The Lost Naval Papers

by Bennet Copplestone

  CHAPTER IX

  THE WOMAN AND THE MAN

  If one believed Dawson's own accounts of his exploits--I can conceiveno greater exercise in folly--one would conclude that he never failed,that he always held the strings by which his puppets were constrainedto dance, and that he could pluck them from their games and shut themwithin his black box whenever he grew wearied of their fruitlesssport. He trumpets his successes, but he never speaks of hisfailures--he buries them so deeply that he forgets them himself. Heveils his plans, movements, and personal appearance in a fog ofmystery. None, not even his closest associates, know what he would beat until a job is completely finished, and finished successfully. Thuswhen he succeeds, his own small world is deeply impressed--evennauseated--by the compelling spectacle of a Dawson triumphant; when hefails, very few know or hear of the failure. He loves the jealousy ofhis equals and inferiors even more than the admiration of hissuperiors. Thoroughly to enjoy life he must be surrounded by both inthe amplest measure.

  What I now have to tell is the story of a failure--a failure due tohis refusal ever to allow his right hand to know what his left handsought to do. He never told me himself one word concerning this story.I obtained the details partly from Captain Rust, partly from Dawson'sDeputy, but chiefly from the lady who filled the star role. Dawsonhimself foolishly introduced me to her nearly two years later; he didnot anticipate that we should become friendly, confidential, that weshould discuss him and his little ways over cups of tea, made thesweeter by the clandestine nature of our frequent meetings. He had notallowed for the fascinations of the lady--fascinations so alluringthat even I, a middle-aged Father of a Family and Justice of thePeace, was instantly reduced by them to the softest moral pulp; and hehad not allowed for the Puckish glee with which I welcomed the tale,rolled it round in my wicked fancy, and bent its ramifications into anorderly narrative.

  * * * * *

  I very vividly remember my first meeting with the lady. She came oneday, a fortnight after I had returned from Cary's flat to my neglectedduties, heralded by a short note from Dawson. "I shall be greatlyobliged if you will give Madame Gilbert all assistance in your power.She is one of my team." That was all, but my curiosity was piqued. Ihad heard much of Dawson's team of feminine assistants--rudely calledby rivals his "harem"--and I was eager to meet one of them. I orderedMadame Gilbert to be admitted to my presence. She came, I saw, sheconquered. When I assert that in two minutes she had plucked me frommy chair of dignity, flung me upon the Turkey carpet, and jumped uponme with her daintily shod feet, I do not exaggerate.

  She was not very young--I put her at two or three years over thirty.She was, or gave herself out to be, a widow. She was a femaledetective; I was a modest gentleman of rigid English respectability,not without some matrimonial experience in the ways of Woman. Therewas nothing in the purpose of her visit to have caused her to comeupon me as a Venus, fully armed, and to have forced me to an abjectsurrender. From the feathers of her black picture hat to the tips ofher black velvety shoes she was French-clad, the French of Paris, andwore her clothes like a Frenchwoman. She was dressed--_bien habillee,bien gantee, bien coiffee_. Her hair was red copper, her skin--the"glad neck" of her dress showed a lot of it--had the colour and bloom,the cream and roses, of Devon. Her eyes were very large and of a deepviolet All these charms of dress and face and colour I could havegallantly withstood, but the voice of her settled my business at once.Its rich, full tone, its soft, appealing inflection, the prettyforeign accent with which she then chose to speak English--I can hearthem now. I have always been sensitive to beautiful voices, and MadameGilbert's voice is beyond comparison the most beautiful voice in thewide world.

  Madame Gilbert made one or two small requests to which I gave animmediate assent, and then she asked me to do something within mypower but much against my uncontrolled will. "Madame," said Ishamelessly, "as you are strong be merciful; let me off as lightly asyou can." She laughed, and eyed me with interest. My defeat had beenwith her, of course, a certainty, but perhaps it took place morerapidly than she had expected. "I have not asked for much," said she.

  "It is not what you have asked that I fear, but what you may askbefore I get you out of my room," said I.

  She laughed again and let me down very gently. I did not tell her morethan three secrets which I was pledged never to reveal. "That's all,"said Madame Gilbert. "Thank Heaven," said I.

