CHAPTER XV
DAWSON REAPPEARS
I had seen nothing of Dawson during my intimate association withMadame Gilbert. He had written to me copiously--for a very busy man hewas a curiously voluminous letter-writer. He always employed the backsof official forms and wrote in pencil. His handwriting, large andround, was that of a man who had received a good and careful BoardSchool education, but was quite free from personal characteristics.Dawson's letters in no respect resembled the man. They were very long,very dull, and very crudely phrased. He had evidently tried to putthem into what he conceived to be a literary shape, and the effect wasdeplorable. One may read such letters, the work of unskilled writers,in the newspapers which devote space to "Correspondence." The writers,like Dawson, can probably talk vividly and forcibly, using strongnervous vernacular English, but the moment they take the pen allthought and individual character become swamped in a flood of turgid,commonplace jargon. I was disappointed with Dawson's letters, and I amsure that he will be even more disappointed when he finds none of themmade immortal in this book. His purpose in sending them to me willhave been ruthlessly defeated.
A week after Madame had vanished down my lift for the last time,Dawson--in the make-up with which I was most familiar--called upon meat my office. He also came to say good-bye, for a turn of the officialwheel had come, and he was ordered south to resume his duties at theYard. He was, he told me, taking a last tour of inspection to makecertain that the Secret Service net, which he had designed and laid,would be deftly worked by the hands of his subordinates. "I shall notbe sorry," said he, "to get back to my deserted family and to be oncemore the plain man Dawson whom God made."
"You have so many different incarnations," I observed, "that I wonderthe original has not escaped your memory."
He smiled. "If I had forgotten," said he, "my wife would soon remindme. She always insists that she married a certain man Dawson anddeclines to recognise any other."
"So if I come south to visit you, I shall see the original?"
"You will."
"Thanks," said I; "I will come at the earliest opportunity."
"I don't say that if you call at the Yard you will see quite the sameperson whom you will meet at Acacia Villas, Primrose Road, Tooting."
"That would be too much to expect. But under any guise, Dawson, I amalways sure of knowing you."
"Yes, confound you. I would give six months' pay to know how you doit."
"You shall know some day, and without any bribery. Now that you arehere, talk, talk, talk. I want to get the taste of those rottenletters of yours out of my mouth."
He looked surprised and hurt. He looked exactly as a famous sculptorlooked who, when a beautiful work of his hands was unveiled, wished meto publish a descriptive sonnet from his pen. I bluntly refused. Hewas an admirable sculptor, but a dreadful sonneteer. Yet in his secretheart he valued the sonnet far above the statue. In this strange waywe are made.
I did not conceal from Dawson my interest in Madame Gilbert, and herather rudely expressed strong disapproval. He suggested that for amarried man I was much too free in my ways. "That woman is full ofbrains," said he, "but she is the artfullest hussy ever made. She willturn any man around her pretty fingers if he gives way to her. She hasmade a nice fool of you and of that ass Froissart. She even tried herlittle games with me--with me indeed. But I was too strong for her."
I regarded Dawson with some interest and more pity. The poor fellowdid not realise that Madame had for years moulded him to her handslike potter's clay. She had mastered him by ingenuously pretendingthat he stood upon a serene pinnacle far removed from her influence.He had preened his feathers and done her bidding.
"We are not all strong--like you, Dawson," said I mildly.
I switched Dawson off the subject of Madame Gilbert, and directed hismind towards the contemplation of his own exploits. When handledjudiciously he will talk freely and frankly, giving away officialsecrets with both hands. But his confidences always relate to thepast, to incidents completed. When he has a delicate job on hand, hecan be as close as the English Admiralty, even to me. He has no senseof proportion. Again and again he has recounted the interminabledetails of cases in which I take not the smallest interest, and hasignored all my efforts to dam the unprofitable flood of narrative andto divert the current into more fruitful channels. He looks ateverything from the Dawson standpoint, and cares for nothing whichdoes not add to the glory of Dawson. Unless he fills the stage, anincident has for him no value or concern. Happily for me the moststartling of his exploits, that of bending a timid War Committee ofthe Cabinet to his will in the winter of 1915-1916, and of bluffinginto utter submission nearly a hundred thousand rampant munitionworkers who were eager to "down tools," fulfils all the Dawsonconditions of importance. He and he alone filled a star part, to himand to him alone belonged the success of an incredibly bold manoeuvre.I have drawn Dawson as I saw him, in his weakness and in his strength.I have revealed his vanity and the carefully hidden tenderness of hisheart. In my whimsical way I have perhaps treated him as essentially afigure of fun. But though I may smile at him, even rudely laugh athim, he is a great public servant who once at least--though few at thetime knew--saved his country from a most grievous peril.
