CHAPTER III
AN INQUISITION
Perhaps I ought to have seen it coming, but I didn't. For a moment, asa washerwoman might say, I was struck all of a heap. Then thedelicious thought that I--by nature a vagabond, though by decree ofthe High Gods the father of a family and a Justice of the Peace--hadto face the charge of being a German spy shook my soul with ribaldlaughter. I had been dull and torpid before the arrival of Dawson; hehad awakened me into joyous life. I arose, filled and lighted a largecalabash pipe, and passed a box of cigars to the detective. "Throwthat stump away and take another," said I. "I owe you more than acigar or two." He stared at me, took what I offered, and his facerelaxed into a grin. "It is pleasant to see that you are a man ofhumour, Mr. Dawson," I observed, when we were again seated comfortablyon opposite sides of the fire. "In my day I have played many parts,but I cannot somehow recall the incident of unsoldering a sardine tin,inserting a paper packed in a mess of putty, soldering it up, anddespatching the incriminating product within a parcel addressed to alate lieutenant of Northumberland Fusiliers. I am not denying thecharge; the whole affair is too delightful to be cut short. Let usspin it out delicately like children over plates of sweet pudding."
"You are a queer customer, Mr. Copplestone. I confess that the wholebusiness puzzles me, though you and your friends here seem to find itdevilish amusing. When I told the Chief Constable, the manager of theshipyard, and the Admiral Superintendent of Naval Work that you werethe guilty party, they all roared. For some reason the Admiral and theshipyard manager kept winking at one another and gurgling till Ithought they would have choked. What _is_ the joke?"
"If you are good, Dawson, I will tell you some day. This is November,and the _Rampagious_--the ship described on your paper--left forPortsmouth in August. In July--" I broke off hurriedly, lest I shouldtell my visitor too much. "It has taken our friend who put the paperin the sardine tin three months to find out details of her. I couldhave done better than that, Dawson."
"That is just what the Admiral said, though he wouldn't explain why."
"The truth is, Dawson, that the Admiral and I both come from Devon,the land of pirates, smugglers, and buccaneers. We are law breakers byinstinct and family tradition. When we get an officer of the law ontoast, we like to make the most of him. It is a playful little way ofours which I am sure you will understand and pardon."
"You know, of course, that I am justified in arresting you. I have awarrant and handcuffs in my pocket."
"Admirable man!" I cried, with enthusiasm. "You are, Dawson, theperfect detective. As a criminal I should be mightily afraid of you.But, as in my buttonhole I always wear the white flower whichproclaims to the world my blameless life, I am thoroughly enjoyingthis visit and our cosy chat beside the fire. Shall I telephone to myoffice and say that I shall be unavoidably detained from duty for anindefinite time? 'Detained' would be the strict truth and the _motjuste_. If you would kindly lock me up, say, for three years or theduration of the war I should be your debtor. I have often thought thata prison, provided that one were allowed unlimited paper and the useof a typewriter, would be the most charming of holidays--a perfectrest cure. There are three books in my head which I should like towrite. Arrest me, Dawson, I implore you! Put on the handcuffs--I havenever been handcuffed--ring up a taxi, and let us be off to jail. Youwill, I hope, do me the honour of lunching with me first and meetingmy wife. She will be immensely gratified to be quit of me. It cannotoften have happened in your lurid career, Dawson, to be welcomed withgenuine enthusiasm."
"Why did that man say that he prepared the description of the ship foryou?"
"That is what we are going to find out, and I will help you all I can.My reputation is like the bloom upon the peach--touch it, and it isgone for ever. There is a faint glimmer of the truth at the back of mymind which may become a clear light. Did he say that he had given itto me personally, into my own hand?"
"No. He said that he was approached by a man whom he had known off andon for years, a man who was employed by you in connection withshipyard inquiries. He was informed that this man was still employedby you for the same purpose now as in the past."
"Your case against me is thinning out, Dawson. At its best it issecond-hand; at its worst, the mere conjecture of a rather carelessdraughtsman. I have two things to do: first to find out the realseducer, who is probably also the despatcher of the parcels to thelate lieutenant of Northumberland Fusiliers, and second, to save if Ican this poor fool of a shipyard draughtsman from punishment for hisfolly. I don't doubt that he honestly thought he was dealing with me."
"He will have to be punished. The Admiral will insist upon that."
"We must make the punishment as light as we can. You shall help mewith all the discretionary authority with which you are equipped. Ican see, Dawson, from the tactful skill with which you have dealt withme that discretion is among your most distinguished characteristics.If you had been a stupid, bull-headed policeman, you would have beenup against pretty serious trouble."
"That was quite my own view," replied Dawson drily.
"Who is the man described by our erring draughtsman?"