  On the following afternoon, about four o'clock, Madame Gilbert calledagain upon me. When her card was brought in I trembled, and for amoment had in mind to deny myself to her. But I thrust away thecowardly thought. Be brave, said I to myself, advance boldly, attackthe terrible delightful siren, say "no" to her once, and you will besaved! She entered, and though my knees shuddered as I rose to greether, my mien was bold and warlike. She warmly squeezed my hand, and Ireturned the attention with _empressement_. For a few minutes weexchanged polite compliments, and then she sprung upon me in hertender confident tones, a request so preposterous that my rapidlyflitting courage was stimulated to return. Be brave, I murmured tomyself, attack boldly, say "No," and you will be saved for ever.

  "I deeply regret, madame," said I coldly, "that it is not possible forme to accede to your wishes." It was done, and I breathed more freelythough the sweat broke out on my forehead.

  Her eyes opened upon me with the pained surprised look of a deeplydisappointed child. "Oh, Mr. Copplestone," she moaned, "and I thoughtthat you were my friend."

  I clutched tightly at the arms of my faithful chair and held to myprogramme of heroic boldness.

  "You shouldn't have asked me such a question. You reallyshouldn't--you know you shouldn't."

  Her eyelids flickered, and the violet pools which they uncoveredglittered with a moisture which was not of tears, and she laughed,laughed, and continued to laugh with the deepest enjoyment.

  "I wanted to see how much you would stand," said she at last.

  From that moment her spell over me was broken, and we became friends.I admired her as much as ever, but she was no longer the all-devouringsiren. I could say "no" to her as easily as to the most dowdy andunbeautiful of female axe-grinders.

  "Will you permit me to offer you a cup of tea so as to wash from yourmouth the unpleasant taste of my brutal refusal?"

  "I will," said Madame Gilbert graciously.

  We issued from my office and betook ourselves to a pleasant shop wherewe could drink tea and nibble cakes, and talk without being overheard.Madame Gilbert, I observed, had a healthy appetite.

  We talked of ourselves and exchanged delicious confidences. "You haveasked me many questions," I said. "May I ask one of you? What are you?You are not English, and you are not, I think, French."

  "Shall I also learn a lesson from you in unkindness and say 'No'?" sheinquired. "But it would be cruel, for you have really been quite niceto me. I will reveal the secret of my birth." She put up one hand andbegan to tick off the countries which had been privileged to play apart in her origin and education. "My father was a Swede--one; mymother was an Irishwoman--two. I was born at Cork in Ireland, butremember nothing about it, for my father died when I was three yearsold, and my Irish mother removed instantly to Paris--three. By theway, I have observed that the Irish and the Scotch always run awayfrom their own countries at the first possible opportunity. Why isthis?"

  "It is much pleasanter," I remarked sententiously "to sentimentaliseover the fringes of the United Kingdom from a safe distance, than tolive in them."

  "Oh! Let me see, I had got as far as Paris. When I was old enough Iwent to a convent school there. I speak French rather better than I dothe Irish-English which my mother taught me."

  "You speak English most charmingly. There is about it now a delicatesuggestion, no more, of Ireland. When you first came to me your accentwas distinctly foreign, French or Italian. I am afraid that you are awicked woman, a deceiver, and that the fascinating accent was put onfor my subduing. It was a very pretty accent."

  "I have found
it most effective," said she brazenly.

  "When I was eighteen I was married--to an Italian (Guilberti)--four. Ishould have become a Catholic, my husband's faith, but for my mother'sProtestant-Irish prejudices. She was of the Irish Church, my husbandof the Roman, so I compromised. I joined the Church of England, theHigh Branch."

  "Your religion is almost as complicated as your nationality."

  "Yes, isn't it?" said she. Her hand was still uplifted; she had pausedat the fourth finger. "We lived in Italy and in France. Two years agomy husband died, and shortly after the war began my mother died. I hada little money, I was known to the Embassy in Paris as one who couldpass indifferently as English, or French, or Italian. I wanted tostrike a blow for all my countries, and I was recommended to Mr.Dawson for"--she looked round carefully, bent her head close to mine,and whispered--"the Secret Service. So I came for the first time thatI remember to England--five."

