The Lost Naval Papers

by Bennet Copplestone

  CHAPTER XVI

  DAWSON STRIKES

  It was a little past noon, and Dawson had much work to do before hecould be free to speed north by the midnight train. First he skippedacross to the Yard and into the private room of his firm friend theChief. To him he showed the potent proclamation and recounted themethods of its extraction. "I thought that I was in a company ofjackals," said he at the end; "but I was wrong--two of them werelions."

  "We should be in a bad way if there were no lions," commented theChief. "Those two, and another who is dead, saved South Africa; thereare one or two more, but not many. What shall you do with this?"

  "We will set it up on our own private press, and run off a couple ofhundred placards. The secret must not leak out; I am playing forsurprises."

  The Chief struck a bell, the order was given, and Dawson's pricelessproclamation vanished into the lower regions.

  "Now?" inquired the Chief.

  "Chatham," explained Dawson, "to pick up my men--and to get myuniform." When telling the story, Dawson again and again described tome his uniform, with which I happened by family association to beintimately acquainted. He did not spare me a badge or a button. I amconvinced that no girl wore her first ball-dress with half thepalpitating pride with which Dawson surveyed himself in his captain'skit. When I chaffed him gently, and hinted that the stars of a captainwere cheaply come by in these days, he had one retort always ready,"Not in the Red Marines." He did not value his office of ChiefDetective Inspector a rap beside that temporary rank of Captain of RedMarines. He had, you see, been a private in that proud exclusiveCorps, and its glory for him outshone all human glories.

  He flew away to Chatham as fast as a deliberate railway servicepermitted, and found upon arrival that an urgent telegram from theAdjutant-General had preceded him. Dawson was shown at once to theCommandant's quarters, and there explained his requirements. "Eightymen, two sergeants, and a regular lieutenant. Not one of less thanfive years' service. Also a sea-service kit with a captain's stars forme. The mess-sergeant will fit me out. He trades in second-handuniforms."

  "You have the advantage of me, Mr. Dawson," said the Commandant,smiling, "in your profound knowledge of the functions of a messsergeant."

  "I was a recruit here, sir, when you were a second lieutenant. I knowthe by-ways of Chatham and the perquisites of mess-sergeants. I was asergeant myself once."

  "I remember you, Dawson," said the Commandant kindly, "and am proud tosee one of us become so great a man. By the regulations a temporaryofficer should wear khaki."

  "No khaki for me, sir, please," implored Dawson. "I should not feelthat I belonged to the old Corps in khaki. In my time it was the redparade tunic or the sea-service blue."

  "Wear any kit you please. This is your day, not mine. I have beenordered to place myself and all Chatham at your disposal, though whatyour particular game is I have not a notion. I won't ask any questionsnow, but please come and dine with me in mess when you return, and letme have the whole story."

  "I will, sir," cried Dawson heartily, "and thank you very much. I havewaited at the mess, but never dined with it The old Corps is goingwith me to do a pretty bit of work, different from anything that ithas ever done before."

  "That would not be easy; we have been in every scrap on land or seasince the year dot."

  Dawson looked round carefully, and then whispered, "Those eightyMarines of mine are going to cut off a snake's head and stop a bloodyrevolution. They've done that sort of thing many times at the ends ofthe earth, but never, I believe, in England."

  "I wish that I were again a lieutenant," growled the Commandant, "forthen I would volunteer to come with you."

  "You shall choose my second-in-command yourself, sir," conceded Dawsonhandsomely.

  Captain Dawson chose his men with discrimination. All those above fiveyears' service were paraded in the barrack square, and Dawson,assisted by the Commandant, to whom his men were as his own children,picked out the eighty lucky ones at leisure. Those who were rejectedshrugged their stiff square shoulders and predicted disaster for theexpedition. In one small detail Dawson changed his plans. He hadintended to take two sergeants only, but in Chatham there were fourwho had served with him in the ranks, and he could not withstand theirpleadings. When all was settled, Dawson went to the Commandant'squarters to be introduced to his second-in-command, and surprisedthere that officer endeavouring to squeeze his rather middle-agedfigure within the buttoned limits of a subaltern's tunic. Since thesenior officers of Marines never go to sea, the Commandant's ownofficial uniform was the field-service khaki of a Staff officer. "Itis all right," explained he, laughing. "I have become a lieutenantagain, and am going north with you. But I wish that your friend themess-sergeant had a pattern B tunic which would meet round my middle.My young men must be devilish slim nowadays. I have been on to theA.-G. by 'phone. He pretends to be derisory, but I am convinced thatreally he is desperately jealous. He would love to go too. You seem,my good Dawson, to have stirred up Whitehall and Spring Gardens in amanner most emphatic."

  "But you can't serve under me, sir," cried Dawson, aghast.

  "Can't I!" retorted the new Lieutenant. "If admirals can joyfully goafloat as lieut.-commanders, as lots of them are doing, what is toprevent a Colonel of Marines serving as a subaltern? I am on this jobwith you, Dawson, if you will have me."

  "With four sergeants and eighty Marines," said Dawson slowly, "you andI could have held Mons."