"He won't say. We have put on every allowable method of pressure, andsome that are not in ordinary times permitted. We have had over thisspy hunt business to shed most of our tender English regard forsuspected persons, and to adopt the French system of fishinginquiries. In France the police try to make a man incriminate himself;in England we try our hardest to prevent him. That may be very rightand just in peace time against ordinary law breakers; but war is war,and spies are too dangerous to be treated tenderly. We havecross-examined the man, and bully-ragged him, but he won't give up thename of his accomplice. It may be a relation. One thing seems sure.The man is, or was, a member of your staff, engaged in shipyardinquiries. Can you give me a list of the men who are or have been onthis sort of work during the past few years?"
"I will get it for you. But please use it carefully. My present menare precious jewels, the few left to me by zealous militaryauthorities. What I must look for is some one over military age whohas left me or been dismissed--probably dismissed. When a Britishsubject, of decent education and once respectable surroundings, getsinto the hands of German agents, you may be certain of one thing,Dawson, that he has become a rotter through drink."
"That's it," cried Dawson. "You have hit it. Crime and drink are twinbrothers as no one knows better than the police. Look out for the nameand address of a man dismissed for drunkenness and we shall have ourbird."
"The name I can no doubt give you, but not the address."
"Give us any address where he lived, even if it were ten years ago,and we will track him down in three days. That is just routine policework."
"I never presume to teach an expert his business--and you, Dawson, area super-expert, a director-general of those of common qualities--butwould it not be well to warn all the Post Offices, so that whenanother parcel is brought in addressed to the lieutenant the bearermay be arrested?"
Dawson sniffed. "Police work; common police work. It was done at oncefor this city and fifty miles round. No parcel was put in last week.The warning has since been extended to the whole of the UnitedKingdom. We may get our man this week, or at least a messenger of his,but no news has yet come to me. I will lunch with you, as you sokindly suggest, and afterwards I want you to come with me to see thedraughtsman in the lockup. You may be able to shake his confoundedobstinacy. Run the pathetic stunt. Say if he keeps silent that youwill be arrested, your home broken up, your family driven into theworkhouse, and you yourself probably shot. Pitch it strong and rich.He is a bit of a softy from the look of him. That tender-hearted lotare always the most obstinate when asked to give away their pals."
"Do you know, Dawson," I said, as he went upstairs with me to have alick and a polish, as he put it--"I am inclined to agree with Carythat you are rather an inhuman beast."
My wife, with whom I could exchange no more than a dozen words and awink or two, gripped the situ
ation and played up to it in the fashionwhich compels the admiration and terror of mere men. Do they humbugus, their husbands, as they do the rest of the world on our behalf?She met Dawson as if he were an old family friend, heaped hospitalityupon him, and chaffed him blandly as if to entertain a police officerwith a warrant and handcuffs in his pocket were the best joke in theworld. "My husband, Mr. Dawson, needs a holiday very badly, but won'ttake one. He thinks that the war cannot be pursued successfully unlesshe looks after it himself. If you would carry him off and keep himquiet for a bit, I should be deeply grateful." She then fell into adiscussion with Dawson of the most conveniently situated prisons. Mrs.Copplestone dismissed Dartmoor and Portland as too bleakly situated,but was pleased to approve of Parkhurst in the Isle of Wight--which Irather fancy is a House of Detention for women. She insisted that theclimate of the Island was suited to my health, and wrung a promisefrom Dawson that I should, if possible, be interned there. Dawson'smanners and conversation surprised me. His homespun origin wasevident, yet he had developed an easy social style which was neitherfamiliar nor aggressive. We were in his eyes eccentrics, possibly whathe would call among his friends "a bit off," and he bore himselftowards us accordingly. My small daughter, Jane, to whom he had beenpresented as a colonel of police--little Jane is deeply versed inmilitary ranks--took to him at once, and his manner towards herconfirmed my impression that some vestiges of humanity may still bediscovered in him by the patient searcher. She insisted upon sittingnext to him and in holding his hand when it was not employed inconveying food to his mouth. She was startled at first by thediscussion upon the prisons most suitable for me, but quickly becamereconciled to the idea of a temporary separation.
"Colonel Dawson," she asked. "When daddy is in prison, may I come andsee him sometimes. Mother and me?" Dawson gripped his hair--we werethe maddest crew!--and replied. "Of course you shall, Miss Jane, asoften as you like."
"Thank you, Colonel Dawson; you are a nice man. I love you. Now showme the handcuffs in your pocket."
For the second time that day poor Dawson blushed. He must haveregretted many times that he had mentioned to me those unfortunatedarbies. Now amid much laughter he was compelled to draw forth apretty shining pair of steel wristlets and permit Jane to put them on.They were much too large for her; she could slip them on and offwithout unlocking; but as toys they were a delight. "I shouldn't mindbeing a prisoner," she declared, "if dear Colonel Dawson took me up."