  "But what are you?" I asked, with knitted brows; "I am not aninternational lawyer."

  "Mr. Dawson says"--I found that she has a childlike confidence in theredoubtable Dawson--"that by birth I am a British subject. My Swedishfather doesn't count, as I never adopted Sweden when I came of age. Mydomicile before marriage was France, but by marriage I became anItalian. It is no matter; I am of the Entente, and I do my bit. It isnot a bad bit sometimes."

  That was the first of many agreeable tea-drinkings which MadameGilbert and I took together.

  Madame Gilbert believes herself to be, as she puts it, a woman of"surprising virtue," and I am by no means sure that she is not right.For the doing of her bit has led her into situations from whichnothing but the coolest of hearts and the quickest of wits could havebrought her out untarnished. She has played her part gallantly,serenely, in the service of the Alliance; I should be a poor creatureif I judged her by British provincial standards. Among other storiesshe told me the tale which I will repeat to the reader. Here and therewere gaps which I have sought diligently to fill up until the wholehas been made complete. Madame Gilbert told to me the most intimatedetails without a blush, and if in my telling I startle the blood tothe cheek of the very oldest of readers, the fault will rest with me.

  * * * * *

  "I have a notion, Madame Gilbert, which I should like you to followup," said Dawson. He was at that time (the Spring of 1915) in hisoffice in London--he had not yet been despatched on his spaciouspilgrimage to the northern shipyards--and Madame Gilbert sat oppositeto him in an attitude deliberately provocative. She sat back in acomfortable chair facing the light, her legs were crossed, and shedisplayed a great deal more of beautifully rounded calf and perfectlyfitting silk stockings than is usual even in the best society.Although she did not look at Dawson, she was fully conscious of thefrowning glare which he threw at the audacious leg.

  "Please give me your attention--if you can. I have been out at theFront lately, at General Headquarters, to advise upon the means ofstopping the flow of information from our lines to the enemy. All theobvious channels have been stopped--the telephones hidden in Frenchcellars, the signals given by the hands of clocks, the German spiesdressed in uniforms stripped from our dead, and so on. Lots of them,all obvious and simple. One can deal with that sort of thing by acareful system of unremitting watchfulness. We must have caught upwith most of the arrangements made by the Germans before the war, butthey still get much more information than is good for them to have,and for us to lose. I am convinced--and G.H.Q. agrees--that there aremany officers, especially in the French and Belgian armies, who wereplanted there years before the war for the precise purpose to whichthey are now put. Even in our own Army, which is expanding so rapidly,the same thing is possible, even probable. An infantry officer spy cando little--he knows nothing of the Staff plans, and cannot get intocommunication with the enemy at all readily, without arousingsuspicion. I went into the whole thing at the Front, and I put myfinger, as I always do, upon the danger spot--the Flying Corps. Thosewho fly constantly over our own and the enemy's lines have completeinformation as to distribution and movements, and, if they choose, candrop dummy bombs containing news for the enemy to pick up. A French,Belgian, or English aeroplane 'observer' in the enemy's secret servicecould convey information to him at pleasure and without thepossibility of detection. I don't suspect our own Flying Corps, excepton the general principle of suspecting everybody and everything, but Ido that of the French and the Belgians. France and Belgium were saltedthrough and through by the Germans in anticipation of war. There inthe Flying Corps we have a very grave danger which--But I see that youare not attending, madame," he broke off angrily.

  Her eyes withdrew from the offending leg for an instant, and flashedat Dawson with a penetrative power which even he felt.

  "Shall I repeat what you have said, word for word?" asked MadameGilbert coldly.

  "I am not now dealing with facts, but with conjecture;" went onDawson, after begging her pardon. "I have nothing to go upon, but theGermans have far more of imagination and ingenuity than we alwayscredit to them. They must see that with the great advance in theFlying Corps of the Allied armies, and the opportunities which flyingmen have for collecting and conveying information, one flying spywould be worth a hundred spies on foot. For them to perceive is toact. I therefore conclude positively that they have agents in theflying squadrons of France and Belgium, and possibly even in our own.So I told the C. in C., and he agreed with me. He was good enough tosay that he would never have thought of this had I not suggested it tohim. Soldiers are not detectives, madame, and very few detectives areWilliam Dawsons. If the War Office knew its business, every AssistantProvost-Marshal would be, not a soldier, but a man from the Yard, andI should be the P.M. in Chief on the Headquarters Staff. I should weara general's uniform and hat."