  "We could that," cried the Colonel-Lieutenant, who had by nowcompleted the reduction of his rank to that of Captain Dawson'ssubordinate. "Nothing, nothing, is beyond the powers of the SeaRegiment!"

  At about 11.30 that night the wide roof of St. Pancras echoed to thedisciplined tramp of Dawson's detachment, which marched straight tocoaches reserved by order from Headquarters. "Marines don't talk,"said Dawson, "but I am not taking risks. I don't want to sully thevirtue of my old Sea Pongos by mixing them up with raw land Tommies."Dawson and his subaltern were moving towards the sleeping-coach inwhich a double berth had been assigned to them, when two tallgentlemen in civilian dress slipped out of the crowd and stood intheir path. Dawson, at the sight of them, glowed with pride, his chestswelled out under his broad blue tunic, and his hand flew to the peakof his red-banded cap. The Colonel-Lieutenant gasped. "Good luck,Dawson," whispered the bigger of the strangers; "I would give my batonto be going north with you."

  "Colonel ---- has given up his crowns," replied Dawson, as heintroduced his companion.

  The Field-Marshal smiled and shook hands with the sporting Commandant."This is all frightfully irregular," said he, "but I sympathise.Still, if I know our friend Dawson here, there won't be any fighting.You have no idea of his skill as a diplomatist. He tells the truth,which is so unusual and startling that the effect is overwhelming. Heis a heavy human howitzer. I envy you, Colonel."

  "I have not a notion what we are to be at," said the Colonel.

  "I am not very clear myself. It is Dawson's picnic, not ours, and wehave given him a free hand. You won't get any fighting, but there willbe lots of fun."

  Meanwhile the First Lord had drawn Dawson to one side. "Good luck,Captain Dawson; you have not wasted any time, and I have the best ofhopes. We had a beautiful row after you left us this morning. It didmy poor heart good. The P.M. declares that if you put martial law intoforce, he will hand in his checks to the King. So, my poor friend, youcarry with you a mighty responsibility. But stick it out, don'thesitate to follow your judgment, and wire me how you get on."

  "Don't worry, sir," said Dawson, "I shall not fail. If it had not beenfor you and his lordship here, I should not have had this greatchance. I won't let you down."

  "Sh!" whispered the other. "Not so loud. We are conspirators, strictlyincog., dressed in the shabbiest of clothes. We had to see you off,for I enjoyed the tussle of this morning beyond words. I would not foranything have missed the P.M.'s face when he found himself driven toact suddenly and definitely. I am eternally your debtor, CaptainDawson of t
he Red Marines."

  "My word," exclaimed the Colonel-Lieutenant, when the visitors hadslipped away like a couple of stage villains, with soft hats pulleddown over their eyes--"the Field-Marshal and the First Lord! You havesome friends, sir."

  "I am only a ranker," said Dawson humbly, "with very temporary stars;not a pukka officer and gentleman like you. I hope that you do notmind sharing' a sleeper with me?"

  "I should be proud to share with you the measliest dug-out in aFlanders graveyard," replied the Colonel emphatically. The twoofficers, so anomalously associated, entered their berth the best offriends and talked together far into the night. And as they talked,the Colonel, now a Lieutenant, made the same discovery which hadstartled Dawson's two powerful supporters of the morning. In thepolice officer, rough, half-educated, vain, tender of heart, he alsohad discovered a Man. "But for me and my Red Marines," said Dawson, asthey turned in for some broken sleep, "those poor fools up yonderwould get themselves shot in the streets. But I shall save them, andin saving them I shall save the country."

  * * * * *

  It was the afternoon of the following day, just twenty-four hoursafter Dawson had commandeered the resources of Chatham, and the scenewas a public hall in a big industrial city. In the body of the roomsat two hundred and thirty-four men--shop stewards and district tradeunion officials--and their faces were gloomy and anxious. They hadcome for a last meeting with the officers of the Munitions Dept, andto declare that the men whom they represented were resolved not topermit of any further dilution of labour. The great majority of themwere not unpatriotic, their sons and brothers and friends had joinedthe Forces, and had already fought and died gallantly, but they wereintensely suspicious. To them the "employer," the "capitalist," was agreater, because more enduring and insidious, enemy than the Germans.Dilution of labour had become in their eyes a device for destroyingall their hardly won privileges and restrictions, and for deliveringthem bound and helpless to their "capitalist oppressers." To thissorry pass had the perpetual disputes of peace brought the workmenunder stress of war! Rates of pay did not enter into thedispute--never in their lives had they earned such wages--its originled in a queer perverted sense of loyalty to the trade unions, and tothose members who had gone forth to fight. "What will our folks say,"asked the men of one another, "when they come home from the war, if wehave given away in their absence all that they fought for during longyears?" When it was attempted to make clear that the lives of theirown sons in the trenches were being made more hazardous by theirobstinacy, they shook their heads and simply did not believe. "We canmake all the guns and the shells that are wanted without giving up ourrules. We value our sons' lives as much as you do. We love our countryas much as you do. The capitalists are using a plea of patriotism toget the better of us." It was a pitiful deadlock--honest for the mostpart; yet it was a deadlock which, as Dawson said, brought very nearthe day when English artillery would be firing shotted guns in Englishstreets.

