Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Christine Gehring and PG DistributedProofreaders
THE LOST NAVAL PAPERS
By
BENNET COPPLESTONE
1917
CONTENTS
PART I
_WILLIAM DAWSON_
CHAPTER
I A STORY AND A VISIT
II AT CLOSE QUARTERS
III AN INQUISITION
IV SABOTAGE
V BAFFLED
VI GUESSWORK
VII THE MARINE SENTRY
VIII TREHAYNE'S LETTER
PART II
_MADAME GILBERT_
IX THE WOMAN AND THE MAN
X A PROGRESSIVE FRIENDSHIP
XI AT BRIGHTON
PART III
_ SEE IS TO BELIEVE_
XII DAWSON PRESCRIBES
XIII THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN
XIV A COFFIN AND AN OWL
PART IV
_THE CAPTAIN OF MARINES_
XV DAWSON REAPPEARS
XVI DAWSON STRIKES
XVII DAWSON TELEPHONES FOR A SURGEON
PART I
_WILLIAM DAWSON_
CHAPTER I
A STORY AND A VISIT
At the beginning of the month of September, 1916, there appeared inthe _Cornhill Magazine_ a story entitled "The Lost Naval Papers." Ihad told this story at second hand, for the incidents had not occurredwithin my personal experience. One of the principals--to whom I hadallotted the temporary name of Richard Cary--was an intimate friend,but I had never met the Scotland Yard officer whom I called WilliamDawson, and was not at all anxious to make his official acquaintance.To me he then seemed an inhuman, icy-blooded "sleuth," a being ofgreat national importance, but repulsive and dangerous as anassociate. Yet by a turn of Fortune's wheel I came not only to knowWilliam Dawson, but to work with him, and almost to like him. Hispenetrative efficiency compelled one's admiration, and his unconcealedvanity showed that he did not stand wholly outside the human family.Yet I never felt safe with Dawson. In his presence, and when I knewthat somewhere round the corner he was carrying on his mysteriousinvestigations, I was perpetually apprehensive of his hand upon myshoulder and his bracelets upon my wrists. I was unconscious of crime,but the Defence of the Realm Regulations--which are to Dawson a newfount of wisdom and power--create so many fresh offences every weekthat it is difficult for the most timidly loyal of citizens to keephis innocency up to date. I have doubtless trespassed many times, forI have Dawson's assurance that my present freedom is due solely to hisreprehensible softness towards me. Whenever I have showed independenceof spirit--of which, God knows, I have little in these days--Dawsonwould pull out his terrible red volumes of ever-expanding Regulationsand make notes of my committed crimes. The Act itself could be printedon a sheet of notepaper, but it has given birth to a whole library ofRegulations. Thus he bent me to his will as he had my poor friendRichard Cary.
The mills of Scotland Yard grind slowly, yet they grind exceedingsmall. There is nothing showy about them. They work by system, not byinspiration. Though Dawson was not specially intelligent--in somerespects almost stupid--he was dreadfully, terrifyingly efficient,because he was part of the slowly grinding Scotland Yard machine.
As this book properly begins with my published story of "The LostNaval Papers," I will reprint it here exactly as it was written forthe readers of the _Cornhill Magazine_ in September, 1916.
* * * * *
I. BAITING THE TRAP
This story--which contains a moral for those fearful folk who exalteverything German--was told to me by Richard Cary, the accomplishednaval correspondent of a big paper in the North of England. I haveknown him and his enthusiasm for the White Ensign for twenty years. Hesprings from an old naval stock, the Carys of North Devon, and hasdevoted his life to the study of the Sea Service. He had for so longbeen accustomed to move freely among shipyards and navy men, and wastrusted so completely, that the veil of secrecy which dropped inAugust 1914 between the Fleets and the world scarcely existed for him.Everything which he desired to know for the better understanding ofthe real work of the Navy came to him officially or unofficially.When, therefore, he states that the Naval Notes with which this storydeals would have been of incalculable value to the enemy, I accept hisword without hesitation. I have myself seen some of them, and theymade me tremble--for Cary's neck. I pressed him to write this storyhimself, but he refused. "No," said he, "I have told you the yarn justas it happened; write it yourself. I am a dull dog, quite efficient athandling hard facts and making scientific deductions from them, butwith no eye for the picturesque details. I give it to you." He rose togo--Cary had been lunching with me--but paused for an instant upon myfront doorstep. "If you insist upon it," added he, smiling, "I don'tmind sharing in the plunder."