In the early weeks of 1916, when work for the Navy, and work in thegun and ammunition shops which were rapidly being organised all overthe country, were within a very little of being suspended by a generalstrike of workmen, terrified for their threatened trade-unionprivileges, the strength and resource of Dawson put forth boldly inthe North dammed the peril at its source. In spite of the penaltieslaid down in Munition Acts, in spite of the powers vested in militaryauthorities by the Defence of the Realm Regulations, there would havebeen a great strike, and both the Navy and the New Army would havebeen hung up gasping for the ships, the guns, and the supplies uponwhich they had based all their plans for attack and defence. Thedanger arose over that still insistent problem--the "dilution oflabour." The new armies had withdrawn so many skilled and unskilledworkmen from the workshops, and the demands for munitions of all kindswere so overwhelming, that wholly new and strange methods ofrecruiting labour were urgent. Women must be employed in largenumbers, in millions; machinery must be put to its full use withoutregard for the restrictions of unions, if the country were to besaved. Many of the younger and more open-minded of the trade-unionofficials had enlisted; many of those older ones who remained couldnot bend their stiff minds to the necessity for new conditions. Theywere not consciously unpatriotic--their sons were fighting and dying;they were not consciously seditious, though secret enemy agents movedamongst them, and talked treason with them in the jargon of theirtrades. They simply could not understand that the hardly wonprivileges of peace must yield to the greater urgencies of war.
Civilians came north to examine the position on behalf of the Ministryof Munitions; they came, wrung their hands, and reported in terrorthat if dilution were pressed, a hundred thousand men would be "out."Yet the risk had to be taken, for dilution must be pressed. Dawson washard at work sweeping into his widespread net all those whom he knewto be enemy agents and all those whom he suspected. It was not anoccasion for squeamishness. With the consent of his officialsuperiors, he picked up with those prehensile fingers of his many ofthe most troublesome of the union agitators, and deported them to safespots far distant, where they were constrained to cease fromtroubling. Still the danger increased, and he saw that a few days onlycould intervene between industrial peace and war. Already themanufacture of heavy howitzers for the Spring Offensive had beenstopped--by a cunning embargo upon small essential parts--and themoment had arrived for a trial of strength between authority andrebellion. He made up his mind, plainly told his chiefs what his planswere, obtained their whole-hearted concurrence, and went south by thenight train. By telegram he had sent an ultimatum which struck aweinto the official mind. "Unless," he wired, in code, "the Cabinetwants a revolution, it had better meet at once and call me in. Unlessit does this at once I sha
ll not go back here. I shall resign, andleave the Government in the soup where it deserves to be."
Such a message from a man who in official eyes was no more than aChief Inspector of Police was in itself a portent. It revealed howcompletely war had upset all official standards and conventions.
To the Chief, his Commissioner, he opened his mind freely. "I am aboutfed up with politicians and lawyers," said he. "There is big troublecoming, and not a man of them all has the pluck to get his blow infirst. I have always found that men will respect an order--they liketo be governed--but they despise slop. What the devil's the use ofMinisters going North and telling the men how well they have done, andhow patriotic they are, when the men themselves all know that they'vedone damn badly and mean to do worse? I could settle the wholebusiness in twenty-four hours."
"They are frightened men, Dawson," said the Chief. "That is the matterwith the Government. They have been brought up to slobber over thepublic and try to cheat it out of votes. They can't tell the truth.When hard deadly reality breaks through their web of make-believe,they cower together in corners and howl. I doubt if you will get afree hand, Dawson. What do you want--martial law?"
"Yes. That, or something like it. If I have the threat of it at myback, so that it rests with me, and me alone, to put it into force, Ishall not need to use it. But I must go North with the proclamation inmy pocket or I shall not go North at all. Here is my resignation."Dawson tossed a letter upon the table, and laughed. The Chief pickedit up and read the curt lines in which Dawson delivered his last word.
