CHAPTER VI
GUESSWORK
Cary tried to shake my resolution, but I was obdurately silent. Whilehe canvassed the whole position, bringing to bear his really profoundknowledge of naval equipment and routine--and incidentally helping megreatly to realise the improbability of my own guesswork solution--Iwas able to maintain an air of lofty superiority. I must haveaggravated him intensely, unpardonably, for I was his guest. He oughtto have kicked me out. Yet he bore with me like the sweet-bloodedkindly angel that he is, and when at the end it appeared that I wasright after all, Cary was the first to pour congratulations and honestadmiration upon me. If he reads this book he will know that I amrepentant--though I must confess that I should behave in just the sameabominable way if the incident were to occur again. There is no greatvalue in repentance such as this.
We reached Dawson's office in the early afternoon, and found his chiefassistant there, but no Dawson. "The old man," remarked that officer,a typical, stolid, faithful detective sergeant, "is out on therampage. He ought by rights to sit here directing the staff and leavethe outside investigations to me. He is a high-up man, almost a deputyassistant commissioner, and has no call to be always disguisinghimself and playing his tricks on everybody. I suppose you know thatwhite-haired old gent down here ain't a bit like Bill Dawson, who'snot a day over forty?"
"I have given up wondering where the real Dawson ends and where thedisguises begin. The man I met up north wasn't the least bit like theone down here."
"A deal younger, I expect," said the chief assistant, grinning. "Heshifts about between thirty and sixty. The old man is no end of acure, and tries to take us in the same as he does you. There's aninspector at the Yard who was at school with him down Hampshire way,and ought to know what he is really like, but even he has given Dawsonup. He says that the old man does not know his own self in thelooking-glass; and as for Mrs. Dawson, I expect she has to take anyone who comes along claiming to be her husband, for she can't,possibly tell t'other from which."
"One might make a good story out of that," I observed to Cary.
"I don't understand," said he. "Mr. Dawson told me once that I knewthe real Dawson, but that few other people did."
"If he told you that," calmly observed the assistant, "you may betyour last shirt he was humbugging you. He couldn't tell the truth, notif he tried ever so."
"What is he at now?" I asked.
"I don't know, sir. And if he told me, I shouldn't believe him. Idon't take no account of a word that man says. But he's the mostsuccessful detective we've got in the whole Force. He's sure to behead of the C.I.D. one day, and then he will have to stay in hisoffice and give us others a chance."
"I don't believe he will," I observed, laughing. "There will be a shamDawson in the office and the genuine article will be out on therampage. He is a man who couldn't sit still, not even if you tied himin his chair and sealed the knots."
We spent a pleasant hour pulling Dawson to pieces and leaving to himnot a rag of virtue, except intense professional zeal. We exchangedexperiences of him, those of the chief assistant being particularlyrich and highly flavoured. It appeared that Dawson when off duty lovedto occupy the platform at meetings of his religious connection and tohold forth to the elect. The privilege of "sitting under him" had beenenjoyed more than once by the assistant, who retailed to us extractsfrom Dawson's favourite sermon on "Truth." His views upon Truth wereunbending as armour plate. "Under no circumstances, not to saveoneself from imminent death, not to shield a wife or a child from thepenalties for a lapse from virtue, not even to preserve one's countryfrom the attacks of an enemy, was it permissible to a Peculiar Baptistto diverge by the breadth of a hair from the straight path of Truth.Hell yawned on either hand; only along the knife edge of Truth couldsalvation be reached."
"He made me shiver," said the chief assistant, "and he drove me tothinking of one or two little deceptions of my own. When Dawsonpreaches, his eyes blaze, his voice breaks, and he will fall on hisknees and pray for the souls of those who heed not his words. Youcan't look at him then and not believe that he means every word hesays. Yet it's all humbug."
"No, it is not," said I. "Dawson in the pulpit, or on the tub--orwhatever platform he uses--is absolutely genuine. He is the finestexample that I have ever met of the dual personality. He is in deadearnest when he preaches on Truth, and he is in just as dead earnestwhen, stripped of every moral scruple, he pursues a spy or a criminal.In pursuit he is ruthless as a Prussian, but towards the capturedvictim he can be strangely tender. I should not be surprised to learnthat he hates capital punishment and is a strong advocate of gentlemethods in prison discipline."
The chief assistant stared, opened a drawer, and pulled forth a slimgrey pamphlet. It was marked "For Office Use Only," and was entitled,"Some Notes on Prison Reform," by Chief Inspector William Dawson.
I had begun to read the pamphlet, when a step sounded outside; theassistant snatched it from my hand, flashed it back into its place,and jumped to attention as Dawson entered. He surveyed us with thosesearching, unwinking eyes of his--for we had the air ofconspirators--and said brusquely: "Clear out, Wilson. You talk toomuch. And don't admit any one except Petty Officer Trehayne."