* * * * *
It was in the latter part of May 1916. Cary was hard at work onemorning in his rooms in the Northern City where he had established hisheadquarters. His study table was littered with papers--notes,diagrams, and newspaper cuttings--and he was laboriously reducing theapparent chaos into an orderly series of chapters upon the Navy's Workwhich he proposed to publish after the war was over. It was notdesigned to be an exciting book--Cary has no dramatic instinct--but itwould be full of fine sound stuff, close accurate detail, and clearanalysis. Day by day for more than twenty months he had beencollecting details of every phase of the Navy's operations, here alittle and there a little. He had recently returned from aconfidential tour of the shipyards and naval bases, and had exercisedhis trained eye upon checking and amplifying what he had previouslylearned. While his recollection of this tour was fresh he was activelywriting up his Notes and revising the rough early draft of his book.More than once it had occurred to him that his accumulations of Noteswere dangerous explosives to store in a private house. They werebecoming so full and so accurate that the enemy would have paid anysum or have committed any crime to secure possession of them. Cary isnot nervous or imaginative--have I not said that he springs from anaval stock?--but even he now and then felt anxious. He would, Ibelieve, have slept peacefully though knowing that a delicately primedbomb lay beneath his bed, for personal risks troubled him little, butthe thought that hurt to his country might come from his well-meantlabours sometimes rapped against his nerves. A few days before hispatriotic conscience had been stabbed by no less a personage thanAdmiral Jellicoe, who, speaking to a group of naval students whichincluded Cary, had said: "We have concealed nothing from you, for wetrust absolutely to your discretion. Remember what you have seen, butdo not make any notes." Yet here at this moment was Cary disregardingthe orders of a Commander-in-Chief whom he worshipped. He tried tosquare his conscience by reflecting that no more than three peopleknew of the existence of his Notes or of the book which he was writingfrom them, and that each one of those three was as trustworthy ashimself. So he went on collating, comparing, writing, and the heapupon his table grew bigger under his hands.
The clock had just struck twelve upon that morning when a servantentered and said, "A gentleman to see you, sir, upon importantbusiness. His name is Mr. Dawson."
Cary jumped up and went to his dining-room, where the visitor waswaiting. The name had meant nothing to him, but the instant his eyesfell upon Mr. Dawson he remembered that he was the chief Scotland Yardofficer who had come north to teach the local police how to keep trackof the German agents who infested the shipbuilding centres. Cary hadmet Dawson more than once, and had assisted him with his intimatelocal knowledge. He greeted his visitor with smiling courtesy, butDawson did not smile. His first words, indeed, came like shots from anautomatic pistol.
"Mr. Cary," said he, "I want to see your Naval Notes."
 
; Cary was staggered, for the three people whom I have mentioned did notinclude Mr. Dawson. "Certainly," said he, "I will show them to you ifyou ask officially. But how in the world did you hear anything aboutthem?"
"I am afraid that a good many people know about them, most undesirablepeople too. If you will show them to me--I am asking officially--Iwill tell you what I know."
Cary led the way to his study. Dawson glanced round the room, at thepapers heaped upon the table, at the tall windows bare ofcurtains--Cary, who loved light and sunshine, hated curtains--andgrowled. Then he locked the door, pulled down the thick blue blindsrequired by the East Coast lighting orders, and switched on theelectric lights though it was high noon in May. "That's better," saidhe. "You are an absolutely trustworthy man, Mr. Cary. I know all aboutyou. But you are damned careless. That bare window is overlooked fromhalf a dozen flats. You might as well do your work in the street."
