GUESSWORK
Cary tried to shake my resolution, but I was obdurately silent. While
he canvassed the whole position, bringing to bear his really profound
knowledge of naval equipment and routine--and incidentally helping me
greatly to realise the improbability of my own guesswork solution--I
was able to maintain an air of lofty superiority. I must have
aggravated him intensely, unpardonably, for I was his guest. He ought
to have kicked me out. Yet he bore with me like the sweet-blooded
kindly angel that he is, and when at the end it appeared that I was
right after all, Cary was the first to pour congratulations and honest
admiration upon me. If he reads this book he will know that I am
repentant--though I must confess that I should behave in just the same
abominable way if the incident were to occur again. There is no great
value in repentance such as this.
We reached Dawson's office in the early afternoon, and found his chief
assistant there, but no Dawson. "The old man," remarked that officer,
a typical, stolid, faithful detective sergeant, "is out on the
rampage. He ought by rights to sit here directing the staff and leave
the outside investigations to me. He is a high-up man, almost a deputy
assistant commissioner, and has no call to be always disguising
himself and playing his tricks on everybody. I suppose you know that
white-haired old gent down here ain't a bit like Bill Dawson, who's
not a day over forty?"
"I have given up wondering where the real Dawson ends and where the
disguises begin. The man I met up north wasn't the least bit like the
one down here."
"A deal younger, I expect," said the chief assistant, grinning. "He
shifts about between thirty and sixty. The old man is no end of a
cure, and tries to take us in the same as he does you. There's an
inspector 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 Dawson
up. He says that the old man does not know his own self in the
looking-glass; and as for Mrs. Dawson, I expect she has to take any
one 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 knew
the real Dawson, but that few other people did."
"If he told you that," calmly observed the assistant, "you may bet
your last shirt he was humbugging you. He couldn't tell the truth, not
if 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. I
don't take no account of a word that man says. But he's the most
successful detective we've got in the whole Force. He's sure to be
head of the C.I.D. one day, and then he will have to stay in his
office and give us others a chance."
"I don't believe he will," I observed, laughing. "There will be a sham
Dawson in the office and the genuine article will be out on the
rampage. He is a man who couldn't sit still, not even if you tied him
in his chair and sealed the knots."
We spent a pleasant hour pulling Dawson to pieces and leaving to him
not a rag of virtue, except intense professional zeal. We exchanged
experiences of him, those of the chief assistant being particularly
rich and highly flavoured. It appeared that Dawson when off duty loved
to occupy the platform at meetings of his religious connection and to
hold forth to the elect. The privilege of "sitting under him" had been
enjoyed more than once by the assistant, who retailed to us extracts
from Dawson's favourite sermon on "Truth." His views upon Truth were
unbending as armour plate. "Under no circumstances, not to save
oneself from imminent death, not to shield a wife or a child from the
penalties for a lapse from virtue, not even to preserve one's country
from the attacks of an enemy, was it permissible to a Peculiar Baptist
to 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 could
salvation be reached."
"He made me shiver," said the chief assistant, "and he drove me to
thinking of one or two little deceptions of my own. When Dawson
preaches, his eyes blaze, his voice breaks, and he will fall on his
knees and pray for the souls of those who heed not his words. You
can't look at him then and not believe that he means every word he
says. Yet it's all humbug."
"No, it is not," said I. "Dawson in the pulpit, or on the tub--or
whatever platform he uses--is absolutely genuine. He is the finest
example that I have ever met of the dual personality. He is in dead
earnest when he preaches on Truth, and he is in just as dead earnest
when, stripped of every moral scruple, he pursues a spy or a criminal.
In pursuit he is ruthless as a Prussian, but towards the captured
victim he can be strangely tender. I should not be surprised to learn
that he hates capital punishment and is a strong advocate of gentle
methods in prison discipline."
The chief assistant stared, opened a drawer, and pulled forth a slim
grey 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; the
assistant snatched it from my hand, flashed it back into its place,
and jumped to attention as Dawson entered. He surveyed us with those
searching, unwinking eyes of his--for we had the air of
conspirators--and said brusquely: "Clear out, Wilson. You talk too
much. 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 a
hurry to do his work well. The main gun-cable was nipped, but not cut
through. She will be delayed till to-morrow, not longer. I am not
worrying about the _Antigone_, but about the new battleship
_Malplaquet_, which was commissioned last month, is nearly filled up
with stores, and is expected to leave the river on Saturday. We can't
have her delayed by any hanky tricks, not even if we have to put the
whole detective force on board of her. Still, I'm not so anxious as I
was. This _Antigone_ business has cleared things up a lot, and one can
sift 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, and
platers and riveters on the other. Different trades. So not a workman
who was in the _Antinous_ was also in the _Antigone_. We can rule out
all the workmen. We can also rule out my lieutenant R.N.R. with the
German name who has gone to sea in the _Antinous_. The care and
maintenance 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 theory
had gone to wreck. "You are quite sure."
"Quite. I have all the names and have examined all the men. They were
all off the ship by eleven o'clock last night. I hadn't one of my own
men among them, but, to make sure, I sent Petty Officer Trehayne on
board at eight o'clock to keep a sharp look-out and to see all the
harbour party off the vessel. He reported a little after eleven that
they were all gone and the ship taken over by her own crew. The damage
was 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, which
is her officers' job, not mine. I wash my hands of the _Antigone_, but
it 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 force
under 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 have
been beaten twice, but not the third time. I've told the Yard that if
the _Malplaquet_ is touched I shall resign, and if they send any one
to help me I shall resign. Between to-day, Thursday, and Saturday I am
going to catch the wily josser who has a fancy for cutting gun cables
or Dawson will say good-bye to the Force. That's a fair stake."