"Good man," commented he; "that is the way to talk. They can'tunderstand how any man can have the grit to resign a fat job before heis kicked out. They never do. They compromise. You may put starch intotheir soft backbones, but personally I doubt the possibility. But atleast you will get your chance. There is to be a meeting of the WarCommittee the first thing to-morrow morning and you are to besummoned. I told the Home Secretary that I should resign myself ifthey did not give you a full opportunity to state your case. I willsupport you as long as I am in this chair."
Dawson held out his hand. "Thank you," he said simply. The two menclasped hands and looked into one another's eyes. "It is a goodcountry, Dawson," said the Chief--"a jolly good country, and worth bigrisks to oneself. It will be saved by plain, honest men if it is to besaved at all. Our worst enemies are not the Germans, but ourflabby-fibred political classes at home. The people are just cryingout to be told what to do, and to be made to do it. Yet nobody tellsthem. Don't let the Cabinet browbeat you, and smother you withplausible sophistries. Just talk plain English to them, Dawson."
"I will. For once in their sheltered lives they shall hear the truth."
For what follows, Dawson is my principal, but not my sole authority. Ihave tested what he told me in every way that I could, and the testhas held. Somehow--I am prepared to believe in the manner told byhim--he forced the Cabinet to give him the authority for which heasked, and he used it in the manner which I shall tell of. He heldwhat is always a first-rate advantage: he knew exactly what he wanted,no more or less, and was prepared to get it or retire from officiallife. Those who gave to him authority gave it reluctantly--gave itbecause they were between the devil and the deep sea. They wouldgladly have thrown over Dawson, but they could not throw over thecivil and military powers who supported him in his demands. And hadthey thrown him over they would have been left to deal by theirincompetent unaided selves with a strike in the midst of war whichmight have spread like a prairie fire over the whole country. Butthough they bent before Dawson, I am very sure that they did not lovehim, and that he will never be the Chief Commissioner of MetropolitanPolice. Against his name in the official books stands a mark of themost deadly blackness. Strength and success are never pardoned byweakness and failure.
When at last Dawson was summoned to the sitting; of the War Committee,he found himself in the presence of some half a dozen elderly andembarrassed-looking gentlemen arranged round a big table. They hadbeen discussing him, and trying to devise some decent civil means toget rid of him. He and his story of the coming strike in the Northwere a distressful inconvenience, an intolerable intrusion upon aquiet life. When he entered, he was without a friend in the room,except the War Minister who loved a man who knew his own mind and wasprepared to accept big responsibilities. But even he doubted whetherit were possible to achieve the results aimed at with the meansrequired by Dawson.
Our friend suffered from no illusions. "I knew what I was up against,"he said to me long afterwards. "I knew that they were all longing tobe quit of me and to go to sleep again. But I had made up my mind thatthey should get some very plain speaking. I would compel them tounderstand that what I offered was a forlorn chance of averting acivil war, and that if they refused my offer they would be left tothemselves--not to stamp out a spark of revolution, but to subdue aroaring furnace. They could take their choice in the certain knowledgethat if they chose wrongly the North would be in flames withinforty-eight hours. It was a great experience, Mr. Copplestone. I havenever enjoyed anything half so much."
Dawson was offered a chair set some six feet distant from the sacredtable, but he preferred to stand. His early training held, and he wasnot comfortable in the presence of his superiors in rank or stationexcept when standing firmly at attention.
The Prime Minister fumbled with some papers, looked over them for afew embarrassed minutes, and then spoke.
"Great pressure has been placed upon us, Mr. Dawson, to see you and tohear your report. Great pressure--to my mind improper pressure. I havehere letters from Magistrates, Lords Lieutenant, competent militaryauthorities, naval officers superintending shipyards, officials of theMunitions Department. They all declare that the industrial outlook inthe North is most perilous, and that at any moment a situation mayarise which will be fraught with the gravest peril to the country. Wehave replied that the law provides adequate remedies, but to that theretort is made that the men who are at the root of the grave troublespending snap their fingers at the law. We are pressed to take counselwith you, though why the high officers who communicate with me should,as it were, shift their responsibilities upon the shoulders of a ChiefInspector of Scotland Yard I am at a loss to comprehend. What I wouldask of my colleagues is this: who is in fact responsible for themaintenance of a due observance of law in the Northern district fromwhich you have come, and where you appear to discharge unofficial andwholly irregular functions? Who is responsible? Perhaps my learnedfriend the Home Secretary can enlighten us?" The Prime Ministerpaused, and smiled happily to himself. He had at least made thingsnasty for an intrusive colleague. But the Home Secretary, suave,alert, was not to be caught. He at any rate was not prepared to admitresponsibility.
