I looked at the card, annoyed at being disturbed; but at the sight of it my torpor fell from me, for upon it was written the name of that detective officer whom in my story I had called William Dawson, and in the corner were the letters "C.I.D." (Criminal Investigation Department). I had become a criminal, and was about to be investigated! CHAPTER II AT CLOSE QUARTERS Dawson entered, and we stood eyeing one another like two strange dogs. Neither spoke for some seconds, and then, recollecting that I was a host in the presence of a visitor, I extended a hand, offered a chair, and snapped open a cigarette case. Dawson seated himself and took a cigarette. I breathed more freely. He could not design my immediate arrest, or he would not have accepted of even so slight a hospitality. We sat upon opposite sides of the fire, Dawson saying nothing, but watching me in that unwinking cat-like way of his which I find so exasperating. Many times during my association with Dawson I have longed to spring upon him and beat his head against the floor--just to show that I am not a mouse. If his silence were intended to make me uncomfortable, I would give him evidence of my perfect composure. "How did you find me out?" I asked calmly. His start of surprise gratified me, and I saw a puzzled look come into his eyes. "Find out what?" he muttered. "How did you find out that I wrote a story about you?" "Oh, that?" He grinned. "That was not difficult, Mr.--er--Copplestone. I asked Mr.--er--Richard Cary for your real name and address, and he had to give them to me. I was considering whether I should prosecute both him and you." "No doubt you bullied Cary," I said, "but you don't alarm me in the least. I had taken precautions, and you would have found your way barred if you had tried to touch either of us." "It is possible," snapped Dawson. "I should like to lock up all you writing people--you are an infernal nuisance--but you seem to have a pull with the politicians." We were getting on capitally: the first round was in my favour, and I saw another opportunity of showing my easy unconcern of his powers. "Oh no, Mr.--er--William Dawson. You would not lock us up, even if all the authority in the State were vested in the soldiers and the police. For who would then write of your exploits and pour upon your heads the bright light of fame? The public knows nothing of Mr. ----" (I held up his card), "but quite a lot of people have heard of William Dawson." "They have," assented he, with obvious satisfaction. "I sent a copy of the story to my Chief--just to put myself straight with him. I said that it was all quite unauthorised, and that I would have stopped it if I could."