The man swelled with determination and pride. He had no thought of
failure, and drew inspiration and joy from the heaviness of the bet
which he had made with Fortune. He took the born gambler's delight in
a big risk.
"Then you think that the _Antinous_ and the _Antigone_ were both
damaged 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 are
no help. I believe in facts--facts brought out by constant vigilance.
Unsleeping watchfulness and universal suspicion, those are the
principles 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 the
river. 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 a
moment he hesitated, and then, recollecting the high post to which I
had 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 at
disguise, 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 their
own secret traditions, live in a world to which no stranger ever
penetrates. You could pass as a naval officer more easily than you
could as a Pongo. It is sheer madness, Dawson."
He gave a short laugh. "Much you know about it. I have served in the
Red Corps myself. I was a recruit at Deal, passed two years at
Plymouth, and served afloat for three years. I was then drafted into
the Naval Police. Afterwards I was recommended for detective work in
the dockyards, and at the end of my Marine service joined the Yard. My
good man, I was a sergeant before I left the Corps."
"I give up, Dawson," said I. "Nothing about you will ever surprise me
again. 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 a
Marine sentry you can get yourself posted by the Major wherever you
please, and the Guard will not talk even though they may wonder that
any man should want to do twenty-four hours of duty per day. The
Marines are the closest, faith-fullest, and best disciplined force in
the wide world. Bluejackets will gossip; Marines never. You will be
able to watch more closely than even Trehayne, who, I suppose, will
also be on board."
"Yes. He is coming up soon for instructions. It's his last chance, as
it is mine. He sees that he must be held responsible for the wire
cutting in the _Antinous_, and to some slight extent also in the
_Antigone_, and that if anything goes wrong with the _Malplaquet_ he
will be dismissed. I shall be sorry to lose him, for he is an
exceptionally good man, but we can't allow failures in petty officer
detectives 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 three
years in the _Vernon_ at Portsmouth and in the torpedo factory at
Greenock. A first-class engineer and electrician and a sound
detective. He has been with me for some twelve months. You will see
him if he calls soon."
I had been thinking hard over the details of Dawson's plans while the
talk went on, and then ventured to offer some comments.
"It is fortunate that you have grown a moustache since you were in the
north; 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 again
between whiles. One can take it off quicker than one can put it on
again. False hair is the devil; I have never used it yet and never
will. So whenever I have a spell of leisure I grow a moustache against
emergencies--like this one."
My next comment was rather difficult to make, for I did not wish
either Cary or Dawson to divine its purpose. "If I may make a
suggestion to a man of your experience it would be that none of your
men here, not even your chief assistant or Trehayne, should know that
you are joining the _Malplaquet_ as a Marine. Two independent strings
are in this case better than a double-jointed string."
"I never tell anything to any one, least of all to Pudden-Headed
Wilson. He is loyal, but a stupid ass with a flapping tongue. Trehayne
is close as wax, but, on general principles, I keep my movements
strictly to myself. He will be in the ship, but he won't know that I
am there too. The Commander must know and the Major of Marines, for I
shall want a uniform and the free run of the ship, so as to be posted
where 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 Dawson
pleasantly, "for I've got you tight in my hand and could lock either
of you up in a minute if I chose."
A peculiar knock came upon the door, a word passed between Dawson and
the police sentry outside, and a young man in the uniform of a naval
petty officer entered the room. He was clean-shaven, looked about
twenty-five years old, was dark and slim of the Latin type which is
not uncommon in Cornwall, and impressed me at once with his air of
intelligence and refinement. His voice, too, was rather striking. It
was that of the wardroom rather than of the mess deck. I liked the
look of Petty Officer Trehayne. Dawson presented him to us and then
took him aside for instructions. When he had finished, both men
rejoined us, and the conversation became light and general. Trehayne,
though clearly suffering from nervous strain after his recent
professional failures, talked with the ease and detachment of a highly
cultivated man. It appeared that he had been educated at Blundell's
School, had lost his parents at about sixteen, had done a course in
some electrical engineering shops at Plymouth, and when twenty years
old had secured a good berth on the engineering staff of the _Vernon_.
He could speak both French and German, which he had learned partly at
school and partly on the Continent during leave. Dawson, who was
evidently very proud of his young pupil and assistant, paraded his
accomplishments before us rather to Trehayne's embarrassment. "Try him
with French and German," urged Dawson. "He can chatter them as well as
English. But he is as close as wax in all three languages. Some men
can't keep their tongues still in one."
I turned to Trehayne and spoke in French: "German I can't abide, but
French I love. My vocabulary is extensive, but my accent
abominable--incurably British. You can hear it for yourself how it
gives me away."
"It is not quite of Paris," replied Trehayne. "Mais vous parlez
français très bien, très 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, see
the Commander of the _Malplaquet_, and draw a uniform and rifle out of
the marine stores. It will be quite like old times. You won't see me
until 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 disclaimed
all use of theories, yet there was more moving behind that big
forehead of his than he chose to give away. Did his ideas run on
parallel lines with mine; did he even suspect that I had formed any
idea 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 so
little that was palpable that anything which I might say would be
dismissed as the merest guesswork, for which, as Dawson proclaimed, he
had no use. Yet, yet--my original guess stuck firmly in my mind,
improbable though it might be, and had just been nailed down
tightly--I scorn to mystify the reader--by a few simple sentences
spoken in French.