"It is possible, sir," he said, "that in some vague, undefined,constitutional way I am responsible for the police service of theUnited Kingdom. But happily my direct charge does not in practiceextend beyond England. The centre of disturbance appears to be on thenorthern side of the Border, within the jurisdiction of the Secretaryfor Scotland. It is possible that my right honourable friend who holdsthat office, and whom I am pleased to see here with us, will answerthe Prime Minister's question. He is responsible for his obstreperouscountrymen." The Home Secretary paused, and also smiled happily tohimself. He had evaded a trap, and had involved an unloved colleaguein its meshes; what more could be required of a highly placedMinister?
"God forbid!" cried the Scottish Secretary hastily. "These aggressiveand troublesome workmen are no countrymen of mine. It is true," headded pensively, "that when I am in the North I claim that a somewhatshadowy Scottish ancestry makes of me a Scot to the finger tips, butno sooner do I cross the Border upon my return to London than I revertviolently to my English self. A kindly Providence has ordained thatthe central Scottish Office should be in London, and my urgent dutiescompel me to reside there permanently. Which is indeed fortunate. Itis true that technically my responsibilities cover everything, ornearly everything, which occurs in the unruly North, bu
t I do notinterfere with the discretion of those on the spot who know the localconditions and can deal adequately with them. I am content to rest myaction upon the advice of those responsible authorities whoseconsidered opinions have been quoted by the Prime Minister."
The Prime Minister smiled no more. The wheel which he had jogged soagreeably had come full round, and, in colloquial speech, had biffedhim in the eye. He fumbled the papers once more, and frowned.
"It seems to me," plaintively put in the First Lord of the Admiralty(a political chief very different from the one whom Dawson encounteredin Chapter XII), "though I am a child in these high matters, that noone is ever responsible for the exercise of those duties with which heis nominally charged. For, consider my own case. Though I am the FirstLord, and attend daily at the Admiralty, I am convinced that theactive and accomplished young gentleman whom I had the misfortune tosucceed regards himself as still responsible to the people of thiscountry for the disposition and control of the Fleets. At least thatis the not unnatural impression which I derive from his frequentspeeches and newspaper articles."
There was a general laugh, in which all joined except the War Ministerand Dawson. They were not politicians.
"If there is a big strike," growled the War Minister, "the SpringOffensive will be off. It is threatened now, very seriously. I ammonths behind with my howitzers."
His colleagues looked reproachfully at the famous warrior, and shifteduneasily in their chairs. He had an uncomfortable habit of blurtingforth the most unpleasant truths.
"Yes," put in the Minister for Munitions, "we are behind with thehowitzers and with ammunition of all kinds. But what can one do withthese savage brutes in the North? I went there myself and spokeplainly to them. By God's grace I am still alive, though at one momentI had given up myself for lost. At one works where I made a speech theaudience were armed with what I believe are called monkey wrenches,and showed an almost uncontrollable passion for launching them at myhead. I was hustled and wellnigh personally assaulted. Like mypatriotic friend the Scottish Secretary, I was very happy indeed whenI got south of the Border. The central office of the MunitionsDepartment is happily in London, and my urgent duties compel me toreside there permanently. I have no leisure for roving expeditions."
"This is very interesting," broke in the First Lord, who lay back inhis chair with shut eyes. "There appears to be no eagerness on thepart of any one of us to stick his hands into the northern hornets'nest, or to admit any responsibility for it. All of us, that is,except our courageous and silent friend Mr. Dawson." He opened hiseyes and smiled most winningly towards Dawson. "Would it not be wellif we gave him an opportunity of telling us what his views are?"
"I have been waiting for him to begin," growled the War Minister.
"We are at your service, Mr. Dawson," said the Prime Ministergraciously.
Dawson, standing stiffly at attention, had closely followed theconversation, and, as it proceeded, his heart sank. He despaired ofdiscovering courage and quick decision in the group of Ministersbefore him. Yet when called upon he made a last effort. If the countrywere to be saved, it must be saved by its people, not by itspoliticians, and he was a man of the people, resolute, enduring, longsuffering.