  At a small table on a low platform at one end of the room sat threecivilians, and a few feet away, sitting a little back, was an officerwhose uniform and badges attracted the eyes of the curious. None ofthe workmen knew this brown-skinned man with the small, dark moustachewho looked so very professional a soldier, yet Dawson knew them, everyman of them, and had moved among them in their works many times. Tenof those present were actually his own agents, working among theirfellow unionists and agitating with them--hidden sources ofinformation and of influence at need--and yet not one of those tenknew that the Marine Captain upon the platform was his own officialchief. The chairman rose to speak to the men for the last time, andDawson sat listening and studying a small slip of paper in his hand.

  The chairman said nothing that the men had not been told many timesduring the past few days, but there was in his speech a note of solemnappeal and warning which was new. The hearers shuffled their feetuneasily, for most of them felt uneasy; they were, as I have said,most of them honest men. But when the chairman had sat down, and themen began, one after another, to reply, it appeared at once that therewas present an element not honest, even seditious. Dawson smiled tohimself, and studied his slip of paper, for the snake, whose head hehad come to cut off, was beginning to rear itself before him. Hintsbegan to appear that there was a strong minority at least which wasunwilling both to fight and to work for a country which was none oftheirs--"What has this country done for us that we should bleed andsweat for it? It has starved us and sweated us to make profits out ofus, and now in its extremity slobbers us with fair words." At last oneman rose, a thin-faced, wild-eyed man, who, under happier conditions,might have been a preacher or a writer, and delivered a speech whichwas rankly seditious. "The workers," he declared, "are being shackled,gagged, and robbed. Our enemy is not the German Kaiser. Our enemyconsists of that small, cunning, treacherous, well-organised, andhighly respectable section of the community who, by means of the moneypower, compels the workers to sweat in order that their bellies may befull and their fine ladies gowned in gorgeous raiment. They pass aMunitions Act to chain the worker to his master. They 'dilute' labourto call into being an invisible army which can be mobilised at shortnotice to defeat the struggles of striking artisans. The attack of themasters must be resisted. The workers must fight. There is afascinating attraction in the idea of meeting force with force,violence with violence. It is undeniable that many of the morethoughtful among the toilers would consider that their lives had notbeen spent in vain if they organised their comrades to drilled andarmed rebellion."

  The speaker paused. He was encouraged by a few cheers, but the mass ofhis hearers were silent. He glanced at Dawson, whose face was set inan expressionless mask. Cheers came again, and he went on, but withless assurance. "The worker's labour power is his only wealth. It isalso his highest weapon. But the workers need not think of using thisweapon so long as they are split and divided into sects and groups andcrafts. To be effective they must organise as workers. An organisationthat would include all the workers, skilled and unskilled, throughoutthe entire country, would prove irresistible. But as matters stand atpresent I do not advocate armed rebellion. I advocate and herewithproclaim a general strike."

  He sat down, and there was a long silence. The die had been cast. Ifthe meeting broke up without the emphatic assertion of theGovernment's authority, then a general strike upon the morrow was ascertain as that the sun would rise. It was for this moment, thisintensely critical moment, that Dawson had worked and fought inLondon, and for which he was now ready. The chairman sighed and wipedhis face, which had become clammy. He looked at Dawson, who noddedslightly, and then rose.

  "I call," said he solemnly, "upon Captain Dawson. He is now in supremeauthority."

  Dawson sprang to his feet, alert, decided, and picked up a large rollof papers which had rested behind him upon his chair. He placed theroll upon the table and faced the audience, who knew at once, with therapid instinct of a crowd, that the unexpected was about to happen.Dawson pulled down his tunic, settled himself comfortably into his SamBrowne belt, and rested his left hand upon the hilt of his sword.--Itwas a pretty artistic touch, the wearing of that sword, and exactlycharacteristic of Dawson's methods. I laughed when he told me ofit.--There were two doors to the room--one upon Dawson's left hand,the other at the far end behind the workmen. He raised his right hand,and the chairman, who was watching him, pressed an electric bell. Thenevents began to happen.

  The doors flew open, and through each of them filed a line of smartmen in blue, equipped with rifles and side arms. Twenty men and asergeant passed through each door, which was then closed. The ranks ofeach detachment were dressed as if on parade, and when all were ready,Dawson gave a sharp order. Instantly forty-two rifle-butts clashed asone upon the floor, and the Marines stood at ease. At this moment thedoor at the far end might have been seen to open, and an officer toslip in who, though white of hair, had not apparently reached a higherrank than that of lieutenant. "It was all very fine, Dawson," heexplained afterwa
rds, "your plan of leaving me outside with the restof the Marines, but it wasn't good enough. I didn't come north to beburied in the reserves."

  "You should have obeyed orders," replied Dawson severely.

  "I should," cheerfully assented the Colonel-Commandant of Chatham,"but somehow I didn't."