We were sitting upon the fire-guard after luncheon, dallying over ourcoffee, when Jane demanded to be shown a real arrest. "Show me how youtake up a great big man like Daddy."
Then came a surprise, which for a moment had so much in it of bitterrealism that it drove the blood from my wife's cheeks. I could notfollow Dawson's movements; his hands flickered like those of aconjurer, there came a sharp click, and the handcuffs were upon mywrists! I stared at them speechless, wondering how they got there,and, looking up, met the coldly triumphant eyes of the detective. Irealised then exactly how the professional manhunter glares at theprey into whom, after many days, he has set his claws. My wife gaspedand clutched at my elbow, little Jane screamed, and for a few secondseven I thought that the game had been played and that serious businesswas about to begin. Dawson gave us a few seconds of apprehension, andthen laughed grimly. From his waistcoat pocket he drew a key, and thefetters were removed almost as quickly as they had been clapped on."Tit for tat," said he. "You have had your fun with me. Fair play is ajewel."
Little Jane was the first to recover speech. "I knew that dear ColonelDawson was only playing," she cried. "He only did it to please me.Thank you, Colonel, though you did frighten me just a weeny bit atfirst." And pulling him down towards her she kissed him heartily uponhis prickly cheek. It was a queer scene.
The door bell rang loudly, and we were informed that a policeman stoodwithout who was inquiring for Chief Inspector Dawson. "Show him inhere," said I. The constable entered, and his manner of addressing myguest--that of a raw second lieutenant towards a general ofdivision--shed a new light upon Dawson's pre-eminence in his Service."A telegram for you, sir." Dawson seized it, was about to tear itopen, remembered suddenly his hostess, and bowed towards her. "Have Iyour permission, madam?" he asked. She smiled and nodded; I turnedaway to conceal a laugh. "Good," cried Dawson, poring over themessage. "I think, Mr. Copplestone, that you had better telephone toyour office and say that you are unavoidably detained."
"What--what is it?" cried my wife, who had again become white withsudden fear.
"Something which will occupy the attention of your husband and myselfto the exclusion of all other duties. This telegram informs me that aparcel has been handed in at Carlisle and the bearer arrested."
"Excellent!" I cried. "My time is at your disposal, Dawson. We shallnow get full light."
He sat down and scribbled a reply wire directing the parcel and itsbearer to be brought to him with all speed. "They should arrive in twoor three hours," said he, "and in the meantime we will tackle thedraughtsman who made that plan of the battleship. Good-bye Mrs.Copplestone, and thank you very much for your hospitality. Yourhusband goes with me." My wife shook hands with Dawson, and politelysaw him off the premises. She has said little to me since about hisvisit, but I do not think that she wishes ever to meet with him again.Little Jane, who kissed him once more at parting, is still attached tothe memory of her colonel.
* * * * *
Dawson led me to the private office at the Central Police Station,which was his temporary headquarters, and sent for the dossier of thelocked up draughtsman. "I have here full particulars of him," said he,"and a verbatim note of my examination." I examined the photographattached, which represented a bearded citizen of harmless aspect; overhis features had spread a scared, puzzled look, with a suggestion init of pathetic appeal. He looked like a human rabbit caught in anunexpected and uncomprehended trap. It was a police photograph. Then Ibegan to read the dossier, but got no farther than the firstparagraph. In it was set out the man's name, those of his wife andchildren, his employment, record of service, and so on. What arrestedmy researches was the maiden name of the wife, which, in accordancewith the northern custom, had been entered as a part of her legaldescription. The name awoke in me a recollection of a painful incidentwithin my experience. I saw before me the puffed, degraded face of oneto whom I had given chance after chance of redeeming himself fromthraldom to the whisky bottle, one who had promised again and again toamend his ways. At last, wearied, I had cast him out. He had beenlooking after an important shipbuilding district, had conspicuousability and knowledge, the support of a faithful wife. But nothingavailed to save him from himself. "Give me five minutes alone withyour prisoner," I said to Dawson, "and I will give you the spy youseek."
I had asked for five minutes, but two were sufficient for my purpose.The draughtsman had been obstinate with Dawson, seeking loyally toshield his wretched brother-in-law, but when he found that I had themissing thread in my hands, he gave in at once. "What relation is ----to your wife?" I asked. He had risen at my entrance, but the questionwent through him like a bullet; his pale face flushed, he staggeredpitifully, and, sitting down, buried his face in his hands. "You maytell the truth now," I said gently. "We can easily find out what wemust know, but the information will come better from you."
"He is my wife's brother," murmured the man.
