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 then asked innocent
questions of the ship's deckhands. He had evidently himself once
served as a sailor. One deckhand, an idle fellow to whom Hagan was
very civil, told his questioner quite a lot of interesting details
about the Navy ships, great and small, which could be seen upon the
building slips. All these details tallied strangely with those
recorded in Cary's Notes. The trip up and down the river was a great
success for Hagan and for Dawson, but for Cary it was rather a bore.
He felt somehow out of the picture. In the evening Dawson called at
Cary's office and broke in upon him. "We had a splendid trip to-day,"
said he. "It exceeded my utmost hopes. Hagan thinks no end of your
Notes, but he is not taking any risks. He leaves in the morning for
Glasgow to do the Clyde and to check some more of your stuff. Would
you like to come?" Cary remarked that he was rather busy, and that
these river excursions, though doubtless great fun for Dawson, were
rather poor sport for himself. Dawson laughed joyously--he was a
cheerful soul when he had a spy upon his string. "Come along," said
he. "See the thing through. I should like you to be in at the death."
Cary observed that he had no stomach for cold, damp dawns and firing