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?"