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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/204-0.txt b/204-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..850e698 --- /dev/null +++ b/204-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8784 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Innocence of Father Brown, by G. K. Chesterton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Innocence of Father Brown + +Author: G. K. Chesterton + +Release Date: January, 1995 [eBook #204] +[Most recently updated: June 1, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Judith Boss and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN *** + + + + +THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN + +By G. K. Chesterton + + Contents + + + The Blue Cross + The Secret Garden + The Queer Feet + The Flying Stars + The Invisible Man + The Honour of Israel Gow + The Wrong Shape + The Sins of Prince Saradine + The Hammer of God + The Eye of Apollo + The Sign of the Broken Sword + The Three Tools of Death + + + + + +The Blue Cross + +Between the silver ribbon of morning and the green glittering ribbon of +sea, the boat touched Harwich and let loose a swarm of folk like flies, +among whom the man we must follow was by no means conspicuous--nor +wished to be. There was nothing notable about him, except a slight +contrast between the holiday gaiety of his clothes and the official +gravity of his face. His clothes included a slight, pale grey jacket, +a white waistcoat, and a silver straw hat with a grey-blue ribbon. His +lean face was dark by contrast, and ended in a curt black beard that +looked Spanish and suggested an Elizabethan ruff. He was smoking a +cigarette with the seriousness of an idler. There was nothing about him +to indicate the fact that the grey jacket covered a loaded revolver, +that the white waistcoat covered a police card, or that the straw hat +covered one of the most powerful intellects in Europe. For this was +Valentin himself, the head of the Paris police and the most famous +investigator of the world; and he was coming from Brussels to London to +make the greatest arrest of the century. + +Flambeau was in England. The police of three countries had tracked the +great criminal at last from Ghent to Brussels, from Brussels to the Hook +of Holland; and it was conjectured that he would take some advantage of +the unfamiliarity and confusion of the Eucharistic Congress, then +taking place in London. Probably he would travel as some minor clerk +or secretary connected with it; but, of course, Valentin could not be +certain; nobody could be certain about Flambeau. + +It is many years now since this colossus of crime suddenly ceased +keeping the world in a turmoil; and when he ceased, as they said after +the death of Roland, there was a great quiet upon the earth. But in +his best days (I mean, of course, his worst) Flambeau was a figure as +statuesque and international as the Kaiser. Almost every morning the +daily paper announced that he had escaped the consequences of one +extraordinary crime by committing another. He was a Gascon of gigantic +stature and bodily daring; and the wildest tales were told of his +outbursts of athletic humour; how he turned the juge d’instruction +upside down and stood him on his head, “to clear his mind”; how he ran +down the Rue de Rivoli with a policeman under each arm. It is due to him +to say that his fantastic physical strength was generally employed in +such bloodless though undignified scenes; his real crimes were chiefly +those of ingenious and wholesale robbery. But each of his thefts was +almost a new sin, and would make a story by itself. It was he who ran +the great Tyrolean Dairy Company in London, with no dairies, no cows, no +carts, no milk, but with some thousand subscribers. These he served by +the simple operation of moving the little milk cans outside people’s +doors to the doors of his own customers. It was he who had kept up an +unaccountable and close correspondence with a young lady whose whole +letter-bag was intercepted, by the extraordinary trick of photographing +his messages infinitesimally small upon the slides of a microscope. A +sweeping simplicity, however, marked many of his experiments. It is said +that he once repainted all the numbers in a street in the dead of night +merely to divert one traveller into a trap. It is quite certain that +he invented a portable pillar-box, which he put up at corners in quiet +suburbs on the chance of strangers dropping postal orders into it. +Lastly, he was known to be a startling acrobat; despite his huge figure, +he could leap like a grasshopper and melt into the tree-tops like a +monkey. Hence the great Valentin, when he set out to find Flambeau, was +perfectly aware that his adventures would not end when he had found him. + +But how was he to find him? On this the great Valentin’s ideas were +still in process of settlement. + +There was one thing which Flambeau, with all his dexterity of disguise, +could not cover, and that was his singular height. If Valentin’s quick +eye had caught a tall apple-woman, a tall grenadier, or even a tolerably +tall duchess, he might have arrested them on the spot. But all along his +train there was nobody that could be a disguised Flambeau, any more than +a cat could be a disguised giraffe. About the people on the boat he had +already satisfied himself; and the people picked up at Harwich or on +the journey limited themselves with certainty to six. There was a short +railway official travelling up to the terminus, three fairly short +market gardeners picked up two stations afterwards, one very short widow +lady going up from a small Essex town, and a very short Roman Catholic +priest going up from a small Essex village. When it came to the last +case, Valentin gave it up and almost laughed. The little priest was so +much the essence of those Eastern flats; he had a face as round and dull +as a Norfolk dumpling; he had eyes as empty as the North Sea; he had +several brown paper parcels, which he was quite incapable of collecting. +The Eucharistic Congress had doubtless sucked out of their local +stagnation many such creatures, blind and helpless, like moles +disinterred. Valentin was a sceptic in the severe style of France, and +could have no love for priests. But he could have pity for them, and +this one might have provoked pity in anybody. He had a large, shabby +umbrella, which constantly fell on the floor. He did not seem to know +which was the right end of his return ticket. He explained with a +moon-calf simplicity to everybody in the carriage that he had to be +careful, because he had something made of real silver “with blue stones” + in one of his brown-paper parcels. His quaint blending of Essex flatness +with saintly simplicity continuously amused the Frenchman till the +priest arrived (somehow) at Tottenham with all his parcels, and came +back for his umbrella. When he did the last, Valentin even had the good +nature to warn him not to take care of the silver by telling everybody +about it. But to whomever he talked, Valentin kept his eye open for +someone else; he looked out steadily for anyone, rich or poor, male or +female, who was well up to six feet; for Flambeau was four inches above +it. + +He alighted at Liverpool Street, however, quite conscientiously secure +that he had not missed the criminal so far. He then went to Scotland +Yard to regularise his position and arrange for help in case of need; he +then lit another cigarette and went for a long stroll in the streets of +London. As he was walking in the streets and squares beyond Victoria, he +paused suddenly and stood. It was a quaint, quiet square, very typical +of London, full of an accidental stillness. The tall, flat houses round +looked at once prosperous and uninhabited; the square of shrubbery in +the centre looked as deserted as a green Pacific islet. One of the four +sides was much higher than the rest, like a dais; and the line of this +side was broken by one of London’s admirable accidents--a restaurant +that looked as if it had strayed from Soho. It was an unreasonably +attractive object, with dwarf plants in pots and long, striped blinds of +lemon yellow and white. It stood specially high above the street, and in +the usual patchwork way of London, a flight of steps from the street +ran up to meet the front door almost as a fire-escape might run up to +a first-floor window. Valentin stood and smoked in front of the +yellow-white blinds and considered them long. + +The most incredible thing about miracles is that they happen. A few +clouds in heaven do come together into the staring shape of one human +eye. A tree does stand up in the landscape of a doubtful journey in the +exact and elaborate shape of a note of interrogation. I have seen both +these things myself within the last few days. Nelson does die in the +instant of victory; and a man named Williams does quite accidentally +murder a man named Williamson; it sounds like a sort of infanticide. +In short, there is in life an element of elfin coincidence which people +reckoning on the prosaic may perpetually miss. As it has been well +expressed in the paradox of Poe, wisdom should reckon on the unforeseen. + +Aristide Valentin was unfathomably French; and the French intelligence +is intelligence specially and solely. He was not “a thinking machine”; +for that is a brainless phrase of modern fatalism and materialism. A +machine only is a machine because it cannot think. But he was a thinking +man, and a plain man at the same time. All his wonderful successes, that +looked like conjuring, had been gained by plodding logic, by clear +and commonplace French thought. The French electrify the world not by +starting any paradox, they electrify it by carrying out a truism. They +carry a truism so far--as in the French Revolution. But exactly because +Valentin understood reason, he understood the limits of reason. Only a +man who knows nothing of motors talks of motoring without petrol; only +a man who knows nothing of reason talks of reasoning without strong, +undisputed first principles. Here he had no strong first principles. +Flambeau had been missed at Harwich; and if he was in London at all, +he might be anything from a tall tramp on Wimbledon Common to a tall +toast-master at the Hotel Metropole. In such a naked state of nescience, +Valentin had a view and a method of his own. + +In such cases he reckoned on the unforeseen. In such cases, when he +could not follow the train of the reasonable, he coldly and carefully +followed the train of the unreasonable. Instead of going to the right +places--banks, police stations, rendezvous--he systematically went to +the wrong places; knocked at every empty house, turned down every cul de +sac, went up every lane blocked with rubbish, went round every crescent +that led him uselessly out of the way. He defended this crazy course +quite logically. He said that if one had a clue this was the worst way; +but if one had no clue at all it was the best, because there was just +the chance that any oddity that caught the eye of the pursuer might be +the same that had caught the eye of the pursued. Somewhere a man must +begin, and it had better be just where another man might stop. Something +about that flight of steps up to the shop, something about the quietude +and quaintness of the restaurant, roused all the detective’s rare +romantic fancy and made him resolve to strike at random. He went up the +steps, and sitting down at a table by the window, asked for a cup of +black coffee. + +It was half-way through the morning, and he had not breakfasted; the +slight litter of other breakfasts stood about on the table to remind +him of his hunger; and adding a poached egg to his order, he proceeded +musingly to shake some white sugar into his coffee, thinking all the +time about Flambeau. He remembered how Flambeau had escaped, once by a +pair of nail scissors, and once by a house on fire; once by having to +pay for an unstamped letter, and once by getting people to look through +a telescope at a comet that might destroy the world. He thought his +detective brain as good as the criminal’s, which was true. But he fully +realised the disadvantage. “The criminal is the creative artist; the +detective only the critic,” he said with a sour smile, and lifted his +coffee cup to his lips slowly, and put it down very quickly. He had put +salt in it. + +He looked at the vessel from which the silvery powder had come; it +was certainly a sugar-basin; as unmistakably meant for sugar as a +champagne-bottle for champagne. He wondered why they should keep salt in +it. He looked to see if there were any more orthodox vessels. Yes; there +were two salt-cellars quite full. Perhaps there was some speciality in +the condiment in the salt-cellars. He tasted it; it was sugar. Then he +looked round at the restaurant with a refreshed air of interest, to see +if there were any other traces of that singular artistic taste which +puts the sugar in the salt-cellars and the salt in the sugar-basin. +Except for an odd splash of some dark fluid on one of the white-papered +walls, the whole place appeared neat, cheerful and ordinary. He rang the +bell for the waiter. + +When that official hurried up, fuzzy-haired and somewhat blear-eyed at +that early hour, the detective (who was not without an appreciation of +the simpler forms of humour) asked him to taste the sugar and see if +it was up to the high reputation of the hotel. The result was that the +waiter yawned suddenly and woke up. + +“Do you play this delicate joke on your customers every morning?” + inquired Valentin. “Does changing the salt and sugar never pall on you +as a jest?” + +The waiter, when this irony grew clearer, stammeringly assured him that +the establishment had certainly no such intention; it must be a most +curious mistake. He picked up the sugar-basin and looked at it; he +picked up the salt-cellar and looked at that, his face growing more and +more bewildered. At last he abruptly excused himself, and hurrying +away, returned in a few seconds with the proprietor. The proprietor also +examined the sugar-basin and then the salt-cellar; the proprietor also +looked bewildered. + +Suddenly the waiter seemed to grow inarticulate with a rush of words. + +“I zink,” he stuttered eagerly, “I zink it is those two clergy-men.” + +“What two clergymen?” + +“The two clergymen,” said the waiter, “that threw soup at the wall.” + +“Threw soup at the wall?” repeated Valentin, feeling sure this must be +some singular Italian metaphor. + +“Yes, yes,” said the attendant excitedly, and pointed at the dark splash +on the white paper; “threw it over there on the wall.” + +Valentin looked his query at the proprietor, who came to his rescue with +fuller reports. + +“Yes, sir,” he said, “it’s quite true, though I don’t suppose it has +anything to do with the sugar and salt. Two clergymen came in and drank +soup here very early, as soon as the shutters were taken down. They were +both very quiet, respectable people; one of them paid the bill and went +out; the other, who seemed a slower coach altogether, was some minutes +longer getting his things together. But he went at last. Only, the +instant before he stepped into the street he deliberately picked up +his cup, which he had only half emptied, and threw the soup slap on the +wall. I was in the back room myself, and so was the waiter; so I could +only rush out in time to find the wall splashed and the shop empty. It +don’t do any particular damage, but it was confounded cheek; and I tried +to catch the men in the street. They were too far off though; I only +noticed they went round the next corner into Carstairs Street.” + +The detective was on his feet, hat settled and stick in hand. He had +already decided that in the universal darkness of his mind he could +only follow the first odd finger that pointed; and this finger was odd +enough. Paying his bill and clashing the glass doors behind him, he was +soon swinging round into the other street. + +It was fortunate that even in such fevered moments his eye was cool and +quick. Something in a shop-front went by him like a mere flash; yet +he went back to look at it. The shop was a popular greengrocer and +fruiterer’s, an array of goods set out in the open air and plainly +ticketed with their names and prices. In the two most prominent +compartments were two heaps, of oranges and of nuts respectively. On +the heap of nuts lay a scrap of cardboard, on which was written in bold, +blue chalk, “Best tangerine oranges, two a penny.” On the oranges was +the equally clear and exact description, “Finest Brazil nuts, 4d. a lb.” + M. Valentin looked at these two placards and fancied he had met this +highly subtle form of humour before, and that somewhat recently. He +drew the attention of the red-faced fruiterer, who was looking +rather sullenly up and down the street, to this inaccuracy in his +advertisements. The fruiterer said nothing, but sharply put each +card into its proper place. The detective, leaning elegantly on his +walking-cane, continued to scrutinise the shop. At last he said, “Pray +excuse my apparent irrelevance, my good sir, but I should like to ask +you a question in experimental psychology and the association of ideas.” + +The red-faced shopman regarded him with an eye of menace; but he +continued gaily, swinging his cane, “Why,” he pursued, “why are two +tickets wrongly placed in a greengrocer’s shop like a shovel hat that +has come to London for a holiday? Or, in case I do not make myself +clear, what is the mystical association which connects the idea of nuts +marked as oranges with the idea of two clergymen, one tall and the other +short?” + +The eyes of the tradesman stood out of his head like a snail’s; he +really seemed for an instant likely to fling himself upon the stranger. +At last he stammered angrily: “I don’t know what you ’ave to do with it, +but if you’re one of their friends, you can tell ’em from me that I’ll +knock their silly ’eads off, parsons or no parsons, if they upset my +apples again.” + +“Indeed?” asked the detective, with great sympathy. “Did they upset your +apples?” + +“One of ’em did,” said the heated shopman; “rolled ’em all over the +street. I’d ’ave caught the fool but for havin’ to pick ’em up.” + +“Which way did these parsons go?” asked Valentin. + +“Up that second road on the left-hand side, and then across the square,” + said the other promptly. + +“Thanks,” replied Valentin, and vanished like a fairy. On the other side +of the second square he found a policeman, and said: “This is urgent, +constable; have you seen two clergymen in shovel hats?” + +The policeman began to chuckle heavily. “I ’ave, sir; and if you arst +me, one of ’em was drunk. He stood in the middle of the road that +bewildered that--” + +“Which way did they go?” snapped Valentin. + +“They took one of them yellow buses over there,” answered the man; “them +that go to Hampstead.” + +Valentin produced his official card and said very rapidly: “Call up two +of your men to come with me in pursuit,” and crossed the road with such +contagious energy that the ponderous policeman was moved to almost agile +obedience. In a minute and a half the French detective was joined on the +opposite pavement by an inspector and a man in plain clothes. + +“Well, sir,” began the former, with smiling importance, “and what +may--?” + +Valentin pointed suddenly with his cane. “I’ll tell you on the top of +that omnibus,” he said, and was darting and dodging across the tangle of +the traffic. When all three sank panting on the top seats of the yellow +vehicle, the inspector said: “We could go four times as quick in a +taxi.” + +“Quite true,” replied their leader placidly, “if we only had an idea of +where we were going.” + +“Well, where are you going?” asked the other, staring. + +Valentin smoked frowningly for a few seconds; then, removing his +cigarette, he said: “If you know what a man’s doing, get in front of +him; but if you want to guess what he’s doing, keep behind him. Stray +when he strays; stop when he stops; travel as slowly as he. Then you may +see what he saw and may act as he acted. All we can do is to keep our +eyes skinned for a queer thing.” + +“What sort of queer thing do you mean?” asked the inspector. + +“Any sort of queer thing,” answered Valentin, and relapsed into +obstinate silence. + +The yellow omnibus crawled up the northern roads for what seemed like +hours on end; the great detective would not explain further, and perhaps +his assistants felt a silent and growing doubt of his errand. Perhaps, +also, they felt a silent and growing desire for lunch, for the hours +crept long past the normal luncheon hour, and the long roads of the +North London suburbs seemed to shoot out into length after length like +an infernal telescope. It was one of those journeys on which a man +perpetually feels that now at last he must have come to the end of the +universe, and then finds he has only come to the beginning of Tufnell +Park. London died away in draggled taverns and dreary scrubs, and then +was unaccountably born again in blazing high streets and blatant hotels. +It was like passing through thirteen separate vulgar cities all +just touching each other. But though the winter twilight was already +threatening the road ahead of them, the Parisian detective still sat +silent and watchful, eyeing the frontage of the streets that slid by on +either side. By the time they had left Camden Town behind, the policemen +were nearly asleep; at least, they gave something like a jump as +Valentin leapt erect, struck a hand on each man’s shoulder, and shouted +to the driver to stop. + +They tumbled down the steps into the road without realising why they +had been dislodged; when they looked round for enlightenment they found +Valentin triumphantly pointing his finger towards a window on the left +side of the road. It was a large window, forming part of the long +façade of a gilt and palatial public-house; it was the part reserved for +respectable dining, and labelled “Restaurant.” This window, like all the +rest along the frontage of the hotel, was of frosted and figured glass; +but in the middle of it was a big, black smash, like a star in the ice. + +“Our cue at last,” cried Valentin, waving his stick; “the place with the +broken window.” + +“What window? What cue?” asked his principal assistant. “Why, what proof +is there that this has anything to do with them?” + +Valentin almost broke his bamboo stick with rage. + +“Proof!” he cried. “Good God! the man is looking for proof! Why, of +course, the chances are twenty to one that it has nothing to do with +them. But what else can we do? Don’t you see we must either follow one +wild possibility or else go home to bed?” He banged his way into the +restaurant, followed by his companions, and they were soon seated at a +late luncheon at a little table, and looked at the star of smashed glass +from the inside. Not that it was very informative to them even then. + +“Got your window broken, I see,” said Valentin to the waiter as he paid +the bill. + +“Yes, sir,” answered the attendant, bending busily over the change, to +which Valentin silently added an enormous tip. The waiter straightened +himself with mild but unmistakable animation. + +“Ah, yes, sir,” he said. “Very odd thing, that, sir.” + +“Indeed?” Tell us about it,” said the detective with careless curiosity. + +“Well, two gents in black came in,” said the waiter; “two of those +foreign parsons that are running about. They had a cheap and quiet +little lunch, and one of them paid for it and went out. The other was +just going out to join him when I looked at my change again and found +he’d paid me more than three times too much. ‘Here,’ I says to the chap +who was nearly out of the door, ‘you’ve paid too much.’ ‘Oh,’ he says, +very cool, ‘have we?’ ‘Yes,’ I says, and picks up the bill to show him. +Well, that was a knock-out.” + +“What do you mean?” asked his interlocutor. + +“Well, I’d have sworn on seven Bibles that I’d put 4s. on that bill. But +now I saw I’d put 14s., as plain as paint.” + +“Well?” cried Valentin, moving slowly, but with burning eyes, “and +then?” + +“The parson at the door he says all serene, ‘Sorry to confuse your +accounts, but it’ll pay for the window.’ ‘What window?’ I says. ‘The +one I’m going to break,’ he says, and smashed that blessed pane with his +umbrella.” + +All three inquirers made an exclamation; and the inspector said under +his breath, “Are we after escaped lunatics?” The waiter went on with +some relish for the ridiculous story: + +“I was so knocked silly for a second, I couldn’t do anything. The man +marched out of the place and joined his friend just round the corner. +Then they went so quick up Bullock Street that I couldn’t catch them, +though I ran round the bars to do it.” + +“Bullock Street,” said the detective, and shot up that thoroughfare as +quickly as the strange couple he pursued. + +Their journey now took them through bare brick ways like tunnels; +streets with few lights and even with few windows; streets that seemed +built out of the blank backs of everything and everywhere. Dusk was +deepening, and it was not easy even for the London policemen to guess +in what exact direction they were treading. The inspector, however, was +pretty certain that they would eventually strike some part of Hampstead +Heath. Abruptly one bulging gas-lit window broke the blue twilight like +a bull’s-eye lantern; and Valentin stopped an instant before a little +garish sweetstuff shop. After an instant’s hesitation he went in; he +stood amid the gaudy colours of the confectionery with entire gravity +and bought thirteen chocolate cigars with a certain care. He was clearly +preparing an opening; but he did not need one. + +An angular, elderly young woman in the shop had regarded his elegant +appearance with a merely automatic inquiry; but when she saw the door +behind him blocked with the blue uniform of the inspector, her eyes +seemed to wake up. + +“Oh,” she said, “if you’ve come about that parcel, I’ve sent it off +already.” + +“Parcel?” repeated Valentin; and it was his turn to look inquiring. + +“I mean the parcel the gentleman left--the clergyman gentleman.” + +“For goodness’ sake,” said Valentin, leaning forward with his first +real confession of eagerness, “for Heaven’s sake tell us what happened +exactly.” + +“Well,” said the woman a little doubtfully, “the clergymen came in about +half an hour ago and bought some peppermints and talked a bit, and then +went off towards the Heath. But a second after, one of them runs +back into the shop and says, ‘Have I left a parcel!’ Well, I looked +everywhere and couldn’t see one; so he says, ‘Never mind; but if it +should turn up, please post it to this address,’ and he left me the +address and a shilling for my trouble. And sure enough, though I thought +I’d looked everywhere, I found he’d left a brown paper parcel, so I +posted it to the place he said. I can’t remember the address now; it +was somewhere in Westminster. But as the thing seemed so important, I +thought perhaps the police had come about it.” + +“So they have,” said Valentin shortly. “Is Hampstead Heath near here?” + +“Straight on for fifteen minutes,” said the woman, “and you’ll come +right out on the open.” Valentin sprang out of the shop and began to +run. The other detectives followed him at a reluctant trot. + +The street they threaded was so narrow and shut in by shadows that when +they came out unexpectedly into the void common and vast sky they were +startled to find the evening still so light and clear. A perfect dome +of peacock-green sank into gold amid the blackening trees and the dark +violet distances. The glowing green tint was just deep enough to pick +out in points of crystal one or two stars. All that was left of the +daylight lay in a golden glitter across the edge of Hampstead and that +popular hollow which is called the Vale of Health. The holiday makers +who roam this region had not wholly dispersed; a few couples sat +shapelessly on benches; and here and there a distant girl still shrieked +in one of the swings. The glory of heaven deepened and darkened around +the sublime vulgarity of man; and standing on the slope and looking +across the valley, Valentin beheld the thing which he sought. + +Among the black and breaking groups in that distance was one especially +black which did not break--a group of two figures clerically clad. +Though they seemed as small as insects, Valentin could see that one of +them was much smaller than the other. Though the other had a student’s +stoop and an inconspicuous manner, he could see that the man was well +over six feet high. He shut his teeth and went forward, whirling his +stick impatiently. By the time he had substantially diminished the +distance and magnified the two black figures as in a vast microscope, +he had perceived something else; something which startled him, and yet +which he had somehow expected. Whoever was the tall priest, there could +be no doubt about the identity of the short one. It was his friend of +the Harwich train, the stumpy little cure of Essex whom he had warned +about his brown paper parcels. + +Now, so far as this went, everything fitted in finally and rationally +enough. Valentin had learned by his inquiries that morning that a Father +Brown from Essex was bringing up a silver cross with sapphires, a +relic of considerable value, to show some of the foreign priests at the +congress. This undoubtedly was the “silver with blue stones”; and Father +Brown undoubtedly was the little greenhorn in the train. Now there +was nothing wonderful about the fact that what Valentin had found out +Flambeau had also found out; Flambeau found out everything. Also there +was nothing wonderful in the fact that when Flambeau heard of a sapphire +cross he should try to steal it; that was the most natural thing in all +natural history. And most certainly there was nothing wonderful about +the fact that Flambeau should have it all his own way with such a silly +sheep as the man with the umbrella and the parcels. He was the sort of +man whom anybody could lead on a string to the North Pole; it was not +surprising that an actor like Flambeau, dressed as another priest, could +lead him to Hampstead Heath. So far the crime seemed clear enough; and +while the detective pitied the priest for his helplessness, he almost +despised Flambeau for condescending to so gullible a victim. But when +Valentin thought of all that had happened in between, of all that had +led him to his triumph, he racked his brains for the smallest rhyme or +reason in it. What had the stealing of a blue-and-silver cross from a +priest from Essex to do with chucking soup at wall paper? What had it +to do with calling nuts oranges, or with paying for windows first and +breaking them afterwards? He had come to the end of his chase; yet +somehow he had missed the middle of it. When he failed (which was +seldom), he had usually grasped the clue, but nevertheless missed the +criminal. Here he had grasped the criminal, but still he could not grasp +the clue. + +The two figures that they followed were crawling like black flies +across the huge green contour of a hill. They were evidently sunk in +conversation, and perhaps did not notice where they were going; but they +were certainly going to the wilder and more silent heights of the Heath. +As their pursuers gained on them, the latter had to use the undignified +attitudes of the deer-stalker, to crouch behind clumps of trees and +even to crawl prostrate in deep grass. By these ungainly ingenuities the +hunters even came close enough to the quarry to hear the murmur of the +discussion, but no word could be distinguished except the word “reason” + recurring frequently in a high and almost childish voice. Once over +an abrupt dip of land and a dense tangle of thickets, the detectives +actually lost the two figures they were following. They did not find the +trail again for an agonising ten minutes, and then it led round the brow +of a great dome of hill overlooking an amphitheatre of rich and desolate +sunset scenery. Under a tree in this commanding yet neglected spot was +an old ramshackle wooden seat. On this seat sat the two priests still in +serious speech together. The gorgeous green and gold still clung to +the darkening horizon; but the dome above was turning slowly from +peacock-green to peacock-blue, and the stars detached themselves more +and more like solid jewels. Mutely motioning to his followers, Valentin +contrived to creep up behind the big branching tree, and, standing there +in deathly silence, heard the words of the strange priests for the first +time. + +After he had listened for a minute and a half, he was gripped by a +devilish doubt. Perhaps he had dragged the two English policemen to the +wastes of a nocturnal heath on an errand no saner than seeking figs on +its thistles. For the two priests were talking exactly like priests, +piously, with learning and leisure, about the most aerial enigmas of +theology. The little Essex priest spoke the more simply, with his round +face turned to the strengthening stars; the other talked with his +head bowed, as if he were not even worthy to look at them. But no more +innocently clerical conversation could have been heard in any white +Italian cloister or black Spanish cathedral. + +The first he heard was the tail of one of Father Brown’s sentences, +which ended: “... what they really meant in the Middle Ages by the +heavens being incorruptible.” + +The taller priest nodded his bowed head and said: + +“Ah, yes, these modern infidels appeal to their reason; but who can +look at those millions of worlds and not feel that there may well be +wonderful universes above us where reason is utterly unreasonable?” + +“No,” said the other priest; “reason is always reasonable, even in the +last limbo, in the lost borderland of things. I know that people charge +the Church with lowering reason, but it is just the other way. Alone +on earth, the Church makes reason really supreme. Alone on earth, the +Church affirms that God himself is bound by reason.” + +The other priest raised his austere face to the spangled sky and said: + +“Yet who knows if in that infinite universe--?” + +“Only infinite physically,” said the little priest, turning sharply +in his seat, “not infinite in the sense of escaping from the laws of +truth.” + +Valentin behind his tree was tearing his fingernails with silent fury. +He seemed almost to hear the sniggers of the English detectives whom +he had brought so far on a fantastic guess only to listen to the +metaphysical gossip of two mild old parsons. In his impatience he lost +the equally elaborate answer of the tall cleric, and when he listened +again it was again Father Brown who was speaking: + +“Reason and justice grip the remotest and the loneliest star. Look +at those stars. Don’t they look as if they were single diamonds and +sapphires? Well, you can imagine any mad botany or geology you please. +Think of forests of adamant with leaves of brilliants. Think the moon +is a blue moon, a single elephantine sapphire. But don’t fancy that all +that frantic astronomy would make the smallest difference to the reason +and justice of conduct. On plains of opal, under cliffs cut out of +pearl, you would still find a notice-board, ‘Thou shalt not steal.’” + +Valentin was just in the act of rising from his rigid and crouching +attitude and creeping away as softly as might be, felled by the one +great folly of his life. But something in the very silence of the tall +priest made him stop until the latter spoke. When at last he did speak, +he said simply, his head bowed and his hands on his knees: + +“Well, I think that other worlds may perhaps rise higher than our +reason. The mystery of heaven is unfathomable, and I for one can only +bow my head.” + +Then, with brow yet bent and without changing by the faintest shade his +attitude or voice, he added: + +“Just hand over that sapphire cross of yours, will you? We’re all alone +here, and I could pull you to pieces like a straw doll.” + +The utterly unaltered voice and attitude added a strange violence to +that shocking change of speech. But the guarder of the relic only seemed +to turn his head by the smallest section of the compass. He seemed still +to have a somewhat foolish face turned to the stars. Perhaps he had not +understood. Or, perhaps, he had understood and sat rigid with terror. + +“Yes,” said the tall priest, in the same low voice and in the same still +posture, “yes, I am Flambeau.” + +Then, after a pause, he said: + +“Come, will you give me that cross?” + +“No,” said the other, and the monosyllable had an odd sound. + +Flambeau suddenly flung off all his pontifical pretensions. The great +robber leaned back in his seat and laughed low but long. + +“No,” he cried, “you won’t give it me, you proud prelate. You won’t give +it me, you little celibate simpleton. Shall I tell you why you won’t +give it me? Because I’ve got it already in my own breast-pocket.” + +The small man from Essex turned what seemed to be a dazed face in the +dusk, and said, with the timid eagerness of “The Private Secretary”: + +“Are--are you sure?” + +Flambeau yelled with delight. + +“Really, you’re as good as a three-act farce,” he cried. “Yes, you +turnip, I am quite sure. I had the sense to make a duplicate of the +right parcel, and now, my friend, you’ve got the duplicate and I’ve got +the jewels. An old dodge, Father Brown--a very old dodge.” + +“Yes,” said Father Brown, and passed his hand through his hair with the +same strange vagueness of manner. “Yes, I’ve heard of it before.” + +The colossus of crime leaned over to the little rustic priest with a +sort of sudden interest. + +“You have heard of it?” he asked. “Where have you heard of it?” + +“Well, I mustn’t tell you his name, of course,” said the little man +simply. “He was a penitent, you know. He had lived prosperously for +about twenty years entirely on duplicate brown paper parcels. And so, +you see, when I began to suspect you, I thought of this poor chap’s way +of doing it at once.” + +“Began to suspect me?” repeated the outlaw with increased intensity. +“Did you really have the gumption to suspect me just because I brought +you up to this bare part of the heath?” + +“No, no,” said Brown with an air of apology. “You see, I suspected you +when we first met. It’s that little bulge up the sleeve where you people +have the spiked bracelet.” + +“How in Tartarus,” cried Flambeau, “did you ever hear of the spiked +bracelet?” + +“Oh, one’s little flock, you know!” said Father Brown, arching his +eyebrows rather blankly. “When I was a curate in Hartlepool, there were +three of them with spiked bracelets. So, as I suspected you from the +first, don’t you see, I made sure that the cross should go safe, anyhow. +I’m afraid I watched you, you know. So at last I saw you change the +parcels. Then, don’t you see, I changed them back again. And then I left +the right one behind.” + +“Left it behind?” repeated Flambeau, and for the first time there was +another note in his voice beside his triumph. + +“Well, it was like this,” said the little priest, speaking in the same +unaffected way. “I went back to that sweet-shop and asked if I’d left a +parcel, and gave them a particular address if it turned up. Well, I knew +I hadn’t; but when I went away again I did. So, instead of running after +me with that valuable parcel, they have sent it flying to a friend of +mine in Westminster.” Then he added rather sadly: “I learnt that, too, +from a poor fellow in Hartlepool. He used to do it with handbags he +stole at railway stations, but he’s in a monastery now. Oh, one gets to +know, you know,” he added, rubbing his head again with the same sort of +desperate apology. “We can’t help being priests. People come and tell us +these things.” + +Flambeau tore a brown-paper parcel out of his inner pocket and rent it +in pieces. There was nothing but paper and sticks of lead inside it. He +sprang to his feet with a gigantic gesture, and cried: + +“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe a bumpkin like you could manage +all that. I believe you’ve still got the stuff on you, and if you don’t +give it up--why, we’re all alone, and I’ll take it by force!” + +“No,” said Father Brown simply, and stood up also, “you won’t take it +by force. First, because I really haven’t still got it. And, second, +because we are not alone.” + +Flambeau stopped in his stride forward. + +“Behind that tree,” said Father Brown, pointing, “are two strong +policemen and the greatest detective alive. How did they come here, do +you ask? Why, I brought them, of course! How did I do it? Why, I’ll tell +you if you like! Lord bless you, we have to know twenty such things +when we work among the criminal classes! Well, I wasn’t sure you were +a thief, and it would never do to make a scandal against one of our +own clergy. So I just tested you to see if anything would make you show +yourself. A man generally makes a small scene if he finds salt in his +coffee; if he doesn’t, he has some reason for keeping quiet. I changed +the salt and sugar, and you kept quiet. A man generally objects if +his bill is three times too big. If he pays it, he has some motive for +passing unnoticed. I altered your bill, and you paid it.” + +The world seemed waiting for Flambeau to leap like a tiger. But he was +held back as by a spell; he was stunned with the utmost curiosity. + +“Well,” went on Father Brown, with lumbering lucidity, “as you wouldn’t +leave any tracks for the police, of course somebody had to. At every +place we went to, I took care to do something that would get us talked +about for the rest of the day. I didn’t do much harm--a splashed wall, +spilt apples, a broken window; but I saved the cross, as the cross will +always be saved. It is at Westminster by now. I rather wonder you didn’t +stop it with the Donkey’s Whistle.” + +“With the what?” asked Flambeau. + +“I’m glad you’ve never heard of it,” said the priest, making a face. +“It’s a foul thing. I’m sure you’re too good a man for a Whistler. I +couldn’t have countered it even with the Spots myself; I’m not strong +enough in the legs.” + +“What on earth are you talking about?” asked the other. + +“Well, I did think you’d know the Spots,” said Father Brown, agreeably +surprised. “Oh, you can’t have gone so very wrong yet!” + +“How in blazes do you know all these horrors?” cried Flambeau. + +The shadow of a smile crossed the round, simple face of his clerical +opponent. + +“Oh, by being a celibate simpleton, I suppose,” he said. “Has it never +struck you that a man who does next to nothing but hear men’s real sins +is not likely to be wholly unaware of human evil? But, as a matter of +fact, another part of my trade, too, made me sure you weren’t a priest.” + +“What?” asked the thief, almost gaping. + +“You attacked reason,” said Father Brown. “It’s bad theology.” + +And even as he turned away to collect his property, the three policemen +came out from under the twilight trees. Flambeau was an artist and a +sportsman. He stepped back and swept Valentin a great bow. + +“Do not bow to me, mon ami,” said Valentin with silver clearness. “Let +us both bow to our master.” + +And they both stood an instant uncovered while the little Essex priest +blinked about for his umbrella. + + + + +The Secret Garden + + +Aristide Valentin, Chief of the Paris Police, was late for his dinner, +and some of his guests began to arrive before him. These were, however, +reassured by his confidential servant, Ivan, the old man with a scar, +and a face almost as grey as his moustaches, who always sat at a table +in the entrance hall--a hall hung with weapons. Valentin’s house was +perhaps as peculiar and celebrated as its master. It was an old house, +with high walls and tall poplars almost overhanging the Seine; but the +oddity--and perhaps the police value--of its architecture was this: that +there was no ultimate exit at all except through this front door, which +was guarded by Ivan and the armoury. The garden was large and elaborate, +and there were many exits from the house into the garden. But there was +no exit from the garden into the world outside; all round it ran a tall, +smooth, unscalable wall with special spikes at the top; no bad garden, +perhaps, for a man to reflect in whom some hundred criminals had sworn +to kill. + +As Ivan explained to the guests, their host had telephoned that he +was detained for ten minutes. He was, in truth, making some last +arrangements about executions and such ugly things; and though these +duties were rootedly repulsive to him, he always performed them with +precision. Ruthless in the pursuit of criminals, he was very mild about +their punishment. Since he had been supreme over French--and largely +over European--policial methods, his great influence had been honourably +used for the mitigation of sentences and the purification of prisons. +He was one of the great humanitarian French freethinkers; and the only +thing wrong with them is that they make mercy even colder than justice. + +When Valentin arrived he was already dressed in black clothes and the +red rosette--an elegant figure, his dark beard already streaked with +grey. He went straight through his house to his study, which opened on +the grounds behind. The garden door of it was open, and after he had +carefully locked his box in its official place, he stood for a few +seconds at the open door looking out upon the garden. A sharp moon +was fighting with the flying rags and tatters of a storm, and Valentin +regarded it with a wistfulness unusual in such scientific natures as +his. Perhaps such scientific natures have some psychic prevision of the +most tremendous problem of their lives. From any such occult mood, +at least, he quickly recovered, for he knew he was late, and that his +guests had already begun to arrive. A glance at his drawing-room when he +entered it was enough to make certain that his principal guest was not +there, at any rate. He saw all the other pillars of the little party; +he saw Lord Galloway, the English Ambassador--a choleric old man with a +russet face like an apple, wearing the blue ribbon of the Garter. He +saw Lady Galloway, slim and threadlike, with silver hair and a face +sensitive and superior. He saw her daughter, Lady Margaret Graham, a +pale and pretty girl with an elfish face and copper-coloured hair. He +saw the Duchess of Mont St. Michel, black-eyed and opulent, and with +her her two daughters, black-eyed and opulent also. He saw Dr. Simon, +a typical French scientist, with glasses, a pointed brown beard, and a +forehead barred with those parallel wrinkles which are the penalty +of superciliousness, since they come through constantly elevating +the eyebrows. He saw Father Brown, of Cobhole, in Essex, whom he had +recently met in England. He saw--perhaps with more interest than any +of these--a tall man in uniform, who had bowed to the Galloways without +receiving any very hearty acknowledgment, and who now advanced alone to +pay his respects to his host. This was Commandant O’Brien, of the +French Foreign Legion. He was a slim yet somewhat swaggering figure, +clean-shaven, dark-haired, and blue-eyed, and, as seemed natural in an +officer of that famous regiment of victorious failures and successful +suicides, he had an air at once dashing and melancholy. He was by birth +an Irish gentleman, and in boyhood had known the Galloways--especially +Margaret Graham. He had left his country after some crash of debts, and +now expressed his complete freedom from British etiquette by swinging +about in uniform, sabre and spurs. When he bowed to the Ambassador’s +family, Lord and Lady Galloway bent stiffly, and Lady Margaret looked +away. + +But for whatever old causes such people might be interested in each +other, their distinguished host was not specially interested in them. No +one of them at least was in his eyes the guest of the evening. Valentin +was expecting, for special reasons, a man of world-wide fame, whose +friendship he had secured during some of his great detective tours and +triumphs in the United States. He was expecting Julius K. Brayne, that +multi-millionaire whose colossal and even crushing endowments of small +religions have occasioned so much easy sport and easier solemnity for +the American and English papers. Nobody could quite make out whether Mr. +Brayne was an atheist or a Mormon or a Christian Scientist; but he was +ready to pour money into any intellectual vessel, so long as it was +an untried vessel. One of his hobbies was to wait for the American +Shakespeare--a hobby more patient than angling. He admired Walt Whitman, +but thought that Luke P. Tanner, of Paris, Pa., was more “progressive” + than Whitman any day. He liked anything that he thought “progressive.” + He thought Valentin “progressive,” thereby doing him a grave injustice. + +The solid appearance of Julius K. Brayne in the room was as decisive +as a dinner bell. He had this great quality, which very few of us +can claim, that his presence was as big as his absence. He was a huge +fellow, as fat as he was tall, clad in complete evening black, without +so much relief as a watch-chain or a ring. His hair was white and well +brushed back like a German’s; his face was red, fierce and cherubic, +with one dark tuft under the lower lip that threw up that otherwise +infantile visage with an effect theatrical and even Mephistophelean. Not +long, however, did that salon merely stare at the celebrated American; +his lateness had already become a domestic problem, and he was sent with +all speed into the dining-room with Lady Galloway on his arm. + +Except on one point the Galloways were genial and casual enough. So long +as Lady Margaret did not take the arm of that adventurer O’Brien, her +father was quite satisfied; and she had not done so, she had decorously +gone in with Dr. Simon. Nevertheless, old Lord Galloway was restless and +almost rude. He was diplomatic enough during dinner, but when, over the +cigars, three of the younger men--Simon the doctor, Brown the priest, +and the detrimental O’Brien, the exile in a foreign uniform--all melted +away to mix with the ladies or smoke in the conservatory, then the +English diplomatist grew very undiplomatic indeed. He was stung +every sixty seconds with the thought that the scamp O’Brien might be +signalling to Margaret somehow; he did not attempt to imagine how. He +was left over the coffee with Brayne, the hoary Yankee who believed +in all religions, and Valentin, the grizzled Frenchman who believed in +none. They could argue with each other, but neither could appeal to +him. After a time this “progressive” logomachy had reached a crisis of +tedium; Lord Galloway got up also and sought the drawing-room. He lost +his way in long passages for some six or eight minutes: till he heard +the high-pitched, didactic voice of the doctor, and then the dull voice +of the priest, followed by general laughter. They also, he thought with +a curse, were probably arguing about “science and religion.” But the +instant he opened the salon door he saw only one thing--he saw what +was not there. He saw that Commandant O’Brien was absent, and that Lady +Margaret was absent too. + +Rising impatiently from the drawing-room, as he had from the +dining-room, he stamped along the passage once more. His notion of +protecting his daughter from the Irish-Algerian n’er-do-well had become +something central and even mad in his mind. As he went towards the back +of the house, where was Valentin’s study, he was surprised to meet his +daughter, who swept past with a white, scornful face, which was a second +enigma. If she had been with O’Brien, where was O’Brien! If she had +not been with O’Brien, where had she been? With a sort of senile and +passionate suspicion he groped his way to the dark back parts of the +mansion, and eventually found a servants’ entrance that opened on to the +garden. The moon with her scimitar had now ripped up and rolled away all +the storm-wrack. The argent light lit up all four corners of the garden. +A tall figure in blue was striding across the lawn towards the study +door; a glint of moonlit silver on his facings picked him out as +Commandant O’Brien. + +He vanished through the French windows into the house, leaving Lord +Galloway in an indescribable temper, at once virulent and vague. The +blue-and-silver garden, like a scene in a theatre, seemed to taunt him +with all that tyrannic tenderness against which his worldly authority +was at war. The length and grace of the Irishman’s stride enraged him as +if he were a rival instead of a father; the moonlight maddened him. +He was trapped as if by magic into a garden of troubadours, a Watteau +fairyland; and, willing to shake off such amorous imbecilities by +speech, he stepped briskly after his enemy. As he did so he tripped over +some tree or stone in the grass; looked down at it first with irritation +and then a second time with curiosity. The next instant the moon and the +tall poplars looked at an unusual sight--an elderly English diplomatist +running hard and crying or bellowing as he ran. + +His hoarse shouts brought a pale face to the study door, the beaming +glasses and worried brow of Dr. Simon, who heard the nobleman’s first +clear words. Lord Galloway was crying: “A corpse in the grass--a +blood-stained corpse.” O’Brien at last had gone utterly out of his mind. + +“We must tell Valentin at once,” said the doctor, when the other had +brokenly described all that he had dared to examine. “It is fortunate +that he is here;” and even as he spoke the great detective entered the +study, attracted by the cry. It was almost amusing to note his typical +transformation; he had come with the common concern of a host and a +gentleman, fearing that some guest or servant was ill. When he was +told the gory fact, he turned with all his gravity instantly bright and +businesslike; for this, however abrupt and awful, was his business. + +“Strange, gentlemen,” he said as they hurried out into the garden, “that +I should have hunted mysteries all over the earth, and now one comes and +settles in my own back-yard. But where is the place?” They crossed the +lawn less easily, as a slight mist had begun to rise from the river; but +under the guidance of the shaken Galloway they found the body sunken +in deep grass--the body of a very tall and broad-shouldered man. He lay +face downwards, so they could only see that his big shoulders were clad +in black cloth, and that his big head was bald, except for a wisp or +two of brown hair that clung to his skull like wet seaweed. A scarlet +serpent of blood crawled from under his fallen face. + +“At least,” said Simon, with a deep and singular intonation, “he is none +of our party.” + +“Examine him, doctor,” cried Valentin rather sharply. “He may not be +dead.” + +The doctor bent down. “He is not quite cold, but I am afraid he is dead +enough,” he answered. “Just help me to lift him up.” + +They lifted him carefully an inch from the ground, and all doubts as +to his being really dead were settled at once and frightfully. The head +fell away. It had been entirely sundered from the body; whoever had +cut his throat had managed to sever the neck as well. Even Valentin +was slightly shocked. “He must have been as strong as a gorilla,” he +muttered. + +Not without a shiver, though he was used to anatomical abortions, Dr. +Simon lifted the head. It was slightly slashed about the neck and jaw, +but the face was substantially unhurt. It was a ponderous, yellow face, +at once sunken and swollen, with a hawk-like nose and heavy lids--a face +of a wicked Roman emperor, with, perhaps, a distant touch of a Chinese +emperor. All present seemed to look at it with the coldest eye of +ignorance. Nothing else could be noted about the man except that, as +they had lifted his body, they had seen underneath it the white gleam of +a shirt-front defaced with a red gleam of blood. As Dr. Simon said, +the man had never been of their party. But he might very well have been +trying to join it, for he had come dressed for such an occasion. + +Valentin went down on his hands and knees and examined with his closest +professional attention the grass and ground for some twenty yards round +the body, in which he was assisted less skillfully by the doctor, and +quite vaguely by the English lord. Nothing rewarded their grovellings +except a few twigs, snapped or chopped into very small lengths, which +Valentin lifted for an instant’s examination and then tossed away. + +“Twigs,” he said gravely; “twigs, and a total stranger with his head cut +off; that is all there is on this lawn.” + +There was an almost creepy stillness, and then the unnerved Galloway +called out sharply: + +“Who’s that! Who’s that over there by the garden wall!” + +A small figure with a foolishly large head drew waveringly near them in +the moonlit haze; looked for an instant like a goblin, but turned out to +be the harmless little priest whom they had left in the drawing-room. + +“I say,” he said meekly, “there are no gates to this garden, do you +know.” + +Valentin’s black brows had come together somewhat crossly, as they did +on principle at the sight of the cassock. But he was far too just a man +to deny the relevance of the remark. “You are right,” he said. “Before +we find out how he came to be killed, we may have to find out how he +came to be here. Now listen to me, gentlemen. If it can be done without +prejudice to my position and duty, we shall all agree that certain +distinguished names might well be kept out of this. There are ladies, +gentlemen, and there is a foreign ambassador. If we must mark it down as +a crime, then it must be followed up as a crime. But till then I can use +my own discretion. I am the head of the police; I am so public that I +can afford to be private. Please Heaven, I will clear everyone of my own +guests before I call in my men to look for anybody else. Gentlemen, upon +your honour, you will none of you leave the house till tomorrow at noon; +there are bedrooms for all. Simon, I think you know where to find my +man, Ivan, in the front hall; he is a confidential man. Tell him to +leave another servant on guard and come to me at once. Lord Galloway, +you are certainly the best person to tell the ladies what has happened, +and prevent a panic. They also must stay. Father Brown and I will remain +with the body.” + +When this spirit of the captain spoke in Valentin he was obeyed like a +bugle. Dr. Simon went through to the armoury and routed out Ivan, the +public detective’s private detective. Galloway went to the drawing-room +and told the terrible news tactfully enough, so that by the time the +company assembled there the ladies were already startled and already +soothed. Meanwhile the good priest and the good atheist stood at the +head and foot of the dead man motionless in the moonlight, like symbolic +statues of their two philosophies of death. + +Ivan, the confidential man with the scar and the moustaches, came out +of the house like a cannon ball, and came racing across the lawn to +Valentin like a dog to his master. His livid face was quite lively +with the glow of this domestic detective story, and it was with almost +unpleasant eagerness that he asked his master’s permission to examine +the remains. + +“Yes; look, if you like, Ivan,” said Valentin, “but don’t be long. We +must go in and thrash this out in the house.” + +Ivan lifted the head, and then almost let it drop. + +“Why,” he gasped, “it’s--no, it isn’t; it can’t be. Do you know this +man, sir?” + +“No,” said Valentin indifferently; “we had better go inside.” + +Between them they carried the corpse to a sofa in the study, and then +all made their way to the drawing-room. + +The detective sat down at a desk quietly, and even without hesitation; +but his eye was the iron eye of a judge at assize. He made a few rapid +notes upon paper in front of him, and then said shortly: “Is everybody +here?” + +“Not Mr. Brayne,” said the Duchess of Mont St. Michel, looking round. + +“No,” said Lord Galloway in a hoarse, harsh voice. “And not Mr. Neil +O’Brien, I fancy. I saw that gentleman walking in the garden when the +corpse was still warm.” + +“Ivan,” said the detective, “go and fetch Commandant O’Brien and Mr. +Brayne. Mr. Brayne, I know, is finishing a cigar in the dining-room; +Commandant O’Brien, I think, is walking up and down the conservatory. I +am not sure.” + +The faithful attendant flashed from the room, and before anyone could +stir or speak Valentin went on with the same soldierly swiftness of +exposition. + +“Everyone here knows that a dead man has been found in the garden, his +head cut clean from his body. Dr. Simon, you have examined it. Do you +think that to cut a man’s throat like that would need great force? Or, +perhaps, only a very sharp knife?” + +“I should say that it could not be done with a knife at all,” said the +pale doctor. + +“Have you any thought,” resumed Valentin, “of a tool with which it could +be done?” + +“Speaking within modern probabilities, I really haven’t,” said the +doctor, arching his painful brows. “It’s not easy to hack a neck through +even clumsily, and this was a very clean cut. It could be done with a +battle-axe or an old headsman’s axe, or an old two-handed sword.” + +“But, good heavens!” cried the Duchess, almost in hysterics, “there +aren’t any two-handed swords and battle-axes round here.” + +Valentin was still busy with the paper in front of him. “Tell me,” he +said, still writing rapidly, “could it have been done with a long French +cavalry sabre?” + +A low knocking came at the door, which, for some unreasonable reason, +curdled everyone’s blood like the knocking in Macbeth. Amid that frozen +silence Dr. Simon managed to say: “A sabre--yes, I suppose it could.” + +“Thank you,” said Valentin. “Come in, Ivan.” + +The confidential Ivan opened the door and ushered in Commandant Neil +O’Brien, whom he had found at last pacing the garden again. + +The Irish officer stood up disordered and defiant on the threshold. +“What do you want with me?” he cried. + +“Please sit down,” said Valentin in pleasant, level tones. “Why, you +aren’t wearing your sword. Where is it?” + +“I left it on the library table,” said O’Brien, his brogue deepening in +his disturbed mood. “It was a nuisance, it was getting--” + +“Ivan,” said Valentin, “please go and get the Commandant’s sword from +the library.” Then, as the servant vanished, “Lord Galloway says he saw +you leaving the garden just before he found the corpse. What were you +doing in the garden?” + +The Commandant flung himself recklessly into a chair. “Oh,” he cried in +pure Irish, “admirin’ the moon. Communing with Nature, me bhoy.” + +A heavy silence sank and endured, and at the end of it came again that +trivial and terrible knocking. Ivan reappeared, carrying an empty steel +scabbard. “This is all I can find,” he said. + +“Put it on the table,” said Valentin, without looking up. + +There was an inhuman silence in the room, like that sea of inhuman +silence round the dock of the condemned murderer. The Duchess’s weak +exclamations had long ago died away. Lord Galloway’s swollen hatred was +satisfied and even sobered. The voice that came was quite unexpected. + +“I think I can tell you,” cried Lady Margaret, in that clear, quivering +voice with which a courageous woman speaks publicly. “I can tell you +what Mr. O’Brien was doing in the garden, since he is bound to +silence. He was asking me to marry him. I refused; I said in my family +circumstances I could give him nothing but my respect. He was a little +angry at that; he did not seem to think much of my respect. I wonder,” + she added, with rather a wan smile, “if he will care at all for it now. +For I offer it him now. I will swear anywhere that he never did a thing +like this.” + +Lord Galloway had edged up to his daughter, and was intimidating her in +what he imagined to be an undertone. “Hold your tongue, Maggie,” he said +in a thunderous whisper. “Why should you shield the fellow? Where’s his +sword? Where’s his confounded cavalry--” + +He stopped because of the singular stare with which his daughter was +regarding him, a look that was indeed a lurid magnet for the whole +group. + +“You old fool!” she said in a low voice without pretence of piety, “what +do you suppose you are trying to prove? I tell you this man was innocent +while with me. But if he wasn’t innocent, he was still with me. If he +murdered a man in the garden, who was it who must have seen--who must +at least have known? Do you hate Neil so much as to put your own +daughter--” + +Lady Galloway screamed. Everyone else sat tingling at the touch of those +satanic tragedies that have been between lovers before now. They saw +the proud, white face of the Scotch aristocrat and her lover, the Irish +adventurer, like old portraits in a dark house. The long silence was +full of formless historical memories of murdered husbands and poisonous +paramours. + +In the centre of this morbid silence an innocent voice said: “Was it a +very long cigar?” + +The change of thought was so sharp that they had to look round to see +who had spoken. + +“I mean,” said little Father Brown, from the corner of the room, “I +mean that cigar Mr. Brayne is finishing. It seems nearly as long as a +walking-stick.” + +Despite the irrelevance there was assent as well as irritation in +Valentin’s face as he lifted his head. + +“Quite right,” he remarked sharply. “Ivan, go and see about Mr. Brayne +again, and bring him here at once.” + +The instant the factotum had closed the door, Valentin addressed the +girl with an entirely new earnestness. + +“Lady Margaret,” he said, “we all feel, I am sure, both gratitude +and admiration for your act in rising above your lower dignity and +explaining the Commandant’s conduct. But there is a hiatus still. +Lord Galloway, I understand, met you passing from the study to the +drawing-room, and it was only some minutes afterwards that he found the +garden and the Commandant still walking there.” + +“You have to remember,” replied Margaret, with a faint irony in her +voice, “that I had just refused him, so we should scarcely have come +back arm in arm. He is a gentleman, anyhow; and he loitered behind--and +so got charged with murder.” + +“In those few moments,” said Valentin gravely, “he might really--” + +The knock came again, and Ivan put in his scarred face. + +“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, “but Mr. Brayne has left the house.” + +“Left!” cried Valentin, and rose for the first time to his feet. + +“Gone. Scooted. Evaporated,” replied Ivan in humorous French. “His hat +and coat are gone, too, and I’ll tell you something to cap it all. I ran +outside the house to find any traces of him, and I found one, and a big +trace, too.” + +“What do you mean?” asked Valentin. + +“I’ll show you,” said his servant, and reappeared with a flashing naked +cavalry sabre, streaked with blood about the point and edge. Everyone in +the room eyed it as if it were a thunderbolt; but the experienced Ivan +went on quite quietly: + +“I found this,” he said, “flung among the bushes fifty yards up the road +to Paris. In other words, I found it just where your respectable Mr. +Brayne threw it when he ran away.” + +There was again a silence, but of a new sort. Valentin took the sabre, +examined it, reflected with unaffected concentration of thought, and +then turned a respectful face to O’Brien. “Commandant,” he said, “we +trust you will always produce this weapon if it is wanted for police +examination. Meanwhile,” he added, slapping the steel back in the +ringing scabbard, “let me return you your sword.” + +At the military symbolism of the action the audience could hardly +refrain from applause. + +For Neil O’Brien, indeed, that gesture was the turning-point of +existence. By the time he was wandering in the mysterious garden again +in the colours of the morning the tragic futility of his ordinary mien +had fallen from him; he was a man with many reasons for happiness. Lord +Galloway was a gentleman, and had offered him an apology. Lady Margaret +was something better than a lady, a woman at least, and had perhaps +given him something better than an apology, as they drifted among the +old flowerbeds before breakfast. The whole company was more lighthearted +and humane, for though the riddle of the death remained, the load of +suspicion was lifted off them all, and sent flying off to Paris with the +strange millionaire--a man they hardly knew. The devil was cast out of +the house--he had cast himself out. + +Still, the riddle remained; and when O’Brien threw himself on a garden +seat beside Dr. Simon, that keenly scientific person at once resumed +it. He did not get much talk out of O’Brien, whose thoughts were on +pleasanter things. + +“I can’t say it interests me much,” said the Irishman frankly, +“especially as it seems pretty plain now. Apparently Brayne hated this +stranger for some reason; lured him into the garden, and killed him with +my sword. Then he fled to the city, tossing the sword away as he went. +By the way, Ivan tells me the dead man had a Yankee dollar in his +pocket. So he was a countryman of Brayne’s, and that seems to clinch it. +I don’t see any difficulties about the business.” + +“There are five colossal difficulties,” said the doctor quietly; “like +high walls within walls. Don’t mistake me. I don’t doubt that Brayne +did it; his flight, I fancy, proves that. But as to how he did it. +First difficulty: Why should a man kill another man with a great hulking +sabre, when he can almost kill him with a pocket knife and put it back +in his pocket? Second difficulty: Why was there no noise or outcry? +Does a man commonly see another come up waving a scimitar and offer +no remarks? Third difficulty: A servant watched the front door all the +evening; and a rat cannot get into Valentin’s garden anywhere. How did +the dead man get into the garden? Fourth difficulty: Given the same +conditions, how did Brayne get out of the garden?” + +“And the fifth,” said Neil, with eyes fixed on the English priest who +was coming slowly up the path. + +“Is a trifle, I suppose,” said the doctor, “but I think an odd one. When +I first saw how the head had been slashed, I supposed the assassin had +struck more than once. But on examination I found many cuts across the +truncated section; in other words, they were struck after the head was +off. Did Brayne hate his foe so fiendishly that he stood sabring his +body in the moonlight?” + +“Horrible!” said O’Brien, and shuddered. + +The little priest, Brown, had arrived while they were talking, and had +waited, with characteristic shyness, till they had finished. Then he +said awkwardly: + +“I say, I’m sorry to interrupt. But I was sent to tell you the news!” + +“News?” repeated Simon, and stared at him rather painfully through his +glasses. + +“Yes, I’m sorry,” said Father Brown mildly. “There’s been another +murder, you know.” + +Both men on the seat sprang up, leaving it rocking. + +“And, what’s stranger still,” continued the priest, with his dull eye +on the rhododendrons, “it’s the same disgusting sort; it’s another +beheading. They found the second head actually bleeding into the river, +a few yards along Brayne’s road to Paris; so they suppose that he--” + +“Great Heaven!” cried O’Brien. “Is Brayne a monomaniac?” + +“There are American vendettas,” said the priest impassively. Then he +added: “They want you to come to the library and see it.” + +Commandant O’Brien followed the others towards the inquest, feeling +decidedly sick. As a soldier, he loathed all this secretive carnage; +where were these extravagant amputations going to stop? First one +head was hacked off, and then another; in this case (he told himself +bitterly) it was not true that two heads were better than one. As he +crossed the study he almost staggered at a shocking coincidence. Upon +Valentin’s table lay the coloured picture of yet a third bleeding head; +and it was the head of Valentin himself. A second glance showed him it +was only a Nationalist paper, called _The Guillotine_, which every week +showed one of its political opponents with rolling eyes and writhing +features just after execution; for Valentin was an anti-clerical of some +note. But O’Brien was an Irishman, with a kind of chastity even in his +sins; and his gorge rose against that great brutality of the intellect +which belongs only to France. He felt Paris as a whole, from the +grotesques on the Gothic churches to the gross caricatures in the +newspapers. He remembered the gigantic jests of the Revolution. He saw +the whole city as one ugly energy, from the sanguinary sketch lying on +Valentin’s table up to where, above a mountain and forest of gargoyles, +the great devil grins on Notre Dame. + +The library was long, low, and dark; what light entered it shot from +under low blinds and had still some of the ruddy tinge of morning. +Valentin and his servant Ivan were waiting for them at the upper end of +a long, slightly-sloping desk, on which lay the mortal remains, looking +enormous in the twilight. The big black figure and yellow face of the +man found in the garden confronted them essentially unchanged. The +second head, which had been fished from among the river reeds that +morning, lay streaming and dripping beside it; Valentin’s men were still +seeking to recover the rest of this second corpse, which was supposed +to be afloat. Father Brown, who did not seem to share O’Brien’s +sensibilities in the least, went up to the second head and examined it +with his blinking care. It was little more than a mop of wet white hair, +fringed with silver fire in the red and level morning light; the face, +which seemed of an ugly, empurpled and perhaps criminal type, had been +much battered against trees or stones as it tossed in the water. + +“Good morning, Commandant O’Brien,” said Valentin, with quiet +cordiality. “You have heard of Brayne’s last experiment in butchery, I +suppose?” + +Father Brown was still bending over the head with white hair, and he +said, without looking up: + +“I suppose it is quite certain that Brayne cut off this head, too.” + +“Well, it seems common sense,” said Valentin, with his hands in his +pockets. “Killed in the same way as the other. Found within a few yards +of the other. And sliced by the same weapon which we know he carried +away.” + +“Yes, yes; I know,” replied Father Brown submissively. “Yet, you know, I +doubt whether Brayne could have cut off this head.” + +“Why not?” inquired Dr. Simon, with a rational stare. + +“Well, doctor,” said the priest, looking up blinking, “can a man cut off +his own head? I don’t know.” + +O’Brien felt an insane universe crashing about his ears; but the doctor +sprang forward with impetuous practicality and pushed back the wet white +hair. + +“Oh, there’s no doubt it’s Brayne,” said the priest quietly. “He had +exactly that chip in the left ear.” + +The detective, who had been regarding the priest with steady and +glittering eyes, opened his clenched mouth and said sharply: “You seem +to know a lot about him, Father Brown.” + +“I do,” said the little man simply. “I’ve been about with him for some +weeks. He was thinking of joining our church.” + +The star of the fanatic sprang into Valentin’s eyes; he strode towards +the priest with clenched hands. “And, perhaps,” he cried, with a +blasting sneer, “perhaps he was also thinking of leaving all his money +to your church.” + +“Perhaps he was,” said Brown stolidly; “it is possible.” + +“In that case,” cried Valentin, with a dreadful smile, “you may indeed +know a great deal about him. About his life and about his--” + +Commandant O’Brien laid a hand on Valentin’s arm. “Drop that slanderous +rubbish, Valentin,” he said, “or there may be more swords yet.” + +But Valentin (under the steady, humble gaze of the priest) had already +recovered himself. “Well,” he said shortly, “people’s private opinions +can wait. You gentlemen are still bound by your promise to stay; you +must enforce it on yourselves--and on each other. Ivan here will tell +you anything more you want to know; I must get to business and write to +the authorities. We can’t keep this quiet any longer. I shall be writing +in my study if there is any more news.” + +“Is there any more news, Ivan?” asked Dr. Simon, as the chief of police +strode out of the room. + +“Only one more thing, I think, sir,” said Ivan, wrinkling up his grey +old face, “but that’s important, too, in its way. There’s that old +buffer you found on the lawn,” and he pointed without pretence of +reverence at the big black body with the yellow head. “We’ve found out +who he is, anyhow.” + +“Indeed!” cried the astonished doctor, “and who is he?” + +“His name was Arnold Becker,” said the under-detective, “though he went +by many aliases. He was a wandering sort of scamp, and is known to have +been in America; so that was where Brayne got his knife into him. We +didn’t have much to do with him ourselves, for he worked mostly in +Germany. We’ve communicated, of course, with the German police. But, +oddly enough, there was a twin brother of his, named Louis Becker, +whom we had a great deal to do with. In fact, we found it necessary to +guillotine him only yesterday. Well, it’s a rum thing, gentlemen, but +when I saw that fellow flat on the lawn I had the greatest jump of my +life. If I hadn’t seen Louis Becker guillotined with my own eyes, +I’d have sworn it was Louis Becker lying there in the grass. Then, of +course, I remembered his twin brother in Germany, and following up the +clue--” + +The explanatory Ivan stopped, for the excellent reason that nobody was +listening to him. The Commandant and the doctor were both staring at +Father Brown, who had sprung stiffly to his feet, and was holding his +temples tight like a man in sudden and violent pain. + +“Stop, stop, stop!” he cried; “stop talking a minute, for I see half. +Will God give me strength? Will my brain make the one jump and see all? +Heaven help me! I used to be fairly good at thinking. I could paraphrase +any page in Aquinas once. Will my head split--or will it see? I see +half--I only see half.” + +He buried his head in his hands, and stood in a sort of rigid torture +of thought or prayer, while the other three could only go on staring at +this last prodigy of their wild twelve hours. + +When Father Brown’s hands fell they showed a face quite fresh and +serious, like a child’s. He heaved a huge sigh, and said: “Let us get +this said and done with as quickly as possible. Look here, this will +be the quickest way to convince you all of the truth.” He turned to the +doctor. “Dr. Simon,” he said, “you have a strong head-piece, and I heard +you this morning asking the five hardest questions about this business. +Well, if you will ask them again, I will answer them.” + +Simon’s pince-nez dropped from his nose in his doubt and wonder, but +he answered at once. “Well, the first question, you know, is why a man +should kill another with a clumsy sabre at all when a man can kill with +a bodkin?” + +“A man cannot behead with a bodkin,” said Brown calmly, “and for this +murder beheading was absolutely necessary.” + +“Why?” asked O’Brien, with interest. + +“And the next question?” asked Father Brown. + +“Well, why didn’t the man cry out or anything?” asked the doctor; +“sabres in gardens are certainly unusual.” + +“Twigs,” said the priest gloomily, and turned to the window which looked +on the scene of death. “No one saw the point of the twigs. Why should +they lie on that lawn (look at it) so far from any tree? They were not +snapped off; they were chopped off. The murderer occupied his enemy +with some tricks with the sabre, showing how he could cut a branch in +mid-air, or what-not. Then, while his enemy bent down to see the result, +a silent slash, and the head fell.” + +“Well,” said the doctor slowly, “that seems plausible enough. But my +next two questions will stump anyone.” + +The priest still stood looking critically out of the window and waited. + +“You know how all the garden was sealed up like an air-tight chamber,” + went on the doctor. “Well, how did the strange man get into the garden?” + +Without turning round, the little priest answered: “There never was any +strange man in the garden.” + +There was a silence, and then a sudden cackle of almost childish +laughter relieved the strain. The absurdity of Brown’s remark moved Ivan +to open taunts. + +“Oh!” he cried; “then we didn’t lug a great fat corpse on to a sofa last +night? He hadn’t got into the garden, I suppose?” + +“Got into the garden?” repeated Brown reflectively. “No, not entirely.” + +“Hang it all,” cried Simon, “a man gets into a garden, or he doesn’t.” + +“Not necessarily,” said the priest, with a faint smile. “What is the +nest question, doctor?” + +“I fancy you’re ill,” exclaimed Dr. Simon sharply; “but I’ll ask the +next question if you like. How did Brayne get out of the garden?” + +“He didn’t get out of the garden,” said the priest, still looking out of +the window. + +“Didn’t get out of the garden?” exploded Simon. + +“Not completely,” said Father Brown. + +Simon shook his fists in a frenzy of French logic. “A man gets out of a +garden, or he doesn’t,” he cried. + +“Not always,” said Father Brown. + +Dr. Simon sprang to his feet impatiently. “I have no time to spare on +such senseless talk,” he cried angrily. “If you can’t understand a man +being on one side of a wall or the other, I won’t trouble you further.” + +“Doctor,” said the cleric very gently, “we have always got on very +pleasantly together. If only for the sake of old friendship, stop and +tell me your fifth question.” + +The impatient Simon sank into a chair by the door and said briefly: “The +head and shoulders were cut about in a queer way. It seemed to be done +after death.” + +“Yes,” said the motionless priest, “it was done so as to make you assume +exactly the one simple falsehood that you did assume. It was done to +make you take for granted that the head belonged to the body.” + +The borderland of the brain, where all the monsters are made, moved +horribly in the Gaelic O’Brien. He felt the chaotic presence of all +the horse-men and fish-women that man’s unnatural fancy has begotten. A +voice older than his first fathers seemed saying in his ear: “Keep out +of the monstrous garden where grows the tree with double fruit. Avoid +the evil garden where died the man with two heads.” Yet, while these +shameful symbolic shapes passed across the ancient mirror of his Irish +soul, his Frenchified intellect was quite alert, and was watching the +odd priest as closely and incredulously as all the rest. + +Father Brown had turned round at last, and stood against the window, +with his face in dense shadow; but even in that shadow they could see +it was pale as ashes. Nevertheless, he spoke quite sensibly, as if there +were no Gaelic souls on earth. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, “you did not find the strange body of Becker in +the garden. You did not find any strange body in the garden. In face +of Dr. Simon’s rationalism, I still affirm that Becker was only partly +present. Look here!” (pointing to the black bulk of the mysterious +corpse) “you never saw that man in your lives. Did you ever see this +man?” + +He rapidly rolled away the bald, yellow head of the unknown, and put in +its place the white-maned head beside it. And there, complete, unified, +unmistakable, lay Julius K. Brayne. + +“The murderer,” went on Brown quietly, “hacked off his enemy’s head and +flung the sword far over the wall. But he was too clever to fling the +sword only. He flung the head over the wall also. Then he had only to +clap on another head to the corpse, and (as he insisted on a private +inquest) you all imagined a totally new man.” + +“Clap on another head!” said O’Brien staring. “What other head? Heads +don’t grow on garden bushes, do they?” + +“No,” said Father Brown huskily, and looking at his boots; “there +is only one place where they grow. They grow in the basket of the +guillotine, beside which the chief of police, Aristide Valentin, was +standing not an hour before the murder. Oh, my friends, hear me a minute +more before you tear me in pieces. Valentin is an honest man, if being +mad for an arguable cause is honesty. But did you never see in that +cold, grey eye of his that he is mad! He would do anything, anything, to +break what he calls the superstition of the Cross. He has fought for +it and starved for it, and now he has murdered for it. Brayne’s crazy +millions had hitherto been scattered among so many sects that they did +little to alter the balance of things. But Valentin heard a whisper that +Brayne, like so many scatter-brained sceptics, was drifting to us; and +that was quite a different thing. Brayne would pour supplies into the +impoverished and pugnacious Church of France; he would support six +Nationalist newspapers like _The Guillotine_. The battle was already +balanced on a point, and the fanatic took flame at the risk. He resolved +to destroy the millionaire, and he did it as one would expect the +greatest of detectives to commit his only crime. He abstracted the +severed head of Becker on some criminological excuse, and took it home +in his official box. He had that last argument with Brayne, that Lord +Galloway did not hear the end of; that failing, he led him out into the +sealed garden, talked about swordsmanship, used twigs and a sabre for +illustration, and--” + +Ivan of the Scar sprang up. “You lunatic,” he yelled; “you’ll go to my +master now, if I take you by--” + +“Why, I was going there,” said Brown heavily; “I must ask him to +confess, and all that.” + +Driving the unhappy Brown before them like a hostage or sacrifice, they +rushed together into the sudden stillness of Valentin’s study. + +The great detective sat at his desk apparently too occupied to hear +their turbulent entrance. They paused a moment, and then something in +the look of that upright and elegant back made the doctor run forward +suddenly. A touch and a glance showed him that there was a small box of +pills at Valentin’s elbow, and that Valentin was dead in his chair; and +on the blind face of the suicide was more than the pride of Cato. + + + + +The Queer Feet + + +If you meet a member of that select club, “The Twelve True Fishermen,” + entering the Vernon Hotel for the annual club dinner, you will observe, +as he takes off his overcoat, that his evening coat is green and not +black. If (supposing that you have the star-defying audacity to address +such a being) you ask him why, he will probably answer that he does it +to avoid being mistaken for a waiter. You will then retire crushed. But +you will leave behind you a mystery as yet unsolved and a tale worth +telling. + +If (to pursue the same vein of improbable conjecture) you were to meet +a mild, hard-working little priest, named Father Brown, and were to ask +him what he thought was the most singular luck of his life, he would +probably reply that upon the whole his best stroke was at the Vernon +Hotel, where he had averted a crime and, perhaps, saved a soul, merely +by listening to a few footsteps in a passage. He is perhaps a little +proud of this wild and wonderful guess of his, and it is possible that +he might refer to it. But since it is immeasurably unlikely that you +will ever rise high enough in the social world to find “The Twelve +True Fishermen,” or that you will ever sink low enough among slums and +criminals to find Father Brown, I fear you will never hear the story at +all unless you hear it from me. + +The Vernon Hotel at which The Twelve True Fishermen held their annual +dinners was an institution such as can only exist in an oligarchical +society which has almost gone mad on good manners. It was that +topsy-turvy product--an “exclusive” commercial enterprise. That is, it +was a thing which paid not by attracting people, but actually by turning +people away. In the heart of a plutocracy tradesmen become cunning +enough to be more fastidious than their customers. They positively +create difficulties so that their wealthy and weary clients may spend +money and diplomacy in overcoming them. If there were a fashionable +hotel in London which no man could enter who was under six foot, society +would meekly make up parties of six-foot men to dine in it. If there +were an expensive restaurant which by a mere caprice of its proprietor +was only open on Thursday afternoon, it would be crowded on Thursday +afternoon. The Vernon Hotel stood, as if by accident, in the corner of a +square in Belgravia. It was a small hotel; and a very inconvenient +one. But its very inconveniences were considered as walls protecting a +particular class. One inconvenience, in particular, was held to be of +vital importance: the fact that practically only twenty-four people +could dine in the place at once. The only big dinner table was the +celebrated terrace table, which stood open to the air on a sort of +veranda overlooking one of the most exquisite old gardens in London. +Thus it happened that even the twenty-four seats at this table could +only be enjoyed in warm weather; and this making the enjoyment yet more +difficult made it yet more desired. The existing owner of the hotel was +a Jew named Lever; and he made nearly a million out of it, by making it +difficult to get into. Of course he combined with this limitation in the +scope of his enterprise the most careful polish in its performance. +The wines and cooking were really as good as any in Europe, and the +demeanour of the attendants exactly mirrored the fixed mood of the +English upper class. The proprietor knew all his waiters like the +fingers on his hand; there were only fifteen of them all told. It was +much easier to become a Member of Parliament than to become a waiter in +that hotel. Each waiter was trained in terrible silence and smoothness, +as if he were a gentleman’s servant. And, indeed, there was generally at +least one waiter to every gentleman who dined. + +The club of The Twelve True Fishermen would not have consented to dine +anywhere but in such a place, for it insisted on a luxurious privacy; +and would have been quite upset by the mere thought that any other club +was even dining in the same building. On the occasion of their annual +dinner the Fishermen were in the habit of exposing all their treasures, +as if they were in a private house, especially the celebrated set +of fish knives and forks which were, as it were, the insignia of the +society, each being exquisitely wrought in silver in the form of a fish, +and each loaded at the hilt with one large pearl. These were always +laid out for the fish course, and the fish course was always the most +magnificent in that magnificent repast. The society had a vast number +of ceremonies and observances, but it had no history and no object; that +was where it was so very aristocratic. You did not have to be anything +in order to be one of the Twelve Fishers; unless you were already a +certain sort of person, you never even heard of them. It had been in +existence twelve years. Its president was Mr. Audley. Its vice-president +was the Duke of Chester. + +If I have in any degree conveyed the atmosphere of this appalling hotel, +the reader may feel a natural wonder as to how I came to know anything +about it, and may even speculate as to how so ordinary a person as my +friend Father Brown came to find himself in that golden galley. As far +as that is concerned, my story is simple, or even vulgar. There is in +the world a very aged rioter and demagogue who breaks into the most +refined retreats with the dreadful information that all men are +brothers, and wherever this leveller went on his pale horse it was +Father Brown’s trade to follow. One of the waiters, an Italian, had +been struck down with a paralytic stroke that afternoon; and his Jewish +employer, marvelling mildly at such superstitions, had consented to send +for the nearest Popish priest. With what the waiter confessed to Father +Brown we are not concerned, for the excellent reason that that cleric +kept it to himself; but apparently it involved him in writing out a note +or statement for the conveying of some message or the righting of some +wrong. Father Brown, therefore, with a meek impudence which he would +have shown equally in Buckingham Palace, asked to be provided with a +room and writing materials. Mr. Lever was torn in two. He was a kind +man, and had also that bad imitation of kindness, the dislike of any +difficulty or scene. At the same time the presence of one unusual +stranger in his hotel that evening was like a speck of dirt on something +just cleaned. There was never any borderland or anteroom in the Vernon +Hotel, no people waiting in the hall, no customers coming in on chance. +There were fifteen waiters. There were twelve guests. It would be as +startling to find a new guest in the hotel that night as to find a +new brother taking breakfast or tea in one’s own family. Moreover, +the priest’s appearance was second-rate and his clothes muddy; a mere +glimpse of him afar off might precipitate a crisis in the club. Mr. +Lever at last hit on a plan to cover, since he might not obliterate, the +disgrace. When you enter (as you never will) the Vernon Hotel, you pass +down a short passage decorated with a few dingy but important pictures, +and come to the main vestibule and lounge which opens on your right +into passages leading to the public rooms, and on your left to a similar +passage pointing to the kitchens and offices of the hotel. Immediately +on your left hand is the corner of a glass office, which abuts upon +the lounge--a house within a house, so to speak, like the old hotel bar +which probably once occupied its place. + +In this office sat the representative of the proprietor (nobody in this +place ever appeared in person if he could help it), and just beyond the +office, on the way to the servants’ quarters, was the gentlemen’s cloak +room, the last boundary of the gentlemen’s domain. But between the +office and the cloak room was a small private room without other outlet, +sometimes used by the proprietor for delicate and important matters, +such as lending a duke a thousand pounds or declining to lend him +sixpence. It is a mark of the magnificent tolerance of Mr. Lever that +he permitted this holy place to be for about half an hour profaned by a +mere priest, scribbling away on a piece of paper. The story which Father +Brown was writing down was very likely a much better story than this +one, only it will never be known. I can merely state that it was very +nearly as long, and that the last two or three paragraphs of it were the +least exciting and absorbing. + +For it was by the time that he had reached these that the priest began a +little to allow his thoughts to wander and his animal senses, which were +commonly keen, to awaken. The time of darkness and dinner was drawing +on; his own forgotten little room was without a light, and perhaps the +gathering gloom, as occasionally happens, sharpened the sense of sound. +As Father Brown wrote the last and least essential part of his document, +he caught himself writing to the rhythm of a recurrent noise outside, +just as one sometimes thinks to the tune of a railway train. When he +became conscious of the thing he found what it was: only the ordinary +patter of feet passing the door, which in an hotel was no very unlikely +matter. Nevertheless, he stared at the darkened ceiling, and listened to +the sound. After he had listened for a few seconds dreamily, he got to +his feet and listened intently, with his head a little on one side. +Then he sat down again and buried his brow in his hands, now not merely +listening, but listening and thinking also. + +The footsteps outside at any given moment were such as one might hear in +any hotel; and yet, taken as a whole, there was something very strange +about them. There were no other footsteps. It was always a very silent +house, for the few familiar guests went at once to their own apartments, +and the well-trained waiters were told to be almost invisible until +they were wanted. One could not conceive any place where there was less +reason to apprehend anything irregular. But these footsteps were so +odd that one could not decide to call them regular or irregular. Father +Brown followed them with his finger on the edge of the table, like a man +trying to learn a tune on the piano. + +First, there came a long rush of rapid little steps, such as a light man +might make in winning a walking race. At a certain point they stopped +and changed to a sort of slow, swinging stamp, numbering not a quarter +of the steps, but occupying about the same time. The moment the last +echoing stamp had died away would come again the run or ripple of light, +hurrying feet, and then again the thud of the heavier walking. It was +certainly the same pair of boots, partly because (as has been said) +there were no other boots about, and partly because they had a small +but unmistakable creak in them. Father Brown had the kind of head that +cannot help asking questions; and on this apparently trivial question +his head almost split. He had seen men run in order to jump. He had seen +men run in order to slide. But why on earth should a man run in order +to walk? Or, again, why should he walk in order to run? Yet no other +description would cover the antics of this invisible pair of legs. The +man was either walking very fast down one-half of the corridor in order +to walk very slow down the other half; or he was walking very slow +at one end to have the rapture of walking fast at the other. Neither +suggestion seemed to make much sense. His brain was growing darker and +darker, like his room. + +Yet, as he began to think steadily, the very blackness of his cell +seemed to make his thoughts more vivid; he began to see as in a kind of +vision the fantastic feet capering along the corridor in unnatural or +symbolic attitudes. Was it a heathen religious dance? Or some entirely +new kind of scientific exercise? Father Brown began to ask himself with +more exactness what the steps suggested. Taking the slow step first: it +certainly was not the step of the proprietor. Men of his type walk +with a rapid waddle, or they sit still. It could not be any servant or +messenger waiting for directions. It did not sound like it. The poorer +orders (in an oligarchy) sometimes lurch about when they are slightly +drunk, but generally, and especially in such gorgeous scenes, they stand +or sit in constrained attitudes. No; that heavy yet springy step, with +a kind of careless emphasis, not specially noisy, yet not caring what +noise it made, belonged to only one of the animals of this earth. It was +a gentleman of western Europe, and probably one who had never worked for +his living. + +Just as he came to this solid certainty, the step changed to the quicker +one, and ran past the door as feverishly as a rat. The listener remarked +that though this step was much swifter it was also much more noiseless, +almost as if the man were walking on tiptoe. Yet it was not associated +in his mind with secrecy, but with something else--something that he +could not remember. He was maddened by one of those half-memories that +make a man feel half-witted. Surely he had heard that strange, swift +walking somewhere. Suddenly he sprang to his feet with a new idea in +his head, and walked to the door. His room had no direct outlet on the +passage, but let on one side into the glass office, and on the other +into the cloak room beyond. He tried the door into the office, and +found it locked. Then he looked at the window, now a square pane full of +purple cloud cleft by livid sunset, and for an instant he smelt evil as +a dog smells rats. + +The rational part of him (whether the wiser or not) regained its +supremacy. He remembered that the proprietor had told him that he should +lock the door, and would come later to release him. He told himself that +twenty things he had not thought of might explain the eccentric sounds +outside; he reminded himself that there was just enough light left to +finish his own proper work. Bringing his paper to the window so as to +catch the last stormy evening light, he resolutely plunged once more +into the almost completed record. He had written for about twenty +minutes, bending closer and closer to his paper in the lessening light; +then suddenly he sat upright. He had heard the strange feet once more. + +This time they had a third oddity. Previously the unknown man had +walked, with levity indeed and lightning quickness, but he had walked. +This time he ran. One could hear the swift, soft, bounding steps coming +along the corridor, like the pads of a fleeing and leaping panther. +Whoever was coming was a very strong, active man, in still yet tearing +excitement. Yet, when the sound had swept up to the office like a sort +of whispering whirlwind, it suddenly changed again to the old slow, +swaggering stamp. + +Father Brown flung down his paper, and, knowing the office door to +be locked, went at once into the cloak room on the other side. The +attendant of this place was temporarily absent, probably because the +only guests were at dinner and his office was a sinecure. After groping +through a grey forest of overcoats, he found that the dim cloak room +opened on the lighted corridor in the form of a sort of counter or +half-door, like most of the counters across which we have all handed +umbrellas and received tickets. There was a light immediately above +the semicircular arch of this opening. It threw little illumination on +Father Brown himself, who seemed a mere dark outline against the dim +sunset window behind him. But it threw an almost theatrical light on the +man who stood outside the cloak room in the corridor. + +He was an elegant man in very plain evening dress; tall, but with an air +of not taking up much room; one felt that he could have slid along like +a shadow where many smaller men would have been obvious and obstructive. +His face, now flung back in the lamplight, was swarthy and vivacious, +the face of a foreigner. His figure was good, his manners good humoured +and confident; a critic could only say that his black coat was a shade +below his figure and manners, and even bulged and bagged in an odd +way. The moment he caught sight of Brown’s black silhouette against the +sunset, he tossed down a scrap of paper with a number and called out +with amiable authority: “I want my hat and coat, please; I find I have +to go away at once.” + +Father Brown took the paper without a word, and obediently went to look +for the coat; it was not the first menial work he had done in his +life. He brought it and laid it on the counter; meanwhile, the strange +gentleman who had been feeling in his waistcoat pocket, said laughing: +“I haven’t got any silver; you can keep this.” And he threw down half a +sovereign, and caught up his coat. + +Father Brown’s figure remained quite dark and still; but in that instant +he had lost his head. His head was always most valuable when he had lost +it. In such moments he put two and two together and made four million. +Often the Catholic Church (which is wedded to common sense) did not +approve of it. Often he did not approve of it himself. But it was real +inspiration--important at rare crises--when whosoever shall lose his +head the same shall save it. + +“I think, sir,” he said civilly, “that you have some silver in your +pocket.” + +The tall gentleman stared. “Hang it,” he cried, “if I choose to give you +gold, why should you complain?” + +“Because silver is sometimes more valuable than gold,” said the priest +mildly; “that is, in large quantities.” + +The stranger looked at him curiously. Then he looked still more +curiously up the passage towards the main entrance. Then he looked back +at Brown again, and then he looked very carefully at the window beyond +Brown’s head, still coloured with the after-glow of the storm. Then he +seemed to make up his mind. He put one hand on the counter, vaulted +over as easily as an acrobat and towered above the priest, putting one +tremendous hand upon his collar. + +“Stand still,” he said, in a hacking whisper. “I don’t want to threaten +you, but--” + +“I do want to threaten you,” said Father Brown, in a voice like a +rolling drum, “I want to threaten you with the worm that dieth not, and +the fire that is not quenched.” + +“You’re a rum sort of cloak-room clerk,” said the other. + +“I am a priest, Monsieur Flambeau,” said Brown, “and I am ready to hear +your confession.” + +The other stood gasping for a few moments, and then staggered back into +a chair. + +The first two courses of the dinner of The Twelve True Fishermen had +proceeded with placid success. I do not possess a copy of the menu; and +if I did it would not convey anything to anybody. It was written in +a sort of super-French employed by cooks, but quite unintelligible to +Frenchmen. There was a tradition in the club that the _hors d’œuvres_ +should be various and manifold to the point of madness. They were taken +seriously because they were avowedly useless extras, like the whole +dinner and the whole club. There was also a tradition that the soup +course should be light and unpretending--a sort of simple and austere +vigil for the feast of fish that was to come. The talk was that strange, +slight talk which governs the British Empire, which governs it in +secret, and yet would scarcely enlighten an ordinary Englishman even if +he could overhear it. Cabinet ministers on both sides were alluded to +by their Christian names with a sort of bored benignity. The Radical +Chancellor of the Exchequer, whom the whole Tory party was supposed to +be cursing for his extortions, was praised for his minor poetry, or his +saddle in the hunting field. The Tory leader, whom all Liberals +were supposed to hate as a tyrant, was discussed and, on the whole, +praised--as a Liberal. It seemed somehow that politicians were very +important. And yet, anything seemed important about them except their +politics. Mr. Audley, the chairman, was an amiable, elderly man who +still wore Gladstone collars; he was a kind of symbol of all that +phantasmal and yet fixed society. He had never done anything--not even +anything wrong. He was not fast; he was not even particularly rich. +He was simply in the thing; and there was an end of it. No party could +ignore him, and if he had wished to be in the Cabinet he certainly would +have been put there. The Duke of Chester, the vice-president, was a +young and rising politician. That is to say, he was a pleasant youth, +with flat, fair hair and a freckled face, with moderate intelligence and +enormous estates. In public his appearances were always successful and +his principle was simple enough. When he thought of a joke he made it, +and was called brilliant. When he could not think of a joke he said that +this was no time for trifling, and was called able. In private, in a +club of his own class, he was simply quite pleasantly frank and silly, +like a schoolboy. Mr. Audley, never having been in politics, treated +them a little more seriously. Sometimes he even embarrassed the company +by phrases suggesting that there was some difference between a Liberal +and a Conservative. He himself was a Conservative, even in private life. +He had a roll of grey hair over the back of his collar, like certain +old-fashioned statesmen, and seen from behind he looked like the man the +empire wants. Seen from the front he looked like a mild, self-indulgent +bachelor, with rooms in the Albany--which he was. + +As has been remarked, there were twenty-four seats at the terrace table, +and only twelve members of the club. Thus they could occupy the terrace +in the most luxurious style of all, being ranged along the inner side of +the table, with no one opposite, commanding an uninterrupted view of +the garden, the colours of which were still vivid, though evening was +closing in somewhat luridly for the time of year. The chairman sat in +the centre of the line, and the vice-president at the right-hand end +of it. When the twelve guests first trooped into their seats it was the +custom (for some unknown reason) for all the fifteen waiters to stand +lining the wall like troops presenting arms to the king, while the fat +proprietor stood and bowed to the club with radiant surprise, as if he +had never heard of them before. But before the first chink of knife and +fork this army of retainers had vanished, only the one or two required +to collect and distribute the plates darting about in deathly silence. +Mr. Lever, the proprietor, of course had disappeared in convulsions of +courtesy long before. It would be exaggerative, indeed irreverent, +to say that he ever positively appeared again. But when the important +course, the fish course, was being brought on, there was--how shall I +put it?--a vivid shadow, a projection of his personality, which told +that he was hovering near. The sacred fish course consisted (to the eyes +of the vulgar) in a sort of monstrous pudding, about the size and shape +of a wedding cake, in which some considerable number of interesting +fishes had finally lost the shapes which God had given to them. The +Twelve True Fishermen took up their celebrated fish knives and fish +forks, and approached it as gravely as if every inch of the pudding cost +as much as the silver fork it was eaten with. So it did, for all I know. +This course was dealt with in eager and devouring silence; and it was +only when his plate was nearly empty that the young duke made the ritual +remark: “They can’t do this anywhere but here.” + +“Nowhere,” said Mr. Audley, in a deep bass voice, turning to the speaker +and nodding his venerable head a number of times. “Nowhere, assuredly, +except here. It was represented to me that at the Café Anglais--” + +Here he was interrupted and even agitated for a moment by the removal +of his plate, but he recaptured the valuable thread of his thoughts. “It +was represented to me that the same could be done at the Café Anglais. +Nothing like it, sir,” he said, shaking his head ruthlessly, like a +hanging judge. “Nothing like it.” + +“Overrated place,” said a certain Colonel Pound, speaking (by the look +of him) for the first time for some months. + +“Oh, I don’t know,” said the Duke of Chester, who was an optimist, “it’s +jolly good for some things. You can’t beat it at--” + +A waiter came swiftly along the room, and then stopped dead. His +stoppage was as silent as his tread; but all those vague and kindly +gentlemen were so used to the utter smoothness of the unseen machinery +which surrounded and supported their lives, that a waiter doing anything +unexpected was a start and a jar. They felt as you and I would feel if +the inanimate world disobeyed--if a chair ran away from us. + +The waiter stood staring a few seconds, while there deepened on every +face at table a strange shame which is wholly the product of our time. +It is the combination of modern humanitarianism with the horrible +modern abyss between the souls of the rich and poor. A genuine historic +aristocrat would have thrown things at the waiter, beginning with empty +bottles, and very probably ending with money. A genuine democrat would +have asked him, with comrade-like clearness of speech, what the devil he +was doing. But these modern plutocrats could not bear a poor man near +to them, either as a slave or as a friend. That something had gone wrong +with the servants was merely a dull, hot embarrassment. They did not +want to be brutal, and they dreaded the need to be benevolent. They +wanted the thing, whatever it was, to be over. It was over. The waiter, +after standing for some seconds rigid, like a cataleptic, turned round +and ran madly out of the room. + +When he reappeared in the room, or rather in the doorway, it was in +company with another waiter, with whom he whispered and gesticulated +with southern fierceness. Then the first waiter went away, leaving the +second waiter, and reappeared with a third waiter. By the time a fourth +waiter had joined this hurried synod, Mr. Audley felt it necessary to +break the silence in the interests of Tact. He used a very loud cough, +instead of a presidential hammer, and said: “Splendid work young +Moocher’s doing in Burmah. Now, no other nation in the world could +have--” + +A fifth waiter had sped towards him like an arrow, and was whispering in +his ear: “So sorry. Important! Might the proprietor speak to you?” + +The chairman turned in disorder, and with a dazed stare saw Mr. Lever +coming towards them with his lumbering quickness. The gait of the good +proprietor was indeed his usual gait, but his face was by no means +usual. Generally it was a genial copper-brown; now it was a sickly +yellow. + +“You will pardon me, Mr. Audley,” he said, with asthmatic +breathlessness. “I have great apprehensions. Your fish-plates, they are +cleared away with the knife and fork on them!” + +“Well, I hope so,” said the chairman, with some warmth. + +“You see him?” panted the excited hotel keeper; “you see the waiter who +took them away? You know him?” + +“Know the waiter?” answered Mr. Audley indignantly. “Certainly not!” + +Mr. Lever opened his hands with a gesture of agony. “I never send him,” + he said. “I know not when or why he come. I send my waiter to take away +the plates, and he find them already away.” + +Mr. Audley still looked rather too bewildered to be really the man the +empire wants; none of the company could say anything except the man of +wood--Colonel Pound--who seemed galvanised into an unnatural life. He +rose rigidly from his chair, leaving all the rest sitting, screwed his +eyeglass into his eye, and spoke in a raucous undertone as if he had +half-forgotten how to speak. “Do you mean,” he said, “that somebody has +stolen our silver fish service?” + +The proprietor repeated the open-handed gesture with even greater +helplessness and in a flash all the men at the table were on their feet. + +“Are all your waiters here?” demanded the colonel, in his low, harsh +accent. + +“Yes; they’re all here. I noticed it myself,” cried the young duke, +pushing his boyish face into the inmost ring. “Always count ’em as I +come in; they look so queer standing up against the wall.” + +“But surely one cannot exactly remember,” began Mr. Audley, with heavy +hesitation. + +“I remember exactly, I tell you,” cried the duke excitedly. “There never +have been more than fifteen waiters at this place, and there were no +more than fifteen tonight, I’ll swear; no more and no less.” + +The proprietor turned upon him, quaking in a kind of palsy of surprise. +“You say--you say,” he stammered, “that you see all my fifteen waiters?” + +“As usual,” assented the duke. “What is the matter with that!” + +“Nothing,” said Lever, with a deepening accent, “only you did not. For +one of zem is dead upstairs.” + +There was a shocking stillness for an instant in that room. It may be +(so supernatural is the word death) that each of those idle men looked +for a second at his soul, and saw it as a small dried pea. One of +them--the duke, I think--even said with the idiotic kindness of wealth: +“Is there anything we can do?” + +“He has had a priest,” said the Jew, not untouched. + +Then, as to the clang of doom, they awoke to their own position. For a +few weird seconds they had really felt as if the fifteenth waiter might +be the ghost of the dead man upstairs. They had been dumb under that +oppression, for ghosts were to them an embarrassment, like beggars. But +the remembrance of the silver broke the spell of the miraculous; broke +it abruptly and with a brutal reaction. The colonel flung over his chair +and strode to the door. “If there was a fifteenth man here, friends,” he +said, “that fifteenth fellow was a thief. Down at once to the front +and back doors and secure everything; then we’ll talk. The twenty-four +pearls of the club are worth recovering.” + +Mr. Audley seemed at first to hesitate about whether it was gentlemanly +to be in such a hurry about anything; but, seeing the duke dash down the +stairs with youthful energy, he followed with a more mature motion. + +At the same instant a sixth waiter ran into the room, and declared that +he had found the pile of fish plates on a sideboard, with no trace of +the silver. + +The crowd of diners and attendants that tumbled helter-skelter down the +passages divided into two groups. Most of the Fishermen followed the +proprietor to the front room to demand news of any exit. Colonel Pound, +with the chairman, the vice-president, and one or two others darted down +the corridor leading to the servants’ quarters, as the more likely line +of escape. As they did so they passed the dim alcove or cavern of +the cloak room, and saw a short, black-coated figure, presumably an +attendant, standing a little way back in the shadow of it. + +“Hallo, there!” called out the duke. “Have you seen anyone pass?” + +The short figure did not answer the question directly, but merely said: +“Perhaps I have got what you are looking for, gentlemen.” + +They paused, wavering and wondering, while he quietly went to the back +of the cloak room, and came back with both hands full of shining silver, +which he laid out on the counter as calmly as a salesman. It took the +form of a dozen quaintly shaped forks and knives. + +“You--you--” began the colonel, quite thrown off his balance at last. +Then he peered into the dim little room and saw two things: first, that +the short, black-clad man was dressed like a clergyman; and, second, +that the window of the room behind him was burst, as if someone had +passed violently through. “Valuable things to deposit in a cloak room, +aren’t they?” remarked the clergyman, with cheerful composure. + +“Did--did you steal those things?” stammered Mr. Audley, with staring +eyes. + +“If I did,” said the cleric pleasantly, “at least I am bringing them +back again.” + +“But you didn’t,” said Colonel Pound, still staring at the broken +window. + +“To make a clean breast of it, I didn’t,” said the other, with some +humour. And he seated himself quite gravely on a stool. “But you know +who did,” said the, colonel. + +“I don’t know his real name,” said the priest placidly, “but I know +something of his fighting weight, and a great deal about his spiritual +difficulties. I formed the physical estimate when he was trying to +throttle me, and the moral estimate when he repented.” + +“Oh, I say--repented!” cried young Chester, with a sort of crow of +laughter. + +Father Brown got to his feet, putting his hands behind him. “Odd, isn’t +it,” he said, “that a thief and a vagabond should repent, when so many +who are rich and secure remain hard and frivolous, and without fruit for +God or man? But there, if you will excuse me, you trespass a little upon +my province. If you doubt the penitence as a practical fact, there are +your knives and forks. You are The Twelve True Fishers, and there are +all your silver fish. But He has made me a fisher of men.” + +“Did you catch this man?” asked the colonel, frowning. + +Father Brown looked him full in his frowning face. “Yes,” he said, “I +caught him, with an unseen hook and an invisible line which is long +enough to let him wander to the ends of the world, and still to bring +him back with a twitch upon the thread.” + +There was a long silence. All the other men present drifted away +to carry the recovered silver to their comrades, or to consult the +proprietor about the queer condition of affairs. But the grim-faced +colonel still sat sideways on the counter, swinging his long, lank legs +and biting his dark moustache. + +At last he said quietly to the priest: “He must have been a clever +fellow, but I think I know a cleverer.” + +“He was a clever fellow,” answered the other, “but I am not quite sure +of what other you mean.” + +“I mean you,” said the colonel, with a short laugh. “I don’t want to get +the fellow jailed; make yourself easy about that. But I’d give a good +many silver forks to know exactly how you fell into this affair, and how +you got the stuff out of him. I reckon you’re the most up-to-date devil +of the present company.” + +Father Brown seemed rather to like the saturnine candour of the soldier. +“Well,” he said, smiling, “I mustn’t tell you anything of the man’s +identity, or his own story, of course; but there’s no particular reason +why I shouldn’t tell you of the mere outside facts which I found out for +myself.” + +He hopped over the barrier with unexpected activity, and sat beside +Colonel Pound, kicking his short legs like a little boy on a gate. He +began to tell the story as easily as if he were telling it to an old +friend by a Christmas fire. + +“You see, colonel,” he said, “I was shut up in that small room there +doing some writing, when I heard a pair of feet in this passage doing a +dance that was as queer as the dance of death. First came quick, funny +little steps, like a man walking on tiptoe for a wager; then came slow, +careless, creaking steps, as of a big man walking about with a cigar. +But they were both made by the same feet, I swear, and they came in +rotation; first the run and then the walk, and then the run again. I +wondered at first idly and then wildly why a man should act these two +parts at once. One walk I knew; it was just like yours, colonel. It +was the walk of a well-fed gentleman waiting for something, who strolls +about rather because he is physically alert than because he is mentally +impatient. I knew that I knew the other walk, too, but I could not +remember what it was. What wild creature had I met on my travels that +tore along on tiptoe in that extraordinary style? Then I heard a clink +of plates somewhere; and the answer stood up as plain as St. Peter’s. It +was the walk of a waiter--that walk with the body slanted forward, the +eyes looking down, the ball of the toe spurning away the ground, the +coat tails and napkin flying. Then I thought for a minute and a half +more. And I believe I saw the manner of the crime, as clearly as if I +were going to commit it.” + +Colonel Pound looked at him keenly, but the speaker’s mild grey eyes +were fixed upon the ceiling with almost empty wistfulness. + +“A crime,” he said slowly, “is like any other work of art. Don’t look +surprised; crimes are by no means the only works of art that come from +an infernal workshop. But every work of art, divine or diabolic, has +one indispensable mark--I mean, that the centre of it is simple, however +much the fulfilment may be complicated. Thus, in _Hamlet_, let us say, +the grotesqueness of the grave-digger, the flowers of the mad girl, the +fantastic finery of Osric, the pallor of the ghost and the grin of +the skull are all oddities in a sort of tangled wreath round one plain +tragic figure of a man in black. Well, this also,” he said, getting +slowly down from his seat with a smile, “this also is the plain tragedy +of a man in black. Yes,” he went on, seeing the colonel look up in some +wonder, “the whole of this tale turns on a black coat. In this, as in +_Hamlet_, there are the rococo excrescences--yourselves, let us say. There +is the dead waiter, who was there when he could not be there. There is +the invisible hand that swept your table clear of silver and melted +into air. But every clever crime is founded ultimately on some one quite +simple fact--some fact that is not itself mysterious. The mystification +comes in covering it up, in leading men’s thoughts away from it. This +large and subtle and (in the ordinary course) most profitable crime, was +built on the plain fact that a gentleman’s evening dress is the same as +a waiter’s. All the rest was acting, and thundering good acting, too.” + +“Still,” said the colonel, getting up and frowning at his boots, “I am +not sure that I understand.” + +“Colonel,” said Father Brown, “I tell you that this archangel of +impudence who stole your forks walked up and down this passage twenty +times in the blaze of all the lamps, in the glare of all the eyes. He +did not go and hide in dim corners where suspicion might have searched +for him. He kept constantly on the move in the lighted corridors, and +everywhere that he went he seemed to be there by right. Don’t ask me +what he was like; you have seen him yourself six or seven times tonight. +You were waiting with all the other grand people in the reception room +at the end of the passage there, with the terrace just beyond. Whenever +he came among you gentlemen, he came in the lightning style of a waiter, +with bent head, flapping napkin and flying feet. He shot out on to the +terrace, did something to the table cloth, and shot back again towards +the office and the waiters’ quarters. By the time he had come under the +eye of the office clerk and the waiters he had become another man in +every inch of his body, in every instinctive gesture. He strolled among +the servants with the absent-minded insolence which they have all seen +in their patrons. It was no new thing to them that a swell from the +dinner party should pace all parts of the house like an animal at the +Zoo; they know that nothing marks the Smart Set more than a habit of +walking where one chooses. When he was magnificently weary of walking +down that particular passage he would wheel round and pace back past +the office; in the shadow of the arch just beyond he was altered as by +a blast of magic, and went hurrying forward again among the Twelve +Fishermen, an obsequious attendant. Why should the gentlemen look at +a chance waiter? Why should the waiters suspect a first-rate walking +gentleman? Once or twice he played the coolest tricks. In the +proprietor’s private quarters he called out breezily for a syphon of +soda water, saying he was thirsty. He said genially that he would carry +it himself, and he did; he carried it quickly and correctly through the +thick of you, a waiter with an obvious errand. Of course, it could not +have been kept up long, but it only had to be kept up till the end of +the fish course. + +“His worst moment was when the waiters stood in a row; but even then he +contrived to lean against the wall just round the corner in such a way +that for that important instant the waiters thought him a gentleman, +while the gentlemen thought him a waiter. The rest went like winking. If +any waiter caught him away from the table, that waiter caught a languid +aristocrat. He had only to time himself two minutes before the fish was +cleared, become a swift servant, and clear it himself. He put the plates +down on a sideboard, stuffed the silver in his breast pocket, giving it +a bulgy look, and ran like a hare (I heard him coming) till he came to +the cloak room. There he had only to be a plutocrat again--a plutocrat +called away suddenly on business. He had only to give his ticket to +the cloak-room attendant, and go out again elegantly as he had come in. +Only--only I happened to be the cloak-room attendant.” + +“What did you do to him?” cried the colonel, with unusual intensity. +“What did he tell you?” + +“I beg your pardon,” said the priest immovably, “that is where the story +ends.” + +“And the interesting story begins,” muttered Pound. “I think I +understand his professional trick. But I don’t seem to have got hold of +yours.” + +“I must be going,” said Father Brown. + +They walked together along the passage to the entrance hall, where they +saw the fresh, freckled face of the Duke of Chester, who was bounding +buoyantly along towards them. + +“Come along, Pound,” he cried breathlessly. “I’ve been looking for you +everywhere. The dinner’s going again in spanking style, and old Audley +has got to make a speech in honour of the forks being saved. We want to +start some new ceremony, don’t you know, to commemorate the occasion. I +say, you really got the goods back, what do you suggest?” + +“Why,” said the colonel, eyeing him with a certain sardonic approval, “I +should suggest that henceforward we wear green coats, instead of +black. One never knows what mistakes may arise when one looks so like a +waiter.” + +“Oh, hang it all!” said the young man, “a gentleman never looks like a +waiter.” + +“Nor a waiter like a gentleman, I suppose,” said Colonel Pound, with the +same lowering laughter on his face. “Reverend sir, your friend must have +been very smart to act the gentleman.” + +Father Brown buttoned up his commonplace overcoat to the neck, for the +night was stormy, and took his commonplace umbrella from the stand. + +“Yes,” he said; “it must be very hard work to be a gentleman; but, do +you know, I have sometimes thought that it may be almost as laborious to +be a waiter.” + +And saying “Good evening,” he pushed open the heavy doors of that palace +of pleasures. The golden gates closed behind him, and he went at a brisk +walk through the damp, dark streets in search of a penny omnibus. + + + + +The Flying Stars + + +“The most beautiful crime I ever committed,” Flambeau would say in his +highly moral old age, “was also, by a singular coincidence, my last. +It was committed at Christmas. As an artist I had always attempted to +provide crimes suitable to the special season or landscapes in which I +found myself, choosing this or that terrace or garden for a catastrophe, +as if for a statuary group. Thus squires should be swindled in long +rooms panelled with oak; while Jews, on the other hand, should rather +find themselves unexpectedly penniless among the lights and screens of +the Café Riche. Thus, in England, if I wished to relieve a dean of his +riches (which is not so easy as you might suppose), I wished to frame +him, if I make myself clear, in the green lawns and grey towers of some +cathedral town. Similarly, in France, when I had got money out of a rich +and wicked peasant (which is almost impossible), it gratified me to get +his indignant head relieved against a grey line of clipped poplars, +and those solemn plains of Gaul over which broods the mighty spirit of +Millet. + +“Well, my last crime was a Christmas crime, a cheery, cosy, English +middle-class crime; a crime of Charles Dickens. I did it in a good old +middle-class house near Putney, a house with a crescent of carriage +drive, a house with a stable by the side of it, a house with the name +on the two outer gates, a house with a monkey tree. Enough, you know the +species. I really think my imitation of Dickens’s style was dexterous +and literary. It seems almost a pity I repented the same evening.” + +Flambeau would then proceed to tell the story from the inside; and +even from the inside it was odd. Seen from the outside it was perfectly +incomprehensible, and it is from the outside that the stranger must +study it. From this standpoint the drama may be said to have begun when +the front doors of the house with the stable opened on the garden with +the monkey tree, and a young girl came out with bread to feed the birds +on the afternoon of Boxing Day. She had a pretty face, with brave brown +eyes; but her figure was beyond conjecture, for she was so wrapped up in +brown furs that it was hard to say which was hair and which was fur. But +for the attractive face she might have been a small toddling bear. + +The winter afternoon was reddening towards evening, and already a ruby +light was rolled over the bloomless beds, filling them, as it were, with +the ghosts of the dead roses. On one side of the house stood the stable, +on the other an alley or cloister of laurels led to the larger garden +behind. The young lady, having scattered bread for the birds (for +the fourth or fifth time that day, because the dog ate it), passed +unobtrusively down the lane of laurels and into a glimmering plantation +of evergreens behind. Here she gave an exclamation of wonder, real or +ritual, and looking up at the high garden wall above her, beheld it +fantastically bestridden by a somewhat fantastic figure. + +“Oh, don’t jump, Mr. Crook,” she called out in some alarm; “it’s much +too high.” + +The individual riding the party wall like an aerial horse was a tall, +angular young man, with dark hair sticking up like a hair brush, +intelligent and even distinguished lineaments, but a sallow and almost +alien complexion. This showed the more plainly because he wore an +aggressive red tie, the only part of his costume of which he seemed to +take any care. Perhaps it was a symbol. He took no notice of the girl’s +alarmed adjuration, but leapt like a grasshopper to the ground beside +her, where he might very well have broken his legs. + +“I think I was meant to be a burglar,” he said placidly, “and I have no +doubt I should have been if I hadn’t happened to be born in that nice +house next door. I can’t see any harm in it, anyhow.” + +“How can you say such things!” she remonstrated. + +“Well,” said the young man, “if you’re born on the wrong side of the +wall, I can’t see that it’s wrong to climb over it.” + +“I never know what you will say or do next,” she said. + +“I don’t often know myself,” replied Mr. Crook; “but then I am on the +right side of the wall now.” + +“And which is the right side of the wall?” asked the young lady, +smiling. + +“Whichever side you are on,” said the young man named Crook. + +As they went together through the laurels towards the front garden +a motor horn sounded thrice, coming nearer and nearer, and a car of +splendid speed, great elegance, and a pale green colour swept up to the +front doors like a bird and stood throbbing. + +“Hullo, hullo!” said the young man with the red tie, “here’s somebody +born on the right side, anyhow. I didn’t know, Miss Adams, that your +Santa Claus was so modern as this.” + +“Oh, that’s my godfather, Sir Leopold Fischer. He always comes on Boxing +Day.” + +Then, after an innocent pause, which unconsciously betrayed some lack of +enthusiasm, Ruby Adams added: + +“He is very kind.” + +John Crook, journalist, had heard of that eminent City magnate; and +it was not his fault if the City magnate had not heard of him; for in +certain articles in _The Clarion_ or _The New Age_ Sir Leopold had been +dealt with austerely. But he said nothing and grimly watched the +unloading of the motor-car, which was rather a long process. A large, +neat chauffeur in green got out from the front, and a small, neat +manservant in grey got out from the back, and between them they +deposited Sir Leopold on the doorstep and began to unpack him, like some +very carefully protected parcel. Rugs enough to stock a bazaar, furs +of all the beasts of the forest, and scarves of all the colours of +the rainbow were unwrapped one by one, till they revealed something +resembling the human form; the form of a friendly, but foreign-looking +old gentleman, with a grey goat-like beard and a beaming smile, who +rubbed his big fur gloves together. + +Long before this revelation was complete the two big doors of the porch +had opened in the middle, and Colonel Adams (father of the furry young +lady) had come out himself to invite his eminent guest inside. He was a +tall, sunburnt, and very silent man, who wore a red smoking-cap like a +fez, making him look like one of the English Sirdars or Pashas in Egypt. +With him was his brother-in-law, lately come from Canada, a big and +rather boisterous young gentleman-farmer, with a yellow beard, by name +James Blount. With him also was the more insignificant figure of the +priest from the neighbouring Roman Church; for the colonel’s late wife +had been a Catholic, and the children, as is common in such cases, had +been trained to follow her. Everything seemed undistinguished about +the priest, even down to his name, which was Brown; yet the colonel had +always found something companionable about him, and frequently asked him +to such family gatherings. + +In the large entrance hall of the house there was ample room even for +Sir Leopold and the removal of his wraps. Porch and vestibule, indeed, +were unduly large in proportion to the house, and formed, as it were, a +big room with the front door at one end, and the bottom of the staircase +at the other. In front of the large hall fire, over which hung the +colonel’s sword, the process was completed and the company, including +the saturnine Crook, presented to Sir Leopold Fischer. That venerable +financier, however, still seemed struggling with portions of his +well-lined attire, and at length produced from a very interior tail-coat +pocket, a black oval case which he radiantly explained to be his +Christmas present for his god-daughter. With an unaffected vain-glory +that had something disarming about it he held out the case before them +all; it flew open at a touch and half-blinded them. It was just as if a +crystal fountain had spurted in their eyes. In a nest of orange velvet +lay like three eggs, three white and vivid diamonds that seemed to set +the very air on fire all round them. Fischer stood beaming benevolently +and drinking deep of the astonishment and ecstasy of the girl, the grim +admiration and gruff thanks of the colonel, the wonder of the whole +group. + +“I’ll put ’em back now, my dear,” said Fischer, returning the case to +the tails of his coat. “I had to be careful of ’em coming down. They’re +the three great African diamonds called ‘The Flying Stars,’ because +they’ve been stolen so often. All the big criminals are on the track; +but even the rough men about in the streets and hotels could hardly have +kept their hands off them. I might have lost them on the road here. It +was quite possible.” + +“Quite natural, I should say,” growled the man in the red tie. “I +shouldn’t blame ’em if they had taken ’em. When they ask for bread, and +you don’t even give them a stone, I think they might take the stone for +themselves.” + +“I won’t have you talking like that,” cried the girl, who was in a +curious glow. “You’ve only talked like that since you became a horrid +what’s-his-name. You know what I mean. What do you call a man who wants +to embrace the chimney-sweep?” + +“A saint,” said Father Brown. + +“I think,” said Sir Leopold, with a supercilious smile, “that Ruby means +a Socialist.” + +“A radical does not mean a man who lives on radishes,” remarked Crook, +with some impatience; “and a Conservative does not mean a man who +preserves jam. Neither, I assure you, does a Socialist mean a man who +desires a social evening with the chimney-sweep. A Socialist means a +man who wants all the chimneys swept and all the chimney-sweeps paid for +it.” + +“But who won’t allow you,” put in the priest in a low voice, “to own +your own soot.” + +Crook looked at him with an eye of interest and even respect. “Does one +want to own soot?” he asked. + +“One might,” answered Brown, with speculation in his eye. “I’ve heard +that gardeners use it. And I once made six children happy at Christmas +when the conjuror didn’t come, entirely with soot--applied externally.” + +“Oh, splendid,” cried Ruby. “Oh, I wish you’d do it to this company.” + +The boisterous Canadian, Mr. Blount, was lifting his loud voice in +applause, and the astonished financier his (in some considerable +deprecation), when a knock sounded at the double front doors. The priest +opened them, and they showed again the front garden of evergreens, +monkey-tree and all, now gathering gloom against a gorgeous violet +sunset. The scene thus framed was so coloured and quaint, like a back +scene in a play, that they forgot a moment the insignificant figure +standing in the door. He was dusty-looking and in a frayed coat, +evidently a common messenger. “Any of you gentlemen Mr. Blount?” he +asked, and held forward a letter doubtfully. Mr. Blount started, and +stopped in his shout of assent. Ripping up the envelope with evident +astonishment he read it; his face clouded a little, and then cleared, +and he turned to his brother-in-law and host. + +“I’m sick at being such a nuisance, colonel,” he said, with the cheery +colonial conventions; “but would it upset you if an old acquaintance +called on me here tonight on business? In point of fact it’s Florian, +that famous French acrobat and comic actor; I knew him years ago out +West (he was a French-Canadian by birth), and he seems to have business +for me, though I hardly guess what.” + +“Of course, of course,” replied the colonel carelessly--“My dear chap, +any friend of yours. No doubt he will prove an acquisition.” + +“He’ll black his face, if that’s what you mean,” cried Blount, laughing. +“I don’t doubt he’d black everyone else’s eyes. I don’t care; I’m not +refined. I like the jolly old pantomime where a man sits on his top +hat.” + +“Not on mine, please,” said Sir Leopold Fischer, with dignity. + +“Well, well,” observed Crook, airily, “don’t let’s quarrel. There are +lower jokes than sitting on a top hat.” + +Dislike of the red-tied youth, born of his predatory opinions and +evident intimacy with the pretty godchild, led Fischer to say, in his +most sarcastic, magisterial manner: “No doubt you have found something +much lower than sitting on a top hat. What is it, pray?” + +“Letting a top hat sit on you, for instance,” said the Socialist. + +“Now, now, now,” cried the Canadian farmer with his barbarian +benevolence, “don’t let’s spoil a jolly evening. What I say is, let’s +do something for the company tonight. Not blacking faces or sitting on +hats, if you don’t like those--but something of the sort. Why couldn’t +we have a proper old English pantomime--clown, columbine, and so on. I +saw one when I left England at twelve years old, and it’s blazed in my +brain like a bonfire ever since. I came back to the old country +only last year, and I find the thing’s extinct. Nothing but a lot of +snivelling fairy plays. I want a hot poker and a policeman made into +sausages, and they give me princesses moralising by moonlight, Blue +Birds, or something. Blue Beard’s more in my line, and him I like best +when he turned into the pantaloon.” + +“I’m all for making a policeman into sausages,” said John Crook. “It’s a +better definition of Socialism than some recently given. But surely the +get-up would be too big a business.” + +“Not a scrap,” cried Blount, quite carried away. “A harlequinade’s the +quickest thing we can do, for two reasons. First, one can gag to any +degree; and, second, all the objects are household things--tables and +towel-horses and washing baskets, and things like that.” + +“That’s true,” admitted Crook, nodding eagerly and walking about. +“But I’m afraid I can’t have my policeman’s uniform? Haven’t killed a +policeman lately.” + +Blount frowned thoughtfully a space, and then smote his thigh. “Yes, +we can!” he cried. “I’ve got Florian’s address here, and he knows every +costumier in London. I’ll phone him to bring a police dress when he +comes.” And he went bounding away to the telephone. + +“Oh, it’s glorious, godfather,” cried Ruby, almost dancing. “I’ll be +columbine and you shall be pantaloon.” + +The millionaire held himself stiff with a sort of heathen solemnity. “I +think, my dear,” he said, “you must get someone else for pantaloon.” + +“I will be pantaloon, if you like,” said Colonel Adams, taking his cigar +out of his mouth, and speaking for the first and last time. + +“You ought to have a statue,” cried the Canadian, as he came back, +radiant, from the telephone. “There, we are all fitted. Mr. Crook shall +be clown; he’s a journalist and knows all the oldest jokes. I can +be harlequin, that only wants long legs and jumping about. My friend +Florian ’phones he’s bringing the police costume; he’s changing on the +way. We can act it in this very hall, the audience sitting on those +broad stairs opposite, one row above another. These front doors can be +the back scene, either open or shut. Shut, you see an English interior. +Open, a moonlit garden. It all goes by magic.” And snatching a chance +piece of billiard chalk from his pocket, he ran it across the hall +floor, half-way between the front door and the staircase, to mark the +line of the footlights. + +How even such a banquet of bosh was got ready in the time remained +a riddle. But they went at it with that mixture of recklessness and +industry that lives when youth is in a house; and youth was in that +house that night, though not all may have isolated the two faces and +hearts from which it flamed. As always happens, the invention grew +wilder and wilder through the very tameness of the bourgeois conventions +from which it had to create. The columbine looked charming in an +outstanding skirt that strangely resembled the large lamp-shade in the +drawing-room. The clown and pantaloon made themselves white with flour +from the cook, and red with rouge from some other domestic, who remained +(like all true Christian benefactors) anonymous. The harlequin, already +clad in silver paper out of cigar boxes, was, with difficulty, prevented +from smashing the old Victorian lustre chandeliers, that he might cover +himself with resplendent crystals. In fact he would certainly have done +so, had not Ruby unearthed some old pantomime paste jewels she had worn +at a fancy dress party as the Queen of Diamonds. Indeed, her uncle, +James Blount, was getting almost out of hand in his excitement; he was +like a schoolboy. He put a paper donkey’s head unexpectedly on Father +Brown, who bore it patiently, and even found some private manner of +moving his ears. He even essayed to put the paper donkey’s tail to the +coat-tails of Sir Leopold Fischer. This, however, was frowned down. +“Uncle is too absurd,” cried Ruby to Crook, round whose shoulders she +had seriously placed a string of sausages. “Why is he so wild?” + +“He is harlequin to your columbine,” said Crook. “I am only the clown +who makes the old jokes.” + +“I wish you were the harlequin,” she said, and left the string of +sausages swinging. + +Father Brown, though he knew every detail done behind the scenes, +and had even evoked applause by his transformation of a pillow into a +pantomime baby, went round to the front and sat among the audience +with all the solemn expectation of a child at his first matinee. The +spectators were few, relations, one or two local friends, and the +servants; Sir Leopold sat in the front seat, his full and still +fur-collared figure largely obscuring the view of the little cleric +behind him; but it has never been settled by artistic authorities +whether the cleric lost much. The pantomime was utterly chaotic, yet not +contemptible; there ran through it a rage of improvisation which came +chiefly from Crook the clown. Commonly he was a clever man, and he was +inspired tonight with a wild omniscience, a folly wiser than the world, +that which comes to a young man who has seen for an instant a particular +expression on a particular face. He was supposed to be the clown, but +he was really almost everything else, the author (so far as there was an +author), the prompter, the scene-painter, the scene-shifter, and, above +all, the orchestra. At abrupt intervals in the outrageous performance +he would hurl himself in full costume at the piano and bang out some +popular music equally absurd and appropriate. + +The climax of this, as of all else, was the moment when the two front +doors at the back of the scene flew open, showing the lovely moonlit +garden, but showing more prominently the famous professional guest; the +great Florian, dressed up as a policeman. The clown at the piano played +the constabulary chorus in the “Pirates of Penzance,” but it was drowned +in the deafening applause, for every gesture of the great comic actor +was an admirable though restrained version of the carriage and manner +of the police. The harlequin leapt upon him and hit him over the helmet; +the pianist playing “Where did you get that hat?” he faced about in +admirably simulated astonishment, and then the leaping harlequin hit him +again (the pianist suggesting a few bars of “Then we had another one”). +Then the harlequin rushed right into the arms of the policeman and fell +on top of him, amid a roar of applause. Then it was that the strange +actor gave that celebrated imitation of a dead man, of which the fame +still lingers round Putney. It was almost impossible to believe that a +living person could appear so limp. + +The athletic harlequin swung him about like a sack or twisted or tossed +him like an Indian club; all the time to the most maddeningly ludicrous +tunes from the piano. When the harlequin heaved the comic constable +heavily off the floor the clown played “I arise from dreams of thee.” + When he shuffled him across his back, “With my bundle on my shoulder,” + and when the harlequin finally let fall the policeman with a most +convincing thud, the lunatic at the instrument struck into a jingling +measure with some words which are still believed to have been, “I sent a +letter to my love and on the way I dropped it.” + +At about this limit of mental anarchy Father Brown’s view was obscured +altogether; for the City magnate in front of him rose to his full height +and thrust his hands savagely into all his pockets. Then he sat down +nervously, still fumbling, and then stood up again. For an instant it +seemed seriously likely that he would stride across the footlights; then +he turned a glare at the clown playing the piano; and then he burst in +silence out of the room. + +The priest had only watched for a few more minutes the absurd but not +inelegant dance of the amateur harlequin over his splendidly unconscious +foe. With real though rude art, the harlequin danced slowly backwards +out of the door into the garden, which was full of moonlight and +stillness. The vamped dress of silver paper and paste, which had been +too glaring in the footlights, looked more and more magical and silvery +as it danced away under a brilliant moon. The audience was closing in +with a cataract of applause, when Brown felt his arm abruptly touched, +and he was asked in a whisper to come into the colonel’s study. + +He followed his summoner with increasing doubt, which was not dispelled +by a solemn comicality in the scene of the study. There sat Colonel +Adams, still unaffectedly dressed as a pantaloon, with the knobbed +whalebone nodding above his brow, but with his poor old eyes sad enough +to have sobered a Saturnalia. Sir Leopold Fischer was leaning against +the mantelpiece and heaving with all the importance of panic. + +“This is a very painful matter, Father Brown,” said Adams. “The truth +is, those diamonds we all saw this afternoon seem to have vanished from +my friend’s tail-coat pocket. And as you--” + +“As I,” supplemented Father Brown, with a broad grin, “was sitting just +behind him--” + +“Nothing of the sort shall be suggested,” said Colonel Adams, with a +firm look at Fischer, which rather implied that some such thing had been +suggested. “I only ask you to give me the assistance that any gentleman +might give.” + +“Which is turning out his pockets,” said Father Brown, and proceeded to +do so, displaying seven and sixpence, a return ticket, a small silver +crucifix, a small breviary, and a stick of chocolate. + +The colonel looked at him long, and then said, “Do you know, I should +like to see the inside of your head more than the inside of your +pockets. My daughter is one of your people, I know; well, she has +lately--” and he stopped. + +“She has lately,” cried out old Fischer, “opened her father’s house to +a cut-throat Socialist, who says openly he would steal anything from a +richer man. This is the end of it. Here is the richer man--and none the +richer.” + +“If you want the inside of my head you can have it,” said Brown rather +wearily. “What it’s worth you can say afterwards. But the first thing I +find in that disused pocket is this: that men who mean to steal diamonds +don’t talk Socialism. They are more likely,” he added demurely, “to +denounce it.” + +Both the others shifted sharply and the priest went on: + +“You see, we know these people, more or less. That Socialist would no +more steal a diamond than a Pyramid. We ought to look at once to the one +man we don’t know. The fellow acting the policeman--Florian. Where is he +exactly at this minute, I wonder.” + +The pantaloon sprang erect and strode out of the room. An interlude +ensued, during which the millionaire stared at the priest, and the +priest at his breviary; then the pantaloon returned and said, with +staccato gravity, “The policeman is still lying on the stage. The +curtain has gone up and down six times; he is still lying there.” + +Father Brown dropped his book and stood staring with a look of blank +mental ruin. Very slowly a light began to creep in his grey eyes, and +then he made the scarcely obvious answer. + +“Please forgive me, colonel, but when did your wife die?” + +“Wife!” replied the staring soldier, “she died this year two months. Her +brother James arrived just a week too late to see her.” + +The little priest bounded like a rabbit shot. “Come on!” he cried in +quite unusual excitement. “Come on! We’ve got to go and look at that +policeman!” + +They rushed on to the now curtained stage, breaking rudely past the +columbine and clown (who seemed whispering quite contentedly), and +Father Brown bent over the prostrate comic policeman. + +“Chloroform,” he said as he rose; “I only guessed it just now.” + +There was a startled stillness, and then the colonel said slowly, +“Please say seriously what all this means.” + +Father Brown suddenly shouted with laughter, then stopped, and +only struggled with it for instants during the rest of his speech. +“Gentlemen,” he gasped, “there’s not much time to talk. I must run after +the criminal. But this great French actor who played the policeman--this +clever corpse the harlequin waltzed with and dandled and threw about--he +was--” His voice again failed him, and he turned his back to run. + +“He was?” called Fischer inquiringly. + +“A real policeman,” said Father Brown, and ran away into the dark. + +There were hollows and bowers at the extreme end of that leafy garden, +in which the laurels and other immortal shrubs showed against sapphire +sky and silver moon, even in that midwinter, warm colours as of the +south. The green gaiety of the waving laurels, the rich purple indigo +of the night, the moon like a monstrous crystal, make an almost +irresponsible romantic picture; and among the top branches of the garden +trees a strange figure is climbing, who looks not so much romantic as +impossible. He sparkles from head to heel, as if clad in ten million +moons; the real moon catches him at every movement and sets a new inch +of him on fire. But he swings, flashing and successful, from the short +tree in this garden to the tall, rambling tree in the other, and only +stops there because a shade has slid under the smaller tree and has +unmistakably called up to him. + +“Well, Flambeau,” says the voice, “you really look like a Flying Star; +but that always means a Falling Star at last.” + +The silver, sparkling figure above seems to lean forward in the laurels +and, confident of escape, listens to the little figure below. + +“You never did anything better, Flambeau. It was clever to come from +Canada (with a Paris ticket, I suppose) just a week after Mrs. Adams +died, when no one was in a mood to ask questions. It was cleverer to +have marked down the Flying Stars and the very day of Fischer’s coming. +But there’s no cleverness, but mere genius, in what followed. Stealing +the stones, I suppose, was nothing to you. You could have done it by +sleight of hand in a hundred other ways besides that pretence of putting +a paper donkey’s tail to Fischer’s coat. But in the rest you eclipsed +yourself.” + +The silvery figure among the green leaves seems to linger as if +hypnotised, though his escape is easy behind him; he is staring at the +man below. + +“Oh, yes,” says the man below, “I know all about it. I know you not +only forced the pantomime, but put it to a double use. You were going +to steal the stones quietly; news came by an accomplice that you were +already suspected, and a capable police officer was coming to rout you +up that very night. A common thief would have been thankful for the +warning and fled; but you are a poet. You already had the clever notion +of hiding the jewels in a blaze of false stage jewellery. Now, you saw +that if the dress were a harlequin’s the appearance of a policeman +would be quite in keeping. The worthy officer started from Putney police +station to find you, and walked into the queerest trap ever set in this +world. When the front door opened he walked straight on to the stage of +a Christmas pantomime, where he could be kicked, clubbed, stunned and +drugged by the dancing harlequin, amid roars of laughter from all +the most respectable people in Putney. Oh, you will never do anything +better. And now, by the way, you might give me back those diamonds.” + +The green branch on which the glittering figure swung, rustled as if in +astonishment; but the voice went on: + +“I want you to give them back, Flambeau, and I want you to give up this +life. There is still youth and honour and humour in you; don’t fancy +they will last in that trade. Men may keep a sort of level of good, but +no man has ever been able to keep on one level of evil. That road goes +down and down. The kind man drinks and turns cruel; the frank man kills +and lies about it. Many a man I’ve known started like you to be an +honest outlaw, a merry robber of the rich, and ended stamped into slime. +Maurice Blum started out as an anarchist of principle, a father of the +poor; he ended a greasy spy and tale-bearer that both sides used and +despised. Harry Burke started his free money movement sincerely enough; +now he’s sponging on a half-starved sister for endless brandies and +sodas. Lord Amber went into wild society in a sort of chivalry; now he’s +paying blackmail to the lowest vultures in London. Captain Barillon +was the great gentleman-apache before your time; he died in a madhouse, +screaming with fear of the “narks” and receivers that had betrayed +him and hunted him down. I know the woods look very free behind you, +Flambeau; I know that in a flash you could melt into them like a monkey. +But some day you will be an old grey monkey, Flambeau. You will sit up +in your free forest cold at heart and close to death, and the tree-tops +will be very bare.” + +Everything continued still, as if the small man below held the other in +the tree in some long invisible leash; and he went on: + +“Your downward steps have begun. You used to boast of doing nothing +mean, but you are doing something mean tonight. You are leaving +suspicion on an honest boy with a good deal against him already; you are +separating him from the woman he loves and who loves him. But you will +do meaner things than that before you die.” + +Three flashing diamonds fell from the tree to the turf. The small man +stooped to pick them up, and when he looked up again the green cage of +the tree was emptied of its silver bird. + +The restoration of the gems (accidentally picked up by Father Brown, of +all people) ended the evening in uproarious triumph; and Sir Leopold, in +his height of good humour, even told the priest that though he himself +had broader views, he could respect those whose creed required them to +be cloistered and ignorant of this world. + + + + +The Invisible Man + + +In the cool blue twilight of two steep streets in Camden Town, the shop +at the corner, a confectioner’s, glowed like the butt of a cigar. One +should rather say, perhaps, like the butt of a firework, for the light +was of many colours and some complexity, broken up by many mirrors and +dancing on many gilt and gaily-coloured cakes and sweetmeats. Against +this one fiery glass were glued the noses of many gutter-snipes, for +the chocolates were all wrapped in those red and gold and green metallic +colours which are almost better than chocolate itself; and the huge +white wedding-cake in the window was somehow at once remote and +satisfying, just as if the whole North Pole were good to eat. +Such rainbow provocations could naturally collect the youth of the +neighbourhood up to the ages of ten or twelve. But this corner was also +attractive to youth at a later stage; and a young man, not less than +twenty-four, was staring into the same shop window. To him, also, +the shop was of fiery charm, but this attraction was not wholly to be +explained by chocolates; which, however, he was far from despising. + +He was a tall, burly, red-haired young man, with a resolute face but +a listless manner. He carried under his arm a flat, grey portfolio of +black-and-white sketches, which he had sold with more or less success +to publishers ever since his uncle (who was an admiral) had disinherited +him for Socialism, because of a lecture which he had delivered against +that economic theory. His name was John Turnbull Angus. + +Entering at last, he walked through the confectioner’s shop to the back +room, which was a sort of pastry-cook restaurant, merely raising his hat +to the young lady who was serving there. She was a dark, elegant, alert +girl in black, with a high colour and very quick, dark eyes; and after +the ordinary interval she followed him into the inner room to take his +order. + +His order was evidently a usual one. “I want, please,” he said with +precision, “one halfpenny bun and a small cup of black coffee.” An +instant before the girl could turn away he added, “Also, I want you to +marry me.” + +The young lady of the shop stiffened suddenly and said, “Those are jokes +I don’t allow.” + +The red-haired young man lifted grey eyes of an unexpected gravity. + +“Really and truly,” he said, “it’s as serious--as serious as the +halfpenny bun. It is expensive, like the bun; one pays for it. It is +indigestible, like the bun. It hurts.” + +The dark young lady had never taken her dark eyes off him, but seemed +to be studying him with almost tragic exactitude. At the end of her +scrutiny she had something like the shadow of a smile, and she sat down +in a chair. + +“Don’t you think,” observed Angus, absently, “that it’s rather cruel to +eat these halfpenny buns? They might grow up into penny buns. I shall +give up these brutal sports when we are married.” + +The dark young lady rose from her chair and walked to the window, +evidently in a state of strong but not unsympathetic cogitation. When at +last she swung round again with an air of resolution she was bewildered +to observe that the young man was carefully laying out on the table +various objects from the shop-window. They included a pyramid of highly +coloured sweets, several plates of sandwiches, and the two decanters +containing that mysterious port and sherry which are peculiar to +pastry-cooks. In the middle of this neat arrangement he had carefully +let down the enormous load of white sugared cake which had been the huge +ornament of the window. + +“What on earth are you doing?” she asked. + +“Duty, my dear Laura,” he began. + +“Oh, for the Lord’s sake, stop a minute,” she cried, “and don’t talk to +me in that way. I mean, what is all that?” + +“A ceremonial meal, Miss Hope.” + +“And what is that?” she asked impatiently, pointing to the mountain of +sugar. + +“The wedding-cake, Mrs. Angus,” he said. + +The girl marched to that article, removed it with some clatter, and put +it back in the shop window; she then returned, and, putting her elegant +elbows on the table, regarded the young man not unfavourably but with +considerable exasperation. + +“You don’t give me any time to think,” she said. + +“I’m not such a fool,” he answered; “that’s my Christian humility.” + +She was still looking at him; but she had grown considerably graver +behind the smile. + +“Mr. Angus,” she said steadily, “before there is a minute more of this +nonsense I must tell you something about myself as shortly as I can.’” + +“Delighted,” replied Angus gravely. “You might tell me something about +myself, too, while you are about it.” + +“Oh, do hold your tongue and listen,” she said. “It’s nothing that I’m +ashamed of, and it isn’t even anything that I’m specially sorry about. +But what would you say if there were something that is no business of +mine and yet is my nightmare?” + +“In that case,” said the man seriously, “I should suggest that you bring +back the cake.” + +“Well, you must listen to the story first,” said Laura, persistently. +“To begin with, I must tell you that my father owned the inn called the +‘Red Fish’ at Ludbury, and I used to serve people in the bar.” + +“I have often wondered,” he said, “why there was a kind of a Christian +air about this one confectioner’s shop.” + +“Ludbury is a sleepy, grassy little hole in the Eastern Counties, and +the only kind of people who ever came to the ‘Red Fish’ were occasional +commercial travellers, and for the rest, the most awful people you can +see, only you’ve never seen them. I mean little, loungy men, who had +just enough to live on and had nothing to do but lean about in bar-rooms +and bet on horses, in bad clothes that were just too good for them. +Even these wretched young rotters were not very common at our house; but +there were two of them that were a lot too common--common in every sort +of way. They both lived on money of their own, and were wearisomely idle +and over-dressed. But yet I was a bit sorry for them, because I half +believe they slunk into our little empty bar because each of them had a +slight deformity; the sort of thing that some yokels laugh at. It wasn’t +exactly a deformity either; it was more an oddity. One of them was +a surprisingly small man, something like a dwarf, or at least like a +jockey. He was not at all jockeyish to look at, though; he had a round +black head and a well-trimmed black beard, bright eyes like a bird’s; he +jingled money in his pockets; he jangled a great gold watch chain; and +he never turned up except dressed just too much like a gentleman to +be one. He was no fool though, though a futile idler; he was curiously +clever at all kinds of things that couldn’t be the slightest use; a sort +of impromptu conjuring; making fifteen matches set fire to each other +like a regular firework; or cutting a banana or some such thing into a +dancing doll. His name was Isidore Smythe; and I can see him still, with +his little dark face, just coming up to the counter, making a jumping +kangaroo out of five cigars. + +“The other fellow was more silent and more ordinary; but somehow he +alarmed me much more than poor little Smythe. He was very tall and +slight, and light-haired; his nose had a high bridge, and he might +almost have been handsome in a spectral sort of way; but he had one of +the most appalling squints I have ever seen or heard of. When he looked +straight at you, you didn’t know where you were yourself, let alone what +he was looking at. I fancy this sort of disfigurement embittered the +poor chap a little; for while Smythe was ready to show off his monkey +tricks anywhere, James Welkin (that was the squinting man’s name) never +did anything except soak in our bar parlour, and go for great walks +by himself in the flat, grey country all round. All the same, I think +Smythe, too, was a little sensitive about being so small, though he +carried it off more smartly. And so it was that I was really puzzled, as +well as startled, and very sorry, when they both offered to marry me in +the same week. + +“Well, I did what I’ve since thought was perhaps a silly thing. But, +after all, these freaks were my friends in a way; and I had a horror of +their thinking I refused them for the real reason, which was that they +were so impossibly ugly. So I made up some gas of another sort, about +never meaning to marry anyone who hadn’t carved his way in the world. I +said it was a point of principle with me not to live on money that +was just inherited like theirs. Two days after I had talked in this +well-meaning sort of way, the whole trouble began. The first thing I +heard was that both of them had gone off to seek their fortunes, as if +they were in some silly fairy tale. + +“Well, I’ve never seen either of them from that day to this. But I’ve +had two letters from the little man called Smythe, and really they were +rather exciting.” + +“Ever heard of the other man?” asked Angus. + +“No, he never wrote,” said the girl, after an instant’s hesitation. +“Smythe’s first letter was simply to say that he had started out walking +with Welkin to London; but Welkin was such a good walker that the little +man dropped out of it, and took a rest by the roadside. He happened to +be picked up by some travelling show, and, partly because he was nearly +a dwarf, and partly because he was really a clever little wretch, he +got on quite well in the show business, and was soon sent up to the +Aquarium, to do some tricks that I forget. That was his first letter. +His second was much more of a startler, and I only got it last week.” + +The man called Angus emptied his coffee-cup and regarded her with mild +and patient eyes. Her own mouth took a slight twist of laughter as +she resumed, “I suppose you’ve seen on the hoardings all about this +‘Smythe’s Silent Service’? Or you must be the only person that hasn’t. +Oh, I don’t know much about it, it’s some clockwork invention for doing +all the housework by machinery. You know the sort of thing: ‘Press a +Button--A Butler who Never Drinks.’ ‘Turn a Handle--Ten Housemaids who +Never Flirt.’ You must have seen the advertisements. Well, whatever +these machines are, they are making pots of money; and they are making +it all for that little imp whom I knew down in Ludbury. I can’t help +feeling pleased the poor little chap has fallen on his feet; but the +plain fact is, I’m in terror of his turning up any minute and telling me +he’s carved his way in the world--as he certainly has.” + +“And the other man?” repeated Angus with a sort of obstinate quietude. + +Laura Hope got to her feet suddenly. “My friend,” she said, “I think +you are a witch. Yes, you are quite right. I have not seen a line of the +other man’s writing; and I have no more notion than the dead of what or +where he is. But it is of him that I am frightened. It is he who is all +about my path. It is he who has half driven me mad. Indeed, I think he +has driven me mad; for I have felt him where he could not have been, and +I have heard his voice when he could not have spoken.” + +“Well, my dear,” said the young man, cheerfully, “if he were Satan +himself, he is done for now you have told somebody. One goes mad all +alone, old girl. But when was it you fancied you felt and heard our +squinting friend?” + +“I heard James Welkin laugh as plainly as I hear you speak,” said the +girl, steadily. “There was nobody there, for I stood just outside the +shop at the corner, and could see down both streets at once. I had +forgotten how he laughed, though his laugh was as odd as his squint. I +had not thought of him for nearly a year. But it’s a solemn truth that a +few seconds later the first letter came from his rival.” + +“Did you ever make the spectre speak or squeak, or anything?” asked +Angus, with some interest. + +Laura suddenly shuddered, and then said, with an unshaken voice, “Yes. +Just when I had finished reading the second letter from Isidore Smythe +announcing his success. Just then, I heard Welkin say, ‘He shan’t have +you, though.’ It was quite plain, as if he were in the room. It is +awful, I think I must be mad.” + +“If you really were mad,” said the young man, “you would think you must +be sane. But certainly there seems to me to be something a little rum +about this unseen gentleman. Two heads are better than one--I spare you +allusions to any other organs and really, if you would allow me, as +a sturdy, practical man, to bring back the wedding-cake out of the +window--” + +Even as he spoke, there was a sort of steely shriek in the street +outside, and a small motor, driven at devilish speed, shot up to the +door of the shop and stuck there. In the same flash of time a small man +in a shiny top hat stood stamping in the outer room. + +Angus, who had hitherto maintained hilarious ease from motives of mental +hygiene, revealed the strain of his soul by striding abruptly out of +the inner room and confronting the new-comer. A glance at him was quite +sufficient to confirm the savage guesswork of a man in love. This +very dapper but dwarfish figure, with the spike of black beard carried +insolently forward, the clever unrestful eyes, the neat but very nervous +fingers, could be none other than the man just described to him: Isidore +Smythe, who made dolls out of banana skins and match-boxes; Isidore +Smythe, who made millions out of undrinking butlers and unflirting +housemaids of metal. For a moment the two men, instinctively +understanding each other’s air of possession, looked at each other with +that curious cold generosity which is the soul of rivalry. + +Mr. Smythe, however, made no allusion to the ultimate ground of their +antagonism, but said simply and explosively, “Has Miss Hope seen that +thing on the window?” + +“On the window?” repeated the staring Angus. + +“There’s no time to explain other things,” said the small millionaire +shortly. “There’s some tomfoolery going on here that has to be +investigated.” + +He pointed his polished walking-stick at the window, recently depleted +by the bridal preparations of Mr. Angus; and that gentleman was +astonished to see along the front of the glass a long strip of paper +pasted, which had certainly not been on the window when he looked +through it some time before. Following the energetic Smythe outside into +the street, he found that some yard and a half of stamp paper had been +carefully gummed along the glass outside, and on this was written in +straggly characters, “If you marry Smythe, he will die.” + +“Laura,” said Angus, putting his big red head into the shop, “you’re not +mad.” + +“It’s the writing of that fellow Welkin,” said Smythe gruffly. “I +haven’t seen him for years, but he’s always bothering me. Five times in +the last fortnight he’s had threatening letters left at my flat, and I +can’t even find out who leaves them, let alone if it is Welkin himself. +The porter of the flats swears that no suspicious characters have been +seen, and here he has pasted up a sort of dado on a public shop window, +while the people in the shop--” + +“Quite so,” said Angus modestly, “while the people in the shop were +having tea. Well, sir, I can assure you I appreciate your common sense +in dealing so directly with the matter. We can talk about other things +afterwards. The fellow cannot be very far off yet, for I swear there was +no paper there when I went last to the window, ten or fifteen minutes +ago. On the other hand, he’s too far off to be chased, as we don’t even +know the direction. If you’ll take my advice, Mr. Smythe, you’ll put +this at once in the hands of some energetic inquiry man, private rather +than public. I know an extremely clever fellow, who has set up in +business five minutes from here in your car. His name’s Flambeau, and +though his youth was a bit stormy, he’s a strictly honest man now, and +his brains are worth money. He lives in Lucknow Mansions, Hampstead.” + +“That is odd,” said the little man, arching his black eyebrows. “I live, +myself, in Himylaya Mansions, round the corner. Perhaps you might care +to come with me; I can go to my rooms and sort out these queer Welkin +documents, while you run round and get your friend the detective.” + +“You are very good,” said Angus politely. “Well, the sooner we act the +better.” + +Both men, with a queer kind of impromptu fairness, took the same sort of +formal farewell of the lady, and both jumped into the brisk little +car. As Smythe took the handles and they turned the great corner of the +street, Angus was amused to see a gigantesque poster of “Smythe’s +Silent Service,” with a picture of a huge headless iron doll, carrying a +saucepan with the legend, “A Cook Who is Never Cross.” + +“I use them in my own flat,” said the little black-bearded man, +laughing, “partly for advertisements, and partly for real convenience. +Honestly, and all above board, those big clockwork dolls of mine do +bring your coals or claret or a timetable quicker than any live servants +I’ve ever known, if you know which knob to press. But I’ll never deny, +between ourselves, that such servants have their disadvantages, too.” + +“Indeed?” said Angus; “is there something they can’t do?” + +“Yes,” replied Smythe coolly; “they can’t tell me who left those +threatening letters at my flat.” + +The man’s motor was small and swift like himself; in fact, like his +domestic service, it was of his own invention. If he was an advertising +quack, he was one who believed in his own wares. The sense of something +tiny and flying was accentuated as they swept up long white curves of +road in the dead but open daylight of evening. Soon the white curves +came sharper and dizzier; they were upon ascending spirals, as they say +in the modern religions. For, indeed, they were cresting a corner of +London which is almost as precipitous as Edinburgh, if not quite so +picturesque. Terrace rose above terrace, and the special tower of flats +they sought, rose above them all to almost Egyptian height, gilt by +the level sunset. The change, as they turned the corner and entered the +crescent known as Himylaya Mansions, was as abrupt as the opening of a +window; for they found that pile of flats sitting above London as above +a green sea of slate. Opposite to the mansions, on the other side of the +gravel crescent, was a bushy enclosure more like a steep hedge or dyke +than a garden, and some way below that ran a strip of artificial water, +a sort of canal, like the moat of that embowered fortress. As the car +swept round the crescent it passed, at one corner, the stray stall of +a man selling chestnuts; and right away at the other end of the curve, +Angus could see a dim blue policeman walking slowly. These were the only +human shapes in that high suburban solitude; but he had an irrational +sense that they expressed the speechless poetry of London. He felt as if +they were figures in a story. + +The little car shot up to the right house like a bullet, and shot out +its owner like a bomb shell. He was immediately inquiring of a tall +commissionaire in shining braid, and a short porter in shirt sleeves, +whether anybody or anything had been seeking his apartments. He was +assured that nobody and nothing had passed these officials since his +last inquiries; whereupon he and the slightly bewildered Angus were shot +up in the lift like a rocket, till they reached the top floor. + +“Just come in for a minute,” said the breathless Smythe. “I want to show +you those Welkin letters. Then you might run round the corner and fetch +your friend.” He pressed a button concealed in the wall, and the door +opened of itself. + +It opened on a long, commodious ante-room, of which the only arresting +features, ordinarily speaking, were the rows of tall half-human +mechanical figures that stood up on both sides like tailors’ dummies. +Like tailors’ dummies they were headless; and like tailors’ dummies +they had a handsome unnecessary humpiness in the shoulders, and a +pigeon-breasted protuberance of chest; but barring this, they were not +much more like a human figure than any automatic machine at a station +that is about the human height. They had two great hooks like arms, for +carrying trays; and they were painted pea-green, or vermilion, or +black for convenience of distinction; in every other way they were only +automatic machines and nobody would have looked twice at them. On +this occasion, at least, nobody did. For between the two rows of +these domestic dummies lay something more interesting than most of the +mechanics of the world. It was a white, tattered scrap of paper scrawled +with red ink; and the agile inventor had snatched it up almost as soon +as the door flew open. He handed it to Angus without a word. The red ink +on it actually was not dry, and the message ran, “If you have been to +see her today, I shall kill you.” + +There was a short silence, and then Isidore Smythe said quietly, “Would +you like a little whiskey? I rather feel as if I should.” + +“Thank you; I should like a little Flambeau,” said Angus, gloomily. +“This business seems to me to be getting rather grave. I’m going round +at once to fetch him.” + +“Right you are,” said the other, with admirable cheerfulness. “Bring him +round here as quick as you can.” + +But as Angus closed the front door behind him he saw Smythe push back a +button, and one of the clockwork images glided from its place and slid +along a groove in the floor carrying a tray with syphon and decanter. +There did seem something a trifle weird about leaving the little man +alone among those dead servants, who were coming to life as the door +closed. + +Six steps down from Smythe’s landing the man in shirt sleeves was doing +something with a pail. Angus stopped to extract a promise, fortified +with a prospective bribe, that he would remain in that place until the +return with the detective, and would keep count of any kind of stranger +coming up those stairs. Dashing down to the front hall he then laid +similar charges of vigilance on the commissionaire at the front door, +from whom he learned the simplifying circumstances that there was no +back door. Not content with this, he captured the floating policeman +and induced him to stand opposite the entrance and watch it; and finally +paused an instant for a pennyworth of chestnuts, and an inquiry as to +the probable length of the merchant’s stay in the neighbourhood. + +The chestnut seller, turning up the collar of his coat, told him he +should probably be moving shortly, as he thought it was going to snow. +Indeed, the evening was growing grey and bitter, but Angus, with all his +eloquence, proceeded to nail the chestnut man to his post. + +“Keep yourself warm on your own chestnuts,” he said earnestly. “Eat +up your whole stock; I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll give you a +sovereign if you’ll wait here till I come back, and then tell me +whether any man, woman, or child has gone into that house where the +commissionaire is standing.” + +He then walked away smartly, with a last look at the besieged tower. + +“I’ve made a ring round that room, anyhow,” he said. “They can’t all +four of them be Mr. Welkin’s accomplices.” + +Lucknow Mansions were, so to speak, on a lower platform of that hill +of houses, of which Himylaya Mansions might be called the peak. Mr. +Flambeau’s semi-official flat was on the ground floor, and presented +in every way a marked contrast to the American machinery and cold +hotel-like luxury of the flat of the Silent Service. Flambeau, who was +a friend of Angus, received him in a rococo artistic den behind his +office, of which the ornaments were sabres, harquebuses, Eastern +curiosities, flasks of Italian wine, savage cooking-pots, a plumy +Persian cat, and a small dusty-looking Roman Catholic priest, who looked +particularly out of place. + +“This is my friend Father Brown,” said Flambeau. “I’ve often wanted you +to meet him. Splendid weather, this; a little cold for Southerners like +me.” + +“Yes, I think it will keep clear,” said Angus, sitting down on a +violet-striped Eastern ottoman. + +“No,” said the priest quietly, “it has begun to snow.” + +And, indeed, as he spoke, the first few flakes, foreseen by the man of +chestnuts, began to drift across the darkening windowpane. + +“Well,” said Angus heavily. “I’m afraid I’ve come on business, and +rather jumpy business at that. The fact is, Flambeau, within a stone’s +throw of your house is a fellow who badly wants your help; he’s +perpetually being haunted and threatened by an invisible enemy--a +scoundrel whom nobody has even seen.” As Angus proceeded to tell the +whole tale of Smythe and Welkin, beginning with Laura’s story, and +going on with his own, the supernatural laugh at the corner of two empty +streets, the strange distinct words spoken in an empty room, Flambeau +grew more and more vividly concerned, and the little priest seemed to be +left out of it, like a piece of furniture. When it came to the scribbled +stamp-paper pasted on the window, Flambeau rose, seeming to fill the +room with his huge shoulders. + +“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I think you had better tell me the rest +on the nearest road to this man’s house. It strikes me, somehow, that +there is no time to be lost.” + +“Delighted,” said Angus, rising also, “though he’s safe enough for the +present, for I’ve set four men to watch the only hole to his burrow.” + +They turned out into the street, the small priest trundling after them +with the docility of a small dog. He merely said, in a cheerful way, +like one making conversation, “How quick the snow gets thick on the +ground.” + +As they threaded the steep side streets already powdered with silver, +Angus finished his story; and by the time they reached the crescent with +the towering flats, he had leisure to turn his attention to the four +sentinels. The chestnut seller, both before and after receiving a +sovereign, swore stubbornly that he had watched the door and seen no +visitor enter. The policeman was even more emphatic. He said he had had +experience of crooks of all kinds, in top hats and in rags; he wasn’t so +green as to expect suspicious characters to look suspicious; he looked +out for anybody, and, so help him, there had been nobody. And when all +three men gathered round the gilded commissionaire, who still stood +smiling astride of the porch, the verdict was more final still. + +“I’ve got a right to ask any man, duke or dustman, what he wants in +these flats,” said the genial and gold-laced giant, “and I’ll swear +there’s been nobody to ask since this gentleman went away.” + +The unimportant Father Brown, who stood back, looking modestly at the +pavement, here ventured to say meekly, “Has nobody been up and down +stairs, then, since the snow began to fall? It began while we were all +round at Flambeau’s.” + +“Nobody’s been in here, sir, you can take it from me,” said the +official, with beaming authority. + +“Then I wonder what that is?” said the priest, and stared at the ground +blankly like a fish. + +The others all looked down also; and Flambeau used a fierce exclamation +and a French gesture. For it was unquestionably true that down the +middle of the entrance guarded by the man in gold lace, actually between +the arrogant, stretched legs of that colossus, ran a stringy pattern of +grey footprints stamped upon the white snow. + +“God!” cried Angus involuntarily, “the Invisible Man!” + +Without another word he turned and dashed up the stairs, with Flambeau +following; but Father Brown still stood looking about him in the +snow-clad street as if he had lost interest in his query. + +Flambeau was plainly in a mood to break down the door with his big +shoulders; but the Scotchman, with more reason, if less intuition, +fumbled about on the frame of the door till he found the invisible +button; and the door swung slowly open. + +It showed substantially the same serried interior; the hall had grown +darker, though it was still struck here and there with the last crimson +shafts of sunset, and one or two of the headless machines had been moved +from their places for this or that purpose, and stood here and there +about the twilit place. The green and red of their coats were all +darkened in the dusk; and their likeness to human shapes slightly +increased by their very shapelessness. But in the middle of them all, +exactly where the paper with the red ink had lain, there lay something +that looked like red ink spilt out of its bottle. But it was not red +ink. + +With a French combination of reason and violence Flambeau simply said +“Murder!” and, plunging into the flat, had explored, every corner and +cupboard of it in five minutes. But if he expected to find a corpse he +found none. Isidore Smythe was not in the place, either dead or alive. +After the most tearing search the two men met each other in the outer +hall, with streaming faces and staring eyes. “My friend,” said Flambeau, +talking French in his excitement, “not only is your murderer invisible, +but he makes invisible also the murdered man.” + +Angus looked round at the dim room full of dummies, and in some Celtic +corner of his Scotch soul a shudder started. One of the life-size dolls +stood immediately overshadowing the blood stain, summoned, perhaps, +by the slain man an instant before he fell. One of the high-shouldered +hooks that served the thing for arms, was a little lifted, and Angus had +suddenly the horrid fancy that poor Smythe’s own iron child had struck +him down. Matter had rebelled, and these machines had killed their +master. But even so, what had they done with him? + +“Eaten him?” said the nightmare at his ear; and he sickened for an +instant at the idea of rent, human remains absorbed and crushed into all +that acephalous clockwork. + +He recovered his mental health by an emphatic effort, and said to +Flambeau, “Well, there it is. The poor fellow has evaporated like a +cloud and left a red streak on the floor. The tale does not belong to +this world.” + +“There is only one thing to be done,” said Flambeau, “whether it belongs +to this world or the other. I must go down and talk to my friend.” + +They descended, passing the man with the pail, who again asseverated +that he had let no intruder pass, down to the commissionaire and the +hovering chestnut man, who rigidly reasserted their own watchfulness. +But when Angus looked round for his fourth confirmation he could not see +it, and called out with some nervousness, “Where is the policeman?” + +“I beg your pardon,” said Father Brown; “that is my fault. I just sent +him down the road to investigate something--that I just thought worth +investigating.” + +“Well, we want him back pretty soon,” said Angus abruptly, “for the +wretched man upstairs has not only been murdered, but wiped out.” + +“How?” asked the priest. + +“Father,” said Flambeau, after a pause, “upon my soul I believe it is +more in your department than mine. No friend or foe has entered the +house, but Smythe is gone, as if stolen by the fairies. If that is not +supernatural, I--” + +As he spoke they were all checked by an unusual sight; the big blue +policeman came round the corner of the crescent, running. He came +straight up to Brown. + +“You’re right, sir,” he panted, “they’ve just found poor Mr. Smythe’s +body in the canal down below.” + +Angus put his hand wildly to his head. “Did he run down and drown +himself?” he asked. + +“He never came down, I’ll swear,” said the constable, “and he wasn’t +drowned either, for he died of a great stab over the heart.” + +“And yet you saw no one enter?” said Flambeau in a grave voice. + +“Let us walk down the road a little,” said the priest. + +As they reached the other end of the crescent he observed abruptly, +“Stupid of me! I forgot to ask the policeman something. I wonder if they +found a light brown sack.” + +“Why a light brown sack?” asked Angus, astonished. + +“Because if it was any other coloured sack, the case must begin over +again,” said Father Brown; “but if it was a light brown sack, why, the +case is finished.” + +“I am pleased to hear it,” said Angus with hearty irony. “It hasn’t +begun, so far as I am concerned.” + +“You must tell us all about it,” said Flambeau with a strange heavy +simplicity, like a child. + +Unconsciously they were walking with quickening steps down the long +sweep of road on the other side of the high crescent, Father Brown +leading briskly, though in silence. At last he said with an almost +touching vagueness, “Well, I’m afraid you’ll think it so prosy. We +always begin at the abstract end of things, and you can’t begin this +story anywhere else. + +“Have you ever noticed this--that people never answer what you say? They +answer what you mean--or what they think you mean. Suppose one lady says +to another in a country house, ‘Is anybody staying with you?’ the lady +doesn’t answer ‘Yes; the butler, the three footmen, the parlourmaid, and +so on,’ though the parlourmaid may be in the room, or the butler behind +her chair. She says ‘There is nobody staying with us,’ meaning nobody of +the sort you mean. But suppose a doctor inquiring into an epidemic asks, +‘Who is staying in the house?’ then the lady will remember the butler, +the parlourmaid, and the rest. All language is used like that; you never +get a question answered literally, even when you get it answered truly. +When those four quite honest men said that no man had gone into the +Mansions, they did not really mean that no man had gone into them. They +meant no man whom they could suspect of being your man. A man did go +into the house, and did come out of it, but they never noticed him.” + +“An invisible man?” inquired Angus, raising his red eyebrows. “A +mentally invisible man,” said Father Brown. + +A minute or two after he resumed in the same unassuming voice, like a +man thinking his way. “Of course you can’t think of such a man, until +you do think of him. That’s where his cleverness comes in. But I came +to think of him through two or three little things in the tale Mr. Angus +told us. First, there was the fact that this Welkin went for long walks. +And then there was the vast lot of stamp paper on the window. And then, +most of all, there were the two things the young lady said--things that +couldn’t be true. Don’t get annoyed,” he added hastily, noting a sudden +movement of the Scotchman’s head; “she thought they were true. A person +can’t be quite alone in a street a second before she receives a letter. +She can’t be quite alone in a street when she starts reading a letter +just received. There must be somebody pretty near her; he must be +mentally invisible.” + +“Why must there be somebody near her?” asked Angus. + +“Because,” said Father Brown, “barring carrier-pigeons, somebody must +have brought her the letter.” + +“Do you really mean to say,” asked Flambeau, with energy, “that Welkin +carried his rival’s letters to his lady?” + +“Yes,” said the priest. “Welkin carried his rival’s letters to his lady. +You see, he had to.” + +“Oh, I can’t stand much more of this,” exploded Flambeau. “Who is this +fellow? What does he look like? What is the usual get-up of a mentally +invisible man?” + +“He is dressed rather handsomely in red, blue and gold,” replied the +priest promptly with precision, “and in this striking, and even showy, +costume he entered Himylaya Mansions under eight human eyes; he killed +Smythe in cold blood, and came down into the street again carrying the +dead body in his arms--” + +“Reverend sir,” cried Angus, standing still, “are you raving mad, or am +I?” + +“You are not mad,” said Brown, “only a little unobservant. You have not +noticed such a man as this, for example.” + +He took three quick strides forward, and put his hand on the shoulder of +an ordinary passing postman who had bustled by them unnoticed under the +shade of the trees. + +“Nobody ever notices postmen somehow,” he said thoughtfully; “yet they +have passions like other men, and even carry large bags where a small +corpse can be stowed quite easily.” + +The postman, instead of turning naturally, had ducked and tumbled +against the garden fence. He was a lean fair-bearded man of very +ordinary appearance, but as he turned an alarmed face over his shoulder, +all three men were fixed with an almost fiendish squint. + + * * * * * + +Flambeau went back to his sabres, purple rugs and Persian cat, having +many things to attend to. John Turnbull Angus went back to the lady at +the shop, with whom that imprudent young man contrives to be extremely +comfortable. But Father Brown walked those snow-covered hills under the +stars for many hours with a murderer, and what they said to each other +will never be known. + + + + +The Honour of Israel Gow + + +A stormy evening of olive and silver was closing in, as Father Brown, +wrapped in a grey Scotch plaid, came to the end of a grey Scotch valley +and beheld the strange castle of Glengyle. It stopped one end of the +glen or hollow like a blind alley; and it looked like the end of the +world. Rising in steep roofs and spires of seagreen slate in the manner +of the old French-Scotch chateaux, it reminded an Englishman of the +sinister steeple-hats of witches in fairy tales; and the pine woods +that rocked round the green turrets looked, by comparison, as black +as numberless flocks of ravens. This note of a dreamy, almost a sleepy +devilry, was no mere fancy from the landscape. For there did rest on +the place one of those clouds of pride and madness and mysterious sorrow +which lie more heavily on the noble houses of Scotland than on any other +of the children of men. For Scotland has a double dose of the poison +called heredity; the sense of blood in the aristocrat, and the sense of +doom in the Calvinist. + +The priest had snatched a day from his business at Glasgow to meet his +friend Flambeau, the amateur detective, who was at Glengyle Castle with +another more formal officer investigating the life and death of the late +Earl of Glengyle. That mysterious person was the last representative +of a race whose valour, insanity, and violent cunning had made them +terrible even among the sinister nobility of their nation in the +sixteenth century. None were deeper in that labyrinthine ambition, in +chamber within chamber of that palace of lies that was built up around +Mary Queen of Scots. + +The rhyme in the country-side attested the motive and the result of +their machinations candidly: + + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies. + +For many centuries there had never been a decent lord in Glengyle +Castle; and with the Victorian era one would have thought that all +eccentricities were exhausted. The last Glengyle, however, satisfied his +tribal tradition by doing the only thing that was left for him to do; he +disappeared. I do not mean that he went abroad; by all accounts he was +still in the castle, if he was anywhere. But though his name was in the +church register and the big red Peerage, nobody ever saw him under the +sun. + +If anyone saw him it was a solitary man-servant, something between a +groom and a gardener. He was so deaf that the more business-like +assumed him to be dumb; while the more penetrating declared him to be +half-witted. A gaunt, red-haired labourer, with a dogged jaw and chin, +but quite blank blue eyes, he went by the name of Israel Gow, and was +the one silent servant on that deserted estate. But the energy with +which he dug potatoes, and the regularity with which he disappeared +into the kitchen gave people an impression that he was providing for the +meals of a superior, and that the strange earl was still concealed in +the castle. If society needed any further proof that he was there, the +servant persistently asserted that he was not at home. One morning the +provost and the minister (for the Glengyles were Presbyterian) were +summoned to the castle. There they found that the gardener, groom and +cook had added to his many professions that of an undertaker, and had +nailed up his noble master in a coffin. With how much or how little +further inquiry this odd fact was passed, did not as yet very plainly +appear; for the thing had never been legally investigated till Flambeau +had gone north two or three days before. By then the body of Lord +Glengyle (if it was the body) had lain for some time in the little +churchyard on the hill. + +As Father Brown passed through the dim garden and came under the +shadow of the chateau, the clouds were thick and the whole air damp +and thundery. Against the last stripe of the green-gold sunset he saw +a black human silhouette; a man in a chimney-pot hat, with a big spade +over his shoulder. The combination was queerly suggestive of a sexton; +but when Brown remembered the deaf servant who dug potatoes, he thought +it natural enough. He knew something of the Scotch peasant; he knew the +respectability which might well feel it necessary to wear “blacks” for +an official inquiry; he knew also the economy that would not lose an +hour’s digging for that. Even the man’s start and suspicious stare as +the priest went by were consonant enough with the vigilance and jealousy +of such a type. + +The great door was opened by Flambeau himself, who had with him a lean +man with iron-grey hair and papers in his hand: Inspector Craven from +Scotland Yard. The entrance hall was mostly stripped and empty; but the +pale, sneering faces of one or two of the wicked Ogilvies looked down +out of black periwigs and blackening canvas. + +Following them into an inner room, Father Brown found that the allies +had been seated at a long oak table, of which their end was covered with +scribbled papers, flanked with whisky and cigars. Through the whole of +its remaining length it was occupied by detached objects arranged at +intervals; objects about as inexplicable as any objects could be. One +looked like a small heap of glittering broken glass. Another looked like +a high heap of brown dust. A third appeared to be a plain stick of wood. + +“You seem to have a sort of geological museum here,” he said, as he sat +down, jerking his head briefly in the direction of the brown dust and +the crystalline fragments. + +“Not a geological museum,” replied Flambeau; “say a psychological +museum.” + +“Oh, for the Lord’s sake,” cried the police detective laughing, “don’t +let’s begin with such long words.” + +“Don’t you know what psychology means?” asked Flambeau with friendly +surprise. “Psychology means being off your chump.” + +“Still I hardly follow,” replied the official. + +“Well,” said Flambeau, with decision, “I mean that we’ve only found out +one thing about Lord Glengyle. He was a maniac.” + +The black silhouette of Gow with his top hat and spade passed the +window, dimly outlined against the darkening sky. Father Brown stared +passively at it and answered: + +“I can understand there must have been something odd about the man, or +he wouldn’t have buried himself alive--nor been in such a hurry to bury +himself dead. But what makes you think it was lunacy?” + +“Well,” said Flambeau, “you just listen to the list of things Mr. Craven +has found in the house.” + +“We must get a candle,” said Craven, suddenly. “A storm is getting up, +and it’s too dark to read.” + +“Have you found any candles,” asked Brown smiling, “among your +oddities?” + +Flambeau raised a grave face, and fixed his dark eyes on his friend. + +“That is curious, too,” he said. “Twenty-five candles, and not a trace +of a candlestick.” + +In the rapidly darkening room and rapidly rising wind, Brown went along +the table to where a bundle of wax candles lay among the other scrappy +exhibits. As he did so he bent accidentally over the heap of red-brown +dust; and a sharp sneeze cracked the silence. + +“Hullo!” he said, “snuff!” + +He took one of the candles, lit it carefully, came back and stuck it in +the neck of the whisky bottle. The unrestful night air, blowing through +the crazy window, waved the long flame like a banner. And on every side +of the castle they could hear the miles and miles of black pine wood +seething like a black sea around a rock. + +“I will read the inventory,” began Craven gravely, picking up one of +the papers, “the inventory of what we found loose and unexplained in the +castle. You are to understand that the place generally was dismantled +and neglected; but one or two rooms had plainly been inhabited in a +simple but not squalid style by somebody; somebody who was not the +servant Gow. The list is as follows: + +“First item. A very considerable hoard of precious stones, nearly +all diamonds, and all of them loose, without any setting whatever. Of +course, it is natural that the Ogilvies should have family jewels; but +those are exactly the jewels that are almost always set in particular +articles of ornament. The Ogilvies would seem to have kept theirs loose +in their pockets, like coppers. + +“Second item. Heaps and heaps of loose snuff, not kept in a horn, or +even a pouch, but lying in heaps on the mantelpieces, on the sideboard, +on the piano, anywhere. It looks as if the old gentleman would not take +the trouble to look in a pocket or lift a lid. + +“Third item. Here and there about the house curious little heaps of +minute pieces of metal, some like steel springs and some in the form of +microscopic wheels. As if they had gutted some mechanical toy. + +“Fourth item. The wax candles, which have to be stuck in bottle necks +because there is nothing else to stick them in. Now I wish you to note +how very much queerer all this is than anything we anticipated. For the +central riddle we are prepared; we have all seen at a glance that there +was something wrong about the last earl. We have come here to find out +whether he really lived here, whether he really died here, whether that +red-haired scarecrow who did his burying had anything to do with his +dying. But suppose the worst in all this, the most lurid or melodramatic +solution you like. Suppose the servant really killed the master, or +suppose the master isn’t really dead, or suppose the master is dressed +up as the servant, or suppose the servant is buried for the master; +invent what Wilkie Collins’ tragedy you like, and you still have not +explained a candle without a candlestick, or why an elderly gentleman of +good family should habitually spill snuff on the piano. The core of +the tale we could imagine; it is the fringes that are mysterious. By no +stretch of fancy can the human mind connect together snuff and diamonds +and wax and loose clockwork.” + +“I think I see the connection,” said the priest. “This Glengyle was +mad against the French Revolution. He was an enthusiast for the ancien +regime, and was trying to re-enact literally the family life of the last +Bourbons. He had snuff because it was the eighteenth century luxury; +wax candles, because they were the eighteenth century lighting; the +mechanical bits of iron represent the locksmith hobby of Louis XVI; the +diamonds are for the Diamond Necklace of Marie Antoinette.” + +Both the other men were staring at him with round eyes. “What a +perfectly extraordinary notion!” cried Flambeau. “Do you really think +that is the truth?” + +“I am perfectly sure it isn’t,” answered Father Brown, “only you said +that nobody could connect snuff and diamonds and clockwork and candles. +I give you that connection off-hand. The real truth, I am very sure, +lies deeper.” + +He paused a moment and listened to the wailing of the wind in the +turrets. Then he said, “The late Earl of Glengyle was a thief. He lived +a second and darker life as a desperate housebreaker. He did not have +any candlesticks because he only used these candles cut short in the +little lantern he carried. The snuff he employed as the fiercest French +criminals have used pepper: to fling it suddenly in dense masses in +the face of a captor or pursuer. But the final proof is in the curious +coincidence of the diamonds and the small steel wheels. Surely that +makes everything plain to you? Diamonds and small steel wheels are the +only two instruments with which you can cut out a pane of glass.” + +The bough of a broken pine tree lashed heavily in the blast against the +windowpane behind them, as if in parody of a burglar, but they did not +turn round. Their eyes were fastened on Father Brown. + +“Diamonds and small wheels,” repeated Craven ruminating. “Is that all +that makes you think it the true explanation?” + +“I don’t think it the true explanation,” replied the priest placidly; +“but you said that nobody could connect the four things. The true +tale, of course, is something much more humdrum. Glengyle had found, +or thought he had found, precious stones on his estate. Somebody had +bamboozled him with those loose brilliants, saying they were found in +the castle caverns. The little wheels are some diamond-cutting affair. +He had to do the thing very roughly and in a small way, with the help of +a few shepherds or rude fellows on these hills. Snuff is the one great +luxury of such Scotch shepherds; it’s the one thing with which you can +bribe them. They didn’t have candlesticks because they didn’t want them; +they held the candles in their hands when they explored the caves.” + +“Is that all?” asked Flambeau after a long pause. “Have we got to the +dull truth at last?” + +“Oh, no,” said Father Brown. + +As the wind died in the most distant pine woods with a long hoot as of +mockery Father Brown, with an utterly impassive face, went on: + +“I only suggested that because you said one could not plausibly +connect snuff with clockwork or candles with bright stones. Ten false +philosophies will fit the universe; ten false theories will fit Glengyle +Castle. But we want the real explanation of the castle and the universe. +But are there no other exhibits?” + +Craven laughed, and Flambeau rose smiling to his feet and strolled down +the long table. + +“Items five, six, seven, etc.,” he said, “and certainly more varied than +instructive. A curious collection, not of lead pencils, but of the lead +out of lead pencils. A senseless stick of bamboo, with the top rather +splintered. It might be the instrument of the crime. Only, there isn’t +any crime. The only other things are a few old missals and little +Catholic pictures, which the Ogilvies kept, I suppose, from the Middle +Ages--their family pride being stronger than their Puritanism. We +only put them in the museum because they seem curiously cut about and +defaced.” + +The heady tempest without drove a dreadful wrack of clouds across +Glengyle and threw the long room into darkness as Father Brown picked up +the little illuminated pages to examine them. He spoke before the drift +of darkness had passed; but it was the voice of an utterly new man. + +“Mr. Craven,” said he, talking like a man ten years younger, “you have +got a legal warrant, haven’t you, to go up and examine that grave? +The sooner we do it the better, and get to the bottom of this horrible +affair. If I were you I should start now.” + +“Now,” repeated the astonished detective, “and why now?” + +“Because this is serious,” answered Brown; “this is not spilt snuff or +loose pebbles, that might be there for a hundred reasons. There is only +one reason I know of for this being done; and the reason goes down to +the roots of the world. These religious pictures are not just dirtied +or torn or scrawled over, which might be done in idleness or bigotry, by +children or by Protestants. These have been treated very carefully--and +very queerly. In every place where the great ornamented name of God +comes in the old illuminations it has been elaborately taken out. The +only other thing that has been removed is the halo round the head of the +Child Jesus. Therefore, I say, let us get our warrant and our spade and +our hatchet, and go up and break open that coffin.” + +“What do you mean?” demanded the London officer. + +“I mean,” answered the little priest, and his voice seemed to rise +slightly in the roar of the gale. “I mean that the great devil of the +universe may be sitting on the top tower of this castle at this moment, +as big as a hundred elephants, and roaring like the Apocalypse. There is +black magic somewhere at the bottom of this.” + +“Black magic,” repeated Flambeau in a low voice, for he was too +enlightened a man not to know of such things; “but what can these other +things mean?” + +“Oh, something damnable, I suppose,” replied Brown impatiently. “How +should I know? How can I guess all their mazes down below? Perhaps you +can make a torture out of snuff and bamboo. Perhaps lunatics lust after +wax and steel filings. Perhaps there is a maddening drug made of lead +pencils! Our shortest cut to the mystery is up the hill to the grave.” + +His comrades hardly knew that they had obeyed and followed him till a +blast of the night wind nearly flung them on their faces in the garden. +Nevertheless they had obeyed him like automata; for Craven found +a hatchet in his hand, and the warrant in his pocket; Flambeau was +carrying the heavy spade of the strange gardener; Father Brown was +carrying the little gilt book from which had been torn the name of God. + +The path up the hill to the churchyard was crooked but short; only under +that stress of wind it seemed laborious and long. Far as the eye could +see, farther and farther as they mounted the slope, were seas beyond +seas of pines, now all aslope one way under the wind. And that universal +gesture seemed as vain as it was vast, as vain as if that wind were +whistling about some unpeopled and purposeless planet. Through all that +infinite growth of grey-blue forests sang, shrill and high, that ancient +sorrow that is in the heart of all heathen things. One could fancy that +the voices from the under world of unfathomable foliage were cries of +the lost and wandering pagan gods: gods who had gone roaming in that +irrational forest, and who will never find their way back to heaven. + +“You see,” said Father Brown in low but easy tone, “Scotch people before +Scotland existed were a curious lot. In fact, they’re a curious lot +still. But in the prehistoric times I fancy they really worshipped +demons. That,” he added genially, “is why they jumped at the Puritan +theology.” + +“My friend,” said Flambeau, turning in a kind of fury, “what does all +that snuff mean?” + +“My friend,” replied Brown, with equal seriousness, “there is one mark +of all genuine religions: materialism. Now, devil-worship is a perfectly +genuine religion.” + +They had come up on the grassy scalp of the hill, one of the few bald +spots that stood clear of the crashing and roaring pine forest. A mean +enclosure, partly timber and partly wire, rattled in the tempest to tell +them the border of the graveyard. But by the time Inspector Craven had +come to the corner of the grave, and Flambeau had planted his spade +point downwards and leaned on it, they were both almost as shaken as the +shaky wood and wire. At the foot of the grave grew great tall +thistles, grey and silver in their decay. Once or twice, when a ball +of thistledown broke under the breeze and flew past him, Craven jumped +slightly as if it had been an arrow. + +Flambeau drove the blade of his spade through the whistling grass into +the wet clay below. Then he seemed to stop and lean on it as on a staff. + +“Go on,” said the priest very gently. “We are only trying to find the +truth. What are you afraid of?” + +“I am afraid of finding it,” said Flambeau. + +The London detective spoke suddenly in a high crowing voice that was +meant to be conversational and cheery. “I wonder why he really did hide +himself like that. Something nasty, I suppose; was he a leper?” + +“Something worse than that,” said Flambeau. + +“And what do you imagine,” asked the other, “would be worse than a +leper?” + +“I don’t imagine it,” said Flambeau. + +He dug for some dreadful minutes in silence, and then said in a choked +voice, “I’m afraid of his not being the right shape.” + +“Nor was that piece of paper, you know,” said Father Brown quietly, “and +we survived even that piece of paper.” + +Flambeau dug on with a blind energy. But the tempest had shouldered away +the choking grey clouds that clung to the hills like smoke and revealed +grey fields of faint starlight before he cleared the shape of a rude +timber coffin, and somehow tipped it up upon the turf. Craven stepped +forward with his axe; a thistle-top touched him, and he flinched. Then +he took a firmer stride, and hacked and wrenched with an energy like +Flambeau’s till the lid was torn off, and all that was there lay +glimmering in the grey starlight. + +“Bones,” said Craven; and then he added, “but it is a man,” as if that +were something unexpected. + +“Is he,” asked Flambeau in a voice that went oddly up and down, “is he +all right?” + +“Seems so,” said the officer huskily, bending over the obscure and +decaying skeleton in the box. “Wait a minute.” + +A vast heave went over Flambeau’s huge figure. “And now I come to think +of it,” he cried, “why in the name of madness shouldn’t he be all right? +What is it gets hold of a man on these cursed cold mountains? I think +it’s the black, brainless repetition; all these forests, and over all +an ancient horror of unconsciousness. It’s like the dream of an atheist. +Pine-trees and more pine-trees and millions more pine-trees--” + +“God!” cried the man by the coffin, “but he hasn’t got a head.” + +While the others stood rigid the priest, for the first time, showed a +leap of startled concern. + +“No head!” he repeated. “No head?” as if he had almost expected some +other deficiency. + +Half-witted visions of a headless baby born to Glengyle, of a headless +youth hiding himself in the castle, of a headless man pacing those +ancient halls or that gorgeous garden, passed in panorama through their +minds. But even in that stiffened instant the tale took no root in them +and seemed to have no reason in it. They stood listening to the loud +woods and the shrieking sky quite foolishly, like exhausted animals. +Thought seemed to be something enormous that had suddenly slipped out of +their grasp. + +“There are three headless men,” said Father Brown, “standing round this +open grave.” + +The pale detective from London opened his mouth to speak, and left it +open like a yokel, while a long scream of wind tore the sky; then he +looked at the axe in his hands as if it did not belong to him, and +dropped it. + +“Father,” said Flambeau in that infantile and heavy voice he used very +seldom, “what are we to do?” + +His friend’s reply came with the pent promptitude of a gun going off. + +“Sleep!” cried Father Brown. “Sleep. We have come to the end of the +ways. Do you know what sleep is? Do you know that every man who sleeps +believes in God? It is a sacrament; for it is an act of faith and it is +a food. And we need a sacrament, if only a natural one. Something has +fallen on us that falls very seldom on men; perhaps the worst thing that +can fall on them.” + +Craven’s parted lips came together to say, “What do you mean?” + +The priest had turned his face to the castle as he answered: “We have +found the truth; and the truth makes no sense.” + +He went down the path in front of them with a plunging and reckless +step very rare with him, and when they reached the castle again he threw +himself upon sleep with the simplicity of a dog. + +Despite his mystic praise of slumber, Father Brown was up earlier than +anyone else except the silent gardener; and was found smoking a big +pipe and watching that expert at his speechless labours in the kitchen +garden. Towards daybreak the rocking storm had ended in roaring rains, +and the day came with a curious freshness. The gardener seemed even +to have been conversing, but at sight of the detectives he planted +his spade sullenly in a bed and, saying something about his breakfast, +shifted along the lines of cabbages and shut himself in the kitchen. +“He’s a valuable man, that,” said Father Brown. “He does the potatoes +amazingly. Still,” he added, with a dispassionate charity, “he has his +faults; which of us hasn’t? He doesn’t dig this bank quite regularly. +There, for instance,” and he stamped suddenly on one spot. “I’m really +very doubtful about that potato.” + +“And why?” asked Craven, amused with the little man’s hobby. + +“I’m doubtful about it,” said the other, “because old Gow was doubtful +about it himself. He put his spade in methodically in every place but +just this. There must be a mighty fine potato just here.” + +Flambeau pulled up the spade and impetuously drove it into the place. +He turned up, under a load of soil, something that did not look like a +potato, but rather like a monstrous, over-domed mushroom. But it struck +the spade with a cold click; it rolled over like a ball, and grinned up +at them. + +“The Earl of Glengyle,” said Brown sadly, and looked down heavily at the +skull. + +Then, after a momentary meditation, he plucked the spade from Flambeau, +and, saying “We must hide it again,” clamped the skull down in the +earth. Then he leaned his little body and huge head on the great handle +of the spade, that stood up stiffly in the earth, and his eyes were +empty and his forehead full of wrinkles. “If one could only conceive,” + he muttered, “the meaning of this last monstrosity.” And leaning on +the large spade handle, he buried his brows in his hands, as men do in +church. + +All the corners of the sky were brightening into blue and silver; the +birds were chattering in the tiny garden trees; so loud it seemed as if +the trees themselves were talking. But the three men were silent enough. + +“Well, I give it all up,” said Flambeau at last boisterously. “My brain +and this world don’t fit each other; and there’s an end of it. Snuff, +spoilt Prayer Books, and the insides of musical boxes--what--” + +Brown threw up his bothered brow and rapped on the spade handle with an +intolerance quite unusual with him. “Oh, tut, tut, tut, tut!” he +cried. “All that is as plain as a pikestaff. I understood the snuff +and clockwork, and so on, when I first opened my eyes this morning. And +since then I’ve had it out with old Gow, the gardener, who is neither so +deaf nor so stupid as he pretends. There’s nothing amiss about the loose +items. I was wrong about the torn mass-book, too; there’s no harm in +that. But it’s this last business. Desecrating graves and stealing dead +men’s heads--surely there’s harm in that? Surely there’s black magic +still in that? That doesn’t fit in to the quite simple story of the +snuff and the candles.” And, striding about again, he smoked moodily. + +“My friend,” said Flambeau, with a grim humour, “you must be careful +with me and remember I was once a criminal. The great advantage of that +estate was that I always made up the story myself, and acted it as quick +as I chose. This detective business of waiting about is too much for my +French impatience. All my life, for good or evil, I have done things at +the instant; I always fought duels the next morning; I always paid bills +on the nail; I never even put off a visit to the dentist--” + +Father Brown’s pipe fell out of his mouth and broke into three pieces +on the gravel path. He stood rolling his eyes, the exact picture of +an idiot. “Lord, what a turnip I am!” he kept saying. “Lord, what a +turnip!” Then, in a somewhat groggy kind of way, he began to laugh. + +“The dentist!” he repeated. “Six hours in the spiritual abyss, and all +because I never thought of the dentist! Such a simple, such a beautiful +and peaceful thought! Friends, we have passed a night in hell; but now +the sun is risen, the birds are singing, and the radiant form of the +dentist consoles the world.” + +“I will get some sense out of this,” cried Flambeau, striding forward, +“if I use the tortures of the Inquisition.” + +Father Brown repressed what appeared to be a momentary disposition to +dance on the now sunlit lawn and cried quite piteously, like a child, +“Oh, let me be silly a little. You don’t know how unhappy I have been. +And now I know that there has been no deep sin in this business at all. +Only a little lunacy, perhaps--and who minds that?” + +He spun round once more, then faced them with gravity. + +“This is not a story of crime,” he said; “rather it is the story of a +strange and crooked honesty. We are dealing with the one man on earth, +perhaps, who has taken no more than his due. It is a study in the savage +living logic that has been the religion of this race. + +“That old local rhyme about the house of Glengyle-- + + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies-- + +was literal as well as metaphorical. It did not merely mean that the +Glengyles sought for wealth; it was also true that they literally +gathered gold; they had a huge collection of ornaments and utensils in +that metal. They were, in fact, misers whose mania took that turn. +In the light of that fact, run through all the things we found in the +castle. Diamonds without their gold rings; candles without their gold +candlesticks; snuff without the gold snuff-boxes; pencil-leads without +the gold pencil-cases; a walking stick without its gold top; clockwork +without the gold clocks--or rather watches. And, mad as it sounds, +because the halos and the name of God in the old missals were of real +gold; these also were taken away.” + +The garden seemed to brighten, the grass to grow gayer in the +strengthening sun, as the crazy truth was told. Flambeau lit a cigarette +as his friend went on. + +“Were taken away,” continued Father Brown; “were taken away--but not +stolen. Thieves would never have left this mystery. Thieves would have +taken the gold snuff-boxes, snuff and all; the gold pencil-cases, lead +and all. We have to deal with a man with a peculiar conscience, but +certainly a conscience. I found that mad moralist this morning in the +kitchen garden yonder, and I heard the whole story. + +“The late Archibald Ogilvie was the nearest approach to a good man +ever born at Glengyle. But his bitter virtue took the turn of the +misanthrope; he moped over the dishonesty of his ancestors, from which, +somehow, he generalised a dishonesty of all men. More especially he +distrusted philanthropy or free-giving; and he swore if he could +find one man who took his exact rights he should have all the gold of +Glengyle. Having delivered this defiance to humanity he shut himself +up, without the smallest expectation of its being answered. One day, +however, a deaf and seemingly senseless lad from a distant village +brought him a belated telegram; and Glengyle, in his acrid pleasantry, +gave him a new farthing. At least he thought he had done so, but when +he turned over his change he found the new farthing still there and a +sovereign gone. The accident offered him vistas of sneering speculation. +Either way, the boy would show the greasy greed of the species. Either +he would vanish, a thief stealing a coin; or he would sneak back with +it virtuously, a snob seeking a reward. In the middle of that night Lord +Glengyle was knocked up out of his bed--for he lived alone--and forced +to open the door to the deaf idiot. The idiot brought with him, not +the sovereign, but exactly nineteen shillings and eleven-pence +three-farthings in change. + +“Then the wild exactitude of this action took hold of the mad lord’s +brain like fire. He swore he was Diogenes, that had long sought an +honest man, and at last had found one. He made a new will, which I have +seen. He took the literal youth into his huge, neglected house, and +trained him up as his solitary servant and--after an odd manner--his +heir. And whatever that queer creature understands, he understood +absolutely his lord’s two fixed ideas: first, that the letter of right +is everything; and second, that he himself was to have the gold of +Glengyle. So far, that is all; and that is simple. He has stripped the +house of gold, and taken not a grain that was not gold; not so much as +a grain of snuff. He lifted the gold leaf off an old illumination, fully +satisfied that he left the rest unspoilt. All that I understood; but I +could not understand this skull business. I was really uneasy about that +human head buried among the potatoes. It distressed me--till Flambeau +said the word. + +“It will be all right. He will put the skull back in the grave, when he +has taken the gold out of the tooth.” + +And, indeed, when Flambeau crossed the hill that morning, he saw that +strange being, the just miser, digging at the desecrated grave, the +plaid round his throat thrashing out in the mountain wind; the sober top +hat on his head. + + + + +The Wrong Shape + + +Certain of the great roads going north out of London continue far into +the country a sort of attenuated and interrupted spectre of a street, +with great gaps in the building, but preserving the line. Here will be a +group of shops, followed by a fenced field or paddock, and then a famous +public-house, and then perhaps a market garden or a nursery garden, and +then one large private house, and then another field and another inn, +and so on. If anyone walks along one of these roads he will pass a house +which will probably catch his eye, though he may not be able to explain +its attraction. It is a long, low house, running parallel with the road, +painted mostly white and pale green, with a veranda and sun-blinds, and +porches capped with those quaint sort of cupolas like wooden umbrellas +that one sees in some old-fashioned houses. In fact, it is an +old-fashioned house, very English and very suburban in the good old +wealthy Clapham sense. And yet the house has a look of having been built +chiefly for the hot weather. Looking at its white paint and sun-blinds +one thinks vaguely of pugarees and even of palm trees. I cannot trace +the feeling to its root; perhaps the place was built by an Anglo-Indian. + +Anyone passing this house, I say, would be namelessly fascinated by it; +would feel that it was a place about which some story was to be told. +And he would have been right, as you shall shortly hear. For this is the +story--the story of the strange things that did really happen in it in +the Whitsuntide of the year 18--: + +Anyone passing the house on the Thursday before Whit-Sunday at about +half-past four p.m. would have seen the front door open, and Father +Brown, of the small church of St. Mungo, come out smoking a large pipe +in company with a very tall French friend of his called Flambeau, who +was smoking a very small cigarette. These persons may or may not be of +interest to the reader, but the truth is that they were not the only +interesting things that were displayed when the front door of the +white-and-green house was opened. There are further peculiarities about +this house, which must be described to start with, not only that the +reader may understand this tragic tale, but also that he may realise +what it was that the opening of the door revealed. + +The whole house was built upon the plan of a T, but a T with a very long +cross piece and a very short tail piece. The long cross piece was the +frontage that ran along in face of the street, with the front door +in the middle; it was two stories high, and contained nearly all +the important rooms. The short tail piece, which ran out at the back +immediately opposite the front door, was one story high, and consisted +only of two long rooms, the one leading into the other. The first of +these two rooms was the study in which the celebrated Mr. Quinton wrote +his wild Oriental poems and romances. The farther room was a glass +conservatory full of tropical blossoms of quite unique and almost +monstrous beauty, and on such afternoons as these glowing with gorgeous +sunlight. Thus when the hall door was open, many a passer-by literally +stopped to stare and gasp; for he looked down a perspective of rich +apartments to something really like a transformation scene in a fairy +play: purple clouds and golden suns and crimson stars that were at once +scorchingly vivid and yet transparent and far away. + +Leonard Quinton, the poet, had himself most carefully arranged this +effect; and it is doubtful whether he so perfectly expressed his +personality in any of his poems. For he was a man who drank and bathed +in colours, who indulged his lust for colour somewhat to the neglect +of form--even of good form. This it was that had turned his genius +so wholly to eastern art and imagery; to those bewildering carpets +or blinding embroideries in which all the colours seem fallen into a +fortunate chaos, having nothing to typify or to teach. He had attempted, +not perhaps with complete artistic success, but with acknowledged +imagination and invention, to compose epics and love stories reflecting +the riot of violent and even cruel colour; tales of tropical heavens +of burning gold or blood-red copper; of eastern heroes who rode with +twelve-turbaned mitres upon elephants painted purple or peacock green; +of gigantic jewels that a hundred negroes could not carry, but which +burned with ancient and strange-hued fires. + +In short (to put the matter from the more common point of view), he +dealt much in eastern heavens, rather worse than most western hells; in +eastern monarchs, whom we might possibly call maniacs; and in eastern +jewels which a Bond Street jeweller (if the hundred staggering negroes +brought them into his shop) might possibly not regard as genuine. +Quinton was a genius, if a morbid one; and even his morbidity appeared +more in his life than in his work. In temperament he was weak and +waspish, and his health had suffered heavily from oriental experiments +with opium. His wife--a handsome, hard-working, and, indeed, over-worked +woman objected to the opium, but objected much more to a live Indian +hermit in white and yellow robes, whom her husband insisted on +entertaining for months together, a Virgil to guide his spirit through +the heavens and the hells of the east. + +It was out of this artistic household that Father Brown and his friend +stepped on to the door-step; and to judge from their faces, they stepped +out of it with much relief. Flambeau had known Quinton in wild student +days in Paris, and they had renewed the acquaintance for a week-end; but +apart from Flambeau’s more responsible developments of late, he did not +get on well with the poet now. Choking oneself with opium and writing +little erotic verses on vellum was not his notion of how a gentleman +should go to the devil. As the two paused on the door-step, before +taking a turn in the garden, the front garden gate was thrown open with +violence, and a young man with a billycock hat on the back of his head +tumbled up the steps in his eagerness. He was a dissipated-looking youth +with a gorgeous red necktie all awry, as if he had slept in it, and he +kept fidgeting and lashing about with one of those little jointed canes. + +“I say,” he said breathlessly, “I want to see old Quinton. I must see +him. Has he gone?” + +“Mr. Quinton is in, I believe,” said Father Brown, cleaning his pipe, +“but I do not know if you can see him. The doctor is with him at +present.” + +The young man, who seemed not to be perfectly sober, stumbled into the +hall; and at the same moment the doctor came out of Quinton’s study, +shutting the door and beginning to put on his gloves. + +“See Mr. Quinton?” said the doctor coolly. “No, I’m afraid you can’t. In +fact, you mustn’t on any account. Nobody must see him; I’ve just given +him his sleeping draught.” + +“No, but look here, old chap,” said the youth in the red tie, trying +affectionately to capture the doctor by the lapels of his coat. “Look +here. I’m simply sewn up, I tell you. I--” + +“It’s no good, Mr. Atkinson,” said the doctor, forcing him to fall back; +“when you can alter the effects of a drug I’ll alter my decision,” and, +settling on his hat, he stepped out into the sunlight with the other +two. He was a bull-necked, good-tempered little man with a small +moustache, inexpressibly ordinary, yet giving an impression of capacity. + +The young man in the billycock, who did not seem to be gifted with any +tact in dealing with people beyond the general idea of clutching hold of +their coats, stood outside the door, as dazed as if he had been thrown +out bodily, and silently watched the other three walk away together +through the garden. + +“That was a sound, spanking lie I told just now,” remarked the medical +man, laughing. “In point of fact, poor Quinton doesn’t have his sleeping +draught for nearly half an hour. But I’m not going to have him bothered +with that little beast, who only wants to borrow money that he wouldn’t +pay back if he could. He’s a dirty little scamp, though he is Mrs. +Quinton’s brother, and she’s as fine a woman as ever walked.” + +“Yes,” said Father Brown. “She’s a good woman.” + +“So I propose to hang about the garden till the creature has cleared +off,” went on the doctor, “and then I’ll go in to Quinton with the +medicine. Atkinson can’t get in, because I locked the door.” + +“In that case, Dr. Harris,” said Flambeau, “we might as well walk round +at the back by the end of the conservatory. There’s no entrance to it +that way, but it’s worth seeing, even from the outside.” + +“Yes, and I might get a squint at my patient,” laughed the doctor, “for +he prefers to lie on an ottoman right at the end of the conservatory +amid all those blood-red poinsettias; it would give me the creeps. But +what are you doing?” + +Father Brown had stopped for a moment, and picked up out of the long +grass, where it had almost been wholly hidden, a queer, crooked Oriental +knife, inlaid exquisitely in coloured stones and metals. + +“What is this?” asked Father Brown, regarding it with some disfavour. + +“Oh, Quinton’s, I suppose,” said Dr. Harris carelessly; “he has all +sorts of Chinese knickknacks about the place. Or perhaps it belongs to +that mild Hindoo of his whom he keeps on a string.” + +“What Hindoo?” asked Father Brown, still staring at the dagger in his +hand. + +“Oh, some Indian conjuror,” said the doctor lightly; “a fraud, of +course.” + +“You don’t believe in magic?” asked Father Brown, without looking up. + +“O crickey! magic!” said the doctor. + +“It’s very beautiful,” said the priest in a low, dreaming voice; “the +colours are very beautiful. But it’s the wrong shape.” + +“What for?” asked Flambeau, staring. + +“For anything. It’s the wrong shape in the abstract. Don’t you ever feel +that about Eastern art? The colours are intoxicatingly lovely; but the +shapes are mean and bad--deliberately mean and bad. I have seen wicked +things in a Turkey carpet.” + +“Mon Dieu!” cried Flambeau, laughing. + +“They are letters and symbols in a language I don’t know; but I know +they stand for evil words,” went on the priest, his voice growing lower +and lower. “The lines go wrong on purpose--like serpents doubling to +escape.” + +“What the devil are you talking about?” said the doctor with a loud +laugh. + +Flambeau spoke quietly to him in answer. “The Father sometimes gets this +mystic’s cloud on him,” he said; “but I give you fair warning that I +have never known him to have it except when there was some evil quite +near.” + +“Oh, rats!” said the scientist. + +“Why, look at it,” cried Father Brown, holding out the crooked knife at +arm’s length, as if it were some glittering snake. “Don’t you see it is +the wrong shape? Don’t you see that it has no hearty and plain purpose? +It does not point like a spear. It does not sweep like a scythe. It does +not look like a weapon. It looks like an instrument of torture.” + +“Well, as you don’t seem to like it,” said the jolly Harris, “it had +better be taken back to its owner. Haven’t we come to the end of this +confounded conservatory yet? This house is the wrong shape, if you +like.” + +“You don’t understand,” said Father Brown, shaking his head. “The shape +of this house is quaint--it is even laughable. But there is nothing +wrong about it.” + +As they spoke they came round the curve of glass that ended the +conservatory, an uninterrupted curve, for there was neither door nor +window by which to enter at that end. The glass, however, was clear, and +the sun still bright, though beginning to set; and they could see not +only the flamboyant blossoms inside, but the frail figure of the poet +in a brown velvet coat lying languidly on the sofa, having, apparently, +fallen half asleep over a book. He was a pale, slight man, with loose, +chestnut hair and a fringe of beard that was the paradox of his face, +for the beard made him look less manly. These traits were well known +to all three of them; but even had it not been so, it may be doubted +whether they would have looked at Quinton just then. Their eyes were +riveted on another object. + +Exactly in their path, immediately outside the round end of the glass +building, was standing a tall man, whose drapery fell to his feet in +faultless white, and whose bare, brown skull, face, and neck gleamed in +the setting sun like splendid bronze. He was looking through the glass +at the sleeper, and he was more motionless than a mountain. + +“Who is that?” cried Father Brown, stepping back with a hissing intake +of his breath. + +“Oh, it is only that Hindoo humbug,” growled Harris; “but I don’t know +what the deuce he’s doing here.” + +“It looks like hypnotism,” said Flambeau, biting his black moustache. + +“Why are you unmedical fellows always talking bosh about hypnotism?” + cried the doctor. “It looks a deal more like burglary.” + +“Well, we will speak to it, at any rate,” said Flambeau, who was always +for action. One long stride took him to the place where the Indian +stood. Bowing from his great height, which overtopped even the +Oriental’s, he said with placid impudence: + +“Good evening, sir. Do you want anything?” + +Quite slowly, like a great ship turning into a harbour, the great yellow +face turned, and looked at last over its white shoulder. They were +startled to see that its yellow eyelids were quite sealed, as in sleep. +“Thank you,” said the face in excellent English. “I want nothing.” Then, +half opening the lids, so as to show a slit of opalescent eyeball, +he repeated, “I want nothing.” Then he opened his eyes wide with a +startling stare, said, “I want nothing,” and went rustling away into the +rapidly darkening garden. + +“The Christian is more modest,” muttered Father Brown; “he wants +something.” + +“What on earth was he doing?” asked Flambeau, knitting his black brows +and lowering his voice. + +“I should like to talk to you later,” said Father Brown. + +The sunlight was still a reality, but it was the red light of evening, +and the bulk of the garden trees and bushes grew blacker and blacker +against it. They turned round the end of the conservatory, and walked in +silence down the other side to get round to the front door. As they went +they seemed to wake something, as one startles a bird, in the deeper +corner between the study and the main building; and again they saw the +white-robed fakir slide out of the shadow, and slip round towards the +front door. To their surprise, however, he had not been alone. +They found themselves abruptly pulled up and forced to banish their +bewilderment by the appearance of Mrs. Quinton, with her heavy golden +hair and square pale face, advancing on them out of the twilight. She +looked a little stern, but was entirely courteous. + +“Good evening, Dr. Harris,” was all she said. + +“Good evening, Mrs. Quinton,” said the little doctor heartily. “I am +just going to give your husband his sleeping draught.” + +“Yes,” she said in a clear voice. “I think it is quite time.” And she +smiled at them, and went sweeping into the house. + +“That woman’s over-driven,” said Father Brown; “that’s the kind of woman +that does her duty for twenty years, and then does something dreadful.” + +The little doctor looked at him for the first time with an eye of +interest. “Did you ever study medicine?” he asked. + +“You have to know something of the mind as well as the body,” answered +the priest; “we have to know something of the body as well as the mind.” + +“Well,” said the doctor, “I think I’ll go and give Quinton his stuff.” + +They had turned the corner of the front façade, and were approaching the +front doorway. As they turned into it they saw the man in the white robe +for the third time. He came so straight towards the front door that +it seemed quite incredible that he had not just come out of the study +opposite to it. Yet they knew that the study door was locked. + +Father Brown and Flambeau, however, kept this weird contradiction to +themselves, and Dr. Harris was not a man to waste his thoughts on the +impossible. He permitted the omnipresent Asiatic to make his exit, and +then stepped briskly into the hall. There he found a figure which he had +already forgotten. The inane Atkinson was still hanging about, humming +and poking things with his knobby cane. The doctor’s face had a spasm of +disgust and decision, and he whispered rapidly to his companion: “I must +lock the door again, or this rat will get in. But I shall be out again +in two minutes.” + +He rapidly unlocked the door and locked it again behind him, just +balking a blundering charge from the young man in the billycock. The +young man threw himself impatiently on a hall chair. Flambeau looked at +a Persian illumination on the wall; Father Brown, who seemed in a sort +of daze, dully eyed the door. In about four minutes the door was opened +again. Atkinson was quicker this time. He sprang forward, held the door +open for an instant, and called out: “Oh, I say, Quinton, I want--” + +From the other end of the study came the clear voice of Quinton, in +something between a yawn and a yell of weary laughter. + +“Oh, I know what you want. Take it, and leave me in peace. I’m writing a +song about peacocks.” + +Before the door closed half a sovereign came flying through the +aperture; and Atkinson, stumbling forward, caught it with singular +dexterity. + +“So that’s settled,” said the doctor, and, locking the door savagely, he +led the way out into the garden. + +“Poor Leonard can get a little peace now,” he added to Father Brown; +“he’s locked in all by himself for an hour or two.” + +“Yes,” answered the priest; “and his voice sounded jolly enough when we +left him.” Then he looked gravely round the garden, and saw the loose +figure of Atkinson standing and jingling the half-sovereign in his +pocket, and beyond, in the purple twilight, the figure of the Indian +sitting bolt upright upon a bank of grass with his face turned towards +the setting sun. Then he said abruptly: “Where is Mrs. Quinton!” + +“She has gone up to her room,” said the doctor. “That is her shadow on +the blind.” + +Father Brown looked up, and frowningly scrutinised a dark outline at the +gas-lit window. + +“Yes,” he said, “that is her shadow,” and he walked a yard or two and +threw himself upon a garden seat. + +Flambeau sat down beside him; but the doctor was one of those energetic +people who live naturally on their legs. He walked away, smoking, into +the twilight, and the two friends were left together. + +“My father,” said Flambeau in French, “what is the matter with you?” + +Father Brown was silent and motionless for half a minute, then he said: +“Superstition is irreligious, but there is something in the air of this +place. I think it’s that Indian--at least, partly.” + +He sank into silence, and watched the distant outline of the Indian, who +still sat rigid as if in prayer. At first sight he seemed motionless, +but as Father Brown watched him he saw that the man swayed ever so +slightly with a rhythmic movement, just as the dark tree-tops swayed +ever so slightly in the wind that was creeping up the dim garden paths +and shuffling the fallen leaves a little. + +The landscape was growing rapidly dark, as if for a storm, but they +could still see all the figures in their various places. Atkinson was +leaning against a tree with a listless face; Quinton’s wife was still +at her window; the doctor had gone strolling round the end of the +conservatory; they could see his cigar like a will-o’-the-wisp; and the +fakir still sat rigid and yet rocking, while the trees above him began +to rock and almost to roar. Storm was certainly coming. + +“When that Indian spoke to us,” went on Brown in a conversational +undertone, “I had a sort of vision, a vision of him and all his +universe. Yet he only said the same thing three times. When first he +said ‘I want nothing,’ it meant only that he was impenetrable, that Asia +does not give itself away. Then he said again, ‘I want nothing,’ and +I knew that he meant that he was sufficient to himself, like a cosmos, +that he needed no God, neither admitted any sins. And when he said the +third time, ‘I want nothing,’ he said it with blazing eyes. And I knew +that he meant literally what he said; that nothing was his desire and +his home; that he was weary for nothing as for wine; that annihilation, +the mere destruction of everything or anything--” + +Two drops of rain fell; and for some reason Flambeau started and looked +up, as if they had stung him. And the same instant the doctor down by +the end of the conservatory began running towards them, calling out +something as he ran. + +As he came among them like a bombshell the restless Atkinson happened to +be taking a turn nearer to the house front; and the doctor clutched him +by the collar in a convulsive grip. “Foul play!” he cried; “what have +you been doing to him, you dog?” + +The priest had sprung erect, and had the voice of steel of a soldier in +command. + +“No fighting,” he cried coolly; “we are enough to hold anyone we want +to. What is the matter, doctor?” + +“Things are not right with Quinton,” said the doctor, quite white. “I +could just see him through the glass, and I don’t like the way he’s +lying. It’s not as I left him, anyhow.” + +“Let us go in to him,” said Father Brown shortly. “You can leave Mr. +Atkinson alone. I have had him in sight since we heard Quinton’s voice.” + +“I will stop here and watch him,” said Flambeau hurriedly. “You go in +and see.” + +The doctor and the priest flew to the study door, unlocked it, and fell +into the room. In doing so they nearly fell over the large mahogany +table in the centre at which the poet usually wrote; for the place was +lit only by a small fire kept for the invalid. In the middle of this +table lay a single sheet of paper, evidently left there on purpose. The +doctor snatched it up, glanced at it, handed it to Father Brown, and +crying, “Good God, look at that!” plunged toward the glass room beyond, +where the terrible tropic flowers still seemed to keep a crimson memory +of the sunset. + +Father Brown read the words three times before he put down the paper. +The words were: “I die by my own hand; yet I die murdered!” They were +in the quite inimitable, not to say illegible, handwriting of Leonard +Quinton. + +Then Father Brown, still keeping the paper in his hand, strode towards +the conservatory, only to meet his medical friend coming back with a +face of assurance and collapse. “He’s done it,” said Harris. + +They went together through the gorgeous unnatural beauty of cactus +and azalea and found Leonard Quinton, poet and romancer, with his head +hanging downward off his ottoman and his red curls sweeping the ground. +Into his left side was thrust the queer dagger that they had picked up +in the garden, and his limp hand still rested on the hilt. + +Outside the storm had come at one stride, like the night in Coleridge, +and garden and glass roof were darkened with driving rain. Father Brown +seemed to be studying the paper more than the corpse; he held it close +to his eyes; and seemed trying to read it in the twilight. Then he held +it up against the faint light, and, as he did so, lightning stared at +them for an instant so white that the paper looked black against it. + +Darkness full of thunder followed, and after the thunder Father Brown’s +voice said out of the dark: “Doctor, this paper is the wrong shape.” + +“What do you mean?” asked Doctor Harris, with a frowning stare. + +“It isn’t square,” answered Brown. “It has a sort of edge snipped off at +the corner. What does it mean?” + +“How the deuce should I know?” growled the doctor. “Shall we move this +poor chap, do you think? He’s quite dead.” + +“No,” answered the priest; “we must leave him as he lies and send for +the police.” But he was still scrutinising the paper. + +As they went back through the study he stopped by the table and picked +up a small pair of nail scissors. “Ah,” he said, with a sort of relief, +“this is what he did it with. But yet--” And he knitted his brows. + +“Oh, stop fooling with that scrap of paper,” said the doctor +emphatically. “It was a fad of his. He had hundreds of them. He cut all +his paper like that,” as he pointed to a stack of sermon paper still +unused on another and smaller table. Father Brown went up to it and held +up a sheet. It was the same irregular shape. + +“Quite so,” he said. “And here I see the corners that were snipped off.” + And to the indignation of his colleague he began to count them. + +“That’s all right,” he said, with an apologetic smile. “Twenty-three +sheets cut and twenty-two corners cut off them. And as I see you are +impatient we will rejoin the others.” + +“Who is to tell his wife?” asked Dr. Harris. “Will you go and tell her +now, while I send a servant for the police?” + +“As you will,” said Father Brown indifferently. And he went out to the +hall door. + +Here also he found a drama, though of a more grotesque sort. It showed +nothing less than his big friend Flambeau in an attitude to which he +had long been unaccustomed, while upon the pathway at the bottom of the +steps was sprawling with his boots in the air the amiable Atkinson, his +billycock hat and walking cane sent flying in opposite directions along +the path. Atkinson had at length wearied of Flambeau’s almost paternal +custody, and had endeavoured to knock him down, which was by no means a +smooth game to play with the Roi des Apaches, even after that monarch’s +abdication. + +Flambeau was about to leap upon his enemy and secure him once more, when +the priest patted him easily on the shoulder. + +“Make it up with Mr. Atkinson, my friend,” he said. “Beg a mutual pardon +and say ‘Good night.’ We need not detain him any longer.” Then, as +Atkinson rose somewhat doubtfully and gathered his hat and stick and +went towards the garden gate, Father Brown said in a more serious voice: +“Where is that Indian?” + +They all three (for the doctor had joined them) turned involuntarily +towards the dim grassy bank amid the tossing trees purple with twilight, +where they had last seen the brown man swaying in his strange prayers. +The Indian was gone. + +“Confound him,” cried the doctor, stamping furiously. “Now I know that +it was that nigger that did it.” + +“I thought you didn’t believe in magic,” said Father Brown quietly. + +“No more I did,” said the doctor, rolling his eyes. “I only know that +I loathed that yellow devil when I thought he was a sham wizard. And I +shall loathe him more if I come to think he was a real one.” + +“Well, his having escaped is nothing,” said Flambeau. “For we could +have proved nothing and done nothing against him. One hardly goes to +the parish constable with a story of suicide imposed by witchcraft or +auto-suggestion.” + +Meanwhile Father Brown had made his way into the house, and now went to +break the news to the wife of the dead man. + +When he came out again he looked a little pale and tragic, but what +passed between them in that interview was never known, even when all was +known. + +Flambeau, who was talking quietly with the doctor, was surprised to see +his friend reappear so soon at his elbow; but Brown took no notice, and +merely drew the doctor apart. “You have sent for the police, haven’t +you?” he asked. + +“Yes,” answered Harris. “They ought to be here in ten minutes.” + +“Will you do me a favour?” said the priest quietly. “The truth is, I +make a collection of these curious stories, which often contain, as in +the case of our Hindoo friend, elements which can hardly be put into a +police report. Now, I want you to write out a report of this case for +my private use. Yours is a clever trade,” he said, looking the doctor +gravely and steadily in the face. “I sometimes think that you know some +details of this matter which you have not thought fit to mention. Mine +is a confidential trade like yours, and I will treat anything you write +for me in strict confidence. But write the whole.” + +The doctor, who had been listening thoughtfully with his head a little +on one side, looked the priest in the face for an instant, and said: +“All right,” and went into the study, closing the door behind him. + +“Flambeau,” said Father Brown, “there is a long seat there under the +veranda, where we can smoke out of the rain. You are my only friend in +the world, and I want to talk to you. Or, perhaps, be silent with you.” + +They established themselves comfortably in the veranda seat; Father +Brown, against his common habit, accepted a good cigar and smoked it +steadily in silence, while the rain shrieked and rattled on the roof of +the veranda. + +“My friend,” he said at length, “this is a very queer case. A very queer +case.” + +“I should think it was,” said Flambeau, with something like a shudder. + +“You call it queer, and I call it queer,” said the other, “and yet +we mean quite opposite things. The modern mind always mixes up two +different ideas: mystery in the sense of what is marvellous, and mystery +in the sense of what is complicated. That is half its difficulty about +miracles. A miracle is startling; but it is simple. It is simple because +it is a miracle. It is power coming directly from God (or the devil) +instead of indirectly through nature or human wills. Now, you mean that +this business is marvellous because it is miraculous, because it is +witchcraft worked by a wicked Indian. Understand, I do not say that +it was not spiritual or diabolic. Heaven and hell only know by what +surrounding influences strange sins come into the lives of men. But for +the present my point is this: If it was pure magic, as you think, +then it is marvellous; but it is not mysterious--that is, it is not +complicated. The quality of a miracle is mysterious, but its manner +is simple. Now, the manner of this business has been the reverse of +simple.” + +The storm that had slackened for a little seemed to be swelling again, +and there came heavy movements as of faint thunder. Father Brown let +fall the ash of his cigar and went on: + +“There has been in this incident,” he said, “a twisted, ugly, complex +quality that does not belong to the straight bolts either of heaven +or hell. As one knows the crooked track of a snail, I know the crooked +track of a man.” + +The white lightning opened its enormous eye in one wink, the sky shut up +again, and the priest went on: + +“Of all these crooked things, the crookedest was the shape of that piece +of paper. It was crookeder than the dagger that killed him.” + +“You mean the paper on which Quinton confessed his suicide,” said +Flambeau. + +“I mean the paper on which Quinton wrote, ‘I die by my own hand,’” + answered Father Brown. “The shape of that paper, my friend, was the +wrong shape; the wrong shape, if ever I have seen it in this wicked +world.” + +“It only had a corner snipped off,” said Flambeau, “and I understand +that all Quinton’s paper was cut that way.” + +“It was a very odd way,” said the other, “and a very bad way, to my +taste and fancy. Look here, Flambeau, this Quinton--God receive his +soul!--was perhaps a bit of a cur in some ways, but he really was an +artist, with the pencil as well as the pen. His handwriting, though hard +to read, was bold and beautiful. I can’t prove what I say; I can’t prove +anything. But I tell you with the full force of conviction that he could +never have cut that mean little piece off a sheet of paper. If he had +wanted to cut down paper for some purpose of fitting in, or binding +up, or what not, he would have made quite a different slash with the +scissors. Do you remember the shape? It was a mean shape. It was a wrong +shape. Like this. Don’t you remember?” + +And he waved his burning cigar before him in the darkness, making +irregular squares so rapidly that Flambeau really seemed to see them as +fiery hieroglyphics upon the darkness--hieroglyphics such as his friend +had spoken of, which are undecipherable, yet can have no good meaning. + +“But,” said Flambeau, as the priest put his cigar in his mouth again +and leaned back, staring at the roof, “suppose somebody else did use the +scissors. Why should somebody else, cutting pieces off his sermon paper, +make Quinton commit suicide?” + +Father Brown was still leaning back and staring at the roof, but he took +his cigar out of his mouth and said: “Quinton never did commit suicide.” + +Flambeau stared at him. “Why, confound it all,” he cried, “then why did +he confess to suicide?” + +The priest leant forward again, settled his elbows on his knees, looked +at the ground, and said, in a low, distinct voice: “He never did confess +to suicide.” + +Flambeau laid his cigar down. “You mean,” he said, “that the writing was +forged?” + +“No,” said Father Brown. “Quinton wrote it all right.” + +“Well, there you are,” said the aggravated Flambeau; “Quinton wrote, ‘I +die by my own hand,’ with his own hand on a plain piece of paper.” + +“Of the wrong shape,” said the priest calmly. + +“Oh, the shape be damned!” cried Flambeau. “What has the shape to do +with it?” + +“There were twenty-three snipped papers,” resumed Brown unmoved, “and +only twenty-two pieces snipped off. Therefore one of the pieces had +been destroyed, probably that from the written paper. Does that suggest +anything to you?” + +A light dawned on Flambeau’s face, and he said: “There was something +else written by Quinton, some other words. ‘They will tell you I die by +my own hand,’ or ‘Do not believe that--’” + +“Hotter, as the children say,” said his friend. “But the piece was +hardly half an inch across; there was no room for one word, let alone +five. Can you think of anything hardly bigger than a comma which the man +with hell in his heart had to tear away as a testimony against him?” + +“I can think of nothing,” said Flambeau at last. + +“What about quotation marks?” said the priest, and flung his cigar far +into the darkness like a shooting star. + +All words had left the other man’s mouth, and Father Brown said, like +one going back to fundamentals: + +“Leonard Quinton was a romancer, and was writing an Oriental romance +about wizardry and hypnotism. He--” + +At this moment the door opened briskly behind them, and the doctor came +out with his hat on. He put a long envelope into the priest’s hands. + +“That’s the document you wanted,” he said, “and I must be getting home. +Good night.” + +“Good night,” said Father Brown, as the doctor walked briskly to the +gate. He had left the front door open, so that a shaft of gaslight fell +upon them. In the light of this Brown opened the envelope and read the +following words: + + + + DEAR FATHER BROWN,--Vicisti Galilee. Otherwise, damn your + eyes, which are very penetrating ones. Can it be possible that + there is something in all that stuff of yours after all? + + + I am a man who has ever since boyhood believed in Nature and + in all natural functions and instincts, whether men called them + moral or immoral. Long before I became a doctor, when I was a + schoolboy keeping mice and spiders, I believed that to be a good + animal is the best thing in the world. But just now I am shaken; + I have believed in Nature; but it seems as if Nature could betray + a man. Can there be anything in your bosh? I am really getting + morbid. + + + I loved Quinton’s wife. What was there wrong in that? Nature + told me to, and it’s love that makes the world go round. I also + thought quite sincerely that she would be happier with a clean + animal like me than with that tormenting little lunatic. What was + there wrong in that? I was only facing facts, like a man of + science. She would have been happier. + + + According to my own creed I was quite free to kill Quinton, + which was the best thing for everybody, even himself. But as a + healthy animal I had no notion of killing myself. I resolved, + therefore, that I would never do it until I saw a chance that + would leave me scot free. I saw that chance this morning. + + + I have been three times, all told, into Quinton’s study today. + The first time I went in he would talk about nothing but the weird + tale, called “The Cure of a Saint,” which he was writing, which + was all about how some Indian hermit made an English colonel kill + himself by thinking about him. He showed me the last sheets, and + even read me the last paragraph, which was something like this: + “The conqueror of the Punjab, a mere yellow skeleton, but still + gigantic, managed to lift himself on his elbow and gasp in his + nephew’s ear: ‘I die by my own hand, yet I die murdered!’” It so + happened by one chance out of a hundred, that those last words + were written at the top of a new sheet of paper. I left the room, + and went out into the garden intoxicated with a frightful + opportunity. + + + We walked round the house; and two more things happened in my + favour. You suspected an Indian, and you found a dagger which the + Indian might most probably use. Taking the opportunity to stuff + it in my pocket I went back to Quinton’s study, locked the door, + and gave him his sleeping draught. He was against answering + Atkinson at all, but I urged him to call out and quiet the fellow, + because I wanted a clear proof that Quinton was alive when I left + the room for the second time. Quinton lay down in the conservatory, + and I came through the study. I am a quick man with my hands, and + in a minute and a half I had done what I wanted to do. I had + emptied all the first part of Quinton’s romance into the fireplace, + where it burnt to ashes. Then I saw that the quotation marks + wouldn’t do, so I snipped them off, and to make it seem likelier, + snipped the whole quire to match. Then I came out with the + knowledge that Quinton’s confession of suicide lay on the front + table, while Quinton lay alive but asleep in the conservatory + beyond. + + + The last act was a desperate one; you can guess it: I pretended + to have seen Quinton dead and rushed to his room. I delayed you + with the paper, and, being a quick man with my hands, killed + Quinton while you were looking at his confession of suicide. He + was half-asleep, being drugged, and I put his own hand on the + knife and drove it into his body. The knife was of so queer a + shape that no one but an operator could have calculated the angle + that would reach his heart. I wonder if you noticed this. + + + When I had done it, the extraordinary thing happened. Nature + deserted me. I felt ill. I felt just as if I had done something + wrong. I think my brain is breaking up; I feel some sort of + desperate pleasure in thinking I have told the thing to somebody; + that I shall not have to be alone with it if I marry and have + children. What is the matter with me?... Madness... or can one + have remorse, just as if one were in Byron’s poems! I cannot + write any more. + + James Erskine Harris. + + +Father Brown carefully folded up the letter, and put it in his breast +pocket just as there came a loud peal at the gate bell, and the wet +waterproofs of several policemen gleamed in the road outside. + + + + +The Sins of Prince Saradine + + +When Flambeau took his month’s holiday from his office in Westminster +he took it in a small sailing-boat, so small that it passed much of its +time as a rowing-boat. He took it, moreover, in little rivers in the +Eastern counties, rivers so small that the boat looked like a magic +boat, sailing on land through meadows and cornfields. The vessel was +just comfortable for two people; there was room only for necessities, +and Flambeau had stocked it with such things as his special philosophy +considered necessary. They reduced themselves, apparently, to four +essentials: tins of salmon, if he should want to eat; loaded revolvers, +if he should want to fight; a bottle of brandy, presumably in case he +should faint; and a priest, presumably in case he should die. With this +light luggage he crawled down the little Norfolk rivers, intending to +reach the Broads at last, but meanwhile delighting in the overhanging +gardens and meadows, the mirrored mansions or villages, lingering to +fish in the pools and corners, and in some sense hugging the shore. + +Like a true philosopher, Flambeau had no aim in his holiday; but, like a +true philosopher, he had an excuse. He had a sort of half purpose, which +he took just so seriously that its success would crown the holiday, but +just so lightly that its failure would not spoil it. Years ago, when he +had been a king of thieves and the most famous figure in Paris, he had +often received wild communications of approval, denunciation, or even +love; but one had, somehow, stuck in his memory. It consisted simply of +a visiting-card, in an envelope with an English postmark. On the back of +the card was written in French and in green ink: “If you ever retire and +become respectable, come and see me. I want to meet you, for I have met +all the other great men of my time. That trick of yours of getting one +detective to arrest the other was the most splendid scene in French +history.” On the front of the card was engraved in the formal fashion, +“Prince Saradine, Reed House, Reed Island, Norfolk.” + +He had not troubled much about the prince then, beyond ascertaining that +he had been a brilliant and fashionable figure in southern Italy. In his +youth, it was said, he had eloped with a married woman of high rank; the +escapade was scarcely startling in his social world, but it had clung to +men’s minds because of an additional tragedy: the alleged suicide of the +insulted husband, who appeared to have flung himself over a precipice in +Sicily. The prince then lived in Vienna for a time, but his more recent +years seemed to have been passed in perpetual and restless travel. But +when Flambeau, like the prince himself, had left European celebrity +and settled in England, it occurred to him that he might pay a surprise +visit to this eminent exile in the Norfolk Broads. Whether he should +find the place he had no idea; and, indeed, it was sufficiently small +and forgotten. But, as things fell out, he found it much sooner than he +expected. + +They had moored their boat one night under a bank veiled in high grasses +and short pollarded trees. Sleep, after heavy sculling, had come to them +early, and by a corresponding accident they awoke before it was light. +To speak more strictly, they awoke before it was daylight; for a large +lemon moon was only just setting in the forest of high grass above their +heads, and the sky was of a vivid violet-blue, nocturnal but bright. +Both men had simultaneously a reminiscence of childhood, of the elfin +and adventurous time when tall weeds close over us like woods. Standing +up thus against the large low moon, the daisies really seemed to +be giant daisies, the dandelions to be giant dandelions. Somehow it +reminded them of the dado of a nursery wall-paper. The drop of the +river-bed sufficed to sink them under the roots of all shrubs and +flowers and make them gaze upwards at the grass. “By Jove!” said +Flambeau, “it’s like being in fairyland.” + +Father Brown sat bolt upright in the boat and crossed himself. His +movement was so abrupt that his friend asked him, with a mild stare, +what was the matter. + +“The people who wrote the mediaeval ballads,” answered the priest, “knew +more about fairies than you do. It isn’t only nice things that happen in +fairyland.” + +“Oh, bosh!” said Flambeau. “Only nice things could happen under such an +innocent moon. I am for pushing on now and seeing what does really come. +We may die and rot before we ever see again such a moon or such a mood.” + +“All right,” said Father Brown. “I never said it was always wrong to +enter fairyland. I only said it was always dangerous.” + +They pushed slowly up the brightening river; the glowing violet of the +sky and the pale gold of the moon grew fainter and fainter, and faded +into that vast colourless cosmos that precedes the colours of the dawn. +When the first faint stripes of red and gold and grey split the horizon +from end to end they were broken by the black bulk of a town or village +which sat on the river just ahead of them. It was already an easy +twilight, in which all things were visible, when they came under the +hanging roofs and bridges of this riverside hamlet. The houses, with +their long, low, stooping roofs, seemed to come down to drink at the +river, like huge grey and red cattle. The broadening and whitening +dawn had already turned to working daylight before they saw any living +creature on the wharves and bridges of that silent town. Eventually they +saw a very placid and prosperous man in his shirt sleeves, with a face +as round as the recently sunken moon, and rays of red whisker around the +low arc of it, who was leaning on a post above the sluggish tide. By +an impulse not to be analysed, Flambeau rose to his full height in the +swaying boat and shouted at the man to ask if he knew Reed Island or +Reed House. The prosperous man’s smile grew slightly more expansive, +and he simply pointed up the river towards the next bend of it. Flambeau +went ahead without further speech. + +The boat took many such grassy corners and followed many such reedy and +silent reaches of river; but before the search had become monotonous +they had swung round a specially sharp angle and come into the silence +of a sort of pool or lake, the sight of which instinctively arrested +them. For in the middle of this wider piece of water, fringed on every +side with rushes, lay a long, low islet, along which ran a long, low +house or bungalow built of bamboo or some kind of tough tropic cane. +The upstanding rods of bamboo which made the walls were pale yellow, the +sloping rods that made the roof were of darker red or brown, otherwise +the long house was a thing of repetition and monotony. The early morning +breeze rustled the reeds round the island and sang in the strange ribbed +house as in a giant pan-pipe. + +“By George!” cried Flambeau; “here is the place, after all! Here is Reed +Island, if ever there was one. Here is Reed House, if it is anywhere. I +believe that fat man with whiskers was a fairy.” + +“Perhaps,” remarked Father Brown impartially. “If he was, he was a bad +fairy.” + +But even as he spoke the impetuous Flambeau had run his boat ashore in +the rattling reeds, and they stood in the long, quaint islet beside the +odd and silent house. + +The house stood with its back, as it were, to the river and the only +landing-stage; the main entrance was on the other side, and looked down +the long island garden. The visitors approached it, therefore, by a +small path running round nearly three sides of the house, close under +the low eaves. Through three different windows on three different sides +they looked in on the same long, well-lit room, panelled in light wood, +with a large number of looking-glasses, and laid out as for an elegant +lunch. The front door, when they came round to it at last, was flanked +by two turquoise-blue flower pots. It was opened by a butler of the +drearier type--long, lean, grey and listless--who murmured that Prince +Saradine was from home at present, but was expected hourly; the house +being kept ready for him and his guests. The exhibition of the card with +the scrawl of green ink awoke a flicker of life in the parchment face of +the depressed retainer, and it was with a certain shaky courtesy that +he suggested that the strangers should remain. “His Highness may be here +any minute,” he said, “and would be distressed to have just missed any +gentleman he had invited. We have orders always to keep a little cold +lunch for him and his friends, and I am sure he would wish it to be +offered.” + +Moved with curiosity to this minor adventure, Flambeau assented +gracefully, and followed the old man, who ushered him ceremoniously into +the long, lightly panelled room. There was nothing very notable about +it, except the rather unusual alternation of many long, low windows with +many long, low oblongs of looking-glass, which gave a singular air +of lightness and unsubstantialness to the place. It was somehow like +lunching out of doors. One or two pictures of a quiet kind hung in the +corners, one a large grey photograph of a very young man in uniform, +another a red chalk sketch of two long-haired boys. Asked by Flambeau +whether the soldierly person was the prince, the butler answered shortly +in the negative; it was the prince’s younger brother, Captain Stephen +Saradine, he said. And with that the old man seemed to dry up suddenly +and lose all taste for conversation. + +After lunch had tailed off with exquisite coffee and liqueurs, +the guests were introduced to the garden, the library, and the +housekeeper--a dark, handsome lady, of no little majesty, and rather +like a plutonic Madonna. It appeared that she and the butler were +the only survivors of the prince’s original foreign menage the other +servants now in the house being new and collected in Norfolk by the +housekeeper. This latter lady went by the name of Mrs. Anthony, but +she spoke with a slight Italian accent, and Flambeau did not doubt that +Anthony was a Norfolk version of some more Latin name. Mr. Paul, +the butler, also had a faintly foreign air, but he was in tongue and +training English, as are many of the most polished men-servants of the +cosmopolitan nobility. + +Pretty and unique as it was, the place had about it a curious luminous +sadness. Hours passed in it like days. The long, well-windowed rooms +were full of daylight, but it seemed a dead daylight. And through all +other incidental noises, the sound of talk, the clink of glasses, or the +passing feet of servants, they could hear on all sides of the house the +melancholy noise of the river. + +“We have taken a wrong turning, and come to a wrong place,” said Father +Brown, looking out of the window at the grey-green sedges and the silver +flood. “Never mind; one can sometimes do good by being the right person +in the wrong place.” + +Father Brown, though commonly a silent, was an oddly sympathetic little +man, and in those few but endless hours he unconsciously sank deeper +into the secrets of Reed House than his professional friend. He had that +knack of friendly silence which is so essential to gossip; and saying +scarcely a word, he probably obtained from his new acquaintances all +that in any case they would have told. The butler indeed was naturally +uncommunicative. He betrayed a sullen and almost animal affection +for his master; who, he said, had been very badly treated. The chief +offender seemed to be his highness’s brother, whose name alone would +lengthen the old man’s lantern jaws and pucker his parrot nose into a +sneer. Captain Stephen was a ne’er-do-well, apparently, and had drained +his benevolent brother of hundreds and thousands; forced him to fly from +fashionable life and live quietly in this retreat. That was all Paul, +the butler, would say, and Paul was obviously a partisan. + +The Italian housekeeper was somewhat more communicative, being, as Brown +fancied, somewhat less content. Her tone about her master was faintly +acid; though not without a certain awe. Flambeau and his friend were +standing in the room of the looking-glasses examining the red sketch +of the two boys, when the housekeeper swept in swiftly on some domestic +errand. It was a peculiarity of this glittering, glass-panelled place +that anyone entering was reflected in four or five mirrors at once; and +Father Brown, without turning round, stopped in the middle of a sentence +of family criticism. But Flambeau, who had his face close up to the +picture, was already saying in a loud voice, “The brothers Saradine, I +suppose. They both look innocent enough. It would be hard to say which +is the good brother and which the bad.” Then, realising the lady’s +presence, he turned the conversation with some triviality, and strolled +out into the garden. But Father Brown still gazed steadily at the red +crayon sketch; and Mrs. Anthony still gazed steadily at Father Brown. + +She had large and tragic brown eyes, and her olive face glowed darkly +with a curious and painful wonder--as of one doubtful of a stranger’s +identity or purpose. Whether the little priest’s coat and creed touched +some southern memories of confession, or whether she fancied he knew +more than he did, she said to him in a low voice as to a fellow plotter, +“He is right enough in one way, your friend. He says it would be hard +to pick out the good and bad brothers. Oh, it would be hard, it would be +mighty hard, to pick out the good one.” + +“I don’t understand you,” said Father Brown, and began to move away. + +The woman took a step nearer to him, with thunderous brows and a sort of +savage stoop, like a bull lowering his horns. + +“There isn’t a good one,” she hissed. “There was badness enough in the +captain taking all that money, but I don’t think there was much goodness +in the prince giving it. The captain’s not the only one with something +against him.” + +A light dawned on the cleric’s averted face, and his mouth formed +silently the word “blackmail.” Even as he did so the woman turned an +abrupt white face over her shoulder and almost fell. The door had opened +soundlessly and the pale Paul stood like a ghost in the doorway. By +the weird trick of the reflecting walls, it seemed as if five Pauls had +entered by five doors simultaneously. + +“His Highness,” he said, “has just arrived.” + +In the same flash the figure of a man had passed outside the first +window, crossing the sunlit pane like a lighted stage. An instant +later he passed at the second window and the many mirrors repainted in +successive frames the same eagle profile and marching figure. He was +erect and alert, but his hair was white and his complexion of an odd +ivory yellow. He had that short, curved Roman nose which generally +goes with long, lean cheeks and chin, but these were partly masked by +moustache and imperial. The moustache was much darker than the beard, +giving an effect slightly theatrical, and he was dressed up to the same +dashing part, having a white top hat, an orchid in his coat, a yellow +waistcoat and yellow gloves which he flapped and swung as he walked. +When he came round to the front door they heard the stiff Paul open it, +and heard the new arrival say cheerfully, “Well, you see I have come.” + The stiff Mr. Paul bowed and answered in his inaudible manner; for a +few minutes their conversation could not be heard. Then the butler said, +“Everything is at your disposal;” and the glove-flapping Prince Saradine +came gaily into the room to greet them. They beheld once more that +spectral scene--five princes entering a room with five doors. + +The prince put the white hat and yellow gloves on the table and offered +his hand quite cordially. + +“Delighted to see you here, Mr. Flambeau,” he said. “Knowing you very +well by reputation, if that’s not an indiscreet remark.” + +“Not at all,” answered Flambeau, laughing. “I am not sensitive. Very few +reputations are gained by unsullied virtue.” + +The prince flashed a sharp look at him to see if the retort had any +personal point; then he laughed also and offered chairs to everyone, +including himself. + +“Pleasant little place, this, I think,” he said with a detached air. +“Not much to do, I fear; but the fishing is really good.” + +The priest, who was staring at him with the grave stare of a baby, was +haunted by some fancy that escaped definition. He looked at the grey, +carefully curled hair, yellow white visage, and slim, somewhat foppish +figure. These were not unnatural, though perhaps a shade prononcé, like +the outfit of a figure behind the footlights. The nameless interest +lay in something else, in the very framework of the face; Brown was +tormented with a half memory of having seen it somewhere before. The +man looked like some old friend of his dressed up. Then he suddenly +remembered the mirrors, and put his fancy down to some psychological +effect of that multiplication of human masks. + +Prince Saradine distributed his social attentions between his guests +with great gaiety and tact. Finding the detective of a sporting turn and +eager to employ his holiday, he guided Flambeau and Flambeau’s boat down +to the best fishing spot in the stream, and was back in his own canoe +in twenty minutes to join Father Brown in the library and plunge equally +politely into the priest’s more philosophic pleasures. He seemed to know +a great deal both about the fishing and the books, though of these not +the most edifying; he spoke five or six languages, though chiefly the +slang of each. He had evidently lived in varied cities and very motley +societies, for some of his cheerfullest stories were about gambling +hells and opium dens, Australian bushrangers or Italian brigands. Father +Brown knew that the once-celebrated Saradine had spent his last few +years in almost ceaseless travel, but he had not guessed that the +travels were so disreputable or so amusing. + +Indeed, with all his dignity of a man of the world, Prince Saradine +radiated to such sensitive observers as the priest, a certain atmosphere +of the restless and even the unreliable. His face was fastidious, but +his eye was wild; he had little nervous tricks, like a man shaken by +drink or drugs, and he neither had, nor professed to have, his hand +on the helm of household affairs. All these were left to the two old +servants, especially to the butler, who was plainly the central pillar +of the house. Mr. Paul, indeed, was not so much a butler as a sort of +steward or, even, chamberlain; he dined privately, but with almost +as much pomp as his master; he was feared by all the servants; and he +consulted with the prince decorously, but somewhat unbendingly--rather +as if he were the prince’s solicitor. The sombre housekeeper was a mere +shadow in comparison; indeed, she seemed to efface herself and wait only +on the butler, and Brown heard no more of those volcanic whispers which +had half told him of the younger brother who blackmailed the elder. +Whether the prince was really being thus bled by the absent captain, +he could not be certain, but there was something insecure and secretive +about Saradine that made the tale by no means incredible. + +When they went once more into the long hall with the windows and the +mirrors, yellow evening was dropping over the waters and the willowy +banks; and a bittern sounded in the distance like an elf upon his +dwarfish drum. The same singular sentiment of some sad and evil +fairyland crossed the priest’s mind again like a little grey cloud. “I +wish Flambeau were back,” he muttered. + +“Do you believe in doom?” asked the restless Prince Saradine suddenly. + +“No,” answered his guest. “I believe in Doomsday.” + +The prince turned from the window and stared at him in a singular +manner, his face in shadow against the sunset. “What do you mean?” he +asked. + +“I mean that we here are on the wrong side of the tapestry,” answered +Father Brown. “The things that happen here do not seem to mean anything; +they mean something somewhere else. Somewhere else retribution will come +on the real offender. Here it often seems to fall on the wrong person.” + +The prince made an inexplicable noise like an animal; in his shadowed +face the eyes were shining queerly. A new and shrewd thought exploded +silently in the other’s mind. Was there another meaning in Saradine’s +blend of brilliancy and abruptness? Was the prince--Was he perfectly +sane? He was repeating, “The wrong person--the wrong person,” many more +times than was natural in a social exclamation. + +Then Father Brown awoke tardily to a second truth. In the mirrors before +him he could see the silent door standing open, and the silent Mr. Paul +standing in it, with his usual pallid impassiveness. + +“I thought it better to announce at once,” he said, with the same stiff +respectfulness as of an old family lawyer, “a boat rowed by six men +has come to the landing-stage, and there’s a gentleman sitting in the +stern.” + +“A boat!” repeated the prince; “a gentleman?” and he rose to his feet. + +There was a startled silence punctuated only by the odd noise of the +bird in the sedge; and then, before anyone could speak again, a new +face and figure passed in profile round the three sunlit windows, as +the prince had passed an hour or two before. But except for the accident +that both outlines were aquiline, they had little in common. Instead +of the new white topper of Saradine, was a black one of antiquated or +foreign shape; under it was a young and very solemn face, clean shaven, +blue about its resolute chin, and carrying a faint suggestion of the +young Napoleon. The association was assisted by something old and odd +about the whole get-up, as of a man who had never troubled to change +the fashions of his fathers. He had a shabby blue frock coat, a red, +soldierly looking waistcoat, and a kind of coarse white trousers common +among the early Victorians, but strangely incongruous today. From all +this old clothes-shop his olive face stood out strangely young and +monstrously sincere. + +“The deuce!” said Prince Saradine, and clapping on his white hat he went +to the front door himself, flinging it open on the sunset garden. + +By that time the new-comer and his followers were drawn up on the lawn +like a small stage army. The six boatmen had pulled the boat well up on +shore, and were guarding it almost menacingly, holding their oars erect +like spears. They were swarthy men, and some of them wore earrings. But +one of them stood forward beside the olive-faced young man in the red +waistcoat, and carried a large black case of unfamiliar form. + +“Your name,” said the young man, “is Saradine?” + +Saradine assented rather negligently. + +The new-comer had dull, dog-like brown eyes, as different as possible +from the restless and glittering grey eyes of the prince. But once +again Father Brown was tortured with a sense of having seen somewhere a +replica of the face; and once again he remembered the repetitions of +the glass-panelled room, and put down the coincidence to that. “Confound +this crystal palace!” he muttered. “One sees everything too many times. +It’s like a dream.” + +“If you are Prince Saradine,” said the young man, “I may tell you that +my name is Antonelli.” + +“Antonelli,” repeated the prince languidly. “Somehow I remember the +name.” + +“Permit me to present myself,” said the young Italian. + +With his left hand he politely took off his old-fashioned top-hat; with +his right he caught Prince Saradine so ringing a crack across the +face that the white top hat rolled down the steps and one of the blue +flower-pots rocked upon its pedestal. + +The prince, whatever he was, was evidently not a coward; he sprang at +his enemy’s throat and almost bore him backwards to the grass. But his +enemy extricated himself with a singularly inappropriate air of hurried +politeness. + +“That is all right,” he said, panting and in halting English. “I have +insulted. I will give satisfaction. Marco, open the case.” + +The man beside him with the earrings and the big black case proceeded +to unlock it. He took out of it two long Italian rapiers, with splendid +steel hilts and blades, which he planted point downwards in the lawn. +The strange young man standing facing the entrance with his yellow and +vindictive face, the two swords standing up in the turf like two crosses +in a cemetery, and the line of the ranked towers behind, gave it all an +odd appearance of being some barbaric court of justice. But everything +else was unchanged, so sudden had been the interruption. The sunset gold +still glowed on the lawn, and the bittern still boomed as announcing +some small but dreadful destiny. + +“Prince Saradine,” said the man called Antonelli, “when I was an infant +in the cradle you killed my father and stole my mother; my father was +the more fortunate. You did not kill him fairly, as I am going to kill +you. You and my wicked mother took him driving to a lonely pass in +Sicily, flung him down a cliff, and went on your way. I could imitate +you if I chose, but imitating you is too vile. I have followed you all +over the world, and you have always fled from me. But this is the end +of the world--and of you. I have you now, and I give you the chance you +never gave my father. Choose one of those swords.” + +Prince Saradine, with contracted brows, seemed to hesitate a moment, +but his ears were still singing with the blow, and he sprang forward +and snatched at one of the hilts. Father Brown had also sprung forward, +striving to compose the dispute; but he soon found his personal presence +made matters worse. Saradine was a French freemason and a fierce +atheist, and a priest moved him by the law of contraries. And for the +other man neither priest nor layman moved him at all. This young man +with the Bonaparte face and the brown eyes was something far sterner +than a puritan--a pagan. He was a simple slayer from the morning of the +earth; a man of the stone age--a man of stone. + +One hope remained, the summoning of the household; and Father Brown ran +back into the house. He found, however, that all the under servants +had been given a holiday ashore by the autocrat Paul, and that only the +sombre Mrs. Anthony moved uneasily about the long rooms. But the moment +she turned a ghastly face upon him, he resolved one of the riddles of +the house of mirrors. The heavy brown eyes of Antonelli were the heavy +brown eyes of Mrs. Anthony; and in a flash he saw half the story. + +“Your son is outside,” he said without wasting words; “either he or the +prince will be killed. Where is Mr. Paul?” + +“He is at the landing-stage,” said the woman faintly. “He is--he +is--signalling for help.” + +“Mrs. Anthony,” said Father Brown seriously, “there is no time for +nonsense. My friend has his boat down the river fishing. Your son’s boat +is guarded by your son’s men. There is only this one canoe; what is Mr. +Paul doing with it?” + +“Santa Maria! I do not know,” she said; and swooned all her length on +the matted floor. + +Father Brown lifted her to a sofa, flung a pot of water over her, +shouted for help, and then rushed down to the landing-stage of the +little island. But the canoe was already in mid-stream, and old Paul +was pulling and pushing it up the river with an energy incredible at his +years. + +“I will save my master,” he cried, his eyes blazing maniacally. “I will +save him yet!” + +Father Brown could do nothing but gaze after the boat as it struggled +up-stream and pray that the old man might waken the little town in time. + +“A duel is bad enough,” he muttered, rubbing up his rough dust-coloured +hair, “but there’s something wrong about this duel, even as a duel. I +feel it in my bones. But what can it be?” + +As he stood staring at the water, a wavering mirror of sunset, he +heard from the other end of the island garden a small but unmistakable +sound--the cold concussion of steel. He turned his head. + +Away on the farthest cape or headland of the long islet, on a strip of +turf beyond the last rank of roses, the duellists had already crossed +swords. Evening above them was a dome of virgin gold, and, distant as +they were, every detail was picked out. They had cast off their coats, +but the yellow waistcoat and white hair of Saradine, the red waistcoat +and white trousers of Antonelli, glittered in the level light like the +colours of the dancing clockwork dolls. The two swords sparkled from +point to pommel like two diamond pins. There was something frightful +in the two figures appearing so little and so gay. They looked like two +butterflies trying to pin each other to a cork. + +Father Brown ran as hard as he could, his little legs going like a +wheel. But when he came to the field of combat he found he was born too +late and too early--too late to stop the strife, under the shadow of the +grim Sicilians leaning on their oars, and too early to anticipate any +disastrous issue of it. For the two men were singularly well matched, +the prince using his skill with a sort of cynical confidence, the +Sicilian using his with a murderous care. Few finer fencing matches can +ever have been seen in crowded amphitheatres than that which tinkled and +sparkled on that forgotten island in the reedy river. The dizzy fight +was balanced so long that hope began to revive in the protesting priest; +by all common probability Paul must soon come back with the police. It +would be some comfort even if Flambeau came back from his fishing, for +Flambeau, physically speaking, was worth four other men. But there was +no sign of Flambeau, and, what was much queerer, no sign of Paul or the +police. No other raft or stick was left to float on; in that lost +island in that vast nameless pool, they were cut off as on a rock in the +Pacific. + +Almost as he had the thought the ringing of the rapiers quickened to a +rattle, the prince’s arms flew up, and the point shot out behind between +his shoulder-blades. He went over with a great whirling movement, almost +like one throwing the half of a boy’s cart-wheel. The sword flew from +his hand like a shooting star, and dived into the distant river. And +he himself sank with so earth-shaking a subsidence that he broke a +big rose-tree with his body and shook up into the sky a cloud of red +earth--like the smoke of some heathen sacrifice. The Sicilian had made +blood-offering to the ghost of his father. + +The priest was instantly on his knees by the corpse; but only to make +too sure that it was a corpse. As he was still trying some last hopeless +tests he heard for the first time voices from farther up the river, and +saw a police boat shoot up to the landing-stage, with constables and +other important people, including the excited Paul. The little priest +rose with a distinctly dubious grimace. + +“Now, why on earth,” he muttered, “why on earth couldn’t he have come +before?” + +Some seven minutes later the island was occupied by an invasion +of townsfolk and police, and the latter had put their hands on the +victorious duellist, ritually reminding him that anything he said might +be used against him. + +“I shall not say anything,” said the monomaniac, with a wonderful and +peaceful face. “I shall never say anything more. I am very happy, and I +only want to be hanged.” + +Then he shut his mouth as they led him away, and it is the strange but +certain truth that he never opened it again in this world, except to say +“Guilty” at his trial. + +Father Brown had stared at the suddenly crowded garden, the arrest of +the man of blood, the carrying away of the corpse after its examination +by the doctor, rather as one watches the break-up of some ugly dream; he +was motionless, like a man in a nightmare. He gave his name and address +as a witness, but declined their offer of a boat to the shore, and +remained alone in the island garden, gazing at the broken rose bush +and the whole green theatre of that swift and inexplicable tragedy. The +light died along the river; mist rose in the marshy banks; a few belated +birds flitted fitfully across. + +Stuck stubbornly in his sub-consciousness (which was an unusually +lively one) was an unspeakable certainty that there was something still +unexplained. This sense that had clung to him all day could not be fully +explained by his fancy about “looking-glass land.” Somehow he had not +seen the real story, but some game or masque. And yet people do not get +hanged or run through the body for the sake of a charade. + +As he sat on the steps of the landing-stage ruminating he grew conscious +of the tall, dark streak of a sail coming silently down the shining +river, and sprang to his feet with such a backrush of feeling that he +almost wept. + +“Flambeau!” he cried, and shook his friend by both hands again and +again, much to the astonishment of that sportsman, as he came on shore +with his fishing tackle. “Flambeau,” he said, “so you’re not killed?” + +“Killed!” repeated the angler in great astonishment. “And why should I +be killed?” + +“Oh, because nearly everybody else is,” said his companion rather +wildly. “Saradine got murdered, and Antonelli wants to be hanged, and +his mother’s fainted, and I, for one, don’t know whether I’m in this +world or the next. But, thank God, you’re in the same one.” And he took +the bewildered Flambeau’s arm. + +As they turned from the landing-stage they came under the eaves of the +low bamboo house, and looked in through one of the windows, as they +had done on their first arrival. They beheld a lamp-lit interior well +calculated to arrest their eyes. The table in the long dining-room +had been laid for dinner when Saradine’s destroyer had fallen like a +stormbolt on the island. And the dinner was now in placid progress, for +Mrs. Anthony sat somewhat sullenly at the foot of the table, while at +the head of it was Mr. Paul, the major domo, eating and drinking of the +best, his bleared, bluish eyes standing queerly out of his face, his +gaunt countenance inscrutable, but by no means devoid of satisfaction. + +With a gesture of powerful impatience, Flambeau rattled at the window, +wrenched it open, and put an indignant head into the lamp-lit room. + +“Well,” he cried. “I can understand you may need some refreshment, +but really to steal your master’s dinner while he lies murdered in the +garden--” + +“I have stolen a great many things in a long and pleasant life,” replied +the strange old gentleman placidly; “this dinner is one of the few +things I have not stolen. This dinner and this house and garden happen +to belong to me.” + +A thought flashed across Flambeau’s face. “You mean to say,” he began, +“that the will of Prince Saradine--” + +“I am Prince Saradine,” said the old man, munching a salted almond. + +Father Brown, who was looking at the birds outside, jumped as if he were +shot, and put in at the window a pale face like a turnip. + +“You are what?” he repeated in a shrill voice. + +“Paul, Prince Saradine, A vos ordres,” said the venerable person +politely, lifting a glass of sherry. “I live here very quietly, being +a domestic kind of fellow; and for the sake of modesty I am called Mr. +Paul, to distinguish me from my unfortunate brother Mr. Stephen. He +died, I hear, recently--in the garden. Of course, it is not my fault +if enemies pursue him to this place. It is owing to the regrettable +irregularity of his life. He was not a domestic character.” + +He relapsed into silence, and continued to gaze at the opposite wall +just above the bowed and sombre head of the woman. They saw plainly +the family likeness that had haunted them in the dead man. Then his old +shoulders began to heave and shake a little, as if he were choking, but +his face did not alter. + +“My God!” cried Flambeau after a pause, “he’s laughing!” + +“Come away,” said Father Brown, who was quite white. “Come away from +this house of hell. Let us get into an honest boat again.” + +Night had sunk on rushes and river by the time they had pushed off from +the island, and they went down-stream in the dark, warming themselves +with two big cigars that glowed like crimson ships’ lanterns. Father +Brown took his cigar out of his mouth and said: + +“I suppose you can guess the whole story now? After all, it’s a +primitive story. A man had two enemies. He was a wise man. And so he +discovered that two enemies are better than one.” + +“I do not follow that,” answered Flambeau. + +“Oh, it’s really simple,” rejoined his friend. “Simple, though anything +but innocent. Both the Saradines were scamps, but the prince, the +elder, was the sort of scamp that gets to the top, and the younger, the +captain, was the sort that sinks to the bottom. This squalid officer +fell from beggar to blackmailer, and one ugly day he got his hold upon +his brother, the prince. Obviously it was for no light matter, for +Prince Paul Saradine was frankly ‘fast,’ and had no reputation to lose +as to the mere sins of society. In plain fact, it was a hanging matter, +and Stephen literally had a rope round his brother’s neck. He had +somehow discovered the truth about the Sicilian affair, and could prove +that Paul murdered old Antonelli in the mountains. The captain raked in +the hush money heavily for ten years, until even the prince’s splendid +fortune began to look a little foolish. + +“But Prince Saradine bore another burden besides his blood-sucking +brother. He knew that the son of Antonelli, a mere child at the time of +the murder, had been trained in savage Sicilian loyalty, and lived only +to avenge his father, not with the gibbet (for he lacked Stephen’s legal +proof), but with the old weapons of vendetta. The boy had practised arms +with a deadly perfection, and about the time that he was old enough to +use them Prince Saradine began, as the society papers said, to travel. +The fact is that he began to flee for his life, passing from place +to place like a hunted criminal; but with one relentless man upon his +trail. That was Prince Paul’s position, and by no means a pretty one. +The more money he spent on eluding Antonelli the less he had to silence +Stephen. The more he gave to silence Stephen the less chance there was +of finally escaping Antonelli. Then it was that he showed himself a +great man--a genius like Napoleon. + +“Instead of resisting his two antagonists, he surrendered suddenly to +both of them. He gave way like a Japanese wrestler, and his foes fell +prostrate before him. He gave up the race round the world, and he gave +up his address to young Antonelli; then he gave up everything to his +brother. He sent Stephen money enough for smart clothes and easy travel, +with a letter saying roughly: ‘This is all I have left. You have cleaned +me out. I still have a little house in Norfolk, with servants and a +cellar, and if you want more from me you must take that. Come and take +possession if you like, and I will live there quietly as your friend +or agent or anything.’ He knew that the Sicilian had never seen the +Saradine brothers save, perhaps, in pictures; he knew they were somewhat +alike, both having grey, pointed beards. Then he shaved his own face +and waited. The trap worked. The unhappy captain, in his new clothes, +entered the house in triumph as a prince, and walked upon the Sicilian’s +sword. + +“There was one hitch, and it is to the honour of human nature. Evil +spirits like Saradine often blunder by never expecting the virtues of +mankind. He took it for granted that the Italian’s blow, when it came, +would be dark, violent and nameless, like the blow it avenged; that the +victim would be knifed at night, or shot from behind a hedge, and so +die without speech. It was a bad minute for Prince Paul when Antonelli’s +chivalry proposed a formal duel, with all its possible explanations. It +was then that I found him putting off in his boat with wild eyes. He was +fleeing, bareheaded, in an open boat before Antonelli should learn who +he was. + +“But, however agitated, he was not hopeless. He knew the adventurer and +he knew the fanatic. It was quite probable that Stephen, the adventurer, +would hold his tongue, through his mere histrionic pleasure in playing a +part, his lust for clinging to his new cosy quarters, his rascal’s +trust in luck, and his fine fencing. It was certain that Antonelli, the +fanatic, would hold his tongue, and be hanged without telling tales +of his family. Paul hung about on the river till he knew the fight +was over. Then he roused the town, brought the police, saw his two +vanquished enemies taken away forever, and sat down smiling to his +dinner.” + +“Laughing, God help us!” said Flambeau with a strong shudder. “Do they +get such ideas from Satan?” + +“He got that idea from you,” answered the priest. + +“God forbid!” ejaculated Flambeau. “From me! What do you mean!” + +The priest pulled a visiting-card from his pocket and held it up in the +faint glow of his cigar; it was scrawled with green ink. + +“Don’t you remember his original invitation to you?” he asked, “and the +compliment to your criminal exploit? ‘That trick of yours,’ he says, +‘of getting one detective to arrest the other’? He has just copied your +trick. With an enemy on each side of him, he slipped swiftly out of the +way and let them collide and kill each other.” + +Flambeau tore Prince Saradine’s card from the priest’s hands and rent it +savagely in small pieces. + +“There’s the last of that old skull and crossbones,” he said as he +scattered the pieces upon the dark and disappearing waves of the stream; +“but I should think it would poison the fishes.” + +The last gleam of white card and green ink was drowned and darkened; +a faint and vibrant colour as of morning changed the sky, and the moon +behind the grasses grew paler. They drifted in silence. + +“Father,” said Flambeau suddenly, “do you think it was all a dream?” + +The priest shook his head, whether in dissent or agnosticism, but +remained mute. A smell of hawthorn and of orchards came to them through +the darkness, telling them that a wind was awake; the next moment it +swayed their little boat and swelled their sail, and carried them onward +down the winding river to happier places and the homes of harmless men. + + + + +The Hammer of God + + +The little village of Bohun Beacon was perched on a hill so steep +that the tall spire of its church seemed only like the peak of a small +mountain. At the foot of the church stood a smithy, generally red with +fires and always littered with hammers and scraps of iron; opposite to +this, over a rude cross of cobbled paths, was “The Blue Boar,” the only +inn of the place. It was upon this crossway, in the lifting of a leaden +and silver daybreak, that two brothers met in the street and spoke; +though one was beginning the day and the other finishing it. The Rev. +and Hon. Wilfred Bohun was very devout, and was making his way to some +austere exercises of prayer or contemplation at dawn. Colonel the Hon. +Norman Bohun, his elder brother, was by no means devout, and was sitting +in evening dress on the bench outside “The Blue Boar,” drinking what +the philosophic observer was free to regard either as his last glass on +Tuesday or his first on Wednesday. The colonel was not particular. + +The Bohuns were one of the very few aristocratic families really dating +from the Middle Ages, and their pennon had actually seen Palestine. +But it is a great mistake to suppose that such houses stand high +in chivalric tradition. Few except the poor preserve traditions. +Aristocrats live not in traditions but in fashions. The Bohuns had been +Mohocks under Queen Anne and Mashers under Queen Victoria. But like more +than one of the really ancient houses, they had rotted in the last two +centuries into mere drunkards and dandy degenerates, till there had even +come a whisper of insanity. Certainly there was something hardly +human about the colonel’s wolfish pursuit of pleasure, and his chronic +resolution not to go home till morning had a touch of the hideous +clarity of insomnia. He was a tall, fine animal, elderly, but with +hair still startlingly yellow. He would have looked merely blonde and +leonine, but his blue eyes were sunk so deep in his face that they +looked black. They were a little too close together. He had very long +yellow moustaches; on each side of them a fold or furrow from nostril to +jaw, so that a sneer seemed cut into his face. Over his evening clothes +he wore a curious pale yellow coat that looked more like a very light +dressing gown than an overcoat, and on the back of his head was stuck an +extraordinary broad-brimmed hat of a bright green colour, evidently some +oriental curiosity caught up at random. He was proud of appearing in +such incongruous attires--proud of the fact that he always made them +look congruous. + +His brother the curate had also the yellow hair and the elegance, but +he was buttoned up to the chin in black, and his face was clean-shaven, +cultivated, and a little nervous. He seemed to live for nothing but his +religion; but there were some who said (notably the blacksmith, who was +a Presbyterian) that it was a love of Gothic architecture rather than of +God, and that his haunting of the church like a ghost was only another +and purer turn of the almost morbid thirst for beauty which sent his +brother raging after women and wine. This charge was doubtful, while the +man’s practical piety was indubitable. Indeed, the charge was mostly an +ignorant misunderstanding of the love of solitude and secret prayer, and +was founded on his being often found kneeling, not before the altar, but +in peculiar places, in the crypts or gallery, or even in the belfry. +He was at the moment about to enter the church through the yard of +the smithy, but stopped and frowned a little as he saw his brother’s +cavernous eyes staring in the same direction. On the hypothesis that the +colonel was interested in the church he did not waste any speculations. +There only remained the blacksmith’s shop, and though the blacksmith was +a Puritan and none of his people, Wilfred Bohun had heard some scandals +about a beautiful and rather celebrated wife. He flung a suspicious look +across the shed, and the colonel stood up laughing to speak to him. + +“Good morning, Wilfred,” he said. “Like a good landlord I am watching +sleeplessly over my people. I am going to call on the blacksmith.” + +Wilfred looked at the ground, and said: “The blacksmith is out. He is +over at Greenford.” + +“I know,” answered the other with silent laughter; “that is why I am +calling on him.” + +“Norman,” said the cleric, with his eye on a pebble in the road, “are +you ever afraid of thunderbolts?” + +“What do you mean?” asked the colonel. “Is your hobby meteorology?” + +“I mean,” said Wilfred, without looking up, “do you ever think that God +might strike you in the street?” + +“I beg your pardon,” said the colonel; “I see your hobby is folk-lore.” + +“I know your hobby is blasphemy,” retorted the religious man, stung in +the one live place of his nature. “But if you do not fear God, you have +good reason to fear man.” + +The elder raised his eyebrows politely. “Fear man?” he said. + +“Barnes the blacksmith is the biggest and strongest man for forty +miles round,” said the clergyman sternly. “I know you are no coward or +weakling, but he could throw you over the wall.” + +This struck home, being true, and the lowering line by mouth and nostril +darkened and deepened. For a moment he stood with the heavy sneer on his +face. But in an instant Colonel Bohun had recovered his own cruel good +humour and laughed, showing two dog-like front teeth under his yellow +moustache. “In that case, my dear Wilfred,” he said quite carelessly, +“it was wise for the last of the Bohuns to come out partially in +armour.” + +And he took off the queer round hat covered with green, showing that +it was lined within with steel. Wilfred recognised it indeed as a light +Japanese or Chinese helmet torn down from a trophy that hung in the old +family hall. + +“It was the first hat to hand,” explained his brother airily; “always +the nearest hat--and the nearest woman.” + +“The blacksmith is away at Greenford,” said Wilfred quietly; “the time +of his return is unsettled.” + +And with that he turned and went into the church with bowed head, +crossing himself like one who wishes to be quit of an unclean spirit. +He was anxious to forget such grossness in the cool twilight of his tall +Gothic cloisters; but on that morning it was fated that his still round +of religious exercises should be everywhere arrested by small shocks. +As he entered the church, hitherto always empty at that hour, a kneeling +figure rose hastily to its feet and came towards the full daylight of +the doorway. When the curate saw it he stood still with surprise. For +the early worshipper was none other than the village idiot, a nephew of +the blacksmith, one who neither would nor could care for the church or +for anything else. He was always called “Mad Joe,” and seemed to have +no other name; he was a dark, strong, slouching lad, with a heavy white +face, dark straight hair, and a mouth always open. As he passed the +priest, his moon-calf countenance gave no hint of what he had been doing +or thinking of. He had never been known to pray before. What sort of +prayers was he saying now? Extraordinary prayers surely. + +Wilfred Bohun stood rooted to the spot long enough to see the idiot go +out into the sunshine, and even to see his dissolute brother hail him +with a sort of avuncular jocularity. The last thing he saw was the +colonel throwing pennies at the open mouth of Joe, with the serious +appearance of trying to hit it. + +This ugly sunlit picture of the stupidity and cruelty of the earth sent +the ascetic finally to his prayers for purification and new thoughts. +He went up to a pew in the gallery, which brought him under a coloured +window which he loved and always quieted his spirit; a blue window +with an angel carrying lilies. There he began to think less about the +half-wit, with his livid face and mouth like a fish. He began to think +less of his evil brother, pacing like a lean lion in his horrible +hunger. He sank deeper and deeper into those cold and sweet colours of +silver blossoms and sapphire sky. + +In this place half an hour afterwards he was found by Gibbs, the village +cobbler, who had been sent for him in some haste. He got to his feet +with promptitude, for he knew that no small matter would have brought +Gibbs into such a place at all. The cobbler was, as in many villages, +an atheist, and his appearance in church was a shade more extraordinary +than Mad Joe’s. It was a morning of theological enigmas. + +“What is it?” asked Wilfred Bohun rather stiffly, but putting out a +trembling hand for his hat. + +The atheist spoke in a tone that, coming from him, was quite startlingly +respectful, and even, as it were, huskily sympathetic. + +“You must excuse me, sir,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “but we didn’t +think it right not to let you know at once. I’m afraid a rather dreadful +thing has happened, sir. I’m afraid your brother--” + +Wilfred clenched his frail hands. “What devilry has he done now?” he +cried in voluntary passion. + +“Why, sir,” said the cobbler, coughing, “I’m afraid he’s done nothing, +and won’t do anything. I’m afraid he’s done for. You had really better +come down, sir.” + +The curate followed the cobbler down a short winding stair which brought +them out at an entrance rather higher than the street. Bohun saw the +tragedy in one glance, flat underneath him like a plan. In the yard +of the smithy were standing five or six men mostly in black, one in +an inspector’s uniform. They included the doctor, the Presbyterian +minister, and the priest from the Roman Catholic chapel, to which the +blacksmith’s wife belonged. The latter was speaking to her, indeed, +very rapidly, in an undertone, as she, a magnificent woman with red-gold +hair, was sobbing blindly on a bench. Between these two groups, and +just clear of the main heap of hammers, lay a man in evening dress, +spread-eagled and flat on his face. From the height above Wilfred could +have sworn to every item of his costume and appearance, down to the +Bohun rings upon his fingers; but the skull was only a hideous splash, +like a star of blackness and blood. + +Wilfred Bohun gave but one glance, and ran down the steps into the yard. +The doctor, who was the family physician, saluted him, but he scarcely +took any notice. He could only stammer out: “My brother is dead. What +does it mean? What is this horrible mystery?” There was an unhappy +silence; and then the cobbler, the most outspoken man present, answered: +“Plenty of horror, sir,” he said; “but not much mystery.” + +“What do you mean?” asked Wilfred, with a white face. + +“It’s plain enough,” answered Gibbs. “There is only one man for forty +miles round that could have struck such a blow as that, and he’s the man +that had most reason to.” + +“We must not prejudge anything,” put in the doctor, a tall, +black-bearded man, rather nervously; “but it is competent for me to +corroborate what Mr. Gibbs says about the nature of the blow, sir; it +is an incredible blow. Mr. Gibbs says that only one man in this district +could have done it. I should have said myself that nobody could have +done it.” + +A shudder of superstition went through the slight figure of the curate. +“I can hardly understand,” he said. + +“Mr. Bohun,” said the doctor in a low voice, “metaphors literally fail +me. It is inadequate to say that the skull was smashed to bits like an +eggshell. Fragments of bone were driven into the body and the ground +like bullets into a mud wall. It was the hand of a giant.” + +He was silent a moment, looking grimly through his glasses; then he +added: “The thing has one advantage--that it clears most people of +suspicion at one stroke. If you or I or any normally made man in the +country were accused of this crime, we should be acquitted as an infant +would be acquitted of stealing the Nelson column.” + +“That’s what I say,” repeated the cobbler obstinately; “there’s only one +man that could have done it, and he’s the man that would have done it. +Where’s Simeon Barnes, the blacksmith?” + +“He’s over at Greenford,” faltered the curate. + +“More likely over in France,” muttered the cobbler. + +“No; he is in neither of those places,” said a small and colourless +voice, which came from the little Roman priest who had joined the group. +“As a matter of fact, he is coming up the road at this moment.” + +The little priest was not an interesting man to look at, having stubbly +brown hair and a round and stolid face. But if he had been as splendid +as Apollo no one would have looked at him at that moment. Everyone +turned round and peered at the pathway which wound across the plain +below, along which was indeed walking, at his own huge stride and with +a hammer on his shoulder, Simeon the smith. He was a bony and gigantic +man, with deep, dark, sinister eyes and a dark chin beard. He was +walking and talking quietly with two other men; and though he was never +specially cheerful, he seemed quite at his ease. + +“My God!” cried the atheistic cobbler, “and there’s the hammer he did it +with.” + +“No,” said the inspector, a sensible-looking man with a sandy moustache, +speaking for the first time. “There’s the hammer he did it with over +there by the church wall. We have left it and the body exactly as they +are.” + +All glanced round and the short priest went across and looked down in +silence at the tool where it lay. It was one of the smallest and the +lightest of the hammers, and would not have caught the eye among the +rest; but on the iron edge of it were blood and yellow hair. + +After a silence the short priest spoke without looking up, and there was +a new note in his dull voice. “Mr. Gibbs was hardly right,” he said, “in +saying that there is no mystery. There is at least the mystery of why so +big a man should attempt so big a blow with so little a hammer.” + +“Oh, never mind that,” cried Gibbs, in a fever. “What are we to do with +Simeon Barnes?” + +“Leave him alone,” said the priest quietly. “He is coming here of +himself. I know those two men with him. They are very good fellows from +Greenford, and they have come over about the Presbyterian chapel.” + +Even as he spoke the tall smith swung round the corner of the church, +and strode into his own yard. Then he stood there quite still, and the +hammer fell from his hand. The inspector, who had preserved impenetrable +propriety, immediately went up to him. + +“I won’t ask you, Mr. Barnes,” he said, “whether you know anything about +what has happened here. You are not bound to say. I hope you don’t know, +and that you will be able to prove it. But I must go through the form +of arresting you in the King’s name for the murder of Colonel Norman +Bohun.” + +“You are not bound to say anything,” said the cobbler in officious +excitement. “They’ve got to prove everything. They haven’t proved yet +that it is Colonel Bohun, with the head all smashed up like that.” + +“That won’t wash,” said the doctor aside to the priest. “That’s out of +the detective stories. I was the colonel’s medical man, and I knew his +body better than he did. He had very fine hands, but quite peculiar +ones. The second and third fingers were the same length. Oh, that’s the +colonel right enough.” + +As he glanced at the brained corpse upon the ground the iron eyes of the +motionless blacksmith followed them and rested there also. + +“Is Colonel Bohun dead?” said the smith quite calmly. “Then he’s +damned.” + +“Don’t say anything! Oh, don’t say anything,” cried the atheist cobbler, +dancing about in an ecstasy of admiration of the English legal system. +For no man is such a legalist as the good Secularist. + +The blacksmith turned on him over his shoulder the august face of a +fanatic. + +“It’s well for you infidels to dodge like foxes because the world’s law +favours you,” he said; “but God guards His own in His pocket, as you +shall see this day.” + +Then he pointed to the colonel and said: “When did this dog die in his +sins?” + +“Moderate your language,” said the doctor. + +“Moderate the Bible’s language, and I’ll moderate mine. When did he +die?” + +“I saw him alive at six o’clock this morning,” stammered Wilfred Bohun. + +“God is good,” said the smith. “Mr. Inspector, I have not the slightest +objection to being arrested. It is you who may object to arresting me. +I don’t mind leaving the court without a stain on my character. You do +mind perhaps leaving the court with a bad set-back in your career.” + +The solid inspector for the first time looked at the blacksmith with a +lively eye; as did everybody else, except the short, strange priest, who +was still looking down at the little hammer that had dealt the dreadful +blow. + +“There are two men standing outside this shop,” went on the blacksmith +with ponderous lucidity, “good tradesmen in Greenford whom you all know, +who will swear that they saw me from before midnight till daybreak and +long after in the committee room of our Revival Mission, which sits all +night, we save souls so fast. In Greenford itself twenty people could +swear to me for all that time. If I were a heathen, Mr. Inspector, I +would let you walk on to your downfall. But as a Christian man I feel +bound to give you your chance, and ask you whether you will hear my +alibi now or in court.” + +The inspector seemed for the first time disturbed, and said, “Of course +I should be glad to clear you altogether now.” + +The smith walked out of his yard with the same long and easy stride, and +returned to his two friends from Greenford, who were indeed friends of +nearly everyone present. Each of them said a few words which no one ever +thought of disbelieving. When they had spoken, the innocence of Simeon +stood up as solid as the great church above them. + +One of those silences struck the group which are more strange and +insufferable than any speech. Madly, in order to make conversation, the +curate said to the Catholic priest: + +“You seem very much interested in that hammer, Father Brown.” + +“Yes, I am,” said Father Brown; “why is it such a small hammer?” + +The doctor swung round on him. + +“By George, that’s true,” he cried; “who would use a little hammer with +ten larger hammers lying about?” + +Then he lowered his voice in the curate’s ear and said: “Only the kind +of person that can’t lift a large hammer. It is not a question of force +or courage between the sexes. It’s a question of lifting power in the +shoulders. A bold woman could commit ten murders with a light hammer and +never turn a hair. She could not kill a beetle with a heavy one.” + +Wilfred Bohun was staring at him with a sort of hypnotised horror, +while Father Brown listened with his head a little on one side, really +interested and attentive. The doctor went on with more hissing emphasis: + +“Why do these idiots always assume that the only person who hates the +wife’s lover is the wife’s husband? Nine times out of ten the person +who most hates the wife’s lover is the wife. Who knows what insolence or +treachery he had shown her--look there!” + +He made a momentary gesture towards the red-haired woman on the bench. +She had lifted her head at last and the tears were drying on her +splendid face. But the eyes were fixed on the corpse with an electric +glare that had in it something of idiocy. + +The Rev. Wilfred Bohun made a limp gesture as if waving away all desire +to know; but Father Brown, dusting off his sleeve some ashes blown from +the furnace, spoke in his indifferent way. + +“You are like so many doctors,” he said; “your mental science is really +suggestive. It is your physical science that is utterly impossible. I +agree that the woman wants to kill the co-respondent much more than the +petitioner does. And I agree that a woman will always pick up a small +hammer instead of a big one. But the difficulty is one of physical +impossibility. No woman ever born could have smashed a man’s skull +out flat like that.” Then he added reflectively, after a pause: “These +people haven’t grasped the whole of it. The man was actually wearing an +iron helmet, and the blow scattered it like broken glass. Look at that +woman. Look at her arms.” + +Silence held them all up again, and then the doctor said rather sulkily: +“Well, I may be wrong; there are objections to everything. But I stick +to the main point. No man but an idiot would pick up that little hammer +if he could use a big hammer.” + +With that the lean and quivering hands of Wilfred Bohun went up to his +head and seemed to clutch his scanty yellow hair. After an instant they +dropped, and he cried: “That was the word I wanted; you have said the +word.” + +Then he continued, mastering his discomposure: “The words you said were, +‘No man but an idiot would pick up the small hammer.’” + +“Yes,” said the doctor. “Well?” + +“Well,” said the curate, “no man but an idiot did.” The rest stared +at him with eyes arrested and riveted, and he went on in a febrile and +feminine agitation. + +“I am a priest,” he cried unsteadily, “and a priest should be no shedder +of blood. I--I mean that he should bring no one to the gallows. And I +thank God that I see the criminal clearly now--because he is a criminal +who cannot be brought to the gallows.” + +“You will not denounce him?” inquired the doctor. + +“He would not be hanged if I did denounce him,” answered Wilfred with +a wild but curiously happy smile. “When I went into the church this +morning I found a madman praying there--that poor Joe, who has been +wrong all his life. God knows what he prayed; but with such strange folk +it is not incredible to suppose that their prayers are all upside down. +Very likely a lunatic would pray before killing a man. When I last saw +poor Joe he was with my brother. My brother was mocking him.” + +“By Jove!” cried the doctor, “this is talking at last. But how do you +explain--” + +The Rev. Wilfred was almost trembling with the excitement of his +own glimpse of the truth. “Don’t you see; don’t you see,” he cried +feverishly; “that is the only theory that covers both the queer things, +that answers both the riddles. The two riddles are the little hammer and +the big blow. The smith might have struck the big blow, but would not +have chosen the little hammer. His wife would have chosen the little +hammer, but she could not have struck the big blow. But the madman might +have done both. As for the little hammer--why, he was mad and might have +picked up anything. And for the big blow, have you never heard, doctor, +that a maniac in his paroxysm may have the strength of ten men?” + +The doctor drew a deep breath and then said, “By golly, I believe you’ve +got it.” + +Father Brown had fixed his eyes on the speaker so long and steadily +as to prove that his large grey, ox-like eyes were not quite so +insignificant as the rest of his face. When silence had fallen he said +with marked respect: “Mr. Bohun, yours is the only theory yet propounded +which holds water every way and is essentially unassailable. I think, +therefore, that you deserve to be told, on my positive knowledge, that +it is not the true one.” And with that the old little man walked away +and stared again at the hammer. + +“That fellow seems to know more than he ought to,” whispered the doctor +peevishly to Wilfred. “Those popish priests are deucedly sly.” + +“No, no,” said Bohun, with a sort of wild fatigue. “It was the lunatic. +It was the lunatic.” + +The group of the two clerics and the doctor had fallen away from +the more official group containing the inspector and the man he had +arrested. Now, however, that their own party had broken up, they heard +voices from the others. The priest looked up quietly and then looked +down again as he heard the blacksmith say in a loud voice: + +“I hope I’ve convinced you, Mr. Inspector. I’m a strong man, as you say, +but I couldn’t have flung my hammer bang here from Greenford. My hammer +hasn’t got wings that it should come flying half a mile over hedges and +fields.” + +The inspector laughed amicably and said: “No, I think you can be +considered out of it, though it’s one of the rummiest coincidences I +ever saw. I can only ask you to give us all the assistance you can in +finding a man as big and strong as yourself. By George! you might be +useful, if only to hold him! I suppose you yourself have no guess at the +man?” + +“I may have a guess,” said the pale smith, “but it is not at a man.” + Then, seeing the scared eyes turn towards his wife on the bench, he put +his huge hand on her shoulder and said: “Nor a woman either.” + +“What do you mean?” asked the inspector jocularly. “You don’t think cows +use hammers, do you?” + +“I think no thing of flesh held that hammer,” said the blacksmith in a +stifled voice; “mortally speaking, I think the man died alone.” + +Wilfred made a sudden forward movement and peered at him with burning +eyes. + +“Do you mean to say, Barnes,” came the sharp voice of the cobbler, “that +the hammer jumped up of itself and knocked the man down?” + +“Oh, you gentlemen may stare and snigger,” cried Simeon; “you clergymen +who tell us on Sunday in what a stillness the Lord smote Sennacherib. I +believe that One who walks invisible in every house defended the honour +of mine, and laid the defiler dead before the door of it. I believe the +force in that blow was just the force there is in earthquakes, and no +force less.” + +Wilfred said, with a voice utterly undescribable: “I told Norman myself +to beware of the thunderbolt.” + +“That agent is outside my jurisdiction,” said the inspector with a +slight smile. + +“You are not outside His,” answered the smith; “see you to it,” and, +turning his broad back, he went into the house. + +The shaken Wilfred was led away by Father Brown, who had an easy and +friendly way with him. “Let us get out of this horrid place, Mr. Bohun,” + he said. “May I look inside your church? I hear it’s one of the oldest +in England. We take some interest, you know,” he added with a comical +grimace, “in old English churches.” + +Wilfred Bohun did not smile, for humour was never his strong point. But +he nodded rather eagerly, being only too ready to explain the +Gothic splendours to someone more likely to be sympathetic than the +Presbyterian blacksmith or the atheist cobbler. + +“By all means,” he said; “let us go in at this side.” And he led the way +into the high side entrance at the top of the flight of steps. Father +Brown was mounting the first step to follow him when he felt a hand on +his shoulder, and turned to behold the dark, thin figure of the doctor, +his face darker yet with suspicion. + +“Sir,” said the physician harshly, “you appear to know some secrets +in this black business. May I ask if you are going to keep them to +yourself?” + +“Why, doctor,” answered the priest, smiling quite pleasantly, “there is +one very good reason why a man of my trade should keep things to himself +when he is not sure of them, and that is that it is so constantly his +duty to keep them to himself when he is sure of them. But if you think +I have been discourteously reticent with you or anyone, I will go to the +extreme limit of my custom. I will give you two very large hints.” + +“Well, sir?” said the doctor gloomily. + +“First,” said Father Brown quietly, “the thing is quite in your +own province. It is a matter of physical science. The blacksmith is +mistaken, not perhaps in saying that the blow was divine, but certainly +in saying that it came by a miracle. It was no miracle, doctor, except +in so far as man is himself a miracle, with his strange and wicked and +yet half-heroic heart. The force that smashed that skull was a force +well known to scientists--one of the most frequently debated of the laws +of nature.” + +The doctor, who was looking at him with frowning intentness, only said: +“And the other hint?” + +“The other hint is this,” said the priest. “Do you remember the +blacksmith, though he believes in miracles, talking scornfully of the +impossible fairy tale that his hammer had wings and flew half a mile +across country?” + +“Yes,” said the doctor, “I remember that.” + +“Well,” added Father Brown, with a broad smile, “that fairy tale was the +nearest thing to the real truth that has been said today.” And with that +he turned his back and stumped up the steps after the curate. + +The Reverend Wilfred, who had been waiting for him, pale and impatient, +as if this little delay were the last straw for his nerves, led him +immediately to his favourite corner of the church, that part of the +gallery closest to the carved roof and lit by the wonderful window +with the angel. The little Latin priest explored and admired everything +exhaustively, talking cheerfully but in a low voice all the time. +When in the course of his investigation he found the side exit and the +winding stair down which Wilfred had rushed to find his brother dead, +Father Brown ran not down but up, with the agility of a monkey, and his +clear voice came from an outer platform above. + +“Come up here, Mr. Bohun,” he called. “The air will do you good.” + +Bohun followed him, and came out on a kind of stone gallery or balcony +outside the building, from which one could see the illimitable plain +in which their small hill stood, wooded away to the purple horizon +and dotted with villages and farms. Clear and square, but quite small +beneath them, was the blacksmith’s yard, where the inspector still stood +taking notes and the corpse still lay like a smashed fly. + +“Might be the map of the world, mightn’t it?” said Father Brown. + +“Yes,” said Bohun very gravely, and nodded his head. + +Immediately beneath and about them the lines of the Gothic building +plunged outwards into the void with a sickening swiftness akin to +suicide. There is that element of Titan energy in the architecture of +the Middle Ages that, from whatever aspect it be seen, it always seems +to be rushing away, like the strong back of some maddened horse. This +church was hewn out of ancient and silent stone, bearded with old +fungoids and stained with the nests of birds. And yet, when they saw it +from below, it sprang like a fountain at the stars; and when they saw +it, as now, from above, it poured like a cataract into a voiceless pit. +For these two men on the tower were left alone with the most terrible +aspect of Gothic; the monstrous foreshortening and disproportion, the +dizzy perspectives, the glimpses of great things small and small things +great; a topsy-turvydom of stone in the mid-air. Details of stone, +enormous by their proximity, were relieved against a pattern of fields +and farms, pygmy in their distance. A carved bird or beast at a corner +seemed like some vast walking or flying dragon wasting the pastures and +villages below. The whole atmosphere was dizzy and dangerous, as if men +were upheld in air amid the gyrating wings of colossal genii; and the +whole of that old church, as tall and rich as a cathedral, seemed to sit +upon the sunlit country like a cloudburst. + +“I think there is something rather dangerous about standing on these +high places even to pray,” said Father Brown. “Heights were made to be +looked at, not to be looked from.” + +“Do you mean that one may fall over,” asked Wilfred. + +“I mean that one’s soul may fall if one’s body doesn’t,” said the other +priest. + +“I scarcely understand you,” remarked Bohun indistinctly. + +“Look at that blacksmith, for instance,” went on Father Brown calmly; “a +good man, but not a Christian--hard, imperious, unforgiving. Well, his +Scotch religion was made up by men who prayed on hills and high crags, +and learnt to look down on the world more than to look up at heaven. +Humility is the mother of giants. One sees great things from the valley; +only small things from the peak.” + +“But he--he didn’t do it,” said Bohun tremulously. + +“No,” said the other in an odd voice; “we know he didn’t do it.” + +After a moment he resumed, looking tranquilly out over the plain with +his pale grey eyes. “I knew a man,” he said, “who began by worshipping +with others before the altar, but who grew fond of high and lonely +places to pray from, corners or niches in the belfry or the spire. And +once in one of those dizzy places, where the whole world seemed to turn +under him like a wheel, his brain turned also, and he fancied he was +God. So that, though he was a good man, he committed a great crime.” + +Wilfred’s face was turned away, but his bony hands turned blue and white +as they tightened on the parapet of stone. + +“He thought it was given to him to judge the world and strike down the +sinner. He would never have had such a thought if he had been kneeling +with other men upon a floor. But he saw all men walking about like +insects. He saw one especially strutting just below him, insolent and +evident by a bright green hat--a poisonous insect.” + +Rooks cawed round the corners of the belfry; but there was no other +sound till Father Brown went on. + +“This also tempted him, that he had in his hand one of the most awful +engines of nature; I mean gravitation, that mad and quickening rush by +which all earth’s creatures fly back to her heart when released. See, +the inspector is strutting just below us in the smithy. If I were to +toss a pebble over this parapet it would be something like a bullet +by the time it struck him. If I were to drop a hammer--even a small +hammer--” + +Wilfred Bohun threw one leg over the parapet, and Father Brown had him +in a minute by the collar. + +“Not by that door,” he said quite gently; “that door leads to hell.” + +Bohun staggered back against the wall, and stared at him with frightful +eyes. + +“How do you know all this?” he cried. “Are you a devil?” + +“I am a man,” answered Father Brown gravely; “and therefore have all +devils in my heart. Listen to me,” he said after a short pause. “I know +what you did--at least, I can guess the great part of it. When you left +your brother you were racked with no unrighteous rage, to the extent +even that you snatched up a small hammer, half inclined to kill him with +his foulness on his mouth. Recoiling, you thrust it under your buttoned +coat instead, and rushed into the church. You pray wildly in many +places, under the angel window, upon the platform above, and a higher +platform still, from which you could see the colonel’s Eastern hat like +the back of a green beetle crawling about. Then something snapped in +your soul, and you let God’s thunderbolt fall.” + +Wilfred put a weak hand to his head, and asked in a low voice: “How did +you know that his hat looked like a green beetle?” + +“Oh, that,” said the other with the shadow of a smile, “that was common +sense. But hear me further. I say I know all this; but no one else shall +know it. The next step is for you; I shall take no more steps; I will +seal this with the seal of confession. If you ask me why, there are many +reasons, and only one that concerns you. I leave things to you because +you have not yet gone very far wrong, as assassins go. You did not help +to fix the crime on the smith when it was easy; or on his wife, when +that was easy. You tried to fix it on the imbecile because you knew that +he could not suffer. That was one of the gleams that it is my business +to find in assassins. And now come down into the village, and go your +own way as free as the wind; for I have said my last word.” + +They went down the winding stairs in utter silence, and came out into +the sunlight by the smithy. Wilfred Bohun carefully unlatched the wooden +gate of the yard, and going up to the inspector, said: “I wish to give +myself up; I have killed my brother.” + + + + +The Eye of Apollo + + +That singular smoky sparkle, at once a confusion and a transparency, +which is the strange secret of the Thames, was changing more and more +from its grey to its glittering extreme as the sun climbed to the zenith +over Westminster, and two men crossed Westminster Bridge. One man +was very tall and the other very short; they might even have been +fantastically compared to the arrogant clock-tower of Parliament and the +humbler humped shoulders of the Abbey, for the short man was in clerical +dress. The official description of the tall man was M. Hercule Flambeau, +private detective, and he was going to his new offices in a new pile of +flats facing the Abbey entrance. The official description of the short +man was the Reverend J. Brown, attached to St. Francis Xavier’s Church, +Camberwell, and he was coming from a Camberwell deathbed to see the new +offices of his friend. + +The building was American in its sky-scraping altitude, and American +also in the oiled elaboration of its machinery of telephones and lifts. +But it was barely finished and still understaffed; only three tenants +had moved in; the office just above Flambeau was occupied, as also +was the office just below him; the two floors above that and the three +floors below were entirely bare. But the first glance at the new tower +of flats caught something much more arresting. Save for a few relics of +scaffolding, the one glaring object was erected outside the office +just above Flambeau’s. It was an enormous gilt effigy of the human eye, +surrounded with rays of gold, and taking up as much room as two or three +of the office windows. + +“What on earth is that?” asked Father Brown, and stood still. “Oh, a +new religion,” said Flambeau, laughing; “one of those new religions that +forgive your sins by saying you never had any. Rather like Christian +Science, I should think. The fact is that a fellow calling himself Kalon +(I don’t know what his name is, except that it can’t be that) has taken +the flat just above me. I have two lady typewriters underneath me, and +this enthusiastic old humbug on top. He calls himself the New Priest of +Apollo, and he worships the sun.” + +“Let him look out,” said Father Brown. “The sun was the cruellest of all +the gods. But what does that monstrous eye mean?” + +“As I understand it, it is a theory of theirs,” answered Flambeau, “that +a man can endure anything if his mind is quite steady. Their two great +symbols are the sun and the open eye; for they say that if a man were +really healthy he could stare at the sun.” + +“If a man were really healthy,” said Father Brown, “he would not bother +to stare at it.” + +“Well, that’s all I can tell you about the new religion,” went on +Flambeau carelessly. “It claims, of course, that it can cure all +physical diseases.” + +“Can it cure the one spiritual disease?” asked Father Brown, with a +serious curiosity. + +“And what is the one spiritual disease?” asked Flambeau, smiling. + +“Oh, thinking one is quite well,” said his friend. + +Flambeau was more interested in the quiet little office below him than +in the flamboyant temple above. He was a lucid Southerner, incapable +of conceiving himself as anything but a Catholic or an atheist; and new +religions of a bright and pallid sort were not much in his line. But +humanity was always in his line, especially when it was good-looking; +moreover, the ladies downstairs were characters in their way. The office +was kept by two sisters, both slight and dark, one of them tall and +striking. She had a dark, eager and aquiline profile, and was one of +those women whom one always thinks of in profile, as of the clean-cut +edge of some weapon. She seemed to cleave her way through life. She had +eyes of startling brilliancy, but it was the brilliancy of steel rather +than of diamonds; and her straight, slim figure was a shade too stiff +for its grace. Her younger sister was like her shortened shadow, +a little greyer, paler, and more insignificant. They both wore a +business-like black, with little masculine cuffs and collars. There are +thousands of such curt, strenuous ladies in the offices of London, +but the interest of these lay rather in their real than their apparent +position. + +For Pauline Stacey, the elder, was actually the heiress of a crest +and half a county, as well as great wealth; she had been brought up in +castles and gardens, before a frigid fierceness (peculiar to the modern +woman) had driven her to what she considered a harsher and a higher +existence. She had not, indeed, surrendered her money; in that there +would have been a romantic or monkish abandon quite alien to her +masterful utilitarianism. She held her wealth, she would say, for use +upon practical social objects. Part of it she had put into her business, +the nucleus of a model typewriting emporium; part of it was distributed +in various leagues and causes for the advancement of such work among +women. How far Joan, her sister and partner, shared this slightly +prosaic idealism no one could be very sure. But she followed her leader +with a dog-like affection which was somehow more attractive, with its +touch of tragedy, than the hard, high spirits of the elder. For Pauline +Stacey had nothing to say to tragedy; she was understood to deny its +existence. + +Her rigid rapidity and cold impatience had amused Flambeau very much on +the first occasion of his entering the flats. He had lingered outside +the lift in the entrance hall waiting for the lift-boy, who generally +conducts strangers to the various floors. But this bright-eyed falcon +of a girl had openly refused to endure such official delay. She said +sharply that she knew all about the lift, and was not dependent on +boys--or men either. Though her flat was only three floors above, she +managed in the few seconds of ascent to give Flambeau a great many of +her fundamental views in an off-hand manner; they were to the general +effect that she was a modern working woman and loved modern working +machinery. Her bright black eyes blazed with abstract anger against +those who rebuke mechanic science and ask for the return of romance. +Everyone, she said, ought to be able to manage machines, just as she +could manage the lift. She seemed almost to resent the fact of Flambeau +opening the lift-door for her; and that gentleman went up to his own +apartments smiling with somewhat mingled feelings at the memory of such +spit-fire self-dependence. + +She certainly had a temper, of a snappy, practical sort; the gestures of +her thin, elegant hands were abrupt or even destructive. + +Once Flambeau entered her office on some typewriting business, and found +she had just flung a pair of spectacles belonging to her sister into the +middle of the floor and stamped on them. She was already in the rapids +of an ethical tirade about the “sickly medical notions” and the morbid +admission of weakness implied in such an apparatus. She dared her sister +to bring such artificial, unhealthy rubbish into the place again. She +asked if she was expected to wear wooden legs or false hair or glass +eyes; and as she spoke her eyes sparkled like the terrible crystal. + +Flambeau, quite bewildered with this fanaticism, could not refrain from +asking Miss Pauline (with direct French logic) why a pair of spectacles +was a more morbid sign of weakness than a lift, and why, if science +might help us in the one effort, it might not help us in the other. + +“That is so different,” said Pauline Stacey, loftily. “Batteries and +motors and all those things are marks of the force of man--yes, Mr. +Flambeau, and the force of woman, too! We shall take our turn at these +great engines that devour distance and defy time. That is high and +splendid--that is really science. But these nasty props and plasters the +doctors sell--why, they are just badges of poltroonery. Doctors stick +on legs and arms as if we were born cripples and sick slaves. But I +was free-born, Mr. Flambeau! People only think they need these things +because they have been trained in fear instead of being trained in power +and courage, just as the silly nurses tell children not to stare at the +sun, and so they can’t do it without blinking. But why among the stars +should there be one star I may not see? The sun is not my master, and I +will open my eyes and stare at him whenever I choose.” + +“Your eyes,” said Flambeau, with a foreign bow, “will dazzle the sun.” + He took pleasure in complimenting this strange stiff beauty, partly +because it threw her a little off her balance. But as he went upstairs +to his floor he drew a deep breath and whistled, saying to himself: “So +she has got into the hands of that conjurer upstairs with his golden +eye.” For, little as he knew or cared about the new religion of Kalon, +he had heard of his special notion about sun-gazing. + +He soon discovered that the spiritual bond between the floors above and +below him was close and increasing. The man who called himself Kalon was +a magnificent creature, worthy, in a physical sense, to be the pontiff +of Apollo. He was nearly as tall even as Flambeau, and very much better +looking, with a golden beard, strong blue eyes, and a mane flung back +like a lion’s. In structure he was the blonde beast of Nietzsche, +but all this animal beauty was heightened, brightened and softened by +genuine intellect and spirituality. If he looked like one of the great +Saxon kings, he looked like one of the kings that were also saints. And +this despite the cockney incongruity of his surroundings; the fact that +he had an office half-way up a building in Victoria Street; that the +clerk (a commonplace youth in cuffs and collars) sat in the outer room, +between him and the corridor; that his name was on a brass plate, +and the gilt emblem of his creed hung above his street, like the +advertisement of an oculist. All this vulgarity could not take away from +the man called Kalon the vivid oppression and inspiration that came +from his soul and body. When all was said, a man in the presence of +this quack did feel in the presence of a great man. Even in the loose +jacket-suit of linen that he wore as a workshop dress in his office he +was a fascinating and formidable figure; and when robed in the white +vestments and crowned with the golden circlet, in which he daily saluted +the sun, he really looked so splendid that the laughter of the street +people sometimes died suddenly on their lips. For three times in the day +the new sun-worshipper went out on his little balcony, in the face +of all Westminster, to say some litany to his shining lord: once at +daybreak, once at sunset, and once at the shock of noon. And it +was while the shock of noon still shook faintly from the towers of +Parliament and parish church that Father Brown, the friend of Flambeau, +first looked up and saw the white priest of Apollo. + +Flambeau had seen quite enough of these daily salutations of Phoebus, +and plunged into the porch of the tall building without even looking +for his clerical friend to follow. But Father Brown, whether from a +professional interest in ritual or a strong individual interest in +tomfoolery, stopped and stared up at the balcony of the sun-worshipper, +just as he might have stopped and stared up at a Punch and Judy. Kalon +the Prophet was already erect, with argent garments and uplifted hands, +and the sound of his strangely penetrating voice could be heard all the +way down the busy street uttering his solar litany. He was already +in the middle of it; his eyes were fixed upon the flaming disc. It is +doubtful if he saw anything or anyone on this earth; it is substantially +certain that he did not see a stunted, round-faced priest who, in the +crowd below, looked up at him with blinking eyes. That was perhaps the +most startling difference between even these two far divided men. Father +Brown could not look at anything without blinking; but the priest of +Apollo could look on the blaze at noon without a quiver of the eyelid. + +“O sun,” cried the prophet, “O star that art too great to be allowed +among the stars! O fountain that flowest quietly in that secret spot +that is called space. White Father of all white unwearied things, white +flames and white flowers and white peaks. Father, who art more innocent +than all thy most innocent and quiet children; primal purity, into the +peace of which--” + +A rush and crash like the reversed rush of a rocket was cloven with a +strident and incessant yelling. Five people rushed into the gate of +the mansions as three people rushed out, and for an instant they all +deafened each other. The sense of some utterly abrupt horror seemed for +a moment to fill half the street with bad news--bad news that was all +the worse because no one knew what it was. Two figures remained still +after the crash of commotion: the fair priest of Apollo on the balcony +above, and the ugly priest of Christ below him. + +At last the tall figure and titanic energy of Flambeau appeared in the +doorway of the mansions and dominated the little mob. Talking at the top +of his voice like a fog-horn, he told somebody or anybody to go for a +surgeon; and as he turned back into the dark and thronged entrance his +friend Father Brown dipped in insignificantly after him. Even as he +ducked and dived through the crowd he could still hear the magnificent +melody and monotony of the solar priest still calling on the happy god +who is the friend of fountains and flowers. + +Father Brown found Flambeau and some six other people standing round the +enclosed space into which the lift commonly descended. But the lift had +not descended. Something else had descended; something that ought to +have come by a lift. + +For the last four minutes Flambeau had looked down on it; had seen +the brained and bleeding figure of that beautiful woman who denied the +existence of tragedy. He had never had the slightest doubt that it was +Pauline Stacey; and, though he had sent for a doctor, he had not the +slightest doubt that she was dead. + +He could not remember for certain whether he had liked her or disliked +her; there was so much both to like and dislike. But she had been a +person to him, and the unbearable pathos of details and habit stabbed +him with all the small daggers of bereavement. He remembered her pretty +face and priggish speeches with a sudden secret vividness which is all +the bitterness of death. In an instant like a bolt from the blue, like +a thunderbolt from nowhere, that beautiful and defiant body had been +dashed down the open well of the lift to death at the bottom. Was it +suicide? With so insolent an optimist it seemed impossible. Was it +murder? But who was there in those hardly inhabited flats to murder +anybody? In a rush of raucous words, which he meant to be strong and +suddenly found weak, he asked where was that fellow Kalon. A voice, +habitually heavy, quiet and full, assured him that Kalon for the last +fifteen minutes had been away up on his balcony worshipping his god. +When Flambeau heard the voice, and felt the hand of Father Brown, he +turned his swarthy face and said abruptly: + +“Then, if he has been up there all the time, who can have done it?” + +“Perhaps,” said the other, “we might go upstairs and find out. We have +half an hour before the police will move.” + +Leaving the body of the slain heiress in charge of the surgeons, +Flambeau dashed up the stairs to the typewriting office, found it +utterly empty, and then dashed up to his own. Having entered that, he +abruptly returned with a new and white face to his friend. + +“Her sister,” he said, with an unpleasant seriousness, “her sister seems +to have gone out for a walk.” + +Father Brown nodded. “Or, she may have gone up to the office of that sun +man,” he said. “If I were you I should just verify that, and then let +us all talk it over in your office. No,” he added suddenly, as if +remembering something, “shall I ever get over that stupidity of mine? Of +course, in their office downstairs.” + +Flambeau stared; but he followed the little father downstairs to the +empty flat of the Staceys, where that impenetrable pastor took a large +red-leather chair in the very entrance, from which he could see the +stairs and landings, and waited. He did not wait very long. In about +four minutes three figures descended the stairs, alike only in +their solemnity. The first was Joan Stacey, the sister of the dead +woman--evidently she had been upstairs in the temporary temple of +Apollo; the second was the priest of Apollo himself, his +litany finished, sweeping down the empty stairs in utter +magnificence--something in his white robes, beard and parted hair had +the look of Dore’s Christ leaving the Pretorium; the third was Flambeau, +black browed and somewhat bewildered. + +Miss Joan Stacey, dark, with a drawn face and hair prematurely touched +with grey, walked straight to her own desk and set out her papers with a +practical flap. The mere action rallied everyone else to sanity. If Miss +Joan Stacey was a criminal, she was a cool one. Father Brown regarded +her for some time with an odd little smile, and then, without taking his +eyes off her, addressed himself to somebody else. + +“Prophet,” he said, presumably addressing Kalon, “I wish you would tell +me a lot about your religion.” + +“I shall be proud to do it,” said Kalon, inclining his still crowned +head, “but I am not sure that I understand.” + +“Why, it’s like this,” said Father Brown, in his frankly doubtful way: +“We are taught that if a man has really bad first principles, that must +be partly his fault. But, for all that, we can make some difference +between a man who insults his quite clear conscience and a man with a +conscience more or less clouded with sophistries. Now, do you really +think that murder is wrong at all?” + +“Is this an accusation?” asked Kalon very quietly. + +“No,” answered Brown, equally gently, “it is the speech for the +defence.” + +In the long and startled stillness of the room the prophet of Apollo +slowly rose; and really it was like the rising of the sun. He filled +that room with his light and life in such a manner that a man felt he +could as easily have filled Salisbury Plain. His robed form seemed to +hang the whole room with classic draperies; his epic gesture seemed to +extend it into grander perspectives, till the little black figure of the +modern cleric seemed to be a fault and an intrusion, a round, black blot +upon some splendour of Hellas. + +“We meet at last, Caiaphas,” said the prophet. “Your church and mine are +the only realities on this earth. I adore the sun, and you the darkening +of the sun; you are the priest of the dying and I of the living God. +Your present work of suspicion and slander is worthy of your coat and +creed. All your church is but a black police; you are only spies and +detectives seeking to tear from men confessions of guilt, whether by +treachery or torture. You would convict men of crime, I would convict +them of innocence. You would convince them of sin, I would convince them +of virtue. + +“Reader of the books of evil, one more word before I blow away your +baseless nightmares for ever. Not even faintly could you understand +how little I care whether you can convict me or no. The things you +call disgrace and horrible hanging are to me no more than an ogre in a +child’s toy-book to a man once grown up. You said you were offering the +speech for the defence. I care so little for the cloudland of this life +that I will offer you the speech for the prosecution. There is but one +thing that can be said against me in this matter, and I will say it +myself. The woman that is dead was my love and my bride; not after such +manner as your tin chapels call lawful, but by a law purer and sterner +than you will ever understand. She and I walked another world from +yours, and trod palaces of crystal while you were plodding through +tunnels and corridors of brick. Well, I know that policemen, theological +and otherwise, always fancy that where there has been love there +must soon be hatred; so there you have the first point made for the +prosecution. But the second point is stronger; I do not grudge it you. +Not only is it true that Pauline loved me, but it is also true that this +very morning, before she died, she wrote at that table a will leaving me +and my new church half a million. Come, where are the handcuffs? Do you +suppose I care what foolish things you do with me? Penal servitude will +only be like waiting for her at a wayside station. The gallows will only +be going to her in a headlong car.” + +He spoke with the brain-shaking authority of an orator, and Flambeau +and Joan Stacey stared at him in amazed admiration. Father Brown’s face +seemed to express nothing but extreme distress; he looked at the ground +with one wrinkle of pain across his forehead. The prophet of the sun +leaned easily against the mantelpiece and resumed: + +“In a few words I have put before you the whole case against me--the +only possible case against me. In fewer words still I will blow it +to pieces, so that not a trace of it remains. As to whether I have +committed this crime, the truth is in one sentence: I could not have +committed this crime. Pauline Stacey fell from this floor to the +ground at five minutes past twelve. A hundred people will go into the +witness-box and say that I was standing out upon the balcony of my own +rooms above from just before the stroke of noon to a quarter-past--the +usual period of my public prayers. My clerk (a respectable youth from +Clapham, with no sort of connection with me) will swear that he sat +in my outer office all the morning, and that no communication passed +through. He will swear that I arrived a full ten minutes before the +hour, fifteen minutes before any whisper of the accident, and that I did +not leave the office or the balcony all that time. No one ever had so +complete an alibi; I could subpoena half Westminster. I think you had +better put the handcuffs away again. The case is at an end. + +“But last of all, that no breath of this idiotic suspicion remain in the +air, I will tell you all you want to know. I believe I do know how my +unhappy friend came by her death. You can, if you choose, blame me for +it, or my faith and philosophy at least; but you certainly cannot +lock me up. It is well known to all students of the higher truths that +certain adepts and illuminati have in history attained the power of +levitation--that is, of being self-sustained upon the empty air. It is +but a part of that general conquest of matter which is the main element +in our occult wisdom. Poor Pauline was of an impulsive and ambitious +temper. I think, to tell the truth, she thought herself somewhat deeper +in the mysteries than she was; and she has often said to me, as we went +down in the lift together, that if one’s will were strong enough, one +could float down as harmlessly as a feather. I solemnly believe that in +some ecstasy of noble thoughts she attempted the miracle. Her will, or +faith, must have failed her at the crucial instant, and the lower law +of matter had its horrible revenge. There is the whole story, gentlemen, +very sad and, as you think, very presumptuous and wicked, but certainly +not criminal or in any way connected with me. In the short-hand of the +police-courts, you had better call it suicide. I shall always call +it heroic failure for the advance of science and the slow scaling of +heaven.” + +It was the first time Flambeau had ever seen Father Brown vanquished. He +still sat looking at the ground, with a painful and corrugated brow, as +if in shame. It was impossible to avoid the feeling which the prophet’s +winged words had fanned, that here was a sullen, professional suspecter +of men overwhelmed by a prouder and purer spirit of natural liberty and +health. At last he said, blinking as if in bodily distress: “Well, if +that is so, sir, you need do no more than take the testamentary paper +you spoke of and go. I wonder where the poor lady left it.” + +“It will be over there on her desk by the door, I think,” said Kalon, +with that massive innocence of manner that seemed to acquit him wholly. +“She told me specially she would write it this morning, and I actually +saw her writing as I went up in the lift to my own room.” + +“Was her door open then?” asked the priest, with his eye on the corner +of the matting. + +“Yes,” said Kalon calmly. + +“Ah! it has been open ever since,” said the other, and resumed his +silent study of the mat. + +“There is a paper over here,” said the grim Miss Joan, in a somewhat +singular voice. She had passed over to her sister’s desk by the doorway, +and was holding a sheet of blue foolscap in her hand. There was a sour +smile on her face that seemed unfit for such a scene or occasion, and +Flambeau looked at her with a darkening brow. + +Kalon the prophet stood away from the paper with that loyal +unconsciousness that had carried him through. But Flambeau took it +out of the lady’s hand, and read it with the utmost amazement. It did, +indeed, begin in the formal manner of a will, but after the words “I +give and bequeath all of which I die possessed” the writing abruptly +stopped with a set of scratches, and there was no trace of the name of +any legatee. Flambeau, in wonder, handed this truncated testament to his +clerical friend, who glanced at it and silently gave it to the priest of +the sun. + +An instant afterwards that pontiff, in his splendid sweeping draperies, +had crossed the room in two great strides, and was towering over Joan +Stacey, his blue eyes standing from his head. + +“What monkey tricks have you been playing here?” he cried. “That’s not +all Pauline wrote.” + +They were startled to hear him speak in quite a new voice, with a Yankee +shrillness in it; all his grandeur and good English had fallen from him +like a cloak. + +“That is the only thing on her desk,” said Joan, and confronted him +steadily with the same smile of evil favour. + +Of a sudden the man broke out into blasphemies and cataracts of +incredulous words. There was something shocking about the dropping of +his mask; it was like a man’s real face falling off. + +“See here!” he cried in broad American, when he was breathless with +cursing, “I may be an adventurer, but I guess you’re a murderess. Yes, +gentlemen, here’s your death explained, and without any levitation. The +poor girl is writing a will in my favour; her cursed sister comes in, +struggles for the pen, drags her to the well, and throws her down before +she can finish it. Sakes! I reckon we want the handcuffs after all.” + +“As you have truly remarked,” replied Joan, with ugly calm, “your clerk +is a very respectable young man, who knows the nature of an oath; and +he will swear in any court that I was up in your office arranging some +typewriting work for five minutes before and five minutes after my +sister fell. Mr. Flambeau will tell you that he found me there.” + +There was a silence. + +“Why, then,” cried Flambeau, “Pauline was alone when she fell, and it +was suicide!” + +“She was alone when she fell,” said Father Brown, “but it was not +suicide.” + +“Then how did she die?” asked Flambeau impatiently. + +“She was murdered.” + +“But she was alone,” objected the detective. + +“She was murdered when she was all alone,” answered the priest. + +All the rest stared at him, but he remained sitting in the same +old dejected attitude, with a wrinkle in his round forehead and an +appearance of impersonal shame and sorrow; his voice was colourless and +sad. + +“What I want to know,” cried Kalon, with an oath, “is when the police +are coming for this bloody and wicked sister. She’s killed her flesh and +blood; she’s robbed me of half a million that was just as sacredly mine +as--” + +“Come, come, prophet,” interrupted Flambeau, with a kind of sneer; +“remember that all this world is a cloudland.” + +The hierophant of the sun-god made an effort to climb back on his +pedestal. “It is not the mere money,” he cried, “though that would equip +the cause throughout the world. It is also my beloved one’s wishes. To +Pauline all this was holy. In Pauline’s eyes--” + +Father Brown suddenly sprang erect, so that his chair fell over flat +behind him. He was deathly pale, yet he seemed fired with a hope; his +eyes shone. + +“That’s it!” he cried in a clear voice. “That’s the way to begin. In +Pauline’s eyes--” + +The tall prophet retreated before the tiny priest in an almost mad +disorder. “What do you mean? How dare you?” he cried repeatedly. + +“In Pauline’s eyes,” repeated the priest, his own shining more and more. +“Go on--in God’s name, go on. The foulest crime the fiends ever prompted +feels lighter after confession; and I implore you to confess. Go on, go +on--in Pauline’s eyes--” + +“Let me go, you devil!” thundered Kalon, struggling like a giant in +bonds. “Who are you, you cursed spy, to weave your spiders’ webs round +me, and peep and peer? Let me go.” + +“Shall I stop him?” asked Flambeau, bounding towards the exit, for Kalon +had already thrown the door wide open. + +“No; let him pass,” said Father Brown, with a strange deep sigh that +seemed to come from the depths of the universe. “Let Cain pass by, for +he belongs to God.” + +There was a long-drawn silence in the room when he had left it, which +was to Flambeau’s fierce wits one long agony of interrogation. Miss Joan +Stacey very coolly tidied up the papers on her desk. + +“Father,” said Flambeau at last, “it is my duty, not my curiosity +only--it is my duty to find out, if I can, who committed the crime.” + +“Which crime?” asked Father Brown. + +“The one we are dealing with, of course,” replied his impatient friend. + +“We are dealing with two crimes,” said Brown, “crimes of very different +weight--and by very different criminals.” + +Miss Joan Stacey, having collected and put away her papers, proceeded to +lock up her drawer. Father Brown went on, noticing her as little as she +noticed him. + +“The two crimes,” he observed, “were committed against the same weakness +of the same person, in a struggle for her money. The author of the +larger crime found himself thwarted by the smaller crime; the author of +the smaller crime got the money.” + +“Oh, don’t go on like a lecturer,” groaned Flambeau; “put it in a few +words.” + +“I can put it in one word,” answered his friend. + +Miss Joan Stacey skewered her business-like black hat on to her head +with a business-like black frown before a little mirror, and, as the +conversation proceeded, took her handbag and umbrella in an unhurried +style, and left the room. + +“The truth is one word, and a short one,” said Father Brown. “Pauline +Stacey was blind.” + +“Blind!” repeated Flambeau, and rose slowly to his whole huge stature. + +“She was subject to it by blood,” Brown proceeded. “Her sister would +have started eyeglasses if Pauline would have let her; but it was her +special philosophy or fad that one must not encourage such diseases by +yielding to them. She would not admit the cloud; or she tried to dispel +it by will. So her eyes got worse and worse with straining; but the +worst strain was to come. It came with this precious prophet, or +whatever he calls himself, who taught her to stare at the hot sun with +the naked eye. It was called accepting Apollo. Oh, if these new pagans +would only be old pagans, they would be a little wiser! The old pagans +knew that mere naked Nature-worship must have a cruel side. They knew +that the eye of Apollo can blast and blind.” + +There was a pause, and the priest went on in a gentle and even broken +voice. “Whether or no that devil deliberately made her blind, there is +no doubt that he deliberately killed her through her blindness. The very +simplicity of the crime is sickening. You know he and she went up and +down in those lifts without official help; you know also how smoothly +and silently the lifts slide. Kalon brought the lift to the girl’s +landing, and saw her, through the open door, writing in her slow, +sightless way the will she had promised him. He called out to her +cheerily that he had the lift ready for her, and she was to come out +when she was ready. Then he pressed a button and shot soundlessly up to +his own floor, walked through his own office, out on to his own balcony, +and was safely praying before the crowded street when the poor girl, +having finished her work, ran gaily out to where lover and lift were to +receive her, and stepped--” + +“Don’t!” cried Flambeau. + +“He ought to have got half a million by pressing that button,” continued +the little father, in the colourless voice in which he talked of such +horrors. “But that went smash. It went smash because there happened +to be another person who also wanted the money, and who also knew the +secret about poor Pauline’s sight. There was one thing about that will +that I think nobody noticed: although it was unfinished and without +signature, the other Miss Stacey and some servant of hers had already +signed it as witnesses. Joan had signed first, saying Pauline could +finish it later, with a typical feminine contempt for legal forms. +Therefore, Joan wanted her sister to sign the will without real +witnesses. Why? I thought of the blindness, and felt sure she had wanted +Pauline to sign in solitude because she had wanted her not to sign at +all. + +“People like the Staceys always use fountain pens; but this was +specially natural to Pauline. By habit and her strong will and memory +she could still write almost as well as if she saw; but she could not +tell when her pen needed dipping. Therefore, her fountain pens were +carefully filled by her sister--all except this fountain pen. This was +carefully not filled by her sister; the remains of the ink held out +for a few lines and then failed altogether. And the prophet lost +five hundred thousand pounds and committed one of the most brutal and +brilliant murders in human history for nothing.” + +Flambeau went to the open door and heard the official police ascending +the stairs. He turned and said: “You must have followed everything +devilish close to have traced the crime to Kalon in ten minutes.” + +Father Brown gave a sort of start. + +“Oh! to him,” he said. “No; I had to follow rather close to find out +about Miss Joan and the fountain pen. But I knew Kalon was the criminal +before I came into the front door.” + +“You must be joking!” cried Flambeau. + +“I’m quite serious,” answered the priest. “I tell you I knew he had done +it, even before I knew what he had done.” + +“But why?” + +“These pagan stoics,” said Brown reflectively, “always fail by their +strength. There came a crash and a scream down the street, and the +priest of Apollo did not start or look round. I did not know what it +was. But I knew that he was expecting it.” + + + + +The Sign of the Broken Sword + + +The thousand arms of the forest were grey, and its million fingers +silver. In a sky of dark green-blue-like slate the stars were bleak +and brilliant like splintered ice. All that thickly wooded and sparsely +tenanted countryside was stiff with a bitter and brittle frost. The +black hollows between the trunks of the trees looked like bottomless, +black caverns of that Scandinavian hell, a hell of incalculable cold. +Even the square stone tower of the church looked northern to the point +of heathenry, as if it were some barbaric tower among the sea rocks of +Iceland. It was a queer night for anyone to explore a churchyard. But, +on the other hand, perhaps it was worth exploring. + +It rose abruptly out of the ashen wastes of forest in a sort of hump or +shoulder of green turf that looked grey in the starlight. Most of the +graves were on a slant, and the path leading up to the church was +as steep as a staircase. On the top of the hill, in the one flat and +prominent place, was the monument for which the place was famous. It +contrasted strangely with the featureless graves all round, for it was +the work of one of the greatest sculptors of modern Europe; and yet his +fame was at once forgotten in the fame of the man whose image he had +made. It showed, by touches of the small silver pencil of starlight, the +massive metal figure of a soldier recumbent, the strong hands sealed +in an everlasting worship, the great head pillowed upon a gun. The +venerable face was bearded, or rather whiskered, in the old, heavy +Colonel Newcome fashion. The uniform, though suggested with the few +strokes of simplicity, was that of modern war. By his right side lay a +sword, of which the tip was broken off; on the left side lay a Bible. On +glowing summer afternoons wagonettes came full of Americans and cultured +suburbans to see the sepulchre; but even then they felt the vast forest +land with its one dumpy dome of churchyard and church as a place oddly +dumb and neglected. In this freezing darkness of mid-winter one would +think he might be left alone with the stars. Nevertheless, in the +stillness of those stiff woods a wooden gate creaked, and two dim +figures dressed in black climbed up the little path to the tomb. + +So faint was that frigid starlight that nothing could have been +traced about them except that while they both wore black, one man was +enormously big, and the other (perhaps by contrast) almost startlingly +small. They went up to the great graven tomb of the historic warrior, +and stood for a few minutes staring at it. There was no human, perhaps +no living, thing for a wide circle; and a morbid fancy might well have +wondered if they were human themselves. In any case, the beginning of +their conversation might have seemed strange. After the first silence +the small man said to the other: + +“Where does a wise man hide a pebble?” + +And the tall man answered in a low voice: “On the beach.” + +The small man nodded, and after a short silence said: “Where does a wise +man hide a leaf?” + +And the other answered: “In the forest.” + +There was another stillness, and then the tall man resumed: “Do you mean +that when a wise man has to hide a real diamond he has been known to +hide it among sham ones?” + +“No, no,” said the little man with a laugh, “we will let bygones be +bygones.” + +He stamped his cold feet for a second or two, and then said: “I’m +not thinking of that at all, but of something else; something rather +peculiar. Just strike a match, will you?” + +The big man fumbled in his pocket, and soon a scratch and a flare +painted gold the whole flat side of the monument. On it was cut in black +letters the well-known words which so many Americans had reverently +read: “Sacred to the Memory of General Sir Arthur St. Clare, Hero and +Martyr, who Always Vanquished his Enemies and Always Spared Them, and +Was Treacherously Slain by Them At Last. May God in Whom he Trusted both +Reward and Revenge him.” + +The match burnt the big man’s fingers, blackened, and dropped. He was +about to strike another, but his small companion stopped him. “That’s +all right, Flambeau, old man; I saw what I wanted. Or, rather, I didn’t +see what I didn’t want. And now we must walk a mile and a half along +the road to the next inn, and I will try to tell you all about it. For +Heaven knows a man should have a fire and ale when he dares tell such a +story.” + +They descended the precipitous path, they relatched the rusty gate, and +set off at a stamping, ringing walk down the frozen forest road. They +had gone a full quarter of a mile before the smaller man spoke again. He +said: “Yes; the wise man hides a pebble on the beach. But what does he +do if there is no beach? Do you know anything of that great St. Clare +trouble?” + +“I know nothing about English generals, Father Brown,” answered the +large man, laughing, “though a little about English policemen. I only +know that you have dragged me a precious long dance to all the shrines +of this fellow, whoever he is. One would think he got buried in +six different places. I’ve seen a memorial to General St. Clare in +Westminster Abbey. I’ve seen a ramping equestrian statue of General +St. Clare on the Embankment. I’ve seen a medallion of St. Clare in the +street he was born in, and another in the street he lived in; and now +you drag me after dark to his coffin in the village churchyard. I am +beginning to be a bit tired of his magnificent personality, especially +as I don’t in the least know who he was. What are you hunting for in all +these crypts and effigies?” + +“I am only looking for one word,” said Father Brown. “A word that isn’t +there.” + +“Well,” asked Flambeau; “are you going to tell me anything about it?” + +“I must divide it into two parts,” remarked the priest. “First there is +what everybody knows; and then there is what I know. Now, what everybody +knows is short and plain enough. It is also entirely wrong.” + +“Right you are,” said the big man called Flambeau cheerfully. “Let’s +begin at the wrong end. Let’s begin with what everybody knows, which +isn’t true.” + +“If not wholly untrue, it is at least very inadequate,” continued Brown; +“for in point of fact, all that the public knows amounts precisely to +this: The public knows that Arthur St. Clare was a great and successful +English general. It knows that after splendid yet careful campaigns +both in India and Africa he was in command against Brazil when the great +Brazilian patriot Olivier issued his ultimatum. It knows that on that +occasion St. Clare with a very small force attacked Olivier with a very +large one, and was captured after heroic resistance. And it knows that +after his capture, and to the abhorrence of the civilised world, St. +Clare was hanged on the nearest tree. He was found swinging there after +the Brazilians had retired, with his broken sword hung round his neck.” + +“And that popular story is untrue?” suggested Flambeau. + +“No,” said his friend quietly, “that story is quite true, so far as it +goes.” + +“Well, I think it goes far enough!” said Flambeau; “but if the popular +story is true, what is the mystery?” + +They had passed many hundreds of grey and ghostly trees before the +little priest answered. Then he bit his finger reflectively and said: +“Why, the mystery is a mystery of psychology. Or, rather, it is a +mystery of two psychologies. In that Brazilian business two of the most +famous men of modern history acted flat against their characters. Mind +you, Olivier and St. Clare were both heroes--the old thing, and no +mistake; it was like the fight between Hector and Achilles. Now, what +would you say to an affair in which Achilles was timid and Hector was +treacherous?” + +“Go on,” said the large man impatiently as the other bit his finger +again. + +“Sir Arthur St. Clare was a soldier of the old religious type--the type +that saved us during the Mutiny,” continued Brown. “He was always more +for duty than for dash; and with all his personal courage was decidedly +a prudent commander, particularly indignant at any needless waste of +soldiers. Yet in this last battle he attempted something that a baby +could see was absurd. One need not be a strategist to see it was as wild +as wind; just as one need not be a strategist to keep out of the way +of a motor-bus. Well, that is the first mystery; what had become of the +English general’s head? The second riddle is, what had become of the +Brazilian general’s heart? President Olivier might be called a visionary +or a nuisance; but even his enemies admitted that he was magnanimous to +the point of knight errantry. Almost every other prisoner he had ever +captured had been set free or even loaded with benefits. Men who had +really wronged him came away touched by his simplicity and sweetness. +Why the deuce should he diabolically revenge himself only once in his +life; and that for the one particular blow that could not have hurt him? +Well, there you have it. One of the wisest men in the world acted like +an idiot for no reason. One of the best men in the world acted like a +fiend for no reason. That’s the long and the short of it; and I leave it +to you, my boy.” + +“No, you don’t,” said the other with a snort. “I leave it to you; and +you jolly well tell me all about it.” + +“Well,” resumed Father Brown, “it’s not fair to say that the public +impression is just what I’ve said, without adding that two things have +happened since. I can’t say they threw a new light; for nobody can make +sense of them. But they threw a new kind of darkness; they threw the +darkness in new directions. The first was this. The family physician +of the St. Clares quarrelled with that family, and began publishing a +violent series of articles, in which he said that the late general was +a religious maniac; but as far as the tale went, this seemed to mean +little more than a religious man. + +“Anyhow, the story fizzled out. Everyone knew, of course, that St. Clare +had some of the eccentricities of puritan piety. The second incident was +much more arresting. In the luckless and unsupported regiment which made +that rash attempt at the Black River there was a certain Captain Keith, +who was at that time engaged to St. Clare’s daughter, and who afterwards +married her. He was one of those who were captured by Olivier, and, +like all the rest except the general, appears to have been bounteously +treated and promptly set free. Some twenty years afterwards this man, +then Lieutenant-Colonel Keith, published a sort of autobiography called +‘A British Officer in Burmah and Brazil.’ In the place where the reader +looks eagerly for some account of the mystery of St. Clare’s disaster +may be found the following words: ‘Everywhere else in this book I +have narrated things exactly as they occurred, holding as I do the +old-fashioned opinion that the glory of England is old enough to take +care of itself. The exception I shall make is in this matter of +the defeat by the Black River; and my reasons, though private, are +honourable and compelling. I will, however, add this in justice to the +memories of two distinguished men. General St. Clare has been accused +of incapacity on this occasion; I can at least testify that this action, +properly understood, was one of the most brilliant and sagacious of +his life. President Olivier by similar report is charged with savage +injustice. I think it due to the honour of an enemy to say that he acted +on this occasion with even more than his characteristic good feeling. To +put the matter popularly, I can assure my countrymen that St. Clare was +by no means such a fool nor Olivier such a brute as he looked. This is +all I have to say; nor shall any earthly consideration induce me to add +a word to it.’” + +A large frozen moon like a lustrous snowball began to show through the +tangle of twigs in front of them, and by its light the narrator had +been able to refresh his memory of Captain Keith’s text from a scrap of +printed paper. As he folded it up and put it back in his pocket Flambeau +threw up his hand with a French gesture. + +“Wait a bit, wait a bit,” he cried excitedly. “I believe I can guess it +at the first go.” + +He strode on, breathing hard, his black head and bull neck forward, like +a man winning a walking race. The little priest, amused and interested, +had some trouble in trotting beside him. Just before them the trees fell +back a little to left and right, and the road swept downwards across a +clear, moonlit valley, till it dived again like a rabbit into the wall +of another wood. The entrance to the farther forest looked small and +round, like the black hole of a remote railway tunnel. But it was within +some hundred yards, and gaped like a cavern before Flambeau spoke again. + +“I’ve got it,” he cried at last, slapping his thigh with his great hand. +“Four minutes’ thinking, and I can tell your whole story myself.” + +“All right,” assented his friend. “You tell it.” + +Flambeau lifted his head, but lowered his voice. “General Sir Arthur St. +Clare,” he said, “came of a family in which madness was hereditary; and +his whole aim was to keep this from his daughter, and even, if possible, +from his future son-in-law. Rightly or wrongly, he thought the final +collapse was close, and resolved on suicide. Yet ordinary suicide would +blazon the very idea he dreaded. As the campaign approached the clouds +came thicker on his brain; and at last in a mad moment he sacrificed his +public duty to his private. He rushed rashly into battle, hoping to fall +by the first shot. When he found that he had only attained capture and +discredit, the sealed bomb in his brain burst, and he broke his own +sword and hanged himself.” + +He stared firmly at the grey façade of forest in front of him, with the +one black gap in it, like the mouth of the grave, into which their path +plunged. Perhaps something menacing in the road thus suddenly swallowed +reinforced his vivid vision of the tragedy, for he shuddered. + +“A horrid story,” he said. + +“A horrid story,” repeated the priest with bent head. “But not the real +story.” + +Then he threw back his head with a sort of despair and cried: “Oh, I +wish it had been.” + +The tall Flambeau faced round and stared at him. + +“Yours is a clean story,” cried Father Brown, deeply moved. “A sweet, +pure, honest story, as open and white as that moon. Madness and despair +are innocent enough. There are worse things, Flambeau.” + +Flambeau looked up wildly at the moon thus invoked; and from where he +stood one black tree-bough curved across it exactly like a devil’s horn. + +“Father--father,” cried Flambeau with the French gesture and stepping +yet more rapidly forward, “do you mean it was worse than that?” + +“Worse than that,” said Paul like a grave echo. And they plunged into +the black cloister of the woodland, which ran by them in a dim tapestry +of trunks, like one of the dark corridors in a dream. + +They were soon in the most secret entrails of the wood, and felt close +about them foliage that they could not see, when the priest said again: + +“Where does a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest. But what does he do +if there is no forest?” + +“Well, well,” cried Flambeau irritably, “what does he do?” + +“He grows a forest to hide it in,” said the priest in an obscure voice. +“A fearful sin.” + +“Look here,” cried his friend impatiently, for the dark wood and the +dark saying got a little on his nerves; “will you tell me this story or +not? What other evidence is there to go on?” + +“There are three more bits of evidence,” said the other, “that I have +dug up in holes and corners; and I will give them in logical rather +than chronological order. First of all, of course, our authority for the +issue and event of the battle is in Olivier’s own dispatches, which +are lucid enough. He was entrenched with two or three regiments on the +heights that swept down to the Black River, on the other side of which +was lower and more marshy ground. Beyond this again was gently rising +country, on which was the first English outpost, supported by others +which lay, however, considerably in its rear. The British forces as a +whole were greatly superior in numbers; but this particular regiment was +just far enough from its base to make Olivier consider the project of +crossing the river to cut it off. By sunset, however, he had decided to +retain his own position, which was a specially strong one. At daybreak +next morning he was thunderstruck to see that this stray handful of +English, entirely unsupported from their rear, had flung themselves +across the river, half by a bridge to the right, and the other half by a +ford higher up, and were massed upon the marshy bank below him. + +“That they should attempt an attack with such numbers against such a +position was incredible enough; but Olivier noticed something yet more +extraordinary. For instead of attempting to seize more solid ground, +this mad regiment, having put the river in its rear by one wild charge, +did nothing more, but stuck there in the mire like flies in treacle. +Needless to say, the Brazilians blew great gaps in them with artillery, +which they could only return with spirited but lessening rifle fire. Yet +they never broke; and Olivier’s curt account ends with a strong tribute +of admiration for the mystic valour of these imbeciles. ‘Our line then +advanced finally,’ writes Olivier, ‘and drove them into the river; +we captured General St. Clare himself and several other officers. The +colonel and the major had both fallen in the battle. I cannot resist +saying that few finer sights can have been seen in history than the last +stand of this extraordinary regiment; wounded officers picking up the +rifles of dead soldiers, and the general himself facing us on horseback +bareheaded and with a broken sword.’ On what happened to the general +afterwards Olivier is as silent as Captain Keith.” + +“Well,” grunted Flambeau, “get on to the next bit of evidence.” + +“The next evidence,” said Father Brown, “took some time to find, but it +will not take long to tell. I found at last in an almshouse down in the +Lincolnshire Fens an old soldier who not only was wounded at the Black +River, but had actually knelt beside the colonel of the regiment when +he died. This latter was a certain Colonel Clancy, a big bull of an +Irishman; and it would seem that he died almost as much of rage as of +bullets. He, at any rate, was not responsible for that ridiculous raid; +it must have been imposed on him by the general. His last edifying +words, according to my informant, were these: ‘And there goes the damned +old donkey with the end of his sword knocked off. I wish it was his +head.’ You will remark that everyone seems to have noticed this detail +about the broken sword blade, though most people regard it somewhat +more reverently than did the late Colonel Clancy. And now for the third +fragment.” + +Their path through the woodland began to go upward, and the speaker +paused a little for breath before he went on. Then he continued in the +same business-like tone: + +“Only a month or two ago a certain Brazilian official died in England, +having quarrelled with Olivier and left his country. He was a well-known +figure both here and on the Continent, a Spaniard named Espado; I knew +him myself, a yellow-faced old dandy, with a hooked nose. For various +private reasons I had permission to see the documents he had left; he +was a Catholic, of course, and I had been with him towards the end. +There was nothing of his that lit up any corner of the black St. Clare +business, except five or six common exercise books filled with the diary +of some English soldier. I can only suppose that it was found by the +Brazilians on one of those that fell. Anyhow, it stopped abruptly the +night before the battle. + +“But the account of that last day in the poor fellow’s life was +certainly worth reading. I have it on me; but it’s too dark to read it +here, and I will give you a resume. The first part of that entry is full +of jokes, evidently flung about among the men, about somebody called the +Vulture. It does not seem as if this person, whoever he was, was one of +themselves, nor even an Englishman; neither is he exactly spoken of as +one of the enemy. It sounds rather as if he were some local go-between +and non-combatant; perhaps a guide or a journalist. He has been closeted +with old Colonel Clancy; but is more often seen talking to the major. +Indeed, the major is somewhat prominent in this soldier’s narrative; +a lean, dark-haired man, apparently, of the name of Murray--a north of +Ireland man and a Puritan. There are continual jests about the contrast +between this Ulsterman’s austerity and the conviviality of +Colonel Clancy. There is also some joke about the Vulture wearing +bright-coloured clothes. + +“But all these levities are scattered by what may well be called the +note of a bugle. Behind the English camp and almost parallel to the +river ran one of the few great roads of that district. Westward the road +curved round towards the river, which it crossed by the bridge before +mentioned. To the east the road swept backwards into the wilds, and some +two miles along it was the next English outpost. From this direction +there came along the road that evening a glitter and clatter of +light cavalry, in which even the simple diarist could recognise with +astonishment the general with his staff. He rode the great white horse +which you have seen so often in illustrated papers and Academy pictures; +and you may be sure that the salute they gave him was not merely +ceremonial. He, at least, wasted no time on ceremony, but, springing +from the saddle immediately, mixed with the group of officers, and fell +into emphatic though confidential speech. What struck our friend the +diarist most was his special disposition to discuss matters with Major +Murray; but, indeed, such a selection, so long as it was not marked, was +in no way unnatural. The two men were made for sympathy; they were men +who ‘read their Bibles’; they were both the old Evangelical type of +officer. However this may be, it is certain that when the general +mounted again he was still talking earnestly to Murray; and that as +he walked his horse slowly down the road towards the river, the tall +Ulsterman still walked by his bridle rein in earnest debate. The +soldiers watched the two until they vanished behind a clump of trees +where the road turned towards the river. The colonel had gone back to +his tent, and the men to their pickets; the man with the diary lingered +for another four minutes, and saw a marvellous sight. + +“The great white horse which had marched slowly down the road, as it had +marched in so many processions, flew back, galloping up the road towards +them as if it were mad to win a race. At first they thought it had run +away with the man on its back; but they soon saw that the general, a +fine rider, was himself urging it to full speed. Horse and man swept up +to them like a whirlwind; and then, reining up the reeling charger, the +general turned on them a face like flame, and called for the colonel +like the trumpet that wakes the dead. + +“I conceive that all the earthquake events of that catastrophe tumbled +on top of each other rather like lumber in the minds of men such as our +friend with the diary. With the dazed excitement of a dream, they found +themselves falling--literally falling--into their ranks, and learned +that an attack was to be led at once across the river. The general and +the major, it was said, had found out something at the bridge, and there +was only just time to strike for life. The major had gone back at once +to call up the reserve along the road behind; it was doubtful if even +with that prompt appeal help could reach them in time. But they must +pass the stream that night, and seize the heights by morning. It is with +the very stir and throb of that romantic nocturnal march that the diary +suddenly ends.” + +Father Brown had mounted ahead; for the woodland path grew smaller, +steeper, and more twisted, till they felt as if they were ascending +a winding staircase. The priest’s voice came from above out of the +darkness. + +“There was one other little and enormous thing. When the general urged +them to their chivalric charge he half drew his sword from the scabbard; +and then, as if ashamed of such melodrama, thrust it back again. The +sword again, you see.” + +A half-light broke through the network of boughs above them, flinging +the ghost of a net about their feet; for they were mounting again to the +faint luminosity of the naked night. Flambeau felt truth all round him +as an atmosphere, but not as an idea. He answered with bewildered brain: +“Well, what’s the matter with the sword? Officers generally have swords, +don’t they?” + +“They are not often mentioned in modern war,” said the other +dispassionately; “but in this affair one falls over the blessed sword +everywhere.” + +“Well, what is there in that?” growled Flambeau; “it was a twopence +coloured sort of incident; the old man’s blade breaking in his last +battle. Anyone might bet the papers would get hold of it, as they have. +On all these tombs and things it’s shown broken at the point. I hope you +haven’t dragged me through this Polar expedition merely because two men +with an eye for a picture saw St. Clare’s broken sword.” + +“No,” cried Father Brown, with a sharp voice like a pistol shot; “but +who saw his unbroken sword?” + +“What do you mean?” cried the other, and stood still under the stars. +They had come abruptly out of the grey gates of the wood. + +“I say, who saw his unbroken sword?” repeated Father Brown obstinately. +“Not the writer of the diary, anyhow; the general sheathed it in time.” + +Flambeau looked about him in the moonlight, as a man struck blind +might look in the sun; and his friend went on, for the first time with +eagerness: + +“Flambeau,” he cried, “I cannot prove it, even after hunting through the +tombs. But I am sure of it. Let me add just one more tiny fact that tips +the whole thing over. The colonel, by a strange chance, was one of the +first struck by a bullet. He was struck long before the troops came to +close quarters. But he saw St. Clare’s sword broken. Why was it broken? +How was it broken? My friend, it was broken before the battle.” + +“Oh!” said his friend, with a sort of forlorn jocularity; “and pray +where is the other piece?” + +“I can tell you,” said the priest promptly. “In the northeast corner of +the cemetery of the Protestant Cathedral at Belfast.” + +“Indeed?” inquired the other. “Have you looked for it?” + +“I couldn’t,” replied Brown, with frank regret. “There’s a great marble +monument on top of it; a monument to the heroic Major Murray, who fell +fighting gloriously at the famous Battle of the Black River.” + +Flambeau seemed suddenly galvanised into existence. “You mean,” he cried +hoarsely, “that General St. Clare hated Murray, and murdered him on the +field of battle because--” + +“You are still full of good and pure thoughts,” said the other. “It was +worse than that.” + +“Well,” said the large man, “my stock of evil imagination is used up.” + +The priest seemed really doubtful where to begin, and at last he said +again: + +“Where would a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest.” + +The other did not answer. + +“If there were no forest, he would make a forest. And if he wished to +hide a dead leaf, he would make a dead forest.” + +There was still no reply, and the priest added still more mildly and +quietly: + +“And if a man had to hide a dead body, he would make a field of dead +bodies to hide it in.” + +Flambeau began to stamp forward with an intolerance of delay in time +or space; but Father Brown went on as if he were continuing the last +sentence: + +“Sir Arthur St. Clare, as I have already said, was a man who read +his Bible. That was what was the matter with him. When will people +understand that it is useless for a man to read his Bible unless he also +reads everybody else’s Bible? A printer reads a Bible for misprints. A +Mormon reads his Bible, and finds polygamy; a Christian Scientist +reads his, and finds we have no arms and legs. St. Clare was an old +Anglo-Indian Protestant soldier. Now, just think what that might +mean; and, for Heaven’s sake, don’t cant about it. It might mean a man +physically formidable living under a tropic sun in an Oriental society, +and soaking himself without sense or guidance in an Oriental Book. Of +course, he read the Old Testament rather than the New. Of course, he +found in the Old Testament anything that he wanted--lust, tyranny, +treason. Oh, I dare say he was honest, as you call it. But what is the +good of a man being honest in his worship of dishonesty? + +“In each of the hot and secret countries to which the man went he kept a +harem, he tortured witnesses, he amassed shameful gold; but certainly +he would have said with steady eyes that he did it to the glory of the +Lord. My own theology is sufficiently expressed by asking which Lord? +Anyhow, there is this about such evil, that it opens door after door +in hell, and always into smaller and smaller chambers. This is the real +case against crime, that a man does not become wilder and wilder, but +only meaner and meaner. St. Clare was soon suffocated by difficulties of +bribery and blackmail; and needed more and more cash. And by the time of +the Battle of the Black River he had fallen from world to world to that +place which Dante makes the lowest floor of the universe.” + +“What do you mean?” asked his friend again. + +“I mean that,” retorted the cleric, and suddenly pointed at a puddle +sealed with ice that shone in the moon. “Do you remember whom Dante put +in the last circle of ice?” + +“The traitors,” said Flambeau, and shuddered. As he looked around at the +inhuman landscape of trees, with taunting and almost obscene outlines, +he could almost fancy he was Dante, and the priest with the rivulet of a +voice was, indeed, a Virgil leading him through a land of eternal sins. + +The voice went on: “Olivier, as you know, was quixotic, and would not +permit a secret service and spies. The thing, however, was done, like +many other things, behind his back. It was managed by my old friend +Espado; he was the bright-clad fop, whose hook nose got him called the +Vulture. Posing as a sort of philanthropist at the front, he felt his +way through the English Army, and at last got his fingers on its one +corrupt man--please God!--and that man at the top. St. Clare was in foul +need of money, and mountains of it. The discredited family doctor was +threatening those extraordinary exposures that afterwards began and +were broken off; tales of monstrous and prehistoric things in Park Lane; +things done by an English Evangelist that smelt like human sacrifice and +hordes of slaves. Money was wanted, too, for his daughter’s dowry; for +to him the fame of wealth was as sweet as wealth itself. He snapped the +last thread, whispered the word to Brazil, and wealth poured in from the +enemies of England. But another man had talked to Espado the Vulture as +well as he. Somehow the dark, grim young major from Ulster had guessed +the hideous truth; and when they walked slowly together down that road +towards the bridge Murray was telling the general that he must resign +instantly, or be court-martialled and shot. The general temporised with +him till they came to the fringe of tropic trees by the bridge; and +there by the singing river and the sunlit palms (for I can see the +picture) the general drew his sabre and plunged it through the body of +the major.” + +The wintry road curved over a ridge in cutting frost, with cruel black +shapes of bush and thicket; but Flambeau fancied that he saw beyond it +faintly the edge of an aureole that was not starlight and moonlight, but +some fire such as is made by men. He watched it as the tale drew to its +close. + +“St. Clare was a hell-hound, but he was a hound of breed. Never, I’ll +swear, was he so lucid and so strong as when poor Murray lay a cold lump +at his feet. Never in all his triumphs, as Captain Keith said truly, was +the great man so great as he was in this last world-despised defeat. He +looked coolly at his weapon to wipe off the blood; he saw the point he +had planted between his victim’s shoulders had broken off in the body. +He saw quite calmly, as through a club windowpane, all that must follow. +He saw that men must find the unaccountable corpse; must extract +the unaccountable sword-point; must notice the unaccountable broken +sword--or absence of sword. He had killed, but not silenced. But his +imperious intellect rose against the facer; there was one way yet. He +could make the corpse less unaccountable. He could create a hill of +corpses to cover this one. In twenty minutes eight hundred English +soldiers were marching down to their death.” + +The warmer glow behind the black winter wood grew richer and brighter, +and Flambeau strode on to reach it. Father Brown also quickened his +stride; but he seemed merely absorbed in his tale. + +“Such was the valour of that English thousand, and such the genius of +their commander, that if they had at once attacked the hill, even their +mad march might have met some luck. But the evil mind that played with +them like pawns had other aims and reasons. They must remain in the +marshes by the bridge at least till British corpses should be a +common sight there. Then for the last grand scene; the silver-haired +soldier-saint would give up his shattered sword to save further +slaughter. Oh, it was well organised for an impromptu. But I think (I +cannot prove), I think that it was while they stuck there in the bloody +mire that someone doubted--and someone guessed.” + +He was mute a moment, and then said: “There is a voice from nowhere that +tells me the man who guessed was the lover... the man to wed the old +man’s child.” + +“But what about Olivier and the hanging?” asked Flambeau. + +“Olivier, partly from chivalry, partly from policy, seldom encumbered +his march with captives,” explained the narrator. “He released everybody +in most cases. He released everybody in this case.” + +“Everybody but the general,” said the tall man. + +“Everybody,” said the priest. + +Flambeau knit his black brows. “I don’t grasp it all yet,” he said. + +“There is another picture, Flambeau,” said Brown in his more mystical +undertone. “I can’t prove it; but I can do more--I can see it. There is +a camp breaking up on the bare, torrid hills at morning, and Brazilian +uniforms massed in blocks and columns to march. There is the red +shirt and long black beard of Olivier, which blows as he stands, his +broad-brimmed hat in his hand. He is saying farewell to the great enemy +he is setting free--the simple, snow-headed English veteran, who +thanks him in the name of his men. The English remnant stand behind +at attention; beside them are stores and vehicles for the retreat. +The drums roll; the Brazilians are moving; the English are still like +statues. So they abide till the last hum and flash of the enemy have +faded from the tropic horizon. Then they alter their postures all at +once, like dead men coming to life; they turn their fifty faces upon the +general--faces not to be forgotten.” + +Flambeau gave a great jump. “Ah,” he cried, “you don’t mean--” + +“Yes,” said Father Brown in a deep, moving voice. “It was an English +hand that put the rope round St. Clare’s neck; I believe the hand that +put the ring on his daughter’s finger. They were English hands that +dragged him up to the tree of shame; the hands of men that had adored +him and followed him to victory. And they were English souls (God pardon +and endure us all!) who stared at him swinging in that foreign sun on +the green gallows of palm, and prayed in their hatred that he might drop +off it into hell.” + +As the two topped the ridge there burst on them the strong scarlet light +of a red-curtained English inn. It stood sideways in the road, as if +standing aside in the amplitude of hospitality. Its three doors stood +open with invitation; and even where they stood they could hear the hum +and laughter of humanity happy for a night. + +“I need not tell you more,” said Father Brown. “They tried him in the +wilderness and destroyed him; and then, for the honour of England and +of his daughter, they took an oath to seal up for ever the story of the +traitor’s purse and the assassin’s sword blade. Perhaps--Heaven help +them--they tried to forget it. Let us try to forget it, anyhow; here is +our inn.” + +“With all my heart,” said Flambeau, and was just striding into the +bright, noisy bar when he stepped back and almost fell on the road. + +“Look there, in the devil’s name!” he cried, and pointed rigidly at the +square wooden sign that overhung the road. It showed dimly the crude +shape of a sabre hilt and a shortened blade; and was inscribed in false +archaic lettering, “The Sign of the Broken Sword.” + +“Were you not prepared?” asked Father Brown gently. “He is the god of +this country; half the inns and parks and streets are named after him +and his story.” + +“I thought we had done with the leper,” cried Flambeau, and spat on the +road. + +“You will never have done with him in England,” said the priest, looking +down, “while brass is strong and stone abides. His marble statues will +erect the souls of proud, innocent boys for centuries, his village tomb +will smell of loyalty as of lilies. Millions who never knew him shall +love him like a father--this man whom the last few that knew him dealt +with like dung. He shall be a saint; and the truth shall never be told +of him, because I have made up my mind at last. There is so much good +and evil in breaking secrets, that I put my conduct to a test. All these +newspapers will perish; the anti-Brazil boom is already over; Olivier +is already honoured everywhere. But I told myself that if anywhere, by +name, in metal or marble that will endure like the pyramids, Colonel +Clancy, or Captain Keith, or President Olivier, or any innocent man was +wrongly blamed, then I would speak. If it were only that St. Clare was +wrongly praised, I would be silent. And I will.” + +They plunged into the red-curtained tavern, which was not only cosy, but +even luxurious inside. On a table stood a silver model of the tomb of +St. Clare, the silver head bowed, the silver sword broken. On the +walls were coloured photographs of the same scene, and of the system +of wagonettes that took tourists to see it. They sat down on the +comfortable padded benches. + +“Come, it’s cold,” cried Father Brown; “let’s have some wine or beer.” + +“Or brandy,” said Flambeau. + + + + +The Three Tools of Death + + +Both by calling and conviction Father Brown knew better than most of us, +that every man is dignified when he is dead. But even he felt a pang of +incongruity when he was knocked up at daybreak and told that Sir Aaron +Armstrong had been murdered. There was something absurd and unseemly +about secret violence in connection with so entirely entertaining and +popular a figure. For Sir Aaron Armstrong was entertaining to the point +of being comic; and popular in such a manner as to be almost legendary. +It was like hearing that Sunny Jim had hanged himself; or that Mr. +Pickwick had died in Hanwell. For though Sir Aaron was a philanthropist, +and thus dealt with the darker side of our society, he prided himself +on dealing with it in the brightest possible style. His political and +social speeches were cataracts of anecdotes and “loud laughter”; his +bodily health was of a bursting sort; his ethics were all optimism; and +he dealt with the Drink problem (his favourite topic) with that immortal +or even monotonous gaiety which is so often a mark of the prosperous +total abstainer. + +The established story of his conversion was familiar on the more +puritanic platforms and pulpits, how he had been, when only a boy, drawn +away from Scotch theology to Scotch whisky, and how he had risen out of +both and become (as he modestly put it) what he was. Yet his wide +white beard, cherubic face, and sparkling spectacles, at the numberless +dinners and congresses where they appeared, made it hard to believe, +somehow, that he had ever been anything so morbid as either a +dram-drinker or a Calvinist. He was, one felt, the most seriously merry +of all the sons of men. + +He had lived on the rural skirt of Hampstead in a handsome house, high +but not broad, a modern and prosaic tower. The narrowest of its narrow +sides overhung the steep green bank of a railway, and was shaken by +passing trains. Sir Aaron Armstrong, as he boisterously explained, had +no nerves. But if the train had often given a shock to the house, that +morning the tables were turned, and it was the house that gave a shock +to the train. + +The engine slowed down and stopped just beyond that point where an angle +of the house impinged upon the sharp slope of turf. The arrest of most +mechanical things must be slow; but the living cause of this had been +very rapid. A man clad completely in black, even (it was remembered) +to the dreadful detail of black gloves, appeared on the ridge above +the engine, and waved his black hands like some sable windmill. This in +itself would hardly have stopped even a lingering train. But there came +out of him a cry which was talked of afterwards as something utterly +unnatural and new. It was one of those shouts that are horridly distinct +even when we cannot hear what is shouted. The word in this case was +“Murder!” + +But the engine-driver swears he would have pulled up just the same if he +had heard only the dreadful and definite accent and not the word. + +The train once arrested, the most superficial stare could take in many +features of the tragedy. The man in black on the green bank was Sir +Aaron Armstrong’s man-servant Magnus. The baronet in his optimism had +often laughed at the black gloves of this dismal attendant; but no one +was likely to laugh at him just now. + +So soon as an inquirer or two had stepped off the line and across the +smoky hedge, they saw, rolled down almost to the bottom of the bank, the +body of an old man in a yellow dressing-gown with a very vivid +scarlet lining. A scrap of rope seemed caught about his leg, entangled +presumably in a struggle. There was a smear or so of blood, though very +little; but the body was bent or broken into a posture impossible to any +living thing. It was Sir Aaron Armstrong. A few more bewildered moments +brought out a big fair-bearded man, whom some travellers could salute +as the dead man’s secretary, Patrick Royce, once well known in Bohemian +society and even famous in the Bohemian arts. In a manner more vague, +but even more convincing, he echoed the agony of the servant. By the +time the third figure of that household, Alice Armstrong, daughter of +the dead man, had come already tottering and waving into the garden, the +engine-driver had put a stop to his stoppage. The whistle had blown and +the train had panted on to get help from the next station. + +Father Brown had been thus rapidly summoned at the request of Patrick +Royce, the big ex-Bohemian secretary. Royce was an Irishman by birth; +and that casual kind of Catholic that never remembers his religion +until he is really in a hole. But Royce’s request might have been less +promptly complied with if one of the official detectives had not been a +friend and admirer of the unofficial Flambeau; and it was impossible to +be a friend of Flambeau without hearing numberless stories about Father +Brown. Hence, while the young detective (whose name was Merton) led +the little priest across the fields to the railway, their talk was more +confidential than could be expected between two total strangers. + +“As far as I can see,” said Mr. Merton candidly, “there is no sense +to be made of it at all. There is nobody one can suspect. Magnus is a +solemn old fool; far too much of a fool to be an assassin. Royce has +been the baronet’s best friend for years; and his daughter undoubtedly +adored him. Besides, it’s all too absurd. Who would kill such a cheery +old chap as Armstrong? Who could dip his hands in the gore of an +after-dinner speaker? It would be like killing Father Christmas.” + +“Yes, it was a cheery house,” assented Father Brown. “It was a cheery +house while he was alive. Do you think it will be cheery now he is +dead?” + +Merton started a little and regarded his companion with an enlivened +eye. “Now he is dead?” he repeated. + +“Yes,” continued the priest stolidly, “he was cheerful. But did he +communicate his cheerfulness? Frankly, was anyone else in the house +cheerful but he?” + +A window in Merton’s mind let in that strange light of surprise in which +we see for the first time things we have known all along. He had often +been to the Armstrongs’, on little police jobs of the philanthropist; +and, now he came to think of it, it was in itself a depressing house. +The rooms were very high and very cold; the decoration mean and +provincial; the draughty corridors were lit by electricity that was +bleaker than moonlight. And though the old man’s scarlet face and silver +beard had blazed like a bonfire in each room or passage in turn, it did +not leave any warmth behind it. Doubtless this spectral discomfort in +the place was partly due to the very vitality and exuberance of its +owner; he needed no stoves or lamps, he would say, but carried his own +warmth with him. But when Merton recalled the other inmates, he was +compelled to confess that they also were as shadows of their lord. +The moody man-servant, with his monstrous black gloves, was almost a +nightmare; Royce, the secretary, was solid enough, a big bull of a +man, in tweeds, with a short beard; but the straw-coloured beard was +startlingly salted with grey like the tweeds, and the broad forehead was +barred with premature wrinkles. He was good-natured enough also, but it +was a sad sort of good-nature, almost a heart-broken sort--he had the +general air of being some sort of failure in life. As for Armstrong’s +daughter, it was almost incredible that she was his daughter; she was so +pallid in colour and sensitive in outline. She was graceful, but there +was a quiver in the very shape of her that was like the lines of an +aspen. Merton had sometimes wondered if she had learnt to quail at the +crash of the passing trains. + +“You see,” said Father Brown, blinking modestly, “I’m not sure that the +Armstrong cheerfulness is so very cheerful--for other people. You say +that nobody could kill such a happy old man, but I’m not sure; ne nos +inducas in tentationem. If ever I murdered somebody,” he added quite +simply, “I dare say it might be an Optimist.” + +“Why?” cried Merton amused. “Do you think people dislike cheerfulness?” + +“People like frequent laughter,” answered Father Brown, “but I don’t +think they like a permanent smile. Cheerfulness without humour is a very +trying thing.” + +They walked some way in silence along the windy grassy bank by the rail, +and just as they came under the far-flung shadow of the tall Armstrong +house, Father Brown said suddenly, like a man throwing away a +troublesome thought rather than offering it seriously: “Of course, drink +is neither good nor bad in itself. But I can’t help sometimes feeling +that men like Armstrong want an occasional glass of wine to sadden +them.” + +Merton’s official superior, a grizzled and capable detective named +Gilder, was standing on the green bank waiting for the coroner, talking +to Patrick Royce, whose big shoulders and bristly beard and hair towered +above him. This was the more noticeable because Royce walked always +with a sort of powerful stoop, and seemed to be going about his small +clerical and domestic duties in a heavy and humbled style, like a +buffalo drawing a go-cart. + +He raised his head with unusual pleasure at the sight of the priest, and +took him a few paces apart. Meanwhile Merton was addressing the +older detective respectfully indeed, but not without a certain boyish +impatience. + +“Well, Mr. Gilder, have you got much farther with the mystery?” + +“There is no mystery,” replied Gilder, as he looked under dreamy eyelids +at the rooks. + +“Well, there is for me, at any rate,” said Merton, smiling. + +“It is simple enough, my boy,” observed the senior investigator, +stroking his grey, pointed beard. “Three minutes after you’d gone for +Mr. Royce’s parson the whole thing came out. You know that pasty-faced +servant in the black gloves who stopped the train?” + +“I should know him anywhere. Somehow he rather gave me the creeps.” + +“Well,” drawled Gilder, “when the train had gone on again, that man had +gone too. Rather a cool criminal, don’t you think, to escape by the very +train that went off for the police?” + +“You’re pretty sure, I suppose,” remarked the young man, “that he really +did kill his master?” + +“Yes, my son, I’m pretty sure,” replied Gilder drily, “for the trifling +reason that he has gone off with twenty thousand pounds in papers that +were in his master’s desk. No, the only thing worth calling a difficulty +is how he killed him. The skull seems broken as with some big weapon, +but there’s no weapon at all lying about, and the murderer would have +found it awkward to carry it away, unless the weapon was too small to be +noticed.” + +“Perhaps the weapon was too big to be noticed,” said the priest, with an +odd little giggle. + +Gilder looked round at this wild remark, and rather sternly asked Brown +what he meant. + +“Silly way of putting it, I know,” said Father Brown apologetically. +“Sounds like a fairy tale. But poor Armstrong was killed with a giant’s +club, a great green club, too big to be seen, and which we call the +earth. He was broken against this green bank we are standing on.” + +“How do you mean?” asked the detective quickly. + +Father Brown turned his moon face up to the narrow façade of the house +and blinked hopelessly up. Following his eyes, they saw that right at +the top of this otherwise blind back quarter of the building, an attic +window stood open. + +“Don’t you see,” he explained, pointing a little awkwardly like a child, +“he was thrown down from there?” + +Gilder frowningly scrutinised the window, and then said: “Well, it is +certainly possible. But I don’t see why you are so sure about it.” + +Brown opened his grey eyes wide. “Why,” he said, “there’s a bit of rope +round the dead man’s leg. Don’t you see that other bit of rope up there +caught at the corner of the window?” + +At that height the thing looked like the faintest particle of dust +or hair, but the shrewd old investigator was satisfied. “You’re quite +right, sir,” he said to Father Brown; “that is certainly one to you.” + +Almost as he spoke a special train with one carriage took the curve +of the line on their left, and, stopping, disgorged another group +of policemen, in whose midst was the hangdog visage of Magnus, the +absconded servant. + +“By Jove! they’ve got him,” cried Gilder, and stepped forward with quite +a new alertness. + +“Have you got the money!” he cried to the first policeman. + +The man looked him in the face with a rather curious expression and +said: “No.” Then he added: “At least, not here.” + +“Which is the inspector, please?” asked the man called Magnus. + +When he spoke everyone instantly understood how this voice had stopped +a train. He was a dull-looking man with flat black hair, a colourless +face, and a faint suggestion of the East in the level slits in his eyes +and mouth. His blood and name, indeed, had remained dubious, ever since +Sir Aaron had “rescued” him from a waitership in a London restaurant, +and (as some said) from more infamous things. But his voice was as vivid +as his face was dead. Whether through exactitude in a foreign language, +or in deference to his master (who had been somewhat deaf), Magnus’s +tones had a peculiarly ringing and piercing quality, and the whole group +quite jumped when he spoke. + +“I always knew this would happen,” he said aloud with brazen blandness. +“My poor old master made game of me for wearing black; but I always said +I should be ready for his funeral.” + +And he made a momentary movement with his two dark-gloved hands. + +“Sergeant,” said Inspector Gilder, eyeing the black hands with wrath, +“aren’t you putting the bracelets on this fellow; he looks pretty +dangerous.” + +“Well, sir,” said the sergeant, with the same odd look of wonder, “I +don’t know that we can.” + +“What do you mean?” asked the other sharply. “Haven’t you arrested him?” + +A faint scorn widened the slit-like mouth, and the whistle of an +approaching train seemed oddly to echo the mockery. + +“We arrested him,” replied the sergeant gravely, “just as he was coming +out of the police station at Highgate, where he had deposited all his +master’s money in the care of Inspector Robinson.” + +Gilder looked at the man-servant in utter amazement. “Why on earth did +you do that?” he asked of Magnus. + +“To keep it safe from the criminal, of course,” replied that person +placidly. + +“Surely,” said Gilder, “Sir Aaron’s money might have been safely left +with Sir Aaron’s family.” + +The tail of his sentence was drowned in the roar of the train as it went +rocking and clanking; but through all the hell of noises to which that +unhappy house was periodically subject, they could hear the syllables of +Magnus’s answer, in all their bell-like distinctness: “I have no reason +to feel confidence in Sir Aaron’s family.” + +All the motionless men had the ghostly sensation of the presence of some +new person; and Merton was scarcely surprised when he looked up and saw +the pale face of Armstrong’s daughter over Father Brown’s shoulder. She +was still young and beautiful in a silvery style, but her hair was of so +dusty and hueless a brown that in some shadows it seemed to have turned +totally grey. + +“Be careful what you say,” said Royce gruffly, “you’ll frighten Miss +Armstrong.” + +“I hope so,” said the man with the clear voice. + +As the woman winced and everyone else wondered, he went on: “I am +somewhat used to Miss Armstrong’s tremors. I have seen her trembling off +and on for years. And some said she was shaking with cold and some she +was shaking with fear, but I know she was shaking with hate and wicked +anger--fiends that have had their feast this morning. She would have +been away by now with her lover and all the money but for me. Ever since +my poor old master prevented her from marrying that tipsy blackguard--” + +“Stop,” said Gilder very sternly. “We have nothing to do with your +family fancies or suspicions. Unless you have some practical evidence, +your mere opinions--” + +“Oh! I’ll give you practical evidence,” cut in Magnus, in his hacking +accent. “You’ll have to subpoena me, Mr. Inspector, and I shall have to +tell the truth. And the truth is this: An instant after the old man was +pitched bleeding out of the window, I ran into the attic, and found +his daughter swooning on the floor with a red dagger still in her hand. +Allow me to hand that also to the proper authorities.” He took from his +tail-pocket a long horn-hilted knife with a red smear on it, and handed +it politely to the sergeant. Then he stood back again, and his slits of +eyes almost faded from his face in one fat Chinese sneer. + +Merton felt an almost bodily sickness at the sight of him; and he +muttered to Gilder: “Surely you would take Miss Armstrong’s word against +his?” + +Father Brown suddenly lifted a face so absurdly fresh that it looked +somehow as if he had just washed it. “Yes,” he said, radiating +innocence, “but is Miss Armstrong’s word against his?” + +The girl uttered a startled, singular little cry; everyone looked at +her. Her figure was rigid as if paralysed; only her face within its +frame of faint brown hair was alive with an appalling surprise. She +stood like one of a sudden lassooed and throttled. + +“This man,” said Mr. Gilder gravely, “actually says that you were found +grasping a knife, insensible, after the murder.” + +“He says the truth,” answered Alice. + +The next fact of which they were conscious was that Patrick Royce strode +with his great stooping head into their ring and uttered the singular +words: “Well, if I’ve got to go, I’ll have a bit of pleasure first.” + +His huge shoulder heaved and he sent an iron fist smash into Magnus’s +bland Mongolian visage, laying him on the lawn as flat as a starfish. +Two or three of the police instantly put their hands on Royce; but to +the rest it seemed as if all reason had broken up and the universe were +turning into a brainless harlequinade. + +“None of that, Mr. Royce,” Gilder had called out authoritatively. “I +shall arrest you for assault.” + +“No, you won’t,” answered the secretary in a voice like an iron gong, +“you will arrest me for murder.” + +Gilder threw an alarmed glance at the man knocked down; but since that +outraged person was already sitting up and wiping a little blood off a +substantially uninjured face, he only said shortly: “What do you mean?” + +“It is quite true, as this fellow says,” explained Royce, “that Miss +Armstrong fainted with a knife in her hand. But she had not snatched the +knife to attack her father, but to defend him.” + +“To defend him,” repeated Gilder gravely. “Against whom?” + +“Against me,” answered the secretary. + +Alice looked at him with a complex and baffling face; then she said in a +low voice: “After it all, I am still glad you are brave.” + +“Come upstairs,” said Patrick Royce heavily, “and I will show you the +whole cursed thing.” + +The attic, which was the secretary’s private place (and rather a small +cell for so large a hermit), had indeed all the vestiges of a violent +drama. Near the centre of the floor lay a large revolver as if flung +away; nearer to the left was rolled a whisky bottle, open but not quite +empty. The cloth of the little table lay dragged and trampled, and a +length of cord, like that found on the corpse, was cast wildly across +the windowsill. Two vases were smashed on the mantelpiece and one on the +carpet. + +“I was drunk,” said Royce; and this simplicity in the prematurely +battered man somehow had the pathos of the first sin of a baby. + +“You all know about me,” he continued huskily; “everybody knows how my +story began, and it may as well end like that too. I was called a clever +man once, and might have been a happy one; Armstrong saved the remains +of a brain and body from the taverns, and was always kind to me in his +own way, poor fellow! Only he wouldn’t let me marry Alice here; and it +will always be said that he was right enough. Well, you can form your +own conclusions, and you won’t want me to go into details. That is my +whisky bottle half emptied in the corner; that is my revolver quite +emptied on the carpet. It was the rope from my box that was found on the +corpse, and it was from my window the corpse was thrown. You need not +set detectives to grub up my tragedy; it is a common enough weed in this +world. I give myself to the gallows; and, by God, that is enough!” + +At a sufficiently delicate sign, the police gathered round the large man +to lead him away; but their unobtrusiveness was somewhat staggered by +the remarkable appearance of Father Brown, who was on his hands and +knees on the carpet in the doorway, as if engaged in some kind of +undignified prayers. Being a person utterly insensible to the social +figure he cut, he remained in this posture, but turned a bright round +face up at the company, presenting the appearance of a quadruped with a +very comic human head. + +“I say,” he said good-naturedly, “this really won’t do at all, you know. +At the beginning you said we’d found no weapon. But now we’re finding +too many; there’s the knife to stab, and the rope to strangle, and the +pistol to shoot; and after all he broke his neck by falling out of a +window! It won’t do. It’s not economical.” And he shook his head at the +ground as a horse does grazing. + +Inspector Gilder had opened his mouth with serious intentions, but +before he could speak the grotesque figure on the floor had gone on +quite volubly. + +“And now three quite impossible things. First, these holes in the +carpet, where the six bullets have gone in. Why on earth should anybody +fire at the carpet? A drunken man lets fly at his enemy’s head, the +thing that’s grinning at him. He doesn’t pick a quarrel with his feet, +or lay siege to his slippers. And then there’s the rope”--and having +done with the carpet the speaker lifted his hands and put them in his +pocket, but continued unaffectedly on his knees--“in what conceivable +intoxication would anybody try to put a rope round a man’s neck and +finally put it round his leg? Royce, anyhow, was not so drunk as that, +or he would be sleeping like a log by now. And, plainest of all, the +whisky bottle. You suggest a dipsomaniac fought for the whisky bottle, +and then having won, rolled it away in a corner, spilling one half and +leaving the other. That is the very last thing a dipsomaniac would do.” + +He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, and said to the self-accused +murderer in tones of limpid penitence: “I’m awfully sorry, my dear sir, +but your tale is really rubbish.” + +“Sir,” said Alice Armstrong in a low tone to the priest, “can I speak to +you alone for a moment?” + +This request forced the communicative cleric out of the gangway, and +before he could speak in the next room, the girl was talking with +strange incisiveness. + +“You are a clever man,” she said, “and you are trying to save Patrick, +I know. But it’s no use. The core of all this is black, and the more +things you find out the more there will be against the miserable man I +love.” + +“Why?” asked Brown, looking at her steadily. + +“Because,” she answered equally steadily, “I saw him commit the crime +myself.” + +“Ah!” said the unmoved Brown, “and what did he do?” + +“I was in this room next to them,” she explained; “both doors were +closed, but I suddenly heard a voice, such as I had never heard on +earth, roaring ‘Hell, hell, hell,’ again and again, and then the two +doors shook with the first explosion of the revolver. Thrice again the +thing banged before I got the two doors open and found the room full of +smoke; but the pistol was smoking in my poor, mad Patrick’s hand; and I +saw him fire the last murderous volley with my own eyes. Then he leapt +on my father, who was clinging in terror to the window-sill, and, +grappling, tried to strangle him with the rope, which he threw over his +head, but which slipped over his struggling shoulders to his feet. Then +it tightened round one leg and Patrick dragged him along like a maniac. +I snatched a knife from the mat, and, rushing between them, managed to +cut the rope before I fainted.” + +“I see,” said Father Brown, with the same wooden civility. “Thank you.” + +As the girl collapsed under her memories, the priest passed stiffly +into the next room, where he found Gilder and Merton alone with Patrick +Royce, who sat in a chair, handcuffed. There he said to the Inspector +submissively: + +“Might I say a word to the prisoner in your presence; and might he take +off those funny cuffs for a minute?” + +“He is a very powerful man,” said Merton in an undertone. “Why do you +want them taken off?” + +“Why, I thought,” replied the priest humbly, “that perhaps I might have +the very great honour of shaking hands with him.” + +Both detectives stared, and Father Brown added: “Won’t you tell them +about it, sir?” + +The man on the chair shook his tousled head, and the priest turned +impatiently. + +“Then I will,” he said. “Private lives are more important than public +reputations. I am going to save the living, and let the dead bury their +dead.” + +He went to the fatal window, and blinked out of it as he went on +talking. + +“I told you that in this case there were too many weapons and only one +death. I tell you now that they were not weapons, and were not used to +cause death. All those grisly tools, the noose, the bloody knife, the +exploding pistol, were instruments of a curious mercy. They were not +used to kill Sir Aaron, but to save him.” + +“To save him!” repeated Gilder. “And from what?” + +“From himself,” said Father Brown. “He was a suicidal maniac.” + +“What?” cried Merton in an incredulous tone. “And the Religion of +Cheerfulness--” + +“It is a cruel religion,” said the priest, looking out of the window. +“Why couldn’t they let him weep a little, like his fathers before him? +His plans stiffened, his views grew cold; behind that merry mask was +the empty mind of the atheist. At last, to keep up his hilarious public +level, he fell back on that dram-drinking he had abandoned long ago. But +there is this horror about alcoholism in a sincere teetotaler: that he +pictures and expects that psychological inferno from which he has warned +others. It leapt upon poor Armstrong prematurely, and by this morning +he was in such a case that he sat here and cried he was in hell, in so +crazy a voice that his daughter did not know it. He was mad for death, +and with the monkey tricks of the mad he had scattered round him death +in many shapes--a running noose and his friend’s revolver and a knife. +Royce entered accidentally and acted in a flash. He flung the knife +on the mat behind him, snatched up the revolver, and having no time to +unload it, emptied it shot after shot all over the floor. The suicide +saw a fourth shape of death, and made a dash for the window. The rescuer +did the only thing he could--ran after him with the rope and tried to +tie him hand and foot. Then it was that the unlucky girl ran in, and +misunderstanding the struggle, strove to slash her father free. At first +she only slashed poor Royce’s knuckles, from which has come all the +little blood in this affair. But, of course, you noticed that he left +blood, but no wound, on that servant’s face? Only before the poor woman +swooned, she did hack her father loose, so that he went crashing through +that window into eternity.” + +There was a long stillness slowly broken by the metallic noises of +Gilder unlocking the handcuffs of Patrick Royce, to whom he said: “I +think I should have told the truth, sir. You and the young lady are +worth more than Armstrong’s obituary notices.” + +“Confound Armstrong’s notices,” cried Royce roughly. “Don’t you see it +was because she mustn’t know?” + +“Mustn’t know what?” asked Merton. + +“Why, that she killed her father, you fool!” roared the other. “He’d +have been alive now but for her. It might craze her to know that.” + +“No, I don’t think it would,” remarked Father Brown, as he picked up his +hat. “I rather think I should tell her. Even the most murderous blunders +don’t poison life like sins; anyhow, I think you may both be the happier +now. I’ve got to go back to the Deaf School.” + +As he went out on to the gusty grass an acquaintance from Highgate +stopped him and said: + +“The Coroner has arrived. The inquiry is just going to begin.” + +“I’ve got to get back to the Deaf School,” said Father Brown. “I’m sorry +I can’t stop for the inquiry.” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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K. Chesterton</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Innocence of Father Brown</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: G. K. Chesterton</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January, 1995 [eBook #204]<br /> +[Most recently updated: June 1, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Judith Boss and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN ***</div> + + <h1> + THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN + </h1> + + <h2> + By G. K. Chesterton + </h2> + + <hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">The Blue Cross</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">The Secret Garden</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">The Queer Feet</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">The Flying Stars</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">The Invisible Man</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">The Honour of Israel Gow</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">The Wrong Shape</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">The Sins of Prince Saradine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">The Hammer of God</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">The Eye of Apollo</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">The Sign of the Broken Sword</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">The Three Tools of Death</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + + <hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap01"></a> + The Blue Cross + </h2> + <p> + Between the silver ribbon of morning and the green glittering ribbon of + sea, the boat touched Harwich and let loose a swarm of folk like flies, + among whom the man we must follow was by no means conspicuous—nor + wished to be. There was nothing notable about him, except a slight + contrast between the holiday gaiety of his clothes and the official + gravity of his face. His clothes included a slight, pale grey jacket, a + white waistcoat, and a silver straw hat with a grey-blue ribbon. His lean + face was dark by contrast, and ended in a curt black beard that looked + Spanish and suggested an Elizabethan ruff. He was smoking a cigarette with + the seriousness of an idler. There was nothing about him to indicate the + fact that the grey jacket covered a loaded revolver, that the white + waistcoat covered a police card, or that the straw hat covered one of the + most powerful intellects in Europe. For this was Valentin himself, the + head of the Paris police and the most famous investigator of the world; + and he was coming from Brussels to London to make the greatest arrest of + the century. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau was in England. The police of three countries had tracked the + great criminal at last from Ghent to Brussels, from Brussels to the Hook + of Holland; and it was conjectured that he would take some advantage of + the unfamiliarity and confusion of the Eucharistic Congress, then taking + place in London. Probably he would travel as some minor clerk or secretary + connected with it; but, of course, Valentin could not be certain; nobody + could be certain about Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + It is many years now since this colossus of crime suddenly ceased keeping + the world in a turmoil; and when he ceased, as they said after the death + of Roland, there was a great quiet upon the earth. But in his best days (I + mean, of course, his worst) Flambeau was a figure as statuesque and + international as the Kaiser. Almost every morning the daily paper + announced that he had escaped the consequences of one extraordinary crime + by committing another. He was a Gascon of gigantic stature and bodily + daring; and the wildest tales were told of his outbursts of athletic + humour; how he turned the juge d’instruction upside down and stood him on + his head, “to clear his mind”; how he ran down the Rue de Rivoli with a + policeman under each arm. It is due to him to say that his fantastic + physical strength was generally employed in such bloodless though + undignified scenes; his real crimes were chiefly those of ingenious and + wholesale robbery. But each of his thefts was almost a new sin, and would + make a story by itself. It was he who ran the great Tyrolean Dairy Company + in London, with no dairies, no cows, no carts, no milk, but with some + thousand subscribers. These he served by the simple operation of moving + the little milk cans outside people’s doors to the doors of his own + customers. It was he who had kept up an unaccountable and close + correspondence with a young lady whose whole letter-bag was intercepted, + by the extraordinary trick of photographing his messages infinitesimally + small upon the slides of a microscope. A sweeping simplicity, however, + marked many of his experiments. It is said that he once repainted all the + numbers in a street in the dead of night merely to divert one traveller + into a trap. It is quite certain that he invented a portable pillar-box, + which he put up at corners in quiet suburbs on the chance of strangers + dropping postal orders into it. Lastly, he was known to be a startling + acrobat; despite his huge figure, he could leap like a grasshopper and + melt into the tree-tops like a monkey. Hence the great Valentin, when he + set out to find Flambeau, was perfectly aware that his adventures would + not end when he had found him. + </p> + <p> + But how was he to find him? On this the great Valentin’s ideas were still + in process of settlement. + </p> + <p> + There was one thing which Flambeau, with all his dexterity of disguise, + could not cover, and that was his singular height. If Valentin’s quick eye + had caught a tall apple-woman, a tall grenadier, or even a tolerably tall + duchess, he might have arrested them on the spot. But all along his train + there was nobody that could be a disguised Flambeau, any more than a cat + could be a disguised giraffe. About the people on the boat he had already + satisfied himself; and the people picked up at Harwich or on the journey + limited themselves with certainty to six. There was a short railway + official travelling up to the terminus, three fairly short market + gardeners picked up two stations afterwards, one very short widow lady + going up from a small Essex town, and a very short Roman Catholic priest + going up from a small Essex village. When it came to the last case, + Valentin gave it up and almost laughed. The little priest was so much the + essence of those Eastern flats; he had a face as round and dull as a + Norfolk dumpling; he had eyes as empty as the North Sea; he had several + brown paper parcels, which he was quite incapable of collecting. The + Eucharistic Congress had doubtless sucked out of their local stagnation + many such creatures, blind and helpless, like moles disinterred. Valentin + was a sceptic in the severe style of France, and could have no love for + priests. But he could have pity for them, and this one might have provoked + pity in anybody. He had a large, shabby umbrella, which constantly fell on + the floor. He did not seem to know which was the right end of his return + ticket. He explained with a moon-calf simplicity to everybody in the + carriage that he had to be careful, because he had something made of real + silver “with blue stones” in one of his brown-paper parcels. His quaint + blending of Essex flatness with saintly simplicity continuously amused the + Frenchman till the priest arrived (somehow) at Tottenham with all his + parcels, and came back for his umbrella. When he did the last, Valentin + even had the good nature to warn him not to take care of the silver by + telling everybody about it. But to whomever he talked, Valentin kept his + eye open for someone else; he looked out steadily for anyone, rich or + poor, male or female, who was well up to six feet; for Flambeau was four + inches above it. + </p> + <p> + He alighted at Liverpool Street, however, quite conscientiously secure + that he had not missed the criminal so far. He then went to Scotland Yard + to regularise his position and arrange for help in case of need; he then + lit another cigarette and went for a long stroll in the streets of London. + As he was walking in the streets and squares beyond Victoria, he paused + suddenly and stood. It was a quaint, quiet square, very typical of London, + full of an accidental stillness. The tall, flat houses round looked at + once prosperous and uninhabited; the square of shrubbery in the centre + looked as deserted as a green Pacific islet. One of the four sides was + much higher than the rest, like a dais; and the line of this side was + broken by one of London’s admirable accidents—a restaurant that + looked as if it had strayed from Soho. It was an unreasonably attractive + object, with dwarf plants in pots and long, striped blinds of lemon yellow + and white. It stood specially high above the street, and in the usual + patchwork way of London, a flight of steps from the street ran up to meet + the front door almost as a fire-escape might run up to a first-floor + window. Valentin stood and smoked in front of the yellow-white blinds and + considered them long. + </p> + <p> + The most incredible thing about miracles is that they happen. A few clouds + in heaven do come together into the staring shape of one human eye. A tree + does stand up in the landscape of a doubtful journey in the exact and + elaborate shape of a note of interrogation. I have seen both these things + myself within the last few days. Nelson does die in the instant of + victory; and a man named Williams does quite accidentally murder a man + named Williamson; it sounds like a sort of infanticide. In short, there is + in life an element of elfin coincidence which people reckoning on the + prosaic may perpetually miss. As it has been well expressed in the paradox + of Poe, wisdom should reckon on the unforeseen. + </p> + <p> + Aristide Valentin was unfathomably French; and the French intelligence is + intelligence specially and solely. He was not “a thinking machine”; for + that is a brainless phrase of modern fatalism and materialism. A machine + only is a machine because it cannot think. But he was a thinking man, and + a plain man at the same time. All his wonderful successes, that looked + like conjuring, had been gained by plodding logic, by clear and + commonplace French thought. The French electrify the world not by starting + any paradox, they electrify it by carrying out a truism. They carry a + truism so far—as in the French Revolution. But exactly because + Valentin understood reason, he understood the limits of reason. Only a man + who knows nothing of motors talks of motoring without petrol; only a man + who knows nothing of reason talks of reasoning without strong, undisputed + first principles. Here he had no strong first principles. Flambeau had + been missed at Harwich; and if he was in London at all, he might be + anything from a tall tramp on Wimbledon Common to a tall toast-master at + the Hotel Metropole. In such a naked state of nescience, Valentin had a + view and a method of his own. + </p> + <p> + In such cases he reckoned on the unforeseen. In such cases, when he could + not follow the train of the reasonable, he coldly and carefully followed + the train of the unreasonable. Instead of going to the right places—banks, + police stations, rendezvous—he systematically went to the wrong + places; knocked at every empty house, turned down every cul de sac, went + up every lane blocked with rubbish, went round every crescent that led him + uselessly out of the way. He defended this crazy course quite logically. + He said that if one had a clue this was the worst way; but if one had no + clue at all it was the best, because there was just the chance that any + oddity that caught the eye of the pursuer might be the same that had + caught the eye of the pursued. Somewhere a man must begin, and it had + better be just where another man might stop. Something about that flight + of steps up to the shop, something about the quietude and quaintness of + the restaurant, roused all the detective’s rare romantic fancy and made + him resolve to strike at random. He went up the steps, and sitting down at + a table by the window, asked for a cup of black coffee. + </p> + <p> + It was half-way through the morning, and he had not breakfasted; the + slight litter of other breakfasts stood about on the table to remind him + of his hunger; and adding a poached egg to his order, he proceeded + musingly to shake some white sugar into his coffee, thinking all the time + about Flambeau. He remembered how Flambeau had escaped, once by a pair of + nail scissors, and once by a house on fire; once by having to pay for an + unstamped letter, and once by getting people to look through a telescope + at a comet that might destroy the world. He thought his detective brain as + good as the criminal’s, which was true. But he fully realised the + disadvantage. “The criminal is the creative artist; the detective only the + critic,” he said with a sour smile, and lifted his coffee cup to his lips + slowly, and put it down very quickly. He had put salt in it. + </p> + <p> + He looked at the vessel from which the silvery powder had come; it was + certainly a sugar-basin; as unmistakably meant for sugar as a + champagne-bottle for champagne. He wondered why they should keep salt in + it. He looked to see if there were any more orthodox vessels. Yes; there + were two salt-cellars quite full. Perhaps there was some speciality in the + condiment in the salt-cellars. He tasted it; it was sugar. Then he looked + round at the restaurant with a refreshed air of interest, to see if there + were any other traces of that singular artistic taste which puts the sugar + in the salt-cellars and the salt in the sugar-basin. Except for an odd + splash of some dark fluid on one of the white-papered walls, the whole + place appeared neat, cheerful and ordinary. He rang the bell for the + waiter. + </p> + <p> + When that official hurried up, fuzzy-haired and somewhat blear-eyed at + that early hour, the detective (who was not without an appreciation of the + simpler forms of humour) asked him to taste the sugar and see if it was up + to the high reputation of the hotel. The result was that the waiter yawned + suddenly and woke up. + </p> + <p> + “Do you play this delicate joke on your customers every morning?” inquired + Valentin. “Does changing the salt and sugar never pall on you as a jest?” + </p> + <p> + The waiter, when this irony grew clearer, stammeringly assured him that + the establishment had certainly no such intention; it must be a most + curious mistake. He picked up the sugar-basin and looked at it; he picked + up the salt-cellar and looked at that, his face growing more and more + bewildered. At last he abruptly excused himself, and hurrying away, + returned in a few seconds with the proprietor. The proprietor also + examined the sugar-basin and then the salt-cellar; the proprietor also + looked bewildered. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the waiter seemed to grow inarticulate with a rush of words. + </p> + <p> + “I zink,” he stuttered eagerly, “I zink it is those two clergy-men.” + </p> + <p> + “What two clergymen?” + </p> + <p> + “The two clergymen,” said the waiter, “that threw soup at the wall.” + </p> + <p> + “Threw soup at the wall?” repeated Valentin, feeling sure this must be + some singular Italian metaphor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said the attendant excitedly, and pointed at the dark splash + on the white paper; “threw it over there on the wall.” + </p> + <p> + Valentin looked his query at the proprietor, who came to his rescue with + fuller reports. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” he said, “it’s quite true, though I don’t suppose it has + anything to do with the sugar and salt. Two clergymen came in and drank + soup here very early, as soon as the shutters were taken down. They were + both very quiet, respectable people; one of them paid the bill and went + out; the other, who seemed a slower coach altogether, was some minutes + longer getting his things together. But he went at last. Only, the instant + before he stepped into the street he deliberately picked up his cup, which + he had only half emptied, and threw the soup slap on the wall. I was in + the back room myself, and so was the waiter; so I could only rush out in + time to find the wall splashed and the shop empty. It don’t do any + particular damage, but it was confounded cheek; and I tried to catch the + men in the street. They were too far off though; I only noticed they went + round the next corner into Carstairs Street.” + </p> + <p> + The detective was on his feet, hat settled and stick in hand. He had + already decided that in the universal darkness of his mind he could only + follow the first odd finger that pointed; and this finger was odd enough. + Paying his bill and clashing the glass doors behind him, he was soon + swinging round into the other street. + </p> + <p> + It was fortunate that even in such fevered moments his eye was cool and + quick. Something in a shop-front went by him like a mere flash; yet he + went back to look at it. The shop was a popular greengrocer and + fruiterer’s, an array of goods set out in the open air and plainly + ticketed with their names and prices. In the two most prominent + compartments were two heaps, of oranges and of nuts respectively. On the + heap of nuts lay a scrap of cardboard, on which was written in bold, blue + chalk, “Best tangerine oranges, two a penny.” On the oranges was the + equally clear and exact description, “Finest Brazil nuts, 4d. a lb.” M. + Valentin looked at these two placards and fancied he had met this highly + subtle form of humour before, and that somewhat recently. He drew the + attention of the red-faced fruiterer, who was looking rather sullenly up + and down the street, to this inaccuracy in his advertisements. The + fruiterer said nothing, but sharply put each card into its proper place. + The detective, leaning elegantly on his walking-cane, continued to + scrutinise the shop. At last he said, “Pray excuse my apparent + irrelevance, my good sir, but I should like to ask you a question in + experimental psychology and the association of ideas.” + </p> + <p> + The red-faced shopman regarded him with an eye of menace; but he continued + gaily, swinging his cane, “Why,” he pursued, “why are two tickets wrongly + placed in a greengrocer’s shop like a shovel hat that has come to London + for a holiday? Or, in case I do not make myself clear, what is the + mystical association which connects the idea of nuts marked as oranges + with the idea of two clergymen, one tall and the other short?” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the tradesman stood out of his head like a snail’s; he really + seemed for an instant likely to fling himself upon the stranger. At last + he stammered angrily: “I don’t know what you ’ave to do with it, but if + you’re one of their friends, you can tell ’em from me that I’ll knock + their silly ’eads off, parsons or no parsons, if they upset my apples + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” asked the detective, with great sympathy. “Did they upset your + apples?” + </p> + <p> + “One of ’em did,” said the heated shopman; “rolled ’em all over the + street. I’d ’ave caught the fool but for havin’ to pick ’em up.” + </p> + <p> + “Which way did these parsons go?” asked Valentin. + </p> + <p> + “Up that second road on the left-hand side, and then across the square,” + said the other promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” replied Valentin, and vanished like a fairy. On the other side + of the second square he found a policeman, and said: “This is urgent, + constable; have you seen two clergymen in shovel hats?” + </p> + <p> + The policeman began to chuckle heavily. “I ’ave, sir; and if you arst me, + one of ’em was drunk. He stood in the middle of the road that bewildered + that—” + </p> + <p> + “Which way did they go?” snapped Valentin. + </p> + <p> + “They took one of them yellow buses over there,” answered the man; “them + that go to Hampstead.” + </p> + <p> + Valentin produced his official card and said very rapidly: “Call up two of + your men to come with me in pursuit,” and crossed the road with such + contagious energy that the ponderous policeman was moved to almost agile + obedience. In a minute and a half the French detective was joined on the + opposite pavement by an inspector and a man in plain clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” began the former, with smiling importance, “and what may—?” + </p> + <p> + Valentin pointed suddenly with his cane. “I’ll tell you on the top of that + omnibus,” he said, and was darting and dodging across the tangle of the + traffic. When all three sank panting on the top seats of the yellow + vehicle, the inspector said: “We could go four times as quick in a taxi.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true,” replied their leader placidly, “if we only had an idea of + where we were going.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, where are you going?” asked the other, staring. + </p> + <p> + Valentin smoked frowningly for a few seconds; then, removing his + cigarette, he said: “If you know what a man’s doing, get in front of him; + but if you want to guess what he’s doing, keep behind him. Stray when he + strays; stop when he stops; travel as slowly as he. Then you may see what + he saw and may act as he acted. All we can do is to keep our eyes skinned + for a queer thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of queer thing do you mean?” asked the inspector. + </p> + <p> + “Any sort of queer thing,” answered Valentin, and relapsed into obstinate + silence. + </p> + <p> + The yellow omnibus crawled up the northern roads for what seemed like + hours on end; the great detective would not explain further, and perhaps + his assistants felt a silent and growing doubt of his errand. Perhaps, + also, they felt a silent and growing desire for lunch, for the hours crept + long past the normal luncheon hour, and the long roads of the North London + suburbs seemed to shoot out into length after length like an infernal + telescope. It was one of those journeys on which a man perpetually feels + that now at last he must have come to the end of the universe, and then + finds he has only come to the beginning of Tufnell Park. London died away + in draggled taverns and dreary scrubs, and then was unaccountably born + again in blazing high streets and blatant hotels. It was like passing + through thirteen separate vulgar cities all just touching each other. But + though the winter twilight was already threatening the road ahead of them, + the Parisian detective still sat silent and watchful, eyeing the frontage + of the streets that slid by on either side. By the time they had left + Camden Town behind, the policemen were nearly asleep; at least, they gave + something like a jump as Valentin leapt erect, struck a hand on each man’s + shoulder, and shouted to the driver to stop. + </p> + <p> + They tumbled down the steps into the road without realising why they had + been dislodged; when they looked round for enlightenment they found + Valentin triumphantly pointing his finger towards a window on the left + side of the road. It was a large window, forming part of the long façade + of a gilt and palatial public-house; it was the part reserved for + respectable dining, and labelled “Restaurant.” This window, like all the + rest along the frontage of the hotel, was of frosted and figured glass; + but in the middle of it was a big, black smash, like a star in the ice. + </p> + <p> + “Our cue at last,” cried Valentin, waving his stick; “the place with the + broken window.” + </p> + <p> + “What window? What cue?” asked his principal assistant. “Why, what proof + is there that this has anything to do with them?” + </p> + <p> + Valentin almost broke his bamboo stick with rage. + </p> + <p> + “Proof!” he cried. “Good God! the man is looking for proof! Why, of + course, the chances are twenty to one that it has nothing to do with them. + But what else can we do? Don’t you see we must either follow one wild + possibility or else go home to bed?” He banged his way into the + restaurant, followed by his companions, and they were soon seated at a + late luncheon at a little table, and looked at the star of smashed glass + from the inside. Not that it was very informative to them even then. + </p> + <p> + “Got your window broken, I see,” said Valentin to the waiter as he paid + the bill. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” answered the attendant, bending busily over the change, to + which Valentin silently added an enormous tip. The waiter straightened + himself with mild but unmistakable animation. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, sir,” he said. “Very odd thing, that, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” Tell us about it,” said the detective with careless curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, two gents in black came in,” said the waiter; “two of those foreign + parsons that are running about. They had a cheap and quiet little lunch, + and one of them paid for it and went out. The other was just going out to + join him when I looked at my change again and found he’d paid me more than + three times too much. ‘Here,’ I says to the chap who was nearly out of the + door, ‘you’ve paid too much.’ ‘Oh,’ he says, very cool, ‘have we?’ ‘Yes,’ + I says, and picks up the bill to show him. Well, that was a knock-out.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked his interlocutor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’d have sworn on seven Bibles that I’d put 4s. on that bill. But + now I saw I’d put 14s., as plain as paint.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” cried Valentin, moving slowly, but with burning eyes, “and then?” + </p> + <p> + “The parson at the door he says all serene, ‘Sorry to confuse your + accounts, but it’ll pay for the window.’ ‘What window?’ I says. ‘The one + I’m going to break,’ he says, and smashed that blessed pane with his + umbrella.” + </p> + <p> + All three inquirers made an exclamation; and the inspector said under his + breath, “Are we after escaped lunatics?” The waiter went on with some + relish for the ridiculous story: + </p> + <p> + “I was so knocked silly for a second, I couldn’t do anything. The man + marched out of the place and joined his friend just round the corner. Then + they went so quick up Bullock Street that I couldn’t catch them, though I + ran round the bars to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Bullock Street,” said the detective, and shot up that thoroughfare as + quickly as the strange couple he pursued. + </p> + <p> + Their journey now took them through bare brick ways like tunnels; streets + with few lights and even with few windows; streets that seemed built out + of the blank backs of everything and everywhere. Dusk was deepening, and + it was not easy even for the London policemen to guess in what exact + direction they were treading. The inspector, however, was pretty certain + that they would eventually strike some part of Hampstead Heath. Abruptly + one bulging gas-lit window broke the blue twilight like a bull’s-eye + lantern; and Valentin stopped an instant before a little garish sweetstuff + shop. After an instant’s hesitation he went in; he stood amid the gaudy + colours of the confectionery with entire gravity and bought thirteen + chocolate cigars with a certain care. He was clearly preparing an opening; + but he did not need one. + </p> + <p> + An angular, elderly young woman in the shop had regarded his elegant + appearance with a merely automatic inquiry; but when she saw the door + behind him blocked with the blue uniform of the inspector, her eyes seemed + to wake up. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “if you’ve come about that parcel, I’ve sent it off + already.” + </p> + <p> + “Parcel?” repeated Valentin; and it was his turn to look inquiring. + </p> + <p> + “I mean the parcel the gentleman left—the clergyman gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “For goodness’ sake,” said Valentin, leaning forward with his first real + confession of eagerness, “for Heaven’s sake tell us what happened + exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the woman a little doubtfully, “the clergymen came in about + half an hour ago and bought some peppermints and talked a bit, and then + went off towards the Heath. But a second after, one of them runs back into + the shop and says, ‘Have I left a parcel!’ Well, I looked everywhere and + couldn’t see one; so he says, ‘Never mind; but if it should turn up, + please post it to this address,’ and he left me the address and a shilling + for my trouble. And sure enough, though I thought I’d looked everywhere, I + found he’d left a brown paper parcel, so I posted it to the place he said. + I can’t remember the address now; it was somewhere in Westminster. But as + the thing seemed so important, I thought perhaps the police had come about + it.” + </p> + <p> + “So they have,” said Valentin shortly. “Is Hampstead Heath near here?” + </p> + <p> + “Straight on for fifteen minutes,” said the woman, “and you’ll come right + out on the open.” Valentin sprang out of the shop and began to run. The + other detectives followed him at a reluctant trot. + </p> + <p> + The street they threaded was so narrow and shut in by shadows that when + they came out unexpectedly into the void common and vast sky they were + startled to find the evening still so light and clear. A perfect dome of + peacock-green sank into gold amid the blackening trees and the dark violet + distances. The glowing green tint was just deep enough to pick out in + points of crystal one or two stars. All that was left of the daylight lay + in a golden glitter across the edge of Hampstead and that popular hollow + which is called the Vale of Health. The holiday makers who roam this + region had not wholly dispersed; a few couples sat shapelessly on benches; + and here and there a distant girl still shrieked in one of the swings. The + glory of heaven deepened and darkened around the sublime vulgarity of man; + and standing on the slope and looking across the valley, Valentin beheld + the thing which he sought. + </p> + <p> + Among the black and breaking groups in that distance was one especially + black which did not break—a group of two figures clerically clad. + Though they seemed as small as insects, Valentin could see that one of + them was much smaller than the other. Though the other had a student’s + stoop and an inconspicuous manner, he could see that the man was well over + six feet high. He shut his teeth and went forward, whirling his stick + impatiently. By the time he had substantially diminished the distance and + magnified the two black figures as in a vast microscope, he had perceived + something else; something which startled him, and yet which he had somehow + expected. Whoever was the tall priest, there could be no doubt about the + identity of the short one. It was his friend of the Harwich train, the + stumpy little cure of Essex whom he had warned about his brown paper + parcels. + </p> + <p> + Now, so far as this went, everything fitted in finally and rationally + enough. Valentin had learned by his inquiries that morning that a Father + Brown from Essex was bringing up a silver cross with sapphires, a relic of + considerable value, to show some of the foreign priests at the congress. + This undoubtedly was the “silver with blue stones”; and Father Brown + undoubtedly was the little greenhorn in the train. Now there was nothing + wonderful about the fact that what Valentin had found out Flambeau had + also found out; Flambeau found out everything. Also there was nothing + wonderful in the fact that when Flambeau heard of a sapphire cross he + should try to steal it; that was the most natural thing in all natural + history. And most certainly there was nothing wonderful about the fact + that Flambeau should have it all his own way with such a silly sheep as + the man with the umbrella and the parcels. He was the sort of man whom + anybody could lead on a string to the North Pole; it was not surprising + that an actor like Flambeau, dressed as another priest, could lead him to + Hampstead Heath. So far the crime seemed clear enough; and while the + detective pitied the priest for his helplessness, he almost despised + Flambeau for condescending to so gullible a victim. But when Valentin + thought of all that had happened in between, of all that had led him to + his triumph, he racked his brains for the smallest rhyme or reason in it. + What had the stealing of a blue-and-silver cross from a priest from Essex + to do with chucking soup at wall paper? What had it to do with calling + nuts oranges, or with paying for windows first and breaking them + afterwards? He had come to the end of his chase; yet somehow he had missed + the middle of it. When he failed (which was seldom), he had usually + grasped the clue, but nevertheless missed the criminal. Here he had + grasped the criminal, but still he could not grasp the clue. + </p> + <p> + The two figures that they followed were crawling like black flies across + the huge green contour of a hill. They were evidently sunk in + conversation, and perhaps did not notice where they were going; but they + were certainly going to the wilder and more silent heights of the Heath. + As their pursuers gained on them, the latter had to use the undignified + attitudes of the deer-stalker, to crouch behind clumps of trees and even + to crawl prostrate in deep grass. By these ungainly ingenuities the + hunters even came close enough to the quarry to hear the murmur of the + discussion, but no word could be distinguished except the word “reason” + recurring frequently in a high and almost childish voice. Once over an + abrupt dip of land and a dense tangle of thickets, the detectives actually + lost the two figures they were following. They did not find the trail + again for an agonising ten minutes, and then it led round the brow of a + great dome of hill overlooking an amphitheatre of rich and desolate sunset + scenery. Under a tree in this commanding yet neglected spot was an old + ramshackle wooden seat. On this seat sat the two priests still in serious + speech together. The gorgeous green and gold still clung to the darkening + horizon; but the dome above was turning slowly from peacock-green to + peacock-blue, and the stars detached themselves more and more like solid + jewels. Mutely motioning to his followers, Valentin contrived to creep up + behind the big branching tree, and, standing there in deathly silence, + heard the words of the strange priests for the first time. + </p> + <p> + After he had listened for a minute and a half, he was gripped by a + devilish doubt. Perhaps he had dragged the two English policemen to the + wastes of a nocturnal heath on an errand no saner than seeking figs on its + thistles. For the two priests were talking exactly like priests, piously, + with learning and leisure, about the most aerial enigmas of theology. The + little Essex priest spoke the more simply, with his round face turned to + the strengthening stars; the other talked with his head bowed, as if he + were not even worthy to look at them. But no more innocently clerical + conversation could have been heard in any white Italian cloister or black + Spanish cathedral. + </p> + <p> + The first he heard was the tail of one of Father Brown’s sentences, which + ended: “... what they really meant in the Middle Ages by the heavens being + incorruptible.” + </p> + <p> + The taller priest nodded his bowed head and said: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, these modern infidels appeal to their reason; but who can look + at those millions of worlds and not feel that there may well be wonderful + universes above us where reason is utterly unreasonable?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the other priest; “reason is always reasonable, even in the + last limbo, in the lost borderland of things. I know that people charge + the Church with lowering reason, but it is just the other way. Alone on + earth, the Church makes reason really supreme. Alone on earth, the Church + affirms that God himself is bound by reason.” + </p> + <p> + The other priest raised his austere face to the spangled sky and said: + </p> + <p> + “Yet who knows if in that infinite universe—?” + </p> + <p> + “Only infinite physically,” said the little priest, turning sharply in his + seat, “not infinite in the sense of escaping from the laws of truth.” + </p> + <p> + Valentin behind his tree was tearing his fingernails with silent fury. He + seemed almost to hear the sniggers of the English detectives whom he had + brought so far on a fantastic guess only to listen to the metaphysical + gossip of two mild old parsons. In his impatience he lost the equally + elaborate answer of the tall cleric, and when he listened again it was + again Father Brown who was speaking: + </p> + <p> + “Reason and justice grip the remotest and the loneliest star. Look at + those stars. Don’t they look as if they were single diamonds and + sapphires? Well, you can imagine any mad botany or geology you please. + Think of forests of adamant with leaves of brilliants. Think the moon is a + blue moon, a single elephantine sapphire. But don’t fancy that all that + frantic astronomy would make the smallest difference to the reason and + justice of conduct. On plains of opal, under cliffs cut out of pearl, you + would still find a notice-board, ‘Thou shalt not steal.’” + </p> + <p> + Valentin was just in the act of rising from his rigid and crouching + attitude and creeping away as softly as might be, felled by the one great + folly of his life. But something in the very silence of the tall priest + made him stop until the latter spoke. When at last he did speak, he said + simply, his head bowed and his hands on his knees: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think that other worlds may perhaps rise higher than our reason. + The mystery of heaven is unfathomable, and I for one can only bow my + head.” + </p> + <p> + Then, with brow yet bent and without changing by the faintest shade his + attitude or voice, he added: + </p> + <p> + “Just hand over that sapphire cross of yours, will you? We’re all alone + here, and I could pull you to pieces like a straw doll.” + </p> + <p> + The utterly unaltered voice and attitude added a strange violence to that + shocking change of speech. But the guarder of the relic only seemed to + turn his head by the smallest section of the compass. He seemed still to + have a somewhat foolish face turned to the stars. Perhaps he had not + understood. Or, perhaps, he had understood and sat rigid with terror. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the tall priest, in the same low voice and in the same still + posture, “yes, I am Flambeau.” + </p> + <p> + Then, after a pause, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Come, will you give me that cross?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the other, and the monosyllable had an odd sound. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau suddenly flung off all his pontifical pretensions. The great + robber leaned back in his seat and laughed low but long. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he cried, “you won’t give it me, you proud prelate. You won’t give + it me, you little celibate simpleton. Shall I tell you why you won’t give + it me? Because I’ve got it already in my own breast-pocket.” + </p> + <p> + The small man from Essex turned what seemed to be a dazed face in the + dusk, and said, with the timid eagerness of “The Private Secretary”: + </p> + <p> + “Are—are you sure?” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau yelled with delight. + </p> + <p> + “Really, you’re as good as a three-act farce,” he cried. “Yes, you turnip, + I am quite sure. I had the sense to make a duplicate of the right parcel, + and now, my friend, you’ve got the duplicate and I’ve got the jewels. An + old dodge, Father Brown—a very old dodge.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Father Brown, and passed his hand through his hair with the + same strange vagueness of manner. “Yes, I’ve heard of it before.” + </p> + <p> + The colossus of crime leaned over to the little rustic priest with a sort + of sudden interest. + </p> + <p> + “You have heard of it?” he asked. “Where have you heard of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I mustn’t tell you his name, of course,” said the little man + simply. “He was a penitent, you know. He had lived prosperously for about + twenty years entirely on duplicate brown paper parcels. And so, you see, + when I began to suspect you, I thought of this poor chap’s way of doing it + at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Began to suspect me?” repeated the outlaw with increased intensity. “Did + you really have the gumption to suspect me just because I brought you up + to this bare part of the heath?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Brown with an air of apology. “You see, I suspected you + when we first met. It’s that little bulge up the sleeve where you people + have the spiked bracelet.” + </p> + <p> + “How in Tartarus,” cried Flambeau, “did you ever hear of the spiked + bracelet?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, one’s little flock, you know!” said Father Brown, arching his + eyebrows rather blankly. “When I was a curate in Hartlepool, there were + three of them with spiked bracelets. So, as I suspected you from the + first, don’t you see, I made sure that the cross should go safe, anyhow. + I’m afraid I watched you, you know. So at last I saw you change the + parcels. Then, don’t you see, I changed them back again. And then I left + the right one behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Left it behind?” repeated Flambeau, and for the first time there was + another note in his voice beside his triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was like this,” said the little priest, speaking in the same + unaffected way. “I went back to that sweet-shop and asked if I’d left a + parcel, and gave them a particular address if it turned up. Well, I knew I + hadn’t; but when I went away again I did. So, instead of running after me + with that valuable parcel, they have sent it flying to a friend of mine in + Westminster.” Then he added rather sadly: “I learnt that, too, from a poor + fellow in Hartlepool. He used to do it with handbags he stole at railway + stations, but he’s in a monastery now. Oh, one gets to know, you know,” he + added, rubbing his head again with the same sort of desperate apology. “We + can’t help being priests. People come and tell us these things.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau tore a brown-paper parcel out of his inner pocket and rent it in + pieces. There was nothing but paper and sticks of lead inside it. He + sprang to his feet with a gigantic gesture, and cried: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe a bumpkin like you could manage all + that. I believe you’ve still got the stuff on you, and if you don’t give + it up—why, we’re all alone, and I’ll take it by force!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Father Brown simply, and stood up also, “you won’t take it by + force. First, because I really haven’t still got it. And, second, because + we are not alone.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau stopped in his stride forward. + </p> + <p> + “Behind that tree,” said Father Brown, pointing, “are two strong policemen + and the greatest detective alive. How did they come here, do you ask? Why, + I brought them, of course! How did I do it? Why, I’ll tell you if you + like! Lord bless you, we have to know twenty such things when we work + among the criminal classes! Well, I wasn’t sure you were a thief, and it + would never do to make a scandal against one of our own clergy. So I just + tested you to see if anything would make you show yourself. A man + generally makes a small scene if he finds salt in his coffee; if he + doesn’t, he has some reason for keeping quiet. I changed the salt and + sugar, and you kept quiet. A man generally objects if his bill is three + times too big. If he pays it, he has some motive for passing unnoticed. I + altered your bill, and you paid it.” + </p> + <p> + The world seemed waiting for Flambeau to leap like a tiger. But he was + held back as by a spell; he was stunned with the utmost curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” went on Father Brown, with lumbering lucidity, “as you wouldn’t + leave any tracks for the police, of course somebody had to. At every place + we went to, I took care to do something that would get us talked about for + the rest of the day. I didn’t do much harm—a splashed wall, spilt + apples, a broken window; but I saved the cross, as the cross will always + be saved. It is at Westminster by now. I rather wonder you didn’t stop it + with the Donkey’s Whistle.” + </p> + <p> + “With the what?” asked Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad you’ve never heard of it,” said the priest, making a face. “It’s + a foul thing. I’m sure you’re too good a man for a Whistler. I couldn’t + have countered it even with the Spots myself; I’m not strong enough in the + legs.” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth are you talking about?” asked the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I did think you’d know the Spots,” said Father Brown, agreeably + surprised. “Oh, you can’t have gone so very wrong yet!” + </p> + <p> + “How in blazes do you know all these horrors?” cried Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + The shadow of a smile crossed the round, simple face of his clerical + opponent. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, by being a celibate simpleton, I suppose,” he said. “Has it never + struck you that a man who does next to nothing but hear men’s real sins is + not likely to be wholly unaware of human evil? But, as a matter of fact, + another part of my trade, too, made me sure you weren’t a priest.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked the thief, almost gaping. + </p> + <p> + “You attacked reason,” said Father Brown. “It’s bad theology.” + </p> + <p> + And even as he turned away to collect his property, the three policemen + came out from under the twilight trees. Flambeau was an artist and a + sportsman. He stepped back and swept Valentin a great bow. + </p> + <p> + “Do not bow to me, mon ami,” said Valentin with silver clearness. “Let us + both bow to our master.” + </p> + <p> + And they both stood an instant uncovered while the little Essex priest + blinked about for his umbrella. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap02"></a> + The Secret Garden + </h2> + <p> + Aristide Valentin, Chief of the Paris Police, was late for his dinner, and + some of his guests began to arrive before him. These were, however, + reassured by his confidential servant, Ivan, the old man with a scar, and + a face almost as grey as his moustaches, who always sat at a table in the + entrance hall—a hall hung with weapons. Valentin’s house was perhaps + as peculiar and celebrated as its master. It was an old house, with high + walls and tall poplars almost overhanging the Seine; but the oddity—and + perhaps the police value—of its architecture was this: that there + was no ultimate exit at all except through this front door, which was + guarded by Ivan and the armoury. The garden was large and elaborate, and + there were many exits from the house into the garden. But there was no + exit from the garden into the world outside; all round it ran a tall, + smooth, unscalable wall with special spikes at the top; no bad garden, + perhaps, for a man to reflect in whom some hundred criminals had sworn to + kill. + </p> + <p> + As Ivan explained to the guests, their host had telephoned that he was + detained for ten minutes. He was, in truth, making some last arrangements + about executions and such ugly things; and though these duties were + rootedly repulsive to him, he always performed them with precision. + Ruthless in the pursuit of criminals, he was very mild about their + punishment. Since he had been supreme over French—and largely over + European—policial methods, his great influence had been honourably + used for the mitigation of sentences and the purification of prisons. He + was one of the great humanitarian French freethinkers; and the only thing + wrong with them is that they make mercy even colder than justice. + </p> + <p> + When Valentin arrived he was already dressed in black clothes and the red + rosette—an elegant figure, his dark beard already streaked with + grey. He went straight through his house to his study, which opened on the + grounds behind. The garden door of it was open, and after he had carefully + locked his box in its official place, he stood for a few seconds at the + open door looking out upon the garden. A sharp moon was fighting with the + flying rags and tatters of a storm, and Valentin regarded it with a + wistfulness unusual in such scientific natures as his. Perhaps such + scientific natures have some psychic prevision of the most tremendous + problem of their lives. From any such occult mood, at least, he quickly + recovered, for he knew he was late, and that his guests had already begun + to arrive. A glance at his drawing-room when he entered it was enough to + make certain that his principal guest was not there, at any rate. He saw + all the other pillars of the little party; he saw Lord Galloway, the + English Ambassador—a choleric old man with a russet face like an + apple, wearing the blue ribbon of the Garter. He saw Lady Galloway, slim + and threadlike, with silver hair and a face sensitive and superior. He saw + her daughter, Lady Margaret Graham, a pale and pretty girl with an elfish + face and copper-coloured hair. He saw the Duchess of Mont St. Michel, + black-eyed and opulent, and with her her two daughters, black-eyed and + opulent also. He saw Dr. Simon, a typical French scientist, with glasses, + a pointed brown beard, and a forehead barred with those parallel wrinkles + which are the penalty of superciliousness, since they come through + constantly elevating the eyebrows. He saw Father Brown, of Cobhole, in + Essex, whom he had recently met in England. He saw—perhaps with more + interest than any of these—a tall man in uniform, who had bowed to + the Galloways without receiving any very hearty acknowledgment, and who + now advanced alone to pay his respects to his host. This was Commandant + O’Brien, of the French Foreign Legion. He was a slim yet somewhat + swaggering figure, clean-shaven, dark-haired, and blue-eyed, and, as + seemed natural in an officer of that famous regiment of victorious + failures and successful suicides, he had an air at once dashing and + melancholy. He was by birth an Irish gentleman, and in boyhood had known + the Galloways—especially Margaret Graham. He had left his country + after some crash of debts, and now expressed his complete freedom from + British etiquette by swinging about in uniform, sabre and spurs. When he + bowed to the Ambassador’s family, Lord and Lady Galloway bent stiffly, and + Lady Margaret looked away. + </p> + <p> + But for whatever old causes such people might be interested in each other, + their distinguished host was not specially interested in them. No one of + them at least was in his eyes the guest of the evening. Valentin was + expecting, for special reasons, a man of world-wide fame, whose friendship + he had secured during some of his great detective tours and triumphs in + the United States. He was expecting Julius K. Brayne, that + multi-millionaire whose colossal and even crushing endowments of small + religions have occasioned so much easy sport and easier solemnity for the + American and English papers. Nobody could quite make out whether Mr. + Brayne was an atheist or a Mormon or a Christian Scientist; but he was + ready to pour money into any intellectual vessel, so long as it was an + untried vessel. One of his hobbies was to wait for the American + Shakespeare—a hobby more patient than angling. He admired Walt + Whitman, but thought that Luke P. Tanner, of Paris, Pa., was more + “progressive” than Whitman any day. He liked anything that he thought + “progressive.” He thought Valentin “progressive,” thereby doing him a + grave injustice. + </p> + <p> + The solid appearance of Julius K. Brayne in the room was as decisive as a + dinner bell. He had this great quality, which very few of us can claim, + that his presence was as big as his absence. He was a huge fellow, as fat + as he was tall, clad in complete evening black, without so much relief as + a watch-chain or a ring. His hair was white and well brushed back like a + German’s; his face was red, fierce and cherubic, with one dark tuft under + the lower lip that threw up that otherwise infantile visage with an effect + theatrical and even Mephistophelean. Not long, however, did that salon + merely stare at the celebrated American; his lateness had already become a + domestic problem, and he was sent with all speed into the dining-room with + Lady Galloway on his arm. + </p> + <p> + Except on one point the Galloways were genial and casual enough. So long + as Lady Margaret did not take the arm of that adventurer O’Brien, her + father was quite satisfied; and she had not done so, she had decorously + gone in with Dr. Simon. Nevertheless, old Lord Galloway was restless and + almost rude. He was diplomatic enough during dinner, but when, over the + cigars, three of the younger men—Simon the doctor, Brown the priest, + and the detrimental O’Brien, the exile in a foreign uniform—all + melted away to mix with the ladies or smoke in the conservatory, then the + English diplomatist grew very undiplomatic indeed. He was stung every + sixty seconds with the thought that the scamp O’Brien might be signalling + to Margaret somehow; he did not attempt to imagine how. He was left over + the coffee with Brayne, the hoary Yankee who believed in all religions, + and Valentin, the grizzled Frenchman who believed in none. They could + argue with each other, but neither could appeal to him. After a time this + “progressive” logomachy had reached a crisis of tedium; Lord Galloway got + up also and sought the drawing-room. He lost his way in long passages for + some six or eight minutes: till he heard the high-pitched, didactic voice + of the doctor, and then the dull voice of the priest, followed by general + laughter. They also, he thought with a curse, were probably arguing about + “science and religion.” But the instant he opened the salon door he saw + only one thing—he saw what was not there. He saw that Commandant + O’Brien was absent, and that Lady Margaret was absent too. + </p> + <p> + Rising impatiently from the drawing-room, as he had from the dining-room, + he stamped along the passage once more. His notion of protecting his + daughter from the Irish-Algerian n’er-do-well had become something central + and even mad in his mind. As he went towards the back of the house, where + was Valentin’s study, he was surprised to meet his daughter, who swept + past with a white, scornful face, which was a second enigma. If she had + been with O’Brien, where was O’Brien! If she had not been with O’Brien, + where had she been? With a sort of senile and passionate suspicion he + groped his way to the dark back parts of the mansion, and eventually found + a servants’ entrance that opened on to the garden. The moon with her + scimitar had now ripped up and rolled away all the storm-wrack. The argent + light lit up all four corners of the garden. A tall figure in blue was + striding across the lawn towards the study door; a glint of moonlit silver + on his facings picked him out as Commandant O’Brien. + </p> + <p> + He vanished through the French windows into the house, leaving Lord + Galloway in an indescribable temper, at once virulent and vague. The + blue-and-silver garden, like a scene in a theatre, seemed to taunt him + with all that tyrannic tenderness against which his worldly authority was + at war. The length and grace of the Irishman’s stride enraged him as if he + were a rival instead of a father; the moonlight maddened him. He was + trapped as if by magic into a garden of troubadours, a Watteau fairyland; + and, willing to shake off such amorous imbecilities by speech, he stepped + briskly after his enemy. As he did so he tripped over some tree or stone + in the grass; looked down at it first with irritation and then a second + time with curiosity. The next instant the moon and the tall poplars looked + at an unusual sight—an elderly English diplomatist running hard and + crying or bellowing as he ran. + </p> + <p> + His hoarse shouts brought a pale face to the study door, the beaming + glasses and worried brow of Dr. Simon, who heard the nobleman’s first + clear words. Lord Galloway was crying: “A corpse in the grass—a + blood-stained corpse.” O’Brien at last had gone utterly out of his mind. + </p> + <p> + “We must tell Valentin at once,” said the doctor, when the other had + brokenly described all that he had dared to examine. “It is fortunate that + he is here;” and even as he spoke the great detective entered the study, + attracted by the cry. It was almost amusing to note his typical + transformation; he had come with the common concern of a host and a + gentleman, fearing that some guest or servant was ill. When he was told + the gory fact, he turned with all his gravity instantly bright and + businesslike; for this, however abrupt and awful, was his business. + </p> + <p> + “Strange, gentlemen,” he said as they hurried out into the garden, “that I + should have hunted mysteries all over the earth, and now one comes and + settles in my own back-yard. But where is the place?” They crossed the + lawn less easily, as a slight mist had begun to rise from the river; but + under the guidance of the shaken Galloway they found the body sunken in + deep grass—the body of a very tall and broad-shouldered man. He lay + face downwards, so they could only see that his big shoulders were clad in + black cloth, and that his big head was bald, except for a wisp or two of + brown hair that clung to his skull like wet seaweed. A scarlet serpent of + blood crawled from under his fallen face. + </p> + <p> + “At least,” said Simon, with a deep and singular intonation, “he is none + of our party.” + </p> + <p> + “Examine him, doctor,” cried Valentin rather sharply. “He may not be + dead.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor bent down. “He is not quite cold, but I am afraid he is dead + enough,” he answered. “Just help me to lift him up.” + </p> + <p> + They lifted him carefully an inch from the ground, and all doubts as to + his being really dead were settled at once and frightfully. The head fell + away. It had been entirely sundered from the body; whoever had cut his + throat had managed to sever the neck as well. Even Valentin was slightly + shocked. “He must have been as strong as a gorilla,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Not without a shiver, though he was used to anatomical abortions, Dr. + Simon lifted the head. It was slightly slashed about the neck and jaw, but + the face was substantially unhurt. It was a ponderous, yellow face, at + once sunken and swollen, with a hawk-like nose and heavy lids—a face + of a wicked Roman emperor, with, perhaps, a distant touch of a Chinese + emperor. All present seemed to look at it with the coldest eye of + ignorance. Nothing else could be noted about the man except that, as they + had lifted his body, they had seen underneath it the white gleam of a + shirt-front defaced with a red gleam of blood. As Dr. Simon said, the man + had never been of their party. But he might very well have been trying to + join it, for he had come dressed for such an occasion. + </p> + <p> + Valentin went down on his hands and knees and examined with his closest + professional attention the grass and ground for some twenty yards round + the body, in which he was assisted less skillfully by the doctor, and + quite vaguely by the English lord. Nothing rewarded their grovellings + except a few twigs, snapped or chopped into very small lengths, which + Valentin lifted for an instant’s examination and then tossed away. + </p> + <p> + “Twigs,” he said gravely; “twigs, and a total stranger with his head cut + off; that is all there is on this lawn.” + </p> + <p> + There was an almost creepy stillness, and then the unnerved Galloway + called out sharply: + </p> + <p> + “Who’s that! Who’s that over there by the garden wall!” + </p> + <p> + A small figure with a foolishly large head drew waveringly near them in + the moonlit haze; looked for an instant like a goblin, but turned out to + be the harmless little priest whom they had left in the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he said meekly, “there are no gates to this garden, do you know.” + </p> + <p> + Valentin’s black brows had come together somewhat crossly, as they did on + principle at the sight of the cassock. But he was far too just a man to + deny the relevance of the remark. “You are right,” he said. “Before we + find out how he came to be killed, we may have to find out how he came to + be here. Now listen to me, gentlemen. If it can be done without prejudice + to my position and duty, we shall all agree that certain distinguished + names might well be kept out of this. There are ladies, gentlemen, and + there is a foreign ambassador. If we must mark it down as a crime, then it + must be followed up as a crime. But till then I can use my own discretion. + I am the head of the police; I am so public that I can afford to be + private. Please Heaven, I will clear everyone of my own guests before I + call in my men to look for anybody else. Gentlemen, upon your honour, you + will none of you leave the house till tomorrow at noon; there are bedrooms + for all. Simon, I think you know where to find my man, Ivan, in the front + hall; he is a confidential man. Tell him to leave another servant on guard + and come to me at once. Lord Galloway, you are certainly the best person + to tell the ladies what has happened, and prevent a panic. They also must + stay. Father Brown and I will remain with the body.” + </p> + <p> + When this spirit of the captain spoke in Valentin he was obeyed like a + bugle. Dr. Simon went through to the armoury and routed out Ivan, the + public detective’s private detective. Galloway went to the drawing-room + and told the terrible news tactfully enough, so that by the time the + company assembled there the ladies were already startled and already + soothed. Meanwhile the good priest and the good atheist stood at the head + and foot of the dead man motionless in the moonlight, like symbolic + statues of their two philosophies of death. + </p> + <p> + Ivan, the confidential man with the scar and the moustaches, came out of + the house like a cannon ball, and came racing across the lawn to Valentin + like a dog to his master. His livid face was quite lively with the glow of + this domestic detective story, and it was with almost unpleasant eagerness + that he asked his master’s permission to examine the remains. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; look, if you like, Ivan,” said Valentin, “but don’t be long. We must + go in and thrash this out in the house.” + </p> + <p> + Ivan lifted the head, and then almost let it drop. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he gasped, “it’s—no, it isn’t; it can’t be. Do you know this + man, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Valentin indifferently; “we had better go inside.” + </p> + <p> + Between them they carried the corpse to a sofa in the study, and then all + made their way to the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + The detective sat down at a desk quietly, and even without hesitation; but + his eye was the iron eye of a judge at assize. He made a few rapid notes + upon paper in front of him, and then said shortly: “Is everybody here?” + </p> + <p> + “Not Mr. Brayne,” said the Duchess of Mont St. Michel, looking round. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lord Galloway in a hoarse, harsh voice. “And not Mr. Neil + O’Brien, I fancy. I saw that gentleman walking in the garden when the + corpse was still warm.” + </p> + <p> + “Ivan,” said the detective, “go and fetch Commandant O’Brien and Mr. + Brayne. Mr. Brayne, I know, is finishing a cigar in the dining-room; + Commandant O’Brien, I think, is walking up and down the conservatory. I am + not sure.” + </p> + <p> + The faithful attendant flashed from the room, and before anyone could stir + or speak Valentin went on with the same soldierly swiftness of exposition. + </p> + <p> + “Everyone here knows that a dead man has been found in the garden, his + head cut clean from his body. Dr. Simon, you have examined it. Do you + think that to cut a man’s throat like that would need great force? Or, + perhaps, only a very sharp knife?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say that it could not be done with a knife at all,” said the + pale doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any thought,” resumed Valentin, “of a tool with which it could + be done?” + </p> + <p> + “Speaking within modern probabilities, I really haven’t,” said the doctor, + arching his painful brows. “It’s not easy to hack a neck through even + clumsily, and this was a very clean cut. It could be done with a + battle-axe or an old headsman’s axe, or an old two-handed sword.” + </p> + <p> + “But, good heavens!” cried the Duchess, almost in hysterics, “there aren’t + any two-handed swords and battle-axes round here.” + </p> + <p> + Valentin was still busy with the paper in front of him. “Tell me,” he + said, still writing rapidly, “could it have been done with a long French + cavalry sabre?” + </p> + <p> + A low knocking came at the door, which, for some unreasonable reason, + curdled everyone’s blood like the knocking in Macbeth. Amid that frozen + silence Dr. Simon managed to say: “A sabre—yes, I suppose it could.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Valentin. “Come in, Ivan.” + </p> + <p> + The confidential Ivan opened the door and ushered in Commandant Neil + O’Brien, whom he had found at last pacing the garden again. + </p> + <p> + The Irish officer stood up disordered and defiant on the threshold. “What + do you want with me?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Please sit down,” said Valentin in pleasant, level tones. “Why, you + aren’t wearing your sword. Where is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I left it on the library table,” said O’Brien, his brogue deepening in + his disturbed mood. “It was a nuisance, it was getting—” + </p> + <p> + “Ivan,” said Valentin, “please go and get the Commandant’s sword from the + library.” Then, as the servant vanished, “Lord Galloway says he saw you + leaving the garden just before he found the corpse. What were you doing in + the garden?” + </p> + <p> + The Commandant flung himself recklessly into a chair. “Oh,” he cried in + pure Irish, “admirin’ the moon. Communing with Nature, me bhoy.” + </p> + <p> + A heavy silence sank and endured, and at the end of it came again that + trivial and terrible knocking. Ivan reappeared, carrying an empty steel + scabbard. “This is all I can find,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Put it on the table,” said Valentin, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + There was an inhuman silence in the room, like that sea of inhuman silence + round the dock of the condemned murderer. The Duchess’s weak exclamations + had long ago died away. Lord Galloway’s swollen hatred was satisfied and + even sobered. The voice that came was quite unexpected. + </p> + <p> + “I think I can tell you,” cried Lady Margaret, in that clear, quivering + voice with which a courageous woman speaks publicly. “I can tell you what + Mr. O’Brien was doing in the garden, since he is bound to silence. He was + asking me to marry him. I refused; I said in my family circumstances I + could give him nothing but my respect. He was a little angry at that; he + did not seem to think much of my respect. I wonder,” she added, with + rather a wan smile, “if he will care at all for it now. For I offer it him + now. I will swear anywhere that he never did a thing like this.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Galloway had edged up to his daughter, and was intimidating her in + what he imagined to be an undertone. “Hold your tongue, Maggie,” he said + in a thunderous whisper. “Why should you shield the fellow? Where’s his + sword? Where’s his confounded cavalry—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped because of the singular stare with which his daughter was + regarding him, a look that was indeed a lurid magnet for the whole group. + </p> + <p> + “You old fool!” she said in a low voice without pretence of piety, “what + do you suppose you are trying to prove? I tell you this man was innocent + while with me. But if he wasn’t innocent, he was still with me. If he + murdered a man in the garden, who was it who must have seen—who must + at least have known? Do you hate Neil so much as to put your own daughter—” + </p> + <p> + Lady Galloway screamed. Everyone else sat tingling at the touch of those + satanic tragedies that have been between lovers before now. They saw the + proud, white face of the Scotch aristocrat and her lover, the Irish + adventurer, like old portraits in a dark house. The long silence was full + of formless historical memories of murdered husbands and poisonous + paramours. + </p> + <p> + In the centre of this morbid silence an innocent voice said: “Was it a + very long cigar?” + </p> + <p> + The change of thought was so sharp that they had to look round to see who + had spoken. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” said little Father Brown, from the corner of the room, “I mean + that cigar Mr. Brayne is finishing. It seems nearly as long as a + walking-stick.” + </p> + <p> + Despite the irrelevance there was assent as well as irritation in + Valentin’s face as he lifted his head. + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” he remarked sharply. “Ivan, go and see about Mr. Brayne + again, and bring him here at once.” + </p> + <p> + The instant the factotum had closed the door, Valentin addressed the girl + with an entirely new earnestness. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Margaret,” he said, “we all feel, I am sure, both gratitude and + admiration for your act in rising above your lower dignity and explaining + the Commandant’s conduct. But there is a hiatus still. Lord Galloway, I + understand, met you passing from the study to the drawing-room, and it was + only some minutes afterwards that he found the garden and the Commandant + still walking there.” + </p> + <p> + “You have to remember,” replied Margaret, with a faint irony in her voice, + “that I had just refused him, so we should scarcely have come back arm in + arm. He is a gentleman, anyhow; and he loitered behind—and so got + charged with murder.” + </p> + <p> + “In those few moments,” said Valentin gravely, “he might really—” + </p> + <p> + The knock came again, and Ivan put in his scarred face. + </p> + <p> + “Beg pardon, sir,” he said, “but Mr. Brayne has left the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Left!” cried Valentin, and rose for the first time to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Gone. Scooted. Evaporated,” replied Ivan in humorous French. “His hat and + coat are gone, too, and I’ll tell you something to cap it all. I ran + outside the house to find any traces of him, and I found one, and a big + trace, too.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Valentin. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll show you,” said his servant, and reappeared with a flashing naked + cavalry sabre, streaked with blood about the point and edge. Everyone in + the room eyed it as if it were a thunderbolt; but the experienced Ivan + went on quite quietly: + </p> + <p> + “I found this,” he said, “flung among the bushes fifty yards up the road + to Paris. In other words, I found it just where your respectable Mr. + Brayne threw it when he ran away.” + </p> + <p> + There was again a silence, but of a new sort. Valentin took the sabre, + examined it, reflected with unaffected concentration of thought, and then + turned a respectful face to O’Brien. “Commandant,” he said, “we trust you + will always produce this weapon if it is wanted for police examination. + Meanwhile,” he added, slapping the steel back in the ringing scabbard, + “let me return you your sword.” + </p> + <p> + At the military symbolism of the action the audience could hardly refrain + from applause. + </p> + <p> + For Neil O’Brien, indeed, that gesture was the turning-point of existence. + By the time he was wandering in the mysterious garden again in the colours + of the morning the tragic futility of his ordinary mien had fallen from + him; he was a man with many reasons for happiness. Lord Galloway was a + gentleman, and had offered him an apology. Lady Margaret was something + better than a lady, a woman at least, and had perhaps given him something + better than an apology, as they drifted among the old flowerbeds before + breakfast. The whole company was more lighthearted and humane, for though + the riddle of the death remained, the load of suspicion was lifted off + them all, and sent flying off to Paris with the strange millionaire—a + man they hardly knew. The devil was cast out of the house—he had + cast himself out. + </p> + <p> + Still, the riddle remained; and when O’Brien threw himself on a garden + seat beside Dr. Simon, that keenly scientific person at once resumed it. + He did not get much talk out of O’Brien, whose thoughts were on pleasanter + things. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t say it interests me much,” said the Irishman frankly, “especially + as it seems pretty plain now. Apparently Brayne hated this stranger for + some reason; lured him into the garden, and killed him with my sword. Then + he fled to the city, tossing the sword away as he went. By the way, Ivan + tells me the dead man had a Yankee dollar in his pocket. So he was a + countryman of Brayne’s, and that seems to clinch it. I don’t see any + difficulties about the business.” + </p> + <p> + “There are five colossal difficulties,” said the doctor quietly; “like + high walls within walls. Don’t mistake me. I don’t doubt that Brayne did + it; his flight, I fancy, proves that. But as to how he did it. First + difficulty: Why should a man kill another man with a great hulking sabre, + when he can almost kill him with a pocket knife and put it back in his + pocket? Second difficulty: Why was there no noise or outcry? Does a man + commonly see another come up waving a scimitar and offer no remarks? Third + difficulty: A servant watched the front door all the evening; and a rat + cannot get into Valentin’s garden anywhere. How did the dead man get into + the garden? Fourth difficulty: Given the same conditions, how did Brayne + get out of the garden?” + </p> + <p> + “And the fifth,” said Neil, with eyes fixed on the English priest who was + coming slowly up the path. + </p> + <p> + “Is a trifle, I suppose,” said the doctor, “but I think an odd one. When I + first saw how the head had been slashed, I supposed the assassin had + struck more than once. But on examination I found many cuts across the + truncated section; in other words, they were struck after the head was + off. Did Brayne hate his foe so fiendishly that he stood sabring his body + in the moonlight?” + </p> + <p> + “Horrible!” said O’Brien, and shuddered. + </p> + <p> + The little priest, Brown, had arrived while they were talking, and had + waited, with characteristic shyness, till they had finished. Then he said + awkwardly: + </p> + <p> + “I say, I’m sorry to interrupt. But I was sent to tell you the news!” + </p> + <p> + “News?” repeated Simon, and stared at him rather painfully through his + glasses. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m sorry,” said Father Brown mildly. “There’s been another murder, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + Both men on the seat sprang up, leaving it rocking. + </p> + <p> + “And, what’s stranger still,” continued the priest, with his dull eye on + the rhododendrons, “it’s the same disgusting sort; it’s another beheading. + They found the second head actually bleeding into the river, a few yards + along Brayne’s road to Paris; so they suppose that he—” + </p> + <p> + “Great Heaven!” cried O’Brien. “Is Brayne a monomaniac?” + </p> + <p> + “There are American vendettas,” said the priest impassively. Then he + added: “They want you to come to the library and see it.” + </p> + <p> + Commandant O’Brien followed the others towards the inquest, feeling + decidedly sick. As a soldier, he loathed all this secretive carnage; + where were these extravagant amputations going to stop? First one head + was hacked off, and then another; in this case (he told himself bitterly) + it was not true that two heads were better than one. As he crossed the + study he almost staggered at a shocking coincidence. Upon + Valentin’s table lay the coloured picture of yet a third bleeding + head; and it was the head of Valentin himself. A second glance showed him + it was only a Nationalist paper, called <i>The Guillotine</i>, which + every week showed one of its political opponents with rolling eyes and + writhing features just after execution; for Valentin was an anti-clerical + of some note. But O’Brien was an Irishman, with a kind of chastity + even in his sins; and his gorge rose against that great brutality of the + intellect which belongs only to France. He felt Paris as a whole, from + the grotesques on the Gothic churches to the gross caricatures in the + newspapers. He remembered the gigantic jests of the Revolution. He saw + the whole city as one ugly energy, from the sanguinary sketch lying on + Valentin’s table up to where, above a mountain and forest of + gargoyles, the great devil grins on Notre Dame. + </p> + <p> + The library was long, low, and dark; what light entered it shot from under + low blinds and had still some of the ruddy tinge of morning. Valentin and + his servant Ivan were waiting for them at the upper end of a long, + slightly-sloping desk, on which lay the mortal remains, looking enormous + in the twilight. The big black figure and yellow face of the man found in + the garden confronted them essentially unchanged. The second head, which + had been fished from among the river reeds that morning, lay streaming and + dripping beside it; Valentin’s men were still seeking to recover the rest + of this second corpse, which was supposed to be afloat. Father Brown, who + did not seem to share O’Brien’s sensibilities in the least, went up to the + second head and examined it with his blinking care. It was little more + than a mop of wet white hair, fringed with silver fire in the red and + level morning light; the face, which seemed of an ugly, empurpled and + perhaps criminal type, had been much battered against trees or stones as + it tossed in the water. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Commandant O’Brien,” said Valentin, with quiet cordiality. + “You have heard of Brayne’s last experiment in butchery, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown was still bending over the head with white hair, and he said, + without looking up: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is quite certain that Brayne cut off this head, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it seems common sense,” said Valentin, with his hands in his + pockets. “Killed in the same way as the other. Found within a few yards of + the other. And sliced by the same weapon which we know he carried away.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; I know,” replied Father Brown submissively. “Yet, you know, I + doubt whether Brayne could have cut off this head.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” inquired Dr. Simon, with a rational stare. + </p> + <p> + “Well, doctor,” said the priest, looking up blinking, “can a man cut off + his own head? I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + O’Brien felt an insane universe crashing about his ears; but the doctor + sprang forward with impetuous practicality and pushed back the wet white + hair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there’s no doubt it’s Brayne,” said the priest quietly. “He had + exactly that chip in the left ear.” + </p> + <p> + The detective, who had been regarding the priest with steady and + glittering eyes, opened his clenched mouth and said sharply: “You seem to + know a lot about him, Father Brown.” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said the little man simply. “I’ve been about with him for some + weeks. He was thinking of joining our church.” + </p> + <p> + The star of the fanatic sprang into Valentin’s eyes; he strode towards the + priest with clenched hands. “And, perhaps,” he cried, with a blasting + sneer, “perhaps he was also thinking of leaving all his money to your + church.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he was,” said Brown stolidly; “it is possible.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” cried Valentin, with a dreadful smile, “you may indeed + know a great deal about him. About his life and about his—” + </p> + <p> + Commandant O’Brien laid a hand on Valentin’s arm. “Drop that slanderous + rubbish, Valentin,” he said, “or there may be more swords yet.” + </p> + <p> + But Valentin (under the steady, humble gaze of the priest) had already + recovered himself. “Well,” he said shortly, “people’s private opinions can + wait. You gentlemen are still bound by your promise to stay; you must + enforce it on yourselves—and on each other. Ivan here will tell you + anything more you want to know; I must get to business and write to the + authorities. We can’t keep this quiet any longer. I shall be writing in my + study if there is any more news.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there any more news, Ivan?” asked Dr. Simon, as the chief of police + strode out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Only one more thing, I think, sir,” said Ivan, wrinkling up his grey old + face, “but that’s important, too, in its way. There’s that old buffer you + found on the lawn,” and he pointed without pretence of reverence at the + big black body with the yellow head. “We’ve found out who he is, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” cried the astonished doctor, “and who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “His name was Arnold Becker,” said the under-detective, “though he went by + many aliases. He was a wandering sort of scamp, and is known to have been + in America; so that was where Brayne got his knife into him. We didn’t + have much to do with him ourselves, for he worked mostly in Germany. We’ve + communicated, of course, with the German police. But, oddly enough, there + was a twin brother of his, named Louis Becker, whom we had a great deal to + do with. In fact, we found it necessary to guillotine him only yesterday. + Well, it’s a rum thing, gentlemen, but when I saw that fellow flat on the + lawn I had the greatest jump of my life. If I hadn’t seen Louis Becker + guillotined with my own eyes, I’d have sworn it was Louis Becker lying + there in the grass. Then, of course, I remembered his twin brother in + Germany, and following up the clue—” + </p> + <p> + The explanatory Ivan stopped, for the excellent reason that nobody was + listening to him. The Commandant and the doctor were both staring at + Father Brown, who had sprung stiffly to his feet, and was holding his + temples tight like a man in sudden and violent pain. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, stop, stop!” he cried; “stop talking a minute, for I see half. Will + God give me strength? Will my brain make the one jump and see all? Heaven + help me! I used to be fairly good at thinking. I could paraphrase any page + in Aquinas once. Will my head split—or will it see? I see half—I + only see half.” + </p> + <p> + He buried his head in his hands, and stood in a sort of rigid torture of + thought or prayer, while the other three could only go on staring at this + last prodigy of their wild twelve hours. + </p> + <p> + When Father Brown’s hands fell they showed a face quite fresh and serious, + like a child’s. He heaved a huge sigh, and said: “Let us get this said and + done with as quickly as possible. Look here, this will be the quickest way + to convince you all of the truth.” He turned to the doctor. “Dr. Simon,” + he said, “you have a strong head-piece, and I heard you this morning + asking the five hardest questions about this business. Well, if you will + ask them again, I will answer them.” + </p> + <p> + Simon’s pince-nez dropped from his nose in his doubt and wonder, but he + answered at once. “Well, the first question, you know, is why a man should + kill another with a clumsy sabre at all when a man can kill with a + bodkin?” + </p> + <p> + “A man cannot behead with a bodkin,” said Brown calmly, “and for this + murder beheading was absolutely necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked O’Brien, with interest. + </p> + <p> + “And the next question?” asked Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Well, why didn’t the man cry out or anything?” asked the doctor; “sabres + in gardens are certainly unusual.” + </p> + <p> + “Twigs,” said the priest gloomily, and turned to the window which looked + on the scene of death. “No one saw the point of the twigs. Why should they + lie on that lawn (look at it) so far from any tree? They were not snapped + off; they were chopped off. The murderer occupied his enemy with some + tricks with the sabre, showing how he could cut a branch in mid-air, or + what-not. Then, while his enemy bent down to see the result, a silent + slash, and the head fell.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the doctor slowly, “that seems plausible enough. But my next + two questions will stump anyone.” + </p> + <p> + The priest still stood looking critically out of the window and waited. + </p> + <p> + “You know how all the garden was sealed up like an air-tight chamber,” + went on the doctor. “Well, how did the strange man get into the garden?” + </p> + <p> + Without turning round, the little priest answered: “There never was any + strange man in the garden.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence, and then a sudden cackle of almost childish laughter + relieved the strain. The absurdity of Brown’s remark moved Ivan to open + taunts. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he cried; “then we didn’t lug a great fat corpse on to a sofa last + night? He hadn’t got into the garden, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Got into the garden?” repeated Brown reflectively. “No, not entirely.” + </p> + <p> + “Hang it all,” cried Simon, “a man gets into a garden, or he doesn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Not necessarily,” said the priest, with a faint smile. “What is the nest + question, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy you’re ill,” exclaimed Dr. Simon sharply; “but I’ll ask the next + question if you like. How did Brayne get out of the garden?” + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t get out of the garden,” said the priest, still looking out of + the window. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t get out of the garden?” exploded Simon. + </p> + <p> + “Not completely,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + Simon shook his fists in a frenzy of French logic. “A man gets out of a + garden, or he doesn’t,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Not always,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Simon sprang to his feet impatiently. “I have no time to spare on such + senseless talk,” he cried angrily. “If you can’t understand a man being on + one side of a wall or the other, I won’t trouble you further.” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” said the cleric very gently, “we have always got on very + pleasantly together. If only for the sake of old friendship, stop and tell + me your fifth question.” + </p> + <p> + The impatient Simon sank into a chair by the door and said briefly: “The + head and shoulders were cut about in a queer way. It seemed to be done + after death.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the motionless priest, “it was done so as to make you assume + exactly the one simple falsehood that you did assume. It was done to make + you take for granted that the head belonged to the body.” + </p> + <p> + The borderland of the brain, where all the monsters are made, moved + horribly in the Gaelic O’Brien. He felt the chaotic presence of all the + horse-men and fish-women that man’s unnatural fancy has begotten. A voice + older than his first fathers seemed saying in his ear: “Keep out of the + monstrous garden where grows the tree with double fruit. Avoid the evil + garden where died the man with two heads.” Yet, while these shameful + symbolic shapes passed across the ancient mirror of his Irish soul, his + Frenchified intellect was quite alert, and was watching the odd priest as + closely and incredulously as all the rest. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had turned round at last, and stood against the window, with + his face in dense shadow; but even in that shadow they could see it was + pale as ashes. Nevertheless, he spoke quite sensibly, as if there were no + Gaelic souls on earth. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” he said, “you did not find the strange body of Becker in the + garden. You did not find any strange body in the garden. In face of Dr. + Simon’s rationalism, I still affirm that Becker was only partly present. + Look here!” (pointing to the black bulk of the mysterious corpse) “you + never saw that man in your lives. Did you ever see this man?” + </p> + <p> + He rapidly rolled away the bald, yellow head of the unknown, and put in + its place the white-maned head beside it. And there, complete, unified, + unmistakable, lay Julius K. Brayne. + </p> + <p> + “The murderer,” went on Brown quietly, “hacked off his enemy’s head and + flung the sword far over the wall. But he was too clever to fling the + sword only. He flung the head over the wall also. Then he had only to clap + on another head to the corpse, and (as he insisted on a private inquest) + you all imagined a totally new man.” + </p> + <p> + “Clap on another head!” said O’Brien staring. “What other head? Heads + don’t grow on garden bushes, do they?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Father Brown huskily, and looking at his boots; + “there is only one place where they grow. They grow in the basket + of the guillotine, beside which the chief of police, Aristide Valentin, + was standing not an hour before the murder. Oh, my friends, hear me a + minute more before you tear me in pieces. Valentin is an honest man, if + being mad for an arguable cause is honesty. But did you never see in that + cold, grey eye of his that he is mad! He would do anything, anything, to + break what he calls the superstition of the Cross. He has fought for it + and starved for it, and now he has murdered for it. Brayne’s crazy + millions had hitherto been scattered among so many sects that they did + little to alter the balance of things. But Valentin heard a whisper that + Brayne, like so many scatter-brained sceptics, was drifting to us; and + that was quite a different thing. Brayne would pour supplies into the + impoverished and pugnacious Church of France; he would support six + Nationalist newspapers like <i>The Guillotine</i>. The battle was already + balanced on a point, and the fanatic took flame at the risk. He resolved + to destroy the millionaire, and he did it as one would expect the + greatest of detectives to commit his only crime. He abstracted the + severed head of Becker on some criminological excuse, and took it home in + his official box. He had that last argument with Brayne, that Lord + Galloway did not hear the end of; that failing, he led him out into the + sealed garden, talked about swordsmanship, used twigs and a sabre for + illustration, and—” + </p> + <p> + Ivan of the Scar sprang up. “You lunatic,” he yelled; “you’ll go to my + master now, if I take you by—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I was going there,” said Brown heavily; “I must ask him to confess, + and all that.” + </p> + <p> + Driving the unhappy Brown before them like a hostage or sacrifice, they + rushed together into the sudden stillness of Valentin’s study. + </p> + <p> + The great detective sat at his desk apparently too occupied to hear their + turbulent entrance. They paused a moment, and then something in the look + of that upright and elegant back made the doctor run forward suddenly. A + touch and a glance showed him that there was a small box of pills at + Valentin’s elbow, and that Valentin was dead in his chair; and on the + blind face of the suicide was more than the pride of Cato. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap03"></a> + The Queer Feet + </h2> + <p> + If you meet a member of that select club, “The Twelve True Fishermen,” + entering the Vernon Hotel for the annual club dinner, you will observe, as + he takes off his overcoat, that his evening coat is green and not black. + If (supposing that you have the star-defying audacity to address such a + being) you ask him why, he will probably answer that he does it to avoid + being mistaken for a waiter. You will then retire crushed. But you will + leave behind you a mystery as yet unsolved and a tale worth telling. + </p> + <p> + If (to pursue the same vein of improbable conjecture) you were to meet a + mild, hard-working little priest, named Father Brown, and were to ask him + what he thought was the most singular luck of his life, he would probably + reply that upon the whole his best stroke was at the Vernon Hotel, where + he had averted a crime and, perhaps, saved a soul, merely by listening to + a few footsteps in a passage. He is perhaps a little proud of this wild + and wonderful guess of his, and it is possible that he might refer to it. + But since it is immeasurably unlikely that you will ever rise high enough + in the social world to find “The Twelve True Fishermen,” or that you will + ever sink low enough among slums and criminals to find Father Brown, I + fear you will never hear the story at all unless you hear it from me. + </p> + <p> + The Vernon Hotel at which The Twelve True Fishermen held their annual + dinners was an institution such as can only exist in an oligarchical + society which has almost gone mad on good manners. It was that topsy-turvy + product—an “exclusive” commercial enterprise. That is, it was a + thing which paid not by attracting people, but actually by turning people + away. In the heart of a plutocracy tradesmen become cunning enough to be + more fastidious than their customers. They positively create difficulties + so that their wealthy and weary clients may spend money and diplomacy in + overcoming them. If there were a fashionable hotel in London which no man + could enter who was under six foot, society would meekly make up parties + of six-foot men to dine in it. If there were an expensive restaurant which + by a mere caprice of its proprietor was only open on Thursday afternoon, + it would be crowded on Thursday afternoon. The Vernon Hotel stood, as if + by accident, in the corner of a square in Belgravia. It was a small hotel; + and a very inconvenient one. But its very inconveniences were considered + as walls protecting a particular class. One inconvenience, in particular, + was held to be of vital importance: the fact that practically only + twenty-four people could dine in the place at once. The only big dinner + table was the celebrated terrace table, which stood open to the air on a + sort of veranda overlooking one of the most exquisite old gardens in + London. Thus it happened that even the twenty-four seats at this table + could only be enjoyed in warm weather; and this making the enjoyment yet + more difficult made it yet more desired. The existing owner of the hotel + was a Jew named Lever; and he made nearly a million out of it, by making + it difficult to get into. Of course he combined with this limitation in + the scope of his enterprise the most careful polish in its performance. + The wines and cooking were really as good as any in Europe, and the + demeanour of the attendants exactly mirrored the fixed mood of the English + upper class. The proprietor knew all his waiters like the fingers on his + hand; there were only fifteen of them all told. It was much easier to + become a Member of Parliament than to become a waiter in that hotel. Each + waiter was trained in terrible silence and smoothness, as if he were a + gentleman’s servant. And, indeed, there was generally at least one waiter + to every gentleman who dined. + </p> + <p> + The club of The Twelve True Fishermen would not have consented to dine + anywhere but in such a place, for it insisted on a luxurious privacy; and + would have been quite upset by the mere thought that any other club was + even dining in the same building. On the occasion of their annual dinner + the Fishermen were in the habit of exposing all their treasures, as if + they were in a private house, especially the celebrated set of fish knives + and forks which were, as it were, the insignia of the society, each being + exquisitely wrought in silver in the form of a fish, and each loaded at + the hilt with one large pearl. These were always laid out for the fish + course, and the fish course was always the most magnificent in that + magnificent repast. The society had a vast number of ceremonies and + observances, but it had no history and no object; that was where it was so + very aristocratic. You did not have to be anything in order to be one of + the Twelve Fishers; unless you were already a certain sort of person, you + never even heard of them. It had been in existence twelve years. Its + president was Mr. Audley. Its vice-president was the Duke of Chester. + </p> + <p> + If I have in any degree conveyed the atmosphere of this appalling hotel, + the reader may feel a natural wonder as to how I came to know anything + about it, and may even speculate as to how so ordinary a person as my + friend Father Brown came to find himself in that golden galley. As far as + that is concerned, my story is simple, or even vulgar. There is in the + world a very aged rioter and demagogue who breaks into the most refined + retreats with the dreadful information that all men are brothers, and + wherever this leveller went on his pale horse it was Father Brown’s trade + to follow. One of the waiters, an Italian, had been struck down with a + paralytic stroke that afternoon; and his Jewish employer, marvelling + mildly at such superstitions, had consented to send for the nearest Popish + priest. With what the waiter confessed to Father Brown we are not + concerned, for the excellent reason that that cleric kept it to himself; + but apparently it involved him in writing out a note or statement for the + conveying of some message or the righting of some wrong. Father Brown, + therefore, with a meek impudence which he would have shown equally in + Buckingham Palace, asked to be provided with a room and writing materials. + Mr. Lever was torn in two. He was a kind man, and had also that bad + imitation of kindness, the dislike of any difficulty or scene. At the same + time the presence of one unusual stranger in his hotel that evening was + like a speck of dirt on something just cleaned. There was never any + borderland or anteroom in the Vernon Hotel, no people waiting in the hall, + no customers coming in on chance. There were fifteen waiters. There were + twelve guests. It would be as startling to find a new guest in the hotel + that night as to find a new brother taking breakfast or tea in one’s own + family. Moreover, the priest’s appearance was second-rate and his clothes + muddy; a mere glimpse of him afar off might precipitate a crisis in the + club. Mr. Lever at last hit on a plan to cover, since he might not + obliterate, the disgrace. When you enter (as you never will) the Vernon + Hotel, you pass down a short passage decorated with a few dingy but + important pictures, and come to the main vestibule and lounge which opens + on your right into passages leading to the public rooms, and on your left + to a similar passage pointing to the kitchens and offices of the hotel. + Immediately on your left hand is the corner of a glass office, which abuts + upon the lounge—a house within a house, so to speak, like the old + hotel bar which probably once occupied its place. + </p> + <p> + In this office sat the representative of the proprietor (nobody in this + place ever appeared in person if he could help it), and just beyond the + office, on the way to the servants’ quarters, was the gentlemen’s cloak + room, the last boundary of the gentlemen’s domain. But between the office + and the cloak room was a small private room without other outlet, + sometimes used by the proprietor for delicate and important matters, such + as lending a duke a thousand pounds or declining to lend him sixpence. It + is a mark of the magnificent tolerance of Mr. Lever that he permitted this + holy place to be for about half an hour profaned by a mere priest, + scribbling away on a piece of paper. The story which Father Brown was + writing down was very likely a much better story than this one, only it + will never be known. I can merely state that it was very nearly as long, + and that the last two or three paragraphs of it were the least exciting + and absorbing. + </p> + <p> + For it was by the time that he had reached these that the priest began a + little to allow his thoughts to wander and his animal senses, which were + commonly keen, to awaken. The time of darkness and dinner was drawing on; + his own forgotten little room was without a light, and perhaps the + gathering gloom, as occasionally happens, sharpened the sense of sound. As + Father Brown wrote the last and least essential part of his document, he + caught himself writing to the rhythm of a recurrent noise outside, just as + one sometimes thinks to the tune of a railway train. When he became + conscious of the thing he found what it was: only the ordinary patter of + feet passing the door, which in an hotel was no very unlikely matter. + Nevertheless, he stared at the darkened ceiling, and listened to the + sound. After he had listened for a few seconds dreamily, he got to his + feet and listened intently, with his head a little on one side. Then he + sat down again and buried his brow in his hands, now not merely listening, + but listening and thinking also. + </p> + <p> + The footsteps outside at any given moment were such as one might hear in + any hotel; and yet, taken as a whole, there was something very strange + about them. There were no other footsteps. It was always a very silent + house, for the few familiar guests went at once to their own apartments, + and the well-trained waiters were told to be almost invisible until they + were wanted. One could not conceive any place where there was less reason + to apprehend anything irregular. But these footsteps were so odd that one + could not decide to call them regular or irregular. Father Brown followed + them with his finger on the edge of the table, like a man trying to learn + a tune on the piano. + </p> + <p> + First, there came a long rush of rapid little steps, such as a light man + might make in winning a walking race. At a certain point they stopped and + changed to a sort of slow, swinging stamp, numbering not a quarter of the + steps, but occupying about the same time. The moment the last echoing + stamp had died away would come again the run or ripple of light, hurrying + feet, and then again the thud of the heavier walking. It was certainly the + same pair of boots, partly because (as has been said) there were no other + boots about, and partly because they had a small but unmistakable creak in + them. Father Brown had the kind of head that cannot help asking questions; + and on this apparently trivial question his head almost split. He had seen + men run in order to jump. He had seen men run in order to slide. But why + on earth should a man run in order to walk? Or, again, why should he walk + in order to run? Yet no other description would cover the antics of this + invisible pair of legs. The man was either walking very fast down one-half + of the corridor in order to walk very slow down the other half; or he was + walking very slow at one end to have the rapture of walking fast at the + other. Neither suggestion seemed to make much sense. His brain was growing + darker and darker, like his room. + </p> + <p> + Yet, as he began to think steadily, the very blackness of his cell seemed + to make his thoughts more vivid; he began to see as in a kind of vision + the fantastic feet capering along the corridor in unnatural or symbolic + attitudes. Was it a heathen religious dance? Or some entirely new kind of + scientific exercise? Father Brown began to ask himself with more exactness + what the steps suggested. Taking the slow step first: it certainly was not + the step of the proprietor. Men of his type walk with a rapid waddle, or + they sit still. It could not be any servant or messenger waiting for + directions. It did not sound like it. The poorer orders (in an oligarchy) + sometimes lurch about when they are slightly drunk, but generally, and + especially in such gorgeous scenes, they stand or sit in constrained + attitudes. No; that heavy yet springy step, with a kind of careless + emphasis, not specially noisy, yet not caring what noise it made, belonged + to only one of the animals of this earth. It was a gentleman of western + Europe, and probably one who had never worked for his living. + </p> + <p> + Just as he came to this solid certainty, the step changed to the quicker + one, and ran past the door as feverishly as a rat. The listener remarked + that though this step was much swifter it was also much more noiseless, + almost as if the man were walking on tiptoe. Yet it was not associated in + his mind with secrecy, but with something else—something that he + could not remember. He was maddened by one of those half-memories that + make a man feel half-witted. Surely he had heard that strange, swift + walking somewhere. Suddenly he sprang to his feet with a new idea in his + head, and walked to the door. His room had no direct outlet on the + passage, but let on one side into the glass office, and on the other into + the cloak room beyond. He tried the door into the office, and found it + locked. Then he looked at the window, now a square pane full of purple + cloud cleft by livid sunset, and for an instant he smelt evil as a dog + smells rats. + </p> + <p> + The rational part of him (whether the wiser or not) regained its + supremacy. He remembered that the proprietor had told him that he should + lock the door, and would come later to release him. He told himself that + twenty things he had not thought of might explain the eccentric sounds + outside; he reminded himself that there was just enough light left to + finish his own proper work. Bringing his paper to the window so as to + catch the last stormy evening light, he resolutely plunged once more into + the almost completed record. He had written for about twenty minutes, + bending closer and closer to his paper in the lessening light; then + suddenly he sat upright. He had heard the strange feet once more. + </p> + <p> + This time they had a third oddity. Previously the unknown man had walked, + with levity indeed and lightning quickness, but he had walked. This time + he ran. One could hear the swift, soft, bounding steps coming along the + corridor, like the pads of a fleeing and leaping panther. Whoever was + coming was a very strong, active man, in still yet tearing excitement. + Yet, when the sound had swept up to the office like a sort of whispering + whirlwind, it suddenly changed again to the old slow, swaggering stamp. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown flung down his paper, and, knowing the office door to be + locked, went at once into the cloak room on the other side. The attendant + of this place was temporarily absent, probably because the only guests + were at dinner and his office was a sinecure. After groping through a grey + forest of overcoats, he found that the dim cloak room opened on the + lighted corridor in the form of a sort of counter or half-door, like most + of the counters across which we have all handed umbrellas and received + tickets. There was a light immediately above the semicircular arch of this + opening. It threw little illumination on Father Brown himself, who seemed + a mere dark outline against the dim sunset window behind him. But it threw + an almost theatrical light on the man who stood outside the cloak room in + the corridor. + </p> + <p> + He was an elegant man in very plain evening dress; tall, but with an air + of not taking up much room; one felt that he could have slid along like a + shadow where many smaller men would have been obvious and obstructive. His + face, now flung back in the lamplight, was swarthy and vivacious, the face + of a foreigner. His figure was good, his manners good humoured and + confident; a critic could only say that his black coat was a shade below + his figure and manners, and even bulged and bagged in an odd way. The + moment he caught sight of Brown’s black silhouette against the sunset, he + tossed down a scrap of paper with a number and called out with amiable + authority: “I want my hat and coat, please; I find I have to go away at + once.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown took the paper without a word, and obediently went to look + for the coat; it was not the first menial work he had done in his life. He + brought it and laid it on the counter; meanwhile, the strange gentleman + who had been feeling in his waistcoat pocket, said laughing: “I haven’t + got any silver; you can keep this.” And he threw down half a sovereign, + and caught up his coat. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown’s figure remained quite dark and still; but in that instant + he had lost his head. His head was always most valuable when he had lost + it. In such moments he put two and two together and made four million. + Often the Catholic Church (which is wedded to common sense) did not + approve of it. Often he did not approve of it himself. But it was real + inspiration—important at rare crises—when whosoever shall lose + his head the same shall save it. + </p> + <p> + “I think, sir,” he said civilly, “that you have some silver in your + pocket.” + </p> + <p> + The tall gentleman stared. “Hang it,” he cried, “if I choose to give you + gold, why should you complain?” + </p> + <p> + “Because silver is sometimes more valuable than gold,” said the priest + mildly; “that is, in large quantities.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger looked at him curiously. Then he looked still more curiously + up the passage towards the main entrance. Then he looked back at Brown + again, and then he looked very carefully at the window beyond Brown’s + head, still coloured with the after-glow of the storm. Then he seemed to + make up his mind. He put one hand on the counter, vaulted over as easily + as an acrobat and towered above the priest, putting one tremendous hand + upon his collar. + </p> + <p> + “Stand still,” he said, in a hacking whisper. “I don’t want to threaten + you, but—” + </p> + <p> + “I do want to threaten you,” said Father Brown, in a voice like a rolling + drum, “I want to threaten you with the worm that dieth not, and the fire + that is not quenched.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a rum sort of cloak-room clerk,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “I am a priest, Monsieur Flambeau,” said Brown, “and I am ready to hear + your confession.” + </p> + <p> + The other stood gasping for a few moments, and then staggered back into a + chair. + </p> + <p> + The first two courses of the dinner of The Twelve True Fishermen had + proceeded with placid success. I do not possess a copy of the menu; and + if I did it would not convey anything to anybody. It was written in a + sort of super-French employed by cooks, but quite unintelligible to + Frenchmen. There was a tradition in the club that the <i>hors + d’œuvres</i> should be various and manifold to the point of + madness. They were taken seriously because they were avowedly useless + extras, like the whole dinner and the whole club. There was also a + tradition that the soup course should be light and unpretending—a + sort of simple and austere vigil for the feast of fish that was to come. + The talk was that strange, slight talk which governs the British Empire, + which governs it in secret, and yet would scarcely enlighten an ordinary + Englishman even if he could overhear it. Cabinet ministers on both sides + were alluded to by their Christian names with a sort of bored benignity. + The Radical Chancellor of the Exchequer, whom the whole Tory party was + supposed to be cursing for his extortions, was praised for his minor + poetry, or his saddle in the hunting field. The Tory leader, whom all + Liberals were supposed to hate as a tyrant, was discussed and, on the + whole, praised—as a Liberal. It seemed somehow that politicians + were very important. And yet, anything seemed important about them except + their politics. Mr. Audley, the chairman, was an amiable, elderly man who + still wore Gladstone collars; he was a kind of symbol of all that + phantasmal and yet fixed society. He had never done anything—not + even anything wrong. He was not fast; he was not even particularly rich. + He was simply in the thing; and there was an end of it. No party could + ignore him, and if he had wished to be in the Cabinet he certainly would + have been put there. The Duke of Chester, the vice-president, was a young + and rising politician. That is to say, he was a pleasant youth, with + flat, fair hair and a freckled face, with moderate intelligence and + enormous estates. In public his appearances were always successful and + his principle was simple enough. When he thought of a joke he made it, + and was called brilliant. When he could not think of a joke he said that + this was no time for trifling, and was called able. In private, in a club + of his own class, he was simply quite pleasantly frank and silly, like a + schoolboy. Mr. Audley, never having been in politics, treated them a + little more seriously. Sometimes he even embarrassed the company by + phrases suggesting that there was some difference between a Liberal and a + Conservative. He himself was a Conservative, even in private life. He had + a roll of grey hair over the back of his collar, like certain + old-fashioned statesmen, and seen from behind he looked like the man the + empire wants. Seen from the front he looked like a mild, self-indulgent + bachelor, with rooms in the Albany—which he was. + </p> + <p> + As has been remarked, there were twenty-four seats at the terrace table, + and only twelve members of the club. Thus they could occupy the terrace in + the most luxurious style of all, being ranged along the inner side of the + table, with no one opposite, commanding an uninterrupted view of the + garden, the colours of which were still vivid, though evening was closing + in somewhat luridly for the time of year. The chairman sat in the centre + of the line, and the vice-president at the right-hand end of it. When the + twelve guests first trooped into their seats it was the custom (for some + unknown reason) for all the fifteen waiters to stand lining the wall like + troops presenting arms to the king, while the fat proprietor stood and + bowed to the club with radiant surprise, as if he had never heard of them + before. But before the first chink of knife and fork this army of + retainers had vanished, only the one or two required to collect and + distribute the plates darting about in deathly silence. Mr. Lever, the + proprietor, of course had disappeared in convulsions of courtesy long + before. It would be exaggerative, indeed irreverent, to say that he ever + positively appeared again. But when the important course, the fish course, + was being brought on, there was—how shall I put it?—a vivid + shadow, a projection of his personality, which told that he was hovering + near. The sacred fish course consisted (to the eyes of the vulgar) in a + sort of monstrous pudding, about the size and shape of a wedding cake, in + which some considerable number of interesting fishes had finally lost the + shapes which God had given to them. The Twelve True Fishermen took up + their celebrated fish knives and fish forks, and approached it as gravely + as if every inch of the pudding cost as much as the silver fork it was + eaten with. So it did, for all I know. This course was dealt with in eager + and devouring silence; and it was only when his plate was nearly empty + that the young duke made the ritual remark: “They can’t do this anywhere + but here.” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere,” said Mr. Audley, in a deep bass voice, turning to the speaker + and nodding his venerable head a number of times. “Nowhere, assuredly, + except here. It was represented to me that at the Café Anglais—” + </p> + <p> + Here he was interrupted and even agitated for a moment by the removal of + his plate, but he recaptured the valuable thread of his thoughts. “It was + represented to me that the same could be done at the Café Anglais. Nothing + like it, sir,” he said, shaking his head ruthlessly, like a hanging judge. + “Nothing like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Overrated place,” said a certain Colonel Pound, speaking (by the look of + him) for the first time for some months. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know,” said the Duke of Chester, who was an optimist, “it’s + jolly good for some things. You can’t beat it at—” + </p> + <p> + A waiter came swiftly along the room, and then stopped dead. His stoppage + was as silent as his tread; but all those vague and kindly gentlemen were + so used to the utter smoothness of the unseen machinery which surrounded + and supported their lives, that a waiter doing anything unexpected was a + start and a jar. They felt as you and I would feel if the inanimate world + disobeyed—if a chair ran away from us. + </p> + <p> + The waiter stood staring a few seconds, while there deepened on every face + at table a strange shame which is wholly the product of our time. It is + the combination of modern humanitarianism with the horrible modern abyss + between the souls of the rich and poor. A genuine historic aristocrat + would have thrown things at the waiter, beginning with empty bottles, and + very probably ending with money. A genuine democrat would have asked him, + with comrade-like clearness of speech, what the devil he was doing. But + these modern plutocrats could not bear a poor man near to them, either as + a slave or as a friend. That something had gone wrong with the servants + was merely a dull, hot embarrassment. They did not want to be brutal, and + they dreaded the need to be benevolent. They wanted the thing, whatever it + was, to be over. It was over. The waiter, after standing for some seconds + rigid, like a cataleptic, turned round and ran madly out of the room. + </p> + <p> + When he reappeared in the room, or rather in the doorway, it was in + company with another waiter, with whom he whispered and gesticulated with + southern fierceness. Then the first waiter went away, leaving the second + waiter, and reappeared with a third waiter. By the time a fourth waiter + had joined this hurried synod, Mr. Audley felt it necessary to break the + silence in the interests of Tact. He used a very loud cough, instead of a + presidential hammer, and said: “Splendid work young Moocher’s doing in + Burmah. Now, no other nation in the world could have—” + </p> + <p> + A fifth waiter had sped towards him like an arrow, and was whispering in + his ear: “So sorry. Important! Might the proprietor speak to you?” + </p> + <p> + The chairman turned in disorder, and with a dazed stare saw Mr. Lever + coming towards them with his lumbering quickness. The gait of the good + proprietor was indeed his usual gait, but his face was by no means usual. + Generally it was a genial copper-brown; now it was a sickly yellow. + </p> + <p> + “You will pardon me, Mr. Audley,” he said, with asthmatic breathlessness. + “I have great apprehensions. Your fish-plates, they are cleared away with + the knife and fork on them!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope so,” said the chairman, with some warmth. + </p> + <p> + “You see him?” panted the excited hotel keeper; “you see the waiter who + took them away? You know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Know the waiter?” answered Mr. Audley indignantly. “Certainly not!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lever opened his hands with a gesture of agony. “I never send him,” he + said. “I know not when or why he come. I send my waiter to take away the + plates, and he find them already away.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Audley still looked rather too bewildered to be really the man the + empire wants; none of the company could say anything except the man of + wood—Colonel Pound—who seemed galvanised into an unnatural + life. He rose rigidly from his chair, leaving all the rest sitting, + screwed his eyeglass into his eye, and spoke in a raucous undertone as if + he had half-forgotten how to speak. “Do you mean,” he said, “that somebody + has stolen our silver fish service?” + </p> + <p> + The proprietor repeated the open-handed gesture with even greater + helplessness and in a flash all the men at the table were on their feet. + </p> + <p> + “Are all your waiters here?” demanded the colonel, in his low, harsh + accent. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they’re all here. I noticed it myself,” cried the young duke, + pushing his boyish face into the inmost ring. “Always count ’em as I come + in; they look so queer standing up against the wall.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely one cannot exactly remember,” began Mr. Audley, with heavy + hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “I remember exactly, I tell you,” cried the duke excitedly. “There never + have been more than fifteen waiters at this place, and there were no more + than fifteen tonight, I’ll swear; no more and no less.” + </p> + <p> + The proprietor turned upon him, quaking in a kind of palsy of surprise. + “You say—you say,” he stammered, “that you see all my fifteen + waiters?” + </p> + <p> + “As usual,” assented the duke. “What is the matter with that!” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Lever, with a deepening accent, “only you did not. For one + of zem is dead upstairs.” + </p> + <p> + There was a shocking stillness for an instant in that room. It may be (so + supernatural is the word death) that each of those idle men looked for a + second at his soul, and saw it as a small dried pea. One of them—the + duke, I think—even said with the idiotic kindness of wealth: “Is + there anything we can do?” + </p> + <p> + “He has had a priest,” said the Jew, not untouched. + </p> + <p> + Then, as to the clang of doom, they awoke to their own position. For a few + weird seconds they had really felt as if the fifteenth waiter might be the + ghost of the dead man upstairs. They had been dumb under that oppression, + for ghosts were to them an embarrassment, like beggars. But the + remembrance of the silver broke the spell of the miraculous; broke it + abruptly and with a brutal reaction. The colonel flung over his chair and + strode to the door. “If there was a fifteenth man here, friends,” he said, + “that fifteenth fellow was a thief. Down at once to the front and back + doors and secure everything; then we’ll talk. The twenty-four pearls of + the club are worth recovering.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Audley seemed at first to hesitate about whether it was gentlemanly to + be in such a hurry about anything; but, seeing the duke dash down the + stairs with youthful energy, he followed with a more mature motion. + </p> + <p> + At the same instant a sixth waiter ran into the room, and declared that he + had found the pile of fish plates on a sideboard, with no trace of the + silver. + </p> + <p> + The crowd of diners and attendants that tumbled helter-skelter down the + passages divided into two groups. Most of the Fishermen followed the + proprietor to the front room to demand news of any exit. Colonel Pound, + with the chairman, the vice-president, and one or two others darted down + the corridor leading to the servants’ quarters, as the more likely line of + escape. As they did so they passed the dim alcove or cavern of the cloak + room, and saw a short, black-coated figure, presumably an attendant, + standing a little way back in the shadow of it. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo, there!” called out the duke. “Have you seen anyone pass?” + </p> + <p> + The short figure did not answer the question directly, but merely said: + “Perhaps I have got what you are looking for, gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + They paused, wavering and wondering, while he quietly went to the back of + the cloak room, and came back with both hands full of shining silver, + which he laid out on the counter as calmly as a salesman. It took the form + of a dozen quaintly shaped forks and knives. + </p> + <p> + “You—you—” began the colonel, quite thrown off his balance at + last. Then he peered into the dim little room and saw two things: first, + that the short, black-clad man was dressed like a clergyman; and, second, + that the window of the room behind him was burst, as if someone had passed + violently through. “Valuable things to deposit in a cloak room, aren’t + they?” remarked the clergyman, with cheerful composure. + </p> + <p> + “Did—did you steal those things?” stammered Mr. Audley, with staring + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “If I did,” said the cleric pleasantly, “at least I am bringing them back + again.” + </p> + <p> + “But you didn’t,” said Colonel Pound, still staring at the broken window. + </p> + <p> + “To make a clean breast of it, I didn’t,” said the other, with some + humour. And he seated himself quite gravely on a stool. “But you know who + did,” said the, colonel. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know his real name,” said the priest placidly, “but I know + something of his fighting weight, and a great deal about his spiritual + difficulties. I formed the physical estimate when he was trying to + throttle me, and the moral estimate when he repented.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say—repented!” cried young Chester, with a sort of crow of + laughter. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown got to his feet, putting his hands behind him. “Odd, isn’t + it,” he said, “that a thief and a vagabond should repent, when so many who + are rich and secure remain hard and frivolous, and without fruit for God + or man? But there, if you will excuse me, you trespass a little upon my + province. If you doubt the penitence as a practical fact, there are your + knives and forks. You are The Twelve True Fishers, and there are all your + silver fish. But He has made me a fisher of men.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you catch this man?” asked the colonel, frowning. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown looked him full in his frowning face. “Yes,” he said, “I + caught him, with an unseen hook and an invisible line which is long enough + to let him wander to the ends of the world, and still to bring him back + with a twitch upon the thread.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. All the other men present drifted away to carry + the recovered silver to their comrades, or to consult the proprietor about + the queer condition of affairs. But the grim-faced colonel still sat + sideways on the counter, swinging his long, lank legs and biting his dark + moustache. + </p> + <p> + At last he said quietly to the priest: “He must have been a clever fellow, + but I think I know a cleverer.” + </p> + <p> + “He was a clever fellow,” answered the other, “but I am not quite sure of + what other you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean you,” said the colonel, with a short laugh. “I don’t want to get + the fellow jailed; make yourself easy about that. But I’d give a good many + silver forks to know exactly how you fell into this affair, and how you + got the stuff out of him. I reckon you’re the most up-to-date devil of the + present company.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown seemed rather to like the saturnine candour of the soldier. + “Well,” he said, smiling, “I mustn’t tell you anything of the man’s + identity, or his own story, of course; but there’s no particular reason + why I shouldn’t tell you of the mere outside facts which I found out for + myself.” + </p> + <p> + He hopped over the barrier with unexpected activity, and sat beside + Colonel Pound, kicking his short legs like a little boy on a gate. He + began to tell the story as easily as if he were telling it to an old + friend by a Christmas fire. + </p> + <p> + “You see, colonel,” he said, “I was shut up in that small room there doing + some writing, when I heard a pair of feet in this passage doing a dance + that was as queer as the dance of death. First came quick, funny little + steps, like a man walking on tiptoe for a wager; then came slow, careless, + creaking steps, as of a big man walking about with a cigar. But they were + both made by the same feet, I swear, and they came in rotation; first the + run and then the walk, and then the run again. I wondered at first idly + and then wildly why a man should act these two parts at once. One walk I + knew; it was just like yours, colonel. It was the walk of a well-fed + gentleman waiting for something, who strolls about rather because he is + physically alert than because he is mentally impatient. I knew that I knew + the other walk, too, but I could not remember what it was. What wild + creature had I met on my travels that tore along on tiptoe in that + extraordinary style? Then I heard a clink of plates somewhere; and the + answer stood up as plain as St. Peter’s. It was the walk of a waiter—that + walk with the body slanted forward, the eyes looking down, the ball of the + toe spurning away the ground, the coat tails and napkin flying. Then I + thought for a minute and a half more. And I believe I saw the manner of + the crime, as clearly as if I were going to commit it.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pound looked at him keenly, but the speaker’s mild grey eyes were + fixed upon the ceiling with almost empty wistfulness. + </p> + <p> + “A crime,” he said slowly, “is like any other work of art. Don’t look + surprised; crimes are by no means the only works of art that come from an + infernal workshop. But every work of art, divine or diabolic, has one + indispensable mark—I mean, that the centre of it is simple, however + much the fulfilment may be complicated. Thus, in <i>Hamlet</i>, let us say, the + grotesqueness of the grave-digger, the flowers of the mad girl, the + fantastic finery of Osric, the pallor of the ghost and the grin of the + skull are all oddities in a sort of tangled wreath round one plain tragic + figure of a man in black. Well, this also,” he said, getting slowly down + from his seat with a smile, “this also is the plain tragedy of a man in + black. Yes,” he went on, seeing the colonel look up in some wonder, “the + whole of this tale turns on a black coat. In this, as in <i>Hamlet</i>, there are + the rococo excrescences—yourselves, let us say. There is the dead + waiter, who was there when he could not be there. There is the invisible + hand that swept your table clear of silver and melted into air. But every + clever crime is founded ultimately on some one quite simple fact—some + fact that is not itself mysterious. The mystification comes in covering it + up, in leading men’s thoughts away from it. This large and subtle and (in + the ordinary course) most profitable crime, was built on the plain fact + that a gentleman’s evening dress is the same as a waiter’s. All the rest + was acting, and thundering good acting, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Still,” said the colonel, getting up and frowning at his boots, “I am not + sure that I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Colonel,” said Father Brown, “I tell you that this archangel of impudence + who stole your forks walked up and down this passage twenty times in the + blaze of all the lamps, in the glare of all the eyes. He did not go and + hide in dim corners where suspicion might have searched for him. He kept + constantly on the move in the lighted corridors, and everywhere that he + went he seemed to be there by right. Don’t ask me what he was like; you + have seen him yourself six or seven times tonight. You were waiting with + all the other grand people in the reception room at the end of the passage + there, with the terrace just beyond. Whenever he came among you gentlemen, + he came in the lightning style of a waiter, with bent head, flapping + napkin and flying feet. He shot out on to the terrace, did something to + the table cloth, and shot back again towards the office and the waiters’ + quarters. By the time he had come under the eye of the office clerk and + the waiters he had become another man in every inch of his body, in every + instinctive gesture. He strolled among the servants with the absent-minded + insolence which they have all seen in their patrons. It was no new thing + to them that a swell from the dinner party should pace all parts of the + house like an animal at the Zoo; they know that nothing marks the Smart + Set more than a habit of walking where one chooses. When he was + magnificently weary of walking down that particular passage he would wheel + round and pace back past the office; in the shadow of the arch just beyond + he was altered as by a blast of magic, and went hurrying forward again + among the Twelve Fishermen, an obsequious attendant. Why should the + gentlemen look at a chance waiter? Why should the waiters suspect a + first-rate walking gentleman? Once or twice he played the coolest tricks. + In the proprietor’s private quarters he called out breezily for a syphon + of soda water, saying he was thirsty. He said genially that he would carry + it himself, and he did; he carried it quickly and correctly through the + thick of you, a waiter with an obvious errand. Of course, it could not + have been kept up long, but it only had to be kept up till the end of the + fish course. + </p> + <p> + “His worst moment was when the waiters stood in a row; but even then he + contrived to lean against the wall just round the corner in such a way + that for that important instant the waiters thought him a gentleman, while + the gentlemen thought him a waiter. The rest went like winking. If any + waiter caught him away from the table, that waiter caught a languid + aristocrat. He had only to time himself two minutes before the fish was + cleared, become a swift servant, and clear it himself. He put the plates + down on a sideboard, stuffed the silver in his breast pocket, giving it a + bulgy look, and ran like a hare (I heard him coming) till he came to the + cloak room. There he had only to be a plutocrat again—a plutocrat + called away suddenly on business. He had only to give his ticket to the + cloak-room attendant, and go out again elegantly as he had come in. Only—only + I happened to be the cloak-room attendant.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do to him?” cried the colonel, with unusual intensity. “What + did he tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said the priest immovably, “that is where the story + ends.” + </p> + <p> + “And the interesting story begins,” muttered Pound. “I think I understand + his professional trick. But I don’t seem to have got hold of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “I must be going,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + They walked together along the passage to the entrance hall, where they + saw the fresh, freckled face of the Duke of Chester, who was bounding + buoyantly along towards them. + </p> + <p> + “Come along, Pound,” he cried breathlessly. “I’ve been looking for you + everywhere. The dinner’s going again in spanking style, and old Audley has + got to make a speech in honour of the forks being saved. We want to start + some new ceremony, don’t you know, to commemorate the occasion. I say, you + really got the goods back, what do you suggest?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said the colonel, eyeing him with a certain sardonic approval, “I + should suggest that henceforward we wear green coats, instead of black. + One never knows what mistakes may arise when one looks so like a waiter.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hang it all!” said the young man, “a gentleman never looks like a + waiter.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor a waiter like a gentleman, I suppose,” said Colonel Pound, with the + same lowering laughter on his face. “Reverend sir, your friend must have + been very smart to act the gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown buttoned up his commonplace overcoat to the neck, for the + night was stormy, and took his commonplace umbrella from the stand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said; “it must be very hard work to be a gentleman; but, do you + know, I have sometimes thought that it may be almost as laborious to be a + waiter.” + </p> + <p> + And saying “Good evening,” he pushed open the heavy doors of that palace + of pleasures. The golden gates closed behind him, and he went at a brisk + walk through the damp, dark streets in search of a penny omnibus. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap04"></a> + The Flying Stars + </h2> + <p> + “The most beautiful crime I ever committed,” Flambeau would say in his + highly moral old age, “was also, by a singular coincidence, my last. It + was committed at Christmas. As an artist I had always attempted to provide + crimes suitable to the special season or landscapes in which I found + myself, choosing this or that terrace or garden for a catastrophe, as if + for a statuary group. Thus squires should be swindled in long rooms + panelled with oak; while Jews, on the other hand, should rather find + themselves unexpectedly penniless among the lights and screens of the Café + Riche. Thus, in England, if I wished to relieve a dean of his riches + (which is not so easy as you might suppose), I wished to frame him, if I + make myself clear, in the green lawns and grey towers of some cathedral + town. Similarly, in France, when I had got money out of a rich and wicked + peasant (which is almost impossible), it gratified me to get his indignant + head relieved against a grey line of clipped poplars, and those solemn + plains of Gaul over which broods the mighty spirit of Millet. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my last crime was a Christmas crime, a cheery, cosy, English + middle-class crime; a crime of Charles Dickens. I did it in a good old + middle-class house near Putney, a house with a crescent of carriage drive, + a house with a stable by the side of it, a house with the name on the two + outer gates, a house with a monkey tree. Enough, you know the species. I + really think my imitation of Dickens’s style was dexterous and literary. + It seems almost a pity I repented the same evening.