Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Christine Gehring and PG Distributed
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By
1917
At the beginning of the month of September, 1916, there appeared inthe Cornhill Magazine a story entitled "The Lost Naval Papers." Ihad told this story at second hand, for the incidents had not occurredwithin my personal experience. One of the principals—to whom I hadallotted the temporary name of Richard Cary—was an intimate friend,but I had never met the Scotland Yard officer whom I called WilliamDawson, and was not at all anxious to make his official acquaintance.To me he then seemed an inhuman, icy-blooded "sleuth," a being ofgreat national importance, but repulsive and dangerous as anassociate. Yet by a turn of Fortune's wheel I came not only to knowWilliam Dawson, but to work with him, and almost to like him. Hispenetrative efficiency compelled one's admiration, and his unconcealedvanity showed that he did not stand wholly outside the human family.Yet I never felt safe with Dawson. In his presence, and when I knewthat somewhere round the corner he was carrying on his mysteriousinvestigations, I was perpetually apprehensive of his hand upon myshoulder and his bracelets upon my wrists. I was unconscious of crime,but the Defence of the Realm Regulations—which are to Dawson a newfount of wisdom and power—create so many fresh offences every weekthat it is difficult for the most timidly loyal of citizens to keephis innocency up to date. I have doubtless trespassed many times, forI have Dawson's assurance that my present freedom is due solely to hisreprehensible softness towards me. Whenever I have showed independenceof spirit—of which, God knows, I have little in these days—Dawsonwould pull out his terrible red volumes of ever-expanding Regulationsand make notes of my committed crimes. The Act itself could be printedon a sheet of notepaper, but it has given birth to a whole library ofRegulati