  While Dawson's body-guard of Marines was getting into position beforethe doors, the workmen, surprised and trapped, were on their feetchattering and gesticulating. The unfamiliar appearance of theblue-uniformed men, not one of whom was less than five feet nineinches in height, their well-set-up figures and stolid professionalfaces, gave a business-like, even ominous flavour to the proceedingswhich chilled the strike leaders to the bone. They would have cheeredan irruption of kilted recruits in khaki tunics as the coming of oldfriends, and would have felt no more than local patriotic hostilitytowards a detachment of English or Irish soldiers. But these blue menof the Sea Regiment, an integral part of the great mysterious silentNavy, had no part or lot with British workmen "rightly struggling tobe free." They represented some outside authority, some potent,overpowering authority, as no khaki-clad soldiers could haverepresented it. The surprise was complete, the moral effect wasstaggering, and Dawson, who had counted upon both when he brought hisMarines north, smiled contentedly to himself. He stepped forward, withthat little slip of paper in his hand, and began to read from it. Oneby one he read out twenty-three names, the very first being that ofthe man who had made the speech which I have reported.

  As name after name dropped from Dawson's lips, the wonder and terrorgrew. Who was this strange officer who could thus surely divide thegoats from the sheep, who was picking out one after another theself-seekers and fomenters of sedition, who, while he omitted none whowere really dangerous, yet included none who were honest thoughmistaken? As the list drew towards its end, quite half the listenerswere smiling broadly. They could not have drawn up a more perfect onethemselves, and they did not love most of those whose names were foundupon it.

  "Now," said Dawson, when he had finished, "I must ask all thosegentlemen to step forward." Not a man moved. "Let me warn you thatevery man whose name I have read out is personally known to me. If Ihave to come and fetch you, I shall not come alone." There was stillsome hesitation, and then those upon the proscribed list began to moveforward. They would willingly have hidden themselves, had that beenpossible, but to be known and to be dragged out by those hard-facedMarines would have added humiliation to terror. They came forth, untilall the twenty-three were ranged up before Dawson. Then the man, whosename was first upon the list, rasped out, "What is your authority forthis outrage upon a peaceful meeting? I demand your authority."

  "You shall have it," serenely replied Dawson. And, going up to thepile of papers which he had laid upon the table, he drew one forth andheld it up so that all might see. It was a large placard, boldlyprinted, a proclamation in cold, terse language of Martial Law, signedby the Secretary for War himself.

  "Martial Law! This is sheer militarism," cried the first of thosearrested.

  "For you and for these other twenty-two upon my list it is MartialLaw," replied Dawson. "But for the rest it will be as they choosethemselves. Sergeant, remove the prisoners." A sergeant stepped out,the line of Marines before the door divided, and the prisoners wereled away. Dawson put the proclamation back upon the table, squared hisshoulders, and turned towards his audience, now silent, subdued, andpurged. His plans were working very well.

  "I am no speaker," he began; "I am a man of the people, one ofyourselves. I have made my own way, and though I wear the uniform andstars of a Captain of Marines, I am really an officer of police, ChiefDetective Inspector Dawson of Scotland Yard." He paused to allow timefor this astonishing fact to sink in. So that was why he had known thenames and faces of all the ring-leaders of sedition! And if he knew somuch, what more might he not know! Even the most innocent among hisaudience began to feel loose about the neck.

  "I know you all," he went on. "There is not a man among you whom I donot know. You--or you--or you." He addressed those near to him byname. "We sympathise with you and have reasoned with you. But youproved obdurate. The King's Government must be carried on; the warmust be carried on if our country is to be saved. And those who havegiven power to me--the power which you have seen set out upon thesepapers, the powers of Martial Law--will exercise them unflinchingly ifthere appears to be no other way. But there is another and a betterway. You must obey the laws which Parliament has passed for thedefence of the country and for the provision of munitions. Your rightsare protected under them. After the war is over, your privileges willbe restored. For the present they must be abandoned. Willingly orunwillingly they must be abandoned. I said just now that it is for youto choose whether Martial Law shall take effect or not. The momentthose placards are posted in the streets the military authoritiesbecome supreme, but they will not be posted if you have the sense tosee when you are beaten. What I have to ask, to require of you, isthat to-morrow, at the mass meeting of the men which is to be held,you will advise them to surrender unconditionally, to work hardthemselves, and to allow all others to work hard. There must be nomore holding up of essential parts of guns, no more writing andtalking sedition. Our country needs the whole-hearted service of usall. If you here and now give me your promise that you will use everyeffort--no perfunctory, but real effort--to stop at once all thesethreats of a strike, I will let you go now and wish you God-speed. Ifyou fail, then Martial Law will be proclaimed forthwith. Make thisvery clear to the men. Tell them that you have seen the proclamation,signed by the Field-Marshal himself, and that I, Captain and ChiefInspector Dawson, will post the placards in the streets with my ownhands. If you will not give me your promise--I do not ask for anyhostages or security, just your promise as loyal, honourable men--Ishall arrest you all here and now, and deport you all just as thosetwenty-three have been arrested and will be deported. You will not seethose men for a long time; you know in your hearts that you are wellquit of them. If I arrest you all, I shall not stop my arrests at thatpoint. There are many others--many who are not workmen from whom hascome money for your strike funds and to offer bail when arrests havebeen made. I shall pick them all up. Nothing that you can now do willaffect the fate of those who have been taken from this room. Whateverloyalty you may owe to them has been discharged, and I will give you aquittance. Their chapter has been closed. What you have to considernow is the fate of yourselves and of many beside yourselves, of allthose who look to you for advice and guidance. Take time, talk amongyourselves, consult one another. I am not here to hurry you unduly,but before you are allowed to leave this room there must be a completeand final settlement."