"The _Antigone_!" cried Cary, who thought only of ships. "The_Antigone_! Is she much damaged?"
"No. Whoever tried to cut her wires was disturbed, or in too great ahurry to do his work well. The main gun-cable was nipped, but not cutthrough. She will be delayed till to-morrow, not longer. I am notworrying about the _Antigone_, but about the new battleship_Malplaquet_, which was commissioned last month, is nearly filled upwith stores, and is expected to leave the river on Saturday. We can'thave her delayed by any hanky tricks, not even if we have to put thewhole detective force on board of her. Still, I'm not so anxious as Iwas. This _Antigone_ business has cleared things up a lot, and one cansift out the impossible from the possible. To begin with, the_Antinous_ was in for repairs to her geared turbines, and the_Antigone_ for damage to her forefoot. Engineers were on one job, andplaters and riveters on the other. Different trades. So not a workmanwho was in the _Antinous_ was also in the _Antigone_. We can rule outall the workmen. We can also rule out my lieutenant R.N.R. with theGerman name who has gone to sea in the _Antinous_. The care andmaintenance party in the _Antigone_ was not the same as the one in the_Antinous_, not a man the same."
"You are sure of that?" cried I, for it seemed that my daring theoryhad gone to wreck. "You are quite sure."
"Quite. I have all the names and have examined all the men. They wereall off the ship by eleven o'clock last night. I hadn't one of my ownmen among them, but, to make sure, I sent Petty Officer Trehayne onboard at eight o'clock to keep a sharp look-out and to see all theharbour party off the vessel. He reported a little after eleven thatthey were all gone and the ship taken over by her own crew. The damagewas discovered at four bells in the morning watch."
"Six o'clock a.m.," interpreted Cary.
"It looks now as if there might be a traitor among her own crew, whichis her officers' job, not mine. I wash my hands of the _Antigone_, butit is very much up to me to see that nothing hurtful happens to the_Malplaquet_. The Admiral has orders to support me with all the forceunder his command; the General of the District has the same orders.But it isn't force we want so much as brains--Dawson's brains. I havebeen beaten twice, but not the third time. I've told the Yard that ifthe _Malplaquet_ is touched I shall resign, and if they send any oneto help me I shall resign. Between to-day, Thursday, and Saturday I amgoing to catch the wily josser who has a fancy for cutting gun cablesor Dawson will say good-bye to the Force. That's a fair stake."
The man swelled with determination and pride. He had no thought offailure, and drew inspiration and joy from the heaviness of the betwhich he had made with Fortune. He took the born gambler's delight ina big risk.
"Then you think that the _Antinous_ and the _Antigone_ were bothdamaged by the same man, and that he may have designs upon the_Malplaquet_?" said I.
"I don't propose to tell you what I think," replied Dawson stiffly.
"Still," I persisted, passing over the snub, "you have a theory?"
"No, thanks," said Dawson contemptuously. "I have no use for theories.When they are wrong they mislead you, and when they are right they areno help. I believe in facts--facts brought out by constant vigilance.Unsleeping watchfulness and universal suspicion, those are theprinciples I work on. The theory business makes pretty story books,but the Force does not waste good time over them."
"What are you going to do?"
"This is Thursday afternoon. I am going to join the _Malplaquet_presently, and I'm not going to sleep till she is safely down theriver. I'm going to be my own watchman this time."
"How? In what capacity?"
Dawson gave a shrug of impatience, for his nerves were on edge. For amoment he hesitated, and then, recollecting the high post to which Ihad tacitly been appointed in his household, he replied:
"I am going as one of the Marine sentries."
"It's no use, Dawson," protested I emphatically. "You are a wonder atdisguise, and will look, I do not doubt, the very spit of a Marine.But you can't pass among the men for half an hour without discovery.They are a class apart, they talk their own language, cherish theirown secret traditions, live in a world to which no stranger everpenetrates. You could pass as a naval officer more easily than youcould as a Pongo. It is sheer madness, Dawson."
He gave a short laugh. "Much you know about it. I have served in theRed Corps myself. I was a recruit at Deal, passed two years atPlymouth, and served afloat for three years. I was then drafted intothe Naval Police. Afterwards I was recommended for detective work inthe dockyards, and at the end of my Marine service joined the Yard. Mygood man, I was a sergeant before I left the Corps."
"I give up, Dawson," said I. "Nothing about you will ever surprise meagain. Not even if you claim to have been a Cabinet Minister."
A queer smile stole over his face. "No, I have not been a minister,but I have attended a meeting of the Cabinet."
Cary interposed at this point. "Yours is a fine idea, Mr. Dawson. As aMarine sentry you can get yourself posted by the Major wherever youplease, and the Guard will not talk even though they may wonder thatany man should want to do twenty-four hours of duty per day. TheMarines are the closest, faith-fullest, and best disciplined force inthe wide world. Bluejackets will gossip; Marines never. You will beable to watch more closely than even Trehayne, who, I suppose, willalso be on board."