"Gentlemen," said he, "we are threatened with a strike in the Northernshops and shipyards which will cripple the country. It will beginwithin forty-eight hours. I can stop it if I go North to-night withthe full powers of the Government in my pocket, and with the means forwhich I ask. All the authorities in the North, civil, military andnaval, have approved of my plans. I ask only leave to carry them out."
"Your plans are?" snapped the War Minister.
"To get my blow in first," said Dawson simply.
The First Lord again looked at Dawson, and a glint of fighting lightflashed in his tired eyes. "Thrice armed is he who has his quarreljust; and four times he who gets his blow in first. How would you doit, Mr. Dawson."
"Yes, how?" eagerly inquired the War Minister.
"I have served," said Dawson, "in most parts of the world. When inWest Africa one is attacked by a snake, one does not wait until itbites. One cuts off its head."
"You have served?" asked the War Minister. "In what Service?"
"The Red Marines," proudly answered Dawson.
"Ah!" The War Minister was plainly interested, and Dawson had, duringthe rest of the interview, no eyes for any one except for him and forthe First Lord. He recognised these two as brother fighting men. Theothers he waved aside as civilian truck. "Ah! The Red Marines. Longservice men, the best we have. So you would cut off the snake's headbefore it can bite."
"To-morrow afternoon," explained Dawson, "I must attend a meeting ofshop stewards, over two hundred of them. They contain the head of thesnake. Give me powers, a proclamation of martial law which I may showthem, and I will cut off the snake's head."
"You soldiers are always prating about martial law," grumbled thePrime Minister. "We have given to you the amplest powers under theDefence of the Realm Act and the Munitions Act to punish strikers.Those are sufficient. I have no patience with plans for enforcing amilitary despotism."
"Excuse me, sir," said Dawson patiently, as to a child, "but if ahundred thousand men go out on strike, your Acts of Parliament will bewaste paper. You cannot lock up or fine a hundred thousand men, and ifyou could you would still be unable to make them work. No means haveever been devised to make unwilling men work, except the lash, andthat is useless with skilled labour. No one in the North cares a rapfor Acts of Parliament, but there is a mystery about martial law whichcarries terror into the hardest heart and the most stupid brain. Iwant a signed proclamation of martial law, but I undertake not toissue it unless all other forms of pressure fail. I must have it allin cold print to show to the shop stewards when I strike my blow.Without that proclamation I am helpless, and you will be helpless,too, by Friday next. This is Wednesday. Unless I cut off the snake'shead to-morrow, it will bite you here even in your sheltered London."
The Prime Minister fumbled once more with the papers before him, butthey gave him no comfort. All advised the one measure of giving fullauthority to Dawson and of trusting to his energy and skill. "Dawsonis a man of the people, and knows his own class. He can deal with themen; we can't." So the urgent appeals ran.
"And if you do not succeed? If you proclaim martial law and we have toenforce it, where shall we be then?"
"No worse off than you will be anyhow by Friday," said Dawson curtly.
"So you say. But suppose that we think you needlessly fearful. Supposethat we prefer to wait until Friday and see; what then?"
"You will see what has not been seen in our country for over a hundredyears," retorted Dawson. "You will see artillery firing shotted gunsin the streets."
The Prime Minister shrugged his shoulders, but the War Secretaryturned to his pile of maps and picked up one on which was marked allthe depots and training camps in the northern district. "How many mendo you want?" he asked.
"No khaki, thank you," replied Dawson. "It is not trained, and theworkmen are used to it. To them khaki means their sons and brothersand friends dressed up. I want my own soldiers of the _Sea Regiment_in service blue. I want eighty men from my old division at Chatham."
"Eighty!" cried the War Minister--"eighty men! You are going to stop arevolution with eighty Red Marines!"
"I could perhaps do with fewer," explained Dawson modestly. "But Iwant to make sure work. Give me eighty Marines, none of less than fiveyears' service, a couple of sergeants, and a lieutenant--a regularpukka lieutenant. Give them to me, and make me temporarily a captainin command, and I will engage to cut off the snake's head. You canhave my own head if I fail."
The Great War Minister rose, walked over to Dawson, and shook hisembarrassed hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dawson," said he.The First Lord, now fully awake, sat up and stared earnestly at thedetective. Those two, the chiefs of the Navy and the Army, had graspedthe startling fact that for once they were in the presence of a Man.The ot
hers saw only a rather ill-dressed, intrusive, vulgar policeofficer.
