The Lost Naval Papers - Bennet Copplestone
"Come and see," said Mr. Dawson.
Dawson entertained Cary at dinner in a private room at the Station
Hotel, waited upon by one of his own confidential men. "Nobody ever
sees me," he observed, with much satisfaction, "though I am
everywhere." (I suspect that Dawson is not without his little
vanities.) "Except in my office and with people whom I know well, I
am always some one else. The first time I came to your house I wore a
beard, and the second time looked like a gas inspector. You saw only
the real Dawson. When one has got the passion for the chase in one's
blood, one cannot bide for long in a stuffy office. As I have a jewel
of an assistant, I can always escape and follow up my own victims.
This man Hagan is a black heartless devil. Don't waste your sympathy
on him, Mr. Cary. He took money from us quite lately to betray the
silly asses of Sinn Feiners, and now, thinking us hoodwinked, is after
more money from the Kaiser. He is of the type that would sell his own
mother and buy a mistress with the money. He's not worth your pity. We
use him and his like for just so long as they can be useful, and then
the jaws of the trap close. By letting him take those faked Notes we
have done a fine stroke for the Navy, for the Yard, and for Bill
Dawson. We have got into close touch with four new German agents here
and two more down south. We shan't seize them yet; just keep them
hanging on and use them. That's the game. I am never anxious about an
agent when I know him and can keep him watched. Anxious, bless you; I
love him like a cat loves a mouse. I've had some spies on my string
ever since the war began; I wouldn't have them touched or worried for
the world. Their correspondence tells me everything, and if a letter
to Holland which they haven't written slips in sometimes, it's useful,
very useful, as useful almost as your faked Notes."
Half an hour before the night train was due to leave for the South,
Dawson, very simply but effectively changed in appearance--for Hagan
knew by sight the real Dawson--led Cary to the middle sleeping-coach
on the train. "I have had Hagan put in No. 5," he said, "and you and I
will take Nos. 4 and 6. No. 5 is an observation berth; there is one
fixed up for us on this sleeping-coach. Come in here." He pulled Cary
into No. 4, shut the door, and pointed to a small wooden knob set a
few inches below the luggage rack. "If one unscrews that knob one can
see into the next berth, No. 5. No. 6 is fitted in the same way, so
that we can rake No. 5 from both sides. But, mind you, on no account
touch those knobs until the train is moving fast and until you have
switched out the lights. If No. 5 was dark when you opened the
peep-hole, a ray of light from your side would give the show away. And
unless there was a good deal of vibration and rattle in the train you
might be heard. Now cut away to No. 6, fasten the door, and go to bed.
I shall sit up and watch, but there is nothing for you to do."
Hagan appeared in due course, was shown into No. 5 berth, and the
train started. Cary asked himself whether he should go to bed as
advised or sit up reading. He decided to obey Dawson's orders, but to
take a look in upon Hagan before settling down for the journey. He
switched off his lights, climbed upon the bed, and carefully unscrewed
the little knob which was like the one shown to him by Dawson. A beam
of light stabbed the darkness of his berth, and putting his eye with
some difficulty to the hole--one's nose gets so confoundedly in the
way--he saw Hagan comfortably arranging himself for the night. The spy
had no suspicion of his watchers on both sides, for, after settling
himself in bed, he unwrapped a flat parcel and took out a bundle of
blue papers, which Cary at once recognised as the originals of his
stolen Notes. Hagan went through them--he had put his suit-case across
his knees to form a desk--and carefully made marginal jottings. Cary,
who had often tried to write in trains, could not but admire the man's
laborious patience. He painted his letters and figures over and over
again, in order to secure distinctness, in spite of the swaying of the
train, and frequently stopped to suck the point of his pencil.
"I suppose," thought Cary, "that Dawson yonder is just gloating over
his prey, but for my part I feel an utterly contemptible beast. Never
again will I set a trap for even the worst of my fellow-creatures." He
put back the knob, went to bed, and passed half the night in extreme
mental discomfort and the other half in snatching brief intervals of
sleep. It was not a pleasant journey.
Dawson did not come out of his berth at Euston until after Hagan had
left the station in a taxi-cab, much to Cary's surprise, and then was
quite ready, even anxious, to remain for breakfast at the hotel. He
explained his strange conduct. "Two of my men," said he, as he
wallowed in tea and fried soles--one cannot get Dover soles in the
weary North--"who travelled in ordinary compartments, are after Hagan
in two taxis, so that if one is delayed, the other will keep touch.
Hagan's driver also has had a police warning, so that our spy is in a
barbed-wire net. I shall hear before very long all about him."