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau would then proceed to tell the story from the inside; and even + from the inside it was odd. Seen from the outside it was perfectly + incomprehensible, and it is from the outside that the stranger must study + it. From this standpoint the drama may be said to have begun when the + front doors of the house with the stable opened on the garden with the + monkey tree, and a young girl came out with bread to feed the birds on the + afternoon of Boxing Day. She had a pretty face, with brave brown eyes; but + her figure was beyond conjecture, for she was so wrapped up in brown furs + that it was hard to say which was hair and which was fur. But for the + attractive face she might have been a small toddling bear. + </p> + <p> + The winter afternoon was reddening towards evening, and already a ruby + light was rolled over the bloomless beds, filling them, as it were, with + the ghosts of the dead roses. On one side of the house stood the stable, + on the other an alley or cloister of laurels led to the larger garden + behind. The young lady, having scattered bread for the birds (for the + fourth or fifth time that day, because the dog ate it), passed + unobtrusively down the lane of laurels and into a glimmering plantation of + evergreens behind. Here she gave an exclamation of wonder, real or ritual, + and looking up at the high garden wall above her, beheld it fantastically + bestridden by a somewhat fantastic figure. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t jump, Mr. Crook,” she called out in some alarm; “it’s much too + high.” + </p> + <p> + The individual riding the party wall like an aerial horse was a tall, + angular young man, with dark hair sticking up like a hair brush, + intelligent and even distinguished lineaments, but a sallow and almost + alien complexion. This showed the more plainly because he wore an + aggressive red tie, the only part of his costume of which he seemed to + take any care. Perhaps it was a symbol. He took no notice of the girl’s + alarmed adjuration, but leapt like a grasshopper to the ground beside her, + where he might very well have broken his legs. + </p> + <p> + “I think I was meant to be a burglar,” he said placidly, “and I have no + doubt I should have been if I hadn’t happened to be born in that nice + house next door. I can’t see any harm in it, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you say such things!” she remonstrated. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the young man, “if you’re born on the wrong side of the wall, + I can’t see that it’s wrong to climb over it.” + </p> + <p> + “I never know what you will say or do next,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t often know myself,” replied Mr. Crook; “but then I am on the + right side of the wall now.” + </p> + <p> + “And which is the right side of the wall?” asked the young lady, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Whichever side you are on,” said the young man named Crook. + </p> + <p> + As they went together through the laurels towards the front garden a motor + horn sounded thrice, coming nearer and nearer, and a car of splendid + speed, great elegance, and a pale green colour swept up to the front doors + like a bird and stood throbbing. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, hullo!” said the young man with the red tie, “here’s somebody born + on the right side, anyhow. I didn’t know, Miss Adams, that your Santa + Claus was so modern as this.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s my godfather, Sir Leopold Fischer. He always comes on Boxing + Day.” + </p> + <p> + Then, after an innocent pause, which unconsciously betrayed some lack of + enthusiasm, Ruby Adams added: + </p> + <p> + “He is very kind.” + </p> + <p> + John Crook, journalist, had heard of that eminent City magnate; and it + was not his fault if the City magnate had not heard of him; for in + certain articles in <i>The Clarion</i> or <i>The New Age</i> Sir Leopold + had been dealt with austerely. But he said nothing and grimly watched the + unloading of the motor-car, which was rather a long process. A large, + neat chauffeur in green got out from the front, and a small, neat + manservant in grey got out from the back, and between them they deposited + Sir Leopold on the doorstep and began to unpack him, like some very + carefully protected parcel. Rugs enough to stock a bazaar, furs of all + the beasts of the forest, and scarves of all the colours of the rainbow + were unwrapped one by one, till they revealed something resembling the + human form; the form of a friendly, but foreign-looking old gentleman, + with a grey goat-like beard and a beaming smile, who rubbed his big fur + gloves together. + </p> + <p> + Long before this revelation was complete the two big doors of the porch + had opened in the middle, and Colonel Adams (father of the furry young + lady) had come out himself to invite his eminent guest inside. He was a + tall, sunburnt, and very silent man, who wore a red smoking-cap like a + fez, making him look like one of the English Sirdars or Pashas in Egypt. + With him was his brother-in-law, lately come from Canada, a big and rather + boisterous young gentleman-farmer, with a yellow beard, by name James + Blount. With him also was the more insignificant figure of the priest from + the neighbouring Roman Church; for the colonel’s late wife had been a + Catholic, and the children, as is common in such cases, had been trained + to follow her. Everything seemed undistinguished about the priest, even + down to his name, which was Brown; yet the colonel had always found + something companionable about him, and frequently asked him to such family + gatherings. + </p> + <p> + In the large entrance hall of the house there was ample room even for Sir + Leopold and the removal of his wraps. Porch and vestibule, indeed, were + unduly large in proportion to the house, and formed, as it were, a big + room with the front door at one end, and the bottom of the staircase at + the other. In front of the large hall fire, over which hung the colonel’s + sword, the process was completed and the company, including the saturnine + Crook, presented to Sir Leopold Fischer. That venerable financier, + however, still seemed struggling with portions of his well-lined attire, + and at length produced from a very interior tail-coat pocket, a black oval + case which he radiantly explained to be his Christmas present for his + god-daughter. With an unaffected vain-glory that had something disarming + about it he held out the case before them all; it flew open at a touch and + half-blinded them. It was just as if a crystal fountain had spurted in + their eyes. In a nest of orange velvet lay like three eggs, three white + and vivid diamonds that seemed to set the very air on fire all round them. + Fischer stood beaming benevolently and drinking deep of the astonishment + and ecstasy of the girl, the grim admiration and gruff thanks of the + colonel, the wonder of the whole group. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll put ’em back now, my dear,” said Fischer, returning the case to the + tails of his coat. “I had to be careful of ’em coming down. They’re the + three great African diamonds called ‘The Flying Stars,’ because they’ve + been stolen so often. All the big criminals are on the track; but even the + rough men about in the streets and hotels could hardly have kept their + hands off them. I might have lost them on the road here. It was quite + possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite natural, I should say,” growled the man in the red tie. “I + shouldn’t blame ’em if they had taken ’em. When they ask for bread, and + you don’t even give them a stone, I think they might take the stone for + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t have you talking like that,” cried the girl, who was in a curious + glow. “You’ve only talked like that since you became a horrid + what’s-his-name. You know what I mean. What do you call a man who wants to + embrace the chimney-sweep?” + </p> + <p> + “A saint,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Sir Leopold, with a supercilious smile, “that Ruby means a + Socialist.” + </p> + <p> + “A radical does not mean a man who lives on radishes,” remarked Crook, + with some impatience; “and a Conservative does not mean a man who + preserves jam. Neither, I assure you, does a Socialist mean a man who + desires a social evening with the chimney-sweep. A Socialist means a man + who wants all the chimneys swept and all the chimney-sweeps paid for it.” + </p> + <p> + “But who won’t allow you,” put in the priest in a low voice, “to own your + own soot.” + </p> + <p> + Crook looked at him with an eye of interest and even respect. “Does one + want to own soot?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “One might,” answered Brown, with speculation in his eye. “I’ve heard that + gardeners use it. And I once made six children happy at Christmas when the + conjuror didn’t come, entirely with soot—applied externally.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, splendid,” cried Ruby. “Oh, I wish you’d do it to this company.” + </p> + <p> + The boisterous Canadian, Mr. Blount, was lifting his loud voice in + applause, and the astonished financier his (in some considerable + deprecation), when a knock sounded at the double front doors. The priest + opened them, and they showed again the front garden of evergreens, + monkey-tree and all, now gathering gloom against a gorgeous violet sunset. + The scene thus framed was so coloured and quaint, like a back scene in a + play, that they forgot a moment the insignificant figure standing in the + door. He was dusty-looking and in a frayed coat, evidently a common + messenger. “Any of you gentlemen Mr. Blount?” he asked, and held forward a + letter doubtfully. Mr. Blount started, and stopped in his shout of assent. + Ripping up the envelope with evident astonishment he read it; his face + clouded a little, and then cleared, and he turned to his brother-in-law + and host. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sick at being such a nuisance, colonel,” he said, with the cheery + colonial conventions; “but would it upset you if an old acquaintance + called on me here tonight on business? In point of fact it’s Florian, that + famous French acrobat and comic actor; I knew him years ago out West (he + was a French-Canadian by birth), and he seems to have business for me, + though I hardly guess what.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course,” replied the colonel carelessly—“My dear + chap, any friend of yours. No doubt he will prove an acquisition.” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll black his face, if that’s what you mean,” cried Blount, laughing. + “I don’t doubt he’d black everyone else’s eyes. I don’t care; I’m not + refined. I like the jolly old pantomime where a man sits on his top hat.” + </p> + <p> + “Not on mine, please,” said Sir Leopold Fischer, with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” observed Crook, airily, “don’t let’s quarrel. There are + lower jokes than sitting on a top hat.” + </p> + <p> + Dislike of the red-tied youth, born of his predatory opinions and evident + intimacy with the pretty godchild, led Fischer to say, in his most + sarcastic, magisterial manner: “No doubt you have found something much + lower than sitting on a top hat. What is it, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Letting a top hat sit on you, for instance,” said the Socialist. + </p> + <p> + “Now, now, now,” cried the Canadian farmer with his barbarian benevolence, + “don’t let’s spoil a jolly evening. What I say is, let’s do something for + the company tonight. Not blacking faces or sitting on hats, if you don’t + like those—but something of the sort. Why couldn’t we have a proper + old English pantomime—clown, columbine, and so on. I saw one when I + left England at twelve years old, and it’s blazed in my brain like a + bonfire ever since. I came back to the old country only last year, and I + find the thing’s extinct. Nothing but a lot of snivelling fairy plays. I + want a hot poker and a policeman made into sausages, and they give me + princesses moralising by moonlight, Blue Birds, or something. Blue Beard’s + more in my line, and him I like best when he turned into the pantaloon.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m all for making a policeman into sausages,” said John Crook. “It’s a + better definition of Socialism than some recently given. But surely the + get-up would be too big a business.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a scrap,” cried Blount, quite carried away. “A harlequinade’s the + quickest thing we can do, for two reasons. First, one can gag to any + degree; and, second, all the objects are household things—tables and + towel-horses and washing baskets, and things like that.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true,” admitted Crook, nodding eagerly and walking about. “But I’m + afraid I can’t have my policeman’s uniform? Haven’t killed a policeman + lately.” + </p> + <p> + Blount frowned thoughtfully a space, and then smote his thigh. “Yes, we + can!” he cried. “I’ve got Florian’s address here, and he knows every + costumier in London. I’ll phone him to bring a police dress when he + comes.” And he went bounding away to the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s glorious, godfather,” cried Ruby, almost dancing. “I’ll be + columbine and you shall be pantaloon.” + </p> + <p> + The millionaire held himself stiff with a sort of heathen solemnity. “I + think, my dear,” he said, “you must get someone else for pantaloon.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be pantaloon, if you like,” said Colonel Adams, taking his cigar + out of his mouth, and speaking for the first and last time. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have a statue,” cried the Canadian, as he came back, + radiant, from the telephone. “There, we are all fitted. Mr. Crook shall be + clown; he’s a journalist and knows all the oldest jokes. I can be + harlequin, that only wants long legs and jumping about. My friend Florian + ’phones he’s bringing the police costume; he’s changing on the way. We can + act it in this very hall, the audience sitting on those broad stairs + opposite, one row above another. These front doors can be the back scene, + either open or shut. Shut, you see an English interior. Open, a moonlit + garden. It all goes by magic.” And snatching a chance piece of billiard + chalk from his pocket, he ran it across the hall floor, half-way between + the front door and the staircase, to mark the line of the footlights. + </p> + <p> + How even such a banquet of bosh was got ready in the time remained a + riddle. But they went at it with that mixture of recklessness and industry + that lives when youth is in a house; and youth was in that house that + night, though not all may have isolated the two faces and hearts from + which it flamed. As always happens, the invention grew wilder and wilder + through the very tameness of the bourgeois conventions from which it had + to create. The columbine looked charming in an outstanding skirt that + strangely resembled the large lamp-shade in the drawing-room. The clown + and pantaloon made themselves white with flour from the cook, and red with + rouge from some other domestic, who remained (like all true Christian + benefactors) anonymous. The harlequin, already clad in silver paper out of + cigar boxes, was, with difficulty, prevented from smashing the old + Victorian lustre chandeliers, that he might cover himself with resplendent + crystals. In fact he would certainly have done so, had not Ruby unearthed + some old pantomime paste jewels she had worn at a fancy dress party as the + Queen of Diamonds. Indeed, her uncle, James Blount, was getting almost out + of hand in his excitement; he was like a schoolboy. He put a paper + donkey’s head unexpectedly on Father Brown, who bore it patiently, and + even found some private manner of moving his ears. He even essayed to put + the paper donkey’s tail to the coat-tails of Sir Leopold Fischer. This, + however, was frowned down. “Uncle is too absurd,” cried Ruby to Crook, + round whose shoulders she had seriously placed a string of sausages. “Why + is he so wild?” + </p> + <p> + “He is harlequin to your columbine,” said Crook. “I am only the clown who + makes the old jokes.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you were the harlequin,” she said, and left the string of sausages + swinging. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown, though he knew every detail done behind the scenes, and had + even evoked applause by his transformation of a pillow into a pantomime + baby, went round to the front and sat among the audience with all the + solemn expectation of a child at his first matinee. The spectators were + few, relations, one or two local friends, and the servants; Sir Leopold + sat in the front seat, his full and still fur-collared figure largely + obscuring the view of the little cleric behind him; but it has never been + settled by artistic authorities whether the cleric lost much. The + pantomime was utterly chaotic, yet not contemptible; there ran through it + a rage of improvisation which came chiefly from Crook the clown. Commonly + he was a clever man, and he was inspired tonight with a wild omniscience, + a folly wiser than the world, that which comes to a young man who has seen + for an instant a particular expression on a particular face. He was + supposed to be the clown, but he was really almost everything else, the + author (so far as there was an author), the prompter, the scene-painter, + the scene-shifter, and, above all, the orchestra. At abrupt intervals in + the outrageous performance he would hurl himself in full costume at the + piano and bang out some popular music equally absurd and appropriate. + </p> + <p> + The climax of this, as of all else, was the moment when the two front + doors at the back of the scene flew open, showing the lovely moonlit + garden, but showing more prominently the famous professional guest; the + great Florian, dressed up as a policeman. The clown at the piano played + the constabulary chorus in the “Pirates of Penzance,” but it was drowned + in the deafening applause, for every gesture of the great comic actor was + an admirable though restrained version of the carriage and manner of the + police. The harlequin leapt upon him and hit him over the helmet; the + pianist playing “Where did you get that hat?” he faced about in admirably + simulated astonishment, and then the leaping harlequin hit him again (the + pianist suggesting a few bars of “Then we had another one”). Then the + harlequin rushed right into the arms of the policeman and fell on top of + him, amid a roar of applause. Then it was that the strange actor gave that + celebrated imitation of a dead man, of which the fame still lingers round + Putney. It was almost impossible to believe that a living person could + appear so limp. + </p> + <p> + The athletic harlequin swung him about like a sack or twisted or tossed + him like an Indian club; all the time to the most maddeningly ludicrous + tunes from the piano. When the harlequin heaved the comic constable + heavily off the floor the clown played “I arise from dreams of thee.” When + he shuffled him across his back, “With my bundle on my shoulder,” and when + the harlequin finally let fall the policeman with a most convincing thud, + the lunatic at the instrument struck into a jingling measure with some + words which are still believed to have been, “I sent a letter to my love + and on the way I dropped it.” + </p> + <p> + At about this limit of mental anarchy Father Brown’s view was obscured + altogether; for the City magnate in front of him rose to his full height + and thrust his hands savagely into all his pockets. Then he sat down + nervously, still fumbling, and then stood up again. For an instant it + seemed seriously likely that he would stride across the footlights; then + he turned a glare at the clown playing the piano; and then he burst in + silence out of the room. + </p> + <p> + The priest had only watched for a few more minutes the absurd but not + inelegant dance of the amateur harlequin over his splendidly unconscious + foe. With real though rude art, the harlequin danced slowly backwards out + of the door into the garden, which was full of moonlight and stillness. + The vamped dress of silver paper and paste, which had been too glaring in + the footlights, looked more and more magical and silvery as it danced away + under a brilliant moon. The audience was closing in with a cataract of + applause, when Brown felt his arm abruptly touched, and he was asked in a + whisper to come into the colonel’s study. + </p> + <p> + He followed his summoner with increasing doubt, which was not dispelled by + a solemn comicality in the scene of the study. There sat Colonel Adams, + still unaffectedly dressed as a pantaloon, with the knobbed whalebone + nodding above his brow, but with his poor old eyes sad enough to have + sobered a Saturnalia. Sir Leopold Fischer was leaning against the + mantelpiece and heaving with all the importance of panic. + </p> + <p> + “This is a very painful matter, Father Brown,” said Adams. “The truth is, + those diamonds we all saw this afternoon seem to have vanished from my + friend’s tail-coat pocket. And as you—” + </p> + <p> + “As I,” supplemented Father Brown, with a broad grin, “was sitting just + behind him—” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort shall be suggested,” said Colonel Adams, with a firm + look at Fischer, which rather implied that some such thing had been + suggested. “I only ask you to give me the assistance that any gentleman + might give.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is turning out his pockets,” said Father Brown, and proceeded to do + so, displaying seven and sixpence, a return ticket, a small silver + crucifix, a small breviary, and a stick of chocolate. + </p> + <p> + The colonel looked at him long, and then said, “Do you know, I should like + to see the inside of your head more than the inside of your pockets. My + daughter is one of your people, I know; well, she has lately—” and + he stopped. + </p> + <p> + “She has lately,” cried out old Fischer, “opened her father’s house to a + cut-throat Socialist, who says openly he would steal anything from a + richer man. This is the end of it. Here is the richer man—and none + the richer.” + </p> + <p> + “If you want the inside of my head you can have it,” said Brown rather + wearily. “What it’s worth you can say afterwards. But the first thing I + find in that disused pocket is this: that men who mean to steal diamonds + don’t talk Socialism. They are more likely,” he added demurely, “to + denounce it.” + </p> + <p> + Both the others shifted sharply and the priest went on: + </p> + <p> + “You see, we know these people, more or less. That Socialist would no more + steal a diamond than a Pyramid. We ought to look at once to the one man we + don’t know. The fellow acting the policeman—Florian. Where is he + exactly at this minute, I wonder.” + </p> + <p> + The pantaloon sprang erect and strode out of the room. An interlude + ensued, during which the millionaire stared at the priest, and the priest + at his breviary; then the pantaloon returned and said, with staccato + gravity, “The policeman is still lying on the stage. The curtain has gone + up and down six times; he is still lying there.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown dropped his book and stood staring with a look of blank + mental ruin. Very slowly a light began to creep in his grey eyes, and then + he made the scarcely obvious answer. + </p> + <p> + “Please forgive me, colonel, but when did your wife die?” + </p> + <p> + “Wife!” replied the staring soldier, “she died this year two months. Her + brother James arrived just a week too late to see her.” + </p> + <p> + The little priest bounded like a rabbit shot. “Come on!” he cried in quite + unusual excitement. “Come on! We’ve got to go and look at that policeman!” + </p> + <p> + They rushed on to the now curtained stage, breaking rudely past the + columbine and clown (who seemed whispering quite contentedly), and Father + Brown bent over the prostrate comic policeman. + </p> + <p> + “Chloroform,” he said as he rose; “I only guessed it just now.” + </p> + <p> + There was a startled stillness, and then the colonel said slowly, “Please + say seriously what all this means.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown suddenly shouted with laughter, then stopped, and only + struggled with it for instants during the rest of his speech. “Gentlemen,” + he gasped, “there’s not much time to talk. I must run after the criminal. + But this great French actor who played the policeman—this clever + corpse the harlequin waltzed with and dandled and threw about—he was—” + His voice again failed him, and he turned his back to run. + </p> + <p> + “He was?” called Fischer inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “A real policeman,” said Father Brown, and ran away into the dark. + </p> + <p> + There were hollows and bowers at the extreme end of that leafy garden, in + which the laurels and other immortal shrubs showed against sapphire sky + and silver moon, even in that midwinter, warm colours as of the south. The + green gaiety of the waving laurels, the rich purple indigo of the night, + the moon like a monstrous crystal, make an almost irresponsible romantic + picture; and among the top branches of the garden trees a strange figure + is climbing, who looks not so much romantic as impossible. He sparkles + from head to heel, as if clad in ten million moons; the real moon catches + him at every movement and sets a new inch of him on fire. But he swings, + flashing and successful, from the short tree in this garden to the tall, + rambling tree in the other, and only stops there because a shade has slid + under the smaller tree and has unmistakably called up to him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Flambeau,” says the voice, “you really look like a Flying Star; but + that always means a Falling Star at last.” + </p> + <p> + The silver, sparkling figure above seems to lean forward in the laurels + and, confident of escape, listens to the little figure below. + </p> + <p> + “You never did anything better, Flambeau. It was clever to come from + Canada (with a Paris ticket, I suppose) just a week after Mrs. Adams died, + when no one was in a mood to ask questions. It was cleverer to have marked + down the Flying Stars and the very day of Fischer’s coming. But there’s no + cleverness, but mere genius, in what followed. Stealing the stones, I + suppose, was nothing to you. You could have done it by sleight of hand in + a hundred other ways besides that pretence of putting a paper donkey’s + tail to Fischer’s coat. But in the rest you eclipsed yourself.” + </p> + <p> + The silvery figure among the green leaves seems to linger as if + hypnotised, though his escape is easy behind him; he is staring at the man + below. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” says the man below, “I know all about it. I know you not only + forced the pantomime, but put it to a double use. You were going to steal + the stones quietly; news came by an accomplice that you were already + suspected, and a capable police officer was coming to rout you up that + very night. A common thief would have been thankful for the warning and + fled; but you are a poet. You already had the clever notion of hiding the + jewels in a blaze of false stage jewellery. Now, you saw that if the dress + were a harlequin’s the appearance of a policeman would be quite in + keeping. The worthy officer started from Putney police station to find + you, and walked into the queerest trap ever set in this world. When the + front door opened he walked straight on to the stage of a Christmas + pantomime, where he could be kicked, clubbed, stunned and drugged by the + dancing harlequin, amid roars of laughter from all the most respectable + people in Putney. Oh, you will never do anything better. And now, by the + way, you might give me back those diamonds.” + </p> + <p> + The green branch on which the glittering figure swung, rustled as if in + astonishment; but the voice went on: + </p> + <p> + “I want you to give them back, Flambeau, and I want you to give up this + life. There is still youth and honour and humour in you; don’t fancy they + will last in that trade. Men may keep a sort of level of good, but no man + has ever been able to keep on one level of evil. That road goes down and + down. The kind man drinks and turns cruel; the frank man kills and lies + about it. Many a man I’ve known started like you to be an honest outlaw, a + merry robber of the rich, and ended stamped into slime. Maurice Blum + started out as an anarchist of principle, a father of the poor; he ended a + greasy spy and tale-bearer that both sides used and despised. Harry Burke + started his free money movement sincerely enough; now he’s sponging on a + half-starved sister for endless brandies and sodas. Lord Amber went into + wild society in a sort of chivalry; now he’s paying blackmail to the + lowest vultures in London. Captain Barillon was the great gentleman-apache + before your time; he died in a madhouse, screaming with fear of the + “narks” and receivers that had betrayed him and hunted him down. I know + the woods look very free behind you, Flambeau; I know that in a flash you + could melt into them like a monkey. But some day you will be an old grey + monkey, Flambeau. You will sit up in your free forest cold at heart and + close to death, and the tree-tops will be very bare.” + </p> + <p> + Everything continued still, as if the small man below held the other in + the tree in some long invisible leash; and he went on: + </p> + <p> + “Your downward steps have begun. You used to boast of doing nothing mean, + but you are doing something mean tonight. You are leaving suspicion on an + honest boy with a good deal against him already; you are separating him + from the woman he loves and who loves him. But you will do meaner things + than that before you die.” + </p> + <p> + Three flashing diamonds fell from the tree to the turf. The small man + stooped to pick them up, and when he looked up again the green cage of the + tree was emptied of its silver bird. + </p> + <p> + The restoration of the gems (accidentally picked up by Father Brown, of + all people) ended the evening in uproarious triumph; and Sir Leopold, in + his height of good humour, even told the priest that though he himself had + broader views, he could respect those whose creed required them to be + cloistered and ignorant of this world. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap05"></a> + The Invisible Man + </h2> + <p> + In the cool blue twilight of two steep streets in Camden Town, the shop at + the corner, a confectioner’s, glowed like the butt of a cigar. One should + rather say, perhaps, like the butt of a firework, for the light was of + many colours and some complexity, broken up by many mirrors and dancing on + many gilt and gaily-coloured cakes and sweetmeats. Against this one fiery + glass were glued the noses of many gutter-snipes, for the chocolates were + all wrapped in those red and gold and green metallic colours which are + almost better than chocolate itself; and the huge white wedding-cake in + the window was somehow at once remote and satisfying, just as if the whole + North Pole were good to eat. Such rainbow provocations could naturally + collect the youth of the neighbourhood up to the ages of ten or twelve. + But this corner was also attractive to youth at a later stage; and a young + man, not less than twenty-four, was staring into the same shop window. To + him, also, the shop was of fiery charm, but this attraction was not wholly + to be explained by chocolates; which, however, he was far from despising. + </p> + <p> + He was a tall, burly, red-haired young man, with a resolute face but a + listless manner. He carried under his arm a flat, grey portfolio of + black-and-white sketches, which he had sold with more or less success to + publishers ever since his uncle (who was an admiral) had disinherited him + for Socialism, because of a lecture which he had delivered against that + economic theory. His name was John Turnbull Angus. + </p> + <p> + Entering at last, he walked through the confectioner’s shop to the back + room, which was a sort of pastry-cook restaurant, merely raising his hat + to the young lady who was serving there. She was a dark, elegant, alert + girl in black, with a high colour and very quick, dark eyes; and after the + ordinary interval she followed him into the inner room to take his order. + </p> + <p> + His order was evidently a usual one. “I want, please,” he said with + precision, “one halfpenny bun and a small cup of black coffee.” An instant + before the girl could turn away he added, “Also, I want you to marry me.” + </p> + <p> + The young lady of the shop stiffened suddenly and said, “Those are jokes I + don’t allow.” + </p> + <p> + The red-haired young man lifted grey eyes of an unexpected gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Really and truly,” he said, “it’s as serious—as serious as the + halfpenny bun. It is expensive, like the bun; one pays for it. It is + indigestible, like the bun. It hurts.” + </p> + <p> + The dark young lady had never taken her dark eyes off him, but seemed to + be studying him with almost tragic exactitude. At the end of her scrutiny + she had something like the shadow of a smile, and she sat down in a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think,” observed Angus, absently, “that it’s rather cruel to + eat these halfpenny buns? They might grow up into penny buns. I shall give + up these brutal sports when we are married.” + </p> + <p> + The dark young lady rose from her chair and walked to the window, + evidently in a state of strong but not unsympathetic cogitation. When at + last she swung round again with an air of resolution she was bewildered to + observe that the young man was carefully laying out on the table various + objects from the shop-window. They included a pyramid of highly coloured + sweets, several plates of sandwiches, and the two decanters containing + that mysterious port and sherry which are peculiar to pastry-cooks. In the + middle of this neat arrangement he had carefully let down the enormous + load of white sugared cake which had been the huge ornament of the window. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth are you doing?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Duty, my dear Laura,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for the Lord’s sake, stop a minute,” she cried, “and don’t talk to me + in that way. I mean, what is all that?” + </p> + <p> + “A ceremonial meal, Miss Hope.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” she asked impatiently, pointing to the mountain of + sugar. + </p> + <p> + “The wedding-cake, Mrs. Angus,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The girl marched to that article, removed it with some clatter, and put it + back in the shop window; she then returned, and, putting her elegant + elbows on the table, regarded the young man not unfavourably but with + considerable exasperation. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t give me any time to think,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not such a fool,” he answered; “that’s my Christian humility.” + </p> + <p> + She was still looking at him; but she had grown considerably graver behind + the smile. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Angus,” she said steadily, “before there is a minute more of this + nonsense I must tell you something about myself as shortly as I can.’” + </p> + <p> + “Delighted,” replied Angus gravely. “You might tell me something about + myself, too, while you are about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do hold your tongue and listen,” she said. “It’s nothing that I’m + ashamed of, and it isn’t even anything that I’m specially sorry about. But + what would you say if there were something that is no business of mine and + yet is my nightmare?” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” said the man seriously, “I should suggest that you bring + back the cake.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must listen to the story first,” said Laura, persistently. “To + begin with, I must tell you that my father owned the inn called the ‘Red + Fish’ at Ludbury, and I used to serve people in the bar.” + </p> + <p> + “I have often wondered,” he said, “why there was a kind of a Christian air + about this one confectioner’s shop.” + </p> + <p> + “Ludbury is a sleepy, grassy little hole in the Eastern Counties, and the + only kind of people who ever came to the ‘Red Fish’ were occasional + commercial travellers, and for the rest, the most awful people you can + see, only you’ve never seen them. I mean little, loungy men, who had just + enough to live on and had nothing to do but lean about in bar-rooms and + bet on horses, in bad clothes that were just too good for them. Even these + wretched young rotters were not very common at our house; but there were + two of them that were a lot too common—common in every sort of way. + They both lived on money of their own, and were wearisomely idle and + over-dressed. But yet I was a bit sorry for them, because I half believe + they slunk into our little empty bar because each of them had a slight + deformity; the sort of thing that some yokels laugh at. It wasn’t exactly + a deformity either; it was more an oddity. One of them was a surprisingly + small man, something like a dwarf, or at least like a jockey. He was not + at all jockeyish to look at, though; he had a round black head and a + well-trimmed black beard, bright eyes like a bird’s; he jingled money in + his pockets; he jangled a great gold watch chain; and he never turned up + except dressed just too much like a gentleman to be one. He was no fool + though, though a futile idler; he was curiously clever at all kinds of + things that couldn’t be the slightest use; a sort of impromptu conjuring; + making fifteen matches set fire to each other like a regular firework; or + cutting a banana or some such thing into a dancing doll. His name was + Isidore Smythe; and I can see him still, with his little dark face, just + coming up to the counter, making a jumping kangaroo out of five cigars. + </p> + <p> + “The other fellow was more silent and more ordinary; but somehow he + alarmed me much more than poor little Smythe. He was very tall and slight, + and light-haired; his nose had a high bridge, and he might almost have + been handsome in a spectral sort of way; but he had one of the most + appalling squints I have ever seen or heard of. When he looked straight at + you, you didn’t know where you were yourself, let alone what he was + looking at. I fancy this sort of disfigurement embittered the poor chap a + little; for while Smythe was ready to show off his monkey tricks anywhere, + James Welkin (that was the squinting man’s name) never did anything except + soak in our bar parlour, and go for great walks by himself in the flat, + grey country all round. All the same, I think Smythe, too, was a little + sensitive about being so small, though he carried it off more smartly. And + so it was that I was really puzzled, as well as startled, and very sorry, + when they both offered to marry me in the same week. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I did what I’ve since thought was perhaps a silly thing. But, after + all, these freaks were my friends in a way; and I had a horror of their + thinking I refused them for the real reason, which was that they were so + impossibly ugly. So I made up some gas of another sort, about never + meaning to marry anyone who hadn’t carved his way in the world. I said it + was a point of principle with me not to live on money that was just + inherited like theirs. Two days after I had talked in this well-meaning + sort of way, the whole trouble began. The first thing I heard was that + both of them had gone off to seek their fortunes, as if they were in some + silly fairy tale. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve never seen either of them from that day to this. But I’ve had + two letters from the little man called Smythe, and really they were rather + exciting.” + </p> + <p> + “Ever heard of the other man?” asked Angus. + </p> + <p> + “No, he never wrote,” said the girl, after an instant’s hesitation. + “Smythe’s first letter was simply to say that he had started out walking + with Welkin to London; but Welkin was such a good walker that the little + man dropped out of it, and took a rest by the roadside. He happened to be + picked up by some travelling show, and, partly because he was nearly a + dwarf, and partly because he was really a clever little wretch, he got on + quite well in the show business, and was soon sent up to the Aquarium, to + do some tricks that I forget. That was his first letter. His second was + much more of a startler, and I only got it last week.” + </p> + <p> + The man called Angus emptied his coffee-cup and regarded her with mild and + patient eyes. Her own mouth took a slight twist of laughter as she + resumed, “I suppose you’ve seen on the hoardings all about this ‘Smythe’s + Silent Service’? Or you must be the only person that hasn’t. Oh, I don’t + know much about it, it’s some clockwork invention for doing all the + housework by machinery. You know the sort of thing: ‘Press a Button—A + Butler who Never Drinks.’ ‘Turn a Handle—Ten Housemaids who Never + Flirt.’ You must have seen the advertisements. Well, whatever these + machines are, they are making pots of money; and they are making it all + for that little imp whom I knew down in Ludbury. I can’t help feeling + pleased the poor little chap has fallen on his feet; but the plain fact + is, I’m in terror of his turning up any minute and telling me he’s carved + his way in the world—as he certainly has.” + </p> + <p> + “And the other man?” repeated Angus with a sort of obstinate quietude. + </p> + <p> + Laura Hope got to her feet suddenly. “My friend,” she said, “I think you + are a witch. Yes, you are quite right. I have not seen a line of the other + man’s writing; and I have no more notion than the dead of what or where he + is. But it is of him that I am frightened. It is he who is all about my + path. It is he who has half driven me mad. Indeed, I think he has driven + me mad; for I have felt him where he could not have been, and I have heard + his voice when he could not have spoken.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” said the young man, cheerfully, “if he were Satan + himself, he is done for now you have told somebody. One goes mad all + alone, old girl. But when was it you fancied you felt and heard our + squinting friend?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard James Welkin laugh as plainly as I hear you speak,” said the + girl, steadily. “There was nobody there, for I stood just outside the shop + at the corner, and could see down both streets at once. I had forgotten + how he laughed, though his laugh was as odd as his squint. I had not + thought of him for nearly a year. But it’s a solemn truth that a few + seconds later the first letter came from his rival.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever make the spectre speak or squeak, or anything?” asked Angus, + with some interest. + </p> + <p> + Laura suddenly shuddered, and then said, with an unshaken voice, “Yes. + Just when I had finished reading the second letter from Isidore Smythe + announcing his success. Just then, I heard Welkin say, ‘He shan’t have + you, though.’ It was quite plain, as if he were in the room. It is awful, + I think I must be mad.” + </p> + <p> + “If you really were mad,” said the young man, “you would think you must be + sane. But certainly there seems to me to be something a little rum about + this unseen gentleman. Two heads are better than one—I spare you + allusions to any other organs and really, if you would allow me, as a + sturdy, practical man, to bring back the wedding-cake out of the window—” + </p> + <p> + Even as he spoke, there was a sort of steely shriek in the street outside, + and a small motor, driven at devilish speed, shot up to the door of the + shop and stuck there. In the same flash of time a small man in a shiny top + hat stood stamping in the outer room. + </p> + <p> + Angus, who had hitherto maintained hilarious ease from motives of mental + hygiene, revealed the strain of his soul by striding abruptly out of the + inner room and confronting the new-comer. A glance at him was quite + sufficient to confirm the savage guesswork of a man in love. This very + dapper but dwarfish figure, with the spike of black beard carried + insolently forward, the clever unrestful eyes, the neat but very nervous + fingers, could be none other than the man just described to him: Isidore + Smythe, who made dolls out of banana skins and match-boxes; Isidore + Smythe, who made millions out of undrinking butlers and unflirting + housemaids of metal. For a moment the two men, instinctively understanding + each other’s air of possession, looked at each other with that curious + cold generosity which is the soul of rivalry. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Smythe, however, made no allusion to the ultimate ground of their + antagonism, but said simply and explosively, “Has Miss Hope seen that + thing on the window?” + </p> + <p> + “On the window?” repeated the staring Angus. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no time to explain other things,” said the small millionaire + shortly. “There’s some tomfoolery going on here that has to be + investigated.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed his polished walking-stick at the window, recently depleted by + the bridal preparations of Mr. Angus; and that gentleman was astonished to + see along the front of the glass a long strip of paper pasted, which had + certainly not been on the window when he looked through it some time + before. Following the energetic Smythe outside into the street, he found + that some yard and a half of stamp paper had been carefully gummed along + the glass outside, and on this was written in straggly characters, “If you + marry Smythe, he will die.” + </p> + <p> + “Laura,” said Angus, putting his big red head into the shop, “you’re not + mad.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the writing of that fellow Welkin,” said Smythe gruffly. “I haven’t + seen him for years, but he’s always bothering me. Five times in the last + fortnight he’s had threatening letters left at my flat, and I can’t even + find out who leaves them, let alone if it is Welkin himself. The porter of + the flats swears that no suspicious characters have been seen, and here he + has pasted up a sort of dado on a public shop window, while the people in + the shop—” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said Angus modestly, “while the people in the shop were having + tea. Well, sir, I can assure you I appreciate your common sense in dealing + so directly with the matter. We can talk about other things afterwards. + The fellow cannot be very far off yet, for I swear there was no paper + there when I went last to the window, ten or fifteen minutes ago. On the + other hand, he’s too far off to be chased, as we don’t even know the + direction. If you’ll take my advice, Mr. Smythe, you’ll put this at once + in the hands of some energetic inquiry man, private rather than public. I + know an extremely clever fellow, who has set up in business five minutes + from here in your car. His name’s Flambeau, and though his youth was a bit + stormy, he’s a strictly honest man now, and his brains are worth money. He + lives in Lucknow Mansions, Hampstead.” + </p> + <p> + “That is odd,” said the little man, arching his black eyebrows. “I live, + myself, in Himylaya Mansions, round the corner. Perhaps you might care to + come with me; I can go to my rooms and sort out these queer Welkin + documents, while you run round and get your friend the detective.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very good,” said Angus politely. “Well, the sooner we act the + better.” + </p> + <p> + Both men, with a queer kind of impromptu fairness, took the same sort of + formal farewell of the lady, and both jumped into the brisk little car. As + Smythe took the handles and they turned the great corner of the street, + Angus was amused to see a gigantesque poster of “Smythe’s Silent Service,” + with a picture of a huge headless iron doll, carrying a saucepan with the + legend, “A Cook Who is Never Cross.” + </p> + <p> + “I use them in my own flat,” said the little black-bearded man, laughing, + “partly for advertisements, and partly for real convenience. Honestly, and + all above board, those big clockwork dolls of mine do bring your coals or + claret or a timetable quicker than any live servants I’ve ever known, if + you know which knob to press. But I’ll never deny, between ourselves, that + such servants have their disadvantages, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” said Angus; “is there something they can’t do?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Smythe coolly; “they can’t tell me who left those + threatening letters at my flat.” + </p> + <p> + The man’s motor was small and swift like himself; in fact, like his + domestic service, it was of his own invention. If he was an advertising + quack, he was one who believed in his own wares. The sense of something + tiny and flying was accentuated as they swept up long white curves of road + in the dead but open daylight of evening. Soon the white curves came + sharper and dizzier; they were upon ascending spirals, as they say in the + modern religions. For, indeed, they were cresting a corner of London which + is almost as precipitous as Edinburgh, if not quite so picturesque. + Terrace rose above terrace, and the special tower of flats they sought, + rose above them all to almost Egyptian height, gilt by the level sunset. + The change, as they turned the corner and entered the crescent known as + Himylaya Mansions, was as abrupt as the opening of a window; for they + found that pile of flats sitting above London as above a green sea of + slate. Opposite to the mansions, on the other side of the gravel crescent, + was a bushy enclosure more like a steep hedge or dyke than a garden, and + some way below that ran a strip of artificial water, a sort of canal, like + the moat of that embowered fortress. As the car swept round the crescent + it passed, at one corner, the stray stall of a man selling chestnuts; and + right away at the other end of the curve, Angus could see a dim blue + policeman walking slowly. These were the only human shapes in that high + suburban solitude; but he had an irrational sense that they expressed the + speechless poetry of London. He felt as if they were figures in a story. + </p> + <p> + The little car shot up to the right house like a bullet, and shot out its + owner like a bomb shell. He was immediately inquiring of a tall + commissionaire in shining braid, and a short porter in shirt sleeves, + whether anybody or anything had been seeking his apartments. He was + assured that nobody and nothing had passed these officials since his last + inquiries; whereupon he and the slightly bewildered Angus were shot up in + the lift like a rocket, till they reached the top floor. + </p> + <p> + “Just come in for a minute,” said the breathless Smythe. “I want to show + you those Welkin letters. Then you might run round the corner and fetch + your friend.” He pressed a button concealed in the wall, and the door + opened of itself. + </p> + <p> + It opened on a long, commodious ante-room, of which the only arresting + features, ordinarily speaking, were the rows of tall half-human mechanical + figures that stood up on both sides like tailors’ dummies. Like tailors’ + dummies they were headless; and like tailors’ dummies they had a handsome + unnecessary humpiness in the shoulders, and a pigeon-breasted protuberance + of chest; but barring this, they were not much more like a human figure + than any automatic machine at a station that is about the human height. + They had two great hooks like arms, for carrying trays; and they were + painted pea-green, or vermilion, or black for convenience of distinction; + in every other way they were only automatic machines and nobody would have + looked twice at them. On this occasion, at least, nobody did. For between + the two rows of these domestic dummies lay something more interesting than + most of the mechanics of the world. It was a white, tattered scrap of + paper scrawled with red ink; and the agile inventor had snatched it up + almost as soon as the door flew open. He handed it to Angus without a + word. The red ink on it actually was not dry, and the message ran, “If you + have been to see her today, I shall kill you.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence, and then Isidore Smythe said quietly, “Would + you like a little whiskey? I rather feel as if I should.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; I should like a little Flambeau,” said Angus, gloomily. “This + business seems to me to be getting rather grave. I’m going round at once + to fetch him.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are,” said the other, with admirable cheerfulness. “Bring him + round here as quick as you can.” + </p> + <p> + But as Angus closed the front door behind him he saw Smythe push back a + button, and one of the clockwork images glided from its place and slid + along a groove in the floor carrying a tray with syphon and decanter. + There did seem something a trifle weird about leaving the little man alone + among those dead servants, who were coming to life as the door closed. + </p> + <p> + Six steps down from Smythe’s landing the man in shirt sleeves was doing + something with a pail. Angus stopped to extract a promise, fortified with + a prospective bribe, that he would remain in that place until the return + with the detective, and would keep count of any kind of stranger coming up + those stairs. Dashing down to the front hall he then laid similar charges + of vigilance on the commissionaire at the front door, from whom he learned + the simplifying circumstances that there was no back door. Not content + with this, he captured the floating policeman and induced him to stand + opposite the entrance and watch it; and finally paused an instant for a + pennyworth of chestnuts, and an inquiry as to the probable length of the + merchant’s stay in the neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + The chestnut seller, turning up the collar of his coat, told him he should + probably be moving shortly, as he thought it was going to snow. Indeed, + the evening was growing grey and bitter, but Angus, with all his + eloquence, proceeded to nail the chestnut man to his post. + </p> + <p> + “Keep yourself warm on your own chestnuts,” he said earnestly. “Eat up + your whole stock; I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll give you a sovereign + if you’ll wait here till I come back, and then tell me whether any man, + woman, or child has gone into that house where the commissionaire is + standing.” + </p> + <p> + He then walked away smartly, with a last look at the besieged tower. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve made a ring round that room, anyhow,” he said. “They can’t all four + of them be Mr. Welkin’s accomplices.” + </p> + <p> + Lucknow Mansions were, so to speak, on a lower platform of that hill of + houses, of which Himylaya Mansions might be called the peak. Mr. + Flambeau’s semi-official flat was on the ground floor, and presented in + every way a marked contrast to the American machinery and cold hotel-like + luxury of the flat of the Silent Service. Flambeau, who was a friend of + Angus, received him in a rococo artistic den behind his office, of which + the ornaments were sabres, harquebuses, Eastern curiosities, flasks of + Italian wine, savage cooking-pots, a plumy Persian cat, and a small + dusty-looking Roman Catholic priest, who looked particularly out of place. + </p> + <p> + “This is my friend Father Brown,” said Flambeau. “I’ve often wanted you to + meet him. Splendid weather, this; a little cold for Southerners like me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think it will keep clear,” said Angus, sitting down on a + violet-striped Eastern ottoman. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the priest quietly, “it has begun to snow.” + </p> + <p> + And, indeed, as he spoke, the first few flakes, foreseen by the man of + chestnuts, began to drift across the darkening windowpane. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Angus heavily. “I’m afraid I’ve come on business, and rather + jumpy business at that. The fact is, Flambeau, within a stone’s throw of + your house is a fellow who badly wants your help; he’s perpetually being + haunted and threatened by an invisible enemy—a scoundrel whom nobody + has even seen.” As Angus proceeded to tell the whole tale of Smythe and + Welkin, beginning with Laura’s story, and going on with his own, the + supernatural laugh at the corner of two empty streets, the strange + distinct words spoken in an empty room, Flambeau grew more and more + vividly concerned, and the little priest seemed to be left out of it, like + a piece of furniture. When it came to the scribbled stamp-paper pasted on + the window, Flambeau rose, seeming to fill the room with his huge + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I think you had better tell me the rest on + the nearest road to this man’s house. It strikes me, somehow, that there + is no time to be lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Delighted,” said Angus, rising also, “though he’s safe enough for the + present, for I’ve set four men to watch the only hole to his burrow.” + </p> + <p> + They turned out into the street, the small priest trundling after them + with the docility of a small dog. He merely said, in a cheerful way, like + one making conversation, “How quick the snow gets thick on the ground.” + </p> + <p> + As they threaded the steep side streets already powdered with silver, + Angus finished his story; and by the time they reached the crescent with + the towering flats, he had leisure to turn his attention to the four + sentinels. The chestnut seller, both before and after receiving a + sovereign, swore stubbornly that he had watched the door and seen no + visitor enter. The policeman was even more emphatic. He said he had had + experience of crooks of all kinds, in top hats and in rags; he wasn’t so + green as to expect suspicious characters to look suspicious; he looked out + for anybody, and, so help him, there had been nobody. And when all three + men gathered round the gilded commissionaire, who still stood smiling + astride of the porch, the verdict was more final still. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got a right to ask any man, duke or dustman, what he wants in these + flats,” said the genial and gold-laced giant, “and I’ll swear there’s been + nobody to ask since this gentleman went away.” + </p> + <p> + The unimportant Father Brown, who stood back, looking modestly at the + pavement, here ventured to say meekly, “Has nobody been up and down + stairs, then, since the snow began to fall? It began while we were all + round at Flambeau’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody’s been in here, sir, you can take it from me,” said the official, + with beaming authority. + </p> + <p> + “Then I wonder what that is?” said the priest, and stared at the ground + blankly like a fish. + </p> + <p> + The others all looked down also; and Flambeau used a fierce exclamation + and a French gesture. For it was unquestionably true that down the middle + of the entrance guarded by the man in gold lace, actually between the + arrogant, stretched legs of that colossus, ran a stringy pattern of grey + footprints stamped upon the white snow. + </p> + <p> + “God!” cried Angus involuntarily, “the Invisible Man!” + </p> + <p> + Without another word he turned and dashed up the stairs, with Flambeau + following; but Father Brown still stood looking about him in the snow-clad + street as if he had lost interest in his query. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau was plainly in a mood to break down the door with his big + shoulders; but the Scotchman, with more reason, if less intuition, fumbled + about on the frame of the door till he found the invisible button; and the + door swung slowly open. + </p> + <p> + It showed substantially the same serried interior; the hall had grown + darker, though it was still struck here and there with the last crimson + shafts of sunset, and one or two of the headless machines had been moved + from their places for this or that purpose, and stood here and there about + the twilit place. The green and red of their coats were all darkened in + the dusk; and their likeness to human shapes slightly increased by their + very shapelessness. But in the middle of them all, exactly where the paper + with the red ink had lain, there lay something that looked like red ink + spilt out of its bottle. But it was not red ink. + </p> + <p> + With a French combination of reason and violence Flambeau simply said + “Murder!” and, plunging into the flat, had explored, every corner and + cupboard of it in five minutes. But if he expected to find a corpse he + found none. Isidore Smythe was not in the place, either dead or alive. + After the most tearing search the two men met each other in the outer + hall, with streaming faces and staring eyes. “My friend,” said Flambeau, + talking French in his excitement, “not only is your murderer invisible, + but he makes invisible also the murdered man.” + </p> + <p> + Angus looked round at the dim room full of dummies, and in some Celtic + corner of his Scotch soul a shudder started. One of the life-size dolls + stood immediately overshadowing the blood stain, summoned, perhaps, by the + slain man an instant before he fell. One of the high-shouldered hooks that + served the thing for arms, was a little lifted, and Angus had suddenly the + horrid fancy that poor Smythe’s own iron child had struck him down. Matter + had rebelled, and these machines had killed their master. But even so, + what had they done with him? + </p> + <p> + “Eaten him?” said the nightmare at his ear; and he sickened for an instant + at the idea of rent, human remains absorbed and crushed into all that + acephalous clockwork. + </p> + <p> + He recovered his mental health by an emphatic effort, and said to + Flambeau, “Well, there it is. The poor fellow has evaporated like a cloud + and left a red streak on the floor. The tale does not belong to this + world.” + </p> + <p> + “There is only one thing to be done,” said Flambeau, “whether it belongs + to this world or the other. I must go down and talk to my friend.” + </p> + <p> + They descended, passing the man with the pail, who again asseverated that + he had let no intruder pass, down to the commissionaire and the hovering + chestnut man, who rigidly reasserted their own watchfulness. But when + Angus looked round for his fourth confirmation he could not see it, and + called out with some nervousness, “Where is the policeman?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said Father Brown; “that is my fault. I just sent him + down the road to investigate something—that I just thought worth + investigating.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we want him back pretty soon,” said Angus abruptly, “for the + wretched man upstairs has not only been murdered, but wiped out.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” asked the priest. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Flambeau, after a pause, “upon my soul I believe it is more + in your department than mine. No friend or foe has entered the house, but + Smythe is gone, as if stolen by the fairies. If that is not supernatural, + I—” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke they were all checked by an unusual sight; the big blue + policeman came round the corner of the crescent, running. He came straight + up to Brown. + </p> + <p> + “You’re right, sir,” he panted, “they’ve just found poor Mr. Smythe’s body + in the canal down below.” + </p> + <p> + Angus put his hand wildly to his head. “Did he run down and drown + himself?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “He never came down, I’ll swear,” said the constable, “and he wasn’t + drowned either, for he died of a great stab over the heart.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you saw no one enter?” said Flambeau in a grave voice. + </p> + <p> + “Let us walk down the road a little,” said the priest. + </p> + <p> + As they reached the other end of the crescent he observed abruptly, + “Stupid of me! I forgot to ask the policeman something. I wonder if they + found a light brown sack.” + </p> + <p> + “Why a light brown sack?” asked Angus, astonished. + </p> + <p> + “Because if it was any other coloured sack, the case must begin over + again,” said Father Brown; “but if it was a light brown sack, why, the + case is finished.” + </p> + <p> + “I am pleased to hear it,” said Angus with hearty irony. “It hasn’t begun, + so far as I am concerned.” + </p> + <p> + “You must tell us all about it,” said Flambeau with a strange heavy + simplicity, like a child. + </p> + <p> + Unconsciously they were walking with quickening steps down the long sweep + of road on the other side of the high crescent, Father Brown leading + briskly, though in silence. At last he said with an almost touching + vagueness, “Well, I’m afraid you’ll think it so prosy. We always begin at + the abstract end of things, and you can’t begin this story anywhere else. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever noticed this—that people never answer what you say? + They answer what you mean—or what they think you mean. Suppose one + lady says to another in a country house, ‘Is anybody staying with you?’ + the lady doesn’t answer ‘Yes; the butler, the three footmen, the + parlourmaid, and so on,’ though the parlourmaid may be in the room, or the + butler behind her chair. She says ‘There is nobody staying with us,’ + meaning nobody of the sort you mean. But suppose a doctor inquiring into + an epidemic asks, ‘Who is staying in the house?’ then the lady will + remember the butler, the parlourmaid, and the rest. All language is used + like that; you never get a question answered literally, even when you get + it answered truly. When those four quite honest men said that no man had + gone into the Mansions, they did not really mean that no man had gone into + them. They meant no man whom they could suspect of being your man. A man + did go into the house, and did come out of it, but they never noticed + him.” + </p> + <p> + “An invisible man?” inquired Angus, raising his red eyebrows. “A mentally + invisible man,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + A minute or two after he resumed in the same unassuming voice, like a man + thinking his way. “Of course you can’t think of such a man, until you do + think of him. That’s where his cleverness comes in. But I came to think of + him through two or three little things in the tale Mr. Angus told us. + First, there was the fact that this Welkin went for long walks. And then + there was the vast lot of stamp paper on the window. And then, most of + all, there were the two things the young lady said—things that + couldn’t be true. Don’t get annoyed,” he added hastily, noting a sudden + movement of the Scotchman’s head; “she thought they were true. A person + can’t be quite alone in a street a second before she receives a letter. + She can’t be quite alone in a street when she starts reading a letter just + received. There must be somebody pretty near her; he must be mentally + invisible.” + </p> + <p> + “Why must there be somebody near her?” asked Angus. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said Father Brown, “barring carrier-pigeons, somebody must have + brought her the letter.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really mean to say,” asked Flambeau, with energy, “that Welkin + carried his rival’s letters to his lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the priest. “Welkin carried his rival’s letters to his lady. + You see, he had to.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can’t stand much more of this,” exploded Flambeau. “Who is this + fellow? What does he look like? What is the usual get-up of a mentally + invisible man?” + </p> + <p> + “He is dressed rather handsomely in red, blue and gold,” replied the + priest promptly with precision, “and in this striking, and even showy, + costume he entered Himylaya Mansions under eight human eyes; he killed + Smythe in cold blood, and came down into the street again carrying the + dead body in his arms—” + </p> + <p> + “Reverend sir,” cried Angus, standing still, “are you raving mad, or am + I?” + </p> + <p> + “You are not mad,” said Brown, “only a little unobservant. You have not + noticed such a man as this, for example.” + </p> + <p> + He took three quick strides forward, and put his hand on the shoulder of + an ordinary passing postman who had bustled by them unnoticed under the + shade of the trees. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody ever notices postmen somehow,” he said thoughtfully; “yet they + have passions like other men, and even carry large bags where a small + corpse can be stowed quite easily.” + </p> + <p> + The postman, instead of turning naturally, had ducked and tumbled against + the garden fence. He was a lean fair-bearded man of very ordinary + appearance, but as he turned an alarmed face over his shoulder, all three + men were fixed with an almost fiendish squint. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Flambeau went back to his sabres, purple rugs and Persian cat, having many + things to attend to. John Turnbull Angus went back to the lady at the + shop, with whom that imprudent young man contrives to be extremely + comfortable. But Father Brown walked those snow-covered hills under the + stars for many hours with a murderer, and what they said to each other + will never be known. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap06"></a> + The Honour of Israel Gow + </h2> + <p> + A stormy evening of olive and silver was closing in, as Father Brown, + wrapped in a grey Scotch plaid, came to the end of a grey Scotch valley + and beheld the strange castle of Glengyle. It stopped one end of the glen + or hollow like a blind alley; and it looked like the end of the world. + Rising in steep roofs and spires of seagreen slate in the manner of the + old French-Scotch chateaux, it reminded an Englishman of the sinister + steeple-hats of witches in fairy tales; and the pine woods that rocked + round the green turrets looked, by comparison, as black as numberless + flocks of ravens. This note of a dreamy, almost a sleepy devilry, was no + mere fancy from the landscape. For there did rest on the place one of + those clouds of pride and madness and mysterious sorrow which lie more + heavily on the noble houses of Scotland than on any other of the children + of men. For Scotland has a double dose of the poison called heredity; the + sense of blood in the aristocrat, and the sense of doom in the Calvinist. + </p> + <p> + The priest had snatched a day from his business at Glasgow to meet his + friend Flambeau, the amateur detective, who was at Glengyle Castle with + another more formal officer investigating the life and death of the late + Earl of Glengyle. That mysterious person was the last representative of a + race whose valour, insanity, and violent cunning had made them terrible + even among the sinister nobility of their nation in the sixteenth century. + None were deeper in that labyrinthine ambition, in chamber within chamber + of that palace of lies that was built up around Mary Queen of Scots. + </p> + <p> + The rhyme in the country-side attested the motive and the result of their + machinations candidly: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies. +</pre> + <p> + For many centuries there had never been a decent lord in Glengyle Castle; + and with the Victorian era one would have thought that all eccentricities + were exhausted. The last Glengyle, however, satisfied his tribal tradition + by doing the only thing that was left for him to do; he disappeared. I do + not mean that he went abroad; by all accounts he was still in the castle, + if he was anywhere. But though his name was in the church register and the + big red Peerage, nobody ever saw him under the sun. + </p> + <p> + If anyone saw him it was a solitary man-servant, something between a groom + and a gardener. He was so deaf that the more business-like assumed him to + be dumb; while the more penetrating declared him to be half-witted. A + gaunt, red-haired labourer, with a dogged jaw and chin, but quite blank + blue eyes, he went by the name of Israel Gow, and was the one silent + servant on that deserted estate. But the energy with which he dug + potatoes, and the regularity with which he disappeared into the kitchen + gave people an impression that he was providing for the meals of a + superior, and that the strange earl was still concealed in the castle. If + society needed any further proof that he was there, the servant + persistently asserted that he was not at home. One morning the provost and + the minister (for the Glengyles were Presbyterian) were summoned to the + castle. There they found that the gardener, groom and cook had added to + his many professions that of an undertaker, and had nailed up his noble + master in a coffin. With how much or how little further inquiry this odd + fact was passed, did not as yet very plainly appear; for the thing had + never been legally investigated till Flambeau had gone north two or three + days before. By then the body of Lord Glengyle (if it was the body) had + lain for some time in the little churchyard on the hill. + </p> + <p> + As Father Brown passed through the dim garden and came under the shadow of + the chateau, the clouds were thick and the whole air damp and thundery. + Against the last stripe of the green-gold sunset he saw a black human + silhouette; a man in a chimney-pot hat, with a big spade over his + shoulder. The combination was queerly suggestive of a sexton; but when + Brown remembered the deaf servant who dug potatoes, he thought it natural + enough. He knew something of the Scotch peasant; he knew the + respectability which might well feel it necessary to wear “blacks” for an + official inquiry; he knew also the economy that would not lose an hour’s + digging for that. Even the man’s start and suspicious stare as the priest + went by were consonant enough with the vigilance and jealousy of such a + type. + </p> + <p> + The great door was opened by Flambeau himself, who had with him a lean man + with iron-grey hair and papers in his hand: Inspector Craven from Scotland + Yard. The entrance hall was mostly stripped and empty; but the pale, + sneering faces of one or two of the wicked Ogilvies looked down out of + black periwigs and blackening canvas. + </p> + <p> + Following them into an inner room, Father Brown found that the allies had + been seated at a long oak table, of which their end was covered with + scribbled papers, flanked with whisky and cigars. Through the whole of its + remaining length it was occupied by detached objects arranged at + intervals; objects about as inexplicable as any objects could be. One + looked like a small heap of glittering broken glass. Another looked like a + high heap of brown dust. A third appeared to be a plain stick of wood. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have a sort of geological museum here,” he said, as he sat + down, jerking his head briefly in the direction of the brown dust and the + crystalline fragments. + </p> + <p> + “Not a geological museum,” replied Flambeau; “say a psychological museum.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for the Lord’s sake,” cried the police detective laughing, “don’t + let’s begin with such long words.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know what psychology means?” asked Flambeau with friendly + surprise. “Psychology means being off your chump.” + </p> + <p> + “Still I hardly follow,” replied the official. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Flambeau, with decision, “I mean that we’ve only found out + one thing about Lord Glengyle. He was a maniac.” + </p> + <p> + The black silhouette of Gow with his top hat and spade passed the window, + dimly outlined against the darkening sky. Father Brown stared passively at + it and answered: + </p> + <p> + “I can understand there must have been something odd about the man, or he + wouldn’t have buried himself alive—nor been in such a hurry to bury + himself dead. But what makes you think it was lunacy?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Flambeau, “you just listen to the list of things Mr. Craven + has found in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “We must get a candle,” said Craven, suddenly. “A storm is getting up, and + it’s too dark to read.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you found any candles,” asked Brown smiling, “among your oddities?” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau raised a grave face, and fixed his dark eyes on his friend. + </p> + <p> + “That is curious, too,” he said. “Twenty-five candles, and not a trace of + a candlestick.” + </p> + <p> + In the rapidly darkening room and rapidly rising wind, Brown went along + the table to where a bundle of wax candles lay among the other scrappy + exhibits. As he did so he bent accidentally over the heap of red-brown + dust; and a sharp sneeze cracked the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” he said, “snuff!” + </p> + <p> + He took one of the candles, lit it carefully, came back and stuck it in + the neck of the whisky bottle. The unrestful night air, blowing through + the crazy window, waved the long flame like a banner. And on every side of + the castle they could hear the miles and miles of black pine wood seething + like a black sea around a rock. + </p> + <p> + “I will read the inventory,” began Craven gravely, picking up one of the + papers, “the inventory of what we found loose and unexplained in the + castle. You are to understand that the place generally was dismantled and + neglected; but one or two rooms had plainly been inhabited in a simple but + not squalid style by somebody; somebody who was not the servant Gow. The + list is as follows: + </p> + <p> + “First item. A very considerable hoard of precious stones, nearly all + diamonds, and all of them loose, without any setting whatever. Of course, + it is natural that the Ogilvies should have family jewels; but those are + exactly the jewels that are almost always set in particular articles of + ornament. The Ogilvies would seem to have kept theirs loose in their + pockets, like coppers. + </p> + <p> + “Second item. Heaps and heaps of loose snuff, not kept in a horn, or even + a pouch, but lying in heaps on the mantelpieces, on the sideboard, on the + piano, anywhere. It looks as if the old gentleman would not take the + trouble to look in a pocket or lift a lid. + </p> + <p> + “Third item. Here and there about the house curious little heaps of minute + pieces of metal, some like steel springs and some in the form of + microscopic wheels. As if they had gutted some mechanical toy. + </p> + <p> + “Fourth item. The wax candles, which have to be stuck in bottle necks + because there is nothing else to stick them in. Now I wish you to note how + very much queerer all this is than anything we anticipated. For the + central riddle we are prepared; we have all seen at a glance that there + was something wrong about the last earl. We have come here to find out + whether he really lived here, whether he really died here, whether that + red-haired scarecrow who did his burying had anything to do with his + dying. But suppose the worst in all this, the most lurid or melodramatic + solution you like. Suppose the servant really killed the master, or + suppose the master isn’t really dead, or suppose the master is dressed up + as the servant, or suppose the servant is buried for the master; invent + what Wilkie Collins’ tragedy you like, and you still have not explained a + candle without a candlestick, or why an elderly gentleman of good family + should habitually spill snuff on the piano. The core of the tale we could + imagine; it is the fringes that are mysterious. By no stretch of fancy can + the human mind connect together snuff and diamonds and wax and loose + clockwork.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I see the connection,” said the priest. “This Glengyle was mad + against the French Revolution. He was an enthusiast for the ancien regime, + and was trying to re-enact literally the family life of the last Bourbons. + He had snuff because it was the eighteenth century luxury; wax candles, + because they were the eighteenth century lighting; the mechanical bits of + iron represent the locksmith hobby of Louis XVI; the diamonds are for the + Diamond Necklace of Marie Antoinette.” + </p> + <p> + Both the other men were staring at him with round eyes. “What a perfectly + extraordinary notion!” cried Flambeau. “Do you really think that is the + truth?” + </p> + <p> + “I am perfectly sure it isn’t,” answered Father Brown, “only you said that + nobody could connect snuff and diamonds and clockwork and candles. I give + you that connection off-hand. The real truth, I am very sure, lies + deeper.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment and listened to the wailing of the wind in the turrets. + Then he said, “The late Earl of Glengyle was a thief. He lived a second + and darker life as a desperate housebreaker. He did not have any + candlesticks because he only used these candles cut short in the little + lantern he carried. The snuff he employed as the fiercest French criminals + have used pepper: to fling it suddenly in dense masses in the face of a + captor or pursuer. But the final proof is in the curious coincidence of + the diamonds and the small steel wheels. Surely that makes everything + plain to you? Diamonds and small steel wheels are the only two instruments + with which you can cut out a pane of glass.” + </p> + <p> + The bough of a broken pine tree lashed heavily in the blast against the + windowpane behind them, as if in parody of a burglar, but they did not + turn round. Their eyes were fastened on Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Diamonds and small wheels,” repeated Craven ruminating. “Is that all that + makes you think it the true explanation?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it the true explanation,” replied the priest placidly; “but + you said that nobody could connect the four things. The true tale, of + course, is something much more humdrum. Glengyle had found, or thought he + had found, precious stones on his estate. Somebody had bamboozled him with + those loose brilliants, saying they were found in the castle caverns. The + little wheels are some diamond-cutting affair. He had to do the thing very + roughly and in a small way, with the help of a few shepherds or rude + fellows on these hills. Snuff is the one great luxury of such Scotch + shepherds; it’s the one thing with which you can bribe them. They didn’t + have candlesticks because they didn’t want them; they held the candles in + their hands when they explored the caves.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” asked Flambeau after a long pause. “Have we got to the dull + truth at last?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + As the wind died in the most distant pine woods with a long hoot as of + mockery Father Brown, with an utterly impassive face, went on: + </p> + <p> + “I only suggested that because you said one could not plausibly connect + snuff with clockwork or candles with bright stones. Ten false philosophies + will fit the universe; ten false theories will fit Glengyle Castle. But we + want the real explanation of the castle and the universe. But are there no + other exhibits?” + </p> + <p> + Craven laughed, and Flambeau rose smiling to his feet and strolled down + the long table. + </p> + <p> + “Items five, six, seven, etc.,” he said, “and certainly more varied than + instructive. A curious collection, not of lead pencils, but of the lead + out of lead pencils. A senseless stick of bamboo, with the top rather + splintered. It might be the instrument of the crime. Only, there isn’t any + crime. The only other things are a few old missals and little Catholic + pictures, which the Ogilvies kept, I suppose, from the Middle Ages—their + family pride being stronger than their Puritanism. We only put them in the + museum because they seem curiously cut about and defaced.” + </p> + <p> + The heady tempest without drove a dreadful wrack of clouds across Glengyle + and threw the long room into darkness as Father Brown picked up the little + illuminated pages to examine them. He spoke before the drift of darkness + had passed; but it was the voice of an utterly new man. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Craven,” said he, talking like a man ten years younger, “you have got + a legal warrant, haven’t you, to go up and examine that grave? The sooner + we do it the better, and get to the bottom of this horrible affair. If I + were you I should start now.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” repeated the astonished detective, “and why now?” + </p> + <p> + “Because this is serious,” answered Brown; “this is not spilt snuff or + loose pebbles, that might be there for a hundred reasons. There is only + one reason I know of for this being done; and the reason goes down to the + roots of the world. These religious pictures are not just dirtied or torn + or scrawled over, which might be done in idleness or bigotry, by children + or by Protestants. These have been treated very carefully—and very + queerly. In every place where the great ornamented name of God comes in + the old illuminations it has been elaborately taken out. The only other + thing that has been removed is the halo round the head of the Child Jesus. + Therefore, I say, let us get our warrant and our spade and our hatchet, + and go up and break open that coffin.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” demanded the London officer. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” answered the little priest, and his voice seemed to rise + slightly in the roar of the gale. “I mean that the great devil of the + universe may be sitting on the top tower of this castle at this moment, as + big as a hundred elephants, and roaring like the Apocalypse. There is + black magic somewhere at the bottom of this.” + </p> + <p> + “Black magic,” repeated Flambeau in a low voice, for he was too + enlightened a man not to know of such things; “but what can these other + things mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, something damnable, I suppose,” replied Brown impatiently. “How + should I know? How can I guess all their mazes down below? Perhaps you can + make a torture out of snuff and bamboo. Perhaps lunatics lust after wax + and steel filings. Perhaps there is a maddening drug made of lead pencils! + Our shortest cut to the mystery is up the hill to the grave.” + </p> + <p> + His comrades hardly knew that they had obeyed and followed him till a + blast of the night wind nearly flung them on their faces in the garden. + Nevertheless they had obeyed him like automata; for Craven found a hatchet + in his hand, and the warrant in his pocket; Flambeau was carrying the + heavy spade of the strange gardener; Father Brown was carrying the little + gilt book from which had been torn the name of God. + </p> + <p> + The path up the hill to the churchyard was crooked but short; only under + that stress of wind it seemed laborious and long. Far as the eye could + see, farther and farther as they mounted the slope, were seas beyond seas + of pines, now all aslope one way under the wind. And that universal + gesture seemed as vain as it was vast, as vain as if that wind were + whistling about some unpeopled and purposeless planet. Through all that + infinite growth of grey-blue forests sang, shrill and high, that ancient + sorrow that is in the heart of all heathen things. One could fancy that + the voices from the under world of unfathomable foliage were cries of the + lost and wandering pagan gods: gods who had gone roaming in that + irrational forest, and who will never find their way back to heaven. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Father Brown in low but easy tone, “Scotch people before + Scotland existed were a curious lot. In fact, they’re a curious lot still. + But in the prehistoric times I fancy they really worshipped demons. That,” + he added genially, “is why they jumped at the Puritan theology.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said Flambeau, turning in a kind of fury, “what does all that + snuff mean?” + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” replied Brown, with equal seriousness, “there is one mark of + all genuine religions: materialism. Now, devil-worship is a perfectly + genuine religion.” + </p> + <p> + They had come up on the grassy scalp of the hill, one of the few bald + spots that stood clear of the crashing and roaring pine forest. A mean + enclosure, partly timber and partly wire, rattled in the tempest to tell + them the border of the graveyard. But by the time Inspector Craven had + come to the corner of the grave, and Flambeau had planted his spade point + downwards and leaned on it, they were both almost as shaken as the shaky + wood and wire. At the foot of the grave grew great tall thistles, grey and + silver in their decay. Once or twice, when a ball of thistledown broke + under the breeze and flew past him, Craven jumped slightly as if it had + been an arrow. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau drove the blade of his spade through the whistling grass into the + wet clay below. Then he seemed to stop and lean on it as on a staff. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said the priest very gently. “We are only trying to find the + truth. What are you afraid of?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid of finding it,” said Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + The London detective spoke suddenly in a high crowing voice that was meant + to be conversational and cheery. “I wonder why he really did hide himself + like that. Something nasty, I suppose; was he a leper?” + </p> + <p> + “Something worse than that,” said Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you imagine,” asked the other, “would be worse than a leper?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t imagine it,” said Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + He dug for some dreadful minutes in silence, and then said in a choked + voice, “I’m afraid of his not being the right shape.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor was that piece of paper, you know,” said Father Brown quietly, “and + we survived even that piece of paper.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau dug on with a blind energy. But the tempest had shouldered away + the choking grey clouds that clung to the hills like smoke and revealed + grey fields of faint starlight before he cleared the shape of a rude + timber coffin, and somehow tipped it up upon the turf. Craven stepped + forward with his axe; a thistle-top touched him, and he flinched. Then he + took a firmer stride, and hacked and wrenched with an energy like + Flambeau’s till the lid was torn off, and all that was there lay + glimmering in the grey starlight. + </p> + <p> + “Bones,” said Craven; and then he added, “but it is a man,” as if that + were something unexpected. + </p> + <p> + “Is he,” asked Flambeau in a voice that went oddly up and down, “is he all + right?” + </p> + <p> + “Seems so,” said the officer huskily, bending over the obscure and + decaying skeleton in the box. “Wait a minute.” + </p> + <p> + A vast heave went over Flambeau’s huge figure. “And now I come to think of + it,” he cried, “why in the name of madness shouldn’t he be all right? What + is it gets hold of a man on these cursed cold mountains? I think it’s the + black, brainless repetition; all these forests, and over all an ancient + horror of unconsciousness. It’s like the dream of an atheist. Pine-trees + and more pine-trees and millions more pine-trees—” + </p> + <p> + “God!” cried the man by the coffin, “but he hasn’t got a head.” + </p> + <p> + While the others stood rigid the priest, for the first time, showed a leap + of startled concern. + </p> + <p> + “No head!” he repeated. “No head?” as if he had almost expected some other + deficiency. + </p> + <p> + Half-witted visions of a headless baby born to Glengyle, of a headless + youth hiding himself in the castle, of a headless man pacing those ancient + halls or that gorgeous garden, passed in panorama through their minds. But + even in that stiffened instant the tale took no root in them and seemed to + have no reason in it. They stood listening to the loud woods and the + shrieking sky quite foolishly, like exhausted animals. Thought seemed to + be something enormous that had suddenly slipped out of their grasp. + </p> + <p> + “There are three headless men,” said Father Brown, “standing round this + open grave.” + </p> + <p> + The pale detective from London opened his mouth to speak, and left it open + like a yokel, while a long scream of wind tore the sky; then he looked at + the axe in his hands as if it did not belong to him, and dropped it. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Flambeau in that infantile and heavy voice he used very + seldom, “what are we to do?” + </p> + <p> + His friend’s reply came with the pent promptitude of a gun going off. + </p> + <p> + “Sleep!” cried Father Brown. “Sleep. We have come to the end of the ways. + Do you know what sleep is? Do you know that every man who sleeps believes + in God? It is a sacrament; for it is an act of faith and it is a food. And + we need a sacrament, if only a natural one. Something has fallen on us + that falls very seldom on men; perhaps the worst thing that can fall on + them.” + </p> + <p> + Craven’s parted lips came together to say, “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + The priest had turned his face to the castle as he answered: “We have + found the truth; and the truth makes no sense.” + </p> + <p> + He went down the path in front of them with a plunging and reckless step + very rare with him, and when they reached the castle again he threw + himself upon sleep with the simplicity of a dog. + </p> + <p> + Despite his mystic praise of slumber, Father Brown was up earlier than + anyone else except the silent gardener; and was found smoking a big pipe + and watching that expert at his speechless labours in the kitchen garden. + Towards daybreak the rocking storm had ended in roaring rains, and the day + came with a curious freshness. The gardener seemed even to have been + conversing, but at sight of the detectives he planted his spade sullenly + in a bed and, saying something about his breakfast, shifted along the + lines of cabbages and shut himself in the kitchen. “He’s a valuable man, + that,” said Father Brown. “He does the potatoes amazingly. Still,” he + added, with a dispassionate charity, “he has his faults; which of us + hasn’t? He doesn’t dig this bank quite regularly. There, for instance,” + and he stamped suddenly on one spot. “I’m really very doubtful about that + potato.” + </p> + <p> + “And why?” asked Craven, amused with the little man’s hobby. + </p> + <p> + “I’m doubtful about it,” said the other, “because old Gow was doubtful + about it himself. He put his spade in methodically in every place but just + this. There must be a mighty fine potato just here.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau pulled up the spade and impetuously drove it into the place. He + turned up, under a load of soil, something that did not look like a + potato, but rather like a monstrous, over-domed mushroom. But it struck + the spade with a cold click; it rolled over like a ball, and grinned up at + them. + </p> + <p> + “The Earl of Glengyle,” said Brown sadly, and looked down heavily at the + skull. + </p> + <p> + Then, after a momentary meditation, he plucked the spade from Flambeau, + and, saying “We must hide it again,” clamped the skull down in the earth. + Then he leaned his little body and huge head on the great handle of the + spade, that stood up stiffly in the earth, and his eyes were empty and his + forehead full of wrinkles. “If one could only conceive,” he muttered, “the + meaning of this last monstrosity.” And leaning on the large spade handle, + he buried his brows in his hands, as men do in church. + </p> + <p> + All the corners of the sky were brightening into blue and silver; the + birds were chattering in the tiny garden trees; so loud it seemed as if + the trees themselves were talking. But the three men were silent enough. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I give it all up,” said Flambeau at last boisterously. “My brain + and this world don’t fit each other; and there’s an end of it. Snuff, + spoilt Prayer Books, and the insides of musical boxes—what—” + </p> + <p> + Brown threw up his bothered brow and rapped on the spade handle with an + intolerance quite unusual with him. “Oh, tut, tut, tut, tut!” he cried. + “All that is as plain as a pikestaff. I understood the snuff and + clockwork, and so on, when I first opened my eyes this morning. And since + then I’ve had it out with old Gow, the gardener, who is neither so deaf + nor so stupid as he pretends. There’s nothing amiss about the loose items. + I was wrong about the torn mass-book, too; there’s no harm in that. But + it’s this last business. Desecrating graves and stealing dead men’s heads—surely + there’s harm in that? Surely there’s black magic still in that? That + doesn’t fit in to the quite simple story of the snuff and the candles.” + And, striding about again, he smoked moodily. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said Flambeau, with a grim humour, “you must be careful with + me and remember I was once a criminal. The great advantage of that estate + was that I always made up the story myself, and acted it as quick as I + chose. This detective business of waiting about is too much for my French + impatience. All my life, for good or evil, I have done things at the + instant; I always fought duels the next morning; I always paid bills on + the nail; I never even put off a visit to the dentist—” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown’s pipe fell out of his mouth and broke into three pieces on + the gravel path. He stood rolling his eyes, the exact picture of an idiot. + “Lord, what a turnip I am!” he kept saying. “Lord, what a turnip!” Then, + in a somewhat groggy kind of way, he began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “The dentist!” he repeated. “Six hours in the spiritual abyss, and all + because I never thought of the dentist! Such a simple, such a beautiful + and peaceful thought! Friends, we have passed a night in hell; but now the + sun is risen, the birds are singing, and the radiant form of the dentist + consoles the world.” + </p> + <p> + “I will get some sense out of this,” cried Flambeau, striding forward, “if + I use the tortures of the Inquisition.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown repressed what appeared to be a momentary disposition to + dance on the now sunlit lawn and cried quite piteously, like a child, “Oh, + let me be silly a little. You don’t know how unhappy I have been. And now + I know that there has been no deep sin in this business at all. Only a + little lunacy, perhaps—and who minds that?” + </p> + <p> + He spun round once more, then faced them with gravity. + </p> + <p> + “This is not a story of crime,” he said; “rather it is the story of a + strange and crooked honesty. We are dealing with the one man on earth, + perhaps, who has taken no more than his due. It is a study in the savage + living logic that has been the religion of this race. + </p> + <p> + “That old local rhyme about the house of Glengyle— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies— +</pre> + <p> + was literal as well as metaphorical. It did not merely mean that the + Glengyles sought for wealth; it was also true that they literally gathered + gold; they had a huge collection of ornaments and utensils in that metal. + They were, in fact, misers whose mania took that turn. In the light of + that fact, run through all the things we found in the castle. Diamonds + without their gold rings; candles without their gold candlesticks; snuff + without the gold snuff-boxes; pencil-leads without the gold pencil-cases; + a walking stick without its gold top; clockwork without the gold clocks—or + rather watches. And, mad as it sounds, because the halos and the name of + God in the old missals were of real gold; these also were taken away.” + </p> + <p> + The garden seemed to brighten, the grass to grow gayer in the + strengthening sun, as the crazy truth was told. Flambeau lit a cigarette + as his friend went on. + </p> + <p> + “Were taken away,” continued Father Brown; “were taken away—but not + stolen. Thieves would never have left this mystery. Thieves would have + taken the gold snuff-boxes, snuff and all; the gold pencil-cases, lead and + all. We have to deal with a man with a peculiar conscience, but certainly + a conscience. I found that mad moralist this morning in the kitchen garden + yonder, and I heard the whole story. + </p> + <p> + “The late Archibald Ogilvie was the nearest approach to a good man ever + born at Glengyle. But his bitter virtue took the turn of the misanthrope; + he moped over the dishonesty of his ancestors, from which, somehow, he + generalised a dishonesty of all men. More especially he distrusted + philanthropy or free-giving; and he swore if he could find one man who + took his exact rights he should have all the gold of Glengyle. Having + delivered this defiance to humanity he shut himself up, without the + smallest expectation of its being answered. One day, however, a deaf and + seemingly senseless lad from a distant village brought him a belated + telegram; and Glengyle, in his acrid pleasantry, gave him a new farthing. + At least he thought he had done so, but when he turned over his change he + found the new farthing still there and a sovereign gone. The accident + offered him vistas of sneering speculation. Either way, the boy would show + the greasy greed of the species. Either he would vanish, a thief stealing + a coin; or he would sneak back with it virtuously, a snob seeking a + reward. In the middle of that night Lord Glengyle was knocked up out of + his bed—for he lived alone—and forced to open the door to the + deaf idiot. The idiot brought with him, not the sovereign, but exactly + nineteen shillings and eleven-pence three-farthings in change. + </p> + <p> + “Then the wild exactitude of this action took hold of the mad lord’s brain + like fire. He swore he was Diogenes, that had long sought an honest man, + and at last had found one. He made a new will, which I have seen. He took + the literal youth into his huge, neglected house, and trained him up as + his solitary servant and—after an odd manner—his heir. And + whatever that queer creature understands, he understood absolutely his + lord’s two fixed ideas: first, that the letter of right is everything; and + second, that he himself was to have the gold of Glengyle. So far, that is + all; and that is simple. He has stripped the house of gold, and taken not + a grain that was not gold; not so much as a grain of snuff. He lifted the + gold leaf off an old illumination, fully satisfied that he left the rest + unspoilt. All that I understood; but I could not understand this skull + business. I was really uneasy about that human head buried among the + potatoes. It distressed me—till Flambeau said the word. + </p> + <p> + “It will be all right. He will put the skull back in the grave, when he + has taken the gold out of the tooth.” + </p> + <p> + And, indeed, when Flambeau crossed the hill that morning, he saw that + strange being, the just miser, digging at the desecrated grave, the plaid + round his throat thrashing out in the mountain wind; the sober top hat on + his head. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap07"></a> + The Wrong Shape + </h2> + <p> + Certain of the great roads going north out of London continue far into the + country a sort of attenuated and interrupted spectre of a street, with + great gaps in the building, but preserving the line. Here will be a group + of shops, followed by a fenced field or paddock, and then a famous + public-house, and then perhaps a market garden or a nursery garden, and + then one large private house, and then another field and another inn, and + so on. If anyone walks along one of these roads he will pass a house which + will probably catch his eye, though he may not be able to explain its + attraction. It is a long, low house, running parallel with the road, + painted mostly white and pale green, with a veranda and sun-blinds, and + porches capped with those quaint sort of cupolas like wooden umbrellas + that one sees in some old-fashioned houses. In fact, it is an + old-fashioned house, very English and very suburban in the good old + wealthy Clapham sense. And yet the house has a look of having been built + chiefly for the hot weather. Looking at its white paint and sun-blinds one + thinks vaguely of pugarees and even of palm trees. I cannot trace the + feeling to its root; perhaps the place was built by an Anglo-Indian. + </p> + <p> + Anyone passing this house, I say, would be namelessly fascinated by it; + would feel that it was a place about which some story was to be told. And + he would have been right, as you shall shortly hear. For this is the story—the + story of the strange things that did really happen in it in the + Whitsuntide of the year 18—: + </p> + <p> + Anyone passing the house on the Thursday before Whit-Sunday at about + half-past four p.m. would have seen the front door open, and Father Brown, + of the small church of St. Mungo, come out smoking a large pipe in company + with a very tall French friend of his called Flambeau, who was smoking a + very small cigarette. These persons may or may not be of interest to the + reader, but the truth is that they were not the only interesting things + that were displayed when the front door of the white-and-green house was + opened. There are further peculiarities about this house, which must be + described to start with, not only that the reader may understand this + tragic tale, but also that he may realise what it was that the opening of + the door revealed. + </p> + <p> + The whole house was built upon the plan of a T, but a T with a very long + cross piece and a very short tail piece. The long cross piece was the + frontage that ran along in face of the street, with the front door in the + middle; it was two stories high, and contained nearly all the important + rooms. The short tail piece, which ran out at the back immediately + opposite the front door, was one story high, and consisted only of two + long rooms, the one leading into the other. The first of these two rooms + was the study in which the celebrated Mr. Quinton wrote his wild Oriental + poems and romances. The farther room was a glass conservatory full of + tropical blossoms of quite unique and almost monstrous beauty, and on such + afternoons as these glowing with gorgeous sunlight. Thus when the hall + door was open, many a passer-by literally stopped to stare and gasp; for + he looked down a perspective of rich apartments to something really like a + transformation scene in a fairy play: purple clouds and golden suns and + crimson stars that were at once scorchingly vivid and yet transparent and + far away. + </p> + <p> + Leonard Quinton, the poet, had himself most carefully arranged this + effect; and it is doubtful whether he so perfectly expressed his + personality in any of his poems. For he was a man who drank and bathed in + colours, who indulged his lust for colour somewhat to the neglect of form—even + of good form. This it was that had turned his genius so wholly to eastern + art and imagery; to those bewildering carpets or blinding embroideries in + which all the colours seem fallen into a fortunate chaos, having nothing + to typify or to teach. He had attempted, not perhaps with complete + artistic success, but with acknowledged imagination and invention, to + compose epics and love stories reflecting the riot of violent and even + cruel colour; tales of tropical heavens of burning gold or blood-red + copper; of eastern heroes who rode with twelve-turbaned mitres upon + elephants painted purple or peacock green; of gigantic jewels that a + hundred negroes could not carry, but which burned with ancient and + strange-hued fires. + </p> + <p> + In short (to put the matter from the more common point of view), he dealt + much in eastern heavens, rather worse than most western hells; in eastern + monarchs, whom we might possibly call maniacs; and in eastern jewels which + a Bond Street jeweller (if the hundred staggering negroes brought them + into his shop) might possibly not regard as genuine. Quinton was a genius, + if a morbid one; and even his morbidity appeared more in his life than in + his work. In temperament he was weak and waspish, and his health had + suffered heavily from oriental experiments with opium. His wife—a + handsome, hard-working, and, indeed, over-worked woman objected to the + opium, but objected much more to a live Indian hermit in white and yellow + robes, whom her husband insisted on entertaining for months together, a + Virgil to guide his spirit through the heavens and the hells of the east. + </p> + <p> + It was out of this artistic household that Father Brown and his friend + stepped on to the door-step; and to judge from their faces, they stepped + out of it with much relief. Flambeau had known Quinton in wild student + days in Paris, and they had renewed the acquaintance for a week-end; but + apart from Flambeau’s more responsible developments of late, he did not + get on well with the poet now. Choking oneself with opium and writing + little erotic verses on vellum was not his notion of how a gentleman + should go to the devil. As the two paused on the door-step, before taking + a turn in the garden, the front garden gate was thrown open with violence, + and a young man with a billycock hat on the back of his head tumbled up + the steps in his eagerness. He was a dissipated-looking youth with a + gorgeous red necktie all awry, as if he had slept in it, and he kept + fidgeting and lashing about with one of those little jointed canes. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he said breathlessly, “I want to see old Quinton. I must see him. + Has he gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Quinton is in, I believe,” said Father Brown, cleaning his pipe, “but + I do not know if you can see him. The doctor is with him at present.” + </p> + <p> + The young man, who seemed not to be perfectly sober, stumbled into the + hall; and at the same moment the doctor came out of Quinton’s study, + shutting the door and beginning to put on his gloves. + </p> + <p> + “See Mr. Quinton?” said the doctor coolly. “No, I’m afraid you can’t. In + fact, you mustn’t on any account. Nobody must see him; I’ve just given him + his sleeping draught.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but look here, old chap,” said the youth in the red tie, trying + affectionately to capture the doctor by the lapels of his coat. “Look + here. I’m simply sewn up, I tell you. I—” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no good, Mr. Atkinson,” said the doctor, forcing him to fall back; + “when you can alter the effects of a drug I’ll alter my decision,” and, + settling on his hat, he stepped out into the sunlight with the other two. + He was a bull-necked, good-tempered little man with a small moustache, + inexpressibly ordinary, yet giving an impression of capacity. + </p> + <p> + The young man in the billycock, who did not seem to be gifted with any + tact in dealing with people beyond the general idea of clutching hold of + their coats, stood outside the door, as dazed as if he had been thrown out + bodily, and silently watched the other three walk away together through + the garden. + </p> + <p> + “That was a sound, spanking lie I told just now,” remarked the medical + man, laughing. “In point of fact, poor Quinton doesn’t have his sleeping + draught for nearly half an hour. But I’m not going to have him bothered + with that little beast, who only wants to borrow money that he wouldn’t + pay back if he could. He’s a dirty little scamp, though he is Mrs. + Quinton’s brother, and she’s as fine a woman as ever walked.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Father Brown. “She’s a good woman.” + </p> + <p> + “So I propose to hang about the garden till the creature has cleared off,” + went on the doctor, “and then I’ll go in to Quinton with the medicine. + Atkinson can’t get in, because I locked the door.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, Dr. Harris,” said Flambeau, “we might as well walk round at + the back by the end of the conservatory. There’s no entrance to it that + way, but it’s worth seeing, even from the outside.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I might get a squint at my patient,” laughed the doctor, “for he + prefers to lie on an ottoman right at the end of the conservatory amid all + those blood-red poinsettias; it would give me the creeps. But what are you + doing?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had stopped for a moment, and picked up out of the long + grass, where it had almost been wholly hidden, a queer, crooked Oriental + knife, inlaid exquisitely in coloured stones and metals. + </p> + <p> + “What is this?” asked Father Brown, regarding it with some disfavour. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Quinton’s, I suppose,” said Dr. Harris carelessly; “he has all sorts + of Chinese knickknacks about the place. Or perhaps it belongs to that mild + Hindoo of his whom he keeps on a string.” + </p> + <p> + “What Hindoo?” asked Father Brown, still staring at the dagger in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, some Indian conjuror,” said the doctor lightly; “a fraud, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t believe in magic?” asked Father Brown, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + “O crickey! magic!” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “It’s very beautiful,” said the priest in a low, dreaming voice; “the + colours are very beautiful. But it’s the wrong shape.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” asked Flambeau, staring. + </p> + <p> + “For anything. It’s the wrong shape in the abstract. Don’t you ever feel + that about Eastern art? The colours are intoxicatingly lovely; but the + shapes are mean and bad—deliberately mean and bad. I have seen + wicked things in a Turkey carpet.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu!” cried Flambeau, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “They are letters and symbols in a language I don’t know; but I know they + stand for evil words,” went on the priest, his voice growing lower and + lower. “The lines go wrong on purpose—like serpents doubling to + escape.” + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you talking about?” said the doctor with a loud laugh. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau spoke quietly to him in answer. “The Father sometimes gets this + mystic’s cloud on him,” he said; “but I give you fair warning that I have + never known him to have it except when there was some evil quite near.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rats!” said the scientist. + </p> + <p> + “Why, look at it,” cried Father Brown, holding out the crooked knife at + arm’s length, as if it were some glittering snake. “Don’t you see it is + the wrong shape? Don’t you see that it has no hearty and plain purpose? It + does not point like a spear. It does not sweep like a scythe. It does not + look like a weapon. It looks like an instrument of torture.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as you don’t seem to like it,” said the jolly Harris, “it had + better be taken back to its owner. Haven’t we come to the end of this + confounded conservatory yet? This house is the wrong shape, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand,” said Father Brown, shaking his head. “The shape of + this house is quaint—it is even laughable. But there is nothing + wrong about it.” + </p> + <p> + As they spoke they came round the curve of glass that ended the + conservatory, an uninterrupted curve, for there was neither door nor + window by which to enter at that end. The glass, however, was clear, and + the sun still bright, though beginning to set; and they could see not only + the flamboyant blossoms inside, but the frail figure of the poet in a + brown velvet coat lying languidly on the sofa, having, apparently, fallen + half asleep over a book. He was a pale, slight man, with loose, chestnut + hair and a fringe of beard that was the paradox of his face, for the beard + made him look less manly. These traits were well known to all three of + them; but even had it not been so, it may be doubted whether they would + have looked at Quinton just then. Their eyes were riveted on another + object. + </p> + <p> + Exactly in their path, immediately outside the round end of the glass + building, was standing a tall man, whose drapery fell to his feet in + faultless white, and whose bare, brown skull, face, and neck gleamed in + the setting sun like splendid bronze. He was looking through the glass at + the sleeper, and he was more motionless than a mountain. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that?” cried Father Brown, stepping back with a hissing intake of + his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is only that Hindoo humbug,” growled Harris; “but I don’t know + what the deuce he’s doing here.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks like hypnotism,” said Flambeau, biting his black moustache. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you unmedical fellows always talking bosh about hypnotism?” cried + the doctor. “It looks a deal more like burglary.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we will speak to it, at any rate,” said Flambeau, who was always + for action. One long stride took him to the place where the Indian stood. + Bowing from his great height, which overtopped even the Oriental’s, he + said with placid impudence: + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, sir. Do you want anything?” + </p> + <p> + Quite slowly, like a great ship turning into a harbour, the great yellow + face turned, and looked at last over its white shoulder. They were + startled to see that its yellow eyelids were quite sealed, as in sleep. + “Thank you,” said the face in excellent English. “I want nothing.” Then, + half opening the lids, so as to show a slit of opalescent eyeball, he + repeated, “I want nothing.” Then he opened his eyes wide with a startling + stare, said, “I want nothing,” and went rustling away into the rapidly + darkening garden. + </p> + <p> + “The Christian is more modest,” muttered Father Brown; “he wants + something.” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth was he doing?” asked Flambeau, knitting his black brows and + lowering his voice. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to talk to you later,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + The sunlight was still a reality, but it was the red light of evening, and + the bulk of the garden trees and bushes grew blacker and blacker against + it. They turned round the end of the conservatory, and walked in silence + down the other side to get round to the front door. As they went they + seemed to wake something, as one startles a bird, in the deeper corner + between the study and the main building; and again they saw the + white-robed fakir slide out of the shadow, and slip round towards the + front door. To their surprise, however, he had not been alone. They found + themselves abruptly pulled up and forced to banish their bewilderment by + the appearance of Mrs. Quinton, with her heavy golden hair and square pale + face, advancing on them out of the twilight. She looked a little stern, + but was entirely courteous. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Dr. Harris,” was all she said. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Mrs. Quinton,” said the little doctor heartily. “I am just + going to give your husband his sleeping draught.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said in a clear voice. “I think it is quite time.” And she + smiled at them, and went sweeping into the house. + </p> + <p> + “That woman’s over-driven,” said Father Brown; “that’s the kind of woman + that does her duty for twenty years, and then does something dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + The little doctor looked at him for the first time with an eye of + interest. “Did you ever study medicine?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “You have to know something of the mind as well as the body,” answered the + priest; “we have to know something of the body as well as the mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the doctor, “I think I’ll go and give Quinton his stuff.” + </p> + <p> + They had turned the corner of the front façade, and were approaching the + front doorway. As they turned into it they saw the man in the white robe + for the third time. He came so straight towards the front door that it + seemed quite incredible that he had not just come out of the study + opposite to it. Yet they knew that the study door was locked. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown and Flambeau, however, kept this weird contradiction to + themselves, and Dr. Harris was not a man to waste his thoughts on the + impossible. He permitted the omnipresent Asiatic to make his exit, and + then stepped briskly into the hall. There he found a figure which he had + already forgotten. The inane Atkinson was still hanging about, humming and + poking things with his knobby cane. The doctor’s face had a spasm of + disgust and decision, and he whispered rapidly to his companion: “I must + lock the door again, or this rat will get in. But I shall be out again in + two minutes.” + </p> + <p> + He rapidly unlocked the door and locked it again behind him, just balking + a blundering charge from the young man in the billycock. The young man + threw himself impatiently on a hall chair. Flambeau looked at a Persian + illumination on the wall; Father Brown, who seemed in a sort of daze, + dully eyed the door. In about four minutes the door was opened again. + Atkinson was quicker this time. He sprang forward, held the door open for + an instant, and called out: “Oh, I say, Quinton, I want—” + </p> + <p> + From the other end of the study came the clear voice of Quinton, in + something between a yawn and a yell of weary laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know what you want. Take it, and leave me in peace. I’m writing a + song about peacocks.” + </p> + <p> + Before the door closed half a sovereign came flying through the aperture; + and Atkinson, stumbling forward, caught it with singular dexterity. + </p> + <p> + “So that’s settled,” said the doctor, and, locking the door savagely, he + led the way out into the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Leonard can get a little peace now,” he added to Father Brown; “he’s + locked in all by himself for an hour or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the priest; “and his voice sounded jolly enough when we + left him.” Then he looked gravely round the garden, and saw the loose + figure of Atkinson standing and jingling the half-sovereign in his pocket, + and beyond, in the purple twilight, the figure of the Indian sitting bolt + upright upon a bank of grass with his face turned towards the setting sun. + Then he said abruptly: “Where is Mrs. Quinton!” + </p> + <p> + “She has gone up to her room,” said the doctor. “That is her shadow on the + blind.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown looked up, and frowningly scrutinised a dark outline at the + gas-lit window. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “that is her shadow,” and he walked a yard or two and + threw himself upon a garden seat. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau sat down beside him; but the doctor was one of those energetic + people who live naturally on their legs. He walked away, smoking, into the + twilight, and the two friends were left together. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” said Flambeau in French, “what is the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown was silent and motionless for half a minute, then he said: + “Superstition is irreligious, but there is something in the air of this + place. I think it’s that Indian—at least, partly.” + </p> + <p> + He sank into silence, and watched the distant outline of the Indian, who + still sat rigid as if in prayer. At first sight he seemed motionless, but + as Father Brown watched him he saw that the man swayed ever so slightly + with a rhythmic movement, just as the dark tree-tops swayed ever so + slightly in the wind that was creeping up the dim garden paths and + shuffling the fallen leaves a little. + </p> + <p> + The landscape was growing rapidly dark, as if for a storm, but they could + still see all the figures in their various places. Atkinson was leaning + against a tree with a listless face; Quinton’s wife was still at her + window; the doctor had gone strolling round the end of the conservatory; + they could see his cigar like a will-o’-the-wisp; and the fakir still sat + rigid and yet rocking, while the trees above him began to rock and almost + to roar. Storm was certainly coming. + </p> + <p> + “When that Indian spoke to us,” went on Brown in a conversational + undertone, “I had a sort of vision, a vision of him and all his universe. + Yet he only said the same thing three times. When first he said ‘I want + nothing,’ it meant only that he was impenetrable, that Asia does not give + itself away. Then he said again, ‘I want nothing,’ and I knew that he + meant that he was sufficient to himself, like a cosmos, that he needed no + God, neither admitted any sins. And when he said the third time, ‘I want + nothing,’ he said it with blazing eyes. And I knew that he meant literally + what he said; that nothing was his desire and his home; that he was weary + for nothing as for wine; that annihilation, the mere destruction of + everything or anything—” + </p> + <p> + Two drops of rain fell; and for some reason Flambeau started and looked + up, as if they had stung him. And the same instant the doctor down by the + end of the conservatory began running towards them, calling out something + as he ran. + </p> + <p> + As he came among them like a bombshell the restless Atkinson happened to + be taking a turn nearer to the house front; and the doctor clutched him by + the collar in a convulsive grip. “Foul play!” he cried; “what have you + been doing to him, you dog?” + </p> + <p> + The priest had sprung erect, and had the voice of steel of a soldier in + command. + </p> + <p> + “No fighting,” he cried coolly; “we are enough to hold anyone we want to. + What is the matter, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Things are not right with Quinton,” said the doctor, quite white. “I + could just see him through the glass, and I don’t like the way he’s lying. + It’s not as I left him, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go in to him,” said Father Brown shortly. “You can leave Mr. + Atkinson alone. I have had him in sight since we heard Quinton’s voice.” + </p> + <p> + “I will stop here and watch him,” said Flambeau hurriedly. “You go in and + see.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor and the priest flew to the study door, unlocked it, and fell + into the room. In doing so they nearly fell over the large mahogany table + in the centre at which the poet usually wrote; for the place was lit only + by a small fire kept for the invalid. In the middle of this table lay a + single sheet of paper, evidently left there on purpose. The doctor + snatched it up, glanced at it, handed it to Father Brown, and crying, + “Good God, look at that!” plunged toward the glass room beyond, where the + terrible tropic flowers still seemed to keep a crimson memory of the + sunset. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown read the words three times before he put down the paper. The + words were: “I die by my own hand; yet I die murdered!” They were in the + quite inimitable, not to say illegible, handwriting of Leonard Quinton. + </p> + <p> + Then Father Brown, still keeping the paper in his hand, strode towards the + conservatory, only to meet his medical friend coming back with a face of + assurance and collapse. “He’s done it,” said Harris. + </p> + <p> + They went together through the gorgeous unnatural beauty of cactus and + azalea and found Leonard Quinton, poet and romancer, with his head hanging + downward off his ottoman and his red curls sweeping the ground. Into his + left side was thrust the queer dagger that they had picked up in the + garden, and his limp hand still rested on the hilt. + </p> + <p> + Outside the storm had come at one stride, like the night in Coleridge, and + garden and glass roof were darkened with driving rain. Father Brown seemed + to be studying the paper more than the corpse; he held it close to his + eyes; and seemed trying to read it in the twilight. Then he held it up + against the faint light, and, as he did so, lightning stared at them for + an instant so white that the paper looked black against it. + </p> + <p> + Darkness full of thunder followed, and after the thunder Father Brown’s + voice said out of the dark: “Doctor, this paper is the wrong shape.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Doctor Harris, with a frowning stare. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t square,” answered Brown. “It has a sort of edge snipped off at + the corner. What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + “How the deuce should I know?” growled the doctor. “Shall we move this + poor chap, do you think? He’s quite dead.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered the priest; “we must leave him as he lies and send for the + police.” But he was still scrutinising the paper. + </p> + <p> + As they went back through the study he stopped by the table and picked up + a small pair of nail scissors. “Ah,” he said, with a sort of relief, “this + is what he did it with. But yet—” And he knitted his brows. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stop fooling with that scrap of paper,” said the doctor emphatically. + “It was a fad of his. He had hundreds of them. He cut all his paper like + that,” as he pointed to a stack of sermon paper still unused on another + and smaller table. Father Brown went up to it and held up a sheet. It was + the same irregular shape. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” he said. “And here I see the corners that were snipped off.” + And to the indignation of his colleague he began to count them. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right,” he said, with an apologetic smile. “Twenty-three + sheets cut and twenty-two corners cut off them. And as I see you are + impatient we will rejoin the others.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is to tell his wife?” asked Dr. Harris. “Will you go and tell her + now, while I send a servant for the police?” + </p> + <p> + “As you will,” said Father Brown indifferently. And he went out to the + hall door. + </p> + <p> + Here also he found a drama, though of a more grotesque sort. It showed + nothing less than his big friend Flambeau in an attitude to which he had + long been unaccustomed, while upon the pathway at the bottom of the steps + was sprawling with his boots in the air the amiable Atkinson, his + billycock hat and walking cane sent flying in opposite directions along + the path. Atkinson had at length wearied of Flambeau’s almost paternal + custody, and had endeavoured to knock him down, which was by no means a + smooth game to play with the Roi des Apaches, even after that monarch’s + abdication. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau was about to leap upon his enemy and secure him once more, when + the priest patted him easily on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Make it up with Mr. Atkinson, my friend,” he said. “Beg a mutual pardon + and say ‘Good night.’ We need not detain him any longer.” Then, as + Atkinson rose somewhat doubtfully and gathered his hat and stick and went + towards the garden gate, Father Brown said in a more serious voice: “Where + is that Indian?” + </p> + <p> + They all three (for the doctor had joined them) turned involuntarily + towards the dim grassy bank amid the tossing trees purple with twilight, + where they had last seen the brown man swaying in his strange prayers. The + Indian was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Confound him,” cried the doctor, stamping furiously. “Now I know that it + was that nigger that did it.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you didn’t believe in magic,” said Father Brown quietly. + </p> + <p> + “No more I did,” said the doctor, rolling his eyes. “I only know that I + loathed that yellow devil when I thought he was a sham wizard. And I shall + loathe him more if I come to think he was a real one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, his having escaped is nothing,” said Flambeau. “For we could have + proved nothing and done nothing against him. One hardly goes to the parish + constable with a story of suicide imposed by witchcraft or + auto-suggestion.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Father Brown had made his way into the house, and now went to + break the news to the wife of the dead man. + </p> + <p> + When he came out again he looked a little pale and tragic, but what passed + between them in that interview was never known, even when all was known. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau, who was talking quietly with the doctor, was surprised to see + his friend reappear so soon at his elbow; but Brown took no notice, and + merely drew the doctor apart. “You have sent for the police, haven’t you?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Harris. “They ought to be here in ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you do me a favour?” said the priest quietly. “The truth is, I make + a collection of these curious stories, which often contain, as in the case + of our Hindoo friend, elements which can hardly be put into a police + report. Now, I want you to write out a report of this case for my private + use. Yours is a clever trade,” he said, looking the doctor gravely and + steadily in the face. “I sometimes think that you know some details of + this matter which you have not thought fit to mention. Mine is a + confidential trade like yours, and I will treat anything you write for me + in strict confidence. But write the whole.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor, who had been listening thoughtfully with his head a little on + one side, looked the priest in the face for an instant, and said: “All + right,” and went into the study, closing the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Flambeau,” said Father Brown, “there is a long seat there under the + veranda, where we can smoke out of the rain. You are my only friend in the + world, and I want to talk to you. Or, perhaps, be silent with you.” + </p> + <p> + They established themselves comfortably in the veranda seat; Father Brown, + against his common habit, accepted a good cigar and smoked it steadily in + silence, while the rain shrieked and rattled on the roof of the veranda. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” he said at length, “this is a very queer case. A very queer + case.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think it was,” said Flambeau, with something like a shudder. + </p> + <p> + “You call it queer, and I call it queer,” said the other, “and yet we mean + quite opposite things. The modern mind always mixes up two different + ideas: mystery in the sense of what is marvellous, and mystery in the + sense of what is complicated. That is half its difficulty about miracles. + A miracle is startling; but it is simple. It is simple because it is a + miracle. It is power coming directly from God (or the devil) instead of + indirectly through nature or human wills. Now, you mean that this business + is marvellous because it is miraculous, because it is witchcraft worked by + a wicked Indian. Understand, I do not say that it was not spiritual or + diabolic. Heaven and hell only know by what surrounding influences strange + sins come into the lives of men. But for the present my point is this: If + it was pure magic, as you think, then it is marvellous; but it is not + mysterious—that is, it is not complicated. The quality of a miracle + is mysterious, but its manner is simple. Now, the manner of this business + has been the reverse of simple.” + </p> + <p> + The storm that had slackened for a little seemed to be swelling again, and + there came heavy movements as of faint thunder. Father Brown let fall the + ash of his cigar and went on: + </p> + <p> + “There has been in this incident,” he said, “a twisted, ugly, complex + quality that does not belong to the straight bolts either of heaven or + hell. As one knows the crooked track of a snail, I know the crooked track + of a man.” + </p> + <p> + The white lightning opened its enormous eye in one wink, the sky shut up + again, and the priest went on: + </p> + <p> + “Of all these crooked things, the crookedest was the shape of that piece + of paper. It was crookeder than the dagger that killed him.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean the paper on which Quinton confessed his suicide,” said + Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “I mean the paper on which Quinton wrote, ‘I die by my own hand,’” + answered Father Brown. “The shape of that paper, my friend, was the wrong + shape; the wrong shape, if ever I have seen it in this wicked world.” + </p> + <p> + “It only had a corner snipped off,” said Flambeau, “and I understand that + all Quinton’s paper was cut that way.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a very odd way,” said the other, “and a very bad way, to my taste + and fancy. Look here, Flambeau, this Quinton—God receive his soul!—was + perhaps a bit of a cur in some ways, but he really was an artist, with the + pencil as well as the pen. His handwriting, though hard to read, was bold + and beautiful. I can’t prove what I say; I can’t prove anything. But I + tell you with the full force of conviction that he could never have cut + that mean little piece off a sheet of paper. If he had wanted to cut down + paper for some purpose of fitting in, or binding up, or what not, he would + have made quite a different slash with the scissors. Do you remember the + shape? It was a mean shape. It was a wrong shape. Like this. Don’t you + remember?” + </p> + <p> + And he waved his burning cigar before him in the darkness, making + irregular squares so rapidly that Flambeau really seemed to see them as + fiery hieroglyphics upon the darkness—hieroglyphics such as his + friend had spoken of, which are undecipherable, yet can have no good + meaning. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Flambeau, as the priest put his cigar in his mouth again and + leaned back, staring at the roof, “suppose somebody else did use the + scissors. Why should somebody else, cutting pieces off his sermon paper, + make Quinton commit suicide?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown was still leaning back and staring at the roof, but he took + his cigar out of his mouth and said: “Quinton never did commit suicide.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau stared at him. “Why, confound it all,” he cried, “then why did he + confess to suicide?” + </p> + <p> + The priest leant forward again, settled his elbows on his knees, looked at + the ground, and said, in a low, distinct voice: “He never did confess to + suicide.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau laid his cigar down. “You mean,” he said, “that the writing was + forged?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Father Brown. “Quinton wrote it all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there you are,” said the aggravated Flambeau; “Quinton wrote, ‘I + die by my own hand,’ with his own hand on a plain piece of paper.” + </p> + <p> + “Of the wrong shape,” said the priest calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the shape be damned!” cried Flambeau. “What has the shape to do with + it?” + </p> + <p> + “There were twenty-three snipped papers,” resumed Brown unmoved, “and only + twenty-two pieces snipped off. Therefore one of the pieces had been + destroyed, probably that from the written paper. Does that suggest + anything to you?” + </p> + <p> + A light dawned on Flambeau’s face, and he said: “There was something else + written by Quinton, some other words. ‘They will tell you I die by my own + hand,’ or ‘Do not believe that—‘” + </p> + <p> + “Hotter, as the children say,” said his friend. “But the piece was hardly + half an inch across; there was no room for one word, let alone five. Can + you think of anything hardly bigger than a comma which the man with hell + in his heart had to tear away as a testimony against him?” + </p> + <p> + “I can think of nothing,” said Flambeau at last. + </p> + <p> + “What about quotation marks?” said the priest, and flung his cigar far + into the darkness like a shooting star. + </p> + <p> + All words had left the other man’s mouth, and Father Brown said, like one + going back to fundamentals: + </p> + <p> + “Leonard Quinton was a romancer, and was writing an Oriental romance about + wizardry and hypnotism. He—” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door opened briskly behind them, and the doctor came + out with his hat on. He put a long envelope into the priest’s hands. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the document you wanted,” he said, “and I must be getting home. + Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” said Father Brown, as the doctor walked briskly to the gate. + He had left the front door open, so that a shaft of gaslight fell upon + them. In the light of this Brown opened the envelope and read the + following words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEAR FATHER BROWN,—Vicisti Galilee. Otherwise, damn your + eyes, which are very penetrating ones. Can it be possible that + there is something in all that stuff of yours after all? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I am a man who has ever since boyhood believed in Nature and + in all natural functions and instincts, whether men called them + moral or immoral. Long before I became a doctor, when I was a + schoolboy keeping mice and spiders, I believed that to be a good + animal is the best thing in the world. But just now I am shaken; + I have believed in Nature; but it seems as if Nature could betray + a man. Can there be anything in your bosh? I am really getting + morbid. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I loved Quinton’s wife. What was there wrong in that? Nature + told me to, and it’s love that makes the world go round. I also + thought quite sincerely that she would be happier with a clean + animal like me than with that tormenting little lunatic. What was + there wrong in that? I was only facing facts, like a man of + science. She would have been happier. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + According to my own creed I was quite free to kill Quinton, + which was the best thing for everybody, even himself. But as a + healthy animal I had no notion of killing myself. I resolved, + therefore, that I would never do it until I saw a chance that + would leave me scot free. I saw that chance this morning. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have been three times, all told, into Quinton’s study today. + The first time I went in he would talk about nothing but the weird + tale, called “The Cure of a Saint,” which he was writing, which + was all about how some Indian hermit made an English colonel kill + himself by thinking about him. He showed me the last sheets, and + even read me the last paragraph, which was something like this: + “The conqueror of the Punjab, a mere yellow skeleton, but still + gigantic, managed to lift himself on his elbow and gasp in his + nephew’s ear: ‘I die by my own hand, yet I die murdered!’” It so + happened by one chance out of a hundred, that those last words + were written at the top of a new sheet of paper. I left the room, + and went out into the garden intoxicated with a frightful + opportunity. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We walked round the house; and two more things happened in my + favour. You suspected an Indian, and you found a dagger which the + Indian might most probably use. Taking the opportunity to stuff + it in my pocket I went back to Quinton’s study, locked the door, + and gave him his sleeping draught. He was against answering + Atkinson at all, but I urged him to call out and quiet the fellow, + because I wanted a clear proof that Quinton was alive when I left + the room for the second time. Quinton lay down in the conservatory, + and I came through the study. I am a quick man with my hands, and + in a minute and a half I had done what I wanted to do. I had + emptied all the first part of Quinton’s romance into the fireplace, + where it burnt to ashes. Then I saw that the quotation marks + wouldn’t do, so I snipped them off, and to make it seem likelier, + snipped the whole quire to match. Then I came out with the + knowledge that Quinton’s confession of suicide lay on the front + table, while Quinton lay alive but asleep in the conservatory + beyond. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The last act was a desperate one; you can guess it: I pretended + to have seen Quinton dead and rushed to his room. I delayed you + with the paper, and, being a quick man with my hands, killed + Quinton while you were looking at his confession of suicide. He + was half-asleep, being drugged, and I put his own hand on the + knife and drove it into his body. The knife was of so queer a + shape that no one but an operator could have calculated the angle + that would reach his heart. I wonder if you noticed this. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I had done it, the extraordinary thing happened. Nature + deserted me. I felt ill. I felt just as if I had done something + wrong. I think my brain is breaking up; I feel some sort of + desperate pleasure in thinking I have told the thing to somebody; + that I shall not have to be alone with it if I marry and have + children. What is the matter with me?... Madness... or can one + have remorse, just as if one were in Byron’s poems! I cannot + write any more. + + James Erskine Harris. +</pre> + <p> + Father Brown carefully folded up the letter, and put it in his breast + pocket just as there came a loud peal at the gate bell, and the wet + waterproofs of several policemen gleamed in the road outside. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap08"></a> + The Sins of Prince Saradine + </h2> + <p> + When Flambeau took his month’s holiday from his office in Westminster he + took it in a small sailing-boat, so small that it passed much of its time + as a rowing-boat. He took it, moreover, in little rivers in the Eastern + counties, rivers so small that the boat looked like a magic boat, sailing + on land through meadows and cornfields. The vessel was just comfortable + for two people; there was room only for necessities, and Flambeau had + stocked it with such things as his special philosophy considered + necessary. They reduced themselves, apparently, to four essentials: tins + of salmon, if he should want to eat; loaded revolvers, if he should want + to fight; a bottle of brandy, presumably in case he should faint; and a + priest, presumably in case he should die. With this light luggage he + crawled down the little Norfolk rivers, intending to reach the Broads at + last, but meanwhile delighting in the overhanging gardens and meadows, the + mirrored mansions or villages, lingering to fish in the pools and corners, + and in some sense hugging the shore. + </p> + <p> + Like a true philosopher, Flambeau had no aim in his holiday; but, like a + true philosopher, he had an excuse. He had a sort of half purpose, which + he took just so seriously that its success would crown the holiday, but + just so lightly that its failure would not spoil it. Years ago, when he + had been a king of thieves and the most famous figure in Paris, he had + often received wild communications of approval, denunciation, or even + love; but one had, somehow, stuck in his memory. It consisted simply of a + visiting-card, in an envelope with an English postmark. On the back of the + card was written in French and in green ink: “If you ever retire and + become respectable, come and see me. I want to meet you, for I have met + all the other great men of my time. That trick of yours of getting one + detective to arrest the other was the most splendid scene in French + history.” On the front of the card was engraved in the formal fashion, + “Prince Saradine, Reed House, Reed Island, Norfolk.” + </p> + <p> + He had not troubled much about the prince then, beyond ascertaining that + he had been a brilliant and fashionable figure in southern Italy. In his + youth, it was said, he had eloped with a married woman of high rank; the + escapade was scarcely startling in his social world, but it had clung to + men’s minds because of an additional tragedy: the alleged suicide of the + insulted husband, who appeared to have flung himself over a precipice in + Sicily. The prince then lived in Vienna for a time, but his more recent + years seemed to have been passed in perpetual and restless travel. But + when Flambeau, like the prince himself, had left European celebrity and + settled in England, it occurred to him that he might pay a surprise visit + to this eminent exile in the Norfolk Broads. Whether he should find the + place he had no idea; and, indeed, it was sufficiently small and + forgotten. But, as things fell out, he found it much sooner than he + expected. + </p> + <p> + They had moored their boat one night under a bank veiled in high grasses + and short pollarded trees. Sleep, after heavy sculling, had come to them + early, and by a corresponding accident they awoke before it was light. To + speak more strictly, they awoke before it was daylight; for a large lemon + moon was only just setting in the forest of high grass above their heads, + and the sky was of a vivid violet-blue, nocturnal but bright. Both men had + simultaneously a reminiscence of childhood, of the elfin and adventurous + time when tall weeds close over us like woods. Standing up thus against + the large low moon, the daisies really seemed to be giant daisies, the + dandelions to be giant dandelions. Somehow it reminded them of the dado of + a nursery wall-paper. The drop of the river-bed sufficed to sink them + under the roots of all shrubs and flowers and make them gaze upwards at + the grass. “By Jove!” said Flambeau, “it’s like being in fairyland.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown sat bolt upright in the boat and crossed himself. His + movement was so abrupt that his friend asked him, with a mild stare, what + was the matter. + </p> + <p> + “The people who wrote the mediaeval ballads,” answered the priest, “knew + more about fairies than you do. It isn’t only nice things that happen in + fairyland.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bosh!” said Flambeau. “Only nice things could happen under such an + innocent moon. I am for pushing on now and seeing what does really come. + We may die and rot before we ever see again such a moon or such a mood.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Father Brown. “I never said it was always wrong to enter + fairyland. I only said it was always dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + They pushed slowly up the brightening river; the glowing violet of the sky + and the pale gold of the moon grew fainter and fainter, and faded into + that vast colourless cosmos that precedes the colours of the dawn. When + the first faint stripes of red and gold and grey split the horizon from + end to end they were broken by the black bulk of a town or village which + sat on the river just ahead of them. It was already an easy twilight, in + which all things were visible, when they came under the hanging roofs and + bridges of this riverside hamlet. The houses, with their long, low, + stooping roofs, seemed to come down to drink at the river, like huge grey + and red cattle. The broadening and whitening dawn had already turned to + working daylight before they saw any living creature on the wharves and + bridges of that silent town. Eventually they saw a very placid and + prosperous man in his shirt sleeves, with a face as round as the recently + sunken moon, and rays of red whisker around the low arc of it, who was + leaning on a post above the sluggish tide. By an impulse not to be + analysed, Flambeau rose to his full height in the swaying boat and shouted + at the man to ask if he knew Reed Island or Reed House. The prosperous + man’s smile grew slightly more expansive, and he simply pointed up the + river towards the next bend of it. Flambeau went ahead without further + speech. + </p> + <p> + The boat took many such grassy corners and followed many such reedy and + silent reaches of river; but before the search had become monotonous they + had swung round a specially sharp angle and come into the silence of a + sort of pool or lake, the sight of which instinctively arrested them. For + in the middle of this wider piece of water, fringed on every side with + rushes, lay a long, low islet, along which ran a long, low house or + bungalow built of bamboo or some kind of tough tropic cane. The upstanding + rods of bamboo which made the walls were pale yellow, the sloping rods + that made the roof were of darker red or brown, otherwise the long house + was a thing of repetition and monotony. The early morning breeze rustled + the reeds round the island and sang in the strange ribbed house as in a + giant pan-pipe. + </p> + <p> + “By George!” cried Flambeau; “here is the place, after all! Here is Reed + Island, if ever there was one. Here is Reed House, if it is anywhere. I + believe that fat man with whiskers was a fairy.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” remarked Father Brown impartially. “If he was, he was a bad + fairy.” + </p> + <p> + But even as he spoke the impetuous Flambeau had run his boat ashore in the + rattling reeds, and they stood in the long, quaint islet beside the odd + and silent house. + </p> + <p> + The house stood with its back, as it were, to the river and the only + landing-stage; the main entrance was on the other side, and looked down + the long island garden. The visitors approached it, therefore, by a small + path running round nearly three sides of the house, close under the low + eaves. Through three different windows on three different sides they + looked in on the same long, well-lit room, panelled in light wood, with a + large number of looking-glasses, and laid out as for an elegant lunch. The + front door, when they came round to it at last, was flanked by two + turquoise-blue flower pots. It was opened by a butler of the drearier type—long, + lean, grey and listless—who murmured that Prince Saradine was from + home at present, but was expected hourly; the house being kept ready for + him and his guests. The exhibition of the card with the scrawl of green + ink awoke a flicker of life in the parchment face of the depressed + retainer, and it was with a certain shaky courtesy that he suggested that + the strangers should remain. “His Highness may be here any minute,” he + said, “and would be distressed to have just missed any gentleman he had + invited. We have orders always to keep a little cold lunch for him and his + friends, and I am sure he would wish it to be offered.” + </p> + <p> + Moved with curiosity to this minor adventure, Flambeau assented + gracefully, and followed the old man, who ushered him ceremoniously into + the long, lightly panelled room. There was nothing very notable about it, + except the rather unusual alternation of many long, low windows with many + long, low oblongs of looking-glass, which gave a singular air of lightness + and unsubstantialness to the place. It was somehow like lunching out of + doors. One or two pictures of a quiet kind hung in the corners, one a + large grey photograph of a very young man in uniform, another a red chalk + sketch of two long-haired boys. Asked by Flambeau whether the soldierly + person was the prince, the butler answered shortly in the negative; it was + the prince’s younger brother, Captain Stephen Saradine, he said. And with + that the old man seemed to dry up suddenly and lose all taste for + conversation. + </p> + <p> + After lunch had tailed off with exquisite coffee and liqueurs, the guests + were introduced to the garden, the library, and the housekeeper—a + dark, handsome lady, of no little majesty, and rather like a plutonic + Madonna. It appeared that she and the butler were the only survivors of + the prince’s original foreign menage the other servants now in the house + being new and collected in Norfolk by the housekeeper. This latter lady + went by the name of Mrs. Anthony, but she spoke with a slight Italian + accent, and Flambeau did not doubt that Anthony was a Norfolk version of + some more Latin name. Mr. Paul, the butler, also had a faintly foreign + air, but he was in tongue and training English, as are many of the most + polished men-servants of the cosmopolitan nobility. + </p> + <p> + Pretty and unique as it was, the place had about it a curious luminous + sadness. Hours passed in it like days. The long, well-windowed rooms were + full of daylight, but it seemed a dead daylight. And through all other + incidental noises, the sound of talk, the clink of glasses, or the passing + feet of servants, they could hear on all sides of the house the melancholy + noise of the river. + </p> + <p> + “We have taken a wrong turning, and come to a wrong place,” said Father + Brown, looking out of the window at the grey-green sedges and the silver + flood. “Never mind; one can sometimes do good by being the right person in + the wrong place.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown, though commonly a silent, was an oddly sympathetic little + man, and in those few but endless hours he unconsciously sank deeper into + the secrets of Reed House than his professional friend. He had that knack + of friendly silence which is so essential to gossip; and saying scarcely a + word, he probably obtained from his new acquaintances all that in any case + they would have told. The butler indeed was naturally uncommunicative. He + betrayed a sullen and almost animal affection for his master; who, he + said, had been very badly treated. The chief offender seemed to be his + highness’s brother, whose name alone would lengthen the old man’s lantern + jaws and pucker his parrot nose into a sneer. Captain Stephen was a + ne’er-do-well, apparently, and had drained his benevolent brother of + hundreds and thousands; forced him to fly from fashionable life and live + quietly in this retreat. That was all Paul, the butler, would say, and + Paul was obviously a partisan. + </p> + <p> + The Italian housekeeper was somewhat more communicative, being, as Brown + fancied, somewhat less content. Her tone about her master was faintly + acid; though not without a certain awe. Flambeau and his friend were + standing in the room of the looking-glasses examining the red sketch of + the two boys, when the housekeeper swept in swiftly on some domestic + errand. It was a peculiarity of this glittering, glass-panelled place that + anyone entering was reflected in four or five mirrors at once; and Father + Brown, without turning round, stopped in the middle of a sentence of + family criticism. But Flambeau, who had his face close up to the picture, + was already saying in a loud voice, “The brothers Saradine, I suppose. + They both look innocent enough. It would be hard to say which is the good + brother and which the bad.” Then, realising the lady’s presence, he turned + the conversation with some triviality, and strolled out into the garden. + But Father Brown still gazed steadily at the red crayon sketch; and Mrs. + Anthony still gazed steadily at Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + She had large and tragic brown eyes, and her olive face glowed darkly with + a curious and painful wonder—as of one doubtful of a stranger’s + identity or purpose. Whether the little priest’s coat and creed touched + some southern memories of confession, or whether she fancied he knew more + than he did, she said to him in a low voice as to a fellow plotter, “He is + right enough in one way, your friend. He says it would be hard to pick out + the good and bad brothers. Oh, it would be hard, it would be mighty hard, + to pick out the good one.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you,” said Father Brown, and began to move away. + </p> + <p> + The woman took a step nearer to him, with thunderous brows and a sort of + savage stoop, like a bull lowering his horns. + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t a good one,” she hissed. “There was badness enough in the + captain taking all that money, but I don’t think there was much goodness + in the prince giving it. The captain’s not the only one with something + against him.” + </p> + <p> + A light dawned on the cleric’s averted face, and his mouth formed silently + the word “blackmail.” Even as he did so the woman turned an abrupt white + face over her shoulder and almost fell. The door had opened soundlessly + and the pale Paul stood like a ghost in the doorway. By the weird trick of + the reflecting walls, it seemed as if five Pauls had entered by five doors + simultaneously. + </p> + <p> + “His Highness,” he said, “has just arrived.” + </p> + <p> + In the same flash the figure of a man had passed outside the first window, + crossing the sunlit pane like a lighted stage. An instant later he passed + at the second window and the many mirrors repainted in successive frames + the same eagle profile and marching figure. He was erect and alert, but + his hair was white and his complexion of an odd ivory yellow. He had that + short, curved Roman nose which generally goes with long, lean cheeks and + chin, but these were partly masked by moustache and imperial. The + moustache was much darker than the beard, giving an effect slightly + theatrical, and he was dressed up to the same dashing part, having a white + top hat, an orchid in his coat, a yellow waistcoat and yellow gloves which + he flapped and swung as he walked. When he came round to the front door + they heard the stiff Paul open it, and heard the new arrival say + cheerfully, “Well, you see I have come.” The stiff Mr. Paul bowed and + answered in his inaudible manner; for a few minutes their conversation + could not be heard. Then the butler said, “Everything is at your + disposal;” and the glove-flapping Prince Saradine came gaily into the room + to greet them. They beheld once more that spectral scene—five + princes entering a room with five doors. + </p> + <p> + The prince put the white hat and yellow gloves on the table and offered + his hand quite cordially. + </p> + <p> + “Delighted to see you here, Mr. Flambeau,” he said. “Knowing you very well + by reputation, if that’s not an indiscreet remark.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” answered Flambeau, laughing. “I am not sensitive. Very few + reputations are gained by unsullied virtue.” + </p> + <p> + The prince flashed a sharp look at him to see if the retort had any + personal point; then he laughed also and offered chairs to everyone, + including himself. + </p> + <p> + “Pleasant little place, this, I think,” he said with a detached air. “Not + much to do, I fear; but the fishing is really good.” + </p> + <p> + The priest, who was staring at him with the grave stare of a baby, was + haunted by some fancy that escaped definition. He looked at the grey, + carefully curled hair, yellow white visage, and slim, somewhat foppish + figure. These were not unnatural, though perhaps a shade prononcé, like + the outfit of a figure behind the footlights. The nameless interest lay in + something else, in the very framework of the face; Brown was tormented + with a half memory of having seen it somewhere before. The man looked like + some old friend of his dressed up. Then he suddenly remembered the + mirrors, and put his fancy down to some psychological effect of that + multiplication of human masks. + </p> + <p> + Prince Saradine distributed his social attentions between his guests with + great gaiety and tact. Finding the detective of a sporting turn and eager + to employ his holiday, he guided Flambeau and Flambeau’s boat down to the + best fishing spot in the stream, and was back in his own canoe in twenty + minutes to join Father Brown in the library and plunge equally politely + into the priest’s more philosophic pleasures. He seemed to know a great + deal both about the fishing and the books, though of these not the most + edifying; he spoke five or six languages, though chiefly the slang of + each. He had evidently lived in varied cities and very motley societies, + for some of his cheerfullest stories were about gambling hells and opium + dens, Australian bushrangers or Italian brigands. Father Brown knew that + the once-celebrated Saradine had spent his last few years in almost + ceaseless travel, but he had not guessed that the travels were so + disreputable or so amusing. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, with all his dignity of a man of the world, Prince Saradine + radiated to such sensitive observers as the priest, a certain atmosphere + of the restless and even the unreliable. His face was fastidious, but his + eye was wild; he had little nervous tricks, like a man shaken by drink or + drugs, and he neither had, nor professed to have, his hand on the helm of + household affairs. All these were left to the two old servants, especially + to the butler, who was plainly the central pillar of the house. Mr. Paul, + indeed, was not so much a butler as a sort of steward or, even, + chamberlain; he dined privately, but with almost as much pomp as his + master; he was feared by all the servants; and he consulted with the + prince decorously, but somewhat unbendingly—rather as if he were the + prince’s solicitor. The sombre housekeeper was a mere shadow in + comparison; indeed, she seemed to efface herself and wait only on the + butler, and Brown heard no more of those volcanic whispers which had half + told him of the younger brother who blackmailed the elder. Whether the + prince was really being thus bled by the absent captain, he could not be + certain, but there was something insecure and secretive about Saradine + that made the tale by no means incredible. + </p> + <p> + When they went once more into the long hall with the windows and the + mirrors, yellow evening was dropping over the waters and the willowy + banks; and a bittern sounded in the distance like an elf upon his dwarfish + drum. The same singular sentiment of some sad and evil fairyland crossed + the priest’s mind again like a little grey cloud. “I wish Flambeau were + back,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe in doom?” asked the restless Prince Saradine suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered his guest. “I believe in Doomsday.” + </p> + <p> + The prince turned from the window and stared at him in a singular manner, + his face in shadow against the sunset. “What do you mean?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that we here are on the wrong side of the tapestry,” answered + Father Brown. “The things that happen here do not seem to mean anything; + they mean something somewhere else. Somewhere else retribution will come + on the real offender. Here it often seems to fall on the wrong person.” + </p> + <p> + The prince made an inexplicable noise like an animal; in his shadowed face + the eyes were shining queerly. A new and shrewd thought exploded silently + in the other’s mind. Was there another meaning in Saradine’s blend of + brilliancy and abruptness? Was the prince—Was he perfectly sane? He + was repeating, “The wrong person—the wrong person,” many more times + than was natural in a social exclamation. + </p> + <p> + Then Father Brown awoke tardily to a second truth. In the mirrors before + him he could see the silent door standing open, and the silent Mr. Paul + standing in it, with his usual pallid impassiveness. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it better to announce at once,” he said, with the same stiff + respectfulness as of an old family lawyer, “a boat rowed by six men has + come to the landing-stage, and there’s a gentleman sitting in the stern.” + </p> + <p> + “A boat!” repeated the prince; “a gentleman?” and he rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + There was a startled silence punctuated only by the odd noise of the bird + in the sedge; and then, before anyone could speak again, a new face and + figure passed in profile round the three sunlit windows, as the prince had + passed an hour or two before. But except for the accident that both + outlines were aquiline, they had little in common. Instead of the new + white topper of Saradine, was a black one of antiquated or foreign shape; + under it was a young and very solemn face, clean shaven, blue about its + resolute chin, and carrying a faint suggestion of the young Napoleon. The + association was assisted by something old and odd about the whole get-up, + as of a man who had never troubled to change the fashions of his fathers. + He had a shabby blue frock coat, a red, soldierly looking waistcoat, and a + kind of coarse white trousers common among the early Victorians, but + strangely incongruous today. From all this old clothes-shop his olive face + stood out strangely young and monstrously sincere. + </p> + <p> + “The deuce!” said Prince Saradine, and clapping on his white hat he went + to the front door himself, flinging it open on the sunset garden. + </p> + <p> + By that time the new-comer and his followers were drawn up on the lawn + like a small stage army. The six boatmen had pulled the boat well up on + shore, and were guarding it almost menacingly, holding their oars erect + like spears. They were swarthy men, and some of them wore earrings. But + one of them stood forward beside the olive-faced young man in the red + waistcoat, and carried a large black case of unfamiliar form. + </p> + <p> + “Your name,” said the young man, “is Saradine?” + </p> + <p> + Saradine assented rather negligently. + </p> + <p> + The new-comer had dull, dog-like brown eyes, as different as possible from + the restless and glittering grey eyes of the prince. But once again Father + Brown was tortured with a sense of having seen somewhere a replica of the + face; and once again he remembered the repetitions of the glass-panelled + room, and put down the coincidence to that. “Confound this crystal + palace!” he muttered. “One sees everything too many times. It’s like a + dream.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are Prince Saradine,” said the young man, “I may tell you that my + name is Antonelli.” + </p> + <p> + “Antonelli,” repeated the prince languidly. “Somehow I remember the name.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to present myself,” said the young Italian. + </p> + <p> + With his left hand he politely took off his old-fashioned top-hat; with + his right he caught Prince Saradine so ringing a crack across the face + that the white top hat rolled down the steps and one of the blue + flower-pots rocked upon its pedestal. + </p> + <p> + The prince, whatever he was, was evidently not a coward; he sprang at his + enemy’s throat and almost bore him backwards to the grass. But his enemy + extricated himself with a singularly inappropriate air of hurried + politeness. + </p> + <p> + “That is all right,” he said, panting and in halting English. “I have + insulted. I will give satisfaction. Marco, open the case.” + </p> + <p> + The man beside him with the earrings and the big black case proceeded to + unlock it. He took out of it two long Italian rapiers, with splendid steel + hilts and blades, which he planted point downwards in the lawn. The + strange young man standing facing the entrance with his yellow and + vindictive face, the two swords standing up in the turf like two crosses + in a cemetery, and the line of the ranked towers behind, gave it all an + odd appearance of being some barbaric court of justice. But everything + else was unchanged, so sudden had been the interruption. The sunset gold + still glowed on the lawn, and the bittern still boomed as announcing some + small but dreadful destiny. + </p> + <p> + “Prince Saradine,” said the man called Antonelli, “when I was an infant in + the cradle you killed my father and stole my mother; my father was the + more fortunate. You did not kill him fairly, as I am going to kill you. + You and my wicked mother took him driving to a lonely pass in Sicily, + flung him down a cliff, and went on your way. I could imitate you if I + chose, but imitating you is too vile. I have followed you all over the + world, and you have always fled from me. But this is the end of the world—and + of you. I have you now, and I give you the chance you never gave my + father. Choose one of those swords.” + </p> + <p> + Prince Saradine, with contracted brows, seemed to hesitate a moment, but + his ears were still singing with the blow, and he sprang forward and + snatched at one of the hilts. Father Brown had also sprung forward, + striving to compose the dispute; but he soon found his personal presence + made matters worse. Saradine was a French freemason and a fierce atheist, + and a priest moved him by the law of contraries. And for the other man + neither priest nor layman moved him at all. This young man with the + Bonaparte face and the brown eyes was something far sterner than a puritan—a + pagan. He was a simple slayer from the morning of the earth; a man of the + stone age—a man of stone. + </p> + <p> + One hope remained, the summoning of the household; and Father Brown ran + back into the house. He found, however, that all the under servants had + been given a holiday ashore by the autocrat Paul, and that only the sombre + Mrs. Anthony moved uneasily about the long rooms. But the moment she + turned a ghastly face upon him, he resolved one of the riddles of the + house of mirrors. The heavy brown eyes of Antonelli were the heavy brown + eyes of Mrs. Anthony; and in a flash he saw half the story. + </p> + <p> + “Your son is outside,” he said without wasting words; “either he or the + prince will be killed. Where is Mr. Paul?” + </p> + <p> + “He is at the landing-stage,” said the woman faintly. “He is—he is—signalling + for help.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Anthony,” said Father Brown seriously, “there is no time for + nonsense. My friend has his boat down the river fishing. Your son’s boat + is guarded by your son’s men. There is only this one canoe; what is Mr. + Paul doing with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Santa Maria! I do not know,” she said; and swooned all her length on the + matted floor. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown lifted her to a sofa, flung a pot of water over her, shouted + for help, and then rushed down to the landing-stage of the little island. + But the canoe was already in mid-stream, and old Paul was pulling and + pushing it up the river with an energy incredible at his years. + </p> + <p> + “I will save my master,” he cried, his eyes blazing maniacally. “I will + save him yet!” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown could do nothing but gaze after the boat as it struggled + up-stream and pray that the old man might waken the little town in time. + </p> + <p> + “A duel is bad enough,” he muttered, rubbing up his rough dust-coloured + hair, “but there’s something wrong about this duel, even as a duel. I feel + it in my bones. But what can it be?” + </p> + <p> + As he stood staring at the water, a wavering mirror of sunset, he heard + from the other end of the island garden a small but unmistakable sound—the + cold concussion of steel. He turned his head. + </p> + <p> + Away on the farthest cape or headland of the long islet, on a strip of + turf beyond the last rank of roses, the duellists had already crossed + swords. Evening above them was a dome of virgin gold, and, distant as they + were, every detail was picked out. They had cast off their coats, but the + yellow waistcoat and white hair of Saradine, the red waistcoat and white + trousers of Antonelli, glittered in the level light like the colours of + the dancing clockwork dolls. The two swords sparkled from point to pommel + like two diamond pins. There was something frightful in the two figures + appearing so little and so gay. They looked like two butterflies trying to + pin each other to a cork. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown ran as hard as he could, his little legs going like a wheel. + But when he came to the field of combat he found he was born too late and + too early—too late to stop the strife, under the shadow of the grim + Sicilians leaning on their oars, and too early to anticipate any + disastrous issue of it. For the two men were singularly well matched, the + prince using his skill with a sort of cynical confidence, the Sicilian + using his with a murderous care. Few finer fencing matches can ever have + been seen in crowded amphitheatres than that which tinkled and sparkled on + that forgotten island in the reedy river. The dizzy fight was balanced so + long that hope began to revive in the protesting priest; by all common + probability Paul must soon come back with the police. It would be some + comfort even if Flambeau came back from his fishing, for Flambeau, + physically speaking, was worth four other men. But there was no sign of + Flambeau, and, what was much queerer, no sign of Paul or the police. No + other raft or stick was left to float on; in that lost island in that vast + nameless pool, they were cut off as on a rock in the Pacific. + </p> + <p> + Almost as he had the thought the ringing of the rapiers quickened to a + rattle, the prince’s arms flew up, and the point shot out behind between + his shoulder-blades. He went over with a great whirling movement, almost + like one throwing the half of a boy’s cart-wheel. The sword flew from his + hand like a shooting star, and dived into the distant river. And he + himself sank with so earth-shaking a subsidence that he broke a big + rose-tree with his body and shook up into the sky a cloud of red earth—like + the smoke of some heathen sacrifice. The Sicilian had made blood-offering + to the ghost of his father. + </p> + <p> + The priest was instantly on his knees by the corpse; but only to make too + sure that it was a corpse. As he was still trying some last hopeless tests + he heard for the first time voices from farther up the river, and saw a + police boat shoot up to the landing-stage, with constables and other + important people, including the excited Paul. The little priest rose with + a distinctly dubious grimace. + </p> + <p> + “Now, why on earth,” he muttered, “why on earth couldn’t he have come + before?” + </p> + <p> + Some seven minutes later the island was occupied by an invasion of + townsfolk and police, and the latter had put their hands on the victorious + duellist, ritually reminding him that anything he said might be used + against him. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not say anything,” said the monomaniac, with a wonderful and + peaceful face. “I shall never say anything more. I am very happy, and I + only want to be hanged.” + </p> + <p> + Then he shut his mouth as they led him away, and it is the strange but + certain truth that he never opened it again in this world, except to say + “Guilty” at his trial. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had stared at the suddenly crowded garden, the arrest of the + man of blood, the carrying away of the corpse after its examination by the + doctor, rather as one watches the break-up of some ugly dream; he was + motionless, like a man in a nightmare. He gave his name and address as a + witness, but declined their offer of a boat to the shore, and remained + alone in the island garden, gazing at the broken rose bush and the whole + green theatre of that swift and inexplicable tragedy. The light died along + the river; mist rose in the marshy banks; a few belated birds flitted + fitfully across. + </p> + <p> + Stuck stubbornly in his sub-consciousness (which was an unusually lively + one) was an unspeakable certainty that there was something still + unexplained. This sense that had clung to him all day could not be fully + explained by his fancy about “looking-glass land.” Somehow he had not seen + the real story, but some game or masque. And yet people do not get hanged + or run through the body for the sake of a charade. + </p> + <p> + As he sat on the steps of the landing-stage ruminating he grew conscious + of the tall, dark streak of a sail coming silently down the shining river, + and sprang to his feet with such a backrush of feeling that he almost + wept. + </p> + <p> + “Flambeau!” he cried, and shook his friend by both hands again and again, + much to the astonishment of that sportsman, as he came on shore with his + fishing tackle. “Flambeau,” he said, “so you’re not killed?” + </p> + <p> + “Killed!” repeated the angler in great astonishment. “And why should I be + killed?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, because nearly everybody else is,” said his companion rather wildly. + “Saradine got murdered, and Antonelli wants to be hanged, and his mother’s + fainted, and I, for one, don’t know whether I’m in this world or the next. + But, thank God, you’re in the same one.” And he took the bewildered + Flambeau’s arm. + </p> + <p> + As they turned from the landing-stage they came under the eaves of the low + bamboo house, and looked in through one of the windows, as they had done + on their first arrival. They beheld a lamp-lit interior well calculated to + arrest their eyes. The table in the long dining-room had been laid for + dinner when Saradine’s destroyer had fallen like a stormbolt on the + island. And the dinner was now in placid progress, for Mrs. Anthony sat + somewhat sullenly at the foot of the table, while at the head of it was + Mr. Paul, the major domo, eating and drinking of the best, his bleared, + bluish eyes standing queerly out of his face, his gaunt countenance + inscrutable, but by no means devoid of satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + With a gesture of powerful impatience, Flambeau rattled at the window, + wrenched it open, and put an indignant head into the lamp-lit room. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he cried. “I can understand you may need some refreshment, but + really to steal your master’s dinner while he lies murdered in the garden—” + </p> + <p> + “I have stolen a great many things in a long and pleasant life,” replied + the strange old gentleman placidly; “this dinner is one of the few things + I have not stolen. This dinner and this house and garden happen to belong + to me.” + </p> + <p> + A thought flashed across Flambeau’s face. “You mean to say,” he began, + “that the will of Prince Saradine—” + </p> + <p> + “I am Prince Saradine,” said the old man, munching a salted almond. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown, who was looking at the birds outside, jumped as if he were + shot, and put in at the window a pale face like a turnip. + </p> + <p> + “You are what?” he repeated in a shrill voice. + </p> + <p> + “Paul, Prince Saradine, A vos ordres,” said the venerable person politely, + lifting a glass of sherry. “I live here very quietly, being a domestic + kind of fellow; and for the sake of modesty I am called Mr. Paul, to + distinguish me from my unfortunate brother Mr. Stephen. He died, I hear, + recently—in the garden. Of course, it is not my fault if enemies + pursue him to this place. It is owing to the regrettable irregularity of + his life. He was not a domestic character.” + </p> + <p> + He relapsed into silence, and continued to gaze at the opposite wall just + above the bowed and sombre head of the woman. They saw plainly the family + likeness that had haunted them in the dead man. Then his old shoulders + began to heave and shake a little, as if he were choking, but his face did + not alter. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” cried Flambeau after a pause, “he’s laughing!” + </p> + <p> + “Come away,” said Father Brown, who was quite white. “Come away from this + house of hell. Let us get into an honest boat again.” + </p> + <p> + Night had sunk on rushes and river by the time they had pushed off from + the island, and they went down-stream in the dark, warming themselves with + two big cigars that glowed like crimson ships’ lanterns. Father Brown took + his cigar out of his mouth and said: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you can guess the whole story now? After all, it’s a primitive + story. A man had two enemies. He was a wise man. And so he discovered that + two enemies are better than one.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not follow that,” answered Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s really simple,” rejoined his friend. “Simple, though anything + but innocent. Both the Saradines were scamps, but the prince, the elder, + was the sort of scamp that gets to the top, and the younger, the captain, + was the sort that sinks to the bottom. This squalid officer fell from + beggar to blackmailer, and one ugly day he got his hold upon his brother, + the prince. Obviously it was for no light matter, for Prince Paul Saradine + was frankly ‘fast,’ and had no reputation to lose as to the mere sins of + society. In plain fact, it was a hanging matter, and Stephen literally had + a rope round his brother’s neck. He had somehow discovered the truth about + the Sicilian affair, and could prove that Paul murdered old Antonelli in + the mountains. The captain raked in the hush money heavily for ten years, + until even the prince’s splendid fortune began to look a little foolish. + </p> + <p> + “But Prince Saradine bore another burden besides his blood-sucking + brother. He knew that the son of Antonelli, a mere child at the time of + the murder, had been trained in savage Sicilian loyalty, and lived only to + avenge his father, not with the gibbet (for he lacked Stephen’s legal + proof), but with the old weapons of vendetta. The boy had practised arms + with a deadly perfection, and about the time that he was old enough to use + them Prince Saradine began, as the society papers said, to travel. The + fact is that he began to flee for his life, passing from place to place + like a hunted criminal; but with one relentless man upon his trail. That + was Prince Paul’s position, and by no means a pretty one. The more money + he spent on eluding Antonelli the less he had to silence Stephen. The more + he gave to silence Stephen the less chance there was of finally escaping + Antonelli. Then it was that he showed himself a great man—a genius + like Napoleon. + </p> + <p> + “Instead of resisting his two antagonists, he surrendered suddenly to both + of them. He gave way like a Japanese wrestler, and his foes fell prostrate + before him. He gave up the race round the world, and he gave up his + address to young Antonelli; then he gave up everything to his brother. He + sent Stephen money enough for smart clothes and easy travel, with a letter + saying roughly: ‘This is all I have left. You have cleaned me out. I still + have a little house in Norfolk, with servants and a cellar, and if you + want more from me you must take that. Come and take possession if you + like, and I will live there quietly as your friend or agent or anything.’ + He knew that the Sicilian had never seen the Saradine brothers save, + perhaps, in pictures; he knew they were somewhat alike, both having grey, + pointed beards. Then he shaved his own face and waited. The trap worked. + The unhappy captain, in his new clothes, entered the house in triumph as a + prince, and walked upon the Sicilian’s sword. + </p> + <p> + “There was one hitch, and it is to the honour of human nature. Evil + spirits like Saradine often blunder by never expecting the virtues of + mankind. He took it for granted that the Italian’s blow, when it came, + would be dark, violent and nameless, like the blow it avenged; that the + victim would be knifed at night, or shot from behind a hedge, and so die + without speech. It was a bad minute for Prince Paul when Antonelli’s + chivalry proposed a formal duel, with all its possible explanations. It + was then that I found him putting off in his boat with wild eyes. He was + fleeing, bareheaded, in an open boat before Antonelli should learn who he + was. + </p> + <p> + “But, however agitated, he was not hopeless. He knew the adventurer and he + knew the fanatic. It was quite probable that Stephen, the adventurer, + would hold his tongue, through his mere histrionic pleasure in playing a + part, his lust for clinging to his new cosy quarters, his rascal’s trust + in luck, and his fine fencing. It was certain that Antonelli, the fanatic, + would hold his tongue, and be hanged without telling tales of his family. + Paul hung about on the river till he knew the fight was over. Then he + roused the town, brought the police, saw his two vanquished enemies taken + away forever, and sat down smiling to his dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Laughing, God help us!” said Flambeau with a strong shudder. “Do they get + such ideas from Satan?” + </p> + <p> + “He got that idea from you,” answered the priest. + </p> + <p> + “God forbid!” ejaculated Flambeau. “From me! What do you mean!” + </p> + <p> + The priest pulled a visiting-card from his pocket and held it up in the + faint glow of his cigar; it was scrawled with green ink. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you remember his original invitation to you?” he asked, “and the + compliment to your criminal exploit? ‘That trick of yours,’ he says, ‘of + getting one detective to arrest the other’? He has just copied your trick. + With an enemy on each side of him, he slipped swiftly out of the way and + let them collide and kill each other.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau tore Prince Saradine’s card from the priest’s hands and rent it + savagely in small pieces. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the last of that old skull and crossbones,” he said as he + scattered the pieces upon the dark and disappearing waves of the stream; + “but I should think it would poison the fishes.” + </p> + <p> + The last gleam of white card and green ink was drowned and darkened; a + faint and vibrant colour as of morning changed the sky, and the moon + behind the grasses grew paler. They drifted in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Flambeau suddenly, “do you think it was all a dream?” + </p> + <p> + The priest shook his head, whether in dissent or agnosticism, but remained + mute. A smell of hawthorn and of orchards came to them through the + darkness, telling them that a wind was awake; the next moment it swayed + their little boat and swelled their sail, and carried them onward down the + winding river to happier places and the homes of harmless men. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap09"></a> + The Hammer of God + </h2> + <p> + The little village of Bohun Beacon was perched on a hill so steep that the + tall spire of its church seemed only like the peak of a small mountain. At + the foot of the church stood a smithy, generally red with fires and always + littered with hammers and scraps of iron; opposite to this, over a rude + cross of cobbled paths, was “The Blue Boar,” the only inn of the place. It + was upon this crossway, in the lifting of a leaden and silver daybreak, + that two brothers met in the street and spoke; though one was beginning + the day and the other finishing it. The Rev. and Hon. Wilfred Bohun was + very devout, and was making his way to some austere exercises of prayer or + contemplation at dawn. Colonel the Hon. Norman Bohun, his elder brother, + was by no means devout, and was sitting in evening dress on the bench + outside “The Blue Boar,” drinking what the philosophic observer was free + to regard either as his last glass on Tuesday or his first on Wednesday. + The colonel was not particular. + </p> + <p> + The Bohuns were one of the very few aristocratic families really dating + from the Middle Ages, and their pennon had actually seen Palestine. But it + is a great mistake to suppose that such houses stand high in chivalric + tradition. Few except the poor preserve traditions. Aristocrats live not + in traditions but in fashions. The Bohuns had been Mohocks under Queen + Anne and Mashers under Queen Victoria. But like more than one of the + really ancient houses, they had rotted in the last two centuries into mere + drunkards and dandy degenerates, till there had even come a whisper of + insanity. Certainly there was something hardly human about the colonel’s + wolfish pursuit of pleasure, and his chronic resolution not to go home + till morning had a touch of the hideous clarity of insomnia. He was a + tall, fine animal, elderly, but with hair still startlingly yellow. He + would have looked merely blonde and leonine, but his blue eyes were sunk + so deep in his face that they looked black. They were a little too close + together. He had very long yellow moustaches; on each side of them a fold + or furrow from nostril to jaw, so that a sneer seemed cut into his face. + Over his evening clothes he wore a curious pale yellow coat that looked + more like a very light dressing gown than an overcoat, and on the back of + his head was stuck an extraordinary broad-brimmed hat of a bright green + colour, evidently some oriental curiosity caught up at random. He was + proud of appearing in such incongruous attires—proud of the fact + that he always made them look congruous. + </p> + <p> + His brother the curate had also the yellow hair and the elegance, but he + was buttoned up to the chin in black, and his face was clean-shaven, + cultivated, and a little nervous. He seemed to live for nothing but his + religion; but there were some who said (notably the blacksmith, who was a + Presbyterian) that it was a love of Gothic architecture rather than of + God, and that his haunting of the church like a ghost was only another and + purer turn of the almost morbid thirst for beauty which sent his brother + raging after women and wine. This charge was doubtful, while the man’s + practical piety was indubitable. Indeed, the charge was mostly an ignorant + misunderstanding of the love of solitude and secret prayer, and was + founded on his being often found kneeling, not before the altar, but in + peculiar places, in the crypts or gallery, or even in the belfry. He was + at the moment about to enter the church through the yard of the smithy, + but stopped and frowned a little as he saw his brother’s cavernous eyes + staring in the same direction. On the hypothesis that the colonel was + interested in the church he did not waste any speculations. There only + remained the blacksmith’s shop, and though the blacksmith was a Puritan + and none of his people, Wilfred Bohun had heard some scandals about a + beautiful and rather celebrated wife. He flung a suspicious look across + the shed, and the colonel stood up laughing to speak to him. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Wilfred,” he said. “Like a good landlord I am watching + sleeplessly over my people. I am going to call on the blacksmith.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred looked at the ground, and said: “The blacksmith is out. He is over + at Greenford.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” answered the other with silent laughter; “that is why I am + calling on him.” + </p> + <p> + “Norman,” said the cleric, with his eye on a pebble in the road, “are you + ever afraid of thunderbolts?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked the colonel. “Is your hobby meteorology?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” said Wilfred, without looking up, “do you ever think that God + might strike you in the street?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said the colonel; “I see your hobby is folk-lore.” + </p> + <p> + “I know your hobby is blasphemy,” retorted the religious man, stung in the + one live place of his nature. “But if you do not fear God, you have good + reason to fear man.” + </p> + <p> + The elder raised his eyebrows politely. “Fear man?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Barnes the blacksmith is the biggest and strongest man for forty miles + round,” said the clergyman sternly. “I know you are no coward or weakling, + but he could throw you over the wall.” + </p> + <p> + This struck home, being true, and the lowering line by mouth and nostril + darkened and deepened. For a moment he stood with the heavy sneer on his + face. But in an instant Colonel Bohun had recovered his own cruel good + humour and laughed, showing two dog-like front teeth under his yellow + moustache. “In that case, my dear Wilfred,” he said quite carelessly, “it + was wise for the last of the Bohuns to come out partially in armour.” + </p> + <p> + And he took off the queer round hat covered with green, showing that it + was lined within with steel. Wilfred recognised it indeed as a light + Japanese or Chinese helmet torn down from a trophy that hung in the old + family hall. + </p> + <p> + “It was the first hat to hand,” explained his brother airily; “always the + nearest hat—and the nearest woman.” + </p> + <p> + “The blacksmith is away at Greenford,” said Wilfred quietly; “the time of + his return is unsettled.” + </p> + <p> + And with that he turned and went into the church with bowed head, crossing + himself like one who wishes to be quit of an unclean spirit. He was + anxious to forget such grossness in the cool twilight of his tall Gothic + cloisters; but on that morning it was fated that his still round of + religious exercises should be everywhere arrested by small shocks. As he + entered the church, hitherto always empty at that hour, a kneeling figure + rose hastily to its feet and came towards the full daylight of the + doorway. When the curate saw it he stood still with surprise. For the + early worshipper was none other than the village idiot, a nephew of the + blacksmith, one who neither would nor could care for the church or for + anything else. He was always called “Mad Joe,” and seemed to have no other + name; he was a dark, strong, slouching lad, with a heavy white face, dark + straight hair, and a mouth always open. As he passed the priest, his + moon-calf countenance gave no hint of what he had been doing or thinking + of. He had never been known to pray before. What sort of prayers was he + saying now? Extraordinary prayers surely. + </p> + <p> + Wilfred Bohun stood rooted to the spot long enough to see the idiot go out + into the sunshine, and even to see his dissolute brother hail him with a + sort of avuncular jocularity. The last thing he saw was the colonel + throwing pennies at the open mouth of Joe, with the serious appearance of + trying to hit it. + </p> + <p> + This ugly sunlit picture of the stupidity and cruelty of the earth sent + the ascetic finally to his prayers for purification and new thoughts. He + went up to a pew in the gallery, which brought him under a coloured window + which he loved and always quieted his spirit; a blue window with an angel + carrying lilies. There he began to think less about the half-wit, with his + livid face and mouth like a fish. He began to think less of his evil + brother, pacing like a lean lion in his horrible hunger. He sank deeper + and deeper into those cold and sweet colours of silver blossoms and + sapphire sky. + </p> + <p> + In this place half an hour afterwards he was found by Gibbs, the village + cobbler, who had been sent for him in some haste. He got to his feet with + promptitude, for he knew that no small matter would have brought Gibbs + into such a place at all. The cobbler was, as in many villages, an + atheist, and his appearance in church was a shade more extraordinary than + Mad Joe’s. It was a morning of theological enigmas. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Wilfred Bohun rather stiffly, but putting out a + trembling hand for his hat. + </p> + <p> + The atheist spoke in a tone that, coming from him, was quite startlingly + respectful, and even, as it were, huskily sympathetic. + </p> + <p> + “You must excuse me, sir,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “but we didn’t + think it right not to let you know at once. I’m afraid a rather dreadful + thing has happened, sir. I’m afraid your brother—” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred clenched his frail hands. “What devilry has he done now?” he cried + in voluntary passion. + </p> + <p> + “Why, sir,” said the cobbler, coughing, “I’m afraid he’s done nothing, and + won’t do anything. I’m afraid he’s done for. You had really better come + down, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The curate followed the cobbler down a short winding stair which brought + them out at an entrance rather higher than the street. Bohun saw the + tragedy in one glance, flat underneath him like a plan. In the yard of the + smithy were standing five or six men mostly in black, one in an + inspector’s uniform. They included the doctor, the Presbyterian minister, + and the priest from the Roman Catholic chapel, to which the blacksmith’s + wife belonged. The latter was speaking to her, indeed, very rapidly, in an + undertone, as she, a magnificent woman with red-gold hair, was sobbing + blindly on a bench. Between these two groups, and just clear of the main + heap of hammers, lay a man in evening dress, spread-eagled and flat on his + face. From the height above Wilfred could have sworn to every item of his + costume and appearance, down to the Bohun rings upon his fingers; but the + skull was only a hideous splash, like a star of blackness and blood. + </p> + <p> + Wilfred Bohun gave but one glance, and ran down the steps into the yard. + The doctor, who was the family physician, saluted him, but he scarcely + took any notice. He could only stammer out: “My brother is dead. What does + it mean? What is this horrible mystery?” There was an unhappy silence; and + then the cobbler, the most outspoken man present, answered: “Plenty of + horror, sir,” he said; “but not much mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Wilfred, with a white face. + </p> + <p> + “It’s plain enough,” answered Gibbs. “There is only one man for forty + miles round that could have struck such a blow as that, and he’s the man + that had most reason to.” + </p> + <p> + “We must not prejudge anything,” put in the doctor, a tall, black-bearded + man, rather nervously; “but it is competent for me to corroborate what Mr. + Gibbs says about the nature of the blow, sir; it is an incredible blow. + Mr. Gibbs says that only one man in this district could have done it. I + should have said myself that nobody could have done it.” + </p> + <p> + A shudder of superstition went through the slight figure of the curate. “I + can hardly understand,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bohun,” said the doctor in a low voice, “metaphors literally fail me. + It is inadequate to say that the skull was smashed to bits like an + eggshell. Fragments of bone were driven into the body and the ground like + bullets into a mud wall. It was the hand of a giant.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent a moment, looking grimly through his glasses; then he added: + “The thing has one advantage—that it clears most people of suspicion + at one stroke. If you or I or any normally made man in the country were + accused of this crime, we should be acquitted as an infant would be + acquitted of stealing the Nelson column.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what I say,” repeated the cobbler obstinately; “there’s only one + man that could have done it, and he’s the man that would have done it. + Where’s Simeon Barnes, the blacksmith?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s over at Greenford,” faltered the curate. + </p> + <p> + “More likely over in France,” muttered the cobbler. + </p> + <p> + “No; he is in neither of those places,” said a small and colourless voice, + which came from the little Roman priest who had joined the group. “As a + matter of fact, he is coming up the road at this moment.” + </p> + <p> + The little priest was not an interesting man to look at, having stubbly + brown hair and a round and stolid face. But if he had been as splendid as + Apollo no one would have looked at him at that moment. Everyone turned + round and peered at the pathway which wound across the plain below, along + which was indeed walking, at his own huge stride and with a hammer on his + shoulder, Simeon the smith. He was a bony and gigantic man, with deep, + dark, sinister eyes and a dark chin beard. He was walking and talking + quietly with two other men; and though he was never specially cheerful, he + seemed quite at his ease. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” cried the atheistic cobbler, “and there’s the hammer he did it + with.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the inspector, a sensible-looking man with a sandy moustache, + speaking for the first time. “There’s the hammer he did it with over there + by the church wall. We have left it and the body exactly as they are.” + </p> + <p> + All glanced round and the short priest went across and looked down in + silence at the tool where it lay. It was one of the smallest and the + lightest of the hammers, and would not have caught the eye among the rest; + but on the iron edge of it were blood and yellow hair. + </p> + <p> + After a silence the short priest spoke without looking up, and there was a + new note in his dull voice. “Mr. Gibbs was hardly right,” he said, “in + saying that there is no mystery. There is at least the mystery of why so + big a man should attempt so big a blow with so little a hammer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind that,” cried Gibbs, in a fever. “What are we to do with + Simeon Barnes?” + </p> + <p> + “Leave him alone,” said the priest quietly. “He is coming here of himself. + I know those two men with him. They are very good fellows from Greenford, + and they have come over about the Presbyterian chapel.” + </p> + <p> + Even as he spoke the tall smith swung round the corner of the church, and + strode into his own yard. Then he stood there quite still, and the hammer + fell from his hand. The inspector, who had preserved impenetrable + propriety, immediately went up to him. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t ask you, Mr. Barnes,” he said, “whether you know anything about + what has happened here. You are not bound to say. I hope you don’t know, + and that you will be able to prove it. But I must go through the form of + arresting you in the King’s name for the murder of Colonel Norman Bohun.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not bound to say anything,” said the cobbler in officious + excitement. “They’ve got to prove everything. They haven’t proved yet that + it is Colonel Bohun, with the head all smashed up like that.” + </p> + <p> + “That won’t wash,” said the doctor aside to the priest. “That’s out of the + detective stories. I was the colonel’s medical man, and I knew his body + better than he did. He had very fine hands, but quite peculiar ones. The + second and third fingers were the same length. Oh, that’s the colonel + right enough.” + </p> + <p> + As he glanced at the brained corpse upon the ground the iron eyes of the + motionless blacksmith followed them and rested there also. + </p> + <p> + “Is Colonel Bohun dead?” said the smith quite calmly. “Then he’s damned.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say anything! Oh, don’t say anything,” cried the atheist cobbler, + dancing about in an ecstasy of admiration of the English legal system. For + no man is such a legalist as the good Secularist. + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith turned on him over his shoulder the august face of a + fanatic. + </p> + <p> + “It’s well for you infidels to dodge like foxes because the world’s law + favours you,” he said; “but God guards His own in His pocket, as you shall + see this day.” + </p> + <p> + Then he pointed to the colonel and said: “When did this dog die in his + sins?” + </p> + <p> + “Moderate your language,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Moderate the Bible’s language, and I’ll moderate mine. When did he die?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw him alive at six o’clock this morning,” stammered Wilfred Bohun. + </p> + <p> + “God is good,” said the smith. “Mr. Inspector, I have not the slightest + objection to being arrested. It is you who may object to arresting me. I + don’t mind leaving the court without a stain on my character. You do mind + perhaps leaving the court with a bad set-back in your career.” + </p> + <p> + The solid inspector for the first time looked at the blacksmith with a + lively eye; as did everybody else, except the short, strange priest, who + was still looking down at the little hammer that had dealt the dreadful + blow. + </p> + <p> + “There are two men standing outside this shop,” went on the blacksmith + with ponderous lucidity, “good tradesmen in Greenford whom you all know, + who will swear that they saw me from before midnight till daybreak and + long after in the committee room of our Revival Mission, which sits all + night, we save souls so fast. In Greenford itself twenty people could + swear to me for all that time. If I were a heathen, Mr. Inspector, I would + let you walk on to your downfall. But as a Christian man I feel bound to + give you your chance, and ask you whether you will hear my alibi now or in + court.” + </p> + <p> + The inspector seemed for the first time disturbed, and said, “Of course I + should be glad to clear you altogether now.” + </p> + <p> + The smith walked out of his yard with the same long and easy stride, and + returned to his two friends from Greenford, who were indeed friends of + nearly everyone present. Each of them said a few words which no one ever + thought of disbelieving. When they had spoken, the innocence of Simeon + stood up as solid as the great church above them. + </p> + <p> + One of those silences struck the group which are more strange and + insufferable than any speech. Madly, in order to make conversation, the + curate said to the Catholic priest: + </p> + <p> + “You seem very much interested in that hammer, Father Brown.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am,” said Father Brown; “why is it such a small hammer?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor swung round on him. + </p> + <p> + “By George, that’s true,” he cried; “who would use a little hammer with + ten larger hammers lying about?” + </p> + <p> + Then he lowered his voice in the curate’s ear and said: “Only the kind of + person that can’t lift a large hammer. It is not a question of force or + courage between the sexes. It’s a question of lifting power in the + shoulders. A bold woman could commit ten murders with a light hammer and + never turn a hair. She could not kill a beetle with a heavy one.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred Bohun was staring at him with a sort of hypnotised horror, while + Father Brown listened with his head a little on one side, really + interested and attentive. The doctor went on with more hissing emphasis: + </p> + <p> + “Why do these idiots always assume that the only person who hates the + wife’s lover is the wife’s husband? Nine times out of ten the person who + most hates the wife’s lover is the wife. Who knows what insolence or + treachery he had shown her—look there!” + </p> + <p> + He made a momentary gesture towards the red-haired woman on the bench. She + had lifted her head at last and the tears were drying on her splendid + face. But the eyes were fixed on the corpse with an electric glare that + had in it something of idiocy. + </p> + <p> + The Rev. Wilfred Bohun made a limp gesture as if waving away all desire to + know; but Father Brown, dusting off his sleeve some ashes blown from the + furnace, spoke in his indifferent way. + </p> + <p> + “You are like so many doctors,” he said; “your mental science is really + suggestive. It is your physical science that is utterly impossible. I + agree that the woman wants to kill the co-respondent much more than the + petitioner does. And I agree that a woman will always pick up a small + hammer instead of a big one. But the difficulty is one of physical + impossibility. No woman ever born could have smashed a man’s skull out + flat like that.” Then he added reflectively, after a pause: “These people + haven’t grasped the whole of it. The man was actually wearing an iron + helmet, and the blow scattered it like broken glass. Look at that woman. + Look at her arms.” + </p> + <p> + Silence held them all up again, and then the doctor said rather sulkily: + “Well, I may be wrong; there are objections to everything. But I stick to + the main point. No man but an idiot would pick up that little hammer if he + could use a big hammer.” + </p> + <p> + With that the lean and quivering hands of Wilfred Bohun went up to his + head and seemed to clutch his scanty yellow hair. After an instant they + dropped, and he cried: “That was the word I wanted; you have said the + word.” + </p> + <p> + Then he continued, mastering his discomposure: “The words you said were, + ‘No man but an idiot would pick up the small hammer.’” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the doctor. “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the curate, “no man but an idiot did.” The rest stared at him + with eyes arrested and riveted, and he went on in a febrile and feminine + agitation. + </p> + <p> + “I am a priest,” he cried unsteadily, “and a priest should be no shedder + of blood. I—I mean that he should bring no one to the gallows. And I + thank God that I see the criminal clearly now—because he is a + criminal who cannot be brought to the gallows.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not denounce him?” inquired the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “He would not be hanged if I did denounce him,” answered Wilfred with a + wild but curiously happy smile. “When I went into the church this morning + I found a madman praying there—that poor Joe, who has been wrong all + his life. God knows what he prayed; but with such strange folk it is not + incredible to suppose that their prayers are all upside down. Very likely + a lunatic would pray before killing a man. When I last saw poor Joe he was + with my brother. My brother was mocking him.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” cried the doctor, “this is talking at last. But how do you + explain—” + </p> + <p> + The Rev. Wilfred was almost trembling with the excitement of his own + glimpse of the truth. “Don’t you see; don’t you see,” he cried feverishly; + “that is the only theory that covers both the queer things, that answers + both the riddles. The two riddles are the little hammer and the big blow. + The smith might have struck the big blow, but would not have chosen the + little hammer. His wife would have chosen the little hammer, but she could + not have struck the big blow. But the madman might have done both. As for + the little hammer—why, he was mad and might have picked up anything. + And for the big blow, have you never heard, doctor, that a maniac in his + paroxysm may have the strength of ten men?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor drew a deep breath and then said, “By golly, I believe you’ve + got it.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had fixed his eyes on the speaker so long and steadily as to + prove that his large grey, ox-like eyes were not quite so insignificant as + the rest of his face. When silence had fallen he said with marked respect: + “Mr. Bohun, yours is the only theory yet propounded which holds water + every way and is essentially unassailable. I think, therefore, that you + deserve to be told, on my positive knowledge, that it is not the true + one.” And with that the old little man walked away and stared again at the + hammer. + </p> + <p> + “That fellow seems to know more than he ought to,” whispered the doctor + peevishly to Wilfred. “Those popish priests are deucedly sly.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Bohun, with a sort of wild fatigue. “It was the lunatic. It + was the lunatic.” + </p> + <p> + The group of the two clerics and the doctor had fallen away from the more + official group containing the inspector and the man he had arrested. Now, + however, that their own party had broken up, they heard voices from the + others. The priest looked up quietly and then looked down again as he + heard the blacksmith say in a loud voice: + </p> + <p> + “I hope I’ve convinced you, Mr. Inspector. I’m a strong man, as you say, + but I couldn’t have flung my hammer bang here from Greenford. My hammer + hasn’t got wings that it should come flying half a mile over hedges and + fields.” + </p> + <p> + The inspector laughed amicably and said: “No, I think you can be + considered out of it, though it’s one of the rummiest coincidences I ever + saw. I can only ask you to give us all the assistance you can in finding a + man as big and strong as yourself. By George! you might be useful, if only + to hold him! I suppose you yourself have no guess at the man?” + </p> + <p> + “I may have a guess,” said the pale smith, “but it is not at a man.” Then, + seeing the scared eyes turn towards his wife on the bench, he put his huge + hand on her shoulder and said: “Nor a woman either.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked the inspector jocularly. “You don’t think cows + use hammers, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think no thing of flesh held that hammer,” said the blacksmith in a + stifled voice; “mortally speaking, I think the man died alone.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred made a sudden forward movement and peered at him with burning + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say, Barnes,” came the sharp voice of the cobbler, “that + the hammer jumped up of itself and knocked the man down?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you gentlemen may stare and snigger,” cried Simeon; “you clergymen + who tell us on Sunday in what a stillness the Lord smote Sennacherib. I + believe that One who walks invisible in every house defended the honour of + mine, and laid the defiler dead before the door of it. I believe the force + in that blow was just the force there is in earthquakes, and no force + less.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred said, with a voice utterly undescribable: “I told Norman myself to + beware of the thunderbolt.” + </p> + <p> + “That agent is outside my jurisdiction,” said the inspector with a slight + smile. + </p> + <p> + “You are not outside His,” answered the smith; “see you to it,” and, + turning his broad back, he went into the house. + </p> + <p> + The shaken Wilfred was led away by Father Brown, who had an easy and + friendly way with him. “Let us get out of this horrid place, Mr. Bohun,” + he said. “May I look inside your church? I hear it’s one of the oldest in + England. We take some interest, you know,” he added with a comical + grimace, “in old English churches.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred Bohun did not smile, for humour was never his strong point. But he + nodded rather eagerly, being only too ready to explain the Gothic + splendours to someone more likely to be sympathetic than the Presbyterian + blacksmith or the atheist cobbler. + </p> + <p> + “By all means,” he said; “let us go in at this side.” And he led the way + into the high side entrance at the top of the flight of steps. Father + Brown was mounting the first step to follow him when he felt a hand on his + shoulder, and turned to behold the dark, thin figure of the doctor, his + face darker yet with suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said the physician harshly, “you appear to know some secrets in + this black business. May I ask if you are going to keep them to yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, doctor,” answered the priest, smiling quite pleasantly, “there is + one very good reason why a man of my trade should keep things to himself + when he is not sure of them, and that is that it is so constantly his duty + to keep them to himself when he is sure of them. But if you think I have + been discourteously reticent with you or anyone, I will go to the extreme + limit of my custom. I will give you two very large hints.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir?” said the doctor gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “First,” said Father Brown quietly, “the thing is quite in your own + province. It is a matter of physical science. The blacksmith is mistaken, + not perhaps in saying that the blow was divine, but certainly in saying + that it came by a miracle. It was no miracle, doctor, except in so far as + man is himself a miracle, with his strange and wicked and yet half-heroic + heart. The force that smashed that skull was a force well known to + scientists—one of the most frequently debated of the laws of + nature.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor, who was looking at him with frowning intentness, only said: + “And the other hint?” + </p> + <p> + “The other hint is this,” said the priest. “Do you remember the + blacksmith, though he believes in miracles, talking scornfully of the + impossible fairy tale that his hammer had wings and flew half a mile + across country?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the doctor, “I remember that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” added Father Brown, with a broad smile, “that fairy tale was the + nearest thing to the real truth that has been said today.” And with that + he turned his back and stumped up the steps after the curate. + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Wilfred, who had been waiting for him, pale and impatient, as + if this little delay were the last straw for his nerves, led him + immediately to his favourite corner of the church, that part of the + gallery closest to the carved roof and lit by the wonderful window with + the angel. The little Latin priest explored and admired everything + exhaustively, talking cheerfully but in a low voice all the time. When in + the course of his investigation he found the side exit and the winding + stair down which Wilfred had rushed to find his brother dead, Father Brown + ran not down but up, with the agility of a monkey, and his clear voice + came from an outer platform above. + </p> + <p> + “Come up here, Mr. Bohun,” he called. “The air will do you good.” + </p> + <p> + Bohun followed him, and came out on a kind of stone gallery or balcony + outside the building, from which one could see the illimitable plain in + which their small hill stood, wooded away to the purple horizon and dotted + with villages and farms. Clear and square, but quite small beneath them, + was the blacksmith’s yard, where the inspector still stood taking notes + and the corpse still lay like a smashed fly. + </p> + <p> + “Might be the map of the world, mightn’t it?” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bohun very gravely, and nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + Immediately beneath and about them the lines of the Gothic building + plunged outwards into the void with a sickening swiftness akin to suicide. + There is that element of Titan energy in the architecture of the Middle + Ages that, from whatever aspect it be seen, it always seems to be rushing + away, like the strong back of some maddened horse. This church was hewn + out of ancient and silent stone, bearded with old fungoids and stained + with the nests of birds. And yet, when they saw it from below, it sprang + like a fountain at the stars; and when they saw it, as now, from above, it + poured like a cataract into a voiceless pit. For these two men on the + tower were left alone with the most terrible aspect of Gothic; the + monstrous foreshortening and disproportion, the dizzy perspectives, the + glimpses of great things small and small things great; a topsy-turvydom of + stone in the mid-air. Details of stone, enormous by their proximity, were + relieved against a pattern of fields and farms, pygmy in their distance. A + carved bird or beast at a corner seemed like some vast walking or flying + dragon wasting the pastures and villages below. The whole atmosphere was + dizzy and dangerous, as if men were upheld in air amid the gyrating wings + of colossal genii; and the whole of that old church, as tall and rich as a + cathedral, seemed to sit upon the sunlit country like a cloudburst. + </p> + <p> + “I think there is something rather dangerous about standing on these high + places even to pray,” said Father Brown. “Heights were made to be looked + at, not to be looked from.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that one may fall over,” asked Wilfred. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that one’s soul may fall if one’s body doesn’t,” said the other + priest. + </p> + <p> + “I scarcely understand you,” remarked Bohun indistinctly. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that blacksmith, for instance,” went on Father Brown calmly; “a + good man, but not a Christian—hard, imperious, unforgiving. Well, + his Scotch religion was made up by men who prayed on hills and high crags, + and learnt to look down on the world more than to look up at heaven. + Humility is the mother of giants. One sees great things from the valley; + only small things from the peak.” + </p> + <p> + “But he—he didn’t do it,” said Bohun tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the other in an odd voice; “we know he didn’t do it.” + </p> + <p> + After a moment he resumed, looking tranquilly out over the plain with his + pale grey eyes. “I knew a man,” he said, “who began by worshipping with + others before the altar, but who grew fond of high and lonely places to + pray from, corners or niches in the belfry or the spire. And once in one + of those dizzy places, where the whole world seemed to turn under him like + a wheel, his brain turned also, and he fancied he was God. So that, though + he was a good man, he committed a great crime.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred’s face was turned away, but his bony hands turned blue and white + as they tightened on the parapet of stone. + </p> + <p> + “He thought it was given to him to judge the world and strike down the + sinner. He would never have had such a thought if he had been kneeling + with other men upon a floor. But he saw all men walking about like + insects. He saw one especially strutting just below him, insolent and + evident by a bright green hat—a poisonous insect.” + </p> + <p> + Rooks cawed round the corners of the belfry; but there was no other sound + till Father Brown went on. + </p> + <p> + “This also tempted him, that he had in his hand one of the most awful + engines of nature; I mean gravitation, that mad and quickening rush by + which all earth’s creatures fly back to her heart when released. See, the + inspector is strutting just below us in the smithy. If I were to toss a + pebble over this parapet it would be something like a bullet by the time + it struck him. If I were to drop a hammer—even a small hammer—” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred Bohun threw one leg over the parapet, and Father Brown had him in + a minute by the collar. + </p> + <p> + “Not by that door,” he said quite gently; “that door leads to hell.” + </p> + <p> + Bohun staggered back against the wall, and stared at him with frightful + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know all this?” he cried. “Are you a devil?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a man,” answered Father Brown gravely; “and therefore have all + devils in my heart. Listen to me,” he said after a short pause. “I know + what you did—at least, I can guess the great part of it. When you + left your brother you were racked with no unrighteous rage, to the extent + even that you snatched up a small hammer, half inclined to kill him with + his foulness on his mouth. Recoiling, you thrust it under your buttoned + coat instead, and rushed into the church. You pray wildly in many places, + under the angel window, upon the platform above, and a higher platform + still, from which you could see the colonel’s Eastern hat like the back of + a green beetle crawling about. Then something snapped in your soul, and + you let God’s thunderbolt fall.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred put a weak hand to his head, and asked in a low voice: “How did + you know that his hat looked like a green beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that,” said the other with the shadow of a smile, “that was common + sense. But hear me further. I say I know all this; but no one else shall + know it. The next step is for you; I shall take no more steps; I will seal + this with the seal of confession. If you ask me why, there are many + reasons, and only one that concerns you. I leave things to you because you + have not yet gone very far wrong, as assassins go. You did not help to fix + the crime on the smith when it was easy; or on his wife, when that was + easy. You tried to fix it on the imbecile because you knew that he could + not suffer. That was one of the gleams that it is my business to find in + assassins. And now come down into the village, and go your own way as free + as the wind; for I have said my last word.” + </p> + <p> + They went down the winding stairs in utter silence, and came out into the + sunlight by the smithy. Wilfred Bohun carefully unlatched the wooden gate + of the yard, and going up to the inspector, said: “I wish to give myself + up; I have killed my brother.” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap10"></a> + The Eye of Apollo + </h2> + <p> + That singular smoky sparkle, at once a confusion and a transparency, which + is the strange secret of the Thames, was changing more and more from its + grey to its glittering extreme as the sun climbed to the zenith over + Westminster, and two men crossed Westminster Bridge. One man was very tall + and the other very short; they might even have been fantastically compared + to the arrogant clock-tower of Parliament and the humbler humped shoulders + of the Abbey, for the short man was in clerical dress. The official + description of the tall man was M. Hercule Flambeau, private detective, + and he was going to his new offices in a new pile of flats facing the + Abbey entrance. The official description of the short man was the Reverend + J. Brown, attached to St. Francis Xavier’s Church, Camberwell, and he was + coming from a Camberwell deathbed to see the new offices of his friend. + </p> + <p> + The building was American in its sky-scraping altitude, and American also + in the oiled elaboration of its machinery of telephones and lifts. But it + was barely finished and still understaffed; only three tenants had moved + in; the office just above Flambeau was occupied, as also was the office + just below him; the two floors above that and the three floors below were + entirely bare. But the first glance at the new tower of flats caught + something much more arresting. Save for a few relics of scaffolding, the + one glaring object was erected outside the office just above Flambeau’s. + It was an enormous gilt effigy of the human eye, surrounded with rays of + gold, and taking up as much room as two or three of the office windows. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth is that?” asked Father Brown, and stood still. “Oh, a new + religion,” said Flambeau, laughing; “one of those new religions that + forgive your sins by saying you never had any. Rather like Christian + Science, I should think. The fact is that a fellow calling himself Kalon + (I don’t know what his name is, except that it can’t be that) has taken + the flat just above me. I have two lady typewriters underneath me, and + this enthusiastic old humbug on top. He calls himself the New Priest of + Apollo, and he worships the sun.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him look out,” said Father Brown. “The sun was the cruellest of all + the gods. But what does that monstrous eye mean?” + </p> + <p> + “As I understand it, it is a theory of theirs,” answered Flambeau, “that a + man can endure anything if his mind is quite steady. Their two great + symbols are the sun and the open eye; for they say that if a man were + really healthy he could stare at the sun.” + </p> + <p> + “If a man were really healthy,” said Father Brown, “he would not bother to + stare at it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s all I can tell you about the new religion,” went on Flambeau + carelessly. “It claims, of course, that it can cure all physical + diseases.” + </p> + <p> + “Can it cure the one spiritual disease?” asked Father Brown, with a + serious curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “And what is the one spiritual disease?” asked Flambeau, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thinking one is quite well,” said his friend. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau was more interested in the quiet little office below him than in + the flamboyant temple above. He was a lucid Southerner, incapable of + conceiving himself as anything but a Catholic or an atheist; and new + religions of a bright and pallid sort were not much in his line. But + humanity was always in his line, especially when it was good-looking; + moreover, the ladies downstairs were characters in their way. The office + was kept by two sisters, both slight and dark, one of them tall and + striking. She had a dark, eager and aquiline profile, and was one of those + women whom one always thinks of in profile, as of the clean-cut edge of + some weapon. She seemed to cleave her way through life. She had eyes of + startling brilliancy, but it was the brilliancy of steel rather than of + diamonds; and her straight, slim figure was a shade too stiff for its + grace. Her younger sister was like her shortened shadow, a little greyer, + paler, and more insignificant. They both wore a business-like black, with + little masculine cuffs and collars. There are thousands of such curt, + strenuous ladies in the offices of London, but the interest of these lay + rather in their real than their apparent position. + </p> + <p> + For Pauline Stacey, the elder, was actually the heiress of a crest and + half a county, as well as great wealth; she had been brought up in castles + and gardens, before a frigid fierceness (peculiar to the modern woman) had + driven her to what she considered a harsher and a higher existence. She + had not, indeed, surrendered her money; in that there would have been a + romantic or monkish abandon quite alien to her masterful utilitarianism. + She held her wealth, she would say, for use upon practical social objects. + Part of it she had put into her business, the nucleus of a model + typewriting emporium; part of it was distributed in various leagues and + causes for the advancement of such work among women. How far Joan, her + sister and partner, shared this slightly prosaic idealism no one could be + very sure. But she followed her leader with a dog-like affection which was + somehow more attractive, with its touch of tragedy, than the hard, high + spirits of the elder. For Pauline Stacey had nothing to say to tragedy; + she was understood to deny its existence. + </p> + <p> + Her rigid rapidity and cold impatience had amused Flambeau very much on + the first occasion of his entering the flats. He had lingered outside the + lift in the entrance hall waiting for the lift-boy, who generally conducts + strangers to the various floors. But this bright-eyed falcon of a girl had + openly refused to endure such official delay. She said sharply that she + knew all about the lift, and was not dependent on boys—or men + either. Though her flat was only three floors above, she managed in the + few seconds of ascent to give Flambeau a great many of her fundamental + views in an off-hand manner; they were to the general effect that she was + a modern working woman and loved modern working machinery. Her bright + black eyes blazed with abstract anger against those who rebuke mechanic + science and ask for the return of romance. Everyone, she said, ought to be + able to manage machines, just as she could manage the lift. She seemed + almost to resent the fact of Flambeau opening the lift-door for her; and + that gentleman went up to his own apartments smiling with somewhat mingled + feelings at the memory of such spit-fire self-dependence. + </p> + <p> + She certainly had a temper, of a snappy, practical sort; the gestures of + her thin, elegant hands were abrupt or even destructive. + </p> + <p> + Once Flambeau entered her office on some typewriting business, and found + she had just flung a pair of spectacles belonging to her sister into the + middle of the floor and stamped on them. She was already in the rapids of + an ethical tirade about the “sickly medical notions” and the morbid + admission of weakness implied in such an apparatus. She dared her sister + to bring such artificial, unhealthy rubbish into the place again. She + asked if she was expected to wear wooden legs or false hair or glass eyes; + and as she spoke her eyes sparkled like the terrible crystal. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau, quite bewildered with this fanaticism, could not refrain from + asking Miss Pauline (with direct French logic) why a pair of spectacles + was a more morbid sign of weakness than a lift, and why, if science might + help us in the one effort, it might not help us in the other. + </p> + <p> + “That is so different,” said Pauline Stacey, loftily. “Batteries and + motors and all those things are marks of the force of man—yes, Mr. + Flambeau, and the force of woman, too! We shall take our turn at these + great engines that devour distance and defy time. That is high and + splendid—that is really science. But these nasty props and plasters + the doctors sell—why, they are just badges of poltroonery. Doctors + stick on legs and arms as if we were born cripples and sick slaves. But I + was free-born, Mr. Flambeau! People only think they need these things + because they have been trained in fear instead of being trained in power + and courage, just as the silly nurses tell children not to stare at the + sun, and so they can’t do it without blinking. But why among the stars + should there be one star I may not see? The sun is not my master, and I + will open my eyes and stare at him whenever I choose.” + </p> + <p> + “Your eyes,” said Flambeau, with a foreign bow, “will dazzle the sun.” He + took pleasure in complimenting this strange stiff beauty, partly because + it threw her a little off her balance. But as he went upstairs to his + floor he drew a deep breath and whistled, saying to himself: “So she has + got into the hands of that conjurer upstairs with his golden eye.” For, + little as he knew or cared about the new religion of Kalon, he had heard + of his special notion about sun-gazing. + </p> + <p> + He soon discovered that the spiritual bond between the floors above and + below him was close and increasing. The man who called himself Kalon was a + magnificent creature, worthy, in a physical sense, to be the pontiff of + Apollo. He was nearly as tall even as Flambeau, and very much better + looking, with a golden beard, strong blue eyes, and a mane flung back like + a lion’s. In structure he was the blonde beast of Nietzsche, but all this + animal beauty was heightened, brightened and softened by genuine intellect + and spirituality. If he looked like one of the great Saxon kings, he + looked like one of the kings that were also saints. And this despite the + cockney incongruity of his surroundings; the fact that he had an office + half-way up a building in Victoria Street; that the clerk (a commonplace + youth in cuffs and collars) sat in the outer room, between him and the + corridor; that his name was on a brass plate, and the gilt emblem of his + creed hung above his street, like the advertisement of an oculist. All + this vulgarity could not take away from the man called Kalon the vivid + oppression and inspiration that came from his soul and body. When all was + said, a man in the presence of this quack did feel in the presence of a + great man. Even in the loose jacket-suit of linen that he wore as a + workshop dress in his office he was a fascinating and formidable figure; + and when robed in the white vestments and crowned with the golden circlet, + in which he daily saluted the sun, he really looked so splendid that the + laughter of the street people sometimes died suddenly on their lips. For + three times in the day the new sun-worshipper went out on his little + balcony, in the face of all Westminster, to say some litany to his shining + lord: once at daybreak, once at sunset, and once at the shock of noon. And + it was while the shock of noon still shook faintly from the towers of + Parliament and parish church that Father Brown, the friend of Flambeau, + first looked up and saw the white priest of Apollo. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau had seen quite enough of these daily salutations of Phoebus, and + plunged into the porch of the tall building without even looking for his + clerical friend to follow. But Father Brown, whether from a professional + interest in ritual or a strong individual interest in tomfoolery, stopped + and stared up at the balcony of the sun-worshipper, just as he might have + stopped and stared up at a Punch and Judy. Kalon the Prophet was already + erect, with argent garments and uplifted hands, and the sound of his + strangely penetrating voice could be heard all the way down the busy + street uttering his solar litany. He was already in the middle of it; his + eyes were fixed upon the flaming disc. It is doubtful if he saw anything + or anyone on this earth; it is substantially certain that he did not see a + stunted, round-faced priest who, in the crowd below, looked up at him with + blinking eyes. That was perhaps the most startling difference between even + these two far divided men. Father Brown could not look at anything without + blinking; but the priest of Apollo could look on the blaze at noon without + a quiver of the eyelid. + </p> + <p> + “O sun,” cried the prophet, “O star that art too great to be allowed among + the stars! O fountain that flowest quietly in that secret spot that is + called space. White Father of all white unwearied things, white flames and + white flowers and white peaks. Father, who art more innocent than all thy + most innocent and quiet children; primal purity, into the peace of which—” + </p> + <p> + A rush and crash like the reversed rush of a rocket was cloven with a + strident and incessant yelling. Five people rushed into the gate of the + mansions as three people rushed out, and for an instant they all deafened + each other. The sense of some utterly abrupt horror seemed for a moment to + fill half the street with bad news—bad news that was all the worse + because no one knew what it was. Two figures remained still after the + crash of commotion: the fair priest of Apollo on the balcony above, and + the ugly priest of Christ below him. + </p> + <p> + At last the tall figure and titanic energy of Flambeau appeared in the + doorway of the mansions and dominated the little mob. Talking at the top + of his voice like a fog-horn, he told somebody or anybody to go for a + surgeon; and as he turned back into the dark and thronged entrance his + friend Father Brown dipped in insignificantly after him. Even as he ducked + and dived through the crowd he could still hear the magnificent melody and + monotony of the solar priest still calling on the happy god who is the + friend of fountains and flowers. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown found Flambeau and some six other people standing round the + enclosed space into which the lift commonly descended. But the lift had + not descended. Something else had descended; something that ought to have + come by a lift. + </p> + <p> + For the last four minutes Flambeau had looked down on it; had seen the + brained and bleeding figure of that beautiful woman who denied the + existence of tragedy. He had never had the slightest doubt that it was + Pauline Stacey; and, though he had sent for a doctor, he had not the + slightest doubt that she was dead. + </p> + <p> + He could not remember for certain whether he had liked her or disliked + her; there was so much both to like and dislike. But she had been a person + to him, and the unbearable pathos of details and habit stabbed him with + all the small daggers of bereavement. He remembered her pretty face and + priggish speeches with a sudden secret vividness which is all the + bitterness of death. In an instant like a bolt from the blue, like a + thunderbolt from nowhere, that beautiful and defiant body had been dashed + down the open well of the lift to death at the bottom. Was it suicide? + With so insolent an optimist it seemed impossible. Was it murder? But who + was there in those hardly inhabited flats to murder anybody? In a rush of + raucous words, which he meant to be strong and suddenly found weak, he + asked where was that fellow Kalon. A voice, habitually heavy, quiet and + full, assured him that Kalon for the last fifteen minutes had been away up + on his balcony worshipping his god. When Flambeau heard the voice, and + felt the hand of Father Brown, he turned his swarthy face and said + abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Then, if he has been up there all the time, who can have done it?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said the other, “we might go upstairs and find out. We have + half an hour before the police will move.” + </p> + <p> + Leaving the body of the slain heiress in charge of the surgeons, Flambeau + dashed up the stairs to the typewriting office, found it utterly empty, + and then dashed up to his own. Having entered that, he abruptly returned + with a new and white face to his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Her sister,” he said, with an unpleasant seriousness, “her sister seems + to have gone out for a walk.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown nodded. “Or, she may have gone up to the office of that sun + man,” he said. “If I were you I should just verify that, and then let us + all talk it over in your office. No,” he added suddenly, as if remembering + something, “shall I ever get over that stupidity of mine? Of course, in + their office downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau stared; but he followed the little father downstairs to the empty + flat of the Staceys, where that impenetrable pastor took a large + red-leather chair in the very entrance, from which he could see the stairs + and landings, and waited. He did not wait very long. In about four minutes + three figures descended the stairs, alike only in their solemnity. The + first was Joan Stacey, the sister of the dead woman—evidently she + had been upstairs in the temporary temple of Apollo; the second was the + priest of Apollo himself, his litany finished, sweeping down the empty + stairs in utter magnificence—something in his white robes, beard and + parted hair had the look of Dore’s Christ leaving the Pretorium; the third + was Flambeau, black browed and somewhat bewildered. + </p> + <p> + Miss Joan Stacey, dark, with a drawn face and hair prematurely touched + with grey, walked straight to her own desk and set out her papers with a + practical flap. The mere action rallied everyone else to sanity. If Miss + Joan Stacey was a criminal, she was a cool one. Father Brown regarded her + for some time with an odd little smile, and then, without taking his eyes + off her, addressed himself to somebody else. + </p> + <p> + “Prophet,” he said, presumably addressing Kalon, “I wish you would tell me + a lot about your religion.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be proud to do it,” said Kalon, inclining his still crowned head, + “but I am not sure that I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s like this,” said Father Brown, in his frankly doubtful way: “We + are taught that if a man has really bad first principles, that must be + partly his fault. But, for all that, we can make some difference between a + man who insults his quite clear conscience and a man with a conscience + more or less clouded with sophistries. Now, do you really think that + murder is wrong at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Is this an accusation?” asked Kalon very quietly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Brown, equally gently, “it is the speech for the defence.” + </p> + <p> + In the long and startled stillness of the room the prophet of Apollo + slowly rose; and really it was like the rising of the sun. He filled that + room with his light and life in such a manner that a man felt he could as + easily have filled Salisbury Plain. His robed form seemed to hang the + whole room with classic draperies; his epic gesture seemed to extend it + into grander perspectives, till the little black figure of the modern + cleric seemed to be a fault and an intrusion, a round, black blot upon + some splendour of Hellas. + </p> + <p> + “We meet at last, Caiaphas,” said the prophet. “Your church and mine are + the only realities on this earth. I adore the sun, and you the darkening + of the sun; you are the priest of the dying and I of the living God. Your + present work of suspicion and slander is worthy of your coat and creed. + All your church is but a black police; you are only spies and detectives + seeking to tear from men confessions of guilt, whether by treachery or + torture. You would convict men of crime, I would convict them of + innocence. You would convince them of sin, I would convince them of + virtue. + </p> + <p> + “Reader of the books of evil, one more word before I blow away your + baseless nightmares for ever. Not even faintly could you understand how + little I care whether you can convict me or no. The things you call + disgrace and horrible hanging are to me no more than an ogre in a child’s + toy-book to a man once grown up. You said you were offering the speech for + the defence. I care so little for the cloudland of this life that I will + offer you the speech for the prosecution. There is but one thing that can + be said against me in this matter, and I will say it myself. The woman + that is dead was my love and my bride; not after such manner as your tin + chapels call lawful, but by a law purer and sterner than you will ever + understand. She and I walked another world from yours, and trod palaces of + crystal while you were plodding through tunnels and corridors of brick. + Well, I know that policemen, theological and otherwise, always fancy that + where there has been love there must soon be hatred; so there you have the + first point made for the prosecution. But the second point is stronger; I + do not grudge it you. Not only is it true that Pauline loved me, but it is + also true that this very morning, before she died, she wrote at that table + a will leaving me and my new church half a million. Come, where are the + handcuffs? Do you suppose I care what foolish things you do with me? Penal + servitude will only be like waiting for her at a wayside station. The + gallows will only be going to her in a headlong car.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with the brain-shaking authority of an orator, and Flambeau and + Joan Stacey stared at him in amazed admiration. Father Brown’s face seemed + to express nothing but extreme distress; he looked at the ground with one + wrinkle of pain across his forehead. The prophet of the sun leaned easily + against the mantelpiece and resumed: + </p> + <p> + “In a few words I have put before you the whole case against me—the + only possible case against me. In fewer words still I will blow it to + pieces, so that not a trace of it remains. As to whether I have committed + this crime, the truth is in one sentence: I could not have committed this + crime. Pauline Stacey fell from this floor to the ground at five minutes + past twelve. A hundred people will go into the witness-box and say that I + was standing out upon the balcony of my own rooms above from just before + the stroke of noon to a quarter-past—the usual period of my public + prayers. My clerk (a respectable youth from Clapham, with no sort of + connection with me) will swear that he sat in my outer office all the + morning, and that no communication passed through. He will swear that I + arrived a full ten minutes before the hour, fifteen minutes before any + whisper of the accident, and that I did not leave the office or the + balcony all that time. No one ever had so complete an alibi; I could + subpoena half Westminster. I think you had better put the handcuffs away + again. The case is at an end. + </p> + <p> + “But last of all, that no breath of this idiotic suspicion remain in the + air, I will tell you all you want to know. I believe I do know how my + unhappy friend came by her death. You can, if you choose, blame me for it, + or my faith and philosophy at least; but you certainly cannot lock me up. + It is well known to all students of the higher truths that certain adepts + and illuminati have in history attained the power of levitation—that + is, of being self-sustained upon the empty air. It is but a part of that + general conquest of matter which is the main element in our occult wisdom. + Poor Pauline was of an impulsive and ambitious temper. I think, to tell + the truth, she thought herself somewhat deeper in the mysteries than she + was; and she has often said to me, as we went down in the lift together, + that if one’s will were strong enough, one could float down as harmlessly + as a feather. I solemnly believe that in some ecstasy of noble thoughts + she attempted the miracle. Her will, or faith, must have failed her at the + crucial instant, and the lower law of matter had its horrible revenge. + There is the whole story, gentlemen, very sad and, as you think, very + presumptuous and wicked, but certainly not criminal or in any way + connected with me. In the short-hand of the police-courts, you had better + call it suicide. I shall always call it heroic failure for the advance of + science and the slow scaling of heaven.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time Flambeau had ever seen Father Brown vanquished. He + still sat looking at the ground, with a painful and corrugated brow, as if + in shame. It was impossible to avoid the feeling which the prophet’s + winged words had fanned, that here was a sullen, professional suspecter of + men overwhelmed by a prouder and purer spirit of natural liberty and + health. At last he said, blinking as if in bodily distress: “Well, if that + is so, sir, you need do no more than take the testamentary paper you spoke + of and go. I wonder where the poor lady left it.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be over there on her desk by the door, I think,” said Kalon, with + that massive innocence of manner that seemed to acquit him wholly. “She + told me specially she would write it this morning, and I actually saw her + writing as I went up in the lift to my own room.” + </p> + <p> + “Was her door open then?” asked the priest, with his eye on the corner of + the matting. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Kalon calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it has been open ever since,” said the other, and resumed his silent + study of the mat. + </p> + <p> + “There is a paper over here,” said the grim Miss Joan, in a somewhat + singular voice. She had passed over to her sister’s desk by the doorway, + and was holding a sheet of blue foolscap in her hand. There was a sour + smile on her face that seemed unfit for such a scene or occasion, and + Flambeau looked at her with a darkening brow. + </p> + <p> + Kalon the prophet stood away from the paper with that loyal + unconsciousness that had carried him through. But Flambeau took it out of + the lady’s hand, and read it with the utmost amazement. It did, indeed, + begin in the formal manner of a will, but after the words “I give and + bequeath all of which I die possessed” the writing abruptly stopped with a + set of scratches, and there was no trace of the name of any legatee. + Flambeau, in wonder, handed this truncated testament to his clerical + friend, who glanced at it and silently gave it to the priest of the sun. + </p> + <p> + An instant afterwards that pontiff, in his splendid sweeping draperies, + had crossed the room in two great strides, and was towering over Joan + Stacey, his blue eyes standing from his head. + </p> + <p> + “What monkey tricks have you been playing here?” he cried. “That’s not all + Pauline wrote.” + </p> + <p> + They were startled to hear him speak in quite a new voice, with a Yankee + shrillness in it; all his grandeur and good English had fallen from him + like a cloak. + </p> + <p> + “That is the only thing on her desk,” said Joan, and confronted him + steadily with the same smile of evil favour. + </p> + <p> + Of a sudden the man broke out into blasphemies and cataracts of + incredulous words. There was something shocking about the dropping of his + mask; it was like a man’s real face falling off. + </p> + <p> + “See here!” he cried in broad American, when he was breathless with + cursing, “I may be an adventurer, but I guess you’re a murderess. Yes, + gentlemen, here’s your death explained, and without any levitation. The + poor girl is writing a will in my favour; her cursed sister comes in, + struggles for the pen, drags her to the well, and throws her down before + she can finish it. Sakes! I reckon we want the handcuffs after all.” + </p> + <p> + “As you have truly remarked,” replied Joan, with ugly calm, “your clerk is + a very respectable young man, who knows the nature of an oath; and he will + swear in any court that I was up in your office arranging some typewriting + work for five minutes before and five minutes after my sister fell. Mr. + Flambeau will tell you that he found me there.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. + </p> + <p> + “Why, then,” cried Flambeau, “Pauline was alone when she fell, and it was + suicide!” + </p> + <p> + “She was alone when she fell,” said Father Brown, “but it was not + suicide.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how did she die?” asked Flambeau impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “She was murdered.” + </p> + <p> + “But she was alone,” objected the detective. + </p> + <p> + “She was murdered when she was all alone,” answered the priest. + </p> + <p> + All the rest stared at him, but he remained sitting in the same old + dejected attitude, with a wrinkle in his round forehead and an appearance + of impersonal shame and sorrow; his voice was colourless and sad. + </p> + <p> + “What I want to know,” cried Kalon, with an oath, “is when the police are + coming for this bloody and wicked sister. She’s killed her flesh and + blood; she’s robbed me of half a million that was just as sacredly mine as—” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, prophet,” interrupted Flambeau, with a kind of sneer; + “remember that all this world is a cloudland.” + </p> + <p> + The hierophant of the sun-god made an effort to climb back on his + pedestal. “It is not the mere money,” he cried, “though that would equip + the cause throughout the world. It is also my beloved one’s wishes. To + Pauline all this was holy. In Pauline’s eyes—” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown suddenly sprang erect, so that his chair fell over flat + behind him. He was deathly pale, yet he seemed fired with a hope; his eyes + shone. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it!” he cried in a clear voice. “That’s the way to begin. In + Pauline’s eyes—” + </p> + <p> + The tall prophet retreated before the tiny priest in an almost mad + disorder. “What do you mean? How dare you?” he cried repeatedly. + </p> + <p> + “In Pauline’s eyes,” repeated the priest, his own shining more and more. + “Go on—in God’s name, go on. The foulest crime the fiends ever + prompted feels lighter after confession; and I implore you to confess. Go + on, go on—in Pauline’s eyes—” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go, you devil!” thundered Kalon, struggling like a giant in bonds. + “Who are you, you cursed spy, to weave your spiders’ webs round me, and + peep and peer? Let me go.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I stop him?” asked Flambeau, bounding towards the exit, for Kalon + had already thrown the door wide open. + </p> + <p> + “No; let him pass,” said Father Brown, with a strange deep sigh that + seemed to come from the depths of the universe. “Let Cain pass by, for he + belongs to God.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long-drawn silence in the room when he had left it, which was + to Flambeau’s fierce wits one long agony of interrogation. Miss Joan + Stacey very coolly tidied up the papers on her desk. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Flambeau at last, “it is my duty, not my curiosity only—it + is my duty to find out, if I can, who committed the crime.” + </p> + <p> + “Which crime?” asked Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “The one we are dealing with, of course,” replied his impatient friend. + </p> + <p> + “We are dealing with two crimes,” said Brown, “crimes of very different + weight—and by very different criminals.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Joan Stacey, having collected and put away her papers, proceeded to + lock up her drawer. Father Brown went on, noticing her as little as she + noticed him. + </p> + <p> + “The two crimes,” he observed, “were committed against the same weakness + of the same person, in a struggle for her money. The author of the larger + crime found himself thwarted by the smaller crime; the author of the + smaller crime got the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t go on like a lecturer,” groaned Flambeau; “put it in a few + words.” + </p> + <p> + “I can put it in one word,” answered his friend. + </p> + <p> + Miss Joan Stacey skewered her business-like black hat on to her head with + a business-like black frown before a little mirror, and, as the + conversation proceeded, took her handbag and umbrella in an unhurried + style, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + “The truth is one word, and a short one,” said Father Brown. “Pauline + Stacey was blind.” + </p> + <p> + “Blind!” repeated Flambeau, and rose slowly to his whole huge stature. + </p> + <p> + “She was subject to it by blood,” Brown proceeded. “Her sister would have + started eyeglasses if Pauline would have let her; but it was her special + philosophy or fad that one must not encourage such diseases by yielding to + them. She would not admit the cloud; or she tried to dispel it by will. So + her eyes got worse and worse with straining; but the worst strain was to + come. It came with this precious prophet, or whatever he calls himself, + who taught her to stare at the hot sun with the naked eye. It was called + accepting Apollo. Oh, if these new pagans would only be old pagans, they + would be a little wiser! The old pagans knew that mere naked + Nature-worship must have a cruel side. They knew that the eye of Apollo + can blast and blind.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, and the priest went on in a gentle and even broken + voice. “Whether or no that devil deliberately made her blind, there is no + doubt that he deliberately killed her through her blindness. The very + simplicity of the crime is sickening. You know he and she went up and down + in those lifts without official help; you know also how smoothly and + silently the lifts slide. Kalon brought the lift to the girl’s landing, + and saw her, through the open door, writing in her slow, sightless way the + will she had promised him. He called out to her cheerily that he had the + lift ready for her, and she was to come out when she was ready. Then he + pressed a button and shot soundlessly up to his own floor, walked through + his own office, out on to his own balcony, and was safely praying before + the crowded street when the poor girl, having finished her work, ran gaily + out to where lover and lift were to receive her, and stepped—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t!” cried Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “He ought to have got half a million by pressing that button,” continued + the little father, in the colourless voice in which he talked of such + horrors. “But that went smash. It went smash because there happened to be + another person who also wanted the money, and who also knew the secret + about poor Pauline’s sight. There was one thing about that will that I + think nobody noticed: although it was unfinished and without signature, + the other Miss Stacey and some servant of hers had already signed it as + witnesses. Joan had signed first, saying Pauline could finish it later, + with a typical feminine contempt for legal forms. Therefore, Joan wanted + her sister to sign the will without real witnesses. Why? I thought of the + blindness, and felt sure she had wanted Pauline to sign in solitude + because she had wanted her not to sign at all. + </p> + <p> + “People like the Staceys always use fountain pens; but this was specially + natural to Pauline. By habit and her strong will and memory she could + still write almost as well as if she saw; but she could not tell when her + pen needed dipping. Therefore, her fountain pens were carefully filled by + her sister—all except this fountain pen. This was carefully not + filled by her sister; the remains of the ink held out for a few lines and + then failed altogether. And the prophet lost five hundred thousand pounds + and committed one of the most brutal and brilliant murders in human + history for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau went to the open door and heard the official police ascending the + stairs. He turned and said: “You must have followed everything devilish + close to have traced the crime to Kalon in ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown gave a sort of start. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! to him,” he said. “No; I had to follow rather close to find out about + Miss Joan and the fountain pen. But I knew Kalon was the criminal before I + came into the front door.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be joking!” cried Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “I’m quite serious,” answered the priest. “I tell you I knew he had done + it, even before I knew what he had done.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “These pagan stoics,” said Brown reflectively, “always fail by their + strength. There came a crash and a scream down the street, and the priest + of Apollo did not start or look round. I did not know what it was. But I + knew that he was expecting it.” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap11"></a> + The Sign of the Broken Sword + </h2> + <p> + The thousand arms of the forest were grey, and its million fingers silver. + In a sky of dark green-blue-like slate the stars were bleak and brilliant + like splintered ice. All that thickly wooded and sparsely tenanted + countryside was stiff with a bitter and brittle frost. The black hollows + between the trunks of the trees looked like bottomless, black caverns of + that Scandinavian hell, a hell of incalculable cold. Even the square stone + tower of the church looked northern to the point of heathenry, as if it + were some barbaric tower among the sea rocks of Iceland. It was a queer + night for anyone to explore a churchyard. But, on the other hand, perhaps + it was worth exploring. + </p> + <p> + It rose abruptly out of the ashen wastes of forest in a sort of hump or + shoulder of green turf that looked grey in the starlight. Most of the + graves were on a slant, and the path leading up to the church was as steep + as a staircase. On the top of the hill, in the one flat and prominent + place, was the monument for which the place was famous. It contrasted + strangely with the featureless graves all round, for it was the work of + one of the greatest sculptors of modern Europe; and yet his fame was at + once forgotten in the fame of the man whose image he had made. It showed, + by touches of the small silver pencil of starlight, the massive metal + figure of a soldier recumbent, the strong hands sealed in an everlasting + worship, the great head pillowed upon a gun. The venerable face was + bearded, or rather whiskered, in the old, heavy Colonel Newcome fashion. + The uniform, though suggested with the few strokes of simplicity, was that + of modern war. By his right side lay a sword, of which the tip was broken + off; on the left side lay a Bible. On glowing summer afternoons wagonettes + came full of Americans and cultured suburbans to see the sepulchre; but + even then they felt the vast forest land with its one dumpy dome of + churchyard and church as a place oddly dumb and neglected. In this + freezing darkness of mid-winter one would think he might be left alone + with the stars. Nevertheless, in the stillness of those stiff woods a + wooden gate creaked, and two dim figures dressed in black climbed up the + little path to the tomb. + </p> + <p> + So faint was that frigid starlight that nothing could have been traced + about them except that while they both wore black, one man was enormously + big, and the other (perhaps by contrast) almost startlingly small. They + went up to the great graven tomb of the historic warrior, and stood for a + few minutes staring at it. There was no human, perhaps no living, thing + for a wide circle; and a morbid fancy might well have wondered if they + were human themselves. In any case, the beginning of their conversation + might have seemed strange. After the first silence the small man said to + the other: + </p> + <p> + “Where does a wise man hide a pebble?” + </p> + <p> + And the tall man answered in a low voice: “On the beach.” + </p> + <p> + The small man nodded, and after a short silence said: “Where does a wise + man hide a leaf?” + </p> + <p> + And the other answered: “In the forest.” + </p> + <p> + There was another stillness, and then the tall man resumed: “Do you mean + that when a wise man has to hide a real diamond he has been known to hide + it among sham ones?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said the little man with a laugh, “we will let bygones be + bygones.” + </p> + <p> + He stamped his cold feet for a second or two, and then said: “I’m not + thinking of that at all, but of something else; something rather peculiar. + Just strike a match, will you?” + </p> + <p> + The big man fumbled in his pocket, and soon a scratch and a flare painted + gold the whole flat side of the monument. On it was cut in black letters + the well-known words which so many Americans had reverently read: “Sacred + to the Memory of General Sir Arthur St. Clare, Hero and Martyr, who Always + Vanquished his Enemies and Always Spared Them, and Was Treacherously Slain + by Them At Last. May God in Whom he Trusted both Reward and Revenge him.” + </p> + <p> + The match burnt the big man’s fingers, blackened, and dropped. He was + about to strike another, but his small companion stopped him. “That’s all + right, Flambeau, old man; I saw what I wanted. Or, rather, I didn’t see + what I didn’t want. And now we must walk a mile and a half along the road + to the next inn, and I will try to tell you all about it. For Heaven knows + a man should have a fire and ale when he dares tell such a story.” + </p> + <p> + They descended the precipitous path, they relatched the rusty gate, and + set off at a stamping, ringing walk down the frozen forest road. They had + gone a full quarter of a mile before the smaller man spoke again. He said: + “Yes; the wise man hides a pebble on the beach. But what does he do if + there is no beach? Do you know anything of that great St. Clare trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about English generals, Father Brown,” answered the large + man, laughing, “though a little about English policemen. I only know that + you have dragged me a precious long dance to all the shrines of this + fellow, whoever he is. One would think he got buried in six different + places. I’ve seen a memorial to General St. Clare in Westminster Abbey. + I’ve seen a ramping equestrian statue of General St. Clare on the + Embankment. I’ve seen a medallion of St. Clare in the street he was born + in, and another in the street he lived in; and now you drag me after dark + to his coffin in the village churchyard. I am beginning to be a bit tired + of his magnificent personality, especially as I don’t in the least know + who he was. What are you hunting for in all these crypts and effigies?” + </p> + <p> + “I am only looking for one word,” said Father Brown. “A word that isn’t + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” asked Flambeau; “are you going to tell me anything about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I must divide it into two parts,” remarked the priest. “First there is + what everybody knows; and then there is what I know. Now, what everybody + knows is short and plain enough. It is also entirely wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are,” said the big man called Flambeau cheerfully. “Let’s begin + at the wrong end. Let’s begin with what everybody knows, which isn’t + true.” + </p> + <p> + “If not wholly untrue, it is at least very inadequate,” continued Brown; + “for in point of fact, all that the public knows amounts precisely to + this: The public knows that Arthur St. Clare was a great and successful + English general. It knows that after splendid yet careful campaigns both + in India and Africa he was in command against Brazil when the great + Brazilian patriot Olivier issued his ultimatum. It knows that on that + occasion St. Clare with a very small force attacked Olivier with a very + large one, and was captured after heroic resistance. And it knows that + after his capture, and to the abhorrence of the civilised world, St. Clare + was hanged on the nearest tree. He was found swinging there after the + Brazilians had retired, with his broken sword hung round his neck.” + </p> + <p> + “And that popular story is untrue?” suggested Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said his friend quietly, “that story is quite true, so far as it + goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think it goes far enough!” said Flambeau; “but if the popular + story is true, what is the mystery?” + </p> + <p> + They had passed many hundreds of grey and ghostly trees before the little + priest answered. Then he bit his finger reflectively and said: “Why, the + mystery is a mystery of psychology. Or, rather, it is a mystery of two + psychologies. In that Brazilian business two of the most famous men of + modern history acted flat against their characters. Mind you, Olivier and + St. Clare were both heroes—the old thing, and no mistake; it was + like the fight between Hector and Achilles. Now, what would you say to an + affair in which Achilles was timid and Hector was treacherous?” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said the large man impatiently as the other bit his finger again. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Arthur St. Clare was a soldier of the old religious type—the + type that saved us during the Mutiny,” continued Brown. “He was always + more for duty than for dash; and with all his personal courage was + decidedly a prudent commander, particularly indignant at any needless + waste of soldiers. Yet in this last battle he attempted something that a + baby could see was absurd. One need not be a strategist to see it was as + wild as wind; just as one need not be a strategist to keep out of the way + of a motor-bus. Well, that is the first mystery; what had become of the + English general’s head? The second riddle is, what had become of the + Brazilian general’s heart? President Olivier might be called a visionary + or a nuisance; but even his enemies admitted that he was magnanimous to + the point of knight errantry. Almost every other prisoner he had ever + captured had been set free or even loaded with benefits. Men who had + really wronged him came away touched by his simplicity and sweetness. Why + the deuce should he diabolically revenge himself only once in his life; + and that for the one particular blow that could not have hurt him? Well, + there you have it. One of the wisest men in the world acted like an idiot + for no reason. One of the best men in the world acted like a fiend for no + reason. That’s the long and the short of it; and I leave it to you, my + boy.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you don’t,” said the other with a snort. “I leave it to you; and you + jolly well tell me all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” resumed Father Brown, “it’s not fair to say that the public + impression is just what I’ve said, without adding that two things have + happened since. I can’t say they threw a new light; for nobody can make + sense of them. But they threw a new kind of darkness; they threw the + darkness in new directions. The first was this. The family physician of + the St. Clares quarrelled with that family, and began publishing a violent + series of articles, in which he said that the late general was a religious + maniac; but as far as the tale went, this seemed to mean little more than + a religious man. + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow, the story fizzled out. Everyone knew, of course, that St. Clare + had some of the eccentricities of puritan piety. The second incident was + much more arresting. In the luckless and unsupported regiment which made + that rash attempt at the Black River there was a certain Captain Keith, + who was at that time engaged to St. Clare’s daughter, and who afterwards + married her. He was one of those who were captured by Olivier, and, like + all the rest except the general, appears to have been bounteously treated + and promptly set free. Some twenty years afterwards this man, then + Lieutenant-Colonel Keith, published a sort of autobiography called ‘A + British Officer in Burmah and Brazil.’ In the place where the reader looks + eagerly for some account of the mystery of St. Clare’s disaster may be + found the following words: ‘Everywhere else in this book I have narrated + things exactly as they occurred, holding as I do the old-fashioned opinion + that the glory of England is old enough to take care of itself. The + exception I shall make is in this matter of the defeat by the Black River; + and my reasons, though private, are honourable and compelling. I will, + however, add this in justice to the memories of two distinguished men. + General St. Clare has been accused of incapacity on this occasion; I can + at least testify that this action, properly understood, was one of the + most brilliant and sagacious of his life. President Olivier by similar + report is charged with savage injustice. I think it due to the honour of + an enemy to say that he acted on this occasion with even more than his + characteristic good feeling. To put the matter popularly, I can assure my + countrymen that St. Clare was by no means such a fool nor Olivier such a + brute as he looked. This is all I have to say; nor shall any earthly + consideration induce me to add a word to it.’” + </p> + <p> + A large frozen moon like a lustrous snowball began to show through the + tangle of twigs in front of them, and by its light the narrator had been + able to refresh his memory of Captain Keith’s text from a scrap of printed + paper. As he folded it up and put it back in his pocket Flambeau threw up + his hand with a French gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a bit, wait a bit,” he cried excitedly. “I believe I can guess it at + the first go.” + </p> + <p> + He strode on, breathing hard, his black head and bull neck forward, like a + man winning a walking race. The little priest, amused and interested, had + some trouble in trotting beside him. Just before them the trees fell back + a little to left and right, and the road swept downwards across a clear, + moonlit valley, till it dived again like a rabbit into the wall of another + wood. The entrance to the farther forest looked small and round, like the + black hole of a remote railway tunnel. But it was within some hundred + yards, and gaped like a cavern before Flambeau spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got it,” he cried at last, slapping his thigh with his great hand. + “Four minutes’ thinking, and I can tell your whole story myself.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” assented his friend. “You tell it.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau lifted his head, but lowered his voice. “General Sir Arthur St. + Clare,” he said, “came of a family in which madness was hereditary; and + his whole aim was to keep this from his daughter, and even, if possible, + from his future son-in-law. Rightly or wrongly, he thought the final + collapse was close, and resolved on suicide. Yet ordinary suicide would + blazon the very idea he dreaded. As the campaign approached the clouds + came thicker on his brain; and at last in a mad moment he sacrificed his + public duty to his private. He rushed rashly into battle, hoping to fall + by the first shot. When he found that he had only attained capture and + discredit, the sealed bomb in his brain burst, and he broke his own sword + and hanged himself.” + </p> + <p> + He stared firmly at the grey façade of forest in front of him, with the + one black gap in it, like the mouth of the grave, into which their path + plunged. Perhaps something menacing in the road thus suddenly swallowed + reinforced his vivid vision of the tragedy, for he shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “A horrid story,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “A horrid story,” repeated the priest with bent head. “But not the real + story.” + </p> + <p> + Then he threw back his head with a sort of despair and cried: “Oh, I wish + it had been.” + </p> + <p> + The tall Flambeau faced round and stared at him. + </p> + <p> + “Yours is a clean story,” cried Father Brown, deeply moved. “A sweet, + pure, honest story, as open and white as that moon. Madness and despair + are innocent enough. There are worse things, Flambeau.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau looked up wildly at the moon thus invoked; and from where he + stood one black tree-bough curved across it exactly like a devil’s horn. + </p> + <p> + “Father—father,” cried Flambeau with the French gesture and stepping + yet more rapidly forward, “do you mean it was worse than that?” + </p> + <p> + “Worse than that,” said Paul like a grave echo. And they plunged into the + black cloister of the woodland, which ran by them in a dim tapestry of + trunks, like one of the dark corridors in a dream. + </p> + <p> + They were soon in the most secret entrails of the wood, and felt close + about them foliage that they could not see, when the priest said again: + </p> + <p> + “Where does a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest. But what does he do if + there is no forest?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” cried Flambeau irritably, “what does he do?” + </p> + <p> + “He grows a forest to hide it in,” said the priest in an obscure voice. “A + fearful sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” cried his friend impatiently, for the dark wood and the dark + saying got a little on his nerves; “will you tell me this story or not? + What other evidence is there to go on?” + </p> + <p> + “There are three more bits of evidence,” said the other, “that I have dug + up in holes and corners; and I will give them in logical rather than + chronological order. First of all, of course, our authority for the issue + and event of the battle is in Olivier’s own dispatches, which are lucid + enough. He was entrenched with two or three regiments on the heights that + swept down to the Black River, on the other side of which was lower and + more marshy ground. Beyond this again was gently rising country, on which + was the first English outpost, supported by others which lay, however, + considerably in its rear. The British forces as a whole were greatly + superior in numbers; but this particular regiment was just far enough from + its base to make Olivier consider the project of crossing the river to cut + it off. By sunset, however, he had decided to retain his own position, + which was a specially strong one. At daybreak next morning he was + thunderstruck to see that this stray handful of English, entirely + unsupported from their rear, had flung themselves across the river, half + by a bridge to the right, and the other half by a ford higher up, and were + massed upon the marshy bank below him. + </p> + <p> + “That they should attempt an attack with such numbers against such a + position was incredible enough; but Olivier noticed something yet more + extraordinary. For instead of attempting to seize more solid ground, this + mad regiment, having put the river in its rear by one wild charge, did + nothing more, but stuck there in the mire like flies in treacle. Needless + to say, the Brazilians blew great gaps in them with artillery, which they + could only return with spirited but lessening rifle fire. Yet they never + broke; and Olivier’s curt account ends with a strong tribute of admiration + for the mystic valour of these imbeciles. ‘Our line then advanced + finally,’ writes Olivier, ‘and drove them into the river; we captured + General St. Clare himself and several other officers. The colonel and the + major had both fallen in the battle. I cannot resist saying that few finer + sights can have been seen in history than the last stand of this + extraordinary regiment; wounded officers picking up the rifles of dead + soldiers, and the general himself facing us on horseback bareheaded and + with a broken sword.’ On what happened to the general afterwards Olivier + is as silent as Captain Keith.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” grunted Flambeau, “get on to the next bit of evidence.” + </p> + <p> + “The next evidence,” said Father Brown, “took some time to find, but it + will not take long to tell. I found at last in an almshouse down in the + Lincolnshire Fens an old soldier who not only was wounded at the Black + River, but had actually knelt beside the colonel of the regiment when he + died. This latter was a certain Colonel Clancy, a big bull of an Irishman; + and it would seem that he died almost as much of rage as of bullets. He, + at any rate, was not responsible for that ridiculous raid; it must have + been imposed on him by the general. His last edifying words, according to + my informant, were these: ‘And there goes the damned old donkey with the + end of his sword knocked off. I wish it was his head.’ You will remark + that everyone seems to have noticed this detail about the broken sword + blade, though most people regard it somewhat more reverently than did the + late Colonel Clancy. And now for the third fragment.” + </p> + <p> + Their path through the woodland began to go upward, and the speaker paused + a little for breath before he went on. Then he continued in the same + business-like tone: + </p> + <p> + “Only a month or two ago a certain Brazilian official died in England, + having quarrelled with Olivier and left his country. He was a well-known + figure both here and on the Continent, a Spaniard named Espado; I knew him + myself, a yellow-faced old dandy, with a hooked nose. For various private + reasons I had permission to see the documents he had left; he was a + Catholic, of course, and I had been with him towards the end. There was + nothing of his that lit up any corner of the black St. Clare business, + except five or six common exercise books filled with the diary of some + English soldier. I can only suppose that it was found by the Brazilians on + one of those that fell. Anyhow, it stopped abruptly the night before the + battle. + </p> + <p> + “But the account of that last day in the poor fellow’s life was certainly + worth reading. I have it on me; but it’s too dark to read it here, and I + will give you a resume. The first part of that entry is full of jokes, + evidently flung about among the men, about somebody called the Vulture. It + does not seem as if this person, whoever he was, was one of themselves, + nor even an Englishman; neither is he exactly spoken of as one of the + enemy. It sounds rather as if he were some local go-between and + non-combatant; perhaps a guide or a journalist. He has been closeted with + old Colonel Clancy; but is more often seen talking to the major. Indeed, + the major is somewhat prominent in this soldier’s narrative; a lean, + dark-haired man, apparently, of the name of Murray—a north of + Ireland man and a Puritan. There are continual jests about the contrast + between this Ulsterman’s austerity and the conviviality of Colonel Clancy. + There is also some joke about the Vulture wearing bright-coloured clothes. + </p> + <p> + “But all these levities are scattered by what may well be called the note + of a bugle. Behind the English camp and almost parallel to the river ran + one of the few great roads of that district. Westward the road curved + round towards the river, which it crossed by the bridge before mentioned. + To the east the road swept backwards into the wilds, and some two miles + along it was the next English outpost. From this direction there came + along the road that evening a glitter and clatter of light cavalry, in + which even the simple diarist could recognise with astonishment the + general with his staff. He rode the great white horse which you have seen + so often in illustrated papers and Academy pictures; and you may be sure + that the salute they gave him was not merely ceremonial. He, at least, + wasted no time on ceremony, but, springing from the saddle immediately, + mixed with the group of officers, and fell into emphatic though + confidential speech. What struck our friend the diarist most was his + special disposition to discuss matters with Major Murray; but, indeed, + such a selection, so long as it was not marked, was in no way unnatural. + The two men were made for sympathy; they were men who ‘read their Bibles’; + they were both the old Evangelical type of officer. However this may be, + it is certain that when the general mounted again he was still talking + earnestly to Murray; and that as he walked his horse slowly down the road + towards the river, the tall Ulsterman still walked by his bridle rein in + earnest debate. The soldiers watched the two until they vanished behind a + clump of trees where the road turned towards the river. The colonel had + gone back to his tent, and the men to their pickets; the man with the + diary lingered for another four minutes, and saw a marvellous sight. + </p> + <p> + “The great white horse which had marched slowly down the road, as it had + marched in so many processions, flew back, galloping up the road towards + them as if it were mad to win a race. At first they thought it had run + away with the man on its back; but they soon saw that the general, a fine + rider, was himself urging it to full speed. Horse and man swept up to them + like a whirlwind; and then, reining up the reeling charger, the general + turned on them a face like flame, and called for the colonel like the + trumpet that wakes the dead. + </p> + <p> + “I conceive that all the earthquake events of that catastrophe tumbled on + top of each other rather like lumber in the minds of men such as our + friend with the diary. With the dazed excitement of a dream, they found + themselves falling—literally falling—into their ranks, and + learned that an attack was to be led at once across the river. The general + and the major, it was said, had found out something at the bridge, and + there was only just time to strike for life. The major had gone back at + once to call up the reserve along the road behind; it was doubtful if even + with that prompt appeal help could reach them in time. But they must pass + the stream that night, and seize the heights by morning. It is with the + very stir and throb of that romantic nocturnal march that the diary + suddenly ends.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had mounted ahead; for the woodland path grew smaller, + steeper, and more twisted, till they felt as if they were ascending a + winding staircase. The priest’s voice came from above out of the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “There was one other little and enormous thing. When the general urged + them to their chivalric charge he half drew his sword from the scabbard; + and then, as if ashamed of such melodrama, thrust it back again. The sword + again, you see.” + </p> + <p> + A half-light broke through the network of boughs above them, flinging the + ghost of a net about their feet; for they were mounting again to the faint + luminosity of the naked night. Flambeau felt truth all round him as an + atmosphere, but not as an idea. He answered with bewildered brain: “Well, + what’s the matter with the sword? Officers generally have swords, don’t + they?” + </p> + <p> + “They are not often mentioned in modern war,” said the other + dispassionately; “but in this affair one falls over the blessed sword + everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is there in that?” growled Flambeau; “it was a twopence + coloured sort of incident; the old man’s blade breaking in his last + battle. Anyone might bet the papers would get hold of it, as they have. On + all these tombs and things it’s shown broken at the point. I hope you + haven’t dragged me through this Polar expedition merely because two men + with an eye for a picture saw St. Clare’s broken sword.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried Father Brown, with a sharp voice like a pistol shot; “but who + saw his unbroken sword?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” cried the other, and stood still under the stars. They + had come abruptly out of the grey gates of the wood. + </p> + <p> + “I say, who saw his unbroken sword?” repeated Father Brown obstinately. + “Not the writer of the diary, anyhow; the general sheathed it in time.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau looked about him in the moonlight, as a man struck blind might + look in the sun; and his friend went on, for the first time with + eagerness: + </p> + <p> + “Flambeau,” he cried, “I cannot prove it, even after hunting through the + tombs. But I am sure of it. Let me add just one more tiny fact that tips + the whole thing over. The colonel, by a strange chance, was one of the + first struck by a bullet. He was struck long before the troops came to + close quarters. But he saw St. Clare’s sword broken. Why was it broken? + How was it broken? My friend, it was broken before the battle.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said his friend, with a sort of forlorn jocularity; “and pray where + is the other piece?” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you,” said the priest promptly. “In the northeast corner of + the cemetery of the Protestant Cathedral at Belfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” inquired the other. “Have you looked for it?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t,” replied Brown, with frank regret. “There’s a great marble + monument on top of it; a monument to the heroic Major Murray, who fell + fighting gloriously at the famous Battle of the Black River.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau seemed suddenly galvanised into existence. “You mean,” he cried + hoarsely, “that General St. Clare hated Murray, and murdered him on the + field of battle because—” + </p> + <p> + “You are still full of good and pure thoughts,” said the other. “It was + worse than that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the large man, “my stock of evil imagination is used up.” + </p> + <p> + The priest seemed really doubtful where to begin, and at last he said + again: + </p> + <p> + “Where would a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest.” + </p> + <p> + The other did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “If there were no forest, he would make a forest. And if he wished to hide + a dead leaf, he would make a dead forest.” + </p> + <p> + There was still no reply, and the priest added still more mildly and + quietly: + </p> + <p> + “And if a man had to hide a dead body, he would make a field of dead + bodies to hide it in.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau began to stamp forward with an intolerance of delay in time or + space; but Father Brown went on as if he were continuing the last + sentence: + </p> + <p> + “Sir Arthur St. Clare, as I have already said, was a man who read his + Bible. That was what was the matter with him. When will people understand + that it is useless for a man to read his Bible unless he also reads + everybody else’s Bible? A printer reads a Bible for misprints. A Mormon + reads his Bible, and finds polygamy; a Christian Scientist reads his, and + finds we have no arms and legs. St. Clare was an old Anglo-Indian + Protestant soldier. Now, just think what that might mean; and, for + Heaven’s sake, don’t cant about it. It might mean a man physically + formidable living under a tropic sun in an Oriental society, and soaking + himself without sense or guidance in an Oriental Book. Of course, he read + the Old Testament rather than the New. Of course, he found in the Old + Testament anything that he wanted—lust, tyranny, treason. Oh, I dare + say he was honest, as you call it. But what is the good of a man being + honest in his worship of dishonesty? + </p> + <p> + “In each of the hot and secret countries to which the man went he kept a + harem, he tortured witnesses, he amassed shameful gold; but certainly he + would have said with steady eyes that he did it to the glory of the Lord. + My own theology is sufficiently expressed by asking which Lord? Anyhow, + there is this about such evil, that it opens door after door in hell, and + always into smaller and smaller chambers. This is the real case against + crime, that a man does not become wilder and wilder, but only meaner and + meaner. St. Clare was soon suffocated by difficulties of bribery and + blackmail; and needed more and more cash. And by the time of the Battle of + the Black River he had fallen from world to world to that place which + Dante makes the lowest floor of the universe.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked his friend again. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that,” retorted the cleric, and suddenly pointed at a puddle + sealed with ice that shone in the moon. “Do you remember whom Dante put in + the last circle of ice?” + </p> + <p> + “The traitors,” said Flambeau, and shuddered. As he looked around at the + inhuman landscape of trees, with taunting and almost obscene outlines, he + could almost fancy he was Dante, and the priest with the rivulet of a + voice was, indeed, a Virgil leading him through a land of eternal sins. + </p> + <p> + The voice went on: “Olivier, as you know, was quixotic, and would not + permit a secret service and spies. The thing, however, was done, like many + other things, behind his back. It was managed by my old friend Espado; he + was the bright-clad fop, whose hook nose got him called the Vulture. + Posing as a sort of philanthropist at the front, he felt his way through + the English Army, and at last got his fingers on its one corrupt man—please + God!—and that man at the top. St. Clare was in foul need of money, + and mountains of it. The discredited family doctor was threatening those + extraordinary exposures that afterwards began and were broken off; tales + of monstrous and prehistoric things in Park Lane; things done by an + English Evangelist that smelt like human sacrifice and hordes of slaves. + Money was wanted, too, for his daughter’s dowry; for to him the fame of + wealth was as sweet as wealth itself. He snapped the last thread, + whispered the word to Brazil, and wealth poured in from the enemies of + England. But another man had talked to Espado the Vulture as well as he. + Somehow the dark, grim young major from Ulster had guessed the hideous + truth; and when they walked slowly together down that road towards the + bridge Murray was telling the general that he must resign instantly, or be + court-martialled and shot. The general temporised with him till they came + to the fringe of tropic trees by the bridge; and there by the singing + river and the sunlit palms (for I can see the picture) the general drew + his sabre and plunged it through the body of the major.” + </p> + <p> + The wintry road curved over a ridge in cutting frost, with cruel black + shapes of bush and thicket; but Flambeau fancied that he saw beyond it + faintly the edge of an aureole that was not starlight and moonlight, but + some fire such as is made by men. He watched it as the tale drew to its + close. + </p> + <p> + “St. Clare was a hell-hound, but he was a hound of breed. Never, I’ll + swear, was he so lucid and so strong as when poor Murray lay a cold lump + at his feet. Never in all his triumphs, as Captain Keith said truly, was + the great man so great as he was in this last world-despised defeat. He + looked coolly at his weapon to wipe off the blood; he saw the point he had + planted between his victim’s shoulders had broken off in the body. He saw + quite calmly, as through a club windowpane, all that must follow. He saw + that men must find the unaccountable corpse; must extract the + unaccountable sword-point; must notice the unaccountable broken sword—or + absence of sword. He had killed, but not silenced. But his imperious + intellect rose against the facer; there was one way yet. He could make the + corpse less unaccountable. He could create a hill of corpses to cover this + one. In twenty minutes eight hundred English soldiers were marching down + to their death.” + </p> + <p> + The warmer glow behind the black winter wood grew richer and brighter, and + Flambeau strode on to reach it. Father Brown also quickened his stride; + but he seemed merely absorbed in his tale. + </p> + <p> + “Such was the valour of that English thousand, and such the genius of + their commander, that if they had at once attacked the hill, even their + mad march might have met some luck. But the evil mind that played with + them like pawns had other aims and reasons. They must remain in the + marshes by the bridge at least till British corpses should be a common + sight there. Then for the last grand scene; the silver-haired + soldier-saint would give up his shattered sword to save further slaughter. + Oh, it was well organised for an impromptu. But I think (I cannot prove), + I think that it was while they stuck there in the bloody mire that someone + doubted—and someone guessed.” + </p> + <p> + He was mute a moment, and then said: “There is a voice from nowhere that + tells me the man who guessed was the lover... the man to wed the old man’s + child.” + </p> + <p> + “But what about Olivier and the hanging?” asked Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “Olivier, partly from chivalry, partly from policy, seldom encumbered his + march with captives,” explained the narrator. “He released everybody in + most cases. He released everybody in this case.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody but the general,” said the tall man. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody,” said the priest. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau knit his black brows. “I don’t grasp it all yet,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “There is another picture, Flambeau,” said Brown in his more mystical + undertone. “I can’t prove it; but I can do more—I can see it. There + is a camp breaking up on the bare, torrid hills at morning, and Brazilian + uniforms massed in blocks and columns to march. There is the red shirt and + long black beard of Olivier, which blows as he stands, his broad-brimmed + hat in his hand. He is saying farewell to the great enemy he is setting + free—the simple, snow-headed English veteran, who thanks him in the + name of his men. The English remnant stand behind at attention; beside + them are stores and vehicles for the retreat. The drums roll; the + Brazilians are moving; the English are still like statues. So they abide + till the last hum and flash of the enemy have faded from the tropic + horizon. Then they alter their postures all at once, like dead men coming + to life; they turn their fifty faces upon the general—faces not to + be forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau gave a great jump. “Ah,” he cried, “you don’t mean—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Father Brown in a deep, moving voice. “It was an English hand + that put the rope round St. Clare’s neck; I believe the hand that put the + ring on his daughter’s finger. They were English hands that dragged him up + to the tree of shame; the hands of men that had adored him and followed + him to victory. And they were English souls (God pardon and endure us + all!) who stared at him swinging in that foreign sun on the green gallows + of palm, and prayed in their hatred that he might drop off it into hell.” + </p> + <p> + As the two topped the ridge there burst on them the strong scarlet light + of a red-curtained English inn. It stood sideways in the road, as if + standing aside in the amplitude of hospitality. Its three doors stood open + with invitation; and even where they stood they could hear the hum and + laughter of humanity happy for a night. + </p> + <p> + “I need not tell you more,” said Father Brown. “They tried him in the + wilderness and destroyed him; and then, for the honour of England and of + his daughter, they took an oath to seal up for ever the story of the + traitor’s purse and the assassin’s sword blade. Perhaps—Heaven help + them—they tried to forget it. Let us try to forget it, anyhow; here + is our inn.” + </p> + <p> + “With all my heart,” said Flambeau, and was just striding into the bright, + noisy bar when he stepped back and almost fell on the road. + </p> + <p> + “Look there, in the devil’s name!” he cried, and pointed rigidly at the + square wooden sign that overhung the road. It showed dimly the crude shape + of a sabre hilt and a shortened blade; and was inscribed in false archaic + lettering, “The Sign of the Broken Sword.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you not prepared?” asked Father Brown gently. “He is the god of this + country; half the inns and parks and streets are named after him and his + story.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought we had done with the leper,” cried Flambeau, and spat on the + road. + </p> + <p> + “You will never have done with him in England,” said the priest, looking + down, “while brass is strong and stone abides. His marble statues will + erect the souls of proud, innocent boys for centuries, his village tomb + will smell of loyalty as of lilies. Millions who never knew him shall love + him like a father—this man whom the last few that knew him dealt + with like dung. He shall be a saint; and the truth shall never be told of + him, because I have made up my mind at last. There is so much good and + evil in breaking secrets, that I put my conduct to a test. All these + newspapers will perish; the anti-Brazil boom is already over; Olivier is + already honoured everywhere. But I told myself that if anywhere, by name, + in metal or marble that will endure like the pyramids, Colonel Clancy, or + Captain Keith, or President Olivier, or any innocent man was wrongly + blamed, then I would speak. If it were only that St. Clare was wrongly + praised, I would be silent. And I will.” + </p> + <p> + They plunged into the red-curtained tavern, which was not only cosy, but + even luxurious inside. On a table stood a silver model of the tomb of St. + Clare, the silver head bowed, the silver sword broken. On the walls were + coloured photographs of the same scene, and of the system of wagonettes + that took tourists to see it. They sat down on the comfortable padded + benches. + </p> + <p> + “Come, it’s cold,” cried Father Brown; “let’s have some wine or beer.” + </p> + <p> + “Or brandy,” said Flambeau. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="chap12"></a> + The Three Tools of Death + </h2> + <p> + Both by calling and conviction Father Brown knew better than most of us, + that every man is dignified when he is dead. But even he felt a pang of + incongruity when he was knocked up at daybreak and told that Sir Aaron + Armstrong had been murdered. There was something absurd and unseemly about + secret violence in connection with so entirely entertaining and popular a + figure. For Sir Aaron Armstrong was entertaining to the point of being + comic; and popular in such a manner as to be almost legendary. It was like + hearing that Sunny Jim had hanged himself; or that Mr. Pickwick had died + in Hanwell. For though Sir Aaron was a philanthropist, and thus dealt with + the darker side of our society, he prided himself on dealing with it in + the brightest possible style. His political and social speeches were + cataracts of anecdotes and “loud laughter”; his bodily health was of a + bursting sort; his ethics were all optimism; and he dealt with the Drink + problem (his favourite topic) with that immortal or even monotonous gaiety + which is so often a mark of the prosperous total abstainer. + </p> + <p> + The established story of his conversion was familiar on the more puritanic + platforms and pulpits, how he had been, when only a boy, drawn away from + Scotch theology to Scotch whisky, and how he had risen out of both and + become (as he modestly put it) what he was. Yet his wide white beard, + cherubic face, and sparkling spectacles, at the numberless dinners and + congresses where they appeared, made it hard to believe, somehow, that he + had ever been anything so morbid as either a dram-drinker or a Calvinist. + He was, one felt, the most seriously merry of all the sons of men. + </p> + <p> + He had lived on the rural skirt of Hampstead in a handsome house, high but + not broad, a modern and prosaic tower. The narrowest of its narrow sides + overhung the steep green bank of a railway, and was shaken by passing + trains. Sir Aaron Armstrong, as he boisterously explained, had no nerves. + But if the train had often given a shock to the house, that morning the + tables were turned, and it was the house that gave a shock to the train. + </p> + <p> + The engine slowed down and stopped just beyond that point where an angle + of the house impinged upon the sharp slope of turf. The arrest of most + mechanical things must be slow; but the living cause of this had been very + rapid. A man clad completely in black, even (it was remembered) to the + dreadful detail of black gloves, appeared on the ridge above the engine, + and waved his black hands like some sable windmill. This in itself would + hardly have stopped even a lingering train. But there came out of him a + cry which was talked of afterwards as something utterly unnatural and new. + It was one of those shouts that are horridly distinct even when we cannot + hear what is shouted. The word in this case was “Murder!” + </p> + <p> + But the engine-driver swears he would have pulled up just the same if he + had heard only the dreadful and definite accent and not the word. + </p> + <p> + The train once arrested, the most superficial stare could take in many + features of the tragedy. The man in black on the green bank was Sir Aaron + Armstrong’s man-servant Magnus. The baronet in his optimism had often + laughed at the black gloves of this dismal attendant; but no one was + likely to laugh at him just now. + </p> + <p> + So soon as an inquirer or two had stepped off the line and across the + smoky hedge, they saw, rolled down almost to the bottom of the bank, the + body of an old man in a yellow dressing-gown with a very vivid scarlet + lining. A scrap of rope seemed caught about his leg, entangled presumably + in a struggle. There was a smear or so of blood, though very little; but + the body was bent or broken into a posture impossible to any living thing. + It was Sir Aaron Armstrong. A few more bewildered moments brought out a + big fair-bearded man, whom some travellers could salute as the dead man’s + secretary, Patrick Royce, once well known in Bohemian society and even + famous in the Bohemian arts. In a manner more vague, but even more + convincing, he echoed the agony of the servant. By the time the third + figure of that household, Alice Armstrong, daughter of the dead man, had + come already tottering and waving into the garden, the engine-driver had + put a stop to his stoppage. The whistle had blown and the train had panted + on to get help from the next station. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had been thus rapidly summoned at the request of Patrick + Royce, the big ex-Bohemian secretary. Royce was an Irishman by birth; and + that casual kind of Catholic that never remembers his religion until he is + really in a hole. But Royce’s request might have been less promptly + complied with if one of the official detectives had not been a friend and + admirer of the unofficial Flambeau; and it was impossible to be a friend + of Flambeau without hearing numberless stories about Father Brown. Hence, + while the young detective (whose name was Merton) led the little priest + across the fields to the railway, their talk was more confidential than + could be expected between two total strangers. + </p> + <p> + “As far as I can see,” said Mr. Merton candidly, “there is no sense to be + made of it at all. There is nobody one can suspect. Magnus is a solemn old + fool; far too much of a fool to be an assassin. Royce has been the + baronet’s best friend for years; and his daughter undoubtedly adored him. + Besides, it’s all too absurd. Who would kill such a cheery old chap as + Armstrong? Who could dip his hands in the gore of an after-dinner speaker? + It would be like killing Father Christmas.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was a cheery house,” assented Father Brown. “It was a cheery + house while he was alive. Do you think it will be cheery now he is dead?” + </p> + <p> + Merton started a little and regarded his companion with an enlivened eye. + “Now he is dead?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” continued the priest stolidly, “he was cheerful. But did he + communicate his cheerfulness? Frankly, was anyone else in the house + cheerful but he?” + </p> + <p> + A window in Merton’s mind let in that strange light of surprise in which + we see for the first time things we have known all along. He had often + been to the Armstrongs’, on little police jobs of the philanthropist; and, + now he came to think of it, it was in itself a depressing house. The rooms + were very high and very cold; the decoration mean and provincial; the + draughty corridors were lit by electricity that was bleaker than + moonlight. And though the old man’s scarlet face and silver beard had + blazed like a bonfire in each room or passage in turn, it did not leave + any warmth behind it. Doubtless this spectral discomfort in the place was + partly due to the very vitality and exuberance of its owner; he needed no + stoves or lamps, he would say, but carried his own warmth with him. But + when Merton recalled the other inmates, he was compelled to confess that + they also were as shadows of their lord. The moody man-servant, with his + monstrous black gloves, was almost a nightmare; Royce, the secretary, was + solid enough, a big bull of a man, in tweeds, with a short beard; but the + straw-coloured beard was startlingly salted with grey like the tweeds, and + the broad forehead was barred with premature wrinkles. He was good-natured + enough also, but it was a sad sort of good-nature, almost a heart-broken + sort—he had the general air of being some sort of failure in life. + As for Armstrong’s daughter, it was almost incredible that she was his + daughter; she was so pallid in colour and sensitive in outline. She was + graceful, but there was a quiver in the very shape of her that was like + the lines of an aspen. Merton had sometimes wondered if she had learnt to + quail at the crash of the passing trains. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Father Brown, blinking modestly, “I’m not sure that the + Armstrong cheerfulness is so very cheerful—for other people. You say + that nobody could kill such a happy old man, but I’m not sure; ne nos + inducas in tentationem. If ever I murdered somebody,” he added quite + simply, “I dare say it might be an Optimist.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” cried Merton amused. “Do you think people dislike cheerfulness?” + </p> + <p> + “People like frequent laughter,” answered Father Brown, “but I don’t think + they like a permanent smile. Cheerfulness without humour is a very trying + thing.” + </p> + <p> + They walked some way in silence along the windy grassy bank by the rail, + and just as they came under the far-flung shadow of the tall Armstrong + house, Father Brown said suddenly, like a man throwing away a troublesome + thought rather than offering it seriously: “Of course, drink is neither + good nor bad in itself. But I can’t help sometimes feeling that men like + Armstrong want an occasional glass of wine to sadden them.” + </p> + <p> + Merton’s official superior, a grizzled and capable detective named Gilder, + was standing on the green bank waiting for the coroner, talking to Patrick + Royce, whose big shoulders and bristly beard and hair towered above him. + This was the more noticeable because Royce walked always with a sort of + powerful stoop, and seemed to be going about his small clerical and + domestic duties in a heavy and humbled style, like a buffalo drawing a + go-cart. + </p> + <p> + He raised his head with unusual pleasure at the sight of the priest, and + took him a few paces apart. Meanwhile Merton was addressing the older + detective respectfully indeed, but not without a certain boyish + impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Gilder, have you got much farther with the mystery?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no mystery,” replied Gilder, as he looked under dreamy eyelids + at the rooks. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is for me, at any rate,” said Merton, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “It is simple enough, my boy,” observed the senior investigator, stroking + his grey, pointed beard. “Three minutes after you’d gone for Mr. Royce’s + parson the whole thing came out. You know that pasty-faced servant in the + black gloves who stopped the train?” + </p> + <p> + “I should know him anywhere. Somehow he rather gave me the creeps.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” drawled Gilder, “when the train had gone on again, that man had + gone too. Rather a cool criminal, don’t you think, to escape by the very + train that went off for the police?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re pretty sure, I suppose,” remarked the young man, “that he really + did kill his master?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my son, I’m pretty sure,” replied Gilder drily, “for the trifling + reason that he has gone off with twenty thousand pounds in papers that + were in his master’s desk. No, the only thing worth calling a difficulty + is how he killed him. The skull seems broken as with some big weapon, but + there’s no weapon at all lying about, and the murderer would have found it + awkward to carry it away, unless the weapon was too small to be noticed.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the weapon was too big to be noticed,” said the priest, with an + odd little giggle. + </p> + <p> + Gilder looked round at this wild remark, and rather sternly asked Brown + what he meant. + </p> + <p> + “Silly way of putting it, I know,” said Father Brown apologetically. + “Sounds like a fairy tale. But poor Armstrong was killed with a giant’s + club, a great green club, too big to be seen, and which we call the earth. + He was broken against this green bank we are standing on.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” asked the detective quickly. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown turned his moon face up to the narrow façade of the house and + blinked hopelessly up. Following his eyes, they saw that right at the top + of this otherwise blind back quarter of the building, an attic window + stood open. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you see,” he explained, pointing a little awkwardly like a child, + “he was thrown down from there?” + </p> + <p> + Gilder frowningly scrutinised the window, and then said: “Well, it is + certainly possible. But I don’t see why you are so sure about it.” + </p> + <p> + Brown opened his grey eyes wide. “Why,” he said, “there’s a bit of rope + round the dead man’s leg. Don’t you see that other bit of rope up there + caught at the corner of the window?” + </p> + <p> + At that height the thing looked like the faintest particle of dust or + hair, but the shrewd old investigator was satisfied. “You’re quite right, + sir,” he said to Father Brown; “that is certainly one to you.” + </p> + <p> + Almost as he spoke a special train with one carriage took the curve of the + line on their left, and, stopping, disgorged another group of policemen, + in whose midst was the hangdog visage of Magnus, the absconded servant. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove! they’ve got him,” cried Gilder, and stepped forward with quite a + new alertness. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got the money!” he cried to the first policeman. + </p> + <p> + The man looked him in the face with a rather curious expression and said: + “No.” Then he added: “At least, not here.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is the inspector, please?” asked the man called Magnus. + </p> + <p> + When he spoke everyone instantly understood how this voice had stopped a + train. He was a dull-looking man with flat black hair, a colourless face, + and a faint suggestion of the East in the level slits in his eyes and + mouth. His blood and name, indeed, had remained dubious, ever since Sir + Aaron had “rescued” him from a waitership in a London restaurant, and (as + some said) from more infamous things. But his voice was as vivid as his + face was dead. Whether through exactitude in a foreign language, or in + deference to his master (who had been somewhat deaf), Magnus’s tones had a + peculiarly ringing and piercing quality, and the whole group quite jumped + when he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I always knew this would happen,” he said aloud with brazen blandness. + “My poor old master made game of me for wearing black; but I always said I + should be ready for his funeral.” + </p> + <p> + And he made a momentary movement with his two dark-gloved hands. + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant,” said Inspector Gilder, eyeing the black hands with wrath, + “aren’t you putting the bracelets on this fellow; he looks pretty + dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” said the sergeant, with the same odd look of wonder, “I don’t + know that we can.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked the other sharply. “Haven’t you arrested him?” + </p> + <p> + A faint scorn widened the slit-like mouth, and the whistle of an + approaching train seemed oddly to echo the mockery. + </p> + <p> + “We arrested him,” replied the sergeant gravely, “just as he was coming + out of the police station at Highgate, where he had deposited all his + master’s money in the care of Inspector Robinson.” + </p> + <p> + Gilder looked at the man-servant in utter amazement. “Why on earth did you + do that?” he asked of Magnus. + </p> + <p> + “To keep it safe from the criminal, of course,” replied that person + placidly. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” said Gilder, “Sir Aaron’s money might have been safely left with + Sir Aaron’s family.” + </p> + <p> + The tail of his sentence was drowned in the roar of the train as it went + rocking and clanking; but through all the hell of noises to which that + unhappy house was periodically subject, they could hear the syllables of + Magnus’s answer, in all their bell-like distinctness: “I have no reason to + feel confidence in Sir Aaron’s family.” + </p> + <p> + All the motionless men had the ghostly sensation of the presence of some + new person; and Merton was scarcely surprised when he looked up and saw + the pale face of Armstrong’s daughter over Father Brown’s shoulder. She + was still young and beautiful in a silvery style, but her hair was of so + dusty and hueless a brown that in some shadows it seemed to have turned + totally grey. + </p> + <p> + “Be careful what you say,” said Royce gruffly, “you’ll frighten Miss + Armstrong.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” said the man with the clear voice. + </p> + <p> + As the woman winced and everyone else wondered, he went on: “I am somewhat + used to Miss Armstrong’s tremors. I have seen her trembling off and on for + years. And some said she was shaking with cold and some she was shaking + with fear, but I know she was shaking with hate and wicked anger—fiends + that have had their feast this morning. She would have been away by now + with her lover and all the money but for me. Ever since my poor old master + prevented her from marrying that tipsy blackguard—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” said Gilder very sternly. “We have nothing to do with your family + fancies or suspicions. Unless you have some practical evidence, your mere + opinions—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I’ll give you practical evidence,” cut in Magnus, in his hacking + accent. “You’ll have to subpoena me, Mr. Inspector, and I shall have to + tell the truth. And the truth is this: An instant after the old man was + pitched bleeding out of the window, I ran into the attic, and found his + daughter swooning on the floor with a red dagger still in her hand. Allow + me to hand that also to the proper authorities.” He took from his + tail-pocket a long horn-hilted knife with a red smear on it, and handed it + politely to the sergeant. Then he stood back again, and his slits of eyes + almost faded from his face in one fat Chinese sneer. + </p> + <p> + Merton felt an almost bodily sickness at the sight of him; and he muttered + to Gilder: “Surely you would take Miss Armstrong’s word against his?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown suddenly lifted a face so absurdly fresh that it looked + somehow as if he had just washed it. “Yes,” he said, radiating innocence, + “but is Miss Armstrong’s word against his?” + </p> + <p> + The girl uttered a startled, singular little cry; everyone looked at her. + Her figure was rigid as if paralysed; only her face within its frame of + faint brown hair was alive with an appalling surprise. She stood like one + of a sudden lassooed and throttled. + </p> + <p> + “This man,” said Mr. Gilder gravely, “actually says that you were found + grasping a knife, insensible, after the murder.” + </p> + <p> + “He says the truth,” answered Alice. + </p> + <p> + The next fact of which they were conscious was that Patrick Royce strode + with his great stooping head into their ring and uttered the singular + words: “Well, if I’ve got to go, I’ll have a bit of pleasure first.” + </p> + <p> + His huge shoulder heaved and he sent an iron fist smash into Magnus’s + bland Mongolian visage, laying him on the lawn as flat as a starfish. Two + or three of the police instantly put their hands on Royce; but to the rest + it seemed as if all reason had broken up and the universe were turning + into a brainless harlequinade. + </p> + <p> + “None of that, Mr. Royce,” Gilder had called out authoritatively. “I shall + arrest you for assault.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you won’t,” answered the secretary in a voice like an iron gong, “you + will arrest me for murder.” + </p> + <p> + Gilder threw an alarmed glance at the man knocked down; but since that + outraged person was already sitting up and wiping a little blood off a + substantially uninjured face, he only said shortly: “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite true, as this fellow says,” explained Royce, “that Miss + Armstrong fainted with a knife in her hand. But she had not snatched the + knife to attack her father, but to defend him.” + </p> + <p> + “To defend him,” repeated Gilder gravely. “Against whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Against me,” answered the secretary. + </p> + <p> + Alice looked at him with a complex and baffling face; then she said in a + low voice: “After it all, I am still glad you are brave.” + </p> + <p> + “Come upstairs,” said Patrick Royce heavily, “and I will show you the + whole cursed thing.” + </p> + <p> + The attic, which was the secretary’s private place (and rather a small + cell for so large a hermit), had indeed all the vestiges of a violent + drama. Near the centre of the floor lay a large revolver as if flung away; + nearer to the left was rolled a whisky bottle, open but not quite empty. + The cloth of the little table lay dragged and trampled, and a length of + cord, like that found on the corpse, was cast wildly across the + windowsill. Two vases were smashed on the mantelpiece and one on the + carpet. + </p> + <p> + “I was drunk,” said Royce; and this simplicity in the prematurely battered + man somehow had the pathos of the first sin of a baby. + </p> + <p> + “You all know about me,” he continued huskily; “everybody knows how my + story began, and it may as well end like that too. I was called a clever + man once, and might have been a happy one; Armstrong saved the remains of + a brain and body from the taverns, and was always kind to me in his own + way, poor fellow! Only he wouldn’t let me marry Alice here; and it will + always be said that he was right enough. Well, you can form your own + conclusions, and you won’t want me to go into details. That is my whisky + bottle half emptied in the corner; that is my revolver quite emptied on + the carpet. It was the rope from my box that was found on the corpse, and + it was from my window the corpse was thrown. You need not set detectives + to grub up my tragedy; it is a common enough weed in this world. I give + myself to the gallows; and, by God, that is enough!” + </p> + <p> + At a sufficiently delicate sign, the police gathered round the large man + to lead him away; but their unobtrusiveness was somewhat staggered by the + remarkable appearance of Father Brown, who was on his hands and knees on + the carpet in the doorway, as if engaged in some kind of undignified + prayers. Being a person utterly insensible to the social figure he cut, he + remained in this posture, but turned a bright round face up at the + company, presenting the appearance of a quadruped with a very comic human + head. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he said good-naturedly, “this really won’t do at all, you know. + At the beginning you said we’d found no weapon. But now we’re finding too + many; there’s the knife to stab, and the rope to strangle, and the pistol + to shoot; and after all he broke his neck by falling out of a window! It + won’t do. It’s not economical.” And he shook his head at the ground as a + horse does grazing. + </p> + <p> + Inspector Gilder had opened his mouth with serious intentions, but before + he could speak the grotesque figure on the floor had gone on quite + volubly. + </p> + <p> + “And now three quite impossible things. First, these holes in the carpet, + where the six bullets have gone in. Why on earth should anybody fire at + the carpet? A drunken man lets fly at his enemy’s head, the thing that’s + grinning at him. He doesn’t pick a quarrel with his feet, or lay siege to + his slippers. And then there’s the rope”—and having done with the + carpet the speaker lifted his hands and put them in his pocket, but + continued unaffectedly on his knees—“in what conceivable + intoxication would anybody try to put a rope round a man’s neck and + finally put it round his leg? Royce, anyhow, was not so drunk as that, or + he would be sleeping like a log by now. And, plainest of all, the whisky + bottle. You suggest a dipsomaniac fought for the whisky bottle, and then + having won, rolled it away in a corner, spilling one half and leaving the + other. That is the very last thing a dipsomaniac would do.” + </p> + <p> + He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, and said to the self-accused murderer + in tones of limpid penitence: “I’m awfully sorry, my dear sir, but your + tale is really rubbish.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Alice Armstrong in a low tone to the priest, “can I speak to + you alone for a moment?” + </p> + <p> + This request forced the communicative cleric out of the gangway, and + before he could speak in the next room, the girl was talking with strange + incisiveness. + </p> + <p> + “You are a clever man,” she said, “and you are trying to save Patrick, I + know. But it’s no use. The core of all this is black, and the more things + you find out the more there will be against the miserable man I love.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Brown, looking at her steadily. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” she answered equally steadily, “I saw him commit the crime + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the unmoved Brown, “and what did he do?” + </p> + <p> + “I was in this room next to them,” she explained; “both doors were closed, + but I suddenly heard a voice, such as I had never heard on earth, roaring + ‘Hell, hell, hell,’ again and again, and then the two doors shook with the + first explosion of the revolver. Thrice again the thing banged before I + got the two doors open and found the room full of smoke; but the pistol + was smoking in my poor, mad Patrick’s hand; and I saw him fire the last + murderous volley with my own eyes. Then he leapt on my father, who was + clinging in terror to the window-sill, and, grappling, tried to strangle + him with the rope, which he threw over his head, but which slipped over + his struggling shoulders to his feet. Then it tightened round one leg and + Patrick dragged him along like a maniac. I snatched a knife from the mat, + and, rushing between them, managed to cut the rope before I fainted.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Father Brown, with the same wooden civility. “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + As the girl collapsed under her memories, the priest passed stiffly into + the next room, where he found Gilder and Merton alone with Patrick Royce, + who sat in a chair, handcuffed. There he said to the Inspector + submissively: + </p> + <p> + “Might I say a word to the prisoner in your presence; and might he take + off those funny cuffs for a minute?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a very powerful man,” said Merton in an undertone. “Why do you want + them taken off?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I thought,” replied the priest humbly, “that perhaps I might have + the very great honour of shaking hands with him.” + </p> + <p> + Both detectives stared, and Father Brown added: “Won’t you tell them about + it, sir?” + </p> + <p> + The man on the chair shook his tousled head, and the priest turned + impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will,” he said. “Private lives are more important than public + reputations. I am going to save the living, and let the dead bury their + dead.” + </p> + <p> + He went to the fatal window, and blinked out of it as he went on talking. + </p> + <p> + “I told you that in this case there were too many weapons and only one + death. I tell you now that they were not weapons, and were not used to + cause death. All those grisly tools, the noose, the bloody knife, the + exploding pistol, were instruments of a curious mercy. They were not used + to kill Sir Aaron, but to save him.” + </p> + <p> + “To save him!” repeated Gilder. “And from what?” + </p> + <p> + “From himself,” said Father Brown. “He was a suicidal maniac.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried Merton in an incredulous tone. “And the Religion of + Cheerfulness—” + </p> + <p> + “It is a cruel religion,” said the priest, looking out of the window. “Why + couldn’t they let him weep a little, like his fathers before him? His + plans stiffened, his views grew cold; behind that merry mask was the empty + mind of the atheist. At last, to keep up his hilarious public level, he + fell back on that dram-drinking he had abandoned long ago. But there is + this horror about alcoholism in a sincere teetotaler: that he pictures and + expects that psychological inferno from which he has warned others. It + leapt upon poor Armstrong prematurely, and by this morning he was in such + a case that he sat here and cried he was in hell, in so crazy a voice that + his daughter did not know it. He was mad for death, and with the monkey + tricks of the mad he had scattered round him death in many shapes—a + running noose and his friend’s revolver and a knife. Royce entered + accidentally and acted in a flash. He flung the knife on the mat behind + him, snatched up the revolver, and having no time to unload it, emptied it + shot after shot all over the floor. The suicide saw a fourth shape of + death, and made a dash for the window. The rescuer did the only thing he + could—ran after him with the rope and tried to tie him hand and + foot. Then it was that the unlucky girl ran in, and misunderstanding the + struggle, strove to slash her father free. At first she only slashed poor + Royce’s knuckles, from which has come all the little blood in this affair. + But, of course, you noticed that he left blood, but no wound, on that + servant’s face? Only before the poor woman swooned, she did hack her + father loose, so that he went crashing through that window into eternity.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long stillness slowly broken by the metallic noises of Gilder + unlocking the handcuffs of Patrick Royce, to whom he said: “I think I + should have told the truth, sir. You and the young lady are worth more + than Armstrong’s obituary notices.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound Armstrong’s notices,” cried Royce roughly. “Don’t you see it was + because she mustn’t know?” + </p> + <p> + “Mustn’t know what?” asked Merton. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that she killed her father, you fool!” roared the other. “He’d have + been alive now but for her. It might craze her to know that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t think it would,” remarked Father Brown, as he picked up his + hat. “I rather think I should tell her. Even the most murderous blunders + don’t poison life like sins; anyhow, I think you may both be the happier + now. I’ve got to go back to the Deaf School.” + </p> + <p> + As he went out on to the gusty grass an acquaintance from Highgate stopped + him and said: + </p> + <p> + “The Coroner has arrived. The inquiry is just going to begin.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got to get back to the Deaf School,” said Father Brown. “I’m sorry I + can’t stop for the inquiry.” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..756efd5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #204 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/204) diff --git a/old/204-8.txt b/old/204-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..063b659 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/204-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8799 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Innocence of Father Brown, by G. K. Chesterton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Innocence of Father Brown + +Author: G. K. Chesterton + +Release Date: July 6, 2008 [EBook #204] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Boss + + + + + +THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN + +By G. K. Chesterton + + Contents + + + The Blue Cross + The Secret Garden + The Queer Feet + The Flying Stars + The Invisible Man + The Honour of Israel Gow + The Wrong Shape + The Sins of Prince Saradine + The Hammer of God + The Eye of Apollo + The Sign of the Broken Sword + The Three Tools of Death + + + + + +The Blue Cross + +Between the silver ribbon of morning and the green glittering ribbon of +sea, the boat touched Harwich and let loose a swarm of folk like flies, +among whom the man we must follow was by no means conspicuous--nor +wished to be. There was nothing notable about him, except a slight +contrast between the holiday gaiety of his clothes and the official +gravity of his face. His clothes included a slight, pale grey jacket, +a white waistcoat, and a silver straw hat with a grey-blue ribbon. His +lean face was dark by contrast, and ended in a curt black beard that +looked Spanish and suggested an Elizabethan ruff. He was smoking a +cigarette with the seriousness of an idler. There was nothing about him +to indicate the fact that the grey jacket covered a loaded revolver, +that the white waistcoat covered a police card, or that the straw hat +covered one of the most powerful intellects in Europe. For this was +Valentin himself, the head of the Paris police and the most famous +investigator of the world; and he was coming from Brussels to London to +make the greatest arrest of the century. + +Flambeau was in England. The police of three countries had tracked the +great criminal at last from Ghent to Brussels, from Brussels to the Hook +of Holland; and it was conjectured that he would take some advantage of +the unfamiliarity and confusion of the Eucharistic Congress, then +taking place in London. Probably he would travel as some minor clerk +or secretary connected with it; but, of course, Valentin could not be +certain; nobody could be certain about Flambeau. + +It is many years now since this colossus of crime suddenly ceased +keeping the world in a turmoil; and when he ceased, as they said after +the death of Roland, there was a great quiet upon the earth. But in +his best days (I mean, of course, his worst) Flambeau was a figure as +statuesque and international as the Kaiser. Almost every morning the +daily paper announced that he had escaped the consequences of one +extraordinary crime by committing another. He was a Gascon of gigantic +stature and bodily daring; and the wildest tales were told of his +outbursts of athletic humour; how he turned the juge d'instruction +upside down and stood him on his head, "to clear his mind"; how he ran +down the Rue de Rivoli with a policeman under each arm. It is due to him +to say that his fantastic physical strength was generally employed in +such bloodless though undignified scenes; his real crimes were chiefly +those of ingenious and wholesale robbery. But each of his thefts was +almost a new sin, and would make a story by itself. It was he who ran +the great Tyrolean Dairy Company in London, with no dairies, no cows, no +carts, no milk, but with some thousand subscribers. These he served by +the simple operation of moving the little milk cans outside people's +doors to the doors of his own customers. It was he who had kept up an +unaccountable and close correspondence with a young lady whose whole +letter-bag was intercepted, by the extraordinary trick of photographing +his messages infinitesimally small upon the slides of a microscope. A +sweeping simplicity, however, marked many of his experiments. It is said +that he once repainted all the numbers in a street in the dead of night +merely to divert one traveller into a trap. It is quite certain that +he invented a portable pillar-box, which he put up at corners in quiet +suburbs on the chance of strangers dropping postal orders into it. +Lastly, he was known to be a startling acrobat; despite his huge figure, +he could leap like a grasshopper and melt into the tree-tops like a +monkey. Hence the great Valentin, when he set out to find Flambeau, was +perfectly aware that his adventures would not end when he had found him. + +But how was he to find him? On this the great Valentin's ideas were +still in process of settlement. + +There was one thing which Flambeau, with all his dexterity of disguise, +could not cover, and that was his singular height. If Valentin's quick +eye had caught a tall apple-woman, a tall grenadier, or even a tolerably +tall duchess, he might have arrested them on the spot. But all along his +train there was nobody that could be a disguised Flambeau, any more than +a cat could be a disguised giraffe. About the people on the boat he had +already satisfied himself; and the people picked up at Harwich or on +the journey limited themselves with certainty to six. There was a short +railway official travelling up to the terminus, three fairly short +market gardeners picked up two stations afterwards, one very short widow +lady going up from a small Essex town, and a very short Roman Catholic +priest going up from a small Essex village. When it came to the last +case, Valentin gave it up and almost laughed. The little priest was so +much the essence of those Eastern flats; he had a face as round and dull +as a Norfolk dumpling; he had eyes as empty as the North Sea; he had +several brown paper parcels, which he was quite incapable of collecting. +The Eucharistic Congress had doubtless sucked out of their local +stagnation many such creatures, blind and helpless, like moles +disinterred. Valentin was a sceptic in the severe style of France, and +could have no love for priests. But he could have pity for them, and +this one might have provoked pity in anybody. He had a large, shabby +umbrella, which constantly fell on the floor. He did not seem to know +which was the right end of his return ticket. He explained with a +moon-calf simplicity to everybody in the carriage that he had to be +careful, because he had something made of real silver "with blue stones" +in one of his brown-paper parcels. His quaint blending of Essex flatness +with saintly simplicity continuously amused the Frenchman till the +priest arrived (somehow) at Tottenham with all his parcels, and came +back for his umbrella. When he did the last, Valentin even had the good +nature to warn him not to take care of the silver by telling everybody +about it. But to whomever he talked, Valentin kept his eye open for +someone else; he looked out steadily for anyone, rich or poor, male or +female, who was well up to six feet; for Flambeau was four inches above +it. + +He alighted at Liverpool Street, however, quite conscientiously secure +that he had not missed the criminal so far. He then went to Scotland +Yard to regularise his position and arrange for help in case of need; he +then lit another cigarette and went for a long stroll in the streets of +London. As he was walking in the streets and squares beyond Victoria, he +paused suddenly and stood. It was a quaint, quiet square, very typical +of London, full of an accidental stillness. The tall, flat houses round +looked at once prosperous and uninhabited; the square of shrubbery in +the centre looked as deserted as a green Pacific islet. One of the four +sides was much higher than the rest, like a dais; and the line of this +side was broken by one of London's admirable accidents--a restaurant +that looked as if it had strayed from Soho. It was an unreasonably +attractive object, with dwarf plants in pots and long, striped blinds of +lemon yellow and white. It stood specially high above the street, and in +the usual patchwork way of London, a flight of steps from the street +ran up to meet the front door almost as a fire-escape might run up to +a first-floor window. Valentin stood and smoked in front of the +yellow-white blinds and considered them long. + +The most incredible thing about miracles is that they happen. A few +clouds in heaven do come together into the staring shape of one human +eye. A tree does stand up in the landscape of a doubtful journey in the +exact and elaborate shape of a note of interrogation. I have seen both +these things myself within the last few days. Nelson does die in the +instant of victory; and a man named Williams does quite accidentally +murder a man named Williamson; it sounds like a sort of infanticide. +In short, there is in life an element of elfin coincidence which people +reckoning on the prosaic may perpetually miss. As it has been well +expressed in the paradox of Poe, wisdom should reckon on the unforeseen. + +Aristide Valentin was unfathomably French; and the French intelligence +is intelligence specially and solely. He was not "a thinking machine"; +for that is a brainless phrase of modern fatalism and materialism. A +machine only is a machine because it cannot think. But he was a thinking +man, and a plain man at the same time. All his wonderful successes, that +looked like conjuring, had been gained by plodding logic, by clear +and commonplace French thought. The French electrify the world not by +starting any paradox, they electrify it by carrying out a truism. They +carry a truism so far--as in the French Revolution. But exactly because +Valentin understood reason, he understood the limits of reason. Only a +man who knows nothing of motors talks of motoring without petrol; only +a man who knows nothing of reason talks of reasoning without strong, +undisputed first principles. Here he had no strong first principles. +Flambeau had been missed at Harwich; and if he was in London at all, +he might be anything from a tall tramp on Wimbledon Common to a tall +toast-master at the Hotel Metropole. In such a naked state of nescience, +Valentin had a view and a method of his own. + +In such cases he reckoned on the unforeseen. In such cases, when he +could not follow the train of the reasonable, he coldly and carefully +followed the train of the unreasonable. Instead of going to the right +places--banks, police stations, rendezvous--he systematically went to +the wrong places; knocked at every empty house, turned down every cul de +sac, went up every lane blocked with rubbish, went round every crescent +that led him uselessly out of the way. He defended this crazy course +quite logically. He said that if one had a clue this was the worst way; +but if one had no clue at all it was the best, because there was just +the chance that any oddity that caught the eye of the pursuer might be +the same that had caught the eye of the pursued. Somewhere a man must +begin, and it had better be just where another man might stop. Something +about that flight of steps up to the shop, something about the quietude +and quaintness of the restaurant, roused all the detective's rare +romantic fancy and made him resolve to strike at random. He went up the +steps, and sitting down at a table by the window, asked for a cup of +black coffee. + +It was half-way through the morning, and he had not breakfasted; the +slight litter of other breakfasts stood about on the table to remind +him of his hunger; and adding a poached egg to his order, he proceeded +musingly to shake some white sugar into his coffee, thinking all the +time about Flambeau. He remembered how Flambeau had escaped, once by a +pair of nail scissors, and once by a house on fire; once by having to +pay for an unstamped letter, and once by getting people to look through +a telescope at a comet that might destroy the world. He thought his +detective brain as good as the criminal's, which was true. But he fully +realised the disadvantage. "The criminal is the creative artist; the +detective only the critic," he said with a sour smile, and lifted his +coffee cup to his lips slowly, and put it down very quickly. He had put +salt in it. + +He looked at the vessel from which the silvery powder had come; it +was certainly a sugar-basin; as unmistakably meant for sugar as a +champagne-bottle for champagne. He wondered why they should keep salt in +it. He looked to see if there were any more orthodox vessels. Yes; there +were two salt-cellars quite full. Perhaps there was some speciality in +the condiment in the salt-cellars. He tasted it; it was sugar. Then he +looked round at the restaurant with a refreshed air of interest, to see +if there were any other traces of that singular artistic taste which +puts the sugar in the salt-cellars and the salt in the sugar-basin. +Except for an odd splash of some dark fluid on one of the white-papered +walls, the whole place appeared neat, cheerful and ordinary. He rang the +bell for the waiter. + +When that official hurried up, fuzzy-haired and somewhat blear-eyed at +that early hour, the detective (who was not without an appreciation of +the simpler forms of humour) asked him to taste the sugar and see if +it was up to the high reputation of the hotel. The result was that the +waiter yawned suddenly and woke up. + +"Do you play this delicate joke on your customers every morning?" +inquired Valentin. "Does changing the salt and sugar never pall on you +as a jest?" + +The waiter, when this irony grew clearer, stammeringly assured him that +the establishment had certainly no such intention; it must be a most +curious mistake. He picked up the sugar-basin and looked at it; he +picked up the salt-cellar and looked at that, his face growing more and +more bewildered. At last he abruptly excused himself, and hurrying +away, returned in a few seconds with the proprietor. The proprietor also +examined the sugar-basin and then the salt-cellar; the proprietor also +looked bewildered. + +Suddenly the waiter seemed to grow inarticulate with a rush of words. + +"I zink," he stuttered eagerly, "I zink it is those two clergy-men." + +"What two clergymen?" + +"The two clergymen," said the waiter, "that threw soup at the wall." + +"Threw soup at the wall?" repeated Valentin, feeling sure this must be +some singular Italian metaphor. + +"Yes, yes," said the attendant excitedly, and pointed at the dark splash +on the white paper; "threw it over there on the wall." + +Valentin looked his query at the proprietor, who came to his rescue with +fuller reports. + +"Yes, sir," he said, "it's quite true, though I don't suppose it has +anything to do with the sugar and salt. Two clergymen came in and drank +soup here very early, as soon as the shutters were taken down. They were +both very quiet, respectable people; one of them paid the bill and went +out; the other, who seemed a slower coach altogether, was some minutes +longer getting his things together. But he went at last. Only, the +instant before he stepped into the street he deliberately picked up +his cup, which he had only half emptied, and threw the soup slap on the +wall. I was in the back room myself, and so was the waiter; so I could +only rush out in time to find the wall splashed and the shop empty. It +don't do any particular damage, but it was confounded cheek; and I tried +to catch the men in the street. They were too far off though; I only +noticed they went round the next corner into Carstairs Street." + +The detective was on his feet, hat settled and stick in hand. He had +already decided that in the universal darkness of his mind he could +only follow the first odd finger that pointed; and this finger was odd +enough. Paying his bill and clashing the glass doors behind him, he was +soon swinging round into the other street. + +It was fortunate that even in such fevered moments his eye was cool and +quick. Something in a shop-front went by him like a mere flash; yet +he went back to look at it. The shop was a popular greengrocer and +fruiterer's, an array of goods set out in the open air and plainly +ticketed with their names and prices. In the two most prominent +compartments were two heaps, of oranges and of nuts respectively. On +the heap of nuts lay a scrap of cardboard, on which was written in bold, +blue chalk, "Best tangerine oranges, two a penny." On the oranges was +the equally clear and exact description, "Finest Brazil nuts, 4d. a lb." +M. Valentin looked at these two placards and fancied he had met this +highly subtle form of humour before, and that somewhat recently. He +drew the attention of the red-faced fruiterer, who was looking +rather sullenly up and down the street, to this inaccuracy in his +advertisements. The fruiterer said nothing, but sharply put each +card into its proper place. The detective, leaning elegantly on his +walking-cane, continued to scrutinise the shop. At last he said, "Pray +excuse my apparent irrelevance, my good sir, but I should like to ask +you a question in experimental psychology and the association of ideas." + +The red-faced shopman regarded him with an eye of menace; but he +continued gaily, swinging his cane, "Why," he pursued, "why are two +tickets wrongly placed in a greengrocer's shop like a shovel hat that +has come to London for a holiday? Or, in case I do not make myself +clear, what is the mystical association which connects the idea of nuts +marked as oranges with the idea of two clergymen, one tall and the other +short?" + +The eyes of the tradesman stood out of his head like a snail's; he +really seemed for an instant likely to fling himself upon the stranger. +At last he stammered angrily: "I don't know what you 'ave to do with it, +but if you're one of their friends, you can tell 'em from me that I'll +knock their silly 'eads off, parsons or no parsons, if they upset my +apples again." + +"Indeed?" asked the detective, with great sympathy. "Did they upset your +apples?" + +"One of 'em did," said the heated shopman; "rolled 'em all over the +street. I'd 'ave caught the fool but for havin' to pick 'em up." + +"Which way did these parsons go?" asked Valentin. + +"Up that second road on the left-hand side, and then across the square," +said the other promptly. + +"Thanks," replied Valentin, and vanished like a fairy. On the other side +of the second square he found a policeman, and said: "This is urgent, +constable; have you seen two clergymen in shovel hats?" + +The policeman began to chuckle heavily. "I 'ave, sir; and if you arst +me, one of 'em was drunk. He stood in the middle of the road that +bewildered that--" + +"Which way did they go?" snapped Valentin. + +"They took one of them yellow buses over there," answered the man; "them +that go to Hampstead." + +Valentin produced his official card and said very rapidly: "Call up two +of your men to come with me in pursuit," and crossed the road with such +contagious energy that the ponderous policeman was moved to almost agile +obedience. In a minute and a half the French detective was joined on the +opposite pavement by an inspector and a man in plain clothes. + +"Well, sir," began the former, with smiling importance, "and what +may--?" + +Valentin pointed suddenly with his cane. "I'll tell you on the top of +that omnibus," he said, and was darting and dodging across the tangle of +the traffic. When all three sank panting on the top seats of the yellow +vehicle, the inspector said: "We could go four times as quick in a +taxi." + +"Quite true," replied their leader placidly, "if we only had an idea of +where we were going." + +"Well, where are you going?" asked the other, staring. + +Valentin smoked frowningly for a few seconds; then, removing his +cigarette, he said: "If you know what a man's doing, get in front of +him; but if you want to guess what he's doing, keep behind him. Stray +when he strays; stop when he stops; travel as slowly as he. Then you may +see what he saw and may act as he acted. All we can do is to keep our +eyes skinned for a queer thing." + +"What sort of queer thing do you mean?" asked the inspector. + +"Any sort of queer thing," answered Valentin, and relapsed into +obstinate silence. + +The yellow omnibus crawled up the northern roads for what seemed like +hours on end; the great detective would not explain further, and perhaps +his assistants felt a silent and growing doubt of his errand. Perhaps, +also, they felt a silent and growing desire for lunch, for the hours +crept long past the normal luncheon hour, and the long roads of the +North London suburbs seemed to shoot out into length after length like +an infernal telescope. It was one of those journeys on which a man +perpetually feels that now at last he must have come to the end of the +universe, and then finds he has only come to the beginning of Tufnell +Park. London died away in draggled taverns and dreary scrubs, and then +was unaccountably born again in blazing high streets and blatant hotels. +It was like passing through thirteen separate vulgar cities all +just touching each other. But though the winter twilight was already +threatening the road ahead of them, the Parisian detective still sat +silent and watchful, eyeing the frontage of the streets that slid by on +either side. By the time they had left Camden Town behind, the policemen +were nearly asleep; at least, they gave something like a jump as +Valentin leapt erect, struck a hand on each man's shoulder, and shouted +to the driver to stop. + +They tumbled down the steps into the road without realising why they +had been dislodged; when they looked round for enlightenment they found +Valentin triumphantly pointing his finger towards a window on the left +side of the road. It was a large window, forming part of the long +facade of a gilt and palatial public-house; it was the part reserved for +respectable dining, and labelled "Restaurant." This window, like all the +rest along the frontage of the hotel, was of frosted and figured glass; +but in the middle of it was a big, black smash, like a star in the ice. + +"Our cue at last," cried Valentin, waving his stick; "the place with the +broken window." + +"What window? What cue?" asked his principal assistant. "Why, what proof +is there that this has anything to do with them?" + +Valentin almost broke his bamboo stick with rage. + +"Proof!" he cried. "Good God! the man is looking for proof! Why, of +course, the chances are twenty to one that it has nothing to do with +them. But what else can we do? Don't you see we must either follow one +wild possibility or else go home to bed?" He banged his way into the +restaurant, followed by his companions, and they were soon seated at a +late luncheon at a little table, and looked at the star of smashed glass +from the inside. Not that it was very informative to them even then. + +"Got your window broken, I see," said Valentin to the waiter as he paid +the bill. + +"Yes, sir," answered the attendant, bending busily over the change, to +which Valentin silently added an enormous tip. The waiter straightened +himself with mild but unmistakable animation. + +"Ah, yes, sir," he said. "Very odd thing, that, sir." + +"Indeed?" Tell us about it," said the detective with careless curiosity. + +"Well, two gents in black came in," said the waiter; "two of those +foreign parsons that are running about. They had a cheap and quiet +little lunch, and one of them paid for it and went out. The other was +just going out to join him when I looked at my change again and found +he'd paid me more than three times too much. 'Here,' I says to the chap +who was nearly out of the door, 'you've paid too much.' 'Oh,' he says, +very cool, 'have we?' 'Yes,' I says, and picks up the bill to show him. +Well, that was a knock-out." + +"What do you mean?" asked his interlocutor. + +"Well, I'd have sworn on seven Bibles that I'd put 4s. on that bill. But +now I saw I'd put 14s., as plain as paint." + +"Well?" cried Valentin, moving slowly, but with burning eyes, "and +then?" + +"The parson at the door he says all serene, 'Sorry to confuse your +accounts, but it'll pay for the window.' 'What window?' I says. 