  He sat down. The men split into groups, and the buzz of talk ranthrough the room. There was no anger or excitement, but muchbewilderment. They had come to the meeting as masters, strong innumbers, to dictate terms, yet now the tables had been turneddramatically upon them. No longer masters, they were in the presenceof a Force which at a word from Dawson could hale them forth asprisoners to be dealt with under the mysterious shuddering powers ofMartial Law. They thought of those twenty-three, a few minutes sinceso potent for mischief, now bound and helpless in the hands of theBlue Men from the Sea.

  At last an elderly grey-locked man stepped forward, and Dawson rose tomeet him. "We admit, sir," said he, "that you have us at adisadvantage. We did not expect this Proclamation nor those Marines ofyours. We did not believe that the Government meant business. Wethought that we should have more talk, talk, and we are all sick oftalk. We are true patriots here--you have taken away all those whocared nothing for their country--and we feel that if you are preparedto use Martial Law and the forces of the Crown against us, that youmust be very much in earnest. We feel that you would not do theseterrible things unless the need were very urgent. We do not agree thatthe need is urgent, but if you, representing the Government, say thatit is, we have no course open to us but to submit. If we now surrenderunconditionally and promise heartily to use every effort to brin
g themass of the men to our views, will you in your turn give us yourpersonal assurance that all our legitimate grievances will be fullyconsidered, and that every effort will be made to meet them? You maycrush us, sir, but you will not get good work from men whose spirithas been broken."

  "I cannot make conditions," replied Dawson gently, "but ask yourselveswhy I brought my Marines all the way from Chatham to deal with thismeeting? Was it not that I would not put upon you the pain andhumiliation of arrest at the hands of your own sons and brothers?Though I stand here with gold stars on my shoulders I am one of you.My father worked all his life in the dockyard at Portsmouth, and Imyself as a boy have been a holder-on in a black squad of riveters. Ican make no conditions, but if you will leave yourself entirely in myhands, and in those of my superiors, you may be assured that therewill be no attempt made to crush you, to break your spirit."

  As he said these words an inspiration came to him, and by sureinstinct he acted upon it. Jumping down from the platform, heapproached the old sad-faced spokesman, and shook him hard by thehand. Then he moved along among the other workmen, addressing them byname, chatting to them of their work and private interests, andshowing so complete and human a regard for them that their hostilitymelted away before him. This man, who had conquered them, was one ofthemselves, a "tradesman" like them, one of the Black Squad ofPortsmouth, a fellow-worker. He was no tool of the hated "capitalist."If he said that they must all go back to work unconditionally, wellthey must go. But he was their friend, and would see justice donethem. Presently Dawson was handing out cigarettes--of which he hadbrought a large supply in his pockets, Woodbines--and the meeting, ofwhich so much was feared, had apparently turned into, a happyconversazione. For half an hour Dawson pursued his campaign ofpersonal conciliation, and then went back to his place upon theplatform.

  "Go in peace," he cried. "Come again to-morrow afternoon and tell meabout the mass meeting. There will be more cigarettes awaiting you,and even, possibly, a bottle or two of whisky."

  The men laughed, and one wag called out, "Three cheers for holder-onDawson." The cheers were given heartily, the Marines stood aside fromthe doors, and the room rapidly emptied. The officials of theMunitions Department and the Colonel, who was Dawson's insubordinatesubaltern, crowded round him spouting congratulations. He soaked intheir flatteries as was his habit, and then delivered a lesson uponthe management of men which should be printed in letters of gold. "Menare just grown-up children," said he, "and should be treated aschildren. Be always just, praise them when they are good, and smackthem when they are naughty. But if when they are naughty you spare therod and try to slobber them with fine words, they will despise youutterly, and become upon the instant naughtier than ever."

  "What about that mass meeting to-morrow?" asked the Colonel.

  "I shall not be there, but ten of my men will be. Have no fears of themass meeting. The snake's head is off--by to-morrow it will be twohundred miles away--and though the body may wriggle, it will be quiteharmless. After two or three hours of talk and vain threats themeeting will collapse, and we shall get unconditional surrender."

  And so it happened. The talk went on for four solid hours--vain,vapouring talk, during which steam was blown off. At the end thesurrender, as Dawson predicted, was unconditional.

  That evening of the morrow a telegram sped away over the long wires tothe south addressed to the Secretary of the Admiralty.