Cary and Dawson spent the morning at the hotel with a telephone beside
them; every few minutes the bell would ring, and a whisper of Hagan's
movements steal over the wires into the ears of the spider Dawson. He
reported progress to Cary with ever-increasing satisfaction.
"Hagan has applied for and been granted a passport to Holland, and has
booked a passage in the boat which leaves Harwich to-night for the
Hook. We will go with him. The other two spies, with the copies,
haven't turned up yet, but they are all right. My men will see them
safe across into Dutch territory, and make sure that no blundering
Customs officer interferes with their papers. This time the way of
transgressors shall be very soft. As for Hagan, he is not going to
arrive."
"I don't quite understand why you carry on so long with him," said
Cary, who, though tired, could not but feel intense interest in the
perfection of the police system and in the serene confidence of
Dawson. The Yard could, it appeared, do unto the spies precisely what
Dawson chose to direct.
"Hagan is an American citizen," explained Dawson. "If he had been a
British subject I would have taken him at Euston--we have full
evidence of the burglary, and of the stolen papers in his suit-case.
But as he is a damned unbenevolent neutral we must prove his intention
to sell the papers to Germany. Then we can deal with him by secret
court-martial.[1] The journey to Holland will prove this intention.
Hagan has been most useful to us in Ireland, and now in the North of
England and in Scotland, but he is too enterprising and too daring to
be left any longer on the string. I will draw the ends together at the
Hook."
[Footnote 1: Author's Note: This conversation is dated May, 1916.]
"I did not want to go to Holland," said Cary to me, when telling his
story. "I was utterly sick and disgusted with the whole cold-blooded
game of cat and mouse, but the police needed my evidence about the
Notes and the burglary, and did not intend to let me slip out of their
clutches. Dawson was very civil and pleasant, but I was in fact as
tightly held upon his string as was the wretched Hagan. So I went on
to Holland with that quick-change artist, and watched him come on
board the steamer at Parkeston Quay, dressed as a rather
German-looking commercial traveller, eager for war commissions upon
smuggled goods. This sounds absurd, but his get-up seemed somehow to
suggest the idea. Then I went below. Dawson always kept away from me
whenever Hagan might have seen us together."
The passage across to Holland was free from incident; there was no
sign that we were at war, and Continental traffic was being carried
serenely on, within easy striking distance of the German submarine
base at Zeebrugge. The steamer had drawn in to the Hook beside the
train, and Hagan was approaching the gangway, suit-case in hand. The
man was on the edge of safety; once upon Dutch soil, Dawson could not
have laid hands upon him. He would have been a neutral citizen in a
neutral country, and no English warrant would run against him. But
between Hagan and the gangway suddenly interposed the tall form of the
ship's captain; instantly the man was ringed about by officers, and
before he could say a word or move a hand he was gripped hard and led
across the deck to the steamer's chart-house. Therein sat Dawson, the
real, undisguised Dawson, and beside him sat Richard Cary. Hagan's
face, which two minutes earlier had been glowing with triumph and with
the anticipation of German gold beyond the dreams of avarice, went
white as chalk. He staggered and gasped as one stabbed to the heart,
and dropped into a chair. His suit-case fell from his relaxed fingers
to the floor.
"Give him a stiff brandy-and-soda," directed Dawson, almost kindly,
and when the victim's colour had ebbed back a little from his
overcharged heart, and he had drunk deep of the friendly cordial, the
detective put him out of pain. The game of cat and mouse was over.
"It is all up, Hagan," said the detective gently. "Face the music and
make the best of it, my poor friend. This is Mr. Richard Cary, and you
have not for a moment been out of our sight since you left London for
the North four days ago."
When I had completed the writing of his story I showed the MS. to
Richard Cary, who was pleased to express a general approval. "Not at
all bad, Copplestone," said he, "not at all bad. You have clothed my
dry bones in real flesh and blood. But you have missed what to me is
the outstanding feature of the whole affair, that which justifies to
my mind the whole 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 said
that it was all quite unauthorised, and that I would have stopped it
if I could."
"Oh no, you wouldn't. Don't talk humbug, Mr. William Dawson. During
the past two months you have pranced along the streets with your head
in the clouds. And in your own home Mrs. Dawson and the little
Dawsons--if there are any--have worshipped you as a god. There is
nothing so flattering as the sight of oneself in solid black print
upon nice white paper. Confess, now. Are you not at this moment
carrying a copy of that story of mine in your breast pocket next your
heart, and don't you flourish it before your colleagues and rivals
about six times, a day?"
Alone among mortal men I have seen a hardened detective blush.
"Throw away that cigarette," said I, "and take a cigar." I felt
generous.