"You knew that he was no longer in my service?"
"Yes, I knew."
I might fairly have asked why he had used my name, but refrained. Onecan readily pardon the lapses of an honest man, terrified at findinghimself in the coils of the police, clinging to the good name of hiswife and her family, clutching at any device to throw thesleuth-hounds of the law off the real scent. He had given hisbrother-in-law forbidden information from a loyal desire to help himand with no knowledge of the base use to which it would be put. Whendetected, he had sought at any cost to shield him.
"I will do my best to help you," I said.
I found Dawson's chuckling joy rather repulsive. I felt that, beingsuccessful, he might at least have had the decency to dissemble hissatisfaction. He might also have given me some credit for the rapidclearing up of the problem in detection. But he took the whole thingto himself, and gloated like a child over his own cleverness. Ineither obtained from him thanks for my assistance nor apologies forhis suspicions. It was Dawson, Dawson, all the time. Yet I found hisegotism and unrelieved vanity extraordinarily interesting. As we sattogether in his room waiting for the Carlisle train to come in hediscoursed freely to me of his triumphs in detection, his wide-spreadsystem of spying upon spies, his long delayed "sport" with some, andhis ruthless rapid trapping of others. Men are never so interesting aswhen they talk shop, and as a talker of shop Dawson was sublime.
"If," said Dawson, as the time approached for the closing scene, "ourmuch-wanted friend has himself handed in the parcel at Carlisle--hewould be afraid to trust an accomplice--our job will be done. If not,I will pull a drag net through this place which will bring him upwithin a day or two. What a fool the man is to think that he couldescape the eye of Bill Dawson."
A policeman entered, laid a packet upon the table before us, andannounced that the prisoner had been placed in cell No. 2. Dawsonsprang up. "We will have a look at him through the peephole, and if itis our man--" One glance was enough. Before me I saw him whom I hadexpected to see. He and his cargo of whisky bottles had reached thelast stage of their long journey; at one end had been peace, reasonableprosperity, and a happy home; at the other was, perhaps, a rope or abullet.
Dawson began once more to descant upon his own astuteness, but I wastoo sick at heart to listen. I remembered only the visit years beforewhich that man's wife had paid to me. "Will you not open the parcel?"I interposed. He fell upon it, exposed its contents of bread,chocolate, and sardine tins, and called for a can opener. He shook thetins one by one beside his ear, and then, selecting that which gaveout no "flop" of oil, stripped it open, plunged his fingers inside,and pulled forth a clammy mess of putty and sawdust. In a moment hehad come upon a paper which after reading he handed to me. It bore thewords in English, "Informant arrested: dare not send more."
"What a fool!" cried Dawson. "As if the evidence against him were notsufficient already he must give us this."
"You will let that poor devil of a draughtsman down easily?" Imurmured.
"We want him as a witness," replied Dawson. "Tit for tat. If he helpsus, we will help him. And now we will cut along to the Admiral. He iseager for news."
We broke in upon the Admiral in his office near the shipyards, and hegreeted me with cheerful badinage. "So you are in the hands of thepolice at last, Copplestone. I always told you what would be the endof your naval inquisitiveness."
Dawson told his story, and the naval officer's keen kindly face grewstern and hard. "Germans I can respect," said he, "even those thatpretend to be our friends. But one of our own folk--to sell us likethis--ugh! Take the vermin away; Dawson, and stamp upon it."
We stood talking for a few moments, and then Dawson broke in with aquestion. "I have never understood, Admiral, why you were so veryconfident that Mr. Copplestone here had no hand in this business. Thecase against him looked pretty ugly, yet you laughed at it all thetime. Why were you so sure?"
The Admiral surveyed Dawson as if he were some strange creature froman unknown world. "Mr. Copplestone is a friend of mine," said hedrily.
"Very likely," snapped the detective. "But is a man a white angelbecause he has the honour to be your friend?"
"A fair retort," commented the Admiral. It happens that I had otherand better reasons. For in July I myself showed Mr. Copplestone overthe new battleship _Rampagious_, and after our inspection we bothlunched with the builders and discussed her design and armament inevery detail. So as Mr. Copplestone knew all about her in July, he wasnot likely to suborn a draughtsman in November. See?"
"You should have told me this before. It was your duty."
"My good Dawson," said the Admiral gently, "you are an excellentofficer of police, but even you have a few things yet to learn. I hadin my mind to give you a lesson, especially as I owed you somepunishment for your impertinence in opening my friend Copplestone'sprivate letters. You have had the lesson; profit by it."
Dawson flushed angrily. "Punishment! Impertinence! This to me!"
"Yes," returned the Admiral stiffly, "beastly impertinence."
The Lost Naval Papers Page 3
