John Dene of Toronto: A Comedy of Whitehall
WHAT THIS STORY IS ABOUT
John Dene comes to England with a great invention, and the intention of gingering-up the Admiralty. His directness and unconventional methods bewilder and embarrass the officials at Whitehall, where, according to him, most of the jobs are held by those "whose great-grandfathers had a pleasant way of saying how-do-you-do to a prince."
Suddenly John Dene disappears, and the whole civilised world is amazed at an offer of £20,000 for news of him. Scotland Yard is disorganised by tons of letters and thousands of callers. Questions are asked in the House, the Government becomes anxious, only Department Z. retains its equanimity.
By the way, what did happen to John Dene of Toronto?
For list of books by the same author, see page 319.
CHAPTER I
THE COMING OF JOHN DENE
"Straight along, down the steps, bear to the left and you'll find the Admiralty on the opposite side of the way."
John Dene thanked the policeman, gave the cigar in his mouth a twist with his tongue, and walked along Lower Regent Street towards Waterloo Place.
At the bottom of the Duke of York's steps, he crossed the road, turned to the left and paused. Nowhere could he see an entrance sufficiently impressive to suggest the Admiralty. Just ahead was a dingy and unpretentious doorway with a policeman standing outside; but that he decided could not be the entrance to the Admiralty. As he gazed at it, a fair-haired girl came out of the doorway and walked towards him.
"Excuse me," said John Dene, lifting his hat, "but is that the Admiralty you've just come out of?"
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.
"Your cigar, sir," continued the man.
"It's out." John Dene still continued to look about him.
The attendant retired nonplussed. The rule specifically referred to smoking, not to carrying unlit cigars in the mouth.
At the end of five minutes, the attendant who had taken up John Dene's name returned, and whispered to the doorkeeper.
"If you will follow the attendant, sir, he will take you to see Sir Lyster's secretary, Mr. Blair."
"Mr. – " began John Dene, then breaking off he followed the man up the stairs, and along a corridor, at the end of which another frock-coated man appeared from a room with a small glass door. He in turn took charge of the visitor, having received his whispered instructions from the second attendant. John Dene was then shown into a large room with a central table, and requested to take a seat. He was still engaged in gazing about him when a door at the further end of the room opened and there entered a fair man, with an obvious stoop, a monocle, a heavy drooping moustache, and the nose of a duke in a novelette.
"Mr. John Dene?" he asked, looking at the slip of paper in his hand.
"Sure," was the response, as John Dene continued to twirl the cigar in his mouth, with him always a sign either of thought or of irritation.
"You wish to see the First Lord?" continued the fair man. "I am his secretary. Will you give me some idea of your business?"
"No, I won't," was the blunt response.
Mr. Blair was momentarily disconcerted by the uncompromising nature of the retort, but quickly recovered himself.
"I am afraid Sir Lyster is very busy this morning," he said, diplomatically. "If you – "
"Look here," interrupted John Dene, "I've come three thousand miles to tell him something; if he hasn't time to listen, then I'll not waste my time; but before you decide to send me about my business, you just ring up the Agent-General for Can'da and ask who John Dene of T'ronto is; maybe you'll learn something."
"But will you not give me some idea – " began the secretary.
"No, I won't," was the obstinate reply. "Here," he cried with sudden inspiration, "give me some paper and a pen, and I'll write a note."
Mr. Blair sighed his relief; he was a man of peace. He quickly supplied the caller's demands. Slowly he indited his letter; then, taking a case from his pocket, he extracted an envelope which he enclosed with the letter in another envelope, and finally addressed it to "The First Lord of the Admiralty."
"Give him this," he said, turning to Mr. Blair, "and say I'm in a hurry."
Nothing but a long line of ancestors prevented Mr. Blair from gasping. Instead he took the note with a diplomatic smile.
"You wouldn't do for T'ronto," muttered John Dene as the First Lord's private secretary left the room. Two minutes later he returned.
"Sir Lyster will see you, Mr. Dene," he said with a smile. "Will you come this way? I'm sorry if – "
"Don't be sorry," said John Dene patiently; "you're just doing your job as best you can."
Whilst John Dene was being