Dawson picked up some of the papers, and their purport was explainedto him by Cary. "I don't know anything of naval details," said he,"but I don't need any evidence of the value of the stuff here. Theenemy wants it, wants it badly; that is good enough for me."
"But," remonstrated Cary, "no one knows of these papers, or of the useto which I am putting them, except my son in the Navy, my wife (whohas not read a line of them), and my publisher in London."
"Hum!" commented Dawson. "Then how do you account for this?"
He opened his leather despatch-case and drew forth a parcel carefullywrapped up in brown paper. Within the wrapping was a large whiteenvelope of the linen woven paper used for registered letters, andgenerously sealed. To Cary's surprise, for the envelope appeared to besecure, Dawson cautiously opened it so as not to break the seal whichwas adhering to the flap and drew out a second smaller envelope, alsosealed. This he opened in the same delicate way and took out a third;from the third he drew a fourth, and so on until eleven emptyenvelopes had been added to the litter piled upon Cary's table, andthe twelfth, a small one, remained in Dawson's hands.
"Did you ever see anything so childish?" observed he, indicating theenvelopes. "A big, registered, sealed Chinese puzzle like that is justcrying out to be opened. We would have seen the inside of that oneeven if it had been addressed to the Lord Mayor, and not to--well,someone in whom we are deeply interested, though he does not know it."
Cary, who had been fascinated by the succession of sealed envelopes,stretched out his hand towards one of them. "Don't touch," snapped outDawson. "Your clumsy hands would break the seals, and then there wouldbe the devil to pay. Of course all these envelopes were first openedin my office. It takes a dozen years to train men to open sealedenvelopes so that neither flap nor seal is broken, and both can beagain secured without showing a sign of disturbance. It is a tradesecret."
Dawson's expert fingers then opened the twelfth envelope, and heproduced a letter. "Now, Mr. Cary, if we had not known you and alsoknown that you were absolutely honest and loyal--though dangerouslysimple-minded and careless in the matter of windows--this letter wouldhave been very awkward indeed for you. It runs: 'Hagan arrives 10.30p.m. Wednesday to get Cary's Naval Notes. Meet him. Urgent.' Had wenot known you, Mr. Richard Cary might have been asked to explain howHagan knew all about his Naval Notes and was so very confident ofbeing able to get them."
Cary smiled. "I have often felt," said he, "especially in war-time,that it was most useful to be well known to the police. You may ask meanything you like, and I will do my best to answer. I confess that Iam aghast at the searchlight of inquiry which has suddenly been turnedupon my humble labours. My son at sea knows nothing of the Notesexcept what I have told him in my letters, my wife has not read a lineof them, and my publisher is the last man to talk. I seem to havesuddenly dropped into the middle of a detective story." The poor manscratched his head and smiled ruefully at the Scotland Yard officer.
"Mr. Cary," said Dawson, "those windows of yours would account foranything. You have been watched for a long time, and I am perfectlysure that our friend Hagan and his associates here know precisely inwhat drawer of that desk you keep your Naval Papers. Your flat is easyto enter--I had a look round before coming in to-day--and on Wednesdaynight (that is to-morrow) there will be a scientific burglary here andyour Notes will be stolen."
"Oh no they won't," cried Cary. "I will take them down this afternoonto my office and lock them up in the big safe. It will put me to a lotof bother, for I shall also have to lock up there the chapters of mybook."
"You newspaper men ought all to be locked up yourselves. You are acursed nuisance to honest, hard-worked Scotland Yard men like me. Butyou mistake the object of my visit. I want this flat to be enteredto-morrow night, and I want your Naval Papers to be stolen."
