monotonous; but always uncompromising. One day Dorothy ventured a word
of expostulation. He had just been expressing his unmeasured contempt
for Mr. Blair.
"You mustn't judge the whole British Navy by Mr. Blair," she said,
looking up from her note-book with a smile.
"One fool makes many," he had snapped decisively.
"So that if I prove a fool," continued Dorothy quietly, "it convicts
you of being a fool also."
"But that's another transaction," he objected.
"Is it?" she asked, and became absorbed in her notes.
For some time John Dene had continued to dictate. Presently he stopped
in the middle of a letter. "I hadn't figured it out that way," he said.
Dorothy looked up at him in surprise, then she realised that he was
referring to her previous remark, and that he was making the amende
honorable.
His manner frequently puzzled Dorothy. At times he seemed unaware of
her existence; at others she would, on looking up from her work, find
him regarding her intently. He showed entire confidence in her
discretion, allowing her access to documents of a most private and
confidential nature.
For week after week they worked incessantly. Dorothy was astonished at
the mass of detail requisite for the commissioning of a ship. Indents
for stores and equipment had to be prepared for the Admiralty, reports
from Blake read and replied to, requisitions for materials required had
to be confirmed, samples obtained, examined, and finally passed, and
instructions sent to Blake. Strange documents they seemed to Dorothy,
rendered bewildering by their technicalities, and flung at her in
short, jerky sentences as John Dene strode up and down the room.
"If you could only see John Dene prancing, mother mine," said Dorothy
one day to Mrs. West, "and the demure Dorothy taking down whole
dictionaries of funny words she never even knew existed, you'd be a
proud woman."
Mrs. West had smiled at her daughter, as she sat at her favourite place
on a stool at her feet.
"You see, what John Dene wants is managing," continued Dorothy sagely,
"and no one understands how to do it except Sir Bridgman and me. With
us he'll stand without hitching."
"Stand without what, dear," asked Mrs. West.
"Without hitching," laughed Dorothy. "That's one of his phrases. It
means that he's so tame that he'll eat out of your hand;" and she
laughed gaily at the puzzled look on her mother's face.
"Mr. Dene has been very kind," said Mrs. West presently. "I should
miss him very much if he went away." There was regret in her voice.
"Now, mother, no poaching," cried Dorothy. "John Dene is mine for
keeps, and if I let you come out with us and play gooseberry, you
mustn't try and cut me out, because," looking critically at her mother,
"you could if you liked. Nobody could help loving my little Victorian
white mouse;" and she hugged her mother's knee, missing the faint flush
of pleasure that her words had aroused.
Finding his welcome assured, John Dene had taken to joining Dorothy and
her mother on their Saturday and Sunday excursions. The picnic had
proved a great success, and Dorothy had been surprised at the change in
John Dene's manner. The hard, keen look of a man who is thinking how
he can bring off some deal was entirely absent. He seemed always ready
to smile and be amused. Once he had almost laughed. She was touched
by the way in which he always looked after her mother, his gentleness
and solicitude.
"Wessie, darling," Marjorie Rogers had said one day, "you're taming the
bear. He'll dance soon; but, my dear, his boots," and the comical
grimace that had accompanied the remark had caused Dorothy to laugh in
spite of herself.
"If ever I marry a man," continued Marjorie, "it will be because of his
boots. Let him have silk socks and beautiful shoes or boots, and I am
as clay in his hands. For such a man I would sin like a 'temporary.'"
"Marjorie, you're a little idiot," cried Dorothy.
"I saw John Dene a few days ago," continued Marjorie.
"Did you?"
"Yes, and I stopped him."
"You didn't, Marjorie." There was incredulity in Dorothy's voice.
"Didn't I, though," was the retort. "I gave him a hint, too."
"A hint." Dorothy felt uncomfortable. The downrightness of Marjorie
Rogers was both notorious and embarrassing.
