The Lost Naval Papers | Page 5

day to them."
In the morning the new set of Naval Papers was ready, and their
purport was explained in detail to Dawson, who chuckled joyously.
"This is exactly what Admiral ---- wants, and it shall get through to
Germany by Fritz's own channels. I have misjudged you, Mr. Cary; I
thought you little better than a fool, but that story here of a collision in
a fog and the list of damaged Queen Elizabeths in dock would have
taken in even me. Fritz will suck it down like cream. I like that effort
even better than your grave comments on damaged turbines and
worn-out gun tubes. You are a genius, Mr. Cary, and I must take you to
lunch with the Admiral this very day. You can explain the plant better
than I can, and he is dying to hear all about it. Oh, by the way, he
particularly wants a description of the failure to complete the latest
batch of big shell fuses, and the shortage of lyddite. You might get that
done before the evening. Now for the burglary. Do nothing, nothing at
all, outside your usual routine. Come home at your usual hour, go to
bed as usual, and sleep soundly if you can. Should you hear any noise
in the night, put your head under the bedclothes. Say nothing to Mrs.
Cary unless you are obliged, and for God's sake don't let any
woman--wife, daughter, or maid-servant --disturb my pearl of a burglar
while he is at work. He must have a clear run, with everything exactly
as he expects to find it. Can I depend upon you?"
"I don't pretend to like the business," said Cary, "but you can depend
upon me to the letter of my orders."
"Good," cried Dawson. "That is all I want."

II. THE TRAP CLOSES
Cary heard no noise, though he lay awake for most of the night,
listening intently. The flat seemed to be more quiet even than usual.
There was little traffic in the street below, and hardly a step broke the
long silence of the night. Early in the morning--at six B.S.T.--Cary
slipped out of bed, stole down to his study, and pulled open the deep
drawer in which he had placed the bundle of faked Naval Notes. They
had gone! So the Spy-Burglar had come, and, carefully shepherded by
Dawson's sleuth-hounds, had found the primrose path easy for his
crime. To Cary, the simple, honest gentleman, the whole plot seemed to
be utterly revolting--justified, of course, by the country's needs in time
of war, but none the less revolting. There is nothing of glamour in the
Secret Service, nothing of romance, little even of excitement. It is a
cold-blooded exercise of wits against wits, of spies against spies. The
amateur plays a fish upon a line and gives him a fair run for his life, but
the professional fisherman--to whom a salmon is a people's food--nets
him coldly and expeditiously as he comes in from the sea.
Shortly after breakfast there came a call from Dawson on the telephone.
"All goes well. Come to my office as soon as possible." Cary found
Dawson bubbling with professional satisfaction. "It was beautiful,"
cried he. "Hagan was met at the train, taken to a place we know of, and
shadowed by us tight as wax. We now know all his associates--the
swine have not even the excuse of being German. He burgled your flat
himself while one of his gang watched outside. Never mind where I
was; you would be surprised if I told you; but I saw everything. He has
the faked papers, is busy making copies, and this afternoon is going
down the river in a steamer to get a glimpse of the shipyards and docks
and check your Notes as far as can be done. Will they stand all right?"
"Quite all right," said Cary. "The obvious things were given correctly."
"Good. We will be in the steamer."
Cary went that afternoon, quite unchanged in appearance by Dawson's
order. "If you try to disguise yourself," declared that expert, "you will
be spotted at once. Leave the refinements to us." Dawson himself went

as an elderly dug-out officer with the rank marks of a colonel, and
never spoke a word to Cary upon the whole trip down and up the
teeming river. Dawson's men were scattered here and there--one a
passenger of inquiring mind, another a deckhand, yet a third--a pretty
girl in khaki--sold tea and cakes in the vessel's saloon. Hagan--who,
Cary heard afterwards, wore the brass-bound cap and blue kit of a mate
in the American merchant service--was never out of sight for an instant
of Dawson or of one of his troupe. He busied himself with a strong pair
of marine glasses, and now and