Our relations were now established upon a basis satisfactory to me. I
had no inkling of the purpose of this visit, but he had lost the
advantage of mysterious attack. He had revealed human weakness and had
ceased for the moment to dominate me as a terrible engine of the law.
But I had heard too much of Dawson from Cary to be under any illusion.
He could be chaffed, even made ridiculous, without much difficulty,
but no one, however adroit, could divert him by an inch from his
professional purpose. He could joke with a victim and drink his health
and then walk him off, arm in arm, to the gallows.
"Now, Mr. Dawson," said I. "Perhaps you will tell me to what happy
circumstance I owe the honour of this visit?"
He had been chuckling over certain rich details in the Hagan
chase--with an eye, no doubt, to future enlarged editions--but these
words of mine pulled him up short. Instantly he became grave, drew
some papers from his pocket, and addressed himself to business.
"I have come to you, Mr. Copplestone, as I did to your friend Mr.
Cary, for information and assistance, and I have been advised by those
who know you here to be perfectly frank. You are not at present an
object of suspicion to the local police, who assure me, that though
you are known to have access to much secret information, yet that you
have never made any wrongful use of it. You have, moreover, been of
great assistance on many occasions both to the military and naval
authorities. Therefore, though my instinct would be to lock you up
most securely, I am told that I mustn't do it."
"You are very frank," said I. "But I bear no malice. Ask me what you
please, and I will do my best to answer fully."
"I ought to warn you," said he, with obvious reluctance, "that
anything which you say may, at some future time, be used in evidence
against you."
"I will take the risk, Mr. Dawson," cried I, laughing. "You have done
your duty in warning me, and you are so plainly hopeful that I shall
incriminate myself that it would be cruel to disappoint you. Let us
get on with the inquisition."
"You are aware, Mr. Copplestone, that a most important part of my work
consists in stopping the channels through which information of what is
going on in our shipyards and munition shops may get through to the
enemy. We can't prevent his agents from getting information--that is
always possible to those with unlimited command of money, for there
are always swine among workmen, and among higher folk than workmen,
who can be bought. You may take it as certain that little of
importance is done or projected in this country of which enemy agents
do not know. But their difficulty is to get it through to their
paymasters, within the limit of time during which the information is
useful. There are scores of possible channels, and it is up to us to
watch them all. You have already shown some grasp of our methods,
which in a sentence may be described as unsleeping vigilance. Once we
know the identity of an enemy agent, he ceases to be of any use to the
enemy, but becomes of the greatest value to us. Our motto is: Ab hoste
doceri." He pronounced the infinitive verb as if it rhymed with
glossary.
"You are quite a scholar, Mr. Dawson," remarked I politely.
"Yes," said he, simply. "I had a good schooling. I need not go into
details," he went on, "of how we watch the correspondence of suspected
persons, but you may be interested to learn that during the three
weeks which I have passed in your city all your private letters have
been through my hands."
"The devil they have," I cried angrily. "You exceed your powers. This
is really intolerable."
"Oh, you need not worry," replied Dawson serenely. "Your letters were
quite innocent. I am gratified to learn that your two sons in the
Service are happy and doing well, and that you contemplate the
publication of another book."
It was impossible not to laugh at the man's effrontery, though I felt
exasperated at his inquisitiveness. After all, there are things in
private letters which one does not wish a stranger, and a police
officer, to read.
"And how long is this outrage to continue?" I asked crossly.
"That depends upon you. As soon as I am satisfied that you are as
trustworthy as the local police and other authorities believe you to
be, your correspondence will pass untouched. It is of no use for you
to fume or try to kick up a fuss in London. Scotland Yard would open
the Home Secretary's letters if it had any cause to feel doubtful of
him."
"You cannot feel much suspicion of me or you would not tell me what
you have been doing."
"You might have thought of that at once," said Dawson derisively.
I shook myself and conceded the round to Dawson.
"It has been plain to us for a long time that the food parcels
despatched by relatives and 'god-mothers' of British prisoners in
Germany were a possible source of danger, and at last it has been
decided to stop them and to keep the despatch of food in the hands of
official organisations. Since there are now some 30,000 of military
prisoners, in addition to interned civilians at Ruhleben, the number
and complexity of the parcels have made it most difficult for a
thorough examination to be kept up. We have done our utmost, but have
been conscious that there has existed in them a channel through which
have passed communications from enemy agents to enemy employers."
"I can see the possibility, but a practical method of communication
looks difficult. How was it done?"