  "You would look sweet," said Madame politely.

  Dawson, the ex-private of Red Marines, swelled out his chest and felthimself to be a Major-General at the least.

  "They will do their best to follow up my idea at the Front, and Ishall start a campaign here. For I become more and more convinced thatthe head centre of the German secret service is here in London. Paris,even before the war, was too watchful, and now is as hot as Hell.London reeked with spies, and though we locked up the worst of themwhen war broke out, lots still remain. If you only knew how many welaid by the heels and keep shut up without any trial, or nonsense ofthat sort, you would be surprised. It is only since the Defence of theRealm Act was passed that England has become a free country. We keep adrag-net going continually, we have hundreds of agents in allsuspected quarters, but this wilderness of bricks and mortar is toobig even for us. Once an enemy agent has got himself into an Englishor Allied uniform, he is horribly difficult to run down. That is whereyou, and those like you, come in. Are you sure, my dear madame, thatyou can pass without detection as a Frenchwoman or a French-Belgian?"

  Madame Gilbert put up her left hand, and began to tick off herqualifications. "My father was a Swede, my mother was Irish, I waseducated in France from the age of three to eighteen, I married anItalian. Brussels I know almost as well as dear Paris. I can beParisienne or Bruxelloise--whichever you wish, Mr. Dawson."

  "Good," said Dawson. "What I want of you is this. Whenever here inLondon you see a French or Belgian officer wearing the badges of theFlying Corps, mark him down. Make his acquaintance somehow; you willknow how. Entertain him, fascinate him, let him entertain you; foolhim as you would fool me if I let you; worm out his secrets, if he hasany. If you get upon a promising track, go strong; let the man makelove to you--he will, whoever he is, if you give him half achance--intoxicate him with those confounded eyes of yours. If you canfind only one who is in the enemy's service, you will be fully repaidfor all your trouble."

  "It is a largish contract," murmured Madame thoughtfully.

  "There are not so very many flying officers," said Dawson, "and theyare all young. You will work through them pretty quickly. Most of themwill be the genuine article upon whom you need not w
aste much time.But the others, those whom I suspect, you must grab hold of and neverlet go, whatever happens."

  "I hope," said Madame primly, "that you do not expect me to doanything--improper."

  Dawson stared at her in wonder. Her big eyes, shining with the lovelyinnocence of childhood, met his without a flicker. "Bless my immortalsoul," he muttered, "she is getting at me again." Then aloud, andgravely--"My assistants are always expected to conduct themselves withthe strictest propriety."

  Madame laughed softly. "I have known many men in my time, Mr. Dawson,but I have never enjoyed any man so much as I do you."

  "I appear to have rather a roaming commission," Madame Gilbert wenton, after a thoughtful pause. "Can you not give me any guidance?"

  "Not at present. I am testing an idea, that is all. You must be guidedby your own wit and judgment, in which I have the utmost confidence.Don't waste your time or fascinations on the wrong people. Find out ifamong the French or Belgian flying officers, who from time to timevisit London, there are any whose connections and movements will repayclose watching here and at the Front. Sift them out. When you get upona track which seems promising, follow it up, and do not be--what shallI say?--do not be too squeamish. Money is no object. Behind us is thewhole British Treasury, and you can have whatever you want. Will youtake on the contract, madame?"

  "I will do my best," she replied soberly, "and I will not be--toosqueamish. I can look after myself, my friend."

  In another room of the great building upon the Thames Embankment satDeputy Chief Inspector Henri Froissart, a French detective officer whohad been "lent" to the English service. Opposite him was sitting ayoung handsome man in the uniform of a captain in the British Army.Froissart was frowning and speaking in savage disrespect of Dawson,his immediate chief. "This English Dawson, with whom it is mymisfortune to work, is of all men the most impossible. He is clever,as the Devil, but secretive--my faith! He tells me nothing. He livesin disguise of body and mind. There are twenty men in his face, hisfigure, and his dress. He comes to me as a police officer, a doctor, asoldier, a priest, even as an old hag who cleans the stairs. Hedeceives me continually, and laughs, laughs. He is a reproach and aninsult. I have it in my mind to score off him; what do you say, monami?"