  "Please tell First Lord that the snake is dead. I am returning theMarines carriage-paid and undamaged. My commission as a Captain is nolonger required. Dawson."

  Back flashed a reply from the Minister himself: "To Captain Dawson,R.M.L.I. Adjutant-General insists that you retain rank and pay untilthe end of the war. So do I. You have done a wonderful piece of workfor which you will be adequately punished in official quarters. Butyou will suffer in good company."

  Though Dawson thus became entitled to call himself Captain for theduration of the war, he never used the rank or the uniform again. Oncemore, to my knowledge, he served in his well-beloved Corps, but it wasthen not as Captain, but as private, during his long watch in the_Malplaquet_, of which I have told the story earlier in this book.

  CHAPTER XVII

  DAWSON TELEPHONES FOR A SURGEON

  I have never been able to plan this book upon any system which wouldhold together for half a dozen consecutive chapters. I am the victimof my characters who come and go and pull me with them tied to theirchariot wheels. When I wrote the first story of the "Lost NavalPapers"--which, by the way, were not lost at all--I had not made thepersonal acquaintance of William Dawson. When I wrote of my ownencounters with Dawson and of my share, a humble share, in hisresearches, my dear Madame Gilbert had not met me and subdued me intoa drivelling worship of her shining personality. While I was amusingmyself trying to convey to the reader the frolicsome atmosphere whichMadame carries about with her and in which she hides the workings ofher big heart and brain, I was ignorant of the adventures of the twobattle-cruisers and of Dawson's encounter with the War Committee, andof his triumph over the revolting workmen of the north. I havetherefore written, as it were, from hand to mouth, more as one whokeeps a vagabond diary than as one who consciously plans a work ofart. It is as a diary of personal experiences that this book should beregarded. It has no merit of constructive skill, for I have neverknown what the future would yield to me of material. When Dawsonparted with me to return south to the Yard, and to his deserted familyin Acacia Villas, Primrose Road, Tooting, I did not expect to see himagain for months, possibly years. But a turn came to the wheel of mydestiny as it had done to his. I also was plucked from my northernplace of exile and transported joyfully to the south country, whitherI have always fled whenever for a few days or weeks I could loosen thebonds which tied me to the north. Now that those bonds have fallenentirely from me, and I am back in my southern home--whether for goodor for evil rests upon the lap of the high gods--I have been ableunexpectedly to resume contact with Dawson and to bring this,discursive book to some kind of a conclusion. It cannot really end solong as Dawson and Froissart and Madame Gilbert live and remain infriendly association with me. They have become parts of my life, andif I have not outraged their feelings beyond forgiveness by what Ihave written of them, I have hopes that I shall meet all of them oftenin the future and that they will tell me many more stories of theirexploits.

  * * * * *

  As soon as I had settled myself in London I took the earliestopportunity of calling upon Dawson at the Yard. He was absent, but hisDeputy, who knew my name, received me kindly. He explained that itwould not be easy to find Dawson. "We never know where he is or whathe is doing. I suppose that the Chief knows; certainly no one else.How can one be Deputy to a man who never tells one what he is doing orwhere he may be found?" I agreed that the post seemed difficult tofill adequately. "I wish I could chuck it as Froissart did when hewent back to Paris. Have you ever seen Madame Gilbert?" he inquiredeagerly. I observed that Madame did me the honour to be my friend. "Soyou know her, do you? She's a clinker of a woman. Hot stuff, but areal genuine clinker. She could do what she pleased with old manDawson; make him fetch and carry like a poodle. She's the only womanborn who ever turned Dawson round her fingers." I observed ratherstiffly that Madame Gilbert was a lady for whom I had a very highregard, and that the expression "Hot stuff" was hardly respectful."Hum!" said the Deputy, eyeing me with interest. "So she has made afool of you like she has of the rest of us. Even the Chief gets downon his rheumaticky old knees and kisses the carpet of his room aftershe has trodden on it."

  The Deputy tended to become garrulous, and I cut him short with aninquiry for Dawson's exact address. He lived in Acacia Villas, but Iwas without the precise number. The Deputy told me, and promised toinform Dawson of my visit at the earliest moment. "It may be to-day,or next week, or next month. It may not be till the War is over"--anexpression which has come into colloquial use as a synonym for theGreek Kalends. I thanked the officer, and withdrew somewhat
annoyed.

  It appeared that Dawson was not far away, for a letter from himreached me two days later at my club. It was an invitation to visithis home and to dine with him on the following Sunday at one o'clock.Enclosed was a plan designed to assist me in penetrating the mazes ofTooting. That Sunday was a beautiful day in May, and I wandered downwith plenty of time to spare to provide against the danger of being"bushed." But with the aid of Dawson's thoughtful plan I foundPrimrose Road without difficulty. The hour was then 12.15, and thehouse deserted. Dawson and his family were at chapel. I had forgottenwhat I had heard months before of Dawson's fervour as a preacher uponTruth until reminded of it by a constable whose beat passed the house."If you are looking for Chief Detective Inspector Dawson," said he, "Ican show you where to find him in chapel. He will be holding forthjust now." The opportunity of seeing Dawson as he really was--knowncertainly only to his wife and to God--and of seeing him as apreacher, spurred me into active interest. "My relief is coming now,"said the constable; "as soon as I have handed over I will show you theway."