For a moment the wild thought came to Cary that this man Dawson--thechosen of the Yard--was himself a German Secret Service agent, andmust have shown in his eyes some signs of the suspicion, for Dawsonlaughed loudly. "No, Mr. Cary, I am not in the Kaiser's pay, nor areyou, though the case against you might be painted pretty black. Thisman Hagan is on our string in London, and we want him very badlyindeed. Not to arrest--at least not just yet--but to keep runninground showing us his pals and all their little games. He is anIrish-American, a very unbenevolent neutral, to whom we want to give anice, easy, happy time, so that he can mix himself up thoroughly withthe spy business and wrap a rope many times round his neck. We willpull on to the end when we have finished with him, but not a minutetoo soon. He is too precious to be frightened. Did you ever comeacross such an ass"--Dawson contemptuously indicated the pile ofsealed envelopes; "he must have soaked himself in American dime novelsand cinema crime films. He will be of more use to us than a dozen ofour best officers. I feel that I love Hagan, and won't have himdisturbed. When he comes here to-morrow night, he shall be seen, butnot heard. He shall enter this room, lift your Notes, which shall bein their usual drawer, and shall take them safely away. After that Irather fancy that we shall enjoy ourselves, and that the salt willstick very firmly upon Hagan's little tail."
Cary did not at all like this plan; it might offer amusement andinstruction to the police, but seemed to involve himself in anexcessive amount of responsibility. "Will it not be far too risky tolet him take my Notes even if you do shadow him closely afterwards? Hewill get them copied and scattered amongst a score of agents, one ofwhom may get the information through to Germany. You know your job, ofcourse, but the risk seems too big for me. After all, they are myNotes, and I would far sooner burn them now than that the Germansshould see a line of them."
Dawson laughed again. "You are a dear, simple soul, Mr. Cary; it doesone good to meet you. Why on earth do you suppose I came here to-dayif it were not to enlist your help? Hagan is going to take all therisks; you and I are not looking for any. He is going to steal someNaval Notes, but they will not be those which lie on this table. Imyself will take charge of those and of the chapters of your mostreprehensible book. You shall prepare, right now, a beautiful newartistic set of notes calculated to deceive. They must be accuratewhere any errors would be spotted, but wickedly false whereverdeception would be good for Fritz's health. I want you to get down toa real plant. This letter shall be sealed up again in its twelve sillyenvelopes and go by registered post to Hagan's correspondent. Youshall have till to-morrow morning to invent all those things which wewant Fritz to believe about the Navy. Make us out to be as rotten asyou plausibly can. Give him some heavy losses to gloat over and totempt him out of harbour. Don't overdo it, but mix up your fictionwith enough facts to keep it sweet and make it sound convincing. Ifyou do your work well--and the Naval authorities here seem to think alot of you--Hagan will believe in your Notes, and will try to get themto his German friends at any cost or risk, which will be exactly whatwe want of him. Then, when he has served our purpose, he will findthat we--have--no--more--use--for--him."
Dawson accompanied this slow, harmlessly sounding sentence with a grimand nasty smile. Cary, before whose eyes flashed for a moment thevision of a chill dawn, cold
grey walls, and a silent firing party,shuddered. It was a dirty task to lay so subtle a trap even for adirty Irish-American spy. His honest English soul revolted at the callupon his brains and knowledge, but common sense told him that in thisway, Dawson's way, he could do his country a very real service. For afew minutes he mused over the task set to his hand, and then spoke.
"All right. I think that I can put up exactly what you want. The fakedNotes shall be ready when you come to-morrow. I will give the wholeday to them."
In the morning the new set of Naval Papers was ready, and theirpurport was explained in detail to Dawson, who chuckled joyously."This is exactly what Admiral ---- wants, and it shall get through toGermany by Fritz's own channels. I have misjudged you, Mr. Cary; Ithought you little better than a fool, but that story here of acollision in a fog and the list of damaged Queen Elizabeths in dockwould have taken in even me. Fritz will suck it down like cream. Ilike that effort even better than your grave comments on damagedturbines and worn-out gun tubes. You are a genius, Mr. Cary, and Imust take you to lunch with the Admiral this very day. You can explainthe plant better than I can, and he is dying to hear all about it. Oh,by the way, he particularly wants a description of the failure tocomplete the latest batch of big shell fuses, and the shortage oflyddite. You might get that done before the evening. Now for theburglary. Do nothing, nothing at all, outside your usual routine. Comehome at your usual hour, go to bed as usual, and sleep soundly if youcan. Should you hear any noise in the night, put your head under thebedclothes. Say nothing to Mrs. Cary unless you are obliged, and forGod's sake don't let any woman--wife, daughter, or maid-servant--disturb my pearl of a burglar while he is at work. He must havea clear run, with everything exactly as he expects to find it.Can I depend upon you?"