"Well," nonchalantly, "I just said that at the Admiralty men always
kept their secretaries well-supplied with flowers and chocolates."
"You little beast!" cried Dorothy, remembering the chocolates and
flowers that had recently been reaching her. "I should like to slap
you."
"Why not give me one of the chocolates instead," said Marjorie
imperturbably. "I saw the box directly I came in," nodding at a large
white and gold box that Dorothy had unsuccessfully striven to hide
beneath a filing-cabinet as Marjorie entered. "If it hadn't been for
me you wouldn't have had them at all," she added. Presently she was
munching chocolates contentedly, whilst Dorothy found herself hating
both the chocolates and flowers.
At the end of the fifth week Blake wrote that the _Destroyer_ would be
ready for sea on the following Wednesday. The effect of the news upon
John Dene was curious. Instead of appearing elated at the near
approach of the fruition of his schemes, he sat at his table for fully
half an hour looking straight in front of him. When at last he spoke,
it was to enquire of Dorothy if she liked men in uniform.
That afternoon he worked with unflagging industry. It seemed to
Dorothy that he was deliberately calling to mind every little detail
that had for some reason or other temporarily been put aside. He
seemed to be determined to leave no loose ends. Such matters as he was
unable to clear up himself, he gave elaborate instructions to Dorothy
that would enable her to act without reference to him. At half-past
five, after a final glance round the room, he leaned back in his chair.
"I shall sleep some to-night," he remarked.
"Don't you always sleep?" enquired Dorothy.
"I sleep better when there are no loose ends tickling my brain," was
the reply.
As Dorothy left the office a few minutes after six he called her back.
"If I've forgotten anything you'd best remind me."
"Mother," she remarked, when she got home that evening, "John Dene's
the funniest man in all the world."
"Is he, dear?" said Mrs. West non-committally.
Dorothy nodded her head with decision. "He wastes an awful lot of
time, and then he hustles like--like--well, you know."
"How do you mean, dear?" queried Mrs. West.
"Well, he'll sit sometimes for an hour looking at nothing. It's not
complimentary when I'm there," she added.
"Perhaps he's thinking," suggested Mrs. West.
"Oh, no!" Dorothy shook her head with decision. "He thinks while he's
eating. You can see him do it. That's why he thinks salmon is pink
cod. No; John Dene is a very remarkable man; but he'd be very trying
as a husband."
Dorothy spoke lightly; but during the last few days she had been asking
herself what she would do when John Dene was gone. Sometimes she would
sit and ponder over it, then with a movement of impatience she would
plunge once more into her work. What was John Dene to her that she
should miss him? He was just her employer, and in a few months he
would go back to Canada, and she would never see him again. One
morning she awakened crying from a dream in which John Dene had just
said good-day to her and stepped on a large steamer labelled "To
Canada." That day she was almost brusque in her manner, so much so
that John Dene had asked her if she were not well.
The next morning when Dorothy arrived at the office, she found John
Dene sitting at his table. As she entered, he looked round, stared at
her for a moment and then nodded, and as if as an after-thought added,
"Good morning."
Dorothy passed into her own room. She was a little puzzled. This was
the first morning that John Dene had been there before her.
As she came out with her note-book she looked at him closely, conscious
of something in his manner that was strange, something she could not
altogether define. His voice seemed a little husky, and he lacked the
quick bird-like movements so characteristic of him.
She made no remark, however, merely seating herself in her customary
place and waited for letters.
He drew from his pocket some notes and began to dictate.
Never before had he used notes when dictating. Several times she
glanced at him, and noted that he appeared to be reading from the
manuscript rather than dictating; but she decided that he had probably
written out rough drafts in order to assure accuracy. His voice was
very strange.
"Did you sleep well last night, Mr. Dene?" she enquired during a pause
in the dictation.
"Sleep well," he repeated, looking up at her, "I always sleep well."