  As we walked together the policeman revealed to me the admirationinspired by Dawson in his humble subordinates. "There is nothing thatman can't do," said he. "He is a skilled mechanic, a soldier--some sayhe has a general's uniform hid away in his house--an electricalengineer, and a telegraph operator. He has been all over the world inthe Royal Navy, and could if he liked be commanding a ship now. He'sthe friend of Ministers and Secretaries of State. He's the bestdetective that the Yard ever knew, and he preaches to folk herelike--like the Archangel Gabriel come to trot 'em off to Hell. I'm aWesleyan, myself, but I often go to hear the Chief Inspector. He makesone come out in a cold sweat, and gives a man a fine appetite fordinner. He shakes you up so that you feel empty," he explained.

  I observed that if Dawson were so great a stimulus upon appetite, hewould not be popular with the Food Controller. The policeman, thoughhe had heard of the Food Controller, was unconscious of his manyactivities, which shows how little the world knows of its greatestmen. It also suggests that police constables do not read newspapers.

  The chapel was a building illustrative of the straight line and plane.It was fairly large, and so full that the crowd of worshippers bulgedout of the doors. Though we could not force our way inside, we couldhear the booming of a voice which was scarcely recognisable as that ofDawson. Waves of emotion ran so strongly through the congregation thatwe could feel them beat against the fringes by the doors. "The ChiefInspector is on his game to-day," whispered the constable. "He'shitting them fine." From which I judged that the constable had in hisyouth come from the north, where golf is cheap. It was adisappointment that I could not get in, but perhaps well for thereader. The temptation to record a genuine sermon by Dawson might haveproved too much for me. Presently the voice ceased to boom, thecongregation squeezed out hot and oily, like grease from a fullbarrel, and I waited for Dawson to appear. "Don't speak to him now,"directed my guide. "Let him get up to his house. He can't talk forhalf an hour after holding forth; there's not a word bad or good leftin his carcase."

  After all the worshippers had gone there issued forth a party ofthree: a man, a woman, and a little girl. "There he is," said theconstable, nudging me. "Who?" asked I. "The Chief Inspector. There heis with Mrs. Dawson and their little girl." I stared and stared, butfailed to recognise my friend of the north. I was too far away to seehis ears, and his face was quite strange to me.

  "I hope," I whispered primly to the constable, "that Mrs. Dawson issure he is her husband."

  "She ought to be. Aren't you sure?"

  "Not yet; I am not near enough to see properly. That Dawson, is not abit like those others whom I know."

  "That Dawson! Those others! Is there more than one Chief InspectorDawson?" asked the man, wondering.

  "I should say about a hundred," replied I, and left him gasping. Ifear that he now thinks that either I am quite mad or that Mrs. Dawsonis a pluralist in husbands.

  I gave the Dawson family sufficient time to reach their home, and torecover the power of speech, and then walked gravely to the door as ifI had just arrived. One becomes contagiously deceptive in the vicinityof Dawson.

  The stranger, who was the real undisguised Dawson, welcomed me to hishome. The house was a small one and the family kept no servant. I donot know what income the Chief Inspector draws from the Yard, but amsure that it is absurdly inadequate to his services. The higher onerises, the less work one does and the more pay one gets--provided thatone begins more than half-way up the ladder. For those like Dawson whobegin quite at the bottom, the rule seems to be inverted: the morework one does, the less pay one gets. I should judge my own ill-gottenincome at twice or three times that of Dawson--which even thatcautious judge, Euclid, would declare to be absurd.

  He led me to the parlour, which was well and tastefullyfurnished--Dawson has seen good houses--and we waited there while Mrs.Dawson dished up the dinner. "Please sit there, Dawson, facing thelight," said I. "Let me have a good look at you." He complied smiling,and I examined his features with grave attention. Dawson, the realDawson as I now saw him for the first time, is a very fair man. Hispale sandy hair can readily be bleached white or dyed a dark colour.He uses quick dyes which can be removed with appropriate chemicals.His hair and moustache, he told me, grow very quickly. His complexion,like his hair, is almost white, and his skin curiously opaque. Hisblood is red and healthy, but it does not show through. His skin andhair are like the canvas of a painter, always ready to receivepigments and ready also to give them up when treated with skill. Ibegan to understand how Dawson can make to himself a face andappearance of almost any habit or age. He can be fair or dark, dark orfair, old or young, young or old, at will. He carries the employmentof rubber and wax insets very far indeed. His nose, his cheeks, hismouth, his chin may be forced by internal packing to take tothemselves any shape. I made a hasty calculation that he can changehis appearance in seven hundred and twenty different ways. "So many asthat?" said Dawson, surprised when I told him. "I don't think that Ihave gone beyond sixty." I assured him that on strict mathematicalprinciples I had arrived at the limiting number, and it gave himpleasure to feel that so many untried permutations of countenanceremained to him. In actual everyday practice there are rarely morethan six Dawsons in being at the same time. He finds that numbersufficient for all useful purposes; a greater number, he says, wouldexcessively strain his memory. He has, you see, always to rememberwhich Dawson he is at any moment. When he was pulling my leg, or thatof his brave enemy Froissart, the number multiplied greatly, but, as aworking business rule, he is modestly content with six. "I suppose," Iasked, "that here in Acacia Villas you are always the genuinearticle."