"I don't pretend to like the business," said Cary, "but you can dependupon me to the letter of my orders."
"Good," cried Dawson. "That is all I want."
II. THE TRAP CLOSES
Cary heard no noise, though he lay awake for most of the night,listening intently. The flat seemed to be more quiet even than usual.There was little traffic in the street below, and hardly a step brokethe long silence of the night. Early in the morning--at sixB.S.T.--Cary slipped out of bed, stole down to his study, and pulledopen the deep drawer in which he had placed the bundle of faked NavalNotes. They had gone! So the Spy-Burglar had come, and, carefullyshepherded by Dawson's sleuth-hounds, had found the primrose path easyfor his crime. To Cary, the simple, honest gentleman, the whole plotseemed to be utterly revolting--justified, of course, by the country'sneeds in time of war, but none the less revolting. There is nothing ofglamour in the Secret Service, nothing of romance, little even ofexcitement. It is a cold-blooded exercise of wits against wits, ofspies against spies. The amateur plays a fish upon a line and giveshim a fair run for his life, but the professional fisherman--to whom asalmon is a people's food--nets him coldly and expeditiously as hecomes in from the sea.
Shortly after breakfast there came a call from Dawson on thetelephone. "All goes well. Come to my office as soon as possible."Cary found Dawson bubbling with professional satisfaction. "It wasbeautiful," cried he. "Hagan was met at the train, taken to a place weknow of, and shadowed by us tight as wax. We now know all hisassociates--the swine have not even the excuse of being German. Heburgled your flat himself while one of his gang watched outside. Nevermind where I was; you would be surprised if I told you; but I saweverything. He has the faked papers, is busy making copies, and thisafternoon is going down the river in a steamer to get a glimpse of theshipyards and docks and check your Notes as far as can be done. Willthey stand all right?"
"Quite all right," said Cary. "The obvious things were givencorrectly."
"Good. We will be in the steamer."
Cary went that afternoon, quite unchanged in appearance by Dawson'sorder. "If you try to disguise yourself," declared that expert, "youwill be spotted at once. Leave the refinements to us." Dawson himselfwent as an elderly dug-out officer with the rank marks of a colonel,and never spoke a word to Cary upon the whole trip down and up theteeming river. Dawson's men were scattered here and there--one apassenger of inquiring mind, another a deckhand, yet a third--a prettygirl in khaki--sold tea and cakes in the vessel's saloon. Hagan--who,Cary heard afterwards, wore the brass-bound cap and blue kit of a matein the American merchant service--was never out of sight for aninstant of Dawson or of one of his troupe. He busied himself with astrong pair of marine glasses, and now and then asked innocentquestions of the ship's deckhands. He had evidently himself onceserved as a sailor. One deckhand, an idle fellow to whom Hagan wasvery civil, told his questioner quite a lot of interesting detailsabout the Navy ships, great and small, which could be seen upon thebuilding slips. All these details tallied strangely with thoserecorded in Cary's Notes. The trip up and down the river was a greatsuccess for Hagan and for Dawson, but for Cary it was rather a bore.He felt somehow out of the picture. In the evening Dawson called atCary's office and broke in upon him. "We had a splendid trip to-day,"said he. "It exceeded my utmost hopes. Hagan thinks no end of yourNotes, but he is not taking any risks. He leaves in the morning forGlasgow to do the Clyde and to check some more of your stuff. Wouldyou like to come?" Cary remarked that he was rather busy, and thatthese river excursions, though doubtless great fun for Dawson, wererather poor sport for himself. Dawson laughed joyously--he was acheerful soul when he had a spy upon his string. "Come along," saidhe. "See the thing through. I should like you to be in at the death."Cary observed that he had no stomach for cold, damp dawns and firingparties.