Dorothy was startled. There was something in the glance and the
brusque tone that puzzled her. Both were so unlike John Dene. She had
mentally decided that he spoke to her as he spoke to no one else. She
had compared his inflection when addressing her with that he adopted to
others, even so important a person as Sir Bridgman North. Now he spoke
gruffly, as if he were irritated at being spoken to.
Apparently he sensed what was passing through her mind, for he turned
to her again and said:
"I'm not feeling very well this morning, Miss West, I----" Then he
hesitated.
"Perhaps you didn't sleep very well," she suggested mischievously.
"No, I'm afraid that's what it was," he acknowledged Dorothy's eyes
opened just a little in surprise. A minute ago he had stated that he
always slept well. Either John Dene was mad or ill; and Dorothy
continued to take down, greatly puzzled. Had he been drugged? The
thought caused her to pause in her work and glance up at him. He
certainly seemed vague and uncertain, and then he looked so strange.
When he had dictated for about half an hour, John Dene handed her a
large number of documents to copy, telling her that there would not be
any more letters that day. To her surprise he picked up his hat and
announced that he would not be back until five o'clock to sign the
letters. Never before had he missed lunching at his office. Dorothy
was now convinced that something was wrong. Everything about him
seemed strange and forced.
Once or twice she caught him looking at her furtively; but immediately
she raised her eyes, he hastily shifted his, as if caught in some
doubtful act.
At twelve o'clock lunch arrived, and Dorothy had to confess to herself
that it was a lonely and unsatisfactory meal.
At five o'clock John Dene returned and signed the letters with a rubber
stamp, which he had recently adopted.
"When are you going away, Mr. Dene?" asked Dorothy.
"I don't know," he responded gruffly.
"I merely asked because two people on the telephone enquired when you
were going away."
"And what did you say?"
"Oh, I just said what you told me. A man called this afternoon also
with the same question."
For a moment he looked at her, then turning on his heel said "good
evening," and with a nod walked out.
Dorothy had expected him to make some remark about these enquiries.
She knew that John Dene had no friends in London, and the questions as
to when he was going away had struck her as strange.
The next day was a repetition of the first. A few letters were
dictated, a sheaf of documents handed to her to copy, and John Dene
disappeared. Again lunch was brought for her, which she ate alone, and
at five o'clock he came in and signed the letters.
By this time Dorothy was convinced that he was ill. The strain of the
past few weeks had evidently been telling on him. When he had signed
the last letter she bluntly enquired if he felt better.
"Better?" he interrogated. "I haven't been ill."
"I thought you didn't seem quite well," said Dorothy hesitatingly; but
he brushed aside the enquiry by picking up his hat and bidding her
"good evening."
Dorothy was feeling annoyed and a little hurt; and preserved an
attitude of businesslike brevity in all her remarks to John Dene. If
he chose to adopt the attitude of the uncompromising employer, she on
her part would humour him by becoming an ordinary employee. Still she
had to confess to herself that the old pleasure in her work had
departed. Hitherto she had looked forward to her arrival at the
office, the coming of John Dene, their luncheons together and the
occasional little chats that were sandwiched in between her work.
She had become deeply interested in the _Destroyer_ and what it would
achieve in the war. She had been flattered by the confidence that John
Dene had shown hi her discretion, and had felt that she was "doing her
bit." Again, the sense of being behind the scenes pleased her. She
was conscious of knowing secrets that were denied even to Cabinet
Ministers. The members of the War Cabinet knew less than she did about
the _Destroyer_ and what was expected of it.
John Dene was a man who did everything thoroughly. If he trusted
anyone, he did it implicitly; if he distrusted anyone, he did it
uncompromisingly. Where he liked, he liked to excess; where he
disliked, he disliked to the elimination of all good qualities. Half
measures did not exist for John Dene of Toronto.
When Dorothy discovered that all the old intimacy had passed away, and
John Dene had become merely an employer, treating her as a secretary,
she was conscious that the glamour had fallen from her work. Somehow
or other the _Destroyer_ had receded into something impersonal, whereas
hitherto it had appeared to her as if she had been in some way or other
intimately associated with it.