"In the most absurdly simple way. Real ingenuity is always simple. I
will give you an example. An English prisoner in Germany has, we will
suppose, parents in Newcastle, by whom food has been sent out
regularly. He dies in captivity, and in due course his relatives are
notified through the International Headquarters of the Red Cross in
Geneva. He is crossed off the Newcastle lists, and his parents, of
course, stop sending parcels. Now suppose that some one in Birmingham
begins to send parcels addressed to this lately deceased prisoner, his
name, unless Birmingham is very vigilant, will get upon the lists
there as that of a new live prisoner. The parcels addressed to this
name will go straight into the hands of the German Secret Service, and
a channel of communication will have been opened up between some one
in Birmingham and the enemy in Germany. Prisoners are frequently
dying, new prisoners are frequently being taken. Under a haphazard
system of individual parcels, despatched from all over the British
Isles, it has been practically impossible to keep track of all the
changes. For this, and other good reasons, we have had to make a clean
sweep and to take over the feeding of British prisoners by means of a
regular organisation which can ensure that nothing is sent with the
food which will be of any assistance to the enemy."
"That is a good job done," I observed. "Have you evidence that what is
possible has in fact been done?"
"We have," said Dawson. "Not many cases, perhaps, but sufficient to
show the existence of a very real danger. It is, indeed, one
particular instance of direct communication which has brought me to
you to-day. Orders were given not long since that all new cases, that
is, all parcels addressed to prisoners whose names were new to local
lists, should be opened and carefully examined. Some six or seven
weeks ago parcels began to be sent from this city addressed to a
lieutenant in the Northumberland Fusiliers. There was nothing
remarkable in that, for though we are some distance here from
Northumberland, young officers are gazetted to regiments which need
them irrespective of the part of the country to which the officers
themselves belong. In accordance with the new orders all the parcels
for this lieutenant--which usually consisted of bread, chocolate, and
tins of sardines--were examined. The bread was cut up, the chocolate
broken to pieces, and the tins opened. If the parcel contained nothing
contraband, fresh supplies of bread, chocolate and sardines to take
the place of those destroyed in examination were put in, and the
parcel forwarded. For the first two weeks nothing was found, but in
the third parcel, buried in one of the loaves, was discovered a
cutting from an evening newspaper which at first sight seemed quite
innocent. But a microscopic search revealed tiny needle pricks in
certain words, and the words, thus indicated, read when taken by
themselves the sentence, 'Important naval news follows.' At this stage
I was sent for. My first step was to inquire very closely into the
antecedents of this lieutenant of Northumberland Fusiliers. I found
that his friends lived at Morpeth, that he had been taken prisoner
during the Loos advance of September 1915, and that he had died about
a year later of typhoid fever in a German camp. His friends, as soon
as they had been informed, of the death, had stopped sending parcels
of food out to him. They were not told the object of the inquiries. It
would have caused them needless pain. It was bad enough that their
only son had died far from home in a filthy German prison."
Dawson's rather metallic voice became almost sympathetic, and I was
pleased to observe that his harsh profession had not destroyed in him
all human feeling.
"After this you may suppose that the parcels addressed to our poor
friend the late lieutenant were very eagerly looked for. The alleged
sender, whose name and residence were written upon the labels, was
found not to exist. Both name and address were false. It was a hot
scent, and I was delighted, after a week of waiting, to see another
parcel come in. This would, in all probability, contain the 'important
naval news,' and I took its examination upon myself. I reduced the
bread and the chocolate to powder without finding anything."
"Excuse me," I cried, intensely interested, "but how could one conceal
a paper in bread or in chocolate without leaving external traces?"
"There is no difficulty. The loaves were of the kind which have soft
ends. One cuts a deep slit, inserts the paper, closes up the cut with
a little fresh dough, and rebakes the loaf for a short time, till all
signs of the cut have disappeared. The chocolate was in eggs, not in
bars. The oval lumps can be cut open, scooped out, a paper put in, and
the two halves joined up and the cut concealed by means of a strong
mixture of chocolate paste and white of egg. When thoroughly dried in
a warm place, chocolate thus treated will stand very close scrutiny. I
did not trouble to look for signs of disturbance in either loaves or
eggs; it was quicker and easier to break them up. I then addressed my
attention to the sardine tins, which from the first had seemed the
most likely hiding-places. A very moderately skilled mechanic can
unsolder a tin, empty out the fish and oil, put in what he pleases in
place, weight judiciously, and then refasten with fresh solder. I
opened all the tins, found that all except one had been undisturbed,
but that one was a blissful reward for all my trouble, for in it was a
tightly packed mass of glazier's putty, soft and heavy, and at the
bottom the carefully folded paper which I have now the honour of
showing to you."