"Yes. He is coming up soon for instructions. It's his last chance, asit is mine. He sees that he must be held responsible for the wirecutting in the _Antinous_, and to some slight extent also in the_Antigone_, and that if anything goes wrong with the _Malplaquet_ hewill be dismissed. I shall be sorry to lose him, for he is anexceptionally good man, but we can't allow failures in petty officerdetectives any more than we can in chief inspectors."
"Where does Trehayne come from? His name sounds Cornish," I asked.
"Falmouth, I believe. He is quite young, but he has had nearly threeyears in the _Vernon_ at Portsmouth and in the torpedo factory atGreenock. A first-class engineer and electrician and a sounddetective. He has been with me for some twelve months. You will seehim if he calls soon."
I had been thinking hard over the details of Dawson's plans while thetalk went on, and then ventured to offer some comments.
"It is fortunate that you have grown a moustache since you were in thenorth; you could not have been a Marine as a clean-shaven man."
"I often have to shave it," said Dawson, "but I always grow it againbetween whiles. One can take it off quicker than one can put it onagain. False hair is the devil; I have never used it yet and neverwill. So whenever I have a spell of leisure I grow a moustache againstemergencies--like this one."
My next comment was rather difficult to make, for I did not wisheither Cary or Dawson to divine its purpose. "If I may make asuggestion to a man of your experience it would be that none of yourmen here, not even your chief assistant or Trehayne, should know thatyou are joining the _Malplaquet_ as a Marine. Two independent stringsare in this case better than a double-jointed string."
"I never tell anything to any one, least of all to Pudden-HeadedWilson. He is loyal, but a stupid ass with a flapping tongue. Trehayneis close as wax, but, on general principles, I keep my movementsstrictly to myself. He will be in the ship, but he won't know that Iam there too. The Commander must know and the Major of Marines, for Ishall want a uniform and the free run of the ship, so as to be postedwhere I like. The Marine Sergeants of the Guard may guess, but, as Mr.Cary says, they won't talk. You two gentlemen are safe," added Dawsonpleasantly, "for I've got you tight in my hand and could lock eitherof you up in a minute if I chose."
A peculiar knock came upon the door, a word passed between Dawson andthe police sentry outside, and a young man in the uniform of a navalpetty officer entered the room. He was clean-shaven, looked abouttwenty-five years old, was dark and slim of the Latin type which isnot uncommon in Cornwall, and impressed me at once with his air ofintelligence and refinement. His voice, too, was rather striking. Itwas that of the wardroom rather than of the mess deck. I liked thelook of Petty Officer Trehayne. Dawson presented him to us and thentook him aside for instructions. When he had finished, both menrejoined us, and the conversation became light and general. Trehayne,though clearly suffering from nervous strain after his recentprofessional failures, talked with the ease and detachment of a highlycultivated man. It appeared that he had been educated at Blundell'sSchool, had lost his parents at about sixteen, had done a course insome electrical engineering shops at Plymouth, and when twenty yearsold had secured a good berth on the engineering staff of the _Vernon_.He could speak both French and German, which he had learned partly atschool and partly on the Continent during leave. Dawson, who wasevidently very proud of his young pupil and assistant, paraded hisaccomplishments before us rather to Trehayne's embarrassment. "Try himwith French and German," urged Dawson. "He can chatter them as well asEnglish. But he is as close as wax in all three languages. Some mencan't keep their tongues still in one."
I turned to Trehayne and spoke in French: "German I can't abide, butFrench I love. My vocabulary is extensive, but my accentabominable--incurably British. You can hear it for yourself how itgives me away."
"It is not quite of Paris," replied Trehayne. "Mais vous parlezfrancais tres bien, tres correctement. Beaucoup mieux que moi."
"Non, non, monsieur," I protested, and then reverted to English.
"Now," said Dawson, when Trehayne had left us, "I must get along, seethe Commander of the _Malplaquet_, and draw a uniform and rifle out ofthe marine stores. It will be quite like old times. You won't see meuntil Saturday, when I shall be either a triumphant or a broken man.What is the betting, Mr. Copplestone?"
I could not understand the quizzical little smile that Dawson gave me,nor the humorous twitch of his lips. He had contemptuously disclaimedall use of theories, yet there was more moving behind that bigforehead of his than he chose to give away. Did his ideas run onparallel lines with mine; did he even suspect that I had formed anyidea at all? I could not inquire, for I dislike being laughed at,especially by this man Dawson. I had nothing to go upon, at least solittle that was palpable that anything which I might say would bedismissed as the merest guesswork, for which, as Dawson proclaimed, hehad no use. Yet, yet--my original guess stuck firmly in my mind,improbable though it might be, and had just been nailed downtightly--I scorn to mystify the reader--by a few simple sentencesspoken in French.
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