  Froissart spoke in French, and the English officer replied in the samelanguage. "With pleasure, in the way of business. I have been placedat your orders, not at old man Dawson's. Go ahead, what is the game?"

  Froissart nodded approval. "I think that you can pass as a Frenchofficer or a French-speaking Belgian. Is it not so?"

  "You should be able to certify that better than I can myself," repliedthe officer modestly. "As a boy I was brought up at Dinard inNormandy. I served two years in the French Army as a volunteer, agunner. Then I went to St. Cyr, but England, the home of my father,claimed me, and I was given a commission in the Artillery. That wastwo years ago. I volunteered for the Flying Corps, served in it at theoutbreak of war, but was invalided after that confounded accidentwhich spoilt my nerve. I fell two hundred feet into the sea, andpassed thirty hours in the bitter water before a destroyer picked meup. Thirty hours, my friend. My nerve went, and I was besides crippledby rheumatism of the heart. Then I was for a few weeks liaison officeron the Yser at the point where the English and Belgian lines met. Thewet, the cold, were too great for me, and again I was invalided. I wasa temporary captain without a job until you met me and asked for me tobe attached to you for secret service. Yes, M. Froissart, I can passas a French or a Belgian officer. It needs but the uniform."

  "Good," cried Froissart. "You are English of the English, and Frenchof the French. You have served under the Tricolor and under the UnionJack. You are an embodiment of L'Entente Cordiale. You almostreconcile me to that detestable Dawson, but not quite. He is of theprovincial English, what you call a Nonconformist--bah! He is clever,but bourgeois. He grates upon me; for I, his subordinate in thisservice, am _aristocrat_, a Count of _l'ancien regime, catholique,presque royaliste_. His blood is that of muddy peasants, yet he is mychief! Peste, I spit upon the sacred name of Dawson!"

  "You don't seem to be a very loyal subordinate," observed the officer,smiling.

  "Me, not loyal!" cried Froissart astonished. "I surely am of all menmost loyal to l'Entente. Have I not proved my loyalty? I have left mybeautiful France and come here to this foggy London to aid thisflat-footed _homme de bout_, Dawson, in his researches. Yet he tellsme nothing. He disguises himself before me, and laughs, laughs, when Ifail to recognize his filthy, obscene countenance. But I am loyal, ofa true loyalty unapproachable."

  "I believe you, though you have a queer way of showing it. What is nowthe game that you want to play off on the old man as a proof of yourunapproachable loyalty?"

  "He is clever, my faith, clever as the Devil. He discerns the Germanplans before they are made. He has their agents within a wire netwhich closes whenever he wishes. He has swept London clean of the foulbrood which festered here before the war. I have great, limitlessconfidence in this Dawson whom I detest, but to whom I am of all hisassistants the most loyal. He now suspects that contained within theFlying Corps of us, the Belgians, and the English are observers in thepay of Germany. It is an idea most splendid. For if it is true, whatgreater opportunity could be given to any spies! To fly over ourlines, to learn of everything, and then to convey the news to theenemy by way of the air! If he had told me of this most perspicuous oftheories, I would have aided him with all the wealth of my genius. Butno, he tells to me nothing. He comes and goes, he spins his web like agreat fat female spider, but he tells me nothing. It is my belief thathe despises me because I am French, _aristocrat_, and _catholique_.But I will show him; I will, as you call it, score most bitterly offhim; I will do in my way successfully what he vainly seeks to do inhis way. _Conspuez_ Dawson!"

  "This is quite like the old times of the Dreyfus case," said theEnglishman.

  "Dreyfus! But I will speak not of that. It is buried. We French areone people now, one and indivisible. Though of traitors, the villainDreyfus was of the most horrible. Let us speak of _cet homme tressale_, Dawson. I do not know his plans. They will be shrewd, butwithout imagination, without flair. He will watch, with his eyes of acat, the French and Belgian flying officers who come to London, but hewill not discover their secrets. For he does not understand, this coldEnglish Dawson, that secrets which endanger the neck are told only towomen."