'The +one I'm going to break,' he says, and smashed that blessed pane with his +umbrella." + +All three inquirers made an exclamation; and the inspector said under +his breath, "Are we after escaped lunatics?" The waiter went on with +some relish for the ridiculous story: + +"I was so knocked silly for a second, I couldn't do anything. The man +marched out of the place and joined his friend just round the corner. +Then they went so quick up Bullock Street that I couldn't catch them, +though I ran round the bars to do it." + +"Bullock Street," said the detective, and shot up that thoroughfare as +quickly as the strange couple he pursued. + +Their journey now took them through bare brick ways like tunnels; +streets with few lights and even with few windows; streets that seemed +built out of the blank backs of everything and everywhere. Dusk was +deepening, and it was not easy even for the London policemen to guess +in what exact direction they were treading. The inspector, however, was +pretty certain that they would eventually strike some part of Hampstead +Heath. Abruptly one bulging gas-lit window broke the blue twilight like +a bull's-eye lantern; and Valentin stopped an instant before a little +garish sweetstuff shop. After an instant's hesitation he went in; he +stood amid the gaudy colours of the confectionery with entire gravity +and bought thirteen chocolate cigars with a certain care. He was clearly +preparing an opening; but he did not need one. + +An angular, elderly young woman in the shop had regarded his elegant +appearance with a merely automatic inquiry; but when she saw the door +behind him blocked with the blue uniform of the inspector, her eyes +seemed to wake up. + +"Oh," she said, "if you've come about that parcel, I've sent it off +already." + +"Parcel?" repeated Valentin; and it was his turn to look inquiring. + +"I mean the parcel the gentleman left--the clergyman gentleman." + +"For goodness' sake," said Valentin, leaning forward with his first +real confession of eagerness, "for Heaven's sake tell us what happened +exactly." + +"Well," said the woman a little doubtfully, "the clergymen came in about +half an hour ago and bought some peppermints and talked a bit, and then +went off towards the Heath. But a second after, one of them runs +back into the shop and says, 'Have I left a parcel!' Well, I looked +everywhere and couldn't see one; so he says, 'Never mind; but if it +should turn up, please post it to this address,' and he left me the +address and a shilling for my trouble. And sure enough, though I thought +I'd looked everywhere, I found he'd left a brown paper parcel, so I +posted it to the place he said. I can't remember the address now; it +was somewhere in Westminster. But as the thing seemed so important, I +thought perhaps the police had come about it." + +"So they have," said Valentin shortly. "Is Hampstead Heath near here?" + +"Straight on for fifteen minutes," said the woman, "and you'll come +right out on the open." Valentin sprang out of the shop and began to +run. The other detectives followed him at a reluctant trot. + +The street they threaded was so narrow and shut in by shadows that when +they came out unexpectedly into the void common and vast sky they were +startled to find the evening still so light and clear. A perfect dome +of peacock-green sank into gold amid the blackening trees and the dark +violet distances. The glowing green tint was just deep enough to pick +out in points of crystal one or two stars. All that was left of the +daylight lay in a golden glitter across the edge of Hampstead and that +popular hollow which is called the Vale of Health. The holiday makers +who roam this region had not wholly dispersed; a few couples sat +shapelessly on benches; and here and there a distant girl still shrieked +in one of the swings. The glory of heaven deepened and darkened around +the sublime vulgarity of man; and standing on the slope and looking +across the valley, Valentin beheld the thing which he sought. + +Among the black and breaking groups in that distance was one especially +black which did not break--a group of two figures clerically clad. +Though they seemed as small as insects, Valentin could see that one of +them was much smaller than the other. Though the other had a student's +stoop and an inconspicuous manner, he could see that the man was well +over six feet high. He shut his teeth and went forward, whirling his +stick impatiently. By the time he had substantially diminished the +distance and magnified the two black figures as in a vast microscope, +he had perceived something else; something which startled him, and yet +which he had somehow expected. Whoever was the tall priest, there could +be no doubt about the identity of the short one. It was his friend of +the Harwich train, the stumpy little cure of Essex whom he had warned +about his brown paper parcels. + +Now, so far as this went, everything fitted in finally and rationally +enough. Valentin had learned by his inquiries that morning that a Father +Brown from Essex was bringing up a silver cross with sapphires, a +relic of considerable value, to show some of the foreign priests at the +congress. This undoubtedly was the "silver with blue stones"; and Father +Brown undoubtedly was the little greenhorn in the train. Now there +was nothing wonderful about the fact that what Valentin had found out +Flambeau had also found out; Flambeau found out everything. Also there +was nothing wonderful in the fact that when Flambeau heard of a sapphire +cross he should try to steal it; that was the most natural thing in all +natural history. And most certainly there was nothing wonderful about +the fact that Flambeau should have it all his own way with such a silly +sheep as the man with the umbrella and the parcels. He was the sort of +man whom anybody could lead on a string to the North Pole; it was not +surprising that an actor like Flambeau, dressed as another priest, could +lead him to Hampstead Heath. So far the crime seemed clear enough; and +while the detective pitied the priest for his helplessness, he almost +despised Flambeau for condescending to so gullible a victim. But when +Valentin thought of all that had happened in between, of all that had +led him to his triumph, he racked his brains for the smallest rhyme or +reason in it. What had the stealing of a blue-and-silver cross from a +priest from Essex to do with chucking soup at wall paper? What had it +to do with calling nuts oranges, or with paying for windows first and +breaking them afterwards? He had come to the end of his chase; yet +somehow he had missed the middle of it. When he failed (which was +seldom), he had usually grasped the clue, but nevertheless missed the +criminal. Here he had grasped the criminal, but still he could not grasp +the clue. + +The two figures that they followed were crawling like black flies +across the huge green contour of a hill. They were evidently sunk in +conversation, and perhaps did not notice where they were going; but they +were certainly going to the wilder and more silent heights of the Heath. +As their pursuers gained on them, the latter had to use the undignified +attitudes of the deer-stalker, to crouch behind clumps of trees and +even to crawl prostrate in deep grass. By these ungainly ingenuities the +hunters even came close enough to the quarry to hear the murmur of the +discussion, but no word could be distinguished except the word "reason" +recurring frequently in a high and almost childish voice. Once over +an abrupt dip of land and a dense tangle of thickets, the detectives +actually lost the two figures they were following. They did not find the +trail again for an agonising ten minutes, and then it led round the brow +of a great dome of hill overlooking an amphitheatre of rich and desolate +sunset scenery. Under a tree in this commanding yet neglected spot was +an old ramshackle wooden seat. On this seat sat the two priests still in +serious speech together. The gorgeous green and gold still clung to +the darkening horizon; but the dome above was turning slowly from +peacock-green to peacock-blue, and the stars detached themselves more +and more like solid jewels. Mutely motioning to his followers, Valentin +contrived to creep up behind the big branching tree, and, standing there +in deathly silence, heard the words of the strange priests for the first +time. + +After he had listened for a minute and a half, he was gripped by a +devilish doubt. Perhaps he had dragged the two English policemen to the +wastes of a nocturnal heath on an errand no saner than seeking figs on +its thistles. For the two priests were talking exactly like priests, +piously, with learning and leisure, about the most aerial enigmas of +theology. The little Essex priest spoke the more simply, with his round +face turned to the strengthening stars; the other talked with his +head bowed, as if he were not even worthy to look at them. But no more +innocently clerical conversation could have been heard in any white +Italian cloister or black Spanish cathedral. + +The first he heard was the tail of one of Father Brown's sentences, +which ended: "... what they really meant in the Middle Ages by the +heavens being incorruptible." + +The taller priest nodded his bowed head and said: + +"Ah, yes, these modern infidels appeal to their reason; but who can +look at those millions of worlds and not feel that there may well be +wonderful universes above us where reason is utterly unreasonable?" + +"No," said the other priest; "reason is always reasonable, even in the +last limbo, in the lost borderland of things. I know that people charge +the Church with lowering reason, but it is just the other way. Alone +on earth, the Church makes reason really supreme. Alone on earth, the +Church affirms that God himself is bound by reason." + +The other priest raised his austere face to the spangled sky and said: + +"Yet who knows if in that infinite universe--?" + +"Only infinite physically," said the little priest, turning sharply +in his seat, "not infinite in the sense of escaping from the laws of +truth." + +Valentin behind his tree was tearing his fingernails with silent fury. +He seemed almost to hear the sniggers of the English detectives whom +he had brought so far on a fantastic guess only to listen to the +metaphysical gossip of two mild old parsons. In his impatience he lost +the equally elaborate answer of the tall cleric, and when he listened +again it was again Father Brown who was speaking: + +"Reason and justice grip the remotest and the loneliest star. Look +at those stars. Don't they look as if they were single diamonds and +sapphires? Well, you can imagine any mad botany or geology you please. +Think of forests of adamant with leaves of brilliants. Think the moon +is a blue moon, a single elephantine sapphire. But don't fancy that all +that frantic astronomy would make the smallest difference to the reason +and justice of conduct. On plains of opal, under cliffs cut out of +pearl, you would still find a notice-board, 'Thou shalt not steal.'" + +Valentin was just in the act of rising from his rigid and crouching +attitude and creeping away as softly as might be, felled by the one +great folly of his life. But something in the very silence of the tall +priest made him stop until the latter spoke. When at last he did speak, +he said simply, his head bowed and his hands on his knees: + +"Well, I think that other worlds may perhaps rise higher than our +reason. The mystery of heaven is unfathomable, and I for one can only +bow my head." + +Then, with brow yet bent and without changing by the faintest shade his +attitude or voice, he added: + +"Just hand over that sapphire cross of yours, will you? We're all alone +here, and I could pull you to pieces like a straw doll." + +The utterly unaltered voice and attitude added a strange violence to +that shocking change of speech. But the guarder of the relic only seemed +to turn his head by the smallest section of the compass. He seemed still +to have a somewhat foolish face turned to the stars. Perhaps he had not +understood. Or, perhaps, he had understood and sat rigid with terror. + +"Yes," said the tall priest, in the same low voice and in the same still +posture, "yes, I am Flambeau." + +Then, after a pause, he said: + +"Come, will you give me that cross?" + +"No," said the other, and the monosyllable had an odd sound. + +Flambeau suddenly flung off all his pontifical pretensions. The great +robber leaned back in his seat and laughed low but long. + +"No," he cried, "you won't give it me, you proud prelate. You won't give +it me, you little celibate simpleton. Shall I tell you why you won't +give it me? Because I've got it already in my own breast-pocket." + +The small man from Essex turned what seemed to be a dazed face in the +dusk, and said, with the timid eagerness of "The Private Secretary": + +"Are--are you sure?" + +Flambeau yelled with delight. + +"Really, you're as good as a three-act farce," he cried. "Yes, you +turnip, I am quite sure. I had the sense to make a duplicate of the +right parcel, and now, my friend, you've got the duplicate and I've got +the jewels. An old dodge, Father Brown--a very old dodge." + +"Yes," said Father Brown, and passed his hand through his hair with the +same strange vagueness of manner. "Yes, I've heard of it before." + +The colossus of crime leaned over to the little rustic priest with a +sort of sudden interest. + +"You have heard of it?" he asked. "Where have you heard of it?" + +"Well, I mustn't tell you his name, of course," said the little man +simply. "He was a penitent, you know. He had lived prosperously for +about twenty years entirely on duplicate brown paper parcels. And so, +you see, when I began to suspect you, I thought of this poor chap's way +of doing it at once." + +"Began to suspect me?" repeated the outlaw with increased intensity. +"Did you really have the gumption to suspect me just because I brought +you up to this bare part of the heath?" + +"No, no," said Brown with an air of apology. "You see, I suspected you +when we first met. It's that little bulge up the sleeve where you people +have the spiked bracelet." + +"How in Tartarus," cried Flambeau, "did you ever hear of the spiked +bracelet?" + +"Oh, one's little flock, you know!" said Father Brown, arching his +eyebrows rather blankly. "When I was a curate in Hartlepool, there were +three of them with spiked bracelets. So, as I suspected you from the +first, don't you see, I made sure that the cross should go safe, anyhow. +I'm afraid I watched you, you know. So at last I saw you change the +parcels. Then, don't you see, I changed them back again. And then I left +the right one behind." + +"Left it behind?" repeated Flambeau, and for the first time there was +another note in his voice beside his triumph. + +"Well, it was like this," said the little priest, speaking in the same +unaffected way. "I went back to that sweet-shop and asked if I'd left a +parcel, and gave them a particular address if it turned up. Well, I knew +I hadn't; but when I went away again I did. So, instead of running after +me with that valuable parcel, they have sent it flying to a friend of +mine in Westminster." Then he added rather sadly: "I learnt that, too, +from a poor fellow in Hartlepool. He used to do it with handbags he +stole at railway stations, but he's in a monastery now. Oh, one gets to +know, you know," he added, rubbing his head again with the same sort of +desperate apology. "We can't help being priests. People come and tell us +these things." + +Flambeau tore a brown-paper parcel out of his inner pocket and rent it +in pieces. There was nothing but paper and sticks of lead inside it. He +sprang to his feet with a gigantic gesture, and cried: + +"I don't believe you. I don't believe a bumpkin like you could manage +all that. I believe you've still got the stuff on you, and if you don't +give it up--why, we're all alone, and I'll take it by force!" + +"No," said Father Brown simply, and stood up also, "you won't take it +by force. First, because I really haven't still got it. And, second, +because we are not alone." + +Flambeau stopped in his stride forward. + +"Behind that tree," said Father Brown, pointing, "are two strong +policemen and the greatest detective alive. How did they come here, do +you ask? Why, I brought them, of course! How did I do it? Why, I'll tell +you if you like! Lord bless you, we have to know twenty such things +when we work among the criminal classes! Well, I wasn't sure you were +a thief, and it would never do to make a scandal against one of our +own clergy. So I just tested you to see if anything would make you show +yourself. A man generally makes a small scene if he finds salt in his +coffee; if he doesn't, he has some reason for keeping quiet. I changed +the salt and sugar, and you kept quiet. A man generally objects if +his bill is three times too big. If he pays it, he has some motive for +passing unnoticed. I altered your bill, and you paid it." + +The world seemed waiting for Flambeau to leap like a tiger. But he was +held back as by a spell; he was stunned with the utmost curiosity. + +"Well," went on Father Brown, with lumbering lucidity, "as you wouldn't +leave any tracks for the police, of course somebody had to. At every +place we went to, I took care to do something that would get us talked +about for the rest of the day. I didn't do much harm--a splashed wall, +spilt apples, a broken window; but I saved the cross, as the cross will +always be saved. It is at Westminster by now. I rather wonder you didn't +stop it with the Donkey's Whistle." + +"With the what?" asked Flambeau. + +"I'm glad you've never heard of it," said the priest, making a face. +"It's a foul thing. I'm sure you're too good a man for a Whistler. I +couldn't have countered it even with the Spots myself; I'm not strong +enough in the legs." + +"What on earth are you talking about?" asked the other. + +"Well, I did think you'd know the Spots," said Father Brown, agreeably +surprised. "Oh, you can't have gone so very wrong yet!" + +"How in blazes do you know all these horrors?" cried Flambeau. + +The shadow of a smile crossed the round, simple face of his clerical +opponent. + +"Oh, by being a celibate simpleton, I suppose," he said. "Has it never +struck you that a man who does next to nothing but hear men's real sins +is not likely to be wholly unaware of human evil? But, as a matter of +fact, another part of my trade, too, made me sure you weren't a priest." + +"What?" asked the thief, almost gaping. + +"You attacked reason," said Father Brown. "It's bad theology." + +And even as he turned away to collect his property, the three policemen +came out from under the twilight trees. Flambeau was an artist and a +sportsman. He stepped back and swept Valentin a great bow. + +"Do not bow to me, mon ami," said Valentin with silver clearness. "Let +us both bow to our master." + +And they both stood an instant uncovered while the little Essex priest +blinked about for his umbrella. + + + + +The Secret Garden + + +Aristide Valentin, Chief of the Paris Police, was late for his dinner, +and some of his guests began to arrive before him. These were, however, +reassured by his confidential servant, Ivan, the old man with a scar, +and a face almost as grey as his moustaches, who always sat at a table +in the entrance hall--a hall hung with weapons. Valentin's house was +perhaps as peculiar and celebrated as its master. It was an old house, +with high walls and tall poplars almost overhanging the Seine; but the +oddity--and perhaps the police value--of its architecture was this: that +there was no ultimate exit at all except through this front door, which +was guarded by Ivan and the armoury. The garden was large and elaborate, +and there were many exits from the house into the garden. But there was +no exit from the garden into the world outside; all round it ran a tall, +smooth, unscalable wall with special spikes at the top; no bad garden, +perhaps, for a man to reflect in whom some hundred criminals had sworn +to kill. + +As Ivan explained to the guests, their host had telephoned that he +was detained for ten minutes. He was, in truth, making some last +arrangements about executions and such ugly things; and though these +duties were rootedly repulsive to him, he always performed them with +precision. Ruthless in the pursuit of criminals, he was very mild about +their punishment. Since he had been supreme over French--and largely +over European--policial methods, his great influence had been honourably +used for the mitigation of sentences and the purification of prisons. +He was one of the great humanitarian French freethinkers; and the only +thing wrong with them is that they make mercy even colder than justice. + +When Valentin arrived he was already dressed in black clothes and the +red rosette--an elegant figure, his dark beard already streaked with +grey. He went straight through his house to his study, which opened on +the grounds behind. The garden door of it was open, and after he had +carefully locked his box in its official place, he stood for a few +seconds at the open door looking out upon the garden. A sharp moon +was fighting with the flying rags and tatters of a storm, and Valentin +regarded it with a wistfulness unusual in such scientific natures as +his. Perhaps such scientific natures have some psychic prevision of the +most tremendous problem of their lives. From any such occult mood, +at least, he quickly recovered, for he knew he was late, and that his +guests had already begun to arrive. A glance at his drawing-room when he +entered it was enough to make certain that his principal guest was not +there, at any rate. He saw all the other pillars of the little party; +he saw Lord Galloway, the English Ambassador--a choleric old man with a +russet face like an apple, wearing the blue ribbon of the Garter. He +saw Lady Galloway, slim and threadlike, with silver hair and a face +sensitive and superior. He saw her daughter, Lady Margaret Graham, a +pale and pretty girl with an elfish face and copper-coloured hair. He +saw the Duchess of Mont St. Michel, black-eyed and opulent, and with +her her two daughters, black-eyed and opulent also. He saw Dr. Simon, +a typical French scientist, with glasses, a pointed brown beard, and a +forehead barred with those parallel wrinkles which are the penalty +of superciliousness, since they come through constantly elevating +the eyebrows. He saw Father Brown, of Cobhole, in Essex, whom he had +recently met in England. He saw--perhaps with more interest than any +of these--a tall man in uniform, who had bowed to the Galloways without +receiving any very hearty acknowledgment, and who now advanced alone to +pay his respects to his host. This was Commandant O'Brien, of the +French Foreign Legion. He was a slim yet somewhat swaggering figure, +clean-shaven, dark-haired, and blue-eyed, and, as seemed natural in an +officer of that famous regiment of victorious failures and successful +suicides, he had an air at once dashing and melancholy. He was by birth +an Irish gentleman, and in boyhood had known the Galloways--especially +Margaret Graham. He had left his country after some crash of debts, and +now expressed his complete freedom from British etiquette by swinging +about in uniform, sabre and spurs. When he bowed to the Ambassador's +family, Lord and Lady Galloway bent stiffly, and Lady Margaret looked +away. + +But for whatever old causes such people might be interested in each +other, their distinguished host was not specially interested in them. No +one of them at least was in his eyes the guest of the evening. Valentin +was expecting, for special reasons, a man of world-wide fame, whose +friendship he had secured during some of his great detective tours and +triumphs in the United States. He was expecting Julius K. Brayne, that +multi-millionaire whose colossal and even crushing endowments of small +religions have occasioned so much easy sport and easier solemnity for +the American and English papers. Nobody could quite make out whether Mr. +Brayne was an atheist or a Mormon or a Christian Scientist; but he was +ready to pour money into any intellectual vessel, so long as it was +an untried vessel. One of his hobbies was to wait for the American +Shakespeare--a hobby more patient than angling. He admired Walt Whitman, +but thought that Luke P. Tanner, of Paris, Pa., was more "progressive" +than Whitman any day. He liked anything that he thought "progressive." +He thought Valentin "progressive," thereby doing him a grave injustice. + +The solid appearance of Julius K. Brayne in the room was as decisive +as a dinner bell. He had this great quality, which very few of us +can claim, that his presence was as big as his absence. He was a huge +fellow, as fat as he was tall, clad in complete evening black, without +so much relief as a watch-chain or a ring. His hair was white and well +brushed back like a German's; his face was red, fierce and cherubic, +with one dark tuft under the lower lip that threw up that otherwise +infantile visage with an effect theatrical and even Mephistophelean. Not +long, however, did that salon merely stare at the celebrated American; +his lateness had already become a domestic problem, and he was sent with +all speed into the dining-room with Lady Galloway on his arm. + +Except on one point the Galloways were genial and casual enough. So long +as Lady Margaret did not take the arm of that adventurer O'Brien, her +father was quite satisfied; and she had not done so, she had decorously +gone in with Dr. Simon. Nevertheless, old Lord Galloway was restless and +almost rude. He was diplomatic enough during dinner, but when, over the +cigars, three of the younger men--Simon the doctor, Brown the priest, +and the detrimental O'Brien, the exile in a foreign uniform--all melted +away to mix with the ladies or smoke in the conservatory, then the +English diplomatist grew very undiplomatic indeed. He was stung +every sixty seconds with the thought that the scamp O'Brien might be +signalling to Margaret somehow; he did not attempt to imagine how. He +was left over the coffee with Brayne, the hoary Yankee who believed +in all religions, and Valentin, the grizzled Frenchman who believed in +none. They could argue with each other, but neither could appeal to +him. After a time this "progressive" logomachy had reached a crisis of +tedium; Lord Galloway got up also and sought the drawing-room. He lost +his way in long passages for some six or eight minutes: till he heard +the high-pitched, didactic voice of the doctor, and then the dull voice +of the priest, followed by general laughter. They also, he thought with +a curse, were probably arguing about "science and religion." But the +instant he opened the salon door he saw only one thing--he saw what +was not there. He saw that Commandant O'Brien was absent, and that Lady +Margaret was absent too. + +Rising impatiently from the drawing-room, as he had from the +dining-room, he stamped along the passage once more. His notion of +protecting his daughter from the Irish-Algerian n'er-do-well had become +something central and even mad in his mind. As he went towards the back +of the house, where was Valentin's study, he was surprised to meet his +daughter, who swept past with a white, scornful face, which was a second +enigma. If she had been with O'Brien, where was O'Brien! If she had +not been with O'Brien, where had she been? With a sort of senile and +passionate suspicion he groped his way to the dark back parts of the +mansion, and eventually found a servants' entrance that opened on to the +garden. The moon with her scimitar had now ripped up and rolled away all +the storm-wrack. The argent light lit up all four corners of the garden. +A tall figure in blue was striding across the lawn towards the study +door; a glint of moonlit silver on his facings picked him out as +Commandant O'Brien. + +He vanished through the French windows into the house, leaving Lord +Galloway in an indescribable temper, at once virulent and vague. The +blue-and-silver garden, like a scene in a theatre, seemed to taunt him +with all that tyrannic tenderness against which his worldly authority +was at war. The length and grace of the Irishman's stride enraged him as +if he were a rival instead of a father; the moonlight maddened him. +He was trapped as if by magic into a garden of troubadours, a Watteau +fairyland; and, willing to shake off such amorous imbecilities by +speech, he stepped briskly after his enemy. As he did so he tripped over +some tree or stone in the grass; looked down at it first with irritation +and then a second time with curiosity. The next instant the moon and the +tall poplars looked at an unusual sight--an elderly English diplomatist +running hard and crying or bellowing as he ran. + +His hoarse shouts brought a pale face to the study door, the beaming +glasses and worried brow of Dr. Simon, who heard the nobleman's first +clear words. Lord Galloway was crying: "A corpse in the grass--a +blood-stained corpse." O'Brien at last had gone utterly out of his mind. + +"We must tell Valentin at once," said the doctor, when the other had +brokenly described all that he had dared to examine. "It is fortunate +that he is here;" and even as he spoke the great detective entered the +study, attracted by the cry. It was almost amusing to note his typical +transformation; he had come with the common concern of a host and a +gentleman, fearing that some guest or servant was ill. When he was +told the gory fact, he turned with all his gravity instantly bright and +businesslike; for this, however abrupt and awful, was his business. + +"Strange, gentlemen," he said as they hurried out into the garden, "that +I should have hunted mysteries all over the earth, and now one comes and +settles in my own back-yard. But where is the place?" They crossed the +lawn less easily, as a slight mist had begun to rise from the river; but +under the guidance of the shaken Galloway they found the body sunken +in deep grass--the body of a very tall and broad-shouldered man. He lay +face downwards, so they could only see that his big shoulders were clad +in black cloth, and that his big head was bald, except for a wisp or +two of brown hair that clung to his skull like wet seaweed. A scarlet +serpent of blood crawled from under his fallen face. + +"At least," said Simon, with a deep and singular intonation, "he is none +of our party." + +"Examine him, doctor," cried Valentin rather sharply. "He may not be +dead." + +The doctor bent down. "He is not quite cold, but I am afraid he is dead +enough," he answered. "Just help me to lift him up." + +They lifted him carefully an inch from the ground, and all doubts as +to his being really dead were settled at once and frightfully. The head +fell away. It had been entirely sundered from the body; whoever had +cut his throat had managed to sever the neck as well. Even Valentin +was slightly shocked. "He must have been as strong as a gorilla," he +muttered. + +Not without a shiver, though he was used to anatomical abortions, Dr. +Simon lifted the head. It was slightly slashed about the neck and jaw, +but the face was substantially unhurt. It was a ponderous, yellow face, +at once sunken and swollen, with a hawk-like nose and heavy lids--a face +of a wicked Roman emperor, with, perhaps, a distant touch of a Chinese +emperor. All present seemed to look at it with the coldest eye of +ignorance. Nothing else could be noted about the man except that, as +they had lifted his body, they had seen underneath it the white gleam of +a shirt-front defaced with a red gleam of blood. As Dr. Simon said, +the man had never been of their party. But he might very well have been +trying to join it, for he had come dressed for such an occasion. + +Valentin went down on his hands and knees and examined with his closest +professional attention the grass and ground for some twenty yards round +the body, in which he was assisted less skillfully by the doctor, and +quite vaguely by the English lord. Nothing rewarded their grovellings +except a few twigs, snapped or chopped into very small lengths, which +Valentin lifted for an instant's examination and then tossed away. + +"Twigs," he said gravely; "twigs, and a total stranger with his head cut +off; that is all there is on this lawn." + +There was an almost creepy stillness, and then the unnerved Galloway +called out sharply: + +"Who's that! Who's that over there by the garden wall!" + +A small figure with a foolishly large head drew waveringly near them in +the moonlit haze; looked for an instant like a goblin, but turned out to +be the harmless little priest whom they had left in the drawing-room. + +"I say," he said meekly, "there are no gates to this garden, do you +know." + +Valentin's black brows had come together somewhat crossly, as they did +on principle at the sight of the cassock. But he was far too just a man +to deny the relevance of the remark. "You are right," he said. "Before +we find out how he came to be killed, we may have to find out how he +came to be here. Now listen to me, gentlemen. If it can be done without +prejudice to my position and duty, we shall all agree that certain +distinguished names might well be kept out of this. There are ladies, +gentlemen, and there is a foreign ambassador. If we must mark it down as +a crime, then it must be followed up as a crime. But till then I can use +my own discretion. I am the head of the police; I am so public that I +can afford to be private. Please Heaven, I will clear everyone of my own +guests before I call in my men to look for anybody else. Gentlemen, upon +your honour, you will none of you leave the house till tomorrow at noon; +there are bedrooms for all. Simon, I think you know where to find my +man, Ivan, in the front hall; he is a confidential man. Tell him to +leave another servant on guard and come to me at once. Lord Galloway, +you are certainly the best person to tell the ladies what has happened, +and prevent a panic. They also must stay. Father Brown and I will remain +with the body." + +When this spirit of the captain spoke in Valentin he was obeyed like a +bugle. Dr. Simon went through to the armoury and routed out Ivan, the +public detective's private detective. Galloway went to the drawing-room +and told the terrible news tactfully enough, so that by the time the +company assembled there the ladies were already startled and already +soothed. Meanwhile the good priest and the good atheist stood at the +head and foot of the dead man motionless in the moonlight, like symbolic +statues of their two philosophies of death. + +Ivan, the confidential man with the scar and the moustaches, came out +of the house like a cannon ball, and came racing across the lawn to +Valentin like a dog to his master. His livid face was quite lively +with the glow of this domestic detective story, and it was with almost +unpleasant eagerness that he asked his master's permission to examine +the remains. + +"Yes; look, if you like, Ivan," said Valentin, "but don't be long. We +must go in and thrash this out in the house." + +Ivan lifted the head, and then almost let it drop. + +"Why," he gasped, "it's--no, it isn't; it can't be. Do you know this +man, sir?" + +"No," said Valentin indifferently; "we had better go inside." + +Between them they carried the corpse to a sofa in the study, and then +all made their way to the drawing-room. + +The detective sat down at a desk quietly, and even without hesitation; +but his eye was the iron eye of a judge at assize. He made a few rapid +notes upon paper in front of him, and then said shortly: "Is everybody +here?" + +"Not Mr. Brayne," said the Duchess of Mont St. Michel, looking round. + +"No," said Lord Galloway in a hoarse, harsh voice. "And not Mr. Neil +O'Brien, I fancy. I saw that gentleman walking in the garden when the +corpse was still warm." + +"Ivan," said the detective, "go and fetch Commandant O'Brien and Mr. +Brayne. Mr. Brayne, I know, is finishing a cigar in the dining-room; +Commandant O'Brien, I think, is walking up and down the conservatory. I +am not sure." + +The faithful attendant flashed from the room, and before anyone could +stir or speak Valentin went on with the same soldierly swiftness of +exposition. + +"Everyone here knows that a dead man has been found in the garden, his +head cut clean from his body. Dr. Simon, you have examined it. Do you +think that to cut a man's throat like that would need great force? Or, +perhaps, only a very sharp knife?" + +"I should say that it could not be done with a knife at all," said the +pale doctor. + +"Have you any thought," resumed Valentin, "of a tool with which it could +be done?" + +"Speaking within modern probabilities, I really haven't," said the +doctor, arching his painful brows. "It's not easy to hack a neck through +even clumsily, and this was a very clean cut. It could be done with a +battle-axe or an old headsman's axe, or an old two-handed sword." + +"But, good heavens!" cried the Duchess, almost in hysterics, "there +aren't any two-handed swords and battle-axes round here." + +Valentin was still busy with the paper in front of him. "Tell me," he +said, still writing rapidly, "could it have been done with a long French +cavalry sabre?" + +A low knocking came at the door, which, for some unreasonable reason, +curdled everyone's blood like the knocking in Macbeth. Amid that frozen +silence Dr. Simon managed to say: "A sabre--yes, I suppose it could." + +"Thank you," said Valentin. "Come in, Ivan." + +The confidential Ivan opened the door and ushered in Commandant Neil +O'Brien, whom he had found at last pacing the garden again. + +The Irish officer stood up disordered and defiant on the threshold. +"What do you want with me?" he cried. + +"Please sit down," said Valentin in pleasant, level tones. "Why, you +aren't wearing your sword. Where is it?" + +"I left it on the library table," said O'Brien, his brogue deepening in +his disturbed mood. "It was a nuisance, it was getting--" + +"Ivan," said Valentin, "please go and get the Commandant's sword from +the library." Then, as the servant vanished, "Lord Galloway says he saw +you leaving the garden just before he found the corpse. What were you +doing in the garden?" + +The Commandant flung himself recklessly into a chair. "Oh," he cried in +pure Irish, "admirin' the moon. Communing with Nature, me bhoy." + +A heavy silence sank and endured, and at the end of it came again that +trivial and terrible knocking. Ivan reappeared, carrying an empty steel +scabbard. "This is all I can find," he said. + +"Put it on the table," said Valentin, without looking up. + +There was an inhuman silence in the room, like that sea of inhuman +silence round the dock of the condemned murderer. The Duchess's weak +exclamations had long ago died away. Lord Galloway's swollen hatred was +satisfied and even sobered. The voice that came was quite unexpected. + +"I think I can tell you," cried Lady Margaret, in that clear, quivering +voice with which a courageous woman speaks publicly. "I can tell you +what Mr. O'Brien was doing in the garden, since he is bound to +silence. He was asking me to marry him. I refused; I said in my family +circumstances I could give him nothing but my respect. He was a little +angry at that; he did not seem to think much of my respect. I wonder," +she added, with rather a wan smile, "if he will care at all for it now. +For I offer it him now. I will swear anywhere that he never did a thing +like this." + +Lord Galloway had edged up to his daughter, and was intimidating her in +what he imagined to be an undertone. "Hold your tongue, Maggie," he said +in a thunderous whisper. "Why should you shield the fellow? Where's his +sword? Where's his confounded cavalry--" + +He stopped because of the singular stare with which his daughter was +regarding him, a look that was indeed a lurid magnet for the whole +group. + +"You old fool!" she said in a low voice without pretence of piety, "what +do you suppose you are trying to prove? I tell you this man was innocent +while with me. But if he wasn't innocent, he was still with me. If he +murdered a man in the garden, who was it who must have seen--who must +at least have known? Do you hate Neil so much as to put your own +daughter--" + +Lady Galloway screamed. Everyone else sat tingling at the touch of those +satanic tragedies that have been between lovers before now. They saw +the proud, white face of the Scotch aristocrat and her lover, the Irish +adventurer, like old portraits in a dark house. The long silence was +full of formless historical memories of murdered husbands and poisonous +paramours. + +In the centre of this morbid silence an innocent voice said: "Was it a +very long cigar?" + +The change of thought was so sharp that they had to look round to see +who had spoken. + +"I mean," said little Father Brown, from the corner of the room, "I +mean that cigar Mr. Brayne is finishing. It seems nearly as long as a +walking-stick." + +Despite the irrelevance there was assent as well as irritation in +Valentin's face as he lifted his head. + +"Quite right," he remarked sharply. "Ivan, go and see about Mr. Brayne +again, and bring him here at once." + +The instant the factotum had closed the door, Valentin addressed the +girl with an entirely new earnestness. + +"Lady Margaret," he said, "we all feel, I am sure, both gratitude +and admiration for your act in rising above your lower dignity and +explaining the Commandant's conduct. But there is a hiatus still. +Lord Galloway, I understand, met you passing from the study to the +drawing-room, and it was only some minutes afterwards that he found the +garden and the Commandant still walking there." + +"You have to remember," replied Margaret, with a faint irony in her +voice, "that I had just refused him, so we should scarcely have come +back arm in arm. He is a gentleman, anyhow; and he loitered behind--and +so got charged with murder." + +"In those few moments," said Valentin gravely, "he might really--" + +The knock came again, and Ivan put in his scarred face. + +"Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but Mr. Brayne has left the house." + +"Left!" cried Valentin, and rose for the first time to his feet. + +"Gone. Scooted. Evaporated," replied Ivan in humorous French. "His hat +and coat are gone, too, and I'll tell you something to cap it all. I ran +outside the house to find any traces of him, and I found one, and a big +trace, too." + +"What do you mean?" asked Valentin. + +"I'll show you," said his servant, and reappeared with a flashing naked +cavalry sabre, streaked with blood about the point and edge. Everyone in +the room eyed it as if it were a thunderbolt; but the experienced Ivan +went on quite quietly: + +"I found this," he said, "flung among the bushes fifty yards up the road +to Paris. In other words, I found it just where your respectable Mr. +Brayne threw it when he ran away." + +There was again a silence, but of a new sort. Valentin took the sabre, +examined it, reflected with unaffected concentration of thought, and +then turned a respectful face to O'Brien. "Commandant," he said, "we +trust you will always produce this weapon if it is wanted for police +examination. Meanwhile," he added, slapping the steel back in the +ringing scabbard, "let me return you your sword." + +At the military symbolism of the action the audience could hardly +refrain from applause. + +For Neil O'Brien, indeed, that gesture was the turning-point of +existence. By the time he was wandering in the mysterious garden again +in the colours of the morning the tragic futility of his ordinary mien +had fallen from him; he was a man with many reasons for happiness. Lord +Galloway was a gentleman, and had offered him an apology. Lady Margaret +was something better than a lady, a woman at least, and had perhaps +given him something better than an apology, as they drifted among the +old flowerbeds before breakfast. The whole company was more lighthearted +and humane, for though the riddle of the death remained, the load of +suspicion was lifted off them all, and sent flying off to Paris with the +strange millionaire--a man they hardly knew. The devil was cast out of +the house--he had cast himself out. + +Still, the riddle remained; and when O'Brien threw himself on a garden +seat beside Dr. Simon, that keenly scientific person at once resumed +it. He did not get much talk out of O'Brien, whose thoughts were on +pleasanter things. + +"I can't say it interests me much," said the Irishman frankly, +"especially as it seems pretty plain now. Apparently Brayne hated this +stranger for some reason; lured him into the garden, and killed him with +my sword. Then he fled to the city, tossing the sword away as he went. +By the way, Ivan tells me the dead man had a Yankee dollar in his +pocket. So he was a countryman of Brayne's, and that seems to clinch it. +I don't see any difficulties about the business." + +"There are five colossal difficulties," said the doctor quietly; "like +high walls within walls. Don't mistake me. I don't doubt that Brayne +did it; his flight, I fancy, proves that. But as to how he did it. +First difficulty: Why should a man kill another man with a great hulking +sabre, when he can almost kill him with a pocket knife and put it back +in his pocket? Second difficulty: Why was there no noise or outcry? +Does a man commonly see another come up waving a scimitar and offer +no remarks? Third difficulty: A servant watched the front door all the +evening; and a rat cannot get into Valentin's garden anywhere. How did +the dead man get into the garden? Fourth difficulty: Given the same +conditions, how did Brayne get out of the garden?" + +"And the fifth," said Neil, with eyes fixed on the English priest who +was coming slowly up the path. + +"Is a trifle, I suppose," said the doctor, "but I think an odd one. When +I first saw how the head had been slashed, I supposed the assassin had +struck more than once. But on examination I found many cuts across the +truncated section; in other words, they were struck after the head was +off. Did Brayne hate his foe so fiendishly that he stood sabring his +body in the moonlight?" + +"Horrible!" said O'Brien, and shuddered. + +The little priest, Brown, had arrived while they were talking, and had +waited, with characteristic shyness, till they had finished. Then he +said awkwardly: + +"I say, I'm sorry to interrupt. But I was sent to tell you the news!" + +"News?" repeated Simon, and stared at him rather painfully through his +glasses. + +"Yes, I'm sorry," said Father Brown mildly. "There's been another +murder, you know." + +Both men on the seat sprang up, leaving it rocking. + +"And, what's stranger still," continued the priest, with his dull eye +on the rhododendrons, "it's the same disgusting sort; it's another +beheading. They found the second head actually bleeding into the river, +a few yards along Brayne's road to Paris; so they suppose that he--" + +"Great Heaven!" cried O'Brien. "Is Brayne a monomaniac?" + +"There are American vendettas," said the priest impassively. Then he +added: "They want you to come to the library and see it." + +Commandant O'Brien followed the others towards the inquest, feeling +decidedly sick. As a soldier, he loathed all this secretive carnage; +where were these extravagant amputations going to stop? First one +head was hacked off, and then another; in this case (he told himself +bitterly) it was not true that two heads were better than one. As he +crossed the study he almost staggered at a shocking coincidence. Upon +Valentin's table lay the coloured picture of yet a third bleeding head; +and it was the head of Valentin himself. A second glance showed him it +was only a Nationalist paper, called The Guillotine, which every week +showed one of its political opponents with rolling eyes and writhing +features just after execution; for Valentin was an anti-clerical of some +note. But O'Brien was an Irishman, with a kind of chastity even in his +sins; and his gorge rose against that great brutality of the intellect +which belongs only to France. He felt Paris as a whole, from the +grotesques on the Gothic churches to the gross caricatures in the +newspapers. He remembered the gigantic jests of the Revolution. He saw +the whole city as one ugly energy, from the sanguinary sketch lying on +Valentin's table up to where, above a mountain and forest of gargoyles, +the great devil grins on Notre Dame. + +The library was long, low, and dark; what light entered it shot from +under low blinds and had still some of the ruddy tinge of morning. +Valentin and his servant Ivan were waiting for them at the upper end of +a long, slightly-sloping desk, on which lay the mortal remains, looking +enormous in the twilight. The big black figure and yellow face of the +man found in the garden confronted them essentially unchanged. The +second head, which had been fished from among the river reeds that +morning, lay streaming and dripping beside it; Valentin's men were still +seeking to recover the rest of this second corpse, which was supposed +to be afloat. Father Brown, who did not seem to share O'Brien's +sensibilities in the least, went up to the second head and examined it +with his blinking care. It was little more than a mop of wet white hair, +fringed with silver fire in the red and level morning light; the face, +which seemed of an ugly, empurpled and perhaps criminal type, had been +much battered against trees or stones as it tossed in the water. + +"Good morning, Commandant O'Brien," said Valentin, with quiet +cordiality. "You have heard of Brayne's last experiment in butchery, I +suppose?" + +Father Brown was still bending over the head with white hair, and he +said, without looking up: + +"I suppose it is quite certain that Brayne cut off this head, too." + +"Well, it seems common sense," said Valentin, with his hands in his +pockets. "Killed in the same way as the other. Found within a few yards +of the other. And sliced by the same weapon which we know he carried +away." + +"Yes, yes; I know," replied Father Brown submissively. "Yet, you know, I +doubt whether Brayne could have cut off this head." + +"Why not?" inquired Dr. Simon, with a rational stare. + +"Well, doctor," said the priest, looking up blinking, "can a man cut off +his own head? I don't know." + +O'Brien felt an insane universe crashing about his ears; but the doctor +sprang forward with impetuous practicality and pushed back the wet white +hair. + +"Oh, there's no doubt it's Brayne," said the priest quietly. "He had +exactly that chip in the left ear." + +The detective, who had been regarding the priest with steady and +glittering eyes, opened his clenched mouth and said sharply: "You seem +to know a lot about him, Father Brown." + +"I do," said the little man simply. "I've been about with him for some +weeks. He was thinking of joining our church." + +The star of the fanatic sprang into Valentin's eyes; he strode towards +the priest with clenched hands. "And, perhaps," he cried, with a +blasting sneer, "perhaps he was also thinking of leaving all his money +to your church." + +"Perhaps he was," said Brown stolidly; "it is possible." + +"In that case," cried Valentin, with a dreadful smile, "you may indeed +know a great deal about him. About his life and about his--" + +Commandant O'Brien laid a hand on Valentin's arm. "Drop that slanderous +rubbish, Valentin," he said, "or there may be more swords yet." + +But Valentin (under the steady, humble gaze of the priest) had already +recovered himself. "Well," he said shortly, "people's private opinions +can wait. You gentlemen are still bound by your promise to stay; you +must enforce it on yourselves--and on each other. Ivan here will tell +you anything more you want to know; I must get to business and write to +the authorities. We can't keep this quiet any longer. I shall be writing +in my study if there is any more news." + +"Is there any more news, Ivan?" asked Dr. Simon, as the chief of police +strode out of the room. + +"Only one more thing, I think, sir," said Ivan, wrinkling up his grey +old face, "but that's important, too, in its way. There's that old +buffer you found on the lawn," and he pointed without pretence of +reverence at the big black body with the yellow head. "We've found out +who he is, anyhow." + +"Indeed!" cried the astonished doctor, "and who is he?" + +"His name was Arnold Becker," said the under-detective, "though he went +by many aliases. He was a wandering sort of scamp, and is known to have +been in America; so that was where Brayne got his knife into him. We +didn't have much to do with him ourselves, for he worked mostly in +Germany. We've communicated, of course, with the German police. But, +oddly enough, there was a twin brother of his, named Louis Becker, +whom we had a great deal to do with. In fact, we found it necessary to +guillotine him only yesterday. Well, it's a rum thing, gentlemen, but +when I saw that fellow flat on the lawn I had the greatest jump of my +life. If I hadn't seen Louis Becker guillotined with my own eyes, +I'd have sworn it was Louis Becker lying there in the grass. Then, of +course, I remembered his twin brother in Germany, and following up the +clue--" + +The explanatory Ivan stopped, for the excellent reason that nobody was +listening to him. The Commandant and the doctor were both staring at +Father Brown, who had sprung stiffly to his feet, and was holding his +temples tight like a man in sudden and violent pain. + +"Stop, stop, stop!" he cried; "stop talking a minute, for I see half. +Will God give me strength? Will my brain make the one jump and see all? +Heaven help me! I used to be fairly good at thinking. I could paraphrase +any page in Aquinas once. Will my head split--or will it see? I see +half--I only see half." + +He buried his head in his hands, and stood in a sort of rigid torture +of thought or prayer, while the other three could only go on staring at +this last prodigy of their wild twelve hours. + +When Father Brown's hands fell they showed a face quite fresh and +serious, like a child's. He heaved a huge sigh, and said: "Let us get +this said and done with as quickly as possible. Look here, this will +be the quickest way to convince you all of the truth." He turned to the +doctor. "Dr. Simon," he said, "you have a strong head-piece, and I heard +you this morning asking the five hardest questions about this business. +Well, if you will ask them again, I will answer them." + +Simon's pince-nez dropped from his nose in his doubt and wonder, but +he answered at once. "Well, the first question, you know, is why a man +should kill another with a clumsy sabre at all when a man can kill with +a bodkin?" + +"A man cannot behead with a bodkin," said Brown calmly, "and for this +murder beheading was absolutely necessary." + +"Why?" asked O'Brien, with interest. + +"And the next question?" asked Father Brown. + +"Well, why didn't the man cry out or anything?" asked the doctor; +"sabres in gardens are certainly unusual." + +"Twigs," said the priest gloomily, and turned to the window which looked +on the scene of death. "No one saw the point of the twigs. Why should +they lie on that lawn (look at it) so far from any tree? They were not +snapped off; they were chopped off. The murderer occupied his enemy +with some tricks with the sabre, showing how he could cut a branch in +mid-air, or what-not. Then, while his enemy bent down to see the result, +a silent slash, and the head fell." + +"Well," said the doctor slowly, "that seems plausible enough. But my +next two questions will stump anyone." + +The priest still stood looking critically out of the window and waited. + +"You know how all the garden was sealed up like an air-tight chamber," +went on the doctor. "Well, how did the strange man get into the garden?" + +Without turning round, the little priest answered: "There never was any +strange man in the garden." + +There was a silence, and then a sudden cackle of almost childish +laughter relieved the strain. The absurdity of Brown's remark moved Ivan +to open taunts. + +"Oh!" he cried; "then we didn't lug a great fat corpse on to a sofa last +night? He hadn't got into the garden, I suppose?" + +"Got into the garden?" repeated Brown reflectively. "No, not entirely." + +"Hang it all," cried Simon, "a man gets into a garden, or he doesn't." + +"Not necessarily," said the priest, with a faint smile. "What is the +nest question, doctor?" + +"I fancy you're ill," exclaimed Dr. Simon sharply; "but I'll ask the +next question if you like. How did Brayne get out of the garden?" + +"He didn't get out of the garden," said the priest, still looking out of +the window. + +"Didn't get out of the garden?" exploded Simon. + +"Not completely," said Father Brown. + +Simon shook his fists in a frenzy of French logic. "A man gets out of a +garden, or he doesn't," he cried. + +"Not always," said Father Brown. + +Dr. Simon sprang to his feet impatiently. "I have no time to spare on +such senseless talk," he cried angrily. "If you can't understand a man +being on one side of a wall or the other, I won't trouble you further." + +"Doctor," said the cleric very gently, "we have always got on very +pleasantly together. If only for the sake of old friendship, stop and +tell me your fifth question." + +The impatient Simon sank into a chair by the door and said briefly: "The +head and shoulders were cut about in a queer way. It seemed to be done +after death." + +"Yes," said the motionless priest, "it was done so as to make you assume +exactly the one simple falsehood that you did assume. It was done to +make you take for granted that the head belonged to the body." + +The borderland of the brain, where all the monsters are made, moved +horribly in the Gaelic O'Brien. He felt the chaotic presence of all +the horse-men and fish-women that man's unnatural fancy has begotten. A +voice older than his first fathers seemed saying in his ear: "Keep out +of the monstrous garden where grows the tree with double fruit. Avoid +the evil garden where died the man with two heads." Yet, while these +shameful symbolic shapes passed across the ancient mirror of his Irish +soul, his Frenchified intellect was quite alert, and was watching the +odd priest as closely and incredulously as all the rest. + +Father Brown had turned round at last, and stood against the window, +with his face in dense shadow; but even in that shadow they could see +it was pale as ashes. Nevertheless, he spoke quite sensibly, as if there +were no Gaelic souls on earth. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "you did not find the strange body of Becker in +the garden. You did not find any strange body in the garden. In face +of Dr. Simon's rationalism, I still affirm that Becker was only partly +present. Look here!" (pointing to the black bulk of the mysterious +corpse) "you never saw that man in your lives. Did you ever see this +man?" + +He rapidly rolled away the bald, yellow head of the unknown, and put in +its place the white-maned head beside it. And there, complete, unified, +unmistakable, lay Julius K. Brayne. + +"The murderer," went on Brown quietly, "hacked off his enemy's head and +flung the sword far over the wall. But he was too clever to fling the +sword only. He flung the head over the wall also. Then he had only to +clap on another head to the corpse, and (as he insisted on a private +inquest) you all imagined a totally new man." + +"Clap on another head!" said O'Brien staring. "What other head? Heads +don't grow on garden bushes, do they?" + +"No," said Father Brown huskily, and looking at his boots; "there +is only one place where they grow. They grow in the basket of the +guillotine, beside which the chief of police, Aristide Valentin, was +standing not an hour before the murder. Oh, my friends, hear me a minute +more before you tear me in pieces. Valentin is an honest man, if being +mad for an arguable cause is honesty. But did you never see in that +cold, grey eye of his that he is mad! He would do anything, anything, to +break what he calls the superstition of the Cross. He has fought for +it and starved for it, and now he has murdered for it. Brayne's crazy +millions had hitherto been scattered among so many sects that they did +little to alter the balance of things. But Valentin heard a whisper that +Brayne, like so many scatter-brained sceptics, was drifting to us; and +that was quite a different thing. Brayne would pour supplies into the +impoverished and pugnacious Church of France; he would support six +Nationalist newspapers like The Guillotine. The battle was already +balanced on a point, and the fanatic took flame at the risk. He resolved +to destroy the millionaire, and he did it as one would expect the +greatest of detectives to commit his only crime. He abstracted the +severed head of Becker on some criminological excuse, and took it home +in his official box. He had that last argument with Brayne, that Lord +Galloway did not hear the end of; that failing, he led him out into the +sealed garden, talked about swordsmanship, used twigs and a sabre for +illustration, and--" + +Ivan of the Scar sprang up. "You lunatic," he yelled; "you'll go to my +master now, if I take you by--" + +"Why, I was going there," said Brown heavily; "I must ask him to +confess, and all that." + +Driving the unhappy Brown before them like a hostage or sacrifice, they +rushed together into the sudden stillness of Valentin's study. + +The great detective sat at his desk apparently too occupied to hear +their turbulent entrance. They paused a moment, and then something in +the look of that upright and elegant back made the doctor run forward +suddenly. A touch and a glance showed him that there was a small box of +pills at Valentin's elbow, and that Valentin was dead in his chair; and +on the blind face of the suicide was more than the pride of Cato. + + + + +The Queer Feet + + +If you meet a member of that select club, "The Twelve True Fishermen," +entering the Vernon Hotel for the annual club dinner, you will observe, +as he takes off his overcoat, that his evening coat is green and not +black. If (supposing that you have the star-defying audacity to address +such a being) you ask him why, he will probably answer that he does it +to avoid being mistaken for a waiter. You will then retire crushed. But +you will leave behind you a mystery as yet unsolved and a tale worth +telling. + +If (to pursue the same vein of improbable conjecture) you were to meet +a mild, hard-working little priest, named Father Brown, and were to ask +him what he thought was the most singular luck of his life, he would +probably reply that upon the whole his best stroke was at the Vernon +Hotel, where he had averted a crime and, perhaps, saved a soul, merely +by listening to a few footsteps in a passage. He is perhaps a little +proud of this wild and wonderful guess of his, and it is possible that +he might refer to it. But since it is immeasurably unlikely that you +will ever rise high enough in the social world to find "The Twelve +True Fishermen," or that you will ever sink low enough among slums and +criminals to find Father Brown, I fear you will never hear the story at +all unless you hear it from me. + +The Vernon Hotel at which The Twelve True Fishermen held their annual +dinners was an institution such as can only exist in an oligarchical +society which has almost gone mad on good manners. It was that +topsy-turvy product--an "exclusive" commercial enterprise. That is, it +was a thing which paid not by attracting people, but actually by turning +people away. In the heart of a plutocracy tradesmen become cunning +enough to be more fastidious than their customers. They positively +create difficulties so that their wealthy and weary clients may spend +money and diplomacy in overcoming them. If there were a fashionable +hotel in London which no man could enter who was under six foot, society +would meekly make up parties of six-foot men to dine in it. If there +were an expensive restaurant which by a mere caprice of its proprietor +was only open on Thursday afternoon, it would be crowded on Thursday +afternoon. The Vernon Hotel stood, as if by accident, in the corner of a +square in Belgravia. It was a small hotel; and a very inconvenient +one. But its very inconveniences were considered as walls protecting a +particular class. One inconvenience, in particular, was held to be of +vital importance: the fact that practically only twenty-four people +could dine in the place at once. The only big dinner table was the +celebrated terrace table, which stood open to the air on a sort of +veranda overlooking one of the most exquisite old gardens in London. +Thus it happened that even the twenty-four seats at this table could +only be enjoyed in warm weather; and this making the enjoyment yet more +difficult made it yet more desired. The existing owner of the hotel was +a Jew named Lever; and he made nearly a million out of it, by making it +difficult to get into. Of course he combined with this limitation in the +scope of his enterprise the most careful polish in its performance. +The wines and cooking were really as good as any in Europe, and the +demeanour of the attendants exactly mirrored the fixed mood of the +English upper class. The proprietor knew all his waiters like the +fingers on his hand; there were only fifteen of them all told. It was +much easier to become a Member of Parliament than to become a waiter in +that hotel. Each waiter was trained in terrible silence and smoothness, +as if he were a gentleman's servant. And, indeed, there was generally at +least one waiter to every gentleman who dined. + +The club of The Twelve True Fishermen would not have consented to dine +anywhere but in such a place, for it insisted on a luxurious privacy; +and would have been quite upset by the mere thought that any other club +was even dining in the same building. On the occasion of their annual +dinner the Fishermen were in the habit of exposing all their treasures, +as if they were in a private house, especially the celebrated set +of fish knives and forks which were, as it were, the insignia of the +society, each being exquisitely wrought in silver in the form of a fish, +and each loaded at the hilt with one large pearl. These were always +laid out for the fish course, and the fish course was always the most +magnificent in that magnificent repast. The society had a vast number +of ceremonies and observances, but it had no history and no object; that +was where it was so very aristocratic. You did not have to be anything +in order to be one of the Twelve Fishers; unless you were already a +certain sort of person, you never even heard of them. It had been in +existence twelve years. Its president was Mr. Audley. Its vice-president +was the Duke of Chester. + +If I have in any degree conveyed the atmosphere of this appalling hotel, +the reader may feel a natural wonder as to how I came to know anything +about it, and may even speculate as to how so ordinary a person as my +friend Father Brown came to find himself in that golden galley. As far +as that is concerned, my story is simple, or even vulgar. There is in +the world a very aged rioter and demagogue who breaks into the most +refined retreats with the dreadful information that all men are +brothers, and wherever this leveller went on his pale horse it was +Father Brown's trade to follow. One of the waiters, an Italian, had +been struck down with a paralytic stroke that afternoon; and his Jewish +employer, marvelling mildly at such superstitions, had consented to send +for the nearest Popish priest. With what the waiter confessed to Father +Brown we are not concerned, for the excellent reason that that cleric +kept it to himself; but apparently it involved him in writing out a note +or statement for the conveying of some message or the righting of some +wrong. Father Brown, therefore, with a meek impudence which he would +have shown equally in Buckingham Palace, asked to be provided with a +room and writing materials. Mr. Lever was torn in two. He was a kind +man, and had also that bad imitation of kindness, the dislike of any +difficulty or scene. At the same time the presence of one unusual +stranger in his hotel that evening was like a speck of dirt on something +just cleaned. There was never any borderland or anteroom in the Vernon +Hotel, no people waiting in the hall, no customers coming in on chance. +There were fifteen waiters. There were twelve guests. It would be as +startling to find a new guest in the hotel that night as to find a +new brother taking breakfast or tea in one's own family. Moreover, +the priest's appearance was second-rate and his clothes muddy; a mere +glimpse of him afar off might precipitate a crisis in the club. Mr. +Lever at last hit on a plan to cover, since he might not obliterate, the +disgrace. When you enter (as you never will) the Vernon Hotel, you pass +down a short passage decorated with a few dingy but important pictures, +and come to the main vestibule and lounge which opens on your right +into passages leading to the public rooms, and on your left to a similar +passage pointing to the kitchens and offices of the hotel. Immediately +on your left hand is the corner of a glass office, which abuts upon +the lounge--a house within a house, so to speak, like the old hotel bar +which probably once occupied its place. + +In this office sat the representative of the proprietor (nobody in this +place ever appeared in person if he could help it), and just beyond the +office, on the way to the servants' quarters, was the gentlemen's cloak +room, the last boundary of the gentlemen's domain. But between the +office and the cloak room was a small private room without other outlet, +sometimes used by the proprietor for delicate and important matters, +such as lending a duke a thousand pounds or declining to lend him +sixpence. It is a mark of the magnificent tolerance of Mr. Lever that +he permitted this holy place to be for about half an hour profaned by a +mere priest, scribbling away on a piece of paper. The story which Father +Brown was writing down was very likely a much better story than this +one, only it will never be known. I can merely state that it was very +nearly as long, and that the last two or three paragraphs of it were the +least exciting and absorbing. + +For it was by the time that he had reached these that the priest began a +little to allow his thoughts to wander and his animal senses, which were +commonly keen, to awaken. The time of darkness and dinner was drawing +on; his own forgotten little room was without a light, and perhaps the +gathering gloom, as occasionally happens, sharpened the sense of sound. +As Father Brown wrote the last and least essential part of his document, +he caught himself writing to the rhythm of a recurrent noise outside, +just as one sometimes thinks to the tune of a railway train. When he +became conscious of the thing he found what it was: only the ordinary +patter of feet passing the door, which in an hotel was no very unlikely +matter. Nevertheless, he stared at the darkened ceiling, and listened to +the sound. After he had listened for a few seconds dreamily, he got to +his feet and listened intently, with his head a little on one side. +Then he sat down again and buried his brow in his hands, now not merely +listening, but listening and thinking also. + +The footsteps outside at any given moment were such as one might hear in +any hotel; and yet, taken as a whole, there was something very strange +about them. There were no other footsteps. It was always a very silent +house, for the few familiar guests went at once to their own apartments, +and the well-trained waiters were told to be almost invisible until +they were wanted. One could not conceive any place where there was less +reason to apprehend anything irregular. But these footsteps were so +odd that one could not decide to call them regular or irregular. Father +Brown followed them with his finger on the edge of the table, like a man +trying to learn a tune on the piano. + +First, there came a long rush of rapid little steps, such as a light man +might make in winning a walking race. At a certain point they stopped +and changed to a sort of slow, swinging stamp, numbering not a quarter +of the steps, but occupying about the same time. The moment the last +echoing stamp had died away would come again the run or ripple of light, +hurrying feet, and then again the thud of the heavier walking. It was +certainly the same pair of boots, partly because (as has been said) +there were no other boots about, and partly because they had a small +but unmistakable creak in them. Father Brown had the kind of head that +cannot help asking questions; and on this apparently trivial question +his head almost split. He had seen men run in order to jump. He had seen +men run in order to slide. But why on earth should a man run in order +to walk? Or, again, why should he walk in order to run? Yet no other +description would cover the antics of this invisible pair of legs. The +man was either walking very fast down one-half of the corridor in order +to walk very slow down the other half; or he was walking very slow +at one end to have the rapture of walking fast at the other. Neither +suggestion seemed to make much sense. His brain was growing darker and +darker, like his room. + +Yet, as he began to think steadily, the very blackness of his cell +seemed to make his thoughts more vivid; he began to see as in a kind of +vision the fantastic feet capering along the corridor in unnatural or +symbolic attitudes. Was it a heathen religious dance? Or some entirely +new kind of scientific exercise? Father Brown began to ask himself with +more exactness what the steps suggested. Taking the slow step first: it +certainly was not the step of the proprietor. Men of his type walk +with a rapid waddle, or they sit still. It could not be any servant or +messenger waiting for directions. It did not sound like it. The poorer +orders (in an oligarchy) sometimes lurch about when they are slightly +drunk, but generally, and especially in such gorgeous scenes, they stand +or sit in constrained attitudes. No; that heavy yet springy step, with +a kind of careless emphasis, not specially noisy, yet not caring what +noise it made, belonged to only one of the animals of this earth. It was +a gentleman of western Europe, and probably one who had never worked for +his living. + +Just as he came to this solid certainty, the step changed to the quicker +one, and ran past the door as feverishly as a rat. The listener remarked +that though this step was much swifter it was also much more noiseless, +almost as if the man were walking on tiptoe. Yet it was not associated +in his mind with secrecy, but with something else--something that he +could not remember. He was maddened by one of those half-memories that +make a man feel half-witted. Surely he had heard that strange, swift +walking somewhere. Suddenly he sprang to his feet with a new idea in +his head, and walked to the door. His room had no direct outlet on the +passage, but let on one side into the glass office, and on the other +into the cloak room beyond. He tried the door into the office, and +found it locked. Then he looked at the window, now a square pane full of +purple cloud cleft by livid sunset, and for an instant he smelt evil as +a dog smells rats. + +The rational part of him (whether the wiser or not) regained its +supremacy. He remembered that the proprietor had told him that he should +lock the door, and would come later to release him. He told himself that +twenty things he had not thought of might explain the eccentric sounds +outside; he reminded himself that there was just enough light left to +finish his own proper work. Bringing his paper to the window so as to +catch the last stormy evening light, he resolutely plunged once more +into the almost completed record. He had written for about twenty +minutes, bending closer and closer to his paper in the lessening light; +then suddenly he sat upright. He had heard the strange feet once more. + +This time they had a third oddity. Previously the unknown man had +walked, with levity indeed and lightning quickness, but he had walked. +This time he ran. One could hear the swift, soft, bounding steps coming +along the corridor, like the pads of a fleeing and leaping panther. +Whoever was coming was a very strong, active man, in still yet tearing +excitement. Yet, when the sound had swept up to the office like a sort +of whispering whirlwind, it suddenly changed again to the old slow, +swaggering stamp. + +Father Brown flung down his paper, and, knowing the office door to +be locked, went at once into the cloak room on the other side. The +attendant of this place was temporarily absent, probably because the +only guests were at dinner and his office was a sinecure. After groping +through a grey forest of overcoats, he found that the dim cloak room +opened on the lighted corridor in the form of a sort of counter or +half-door, like most of the counters across which we have all handed +umbrellas and received tickets. There was a light immediately above +the semicircular arch of this opening. It threw little illumination on +Father Brown himself, who seemed a mere dark outline against the dim +sunset window behind him. But it threw an almost theatrical light on the +man who stood outside the cloak room in the corridor. + +He was an elegant man in very plain evening dress; tall, but with an air +of not taking up much room; one felt that he could have slid along like +a shadow where many smaller men would have been obvious and obstructive. +His face, now flung back in the lamplight, was swarthy and vivacious, +the face of a foreigner. His figure was good, his manners good humoured +and confident; a critic could only say that his black coat was a shade +below his figure and manners, and even bulged and bagged in an odd +way. The moment he caught sight of Brown's black silhouette against the +sunset, he tossed down a scrap of paper with a number and called out +with amiable authority: "I want my hat and coat, please; I find I have +to go away at once." + +Father Brown took the paper without a word, and obediently went to look +for the coat; it was not the first menial work he had done in his +life. He brought it and laid it on the counter; meanwhile, the strange +gentleman who had been feeling in his waistcoat pocket, said laughing: +"I haven't got any silver; you can keep this." And he threw down half a +sovereign, and caught up his coat. + +Father Brown's figure remained quite dark and still; but in that instant +he had lost his head. His head was always most valuable when he had lost +it. In such moments he put two and two together and made four million. +Often the Catholic Church (which is wedded to common sense) did not +approve of it. Often he did not approve of it himself. But it was real +inspiration--important at rare crises--when whosoever shall lose his +head the same shall save it. + +"I think, sir," he said civilly, "that you have some silver in your +pocket." + +The tall gentleman stared. "Hang it," he cried, "if I choose to give you +gold, why should you complain?" + +"Because silver is sometimes more valuable than gold," said the priest +mildly; "that is, in large quantities." + +The stranger looked at him curiously. Then he looked still more +curiously up the passage towards the main entrance. Then he looked back +at Brown again, and then he looked very carefully at the window beyond +Brown's head, still coloured with the after-glow of the storm. Then he +seemed to make up his mind. He put one hand on the counter, vaulted +over as easily as an acrobat and towered above the priest, putting one +tremendous hand upon his collar. + +"Stand still," he said, in a hacking whisper. "I don't want to threaten +you, but--" + +"I do want to threaten you," said Father Brown, in a voice like a +rolling drum, "I want to threaten you with the worm that dieth not, and +the fire that is not quenched." + +"You're a rum sort of cloak-room clerk," said the other. + +"I am a priest, Monsieur Flambeau," said Brown, "and I am ready to hear +your confession." + +The other stood gasping for a few moments, and then staggered back into +a chair. + +The first two courses of the dinner of The Twelve True Fishermen had +proceeded with placid success. I do not possess a copy of the menu; and +if I did it would not convey anything to anybody. It was written in +a sort of super-French employed by cooks, but quite unintelligible to +Frenchmen. There was a tradition in the club that the hors d'oeuvres +should be various and manifold to the point of madness. They were taken +seriously because they were avowedly useless extras, like the whole +dinner and the whole club. There was also a tradition that the soup +course should be light and unpretending--a sort of simple and austere +vigil for the feast of fish that was to come. The talk was that strange, +slight talk which governs the British Empire, which governs it in +secret, and yet would scarcely enlighten an ordinary Englishman even if +he could overhear it. Cabinet ministers on both sides were alluded to +by their Christian names with a sort of bored benignity. The Radical +Chancellor of the Exchequer, whom the whole Tory party was supposed to +be cursing for his extortions, was praised for his minor poetry, or his +saddle in the hunting field. The Tory leader, whom all Liberals +were supposed to hate as a tyrant, was discussed and, on the whole, +praised--as a Liberal. It seemed somehow that politicians were very +important. And yet, anything seemed important about them except their +politics. Mr. Audley, the chairman, was an amiable, elderly man who +still wore Gladstone collars; he was a kind of symbol of all that +phantasmal and yet fixed society. He had never done anything--not even +anything wrong. He was not fast; he was not even particularly rich. +He was simply in the thing; and there was an end of it. No party could +ignore him, and if he had wished to be in the Cabinet he certainly would +have been put there. The Duke of Chester, the vice-president, was a +young and rising politician. That is to say, he was a pleasant youth, +with flat, fair hair and a freckled face, with moderate intelligence and +enormous estates. In public his appearances were always successful and +his principle was simple enough. When he thought of a joke he made it, +and was called brilliant. When he could not think of a joke he said that +this was no time for trifling, and was called able. In private, in a +club of his own class, he was simply quite pleasantly frank and silly, +like a schoolboy. Mr. Audley, never having been in politics, treated +them a little more seriously. Sometimes he even embarrassed the company +by phrases suggesting that there was some difference between a Liberal +and a Conservative. He himself was a Conservative, even in private life. +He had a roll of grey hair over the back of his collar, like certain +old-fashioned statesmen, and seen from behind he looked like the man the +empire wants. Seen from the front he looked like a mild, self-indulgent +bachelor, with rooms in the Albany--which he was. + +As has been remarked, there were twenty-four seats at the terrace table, +and only twelve members of the club. Thus they could occupy the terrace +in the most luxurious style of all, being ranged along the inner side of +the table, with no one opposite, commanding an uninterrupted view of +the garden, the colours of which were still vivid, though evening was +closing in somewhat luridly for the time of year. The chairman sat in +the centre of the line, and the vice-president at the right-hand end +of it. When the twelve guests first trooped into their seats it was the +custom (for some unknown reason) for all the fifteen waiters to stand +lining the wall like troops presenting arms to the king, while the fat +proprietor stood and bowed to the club with radiant surprise, as if he +had never heard of them before. But before the first chink of knife and +fork this army of retainers had vanished, only the one or two required +to collect and distribute the plates darting about in deathly silence. +Mr. Lever, the proprietor, of course had disappeared in convulsions of +courtesy long before. It would be exaggerative, indeed irreverent, +to say that he ever positively appeared again. But when the important +course, the fish course, was being brought on, there was--how shall I +put it?--a vivid shadow, a projection of his personality, which told +that he was hovering near. The sacred fish course consisted (to the eyes +of the vulgar) in a sort of monstrous pudding, about the size and shape +of a wedding cake, in which some considerable number of interesting +fishes had finally lost the shapes which God had given to them. The +Twelve True Fishermen took up their celebrated fish knives and fish +forks, and approached it as gravely as if every inch of the pudding cost +as much as the silver fork it was eaten with. So it did, for all I know. +This course was dealt with in eager and devouring silence; and it was +only when his plate was nearly empty that the young duke made the ritual +remark: "They can't do this anywhere but here." + +"Nowhere," said Mr. Audley, in a deep bass voice, turning to the speaker +and nodding his venerable head a number of times. "Nowhere, assuredly, +except here. It was represented to me that at the Cafe Anglais--" + +Here he was interrupted and even agitated for a moment by the removal +of his plate, but he recaptured the valuable thread of his thoughts. "It +was represented to me that the same could be done at the Cafe Anglais. +Nothing like it, sir," he said, shaking his head ruthlessly, like a +hanging judge. "Nothing like it." + +"Overrated place," said a certain Colonel Pound, speaking (by the look +of him) for the first time for some months. + +"Oh, I don't know," said the Duke of Chester, who was an optimist, "it's +jolly good for some things. You can't beat it at--" + +A waiter came swiftly along the room, and then stopped dead. His +stoppage was as silent as his tread; but all those vague and kindly +gentlemen were so used to the utter smoothness of the unseen machinery +which surrounded and supported their lives, that a waiter doing anything +unexpected was a start and a jar. They felt as you and I would feel if +the inanimate world disobeyed--if a chair ran away from us. + +The waiter stood staring a few seconds, while there deepened on every +face at table a strange shame which is wholly the product of our time. +It is the combination of modern humanitarianism with the horrible +modern abyss between the souls of the rich and poor. A genuine historic +aristocrat would have thrown things at the waiter, beginning with empty +bottles, and very probably ending with money. A genuine democrat would +have asked him, with comrade-like clearness of speech, what the devil he +was doing. But these modern plutocrats could not bear a poor man near +to them, either as a slave or as a friend. That something had gone wrong +with the servants was merely a dull, hot embarrassment. They did not +want to be brutal, and they dreaded the need to be benevolent. They +wanted the thing, whatever it was, to be over. It was over. The waiter, +after standing for some seconds rigid, like a cataleptic, turned round +and ran madly out of the room. + +When he reappeared in the room, or rather in the doorway, it was in +company with another waiter, with whom he whispered and gesticulated +with southern fierceness. Then the first waiter went away, leaving the +second waiter, and reappeared with a third waiter. By the time a fourth +waiter had joined this hurried synod, Mr. Audley felt it necessary to +break the silence in the interests of Tact. He used a very loud cough, +instead of a presidential hammer, and said: "Splendid work young +Moocher's doing in Burmah. Now, no other nation in the world could +have--" + +A fifth waiter had sped towards him like an arrow, and was whispering in +his ear: "So sorry. Important! Might the proprietor speak to you?" + +The chairman turned in disorder, and with a dazed stare saw Mr. Lever +coming towards them with his lumbering quickness. The gait of the good +proprietor was indeed his usual gait, but his face was by no means +usual. Generally it was a genial copper-brown; now it was a sickly +yellow. + +"You will pardon me, Mr. Audley," he said, with asthmatic +breathlessness. "I have great apprehensions. Your fish-plates, they are +cleared away with the knife and fork on them!" + +"Well, I hope so," said the chairman, with some warmth. + +"You see him?" panted the excited hotel keeper; "you see the waiter who +took them away? You know him?" + +"Know the waiter?" answered Mr. Audley indignantly. "Certainly not!" + +Mr. Lever opened his hands with a gesture of agony. "I never send him," +he said. "I know not when or why he come. I send my waiter to take away +the plates, and he find them already away." + +Mr. Audley still looked rather too bewildered to be really the man the +empire wants; none of the company could say anything except the man of +wood--Colonel Pound--who seemed galvanised into an unnatural life. He +rose rigidly from his chair, leaving all the rest sitting, screwed his +eyeglass into his eye, and spoke in a raucous undertone as if he had +half-forgotten how to speak. "Do you mean," he said, "that somebody has +stolen our silver fish service?" + +The proprietor repeated the open-handed gesture with even greater +helplessness and in a flash all the men at the table were on their feet. + +"Are all your waiters here?" demanded the colonel, in his low, harsh +accent. + +"Yes; they're all here. I noticed it myself," cried the young duke, +pushing his boyish face into the inmost ring. "Always count 'em as I +come in; they look so queer standing up against the wall." + +"But surely one cannot exactly remember," began Mr. Audley, with heavy +hesitation. + +"I remember exactly, I tell you," cried the duke excitedly. "There never +have been more than fifteen waiters at this place, and there were no +more than fifteen tonight, I'll swear; no more and no less." + +The proprietor turned upon him, quaking in a kind of palsy of surprise. +"You say--you say," he stammered, "that you see all my fifteen waiters?" + +"As usual," assented the duke. "What is the matter with that!" + +"Nothing," said Lever, with a deepening accent, "only you did not. For +one of zem is dead upstairs." + +There was a shocking stillness for an instant in that room. It may be +(so supernatural is the word death) that each of those idle men looked +for a second at his soul, and saw it as a small dried pea. One of +them--the duke, I think--even said with the idiotic kindness of wealth: +"Is there anything we can do?" + +"He has had a priest," said the Jew, not untouched. + +Then, as to the clang of doom, they awoke to their own position. For a +few weird seconds they had really felt as if the fifteenth waiter might +be the ghost of the dead man upstairs. They had been dumb under that +oppression, for ghosts were to them an embarrassment, like beggars. But +the remembrance of the silver broke the spell of the miraculous; broke +it abruptly and with a brutal reaction. The colonel flung over his chair +and strode to the door. "If there was a fifteenth man here, friends," he +said, "that fifteenth fellow was a thief. Down at once to the front +and back doors and secure everything; then we'll talk. The twenty-four +pearls of the club are worth recovering." + +Mr. Audley seemed at first to hesitate about whether it was gentlemanly +to be in such a hurry about anything; but, seeing the duke dash down the +stairs with youthful energy, he followed with a more mature motion. + +At the same instant a sixth waiter ran into the room, and declared that +he had found the pile of fish plates on a sideboard, with no trace of +the silver. + +The crowd of diners and attendants that tumbled helter-skelter down the +passages divided into two groups. Most of the Fishermen followed the +proprietor to the front room to demand news of any exit. Colonel Pound, +with the chairman, the vice-president, and one or two others darted down +the corridor leading to the servants' quarters, as the more likely line +of escape. As they did so they passed the dim alcove or cavern of +the cloak room, and saw a short, black-coated figure, presumably an +attendant, standing a little way back in the shadow of it. + +"Hallo, there!" called out the duke. "Have you seen anyone pass?" + +The short figure did not answer the question directly, but merely said: +"Perhaps I have got what you are looking for, gentlemen." + +They paused, wavering and wondering, while he quietly went to the back +of the cloak room, and came back with both hands full of shining silver, +which he laid out on the counter as calmly as a salesman. It took the +form of a dozen quaintly shaped forks and knives. + +"You--you--" began the colonel, quite thrown off his balance at last. +Then he peered into the dim little room and saw two things: first, that +the short, black-clad man was dressed like a clergyman; and, second, +that the window of the room behind him was burst, as if someone had +passed violently through. "Valuable things to deposit in a cloak room, +aren't they?" remarked the clergyman, with cheerful composure. + +"Did--did you steal those things?" stammered Mr. Audley, with staring +eyes. + +"If I did," said the cleric pleasantly, "at least I am bringing them +back again." + +"But you didn't," said Colonel Pound, still staring at the broken +window. + +"To make a clean breast of it, I didn't," said the other, with some +humour. And he seated himself quite gravely on a stool. "But you know +who did," said the, colonel. + +"I don't know his real name," said the priest placidly, "but I know +something of his fighting weight, and a great deal about his spiritual +difficulties. I formed the physical estimate when he was trying to +throttle me, and the moral estimate when he repented." + +"Oh, I say--repented!" cried young Chester, with a sort of crow of +laughter. + +Father Brown got to his feet, putting his hands behind him. "Odd, isn't +it," he said, "that a thief and a vagabond should repent, when so many +who are rich and secure remain hard and frivolous, and without fruit for +God or man? But there, if you will excuse me, you trespass a little upon +my province. If you doubt the penitence as a practical fact, there are +your knives and forks. You are The Twelve True Fishers, and there are +all your silver fish. But He has made me a fisher of men." + +"Did you catch this man?" asked the colonel, frowning. + +Father Brown looked him full in his frowning face. "Yes," he said, "I +caught him, with an unseen hook and an invisible line which is long +enough to let him wander to the ends of the world, and still to bring +him back with a twitch upon the thread." + +There was a long silence. All the other men present drifted away +to carry the recovered silver to their comrades, or to consult the +proprietor about the queer condition of affairs. But the grim-faced +colonel still sat sideways on the counter, swinging his long, lank legs +and biting his dark moustache. + +At last he said quietly to the priest: "He must have been a clever +fellow, but I think I know a cleverer." + +"He was a clever fellow," answered the other, "but I am not quite sure +of what other you mean." + +"I mean you," said the colonel, with a short laugh. "I don't want to get +the fellow jailed; make yourself easy about that. But I'd give a good +many silver forks to know exactly how you fell into this affair, and how +you got the stuff out of him. I reckon you're the most up-to-date devil +of the present company." + +Father Brown seemed rather to like the saturnine candour of the soldier. +"Well," he said, smiling, "I mustn't tell you anything of the man's +identity, or his own story, of course; but there's no particular reason +why I shouldn't tell you of the mere outside facts which I found out for +myself." + +He hopped over the barrier with unexpected activity, and sat beside +Colonel Pound, kicking his short legs like a little boy on a gate. He +began to tell the story as easily as if he were telling it to an old +friend by a Christmas fire. + +"You see, colonel," he said, "I was shut up in that small room there +doing some writing, when I heard a pair of feet in this passage doing a +dance that was as queer as the dance of death. First came quick, funny +little steps, like a man walking on tiptoe for a wager; then came slow, +careless, creaking steps, as of a big man walking about with a cigar. +But they were both made by the same feet, I swear, and they came in +rotation; first the run and then the walk, and then the run again. I +wondered at first idly and then wildly why a man should act these two +parts at once. One walk I knew; it was just like yours, colonel. It +was the walk of a well-fed gentleman waiting for something, who strolls +about rather because he is physically alert than because he is mentally +impatient. I knew that I knew the other walk, too, but I could not +remember what it was. What wild creature had I met on my travels that +tore along on tiptoe in that extraordinary style? Then I heard a clink +of plates somewhere; and the answer stood up as plain as St. Peter's. It +was the walk of a waiter--that walk with the body slanted forward, the +eyes looking down, the ball of the toe spurning away the ground, the +coat tails and napkin flying. Then I thought for a minute and a half +more. And I believe I saw the manner of the crime, as clearly as if I +were going to commit it." + +Colonel Pound looked at him keenly, but the speaker's mild grey eyes +were fixed upon the ceiling with almost empty wistfulness. + +"A crime," he said slowly, "is like any other work of art. Don't look +surprised; crimes are by no means the only works of art that come from +an infernal workshop. But every work of art, divine or diabolic, has +one indispensable mark--I mean, that the centre of it is simple, however +much the fulfilment may be complicated. Thus, in Hamlet, let us say, +the grotesqueness of the grave-digger, the flowers of the mad girl, the +fantastic finery of Osric, the pallor of the ghost and the grin of +the skull are all oddities in a sort of tangled wreath round one plain +tragic figure of a man in black. Well, this also," he said, getting +slowly down from his seat with a smile, "this also is the plain tragedy +of a man in black. Yes," he went on, seeing the colonel look up in some +wonder, "the whole of this tale turns on a black coat. In this, as in +Hamlet, there are the rococo excrescences--yourselves, let us say. There +is the dead waiter, who was there when he could not be there. There is +the invisible hand that swept your table clear of silver and melted +into air. But every clever crime is founded ultimately on some one quite +simple fact--some fact that is not itself mysterious. The mystification +comes in covering it up, in leading men's thoughts away from it. This +large and subtle and (in the ordinary course) most profitable crime, was +built on the plain fact that a gentleman's evening dress is the same as +a waiter's. All the rest was acting, and thundering good acting, too." + +"Still," said the colonel, getting up and frowning at his boots, "I am +not sure that I understand." + +"Colonel," said Father Brown, "I tell you that this archangel of +impudence who stole your forks walked up and down this passage twenty +times in the blaze of all the lamps, in the glare of all the eyes. He +did not go and hide in dim corners where suspicion might have searched +for him. He kept constantly on the move in the lighted corridors, and +everywhere that he went he seemed to be there by right. Don't ask me +what he was like; you have seen him yourself six or seven times tonight. +You were waiting with all the other grand people in the reception room +at the end of the passage there, with the terrace just beyond. Whenever +he came among you gentlemen, he came in the lightning style of a waiter, +with bent head, flapping napkin and flying feet. He shot out on to the +terrace, did something to the table cloth, and shot back again towards +the office and the waiters' quarters. By the time he had come under the +eye of the office clerk and the waiters he had become another man in +every inch of his body, in every instinctive gesture. He strolled among +the servants with the absent-minded insolence which they have all seen +in their patrons. It was no new thing to them that a swell from the +dinner party should pace all parts of the house like an animal at the +Zoo; they know that nothing marks the Smart Set more than a habit of +walking where one chooses. When he was magnificently weary of walking +down that particular passage he would wheel round and pace back past +the office; in the shadow of the arch just beyond he was altered as by +a blast of magic, and went hurrying forward again among the Twelve +Fishermen, an obsequious attendant. Why should the gentlemen look at +a chance waiter? Why should the waiters suspect a first-rate walking +gentleman? Once or twice he played the coolest tricks. In the +proprietor's private quarters he called out breezily for a syphon of +soda water, saying he was thirsty. He said genially that he would carry +it himself, and he did; he carried it quickly and correctly through the +thick of you, a waiter with an obvious errand. Of course, it could not +have been kept up long, but it only had to be kept up till the end of +the fish course. + +"His worst moment was when the waiters stood in a row; but even then he +contrived to lean against the wall just round the corner in such a way +that for that important instant the waiters thought him a gentleman, +while the gentlemen thought him a waiter. The rest went like winking. If +any waiter caught him away from the table, that waiter caught a languid +aristocrat. He had only to time himself two minutes before the fish was +cleared, become a swift servant, and clear it himself. He put the plates +down on a sideboard, stuffed the silver in his breast pocket, giving it +a bulgy look, and ran like a hare (I heard him coming) till he came to +the cloak room. There he had only to be a plutocrat again--a plutocrat +called away suddenly on business. He had only to give his ticket to +the cloak-room attendant, and go out again elegantly as he had come in. +Only--only I happened to be the cloak-room attendant." + +"What did you do to him?" cried the colonel, with unusual intensity. +"What did he tell you?" + +"I beg your pardon," said the priest immovably, "that is where the story +ends." + +"And the interesting story begins," muttered Pound. "I think I +understand his professional trick. But I don't seem to have got hold of +yours." + +"I must be going," said Father Brown. + +They walked together along the passage to the entrance hall, where they +saw the fresh, freckled face of the Duke of Chester, who was bounding +buoyantly along towards them. + +"Come along, Pound," he cried breathlessly. "I've been looking for you +everywhere. The dinner's going again in spanking style, and old Audley +has got to make a speech in honour of the forks being saved. We want to +start some new ceremony, don't you know, to commemorate the occasion. I +say, you really got the goods back, what do you suggest?" + +"Why," said the colonel, eyeing him with a certain sardonic approval, "I +should suggest that henceforward we wear green coats, instead of +black. One never knows what mistakes may arise when one looks so like a +waiter." + +"Oh, hang it all!" said the young man, "a gentleman never looks like a +waiter." + +"Nor a waiter like a gentleman, I suppose," said Colonel Pound, with the +same lowering laughter on his face. "Reverend sir, your friend must have +been very smart to act the gentleman." + +Father Brown buttoned up his commonplace overcoat to the neck, for the +night was stormy, and took his commonplace umbrella from the stand. + +"Yes," he said; "it must be very hard work to be a gentleman; but, do +you know, I have sometimes thought that it may be almost as laborious to +be a waiter." + +And saying "Good evening," he pushed open the heavy doors of that palace +of pleasures. The golden gates closed behind him, and he went at a brisk +walk through the damp, dark streets in search of a penny omnibus. + + + + +The Flying Stars + + +"The most beautiful crime I ever committed," Flambeau would say in his +highly moral old age, "was also, by a singular coincidence, my last. +It was committed at Christmas. As an artist I had always attempted to +provide crimes suitable to the special season or landscapes in which I +found myself, choosing this or that terrace or garden for a catastrophe, +as if for a statuary group. Thus squires should be swindled in long +rooms panelled with oak; while Jews, on the other hand, should rather +find themselves unexpectedly penniless among the lights and screens of +the Cafe Riche. Thus, in England, if I wished to relieve a dean of his +riches (which is not so easy as you might suppose), I wished to frame +him, if I make myself clear, in the green lawns and grey towers of some +cathedral town. Similarly, in France, when I had got money out of a rich +and wicked peasant (which is almost impossible), it gratified me to get +his indignant head relieved against a grey line of clipped poplars, +and those solemn plains of Gaul over which broods the mighty spirit of +Millet. + +"Well, my last crime was a Christmas crime, a cheery, cosy, English +middle-class crime; a crime of Charles Dickens. I did it in a good old +middle-class house near Putney, a house with a crescent of carriage +drive, a house with a stable by the side of it, a house with the name +on the two outer gates, a house with a monkey tree. Enough, you know the +species. I really think my imitation of Dickens's style was dexterous +and literary. It seems almost a pity I repented the same evening." + +Flambeau would then proceed to tell the story from the inside; and +even from the inside it was odd. Seen from the outside it was perfectly +incomprehensible, and it is from the outside that the stranger must +study it. From this standpoint the drama may be said to have begun when +the front doors of the house with the stable opened on the garden with +the monkey tree, and a young girl came out with bread to feed the birds +on the afternoon of Boxing Day. She had a pretty face, with brave brown +eyes; but her figure was beyond conjecture, for she was so wrapped up in +brown furs that it was hard to say which was hair and which was fur. But +for the attractive face she might have been a small toddling bear. + +The winter afternoon was reddening towards evening, and already a ruby +light was rolled over the bloomless beds, filling them, as it were, with +the ghosts of the dead roses. On one side of the house stood the stable, +on the other an alley or cloister of laurels led to the larger garden +behind. The young lady, having scattered bread for the birds (for +the fourth or fifth time that day, because the dog ate it), passed +unobtrusively down the lane of laurels and into a glimmering plantation +of evergreens behind. Here she gave an exclamation of wonder, real or +ritual, and looking up at the high garden wall above her, beheld it +fantastically bestridden by a somewhat fantastic figure. + +"Oh, don't jump, Mr. Crook," she called out in some alarm; "it's much +too high." + +The individual riding the party wall like an aerial horse was a tall, +angular young man, with dark hair sticking up like a hair brush, +intelligent and even distinguished lineaments, but a sallow and almost +alien complexion. This showed the more plainly because he wore an +aggressive red tie, the only part of his costume of which he seemed to +take any care. Perhaps it was a symbol. He took no notice of the girl's +alarmed adjuration, but leapt like a grasshopper to the ground beside +her, where he might very well have broken his legs. + +"I think I was meant to be a burglar," he said placidly, "and I have no +doubt I should have been if I hadn't happened to be born in that nice +house next door. I can't see any harm in it, anyhow." + +"How can you say such things!" she remonstrated. + +"Well," said the young man, "if you're born on the wrong side of the +wall, I can't see that it's wrong to climb over it." + +"I never know what you will say or do next," she said. + +"I don't often know myself," replied Mr. Crook; "but then I am on the +right side of the wall now." + +"And which is the right side of the wall?" asked the young lady, +smiling. + +"Whichever side you are on," said the young man named Crook. + +As they went together through the laurels towards the front garden +a motor horn sounded thrice, coming nearer and nearer, and a car of +splendid speed, great elegance, and a pale green colour swept up to the +front doors like a bird and stood throbbing. + +"Hullo, hullo!" said the young man with the red tie, "here's somebody +born on the right side, anyhow. I didn't know, Miss Adams, that your +Santa Claus was so modern as this." + +"Oh, that's my godfather, Sir Leopold Fischer. He always comes on Boxing +Day." + +Then, after an innocent pause, which unconsciously betrayed some lack of +enthusiasm, Ruby Adams added: + +"He is very kind." + +John Crook, journalist, had heard of that eminent City magnate; and +it was not his fault if the City magnate had not heard of him; for in +certain articles in The Clarion or The New Age Sir Leopold had been +dealt with austerely. But he said nothing and grimly watched the +unloading of the motor-car, which was rather a long process. A large, +neat chauffeur in green got out from the front, and a small, neat +manservant in grey got out from the back, and between them they +deposited Sir Leopold on the doorstep and began to unpack him, like some +very carefully protected parcel. Rugs enough to stock a bazaar, furs +of all the beasts of the forest, and scarves of all the colours of +the rainbow were unwrapped one by one, till they revealed something +resembling the human form; the form of a friendly, but foreign-looking +old gentleman, with a grey goat-like beard and a beaming smile, who +rubbed his big fur gloves together. + +Long before this revelation was complete the two big doors of the porch +had opened in the middle, and Colonel Adams (father of the furry young +lady) had come out himself to invite his eminent guest inside. He was a +tall, sunburnt, and very silent man, who wore a red smoking-cap like a +fez, making him look like one of the English Sirdars or Pashas in Egypt. +With him was his brother-in-law, lately come from Canada, a big and +rather boisterous young gentleman-farmer, with a yellow beard, by name +James Blount. With him also was the more insignificant figure of the +priest from the neighbouring Roman Church; for the colonel's late wife +had been a Catholic, and the children, as is common in such cases, had +been trained to follow her. Everything seemed undistinguished about +the priest, even down to his name, which was Brown; yet the colonel had +always found something companionable about him, and frequently asked him +to such family gatherings. + +In the large entrance hall of the house there was ample room even for +Sir Leopold and the removal of his wraps. Porch and vestibule, indeed, +were unduly large in proportion to the house, and formed, as it were, a +big room with the front door at one end, and the bottom of the staircase +at the other. In front of the large hall fire, over which hung the +colonel's sword, the process was completed and the company, including +the saturnine Crook, presented to Sir Leopold Fischer. That venerable +financier, however, still seemed struggling with portions of his +well-lined attire, and at length produced from a very interior tail-coat +pocket, a black oval case which he radiantly explained to be his +Christmas present for his god-daughter. With an unaffected vain-glory +that had something disarming about it he held out the case before them +all; it flew open at a touch and half-blinded them. It was just as if a +crystal fountain had spurted in their eyes. In a nest of orange velvet +lay like three eggs, three white and vivid diamonds that seemed to set +the very air on fire all round them. Fischer stood beaming benevolently +and drinking deep of the astonishment and ecstasy of the girl, the grim +admiration and gruff thanks of the colonel, the wonder of the whole +group. + +"I'll put 'em back now, my dear," said Fischer, returning the case to +the tails of his coat. "I had to be careful of 'em coming down. They're +the three great African diamonds called 'The Flying Stars,' because +they've been stolen so often. All the big criminals are on the track; +but even the rough men about in the streets and hotels could hardly have +kept their hands off them. I might have lost them on the road here. It +was quite possible." + +"Quite natural, I should say," growled the man in the red tie. "I +shouldn't blame 'em if they had taken 'em. When they ask for bread, and +you don't even give them a stone, I think they might take the stone for +themselves." + +"I won't have you talking like that," cried the girl, who was in a +curious glow. "You've only talked like that since you became a horrid +what's-his-name. You know what I mean. What do you call a man who wants +to embrace the chimney-sweep?" + +"A saint," said Father Brown. + +"I think," said Sir Leopold, with a supercilious smile, "that Ruby means +a Socialist." + +"A radical does not mean a man who lives on radishes," remarked Crook, +with some impatience; "and a Conservative does not mean a man who +preserves jam. Neither, I assure you, does a Socialist mean a man who +desires a social evening with the chimney-sweep. A Socialist means a +man who wants all the chimneys swept and all the chimney-sweeps paid for +it." + +"But who won't allow you," put in the priest in a low voice, "to own +your own soot." + +Crook looked at him with an eye of interest and even respect. "Does one +want to own soot?" he asked. + +"One might," answered Brown, with speculation in his eye. "I've heard +that gardeners use it. And I once made six children happy at Christmas +when the conjuror didn't come, entirely with soot--applied externally." + +"Oh, splendid," cried Ruby. "Oh, I wish you'd do it to this company." + +The boisterous Canadian, Mr. Blount, was lifting his loud voice in +applause, and the astonished financier his (in some considerable +deprecation), when a knock sounded at the double front doors. The priest +opened them, and they showed again the front garden of evergreens, +monkey-tree and all, now gathering gloom against a gorgeous violet +sunset. The scene thus framed was so coloured and quaint, like a back +scene in a play, that they forgot a moment the insignificant figure +standing in the door. He was dusty-looking and in a frayed coat, +evidently a common messenger. "Any of you gentlemen Mr. Blount?" he +asked, and held forward a letter doubtfully. Mr. Blount started, and +stopped in his shout of assent. Ripping up the envelope with evident +astonishment he read it; his face clouded a little, and then cleared, +and he turned to his brother-in-law and host. + +"I'm sick at being such a nuisance, colonel," he said, with the cheery +colonial conventions; "but would it upset you if an old acquaintance +called on me here tonight on business? In point of fact it's Florian, +that famous French acrobat and comic actor; I knew him years ago out +West (he was a French-Canadian by birth), and he seems to have business +for me, though I hardly guess what." + +"Of course, of course," replied the colonel carelessly--"My dear chap, +any friend of yours. No doubt he will prove an acquisition." + +"He'll black his face, if that's what you mean," cried Blount, laughing. +"I don't doubt he'd black everyone else's eyes. I don't care; I'm not +refined. I like the jolly old pantomime where a man sits on his top +hat." + +"Not on mine, please," said Sir Leopold Fischer, with dignity. + +"Well, well," observed Crook, airily, "don't let's quarrel. There are +lower jokes than sitting on a top hat." + +Dislike of the red-tied youth, born of his predatory opinions and +evident intimacy with the pretty godchild, led Fischer to say, in his +most sarcastic, magisterial manner: "No doubt you have found something +much lower than sitting on a top hat. What is it, pray?" + +"Letting a top hat sit on you, for instance," said the Socialist. + +"Now, now, now," cried the Canadian farmer with his barbarian +benevolence, "don't let's spoil a jolly evening. What I say is, let's +do something for the company tonight. Not blacking faces or sitting on +hats, if you don't like those--but something of the sort. Why couldn't +we have a proper old English pantomime--clown, columbine, and so on. I +saw one when I left England at twelve years old, and it's blazed in my +brain like a bonfire ever since. I came back to the old country +only last year, and I find the thing's extinct. Nothing but a lot of +snivelling fairy plays. I want a hot poker and a policeman made into +sausages, and they give me princesses moralising by moonlight, Blue +Birds, or something. Blue Beard's more in my line, and him I like best +when he turned into the pantaloon." + +"I'm all for making a policeman into sausages," said John Crook. "It's a +better definition of Socialism than some recently given. But surely the +get-up would be too big a business." + +"Not a scrap," cried Blount, quite carried away. "A harlequinade's the +quickest thing we can do, for two reasons. First, one can gag to any +degree; and, second, all the objects are household things--tables and +towel-horses and washing baskets, and things like that." + +"That's true," admitted Crook, nodding eagerly and walking about. +"But I'm afraid I can't have my policeman's uniform? Haven't killed a +policeman lately." + +Blount frowned thoughtfully a space, and then smote his thigh. "Yes, +we can!" he cried. "I've got Florian's address here, and he knows every +costumier in London. I'll phone him to bring a police dress when he +comes." And he went bounding away to the telephone. + +"Oh, it's glorious, godfather," cried Ruby, almost dancing. "I'll be +columbine and you shall be pantaloon." + +The millionaire held himself stiff with a sort of heathen solemnity. "I +think, my dear," he said, "you must get someone else for pantaloon." + +"I will be pantaloon, if you like," said Colonel Adams, taking his cigar +out of his mouth, and speaking for the first and last time. + +"You ought to have a statue," cried the Canadian, as he came back, +radiant, from the telephone. "There, we are all fitted. Mr. Crook shall +be clown; he's a journalist and knows all the oldest jokes. I can +be harlequin, that only wants long legs and jumping about. My friend +Florian 'phones he's bringing the police costume; he's changing on the +way. We can act it in this very hall, the audience sitting on those +broad stairs opposite, one row above another. These front doors can be +the back scene, either open or shut. Shut, you see an English interior. +Open, a moonlit garden. It all goes by magic." And snatching a chance +piece of billiard chalk from his pocket, he ran it across the hall +floor, half-way between the front door and the staircase, to mark the +line of the footlights. + +How even such a banquet of bosh was got ready in the time remained +a riddle. But they went at it with that mixture of recklessness and +industry that lives when youth is in a house; and youth was in that +house that night, though not all may have isolated the two faces and +hearts from which it flamed. As always happens, the invention grew +wilder and wilder through the very tameness of the bourgeois conventions +from which it had to create. The columbine looked charming in an +outstanding skirt that strangely resembled the large lamp-shade in the +drawing-room. The clown and pantaloon made themselves white with flour +from the cook, and red with rouge from some other domestic, who remained +(like all true Christian benefactors) anonymous. The harlequin, already +clad in silver paper out of cigar boxes, was, with difficulty, prevented +from smashing the old Victorian lustre chandeliers, that he might cover +himself with resplendent crystals. In fact he would certainly have done +so, had not Ruby unearthed some old pantomime paste jewels she had worn +at a fancy dress party as the Queen of Diamonds. Indeed, her uncle, +James Blount, was getting almost out of hand in his excitement; he was +like a schoolboy. He put a paper donkey's head unexpectedly on Father +Brown, who bore it patiently, and even found some private manner of +moving his ears. He even essayed to put the paper donkey's tail to the +coat-tails of Sir Leopold Fischer. This, however, was frowned down. +"Uncle is too absurd," cried Ruby to Crook, round whose shoulders she +had seriously placed a string of sausages. "Why is he so wild?" + +"He is harlequin to your columbine," said Crook. "I am only the clown +who makes the old jokes." + +"I wish you were the harlequin," she said, and left the string of +sausages swinging. + +Father Brown, though he knew every detail done behind the scenes, +and had even evoked applause by his transformation of a pillow into a +pantomime baby, went round to the front and sat among the audience +with all the solemn expectation of a child at his first matinee. The +spectators were few, relations, one or two local friends, and the +servants; Sir Leopold sat in the front seat, his full and still +fur-collared figure largely obscuring the view of the little cleric +behind him; but it has never been settled by artistic authorities +whether the cleric lost much. The pantomime was utterly chaotic, yet not +contemptible; there ran through it a rage of improvisation which came +chiefly from Crook the clown. Commonly he was a clever man, and he was +inspired tonight with a wild omniscience, a folly wiser than the world, +that which comes to a young man who has seen for an instant a particular +expression on a particular face. He was supposed to be the clown, but +he was really almost everything else, the author (so far as there was an +author), the prompter, the scene-painter, the scene-shifter, and, above +all, the orchestra. At abrupt intervals in the outrageous performance +he would hurl himself in full costume at the piano and bang out some +popular music equally absurd and appropriate. + +The climax of this, as of all else, was the moment when the two front +doors at the back of the scene flew open, showing the lovely moonlit +garden, but showing more prominently the famous professional guest; the +great Florian, dressed up as a policeman. The clown at the piano played +the constabulary chorus in the "Pirates of Penzance," but it was drowned +in the deafening applause, for every gesture of the great comic actor +was an admirable though restrained version of the carriage and manner +of the police. The harlequin leapt upon him and hit him over the helmet; +the pianist playing "Where did you get that hat?" he faced about in +admirably simulated astonishment, and then the leaping harlequin hit him +again (the pianist suggesting a few bars of "Then we had another one"). +Then the harlequin rushed right into the arms of the policeman and fell +on top of him, amid a roar of applause. Then it was that the strange +actor gave that celebrated imitation of a dead man, of which the fame +still lingers round Putney. It was almost impossible to believe that a +living person could appear so limp. + +The athletic harlequin swung him about like a sack or twisted or tossed +him like an Indian club; all the time to the most maddeningly ludicrous +tunes from the piano. When the harlequin heaved the comic constable +heavily off the floor the clown played "I arise from dreams of thee." +When he shuffled him across his back, "With my bundle on my shoulder," +and when the harlequin finally let fall the policeman with a most +convincing thud, the lunatic at the instrument struck into a jingling +measure with some words which are still believed to have been, "I sent a +letter to my love and on the way I dropped it." + +At about this limit of mental anarchy Father Brown's view was obscured +altogether; for the City magnate in front of him rose to his full height +and thrust his hands savagely into all his pockets. Then he sat down +nervously, still fumbling, and then stood up again. For an instant it +seemed seriously likely that he would stride across the footlights; then +he turned a glare at the clown playing the piano; and then he burst in +silence out of the room. + +The priest had only watched for a few more minutes the absurd but not +inelegant dance of the amateur harlequin over his splendidly unconscious +foe. With real though rude art, the harlequin danced slowly backwards +out of the door into the garden, which was full of moonlight and +stillness. The vamped dress of silver paper and paste, which had been +too glaring in the footlights, looked more and more magical and silvery +as it danced away under a brilliant moon. The audience was closing in +with a cataract of applause, when Brown felt his arm abruptly touched, +and he was asked in a whisper to come into the colonel's study. + +He followed his summoner with increasing doubt, which was not dispelled +by a solemn comicality in the scene of the study. There sat Colonel +Adams, still unaffectedly dressed as a pantaloon, with the knobbed +whalebone nodding above his brow, but with his poor old eyes sad enough +to have sobered a Saturnalia. Sir Leopold Fischer was leaning against +the mantelpiece and heaving with all the importance of panic. + +"This is a very painful matter, Father Brown," said Adams. "The truth +is, those diamonds we all saw this afternoon seem to have vanished from +my friend's tail-coat pocket. And as you--" + +"As I," supplemented Father Brown, with a broad grin, "was sitting just +behind him--" + +"Nothing of the sort shall be suggested," said Colonel Adams, with a +firm look at Fischer, which rather implied that some such thing had been +suggested. "I only ask you to give me the assistance that any gentleman +might give." + +"Which is turning out his pockets," said Father Brown, and proceeded to +do so, displaying seven and sixpence, a return ticket, a small silver +crucifix, a small breviary, and a stick of chocolate. + +The colonel looked at him long, and then said, "Do you know, I should +like to see the inside of your head more than the inside of your +pockets. My daughter is one of your people, I know; well, she has +lately--" and he stopped. + +"She has lately," cried out old Fischer, "opened her father's house to +a cut-throat Socialist, who says openly he would steal anything from a +richer man. This is the end of it. Here is the richer man--and none the +richer." + +"If you want the inside of my head you can have it," said Brown rather +wearily. "What it's worth you can say afterwards. But the first thing I +find in that disused pocket is this: that men who mean to steal diamonds +don't talk Socialism. They are more likely," he added demurely, "to +denounce it." + +Both the others shifted sharply and the priest went on: + +"You see, we know these people, more or less. That Socialist would no +more steal a diamond than a Pyramid. We ought to look at once to the one +man we don't know. The fellow acting the policeman--Florian. Where is he +exactly at this minute, I wonder." + +The pantaloon sprang erect and strode out of the room. An interlude +ensued, during which the millionaire stared at the priest, and the +priest at his breviary; then the pantaloon returned and said, with +staccato gravity, "The policeman is still lying on the stage. The +curtain has gone up and down six times; he is still lying there." + +Father Brown dropped his book and stood staring with a look of blank +mental ruin. Very slowly a light began to creep in his grey eyes, and +then he made the scarcely obvious answer. + +"Please forgive me, colonel, but when did your wife die?" + +"Wife!" replied the staring soldier, "she died this year two months. Her +brother James arrived just a week too late to see her." + +The little priest bounded like a rabbit shot. "Come on!" he cried in +quite unusual excitement. "Come on! We've got to go and look at that +policeman!" + +They rushed on to the now curtained stage, breaking rudely past the +columbine and clown (who seemed whispering quite contentedly), and +Father Brown bent over the prostrate comic policeman. + +"Chloroform," he said as he rose; "I only guessed it just now." + +There was a startled stillness, and then the colonel said slowly, +"Please say seriously what all this means." + +Father Brown suddenly shouted with laughter, then stopped, and +only struggled with it for instants during the rest of his speech. +"Gentlemen," he gasped, "there's not much time to talk. I must run after +the criminal. But this great French actor who played the policeman--this +clever corpse the harlequin waltzed with and dandled and threw about--he +was--" His voice again failed him, and he turned his back to run. + +"He was?" called Fischer inquiringly. + +"A real policeman," said Father Brown, and ran away into the dark. + +There were hollows and bowers at the extreme end of that leafy garden, +in which the laurels and other immortal shrubs showed against sapphire +sky and silver moon, even in that midwinter, warm colours as of the +south. The green gaiety of the waving laurels, the rich purple indigo +of the night, the moon like a monstrous crystal, make an almost +irresponsible romantic picture; and among the top branches of the garden +trees a strange figure is climbing, who looks not so much romantic as +impossible. He sparkles from head to heel, as if clad in ten million +moons; the real moon catches him at every movement and sets a new inch +of him on fire. But he swings, flashing and successful, from the short +tree in this garden to the tall, rambling tree in the other, and only +stops there because a shade has slid under the smaller tree and has +unmistakably called up to him. + +"Well, Flambeau," says the voice, "you really look like a Flying Star; +but that always means a Falling Star at last." + +The silver, sparkling figure above seems to lean forward in the laurels +and, confident of escape, listens to the little figure below. + +"You never did anything better, Flambeau. It was clever to come from +Canada (with a Paris ticket, I suppose) just a week after Mrs. Adams +died, when no one was in a mood to ask questions. It was cleverer to +have marked down the Flying Stars and the very day of Fischer's coming. +But there's no cleverness, but mere genius, in what followed. Stealing +the stones, I suppose, was nothing to you. You could have done it by +sleight of hand in a hundred other ways besides that pretence of putting +a paper donkey's tail to Fischer's coat. But in the rest you eclipsed +yourself." + +The silvery figure among the green leaves seems to linger as if +hypnotised, though his escape is easy behind him; he is staring at the +man below. + +"Oh, yes," says the man below, "I know all about it. I know you not +only forced the pantomime, but put it to a double use. You were going +to steal the stones quietly; news came by an accomplice that you were +already suspected, and a capable police officer was coming to rout you +up that very night. A common thief would have been thankful for the +warning and fled; but you are a poet. You already had the clever notion +of hiding the jewels in a blaze of false stage jewellery. Now, you saw +that if the dress were a harlequin's the appearance of a policeman +would be quite in keeping. The worthy officer started from Putney police +station to find you, and walked into the queerest trap ever set in this +world. When the front door opened he walked straight on to the stage of +a Christmas pantomime, where he could be kicked, clubbed, stunned and +drugged by the dancing harlequin, amid roars of laughter from all +the most respectable people in Putney. Oh, you will never do anything +better. And now, by the way, you might give me back those diamonds." + +The green branch on which the glittering figure swung, rustled as if in +astonishment; but the voice went on: + +"I want you to give them back, Flambeau, and I want you to give up this +life. There is still youth and honour and humour in you; don't fancy +they will last in that trade. Men may keep a sort of level of good, but +no man has ever been able to keep on one level of evil. That road goes +down and down. The kind man drinks and turns cruel; the frank man kills +and lies about it. Many a man I've known started like you to be an +honest outlaw, a merry robber of the rich, and ended stamped into slime. +Maurice Blum started out as an anarchist of principle, a father of the +poor; he ended a greasy spy and tale-bearer that both sides used and +despised. Harry Burke started his free money movement sincerely enough; +now he's sponging on a half-starved sister for endless brandies and +sodas. Lord Amber went into wild society in a sort of chivalry; now he's +paying blackmail to the lowest vultures in London. Captain Barillon +was the great gentleman-apache before your time; he died in a madhouse, +screaming with fear of the "narks" and receivers that had betrayed +him and hunted him down. I know the woods look very free behind you, +Flambeau; I know that in a flash you could melt into them like a monkey. +But some day you will be an old grey monkey, Flambeau. You will sit up +in your free forest cold at heart and close to death, and the tree-tops +will be very bare." + +Everything continued still, as if the small man below held the other in +the tree in some long invisible leash; and he went on: + +"Your downward steps have begun. You used to boast of doing nothing +mean, but you are doing something mean tonight. You are leaving +suspicion on an honest boy with a good deal against him already; you are +separating him from the woman he loves and who loves him. But you will +do meaner things than that before you die." + +Three flashing diamonds fell from the tree to the turf. The small man +stooped to pick them up, and when he looked up again the green cage of +the tree was emptied of its silver bird. + +The restoration of the gems (accidentally picked up by Father Brown, of +all people) ended the evening in uproarious triumph; and Sir Leopold, in +his height of good humour, even told the priest that though he himself +had broader views, he could respect those whose creed required them to +be cloistered and ignorant of this world. + + + + +The Invisible Man + + +In the cool blue twilight of two steep streets in Camden Town, the shop +at the corner, a confectioner's, glowed like the butt of a cigar. One +should rather say, perhaps, like the butt of a firework, for the light +was of many colours and some complexity, broken up by many mirrors and +dancing on many gilt and gaily-coloured cakes and sweetmeats. Against +this one fiery glass were glued the noses of many gutter-snipes, for +the chocolates were all wrapped in those red and gold and green metallic +colours which are almost better than chocolate itself; and the huge +white wedding-cake in the window was somehow at once remote and +satisfying, just as if the whole North Pole were good to eat. +Such rainbow provocations could naturally collect the youth of the +neighbourhood up to the ages of ten or twelve. But this corner was also +attractive to youth at a later stage; and a young man, not less than +twenty-four, was staring into the same shop window. To him, also, +the shop was of fiery charm, but this attraction was not wholly to be +explained by chocolates; which, however, he was far from despising. + +He was a tall, burly, red-haired young man, with a resolute face but +a listless manner. He carried under his arm a flat, grey portfolio of +black-and-white sketches, which he had sold with more or less success +to publishers ever since his uncle (who was an admiral) had disinherited +him for Socialism, because of a lecture which he had delivered against +that economic theory. His name was John Turnbull Angus. + +Entering at last, he walked through the confectioner's shop to the back +room, which was a sort of pastry-cook restaurant, merely raising his hat +to the young lady who was serving there. She was a dark, elegant, alert +girl in black, with a high colour and very quick, dark eyes; and after +the ordinary interval she followed him into the inner room to take his +order. + +His order was evidently a usual one. "I want, please," he said with +precision, "one halfpenny bun and a small cup of black coffee." An +instant before the girl could turn away he added, "Also, I want you to +marry me." + +The young lady of the shop stiffened suddenly and said, "Those are jokes +I don't allow." + +The red-haired young man lifted grey eyes of an unexpected gravity. + +"Really and truly," he said, "it's as serious--as serious as the +halfpenny bun. It is expensive, like the bun; one pays for it. It is +indigestible, like the bun. It hurts." + +The dark young lady had never taken her dark eyes off him, but seemed +to be studying him with almost tragic exactitude. At the end of her +scrutiny she had something like the shadow of a smile, and she sat down +in a chair. + +"Don't you think," observed Angus, absently, "that it's rather cruel to +eat these halfpenny buns? They might grow up into penny buns. I shall +give up these brutal sports when we are married." + +The dark young lady rose from her chair and walked to the window, +evidently in a state of strong but not unsympathetic cogitation. When at +last she swung round again with an air of resolution she was bewildered +to observe that the young man was carefully laying out on the table +various objects from the shop-window. They included a pyramid of highly +coloured sweets, several plates of sandwiches, and the two decanters +containing that mysterious port and sherry which are peculiar to +pastry-cooks. In the middle of this neat arrangement he had carefully +let down the enormous load of white sugared cake which had been the huge +ornament of the window. + +"What on earth are you doing?" she asked. + +"Duty, my dear Laura," he began. + +"Oh, for the Lord's sake, stop a minute," she cried, "and don't talk to +me in that way. I mean, what is all that?" + +"A ceremonial meal, Miss Hope." + +"And what is that?" she asked impatiently, pointing to the mountain of +sugar. + +"The wedding-cake, Mrs. Angus," he said. + +The girl marched to that article, removed it with some clatter, and put +it back in the shop window; she then returned, and, putting her elegant +elbows on the table, regarded the young man not unfavourably but with +considerable exasperation. + +"You don't give me any time to think," she said. + +"I'm not such a fool," he answered; "that's my Christian humility." + +She was still looking at him; but she had grown considerably graver +behind the smile. + +"Mr. Angus," she said steadily, "before there is a minute more of this +nonsense I must tell you something about myself as shortly as I can.'" + +"Delighted," replied Angus gravely. "You might tell me something about +myself, too, while you are about it." + +"Oh, do hold your tongue and listen," she said. "It's nothing that I'm +ashamed of, and it isn't even anything that I'm specially sorry about. +But what would you say if there were something that is no business of +mine and yet is my nightmare?" + +"In that case," said the man seriously, "I should suggest that you bring +back the cake." + +"Well, you must listen to the story first," said Laura, persistently. +"To begin with, I must tell you that my father owned the inn called the +'Red Fish' at Ludbury, and I used to serve people in the bar." + +"I have often wondered," he said, "why there was a kind of a Christian +air about this one confectioner's shop." + +"Ludbury is a sleepy, grassy little hole in the Eastern Counties, and +the only kind of people who ever came to the 'Red Fish' were occasional +commercial travellers, and for the rest, the most awful people you can +see, only you've never seen them. I mean little, loungy men, who had +just enough to live on and had nothing to do but lean about in bar-rooms +and bet on horses, in bad clothes that were just too good for them. +Even these wretched young rotters were not very common at our house; but +there were two of them that were a lot too common--common in every sort +of way. They both lived on money of their own, and were wearisomely idle +and over-dressed. But yet I was a bit sorry for them, because I half +believe they slunk into our little empty bar because each of them had a +slight deformity; the sort of thing that some yokels laugh at. It wasn't +exactly a deformity either; it was more an oddity. One of them was +a surprisingly small man, something like a dwarf, or at least like a +jockey. He was not at all jockeyish to look at, though; he had a round +black head and a well-trimmed black beard, bright eyes like a bird's; he +jingled money in his pockets; he jangled a great gold watch chain; and +he never turned up except dressed just too much like a gentleman to +be one. He was no fool though, though a futile idler; he was curiously +clever at all kinds of things that couldn't be the slightest use; a sort +of impromptu conjuring; making fifteen matches set fire to each other +like a regular firework; or cutting a banana or some such thing into a +dancing doll. His name was Isidore Smythe; and I can see him still, with +his little dark face, just coming up to the counter, making a jumping +kangaroo out of five cigars. + +"The other fellow was more silent and more ordinary; but somehow he +alarmed me much more than poor little Smythe. He was very tall and +slight, and light-haired; his nose had a high bridge, and he might +almost have been handsome in a spectral sort of way; but he had one of +the most appalling squints I have ever seen or heard of. When he looked +straight at you, you didn't know where you were yourself, let alone what +he was looking at. I fancy this sort of disfigurement embittered the +poor chap a little; for while Smythe was ready to show off his monkey +tricks anywhere, James Welkin (that was the squinting man's name) never +did anything except soak in our bar parlour, and go for great walks +by himself in the flat, grey country all round. All the same, I think +Smythe, too, was a little sensitive about being so small, though he +carried it off more smartly. And so it was that I was really puzzled, as +well as startled, and very sorry, when they both offered to marry me in +the same week. + +"Well, I did what I've since thought was perhaps a silly thing. But, +after all, these freaks were my friends in a way; and I had a horror of +their thinking I refused them for the real reason, which was that they +were so impossibly ugly. So I made up some gas of another sort, about +never meaning to marry anyone who hadn't carved his way in the world. I +said it was a point of principle with me not to live on money that +was just inherited like theirs. Two days after I had talked in this +well-meaning sort of way, the whole trouble began. The first thing I +heard was that both of them had gone off to seek their fortunes, as if +they were in some silly fairy tale. + +"Well, I've never seen either of them from that day to this. But I've +had two letters from the little man called Smythe, and really they were +rather exciting." + +"Ever heard of the other man?" asked Angus. + +"No, he never wrote," said the girl, after an instant's hesitation. +"Smythe's first letter was simply to say that he had started out walking +with Welkin to London; but Welkin was such a good walker that the little +man dropped out of it, and took a rest by the roadside. He happened to +be picked up by some travelling show, and, partly because he was nearly +a dwarf, and partly because he was really a clever little wretch, he +got on quite well in the show business, and was soon sent up to the +Aquarium, to do some tricks that I forget. That was his first letter. +His second was much more of a startler, and I only got it last week." + +The man called Angus emptied his coffee-cup and regarded her with mild +and patient eyes. Her own mouth took a slight twist of laughter as +she resumed, "I suppose you've seen on the hoardings all about this +'Smythe's Silent Service'? Or you must be the only person that hasn't. +Oh, I don't know much about it, it's some clockwork invention for doing +all the housework by machinery. You know the sort of thing: 'Press a +Button--A Butler who Never Drinks.' 'Turn a Handle--Ten Housemaids who +Never Flirt.' You must have seen the advertisements. Well, whatever +these machines are, they are making pots of money; and they are making +it all for that little imp whom I knew down in Ludbury. I can't help +feeling pleased the poor little chap has fallen on his feet; but the +plain fact is, I'm in terror of his turning up any minute and telling me +he's carved his way in the world--as he certainly has." + +"And the other man?" repeated Angus with a sort of obstinate quietude. + +Laura Hope got to her feet suddenly. "My friend," she said, "I think +you are a witch. Yes, you are quite right. I have not seen a line of the +other man's writing; and I have no more notion than the dead of what or +where he is. But it is of him that I am frightened. It is he who is all +about my path. It is he who has half driven me mad. Indeed, I think he +has driven me mad; for I have felt him where he could not have been, and +I have heard his voice when he could not have spoken." + +"Well, my dear," said the young man, cheerfully, "if he were Satan +himself, he is done for now you have told somebody. One goes mad all +alone, old girl. But when was it you fancied you felt and heard our +squinting friend?" + +"I heard James Welkin laugh as plainly as I hear you speak," said the +girl, steadily. "There was nobody there, for I stood just outside the +shop at the corner, and could see down both streets at once. I had +forgotten how he laughed, though his laugh was as odd as his squint. I +had not thought of him for nearly a year. But it's a solemn truth that a +few seconds later the first letter came from his rival." + +"Did you ever make the spectre speak or squeak, or anything?" asked +Angus, with some interest. + +Laura suddenly shuddered, and then said, with an unshaken voice, "Yes. +Just when I had finished reading the second letter from Isidore Smythe +announcing his success. Just then, I heard Welkin say, 'He shan't have +you, though.' It was quite plain, as if he were in the room. It is +awful, I think I must be mad." + +"If you really were mad," said the young man, "you would think you must +be sane. But certainly there seems to me to be something a little rum +about this unseen gentleman. Two heads are better than one--I spare you +allusions to any other organs and really, if you would allow me, as +a sturdy, practical man, to bring back the wedding-cake out of the +window--" + +Even as he spoke, there was a sort of steely shriek in the street +outside, and a small motor, driven at devilish speed, shot up to the +door of the shop and stuck there. In the same flash of time a small man +in a shiny top hat stood stamping in the outer room. + +Angus, who had hitherto maintained hilarious ease from motives of mental +hygiene, revealed the strain of his soul by striding abruptly out of +the inner room and confronting the new-comer. A glance at him was quite +sufficient to confirm the savage guesswork of a man in love. This +very dapper but dwarfish figure, with the spike of black beard carried +insolently forward, the clever unrestful eyes, the neat but very nervous +fingers, could be none other than the man just described to him: Isidore +Smythe, who made dolls out of banana skins and match-boxes; Isidore +Smythe, who made millions out of undrinking butlers and unflirting +housemaids of metal. For a moment the two men, instinctively +understanding each other's air of possession, looked at each other with +that curious cold generosity which is the soul of rivalry. + +Mr. Smythe, however, made no allusion to the ultimate ground of their +antagonism, but said simply and explosively, "Has Miss Hope seen that +thing on the window?" + +"On the window?" repeated the staring Angus. + +"There's no time to explain other things," said the small millionaire +shortly. "There's some tomfoolery going on here that has to be +investigated." + +He pointed his polished walking-stick at the window, recently depleted +by the bridal preparations of Mr. Angus; and that gentleman was +astonished to see along the front of the glass a long strip of paper +pasted, which had certainly not been on the window when he looked +through it some time before. Following the energetic Smythe outside into +the street, he found that some yard and a half of stamp paper had been +carefully gummed along the glass outside, and on this was written in +straggly characters, "If you marry Smythe, he will die." + +"Laura," said Angus, putting his big red head into the shop, "you're not +mad." + +"It's the writing of that fellow Welkin," said Smythe gruffly. "I +haven't seen him for years, but he's always bothering me. Five times in +the last fortnight he's had threatening letters left at my flat, and I +can't even find out who leaves them, let alone if it is Welkin himself. +The porter of the flats swears that no suspicious characters have been +seen, and here he has pasted up a sort of dado on a public shop window, +while the people in the shop--" + +"Quite so," said Angus modestly, "while the people in the shop were +having tea. Well, sir, I can assure you I appreciate your common sense +in dealing so directly with the matter. We can talk about other things +afterwards. The fellow cannot be very far off yet, for I swear there was +no paper there when I went last to the window, ten or fifteen minutes +ago. On the other hand, he's too far off to be chased, as we don't even +know the direction. If you'll take my advice, Mr. Smythe, you'll put +this at once in the hands of some energetic inquiry man, private rather +than public. I know an extremely clever fellow, who has set up in +business five minutes from here in your car. His name's Flambeau, and +though his youth was a bit stormy, he's a strictly honest man now, and +his brains are worth money. He lives in Lucknow Mansions, Hampstead." + +"That is odd," said the little man, arching his black eyebrows. "I live, +myself, in Himylaya Mansions, round the corner. Perhaps you might care +to come with me; I can go to my rooms and sort out these queer Welkin +documents, while you run round and get your friend the detective." + +"You are very good," said Angus politely. "Well, the sooner we act the +better." + +Both men, with a queer kind of impromptu fairness, took the same sort of +formal farewell of the lady, and both jumped into the brisk little +car. As Smythe took the handles and they turned the great corner of the +street, Angus was amused to see a gigantesque poster of "Smythe's +Silent Service," with a picture of a huge headless iron doll, carrying a +saucepan with the legend, "A Cook Who is Never Cross." + +"I use them in my own flat," said the little black-bearded man, +laughing, "partly for advertisements, and partly for real convenience. +Honestly, and all above board, those big clockwork dolls of mine do +bring your coals or claret or a timetable quicker than any live servants +I've ever known, if you know which knob to press. But I'll never deny, +between ourselves, that such servants have their disadvantages, too." + +"Indeed?" said Angus; "is there something they can't do?" + +"Yes," replied Smythe coolly; "they can't tell me who left those +threatening letters at my flat." + +The man's motor was small and swift like himself; in fact, like his +domestic service, it was of his own invention. If he was an advertising +quack, he was one who believed in his own wares. The sense of something +tiny and flying was accentuated as they swept up long white curves of +road in the dead but open daylight of evening. Soon the white curves +came sharper and dizzier; they were upon ascending spirals, as they say +in the modern religions. For, indeed, they were cresting a corner of +London which is almost as precipitous as Edinburgh, if not quite so +picturesque. Terrace rose above terrace, and the special tower of flats +they sought, rose above them all to almost Egyptian height, gilt by +the level sunset. The change, as they turned the corner and entered the +crescent known as Himylaya Mansions, was as abrupt as the opening of a +window; for they found that pile of flats sitting above London as above +a green sea of slate. Opposite to the mansions, on the other side of the +gravel crescent, was a bushy enclosure more like a steep hedge or dyke +than a garden, and some way below that ran a strip of artificial water, +a sort of canal, like the moat of that embowered fortress. As the car +swept round the crescent it passed, at one corner, the stray stall of +a man selling chestnuts; and right away at the other end of the curve, +Angus could see a dim blue policeman walking slowly. These were the only +human shapes in that high suburban solitude; but he had an irrational +sense that they expressed the speechless poetry of London. He felt as if +they were figures in a story. + +The little car shot up to the right house like a bullet, and shot out +its owner like a bomb shell. He was immediately inquiring of a tall +commissionaire in shining braid, and a short porter in shirt sleeves, +whether anybody or anything had been seeking his apartments. He was +assured that nobody and nothing had passed these officials since his +last inquiries; whereupon he and the slightly bewildered Angus were shot +up in the lift like a rocket, till they reached the top floor. + +"Just come in for a minute," said the breathless Smythe. "I want to show +you those Welkin letters. Then you might run round the corner and fetch +your friend." He pressed a button concealed in the wall, and the door +opened of itself. + +It opened on a long, commodious ante-room, of which the only arresting +features, ordinarily speaking, were the rows of tall half-human +mechanical figures that stood up on both sides like tailors' dummies. +Like tailors' dummies they were headless; and like tailors' dummies +they had a handsome unnecessary humpiness in the shoulders, and a +pigeon-breasted protuberance of chest; but barring this, they were not +much more like a human figure than any automatic machine at a station +that is about the human height. They had two great hooks like arms, for +carrying trays; and they were painted pea-green, or vermilion, or +black for convenience of distinction; in every other way they were only +automatic machines and nobody would have looked twice at them. On +this occasion, at least, nobody did. For between the two rows of +these domestic dummies lay something more interesting than most of the +mechanics of the world. It was a white, tattered scrap of paper scrawled +with red ink; and the agile inventor had snatched it up almost as soon +as the door flew open. He handed it to Angus without a word. The red ink +on it actually was not dry, and the message ran, "If you have been to +see her today, I shall kill you." + +There was a short silence, and then Isidore Smythe said quietly, "Would +you like a little whiskey? I rather feel as if I should." + +"Thank you; I should like a little Flambeau," said Angus, gloomily. +"This business seems to me to be getting rather grave. I'm going round +at once to fetch him." + +"Right you are," said the other, with admirable cheerfulness. "Bring him +round here as quick as you can." + +But as Angus closed the front door behind him he saw Smythe push back a +button, and one of the clockwork images glided from its place and slid +along a groove in the floor carrying a tray with syphon and decanter. +There did seem something a trifle weird about leaving the little man +alone among those dead servants, who were coming to life as the door +closed. + +Six steps down from Smythe's landing the man in shirt sleeves was doing +something with a pail. Angus stopped to extract a promise, fortified +with a prospective bribe, that he would remain in that place until the +return with the detective, and would keep count of any kind of stranger +coming up those stairs. Dashing down to the front hall he then laid +similar charges of vigilance on the commissionaire at the front door, +from whom he learned the simplifying circumstances that there was no +back door. Not content with this, he captured the floating policeman +and induced him to stand opposite the entrance and watch it; and finally +paused an instant for a pennyworth of chestnuts, and an inquiry as to +the probable length of the merchant's stay in the neighbourhood. + +The chestnut seller, turning up the collar of his coat, told him he +should probably be moving shortly, as he thought it was going to snow. +Indeed, the evening was growing grey and bitter, but Angus, with all his +eloquence, proceeded to nail the chestnut man to his post. + +"Keep yourself warm on your own chestnuts," he said earnestly. "Eat +up your whole stock; I'll make it worth your while. I'll give you a +sovereign if you'll wait here till I come back, and then tell me +whether any man, woman, or child has gone into that house where the +commissionaire is standing." + +He then walked away smartly, with a last look at the besieged tower. + +"I've made a ring round that room, anyhow," he said. "They can't all +four of them be Mr. Welkin's accomplices." + +Lucknow Mansions were, so to speak, on a lower platform of that hill +of houses, of which Himylaya Mansions might be called the peak. Mr. +Flambeau's semi-official flat was on the ground floor, and presented +in every way a marked contrast to the American machinery and cold +hotel-like luxury of the flat of the Silent Service. Flambeau, who was +a friend of Angus, received him in a rococo artistic den behind his +office, of which the ornaments were sabres, harquebuses, Eastern +curiosities, flasks of Italian wine, savage cooking-pots, a plumy +Persian cat, and a small dusty-looking Roman Catholic priest, who looked +particularly out of place. + +"This is my friend Father Brown," said Flambeau. "I've often wanted you +to meet him. Splendid weather, this; a little cold for Southerners like +me." + +"Yes, I think it will keep clear," said Angus, sitting down on a +violet-striped Eastern ottoman. + +"No," said the priest quietly, "it has begun to snow." + +And, indeed, as he spoke, the first few flakes, foreseen by the man of +chestnuts, began to drift across the darkening windowpane. + +"Well," said Angus heavily. "I'm afraid I've come on business, and +rather jumpy business at that. The fact is, Flambeau, within a stone's +throw of your house is a fellow who badly wants your help; he's +perpetually being haunted and threatened by an invisible enemy--a +scoundrel whom nobody has even seen." As Angus proceeded to tell the +whole tale of Smythe and Welkin, beginning with Laura's story, and +going on with his own, the supernatural laugh at the corner of two empty +streets, the strange distinct words spoken in an empty room, Flambeau +grew more and more vividly concerned, and the little priest seemed to be +left out of it, like a piece of furniture. When it came to the scribbled +stamp-paper pasted on the window, Flambeau rose, seeming to fill the +room with his huge shoulders. + +"If you don't mind," he said, "I think you had better tell me the rest +on the nearest road to this man's house. It strikes me, somehow, that +there is no time to be lost." + +"Delighted," said Angus, rising also, "though he's safe enough for the +present, for I've set four men to watch the only hole to his burrow." + +They turned out into the street, the small priest trundling after them +with the docility of a small dog. He merely said, in a cheerful way, +like one making conversation, "How quick the snow gets thick on the +ground." + +As they threaded the steep side streets already powdered with silver, +Angus finished his story; and by the time they reached the crescent with +the towering flats, he had leisure to turn his attention to the four +sentinels. The chestnut seller, both before and after receiving a +sovereign, swore stubbornly that he had watched the door and seen no +visitor enter. The policeman was even more emphatic. He said he had had +experience of crooks of all kinds, in top hats and in rags; he wasn't so +green as to expect suspicious characters to look suspicious; he looked +out for anybody, and, so help him, there had been nobody. And when all +three men gathered round the gilded commissionaire, who still stood +smiling astride of the porch, the verdict was more final still. + +"I've got a right to ask any man, duke or dustman, what he wants in +these flats," said the genial and gold-laced giant, "and I'll swear +there's been nobody to ask since this gentleman went away." + +The unimportant Father Brown, who stood back, looking modestly at the +pavement, here ventured to say meekly, "Has nobody been up and down +stairs, then, since the snow began to fall? It began while we were all +round at Flambeau's." + +"Nobody's been in here, sir, you can take it from me," said the +official, with beaming authority. + +"Then I wonder what that is?" said the priest, and stared at the ground +blankly like a fish. + +The others all looked down also; and Flambeau used a fierce exclamation +and a French gesture. For it was unquestionably true that down the +middle of the entrance guarded by the man in gold lace, actually between +the arrogant, stretched legs of that colossus, ran a stringy pattern of +grey footprints stamped upon the white snow. + +"God!" cried Angus involuntarily, "the Invisible Man!" + +Without another word he turned and dashed up the stairs, with Flambeau +following; but Father Brown still stood looking about him in the +snow-clad street as if he had lost interest in his query. + +Flambeau was plainly in a mood to break down the door with his big +shoulders; but the Scotchman, with more reason, if less intuition, +fumbled about on the frame of the door till he found the invisible +button; and the door swung slowly open. + +It showed substantially the same serried interior; the hall had grown +darker, though it was still struck here and there with the last crimson +shafts of sunset, and one or two of the headless machines had been moved +from their places for this or that purpose, and stood here and there +about the twilit place. The green and red of their coats were all +darkened in the dusk; and their likeness to human shapes slightly +increased by their very shapelessness. But in the middle of them all, +exactly where the paper with the red ink had lain, there lay something +that looked like red ink spilt out of its bottle. But it was not red +ink. + +With a French combination of reason and violence Flambeau simply said +"Murder!" and, plunging into the flat, had explored, every corner and +cupboard of it in five minutes. But if he expected to find a corpse he +found none. Isidore Smythe was not in the place, either dead or alive. +After the most tearing search the two men met each other in the outer +hall, with streaming faces and staring eyes. "My friend," said Flambeau, +talking French in his excitement, "not only is your murderer invisible, +but he makes invisible also the murdered man." + +Angus looked round at the dim room full of dummies, and in some Celtic +corner of his Scotch soul a shudder started. One of the life-size dolls +stood immediately overshadowing the blood stain, summoned, perhaps, +by the slain man an instant before he fell. One of the high-shouldered +hooks that served the thing for arms, was a little lifted, and Angus had +suddenly the horrid fancy that poor Smythe's own iron child had struck +him down. Matter had rebelled, and these machines had killed their +master. But even so, what had they done with him? + +"Eaten him?" said the nightmare at his ear; and he sickened for an +instant at the idea of rent, human remains absorbed and crushed into all +that acephalous clockwork. + +He recovered his mental health by an emphatic effort, and said to +Flambeau, "Well, there it is. The poor fellow has evaporated like a +cloud and left a red streak on the floor. The tale does not belong to +this world." + +"There is only one thing to be done," said Flambeau, "whether it belongs +to this world or the other. I must go down and talk to my friend." + +They descended, passing the man with the pail, who again asseverated +that he had let no intruder pass, down to the commissionaire and the +hovering chestnut man, who rigidly reasserted their own watchfulness. +But when Angus looked round for his fourth confirmation he could not see +it, and called out with some nervousness, "Where is the policeman?" + +"I beg your pardon," said Father Brown; "that is my fault. I just sent +him down the road to investigate something--that I just thought worth +investigating." + +"Well, we want him back pretty soon," said Angus abruptly, "for the +wretched man upstairs has not only been murdered, but wiped out." + +"How?" asked the priest. + +"Father," said Flambeau, after a pause, "upon my soul I believe it is +more in your department than mine. No friend or foe has entered the +house, but Smythe is gone, as if stolen by the fairies. If that is not +supernatural, I--" + +As he spoke they were all checked by an unusual sight; the big blue +policeman came round the corner of the crescent, running. He came +straight up to Brown. + +"You're right, sir," he panted, "they've just found poor Mr. Smythe's +body in the canal down below." + +Angus put his hand wildly to his head. "Did he run down and drown +himself?" he asked. + +"He never came down, I'll swear," said the constable, "and he wasn't +drowned either, for he died of a great stab over the heart." + +"And yet you saw no one enter?" said Flambeau in a grave voice. + +"Let us walk down the road a little," said the priest. + +As they reached the other end of the crescent he observed abruptly, +"Stupid of me! I forgot to ask the policeman something. I wonder if they +found a light brown sack." + +"Why a light brown sack?" asked Angus, astonished. + +"Because if it was any other coloured sack, the case must begin over +again," said Father Brown; "but if it was a light brown sack, why, the +case is finished." + +"I am pleased to hear it," said Angus with hearty irony. "It hasn't +begun, so far as I am concerned." + +"You must tell us all about it," said Flambeau with a strange heavy +simplicity, like a child. + +Unconsciously they were walking with quickening steps down the long +sweep of road on the other side of the high crescent, Father Brown +leading briskly, though in silence. At last he said with an almost +touching vagueness, "Well, I'm afraid you'll think it so prosy. We +always begin at the abstract end of things, and you can't begin this +story anywhere else. + +"Have you ever noticed this--that people never answer what you say? They +answer what you mean--or what they think you mean. Suppose one lady says +to another in a country house, 'Is anybody staying with you?' the lady +doesn't answer 'Yes; the butler, the three footmen, the parlourmaid, and +so on,' though the parlourmaid may be in the room, or the butler behind +her chair. She says 'There is nobody staying with us,' meaning nobody of +the sort you mean. But suppose a doctor inquiring into an epidemic asks, +'Who is staying in the house?' then the lady will remember the butler, +the parlourmaid, and the rest. All language is used like that; you never +get a question answered literally, even when you get it answered truly. +When those four quite honest men said that no man had gone into the +Mansions, they did not really mean that no man had gone into them. They +meant no man whom they could suspect of being your man. A man did go +into the house, and did come out of it, but they never noticed him." + +"An invisible man?" inquired Angus, raising his red eyebrows. "A +mentally invisible man," said Father Brown. + +A minute or two after he resumed in the same unassuming voice, like a +man thinking his way. "Of course you can't think of such a man, until +you do think of him. That's where his cleverness comes in. But I came +to think of him through two or three little things in the tale Mr. Angus +told us. First, there was the fact that this Welkin went for long walks. +And then there was the vast lot of stamp paper on the window. And then, +most of all, there were the two things the young lady said--things that +couldn't be true. Don't get annoyed," he added hastily, noting a sudden +movement of the Scotchman's head; "she thought they were true. A person +can't be quite alone in a street a second before she receives a letter. +She can't be quite alone in a street when she starts reading a letter +just received. There must be somebody pretty near her; he must be +mentally invisible." + +"Why must there be somebody near her?" asked Angus. + +"Because," said Father Brown, "barring carrier-pigeons, somebody must +have brought her the letter." + +"Do you really mean to say," asked Flambeau, with energy, "that Welkin +carried his rival's letters to his lady?" + +"Yes," said the priest. "Welkin carried his rival's letters to his lady. +You see, he had to." + +"Oh, I can't stand much more of this," exploded Flambeau. "Who is this +fellow? What does he look like? What is the usual get-up of a mentally +invisible man?" + +"He is dressed rather handsomely in red, blue and gold," replied the +priest promptly with precision, "and in this striking, and even showy, +costume he entered Himylaya Mansions under eight human eyes; he killed +Smythe in cold blood, and came down into the street again carrying the +dead body in his arms--" + +"Reverend sir," cried Angus, standing still, "are you raving mad, or am +I?" + +"You are not mad," said Brown, "only a little unobservant. You have not +noticed such a man as this, for example." + +He took three quick strides forward, and put his hand on the shoulder of +an ordinary passing postman who had bustled by them unnoticed under the +shade of the trees. + +"Nobody ever notices postmen somehow," he said thoughtfully; "yet they +have passions like other men, and even carry large bags where a small +corpse can be stowed quite easily." + +The postman, instead of turning naturally, had ducked and tumbled +against the garden fence. He was a lean fair-bearded man of very +ordinary appearance, but as he turned an alarmed face over his shoulder, +all three men were fixed with an almost fiendish squint. + + * * * * * + +Flambeau went back to his sabres, purple rugs and Persian cat, having +many things to attend to. John Turnbull Angus went back to the lady at +the shop, with whom that imprudent young man contrives to be extremely +comfortable. But Father Brown walked those snow-covered hills under the +stars for many hours with a murderer, and what they said to each other +will never be known. + + + + +The Honour of Israel Gow + + +A stormy evening of olive and silver was closing in, as Father Brown, +wrapped in a grey Scotch plaid, came to the end of a grey Scotch valley +and beheld the strange castle of Glengyle. It stopped one end of the +glen or hollow like a blind alley; and it looked like the end of the +world. Rising in steep roofs and spires of seagreen slate in the manner +of the old French-Scotch chateaux, it reminded an Englishman of the +sinister steeple-hats of witches in fairy tales; and the pine woods +that rocked round the green turrets looked, by comparison, as black +as numberless flocks of ravens. This note of a dreamy, almost a sleepy +devilry, was no mere fancy from the landscape. For there did rest on +the place one of those clouds of pride and madness and mysterious sorrow +which lie more heavily on the noble houses of Scotland than on any other +of the children of men. For Scotland has a double dose of the poison +called heredity; the sense of blood in the aristocrat, and the sense of +doom in the Calvinist. + +The priest had snatched a day from his business at Glasgow to meet his +friend Flambeau, the amateur detective, who was at Glengyle Castle with +another more formal officer investigating the life and death of the late +Earl of Glengyle. That mysterious person was the last representative +of a race whose valour, insanity, and violent cunning had made them +terrible even among the sinister nobility of their nation in the +sixteenth century. None were deeper in that labyrinthine ambition, in +chamber within chamber of that palace of lies that was built up around +Mary Queen of Scots. + +The rhyme in the country-side attested the motive and the result of +their machinations candidly: + + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies. + +For many centuries there had never been a decent lord in Glengyle +Castle; and with the Victorian era one would have thought that all +eccentricities were exhausted. The last Glengyle, however, satisfied his +tribal tradition by doing the only thing that was left for him to do; he +disappeared. I do not mean that he went abroad; by all accounts he was +still in the castle, if he was anywhere. But though his name was in the +church register and the big red Peerage, nobody ever saw him under the +sun. + +If anyone saw him it was a solitary man-servant, something between a +groom and a gardener. He was so deaf that the more business-like +assumed him to be dumb; while the more penetrating declared him to be +half-witted. A gaunt, red-haired labourer, with a dogged jaw and chin, +but quite blank blue eyes, he went by the name of Israel Gow, and was +the one silent servant on that deserted estate. But the energy with +which he dug potatoes, and the regularity with which he disappeared +into the kitchen gave people an impression that he was providing for the +meals of a superior, and that the strange earl was still concealed in +the castle. If society needed any further proof that he was there, the +servant persistently asserted that he was not at home. One morning the +provost and the minister (for the Glengyles were Presbyterian) were +summoned to the castle. There they found that the gardener, groom and +cook had added to his many professions that of an undertaker, and had +nailed up his noble master in a coffin. With how much or how little +further inquiry this odd fact was passed, did not as yet very plainly +appear; for the thing had never been legally investigated till Flambeau +had gone north two or three days before. By then the body of Lord +Glengyle (if it was the body) had lain for some time in the little +churchyard on the hill. + +As Father Brown passed through the dim garden and came under the +shadow of the chateau, the clouds were thick and the whole air damp +and thundery. Against the last stripe of the green-gold sunset he saw +a black human silhouette; a man in a chimney-pot hat, with a big spade +over his shoulder. The combination was queerly suggestive of a sexton; +but when Brown remembered the deaf servant who dug potatoes, he thought +it natural enough. He knew something of the Scotch peasant; he knew the +respectability which might well feel it necessary to wear "blacks" for +an official inquiry; he knew also the economy that would not lose an +hour's digging for that. Even the man's start and suspicious stare as +the priest went by were consonant enough with the vigilance and jealousy +of such a type. + +The great door was opened by Flambeau himself, who had with him a lean +man with iron-grey hair and papers in his hand: Inspector Craven from +Scotland Yard. The entrance hall was mostly stripped and empty; but the +pale, sneering faces of one or two of the wicked Ogilvies looked down +out of black periwigs and blackening canvas. + +Following them into an inner room, Father Brown found that the allies +had been seated at a long oak table, of which their end was covered with +scribbled papers, flanked with whisky and cigars. Through the whole of +its remaining length it was occupied by detached objects arranged at +intervals; objects about as inexplicable as any objects could be. One +looked like a small heap of glittering broken glass. Another looked like +a high heap of brown dust. A third appeared to be a plain stick of wood. + +"You seem to have a sort of geological museum here," he said, as he sat +down, jerking his head briefly in the direction of the brown dust and +the crystalline fragments. + +"Not a geological museum," replied Flambeau; "say a psychological +museum." + +"Oh, for the Lord's sake," cried the police detective laughing, "don't +let's begin with such long words." + +"Don't you know what psychology means?" asked Flambeau with friendly +surprise. "Psychology means being off your chump." + +"Still I hardly follow," replied the official. + +"Well," said Flambeau, with decision, "I mean that we've only found out +one thing about Lord Glengyle. He was a maniac." + +The black silhouette of Gow with his top hat and spade passed the +window, dimly outlined against the darkening sky. Father Brown stared +passively at it and answered: + +"I can understand there must have been something odd about the man, or +he wouldn't have buried himself alive--nor been in such a hurry to bury +himself dead. But what makes you think it was lunacy?" + +"Well," said Flambeau, "you just listen to the list of things Mr. Craven +has found in the house." + +"We must get a candle," said Craven, suddenly. "A storm is getting up, +and it's too dark to read." + +"Have you found any candles," asked Brown smiling, "among your +oddities?" + +Flambeau raised a grave face, and fixed his dark eyes on his friend. + +"That is curious, too," he said. "Twenty-five candles, and not a trace +of a candlestick." + +In the rapidly darkening room and rapidly rising wind, Brown went along +the table to where a bundle of wax candles lay among the other scrappy +exhibits. As he did so he bent accidentally over the heap of red-brown +dust; and a sharp sneeze cracked the silence. + +"Hullo!" he said, "snuff!" + +He took one of the candles, lit it carefully, came back and stuck it in +the neck of the whisky bottle. The unrestful night air, blowing through +the crazy window, waved the long flame like a banner. And on every side +of the castle they could hear the miles and miles of black pine wood +seething like a black sea around a rock. + +"I will read the inventory," began Craven gravely, picking up one of +the papers, "the inventory of what we found loose and unexplained in the +castle. You are to understand that the place generally was dismantled +and neglected; but one or two rooms had plainly been inhabited in a +simple but not squalid style by somebody; somebody who was not the +servant Gow. The list is as follows: + +"First item. A very considerable hoard of precious stones, nearly +all diamonds, and all of them loose, without any setting whatever. Of +course, it is natural that the Ogilvies should have family jewels; but +those are exactly the jewels that are almost always set in particular +articles of ornament. The Ogilvies would seem to have kept theirs loose +in their pockets, like coppers. + +"Second item. Heaps and heaps of loose snuff, not kept in a horn, or +even a pouch, but lying in heaps on the mantelpieces, on the sideboard, +on the piano, anywhere. It looks as if the old gentleman would not take +the trouble to look in a pocket or lift a lid. + +"Third item. Here and there about the house curious little heaps of +minute pieces of metal, some like steel springs and some in the form of +microscopic wheels. As if they had gutted some mechanical toy. + +"Fourth item. The wax candles, which have to be stuck in bottle necks +because there is nothing else to stick them in. Now I wish you to note +how very much queerer all this is than anything we anticipated. For the +central riddle we are prepared; we have all seen at a glance that there +was something wrong about the last earl. We have come here to find out +whether he really lived here, whether he really died here, whether that +red-haired scarecrow who did his burying had anything to do with his +dying. But suppose the worst in all this, the most lurid or melodramatic +solution you like. Suppose the servant really killed the master, or +suppose the master isn't really dead, or suppose the master is dressed +up as the servant, or suppose the servant is buried for the master; +invent what Wilkie Collins' tragedy you like, and you still have not +explained a candle without a candlestick, or why an elderly gentleman of +good family should habitually spill snuff on the piano. The core of +the tale we could imagine; it is the fringes that are mysterious. By no +stretch of fancy can the human mind connect together snuff and diamonds +and wax and loose clockwork." + +"I think I see the connection," said the priest. "This Glengyle was +mad against the French Revolution. He was an enthusiast for the ancien +regime, and was trying to re-enact literally the family life of the last +Bourbons. He had snuff because it was the eighteenth century luxury; +wax candles, because they were the eighteenth century lighting; the +mechanical bits of iron represent the locksmith hobby of Louis XVI; the +diamonds are for the Diamond Necklace of Marie Antoinette." + +Both the other men were staring at him with round eyes. "What a +perfectly extraordinary notion!" cried Flambeau. "Do you really think +that is the truth?" + +"I am perfectly sure it isn't," answered Father Brown, "only you said +that nobody could connect snuff and diamonds and clockwork and candles. +I give you that connection off-hand. The real truth, I am very sure, +lies deeper." + +He paused a moment and listened to the wailing of the wind in the +turrets. Then he said, "The late Earl of Glengyle was a thief. He lived +a second and darker life as a desperate housebreaker. He did not have +any candlesticks because he only used these candles cut short in the +little lantern he carried. The snuff he employed as the fiercest French +criminals have used pepper: to fling it suddenly in dense masses in +the face of a captor or pursuer. But the final proof is in the curious +coincidence of the diamonds and the small steel wheels. Surely that +makes everything plain to you? Diamonds and small steel wheels are the +only two instruments with which you can cut out a pane of glass." + +The bough of a broken pine tree lashed heavily in the blast against the +windowpane behind them, as if in parody of a burglar, but they did not +turn round. Their eyes were fastened on Father Brown. + +"Diamonds and small wheels," repeated Craven ruminating. "Is that all +that makes you think it the true explanation?" + +"I don't think it the true explanation," replied the priest placidly; +"but you said that nobody could connect the four things. The true +tale, of course, is something much more humdrum. Glengyle had found, +or thought he had found, precious stones on his estate. Somebody had +bamboozled him with those loose brilliants, saying they were found in +the castle caverns. The little wheels are some diamond-cutting affair. +He had to do the thing very roughly and in a small way, with the help of +a few shepherds or rude fellows on these hills. Snuff is the one great +luxury of such Scotch shepherds; it's the one thing with which you can +bribe them. They didn't have candlesticks because they didn't want them; +they held the candles in their hands when they explored the caves." + +"Is that all?" asked Flambeau after a long pause. "Have we got to the +dull truth at last?" + +"Oh, no," said Father Brown. + +As the wind died in the most distant pine woods with a long hoot as of +mockery Father Brown, with an utterly impassive face, went on: + +"I only suggested that because you said one could not plausibly +connect snuff with clockwork or candles with bright stones. Ten false +philosophies will fit the universe; ten false theories will fit Glengyle +Castle. But we want the real explanation of the castle and the universe. +But are there no other exhibits?" + +Craven laughed, and Flambeau rose smiling to his feet and strolled down +the long table. + +"Items five, six, seven, etc.," he said, "and certainly more varied than +instructive. A curious collection, not of lead pencils, but of the lead +out of lead pencils. A senseless stick of bamboo, with the top rather +splintered. It might be the instrument of the crime. Only, there isn't +any crime. The only other things are a few old missals and little +Catholic pictures, which the Ogilvies kept, I suppose, from the Middle +Ages--their family pride being stronger than their Puritanism. We +only put them in the museum because they seem curiously cut about and +defaced." + +The heady tempest without drove a dreadful wrack of clouds across +Glengyle and threw the long room into darkness as Father Brown picked up +the little illuminated pages to examine them. He spoke before the drift +of darkness had passed; but it was the voice of an utterly new man. + +"Mr. Craven," said he, talking like a man ten years younger, "you have +got a legal warrant, haven't you, to go up and examine that grave? +The sooner we do it the better, and get to the bottom of this horrible +affair. If I were you I should start now." + +"Now," repeated the astonished detective, "and why now?" + +"Because this is serious," answered Brown; "this is not spilt snuff or +loose pebbles, that might be there for a hundred reasons. There is only +one reason I know of for this being done; and the reason goes down to +the roots of the world. These religious pictures are not just dirtied +or torn or scrawled over, which might be done in idleness or bigotry, by +children or by Protestants. These have been treated very carefully--and +very queerly. In every place where the great ornamented name of God +comes in the old illuminations it has been elaborately taken out. The +only other thing that has been removed is the halo round the head of the +Child Jesus. Therefore, I say, let us get our warrant and our spade and +our hatchet, and go up and break open that coffin." + +"What do you mean?" demanded the London officer. + +"I mean," answered the little priest, and his voice seemed to rise +slightly in the roar of the gale. "I mean that the great devil of the +universe may be sitting on the top tower of this castle at this moment, +as big as a hundred elephants, and roaring like the Apocalypse. There is +black magic somewhere at the bottom of this." + +"Black magic," repeated Flambeau in a low voice, for he was too +enlightened a man not to know of such things; "but what can these other +things mean?" + +"Oh, something damnable, I suppose," replied Brown impatiently. "How +should I know? How can I guess all their mazes down below? Perhaps you +can make a torture out of snuff and bamboo. Perhaps lunatics lust after +wax and steel filings. Perhaps there is a maddening drug made of lead +pencils! Our shortest cut to the mystery is up the hill to the grave." + +His comrades hardly knew that they had obeyed and followed him till a +blast of the night wind nearly flung them on their faces in the garden. +Nevertheless they had obeyed him like automata; for Craven found +a hatchet in his hand, and the warrant in his pocket; Flambeau was +carrying the heavy spade of the strange gardener; Father Brown was +carrying the little gilt book from which had been torn the name of God. + +The path up the hill to the churchyard was crooked but short; only under +that stress of wind it seemed laborious and long. Far as the eye could +see, farther and farther as they mounted the slope, were seas beyond +seas of pines, now all aslope one way under the wind. And that universal +gesture seemed as vain as it was vast, as vain as if that wind were +whistling about some unpeopled and purposeless planet. Through all that +infinite growth of grey-blue forests sang, shrill and high, that ancient +sorrow that is in the heart of all heathen things. One could fancy that +the voices from the under world of unfathomable foliage were cries of +the lost and wandering pagan gods: gods who had gone roaming in that +irrational forest, and who will never find their way back to heaven. + +"You see," said Father Brown in low but easy tone, "Scotch people before +Scotland existed were a curious lot. In fact, they're a curious lot +still. But in the prehistoric times I fancy they really worshipped +demons. That," he added genially, "is why they jumped at the Puritan +theology." + +"My friend," said Flambeau, turning in a kind of fury, "what does all +that snuff mean?" + +"My friend," replied Brown, with equal seriousness, "there is one mark +of all genuine religions: materialism. Now, devil-worship is a perfectly +genuine religion." + +They had come up on the grassy scalp of the hill, one of the few bald +spots that stood clear of the crashing and roaring pine forest. A mean +enclosure, partly timber and partly wire, rattled in the tempest to tell +them the border of the graveyard. But by the time Inspector Craven had +come to the corner of the grave, and Flambeau had planted his spade +point downwards and leaned on it, they were both almost as shaken as the +shaky wood and wire. At the foot of the grave grew great tall +thistles, grey and silver in their decay. Once or twice, when a ball +of thistledown broke under the breeze and flew past him, Craven jumped +slightly as if it had been an arrow. + +Flambeau drove the blade of his spade through the whistling grass into +the wet clay below. Then he seemed to stop and lean on it as on a staff. + +"Go on," said the priest very gently. "We are only trying to find the +truth. What are you afraid of?" + +"I am afraid of finding it," said Flambeau. + +The London detective spoke suddenly in a high crowing voice that was +meant to be conversational and cheery. "I wonder why he really did hide +himself like that. Something nasty, I suppose; was he a leper?" + +"Something worse than that," said Flambeau. + +"And what do you imagine," asked the other, "would be worse than a +leper?" + +"I don't imagine it," said Flambeau. + +He dug for some dreadful minutes in silence, and then said in a choked +voice, "I'm afraid of his not being the right shape." + +"Nor was that piece of paper, you know," said Father Brown quietly, "and +we survived even that piece of paper." + +Flambeau dug on with a blind energy. But the tempest had shouldered away +the choking grey clouds that clung to the hills like smoke and revealed +grey fields of faint starlight before he cleared the shape of a rude +timber coffin, and somehow tipped it up upon the turf. Craven stepped +forward with his axe; a thistle-top touched him, and he flinched. Then +he took a firmer stride, and hacked and wrenched with an energy like +Flambeau's till the lid was torn off, and all that was there lay +glimmering in the grey starlight. + +"Bones," said Craven; and then he added, "but it is a man," as if that +were something unexpected. + +"Is he," asked Flambeau in a voice that went oddly up and down, "is he +all right?" + +"Seems so," said the officer huskily, bending over the obscure and +decaying skeleton in the box. "Wait a minute." + +A vast heave went over Flambeau's huge figure. "And now I come to think +of it," he cried, "why in the name of madness shouldn't he be all right? +What is it gets hold of a man on these cursed cold mountains? I think +it's the black, brainless repetition; all these forests, and over all +an ancient horror of unconsciousness. It's like the dream of an atheist. +Pine-trees and more pine-trees and millions more pine-trees--" + +"God!" cried the man by the coffin, "but he hasn't got a head." + +While the others stood rigid the priest, for the first time, showed a +leap of startled concern. + +"No head!" he repeated. "No head?" as if he had almost expected some +other deficiency. + +Half-witted visions of a headless baby born to Glengyle, of a headless +youth hiding himself in the castle, of a headless man pacing those +ancient halls or that gorgeous garden, passed in panorama through their +minds. But even in that stiffened instant the tale took no root in them +and seemed to have no reason in it. They stood listening to the loud +woods and the shrieking sky quite foolishly, like exhausted animals. +Thought seemed to be something enormous that had suddenly slipped out of +their grasp. + +"There are three headless men," said Father Brown, "standing round this +open grave." + +The pale detective from London opened his mouth to speak, and left it +open like a yokel, while a long scream of wind tore the sky; then he +looked at the axe in his hands as if it did not belong to him, and +dropped it. + +"Father," said Flambeau in that infantile and heavy voice he used very +seldom, "what are we to do?" + +His friend's reply came with the pent promptitude of a gun going off. + +"Sleep!" cried Father Brown. "Sleep. We have come to the end of the +ways. Do you know what sleep is? Do you know that every man who sleeps +believes in God? It is a sacrament; for it is an act of faith and it is +a food. And we need a sacrament, if only a natural one. Something has +fallen on us that falls very seldom on men; perhaps the worst thing that +can fall on them." + +Craven's parted lips came together to say, "What do you mean?" + +The priest had turned his face to the castle as he answered: "We have +found the truth; and the truth makes no sense." + +He went down the path in front of them with a plunging and reckless +step very rare with him, and when they reached the castle again he threw +himself upon sleep with the simplicity of a dog. + +Despite his mystic praise of slumber, Father Brown was up earlier than +anyone else except the silent gardener; and was found smoking a big +pipe and watching that expert at his speechless labours in the kitchen +garden. Towards daybreak the rocking storm had ended in roaring rains, +and the day came with a curious freshness. The gardener seemed even +to have been conversing, but at sight of the detectives he planted +his spade sullenly in a bed and, saying something about his breakfast, +shifted along the lines of cabbages and shut himself in the kitchen. +"He's a valuable man, that," said Father Brown. "He does the potatoes +amazingly. Still," he added, with a dispassionate charity, "he has his +faults; which of us hasn't? He doesn't dig this bank quite regularly. +There, for instance," and he stamped suddenly on one spot. "I'm really +very doubtful about that potato." + +"And why?" asked Craven, amused with the little man's hobby. + +"I'm doubtful about it," said the other, "because old Gow was doubtful +about it himself. He put his spade in methodically in every place but +just this. There must be a mighty fine potato just here." + +Flambeau pulled up the spade and impetuously drove it into the place. +He turned up, under a load of soil, something that did not look like a +potato, but rather like a monstrous, over-domed mushroom. But it struck +the spade with a cold click; it rolled over like a ball, and grinned up +at them. + +"The Earl of Glengyle," said Brown sadly, and looked down heavily at the +skull. + +Then, after a momentary meditation, he plucked the spade from Flambeau, +and, saying "We must hide it again," clamped the skull down in the +earth. Then he leaned his little body and huge head on the great handle +of the spade, that stood up stiffly in the earth, and his eyes were +empty and his forehead full of wrinkles. "If one could only conceive," +he muttered, "the meaning of this last monstrosity." And leaning on +the large spade handle, he buried his brows in his hands, as men do in +church. + +All the corners of the sky were brightening into blue and silver; the +birds were chattering in the tiny garden trees; so loud it seemed as if +the trees themselves were talking. But the three men were silent enough. + +"Well, I give it all up," said Flambeau at last boisterously. "My brain +and this world don't fit each other; and there's an end of it. Snuff, +spoilt Prayer Books, and the insides of musical boxes--what--" + +Brown threw up his bothered brow and rapped on the spade handle with an +intolerance quite unusual with him. "Oh, tut, tut, tut, tut!" he +cried. "All that is as plain as a pikestaff. I understood the snuff +and clockwork, and so on, when I first opened my eyes this morning. And +since then I've had it out with old Gow, the gardener, who is neither so +deaf nor so stupid as he pretends. There's nothing amiss about the loose +items. I was wrong about the torn mass-book, too; there's no harm in +that. But it's this last business. Desecrating graves and stealing dead +men's heads--surely there's harm in that? Surely there's black magic +still in that? That doesn't fit in to the quite simple story of the +snuff and the candles." And, striding about again, he smoked moodily. + +"My friend," said Flambeau, with a grim humour, "you must be careful +with me and remember I was once a criminal. The great advantage of that +estate was that I always made up the story myself, and acted it as quick +as I chose. This detective business of waiting about is too much for my +French impatience. All my life, for good or evil, I have done things at +the instant; I always fought duels the next morning; I always paid bills +on the nail; I never even put off a visit to the dentist--" + +Father Brown's pipe fell out of his mouth and broke into three pieces +on the gravel path. He stood rolling his eyes, the exact picture of +an idiot. "Lord, what a turnip I am!" he kept saying. "Lord, what a +turnip!" Then, in a somewhat groggy kind of way, he began to laugh. + +"The dentist!" he repeated. "Six hours in the spiritual abyss, and all +because I never thought of the dentist! Such a simple, such a beautiful +and peaceful thought! Friends, we have passed a night in hell; but now +the sun is risen, the birds are singing, and the radiant form of the +dentist consoles the world." + +"I will get some sense out of this," cried Flambeau, striding forward, +"if I use the tortures of the Inquisition." + +Father Brown repressed what appeared to be a momentary disposition to +dance on the now sunlit lawn and cried quite piteously, like a child, +"Oh, let me be silly a little. You don't know how unhappy I have been. +And now I know that there has been no deep sin in this business at all. +Only a little lunacy, perhaps--and who minds that?" + +He spun round once more, then faced them with gravity. + +"This is not a story of crime," he said; "rather it is the story of a +strange and crooked honesty. We are dealing with the one man on earth, +perhaps, who has taken no more than his due. It is a study in the savage +living logic that has been the religion of this race. + +"That old local rhyme about the house of Glengyle-- + + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies-- + +was literal as well as metaphorical. It did not merely mean that the +Glengyles sought for wealth; it was also true that they literally +gathered gold; they had a huge collection of ornaments and utensils in +that metal. They were, in fact, misers whose mania took that turn. +In the light of that fact, run through all the things we found in the +castle. Diamonds without their gold rings; candles without their gold +candlesticks; snuff without the gold snuff-boxes; pencil-leads without +the gold pencil-cases; a walking stick without its gold top; clockwork +without the gold clocks--or rather watches. And, mad as it sounds, +because the halos and the name of God in the old missals were of real +gold; these also were taken away." + +The garden seemed to brighten, the grass to grow gayer in the +strengthening sun, as the crazy truth was told. Flambeau lit a cigarette +as his friend went on. + +"Were taken away," continued Father Brown; "were taken away--but not +stolen. Thieves would never have left this mystery. Thieves would have +taken the gold snuff-boxes, snuff and all; the gold pencil-cases, lead +and all. We have to deal with a man with a peculiar conscience, but +certainly a conscience. I found that mad moralist this morning in the +kitchen garden yonder, and I heard the whole story. + +"The late Archibald Ogilvie was the nearest approach to a good man +ever born at Glengyle. But his bitter virtue took the turn of the +misanthrope; he moped over the dishonesty of his ancestors, from which, +somehow, he generalised a dishonesty of all men. More especially he +distrusted philanthropy or free-giving; and he swore if he could +find one man who took his exact rights he should have all the gold of +Glengyle. Having delivered this defiance to humanity he shut himself +up, without the smallest expectation of its being answered. One day, +however, a deaf and seemingly senseless lad from a distant village +brought him a belated telegram; and Glengyle, in his acrid pleasantry, +gave him a new farthing. At least he thought he had done so, but when +he turned over his change he found the new farthing still there and a +sovereign gone. The accident offered him vistas of sneering speculation. +Either way, the boy would show the greasy greed of the species. Either +he would vanish, a thief stealing a coin; or he would sneak back with +it virtuously, a snob seeking a reward. In the middle of that night Lord +Glengyle was knocked up out of his bed--for he lived alone--and forced +to open the door to the deaf idiot. The idiot brought with him, not +the sovereign, but exactly nineteen shillings and eleven-pence +three-farthings in change. + +"Then the wild exactitude of this action took hold of the mad lord's +brain like fire. He swore he was Diogenes, that had long sought an +honest man, and at last had found one. He made a new will, which I have +seen. He took the literal youth into his huge, neglected house, and +trained him up as his solitary servant and--after an odd manner--his +heir. And whatever that queer creature understands, he understood +absolutely his lord's two fixed ideas: first, that the letter of right +is everything; and second, that he himself was to have the gold of +Glengyle. So far, that is all; and that is simple. He has stripped the +house of gold, and taken not a grain that was not gold; not so much as +a grain of snuff. He lifted the gold leaf off an old illumination, fully +satisfied that he left the rest unspoilt. All that I understood; but I +could not understand this skull business. I was really uneasy about that +human head buried among the potatoes. It distressed me--till Flambeau +said the word. + +"It will be all right. He will put the skull back in the grave, when he +has taken the gold out of the tooth." + +And, indeed, when Flambeau crossed the hill that morning, he saw that +strange being, the just miser, digging at the desecrated grave, the +plaid round his throat thrashing out in the mountain wind; the sober top +hat on his head. + + + + +The Wrong Shape + + +Certain of the great roads going north out of London continue far into +the country a sort of attenuated and interrupted spectre of a street, +with great gaps in the building, but preserving the line. Here will be a +group of shops, followed by a fenced field or paddock, and then a famous +public-house, and then perhaps a market garden or a nursery garden, and +then one large private house, and then another field and another inn, +and so on. If anyone walks along one of these roads he will pass a house +which will probably catch his eye, though he may not be able to explain +its attraction. It is a long, low house, running parallel with the road, +painted mostly white and pale green, with a veranda and sun-blinds, and +porches capped with those quaint sort of cupolas like wooden umbrellas +that one sees in some old-fashioned houses. In fact, it is an +old-fashioned house, very English and very suburban in the good old +wealthy Clapham sense. And yet the house has a look of having been built +chiefly for the hot weather. Looking at its white paint and sun-blinds +one thinks vaguely of pugarees and even of palm trees. I cannot trace +the feeling to its root; perhaps the place was built by an Anglo-Indian. + +Anyone passing this house, I say, would be namelessly fascinated by it; +would feel that it was a place about which some story was to be told. +And he would have been right, as you shall shortly hear. For this is the +story--the story of the strange things that did really happen in it in +the Whitsuntide of the year 18--: + +Anyone passing the house on the Thursday before Whit-Sunday at about +half-past four p.m. would have seen the front door open, and Father +Brown, of the small church of St. Mungo, come out smoking a large pipe +in company with a very tall French friend of his called Flambeau, who +was smoking a very small cigarette. These persons may or may not be of +interest to the reader, but the truth is that they were not the only +interesting things that were displayed when the front door of the +white-and-green house was opened. There are further peculiarities about +this house, which must be described to start with, not only that the +reader may understand this tragic tale, but also that he may realise +what it was that the opening of the door revealed. + +The whole house was built upon the plan of a T, but a T with a very long +cross piece and a very short tail piece. The long cross piece was the +frontage that ran along in face of the street, with the front door +in the middle; it was two stories high, and contained nearly all +the important rooms. The short tail piece, which ran out at the back +immediately opposite the front door, was one story high, and consisted +only of two long rooms, the one leading into the other. The first of +these two rooms was the study in which the celebrated Mr. Quinton wrote +his wild Oriental poems and romances. The farther room was a glass +conservatory full of tropical blossoms of quite unique and almost +monstrous beauty, and on such afternoons as these glowing with gorgeous +sunlight. Thus when the hall door was open, many a passer-by literally +stopped to stare and gasp; for he looked down a perspective of rich +apartments to something really like a transformation scene in a fairy +play: purple clouds and golden suns and crimson stars that were at once +scorchingly vivid and yet transparent and far away. + +Leonard Quinton, the poet, had himself most carefully arranged this +effect; and it is doubtful whether he so perfectly expressed his +personality in any of his poems. For he was a man who drank and bathed +in colours, who indulged his lust for colour somewhat to the neglect +of form--even of good form. This it was that had turned his genius +so wholly to eastern art and imagery; to those bewildering carpets +or blinding embroideries in which all the colours seem fallen into a +fortunate chaos, having nothing to typify or to teach. He had attempted, +not perhaps with complete artistic success, but with acknowledged +imagination and invention, to compose epics and love stories reflecting +the riot of violent and even cruel colour; tales of tropical heavens +of burning gold or blood-red copper; of eastern heroes who rode with +twelve-turbaned mitres upon elephants painted purple or peacock green; +of gigantic jewels that a hundred negroes could not carry, but which +burned with ancient and strange-hued fires. + +In short (to put the matter from the more common point of view), he +dealt much in eastern heavens, rather worse than most western hells; in +eastern monarchs, whom we might possibly call maniacs; and in eastern +jewels which a Bond Street jeweller (if the hundred staggering negroes +brought them into his shop) might possibly not regard as genuine. +Quinton was a genius, if a morbid one; and even his morbidity appeared +more in his life than in his work. In temperament he was weak and +waspish, and his health had suffered heavily from oriental experiments +with opium. His wife--a handsome, hard-working, and, indeed, over-worked +woman objected to the opium, but objected much more to a live Indian +hermit in white and yellow robes, whom her husband insisted on +entertaining for months together, a Virgil to guide his spirit through +the heavens and the hells of the east. + +It was out of this artistic household that Father Brown and his friend +stepped on to the door-step; and to judge from their faces, they stepped +out of it with much relief. Flambeau had known Quinton in wild student +days in Paris, and they had renewed the acquaintance for a week-end; but +apart from Flambeau's more responsible developments of late, he did not +get on well with the poet now. Choking oneself with opium and writing +little erotic verses on vellum was not his notion of how a gentleman +should go to the devil. As the two paused on the door-step, before +taking a turn in the garden, the front garden gate was thrown open with +violence, and a young man with a billycock hat on the back of his head +tumbled up the steps in his eagerness. He was a dissipated-looking youth +with a gorgeous red necktie all awry, as if he had slept in it, and he +kept fidgeting and lashing about with one of those little jointed canes. + +"I say," he said breathlessly, "I want to see old Quinton. I must see +him. Has he gone?" + +"Mr. Quinton is in, I believe," said Father Brown, cleaning his pipe, +"but I do not know if you can see him. The doctor is with him at +present." + +The young man, who seemed not to be perfectly sober, stumbled into the +hall; and at the same moment the doctor came out of Quinton's study, +shutting the door and beginning to put on his gloves. + +"See Mr. Quinton?" said the doctor coolly. "No, I'm afraid you can't. In +fact, you mustn't on any account. Nobody must see him; I've just given +him his sleeping draught." + +"No, but look here, old chap," said the youth in the red tie, trying +affectionately to capture the doctor by the lapels of his coat. "Look +here. I'm simply sewn up, I tell you. I--" + +"It's no good, Mr. Atkinson," said the doctor, forcing him to fall back; +"when you can alter the effects of a drug I'll alter my decision," and, +settling on his hat, he stepped out into the sunlight with the other +two. He was a bull-necked, good-tempered little man with a small +moustache, inexpressibly ordinary, yet giving an impression of capacity. + +The young man in the billycock, who did not seem to be gifted with any +tact in dealing with people beyond the general idea of clutching hold of +their coats, stood outside the door, as dazed as if he had been thrown +out bodily, and silently watched the other three walk away together +through the garden. + +"That was a sound, spanking lie I told just now," remarked the medical +man, laughing. "In point of fact, poor Quinton doesn't have his sleeping +draught for nearly half an hour. But I'm not going to have him bothered +with that little beast, who only wants to borrow money that he wouldn't +pay back if he could. He's a dirty little scamp, though he is Mrs. +Quinton's brother, and she's as fine a woman as ever walked." + +"Yes," said Father Brown. "She's a good woman." + +"So I propose to hang about the garden till the creature has cleared +off," went on the doctor, "and then I'll go in to Quinton with the +medicine. Atkinson can't get in, because I locked the door." + +"In that case, Dr. Harris," said Flambeau, "we might as well walk round +at the back by the end of the conservatory. There's no entrance to it +that way, but it's worth seeing, even from the outside." + +"Yes, and I might get a squint at my patient," laughed the doctor, "for +he prefers to lie on an ottoman right at the end of the conservatory +amid all those blood-red poinsettias; it would give me the creeps. But +what are you doing?" + +Father Brown had stopped for a moment, and picked up out of the long +grass, where it had almost been wholly hidden, a queer, crooked Oriental +knife, inlaid exquisitely in coloured stones and metals. + +"What is this?" asked Father Brown, regarding it with some disfavour. + +"Oh, Quinton's, I suppose," said Dr. Harris carelessly; "he has all +sorts of Chinese knickknacks about the place. Or perhaps it belongs to +that mild Hindoo of his whom he keeps on a string." + +"What Hindoo?" asked Father Brown, still staring at the dagger in his +hand. + +"Oh, some Indian conjuror," said the doctor lightly; "a fraud, of +course." + +"You don't believe in magic?" asked Father Brown, without looking up. + +"O crickey! magic!" said the doctor. + +"It's very beautiful," said the priest in a low, dreaming voice; "the +colours are very beautiful. But it's the wrong shape." + +"What for?" asked Flambeau, staring. + +"For anything. It's the wrong shape in the abstract. Don't you ever feel +that about Eastern art? The colours are intoxicatingly lovely; but the +shapes are mean and bad--deliberately mean and bad. I have seen wicked +things in a Turkey carpet." + +"Mon Dieu!" cried Flambeau, laughing. + +"They are letters and symbols in a language I don't know; but I know +they stand for evil words," went on the priest, his voice growing lower +and lower. "The lines go wrong on purpose--like serpents doubling to +escape." + +"What the devil are you talking about?" said the doctor with a loud +laugh. + +Flambeau spoke quietly to him in answer. "The Father sometimes gets this +mystic's cloud on him," he said; "but I give you fair warning that I +have never known him to have it except when there was some evil quite +near." + +"Oh, rats!" said the scientist. + +"Why, look at it," cried Father Brown, holding out the crooked knife at +arm's length, as if it were some glittering snake. "Don't you see it is +the wrong shape? Don't you see that it has no hearty and plain purpose? +It does not point like a spear. It does not sweep like a scythe. It does +not look like a weapon. It looks like an instrument of torture." + +"Well, as you don't seem to like it," said the jolly Harris, "it had +better be taken back to its owner. Haven't we come to the end of this +confounded conservatory yet? This house is the wrong shape, if you +like." + +"You don't understand," said Father Brown, shaking his head. "The shape +of this house is quaint--it is even laughable. But there is nothing +wrong about it." + +As they spoke they came round the curve of glass that ended the +conservatory, an uninterrupted curve, for there was neither door nor +window by which to enter at that end. The glass, however, was clear, and +the sun still bright, though beginning to set; and they could see not +only the flamboyant blossoms inside, but the frail figure of the poet +in a brown velvet coat lying languidly on the sofa, having, apparently, +fallen half asleep over a book. He was a pale, slight man, with loose, +chestnut hair and a fringe of beard that was the paradox of his face, +for the beard made him look less manly. These traits were well known +to all three of them; but even had it not been so, it may be doubted +whether they would have looked at Quinton just then. Their eyes were +riveted on another object. + +Exactly in their path, immediately outside the round end of the glass +building, was standing a tall man, whose drapery fell to his feet in +faultless white, and whose bare, brown skull, face, and neck gleamed in +the setting sun like splendid bronze. He was looking through the glass +at the sleeper, and he was more motionless than a mountain. + +"Who is that?" cried Father Brown, stepping back with a hissing intake +of his breath. + +"Oh, it is only that Hindoo humbug," growled Harris; "but I don't know +what the deuce he's doing here." + +"It looks like hypnotism," said Flambeau, biting his black moustache. + +"Why are you unmedical fellows always talking bosh about hypnotism?" +cried the doctor. "It looks a deal more like burglary." + +"Well, we will speak to it, at any rate," said Flambeau, who was always +for action. One long stride took him to the place where the Indian +stood. Bowing from his great height, which overtopped even the +Oriental's, he said with placid impudence: + +"Good evening, sir. Do you want anything?" + +Quite slowly, like a great ship turning into a harbour, the great yellow +face turned, and looked at last over its white shoulder. They were +startled to see that its yellow eyelids were quite sealed, as in sleep. +"Thank you," said the face in excellent English. "I want nothing." Then, +half opening the lids, so as to show a slit of opalescent eyeball, +he repeated, "I want nothing." Then he opened his eyes wide with a +startling stare, said, "I want nothing," and went rustling away into the +rapidly darkening garden. + +"The Christian is more modest," muttered Father Brown; "he wants +something." + +"What on earth was he doing?" asked Flambeau, knitting his black brows +and lowering his voice. + +"I should like to talk to you later," said Father Brown. + +The sunlight was still a reality, but it was the red light of evening, +and the bulk of the garden trees and bushes grew blacker and blacker +against it. They turned round the end of the conservatory, and walked in +silence down the other side to get round to the front door. As they went +they seemed to wake something, as one startles a bird, in the deeper +corner between the study and the main building; and again they saw the +white-robed fakir slide out of the shadow, and slip round towards the +front door. To their surprise, however, he had not been alone. +They found themselves abruptly pulled up and forced to banish their +bewilderment by the appearance of Mrs. Quinton, with her heavy golden +hair and square pale face, advancing on them out of the twilight. She +looked a little stern, but was entirely courteous. + +"Good evening, Dr. Harris," was all she said. + +"Good evening, Mrs. Quinton," said the little doctor heartily. "I am +just going to give your husband his sleeping draught." + +"Yes," she said in a clear voice. "I think it is quite time." And she +smiled at them, and went sweeping into the house. + +"That woman's over-driven," said Father Brown; "that's the kind of woman +that does her duty for twenty years, and then does something dreadful." + +The little doctor looked at him for the first time with an eye of +interest. "Did you ever study medicine?" he asked. + +"You have to know something of the mind as well as the body," answered +the priest; "we have to know something of the body as well as the mind." + +"Well," said the doctor, "I think I'll go and give Quinton his stuff." + +They had turned the corner of the front facade, and were approaching the +front doorway. As they turned into it they saw the man in the white robe +for the third time. He came so straight towards the front door that +it seemed quite incredible that he had not just come out of the study +opposite to it. Yet they knew that the study door was locked. + +Father Brown and Flambeau, however, kept this weird contradiction to +themselves, and Dr. Harris was not a man to waste his thoughts on the +impossible. He permitted the omnipresent Asiatic to make his exit, and +then stepped briskly into the hall. There he found a figure which he had +already forgotten. The inane Atkinson was still hanging about, humming +and poking things with his knobby cane. The doctor's face had a spasm of +disgust and decision, and he whispered rapidly to his companion: "I must +lock the door again, or this rat will get in. But I shall be out again +in two minutes." + +He rapidly unlocked the door and locked it again behind him, just +balking a blundering charge from the young man in the billycock. The +young man threw himself impatiently on a hall chair. Flambeau looked at +a Persian illumination on the wall; Father Brown, who seemed in a sort +of daze, dully eyed the door. In about four minutes the door was opened +again. Atkinson was quicker this time. He sprang forward, held the door +open for an instant, and called out: "Oh, I say, Quinton, I want--" + +From the other end of the study came the clear voice of Quinton, in +something between a yawn and a yell of weary laughter. + +"Oh, I know what you want. Take it, and leave me in peace. I'm writing a +song about peacocks." + +Before the door closed half a sovereign came flying through the +aperture; and Atkinson, stumbling forward, caught it with singular +dexterity. + +"So that's settled," said the doctor, and, locking the door savagely, he +led the way out into the garden. + +"Poor Leonard can get a little peace now," he added to Father Brown; +"he's locked in all by himself for an hour or two." + +"Yes," answered the priest; "and his voice sounded jolly enough when we +left him." Then he looked gravely round the garden, and saw the loose +figure of Atkinson standing and jingling the half-sovereign in his +pocket, and beyond, in the purple twilight, the figure of the Indian +sitting bolt upright upon a bank of grass with his face turned towards +the setting sun. Then he said abruptly: "Where is Mrs. Quinton!" + +"She has gone up to her room," said the doctor. "That is her shadow on +the blind." + +Father Brown looked up, and frowningly scrutinised a dark outline at the +gas-lit window. + +"Yes," he said, "that is her shadow," and he walked a yard or two and +threw himself upon a garden seat. + +Flambeau sat down beside him; but the doctor was one of those energetic +people who live naturally on their legs. He walked away, smoking, into +the twilight, and the two friends were left together. + +"My father," said Flambeau in French, "what is the matter with you?" + +Father Brown was silent and motionless for half a minute, then he said: +"Superstition is irreligious, but there is something in the air of this +place. I think it's that Indian--at least, partly." + +He sank into silence, and watched the distant outline of the Indian, who +still sat rigid as if in prayer. At first sight he seemed motionless, +but as Father Brown watched him he saw that the man swayed ever so +slightly with a rhythmic movement, just as the dark tree-tops swayed +ever so slightly in the wind that was creeping up the dim garden paths +and shuffling the fallen leaves a little. + +The landscape was growing rapidly dark, as if for a storm, but they +could still see all the figures in their various places. Atkinson was +leaning against a tree with a listless face; Quinton's wife was still +at her window; the doctor had gone strolling round the end of the +conservatory; they could see his cigar like a will-o'-the-wisp; and the +fakir still sat rigid and yet rocking, while the trees above him began +to rock and almost to roar. Storm was certainly coming. + +"When that Indian spoke to us," went on Brown in a conversational +undertone, "I had a sort of vision, a vision of him and all his +universe. Yet he only said the same thing three times. When first he +said 'I want nothing,' it meant only that he was impenetrable, that Asia +does not give itself away. Then he said again, 'I want nothing,' and +I knew that he meant that he was sufficient to himself, like a cosmos, +that he needed no God, neither admitted any sins. And when he said the +third time, 'I want nothing,' he said it with blazing eyes. And I knew +that he meant literally what he said; that nothing was his desire and +his home; that he was weary for nothing as for wine; that annihilation, +the mere destruction of everything or anything--" + +Two drops of rain fell; and for some reason Flambeau started and looked +up, as if they had stung him. And the same instant the doctor down by +the end of the conservatory began running towards them, calling out +something as he ran. + +As he came among them like a bombshell the restless Atkinson happened to +be taking a turn nearer to the house front; and the doctor clutched him +by the collar in a convulsive grip. "Foul play!" he cried; "what have +you been doing to him, you dog?" + +The priest had sprung erect, and had the voice of steel of a soldier in +command. + +"No fighting," he cried coolly; "we are enough to hold anyone we want +to. What is the matter, doctor?" + +"Things are not right with Quinton," said the doctor, quite white. "I +could just see him through the glass, and I don't like the way he's +lying. It's not as I left him, anyhow." + +"Let us go in to him," said Father Brown shortly. "You can leave Mr. +Atkinson alone. I have had him in sight since we heard Quinton's voice." + +"I will stop here and watch him," said Flambeau hurriedly. "You go in +and see." + +The doctor and the priest flew to the study door, unlocked it, and fell +into the room. In doing so they nearly fell over the large mahogany +table in the centre at which the poet usually wrote; for the place was +lit only by a small fire kept for the invalid. In the middle of this +table lay a single sheet of paper, evidently left there on purpose. The +doctor snatched it up, glanced at it, handed it to Father Brown, and +crying, "Good God, look at that!" plunged toward the glass room beyond, +where the terrible tropic flowers still seemed to keep a crimson memory +of the sunset. + +Father Brown read the words three times before he put down the paper. +The words were: "I die by my own hand; yet I die murdered!" They were +in the quite inimitable, not to say illegible, handwriting of Leonard +Quinton. + +Then Father Brown, still keeping the paper in his hand, strode towards +the conservatory, only to meet his medical friend coming back with a +face of assurance and collapse. "He's done it," said Harris. + +They went together through the gorgeous unnatural beauty of cactus +and azalea and found Leonard Quinton, poet and romancer, with his head +hanging downward off his ottoman and his red curls sweeping the ground. +Into his left side was thrust the queer dagger that they had picked up +in the garden, and his limp hand still rested on the hilt. + +Outside the storm had come at one stride, like the night in Coleridge, +and garden and glass roof were darkened with driving rain. Father Brown +seemed to be studying the paper more than the corpse; he held it close +to his eyes; and seemed trying to read it in the twilight. Then he held +it up against the faint light, and, as he did so, lightning stared at +them for an instant so white that the paper looked black against it. + +Darkness full of thunder followed, and after the thunder Father Brown's +voice said out of the dark: "Doctor, this paper is the wrong shape." + +"What do you mean?" asked Doctor Harris, with a frowning stare. + +"It isn't square," answered Brown. "It has a sort of edge snipped off at +the corner. What does it mean?" + +"How the deuce should I know?" growled the doctor. "Shall we move this +poor chap, do you think? He's quite dead." + +"No," answered the priest; "we must leave him as he lies and send for +the police." But he was still scrutinising the paper. + +As they went back through the study he stopped by the table and picked +up a small pair of nail scissors. "Ah," he said, with a sort of relief, +"this is what he did it with. But yet--" And he knitted his brows. + +"Oh, stop fooling with that scrap of paper," said the doctor +emphatically. "It was a fad of his. He had hundreds of them. He cut all +his paper like that," as he pointed to a stack of sermon paper still +unused on another and smaller table. Father Brown went up to it and held +up a sheet. It was the same irregular shape. + +"Quite so," he said. "And here I see the corners that were snipped off." +And to the indignation of his colleague he began to count them. + +"That's all right," he said, with an apologetic smile. "Twenty-three +sheets cut and twenty-two corners cut off them. And as I see you are +impatient we will rejoin the others." + +"Who is to tell his wife?" asked Dr. Harris. "Will you go and tell her +now, while I send a servant for the police?" + +"As you will," said Father Brown indifferently. And he went out to the +hall door. + +Here also he found a drama, though of a more grotesque sort. It showed +nothing less than his big friend Flambeau in an attitude to which he +had long been unaccustomed, while upon the pathway at the bottom of the +steps was sprawling with his boots in the air the amiable Atkinson, his +billycock hat and walking cane sent flying in opposite directions along +the path. Atkinson had at length wearied of Flambeau's almost paternal +custody, and had endeavoured to knock him down, which was by no means a +smooth game to play with the Roi des Apaches, even after that monarch's +abdication. + +Flambeau was about to leap upon his enemy and secure him once more, when +the priest patted him easily on the shoulder. + +"Make it up with Mr. Atkinson, my friend," he said. "Beg a mutual pardon +and say 'Good night.' We need not detain him any longer." Then, as +Atkinson rose somewhat doubtfully and gathered his hat and stick and +went towards the garden gate, Father Brown said in a more serious voice: +"Where is that Indian?" + +They all three (for the doctor had joined them) turned involuntarily +towards the dim grassy bank amid the tossing trees purple with twilight, +where they had last seen the brown man swaying in his strange prayers. +The Indian was gone. + +"Confound him," cried the doctor, stamping furiously. "Now I know that +it was that nigger that did it." + +"I thought you didn't believe in magic," said Father Brown quietly. + +"No more I did," said the doctor, rolling his eyes. "I only know that +I loathed that yellow devil when I thought he was a sham wizard. And I +shall loathe him more if I come to think he was a real one." + +"Well, his having escaped is nothing," said Flambeau. "For we could +have proved nothing and done nothing against him. One hardly goes to +the parish constable with a story of suicide imposed by witchcraft or +auto-suggestion." + +Meanwhile Father Brown had made his way into the house, and now went to +break the news to the wife of the dead man. + +When he came out again he looked a little pale and tragic, but what +passed between them in that interview was never known, even when all was +known. + +Flambeau, who was talking quietly with the doctor, was surprised to see +his friend reappear so soon at his elbow; but Brown took no notice, and +merely drew the doctor apart. "You have sent for the police, haven't +you?" he asked. + +"Yes," answered Harris. "They ought to be here in ten minutes." + +"Will you do me a favour?" said the priest quietly. "The truth is, I +make a collection of these curious stories, which often contain, as in +the case of our Hindoo friend, elements which can hardly be put into a +police report. Now, I want you to write out a report of this case for +my private use. Yours is a clever trade," he said, looking the doctor +gravely and steadily in the face. "I sometimes think that you know some +details of this matter which you have not thought fit to mention. Mine +is a confidential trade like yours, and I will treat anything you write +for me in strict confidence. But write the whole." + +The doctor, who had been listening thoughtfully with his head a little +on one side, looked the priest in the face for an instant, and said: +"All right," and went into the study, closing the door behind him. + +"Flambeau," said Father Brown, "there is a long seat there under the +veranda, where we can smoke out of the rain. You are my only friend in +the world, and I want to talk to you. Or, perhaps, be silent with you." + +They established themselves comfortably in the veranda seat; Father +Brown, against his common habit, accepted a good cigar and smoked it +steadily in silence, while the rain shrieked and rattled on the roof of +the veranda. + +"My friend," he said at length, "this is a very queer case. A very queer +case." + +"I should think it was," said Flambeau, with something like a shudder. + +"You call it queer, and I call it queer," said the other, "and yet +we mean quite opposite things. The modern mind always mixes up two +different ideas: mystery in the sense of what is marvellous, and mystery +in the sense of what is complicated. That is half its difficulty about +miracles. A miracle is startling; but it is simple. It is simple because +it is a miracle. It is power coming directly from God (or the devil) +instead of indirectly through nature or human wills. Now, you mean that +this business is marvellous because it is miraculous, because it is +witchcraft worked by a wicked Indian. Understand, I do not say that +it was not spiritual or diabolic. Heaven and hell only know by what +surrounding influences strange sins come into the lives of men. But for +the present my point is this: If it was pure magic, as you think, +then it is marvellous; but it is not mysterious--that is, it is not +complicated. The quality of a miracle is mysterious, but its manner +is simple. Now, the manner of this business has been the reverse of +simple." + +The storm that had slackened for a little seemed to be swelling again, +and there came heavy movements as of faint thunder. Father Brown let +fall the ash of his cigar and went on: + +"There has been in this incident," he said, "a twisted, ugly, complex +quality that does not belong to the straight bolts either of heaven +or hell. As one knows the crooked track of a snail, I know the crooked +track of a man." + +The white lightning opened its enormous eye in one wink, the sky shut up +again, and the priest went on: + +"Of all these crooked things, the crookedest was the shape of that piece +of paper. It was crookeder than the dagger that killed him." + +"You mean the paper on which Quinton confessed his suicide," said +Flambeau. + +"I mean the paper on which Quinton wrote, 'I die by my own hand,'" +answered Father Brown. "The shape of that paper, my friend, was the +wrong shape; the wrong shape, if ever I have seen it in this wicked +world." + +"It only had a corner snipped off," said Flambeau, "and I understand +that all Quinton's paper was cut that way." + +"It was a very odd way," said the other, "and a very bad way, to my +taste and fancy. Look here, Flambeau, this Quinton--God receive his +soul!