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Updated: May 29, 2025
"Ha!" said the First Lord, "as you would not come to us, we have unbent our dignity and come to you. This is Chief Inspector Dawson." "So I supposed," growled the grizzled old man, who sat at a big desk upon which was piled many flimsies. It was the great Lord Jacquetot, who for all his French name was English of the English. "Will you explain to Mr.
"But," conceded Jacquetot, meditatively selecting a new cigar from a box which he had reached without moving from his chair, "but the people they are fools, hein!" "Ah!" with a protesting shrug, as if deprecating the enunciation of such a platitude. Then he passed through into a little room behind the shop a little room where no daylight penetrated, because there was no window to it.
The ships' carpenters, he explained, could make the changes while the dummies were coming round to Plymouth. Seated at the desk of Lord Jacquetot he wrote the necessary orders in code, his Chief signed them, and they were put at once on the wires for Portsmouth.
We can make certain that no news of the despatch of these two cruisers gets out at sea; can you, Mr. Chief Inspector Dawson, undertake that no news gets out on land that no whisper of their sailing reaches the enemy by means of his spies on land?" "It is a large order," said Dawson thoughtfully. "It is a very large order," asserted Lord Jacquetot, frowning.
Jacquetot would have loved nothing better than a pilgrimage to any one of these shrines, but he was tied to the little tobacco store. Not by the chains of commerce. Oh, no! When rallied by his neighbours for such an unenterprising love of his own hearth, he merely shrugged his heavy shoulders. "What will you?" he would say; "one has one's affairs." Now the affairs of Mr.
The footsteps were hurried and yet hesitating the gait of a person not knowing his whereabouts. And yet the man who entered the shop a moment later was evidently the same who had come to the citizen Jacquetot when last we met him. "Ah!" exclaimed the tobacconist. "It is you!" "No," replied the other. "It is not. I am not the citizen...Morot I think you call it."
Then he wrote a letter, which he addressed to "Signor Bruno, care of Mrs. Potter, St. Mary Western, Dorset." "I shall come," he wrote, "but not in the way you suggest. I have a better plan. You must not know me when we meet." He purchased a twenty-five centime stamp from Mr. Jacquetot, and posted the letter with his own hand in the little wall-box at the corner of the Rue St. Gingolphe.
"There has been a serious naval disaster in the South Seas," said Jacquetot, "and we must clean up the mess, pretty damn quick. The news came yesterday. Orders were wired at once that two battle-cruisers, the Intrepid and Terrific, should be sent at full speed from Scotland to Devonport to dock, coal, and complete with stores.
"There is no mistaking the back and shoulders of them. Once a Pongo, always a Pongo." He held out his hand, which Dawson shook diffidently. An ex-private of Marines does not often shake the hand of a First Sea Lord. Lord Jacquetot walked over to one of the maps and beckoned to Dawson to follow. The First Lord hovered in the background, ready to put in a word at the first opportunity.
So Dawson went, not a little nervous the moment his foot trod the decks of a King's ship all his assurance dropped off, his old sense of discipline flowed back over him, and an Admiral became a very mighty potentate indeed. Ashore Dawson could face up to the Lord Jacquetot himself; on board ship a two-ring lieutenant was to him a god!
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