  "Yet I have heard that he has a team of women--his harem, as it iscalled. I have never seen one of them."

  "Bah! Englishwomen, of the large feet and the so protruding teeth! Whowould tell of his precious secrets to them!"

  "Oh, come, M. Froissart. We have as many pretty women in London as youhave in Paris."

  "It is possible, my friend. All things, the most improbable, arepossible. But they conceal themselves most assiduously. I have notseen them, these so pretty Englishwomen."

  "Well, well. You are a bit out of date as regards our women. But Idon't want to argue. What is the game?"

  Froissart leaned forward and spoke solemnly, forcibly.

  "If the man Dawson is right, and there are German spies in the Frenchand Belgian flying services, they will come to London to get theirorders. And they will get them from women, depend upon it, my friend.From women who are of French education, who appear to be French, yetwho are the deadly, the most dangerous, enemies of France. Let Dawsonwatch the men themselves; but watch you such women as Iindicate--women who appear to be French and yet are not French. I willspeak to the Chief, not to Dawson, but to the Great Chief of us all.You shall be dressed in the tenue of a French flying officer; youshall avoid French or Belgian officers who might ask questions themost embarrassing. You shall make the acquaintance of women who appearto be French, yet who are not French. Grip on to these, my friend,entertain them, make yourself of the most fascinating and agreeable,give to them attentions and love of the warmest. And when after two orthree glasses of champagne you repose at ease with your arm abouttheir waists, get you at their s
ecrets. You are young, handsome, andyour eye is bold. I give you a pleasant task--the deception ofdeceiving women. In my younger days what joy would I not have taken init."

  Captain Rust became very gloomy during this speech for, though Frenchin education, he was by instinct an Englishman.

  "I don't like the business at all. It sounds mean and grubby, ugh! Notquite what one would ask of a gentleman."

  Froissart was genuinely surprised. "What do you say, not for agentleman? Am I not a gentleman, I, who speak, a Froissart, a Count of_l'ancien regime_, a Royalist almost? I offer you a task whichcombines business and pleasure in the most delicious of proportions.And you call my offer mean and grubby, _meprisable et crotte_! I donot ask you to consort with those of the _demi-monde._ The women whoare of most danger to our countries are not _courtisanes_; they are ofthe _monde_, fashionable. They meet officers in society; they humourand flatter them; they display a melting softness of sympathy andinterest. I do not ask you, my friend, to endanger your Englishvirtue."

  The tone of wondering contempt with which he ended brought a smile toRust's lips.

  "I am not so very virtuous, monsieur. But I am English, and I try,vainly perhaps, to be a gentleman. It seems to me a dirty business tomake up to women in order to wheedle out their secrets."

  "We have to do worse than that in defence of our country. We have toplot and counterplot, to lie and deceive. But we do these things, andyou must do them too, if you would be of the Secret Service. Contentyourself. Think always that it is for _la belle France_ or for _le belAngleterre_, for _la grande Alliance_. You have qualificationsunusual; you are young, handsome, and French in manner and speech. Youare a soldier; it is for me to command, and for you to obey. Besides,think you; if success comes to us, picture to yourself the desolationof Dawson!"

  "Desolating Dawson is more your fun than mine. I have no grudge towork off on the old man. Since you command, I will obey. I will do mybest, but, to be quite frank, I do not like the job."

  "But you will do it. I think that you English, slow to move, do bestthose things which you like least. You despise the Secret Service,what you call dirty spying, yet you do it to admiration--with acourage and _sang froid_ most wonderful. You hate to begin a war, andyet when you fight you are, of all people, the most unwilling to stop.When we French and the Russians yonder have supped of this war to thedregs, you English will just have begun to find your appetites. Stop?you will cry. Make peace? Be content? Why, we have just got our secondwind! It will be the same with you, my friend. You begin reluctantly,but when the chase becomes hot, you will be on fire with zest. Youwill not trouble then that _vous vous faites crottes_."

  "I will do my best; I cannot say more than that."