"I have rarely met a man with so economical a mind," went on the WarMinister, who resumed his seat. "If you had asked me for eightthousand, I should not have been surprised." He turned to the PrimeMinister. "If our resolute friend here can stop a revolution witheighty Red Marines, let him have them in God's name."
"Oh, he can have the Marines," growled the Prime Minister--"if theFirst Lord agrees. They are in his department. And if it pleases himto dress up as a temporary captain, that is nothing to me; but I drawa firm line at any proclamation of martial law."
"Well," asked the War Minister of Dawson, "what say you?"
"I must have the proclamation, my lord," replied Dawson. "Not to putup in the streets, but to show to the shop stewards. They won'tbelieve that the Cabinet has any spunk until they see the proclamationsigned by you. They know that what you say you do."
["Great Heavens," I said to Dawson, when he recounted to me thedetails of his surprising interview with the War Committee, "tact ishardly your strong suit. You could not have asked more plainly to bekicked out. The flabbier a Cabinet is, the more convinced are itsmembers of adamantine resolution."
"If I had to go down and out," replied Dawson, "I had determined to gofighting. I was there to speak my mind, not to flatter anybody."]
The silence which followed this awful speech could be felt. The PrimeMinister gasped, flushed to the eyes, and half rose to dismiss Dawsonfrom the room. He himself thought for a moment that all was lost, whenthrough the tense atmosphere ran a ripple of gay laughter. It was theFirst Lord who, with instant decision, had taken the only means tosave his new friend Dawson. He has a delightfully infectious silverylaugh, and the effect was electrical. The War Minister opened hisgreat mouth, and bellowed Ha! Ha! Ha! The Minister of Munitions puthis head down on the table and shrieked. Even the Home Secretary, asevere, humourless, legal gentleman, cackled. The Prime Minister,whose perceptions were of the quickest, saw that anger would beridiculous in the midst of laughter. He admitted the First Lord'svictory, and forced a smile.
"You are not a diplomatist, Mr. Dawson," said he reprovingly.
"Like Marcus Antonius," whispered the First Lord, as he wiped his eyesdelicately, "he is a plain, blunt man."
The War Minister pulled a sheet of paper towards' him and began towrite. He scribbled for a few minutes, made a few corrections, andthen read out slowly the words which he had set down. All present sawthat the moment of acute crisis had arrived.
"That is all that I want," said Dawson. "If you will sign that paper,my lord, I need not trouble you gentlemen any longer."
"I am one of His Majesty's principal Secretaries of State," observedthe War Minister. "Shall I sign, sir?"
"I believe," remarked the Home Secretary primly, "that if one hasregard for strict historical accuracy there is but one Secretary ofState, and that I am that one."
"I will not trouble you," said the War Minister.
"I am technically responsible for the country over which I am supposedto rule," put in the Scottish Secretary plaintively. "I speak, ofcourse under correction, but north of the Border my signature might--"
"You are not a Secretary of State," growled the War Minister, "andyour seat is not safe. No one shall sign except myself, for I have noneed to seek after working-class votes. Dawson and I will face thismusic."
"And if I decline to permit you to sign?" asked the Prime Ministerblandly. "This is not a Cabinet meeting, and we have no power tocommit the Government to so grave a step."
"You will require to fill up the vacant position of Secretary forWar," came the answer.
"And also the humble post of First Lord of the Admiralty," murmuredthat high officer of State. "We are up against realities, and Cabinetetiquette can go hang for me."
The War Minister again read aloud what he had written, signed itcarefully and deliberately, and rising up, handed it to Dawson. "Getit printed at once and go ahead, Mr. Dawson."
"Captain Dawson, R.M.L.I.," corrected the First Lord, who also roseand warmly shook hands with the new captain. "You shall be gazetted atonce. I will see the Adjutant-General myself and give orders toChatham."
"You have both made up your minds?" inquired the Prime Minister.
"Quite," said the War Secretary. The First Lord nodded.
"Very good," replied the Prime Minister; "I consent. We must above allthings preserve the unity of the Cabinet in these circumstances ofgrave national crisis."
"Clear out, Dawson," whispered the First Lord.
Dawson cleared out.