It was all very strange and very puzzling, she told herself. Sometimes
she wondered if she had done anything to annoy him. Then she told
herself that there was something more than personal pique in his
manner. His whole bearing seemed to have changed, as if he had decided
to regard her merely as a piece of mechanism, just as he did the
typewriter, or his office chair.
It was at this period of her reasoning that Dorothy discovered her
dignity. From that time her attitude was that of the injured woman,
yet perfect secretary. Her sense of humour had deserted her, and she
arrived at the office and left it very much upon her dignity. Even
Mrs. West noticed the difference in her manner, and at last enquired if
anything were wrong, or if she were unwell; but Dorothy reassured her
with a hug and a kiss, and for the rest of that evening had been
particularly bright and vivacious.
When Mrs. West mentioned the name of John Dene, Dorothy did not pursue
the topic, although Mrs. West failed to notice that she was switched
off to other subjects.
At the end of the week she noticed that John Dene handed her the week's
salary in notes. Hitherto it had been his custom to place the money in
an envelope and put it on her table. She concluded that this new
method was to impress upon her that she was a dependent, and that the
old relationship between them had been severed. That evening, Dorothy
was always paid on the Friday evening, she held her head very high when
she left the office. If Mr. John Dene required decorum, then he should
have it in plenty from his secretary.
The next morning and the Monday following, Dorothy was very much on her
dignity. She seemed suddenly to have become imbued with all the
qualities of the perfect secretary. No hint of a smile was allowed to
wanton across her features, she was grave, ceremonial, efficient. She
worked harder than ever and, when she had finished the tasks John Dene
set her, she manufactured others so that her time should be fully
occupied.
For a day and a half she laboured to show John Dene that she was
offended; but apparently he was oblivious, not only of having offended
her, but of the fact that she was endeavouring to convey to him the
change that had come about in their relations.
On the Monday evening he did not return to sign his letters until
nearly six. By that time Dorothy was almost desperate in her desire to
show this obtuse man that she was annoyed with him. She felt at the
point of tears when he bade her good night and left the office, just as
Big Ben was booming out the hour.
She would go home and forget all about the stupid creature, Dorothy
decided, as she hastily put on her coat and dug the hat-pins through
her hat. On reaching the street she saw John Dene standing at the
corner of Charles Street. For a moment she thrilled. Was he waiting
for her? No, he was looking in the opposite direction, apparently deep
in thought. She saw a taxi draw up beside him. The driver, a little
man with a grey moustache, Dorothy remembered to have seen him several
times "crawling" about on the look-out for fares. The taxi stopped and
the man bent towards John Dene. Dorothy stood and watched. John Dene
was right in her line of route to the Piccadilly Tube, and she did not
wish him to see her.
For a moment John Dene seemed to hesitate, then with a word to the
driver he opened the door and got in. Suddenly Dorothy remembered
Colonel Walton's warning. Impulsively she started forward, just as the
taxi started and a moment later whizzed swiftly past her. John Dene
was evidently in a hurry. At that moment her attention was distracted
by shouts and a smash. A small run-about car had suddenly dashed
across Regent Street from the west side of Charles Street and crashed
into the forepart of another taxi. A crowd gathered, a policeman
arrived, and she had a vision of an angry taxi-driver, another man
pointing to the roadway, as if the blame lay there, whilst the
passenger from the taxi was running towards the Florence Nightingale
statue shouting and waving his arms at the vehicles passing along Pall
Mall.
Slowly Dorothy turned and pursued her way up Regent Street. She was
tired and--and, oh! it was so stupid, going on living.
That night as she was undressing she remembered the passenger from the
second taxi. Why had he been so interested in the taxi that was
bearing John Dene away, and why had he tried to signal to other
vehicles passing along Pall Mall? He had seemed greatly excited.
Above all, why had John Dene taken a taxi when he had been warned
against it?