The Lost Naval Papers | Page 9

rather grubby business. Let me give you two dates. On May
25 two copies of my faked Notes were shepherded through to Holland
and reached the Germans; on May 31 was fought the Battle of Jutland.
Can the brief space between these dates have been merely an accident?
I cannot believe it. No, I prefer to believe that in my humble way I
induced the German Fleet to issue forth and to risk an action which,
under more favourable conditions for us, would have resulted in their
utter destruction. I may be wrong, but I am happy in retaining my
faith."
"What became of Hagan?" I asked, for I wished to bring the narrative
to a clean artistic finish.
"I am not sure," answered Cary, "though I gave evidence as ordered by
the court-martial. But I rather think that I have here Hagan's epitaph."
He took out his pocket-book, and drew forth a slip of paper upon which
was gummed a brief newspaper cutting. This he handed to me, and I
read as follows:
"The War Office announces that a prisoner who was charged with
espionage and recently tried by court-martial at the Westminster
Guildhall was found guilty and sentenced to death. The sentence was
duly confirmed and carried out yesterday morning."
* * * * *
Two months passed. Summer, what little there was of it, had gone, and
my spirits were oppressed by the wet and fog and dirt of November in
the North. I desired neither to write nor to read. My one overpowering
longing was to go to sleep until the war was over and then to awake in
a new world in which a decent civilised life would once more be
possible.
In this unhappy mood I was seated before my study fire when a servant
brought me a card. "A gentleman," said she, "wishes to see you. I said
that you were engaged, but he insisted. He's a terrible man, sir."

I looked at the card, annoyed at being disturbed; but at the sight of it
my torpor fell from me, for upon it was written the name of that
detective officer whom in my story I had called William Dawson, and
in the corner were the letters "C.I.D." (Criminal Investigation
Department). I had become a criminal, and was about to be
investigated!

CHAPTER II
AT CLOSE QUARTERS
Dawson entered, and we stood eyeing one another like two strange
dogs. Neither spoke for some seconds, and then, recollecting that I was
a host in the presence of a visitor, I extended a hand, offered a chair,
and snapped open a cigarette case. Dawson seated himself and took a
cigarette. I breathed more freely. He could not design my immediate
arrest, or he would not have accepted of even so slight a hospitality. We
sat upon opposite sides of the fire, Dawson saying nothing, but
watching me in that unwinking cat-like way of his which I find so
exasperating. Many times during my association with Dawson I have
longed to spring upon him and beat his head against the floor--just to
show that I am not a mouse. If his silence were intended to make me
uncomfortable, I would give him evidence of my perfect composure.
"How did you find me out?" I asked calmly.
His start of surprise gratified me, and I saw a puzzled look come into
his eyes. "Find out what?" he muttered.
"How did you find out that I wrote a story about you?"
"Oh, that?" He grinned. "That was not difficult, Mr.--er--Copplestone. I
asked Mr.--er--Richard Cary for your real name and address, and he
had to give them to me. I was considering whether I should prosecute
both him and you."

"No doubt you bullied Cary," I said, "but you don't alarm me in the
least. I had taken precautions, and you would have found your way
barred if you had tried to touch either of us."
"It is possible," snapped Dawson. "I should like to lock up all you
writing people--you are an infernal nuisance--but you seem to have a
pull with the politicians."
We were getting on capitally: the first round was in my favour, and I
saw another opportunity of showing my easy unconcern of his powers.
"Oh no, Mr.--er--William Dawson. You would not lock us up, even if
all the authority in the State were vested in the soldiers and the police.
For who would then write of your exploits and pour upon your heads
the bright light of fame? The public knows nothing of Mr. ----" (I held
up his card), "but quite a lot of people have heard of William Dawson."
"They have," assented he, with obvious satisfaction. "I sent a copy of
the story to my Chief--just to put myself straight with him. I