"I did not quite mean that," replied Dawson. "Those closing ceremoniesare still strictly private. But you should see the chase through to afinish. You are a newspaper man, and should be eager for newexperiences."
"I will come," said Cary, rather reluctantly. "But I warn you that mysympathies are steadily going over to Hagan. The poor devil does notlook to have a dog's chance against you."
"He hasn't," said Dawson, with great satisfaction.
Cary, to whom the wonderful Clyde was as familiar as the river nearhis own home, found the second trip almost as wearisome as the first.But not quite. He was now able to recognise Hagan, who again appearedas a brass-bounder, and did not affect to conceal his deep interest inthe naval panorama offered by the river. Nothing of real importancecan, of course, be learned from a casual steamer trip, but Haganseemed to think otherwise, for he was always either watching throughhis glasses or asking apparently artless questions of passengers orpassing deckhands. Again a sailor seemed disposed to be communicative;he pointed out more than one monster in steel, red raw with surfacerust, and gave particulars of a completed power which would havesurprised the Admiralty Superintendent. They would not, however, havesurprised Mr. Cary, in whose ingenious brain they had been conceived.This second trip, like the first, was declared by Dawson to have beena great success. "Did you know me?" he asked. "I was a clean-shavennaval doctor, about as unlike the army colonel of the first trip as apigeon is unlike a gamecock. Hagan is off to London to-night by theNorth-Western. There are two copies of your Notes. One is going byEdinburgh and the east coast, and another by the Midland. Hagan hasthe original masterpiece. I will look after him and leave the twoother messengers to my men. I have been on to the Yard by 'phone, andhave arranged that all three shall have passports for Holland. The twocopies shall reach the Kaiser, bless him, but I really must haveHagan's set of Notes for my Museum."
"And what will become of Hagan?" asked Cary.
"Come and see," said Mr. Dawson.
Dawson entertained Cary at dinner in a private room at the StationHotel, waited upon by one of his own confidential men. "Nobody eversees me," he observed, with much satisfaction, "though I ameverywhere." (I suspect that Dawson is not without his littlevanities.) "Except in my office and with people whom I know well, Iam always some one else. The first time I came to your house I wore abeard, and the second time looked like a gas inspector. You saw onlythe real Dawson. When one ha
s got the passion for the chase in one'sblood, one cannot bide for long in a stuffy office. As I have a jewelof an assistant, I can always escape and follow up my own victims.This man Hagan is a black heartless devil. Don't waste your sympathyon him, Mr. Cary. He took money from us quite lately to betray thesilly asses of Sinn Feiners, and now, thinking us hoodwinked, is aftermore money from the Kaiser. He is of the type that would sell his ownmother and buy a mistress with the money. He's not worth your pity. Weuse him and his like for just so long as they can be useful, and thenthe jaws of the trap close. By letting him take those faked Notes wehave done a fine stroke for the Navy, for the Yard, and for BillDawson. We have got into close touch with four new German agents hereand two more down south. We shan't seize them yet; just keep themhanging on and use them. That's the game. I am never anxious about anagent when I know him and can keep him watched. Anxious, bless you; Ilove him like a cat loves a mouse. I've had some spies on my stringever since the war began; I wouldn't have them touched or worried forthe world. Their correspondence tells me everything, and if a letterto Holland which they haven't written slips in sometimes, it's useful,very useful, as useful almost as your faked Notes."
Half an hour before the night train was due to leave for the South,Dawson, very simply but effectively changed in appearance--for Haganknew by sight the real Dawson--led Cary to the middle sleeping-coachon the train. "I have had Hagan put in No. 5," he said, "and you and Iwill take Nos. 4 and 6. No. 5 is an observation berth; there is onefixed up for us on this sleeping-coach. Come in here." He pulled Caryinto No. 4, shut the door, and pointed to a small wooden knob set afew inches below the luggage rack. "If one unscrews that knob one cansee into the next berth, No. 5. No. 6 is fitted in the same way, sothat we can rake No. 5 from both sides. But, mind you, on no accounttouch those knobs until the train is moving fast and until you haveswitched out the lights. If No. 5 was dark when you opened thepeep-hole, a ray of light from your side would give the show away. Andunless there was a good deal of vibration and rattle in the train youmight be heard. Now cut away to No. 6, fasten the door, and go to bed.I shall sit up and watch, but there is nothing for you to do."