  "Always," he declared with emphasis. "Once," he went on, "I tried toplay a game on Emma. I came home as one of the others, forced my wayinto the house, and was clouted over the head and chucked into thestreet. When I got back to the Yard to alter myself--for I had left mytools there--Emma had been telephoning to me to get the wickedstranger arrested for house-breaking. I never tried any more games;women have no sense of humour." He shuddered. Dawson is afraid of hiswife, and I pictured to myself a great haughty woman with the figureand arms of a Juno.

  But when Clara--who asked kindly after my little Jane--had summoned usto the dining-room, I was presented to a small, quiet mouse of a womanwhose head reached no higher than Dawson's heart. This was theredoubtable Emma! "Did she really clout you over the head and chuckyou into the street?" I whispered. "She did, sir!" he replied,smiling. "She threw me yards over my own doorstep."

  Between Dawson and his little wife there is a very tender affection.In her eyes he is not a police officer, but an inspired preacher. Sheknows nothing of his professional triumphs, and would not care toknow. She, I am very sure, will never trouble to read this book. Toher he is the lover of her youth, the most tender of husbands, and aBoanerges who spends his Sabbaths dragging fellow-creatures from thePit. The God of Dawson and of his Emma is a pitiless giant with apitchfork, busily t
hrusting his creatures towards eternal torment;Dawson, in Emma's eyes, is an intrepid salvor with a boat-hook whoonce a week arduously pulls them out. Dawson married Emma when he wasa sergeant of Marines, and I think that he has shown to her hisuniform with the three captain's stars. To me she always spoke of himas "the Captain," though I could not be quite sure whether she meant aCaptain of Marines or a Captain in the Army of Salvation. Dawson, hisEmma, and Clara are very happy, very united, and I am glad that I sawthem in their own home. I am helped to understand how tender is theheart which beats under Dawson's assumed cloak of professionalruthlessness. At first I wholly misjudged him, but I will not nowalter what I then wrote. My readers will learn to know their Dawson asI learned myself.

  Whenever in the future I wish to hear from Dawson of his exploits Ishall not seek him at his own house. He is an artist who is highlysensitive to atmosphere. In Acacia Villas the police officer fades toshadowy insignificance, even in his own mind. Then, he is a husband, afather, and a mighty preacher. He will talk of his disguises, and ingeneral terms of his work, but there is no fiery enthusiasm formanhunting when Dawson gets home to Tooting. I shall seek him at theYard, or upon the hot trail; then and then only shall I get from himthe full flavour of his genius for detection. Dawson, away from home,is so vain as to be unconscious of his vanity; Dawson at home is quiteextraordinarily modest. He defers always to the opinion of Emma, andshe, gently, kindly, but with an air of infinite superiority, keepshis wandering steps firmly in the path of truth. He is, I am told, amost kindling preacher, but it is Emma who inspires his sermons.

  Once only during my visit did I see a flash of the old Dawson, theDawson of the _Malplaquet_, and of the War Committee, and that wasjust before I left. We were in the parlour smoking, and I was gettingrather bored. Conjugal virtue, domestic content and happiness, arebeautiful to look upon for a while, but I confess that in aremorseless continuous film ("featuring" Dawson and Emma) I find themboresome. There is little humour about Dawson and none at all abouthis dear Emma. I would gladly exchange fifty virtuous Emmas for onenaughty Madame Gilbert. We had been talking idly of our sport togetherand of his different incarnations. Suddenly he sprang from his chairand his pale face lighted up. "Now that I have you here, Mr.Copplestone, I shall not let you go until you tell me by what trickyou can always see through my disguises. Would you know me now asDawson?"

  "Of course," said I. "There is no difficulty. If you painted your faceblack and your hair vermilion, I should still know you at once."

  "You have promised to tell me the secret. Tell me now."

  I considered whether I should tell. It was amusing to have some holdover him, but was it quite fair to Dawson to keep him in ignorance ofthose marks of ear by which I could always be certain of his identity.He had been useful to me, and I had made free with his personality.Yes, I would tell him, and in a few sentences I told.

  He gripped his ears with both hands; he felt those lobes so firmlysecured to his cheekbones, and those blobs of flesh which remained tohim of his wolfish ancestors. He fingered them carefully while hethought. At last he made up his mind. "It is the Sabbath," said he,"but when I am on duty I work ever upon the Sabbath day. It is now myduty to--" He reached for the telephone book, took off the receiver,and called for a number.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, though I ought to have known.

  "I am making an appointment with a surgeon," said Dawson.

  THE END