be my friend. "So
you know her, do you? She's a clinker of a woman. Hot stuff, but a
real genuine clinker. She could do what she pleased with old man
Dawson; make him fetch and carry like a poodle. She's the only woman
born who ever turned Dawson round her fingers." I observed rather
stiffly that Madame Gilbert was a lady for whom I had a very high
regard, and that the expression "Hot stuff" was hardly respectful.
"Hum!" said the Deputy, eyeing me with interest. "So she has made a
fool of you like she has of the rest of us. Even the Chief gets down
on his rheumaticky old knees and kisses the carpet of his room after
she has trodden on it."

The Deputy tended to become garrulous, and I cut him short with an
inquiry for Dawson's exact address. He lived in Acacia Villas, but I
was without the precise number. The Deputy told me, and promised to
inform Dawson of my visit at the earliest moment. "It may be to-day,
or next week, or next month. It may not be till the War is over"--an
expression which has come into colloquial use as a synonym for the
Greek Kalends. I thanked the officer, and withdrew somewhat annoyed.

It appeared that Dawson was not far away, for a letter from him
reached me two days later at my club. It was an invitation to visit
his home and to dine with him on the following Sunday at one o'clock.
Enclosed was a plan designed to assist me in penetrating the mazes of
Tooting. That Sunday was a beautiful day in May, and I wandered down
with plenty of time to spare to provide against the danger of being
"bushed." But with the aid of Dawson's thoughtful plan I found
Primrose Road without difficulty. The hour was then 12.15, and the
house deserted. Dawson and his family were at chapel. I had forgotten
what I had heard months before of Dawson's fervour as a preacher upon
Truth until reminded of it by a constable whose beat passed the house.
"If you are looking for Chief Detective Inspector Dawson," said he, "I
can show you where to find him in chapel. He will be holding forth
just now." The opportunity of seeing Dawson as he really was--known
certainly only to his wife and to God--and of seeing him as a
preacher, spurred me into active interest. "My relief is coming now,"
said the constable; "as soon as I have handed over I will show you the
way."

As we walked together the policeman revealed to me the admiration
inspired by Dawson in his humble subordinates. "There is nothing that
man can't do," said he. "He i