Hagan appeared in due course, was shown into No. 5 berth, and thetrain started. Cary asked himself whether he should go to bed asadvised or sit up reading. He decided to obey Dawson's orders, but totake a look in upon Hagan before settling down for the journey. Heswitched off his lights, climbed upon the bed, and carefully unscrewedthe little knob which was like the one shown to him by Dawson. A beamof light stabbed the darkness of his berth, and putting his eye withsome difficulty to the hole--one's nose gets so confoundedly in theway--he saw Hagan comfortably arranging himself for the night. The spyhad no suspicion of his watchers on both sides, for, after settlinghimself in bed, he unwrapped a flat parcel and took out a bundle ofblue papers, which Cary at once recognised as the originals of hisstolen Notes. Hagan went through them--he had put his suit-case acrosshis knees to form a desk--and carefully made marginal jottings. Cary,who had often tried to write in trains, could not but admire the man'slaborious patience. He painted his letters and figures over and overagain, in order to secure distinctness, in spite of the swaying of thetrain, and frequently stopped to suck the point of his pencil.
"I suppose," thought Cary, "that Dawson yonder is just gloating overhis prey, but for my part I feel an utterly contemptible beast. Neveragain will I set a trap for even the worst of my fellow-creatures." Heput back the knob, went to bed, and passed half the night in extrememental discomfort and the other half in snatching brief intervals ofsleep. It was not a pleasant journey.
Dawson did not come out of his berth at Euston until after Hagan hadleft the station in a taxi-cab, much to Cary's surprise, and then wasquite ready, even anxious, to remain for breakfast at the hotel. Heexplained his strange conduct. "Two of my men," said he, as hewallowed in tea and fried soles--one cannot get Dover soles in theweary North--"who travelled in ordinary compartments, are after Haganin two taxis, so that if one is delayed, the other will keep touch.Hagan's driver also has had a police warning, so that our spy is in abarbed-wire net. I shall hear before very long all about him."
Cary and Dawson spent the morning at the hotel with a telephone besidethem; every few minutes the bell would ring, and a whisper of Hagan'smovements steal over the wires into the ears of the spider Dawson. Hereported progress to Cary with ever-increasing satisfaction.
"Hagan has applied for and been granted a passport to Holland, and hasbooked a passage in the boat which leaves Harwich to-night for theHook. We will go with him. The other two spies, with the copies,haven't turned up yet, but they are all right. My men will see themsafe across into Dutch territory, and make sure that no blunderingCustoms officer interferes with their papers. This time the way oftransgressors shall be very soft. As for Hagan, he is not going toarrive."
"I don't quite understand why you carry on so long with him," saidCary, who, though tired, could not but feel intense interest in theperfection of the police system and in the serene confidence ofDawson. The Yard could, it appeared, do unto the spies precisely whatDawson chose to direct.
"Hagan is an American citizen," explained Dawson. "If he had been aBritish subject I would have taken him at Euston--we have fullevidence of the burglary, and of the stolen papers in his suit-case.But as he is a damned unbenevolent neutral we must prove his intentionto sell the papers to Germany. Then we can deal with him by secretcourt-martial.[1] The journey to Holland will prove this intention.Hagan has been most useful to us in Ireland, and now in the North ofEngland and in Scotland, but he is too enterprising and too daring tobe left any longer on the string. I will draw the ends together at theHook."
[Footnote 1: Author's Note: This conversation is dated May, 1916.]
"I did not want to go to Holland," said Cary to me, when telling hisstory. "I was utterly sick and disgusted with the whole cold-bloodedgame of cat and mouse, but the police needed my evidence about theNotes and the burglary, and did not intend to let me slip out of theirclutches. Dawson was very civil and pleasant, but I was in fact astightly held upon his string as was the wretched Hagan. So I went onto Holland with that quick-change artist, and watched him come onboard the steamer at Parkeston Quay, dressed as a ratherGerman-looking commercial traveller, eager for war commissions uponsmuggled goods. This sounds absurd, but his get-up seemed somehow tosuggest the idea. Then I went below. Dawson always kept away from mewhenever Hagan might have seen us together."
The passage across to Holland was free from incident; there was nosign that we were at war, and Continental traffic was being carriedserenely on, within easy striking distance of the German submarinebase at Zeebrugge. The steamer had drawn in to the Hook beside thetrain, and Hagan was approaching the gangway, suit-case in hand. Theman was on the edge of safety; once upon Dutch soil, Dawson could nothave laid hands upon him. He would have been a neutral citizen in aneutral country, and no English warrant would run against him. Butbetween Hagan and the gangway suddenly interposed the tall form of theship's captain; instantly the man was ringed about by officers, andbefore he could say a word or move a hand he was gripped hard and ledacross the deck to the steamer's chart-house. Therein sat Dawson, thereal, undisguised Dawson, and beside him sat Richard Cary. Hagan'sface, which two minutes earlier had been glowing with triumph and withthe anticipation of German gold beyond the dreams of avarice, wentwhite as chalk. He staggered and gasped as one stabbed to the heart,and dropped into a chair. His suit-case fell from his relaxed fingersto the floor.
"Give him a stiff brandy-and-soda," directed Dawson, almost kindly,and when the victim's colour had ebbed back a little from hisovercharged heart, and he had drunk deep of the friendly cordial, thedetective put him out of pain. The game of cat and mouse was over.
"It is all up, Hagan," said the detective gently. "Face the music andmake the best of it, my poor friend. This is Mr. Richard Cary, and youhave not for a moment been out of our sight since you left London forthe North four days ago."
r /> When I had completed the writing of his story I showed the MS. toRichard Cary, who was pleased to express a general approval. "Not atall bad, Copplestone," said he, "not at all bad. You have clothed mydry bones in real flesh and blood. But you have missed what to me isthe outstanding feature of the whole affair, that which justifies tomy mind the whole rather grubby business. Let me give you two dates.On May 25 two copies of my faked Notes were shepherded through toHolland and reached the Germans; on May 31 was fought the Battle ofJutland. Can the brief space between these dates have been merely anaccident? I cannot believe it. No, I prefer to believe that in myhumble way I induced the German Fleet to issue forth and to risk anaction which, under more favourable conditions for us, would haveresulted in their utter destruction. I may be wrong, but I am happy inretaining my faith."
"What became of Hagan?" I asked, for I wished to bring the narrativeto a clean artistic finish.
"I am not sure," answered Cary, "though I gave evidence as ordered bythe court-martial. But I rather think that I have here Hagan'sepitaph." He took out his pocket-book, and drew forth a slip of paperupon which was gummed a brief newspaper cutting. This he handed to me,and I read as follows:
"The War Office announces that a prisoner who was charged with espionage and recently tried by court-martial at the Westminster Guildhall was found guilty and sentenced to death. The sentence was duly confirmed and carried out yesterday morning."
* * * * *
Two months passed. Summer, what little there was of it, had gone, andmy spirits were oppressed by the wet and fog and dirt of November inthe North. I desired neither to write nor to read. My one overpoweringlonging was to go to sleep until the war was over and then to awake ina new world in which a decent civilised life would once more bepossible.
In this unhappy mood I was seated before my study fire when a servantbrought me a card. "A gentleman," said she, "wishes to see you. I saidthat you were engaged, but he insisted. He's a terrible man, sir."
I looked at the card, annoyed at being disturbed; but at the sight ofit my torpor fell from me, for upon it was written the name of thatdetective officer whom in my story I had called William Dawson, and inthe corner were the letters "C.I.D." (Criminal InvestigationDepartment). I had become a criminal, and was about to beinvestigated!