--was perhaps a bit of a cur in some ways, but he really was an +artist, with the pencil as well as the pen. His handwriting, though hard +to read, was bold and beautiful. I can't prove what I say; I can't prove +anything. But I tell you with the full force of conviction that he could +never have cut that mean little piece off a sheet of paper. If he had +wanted to cut down paper for some purpose of fitting in, or binding +up, or what not, he would have made quite a different slash with the +scissors. Do you remember the shape? It was a mean shape. It was a wrong +shape. Like this. Don't you remember?" + +And he waved his burning cigar before him in the darkness, making +irregular squares so rapidly that Flambeau really seemed to see them as +fiery hieroglyphics upon the darkness--hieroglyphics such as his friend +had spoken of, which are undecipherable, yet can have no good meaning. + +"But," said Flambeau, as the priest put his cigar in his mouth again +and leaned back, staring at the roof, "suppose somebody else did use the +scissors. Why should somebody else, cutting pieces off his sermon paper, +make Quinton commit suicide?" + +Father Brown was still leaning back and staring at the roof, but he took +his cigar out of his mouth and said: "Quinton never did commit suicide." + +Flambeau stared at him. "Why, confound it all," he cried, "then why did +he confess to suicide?" + +The priest leant forward again, settled his elbows on his knees, looked +at the ground, and said, in a low, distinct voice: "He never did confess +to suicide." + +Flambeau laid his cigar down. "You mean," he said, "that the writing was +forged?" + +"No," said Father Brown. "Quinton wrote it all right." + +"Well, there you are," said the aggravated Flambeau; "Quinton wrote, 'I +die by my own hand,' with his own hand on a plain piece of paper." + +"Of the wrong shape," said the priest calmly. + +"Oh, the shape be damned!" cried Flambeau. "What has the shape to do +with it?" + +"There were twenty-three snipped papers," resumed Brown unmoved, "and +only twenty-two pieces snipped off. Therefore one of the pieces had +been destroyed, probably that from the written paper. Does that suggest +anything to you?" + +A light dawned on Flambeau's face, and he said: "There was something +else written by Quinton, some other words. 'They will tell you I die by +my own hand,' or 'Do not believe that--'" + +"Hotter, as the children say," said his friend. "But the piece was +hardly half an inch across; there was no room for one word, let alone +five. Can you think of anything hardly bigger than a comma which the man +with hell in his heart had to tear away as a testimony against him?" + +"I can think of nothing," said Flambeau at last. + +"What about quotation marks?" said the priest, and flung his cigar far +into the darkness like a shooting star. + +All words had left the other man's mouth, and Father Brown said, like +one going back to fundamentals: + +"Leonard Quinton was a romancer, and was writing an Oriental romance +about wizardry and hypnotism. He--" + +At this moment the door opened briskly behind them, and the doctor came +out with his hat on. He put a long envelope into the priest's hands. + +"That's the document you wanted," he said, "and I must be getting home. +Good night." + +"Good night," said Father Brown, as the doctor walked briskly to the +gate. He had left the front door open, so that a shaft of gaslight fell +upon them. In the light of this Brown opened the envelope and read the +following words: + + + + DEAR FATHER BROWN,--Vicisti Galilee. Otherwise, damn your + eyes, which are very penetrating ones. Can it be possible that + there is something in all that stuff of yours after all? + + + I am a man who has ever since boyhood believed in Nature and + in all natural functions and instincts, whether men called them + moral or immoral. Long before I became a doctor, when I was a + schoolboy keeping mice and spiders, I believed that to be a good + animal is the best thing in the world. But just now I am shaken; + I have believed in Nature; but it seems as if Nature could betray + a man. Can there be anything in your bosh? I am really getting + morbid. + + + I loved Quinton's wife. What was there wrong in that? Nature + told me to, and it's love that makes the world go round. I also + thought quite sincerely that she would be happier with a clean + animal like me than with that tormenting little lunatic. What was + there wrong in that? I was only facing facts, like a man of + science. She would have been happier. + + + According to my own creed I was quite free to kill Quinton, + which was the best thing for everybody, even himself. But as a + healthy animal I had no notion of killing myself. I resolved, + therefore, that I would never do it until I saw a chance that + would leave me scot free. I saw that chance this morning. + + + I have been three times, all told, into Quinton's study today. + The first time I went in he would talk about nothing but the weird + tale, called "The Cure of a Saint," which he was writing, which + was all about how some Indian hermit made an English colonel kill + himself by thinking about him. He showed me the last sheets, and + even read me the last paragraph, which was something like this: + "The conqueror of the Punjab, a mere yellow skeleton, but still + gigantic, managed to lift himself on his elbow and gasp in his + nephew's ear: 'I die by my own hand, yet I die murdered!'" It so + happened by one chance out of a hundred, that those last words + were written at the top of a new sheet of paper. I left the room, + and went out into the garden intoxicated with a frightful + opportunity. + + + We walked round the house; and two more things happened in my + favour. You suspected an Indian, and you found a dagger which the + Indian might most probably use. Taking the opportunity to stuff + it in my pocket I went back to Quinton's study, locked the door, + and gave him his sleeping draught. He was against answering + Atkinson at all, but I urged him to call out and quiet the fellow, + because I wanted a clear proof that Quinton was alive when I left + the room for the second time. Quinton lay down in the conservatory, + and I came through the study. I am a quick man with my hands, and + in a minute and a half I had done what I wanted to do. I had + emptied all the first part of Quinton's romance into the fireplace, + where it burnt to ashes. Then I saw that the quotation marks + wouldn't do, so I snipped them off, and to make it seem likelier, + snipped the whole quire to match. Then I came out with the + knowledge that Quinton's confession of suicide lay on the front + table, while Quinton lay alive but asleep in the conservatory + beyond. + + + The last act was a desperate one; you can guess it: I pretended + to have seen Quinton dead and rushed to his room. I delayed you + with the paper, and, being a quick man with my hands, killed + Quinton while you were looking at his confession of suicide. He + was half-asleep, being drugged, and I put his own hand on the + knife and drove it into his body. The knife was of so queer a + shape that no one but an operator could have calculated the angle + that would reach his heart. I wonder if you noticed this. + + + When I had done it, the extraordinary thing happened. Nature + deserted me. I felt ill. I felt just as if I had done something + wrong. I think my brain is breaking up; I feel some sort of + desperate pleasure in thinking I have told the thing to somebody; + that I shall not have to be alone with it if I marry and have + children. What is the matter with me?... Madness... or can one + have remorse, just as if one were in Byron's poems! I cannot + write any more. + + James Erskine Harris. + + +Father Brown carefully folded up the letter, and put it in his breast +pocket just as there came a loud peal at the gate bell, and the wet +waterproofs of several policemen gleamed in the road outside. + + + + +The Sins of Prince Saradine + + +When Flambeau took his month's holiday from his office in Westminster +he took it in a small sailing-boat, so small that it passed much of its +time as a rowing-boat. He took it, moreover, in little rivers in the +Eastern counties, rivers so small that the boat looked like a magic +boat, sailing on land through meadows and cornfields. The vessel was +just comfortable for two people; there was room only for necessities, +and Flambeau had stocked it with such things as his special philosophy +considered necessary. They reduced themselves, apparently, to four +essentials: tins of salmon, if he should want to eat; loaded revolvers, +if he should want to fight; a bottle of brandy, presumably in case he +should faint; and a priest, presumably in case he should die. With this +light luggage he crawled down the little Norfolk rivers, intending to +reach the Broads at last, but meanwhile delighting in the overhanging +gardens and meadows, the mirrored mansions or villages, lingering to +fish in the pools and corners, and in some sense hugging the shore. + +Like a true philosopher, Flambeau had no aim in his holiday; but, like a +true philosopher, he had an excuse. He had a sort of half purpose, which +he took just so seriously that its success would crown the holiday, but +just so lightly that its failure would not spoil it. Years ago, when he +had been a king of thieves and the most famous figure in Paris, he had +often received wild communications of approval, denunciation, or even +love; but one had, somehow, stuck in his memory. It consisted simply of +a visiting-card, in an envelope with an English postmark. On the back of +the card was written in French and in green ink: "If you ever retire and +become respectable, come and see me. I want to meet you, for I have met +all the other great men of my time. That trick of yours of getting one +detective to arrest the other was the most splendid scene in French +history." On the front of the card was engraved in the formal fashion, +"Prince Saradine, Reed House, Reed Island, Norfolk." + +He had not troubled much about the prince then, beyond ascertaining that +he had been a brilliant and fashionable figure in southern Italy. In his +youth, it was said, he had eloped with a married woman of high rank; the +escapade was scarcely startling in his social world, but it had clung to +men's minds because of an additional tragedy: the alleged suicide of the +insulted husband, who appeared to have flung himself over a precipice in +Sicily. The prince then lived in Vienna for a time, but his more recent +years seemed to have been passed in perpetual and restless travel. But +when Flambeau, like the prince himself, had left European celebrity +and settled in England, it occurred to him that he might pay a surprise +visit to this eminent exile in the Norfolk Broads. Whether he should +find the place he had no idea; and, indeed, it was sufficiently small +and forgotten. But, as things fell out, he found it much sooner than he +expected. + +They had moored their boat one night under a bank veiled in high grasses +and short pollarded trees. Sleep, after heavy sculling, had come to them +early, and by a corresponding accident they awoke before it was light. +To speak more strictly, they awoke before it was daylight; for a large +lemon moon was only just setting in the forest of high grass above their +heads, and the sky was of a vivid violet-blue, nocturnal but bright. +Both men had simultaneously a reminiscence of childhood, of the elfin +and adventurous time when tall weeds close over us like woods. Standing +up thus against the large low moon, the daisies really seemed to +be giant daisies, the dandelions to be giant dandelions. Somehow it +reminded them of the dado of a nursery wall-paper. The drop of the +river-bed sufficed to sink them under the roots of all shrubs and +flowers and make them gaze upwards at the grass. "By Jove!" said +Flambeau, "it's like being in fairyland." + +Father Brown sat bolt upright in the boat and crossed himself. His +movement was so abrupt that his friend asked him, with a mild stare, +what was the matter. + +"The people who wrote the mediaeval ballads," answered the priest, "knew +more about fairies than you do. It isn't only nice things that happen in +fairyland." + +"Oh, bosh!" said Flambeau. "Only nice things could happen under such an +innocent moon. I am for pushing on now and seeing what does really come. +We may die and rot before we ever see again such a moon or such a mood." + +"All right," said Father Brown. "I never said it was always wrong to +enter fairyland. I only said it was always dangerous." + +They pushed slowly up the brightening river; the glowing violet of the +sky and the pale gold of the moon grew fainter and fainter, and faded +into that vast colourless cosmos that precedes the colours of the dawn. +When the first faint stripes of red and gold and grey split the horizon +from end to end they were broken by the black bulk of a town or village +which sat on the river just ahead of them. It was already an easy +twilight, in which all things were visible, when they came under the +hanging roofs and bridges of this riverside hamlet. The houses, with +their long, low, stooping roofs, seemed to come down to drink at the +river, like huge grey and red cattle. The broadening and whitening +dawn had already turned to working daylight before they saw any living +creature on the wharves and bridges of that silent town. Eventually they +saw a very placid and prosperous man in his shirt sleeves, with a face +as round as the recently sunken moon, and rays of red whisker around the +low arc of it, who was leaning on a post above the sluggish tide. By +an impulse not to be analysed, Flambeau rose to his full height in the +swaying boat and shouted at the man to ask if he knew Reed Island or +Reed House. The prosperous man's smile grew slightly more expansive, +and he simply pointed up the river towards the next bend of it. Flambeau +went ahead without further speech. + +The boat took many such grassy corners and followed many such reedy and +silent reaches of river; but before the search had become monotonous +they had swung round a specially sharp angle and come into the silence +of a sort of pool or lake, the sight of which instinctively arrested +them. For in the middle of this wider piece of water, fringed on every +side with rushes, lay a long, low islet, along which ran a long, low +house or bungalow built of bamboo or some kind of tough tropic cane. +The upstanding rods of bamboo which made the walls were pale yellow, the +sloping rods that made the roof were of darker red or brown, otherwise +the long house was a thing of repetition and monotony. The early morning +breeze rustled the reeds round the island and sang in the strange ribbed +house as in a giant pan-pipe. + +"By George!" cried Flambeau; "here is the place, after all! Here is Reed +Island, if ever there was one. Here is Reed House, if it is anywhere. I +believe that fat man with whiskers was a fairy." + +"Perhaps," remarked Father Brown impartially. "If he was, he was a bad +fairy." + +But even as he spoke the impetuous Flambeau had run his boat ashore in +the rattling reeds, and they stood in the long, quaint islet beside the +odd and silent house. + +The house stood with its back, as it were, to the river and the only +landing-stage; the main entrance was on the other side, and looked down +the long island garden. The visitors approached it, therefore, by a +small path running round nearly three sides of the house, close under +the low eaves. Through three different windows on three different sides +they looked in on the same long, well-lit room, panelled in light wood, +with a large number of looking-glasses, and laid out as for an elegant +lunch. The front door, when they came round to it at last, was flanked +by two turquoise-blue flower pots. It was opened by a butler of the +drearier type--long, lean, grey and listless--who murmured that Prince +Saradine was from home at present, but was expected hourly; the house +being kept ready for him and his guests. The exhibition of the card with +the scrawl of green ink awoke a flicker of life in the parchment face of +the depressed retainer, and it was with a certain shaky courtesy that +he suggested that the strangers should remain. "His Highness may be here +any minute," he said, "and would be distressed to have just missed any +gentleman he had invited. We have orders always to keep a little cold +lunch for him and his friends, and I am sure he would wish it to be +offered." + +Moved with curiosity to this minor adventure, Flambeau assented +gracefully, and followed the old man, who ushered him ceremoniously into +the long, lightly panelled room. There was nothing very notable about +it, except the rather unusual alternation of many long, low windows with +many long, low oblongs of looking-glass, which gave a singular air +of lightness and unsubstantialness to the place. It was somehow like +lunching out of doors. One or two pictures of a quiet kind hung in the +corners, one a large grey photograph of a very young man in uniform, +another a red chalk sketch of two long-haired boys. Asked by Flambeau +whether the soldierly person was the prince, the butler answered shortly +in the negative; it was the prince's younger brother, Captain Stephen +Saradine, he said. And with that the old man seemed to dry up suddenly +and lose all taste for conversation. + +After lunch had tailed off with exquisite coffee and liqueurs, +the guests were introduced to the garden, the library, and the +housekeeper--a dark, handsome lady, of no little majesty, and rather +like a plutonic Madonna. It appeared that she and the butler were +the only survivors of the prince's original foreign menage the other +servants now in the house being new and collected in Norfolk by the +housekeeper. This latter lady went by the name of Mrs. Anthony, but +she spoke with a slight Italian accent, and Flambeau did not doubt that +Anthony was a Norfolk version of some more Latin name. Mr. Paul, +the butler, also had a faintly foreign air, but he was in tongue and +training English, as are many of the most polished men-servants of the +cosmopolitan nobility. + +Pretty and unique as it was, the place had about it a curious luminous +sadness. Hours passed in it like days. The long, well-windowed rooms +were full of daylight, but it seemed a dead daylight. And through all +other incidental noises, the sound of talk, the clink of glasses, or the +passing feet of servants, they could hear on all sides of the house the +melancholy noise of the river. + +"We have taken a wrong turning, and come to a wrong place," said Father +Brown, looking out of the window at the grey-green sedges and the silver +flood. "Never mind; one can sometimes do good by being the right person +in the wrong place." + +Father Brown, though commonly a silent, was an oddly sympathetic little +man, and in those few but endless hours he unconsciously sank deeper +into the secrets of Reed House than his professional friend. He had that +knack of friendly silence which is so essential to gossip; and saying +scarcely a word, he probably obtained from his new acquaintances all +that in any case they would have told. The butler indeed was naturally +uncommunicative. He betrayed a sullen and almost animal affection +for his master; who, he said, had been very badly treated. The chief +offender seemed to be his highness's brother, whose name alone would +lengthen the old man's lantern jaws and pucker his parrot nose into a +sneer. Captain Stephen was a ne'er-do-well, apparently, and had drained +his benevolent brother of hundreds and thousands; forced him to fly from +fashionable life and live quietly in this retreat. That was all Paul, +the butler, would say, and Paul was obviously a partisan. + +The Italian housekeeper was somewhat more communicative, being, as Brown +fancied, somewhat less content. Her tone about her master was faintly +acid; though not without a certain awe. Flambeau and his friend were +standing in the room of the looking-glasses examining the red sketch +of the two boys, when the housekeeper swept in swiftly on some domestic +errand. It was a peculiarity of this glittering, glass-panelled place +that anyone entering was reflected in four or five mirrors at once; and +Father Brown, without turning round, stopped in the middle of a sentence +of family criticism. But Flambeau, who had his face close up to the +picture, was already saying in a loud voice, "The brothers Saradine, I +suppose. They both look innocent enough. It would be hard to say which +is the good brother and which the bad." Then, realising the lady's +presence, he turned the conversation with some triviality, and strolled +out into the garden. But Father Brown still gazed steadily at the red +crayon sketch; and Mrs. Anthony still gazed steadily at Father Brown. + +She had large and tragic brown eyes, and her olive face glowed darkly +with a curious and painful wonder--as of one doubtful of a stranger's +identity or purpose. Whether the little priest's coat and creed touched +some southern memories of confession, or whether she fancied he knew +more than he did, she said to him in a low voice as to a fellow plotter, +"He is right enough in one way, your friend. He says it would be hard +to pick out the good and bad brothers. Oh, it would be hard, it would be +mighty hard, to pick out the good one." + +"I don't understand you," said Father Brown, and began to move away. + +The woman took a step nearer to him, with thunderous brows and a sort of +savage stoop, like a bull lowering his horns. + +"There isn't a good one," she hissed. "There was badness enough in the +captain taking all that money, but I don't think there was much goodness +in the prince giving it. The captain's not the only one with something +against him." + +A light dawned on the cleric's averted face, and his mouth formed +silently the word "blackmail." Even as he did so the woman turned an +abrupt white face over her shoulder and almost fell. The door had opened +soundlessly and the pale Paul stood like a ghost in the doorway. By +the weird trick of the reflecting walls, it seemed as if five Pauls had +entered by five doors simultaneously. + +"His Highness," he said, "has just arrived." + +In the same flash the figure of a man had passed outside the first +window, crossing the sunlit pane like a lighted stage. An instant +later he passed at the second window and the many mirrors repainted in +successive frames the same eagle profile and marching figure. He was +erect and alert, but his hair was white and his complexion of an odd +ivory yellow. He had that short, curved Roman nose which generally +goes with long, lean cheeks and chin, but these were partly masked by +moustache and imperial. The moustache was much darker than the beard, +giving an effect slightly theatrical, and he was dressed up to the same +dashing part, having a white top hat, an orchid in his coat, a yellow +waistcoat and yellow gloves which he flapped and swung as he walked. +When he came round to the front door they heard the stiff Paul open it, +and heard the new arrival say cheerfully, "Well, you see I have come." +The stiff Mr. Paul bowed and answered in his inaudible manner; for a +few minutes their conversation could not be heard. Then the butler said, +"Everything is at your disposal;" and the glove-flapping Prince Saradine +came gaily into the room to greet them. They beheld once more that +spectral scene--five princes entering a room with five doors. + +The prince put the white hat and yellow gloves on the table and offered +his hand quite cordially. + +"Delighted to see you here, Mr. Flambeau," he said. "Knowing you very +well by reputation, if that's not an indiscreet remark." + +"Not at all," answered Flambeau, laughing. "I am not sensitive. Very few +reputations are gained by unsullied virtue." + +The prince flashed a sharp look at him to see if the retort had any +personal point; then he laughed also and offered chairs to everyone, +including himself. + +"Pleasant little place, this, I think," he said with a detached air. +"Not much to do, I fear; but the fishing is really good." + +The priest, who was staring at him with the grave stare of a baby, was +haunted by some fancy that escaped definition. He looked at the grey, +carefully curled hair, yellow white visage, and slim, somewhat foppish +figure. These were not unnatural, though perhaps a shade prononc, like +the outfit of a figure behind the footlights. The nameless interest +lay in something else, in the very framework of the face; Brown was +tormented with a half memory of having seen it somewhere before. The +man looked like some old friend of his dressed up. Then he suddenly +remembered the mirrors, and put his fancy down to some psychological +effect of that multiplication of human masks. + +Prince Saradine distributed his social attentions between his guests +with great gaiety and tact. Finding the detective of a sporting turn and +eager to employ his holiday, he guided Flambeau and Flambeau's boat down +to the best fishing spot in the stream, and was back in his own canoe +in twenty minutes to join Father Brown in the library and plunge equally +politely into the priest's more philosophic pleasures. He seemed to know +a great deal both about the fishing and the books, though of these not +the most edifying; he spoke five or six languages, though chiefly the +slang of each. He had evidently lived in varied cities and very motley +societies, for some of his cheerfullest stories were about gambling +hells and opium dens, Australian bushrangers or Italian brigands. Father +Brown knew that the once-celebrated Saradine had spent his last few +years in almost ceaseless travel, but he had not guessed that the +travels were so disreputable or so amusing. + +Indeed, with all his dignity of a man of the world, Prince Saradine +radiated to such sensitive observers as the priest, a certain atmosphere +of the restless and even the unreliable. His face was fastidious, but +his eye was wild; he had little nervous tricks, like a man shaken by +drink or drugs, and he neither had, nor professed to have, his hand +on the helm of household affairs. All these were left to the two old +servants, especially to the butler, who was plainly the central pillar +of the house. Mr. Paul, indeed, was not so much a butler as a sort of +steward or, even, chamberlain; he dined privately, but with almost +as much pomp as his master; he was feared by all the servants; and he +consulted with the prince decorously, but somewhat unbendingly--rather +as if he were the prince's solicitor. The sombre housekeeper was a mere +shadow in comparison; indeed, she seemed to efface herself and wait only +on the butler, and Brown heard no more of those volcanic whispers which +had half told him of the younger brother who blackmailed the elder. +Whether the prince was really being thus bled by the absent captain, +he could not be certain, but there was something insecure and secretive +about Saradine that made the tale by no means incredible. + +When they went once more into the long hall with the windows and the +mirrors, yellow evening was dropping over the waters and the willowy +banks; and a bittern sounded in the distance like an elf upon his +dwarfish drum. The same singular sentiment of some sad and evil +fairyland crossed the priest's mind again like a little grey cloud. "I +wish Flambeau were back," he muttered. + +"Do you believe in doom?" asked the restless Prince Saradine suddenly. + +"No," answered his guest. "I believe in Doomsday." + +The prince turned from the window and stared at him in a singular +manner, his face in shadow against the sunset. "What do you mean?" he +asked. + +"I mean that we here are on the wrong side of the tapestry," answered +Father Brown. "The things that happen here do not seem to mean anything; +they mean something somewhere else. Somewhere else retribution will come +on the real offender. Here it often seems to fall on the wrong person." + +The prince made an inexplicable noise like an animal; in his shadowed +face the eyes were shining queerly. A new and shrewd thought exploded +silently in the other's mind. Was there another meaning in Saradine's +blend of brilliancy and abruptness? Was the prince--Was he perfectly +sane? He was repeating, "The wrong person--the wrong person," many more +times than was natural in a social exclamation. + +Then Father Brown awoke tardily to a second truth. In the mirrors before +him he could see the silent door standing open, and the silent Mr. Paul +standing in it, with his usual pallid impassiveness. + +"I thought it better to announce at once," he said, with the same stiff +respectfulness as of an old family lawyer, "a boat rowed by six men +has come to the landing-stage, and there's a gentleman sitting in the +stern." + +"A boat!" repeated the prince; "a gentleman?" and he rose to his feet. + +There was a startled silence punctuated only by the odd noise of the +bird in the sedge; and then, before anyone could speak again, a new +face and figure passed in profile round the three sunlit windows, as +the prince had passed an hour or two before. But except for the accident +that both outlines were aquiline, they had little in common. Instead +of the new white topper of Saradine, was a black one of antiquated or +foreign shape; under it was a young and very solemn face, clean shaven, +blue about its resolute chin, and carrying a faint suggestion of the +young Napoleon. The association was assisted by something old and odd +about the whole get-up, as of a man who had never troubled to change +the fashions of his fathers. He had a shabby blue frock coat, a red, +soldierly looking waistcoat, and a kind of coarse white trousers common +among the early Victorians, but strangely incongruous today. From all +this old clothes-shop his olive face stood out strangely young and +monstrously sincere. + +"The deuce!" said Prince Saradine, and clapping on his white hat he went +to the front door himself, flinging it open on the sunset garden. + +By that time the new-comer and his followers were drawn up on the lawn +like a small stage army. The six boatmen had pulled the boat well up on +shore, and were guarding it almost menacingly, holding their oars erect +like spears. They were swarthy men, and some of them wore earrings. But +one of them stood forward beside the olive-faced young man in the red +waistcoat, and carried a large black case of unfamiliar form. + +"Your name," said the young man, "is Saradine?" + +Saradine assented rather negligently. + +The new-comer had dull, dog-like brown eyes, as different as possible +from the restless and glittering grey eyes of the prince. But once +again Father Brown was tortured with a sense of having seen somewhere a +replica of the face; and once again he remembered the repetitions of +the glass-panelled room, and put down the coincidence to that. "Confound +this crystal palace!" he muttered. "One sees everything too many times. +It's like a dream." + +"If you are Prince Saradine," said the young man, "I may tell you that +my name is Antonelli." + +"Antonelli," repeated the prince languidly. "Somehow I remember the +name." + +"Permit me to present myself," said the young Italian. + +With his left hand he politely took off his old-fashioned top-hat; with +his right he caught Prince Saradine so ringing a crack across the +face that the white top hat rolled down the steps and one of the blue +flower-pots rocked upon its pedestal. + +The prince, whatever he was, was evidently not a coward; he sprang at +his enemy's throat and almost bore him backwards to the grass. But his +enemy extricated himself with a singularly inappropriate air of hurried +politeness. + +"That is all right," he said, panting and in halting English. "I have +insulted. I will give satisfaction. Marco, open the case." + +The man beside him with the earrings and the big black case proceeded +to unlock it. He took out of it two long Italian rapiers, with splendid +steel hilts and blades, which he planted point downwards in the lawn. +The strange young man standing facing the entrance with his yellow and +vindictive face, the two swords standing up in the turf like two crosses +in a cemetery, and the line of the ranked towers behind, gave it all an +odd appearance of being some barbaric court of justice. But everything +else was unchanged, so sudden had been the interruption. The sunset gold +still glowed on the lawn, and the bittern still boomed as announcing +some small but dreadful destiny. + +"Prince Saradine," said the man called Antonelli, "when I was an infant +in the cradle you killed my father and stole my mother; my father was +the more fortunate. You did not kill him fairly, as I am going to kill +you. You and my wicked mother took him driving to a lonely pass in +Sicily, flung him down a cliff, and went on your way. I could imitate +you if I chose, but imitating you is too vile. I have followed you all +over the world, and you have always fled from me. But this is the end +of the world--and of you. I have you now, and I give you the chance you +never gave my father. Choose one of those swords." + +Prince Saradine, with contracted brows, seemed to hesitate a moment, +but his ears were still singing with the blow, and he sprang forward +and snatched at one of the hilts. Father Brown had also sprung forward, +striving to compose the dispute; but he soon found his personal presence +made matters worse. Saradine was a French freemason and a fierce +atheist, and a priest moved him by the law of contraries. And for the +other man neither priest nor layman moved him at all. This young man +with the Bonaparte face and the brown eyes was something far sterner +than a puritan--a pagan. He was a simple slayer from the morning of the +earth; a man of the stone age--a man of stone. + +One hope remained, the summoning of the household; and Father Brown ran +back into the house. He found, however, that all the under servants +had been given a holiday ashore by the autocrat Paul, and that only the +sombre Mrs. Anthony moved uneasily about the long rooms. But the moment +she turned a ghastly face upon him, he resolved one of the riddles of +the house of mirrors. The heavy brown eyes of Antonelli were the heavy +brown eyes of Mrs. Anthony; and in a flash he saw half the story. + +"Your son is outside," he said without wasting words; "either he or the +prince will be killed. Where is Mr. Paul?" + +"He is at the landing-stage," said the woman faintly. "He is--he +is--signalling for help." + +"Mrs. Anthony," said Father Brown seriously, "there is no time for +nonsense. My friend has his boat down the river fishing. Your son's boat +is guarded by your son's men. There is only this one canoe; what is Mr. +Paul doing with it?" + +"Santa Maria! I do not know," she said; and swooned all her length on +the matted floor. + +Father Brown lifted her to a sofa, flung a pot of water over her, +shouted for help, and then rushed down to the landing-stage of the +little island. But the canoe was already in mid-stream, and old Paul +was pulling and pushing it up the river with an energy incredible at his +years. + +"I will save my master," he cried, his eyes blazing maniacally. "I will +save him yet!" + +Father Brown could do nothing but gaze after the boat as it struggled +up-stream and pray that the old man might waken the little town in time. + +"A duel is bad enough," he muttered, rubbing up his rough dust-coloured +hair, "but there's something wrong about this duel, even as a duel. I +feel it in my bones. But what can it be?" + +As he stood staring at the water, a wavering mirror of sunset, he +heard from the other end of the island garden a small but unmistakable +sound--the cold concussion of steel. He turned his head. + +Away on the farthest cape or headland of the long islet, on a strip of +turf beyond the last rank of roses, the duellists had already crossed +swords. Evening above them was a dome of virgin gold, and, distant as +they were, every detail was picked out. They had cast off their coats, +but the yellow waistcoat and white hair of Saradine, the red waistcoat +and white trousers of Antonelli, glittered in the level light like the +colours of the dancing clockwork dolls. The two swords sparkled from +point to pommel like two diamond pins. There was something frightful +in the two figures appearing so little and so gay. They looked like two +butterflies trying to pin each other to a cork. + +Father Brown ran as hard as he could, his little legs going like a +wheel. But when he came to the field of combat he found he was born too +late and too early--too late to stop the strife, under the shadow of the +grim Sicilians leaning on their oars, and too early to anticipate any +disastrous issue of it. For the two men were singularly well matched, +the prince using his skill with a sort of cynical confidence, the +Sicilian using his with a murderous care. Few finer fencing matches can +ever have been seen in crowded amphitheatres than that which tinkled and +sparkled on that forgotten island in the reedy river. The dizzy fight +was balanced so long that hope began to revive in the protesting priest; +by all common probability Paul must soon come back with the police. It +would be some comfort even if Flambeau came back from his fishing, for +Flambeau, physically speaking, was worth four other men. But there was +no sign of Flambeau, and, what was much queerer, no sign of Paul or the +police. No other raft or stick was left to float on; in that lost +island in that vast nameless pool, they were cut off as on a rock in the +Pacific. + +Almost as he had the thought the ringing of the rapiers quickened to a +rattle, the prince's arms flew up, and the point shot out behind between +his shoulder-blades. He went over with a great whirling movement, almost +like one throwing the half of a boy's cart-wheel. The sword flew from +his hand like a shooting star, and dived into the distant river. And +he himself sank with so earth-shaking a subsidence that he broke a +big rose-tree with his body and shook up into the sky a cloud of red +earth--like the smoke of some heathen sacrifice. The Sicilian had made +blood-offering to the ghost of his father. + +The priest was instantly on his knees by the corpse; but only to make +too sure that it was a corpse. As he was still trying some last hopeless +tests he heard for the first time voices from farther up the river, and +saw a police boat shoot up to the landing-stage, with constables and +other important people, including the excited Paul. The little priest +rose with a distinctly dubious grimace. + +"Now, why on earth," he muttered, "why on earth couldn't he have come +before?" + +Some seven minutes later the island was occupied by an invasion +of townsfolk and police, and the latter had put their hands on the +victorious duellist, ritually reminding him that anything he said might +be used against him. + +"I shall not say anything," said the monomaniac, with a wonderful and +peaceful face. "I shall never say anything more. I am very happy, and I +only want to be hanged." + +Then he shut his mouth as they led him away, and it is the strange but +certain truth that he never opened it again in this world, except to say +"Guilty" at his trial. + +Father Brown had stared at the suddenly crowded garden, the arrest of +the man of blood, the carrying away of the corpse after its examination +by the doctor, rather as one watches the break-up of some ugly dream; he +was motionless, like a man in a nightmare. He gave his name and address +as a witness, but declined their offer of a boat to the shore, and +remained alone in the island garden, gazing at the broken rose bush +and the whole green theatre of that swift and inexplicable tragedy. The +light died along the river; mist rose in the marshy banks; a few belated +birds flitted fitfully across. + +Stuck stubbornly in his sub-consciousness (which was an unusually +lively one) was an unspeakable certainty that there was something still +unexplained. This sense that had clung to him all day could not be fully +explained by his fancy about "looking-glass land." Somehow he had not +seen the real story, but some game or masque. And yet people do not get +hanged or run through the body for the sake of a charade. + +As he sat on the steps of the landing-stage ruminating he grew conscious +of the tall, dark streak of a sail coming silently down the shining +river, and sprang to his feet with such a backrush of feeling that he +almost wept. + +"Flambeau!" he cried, and shook his friend by both hands again and +again, much to the astonishment of that sportsman, as he came on shore +with his fishing tackle. "Flambeau," he said, "so you're not killed?" + +"Killed!" repeated the angler in great astonishment. "And why should I +be killed?" + +"Oh, because nearly everybody else is," said his companion rather +wildly. "Saradine got murdered, and Antonelli wants to be hanged, and +his mother's fainted, and I, for one, don't know whether I'm in this +world or the next. But, thank God, you're in the same one." And he took +the bewildered Flambeau's arm. + +As they turned from the landing-stage they came under the eaves of the +low bamboo house, and looked in through one of the windows, as they +had done on their first arrival. They beheld a lamp-lit interior well +calculated to arrest their eyes. The table in the long dining-room +had been laid for dinner when Saradine's destroyer had fallen like a +stormbolt on the island. And the dinner was now in placid progress, for +Mrs. Anthony sat somewhat sullenly at the foot of the table, while at +the head of it was Mr. Paul, the major domo, eating and drinking of the +best, his bleared, bluish eyes standing queerly out of his face, his +gaunt countenance inscrutable, but by no means devoid of satisfaction. + +With a gesture of powerful impatience, Flambeau rattled at the window, +wrenched it open, and put an indignant head into the lamp-lit room. + +"Well," he cried. "I can understand you may need some refreshment, +but really to steal your master's dinner while he lies murdered in the +garden--" + +"I have stolen a great many things in a long and pleasant life," replied +the strange old gentleman placidly; "this dinner is one of the few +things I have not stolen. This dinner and this house and garden happen +to belong to me." + +A thought flashed across Flambeau's face. "You mean to say," he began, +"that the will of Prince Saradine--" + +"I am Prince Saradine," said the old man, munching a salted almond. + +Father Brown, who was looking at the birds outside, jumped as if he were +shot, and put in at the window a pale face like a turnip. + +"You are what?" he repeated in a shrill voice. + +"Paul, Prince Saradine, A vos ordres," said the venerable person +politely, lifting a glass of sherry. "I live here very quietly, being +a domestic kind of fellow; and for the sake of modesty I am called Mr. +Paul, to distinguish me from my unfortunate brother Mr. Stephen. He +died, I hear, recently--in the garden. Of course, it is not my fault +if enemies pursue him to this place. It is owing to the regrettable +irregularity of his life. He was not a domestic character." + +He relapsed into silence, and continued to gaze at the opposite wall +just above the bowed and sombre head of the woman. They saw plainly +the family likeness that had haunted them in the dead man. Then his old +shoulders began to heave and shake a little, as if he were choking, but +his face did not alter. + +"My God!" cried Flambeau after a pause, "he's laughing!" + +"Come away," said Father Brown, who was quite white. "Come away from +this house of hell. Let us get into an honest boat again." + +Night had sunk on rushes and river by the time they had pushed off from +the island, and they went down-stream in the dark, warming themselves +with two big cigars that glowed like crimson ships' lanterns. Father +Brown took his cigar out of his mouth and said: + +"I suppose you can guess the whole story now? After all, it's a +primitive story. A man had two enemies. He was a wise man. And so he +discovered that two enemies are better than one." + +"I do not follow that," answered Flambeau. + +"Oh, it's really simple," rejoined his friend. "Simple, though anything +but innocent. Both the Saradines were scamps, but the prince, the +elder, was the sort of scamp that gets to the top, and the younger, the +captain, was the sort that sinks to the bottom. This squalid officer +fell from beggar to blackmailer, and one ugly day he got his hold upon +his brother, the prince. Obviously it was for no light matter, for +Prince Paul Saradine was frankly 'fast,' and had no reputation to lose +as to the mere sins of society. In plain fact, it was a hanging matter, +and Stephen literally had a rope round his brother's neck. He had +somehow discovered the truth about the Sicilian affair, and could prove +that Paul murdered old Antonelli in the mountains. The captain raked in +the hush money heavily for ten years, until even the prince's splendid +fortune began to look a little foolish. + +"But Prince Saradine bore another burden besides his blood-sucking +brother. He knew that the son of Antonelli, a mere child at the time of +the murder, had been trained in savage Sicilian loyalty, and lived only +to avenge his father, not with the gibbet (for he lacked Stephen's legal +proof), but with the old weapons of vendetta. The boy had practised arms +with a deadly perfection, and about the time that he was old enough to +use them Prince Saradine began, as the society papers said, to travel. +The fact is that he began to flee for his life, passing from place +to place like a hunted criminal; but with one relentless man upon his +trail. That was Prince Paul's position, and by no means a pretty one. +The more money he spent on eluding Antonelli the less he had to silence +Stephen. The more he gave to silence Stephen the less chance there was +of finally escaping Antonelli. Then it was that he showed himself a +great man--a genius like Napoleon. + +"Instead of resisting his two antagonists, he surrendered suddenly to +both of them. He gave way like a Japanese wrestler, and his foes fell +prostrate before him. He gave up the race round the world, and he gave +up his address to young Antonelli; then he gave up everything to his +brother. He sent Stephen money enough for smart clothes and easy travel, +with a letter saying roughly: 'This is all I have left. You have cleaned +me out. I still have a little house in Norfolk, with servants and a +cellar, and if you want more from me you must take that. Come and take +possession if you like, and I will live there quietly as your friend +or agent or anything.' He knew that the Sicilian had never seen the +Saradine brothers save, perhaps, in pictures; he knew they were somewhat +alike, both having grey, pointed beards. Then he shaved his own face +and waited. The trap worked. The unhappy captain, in his new clothes, +entered the house in triumph as a prince, and walked upon the Sicilian's +sword. + +"There was one hitch, and it is to the honour of human nature. Evil +spirits like Saradine often blunder by never expecting the virtues of +mankind. He took it for granted that the Italian's blow, when it came, +would be dark, violent and nameless, like the blow it avenged; that the +victim would be knifed at night, or shot from behind a hedge, and so +die without speech. It was a bad minute for Prince Paul when Antonelli's +chivalry proposed a formal duel, with all its possible explanations. It +was then that I found him putting off in his boat with wild eyes. He was +fleeing, bareheaded, in an open boat before Antonelli should learn who +he was. + +"But, however agitated, he was not hopeless. He knew the adventurer and +he knew the fanatic. It was quite probable that Stephen, the adventurer, +would hold his tongue, through his mere histrionic pleasure in playing a +part, his lust for clinging to his new cosy quarters, his rascal's +trust in luck, and his fine fencing. It was certain that Antonelli, the +fanatic, would hold his tongue, and be hanged without telling tales +of his family. Paul hung about on the river till he knew the fight +was over. Then he roused the town, brought the police, saw his two +vanquished enemies taken away forever, and sat down smiling to his +dinner." + +"Laughing, God help us!" said Flambeau with a strong shudder. "Do they +get such ideas from Satan?" + +"He got that idea from you," answered the priest. + +"God forbid!" ejaculated Flambeau. "From me! What do you mean!" + +The priest pulled a visiting-card from his pocket and held it up in the +faint glow of his cigar; it was scrawled with green ink. + +"Don't you remember his original invitation to you?" he asked, "and the +compliment to your criminal exploit? 'That trick of yours,' he says, +'of getting one detective to arrest the other'? He has just copied your +trick. With an enemy on each side of him, he slipped swiftly out of the +way and let them collide and kill each other." + +Flambeau tore Prince Saradine's card from the priest's hands and rent it +savagely in small pieces. + +"There's the last of that old skull and crossbones," he said as he +scattered the pieces upon the dark and disappearing waves of the stream; +"but I should think it would poison the fishes." + +The last gleam of white card and green ink was drowned and darkened; +a faint and vibrant colour as of morning changed the sky, and the moon +behind the grasses grew paler. They drifted in silence. + +"Father," said Flambeau suddenly, "do you think it was all a dream?" + +The priest shook his head, whether in dissent or agnosticism, but +remained mute. A smell of hawthorn and of orchards came to them through +the darkness, telling them that a wind was awake; the next moment it +swayed their little boat and swelled their sail, and carried them onward +down the winding river to happier places and the homes of harmless men. + + + + +The Hammer of God + + +The little village of Bohun Beacon was perched on a hill so steep +that the tall spire of its church seemed only like the peak of a small +mountain. At the foot of the church stood a smithy, generally red with +fires and always littered with hammers and scraps of iron; opposite to +this, over a rude cross of cobbled paths, was "The Blue Boar," the only +inn of the place. It was upon this crossway, in the lifting of a leaden +and silver daybreak, that two brothers met in the street and spoke; +though one was beginning the day and the other finishing it. The Rev. +and Hon. Wilfred Bohun was very devout, and was making his way to some +austere exercises of prayer or contemplation at dawn. Colonel the Hon. +Norman Bohun, his elder brother, was by no means devout, and was sitting +in evening dress on the bench outside "The Blue Boar," drinking what +the philosophic observer was free to regard either as his last glass on +Tuesday or his first on Wednesday. The colonel was not particular. + +The Bohuns were one of the very few aristocratic families really dating +from the Middle Ages, and their pennon had actually seen Palestine. +But it is a great mistake to suppose that such houses stand high +in chivalric tradition. Few except the poor preserve traditions. +Aristocrats live not in traditions but in fashions. The Bohuns had been +Mohocks under Queen Anne and Mashers under Queen Victoria. But like more +than one of the really ancient houses, they had rotted in the last two +centuries into mere drunkards and dandy degenerates, till there had even +come a whisper of insanity. Certainly there was something hardly +human about the colonel's wolfish pursuit of pleasure, and his chronic +resolution not to go home till morning had a touch of the hideous +clarity of insomnia. He was a tall, fine animal, elderly, but with +hair still startlingly yellow. He would have looked merely blonde and +leonine, but his blue eyes were sunk so deep in his face that they +looked black. They were a little too close together. He had very long +yellow moustaches; on each side of them a fold or furrow from nostril to +jaw, so that a sneer seemed cut into his face. Over his evening clothes +he wore a curious pale yellow coat that looked more like a very light +dressing gown than an overcoat, and on the back of his head was stuck an +extraordinary broad-brimmed hat of a bright green colour, evidently some +oriental curiosity caught up at random. He was proud of appearing in +such incongruous attires--proud of the fact that he always made them +look congruous. + +His brother the curate had also the yellow hair and the elegance, but +he was buttoned up to the chin in black, and his face was clean-shaven, +cultivated, and a little nervous. He seemed to live for nothing but his +religion; but there were some who said (notably the blacksmith, who was +a Presbyterian) that it was a love of Gothic architecture rather than of +God, and that his haunting of the church like a ghost was only another +and purer turn of the almost morbid thirst for beauty which sent his +brother raging after women and wine. This charge was doubtful, while the +man's practical piety was indubitable. Indeed, the charge was mostly an +ignorant misunderstanding of the love of solitude and secret prayer, and +was founded on his being often found kneeling, not before the altar, but +in peculiar places, in the crypts or gallery, or even in the belfry. +He was at the moment about to enter the church through the yard of +the smithy, but stopped and frowned a little as he saw his brother's +cavernous eyes staring in the same direction. On the hypothesis that the +colonel was interested in the church he did not waste any speculations. +There only remained the blacksmith's shop, and though the blacksmith was +a Puritan and none of his people, Wilfred Bohun had heard some scandals +about a beautiful and rather celebrated wife. He flung a suspicious look +across the shed, and the colonel stood up laughing to speak to him. + +"Good morning, Wilfred," he said. "Like a good landlord I am watching +sleeplessly over my people. I am going to call on the blacksmith." + +Wilfred looked at the ground, and said: "The blacksmith is out. He is +over at Greenford." + +"I know," answered the other with silent laughter; "that is why I am +calling on him." + +"Norman," said the cleric, with his eye on a pebble in the road, "are +you ever afraid of thunderbolts?" + +"What do you mean?" asked the colonel. "Is your hobby meteorology?" + +"I mean," said Wilfred, without looking up, "do you ever think that God +might strike you in the street?" + +"I beg your pardon," said the colonel; "I see your hobby is folk-lore." + +"I know your hobby is blasphemy," retorted the religious man, stung in +the one live place of his nature. "But if you do not fear God, you have +good reason to fear man." + +The elder raised his eyebrows politely. "Fear man?" he said. + +"Barnes the blacksmith is the biggest and strongest man for forty +miles round," said the clergyman sternly. "I know you are no coward or +weakling, but he could throw you over the wall." + +This struck home, being true, and the lowering line by mouth and nostril +darkened and deepened. For a moment he stood with the heavy sneer on his +face. But in an instant Colonel Bohun had recovered his own cruel good +humour and laughed, showing two dog-like front teeth under his yellow +moustache. "In that case, my dear Wilfred," he said quite carelessly, +"it was wise for the last of the Bohuns to come out partially in +armour." + +And he took off the queer round hat covered with green, showing that +it was lined within with steel. Wilfred recognised it indeed as a light +Japanese or Chinese helmet torn down from a trophy that hung in the old +family hall. + +"It was the first hat to hand," explained his brother airily; "always +the nearest hat--and the nearest woman." + +"The blacksmith is away at Greenford," said Wilfred quietly; "the time +of his return is unsettled." + +And with that he turned and went into the church with bowed head, +crossing himself like one who wishes to be quit of an unclean spirit. +He was anxious to forget such grossness in the cool twilight of his tall +Gothic cloisters; but on that morning it was fated that his still round +of religious exercises should be everywhere arrested by small shocks. +As he entered the church, hitherto always empty at that hour, a kneeling +figure rose hastily to its feet and came towards the full daylight of +the doorway. When the curate saw it he stood still with surprise. For +the early worshipper was none other than the village idiot, a nephew of +the blacksmith, one who neither would nor could care for the church or +for anything else. He was always called "Mad Joe," and seemed to have +no other name; he was a dark, strong, slouching lad, with a heavy white +face, dark straight hair, and a mouth always open. As he passed the +priest, his moon-calf countenance gave no hint of what he had been doing +or thinking of. He had never been known to pray before. What sort of +prayers was he saying now? Extraordinary prayers surely. + +Wilfred Bohun stood rooted to the spot long enough to see the idiot go +out into the sunshine, and even to see his dissolute brother hail him +with a sort of avuncular jocularity. The last thing he saw was the +colonel throwing pennies at the open mouth of Joe, with the serious +appearance of trying to hit it. + +This ugly sunlit picture of the stupidity and cruelty of the earth sent +the ascetic finally to his prayers for purification and new thoughts. +He went up to a pew in the gallery, which brought him under a coloured +window which he loved and always quieted his spirit; a blue window +with an angel carrying lilies. There he began to think less about the +half-wit, with his livid face and mouth like a fish. He began to think +less of his evil brother, pacing like a lean lion in his horrible +hunger. He sank deeper and deeper into those cold and sweet colours of +silver blossoms and sapphire sky. + +In this place half an hour afterwards he was found by Gibbs, the village +cobbler, who had been sent for him in some haste. He got to his feet +with promptitude, for he knew that no small matter would have brought +Gibbs into such a place at all. The cobbler was, as in many villages, +an atheist, and his appearance in church was a shade more extraordinary +than Mad Joe's. It was a morning of theological enigmas. + +"What is it?" asked Wilfred Bohun rather stiffly, but putting out a +trembling hand for his hat. + +The atheist spoke in a tone that, coming from him, was quite startlingly +respectful, and even, as it were, huskily sympathetic. + +"You must excuse me, sir," he said in a hoarse whisper, "but we didn't +think it right not to let you know at once. I'm afraid a rather dreadful +thing has happened, sir. I'm afraid your brother--" + +Wilfred clenched his frail hands. "What devilry has he done now?" he +cried in voluntary passion. + +"Why, sir," said the cobbler, coughing, "I'm afraid he's done nothing, +and won't do anything. I'm afraid he's done for. You had really better +come down, sir." + +The curate followed the cobbler down a short winding stair which brought +them out at an entrance rather higher than the street. Bohun saw the +tragedy in one glance, flat underneath him like a plan. In the yard +of the smithy were standing five or six men mostly in black, one in +an inspector's uniform. They included the doctor, the Presbyterian +minister, and the priest from the Roman Catholic chapel, to which the +blacksmith's wife belonged. The latter was speaking to her, indeed, +very rapidly, in an undertone, as she, a magnificent woman with red-gold +hair, was sobbing blindly on a bench. Between these two groups, and +just clear of the main heap of hammers, lay a man in evening dress, +spread-eagled and flat on his face. From the height above Wilfred could +have sworn to every item of his costume and appearance, down to the +Bohun rings upon his fingers; but the skull was only a hideous splash, +like a star of blackness and blood. + +Wilfred Bohun gave but one glance, and ran down the steps into the yard. +The doctor, who was the family physician, saluted him, but he scarcely +took any notice. He could only stammer out: "My brother is dead. What +does it mean? What is this horrible mystery?" There was an unhappy +silence; and then the cobbler, the most outspoken man present, answered: +"Plenty of horror, sir," he said; "but not much mystery." + +"What do you mean?" asked Wilfred, with a white face. + +"It's plain enough," answered Gibbs. "There is only one man for forty +miles round that could have struck such a blow as that, and he's the man +that had most reason to." + +"We must not prejudge anything," put in the doctor, a tall, +black-bearded man, rather nervously; "but it is competent for me to +corroborate what Mr. Gibbs says about the nature of the blow, sir; it +is an incredible blow. Mr. Gibbs says that only one man in this district +could have done it. I should have said myself that nobody could have +done it." + +A shudder of superstition went through the slight figure of the curate. +"I can hardly understand," he said. + +"Mr. Bohun," said the doctor in a low voice, "metaphors literally fail +me. It is inadequate to say that the skull was smashed to bits like an +eggshell. Fragments of bone were driven into the body and the ground +like bullets into a mud wall. It was the hand of a giant." + +He was silent a moment, looking grimly through his glasses; then he +added: "The thing has one advantage--that it clears most people of +suspicion at one stroke. If you or I or any normally made man in the +country were accused of this crime, we should be acquitted as an infant +would be acquitted of stealing the Nelson column." + +"That's what I say," repeated the cobbler obstinately; "there's only one +man that could have done it, and he's the man that would have done it. +Where's Simeon Barnes, the blacksmith?" + +"He's over at Greenford," faltered the curate. + +"More likely over in France," muttered the cobbler. + +"No; he is in neither of those places," said a small and colourless +voice, which came from the little Roman priest who had joined the group. +"As a matter of fact, he is coming up the road at this moment." + +The little priest was not an interesting man to look at, having stubbly +brown hair and a round and stolid face. But if he had been as splendid +as Apollo no one would have looked at him at that moment. Everyone +turned round and peered at the pathway which wound across the plain +below, along which was indeed walking, at his own huge stride and with +a hammer on his shoulder, Simeon the smith. He was a bony and gigantic +man, with deep, dark, sinister eyes and a dark chin beard. He was +walking and talking quietly with two other men; and though he was never +specially cheerful, he seemed quite at his ease. + +"My God!" cried the atheistic cobbler, "and there's the hammer he did it +with." + +"No," said the inspector, a sensible-looking man with a sandy moustache, +speaking for the first time. "There's the hammer he did it with over +there by the church wall. We have left it and the body exactly as they +are." + +All glanced round and the short priest went across and looked down in +silence at the tool where it lay. It was one of the smallest and the +lightest of the hammers, and would not have caught the eye among the +rest; but on the iron edge of it were blood and yellow hair. + +After a silence the short priest spoke without looking up, and there was +a new note in his dull voice. "Mr. Gibbs was hardly right," he said, "in +saying that there is no mystery. There is at least the mystery of why so +big a man should attempt so big a blow with so little a hammer." + +"Oh, never mind that," cried Gibbs, in a fever. "What are we to do with +Simeon Barnes?" + +"Leave him alone," said the priest quietly. "He is coming here of +himself. I know those two men with him. They are very good fellows from +Greenford, and they have come over about the Presbyterian chapel." + +Even as he spoke the tall smith swung round the corner of the church, +and strode into his own yard. Then he stood there quite still, and the +hammer fell from his hand. The inspector, who had preserved impenetrable +propriety, immediately went up to him. + +"I won't ask you, Mr. Barnes," he said, "whether you know anything about +what has happened here. You are not bound to say. I hope you don't know, +and that you will be able to prove it. But I must go through the form +of arresting you in the King's name for the murder of Colonel Norman +Bohun." + +"You are not bound to say anything," said the cobbler in officious +excitement. "They've got to prove everything. They haven't proved yet +that it is Colonel Bohun, with the head all smashed up like that." + +"That won't wash," said the doctor aside to the priest. "That's out of +the detective stories. I was the colonel's medical man, and I knew his +body better than he did. He had very fine hands, but quite peculiar +ones. The second and third fingers were the same length. Oh, that's the +colonel right enough." + +As he glanced at the brained corpse upon the ground the iron eyes of the +motionless blacksmith followed them and rested there also. + +"Is Colonel Bohun dead?" said the smith quite calmly. "Then he's +damned." + +"Don't say anything! Oh, don't say anything," cried the atheist cobbler, +dancing about in an ecstasy of admiration of the English legal system. +For no man is such a legalist as the good Secularist. + +The blacksmith turned on him over his shoulder the august face of a +fanatic. + +"It's well for you infidels to dodge like foxes because the world's law +favours you," he said; "but God guards His own in His pocket, as you +shall see this day." + +Then he pointed to the colonel and said: "When did this dog die in his +sins?" + +"Moderate your language," said the doctor. + +"Moderate the Bible's language, and I'll moderate mine. When did he +die?" + +"I saw him alive at six o'clock this morning," stammered Wilfred Bohun. + +"God is good," said the smith. "Mr. Inspector, I have not the slightest +objection to being arrested. It is you who may object to arresting me. +I don't mind leaving the court without a stain on my character. You do +mind perhaps leaving the court with a bad set-back in your career." + +The solid inspector for the first time looked at the blacksmith with a +lively eye; as did everybody else, except the short, strange priest, who +was still looking down at the little hammer that had dealt the dreadful +blow. + +"There are two men standing outside this shop," went on the blacksmith +with ponderous lucidity, "good tradesmen in Greenford whom you all know, +who will swear that they saw me from before midnight till daybreak and +long after in the committee room of our Revival Mission, which sits all +night, we save souls so fast. In Greenford itself twenty people could +swear to me for all that time. If I were a heathen, Mr. Inspector, I +would let you walk on to your downfall. But as a Christian man I feel +bound to give you your chance, and ask you whether you will hear my +alibi now or in court." + +The inspector seemed for the first time disturbed, and said, "Of course +I should be glad to clear you altogether now." + +The smith walked out of his yard with the same long and easy stride, and +returned to his two friends from Greenford, who were indeed friends of +nearly everyone present. Each of them said a few words which no one ever +thought of disbelieving. When they had spoken, the innocence of Simeon +stood up as solid as the great church above them. + +One of those silences struck the group which are more strange and +insufferable than any speech. Madly, in order to make conversation, the +curate said to the Catholic priest: + +"You seem very much interested in that hammer, Father Brown." + +"Yes, I am," said Father Brown; "why is it such a small hammer?" + +The doctor swung round on him. + +"By George, that's true," he cried; "who would use a little hammer with +ten larger hammers lying about?" + +Then he lowered his voice in the curate's ear and said: "Only the kind +of person that can't lift a large hammer. It is not a question of force +or courage between the sexes. It's a question of lifting power in the +shoulders. A bold woman could commit ten murders with a light hammer and +never turn a hair. She could not kill a beetle with a heavy one." + +Wilfred Bohun was staring at him with a sort of hypnotised horror, +while Father Brown listened with his head a little on one side, really +interested and attentive. The doctor went on with more hissing emphasis: + +"Why do these idiots always assume that the only person who hates the +wife's lover is the wife's husband? Nine times out of ten the person +who most hates the wife's lover is the wife. Who knows what insolence or +treachery he had shown her--look there!" + +He made a momentary gesture towards the red-haired woman on the bench. +She had lifted her head at last and the tears were drying on her +splendid face. But the eyes were fixed on the corpse with an electric +glare that had in it something of idiocy. + +The Rev. Wilfred Bohun made a limp gesture as if waving away all desire +to know; but Father Brown, dusting off his sleeve some ashes blown from +the furnace, spoke in his indifferent way. + +"You are like so many doctors," he said; "your mental science is really +suggestive. It is your physical science that is utterly impossible. I +agree that the woman wants to kill the co-respondent much more than the +petitioner does. And I agree that a woman will always pick up a small +hammer instead of a big one. But the difficulty is one of physical +impossibility. No woman ever born could have smashed a man's skull +out flat like that." Then he added reflectively, after a pause: "These +people haven't grasped the whole of it. The man was actually wearing an +iron helmet, and the blow scattered it like broken glass. Look at that +woman. Look at her arms." + +Silence held them all up again, and then the doctor said rather sulkily: +"Well, I may be wrong; there are objections to everything. But I stick +to the main point. No man but an idiot would pick up that little hammer +if he could use a big hammer." + +With that the lean and quivering hands of Wilfred Bohun went up to his +head and seemed to clutch his scanty yellow hair. After an instant they +dropped, and he cried: "That was the word I wanted; you have said the +word." + +Then he continued, mastering his discomposure: "The words you said were, +'No man but an idiot would pick up the small hammer.'" + +"Yes," said the doctor. "Well?" + +"Well," said the curate, "no man but an idiot did." The rest stared +at him with eyes arrested and riveted, and he went on in a febrile and +feminine agitation. + +"I am a priest," he cried unsteadily, "and a priest should be no shedder +of blood. I--I mean that he should bring no one to the gallows. And I +thank God that I see the criminal clearly now--because he is a criminal +who cannot be brought to the gallows." + +"You will not denounce him?" inquired the doctor. + +"He would not be hanged if I did denounce him," answered Wilfred with +a wild but curiously happy smile. "When I went into the church this +morning I found a madman praying there--that poor Joe, who has been +wrong all his life. God knows what he prayed; but with such strange folk +it is not incredible to suppose that their prayers are all upside down. +Very likely a lunatic would pray before killing a man. When I last saw +poor Joe he was with my brother. My brother was mocking him." + +"By Jove!" cried the doctor, "this is talking at last. But how do you +explain--" + +The Rev. Wilfred was almost trembling with the excitement of his +own glimpse of the truth. "Don't you see; don't you see," he cried +feverishly; "that is the only theory that covers both the queer things, +that answers both the riddles. The two riddles are the little hammer and +the big blow. The smith might have struck the big blow, but would not +have chosen the little hammer. His wife would have chosen the little +hammer, but she could not have struck the big blow. But the madman might +have done both. As for the little hammer--why, he was mad and might have +picked up anything. And for the big blow, have you never heard, doctor, +that a maniac in his paroxysm may have the strength of ten men?" + +The doctor drew a deep breath and then said, "By golly, I believe you've +got it." + +Father Brown had fixed his eyes on the speaker so long and steadily +as to prove that his large grey, ox-like eyes were not quite so +insignificant as the rest of his face. When silence had fallen he said +with marked respect: "Mr. Bohun, yours is the only theory yet propounded +which holds water every way and is essentially unassailable. I think, +therefore, that you deserve to be told, on my positive knowledge, that +it is not the true one." And with that the old little man walked away +and stared again at the hammer. + +"That fellow seems to know more than he ought to," whispered the doctor +peevishly to Wilfred. "Those popish priests are deucedly sly." + +"No, no," said Bohun, with a sort of wild fatigue. "It was the lunatic. +It was the lunatic." + +The group of the two clerics and the doctor had fallen away from +the more official group containing the inspector and the man he had +arrested. Now, however, that their own party had broken up, they heard +voices from the others. The priest looked up quietly and then looked +down again as he heard the blacksmith say in a loud voice: + +"I hope I've convinced you, Mr. Inspector. I'm a strong man, as you say, +but I couldn't have flung my hammer bang here from Greenford. My hammer +hasn't got wings that it should come flying half a mile over hedges and +fields." + +The inspector laughed amicably and said: "No, I think you can be +considered out of it, though it's one of the rummiest coincidences I +ever saw. I can only ask you to give us all the assistance you can in +finding a man as big and strong as yourself. By George! you might be +useful, if only to hold him! I suppose you yourself have no guess at the +man?" + +"I may have a guess," said the pale smith, "but it is not at a man." +Then, seeing the scared eyes turn towards his wife on the bench, he put +his huge hand on her shoulder and said: "Nor a woman either." + +"What do you mean?" asked the inspector jocularly. "You don't think cows +use hammers, do you?" + +"I think no thing of flesh held that hammer," said the blacksmith in a +stifled voice; "mortally speaking, I think the man died alone." + +Wilfred made a sudden forward movement and peered at him with burning +eyes. + +"Do you mean to say, Barnes," came the sharp voice of the cobbler, "that +the hammer jumped up of itself and knocked the man down?" + +"Oh, you gentlemen may stare and snigger," cried Simeon; "you clergymen +who tell us on Sunday in what a stillness the Lord smote Sennacherib. I +believe that One who walks invisible in every house defended the honour +of mine, and laid the defiler dead before the door of it. I believe the +force in that blow was just the force there is in earthquakes, and no +force less." + +Wilfred said, with a voice utterly undescribable: "I told Norman myself +to beware of the thunderbolt." + +"That agent is outside my jurisdiction," said the inspector with a +slight smile. + +"You are not outside His," answered the smith; "see you to it," and, +turning his broad back, he went into the house. + +The shaken Wilfred was led away by Father Brown, who had an easy and +friendly way with him. "Let us get out of this horrid place, Mr. Bohun," +he said. "May I look inside your church? I hear it's one of the oldest +in England. We take some interest, you know," he added with a comical +grimace, "in old English churches." + +Wilfred Bohun did not smile, for humour was never his strong point. But +he nodded rather eagerly, being only too ready to explain the +Gothic splendours to someone more likely to be sympathetic than the +Presbyterian blacksmith or the atheist cobbler. + +"By all means," he said; "let us go in at this side." And he led the way +into the high side entrance at the top of the flight of steps. Father +Brown was mounting the first step to follow him when he felt a hand on +his shoulder, and turned to behold the dark, thin figure of the doctor, +his face darker yet with suspicion. + +"Sir," said the physician harshly, "you appear to know some secrets +in this black business. May I ask if you are going to keep them to +yourself?" + +"Why, doctor," answered the priest, smiling quite pleasantly, "there is +one very good reason why a man of my trade should keep things to himself +when he is not sure of them, and that is that it is so constantly his +duty to keep them to himself when he is sure of them. But if you think +I have been discourteously reticent with you or anyone, I will go to the +extreme limit of my custom. I will give you two very large hints." + +"Well, sir?" said the doctor gloomily. + +"First," said Father Brown quietly, "the thing is quite in your +own province. It is a matter of physical science. The blacksmith is +mistaken, not perhaps in saying that the blow was divine, but certainly +in saying that it came by a miracle. It was no miracle, doctor, except +in so far as man is himself a miracle, with his strange and wicked and +yet half-heroic heart. The force that smashed that skull was a force +well known to scientists--one of the most frequently debated of the laws +of nature." + +The doctor, who was looking at him with frowning intentness, only said: +"And the other hint?" + +"The other hint is this," said the priest. "Do you remember the +blacksmith, though he believes in miracles, talking scornfully of the +impossible fairy tale that his hammer had wings and flew half a mile +across country?" + +"Yes," said the doctor, "I remember that." + +"Well," added Father Brown, with a broad smile, "that fairy tale was the +nearest thing to the real truth that has been said today." And with that +he turned his back and stumped up the steps after the curate. + +The Reverend Wilfred, who had been waiting for him, pale and impatient, +as if this little delay were the last straw for his nerves, led him +immediately to his favourite corner of the church, that part of the +gallery closest to the carved roof and lit by the wonderful window +with the angel. The little Latin priest explored and admired everything +exhaustively, talking cheerfully but in a low voice all the time. +When in the course of his investigation he found the side exit and the +winding stair down which Wilfred had rushed to find his brother dead, +Father Brown ran not down but up, with the agility of a monkey, and his +clear voice came from an outer platform above. + +"Come up here, Mr. Bohun," he called. "The air will do you good." + +Bohun followed him, and came out on a kind of stone gallery or balcony +outside the building, from which one could see the illimitable plain +in which their small hill stood, wooded away to the purple horizon +and dotted with villages and farms. Clear and square, but quite small +beneath them, was the blacksmith's yard, where the inspector still stood +taking notes and the corpse still lay like a smashed fly. + +"Might be the map of the world, mightn't it?" said Father Brown. + +"Yes," said Bohun very gravely, and nodded his head. + +Immediately beneath and about them the lines of the Gothic building +plunged outwards into the void with a sickening swiftness akin to +suicide. There is that element of Titan energy in the architecture of +the Middle Ages that, from whatever aspect it be seen, it always seems +to be rushing away, like the strong back of some maddened horse. This +church was hewn out of ancient and silent stone, bearded with old +fungoids and stained with the nests of birds. And yet, when they saw it +from below, it sprang like a fountain at the stars; and when they saw +it, as now, from above, it poured like a cataract into a voiceless pit. +For these two men on the tower were left alone with the most terrible +aspect of Gothic; the monstrous foreshortening and disproportion, the +dizzy perspectives, the glimpses of great things small and small things +great; a topsy-turvydom of stone in the mid-air. Details of stone, +enormous by their proximity, were relieved against a pattern of fields +and farms, pygmy in their distance. A carved bird or beast at a corner +seemed like some vast walking or flying dragon wasting the pastures and +villages below. The whole atmosphere was dizzy and dangerous, as if men +were upheld in air amid the gyrating wings of colossal genii; and the +whole of that old church, as tall and rich as a cathedral, seemed to sit +upon the sunlit country like a cloudburst. + +"I think there is something rather dangerous about standing on these +high places even to pray," said Father Brown. "Heights were made to be +looked at, not to be looked from." + +"Do you mean that one may fall over," asked Wilfred. + +"I mean that one's soul may fall if one's body doesn't," said the other +priest. + +"I scarcely understand you," remarked Bohun indistinctly. + +"Look at that blacksmith, for instance," went on Father Brown calmly; "a +good man, but not a Christian--hard, imperious, unforgiving. Well, his +Scotch religion was made up by men who prayed on hills and high crags, +and learnt to look down on the world more than to look up at heaven. +Humility is the mother of giants. One sees great things from the valley; +only small things from the peak." + +"But he--he didn't do it," said Bohun tremulously. + +"No," said the other in an odd voice; "we know he didn't do it." + +After a moment he resumed, looking tranquilly out over the plain with +his pale grey eyes. "I knew a man," he said, "who began by worshipping +with others before the altar, but who grew fond of high and lonely +places to pray from, corners or niches in the belfry or the spire. And +once in one of those dizzy places, where the whole world seemed to turn +under him like a wheel, his brain turned also, and he fancied he was +God. So that, though he was a good man, he committed a great crime." + +Wilfred's face was turned away, but his bony hands turned blue and white +as they tightened on the parapet of stone. + +"He thought it was given to him to judge the world and strike down the +sinner. He would never have had such a thought if he had been kneeling +with other men upon a floor. But he saw all men walking about like +insects. He saw one especially strutting just below him, insolent and +evident by a bright green hat--a poisonous insect." + +Rooks cawed round the corners of the belfry; but there was no other +sound till Father Brown went on. + +"This also tempted him, that he had in his hand one of the most awful +engines of nature; I mean gravitation, that mad and quickening rush by +which all earth's creatures fly back to her heart when released. See, +the inspector is strutting just below us in the smithy. If I were to +toss a pebble over this parapet it would be something like a bullet +by the time it struck him. If I were to drop a hammer--even a small +hammer--" + +Wilfred Bohun threw one leg over the parapet, and Father Brown had him +in a minute by the collar. + +"Not by that door," he said quite gently; "that door leads to hell." + +Bohun staggered back against the wall, and stared at him with frightful +eyes. + +"How do you know all this?" he cried. "Are you a devil?" + +"I am a man," answered Father Brown gravely; "and therefore have all +devils in my heart. Listen to me," he said after a short pause. "I know +what you did--at least, I can guess the great part of it. When you left +your brother you were racked with no unrighteous rage, to the extent +even that you snatched up a small hammer, half inclined to kill him with +his foulness on his mouth. Recoiling, you thrust it under your buttoned +coat instead, and rushed into the church. You pray wildly in many +places, under the angel window, upon the platform above, and a higher +platform still, from which you could see the colonel's Eastern hat like +the back of a green beetle crawling about. Then something snapped in +your soul, and you let God's thunderbolt fall." + +Wilfred put a weak hand to his head, and asked in a low voice: "How did +you know that his hat looked like a green beetle?" + +"Oh, that," said the other with the shadow of a smile, "that was common +sense. But hear me further. I say I know all this; but no one else shall +know it. The next step is for you; I shall take no more steps; I will +seal this with the seal of confession. If you ask me why, there are many +reasons, and only one that concerns you. I leave things to you because +you have not yet gone very far wrong, as assassins go. You did not help +to fix the crime on the smith when it was easy; or on his wife, when +that was easy. You tried to fix it on the imbecile because you knew that +he could not suffer. That was one of the gleams that it is my business +to find in assassins. And now come down into the village, and go your +own way as free as the wind; for I have said my last word." + +They went down the winding stairs in utter silence, and came out into +the sunlight by the smithy. Wilfred Bohun carefully unlatched the wooden +gate of the yard, and going up to the inspector, said: "I wish to give +myself up; I have killed my brother." + + + + +The Eye of Apollo + + +That singular smoky sparkle, at once a confusion and a transparency, +which is the strange secret of the Thames, was changing more and more +from its grey to its glittering extreme as the sun climbed to the zenith +over Westminster, and two men crossed Westminster Bridge. One man +was very tall and the other very short; they might even have been +fantastically compared to the arrogant clock-tower of Parliament and the +humbler humped shoulders of the Abbey, for the short man was in clerical +dress. The official description of the tall man was M. Hercule Flambeau, +private detective, and he was going to his new offices in a new pile of +flats facing the Abbey entrance. The official description of the short +man was the Reverend J. Brown, attached to St. Francis Xavier's Church, +Camberwell, and he was coming from a Camberwell deathbed to see the new +offices of his friend. + +The building was American in its sky-scraping altitude, and American +also in the oiled elaboration of its machinery of telephones and lifts. +But it was barely finished and still understaffed; only three tenants +had moved in; the office just above Flambeau was occupied, as also +was the office just below him; the two floors above that and the three +floors below were entirely bare. But the first glance at the new tower +of flats caught something much more arresting. Save for a few relics of +scaffolding, the one glaring object was erected outside the office +just above Flambeau's. It was an enormous gilt effigy of the human eye, +surrounded with rays of gold, and taking up as much room as two or three +of the office windows. + +"What on earth is that?" asked Father Brown, and stood still. "Oh, a +new religion," said Flambeau, laughing; "one of those new religions that +forgive your sins by saying you never had any. Rather like Christian +Science, I should think. The fact is that a fellow calling himself Kalon +(I don't know what his name is, except that it can't be that) has taken +the flat just above me. I have two lady typewriters underneath me, and +this enthusiastic old humbug on top. He calls himself the New Priest of +Apollo, and he worships the sun." + +"Let him look out," said Father Brown. "The sun was the cruellest of all +the gods. But what does that monstrous eye mean?" + +"As I understand it, it is a theory of theirs," answered Flambeau, "that +a man can endure anything if his mind is quite steady. Their two great +symbols are the sun and the open eye; for they say that if a man were +really healthy he could stare at the sun." + +"If a man were really healthy," said Father Brown, "he would not bother +to stare at it." + +"Well, that's all I can tell you about the new religion," went on +Flambeau carelessly. "It claims, of course, that it can cure all +physical diseases." + +"Can it cure the one spiritual disease?" asked Father Brown, with a +serious curiosity. + +"And what is the one spiritual disease?" asked Flambeau, smiling. + +"Oh, thinking one is quite well," said his friend. + +Flambeau was more interested in the quiet little office below him than +in the flamboyant temple above. He was a lucid Southerner, incapable +of conceiving himself as anything but a Catholic or an atheist; and new +religions of a bright and pallid sort were not much in his line. But +humanity was always in his line, especially when it was good-looking; +moreover, the ladies downstairs were characters in their way. The office +was kept by two sisters, both slight and dark, one of them tall and +striking. She had a dark, eager and aquiline profile, and was one of +those women whom one always thinks of in profile, as of the clean-cut +edge of some weapon. She seemed to cleave her way through life. She had +eyes of startling brilliancy, but it was the brilliancy of steel rather +than of diamonds; and her straight, slim figure was a shade too stiff +for its grace. Her younger sister was like her shortened shadow, +a little greyer, paler, and more insignificant. They both wore a +business-like black, with little masculine cuffs and collars. There are +thousands of such curt, strenuous ladies in the offices of London, +but the interest of these lay rather in their real than their apparent +position. + +For Pauline Stacey, the elder, was actually the heiress of a crest +and half a county, as well as great wealth; she had been brought up in +castles and gardens, before a frigid fierceness (peculiar to the modern +woman) had driven her to what she considered a harsher and a higher +existence. She had not, indeed, surrendered her money; in that there +would have been a romantic or monkish abandon quite alien to her +masterful utilitarianism. She held her wealth, she would say, for use +upon practical social objects. Part of it she had put into her business, +the nucleus of a model typewriting emporium; part of it was distributed +in various leagues and causes for the advancement of such work among +women. How far Joan, her sister and partner, shared this slightly +prosaic idealism no one could be very sure. But she followed her leader +with a dog-like affection which was somehow more attractive, with its +touch of tragedy, than the hard, high spirits of the elder. For Pauline +Stacey had nothing to say to tragedy; she was understood to deny its +existence. + +Her rigid rapidity and cold impatience had amused Flambeau very much on +the first occasion of his entering the flats. He had lingered outside +the lift in the entrance hall waiting for the lift-boy, who generally +conducts strangers to the various floors. But this bright-eyed falcon +of a girl had openly refused to endure such official delay. She said +sharply that she knew all about the lift, and was not dependent on +boys--or men either. Though her flat was only three floors above, she +managed in the few seconds of ascent to give Flambeau a great many of +her fundamental views in an off-hand manner; they were to the general +effect that she was a modern working woman and loved modern working +machinery. Her bright black eyes blazed with abstract anger against +those who rebuke mechanic science and ask for the return of romance. +Everyone, she said, ought to be able to manage machines, just as she +could manage the lift. She seemed almost to resent the fact of Flambeau +opening the lift-door for her; and that gentleman went up to his own +apartments smiling with somewhat mingled feelings at the memory of such +spit-fire self-dependence. + +She certainly had a temper, of a snappy, practical sort; the gestures of +her thin, elegant hands were abrupt or even destructive. + +Once Flambeau entered her office on some typewriting business, and found +she had just flung a pair of spectacles belonging to her sister into the +middle of the floor and stamped on them. She was already in the rapids +of an ethical tirade about the "sickly medical notions" and the morbid +admission of weakness implied in such an apparatus. She dared her sister +to bring such artificial, unhealthy rubbish into the place again. She +asked if she was expected to wear wooden legs or false hair or glass +eyes; and as she spoke her eyes sparkled like the terrible crystal. + +Flambeau, quite bewildered with this fanaticism, could not refrain from +asking Miss Pauline (with direct French logic) why a pair of spectacles +was a more morbid sign of weakness than a lift, and why, if science +might help us in the one effort, it might not help us in the other. + +"That is so different," said Pauline Stacey, loftily. "Batteries and +motors and all those things are marks of the force of man--yes, Mr. +Flambeau, and the force of woman, too! We shall take our turn at these +great engines that devour distance and defy time. That is high and +splendid--that is really science. But these nasty props and plasters the +doctors sell--why, they are just badges of poltroonery. Doctors stick +on legs and arms as if we were born cripples and sick slaves. But I +was free-born, Mr. Flambeau! People only think they need these things +because they have been trained in fear instead of being trained in power +and courage, just as the silly nurses tell children not to stare at the +sun, and so they can't do it without blinking. But why among the stars +should there be one star I may not see? The sun is not my master, and I +will open my eyes and stare at him whenever I choose." + +"Your eyes," said Flambeau, with a foreign bow, "will dazzle the sun." +He took pleasure in complimenting this strange stiff beauty, partly +because it threw her a little off her balance. But as he went upstairs +to his floor he drew a deep breath and whistled, saying to himself: "So +she has got into the hands of that conjurer upstairs with his golden +eye." For, little as he knew or cared about the new religion of Kalon, +he had heard of his special notion about sun-gazing. + +He soon discovered that the spiritual bond between the floors above and +below him was close and increasing. The man who called himself Kalon was +a magnificent creature, worthy, in a physical sense, to be the pontiff +of Apollo. He was nearly as tall even as Flambeau, and very much better +looking, with a golden beard, strong blue eyes, and a mane flung back +like a lion's. In structure he was the blonde beast of Nietzsche, +but all this animal beauty was heightened, brightened and softened by +genuine intellect and spirituality. If he looked like one of the great +Saxon kings, he looked like one of the kings that were also saints. And +this despite the cockney incongruity of his surroundings; the fact that +he had an office half-way up a building in Victoria Street; that the +clerk (a commonplace youth in cuffs and collars) sat in the outer room, +between him and the corridor; that his name was on a brass plate, +and the gilt emblem of his creed hung above his street, like the +advertisement of an oculist. All this vulgarity could not take away from +the man called Kalon the vivid oppression and inspiration that came +from his soul and body. When all was said, a man in the presence of +this quack did feel in the presence of a great man. Even in the loose +jacket-suit of linen that he wore as a workshop dress in his office he +was a fascinating and formidable figure; and when robed in the white +vestments and crowned with the golden circlet, in which he daily saluted +the sun, he really looked so splendid that the laughter of the street +people sometimes died suddenly on their lips. For three times in the day +the new sun-worshipper went out on his little balcony, in the face +of all Westminster, to say some litany to his shining lord: once at +daybreak, once at sunset, and once at the shock of noon. And it +was while the shock of noon still shook faintly from the towers of +Parliament and parish church that Father Brown, the friend of Flambeau, +first looked up and saw the white priest of Apollo. + +Flambeau had seen quite enough of these daily salutations of Phoebus, +and plunged into the porch of the tall building without even looking +for his clerical friend to follow. But Father Brown, whether from a +professional interest in ritual or a strong individual interest in +tomfoolery, stopped and stared up at the balcony of the sun-worshipper, +just as he might have stopped and stared up at a Punch and Judy. Kalon +the Prophet was already erect, with argent garments and uplifted hands, +and the sound of his strangely penetrating voice could be heard all the +way down the busy street uttering his solar litany. He was already +in the middle of it; his eyes were fixed upon the flaming disc. It is +doubtful if he saw anything or anyone on this earth; it is substantially +certain that he did not see a stunted, round-faced priest who, in the +crowd below, looked up at him with blinking eyes. That was perhaps the +most startling difference between even these two far divided men. Father +Brown could not look at anything without blinking; but the priest of +Apollo could look on the blaze at noon without a quiver of the eyelid. + +"O sun," cried the prophet, "O star that art too great to be allowed +among the stars! O fountain that flowest quietly in that secret spot +that is called space. White Father of all white unwearied things, white +flames and white flowers and white peaks. Father, who art more innocent +than all thy most innocent and quiet children; primal purity, into the +peace of which--" + +A rush and crash like the reversed rush of a rocket was cloven with a +strident and incessant yelling. Five people rushed into the gate of +the mansions as three people rushed out, and for an instant they all +deafened each other. The sense of some utterly abrupt horror seemed for +a moment to fill half the street with bad news--bad news that was all +the worse because no one knew what it was. Two figures remained still +after the crash of commotion: the fair priest of Apollo on the balcony +above, and the ugly priest of Christ below him. + +At last the tall figure and titanic energy of Flambeau appeared in the +doorway of the mansions and dominated the little mob. Talking at the top +of his voice like a fog-horn, he told somebody or anybody to go for a +surgeon; and as he turned back into the dark and thronged entrance his +friend Father Brown dipped in insignificantly after him. Even as he +ducked and dived through the crowd he could still hear the magnificent +melody and monotony of the solar priest still calling on the happy god +who is the friend of fountains and flowers. + +Father Brown found Flambeau and some six other people standing round the +enclosed space into which the lift commonly descended. But the lift had +not descended. Something else had descended; something that ought to +have come by a lift. + +For the last four minutes Flambeau had looked down on it; had seen +the brained and bleeding figure of that beautiful woman who denied the +existence of tragedy. He had never had the slightest doubt that it was +Pauline Stacey; and, though he had sent for a doctor, he had not the +slightest doubt that she was dead. + +He could not remember for certain whether he had liked her or disliked +her; there was so much both to like and dislike. But she had been a +person to him, and the unbearable pathos of details and habit stabbed +him with all the small daggers of bereavement. He remembered her pretty +face and priggish speeches with a sudden secret vividness which is all +the bitterness of death. In an instant like a bolt from the blue, like +a thunderbolt from nowhere, that beautiful and defiant body had been +dashed down the open well of the lift to death at the bottom. Was it +suicide? With so insolent an optimist it seemed impossible. Was it +murder? But who was there in those hardly inhabited flats to murder +anybody? In a rush of raucous words, which he meant to be strong and +suddenly found weak, he asked where was that fellow Kalon. A voice, +habitually heavy, quiet and full, assured him that Kalon for the last +fifteen minutes had been away up on his balcony worshipping his god. +When Flambeau heard the voice, and felt the hand of Father Brown, he +turned his swarthy face and said abruptly: + +"Then, if he has been up there all the time, who can have done it?" + +"Perhaps," said the other, "we might go upstairs and find out. We have +half an hour before the police will move." + +Leaving the body of the slain heiress in charge of the surgeons, +Flambeau dashed up the stairs to the typewriting office, found it +utterly empty, and then dashed up to his own. Having entered that, he +abruptly returned with a new and white face to his friend. + +"Her sister," he said, with an unpleasant seriousness, "her sister seems +to have gone out for a walk." + +Father Brown nodded. "Or, she may have gone up to the office of that sun +man," he said. "If I were you I should just verify that, and then let +us all talk it over in your office. No," he added suddenly, as if +remembering something, "shall I ever get over that stupidity of mine? Of +course, in their office downstairs." + +Flambeau stared; but he followed the little father downstairs to the +empty flat of the Staceys, where that impenetrable pastor took a large +red-leather chair in the very entrance, from which he could see the +stairs and landings, and waited. He did not wait very long. In about +four minutes three figures descended the stairs, alike only in +their solemnity. The first was Joan Stacey, the sister of the dead +woman--evidently she had been upstairs in the temporary temple of +Apollo; the second was the priest of Apollo himself, his +litany finished, sweeping down the empty stairs in utter +magnificence--something in his white robes, beard and parted hair had +the look of Dore's Christ leaving the Pretorium; the third was Flambeau, +black browed and somewhat bewildered. + +Miss Joan Stacey, dark, with a drawn face and hair prematurely touched +with grey, walked straight to her own desk and set out her papers with a +practical flap. The mere action rallied everyone else to sanity. If Miss +Joan Stacey was a criminal, she was a cool one. Father Brown regarded +her for some time with an odd little smile, and then, without taking his +eyes off her, addressed himself to somebody else. + +"Prophet," he said, presumably addressing Kalon, "I wish you would tell +me a lot about your religion." + +"I shall be proud to do it," said Kalon, inclining his still crowned +head, "but I am not sure that I understand." + +"Why, it's like this," said Father Brown, in his frankly doubtful way: +"We are taught that if a man has really bad first principles, that must +be partly his fault. But, for all that, we can make some difference +between a man who insults his quite clear conscience and a man with a +conscience more or less clouded with sophistries. Now, do you really +think that murder is wrong at all?" + +"Is this an accusation?" asked Kalon very quietly. + +"No," answered Brown, equally gently, "it is the speech for the +defence." + +In the long and startled stillness of the room the prophet of Apollo +slowly rose; and really it was like the rising of the sun. He filled +that room with his light and life in such a manner that a man felt he +could as easily have filled Salisbury Plain. His robed form seemed to +hang the whole room with classic draperies; his epic gesture seemed to +extend it into grander perspectives, till the little black figure of the +modern cleric seemed to be a fault and an intrusion, a round, black blot +upon some splendour of Hellas. + +"We meet at last, Caiaphas," said the prophet. "Your church and mine are +the only realities on this earth. I adore the sun, and you the darkening +of the sun; you are the priest of the dying and I of the living God. +Your present work of suspicion and slander is worthy of your coat and +creed. All your church is but a black police; you are only spies and +detectives seeking to tear from men confessions of guilt, whether by +treachery or torture. You would convict men of crime, I would convict +them of innocence. You would convince them of sin, I would convince them +of virtue. + +"Reader of the books of evil, one more word before I blow away your +baseless nightmares for ever. Not even faintly could you understand +how little I care whether you can convict me or no. The things you +call disgrace and horrible hanging are to me no more than an ogre in a +child's toy-book to a man once grown up. You said you were offering the +speech for the defence. I care so little for the cloudland of this life +that I will offer you the speech for the prosecution. There is but one +thing that can be said against me in this matter, and I will say it +myself. The woman that is dead was my love and my bride; not after such +manner as your tin chapels call lawful, but by a law purer and sterner +than you will ever understand. She and I walked another world from +yours, and trod palaces of crystal while you were plodding through +tunnels and corridors of brick. Well, I know that policemen, theological +and otherwise, always fancy that where there has been love there +must soon be hatred; so there you have the first point made for the +prosecution. But the second point is stronger; I do not grudge it you. +Not only is it true that Pauline loved me, but it is also true that this +very morning, before she died, she wrote at that table a will leaving me +and my new church half a million. Come, where are the handcuffs? Do you +suppose I care what foolish things you do with me? Penal servitude will +only be like waiting for her at a wayside station. The gallows will only +be going to her in a headlong car." + +He spoke with the brain-shaking authority of an orator, and Flambeau +and Joan Stacey stared at him in amazed admiration. Father Brown's face +seemed to express nothing but extreme distress; he looked at the ground +with one wrinkle of pain across his forehead. The prophet of the sun +leaned easily against the mantelpiece and resumed: + +"In a few words I have put before you the whole case against me--the +only possible case against me. In fewer words still I will blow it +to pieces, so that not a trace of it remains. As to whether I have +committed this crime, the truth is in one sentence: I could not have +committed this crime. Pauline Stacey fell from this floor to the +ground at five minutes past twelve. A hundred people will go into the +witness-box and say that I was standing out upon the balcony of my own +rooms above from just before the stroke of noon to a quarter-past--the +usual period of my public prayers. My clerk (a respectable youth from +Clapham, with no sort of connection with me) will swear that he sat +in my outer office all the morning, and that no communication passed +through. He will swear that I arrived a full ten minutes before the +hour, fifteen minutes before any whisper of the accident, and that I did +not leave the office or the balcony all that time. No one ever had so +complete an alibi; I could subpoena half Westminster. I think you had +better put the handcuffs away again. The case is at an end. + +"But last of all, that no breath of this idiotic suspicion remain in the +air, I will tell you all you want to know. I believe I do know how my +unhappy friend came by her death. You can, if you choose, blame me for +it, or my faith and philosophy at least; but you certainly cannot +lock me up. It is well known to all students of the higher truths that +certain adepts and illuminati have in history attained the power of +levitation--that is, of being self-sustained upon the empty air. It is +but a part of that general conquest of matter which is the main element +in our occult wisdom. Poor Pauline was of an impulsive and ambitious +temper. I think, to tell the truth, she thought herself somewhat deeper +in the mysteries than she was; and she has often said to me, as we went +down in the lift together, that if one's will were strong enough, one +could float down as harmlessly as a feather. I solemnly believe that in +some ecstasy of noble thoughts she attempted the miracle. Her will, or +faith, must have failed her at the crucial instant, and the lower law +of matter had its horrible revenge. There is the whole story, gentlemen, +very sad and, as you think, very presumptuous and wicked, but certainly +not criminal or in any way connected with me. In the short-hand of the +police-courts, you had better call it suicide. I shall always call +it heroic failure for the advance of science and the slow scaling of +heaven." + +It was the first time Flambeau had ever seen Father Brown vanquished. He +still sat looking at the ground, with a painful and corrugated brow, as +if in shame. It was impossible to avoid the feeling which the prophet's +winged words had fanned, that here was a sullen, professional suspecter +of men overwhelmed by a prouder and purer spirit of natural liberty and +health. At last he said, blinking as if in bodily distress: "Well, if +that is so, sir, you need do no more than take the testamentary paper +you spoke of and go. I wonder where the poor lady left it." + +"It will be over there on her desk by the door, I think," said Kalon, +with that massive innocence of manner that seemed to acquit him wholly. +"She told me specially she would write it this morning, and I actually +saw her writing as I went up in the lift to my own room." + +"Was her door open then?" asked the priest, with his eye on the corner +of the matting. + +"Yes," said Kalon calmly. + +"Ah! it has been open ever since," said the other, and resumed his +silent study of the mat. + +"There is a paper over here," said the grim Miss Joan, in a somewhat +singular voice. She had passed over to her sister's desk by the doorway, +and was holding a sheet of blue foolscap in her hand. There was a sour +smile on her face that seemed unfit for such a scene or occasion, and +Flambeau looked at her with a darkening brow. + +Kalon the prophet stood away from the paper with that loyal +unconsciousness that had carried him through. But Flambeau took it +out of the lady's hand, and read it with the utmost amazement. It did, +indeed, begin in the formal manner of a will, but after the words "I +give and bequeath all of which I die possessed" the writing abruptly +stopped with a set of scratches, and there was no trace of the name of +any legatee. Flambeau, in wonder, handed this truncated testament to his +clerical friend, who glanced at it and silently gave it to the priest of +the sun. + +An instant afterwards that pontiff, in his splendid sweeping draperies, +had crossed the room in two great strides, and was towering over Joan +Stacey, his blue eyes standing from his head. + +"What monkey tricks have you been playing here?" he cried. "That's not +all Pauline wrote." + +They were startled to hear him speak in quite a new voice, with a Yankee +shrillness in it; all his grandeur and good English had fallen from him +like a cloak. + +"That is the only thing on her desk," said Joan, and confronted him +steadily with the same smile of evil favour. + +Of a sudden the man broke out into blasphemies and cataracts of +incredulous words. There was something shocking about the dropping of +his mask; it was like a man's real face falling off. + +"See here!" he cried in broad American, when he was breathless with +cursing, "I may be an adventurer, but I guess you're a murderess. Yes, +gentlemen, here's your death explained, and without any levitation. The +poor girl is writing a will in my favour; her cursed sister comes in, +struggles for the pen, drags her to the well, and throws her down before +she can finish it. Sakes! I reckon we want the handcuffs after all." + +"As you have truly remarked," replied Joan, with ugly calm, "your clerk +is a very respectable young man, who knows the nature of an oath; and +he will swear in any court that I was up in your office arranging some +typewriting work for five minutes before and five minutes after my +sister fell. Mr. Flambeau will tell you that he found me there." + +There was a silence. + +"Why, then," cried Flambeau, "Pauline was alone when she fell, and it +was suicide!" + +"She was alone when she fell," said Father Brown, "but it was not +suicide." + +"Then how did she die?" asked Flambeau impatiently. + +"She was murdered." + +"But she was alone," objected the detective. + +"She was murdered when she was all alone," answered the priest. + +All the rest stared at him, but he remained sitting in the same +old dejected attitude, with a wrinkle in his round forehead and an +appearance of impersonal shame and sorrow; his voice was colourless and +sad. + +"What I want to know," cried Kalon, with an oath, "is when the police +are coming for this bloody and wicked sister. She's killed her flesh and +blood; she's robbed me of half a million that was just as sacredly mine +as--" + +"Come, come, prophet," interrupted Flambeau, with a kind of sneer; +"remember that all this world is a cloudland." + +The hierophant of the sun-god made an effort to climb back on his +pedestal. "It is not the mere money," he cried, "though that would equip +the cause throughout the world. It is also my beloved one's wishes. To +Pauline all this was holy. In Pauline's eyes--" + +Father Brown suddenly sprang erect, so that his chair fell over flat +behind him. He was deathly pale, yet he seemed fired with a hope; his +eyes shone. + +"That's it!" he cried in a clear voice. "That's the way to begin. In +Pauline's eyes--" + +The tall prophet retreated before the tiny priest in an almost mad +disorder. "What do you mean? How dare you?" he cried repeatedly. + +"In Pauline's eyes," repeated the priest, his own shining more and more. +"Go on--in God's name, go on. The foulest crime the fiends ever prompted +feels lighter after confession; and I implore you to confess. Go on, go +on--in Pauline's eyes--" + +"Let me go, you devil!" thundered Kalon, struggling like a giant in +bonds. "Who are you, you cursed spy, to weave your spiders' webs round +me, and peep and peer? Let me go." + +"Shall I stop him?" asked Flambeau, bounding towards the exit, for Kalon +had already thrown the door wide open. + +"No; let him pass," said Father Brown, with a strange deep sigh that +seemed to come from the depths of the universe. "Let Cain pass by, for +he belongs to God." + +There was a long-drawn silence in the room when he had left it, which +was to Flambeau's fierce wits one long agony of interrogation. Miss Joan +Stacey very coolly tidied up the papers on her desk. + +"Father," said Flambeau at last, "it is my duty, not my curiosity +only--it is my duty to find out, if I can, who committed the crime." + +"Which crime?" asked Father Brown. + +"The one we are dealing with, of course," replied his impatient friend. + +"We are dealing with two crimes," said Brown, "crimes of very different +weight--and by very different criminals." + +Miss Joan Stacey, having collected and put away her papers, proceeded to +lock up her drawer. Father Brown went on, noticing her as little as she +noticed him. + +"The two crimes," he observed, "were committed against the same weakness +of the same person, in a struggle for her money. The author of the +larger crime found himself thwarted by the smaller crime; the author of +the smaller crime got the money." + +"Oh, don't go on like a lecturer," groaned Flambeau; "put it in a few +words." + +"I can put it in one word," answered his friend. + +Miss Joan Stacey skewered her business-like black hat on to her head +with a business-like black frown before a little mirror, and, as the +conversation proceeded, took her handbag and umbrella in an unhurried +style, and left the room. + +"The truth is one word, and a short one," said Father Brown. "Pauline +Stacey was blind." + +"Blind!" repeated Flambeau, and rose slowly to his whole huge stature. + +"She was subject to it by blood," Brown proceeded. "Her sister would +have started eyeglasses if Pauline would have let her; but it was her +special philosophy or fad that one must not encourage such diseases by +yielding to them. She would not admit the cloud; or she tried to dispel +it by will. So her eyes got worse and worse with straining; but the +worst strain was to come. It came with this precious prophet, or +whatever he calls himself, who taught her to stare at the hot sun with +the naked eye. It was called accepting Apollo. Oh, if these new pagans +would only be old pagans, they would be a little wiser! The old pagans +knew that mere naked Nature-worship must have a cruel side. They knew +that the eye of Apollo can blast and blind." + +There was a pause, and the priest went on in a gentle and even broken +voice. "Whether or no that devil deliberately made her blind, there is +no doubt that he deliberately killed her through her blindness. The very +simplicity of the crime is sickening. You know he and she went up and +down in those lifts without official help; you know also how smoothly +and silently the lifts slide. Kalon brought the lift to the girl's +landing, and saw her, through the open door, writing in her slow, +sightless way the will she had promised him. He called out to her +cheerily that he had the lift ready for her, and she was to come out +when she was ready. Then he pressed a button and shot soundlessly up to +his own floor, walked through his own office, out on to his own balcony, +and was safely praying before the crowded street when the poor girl, +having finished her work, ran gaily out to where lover and lift were to +receive her, and stepped--" + +"Don't!" cried Flambeau. + +"He ought to have got half a million by pressing that button," continued +the little father, in the colourless voice in which he talked of such +horrors. "But that went smash. It went smash because there happened +to be another person who also wanted the money, and who also knew the +secret about poor Pauline's sight. There was one thing about that will +that I think nobody noticed: although it was unfinished and without +signature, the other Miss Stacey and some servant of hers had already +signed it as witnesses. Joan had signed first, saying Pauline could +finish it later, with a typical feminine contempt for legal forms. +Therefore, Joan wanted her sister to sign the will without real +witnesses. Why? I thought of the blindness, and felt sure she had wanted +Pauline to sign in solitude because she had wanted her not to sign at +all. + +"People like the Staceys always use fountain pens; but this was +specially natural to Pauline. By habit and her strong will and memory +she could still write almost as well as if she saw; but she could not +tell when her pen needed dipping. Therefore, her fountain pens were +carefully filled by her sister--all except this fountain pen. This was +carefully not filled by her sister; the remains of the ink held out +for a few lines and then failed altogether. And the prophet lost +five hundred thousand pounds and committed one of the most brutal and +brilliant murders in human history for nothing." + +Flambeau went to the open door and heard the official police ascending +the stairs. He turned and said: "You must have followed everything +devilish close to have traced the crime to Kalon in ten minutes." + +Father Brown gave a sort of start. + +"Oh! to him," he said. "No; I had to follow rather close to find out +about Miss Joan and the fountain pen. But I knew Kalon was the criminal +before I came into the front door." + +"You must be joking!" cried Flambeau. + +"I'm quite serious," answered the priest. "I tell you I knew he had done +it, even before I knew what he had done." + +"But why?" + +"These pagan stoics," said Brown reflectively, "always fail by their +strength. There came a crash and a scream down the street, and the +priest of Apollo did not start or look round. I did not know what it +was. But I knew that he was expecting it." + + + + +The Sign of the Broken Sword + + +The thousand arms of the forest were grey, and its million fingers +silver. In a sky of dark green-blue-like slate the stars were bleak +and brilliant like splintered ice. All that thickly wooded and sparsely +tenanted countryside was stiff with a bitter and brittle frost. The +black hollows between the trunks of the trees looked like bottomless, +black caverns of that Scandinavian hell, a hell of incalculable cold. +Even the square stone tower of the church looked northern to the point +of heathenry, as if it were some barbaric tower among the sea rocks of +Iceland. It was a queer night for anyone to explore a churchyard. But, +on the other hand, perhaps it was worth exploring. + +It rose abruptly out of the ashen wastes of forest in a sort of hump or +shoulder of green turf that looked grey in the starlight. Most of the +graves were on a slant, and the path leading up to the church was +as steep as a staircase. On the top of the hill, in the one flat and +prominent place, was the monument for which the place was famous. It +contrasted strangely with the featureless graves all round, for it was +the work of one of the greatest sculptors of modern Europe; and yet his +fame was at once forgotten in the fame of the man whose image he had +made. It showed, by touches of the small silver pencil of starlight, the +massive metal figure of a soldier recumbent, the strong hands sealed +in an everlasting worship, the great head pillowed upon a gun. The +venerable face was bearded, or rather whiskered, in the old, heavy +Colonel Newcome fashion. The uniform, though suggested with the few +strokes of simplicity, was that of modern war. By his right side lay a +sword, of which the tip was broken off; on the left side lay a Bible. On +glowing summer afternoons wagonettes came full of Americans and cultured +suburbans to see the sepulchre; but even then they felt the vast forest +land with its one dumpy dome of churchyard and church as a place oddly +dumb and neglected. In this freezing darkness of mid-winter one would +think he might be left alone with the stars. Nevertheless, in the +stillness of those stiff woods a wooden gate creaked, and two dim +figures dressed in black climbed up the little path to the tomb. + +So faint was that frigid starlight that nothing could have been +traced about them except that while they both wore black, one man was +enormously big, and the other (perhaps by contrast) almost startlingly +small. They went up to the great graven tomb of the historic warrior, +and stood for a few minutes staring at it. There was no human, perhaps +no living, thing for a wide circle; and a morbid fancy might well have +wondered if they were human themselves. In any case, the beginning of +their conversation might have seemed strange. After the first silence +the small man said to the other: + +"Where does a wise man hide a pebble?" + +And the tall man answered in a low voice: "On the beach." + +The small man nodded, and after a short silence said: "Where does a wise +man hide a leaf?" + +And the other answered: "In the forest." + +There was another stillness, and then the tall man resumed: "Do you mean +that when a wise man has to hide a real diamond he has been known to +hide it among sham ones?" + +"No, no," said the little man with a laugh, "we will let bygones be +bygones." + +He stamped his cold feet for a second or two, and then said: "I'm +not thinking of that at all, but of something else; something rather +peculiar. Just strike a match, will you?" + +The big man fumbled in his pocket, and soon a scratch and a flare +painted gold the whole flat side of the monument. On it was cut in black +letters the well-known words which so many Americans had reverently +read: "Sacred to the Memory of General Sir Arthur St. Clare, Hero and +Martyr, who Always Vanquished his Enemies and Always Spared Them, and +Was Treacherously Slain by Them At Last. May God in Whom he Trusted both +Reward and Revenge him." + +The match burnt the big man's fingers, blackened, and dropped. He was +about to strike another, but his small companion stopped him. "That's +all right, Flambeau, old man; I saw what I wanted. Or, rather, I didn't +see what I didn't want. And now we must walk a mile and a half along +the road to the next inn, and I will try to tell you all about it. For +Heaven knows a man should have a fire and ale when he dares tell such a +story." + +They descended the precipitous path, they relatched the rusty gate, and +set off at a stamping, ringing walk down the frozen forest road. They +had gone a full quarter of a mile before the smaller man spoke again. He +said: "Yes; the wise man hides a pebble on the beach. But what does he +do if there is no beach? Do you know anything of that great St. Clare +trouble?" + +"I know nothing about English generals, Father Brown," answered the +large man, laughing, "though a little about English policemen. I only +know that you have dragged me a precious long dance to all the shrines +of this fellow, whoever he is. One would think he got buried in +six different places. I've seen a memorial to General St. Clare in +Westminster Abbey. I've seen a ramping equestrian statue of General +St. Clare on the Embankment. I've seen a medallion of St. Clare in the +street he was born in, and another in the street he lived in; and now +you drag me after dark to his coffin in the village churchyard. I am +beginning to be a bit tired of his magnificent personality, especially +as I don't in the least know who he was. What are you hunting for in all +these crypts and effigies?" + +"I am only looking for one word," said Father Brown. "A word that isn't +there." + +"Well," asked Flambeau; "are you going to tell me anything about it?" + +"I must divide it into two parts," remarked the priest. "First there is +what everybody knows; and then there is what I know. Now, what everybody +knows is short and plain enough. It is also entirely wrong." + +"Right you are," said the big man called Flambeau cheerfully. "Let's +begin at the wrong end. Let's begin with what everybody knows, which +isn't true." + +"If not wholly untrue, it is at least very inadequate," continued Brown; +"for in point of fact, all that the public knows amounts precisely to +this: The public knows that Arthur St. Clare was a great and successful +English general. It knows that after splendid yet careful campaigns +both in India and Africa he was in command against Brazil when the great +Brazilian patriot Olivier issued his ultimatum. It knows that on that +occasion St. Clare with a very small force attacked Olivier with a very +large one, and was captured after heroic resistance. And it knows that +after his capture, and to the abhorrence of the civilised world, St. +Clare was hanged on the nearest tree. He was found swinging there after +the Brazilians had retired, with his broken sword hung round his neck." + +"And that popular story is untrue?" suggested Flambeau. + +"No," said his friend quietly, "that story is quite true, so far as it +goes." + +"Well, I think it goes far enough!" said Flambeau; "but if the popular +story is true, what is the mystery?" + +They had passed many hundreds of grey and ghostly trees before the +little priest answered. Then he bit his finger reflectively and said: +"Why, the mystery is a mystery of psychology. Or, rather, it is a +mystery of two psychologies. In that Brazilian business two of the most +famous men of modern history acted flat against their characters. Mind +you, Olivier and St. Clare were both heroes--the old thing, and no +mistake; it was like the fight between Hector and Achilles. Now, what +would you say to an affair in which Achilles was timid and Hector was +treacherous?" + +"Go on," said the large man impatiently as the other bit his finger +again. + +"Sir Arthur St. Clare was a soldier of the old religious type--the type +that saved us during the Mutiny," continued Brown. "He was always more +for duty than for dash; and with all his personal courage was decidedly +a prudent commander, particularly indignant at any needless waste of +soldiers. Yet in this last battle he attempted something that a baby +could see was absurd. One need not be a strategist to see it was as wild +as wind; just as one need not be a strategist to keep out of the way +of a motor-bus. Well, that is the first mystery; what had become of the +English general's head? The second riddle is, what had become of the +Brazilian general's heart? President Olivier might be called a visionary +or a nuisance; but even his enemies admitted that he was magnanimous to +the point of knight errantry. Almost every other prisoner he had ever +captured had been set free or even loaded with benefits. Men who had +really wronged him came away touched by his simplicity and sweetness. +Why the deuce should he diabolically revenge himself only once in his +life; and that for the one particular blow that could not have hurt him? +Well, there you have it. One of the wisest men in the world acted like +an idiot for no reason. One of the best men in the world acted like a +fiend for no reason. That's the long and the short of it; and I leave it +to you, my boy." + +"No, you don't," said the other with a snort. "I leave it to you; and +you jolly well tell me all about it." + +"Well," resumed Father Brown, "it's not fair to say that the public +impression is just what I've said, without adding that two things have +happened since. I can't say they threw a new light; for nobody can make +sense of them. But they threw a new kind of darkness; they threw the +darkness in new directions. The first was this. The family physician +of the St. Clares quarrelled with that family, and began publishing a +violent series of articles, in which he said that the late general was +a religious maniac; but as far as the tale went, this seemed to mean +little more than a religious man. + +"Anyhow, the story fizzled out. Everyone knew, of course, that St. Clare +had some of the eccentricities of puritan piety. The second incident was +much more arresting. In the luckless and unsupported regiment which made +that rash attempt at the Black River there was a certain Captain Keith, +who was at that time engaged to St. Clare's daughter, and who afterwards +married her. He was one of those who were captured by Olivier, and, +like all the rest except the general, appears to have been bounteously +treated and promptly set free. Some twenty years afterwards this man, +then Lieutenant-Colonel Keith, published a sort of autobiography called +'A British Officer in Burmah and Brazil.' In the place where the reader +looks eagerly for some account of the mystery of St. Clare's disaster +may be found the following words: 'Everywhere else in this book I +have narrated things exactly as they occurred, holding as I do the +old-fashioned opinion that the glory of England is old enough to take +care of itself. The exception I shall make is in this matter of +the defeat by the Black River; and my reasons, though private, are +honourable and compelling. I will, however, add this in justice to the +memories of two distinguished men. General St. Clare has been accused +of incapacity on this occasion; I can at least testify that this action, +properly understood, was one of the most brilliant and sagacious of +his life. President Olivier by similar report is charged with savage +injustice. I think it due to the honour of an enemy to say that he acted +on this occasion with even more than his characteristic good feeling. To +put the matter popularly, I can assure my countrymen that St. Clare was +by no means such a fool nor Olivier such a brute as he looked. This is +all I have to say; nor shall any earthly consideration induce me to add +a word to it.'" + +A large frozen moon like a lustrous snowball began to show through the +tangle of twigs in front of them, and by its light the narrator had +been able to refresh his memory of Captain Keith's text from a scrap of +printed paper. As he folded it up and put it back in his pocket Flambeau +threw up his hand with a French gesture. + +"Wait a bit, wait a bit," he cried excitedly. "I believe I can guess it +at the first go." + +He strode on, breathing hard, his black head and bull neck forward, like +a man winning a walking race. The little priest, amused and interested, +had some trouble in trotting beside him. Just before them the trees fell +back a little to left and right, and the road swept downwards across a +clear, moonlit valley, till it dived again like a rabbit into the wall +of another wood. The entrance to the farther forest looked small and +round, like the black hole of a remote railway tunnel. But it was within +some hundred yards, and gaped like a cavern before Flambeau spoke again. + +"I've got it," he cried at last, slapping his thigh with his great hand. +"Four minutes' thinking, and I can tell your whole story myself." + +"All right," assented his friend. "You tell it." + +Flambeau lifted his head, but lowered his voice. "General Sir Arthur St. +Clare," he said, "came of a family in which madness was hereditary; and +his whole aim was to keep this from his daughter, and even, if possible, +from his future son-in-law. Rightly or wrongly, he thought the final +collapse was close, and resolved on suicide. Yet ordinary suicide would +blazon the very idea he dreaded. As the campaign approached the clouds +came thicker on his brain; and at last in a mad moment he sacrificed his +public duty to his private. He rushed rashly into battle, hoping to fall +by the first shot. When he found that he had only attained capture and +discredit, the sealed bomb in his brain burst, and he broke his own +sword and hanged himself." + +He stared firmly at the grey facade of forest in front of him, with the +one black gap in it, like the mouth of the grave, into which their path +plunged. Perhaps something menacing in the road thus suddenly swallowed +reinforced his vivid vision of the tragedy, for he shuddered. + +"A horrid story," he said. + +"A horrid story," repeated the priest with bent head. "But not the real +story." + +Then he threw back his head with a sort of despair and cried: "Oh, I +wish it had been." + +The tall Flambeau faced round and stared at him. + +"Yours is a clean story," cried Father Brown, deeply moved. "A sweet, +pure, honest story, as open and white as that moon. Madness and despair +are innocent enough. There are worse things, Flambeau." + +Flambeau looked up wildly at the moon thus invoked; and from where he +stood one black tree-bough curved across it exactly like a devil's horn. + +"Father--father," cried Flambeau with the French gesture and stepping +yet more rapidly forward, "do you mean it was worse than that?" + +"Worse than that," said Paul like a grave echo. And they plunged into +the black cloister of the woodland, which ran by them in a dim tapestry +of trunks, like one of the dark corridors in a dream. + +They were soon in the most secret entrails of the wood, and felt close +about them foliage that they could not see, when the priest said again: + +"Where does a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest. But what does he do +if there is no forest?" + +"Well, well," cried Flambeau irritably, "what does he do?" + +"He grows a forest to hide it in," said the priest in an obscure voice. +"A fearful sin." + +"Look here," cried his friend impatiently, for the dark wood and the +dark saying got a little on his nerves; "will you tell me this story or +not? What other evidence is there to go on?" + +"There are three more bits of evidence," said the other, "that I have +dug up in holes and corners; and I will give them in logical rather +than chronological order. First of all, of course, our authority for the +issue and event of the battle is in Olivier's own dispatches, which +are lucid enough. He was entrenched with two or three regiments on the +heights that swept down to the Black River, on the other side of which +was lower and more marshy ground. Beyond this again was gently rising +country, on which was the first English outpost, supported by others +which lay, however, considerably in its rear. The British forces as a +whole were greatly superior in numbers; but this particular regiment was +just far enough from its base to make Olivier consider the project of +crossing the river to cut it off. By sunset, however, he had decided to +retain his own position, which was a specially strong one. At daybreak +next morning he was thunderstruck to see that this stray handful of +English, entirely unsupported from their rear, had flung themselves +across the river, half by a bridge to the right, and the other half by a +ford higher up, and were massed upon the marshy bank below him. + +"That they should attempt an attack with such numbers against such a +position was incredible enough; but Olivier noticed something yet more +extraordinary. For instead of attempting to seize more solid ground, +this mad regiment, having put the river in its rear by one wild charge, +did nothing more, but stuck there in the mire like flies in treacle. +Needless to say, the Brazilians blew great gaps in them with artillery, +which they could only return with spirited but lessening rifle fire. Yet +they never broke; and Olivier's curt account ends with a strong tribute +of admiration for the mystic valour of these imbeciles. 'Our line then +advanced finally,' writes Olivier, 'and drove them into the river; +we captured General St. Clare himself and several other officers. The +colonel and the major had both fallen in the battle. I cannot resist +saying that few finer sights can have been seen in history than the last +stand of this extraordinary regiment; wounded officers picking up the +rifles of dead soldiers, and the general himself facing us on horseback +bareheaded and with a broken sword.' On what happened to the general +afterwards Olivier is as silent as Captain Keith." + +"Well," grunted Flambeau, "get on to the next bit of evidence." + +"The next evidence," said Father Brown, "took some time to find, but it +will not take long to tell. I found at last in an almshouse down in the +Lincolnshire Fens an old soldier who not only was wounded at the Black +River, but had actually knelt beside the colonel of the regiment when +he died. This latter was a certain Colonel Clancy, a big bull of an +Irishman; and it would seem that he died almost as much of rage as of +bullets. He, at any rate, was not responsible for that ridiculous raid; +it must have been imposed on him by the general. His last edifying +words, according to my informant, were these: 'And there goes the damned +old donkey with the end of his sword knocked off. I wish it was his +head.' You will remark that everyone seems to have noticed this detail +about the broken sword blade, though most people regard it somewhat +more reverently than did the late Colonel Clancy. And now for the third +fragment." + +Their path through the woodland began to go upward, and the speaker +paused a little for breath before he went on. Then he continued in the +same business-like tone: + +"Only a month or two ago a certain Brazilian official died in England, +having quarrelled with Olivier and left his country. He was a well-known +figure both here and on the Continent, a Spaniard named Espado; I knew +him myself, a yellow-faced old dandy, with a hooked nose. For various +private reasons I had permission to see the documents he had left; he +was a Catholic, of course, and I had been with him towards the end. +There was nothing of his that lit up any corner of the black St. Clare +business, except five or six common exercise books filled with the diary +of some English soldier. I can only suppose that it was found by the +Brazilians on one of those that fell. Anyhow, it stopped abruptly the +night before the battle. + +"But the account of that last day in the poor fellow's life was +certainly worth reading. I have it on me; but it's too dark to read it +here, and I will give you a resume. The first part of that entry is full +of jokes, evidently flung about among the men, about somebody called the +Vulture. It does not seem as if this person, whoever he was, was one of +themselves, nor even an Englishman; neither is he exactly spoken of as +one of the enemy. It sounds rather as if he were some local go-between +and non-combatant; perhaps a guide or a journalist. He has been closeted +with old Colonel Clancy; but is more often seen talking to the major. +Indeed, the major is somewhat prominent in this soldier's narrative; +a lean, dark-haired man, apparently, of the name of Murray--a north of +Ireland man and a Puritan. There are continual jests about the contrast +between this Ulsterman's austerity and the conviviality of +Colonel Clancy. There is also some joke about the Vulture wearing +bright-coloured clothes. + +"But all these levities are scattered by what may well be called the +note of a bugle. Behind the English camp and almost parallel to the +river ran one of the few great roads of that district. Westward the road +curved round towards the river, which it crossed by the bridge before +mentioned. To the east the road swept backwards into the wilds, and some +two miles along it was the next English outpost. From this direction +there came along the road that evening a glitter and clatter of +light cavalry, in which even the simple diarist could recognise with +astonishment the general with his staff. He rode the great white horse +which you have seen so often in illustrated papers and Academy pictures; +and you may be sure that the salute they gave him was not merely +ceremonial. He, at least, wasted no time on ceremony, but, springing +from the saddle immediately, mixed with the group of officers, and fell +into emphatic though confidential speech. What struck our friend the +diarist most was his special disposition to discuss matters with Major +Murray; but, indeed, such a selection, so long as it was not marked, was +in no way unnatural. The two men were made for sympathy; they were men +who 'read their Bibles'; they were both the old Evangelical type of +officer. However this may be, it is certain that when the general +mounted again he was still talking earnestly to Murray; and that as +he walked his horse slowly down the road towards the river, the tall +Ulsterman still walked by his bridle rein in earnest debate. The +soldiers watched the two until they vanished behind a clump of trees +where the road turned towards the river. The colonel had gone back to +his tent, and the men to their pickets; the man with the diary lingered +for another four minutes, and saw a marvellous sight. + +"The great white horse which had marched slowly down the road, as it had +marched in so many processions, flew back, galloping up the road towards +them as if it were mad to win a race. At first they thought it had run +away with the man on its back; but they soon saw that the general, a +fine rider, was himself urging it to full speed. Horse and man swept up +to them like a whirlwind; and then, reining up the reeling charger, the +general turned on them a face like flame, and called for the colonel +like the trumpet that wakes the dead. + +"I conceive that all the earthquake events of that catastrophe tumbled +on top of each other rather like lumber in the minds of men such as our +friend with the diary. With the dazed excitement of a dream, they found +themselves falling--literally falling--into their ranks, and learned +that an attack was to be led at once across the river. The general and +the major, it was said, had found out something at the bridge, and there +was only just time to strike for life. The major had gone back at once +to call up the reserve along the road behind; it was doubtful if even +with that prompt appeal help could reach them in time. But they must +pass the stream that night, and seize the heights by morning. It is with +the very stir and throb of that romantic nocturnal march that the diary +suddenly ends." + +Father Brown had mounted ahead; for the woodland path grew smaller, +steeper, and more twisted, till they felt as if they were ascending +a winding staircase. The priest's voice came from above out of the +darkness. + +"There was one other little and enormous thing. When the general urged +them to their chivalric charge he half drew his sword from the scabbard; +and then, as if ashamed of such melodrama, thrust it back again. The +sword again, you see." + +A half-light broke through the network of boughs above them, flinging +the ghost of a net about their feet; for they were mounting again to the +faint luminosity of the naked night. Flambeau felt truth all round him +as an atmosphere, but not as an idea. He answered with bewildered brain: +"Well, what's the matter with the sword? Officers generally have swords, +don't they?" + +"They are not often mentioned in modern war," said the other +dispassionately; "but in this affair one falls over the blessed sword +everywhere." + +"Well, what is there in that?" growled Flambeau; "it was a twopence +coloured sort of incident; the old man's blade breaking in his last +battle. Anyone might bet the papers would get hold of it, as they have. +On all these tombs and things it's shown broken at the point. I hope you +haven't dragged me through this Polar expedition merely because two men +with an eye for a picture saw St. Clare's broken sword." + +"No," cried Father Brown, with a sharp voice like a pistol shot; "but +who saw his unbroken sword?" + +"What do you mean?" cried the other, and stood still under the stars. +They had come abruptly out of the grey gates of the wood. + +"I say, who saw his unbroken sword?" repeated Father Brown obstinately. +"Not the writer of the diary, anyhow; the general sheathed it in time." + +Flambeau looked about him in the moonlight, as a man struck blind +might look in the sun; and his friend went on, for the first time with +eagerness: + +"Flambeau," he cried, "I cannot prove it, even after hunting through the +tombs. But I am sure of it. Let me add just one more tiny fact that tips +the whole thing over. The colonel, by a strange chance, was one of the +first struck by a bullet. He was struck long before the troops came to +close quarters. But he saw St. Clare's sword broken. Why was it broken? +How was it broken? My friend, it was broken before the battle." + +"Oh!" said his friend, with a sort of forlorn jocularity; "and pray +where is the other piece?" + +"I can tell you," said the priest promptly. "In the northeast corner of +the cemetery of the Protestant Cathedral at Belfast." + +"Indeed?" inquired the other. "Have you looked for it?" + +"I couldn't," replied Brown, with frank regret. "There's a great marble +monument on top of it; a monument to the heroic Major Murray, who fell +fighting gloriously at the famous Battle of the Black River." + +Flambeau seemed suddenly galvanised into existence. "You mean," he cried +hoarsely, "that General St. Clare hated Murray, and murdered him on the +field of battle because--" + +"You are still full of good and pure thoughts," said the other. "It was +worse than that." + +"Well," said the large man, "my stock of evil imagination is used up." + +The priest seemed really doubtful where to begin, and at last he said +again: + +"Where would a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest." + +The other did not answer. + +"If there were no forest, he would make a forest. And if he wished to +hide a dead leaf, he would make a dead forest." + +There was still no reply, and the priest added still more mildly and +quietly: + +"And if a man had to hide a dead body, he would make a field of dead +bodies to hide it in." + +Flambeau began to stamp forward with an intolerance of delay in time +or space; but Father Brown went on as if he were continuing the last +sentence: + +"Sir Arthur St. Clare, as I have already said, was a man who read +his Bible. That was what was the matter with him. When will people +understand that it is useless for a man to read his Bible unless he also +reads everybody else's Bible? A printer reads a Bible for misprints. A +Mormon reads his Bible, and finds polygamy; a Christian Scientist +reads his, and finds we have no arms and legs. St. Clare was an old +Anglo-Indian Protestant soldier. Now, just think what that might +mean; and, for Heaven's sake, don't cant about it. It might mean a man +physically formidable living under a tropic sun in an Oriental society, +and soaking himself without sense or guidance in an Oriental Book. Of +course, he read the Old Testament rather than the New. Of course, he +found in the Old Testament anything that he wanted--lust, tyranny, +treason. Oh, I dare say he was honest, as you call it. But what is the +good of a man being honest in his worship of dishonesty? + +"In each of the hot and secret countries to which the man went he kept a +harem, he tortured witnesses, he amassed shameful gold; but certainly +he would have said with steady eyes that he did it to the glory of the +Lord. My own theology is sufficiently expressed by asking which Lord? +Anyhow, there is this about such evil, that it opens door after door +in hell, and always into smaller and smaller chambers. This is the real +case against crime, that a man does not become wilder and wilder, but +only meaner and meaner. St. Clare was soon suffocated by difficulties of +bribery and blackmail; and needed more and more cash. And by the time of +the Battle of the Black River he had fallen from world to world to that +place which Dante makes the lowest floor of the universe." + +"What do you mean?" asked his friend again. + +"I mean that," retorted the cleric, and suddenly pointed at a puddle +sealed with ice that shone in the moon. "Do you remember whom Dante put +in the last circle of ice?" + +"The traitors," said Flambeau, and shuddered. As he looked around at the +inhuman landscape of trees, with taunting and almost obscene outlines, +he could almost fancy he was Dante, and the priest with the rivulet of a +voice was, indeed, a Virgil leading him through a land of eternal sins. + +The voice went on: "Olivier, as you know, was quixotic, and would not +permit a secret service and spies. The thing, however, was done, like +many other things, behind his back. It was managed by my old friend +Espado; he was the bright-clad fop, whose hook nose got him called the +Vulture. Posing as a sort of philanthropist at the front, he felt his +way through the English Army, and at last got his fingers on its one +corrupt man--please God!--and that man at the top. St. Clare was in foul +need of money, and mountains of it. The discredited family doctor was +threatening those extraordinary exposures that afterwards began and +were broken off; tales of monstrous and prehistoric things in Park Lane; +things done by an English Evangelist that smelt like human sacrifice and +hordes of slaves. Money was wanted, too, for his daughter's dowry; for +to him the fame of wealth was as sweet as wealth itself. He snapped the +last thread, whispered the word to Brazil, and wealth poured in from the +enemies of England. But another man had talked to Espado the Vulture as +well as he. Somehow the dark, grim young major from Ulster had guessed +the hideous truth; and when they walked slowly together down that road +towards the bridge Murray was telling the general that he must resign +instantly, or be court-martialled and shot. The general temporised with +him till they came to the fringe of tropic trees by the bridge; and +there by the singing river and the sunlit palms (for I can see the +picture) the general drew his sabre and plunged it through the body of +the major." + +The wintry road curved over a ridge in cutting frost, with cruel black +shapes of bush and thicket; but Flambeau fancied that he saw beyond it +faintly the edge of an aureole that was not starlight and moonlight, but +some fire such as is made by men. He watched it as the tale drew to its +close. + +"St. Clare was a hell-hound, but he was a hound of breed. Never, I'll +swear, was he so lucid and so strong as when poor Murray lay a cold lump +at his feet. Never in all his triumphs, as Captain Keith said truly, was +the great man so great as he was in this last world-despised defeat. He +looked coolly at his weapon to wipe off the blood; he saw the point he +had planted between his victim's shoulders had broken off in the body. +He saw quite calmly, as through a club windowpane, all that must follow. +He saw that men must find the unaccountable corpse; must extract +the unaccountable sword-point; must notice the unaccountable broken +sword--or absence of sword. He had killed, but not silenced. But his +imperious intellect rose against the facer; there was one way yet. He +could make the corpse less unaccountable. He could create a hill of +corpses to cover this one. In twenty minutes eight hundred English +soldiers were marching down to their death." + +The warmer glow behind the black winter wood grew richer and brighter, +and Flambeau strode on to reach it. Father Brown also quickened his +stride; but he seemed merely absorbed in his tale. + +"Such was the valour of that English thousand, and such the genius of +their commander, that if they had at once attacked the hill, even their +mad march might have met some luck. But the evil mind that played with +them like pawns had other aims and reasons. They must remain in the +marshes by the bridge at least till British corpses should be a +common sight there. Then for the last grand scene; the silver-haired +soldier-saint would give up his shattered sword to save further +slaughter. Oh, it was well organised for an impromptu. But I think (I +cannot prove), I think that it was while they stuck there in the bloody +mire that someone doubted--and someone guessed." + +He was mute a moment, and then said: "There is a voice from nowhere that +tells me the man who guessed was the lover... the man to wed the old +man's child." + +"But what about Olivier and the hanging?" asked Flambeau. + +"Olivier, partly from chivalry, partly from policy, seldom encumbered +his march with captives," explained the narrator. "He released everybody +in most cases. He released everybody in this case." + +"Everybody but the general," said the tall man. + +"Everybody," said the priest. + +Flambeau knit his black brows. "I don't grasp it all yet," he said. + +"There is another picture, Flambeau," said Brown in his more mystical +undertone. "I can't prove it; but I can do more--I can see it. There is +a camp breaking up on the bare, torrid hills at morning, and Brazilian +uniforms massed in blocks and columns to march. There is the red +shirt and long black beard of Olivier, which blows as he stands, his +broad-brimmed hat in his hand. He is saying farewell to the great enemy +he is setting free--the simple, snow-headed English veteran, who +thanks him in the name of his men. The English remnant stand behind +at attention; beside them are stores and vehicles for the retreat. +The drums roll; the Brazilians are moving; the English are still like +statues. So they abide till the last hum and flash of the enemy have +faded from the tropic horizon. Then they alter their postures all at +once, like dead men coming to life; they turn their fifty faces upon the +general--faces not to be forgotten." + +Flambeau gave a great jump. "Ah," he cried, "you don't mean--" + +"Yes," said Father Brown in a deep, moving voice. "It was an English +hand that put the rope round St. Clare's neck; I believe the hand that +put the ring on his daughter's finger. They were English hands that +dragged him up to the tree of shame; the hands of men that had adored +him and followed him to victory. And they were English souls (God pardon +and endure us all!) who stared at him swinging in that foreign sun on +the green gallows of palm, and prayed in their hatred that he might drop +off it into hell." + +As the two topped the ridge there burst on them the strong scarlet light +of a red-curtained English inn. It stood sideways in the road, as if +standing aside in the amplitude of hospitality. Its three doors stood +open with invitation; and even where they stood they could hear the hum +and laughter of humanity happy for a night. + +"I need not tell you more," said Father Brown. "They tried him in the +wilderness and destroyed him; and then, for the honour of England and +of his daughter, they took an oath to seal up for ever the story of the +traitor's purse and the assassin's sword blade. Perhaps--Heaven help +them--they tried to forget it. Let us try to forget it, anyhow; here is +our inn." + +"With all my heart," said Flambeau, and was just striding into the +bright, noisy bar when he stepped back and almost fell on the road. + +"Look there, in the devil's name!" he cried, and pointed rigidly at the +square wooden sign that overhung the road. It showed dimly the crude +shape of a sabre hilt and a shortened blade; and was inscribed in false +archaic lettering, "The Sign of the Broken Sword." + +"Were you not prepared?" asked Father Brown gently. "He is the god of +this country; half the inns and parks and streets are named after him +and his story." + +"I thought we had done with the leper," cried Flambeau, and spat on the +road. + +"You will never have done with him in England," said the priest, looking +down, "while brass is strong and stone abides. His marble statues will +erect the souls of proud, innocent boys for centuries, his village tomb +will smell of loyalty as of lilies. Millions who never knew him shall +love him like a father--this man whom the last few that knew him dealt +with like dung. He shall be a saint; and the truth shall never be told +of him, because I have made up my mind at last. There is so much good +and evil in breaking secrets, that I put my conduct to a test. All these +newspapers will perish; the anti-Brazil boom is already over; Olivier +is already honoured everywhere. But I told myself that if anywhere, by +name, in metal or marble that will endure like the pyramids, Colonel +Clancy, or Captain Keith, or President Olivier, or any innocent man was +wrongly blamed, then I would speak. If it were only that St. Clare was +wrongly praised, I would be silent. And I will." + +They plunged into the red-curtained tavern, which was not only cosy, but +even luxurious inside. On a table stood a silver model of the tomb of +St. Clare, the silver head bowed, the silver sword broken. On the +walls were coloured photographs of the same scene, and of the system +of wagonettes that took tourists to see it. They sat down on the +comfortable padded benches. + +"Come, it's cold," cried Father Brown; "let's have some wine or beer." + +"Or brandy," said Flambeau. + + + + +The Three Tools of Death + + +Both by calling and conviction Father Brown knew better than most of us, +that every man is dignified when he is dead. But even he felt a pang of +incongruity when he was knocked up at daybreak and told that Sir Aaron +Armstrong had been murdered. There was something absurd and unseemly +about secret violence in connection with so entirely entertaining and +popular a figure. For Sir Aaron Armstrong was entertaining to the point +of being comic; and popular in such a manner as to be almost legendary. +It was like hearing that Sunny Jim had hanged himself; or that Mr. +Pickwick had died in Hanwell. For though Sir Aaron was a philanthropist, +and thus dealt with the darker side of our society, he prided himself +on dealing with it in the brightest possible style. His political and +social speeches were cataracts of anecdotes and "loud laughter"; his +bodily health was of a bursting sort; his ethics were all optimism; and +he dealt with the Drink problem (his favourite topic) with that immortal +or even monotonous gaiety which is so often a mark of the prosperous +total abstainer. + +The established story of his conversion was familiar on the more +puritanic platforms and pulpits, how he had been, when only a boy, drawn +away from Scotch theology to Scotch whisky, and how he had risen out of +both and become (as he modestly put it) what he was. Yet his wide +white beard, cherubic face, and sparkling spectacles, at the numberless +dinners and congresses where they appeared, made it hard to believe, +somehow, that he had ever been anything so morbid as either a +dram-drinker or a Calvinist. He was, one felt, the most seriously merry +of all the sons of men. + +He had lived on the rural skirt of Hampstead in a handsome house, high +but not broad, a modern and prosaic tower. The narrowest of its narrow +sides overhung the steep green bank of a railway, and was shaken by +passing trains. Sir Aaron Armstrong, as he boisterously explained, had +no nerves. But if the train had often given a shock to the house, that +morning the tables were turned, and it was the house that gave a shock +to the train. + +The engine slowed down and stopped just beyond that point where an angle +of the house impinged upon the sharp slope of turf. The arrest of most +mechanical things must be slow; but the living cause of this had been +very rapid. A man clad completely in black, even (it was remembered) +to the dreadful detail of black gloves, appeared on the ridge above +the engine, and waved his black hands like some sable windmill. This in +itself would hardly have stopped even a lingering train. But there came +out of him a cry which was talked of afterwards as something utterly +unnatural and new. It was one of those shouts that are horridly distinct +even when we cannot hear what is shouted. The word in this case was +"Murder!" + +But the engine-driver swears he would have pulled up just the same if he +had heard only the dreadful and definite accent and not the word. + +The train once arrested, the most superficial stare could take in many +features of the tragedy. The man in black on the green bank was Sir +Aaron Armstrong's man-servant Magnus. The baronet in his optimism had +often laughed at the black gloves of this dismal attendant; but no one +was likely to laugh at him just now. + +So soon as an inquirer or two had stepped off the line and across the +smoky hedge, they saw, rolled down almost to the bottom of the bank, the +body of an old man in a yellow dressing-gown with a very vivid +scarlet lining. A scrap of rope seemed caught about his leg, entangled +presumably in a struggle. There was a smear or so of blood, though very +little; but the body was bent or broken into a posture impossible to any +living thing. It was Sir Aaron Armstrong. A few more bewildered moments +brought out a big fair-bearded man, whom some travellers could salute +as the dead man's secretary, Patrick Royce, once well known in Bohemian +society and even famous in the Bohemian arts. In a manner more vague, +but even more convincing, he echoed the agony of the servant. By the +time the third figure of that household, Alice Armstrong, daughter of +the dead man, had come already tottering and waving into the garden, the +engine-driver had put a stop to his stoppage. The whistle had blown and +the train had panted on to get help from the next station. + +Father Brown had been thus rapidly summoned at the request of Patrick +Royce, the big ex-Bohemian secretary. Royce was an Irishman by birth; +and that casual kind of Catholic that never remembers his religion +until he is really in a hole. But Royce's request might have been less +promptly complied with if one of the official detectives had not been a +friend and admirer of the unofficial Flambeau; and it was impossible to +be a friend of Flambeau without hearing numberless stories about Father +Brown. Hence, while the young detective (whose name was Merton) led +the little priest across the fields to the railway, their talk was more +confidential than could be expected between two total strangers. + +"As far as I can see," said Mr. Merton candidly, "there is no sense +to be made of it at all. There is nobody one can suspect. Magnus is a +solemn old fool; far too much of a fool to be an assassin. Royce has +been the baronet's best friend for years; and his daughter undoubtedly +adored him. Besides, it's all too absurd. Who would kill such a cheery +old chap as Armstrong? Who could dip his hands in the gore of an +after-dinner speaker? It would be like killing Father Christmas." + +"Yes, it was a cheery house," assented Father Brown. "It was a cheery +house while he was alive. Do you think it will be cheery now he is +dead?" + +Merton started a little and regarded his companion with an enlivened +eye. "Now he is dead?" he repeated. + +"Yes," continued the priest stolidly, "he was cheerful. But did he +communicate his cheerfulness? Frankly, was anyone else in the house +cheerful but he?" + +A window in Merton's mind let in that strange light of surprise in which +we see for the first time things we have known all along. He had often +been to the Armstrongs', on little police jobs of the philanthropist; +and, now he came to think of it, it was in itself a depressing house. +The rooms were very high and very cold; the decoration mean and +provincial; the draughty corridors were lit by electricity that was +bleaker than moonlight. And though the old man's scarlet face and silver +beard had blazed like a bonfire in each room or passage in turn, it did +not leave any warmth behind it. Doubtless this spectral discomfort in +the place was partly due to the very vitality and exuberance of its +owner; he needed no stoves or lamps, he would say, but carried his own +warmth with him. But when Merton recalled the other inmates, he was +compelled to confess that they also were as shadows of their lord. +The moody man-servant, with his monstrous black gloves, was almost a +nightmare; Royce, the secretary, was solid enough, a big bull of a +man, in tweeds, with a short beard; but the straw-coloured beard was +startlingly salted with grey like the tweeds, and the broad forehead was +barred with premature wrinkles. He was good-natured enough also, but it +was a sad sort of good-nature, almost a heart-broken sort--he had the +general air of being some sort of failure in life. As for Armstrong's +daughter, it was almost incredible that she was his daughter; she was so +pallid in colour and sensitive in outline. She was graceful, but there +was a quiver in the very shape of her that was like the lines of an +aspen. Merton had sometimes wondered if she had learnt to quail at the +crash of the passing trains. + +"You see," said Father Brown, blinking modestly, "I'm not sure that the +Armstrong cheerfulness is so very cheerful--for other people. You say +that nobody could kill such a happy old man, but I'm not sure; ne nos +inducas in tentationem. If ever I murdered somebody," he added quite +simply, "I dare say it might be an Optimist." + +"Why?" cried Merton amused. "Do you think people dislike cheerfulness?" + +"People like frequent laughter," answered Father Brown, "but I don't +think they like a permanent smile. Cheerfulness without humour is a very +trying thing." + +They walked some way in silence along the windy grassy bank by the rail, +and just as they came under the far-flung shadow of the tall Armstrong +house, Father Brown said suddenly, like a man throwing away a +troublesome thought rather than offering it seriously: "Of course, drink +is neither good nor bad in itself. But I can't help sometimes feeling +that men like Armstrong want an occasional glass of wine to sadden +them." + +Merton's official superior, a grizzled and capable detective named +Gilder, was standing on the green bank waiting for the coroner, talking +to Patrick Royce, whose big shoulders and bristly beard and hair towered +above him. This was the more noticeable because Royce walked always +with a sort of powerful stoop, and seemed to be going about his small +clerical and domestic duties in a heavy and humbled style, like a +buffalo drawing a go-cart. + +He raised his head with unusual pleasure at the sight of the priest, and +took him a few paces apart. Meanwhile Merton was addressing the +older detective respectfully indeed, but not without a certain boyish +impatience. + +"Well, Mr. Gilder, have you got much farther with the mystery?" + +"There is no mystery," replied Gilder, as he looked under dreamy eyelids +at the rooks. + +"Well, there is for me, at any rate," said Merton, smiling. + +"It is simple enough, my boy," observed the senior investigator, +stroking his grey, pointed beard. "Three minutes after you'd gone for +Mr. Royce's parson the whole thing came out. You know that pasty-faced +servant in the black gloves who stopped the train?" + +"I should know him anywhere. Somehow he rather gave me the creeps." + +"Well," drawled Gilder, "when the train had gone on again, that man had +gone too. Rather a cool criminal, don't you think, to escape by the very +train that went off for the police?" + +"You're pretty sure, I suppose," remarked the young man, "that he really +did kill his master?" + +"Yes, my son, I'm pretty sure," replied Gilder drily, "for the trifling +reason that he has gone off with twenty thousand pounds in papers that +were in his master's desk. No, the only thing worth calling a difficulty +is how he killed him. The skull seems broken as with some big weapon, +but there's no weapon at all lying about, and the murderer would have +found it awkward to carry it away, unless the weapon was too small to be +noticed." + +"Perhaps the weapon was too big to be noticed," said the priest, with an +odd little giggle. + +Gilder looked round at this wild remark, and rather sternly asked Brown +what he meant. + +"Silly way of putting it, I know," said Father Brown apologetically. +"Sounds like a fairy tale. But poor Armstrong was killed with a giant's +club, a great green club, too big to be seen, and which we call the +earth. He was broken against this green bank we are standing on." + +"How do you mean?" asked the detective quickly. + +Father Brown turned his moon face up to the narrow facade of the house +and blinked hopelessly up. Following his eyes, they saw that right at +the top of this otherwise blind back quarter of the building, an attic +window stood open. + +"Don't you see," he explained, pointing a little awkwardly like a child, +"he was thrown down from there?" + +Gilder frowningly scrutinised the window, and then said: "Well, it is +certainly possible. But I don't see why you are so sure about it." + +Brown opened his grey eyes wide. "Why," he said, "there's a bit of rope +round the dead man's leg. Don't you see that other bit of rope up there +caught at the corner of the window?" + +At that height the thing looked like the faintest particle of dust +or hair, but the shrewd old investigator was satisfied. "You're quite +right, sir," he said to Father Brown; "that is certainly one to you." + +Almost as he spoke a special train with one carriage took the curve +of the line on their left, and, stopping, disgorged another group +of policemen, in whose midst was the hangdog visage of Magnus, the +absconded servant. + +"By Jove! they've got him," cried Gilder, and stepped forward with quite +a new alertness. + +"Have you got the money!" he cried to the first policeman. + +The man looked him in the face with a rather curious expression and +said: "No." Then he added: "At least, not here." + +"Which is the inspector, please?" asked the man called Magnus. + +When he spoke everyone instantly understood how this voice had stopped +a train. He was a dull-looking man with flat black hair, a colourless +face, and a faint suggestion of the East in the level slits in his eyes +and mouth. His blood and name, indeed, had remained dubious, ever since +Sir Aaron had "rescued" him from a waitership in a London restaurant, +and (as some said) from more infamous things. But his voice was as vivid +as his face was dead. Whether through exactitude in a foreign language, +or in deference to his master (who had been somewhat deaf), Magnus's +tones had a peculiarly ringing and piercing quality, and the whole group +quite jumped when he spoke. + +"I always knew this would happen," he said aloud with brazen blandness. +"My poor old master made game of me for wearing black; but I always said +I should be ready for his funeral." + +And he made a momentary movement with his two dark-gloved hands. + +"Sergeant," said Inspector Gilder, eyeing the black hands with wrath, +"aren't you putting the bracelets on this fellow; he looks pretty +dangerous." + +"Well, sir," said the sergeant, with the same odd look of wonder, "I +don't know that we can." + +"What do you mean?" asked the other sharply. "Haven't you arrested him?" + +A faint scorn widened the slit-like mouth, and the whistle of an +approaching train seemed oddly to echo the mockery. + +"We arrested him," replied the sergeant gravely, "just as he was coming +out of the police station at Highgate, where he had deposited all his +master's money in the care of Inspector Robinson." + +Gilder looked at the man-servant in utter amazement. "Why on earth did +you do that?" he asked of Magnus. + +"To keep it safe from the criminal, of course," replied that person +placidly. + +"Surely," said Gilder, "Sir Aaron's money might have been safely left +with Sir Aaron's family." + +The tail of his sentence was drowned in the roar of the train as it went +rocking and clanking; but through all the hell of noises to which that +unhappy house was periodically subject, they could hear the syllables of +Magnus's answer, in all their bell-like distinctness: "I have no reason +to feel confidence in Sir Aaron's family." + +All the motionless men had the ghostly sensation of the presence of some +new person; and Merton was scarcely surprised when he looked up and saw +the pale face of Armstrong's daughter over Father Brown's shoulder. She +was still young and beautiful in a silvery style, but her hair was of so +dusty and hueless a brown that in some shadows it seemed to have turned +totally grey. + +"Be careful what you say," said Royce gruffly, "you'll frighten Miss +Armstrong." + +"I hope so," said the man with the clear voice. + +As the woman winced and everyone else wondered, he went on: "I am +somewhat used to Miss Armstrong's tremors. I have seen her trembling off +and on for years. And some said she was shaking with cold and some she +was shaking with fear, but I know she was shaking with hate and wicked +anger--fiends that have had their feast this morning. She would have +been away by now with her lover and all the money but for me. Ever since +my poor old master prevented her from marrying that tipsy blackguard--" + +"Stop," said Gilder very sternly. "We have nothing to do with your +family fancies or suspicions. Unless you have some practical evidence, +your mere opinions--" + +"Oh! I'll give you practical evidence," cut in Magnus, in his hacking +accent. "You'll have to subpoena me, Mr. Inspector, and I shall have to +tell the truth. And the truth is this: An instant after the old man was +pitched bleeding out of the window, I ran into the attic, and found +his daughter swooning on the floor with a red dagger still in her hand. +Allow me to hand that also to the proper authorities." He took from his +tail-pocket a long horn-hilted knife with a red smear on it, and handed +it politely to the sergeant. Then he stood back again, and his slits of +eyes almost faded from his face in one fat Chinese sneer. + +Merton felt an almost bodily sickness at the sight of him; and he +muttered to Gilder: "Surely you would take Miss Armstrong's word against +his?" + +Father Brown suddenly lifted a face so absurdly fresh that it looked +somehow as if he had just washed it. "Yes," he said, radiating +innocence, "but is Miss Armstrong's word against his?" + +The girl uttered a startled, singular little cry; everyone looked at +her. Her figure was rigid as if paralysed; only her face within its +frame of faint brown hair was alive with an appalling surprise. She +stood like one of a sudden lassooed and throttled. + +"This man," said Mr. Gilder gravely, "actually says that you were found +grasping a knife, insensible, after the murder." + +"He says the truth," answered Alice. + +The next fact of which they were conscious was that Patrick Royce strode +with his great stooping head into their ring and uttered the singular +words: "Well, if I've got to go, I'll have a bit of pleasure first." + +His huge shoulder heaved and he sent an iron fist smash into Magnus's +bland Mongolian visage, laying him on the lawn as flat as a starfish. +Two or three of the police instantly put their hands on Royce; but to +the rest it seemed as if all reason had broken up and the universe were +turning into a brainless harlequinade. + +"None of that, Mr. Royce," Gilder had called out authoritatively. "I +shall arrest you for assault." + +"No, you won't," answered the secretary in a voice like an iron gong, +"you will arrest me for murder." + +Gilder threw an alarmed glance at the man knocked down; but since that +outraged person was already sitting up and wiping a little blood off a +substantially uninjured face, he only said shortly: "What do you mean?" + +"It is quite true, as this fellow says," explained Royce, "that Miss +Armstrong fainted with a knife in her hand. But she had not snatched the +knife to attack her father, but to defend him." + +"To defend him," repeated Gilder gravely. "Against whom?" + +"Against me," answered the secretary. + +Alice looked at him with a complex and baffling face; then she said in a +low voice: "After it all, I am still glad you are brave." + +"Come upstairs," said Patrick Royce heavily, "and I will show you the +whole cursed thing." + +The attic, which was the secretary's private place (and rather a small +cell for so large a hermit), had indeed all the vestiges of a violent +drama. Near the centre of the floor lay a large revolver as if flung +away; nearer to the left was rolled a whisky bottle, open but not quite +empty. The cloth of the little table lay dragged and trampled, and a +length of cord, like that found on the corpse, was cast wildly across +the windowsill. Two vases were smashed on the mantelpiece and one on the +carpet. + +"I was drunk," said Royce; and this simplicity in the prematurely +battered man somehow had the pathos of the first sin of a baby. + +"You all know about me," he continued huskily; "everybody knows how my +story began, and it may as well end like that too. I was called a clever +man once, and might have been a happy one; Armstrong saved the remains +of a brain and body from the taverns, and was always kind to me in his +own way, poor fellow! Only he wouldn't let me marry Alice here; and it +will always be said that he was right enough. Well, you can form your +own conclusions, and you won't want me to go into details. That is my +whisky bottle half emptied in the corner; that is my revolver quite +emptied on the carpet. It was the rope from my box that was found on the +corpse, and it was from my window the corpse was thrown. You need not +set detectives to grub up my tragedy; it is a common enough weed in this +world. I give myself to the gallows; and, by God, that is enough!" + +At a sufficiently delicate sign, the police gathered round the large man +to lead him away; but their unobtrusiveness was somewhat staggered by +the remarkable appearance of Father Brown, who was on his hands and +knees on the carpet in the doorway, as if engaged in some kind of +undignified prayers. Being a person utterly insensible to the social +figure he cut, he remained in this posture, but turned a bright round +face up at the company, presenting the appearance of a quadruped with a +very comic human head. + +"I say," he said good-naturedly, "this really won't do at all, you know. +At the beginning you said we'd found no weapon. But now we're finding +too many; there's the knife to stab, and the rope to strangle, and the +pistol to shoot; and after all he broke his neck by falling out of a +window! It won't do. It's not economical." And he shook his head at the +ground as a horse does grazing. + +Inspector Gilder had opened his mouth with serious intentions, but +before he could speak the grotesque figure on the floor had gone on +quite volubly. + +"And now three quite impossible things. First, these holes in the +carpet, where the six bullets have gone in. Why on earth should anybody +fire at the carpet? A drunken man lets fly at his enemy's head, the +thing that's grinning at him. He doesn't pick a quarrel with his feet, +or lay siege to his slippers. And then there's the rope"--and having +done with the carpet the speaker lifted his hands and put them in his +pocket, but continued unaffectedly on his knees--"in what conceivable +intoxication would anybody try to put a rope round a man's neck and +finally put it round his leg? Royce, anyhow, was not so drunk as that, +or he would be sleeping like a log by now. And, plainest of all, the +whisky bottle. You suggest a dipsomaniac fought for the whisky bottle, +and then having won, rolled it away in a corner, spilling one half and +leaving the other. That is the very last thing a dipsomaniac would do." + +He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, and said to the self-accused +murderer in tones of limpid penitence: "I'm awfully sorry, my dear sir, +but your tale is really rubbish." + +"Sir," said Alice Armstrong in a low tone to the priest, "can I speak to +you alone for a moment?" + +This request forced the communicative cleric out of the gangway, and +before he could speak in the next room, the girl was talking with +strange incisiveness. + +"You are a clever man," she said, "and you are trying to save Patrick, +I know. But it's no use. The core of all this is black, and the more +things you find out the more there will be against the miserable man I +love." + +"Why?" asked Brown, looking at her steadily. + +"Because," she answered equally steadily, "I saw him commit the crime +myself." + +"Ah!" said the unmoved Brown, "and what did he do?" + +"I was in this room next to them," she explained; "both doors were +closed, but I suddenly heard a voice, such as I had never heard on +earth, roaring 'Hell, hell, hell,' again and again, and then the two +doors shook with the first explosion of the revolver. Thrice again the +thing banged before I got the two doors open and found the room full of +smoke; but the pistol was smoking in my poor, mad Patrick's hand; and I +saw him fire the last murderous volley with my own eyes. Then he leapt +on my father, who was clinging in terror to the window-sill, and, +grappling, tried to strangle him with the rope, which he threw over his +head, but which slipped over his struggling shoulders to his feet. Then +it tightened round one leg and Patrick dragged him along like a maniac. +I snatched a knife from the mat, and, rushing between them, managed to +cut the rope before I fainted." + +"I see," said Father Brown, with the same wooden civility. "Thank you." + +As the girl collapsed under her memories, the priest passed stiffly +into the next room, where he found Gilder and Merton alone with Patrick +Royce, who sat in a chair, handcuffed. There he said to the Inspector +submissively: + +"Might I say a word to the prisoner in your presence; and might he take +off those funny cuffs for a minute?" + +"He is a very powerful man," said Merton in an undertone. "Why do you +want them taken off?" + +"Why, I thought," replied the priest humbly, "that perhaps I might have +the very great honour of shaking hands with him." + +Both detectives stared, and Father Brown added: "Won't you tell them +about it, sir?" + +The man on the chair shook his tousled head, and the priest turned +impatiently. + +"Then I will," he said. "Private lives are more important than public +reputations. I am going to save the living, and let the dead bury their +dead." + +He went to the fatal window, and blinked out of it as he went on +talking. + +"I told you that in this case there were too many weapons and only one +death. I tell you now that they were not weapons, and were not used to +cause death. All those grisly tools, the noose, the bloody knife, the +exploding pistol, were instruments of a curious mercy. They were not +used to kill Sir Aaron, but to save him." + +"To save him!" repeated Gilder. "And from what?" + +"From himself," said Father Brown. "He was a suicidal maniac." + +"What?" cried Merton in an incredulous tone. "And the Religion of +Cheerfulness--" + +"It is a cruel religion," said the priest, looking out of the window. +"Why couldn't they let him weep a little, like his fathers before him? +His plans stiffened, his views grew cold; behind that merry mask was +the empty mind of the atheist. At last, to keep up his hilarious public +level, he fell back on that dram-drinking he had abandoned long ago. But +there is this horror about alcoholism in a sincere teetotaler: that he +pictures and expects that psychological inferno from which he has warned +others. It leapt upon poor Armstrong prematurely, and by this morning +he was in such a case that he sat here and cried he was in hell, in so +crazy a voice that his daughter did not know it. He was mad for death, +and with the monkey tricks of the mad he had scattered round him death +in many shapes--a running noose and his friend's revolver and a knife. +Royce entered accidentally and acted in a flash. He flung the knife +on the mat behind him, snatched up the revolver, and having no time to +unload it, emptied it shot after shot all over the floor. The suicide +saw a fourth shape of death, and made a dash for the window. The rescuer +did the only thing he could--ran after him with the rope and tried to +tie him hand and foot. Then it was that the unlucky girl ran in, and +misunderstanding the struggle, strove to slash her father free. At first +she only slashed poor Royce's knuckles, from which has come all the +little blood in this affair. But, of course, you noticed that he left +blood, but no wound, on that servant's face? Only before the poor woman +swooned, she did hack her father loose, so that he went crashing through +that window into eternity." + +There was a long stillness slowly broken by the metallic noises of +Gilder unlocking the handcuffs of Patrick Royce, to whom he said: "I +think I should have told the truth, sir. You and the young lady are +worth more than Armstrong's obituary notices." + +"Confound Armstrong's notices," cried Royce roughly. "Don't you see it +was because she mustn't know?" + +"Mustn't know what?" asked Merton. + +"Why, that she killed her father, you fool!" roared the other. "He'd +have been alive now but for her. It might craze her to know that." + +"No, I don't think it would," remarked Father Brown, as he picked up his +hat. "I rather think I should tell her. Even the most murderous blunders +don't poison life like sins; anyhow, I think you may both be the happier +now. I've got to go back to the Deaf School." + +As he went out on to the gusty grass an acquaintance from Highgate +stopped him and said: + +"The Coroner has arrived. The inquiry is just going to begin." + +"I've got to get back to the Deaf School," said Father Brown. "I'm sorry +I can't stop for the inquiry." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Innocence of Father Brown, by G. K. 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K. Chesterton + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's The Innocence of Father Brown, by G. K. Chesterton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Innocence of Father Brown + +Author: G. K. Chesterton + +Release Date: July 6, 2008 [EBook #204] +Last Updated: October 9, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Boss, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By G. K. Chesterton + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> The Blue Cross </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> The Secret Garden </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> The Queer Feet </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> The Flying Stars </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> The Invisible Man </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> The Honour of Israel Gow </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> The Wrong Shape </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> The Sins of Prince Saradine </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> The Hammer of God </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> The Eye of Apollo </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> The Sign of the Broken Sword </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> The Three Tools of Death </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + The Blue Cross + </h2> + <p> + Between the silver ribbon of morning and the green glittering ribbon of + sea, the boat touched Harwich and let loose a swarm of folk like flies, + among whom the man we must follow was by no means conspicuous—nor + wished to be. There was nothing notable about him, except a slight + contrast between the holiday gaiety of his clothes and the official + gravity of his face. His clothes included a slight, pale grey jacket, a + white waistcoat, and a silver straw hat with a grey-blue ribbon. His lean + face was dark by contrast, and ended in a curt black beard that looked + Spanish and suggested an Elizabethan ruff. He was smoking a cigarette with + the seriousness of an idler. There was nothing about him to indicate the + fact that the grey jacket covered a loaded revolver, that the white + waistcoat covered a police card, or that the straw hat covered one of the + most powerful intellects in Europe. For this was Valentin himself, the + head of the Paris police and the most famous investigator of the world; + and he was coming from Brussels to London to make the greatest arrest of + the century. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau was in England. The police of three countries had tracked the + great criminal at last from Ghent to Brussels, from Brussels to the Hook + of Holland; and it was conjectured that he would take some advantage of + the unfamiliarity and confusion of the Eucharistic Congress, then taking + place in London. Probably he would travel as some minor clerk or secretary + connected with it; but, of course, Valentin could not be certain; nobody + could be certain about Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + It is many years now since this colossus of crime suddenly ceased keeping + the world in a turmoil; and when he ceased, as they said after the death + of Roland, there was a great quiet upon the earth. But in his best days (I + mean, of course, his worst) Flambeau was a figure as statuesque and + international as the Kaiser. Almost every morning the daily paper + announced that he had escaped the consequences of one extraordinary crime + by committing another. He was a Gascon of gigantic stature and bodily + daring; and the wildest tales were told of his outbursts of athletic + humour; how he turned the juge d’instruction upside down and stood him on + his head, “to clear his mind”; how he ran down the Rue de Rivoli with a + policeman under each arm. It is due to him to say that his fantastic + physical strength was generally employed in such bloodless though + undignified scenes; his real crimes were chiefly those of ingenious and + wholesale robbery. But each of his thefts was almost a new sin, and would + make a story by itself. It was he who ran the great Tyrolean Dairy Company + in London, with no dairies, no cows, no carts, no milk, but with some + thousand subscribers. These he served by the simple operation of moving + the little milk cans outside people’s doors to the doors of his own + customers. It was he who had kept up an unaccountable and close + correspondence with a young lady whose whole letter-bag was intercepted, + by the extraordinary trick of photographing his messages infinitesimally + small upon the slides of a microscope. A sweeping simplicity, however, + marked many of his experiments. It is said that he once repainted all the + numbers in a street in the dead of night merely to divert one traveller + into a trap. It is quite certain that he invented a portable pillar-box, + which he put up at corners in quiet suburbs on the chance of strangers + dropping postal orders into it. Lastly, he was known to be a startling + acrobat; despite his huge figure, he could leap like a grasshopper and + melt into the tree-tops like a monkey. Hence the great Valentin, when he + set out to find Flambeau, was perfectly aware that his adventures would + not end when he had found him. + </p> + <p> + But how was he to find him? On this the great Valentin’s ideas were still + in process of settlement. + </p> + <p> + There was one thing which Flambeau, with all his dexterity of disguise, + could not cover, and that was his singular height. If Valentin’s quick eye + had caught a tall apple-woman, a tall grenadier, or even a tolerably tall + duchess, he might have arrested them on the spot. But all along his train + there was nobody that could be a disguised Flambeau, any more than a cat + could be a disguised giraffe. About the people on the boat he had already + satisfied himself; and the people picked up at Harwich or on the journey + limited themselves with certainty to six. There was a short railway + official travelling up to the terminus, three fairly short market + gardeners picked up two stations afterwards, one very short widow lady + going up from a small Essex town, and a very short Roman Catholic priest + going up from a small Essex village. When it came to the last case, + Valentin gave it up and almost laughed. The little priest was so much the + essence of those Eastern flats; he had a face as round and dull as a + Norfolk dumpling; he had eyes as empty as the North Sea; he had several + brown paper parcels, which he was quite incapable of collecting. The + Eucharistic Congress had doubtless sucked out of their local stagnation + many such creatures, blind and helpless, like moles disinterred. Valentin + was a sceptic in the severe style of France, and could have no love for + priests. But he could have pity for them, and this one might have provoked + pity in anybody. He had a large, shabby umbrella, which constantly fell on + the floor. He did not seem to know which was the right end of his return + ticket. He explained with a moon-calf simplicity to everybody in the + carriage that he had to be careful, because he had something made of real + silver “with blue stones” in one of his brown-paper parcels. His quaint + blending of Essex flatness with saintly simplicity continuously amused the + Frenchman till the priest arrived (somehow) at Tottenham with all his + parcels, and came back for his umbrella. When he did the last, Valentin + even had the good nature to warn him not to take care of the silver by + telling everybody about it. But to whomever he talked, Valentin kept his + eye open for someone else; he looked out steadily for anyone, rich or + poor, male or female, who was well up to six feet; for Flambeau was four + inches above it. + </p> + <p> + He alighted at Liverpool Street, however, quite conscientiously secure + that he had not missed the criminal so far. He then went to Scotland Yard + to regularise his position and arrange for help in case of need; he then + lit another cigarette and went for a long stroll in the streets of London. + As he was walking in the streets and squares beyond Victoria, he paused + suddenly and stood. It was a quaint, quiet square, very typical of London, + full of an accidental stillness. The tall, flat houses round looked at + once prosperous and uninhabited; the square of shrubbery in the centre + looked as deserted as a green Pacific islet. One of the four sides was + much higher than the rest, like a dais; and the line of this side was + broken by one of London’s admirable accidents—a restaurant that + looked as if it had strayed from Soho. It was an unreasonably attractive + object, with dwarf plants in pots and long, striped blinds of lemon yellow + and white. It stood specially high above the street, and in the usual + patchwork way of London, a flight of steps from the street ran up to meet + the front door almost as a fire-escape might run up to a first-floor + window. Valentin stood and smoked in front of the yellow-white blinds and + considered them long. + </p> + <p> + The most incredible thing about miracles is that they happen. A few clouds + in heaven do come together into the staring shape of one human eye. A tree + does stand up in the landscape of a doubtful journey in the exact and + elaborate shape of a note of interrogation. I have seen both these things + myself within the last few days. Nelson does die in the instant of + victory; and a man named Williams does quite accidentally murder a man + named Williamson; it sounds like a sort of infanticide. In short, there is + in life an element of elfin coincidence which people reckoning on the + prosaic may perpetually miss. As it has been well expressed in the paradox + of Poe, wisdom should reckon on the unforeseen. + </p> + <p> + Aristide Valentin was unfathomably French; and the French intelligence is + intelligence specially and solely. He was not “a thinking machine”; for + that is a brainless phrase of modern fatalism and materialism. A machine + only is a machine because it cannot think. But he was a thinking man, and + a plain man at the same time. All his wonderful successes, that looked + like conjuring, had been gained by plodding logic, by clear and + commonplace French thought. The French electrify the world not by starting + any paradox, they electrify it by carrying out a truism. They carry a + truism so far—as in the French Revolution. But exactly because + Valentin understood reason, he understood the limits of reason. Only a man + who knows nothing of motors talks of motoring without petrol; only a man + who knows nothing of reason talks of reasoning without strong, undisputed + first principles. Here he had no strong first principles. Flambeau had + been missed at Harwich; and if he was in London at all, he might be + anything from a tall tramp on Wimbledon Common to a tall toast-master at + the Hotel Metropole. In such a naked state of nescience, Valentin had a + view and a method of his own. + </p> + <p> + In such cases he reckoned on the unforeseen. In such cases, when he could + not follow the train of the reasonable, he coldly and carefully followed + the train of the unreasonable. Instead of going to the right places—banks, + police stations, rendezvous—he systematically went to the wrong + places; knocked at every empty house, turned down every cul de sac, went + up every lane blocked with rubbish, went round every crescent that led him + uselessly out of the way. He defended this crazy course quite logically. + He said that if one had a clue this was the worst way; but if one had no + clue at all it was the best, because there was just the chance that any + oddity that caught the eye of the pursuer might be the same that had + caught the eye of the pursued. Somewhere a man must begin, and it had + better be just where another man might stop. Something about that flight + of steps up to the shop, something about the quietude and quaintness of + the restaurant, roused all the detective’s rare romantic fancy and made + him resolve to strike at random. He went up the steps, and sitting down at + a table by the window, asked for a cup of black coffee. + </p> + <p> + It was half-way through the morning, and he had not breakfasted; the + slight litter of other breakfasts stood about on the table to remind him + of his hunger; and adding a poached egg to his order, he proceeded + musingly to shake some white sugar into his coffee, thinking all the time + about Flambeau. He remembered how Flambeau had escaped, once by a pair of + nail scissors, and once by a house on fire; once by having to pay for an + unstamped letter, and once by getting people to look through a telescope + at a comet that might destroy the world. He thought his detective brain as + good as the criminal’s, which was true. But he fully realised the + disadvantage. “The criminal is the creative artist; the detective only the + critic,” he said with a sour smile, and lifted his coffee cup to his lips + slowly, and put it down very quickly. He had put salt in it. + </p> + <p> + He looked at the vessel from which the silvery powder had come; it was + certainly a sugar-basin; as unmistakably meant for sugar as a + champagne-bottle for champagne. He wondered why they should keep salt in + it. He looked to see if there were any more orthodox vessels. Yes; there + were two salt-cellars quite full. Perhaps there was some speciality in the + condiment in the salt-cellars. He tasted it; it was sugar. Then he looked + round at the restaurant with a refreshed air of interest, to see if there + were any other traces of that singular artistic taste which puts the sugar + in the salt-cellars and the salt in the sugar-basin. Except for an odd + splash of some dark fluid on one of the white-papered walls, the whole + place appeared neat, cheerful and ordinary. He rang the bell for the + waiter. + </p> + <p> + When that official hurried up, fuzzy-haired and somewhat blear-eyed at + that early hour, the detective (who was not without an appreciation of the + simpler forms of humour) asked him to taste the sugar and see if it was up + to the high reputation of the hotel. The result was that the waiter yawned + suddenly and woke up. + </p> + <p> + “Do you play this delicate joke on your customers every morning?” inquired + Valentin. “Does changing the salt and sugar never pall on you as a jest?” + </p> + <p> + The waiter, when this irony grew clearer, stammeringly assured him that + the establishment had certainly no such intention; it must be a most + curious mistake. He picked up the sugar-basin and looked at it; he picked + up the salt-cellar and looked at that, his face growing more and more + bewildered. At last he abruptly excused himself, and hurrying away, + returned in a few seconds with the proprietor. The proprietor also + examined the sugar-basin and then the salt-cellar; the proprietor also + looked bewildered. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the waiter seemed to grow inarticulate with a rush of words. + </p> + <p> + “I zink,” he stuttered eagerly, “I zink it is those two clergy-men.” + </p> + <p> + “What two clergymen?” + </p> + <p> + “The two clergymen,” said the waiter, “that threw soup at the wall.” + </p> + <p> + “Threw soup at the wall?” repeated Valentin, feeling sure this must be + some singular Italian metaphor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said the attendant excitedly, and pointed at the dark splash + on the white paper; “threw it over there on the wall.” + </p> + <p> + Valentin looked his query at the proprietor, who came to his rescue with + fuller reports. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” he said, “it’s quite true, though I don’t suppose it has + anything to do with the sugar and salt. Two clergymen came in and drank + soup here very early, as soon as the shutters were taken down. They were + both very quiet, respectable people; one of them paid the bill and went + out; the other, who seemed a slower coach altogether, was some minutes + longer getting his things together. But he went at last. Only, the instant + before he stepped into the street he deliberately picked up his cup, which + he had only half emptied, and threw the soup slap on the wall. I was in + the back room myself, and so was the waiter; so I could only rush out in + time to find the wall splashed and the shop empty. It don’t do any + particular damage, but it was confounded cheek; and I tried to catch the + men in the street. They were too far off though; I only noticed they went + round the next corner into Carstairs Street.” + </p> + <p> + The detective was on his feet, hat settled and stick in hand. He had + already decided that in the universal darkness of his mind he could only + follow the first odd finger that pointed; and this finger was odd enough. + Paying his bill and clashing the glass doors behind him, he was soon + swinging round into the other street. + </p> + <p> + It was fortunate that even in such fevered moments his eye was cool and + quick. Something in a shop-front went by him like a mere flash; yet he + went back to look at it. The shop was a popular greengrocer and + fruiterer’s, an array of goods set out in the open air and plainly + ticketed with their names and prices. In the two most prominent + compartments were two heaps, of oranges and of nuts respectively. On the + heap of nuts lay a scrap of cardboard, on which was written in bold, blue + chalk, “Best tangerine oranges, two a penny.” On the oranges was the + equally clear and exact description, “Finest Brazil nuts, 4d. a lb.” M. + Valentin looked at these two placards and fancied he had met this highly + subtle form of humour before, and that somewhat recently. He drew the + attention of the red-faced fruiterer, who was looking rather sullenly up + and down the street, to this inaccuracy in his advertisements. The + fruiterer said nothing, but sharply put each card into its proper place. + The detective, leaning elegantly on his walking-cane, continued to + scrutinise the shop. At last he said, “Pray excuse my apparent + irrelevance, my good sir, but I should like to ask you a question in + experimental psychology and the association of ideas.” + </p> + <p> + The red-faced shopman regarded him with an eye of menace; but he continued + gaily, swinging his cane, “Why,” he pursued, “why are two tickets wrongly + placed in a greengrocer’s shop like a shovel hat that has come to London + for a holiday? Or, in case I do not make myself clear, what is the + mystical association which connects the idea of nuts marked as oranges + with the idea of two clergymen, one tall and the other short?” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the tradesman stood out of his head like a snail’s; he really + seemed for an instant likely to fling himself upon the stranger. At last + he stammered angrily: “I don’t know what you ‘ave to do with it, but if + you’re one of their friends, you can tell ‘em from me that I’ll knock + their silly ‘eads off, parsons or no parsons, if they upset my apples + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” asked the detective, with great sympathy. “Did they upset your + apples?” + </p> + <p> + “One of ‘em did,” said the heated shopman; “rolled ‘em all over the + street. I’d ‘ave caught the fool but for havin’ to pick ‘em up.” + </p> + <p> + “Which way did these parsons go?” asked Valentin. + </p> + <p> + “Up that second road on the left-hand side, and then across the square,” + said the other promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” replied Valentin, and vanished like a fairy. On the other side + of the second square he found a policeman, and said: “This is urgent, + constable; have you seen two clergymen in shovel hats?” + </p> + <p> + The policeman began to chuckle heavily. “I ‘ave, sir; and if you arst me, + one of ‘em was drunk. He stood in the middle of the road that bewildered + that—” + </p> + <p> + “Which way did they go?” snapped Valentin. + </p> + <p> + “They took one of them yellow buses over there,” answered the man; “them + that go to Hampstead.” + </p> + <p> + Valentin produced his official card and said very rapidly: “Call up two of + your men to come with me in pursuit,” and crossed the road with such + contagious energy that the ponderous policeman was moved to almost agile + obedience. In a minute and a half the French detective was joined on the + opposite pavement by an inspector and a man in plain clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” began the former, with smiling importance, “and what may—?” + </p> + <p> + Valentin pointed suddenly with his cane. “I’ll tell you on the top of that + omnibus,” he said, and was darting and dodging across the tangle of the + traffic. When all three sank panting on the top seats of the yellow + vehicle, the inspector said: “We could go four times as quick in a taxi.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true,” replied their leader placidly, “if we only had an idea of + where we were going.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, where are you going?” asked the other, staring. + </p> + <p> + Valentin smoked frowningly for a few seconds; then, removing his + cigarette, he said: “If you know what a man’s doing, get in front of him; + but if you want to guess what he’s doing, keep behind him. Stray when he + strays; stop when he stops; travel as slowly as he. Then you may see what + he saw and may act as he acted. All we can do is to keep our eyes skinned + for a queer thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of queer thing do you mean?” asked the inspector. + </p> + <p> + “Any sort of queer thing,” answered Valentin, and relapsed into obstinate + silence. + </p> + <p> + The yellow omnibus crawled up the northern roads for what seemed like + hours on end; the great detective would not explain further, and perhaps + his assistants felt a silent and growing doubt of his errand. Perhaps, + also, they felt a silent and growing desire for lunch, for the hours crept + long past the normal luncheon hour, and the long roads of the North London + suburbs seemed to shoot out into length after length like an infernal + telescope. It was one of those journeys on which a man perpetually feels + that now at last he must have come to the end of the universe, and then + finds he has only come to the beginning of Tufnell Park. London died away + in draggled taverns and dreary scrubs, and then was unaccountably born + again in blazing high streets and blatant hotels. It was like passing + through thirteen separate vulgar cities all just touching each other. But + though the winter twilight was already threatening the road ahead of them, + the Parisian detective still sat silent and watchful, eyeing the frontage + of the streets that slid by on either side. By the time they had left + Camden Town behind, the policemen were nearly asleep; at least, they gave + something like a jump as Valentin leapt erect, struck a hand on each man’s + shoulder, and shouted to the driver to stop. + </p> + <p> + They tumbled down the steps into the road without realising why they had + been dislodged; when they looked round for enlightenment they found + Valentin triumphantly pointing his finger towards a window on the left + side of the road. It was a large window, forming part of the long facade + of a gilt and palatial public-house; it was the part reserved for + respectable dining, and labelled “Restaurant.” This window, like all the + rest along the frontage of the hotel, was of frosted and figured glass; + but in the middle of it was a big, black smash, like a star in the ice. + </p> + <p> + “Our cue at last,” cried Valentin, waving his stick; “the place with the + broken window.” + </p> + <p> + “What window? What cue?” asked his principal assistant. “Why, what proof + is there that this has anything to do with them?” + </p> + <p> + Valentin almost broke his bamboo stick with rage. + </p> + <p> + “Proof!” he cried. “Good God! the man is looking for proof! Why, of + course, the chances are twenty to one that it has nothing to do with them. + But what else can we do? Don’t you see we must either follow one wild + possibility or else go home to bed?” He banged his way into the + restaurant, followed by his companions, and they were soon seated at a + late luncheon at a little table, and looked at the star of smashed glass + from the inside. Not that it was very informative to them even then. + </p> + <p> + “Got your window broken, I see,” said Valentin to the waiter as he paid + the bill. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” answered the attendant, bending busily over the change, to + which Valentin silently added an enormous tip. The waiter straightened + himself with mild but unmistakable animation. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, sir,” he said. “Very odd thing, that, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” Tell us about it,” said the detective with careless curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, two gents in black came in,” said the waiter; “two of those foreign + parsons that are running about. They had a cheap and quiet little lunch, + and one of them paid for it and went out. The other was just going out to + join him when I looked at my change again and found he’d paid me more than + three times too much. ‘Here,’ I says to the chap who was nearly out of the + door, ‘you’ve paid too much.’ ‘Oh,’ he says, very cool, ‘have we?’ ‘Yes,’ + I says, and picks up the bill to show him. Well, that was a knock-out.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked his interlocutor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’d have sworn on seven Bibles that I’d put 4s. on that bill. But + now I saw I’d put 14s., as plain as paint.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” cried Valentin, moving slowly, but with burning eyes, “and then?” + </p> + <p> + “The parson at the door he says all serene, ‘Sorry to confuse your + accounts, but it’ll pay for the window.’ ‘What window?’ I says. ‘The one + I’m going to break,’ he says, and smashed that blessed pane with his + umbrella.” + </p> + <p> + All three inquirers made an exclamation; and the inspector said under his + breath, “Are we after escaped lunatics?” The waiter went on with some + relish for the ridiculous story: + </p> + <p> + “I was so knocked silly for a second, I couldn’t do anything. The man + marched out of the place and joined his friend just round the corner. Then + they went so quick up Bullock Street that I couldn’t catch them, though I + ran round the bars to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Bullock Street,” said the detective, and shot up that thoroughfare as + quickly as the strange couple he pursued. + </p> + <p> + Their journey now took them through bare brick ways like tunnels; streets + with few lights and even with few windows; streets that seemed built out + of the blank backs of everything and everywhere. Dusk was deepening, and + it was not easy even for the London policemen to guess in what exact + direction they were treading. The inspector, however, was pretty certain + that they would eventually strike some part of Hampstead Heath. Abruptly + one bulging gas-lit window broke the blue twilight like a bull’s-eye + lantern; and Valentin stopped an instant before a little garish sweetstuff + shop. After an instant’s hesitation he went in; he stood amid the gaudy + colours of the confectionery with entire gravity and bought thirteen + chocolate cigars with a certain care. He was clearly preparing an opening; + but he did not need one. + </p> + <p> + An angular, elderly young woman in the shop had regarded his elegant + appearance with a merely automatic inquiry; but when she saw the door + behind him blocked with the blue uniform of the inspector, her eyes seemed + to wake up. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “if you’ve come about that parcel, I’ve sent it off + already.” + </p> + <p> + “Parcel?” repeated Valentin; and it was his turn to look inquiring. + </p> + <p> + “I mean the parcel the gentleman left—the clergyman gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “For goodness’ sake,” said Valentin, leaning forward with his first real + confession of eagerness, “for Heaven’s sake tell us what happened + exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the woman a little doubtfully, “the clergymen came in about + half an hour ago and bought some peppermints and talked a bit, and then + went off towards the Heath. But a second after, one of them runs back into + the shop and says, ‘Have I left a parcel!’ Well, I looked everywhere and + couldn’t see one; so he says, ‘Never mind; but if it should turn up, + please post it to this address,’ and he left me the address and a shilling + for my trouble. And sure enough, though I thought I’d looked everywhere, I + found he’d left a brown paper parcel, so I posted it to the place he said. + I can’t remember the address now; it was somewhere in Westminster. But as + the thing seemed so important, I thought perhaps the police had come about + it.” + </p> + <p> + “So they have,” said Valentin shortly. “Is Hampstead Heath near here?” + </p> + <p> + “Straight on for fifteen minutes,” said the woman, “and you’ll come right + out on the open.” Valentin sprang out of the shop and began to run. The + other detectives followed him at a reluctant trot. + </p> + <p> + The street they threaded was so narrow and shut in by shadows that when + they came out unexpectedly into the void common and vast sky they were + startled to find the evening still so light and clear. A perfect dome of + peacock-green sank into gold amid the blackening trees and the dark violet + distances. The glowing green tint was just deep enough to pick out in + points of crystal one or two stars. All that was left of the daylight lay + in a golden glitter across the edge of Hampstead and that popular hollow + which is called the Vale of Health. The holiday makers who roam this + region had not wholly dispersed; a few couples sat shapelessly on benches; + and here and there a distant girl still shrieked in one of the swings. The + glory of heaven deepened and darkened around the sublime vulgarity of man; + and standing on the slope and looking across the valley, Valentin beheld + the thing which he sought. + </p> + <p> + Among the black and breaking groups in that distance was one especially + black which did not break—a group of two figures clerically clad. + Though they seemed as small as insects, Valentin could see that one of + them was much smaller than the other. Though the other had a student’s + stoop and an inconspicuous manner, he could see that the man was well over + six feet high. He shut his teeth and went forward, whirling his stick + impatiently. By the time he had substantially diminished the distance and + magnified the two black figures as in a vast microscope, he had perceived + something else; something which startled him, and yet which he had somehow + expected. Whoever was the tall priest, there could be no doubt about the + identity of the short one. It was his friend of the Harwich train, the + stumpy little cure of Essex whom he had warned about his brown paper + parcels. + </p> + <p> + Now, so far as this went, everything fitted in finally and rationally + enough. Valentin had learned by his inquiries that morning that a Father + Brown from Essex was bringing up a silver cross with sapphires, a relic of + considerable value, to show some of the foreign priests at the congress. + This undoubtedly was the “silver with blue stones”; and Father Brown + undoubtedly was the little greenhorn in the train. Now there was nothing + wonderful about the fact that what Valentin had found out Flambeau had + also found out; Flambeau found out everything. Also there was nothing + wonderful in the fact that when Flambeau heard of a sapphire cross he + should try to steal it; that was the most natural thing in all natural + history. And most certainly there was nothing wonderful about the fact + that Flambeau should have it all his own way with such a silly sheep as + the man with the umbrella and the parcels. He was the sort of man whom + anybody could lead on a string to the North Pole; it was not surprising + that an actor like Flambeau, dressed as another priest, could lead him to + Hampstead Heath. So far the crime seemed clear enough; and while the + detective pitied the priest for his helplessness, he almost despised + Flambeau for condescending to so gullible a victim. But when Valentin + thought of all that had happened in between, of all that had led him to + his triumph, he racked his brains for the smallest rhyme or reason in it. + What had the stealing of a blue-and-silver cross from a priest from Essex + to do with chucking soup at wall paper? What had it to do with calling + nuts oranges, or with paying for windows first and breaking them + afterwards? He had come to the end of his chase; yet somehow he had missed + the middle of it. When he failed (which was seldom), he had usually + grasped the clue, but nevertheless missed the criminal. Here he had + grasped the criminal, but still he could not grasp the clue. + </p> + <p> + The two figures that they followed were crawling like black flies across + the huge green contour of a hill. They were evidently sunk in + conversation, and perhaps did not notice where they were going; but they + were certainly going to the wilder and more silent heights of the Heath. + As their pursuers gained on them, the latter had to use the undignified + attitudes of the deer-stalker, to crouch behind clumps of trees and even + to crawl prostrate in deep grass. By these ungainly ingenuities the + hunters even came close enough to the quarry to hear the murmur of the + discussion, but no word could be distinguished except the word “reason” + recurring frequently in a high and almost childish voice. Once over an + abrupt dip of land and a dense tangle of thickets, the detectives actually + lost the two figures they were following. They did not find the trail + again for an agonising ten minutes, and then it led round the brow of a + great dome of hill overlooking an amphitheatre of rich and desolate sunset + scenery. Under a tree in this commanding yet neglected spot was an old + ramshackle wooden seat. On this seat sat the two priests still in serious + speech together. The gorgeous green and gold still clung to the darkening + horizon; but the dome above was turning slowly from peacock-green to + peacock-blue, and the stars detached themselves more and more like solid + jewels. Mutely motioning to his followers, Valentin contrived to creep up + behind the big branching tree, and, standing there in deathly silence, + heard the words of the strange priests for the first time. + </p> + <p> + After he had listened for a minute and a half, he was gripped by a + devilish doubt. Perhaps he had dragged the two English policemen to the + wastes of a nocturnal heath on an errand no saner than seeking figs on its + thistles. For the two priests were talking exactly like priests, piously, + with learning and leisure, about the most aerial enigmas of theology. The + little Essex priest spoke the more simply, with his round face turned to + the strengthening stars; the other talked with his head bowed, as if he + were not even worthy to look at them. But no more innocently clerical + conversation could have been heard in any white Italian cloister or black + Spanish cathedral. + </p> + <p> + The first he heard was the tail of one of Father Brown’s sentences, which + ended: “... what they really meant in the Middle Ages by the heavens being + incorruptible.” + </p> + <p> + The taller priest nodded his bowed head and said: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, these modern infidels appeal to their reason; but who can look + at those millions of worlds and not feel that there may well be wonderful + universes above us where reason is utterly unreasonable?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the other priest; “reason is always reasonable, even in the + last limbo, in the lost borderland of things. I know that people charge + the Church with lowering reason, but it is just the other way. Alone on + earth, the Church makes reason really supreme. Alone on earth, the Church + affirms that God himself is bound by reason.” + </p> + <p> + The other priest raised his austere face to the spangled sky and said: + </p> + <p> + “Yet who knows if in that infinite universe—?” + </p> + <p> + “Only infinite physically,” said the little priest, turning sharply in his + seat, “not infinite in the sense of escaping from the laws of truth.” + </p> + <p> + Valentin behind his tree was tearing his fingernails with silent fury. He + seemed almost to hear the sniggers of the English detectives whom he had + brought so far on a fantastic guess only to listen to the metaphysical + gossip of two mild old parsons. In his impatience he lost the equally + elaborate answer of the tall cleric, and when he listened again it was + again Father Brown who was speaking: + </p> + <p> + “Reason and justice grip the remotest and the loneliest star. Look at + those stars. Don’t they look as if they were single diamonds and + sapphires? Well, you can imagine any mad botany or geology you please. + Think of forests of adamant with leaves of brilliants. Think the moon is a + blue moon, a single elephantine sapphire. But don’t fancy that all that + frantic astronomy would make the smallest difference to the reason and + justice of conduct. On plains of opal, under cliffs cut out of pearl, you + would still find a notice-board, ‘Thou shalt not steal.’” + </p> + <p> + Valentin was just in the act of rising from his rigid and crouching + attitude and creeping away as softly as might be, felled by the one great + folly of his life. But something in the very silence of the tall priest + made him stop until the latter spoke. When at last he did speak, he said + simply, his head bowed and his hands on his knees: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think that other worlds may perhaps rise higher than our reason. + The mystery of heaven is unfathomable, and I for one can only bow my + head.” + </p> + <p> + Then, with brow yet bent and without changing by the faintest shade his + attitude or voice, he added: + </p> + <p> + “Just hand over that sapphire cross of yours, will you? We’re all alone + here, and I could pull you to pieces like a straw doll.” + </p> + <p> + The utterly unaltered voice and attitude added a strange violence to that + shocking change of speech. But the guarder of the relic only seemed to + turn his head by the smallest section of the compass. He seemed still to + have a somewhat foolish face turned to the stars. Perhaps he had not + understood. Or, perhaps, he had understood and sat rigid with terror. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the tall priest, in the same low voice and in the same still + posture, “yes, I am Flambeau.” + </p> + <p> + Then, after a pause, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Come, will you give me that cross?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the other, and the monosyllable had an odd sound. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau suddenly flung off all his pontifical pretensions. The great + robber leaned back in his seat and laughed low but long. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he cried, “you won’t give it me, you proud prelate. You won’t give + it me, you little celibate simpleton. Shall I tell you why you won’t give + it me? Because I’ve got it already in my own breast-pocket.” + </p> + <p> + The small man from Essex turned what seemed to be a dazed face in the + dusk, and said, with the timid eagerness of “The Private Secretary”: + </p> + <p> + “Are—are you sure?” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau yelled with delight. + </p> + <p> + “Really, you’re as good as a three-act farce,” he cried. “Yes, you turnip, + I am quite sure. I had the sense to make a duplicate of the right parcel, + and now, my friend, you’ve got the duplicate and I’ve got the jewels. An + old dodge, Father Brown—a very old dodge.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Father Brown, and passed his hand through his hair with the + same strange vagueness of manner. “Yes, I’ve heard of it before.” + </p> + <p> + The colossus of crime leaned over to the little rustic priest with a sort + of sudden interest. + </p> + <p> + “You have heard of it?” he asked. “Where have you heard of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I mustn’t tell you his name, of course,” said the little man + simply. “He was a penitent, you know. He had lived prosperously for about + twenty years entirely on duplicate brown paper parcels. And so, you see, + when I began to suspect you, I thought of this poor chap’s way of doing it + at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Began to suspect me?” repeated the outlaw with increased intensity. “Did + you really have the gumption to suspect me just because I brought you up + to this bare part of the heath?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Brown with an air of apology. “You see, I suspected you + when we first met. It’s that little bulge up the sleeve where you people + have the spiked bracelet.” + </p> + <p> + “How in Tartarus,” cried Flambeau, “did you ever hear of the spiked + bracelet?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, one’s little flock, you know!” said Father Brown, arching his + eyebrows rather blankly. “When I was a curate in Hartlepool, there were + three of them with spiked bracelets. So, as I suspected you from the + first, don’t you see, I made sure that the cross should go safe, anyhow. + I’m afraid I watched you, you know. So at last I saw you change the + parcels. Then, don’t you see, I changed them back again. And then I left + the right one behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Left it behind?” repeated Flambeau, and for the first time there was + another note in his voice beside his triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was like this,” said the little priest, speaking in the same + unaffected way. “I went back to that sweet-shop and asked if I’d left a + parcel, and gave them a particular address if it turned up. Well, I knew I + hadn’t; but when I went away again I did. So, instead of running after me + with that valuable parcel, they have sent it flying to a friend of mine in + Westminster.” Then he added rather sadly: “I learnt that, too, from a poor + fellow in Hartlepool. He used to do it with handbags he stole at railway + stations, but he’s in a monastery now. Oh, one gets to know, you know,” he + added, rubbing his head again with the same sort of desperate apology. “We + can’t help being priests. People come and tell us these things.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau tore a brown-paper parcel out of his inner pocket and rent it in + pieces. There was nothing but paper and sticks of lead inside it. He + sprang to his feet with a gigantic gesture, and cried: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe a bumpkin like you could manage all + that. I believe you’ve still got the stuff on you, and if you don’t give + it up—why, we’re all alone, and I’ll take it by force!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Father Brown simply, and stood up also, “you won’t take it by + force. First, because I really haven’t still got it. And, second, because + we are not alone.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau stopped in his stride forward. + </p> + <p> + “Behind that tree,” said Father Brown, pointing, “are two strong policemen + and the greatest detective alive. How did they come here, do you ask? Why, + I brought them, of course! How did I do it? Why, I’ll tell you if you + like! Lord bless you, we have to know twenty such things when we work + among the criminal classes! Well, I wasn’t sure you were a thief, and it + would never do to make a scandal against one of our own clergy. So I just + tested you to see if anything would make you show yourself. A man + generally makes a small scene if he finds salt in his coffee; if he + doesn’t, he has some reason for keeping quiet. I changed the salt and + sugar, and you kept quiet. A man generally objects if his bill is three + times too big. If he pays it, he has some motive for passing unnoticed. I + altered your bill, and you paid it.” + </p> + <p> + The world seemed waiting for Flambeau to leap like a tiger. But he was + held back as by a spell; he was stunned with the utmost curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” went on Father Brown, with lumbering lucidity, “as you wouldn’t + leave any tracks for the police, of course somebody had to. At every place + we went to, I took care to do something that would get us talked about for + the rest of the day. I didn’t do much harm—a splashed wall, spilt + apples, a broken window; but I saved the cross, as the cross will always + be saved. It is at Westminster by now. I rather wonder you didn’t stop it + with the Donkey’s Whistle.” + </p> + <p> + “With the what?” asked Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad you’ve never heard of it,” said the priest, making a face. “It’s + a foul thing. I’m sure you’re too good a man for a Whistler. I couldn’t + have countered it even with the Spots myself; I’m not strong enough in the + legs.” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth are you talking about?” asked the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I did think you’d know the Spots,” said Father Brown, agreeably + surprised. “Oh, you can’t have gone so very wrong yet!” + </p> + <p> + “How in blazes do you know all these horrors?” cried Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + The shadow of a smile crossed the round, simple face of his clerical + opponent. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, by being a celibate simpleton, I suppose,” he said. “Has it never + struck you that a man who does next to nothing but hear men’s real sins is + not likely to be wholly unaware of human evil? But, as a matter of fact, + another part of my trade, too, made me sure you weren’t a priest.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked the thief, almost gaping. + </p> + <p> + “You attacked reason,” said Father Brown. “It’s bad theology.” + </p> + <p> + And even as he turned away to collect his property, the three policemen + came out from under the twilight trees. Flambeau was an artist and a + sportsman. He stepped back and swept Valentin a great bow. + </p> + <p> + “Do not bow to me, mon ami,” said Valentin with silver clearness. “Let us + both bow to our master.” + </p> + <p> + And they both stood an instant uncovered while the little Essex priest + blinked about for his umbrella. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Secret Garden + </h2> + <p> + Aristide Valentin, Chief of the Paris Police, was late for his dinner, and + some of his guests began to arrive before him. These were, however, + reassured by his confidential servant, Ivan, the old man with a scar, and + a face almost as grey as his moustaches, who always sat at a table in the + entrance hall—a hall hung with weapons. Valentin’s house was perhaps + as peculiar and celebrated as its master. It was an old house, with high + walls and tall poplars almost overhanging the Seine; but the oddity—and + perhaps the police value—of its architecture was this: that there + was no ultimate exit at all except through this front door, which was + guarded by Ivan and the armoury. The garden was large and elaborate, and + there were many exits from the house into the garden. But there was no + exit from the garden into the world outside; all round it ran a tall, + smooth, unscalable wall with special spikes at the top; no bad garden, + perhaps, for a man to reflect in whom some hundred criminals had sworn to + kill. + </p> + <p> + As Ivan explained to the guests, their host had telephoned that he was + detained for ten minutes. He was, in truth, making some last arrangements + about executions and such ugly things; and though these duties were + rootedly repulsive to him, he always performed them with precision. + Ruthless in the pursuit of criminals, he was very mild about their + punishment. Since he had been supreme over French—and largely over + European—policial methods, his great influence had been honourably + used for the mitigation of sentences and the purification of prisons. He + was one of the great humanitarian French freethinkers; and the only thing + wrong with them is that they make mercy even colder than justice. + </p> + <p> + When Valentin arrived he was already dressed in black clothes and the red + rosette—an elegant figure, his dark beard already streaked with + grey. He went straight through his house to his study, which opened on the + grounds behind. The garden door of it was open, and after he had carefully + locked his box in its official place, he stood for a few seconds at the + open door looking out upon the garden. A sharp moon was fighting with the + flying rags and tatters of a storm, and Valentin regarded it with a + wistfulness unusual in such scientific natures as his. Perhaps such + scientific natures have some psychic prevision of the most tremendous + problem of their lives. From any such occult mood, at least, he quickly + recovered, for he knew he was late, and that his guests had already begun + to arrive. A glance at his drawing-room when he entered it was enough to + make certain that his principal guest was not there, at any rate. He saw + all the other pillars of the little party; he saw Lord Galloway, the + English Ambassador—a choleric old man with a russet face like an + apple, wearing the blue ribbon of the Garter. He saw Lady Galloway, slim + and threadlike, with silver hair and a face sensitive and superior. He saw + her daughter, Lady Margaret Graham, a pale and pretty girl with an elfish + face and copper-coloured hair. He saw the Duchess of Mont St. Michel, + black-eyed and opulent, and with her her two daughters, black-eyed and + opulent also. He saw Dr. Simon, a typical French scientist, with glasses, + a pointed brown beard, and a forehead barred with those parallel wrinkles + which are the penalty of superciliousness, since they come through + constantly elevating the eyebrows. He saw Father Brown, of Cobhole, in + Essex, whom he had recently met in England. He saw—perhaps with more + interest than any of these—a tall man in uniform, who had bowed to + the Galloways without receiving any very hearty acknowledgment, and who + now advanced alone to pay his respects to his host. This was Commandant + O’Brien, of the French Foreign Legion. He was a slim yet somewhat + swaggering figure, clean-shaven, dark-haired, and blue-eyed, and, as + seemed natural in an officer of that famous regiment of victorious + failures and successful suicides, he had an air at once dashing and + melancholy. He was by birth an Irish gentleman, and in boyhood had known + the Galloways—especially Margaret Graham. He had left his country + after some crash of debts, and now expressed his complete freedom from + British etiquette by swinging about in uniform, sabre and spurs. When he + bowed to the Ambassador’s family, Lord and Lady Galloway bent stiffly, and + Lady Margaret looked away. + </p> + <p> + But for whatever old causes such people might be interested in each other, + their distinguished host was not specially interested in them. No one of + them at least was in his eyes the guest of the evening. Valentin was + expecting, for special reasons, a man of world-wide fame, whose friendship + he had secured during some of his great detective tours and triumphs in + the United States. He was expecting Julius K. Brayne, that + multi-millionaire whose colossal and even crushing endowments of small + religions have occasioned so much easy sport and easier solemnity for the + American and English papers. Nobody could quite make out whether Mr. + Brayne was an atheist or a Mormon or a Christian Scientist; but he was + ready to pour money into any intellectual vessel, so long as it was an + untried vessel. One of his hobbies was to wait for the American + Shakespeare—a hobby more patient than angling. He admired Walt + Whitman, but thought that Luke P. Tanner, of Paris, Pa., was more + “progressive” than Whitman any day. He liked anything that he thought + “progressive.” He thought Valentin “progressive,” thereby doing him a + grave injustice. + </p> + <p> + The solid appearance of Julius K. Brayne in the room was as decisive as a + dinner bell. He had this great quality, which very few of us can claim, + that his presence was as big as his absence. He was a huge fellow, as fat + as he was tall, clad in complete evening black, without so much relief as + a watch-chain or a ring. His hair was white and well brushed back like a + German’s; his face was red, fierce and cherubic, with one dark tuft under + the lower lip that threw up that otherwise infantile visage with an effect + theatrical and even Mephistophelean. Not long, however, did that salon + merely stare at the celebrated American; his lateness had already become a + domestic problem, and he was sent with all speed into the dining-room with + Lady Galloway on his arm. + </p> + <p> + Except on one point the Galloways were genial and casual enough. So long + as Lady Margaret did not take the arm of that adventurer O’Brien, her + father was quite satisfied; and she had not done so, she had decorously + gone in with Dr. Simon. Nevertheless, old Lord Galloway was restless and + almost rude. He was diplomatic enough during dinner, but when, over the + cigars, three of the younger men—Simon the doctor, Brown the priest, + and the detrimental O’Brien, the exile in a foreign uniform—all + melted away to mix with the ladies or smoke in the conservatory, then the + English diplomatist grew very undiplomatic indeed. He was stung every + sixty seconds with the thought that the scamp O’Brien might be signalling + to Margaret somehow; he did not attempt to imagine how. He was left over + the coffee with Brayne, the hoary Yankee who believed in all religions, + and Valentin, the grizzled Frenchman who believed in none. They could + argue with each other, but neither could appeal to him. After a time this + “progressive” logomachy had reached a crisis of tedium; Lord Galloway got + up also and sought the drawing-room. He lost his way in long passages for + some six or eight minutes: till he heard the high-pitched, didactic voice + of the doctor, and then the dull voice of the priest, followed by general + laughter. They also, he thought with a curse, were probably arguing about + “science and religion.” But the instant he opened the salon door he saw + only one thing—he saw what was not there. He saw that Commandant + O’Brien was absent, and that Lady Margaret was absent too. + </p> + <p> + Rising impatiently from the drawing-room, as he had from the dining-room, + he stamped along the passage once more. His notion of protecting his + daughter from the Irish-Algerian n’er-do-well had become something central + and even mad in his mind. As he went towards the back of the house, where + was Valentin’s study, he was surprised to meet his daughter, who swept + past with a white, scornful face, which was a second enigma. If she had + been with O’Brien, where was O’Brien! If she had not been with O’Brien, + where had she been? With a sort of senile and passionate suspicion he + groped his way to the dark back parts of the mansion, and eventually found + a servants’ entrance that opened on to the garden. The moon with her + scimitar had now ripped up and rolled away all the storm-wrack. The argent + light lit up all four corners of the garden. A tall figure in blue was + striding across the lawn towards the study door; a glint of moonlit silver + on his facings picked him out as Commandant O’Brien. + </p> + <p> + He vanished through the French windows into the house, leaving Lord + Galloway in an indescribable temper, at once virulent and vague. The + blue-and-silver garden, like a scene in a theatre, seemed to taunt him + with all that tyrannic tenderness against which his worldly authority was + at war. The length and grace of the Irishman’s stride enraged him as if he + were a rival instead of a father; the moonlight maddened him. He was + trapped as if by magic into a garden of troubadours, a Watteau fairyland; + and, willing to shake off such amorous imbecilities by speech, he stepped + briskly after his enemy. As he did so he tripped over some tree or stone + in the grass; looked down at it first with irritation and then a second + time with curiosity. The next instant the moon and the tall poplars looked + at an unusual sight—an elderly English diplomatist running hard and + crying or bellowing as he ran. + </p> + <p> + His hoarse shouts brought a pale face to the study door, the beaming + glasses and worried brow of Dr. Simon, who heard the nobleman’s first + clear words. Lord Galloway was crying: “A corpse in the grass—a + blood-stained corpse.” O’Brien at last had gone utterly out of his mind. + </p> + <p> + “We must tell Valentin at once,” said the doctor, when the other had + brokenly described all that he had dared to examine. “It is fortunate that + he is here;” and even as he spoke the great detective entered the study, + attracted by the cry. It was almost amusing to note his typical + transformation; he had come with the common concern of a host and a + gentleman, fearing that some guest or servant was ill. When he was told + the gory fact, he turned with all his gravity instantly bright and + businesslike; for this, however abrupt and awful, was his business. + </p> + <p> + “Strange, gentlemen,” he said as they hurried out into the garden, “that I + should have hunted mysteries all over the earth, and now one comes and + settles in my own back-yard. But where is the place?” They crossed the + lawn less easily, as a slight mist had begun to rise from the river; but + under the guidance of the shaken Galloway they found the body sunken in + deep grass—the body of a very tall and broad-shouldered man. He lay + face downwards, so they could only see that his big shoulders were clad in + black cloth, and that his big head was bald, except for a wisp or two of + brown hair that clung to his skull like wet seaweed. A scarlet serpent of + blood crawled from under his fallen face. + </p> + <p> + “At least,” said Simon, with a deep and singular intonation, “he is none + of our party.” + </p> + <p> + “Examine him, doctor,” cried Valentin rather sharply. “He may not be + dead.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor bent down. “He is not quite cold, but I am afraid he is dead + enough,” he answered. “Just help me to lift him up.” + </p> + <p> + They lifted him carefully an inch from the ground, and all doubts as to + his being really dead were settled at once and frightfully. The head fell + away. It had been entirely sundered from the body; whoever had cut his + throat had managed to sever the neck as well. Even Valentin was slightly + shocked. “He must have been as strong as a gorilla,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Not without a shiver, though he was used to anatomical abortions, Dr. + Simon lifted the head. It was slightly slashed about the neck and jaw, but + the face was substantially unhurt. It was a ponderous, yellow face, at + once sunken and swollen, with a hawk-like nose and heavy lids—a face + of a wicked Roman emperor, with, perhaps, a distant touch of a Chinese + emperor. All present seemed to look at it with the coldest eye of + ignorance. Nothing else could be noted about the man except that, as they + had lifted his body, they had seen underneath it the white gleam of a + shirt-front defaced with a red gleam of blood. As Dr. Simon said, the man + had never been of their party. But he might very well have been trying to + join it, for he had come dressed for such an occasion. + </p> + <p> + Valentin went down on his hands and knees and examined with his closest + professional attention the grass and ground for some twenty yards round + the body, in which he was assisted less skillfully by the doctor, and + quite vaguely by the English lord. Nothing rewarded their grovellings + except a few twigs, snapped or chopped into very small lengths, which + Valentin lifted for an instant’s examination and then tossed away. + </p> + <p> + “Twigs,” he said gravely; “twigs, and a total stranger with his head cut + off; that is all there is on this lawn.” + </p> + <p> + There was an almost creepy stillness, and then the unnerved Galloway + called out sharply: + </p> + <p> + “Who’s that! Who’s that over there by the garden wall!” + </p> + <p> + A small figure with a foolishly large head drew waveringly near them in + the moonlit haze; looked for an instant like a goblin, but turned out to + be the harmless little priest whom they had left in the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he said meekly, “there are no gates to this garden, do you know.” + </p> + <p> + Valentin’s black brows had come together somewhat crossly, as they did on + principle at the sight of the cassock. But he was far too just a man to + deny the relevance of the remark. “You are right,” he said. “Before we + find out how he came to be killed, we may have to find out how he came to + be here. Now listen to me, gentlemen. If it can be done without prejudice + to my position and duty, we shall all agree that certain distinguished + names might well be kept out of this. There are ladies, gentlemen, and + there is a foreign ambassador. If we must mark it down as a crime, then it + must be followed up as a crime. But till then I can use my own discretion. + I am the head of the police; I am so public that I can afford to be + private. Please Heaven, I will clear everyone of my own guests before I + call in my men to look for anybody else. Gentlemen, upon your honour, you + will none of you leave the house till tomorrow at noon; there are bedrooms + for all. Simon, I think you know where to find my man, Ivan, in the front + hall; he is a confidential man. Tell him to leave another servant on guard + and come to me at once. Lord Galloway, you are certainly the best person + to tell the ladies what has happened, and prevent a panic. They also must + stay. Father Brown and I will remain with the body.” + </p> + <p> + When this spirit of the captain spoke in Valentin he was obeyed like a + bugle. Dr. Simon went through to the armoury and routed out Ivan, the + public detective’s private detective. Galloway went to the drawing-room + and told the terrible news tactfully enough, so that by the time the + company assembled there the ladies were already startled and already + soothed. Meanwhile the good priest and the good atheist stood at the head + and foot of the dead man motionless in the moonlight, like symbolic + statues of their two philosophies of death. + </p> + <p> + Ivan, the confidential man with the scar and the moustaches, came out of + the house like a cannon ball, and came racing across the lawn to Valentin + like a dog to his master. His livid face was quite lively with the glow of + this domestic detective story, and it was with almost unpleasant eagerness + that he asked his master’s permission to examine the remains. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; look, if you like, Ivan,” said Valentin, “but don’t be long. We must + go in and thrash this out in the house.” + </p> + <p> + Ivan lifted the head, and then almost let it drop. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he gasped, “it’s—no, it isn’t; it can’t be. Do you know this + man, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Valentin indifferently; “we had better go inside.” + </p> + <p> + Between them they carried the corpse to a sofa in the study, and then all + made their way to the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + The detective sat down at a desk quietly, and even without hesitation; but + his eye was the iron eye of a judge at assize. He made a few rapid notes + upon paper in front of him, and then said shortly: “Is everybody here?” + </p> + <p> + “Not Mr. Brayne,” said the Duchess of Mont St. Michel, looking round. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lord Galloway in a hoarse, harsh voice. “And not Mr. Neil + O’Brien, I fancy. I saw that gentleman walking in the garden when the + corpse was still warm.” + </p> + <p> + “Ivan,” said the detective, “go and fetch Commandant O’Brien and Mr. + Brayne. Mr. Brayne, I know, is finishing a cigar in the dining-room; + Commandant O’Brien, I think, is walking up and down the conservatory. I am + not sure.” + </p> + <p> + The faithful attendant flashed from the room, and before anyone could stir + or speak Valentin went on with the same soldierly swiftness of exposition. + </p> + <p> + “Everyone here knows that a dead man has been found in the garden, his + head cut clean from his body. Dr. Simon, you have examined it. Do you + think that to cut a man’s throat like that would need great force? Or, + perhaps, only a very sharp knife?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say that it could not be done with a knife at all,” said the + pale doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any thought,” resumed Valentin, “of a tool with which it could + be done?” + </p> + <p> + “Speaking within modern probabilities, I really haven’t,” said the doctor, + arching his painful brows. “It’s not easy to hack a neck through even + clumsily, and this was a very clean cut. It could be done with a + battle-axe or an old headsman’s axe, or an old two-handed sword.” + </p> + <p> + “But, good heavens!” cried the Duchess, almost in hysterics, “there aren’t + any two-handed swords and battle-axes round here.” + </p> + <p> + Valentin was still busy with the paper in front of him. “Tell me,” he + said, still writing rapidly, “could it have been done with a long French + cavalry sabre?” + </p> + <p> + A low knocking came at the door, which, for some unreasonable reason, + curdled everyone’s blood like the knocking in Macbeth. Amid that frozen + silence Dr. Simon managed to say: “A sabre—yes, I suppose it could.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Valentin. “Come in, Ivan.” + </p> + <p> + The confidential Ivan opened the door and ushered in Commandant Neil + O’Brien, whom he had found at last pacing the garden again. + </p> + <p> + The Irish officer stood up disordered and defiant on the threshold. “What + do you want with me?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Please sit down,” said Valentin in pleasant, level tones. “Why, you + aren’t wearing your sword. Where is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I left it on the library table,” said O’Brien, his brogue deepening in + his disturbed mood. “It was a nuisance, it was getting—” + </p> + <p> + “Ivan,” said Valentin, “please go and get the Commandant’s sword from the + library.” Then, as the servant vanished, “Lord Galloway says he saw you + leaving the garden just before he found the corpse. What were you doing in + the garden?” + </p> + <p> + The Commandant flung himself recklessly into a chair. “Oh,” he cried in + pure Irish, “admirin’ the moon. Communing with Nature, me bhoy.” + </p> + <p> + A heavy silence sank and endured, and at the end of it came again that + trivial and terrible knocking. Ivan reappeared, carrying an empty steel + scabbard. “This is all I can find,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Put it on the table,” said Valentin, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + There was an inhuman silence in the room, like that sea of inhuman silence + round the dock of the condemned murderer. The Duchess’s weak exclamations + had long ago died away. Lord Galloway’s swollen hatred was satisfied and + even sobered. The voice that came was quite unexpected. + </p> + <p> + “I think I can tell you,” cried Lady Margaret, in that clear, quivering + voice with which a courageous woman speaks publicly. “I can tell you what + Mr. O’Brien was doing in the garden, since he is bound to silence. He was + asking me to marry him. I refused; I said in my family circumstances I + could give him nothing but my respect. He was a little angry at that; he + did not seem to think much of my respect. I wonder,” she added, with + rather a wan smile, “if he will care at all for it now. For I offer it him + now. I will swear anywhere that he never did a thing like this.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Galloway had edged up to his daughter, and was intimidating her in + what he imagined to be an undertone. “Hold your tongue, Maggie,” he said + in a thunderous whisper. “Why should you shield the fellow? Where’s his + sword? Where’s his confounded cavalry—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped because of the singular stare with which his daughter was + regarding him, a look that was indeed a lurid magnet for the whole group. + </p> + <p> + “You old fool!” she said in a low voice without pretence of piety, “what + do you suppose you are trying to prove? I tell you this man was innocent + while with me. But if he wasn’t innocent, he was still with me. If he + murdered a man in the garden, who was it who must have seen—who must + at least have known? Do you hate Neil so much as to put your own daughter—” + </p> + <p> + Lady Galloway screamed. Everyone else sat tingling at the touch of those + satanic tragedies that have been between lovers before now. They saw the + proud, white face of the Scotch aristocrat and her lover, the Irish + adventurer, like old portraits in a dark house. The long silence was full + of formless historical memories of murdered husbands and poisonous + paramours. + </p> + <p> + In the centre of this morbid silence an innocent voice said: “Was it a + very long cigar?” + </p> + <p> + The change of thought was so sharp that they had to look round to see who + had spoken. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” said little Father Brown, from the corner of the room, “I mean + that cigar Mr. Brayne is finishing. It seems nearly as long as a + walking-stick.” + </p> + <p> + Despite the irrelevance there was assent as well as irritation in + Valentin’s face as he lifted his head. + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” he remarked sharply. “Ivan, go and see about Mr. Brayne + again, and bring him here at once.” + </p> + <p> + The instant the factotum had closed the door, Valentin addressed the girl + with an entirely new earnestness. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Margaret,” he said, “we all feel, I am sure, both gratitude and + admiration for your act in rising above your lower dignity and explaining + the Commandant’s conduct. But there is a hiatus still. Lord Galloway, I + understand, met you passing from the study to the drawing-room, and it was + only some minutes afterwards that he found the garden and the Commandant + still walking there.” + </p> + <p> + “You have to remember,” replied Margaret, with a faint irony in her voice, + “that I had just refused him, so we should scarcely have come back arm in + arm. He is a gentleman, anyhow; and he loitered behind—and so got + charged with murder.” + </p> + <p> + “In those few moments,” said Valentin gravely, “he might really—” + </p> + <p> + The knock came again, and Ivan put in his scarred face. + </p> + <p> + “Beg pardon, sir,” he said, “but Mr. Brayne has left the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Left!” cried Valentin, and rose for the first time to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Gone. Scooted. Evaporated,” replied Ivan in humorous French. “His hat and + coat are gone, too, and I’ll tell you something to cap it all. I ran + outside the house to find any traces of him, and I found one, and a big + trace, too.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Valentin. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll show you,” said his servant, and reappeared with a flashing naked + cavalry sabre, streaked with blood about the point and edge. Everyone in + the room eyed it as if it were a thunderbolt; but the experienced Ivan + went on quite quietly: + </p> + <p> + “I found this,” he said, “flung among the bushes fifty yards up the road + to Paris. In other words, I found it just where your respectable Mr. + Brayne threw it when he ran away.” + </p> + <p> + There was again a silence, but of a new sort. Valentin took the sabre, + examined it, reflected with unaffected concentration of thought, and then + turned a respectful face to O’Brien. “Commandant,” he said, “we trust you + will always produce this weapon if it is wanted for police examination. + Meanwhile,” he added, slapping the steel back in the ringing scabbard, + “let me return you your sword.” + </p> + <p> + At the military symbolism of the action the audience could hardly refrain + from applause. + </p> + <p> + For Neil O’Brien, indeed, that gesture was the turning-point of existence. + By the time he was wandering in the mysterious garden again in the colours + of the morning the tragic futility of his ordinary mien had fallen from + him; he was a man with many reasons for happiness. Lord Galloway was a + gentleman, and had offered him an apology. Lady Margaret was something + better than a lady, a woman at least, and had perhaps given him something + better than an apology, as they drifted among the old flowerbeds before + breakfast. The whole company was more lighthearted and humane, for though + the riddle of the death remained, the load of suspicion was lifted off + them all, and sent flying off to Paris with the strange millionaire—a + man they hardly knew. The devil was cast out of the house—he had + cast himself out. + </p> + <p> + Still, the riddle remained; and when O’Brien threw himself on a garden + seat beside Dr. Simon, that keenly scientific person at once resumed it. + He did not get much talk out of O’Brien, whose thoughts were on pleasanter + things. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t say it interests me much,” said the Irishman frankly, “especially + as it seems pretty plain now. Apparently Brayne hated this stranger for + some reason; lured him into the garden, and killed him with my sword. Then + he fled to the city, tossing the sword away as he went. By the way, Ivan + tells me the dead man had a Yankee dollar in his pocket. So he was a + countryman of Brayne’s, and that seems to clinch it. I don’t see any + difficulties about the business.” + </p> + <p> + “There are five colossal difficulties,” said the doctor quietly; “like + high walls within walls. Don’t mistake me. I don’t doubt that Brayne did + it; his flight, I fancy, proves that. But as to how he did it. First + difficulty: Why should a man kill another man with a great hulking sabre, + when he can almost kill him with a pocket knife and put it back in his + pocket? Second difficulty: Why was there no noise or outcry? Does a man + commonly see another come up waving a scimitar and offer no remarks? Third + difficulty: A servant watched the front door all the evening; and a rat + cannot get into Valentin’s garden anywhere. How did the dead man get into + the garden? Fourth difficulty: Given the same conditions, how did Brayne + get out of the garden?” + </p> + <p> + “And the fifth,” said Neil, with eyes fixed on the English priest who was + coming slowly up the path. + </p> + <p> + “Is a trifle, I suppose,” said the doctor, “but I think an odd one. When I + first saw how the head had been slashed, I supposed the assassin had + struck more than once. But on examination I found many cuts across the + truncated section; in other words, they were struck after the head was + off. Did Brayne hate his foe so fiendishly that he stood sabring his body + in the moonlight?” + </p> + <p> + “Horrible!” said O’Brien, and shuddered. + </p> + <p> + The little priest, Brown, had arrived while they were talking, and had + waited, with characteristic shyness, till they had finished. Then he said + awkwardly: + </p> + <p> + “I say, I’m sorry to interrupt. But I was sent to tell you the news!” + </p> + <p> + “News?” repeated Simon, and stared at him rather painfully through his + glasses. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m sorry,” said Father Brown mildly. “There’s been another murder, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + Both men on the seat sprang up, leaving it rocking. + </p> + <p> + “And, what’s stranger still,” continued the priest, with his dull eye on + the rhododendrons, “it’s the same disgusting sort; it’s another beheading. + They found the second head actually bleeding into the river, a few yards + along Brayne’s road to Paris; so they suppose that he—” + </p> + <p> + “Great Heaven!” cried O’Brien. “Is Brayne a monomaniac?” + </p> + <p> + “There are American vendettas,” said the priest impassively. Then he + added: “They want you to come to the library and see it.” + </p> + <p> + Commandant O’Brien followed the others towards the inquest, feeling + decidedly sick. As a soldier, he loathed all this secretive carnage; where + were these extravagant amputations going to stop? First one head was + hacked off, and then another; in this case (he told himself bitterly) it + was not true that two heads were better than one. As he crossed the study + he almost staggered at a shocking coincidence. Upon Valentin’s table lay + the coloured picture of yet a third bleeding head; and it was the head of + Valentin himself. A second glance showed him it was only a Nationalist + paper, called The Guillotine, which every week showed one of its political + opponents with rolling eyes and writhing features just after execution; + for Valentin was an anti-clerical of some note. But O’Brien was an + Irishman, with a kind of chastity even in his sins; and his gorge rose + against that great brutality of the intellect which belongs only to + France. He felt Paris as a whole, from the grotesques on the Gothic + churches to the gross caricatures in the newspapers. He remembered the + gigantic jests of the Revolution. He saw the whole city as one ugly + energy, from the sanguinary sketch lying on Valentin’s table up to where, + above a mountain and forest of gargoyles, the great devil grins on Notre + Dame. + </p> + <p> + The library was long, low, and dark; what light entered it shot from under + low blinds and had still some of the ruddy tinge of morning. Valentin and + his servant Ivan were waiting for them at the upper end of a long, + slightly-sloping desk, on which lay the mortal remains, looking enormous + in the twilight. The big black figure and yellow face of the man found in + the garden confronted them essentially unchanged. The second head, which + had been fished from among the river reeds that morning, lay streaming and + dripping beside it; Valentin’s men were still seeking to recover the rest + of this second corpse, which was supposed to be afloat. Father Brown, who + did not seem to share O’Brien’s sensibilities in the least, went up to the + second head and examined it with his blinking care. It was little more + than a mop of wet white hair, fringed with silver fire in the red and + level morning light; the face, which seemed of an ugly, empurpled and + perhaps criminal type, had been much battered against trees or stones as + it tossed in the water. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Commandant O’Brien,” said Valentin, with quiet cordiality. + “You have heard of Brayne’s last experiment in butchery, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown was still bending over the head with white hair, and he said, + without looking up: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is quite certain that Brayne cut off this head, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it seems common sense,” said Valentin, with his hands in his + pockets. “Killed in the same way as the other. Found within a few yards of + the other. And sliced by the same weapon which we know he carried away.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; I know,” replied Father Brown submissively. “Yet, you know, I + doubt whether Brayne could have cut off this head.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” inquired Dr. Simon, with a rational stare. + </p> + <p> + “Well, doctor,” said the priest, looking up blinking, “can a man cut off + his own head? I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + O’Brien felt an insane universe crashing about his ears; but the doctor + sprang forward with impetuous practicality and pushed back the wet white + hair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there’s no doubt it’s Brayne,” said the priest quietly. “He had + exactly that chip in the left ear.” + </p> + <p> + The detective, who had been regarding the priest with steady and + glittering eyes, opened his clenched mouth and said sharply: “You seem to + know a lot about him, Father Brown.” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said the little man simply. “I’ve been about with him for some + weeks. He was thinking of joining our church.” + </p> + <p> + The star of the fanatic sprang into Valentin’s eyes; he strode towards the + priest with clenched hands. “And, perhaps,” he cried, with a blasting + sneer, “perhaps he was also thinking of leaving all his money to your + church.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he was,” said Brown stolidly; “it is possible.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” cried Valentin, with a dreadful smile, “you may indeed + know a great deal about him. About his life and about his—” + </p> + <p> + Commandant O’Brien laid a hand on Valentin’s arm. “Drop that slanderous + rubbish, Valentin,” he said, “or there may be more swords yet.” + </p> + <p> + But Valentin (under the steady, humble gaze of the priest) had already + recovered himself. “Well,” he said shortly, “people’s private opinions can + wait. You gentlemen are still bound by your promise to stay; you must + enforce it on yourselves—and on each other. Ivan here will tell you + anything more you want to know; I must get to business and write to the + authorities. We can’t keep this quiet any longer. I shall be writing in my + study if there is any more news.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there any more news, Ivan?” asked Dr. Simon, as the chief of police + strode out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Only one more thing, I think, sir,” said Ivan, wrinkling up his grey old + face, “but that’s important, too, in its way. There’s that old buffer you + found on the lawn,” and he pointed without pretence of reverence at the + big black body with the yellow head. “We’ve found out who he is, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” cried the astonished doctor, “and who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “His name was Arnold Becker,” said the under-detective, “though he went by + many aliases. He was a wandering sort of scamp, and is known to have been + in America; so that was where Brayne got his knife into him. We didn’t + have much to do with him ourselves, for he worked mostly in Germany. We’ve + communicated, of course, with the German police. But, oddly enough, there + was a twin brother of his, named Louis Becker, whom we had a great deal to + do with. In fact, we found it necessary to guillotine him only yesterday. + Well, it’s a rum thing, gentlemen, but when I saw that fellow flat on the + lawn I had the greatest jump of my life. If I hadn’t seen Louis Becker + guillotined with my own eyes, I’d have sworn it was Louis Becker lying + there in the grass. Then, of course, I remembered his twin brother in + Germany, and following up the clue—” + </p> + <p> + The explanatory Ivan stopped, for the excellent reason that nobody was + listening to him. The Commandant and the doctor were both staring at + Father Brown, who had sprung stiffly to his feet, and was holding his + temples tight like a man in sudden and violent pain. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, stop, stop!” he cried; “stop talking a minute, for I see half. Will + God give me strength? Will my brain make the one jump and see all? Heaven + help me! I used to be fairly good at thinking. I could paraphrase any page + in Aquinas once. Will my head split—or will it see? I see half—I + only see half.” + </p> + <p> + He buried his head in his hands, and stood in a sort of rigid torture of + thought or prayer, while the other three could only go on staring at this + last prodigy of their wild twelve hours. + </p> + <p> + When Father Brown’s hands fell they showed a face quite fresh and serious, + like a child’s. He heaved a huge sigh, and said: “Let us get this said and + done with as quickly as possible. Look here, this will be the quickest way + to convince you all of the truth.” He turned to the doctor. “Dr. Simon,” + he said, “you have a strong head-piece, and I heard you this morning + asking the five hardest questions about this business. Well, if you will + ask them again, I will answer them.” + </p> + <p> + Simon’s pince-nez dropped from his nose in his doubt and wonder, but he + answered at once. “Well, the first question, you know, is why a man should + kill another with a clumsy sabre at all when a man can kill with a + bodkin?” + </p> + <p> + “A man cannot behead with a bodkin,” said Brown calmly, “and for this + murder beheading was absolutely necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked O’Brien, with interest. + </p> + <p> + “And the next question?” asked Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Well, why didn’t the man cry out or anything?” asked the doctor; “sabres + in gardens are certainly unusual.” + </p> + <p> + “Twigs,” said the priest gloomily, and turned to the window which looked + on the scene of death. “No one saw the point of the twigs. Why should they + lie on that lawn (look at it) so far from any tree? They were not snapped + off; they were chopped off. The murderer occupied his enemy with some + tricks with the sabre, showing how he could cut a branch in mid-air, or + what-not. Then, while his enemy bent down to see the result, a silent + slash, and the head fell.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the doctor slowly, “that seems plausible enough. But my next + two questions will stump anyone.” + </p> + <p> + The priest still stood looking critically out of the window and waited. + </p> + <p> + “You know how all the garden was sealed up like an air-tight chamber,” + went on the doctor. “Well, how did the strange man get into the garden?” + </p> + <p> + Without turning round, the little priest answered: “There never was any + strange man in the garden.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence, and then a sudden cackle of almost childish laughter + relieved the strain. The absurdity of Brown’s remark moved Ivan to open + taunts. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he cried; “then we didn’t lug a great fat corpse on to a sofa last + night? He hadn’t got into the garden, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Got into the garden?” repeated Brown reflectively. “No, not entirely.” + </p> + <p> + “Hang it all,” cried Simon, “a man gets into a garden, or he doesn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Not necessarily,” said the priest, with a faint smile. “What is the nest + question, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy you’re ill,” exclaimed Dr. Simon sharply; “but I’ll ask the next + question if you like. How did Brayne get out of the garden?” + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t get out of the garden,” said the priest, still looking out of + the window. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t get out of the garden?” exploded Simon. + </p> + <p> + “Not completely,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + Simon shook his fists in a frenzy of French logic. “A man gets out of a + garden, or he doesn’t,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Not always,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Simon sprang to his feet impatiently. “I have no time to spare on such + senseless talk,” he cried angrily. “If you can’t understand a man being on + one side of a wall or the other, I won’t trouble you further.” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” said the cleric very gently, “we have always got on very + pleasantly together. If only for the sake of old friendship, stop and tell + me your fifth question.” + </p> + <p> + The impatient Simon sank into a chair by the door and said briefly: “The + head and shoulders were cut about in a queer way. It seemed to be done + after death.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the motionless priest, “it was done so as to make you assume + exactly the one simple falsehood that you did assume. It was done to make + you take for granted that the head belonged to the body.” + </p> + <p> + The borderland of the brain, where all the monsters are made, moved + horribly in the Gaelic O’Brien. He felt the chaotic presence of all the + horse-men and fish-women that man’s unnatural fancy has begotten. A voice + older than his first fathers seemed saying in his ear: “Keep out of the + monstrous garden where grows the tree with double fruit. Avoid the evil + garden where died the man with two heads.” Yet, while these shameful + symbolic shapes passed across the ancient mirror of his Irish soul, his + Frenchified intellect was quite alert, and was watching the odd priest as + closely and incredulously as all the rest. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had turned round at last, and stood against the window, with + his face in dense shadow; but even in that shadow they could see it was + pale as ashes. Nevertheless, he spoke quite sensibly, as if there were no + Gaelic souls on earth. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” he said, “you did not find the strange body of Becker in the + garden. You did not find any strange body in the garden. In face of Dr. + Simon’s rationalism, I still affirm that Becker was only partly present. + Look here!” (pointing to the black bulk of the mysterious corpse) “you + never saw that man in your lives. Did you ever see this man?” + </p> + <p> + He rapidly rolled away the bald, yellow head of the unknown, and put in + its place the white-maned head beside it. And there, complete, unified, + unmistakable, lay Julius K. Brayne. + </p> + <p> + “The murderer,” went on Brown quietly, “hacked off his enemy’s head and + flung the sword far over the wall. But he was too clever to fling the + sword only. He flung the head over the wall also. Then he had only to clap + on another head to the corpse, and (as he insisted on a private inquest) + you all imagined a totally new man.” + </p> + <p> + “Clap on another head!” said O’Brien staring. “What other head? Heads + don’t grow on garden bushes, do they?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Father Brown huskily, and looking at his boots; “there is only + one place where they grow. They grow in the basket of the guillotine, + beside which the chief of police, Aristide Valentin, was standing not an + hour before the murder. Oh, my friends, hear me a minute more before you + tear me in pieces. Valentin is an honest man, if being mad for an arguable + cause is honesty. But did you never see in that cold, grey eye of his that + he is mad! He would do anything, anything, to break what he calls the + superstition of the Cross. He has fought for it and starved for it, and + now he has murdered for it. Brayne’s crazy millions had hitherto been + scattered among so many sects that they did little to alter the balance of + things. But Valentin heard a whisper that Brayne, like so many + scatter-brained sceptics, was drifting to us; and that was quite a + different thing. Brayne would pour supplies into the impoverished and + pugnacious Church of France; he would support six Nationalist newspapers + like The Guillotine. The battle was already balanced on a point, and the + fanatic took flame at the risk. He resolved to destroy the millionaire, + and he did it as one would expect the greatest of detectives to commit his + only crime. He abstracted the severed head of Becker on some + criminological excuse, and took it home in his official box. He had that + last argument with Brayne, that Lord Galloway did not hear the end of; + that failing, he led him out into the sealed garden, talked about + swordsmanship, used twigs and a sabre for illustration, and—” + </p> + <p> + Ivan of the Scar sprang up. “You lunatic,” he yelled; “you’ll go to my + master now, if I take you by—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I was going there,” said Brown heavily; “I must ask him to confess, + and all that.” + </p> + <p> + Driving the unhappy Brown before them like a hostage or sacrifice, they + rushed together into the sudden stillness of Valentin’s study. + </p> + <p> + The great detective sat at his desk apparently too occupied to hear their + turbulent entrance. They paused a moment, and then something in the look + of that upright and elegant back made the doctor run forward suddenly. A + touch and a glance showed him that there was a small box of pills at + Valentin’s elbow, and that Valentin was dead in his chair; and on the + blind face of the suicide was more than the pride of Cato. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Queer Feet + </h2> + <p> + If you meet a member of that select club, “The Twelve True Fishermen,” + entering the Vernon Hotel for the annual club dinner, you will observe, as + he takes off his overcoat, that his evening coat is green and not black. + If (supposing that you have the star-defying audacity to address such a + being) you ask him why, he will probably answer that he does it to avoid + being mistaken for a waiter. You will then retire crushed. But you will + leave behind you a mystery as yet unsolved and a tale worth telling. + </p> + <p> + If (to pursue the same vein of improbable conjecture) you were to meet a + mild, hard-working little priest, named Father Brown, and were to ask him + what he thought was the most singular luck of his life, he would probably + reply that upon the whole his best stroke was at the Vernon Hotel, where + he had averted a crime and, perhaps, saved a soul, merely by listening to + a few footsteps in a passage. He is perhaps a little proud of this wild + and wonderful guess of his, and it is possible that he might refer to it. + But since it is immeasurably unlikely that you will ever rise high enough + in the social world to find “The Twelve True Fishermen,” or that you will + ever sink low enough among slums and criminals to find Father Brown, I + fear you will never hear the story at all unless you hear it from me. + </p> + <p> + The Vernon Hotel at which The Twelve True Fishermen held their annual + dinners was an institution such as can only exist in an oligarchical + society which has almost gone mad on good manners. It was that topsy-turvy + product—an “exclusive” commercial enterprise. That is, it was a + thing which paid not by attracting people, but actually by turning people + away. In the heart of a plutocracy tradesmen become cunning enough to be + more fastidious than their customers. They positively create difficulties + so that their wealthy and weary clients may spend money and diplomacy in + overcoming them. If there were a fashionable hotel in London which no man + could enter who was under six foot, society would meekly make up parties + of six-foot men to dine in it. If there were an expensive restaurant which + by a mere caprice of its proprietor was only open on Thursday afternoon, + it would be crowded on Thursday afternoon. The Vernon Hotel stood, as if + by accident, in the corner of a square in Belgravia. It was a small hotel; + and a very inconvenient one. But its very inconveniences were considered + as walls protecting a particular class. One inconvenience, in particular, + was held to be of vital importance: the fact that practically only + twenty-four people could dine in the place at once. The only big dinner + table was the celebrated terrace table, which stood open to the air on a + sort of veranda overlooking one of the most exquisite old gardens in + London. Thus it happened that even the twenty-four seats at this table + could only be enjoyed in warm weather; and this making the enjoyment yet + more difficult made it yet more desired. The existing owner of the hotel + was a Jew named Lever; and he made nearly a million out of it, by making + it difficult to get into. Of course he combined with this limitation in + the scope of his enterprise the most careful polish in its performance. + The wines and cooking were really as good as any in Europe, and the + demeanour of the attendants exactly mirrored the fixed mood of the English + upper class. The proprietor knew all his waiters like the fingers on his + hand; there were only fifteen of them all told. It was much easier to + become a Member of Parliament than to become a waiter in that hotel. Each + waiter was trained in terrible silence and smoothness, as if he were a + gentleman’s servant. And, indeed, there was generally at least one waiter + to every gentleman who dined. + </p> + <p> + The club of The Twelve True Fishermen would not have consented to dine + anywhere but in such a place, for it insisted on a luxurious privacy; and + would have been quite upset by the mere thought that any other club was + even dining in the same building. On the occasion of their annual dinner + the Fishermen were in the habit of exposing all their treasures, as if + they were in a private house, especially the celebrated set of fish knives + and forks which were, as it were, the insignia of the society, each being + exquisitely wrought in silver in the form of a fish, and each loaded at + the hilt with one large pearl. These were always laid out for the fish + course, and the fish course was always the most magnificent in that + magnificent repast. The society had a vast number of ceremonies and + observances, but it had no history and no object; that was where it was so + very aristocratic. You did not have to be anything in order to be one of + the Twelve Fishers; unless you were already a certain sort of person, you + never even heard of them. It had been in existence twelve years. Its + president was Mr. Audley. Its vice-president was the Duke of Chester. + </p> + <p> + If I have in any degree conveyed the atmosphere of this appalling hotel, + the reader may feel a natural wonder as to how I came to know anything + about it, and may even speculate as to how so ordinary a person as my + friend Father Brown came to find himself in that golden galley. As far as + that is concerned, my story is simple, or even vulgar. There is in the + world a very aged rioter and demagogue who breaks into the most refined + retreats with the dreadful information that all men are brothers, and + wherever this leveller went on his pale horse it was Father Brown’s trade + to follow. One of the waiters, an Italian, had been struck down with a + paralytic stroke that afternoon; and his Jewish employer, marvelling + mildly at such superstitions, had consented to send for the nearest Popish + priest. With what the waiter confessed to Father Brown we are not + concerned, for the excellent reason that that cleric kept it to himself; + but apparently it involved him in writing out a note or statement for the + conveying of some message or the righting of some wrong. Father Brown, + therefore, with a meek impudence which he would have shown equally in + Buckingham Palace, asked to be provided with a room and writing materials. + Mr. Lever was torn in two. He was a kind man, and had also that bad + imitation of kindness, the dislike of any difficulty or scene. At the same + time the presence of one unusual stranger in his hotel that evening was + like a speck of dirt on something just cleaned. There was never any + borderland or anteroom in the Vernon Hotel, no people waiting in the hall, + no customers coming in on chance. There were fifteen waiters. There were + twelve guests. It would be as startling to find a new guest in the hotel + that night as to find a new brother taking breakfast or tea in one’s own + family. Moreover, the priest’s appearance was second-rate and his clothes + muddy; a mere glimpse of him afar off might precipitate a crisis in the + club. Mr. Lever at last hit on a plan to cover, since he might not + obliterate, the disgrace. When you enter (as you never will) the Vernon + Hotel, you pass down a short passage decorated with a few dingy but + important pictures, and come to the main vestibule and lounge which opens + on your right into passages leading to the public rooms, and on your left + to a similar passage pointing to the kitchens and offices of the hotel. + Immediately on your left hand is the corner of a glass office, which abuts + upon the lounge—a house within a house, so to speak, like the old + hotel bar which probably once occupied its place. + </p> + <p> + In this office sat the representative of the proprietor (nobody in this + place ever appeared in person if he could help it), and just beyond the + office, on the way to the servants’ quarters, was the gentlemen’s cloak + room, the last boundary of the gentlemen’s domain. But between the office + and the cloak room was a small private room without other outlet, + sometimes used by the proprietor for delicate and important matters, such + as lending a duke a thousand pounds or declining to lend him sixpence. It + is a mark of the magnificent tolerance of Mr. Lever that he permitted this + holy place to be for about half an hour profaned by a mere priest, + scribbling away on a piece of paper. The story which Father Brown was + writing down was very likely a much better story than this one, only it + will never be known. I can merely state that it was very nearly as long, + and that the last two or three paragraphs of it were the least exciting + and absorbing. + </p> + <p> + For it was by the time that he had reached these that the priest began a + little to allow his thoughts to wander and his animal senses, which were + commonly keen, to awaken. The time of darkness and dinner was drawing on; + his own forgotten little room was without a light, and perhaps the + gathering gloom, as occasionally happens, sharpened the sense of sound. As + Father Brown wrote the last and least essential part of his document, he + caught himself writing to the rhythm of a recurrent noise outside, just as + one sometimes thinks to the tune of a railway train. When he became + conscious of the thing he found what it was: only the ordinary patter of + feet passing the door, which in an hotel was no very unlikely matter. + Nevertheless, he stared at the darkened ceiling, and listened to the + sound. After he had listened for a few seconds dreamily, he got to his + feet and listened intently, with his head a little on one side. Then he + sat down again and buried his brow in his hands, now not merely listening, + but listening and thinking also. + </p> + <p> + The footsteps outside at any given moment were such as one might hear in + any hotel; and yet, taken as a whole, there was something very strange + about them. There were no other footsteps. It was always a very silent + house, for the few familiar guests went at once to their own apartments, + and the well-trained waiters were told to be almost invisible until they + were wanted. One could not conceive any place where there was less reason + to apprehend anything irregular. But these footsteps were so odd that one + could not decide to call them regular or irregular. Father Brown followed + them with his finger on the edge of the table, like a man trying to learn + a tune on the piano. + </p> + <p> + First, there came a long rush of rapid little steps, such as a light man + might make in winning a walking race. At a certain point they stopped and + changed to a sort of slow, swinging stamp, numbering not a quarter of the + steps, but occupying about the same time. The moment the last echoing + stamp had died away would come again the run or ripple of light, hurrying + feet, and then again the thud of the heavier walking. It was certainly the + same pair of boots, partly because (as has been said) there were no other + boots about, and partly because they had a small but unmistakable creak in + them. Father Brown had the kind of head that cannot help asking questions; + and on this apparently trivial question his head almost split. He had seen + men run in order to jump. He had seen men run in order to slide. But why + on earth should a man run in order to walk? Or, again, why should he walk + in order to run? Yet no other description would cover the antics of this + invisible pair of legs. The man was either walking very fast down one-half + of the corridor in order to walk very slow down the other half; or he was + walking very slow at one end to have the rapture of walking fast at the + other. Neither suggestion seemed to make much sense. His brain was growing + darker and darker, like his room. + </p> + <p> + Yet, as he began to think steadily, the very blackness of his cell seemed + to make his thoughts more vivid; he began to see as in a kind of vision + the fantastic feet capering along the corridor in unnatural or symbolic + attitudes. Was it a heathen religious dance? Or some entirely new kind of + scientific exercise? Father Brown began to ask himself with more exactness + what the steps suggested. Taking the slow step first: it certainly was not + the step of the proprietor. Men of his type walk with a rapid waddle, or + they sit still. It could not be any servant or messenger waiting for + directions. It did not sound like it. The poorer orders (in an oligarchy) + sometimes lurch about when they are slightly drunk, but generally, and + especially in such gorgeous scenes, they stand or sit in constrained + attitudes. No; that heavy yet springy step, with a kind of careless + emphasis, not specially noisy, yet not caring what noise it made, belonged + to only one of the animals of this earth. It was a gentleman of western + Europe, and probably one who had never worked for his living. + </p> + <p> + Just as he came to this solid certainty, the step changed to the quicker + one, and ran past the door as feverishly as a rat. The listener remarked + that though this step was much swifter it was also much more noiseless, + almost as if the man were walking on tiptoe. Yet it was not associated in + his mind with secrecy, but with something else—something that he + could not remember. He was maddened by one of those half-memories that + make a man feel half-witted. Surely he had heard that strange, swift + walking somewhere. Suddenly he sprang to his feet with a new idea in his + head, and walked to the door. His room had no direct outlet on the + passage, but let on one side into the glass office, and on the other into + the cloak room beyond. He tried the door into the office, and found it + locked. Then he looked at the window, now a square pane full of purple + cloud cleft by livid sunset, and for an instant he smelt evil as a dog + smells rats. + </p> + <p> + The rational part of him (whether the wiser or not) regained its + supremacy. He remembered that the proprietor had told him that he should + lock the door, and would come later to release him. He told himself that + twenty things he had not thought of might explain the eccentric sounds + outside; he reminded himself that there was just enough light left to + finish his own proper work. Bringing his paper to the window so as to + catch the last stormy evening light, he resolutely plunged once more into + the almost completed record. He had written for about twenty minutes, + bending closer and closer to his paper in the lessening light; then + suddenly he sat upright. He had heard the strange feet once more. + </p> + <p> + This time they had a third oddity. Previously the unknown man had walked, + with levity indeed and lightning quickness, but he had walked. This time + he ran. One could hear the swift, soft, bounding steps coming along the + corridor, like the pads of a fleeing and leaping panther. Whoever was + coming was a very strong, active man, in still yet tearing excitement. + Yet, when the sound had swept up to the office like a sort of whispering + whirlwind, it suddenly changed again to the old slow, swaggering stamp. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown flung down his paper, and, knowing the office door to be + locked, went at once into the cloak room on the other side. The attendant + of this place was temporarily absent, probably because the only guests + were at dinner and his office was a sinecure. After groping through a grey + forest of overcoats, he found that the dim cloak room opened on the + lighted corridor in the form of a sort of counter or half-door, like most + of the counters across which we have all handed umbrellas and received + tickets. There was a light immediately above the semicircular arch of this + opening. It threw little illumination on Father Brown himself, who seemed + a mere dark outline against the dim sunset window behind him. But it threw + an almost theatrical light on the man who stood outside the cloak room in + the corridor. + </p> + <p> + He was an elegant man in very plain evening dress; tall, but with an air + of not taking up much room; one felt that he could have slid along like a + shadow where many smaller men would have been obvious and obstructive. His + face, now flung back in the lamplight, was swarthy and vivacious, the face + of a foreigner. His figure was good, his manners good humoured and + confident; a critic could only say that his black coat was a shade below + his figure and manners, and even bulged and bagged in an odd way. The + moment he caught sight of Brown’s black silhouette against the sunset, he + tossed down a scrap of paper with a number and called out with amiable + authority: “I want my hat and coat, please; I find I have to go away at + once.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown took the paper without a word, and obediently went to look + for the coat; it was not the first menial work he had done in his life. He + brought it and laid it on the counter; meanwhile, the strange gentleman + who had been feeling in his waistcoat pocket, said laughing: “I haven’t + got any silver; you can keep this.” And he threw down half a sovereign, + and caught up his coat. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown’s figure remained quite dark and still; but in that instant + he had lost his head. His head was always most valuable when he had lost + it. In such moments he put two and two together and made four million. + Often the Catholic Church (which is wedded to common sense) did not + approve of it. Often he did not approve of it himself. But it was real + inspiration—important at rare crises—when whosoever shall lose + his head the same shall save it. + </p> + <p> + “I think, sir,” he said civilly, “that you have some silver in your + pocket.” + </p> + <p> + The tall gentleman stared. “Hang it,” he cried, “if I choose to give you + gold, why should you complain?” + </p> + <p> + “Because silver is sometimes more valuable than gold,” said the priest + mildly; “that is, in large quantities.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger looked at him curiously. Then he looked still more curiously + up the passage towards the main entrance. Then he looked back at Brown + again, and then he looked very carefully at the window beyond Brown’s + head, still coloured with the after-glow of the storm. Then he seemed to + make up his mind. He put one hand on the counter, vaulted over as easily + as an acrobat and towered above the priest, putting one tremendous hand + upon his collar. + </p> + <p> + “Stand still,” he said, in a hacking whisper. “I don’t want to threaten + you, but—” + </p> + <p> + “I do want to threaten you,” said Father Brown, in a voice like a rolling + drum, “I want to threaten you with the worm that dieth not, and the fire + that is not quenched.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a rum sort of cloak-room clerk,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “I am a priest, Monsieur Flambeau,” said Brown, “and I am ready to hear + your confession.” + </p> + <p> + The other stood gasping for a few moments, and then staggered back into a + chair. + </p> + <p> + The first two courses of the dinner of The Twelve True Fishermen had + proceeded with placid success. I do not possess a copy of the menu; and if + I did it would not convey anything to anybody. It was written in a sort of + super-French employed by cooks, but quite unintelligible to Frenchmen. + There was a tradition in the club that the hors d’oeuvres should be + various and manifold to the point of madness. They were taken seriously + because they were avowedly useless extras, like the whole dinner and the + whole club. There was also a tradition that the soup course should be + light and unpretending—a sort of simple and austere vigil for the + feast of fish that was to come. The talk was that strange, slight talk + which governs the British Empire, which governs it in secret, and yet + would scarcely enlighten an ordinary Englishman even if he could overhear + it. Cabinet ministers on both sides were alluded to by their Christian + names with a sort of bored benignity. The Radical Chancellor of the + Exchequer, whom the whole Tory party was supposed to be cursing for his + extortions, was praised for his minor poetry, or his saddle in the hunting + field. The Tory leader, whom all Liberals were supposed to hate as a + tyrant, was discussed and, on the whole, praised—as a Liberal. It + seemed somehow that politicians were very important. And yet, anything + seemed important about them except their politics. Mr. Audley, the + chairman, was an amiable, elderly man who still wore Gladstone collars; he + was a kind of symbol of all that phantasmal and yet fixed society. He had + never done anything—not even anything wrong. He was not fast; he was + not even particularly rich. He was simply in the thing; and there was an + end of it. No party could ignore him, and if he had wished to be in the + Cabinet he certainly would have been put there. The Duke of Chester, the + vice-president, was a young and rising politician. That is to say, he was + a pleasant youth, with flat, fair hair and a freckled face, with moderate + intelligence and enormous estates. In public his appearances were always + successful and his principle was simple enough. When he thought of a joke + he made it, and was called brilliant. When he could not think of a joke he + said that this was no time for trifling, and was called able. In private, + in a club of his own class, he was simply quite pleasantly frank and + silly, like a schoolboy. Mr. Audley, never having been in politics, + treated them a little more seriously. Sometimes he even embarrassed the + company by phrases suggesting that there was some difference between a + Liberal and a Conservative. He himself was a Conservative, even in private + life. He had a roll of grey hair over the back of his collar, like certain + old-fashioned statesmen, and seen from behind he looked like the man the + empire wants. Seen from the front he looked like a mild, self-indulgent + bachelor, with rooms in the Albany—which he was. + </p> + <p> + As has been remarked, there were twenty-four seats at the terrace table, + and only twelve members of the club. Thus they could occupy the terrace in + the most luxurious style of all, being ranged along the inner side of the + table, with no one opposite, commanding an uninterrupted view of the + garden, the colours of which were still vivid, though evening was closing + in somewhat luridly for the time of year. The chairman sat in the centre + of the line, and the vice-president at the right-hand end of it. When the + twelve guests first trooped into their seats it was the custom (for some + unknown reason) for all the fifteen waiters to stand lining the wall like + troops presenting arms to the king, while the fat proprietor stood and + bowed to the club with radiant surprise, as if he had never heard of them + before. But before the first chink of knife and fork this army of + retainers had vanished, only the one or two required to collect and + distribute the plates darting about in deathly silence. Mr. Lever, the + proprietor, of course had disappeared in convulsions of courtesy long + before. It would be exaggerative, indeed irreverent, to say that he ever + positively appeared again. But when the important course, the fish course, + was being brought on, there was—how shall I put it?—a vivid + shadow, a projection of his personality, which told that he was hovering + near. The sacred fish course consisted (to the eyes of the vulgar) in a + sort of monstrous pudding, about the size and shape of a wedding cake, in + which some considerable number of interesting fishes had finally lost the + shapes which God had given to them. The Twelve True Fishermen took up + their celebrated fish knives and fish forks, and approached it as gravely + as if every inch of the pudding cost as much as the silver fork it was + eaten with. So it did, for all I know. This course was dealt with in eager + and devouring silence; and it was only when his plate was nearly empty + that the young duke made the ritual remark: “They can’t do this anywhere + but here.” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere,” said Mr. Audley, in a deep bass voice, turning to the speaker + and nodding his venerable head a number of times. “Nowhere, assuredly, + except here. It was represented to me that at the Cafe Anglais—” + </p> + <p> + Here he was interrupted and even agitated for a moment by the removal of + his plate, but he recaptured the valuable thread of his thoughts. “It was + represented to me that the same could be done at the Cafe Anglais. Nothing + like it, sir,” he said, shaking his head ruthlessly, like a hanging judge. + “Nothing like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Overrated place,” said a certain Colonel Pound, speaking (by the look of + him) for the first time for some months. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know,” said the Duke of Chester, who was an optimist, “it’s + jolly good for some things. You can’t beat it at—” + </p> + <p> + A waiter came swiftly along the room, and then stopped dead. His stoppage + was as silent as his tread; but all those vague and kindly gentlemen were + so used to the utter smoothness of the unseen machinery which surrounded + and supported their lives, that a waiter doing anything unexpected was a + start and a jar. They felt as you and I would feel if the inanimate world + disobeyed—if a chair ran away from us. + </p> + <p> + The waiter stood staring a few seconds, while there deepened on every face + at table a strange shame which is wholly the product of our time. It is + the combination of modern humanitarianism with the horrible modern abyss + between the souls of the rich and poor. A genuine historic aristocrat + would have thrown things at the waiter, beginning with empty bottles, and + very probably ending with money. A genuine democrat would have asked him, + with comrade-like clearness of speech, what the devil he was doing. But + these modern plutocrats could not bear a poor man near to them, either as + a slave or as a friend. That something had gone wrong with the servants + was merely a dull, hot embarrassment. They did not want to be brutal, and + they dreaded the need to be benevolent. They wanted the thing, whatever it + was, to be over. It was over. The waiter, after standing for some seconds + rigid, like a cataleptic, turned round and ran madly out of the room. + </p> + <p> + When he reappeared in the room, or rather in the doorway, it was in + company with another waiter, with whom he whispered and gesticulated with + southern fierceness. Then the first waiter went away, leaving the second + waiter, and reappeared with a third waiter. By the time a fourth waiter + had joined this hurried synod, Mr. Audley felt it necessary to break the + silence in the interests of Tact. He used a very loud cough, instead of a + presidential hammer, and said: “Splendid work young Moocher’s doing in + Burmah. Now, no other nation in the world could have—” + </p> + <p> + A fifth waiter had sped towards him like an arrow, and was whispering in + his ear: “So sorry. Important! Might the proprietor speak to you?” + </p> + <p> + The chairman turned in disorder, and with a dazed stare saw Mr. Lever + coming towards them with his lumbering quickness. The gait of the good + proprietor was indeed his usual gait, but his face was by no means usual. + Generally it was a genial copper-brown; now it was a sickly yellow. + </p> + <p> + “You will pardon me, Mr. Audley,” he said, with asthmatic breathlessness. + “I have great apprehensions. Your fish-plates, they are cleared away with + the knife and fork on them!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope so,” said the chairman, with some warmth. + </p> + <p> + “You see him?” panted the excited hotel keeper; “you see the waiter who + took them away? You know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Know the waiter?” answered Mr. Audley indignantly. “Certainly not!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lever opened his hands with a gesture of agony. “I never send him,” he + said. “I know not when or why he come. I send my waiter to take away the + plates, and he find them already away.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Audley still looked rather too bewildered to be really the man the + empire wants; none of the company could say anything except the man of + wood—Colonel Pound—who seemed galvanised into an unnatural + life. He rose rigidly from his chair, leaving all the rest sitting, + screwed his eyeglass into his eye, and spoke in a raucous undertone as if + he had half-forgotten how to speak. “Do you mean,” he said, “that somebody + has stolen our silver fish service?” + </p> + <p> + The proprietor repeated the open-handed gesture with even greater + helplessness and in a flash all the men at the table were on their feet. + </p> + <p> + “Are all your waiters here?” demanded the colonel, in his low, harsh + accent. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they’re all here. I noticed it myself,” cried the young duke, + pushing his boyish face into the inmost ring. “Always count ‘em as I come + in; they look so queer standing up against the wall.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely one cannot exactly remember,” began Mr. Audley, with heavy + hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “I remember exactly, I tell you,” cried the duke excitedly. “There never + have been more than fifteen waiters at this place, and there were no more + than fifteen tonight, I’ll swear; no more and no less.” + </p> + <p> + The proprietor turned upon him, quaking in a kind of palsy of surprise. + “You say—you say,” he stammered, “that you see all my fifteen + waiters?” + </p> + <p> + “As usual,” assented the duke. “What is the matter with that!” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Lever, with a deepening accent, “only you did not. For one + of zem is dead upstairs.” + </p> + <p> + There was a shocking stillness for an instant in that room. It may be (so + supernatural is the word death) that each of those idle men looked for a + second at his soul, and saw it as a small dried pea. One of them—the + duke, I think—even said with the idiotic kindness of wealth: “Is + there anything we can do?” + </p> + <p> + “He has had a priest,” said the Jew, not untouched. + </p> + <p> + Then, as to the clang of doom, they awoke to their own position. For a few + weird seconds they had really felt as if the fifteenth waiter might be the + ghost of the dead man upstairs. They had been dumb under that oppression, + for ghosts were to them an embarrassment, like beggars. But the + remembrance of the silver broke the spell of the miraculous; broke it + abruptly and with a brutal reaction. The colonel flung over his chair and + strode to the door. “If there was a fifteenth man here, friends,” he said, + “that fifteenth fellow was a thief. Down at once to the front and back + doors and secure everything; then we’ll talk. The twenty-four pearls of + the club are worth recovering.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Audley seemed at first to hesitate about whether it was gentlemanly to + be in such a hurry about anything; but, seeing the duke dash down the + stairs with youthful energy, he followed with a more mature motion. + </p> + <p> + At the same instant a sixth waiter ran into the room, and declared that he + had found the pile of fish plates on a sideboard, with no trace of the + silver. + </p> + <p> + The crowd of diners and attendants that tumbled helter-skelter down the + passages divided into two groups. Most of the Fishermen followed the + proprietor to the front room to demand news of any exit. Colonel Pound, + with the chairman, the vice-president, and one or two others darted down + the corridor leading to the servants’ quarters, as the more likely line of + escape. As they did so they passed the dim alcove or cavern of the cloak + room, and saw a short, black-coated figure, presumably an attendant, + standing a little way back in the shadow of it. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo, there!” called out the duke. “Have you seen anyone pass?” + </p> + <p> + The short figure did not answer the question directly, but merely said: + “Perhaps I have got what you are looking for, gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + They paused, wavering and wondering, while he quietly went to the back of + the cloak room, and came back with both hands full of shining silver, + which he laid out on the counter as calmly as a salesman. It took the form + of a dozen quaintly shaped forks and knives. + </p> + <p> + “You—you—” began the colonel, quite thrown off his balance at + last. Then he peered into the dim little room and saw two things: first, + that the short, black-clad man was dressed like a clergyman; and, second, + that the window of the room behind him was burst, as if someone had passed + violently through. “Valuable things to deposit in a cloak room, aren’t + they?” remarked the clergyman, with cheerful composure. + </p> + <p> + “Did—did you steal those things?” stammered Mr. Audley, with staring + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “If I did,” said the cleric pleasantly, “at least I am bringing them back + again.” + </p> + <p> + “But you didn’t,” said Colonel Pound, still staring at the broken window. + </p> + <p> + “To make a clean breast of it, I didn’t,” said the other, with some + humour. And he seated himself quite gravely on a stool. “But you know who + did,” said the, colonel. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know his real name,” said the priest placidly, “but I know + something of his fighting weight, and a great deal about his spiritual + difficulties. I formed the physical estimate when he was trying to + throttle me, and the moral estimate when he repented.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say—repented!” cried young Chester, with a sort of crow of + laughter. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown got to his feet, putting his hands behind him. “Odd, isn’t + it,” he said, “that a thief and a vagabond should repent, when so many who + are rich and secure remain hard and frivolous, and without fruit for God + or man? But there, if you will excuse me, you trespass a little upon my + province. If you doubt the penitence as a practical fact, there are your + knives and forks. You are The Twelve True Fishers, and there are all your + silver fish. But He has made me a fisher of men.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you catch this man?” asked the colonel, frowning. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown looked him full in his frowning face. “Yes,” he said, “I + caught him, with an unseen hook and an invisible line which is long enough + to let him wander to the ends of the world, and still to bring him back + with a twitch upon the thread.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. All the other men present drifted away to carry + the recovered silver to their comrades, or to consult the proprietor about + the queer condition of affairs. But the grim-faced colonel still sat + sideways on the counter, swinging his long, lank legs and biting his dark + moustache. + </p> + <p> + At last he said quietly to the priest: “He must have been a clever fellow, + but I think I know a cleverer.” + </p> + <p> + “He was a clever fellow,” answered the other, “but I am not quite sure of + what other you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean you,” said the colonel, with a short laugh. “I don’t want to get + the fellow jailed; make yourself easy about that. But I’d give a good many + silver forks to know exactly how you fell into this affair, and how you + got the stuff out of him. I reckon you’re the most up-to-date devil of the + present company.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown seemed rather to like the saturnine candour of the soldier. + “Well,” he said, smiling, “I mustn’t tell you anything of the man’s + identity, or his own story, of course; but there’s no particular reason + why I shouldn’t tell you of the mere outside facts which I found out for + myself.” + </p> + <p> + He hopped over the barrier with unexpected activity, and sat beside + Colonel Pound, kicking his short legs like a little boy on a gate. He + began to tell the story as easily as if he were telling it to an old + friend by a Christmas fire. + </p> + <p> + “You see, colonel,” he said, “I was shut up in that small room there doing + some writing, when I heard a pair of feet in this passage doing a dance + that was as queer as the dance of death. First came quick, funny little + steps, like a man walking on tiptoe for a wager; then came slow, careless, + creaking steps, as of a big man walking about with a cigar. But they were + both made by the same feet, I swear, and they came in rotation; first the + run and then the walk, and then the run again. I wondered at first idly + and then wildly why a man should act these two parts at once. One walk I + knew; it was just like yours, colonel. It was the walk of a well-fed + gentleman waiting for something, who strolls about rather because he is + physically alert than because he is mentally impatient. I knew that I knew + the other walk, too, but I could not remember what it was. What wild + creature had I met on my travels that tore along on tiptoe in that + extraordinary style? Then I heard a clink of plates somewhere; and the + answer stood up as plain as St. Peter’s. It was the walk of a waiter—that + walk with the body slanted forward, the eyes looking down, the ball of the + toe spurning away the ground, the coat tails and napkin flying. Then I + thought for a minute and a half more. And I believe I saw the manner of + the crime, as clearly as if I were going to commit it.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pound looked at him keenly, but the speaker’s mild grey eyes were + fixed upon the ceiling with almost empty wistfulness. + </p> + <p> + “A crime,” he said slowly, “is like any other work of art. Don’t look + surprised; crimes are by no means the only works of art that come from an + infernal workshop. But every work of art, divine or diabolic, has one + indispensable mark—I mean, that the centre of it is simple, however + much the fulfilment may be complicated. Thus, in Hamlet, let us say, the + grotesqueness of the grave-digger, the flowers of the mad girl, the + fantastic finery of Osric, the pallor of the ghost and the grin of the + skull are all oddities in a sort of tangled wreath round one plain tragic + figure of a man in black. Well, this also,” he said, getting slowly down + from his seat with a smile, “this also is the plain tragedy of a man in + black. Yes,” he went on, seeing the colonel look up in some wonder, “the + whole of this tale turns on a black coat. In this, as in Hamlet, there are + the rococo excrescences—yourselves, let us say. There is the dead + waiter, who was there when he could not be there. There is the invisible + hand that swept your table clear of silver and melted into air. But every + clever crime is founded ultimately on some one quite simple fact—some + fact that is not itself mysterious. The mystification comes in covering it + up, in leading men’s thoughts away from it. This large and subtle and (in + the ordinary course) most profitable crime, was built on the plain fact + that a gentleman’s evening dress is the same as a waiter’s. All the rest + was acting, and thundering good acting, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Still,” said the colonel, getting up and frowning at his boots, “I am not + sure that I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Colonel,” said Father Brown, “I tell you that this archangel of impudence + who stole your forks walked up and down this passage twenty times in the + blaze of all the lamps, in the glare of all the eyes. He did not go and + hide in dim corners where suspicion might have searched for him. He kept + constantly on the move in the lighted corridors, and everywhere that he + went he seemed to be there by right. Don’t ask me what he was like; you + have seen him yourself six or seven times tonight. You were waiting with + all the other grand people in the reception room at the end of the passage + there, with the terrace just beyond. Whenever he came among you gentlemen, + he came in the lightning style of a waiter, with bent head, flapping + napkin and flying feet. He shot out on to the terrace, did something to + the table cloth, and shot back again towards the office and the waiters’ + quarters. By the time he had come under the eye of the office clerk and + the waiters he had become another man in every inch of his body, in every + instinctive gesture. He strolled among the servants with the absent-minded + insolence which they have all seen in their patrons. It was no new thing + to them that a swell from the dinner party should pace all parts of the + house like an animal at the Zoo; they know that nothing marks the Smart + Set more than a habit of walking where one chooses. When he was + magnificently weary of walking down that particular passage he would wheel + round and pace back past the office; in the shadow of the arch just beyond + he was altered as by a blast of magic, and went hurrying forward again + among the Twelve Fishermen, an obsequious attendant. Why should the + gentlemen look at a chance waiter? Why should the waiters suspect a + first-rate walking gentleman? Once or twice he played the coolest tricks. + In the proprietor’s private quarters he called out breezily for a syphon + of soda water, saying he was thirsty. He said genially that he would carry + it himself, and he did; he carried it quickly and correctly through the + thick of you, a waiter with an obvious errand. Of course, it could not + have been kept up long, but it only had to be kept up till the end of the + fish course. + </p> + <p> + “His worst moment was when the waiters stood in a row; but even then he + contrived to lean against the wall just round the corner in such a way + that for that important instant the waiters thought him a gentleman, while + the gentlemen thought him a waiter. The rest went like winking. If any + waiter caught him away from the table, that waiter caught a languid + aristocrat. He had only to time himself two minutes before the fish was + cleared, become a swift servant, and clear it himself. He put the plates + down on a sideboard, stuffed the silver in his breast pocket, giving it a + bulgy look, and ran like a hare (I heard him coming) till he came to the + cloak room. There he had only to be a plutocrat again—a plutocrat + called away suddenly on business. He had only to give his ticket to the + cloak-room attendant, and go out again elegantly as he had come in. Only—only + I happened to be the cloak-room attendant.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do to him?” cried the colonel, with unusual intensity. “What + did he tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said the priest immovably, “that is where the story + ends.” + </p> + <p> + “And the interesting story begins,” muttered Pound. “I think I understand + his professional trick. But I don’t seem to have got hold of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “I must be going,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + They walked together along the passage to the entrance hall, where they + saw the fresh, freckled face of the Duke of Chester, who was bounding + buoyantly along towards them. + </p> + <p> + “Come along, Pound,” he cried breathlessly. “I’ve been looking for you + everywhere. The dinner’s going again in spanking style, and old Audley has + got to make a speech in honour of the forks being saved. We want to start + some new ceremony, don’t you know, to commemorate the occasion. I say, you + really got the goods back, what do you suggest?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said the colonel, eyeing him with a certain sardonic approval, “I + should suggest that henceforward we wear green coats, instead of black. + One never knows what mistakes may arise when one looks so like a waiter.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hang it all!” said the young man, “a gentleman never looks like a + waiter.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor a waiter like a gentleman, I suppose,” said Colonel Pound, with the + same lowering laughter on his face. “Reverend sir, your friend must have + been very smart to act the gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown buttoned up his commonplace overcoat to the neck, for the + night was stormy, and took his commonplace umbrella from the stand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said; “it must be very hard work to be a gentleman; but, do you + know, I have sometimes thought that it may be almost as laborious to be a + waiter.” + </p> + <p> + And saying “Good evening,” he pushed open the heavy doors of that palace + of pleasures. The golden gates closed behind him, and he went at a brisk + walk through the damp, dark streets in search of a penny omnibus. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Flying Stars + </h2> + <p> + “The most beautiful crime I ever committed,” Flambeau would say in his + highly moral old age, “was also, by a singular coincidence, my last. It + was committed at Christmas. As an artist I had always attempted to provide + crimes suitable to the special season or landscapes in which I found + myself, choosing this or that terrace or garden for a catastrophe, as if + for a statuary group. Thus squires should be swindled in long rooms + panelled with oak; while Jews, on the other hand, should rather find + themselves unexpectedly penniless among the lights and screens of the Cafe + Riche. Thus, in England, if I wished to relieve a dean of his riches + (which is not so easy as you might suppose), I wished to frame him, if I + make myself clear, in the green lawns and grey towers of some cathedral + town. Similarly, in France, when I had got money out of a rich and wicked + peasant (which is almost impossible), it gratified me to get his indignant + head relieved against a grey line of clipped poplars, and those solemn + plains of Gaul over which broods the mighty spirit of Millet. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my last crime was a Christmas crime, a cheery, cosy, English + middle-class crime; a crime of Charles Dickens. I did it in a good old + middle-class house near Putney, a house with a crescent of carriage drive, + a house with a stable by the side of it, a house with the name on the two + outer gates, a house with a monkey tree. Enough, you know the species. I + really think my imitation of Dickens’s style was dexterous and literary. + It seems almost a pity I repented the same evening.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau would then proceed to tell the story from the inside; and even + from the inside it was odd. Seen from the outside it was perfectly + incomprehensible, and it is from the outside that the stranger must study + it. From this standpoint the drama may be said to have begun when the + front doors of the house with the stable opened on the garden with the + monkey tree, and a young girl came out with bread to feed the birds on the + afternoon of Boxing Day. She had a pretty face, with brave brown eyes; but + her figure was beyond conjecture, for she was so wrapped up in brown furs + that it was hard to say which was hair and which was fur. But for the + attractive face she might have been a small toddling bear. + </p> + <p> + The winter afternoon was reddening towards evening, and already a ruby + light was rolled over the bloomless beds, filling them, as it were, with + the ghosts of the dead roses. On one side of the house stood the stable, + on the other an alley or cloister of laurels led to the larger garden + behind. The young lady, having scattered bread for the birds (for the + fourth or fifth time that day, because the dog ate it), passed + unobtrusively down the lane of laurels and into a glimmering plantation of + evergreens behind. Here she gave an exclamation of wonder, real or ritual, + and looking up at the high garden wall above her, beheld it fantastically + bestridden by a somewhat fantastic figure. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t jump, Mr. Crook,” she called out in some alarm; “it’s much too + high.” + </p> + <p> + The individual riding the party wall like an aerial horse was a tall, + angular young man, with dark hair sticking up like a hair brush, + intelligent and even distinguished lineaments, but a sallow and almost + alien complexion. This showed the more plainly because he wore an + aggressive red tie, the only part of his costume of which he seemed to + take any care. Perhaps it was a symbol. He took no notice of the girl’s + alarmed adjuration, but leapt like a grasshopper to the ground beside her, + where he might very well have broken his legs. + </p> + <p> + “I think I was meant to be a burglar,” he said placidly, “and I have no + doubt I should have been if I hadn’t happened to be born in that nice + house next door. I can’t see any harm in it, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you say such things!” she remonstrated. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the young man, “if you’re born on the wrong side of the wall, + I can’t see that it’s wrong to climb over it.” + </p> + <p> + “I never know what you will say or do next,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t often know myself,” replied Mr. Crook; “but then I am on the + right side of the wall now.” + </p> + <p> + “And which is the right side of the wall?” asked the young lady, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Whichever side you are on,” said the young man named Crook. + </p> + <p> + As they went together through the laurels towards the front garden a motor + horn sounded thrice, coming nearer and nearer, and a car of splendid + speed, great elegance, and a pale green colour swept up to the front doors + like a bird and stood throbbing. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, hullo!” said the young man with the red tie, “here’s somebody born + on the right side, anyhow. I didn’t know, Miss Adams, that your Santa + Claus was so modern as this.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s my godfather, Sir Leopold Fischer. He always comes on Boxing + Day.” + </p> + <p> + Then, after an innocent pause, which unconsciously betrayed some lack of + enthusiasm, Ruby Adams added: + </p> + <p> + “He is very kind.” + </p> + <p> + John Crook, journalist, had heard of that eminent City magnate; and it was + not his fault if the City magnate had not heard of him; for in certain + articles in The Clarion or The New Age Sir Leopold had been dealt with + austerely. But he said nothing and grimly watched the unloading of the + motor-car, which was rather a long process. A large, neat chauffeur in + green got out from the front, and a small, neat manservant in grey got out + from the back, and between them they deposited Sir Leopold on the doorstep + and began to unpack him, like some very carefully protected parcel. Rugs + enough to stock a bazaar, furs of all the beasts of the forest, and + scarves of all the colours of the rainbow were unwrapped one by one, till + they revealed something resembling the human form; the form of a friendly, + but foreign-looking old gentleman, with a grey goat-like beard and a + beaming smile, who rubbed his big fur gloves together. + </p> + <p> + Long before this revelation was complete the two big doors of the porch + had opened in the middle, and Colonel Adams (father of the furry young + lady) had come out himself to invite his eminent guest inside. He was a + tall, sunburnt, and very silent man, who wore a red smoking-cap like a + fez, making him look like one of the English Sirdars or Pashas in Egypt. + With him was his brother-in-law, lately come from Canada, a big and rather + boisterous young gentleman-farmer, with a yellow beard, by name James + Blount. With him also was the more insignificant figure of the priest from + the neighbouring Roman Church; for the colonel’s late wife had been a + Catholic, and the children, as is common in such cases, had been trained + to follow her. Everything seemed undistinguished about the priest, even + down to his name, which was Brown; yet the colonel had always found + something companionable about him, and frequently asked him to such family + gatherings. + </p> + <p> + In the large entrance hall of the house there was ample room even for Sir + Leopold and the removal of his wraps. Porch and vestibule, indeed, were + unduly large in proportion to the house, and formed, as it were, a big + room with the front door at one end, and the bottom of the staircase at + the other. In front of the large hall fire, over which hung the colonel’s + sword, the process was completed and the company, including the saturnine + Crook, presented to Sir Leopold Fischer. That venerable financier, + however, still seemed struggling with portions of his well-lined attire, + and at length produced from a very interior tail-coat pocket, a black oval + case which he radiantly explained to be his Christmas present for his + god-daughter. With an unaffected vain-glory that had something disarming + about it he held out the case before them all; it flew open at a touch and + half-blinded them. It was just as if a crystal fountain had spurted in + their eyes. In a nest of orange velvet lay like three eggs, three white + and vivid diamonds that seemed to set the very air on fire all round them. + Fischer stood beaming benevolently and drinking deep of the astonishment + and ecstasy of the girl, the grim admiration and gruff thanks of the + colonel, the wonder of the whole group. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll put ‘em back now, my dear,” said Fischer, returning the case to the + tails of his coat. “I had to be careful of ‘em coming down. They’re the + three great African diamonds called ‘The Flying Stars,’ because they’ve + been stolen so often. All the big criminals are on the track; but even the + rough men about in the streets and hotels could hardly have kept their + hands off them. I might have lost them on the road here. It was quite + possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite natural, I should say,” growled the man in the red tie. “I + shouldn’t blame ‘em if they had taken ‘em. When they ask for bread, and + you don’t even give them a stone, I think they might take the stone for + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t have you talking like that,” cried the girl, who was in a curious + glow. “You’ve only talked like that since you became a horrid + what’s-his-name. You know what I mean. What do you call a man who wants to + embrace the chimney-sweep?” + </p> + <p> + “A saint,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Sir Leopold, with a supercilious smile, “that Ruby means a + Socialist.” + </p> + <p> + “A radical does not mean a man who lives on radishes,” remarked Crook, + with some impatience; “and a Conservative does not mean a man who + preserves jam. Neither, I assure you, does a Socialist mean a man who + desires a social evening with the chimney-sweep. A Socialist means a man + who wants all the chimneys swept and all the chimney-sweeps paid for it.” + </p> + <p> + “But who won’t allow you,” put in the priest in a low voice, “to own your + own soot.” + </p> + <p> + Crook looked at him with an eye of interest and even respect. “Does one + want to own soot?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “One might,” answered Brown, with speculation in his eye. “I’ve heard that + gardeners use it. And I once made six children happy at Christmas when the + conjuror didn’t come, entirely with soot—applied externally.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, splendid,” cried Ruby. “Oh, I wish you’d do it to this company.” + </p> + <p> + The boisterous Canadian, Mr. Blount, was lifting his loud voice in + applause, and the astonished financier his (in some considerable + deprecation), when a knock sounded at the double front doors. The priest + opened them, and they showed again the front garden of evergreens, + monkey-tree and all, now gathering gloom against a gorgeous violet sunset. + The scene thus framed was so coloured and quaint, like a back scene in a + play, that they forgot a moment the insignificant figure standing in the + door. He was dusty-looking and in a frayed coat, evidently a common + messenger. “Any of you gentlemen Mr. Blount?” he asked, and held forward a + letter doubtfully. Mr. Blount started, and stopped in his shout of assent. + Ripping up the envelope with evident astonishment he read it; his face + clouded a little, and then cleared, and he turned to his brother-in-law + and host. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sick at being such a nuisance, colonel,” he said, with the cheery + colonial conventions; “but would it upset you if an old acquaintance + called on me here tonight on business? In point of fact it’s Florian, that + famous French acrobat and comic actor; I knew him years ago out West (he + was a French-Canadian by birth), and he seems to have business for me, + though I hardly guess what.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course,” replied the colonel carelessly—“My dear + chap, any friend of yours. No doubt he will prove an acquisition.” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll black his face, if that’s what you mean,” cried Blount, laughing. + “I don’t doubt he’d black everyone else’s eyes. I don’t care; I’m not + refined. I like the jolly old pantomime where a man sits on his top hat.” + </p> + <p> + “Not on mine, please,” said Sir Leopold Fischer, with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” observed Crook, airily, “don’t let’s quarrel. There are + lower jokes than sitting on a top hat.” + </p> + <p> + Dislike of the red-tied youth, born of his predatory opinions and evident + intimacy with the pretty godchild, led Fischer to say, in his most + sarcastic, magisterial manner: “No doubt you have found something much + lower than sitting on a top hat. What is it, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Letting a top hat sit on you, for instance,” said the Socialist. + </p> + <p> + “Now, now, now,” cried the Canadian farmer with his barbarian benevolence, + “don’t let’s spoil a jolly evening. What I say is, let’s do something for + the company tonight. Not blacking faces or sitting on hats, if you don’t + like those—but something of the sort. Why couldn’t we have a proper + old English pantomime—clown, columbine, and so on. I saw one when I + left England at twelve years old, and it’s blazed in my brain like a + bonfire ever since. I came back to the old country only last year, and I + find the thing’s extinct. Nothing but a lot of snivelling fairy plays. I + want a hot poker and a policeman made into sausages, and they give me + princesses moralising by moonlight, Blue Birds, or something. Blue Beard’s + more in my line, and him I like best when he turned into the pantaloon.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m all for making a policeman into sausages,” said John Crook. “It’s a + better definition of Socialism than some recently given. But surely the + get-up would be too big a business.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a scrap,” cried Blount, quite carried away. “A harlequinade’s the + quickest thing we can do, for two reasons. First, one can gag to any + degree; and, second, all the objects are household things—tables and + towel-horses and washing baskets, and things like that.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true,” admitted Crook, nodding eagerly and walking about. “But I’m + afraid I can’t have my policeman’s uniform? Haven’t killed a policeman + lately.” + </p> + <p> + Blount frowned thoughtfully a space, and then smote his thigh. “Yes, we + can!” he cried. “I’ve got Florian’s address here, and he knows every + costumier in London. I’ll phone him to bring a police dress when he + comes.” And he went bounding away to the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s glorious, godfather,” cried Ruby, almost dancing. “I’ll be + columbine and you shall be pantaloon.” + </p> + <p> + The millionaire held himself stiff with a sort of heathen solemnity. “I + think, my dear,” he said, “you must get someone else for pantaloon.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be pantaloon, if you like,” said Colonel Adams, taking his cigar + out of his mouth, and speaking for the first and last time. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have a statue,” cried the Canadian, as he came back, + radiant, from the telephone. “There, we are all fitted. Mr. Crook shall be + clown; he’s a journalist and knows all the oldest jokes. I can be + harlequin, that only wants long legs and jumping about. My friend Florian + ‘phones he’s bringing the police costume; he’s changing on the way. We can + act it in this very hall, the audience sitting on those broad stairs + opposite, one row above another. These front doors can be the back scene, + either open or shut. Shut, you see an English interior. Open, a moonlit + garden. It all goes by magic.” And snatching a chance piece of billiard + chalk from his pocket, he ran it across the hall floor, half-way between + the front door and the staircase, to mark the line of the footlights. + </p> + <p> + How even such a banquet of bosh was got ready in the time remained a + riddle. But they went at it with that mixture of recklessness and industry + that lives when youth is in a house; and youth was in that house that + night, though not all may have isolated the two faces and hearts from + which it flamed. As always happens, the invention grew wilder and wilder + through the very tameness of the bourgeois conventions from which it had + to create. The columbine looked charming in an outstanding skirt that + strangely resembled the large lamp-shade in the drawing-room. The clown + and pantaloon made themselves white with flour from the cook, and red with + rouge from some other domestic, who remained (like all true Christian + benefactors) anonymous. The harlequin, already clad in silver paper out of + cigar boxes, was, with difficulty, prevented from smashing the old + Victorian lustre chandeliers, that he might cover himself with resplendent + crystals. In fact he would certainly have done so, had not Ruby unearthed + some old pantomime paste jewels she had worn at a fancy dress party as the + Queen of Diamonds. Indeed, her uncle, James Blount, was getting almost out + of hand in his excitement; he was like a schoolboy. He put a paper + donkey’s head unexpectedly on Father Brown, who bore it patiently, and + even found some private manner of moving his ears. He even essayed to put + the paper donkey’s tail to the coat-tails of Sir Leopold Fischer. This, + however, was frowned down. “Uncle is too absurd,” cried Ruby to Crook, + round whose shoulders she had seriously placed a string of sausages. “Why + is he so wild?” + </p> + <p> + “He is harlequin to your columbine,” said Crook. “I am only the clown who + makes the old jokes.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you were the harlequin,” she said, and left the string of sausages + swinging. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown, though he knew every detail done behind the scenes, and had + even evoked applause by his transformation of a pillow into a pantomime + baby, went round to the front and sat among the audience with all the + solemn expectation of a child at his first matinee. The spectators were + few, relations, one or two local friends, and the servants; Sir Leopold + sat in the front seat, his full and still fur-collared figure largely + obscuring the view of the little cleric behind him; but it has never been + settled by artistic authorities whether the cleric lost much. The + pantomime was utterly chaotic, yet not contemptible; there ran through it + a rage of improvisation which came chiefly from Crook the clown. Commonly + he was a clever man, and he was inspired tonight with a wild omniscience, + a folly wiser than the world, that which comes to a young man who has seen + for an instant a particular expression on a particular face. He was + supposed to be the clown, but he was really almost everything else, the + author (so far as there was an author), the prompter, the scene-painter, + the scene-shifter, and, above all, the orchestra. At abrupt intervals in + the outrageous performance he would hurl himself in full costume at the + piano and bang out some popular music equally absurd and appropriate. + </p> + <p> + The climax of this, as of all else, was the moment when the two front + doors at the back of the scene flew open, showing the lovely moonlit + garden, but showing more prominently the famous professional guest; the + great Florian, dressed up as a policeman. The clown at the piano played + the constabulary chorus in the “Pirates of Penzance,” but it was drowned + in the deafening applause, for every gesture of the great comic actor was + an admirable though restrained version of the carriage and manner of the + police. The harlequin leapt upon him and hit him over the helmet; the + pianist playing “Where did you get that hat?” he faced about in admirably + simulated astonishment, and then the leaping harlequin hit him again (the + pianist suggesting a few bars of “Then we had another one”). Then the + harlequin rushed right into the arms of the policeman and fell on top of + him, amid a roar of applause. Then it was that the strange actor gave that + celebrated imitation of a dead man, of which the fame still lingers round + Putney. It was almost impossible to believe that a living person could + appear so limp. + </p> + <p> + The athletic harlequin swung him about like a sack or twisted or tossed + him like an Indian club; all the time to the most maddeningly ludicrous + tunes from the piano. When the harlequin heaved the comic constable + heavily off the floor the clown played “I arise from dreams of thee.” When + he shuffled him across his back, “With my bundle on my shoulder,” and when + the harlequin finally let fall the policeman with a most convincing thud, + the lunatic at the instrument struck into a jingling measure with some + words which are still believed to have been, “I sent a letter to my love + and on the way I dropped it.” + </p> + <p> + At about this limit of mental anarchy Father Brown’s view was obscured + altogether; for the City magnate in front of him rose to his full height + and thrust his hands savagely into all his pockets. Then he sat down + nervously, still fumbling, and then stood up again. For an instant it + seemed seriously likely that he would stride across the footlights; then + he turned a glare at the clown playing the piano; and then he burst in + silence out of the room. + </p> + <p> + The priest had only watched for a few more minutes the absurd but not + inelegant dance of the amateur harlequin over his splendidly unconscious + foe. With real though rude art, the harlequin danced slowly backwards out + of the door into the garden, which was full of moonlight and stillness. + The vamped dress of silver paper and paste, which had been too glaring in + the footlights, looked more and more magical and silvery as it danced away + under a brilliant moon. The audience was closing in with a cataract of + applause, when Brown felt his arm abruptly touched, and he was asked in a + whisper to come into the colonel’s study. + </p> + <p> + He followed his summoner with increasing doubt, which was not dispelled by + a solemn comicality in the scene of the study. There sat Colonel Adams, + still unaffectedly dressed as a pantaloon, with the knobbed whalebone + nodding above his brow, but with his poor old eyes sad enough to have + sobered a Saturnalia. Sir Leopold Fischer was leaning against the + mantelpiece and heaving with all the importance of panic. + </p> + <p> + “This is a very painful matter, Father Brown,” said Adams. “The truth is, + those diamonds we all saw this afternoon seem to have vanished from my + friend’s tail-coat pocket. And as you—” + </p> + <p> + “As I,” supplemented Father Brown, with a broad grin, “was sitting just + behind him—” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort shall be suggested,” said Colonel Adams, with a firm + look at Fischer, which rather implied that some such thing had been + suggested. “I only ask you to give me the assistance that any gentleman + might give.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is turning out his pockets,” said Father Brown, and proceeded to do + so, displaying seven and sixpence, a return ticket, a small silver + crucifix, a small breviary, and a stick of chocolate. + </p> + <p> + The colonel looked at him long, and then said, “Do you know, I should like + to see the inside of your head more than the inside of your pockets. My + daughter is one of your people, I know; well, she has lately—” and + he stopped. + </p> + <p> + “She has lately,” cried out old Fischer, “opened her father’s house to a + cut-throat Socialist, who says openly he would steal anything from a + richer man. This is the end of it. Here is the richer man—and none + the richer.” + </p> + <p> + “If you want the inside of my head you can have it,” said Brown rather + wearily. “What it’s worth you can say afterwards. But the first thing I + find in that disused pocket is this: that men who mean to steal diamonds + don’t talk Socialism. They are more likely,” he added demurely, “to + denounce it.” + </p> + <p> + Both the others shifted sharply and the priest went on: + </p> + <p> + “You see, we know these people, more or less. That Socialist would no more + steal a diamond than a Pyramid. We ought to look at once to the one man we + don’t know. The fellow acting the policeman—Florian. Where is he + exactly at this minute, I wonder.” + </p> + <p> + The pantaloon sprang erect and strode out of the room. An interlude + ensued, during which the millionaire stared at the priest, and the priest + at his breviary; then the pantaloon returned and said, with staccato + gravity, “The policeman is still lying on the stage. The curtain has gone + up and down six times; he is still lying there.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown dropped his book and stood staring with a look of blank + mental ruin. Very slowly a light began to creep in his grey eyes, and then + he made the scarcely obvious answer. + </p> + <p> + “Please forgive me, colonel, but when did your wife die?” + </p> + <p> + “Wife!” replied the staring soldier, “she died this year two months. Her + brother James arrived just a week too late to see her.” + </p> + <p> + The little priest bounded like a rabbit shot. “Come on!” he cried in quite + unusual excitement. “Come on! We’ve got to go and look at that policeman!” + </p> + <p> + They rushed on to the now curtained stage, breaking rudely past the + columbine and clown (who seemed whispering quite contentedly), and Father + Brown bent over the prostrate comic policeman. + </p> + <p> + “Chloroform,” he said as he rose; “I only guessed it just now.” + </p> + <p> + There was a startled stillness, and then the colonel said slowly, “Please + say seriously what all this means.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown suddenly shouted with laughter, then stopped, and only + struggled with it for instants during the rest of his speech. “Gentlemen,” + he gasped, “there’s not much time to talk. I must run after the criminal. + But this great French actor who played the policeman—this clever + corpse the harlequin waltzed with and dandled and threw about—he was—” + His voice again failed him, and he turned his back to run. + </p> + <p> + “He was?” called Fischer inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “A real policeman,” said Father Brown, and ran away into the dark. + </p> + <p> + There were hollows and bowers at the extreme end of that leafy garden, in + which the laurels and other immortal shrubs showed against sapphire sky + and silver moon, even in that midwinter, warm colours as of the south. The + green gaiety of the waving laurels, the rich purple indigo of the night, + the moon like a monstrous crystal, make an almost irresponsible romantic + picture; and among the top branches of the garden trees a strange figure + is climbing, who looks not so much romantic as impossible. He sparkles + from head to heel, as if clad in ten million moons; the real moon catches + him at every movement and sets a new inch of him on fire. But he swings, + flashing and successful, from the short tree in this garden to the tall, + rambling tree in the other, and only stops there because a shade has slid + under the smaller tree and has unmistakably called up to him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Flambeau,” says the voice, “you really look like a Flying Star; but + that always means a Falling Star at last.” + </p> + <p> + The silver, sparkling figure above seems to lean forward in the laurels + and, confident of escape, listens to the little figure below. + </p> + <p> + “You never did anything better, Flambeau. It was clever to come from + Canada (with a Paris ticket, I suppose) just a week after Mrs. Adams died, + when no one was in a mood to ask questions. It was cleverer to have marked + down the Flying Stars and the very day of Fischer’s coming. But there’s no + cleverness, but mere genius, in what followed. Stealing the stones, I + suppose, was nothing to you. You could have done it by sleight of hand in + a hundred other ways besides that pretence of putting a paper donkey’s + tail to Fischer’s coat. But in the rest you eclipsed yourself.” + </p> + <p> + The silvery figure among the green leaves seems to linger as if + hypnotised, though his escape is easy behind him; he is staring at the man + below. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” says the man below, “I know all about it. I know you not only + forced the pantomime, but put it to a double use. You were going to steal + the stones quietly; news came by an accomplice that you were already + suspected, and a capable police officer was coming to rout you up that + very night. A common thief would have been thankful for the warning and + fled; but you are a poet. You already had the clever notion of hiding the + jewels in a blaze of false stage jewellery. Now, you saw that if the dress + were a harlequin’s the appearance of a policeman would be quite in + keeping. The worthy officer started from Putney police station to find + you, and walked into the queerest trap ever set in this world. When the + front door opened he walked straight on to the stage of a Christmas + pantomime, where he could be kicked, clubbed, stunned and drugged by the + dancing harlequin, amid roars of laughter from all the most respectable + people in Putney. Oh, you will never do anything better. And now, by the + way, you might give me back those diamonds.” + </p> + <p> + The green branch on which the glittering figure swung, rustled as if in + astonishment; but the voice went on: + </p> + <p> + “I want you to give them back, Flambeau, and I want you to give up this + life. There is still youth and honour and humour in you; don’t fancy they + will last in that trade. Men may keep a sort of level of good, but no man + has ever been able to keep on one level of evil. That road goes down and + down. The kind man drinks and turns cruel; the frank man kills and lies + about it. Many a man I’ve known started like you to be an honest outlaw, a + merry robber of the rich, and ended stamped into slime. Maurice Blum + started out as an anarchist of principle, a father of the poor; he ended a + greasy spy and tale-bearer that both sides used and despised. Harry Burke + started his free money movement sincerely enough; now he’s sponging on a + half-starved sister for endless brandies and sodas. Lord Amber went into + wild society in a sort of chivalry; now he’s paying blackmail to the + lowest vultures in London. Captain Barillon was the great gentleman-apache + before your time; he died in a madhouse, screaming with fear of the + “narks” and receivers that had betrayed him and hunted him down. I know + the woods look very free behind you, Flambeau; I know that in a flash you + could melt into them like a monkey. But some day you will be an old grey + monkey, Flambeau. You will sit up in your free forest cold at heart and + close to death, and the tree-tops will be very bare.” + </p> + <p> + Everything continued still, as if the small man below held the other in + the tree in some long invisible leash; and he went on: + </p> + <p> + “Your downward steps have begun. You used to boast of doing nothing mean, + but you are doing something mean tonight. You are leaving suspicion on an + honest boy with a good deal against him already; you are separating him + from the woman he loves and who loves him. But you will do meaner things + than that before you die.” + </p> + <p> + Three flashing diamonds fell from the tree to the turf. The small man + stooped to pick them up, and when he looked up again the green cage of the + tree was emptied of its silver bird. + </p> + <p> + The restoration of the gems (accidentally picked up by Father Brown, of + all people) ended the evening in uproarious triumph; and Sir Leopold, in + his height of good humour, even told the priest that though he himself had + broader views, he could respect those whose creed required them to be + cloistered and ignorant of this world. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Invisible Man + </h2> + <p> + In the cool blue twilight of two steep streets in Camden Town, the shop at + the corner, a confectioner’s, glowed like the butt of a cigar. One should + rather say, perhaps, like the butt of a firework, for the light was of + many colours and some complexity, broken up by many mirrors and dancing on + many gilt and gaily-coloured cakes and sweetmeats. Against this one fiery + glass were glued the noses of many gutter-snipes, for the chocolates were + all wrapped in those red and gold and green metallic colours which are + almost better than chocolate itself; and the huge white wedding-cake in + the window was somehow at once remote and satisfying, just as if the whole + North Pole were good to eat. Such rainbow provocations could naturally + collect the youth of the neighbourhood up to the ages of ten or twelve. + But this corner was also attractive to youth at a later stage; and a young + man, not less than twenty-four, was staring into the same shop window. To + him, also, the shop was of fiery charm, but this attraction was not wholly + to be explained by chocolates; which, however, he was far from despising. + </p> + <p> + He was a tall, burly, red-haired young man, with a resolute face but a + listless manner. He carried under his arm a flat, grey portfolio of + black-and-white sketches, which he had sold with more or less success to + publishers ever since his uncle (who was an admiral) had disinherited him + for Socialism, because of a lecture which he had delivered against that + economic theory. His name was John Turnbull Angus. + </p> + <p> + Entering at last, he walked through the confectioner’s shop to the back + room, which was a sort of pastry-cook restaurant, merely raising his hat + to the young lady who was serving there. She was a dark, elegant, alert + girl in black, with a high colour and very quick, dark eyes; and after the + ordinary interval she followed him into the inner room to take his order. + </p> + <p> + His order was evidently a usual one. “I want, please,” he said with + precision, “one halfpenny bun and a small cup of black coffee.” An instant + before the girl could turn away he added, “Also, I want you to marry me.” + </p> + <p> + The young lady of the shop stiffened suddenly and said, “Those are jokes I + don’t allow.” + </p> + <p> + The red-haired young man lifted grey eyes of an unexpected gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Really and truly,” he said, “it’s as serious—as serious as the + halfpenny bun. It is expensive, like the bun; one pays for it. It is + indigestible, like the bun. It hurts.” + </p> + <p> + The dark young lady had never taken her dark eyes off him, but seemed to + be studying him with almost tragic exactitude. At the end of her scrutiny + she had something like the shadow of a smile, and she sat down in a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think,” observed Angus, absently, “that it’s rather cruel to + eat these halfpenny buns? They might grow up into penny buns. I shall give + up these brutal sports when we are married.” + </p> + <p> + The dark young lady rose from her chair and walked to the window, + evidently in a state of strong but not unsympathetic cogitation. When at + last she swung round again with an air of resolution she was bewildered to + observe that the young man was carefully laying out on the table various + objects from the shop-window. They included a pyramid of highly coloured + sweets, several plates of sandwiches, and the two decanters containing + that mysterious port and sherry which are peculiar to pastry-cooks. In the + middle of this neat arrangement he had carefully let down the enormous + load of white sugared cake which had been the huge ornament of the window. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth are you doing?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Duty, my dear Laura,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for the Lord’s sake, stop a minute,” she cried, “and don’t talk to me + in that way. I mean, what is all that?” + </p> + <p> + “A ceremonial meal, Miss Hope.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” she asked impatiently, pointing to the mountain of + sugar. + </p> + <p> + “The wedding-cake, Mrs. Angus,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The girl marched to that article, removed it with some clatter, and put it + back in the shop window; she then returned, and, putting her elegant + elbows on the table, regarded the young man not unfavourably but with + considerable exasperation. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t give me any time to think,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not such a fool,” he answered; “that’s my Christian humility.” + </p> + <p> + She was still looking at him; but she had grown considerably graver behind + the smile. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Angus,” she said steadily, “before there is a minute more of this + nonsense I must tell you something about myself as shortly as I can.’” + </p> + <p> + “Delighted,” replied Angus gravely. “You might tell me something about + myself, too, while you are about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do hold your tongue and listen,” she said. “It’s nothing that I’m + ashamed of, and it isn’t even anything that I’m specially sorry about. But + what would you say if there were something that is no business of mine and + yet is my nightmare?” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” said the man seriously, “I should suggest that you bring + back the cake.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must listen to the story first,” said Laura, persistently. “To + begin with, I must tell you that my father owned the inn called the ‘Red + Fish’ at Ludbury, and I used to serve people in the bar.” + </p> + <p> + “I have often wondered,” he said, “why there was a kind of a Christian air + about this one confectioner’s shop.” + </p> + <p> + “Ludbury is a sleepy, grassy little hole in the Eastern Counties, and the + only kind of people who ever came to the ‘Red Fish’ were occasional + commercial travellers, and for the rest, the most awful people you can + see, only you’ve never seen them. I mean little, loungy men, who had just + enough to live on and had nothing to do but lean about in bar-rooms and + bet on horses, in bad clothes that were just too good for them. Even these + wretched young rotters were not very common at our house; but there were + two of them that were a lot too common—common in every sort of way. + They both lived on money of their own, and were wearisomely idle and + over-dressed. But yet I was a bit sorry for them, because I half believe + they slunk into our little empty bar because each of them had a slight + deformity; the sort of thing that some yokels laugh at. It wasn’t exactly + a deformity either; it was more an oddity. One of them was a surprisingly + small man, something like a dwarf, or at least like a jockey. He was not + at all jockeyish to look at, though; he had a round black head and a + well-trimmed black beard, bright eyes like a bird’s; he jingled money in + his pockets; he jangled a great gold watch chain; and he never turned up + except dressed just too much like a gentleman to be one. He was no fool + though, though a futile idler; he was curiously clever at all kinds of + things that couldn’t be the slightest use; a sort of impromptu conjuring; + making fifteen matches set fire to each other like a regular firework; or + cutting a banana or some such thing into a dancing doll. His name was + Isidore Smythe; and I can see him still, with his little dark face, just + coming up to the counter, making a jumping kangaroo out of five cigars. + </p> + <p> + “The other fellow was more silent and more ordinary; but somehow he + alarmed me much more than poor little Smythe. He was very tall and slight, + and light-haired; his nose had a high bridge, and he might almost have + been handsome in a spectral sort of way; but he had one of the most + appalling squints I have ever seen or heard of. When he looked straight at + you, you didn’t know where you were yourself, let alone what he was + looking at. I fancy this sort of disfigurement embittered the poor chap a + little; for while Smythe was ready to show off his monkey tricks anywhere, + James Welkin (that was the squinting man’s name) never did anything except + soak in our bar parlour, and go for great walks by himself in the flat, + grey country all round. All the same, I think Smythe, too, was a little + sensitive about being so small, though he carried it off more smartly. And + so it was that I was really puzzled, as well as startled, and very sorry, + when they both offered to marry me in the same week. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I did what I’ve since thought was perhaps a silly thing. But, after + all, these freaks were my friends in a way; and I had a horror of their + thinking I refused them for the real reason, which was that they were so + impossibly ugly. So I made up some gas of another sort, about never + meaning to marry anyone who hadn’t carved his way in the world. I said it + was a point of principle with me not to live on money that was just + inherited like theirs. Two days after I had talked in this well-meaning + sort of way, the whole trouble began. The first thing I heard was that + both of them had gone off to seek their fortunes, as if they were in some + silly fairy tale. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve never seen either of them from that day to this. But I’ve had + two letters from the little man called Smythe, and really they were rather + exciting.” + </p> + <p> + “Ever heard of the other man?” asked Angus. + </p> + <p> + “No, he never wrote,” said the girl, after an instant’s hesitation. + “Smythe’s first letter was simply to say that he had started out walking + with Welkin to London; but Welkin was such a good walker that the little + man dropped out of it, and took a rest by the roadside. He happened to be + picked up by some travelling show, and, partly because he was nearly a + dwarf, and partly because he was really a clever little wretch, he got on + quite well in the show business, and was soon sent up to the Aquarium, to + do some tricks that I forget. That was his first letter. His second was + much more of a startler, and I only got it last week.” + </p> + <p> + The man called Angus emptied his coffee-cup and regarded her with mild and + patient eyes. Her own mouth took a slight twist of laughter as she + resumed, “I suppose you’ve seen on the hoardings all about this ‘Smythe’s + Silent Service’? Or you must be the only person that hasn’t. Oh, I don’t + know much about it, it’s some clockwork invention for doing all the + housework by machinery. You know the sort of thing: ‘Press a Button—A + Butler who Never Drinks.’ ‘Turn a Handle—Ten Housemaids who Never + Flirt.’ You must have seen the advertisements. Well, whatever these + machines are, they are making pots of money; and they are making it all + for that little imp whom I knew down in Ludbury. I can’t help feeling + pleased the poor little chap has fallen on his feet; but the plain fact + is, I’m in terror of his turning up any minute and telling me he’s carved + his way in the world—as he certainly has.” + </p> + <p> + “And the other man?” repeated Angus with a sort of obstinate quietude. + </p> + <p> + Laura Hope got to her feet suddenly. “My friend,” she said, “I think you + are a witch. Yes, you are quite right. I have not seen a line of the other + man’s writing; and I have no more notion than the dead of what or where he + is. But it is of him that I am frightened. It is he who is all about my + path. It is he who has half driven me mad. Indeed, I think he has driven + me mad; for I have felt him where he could not have been, and I have heard + his voice when he could not have spoken.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” said the young man, cheerfully, “if he were Satan + himself, he is done for now you have told somebody. One goes mad all + alone, old girl. But when was it you fancied you felt and heard our + squinting friend?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard James Welkin laugh as plainly as I hear you speak,” said the + girl, steadily. “There was nobody there, for I stood just outside the shop + at the corner, and could see down both streets at once. I had forgotten + how he laughed, though his laugh was as odd as his squint. I had not + thought of him for nearly a year. But it’s a solemn truth that a few + seconds later the first letter came from his rival.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever make the spectre speak or squeak, or anything?” asked Angus, + with some interest. + </p> + <p> + Laura suddenly shuddered, and then said, with an unshaken voice, “Yes. + Just when I had finished reading the second letter from Isidore Smythe + announcing his success. Just then, I heard Welkin say, ‘He shan’t have + you, though.’ It was quite plain, as if he were in the room. It is awful, + I think I must be mad.” + </p> + <p> + “If you really were mad,” said the young man, “you would think you must be + sane. But certainly there seems to me to be something a little rum about + this unseen gentleman. Two heads are better than one—I spare you + allusions to any other organs and really, if you would allow me, as a + sturdy, practical man, to bring back the wedding-cake out of the window—” + </p> + <p> + Even as he spoke, there was a sort of steely shriek in the street outside, + and a small motor, driven at devilish speed, shot up to the door of the + shop and stuck there. In the same flash of time a small man in a shiny top + hat stood stamping in the outer room. + </p> + <p> + Angus, who had hitherto maintained hilarious ease from motives of mental + hygiene, revealed the strain of his soul by striding abruptly out of the + inner room and confronting the new-comer. A glance at him was quite + sufficient to confirm the savage guesswork of a man in love. This very + dapper but dwarfish figure, with the spike of black beard carried + insolently forward, the clever unrestful eyes, the neat but very nervous + fingers, could be none other than the man just described to him: Isidore + Smythe, who made dolls out of banana skins and match-boxes; Isidore + Smythe, who made millions out of undrinking butlers and unflirting + housemaids of metal. For a moment the two men, instinctively understanding + each other’s air of possession, looked at each other with that curious + cold generosity which is the soul of rivalry. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Smythe, however, made no allusion to the ultimate ground of their + antagonism, but said simply and explosively, “Has Miss Hope seen that + thing on the window?” + </p> + <p> + “On the window?” repeated the staring Angus. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no time to explain other things,” said the small millionaire + shortly. “There’s some tomfoolery going on here that has to be + investigated.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed his polished walking-stick at the window, recently depleted by + the bridal preparations of Mr. Angus; and that gentleman was astonished to + see along the front of the glass a long strip of paper pasted, which had + certainly not been on the window when he looked through it some time + before. Following the energetic Smythe outside into the street, he found + that some yard and a half of stamp paper had been carefully gummed along + the glass outside, and on this was written in straggly characters, “If you + marry Smythe, he will die.” + </p> + <p> + “Laura,” said Angus, putting his big red head into the shop, “you’re not + mad.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the writing of that fellow Welkin,” said Smythe gruffly. “I haven’t + seen him for years, but he’s always bothering me. Five times in the last + fortnight he’s had threatening letters left at my flat, and I can’t even + find out who leaves them, let alone if it is Welkin himself. The porter of + the flats swears that no suspicious characters have been seen, and here he + has pasted up a sort of dado on a public shop window, while the people in + the shop—” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said Angus modestly, “while the people in the shop were having + tea. Well, sir, I can assure you I appreciate your common sense in dealing + so directly with the matter. We can talk about other things afterwards. + The fellow cannot be very far off yet, for I swear there was no paper + there when I went last to the window, ten or fifteen minutes ago. On the + other hand, he’s too far off to be chased, as we don’t even know the + direction. If you’ll take my advice, Mr. Smythe, you’ll put this at once + in the hands of some energetic inquiry man, private rather than public. I + know an extremely clever fellow, who has set up in business five minutes + from here in your car. His name’s Flambeau, and though his youth was a bit + stormy, he’s a strictly honest man now, and his brains are worth money. He + lives in Lucknow Mansions, Hampstead.” + </p> + <p> + “That is odd,” said the little man, arching his black eyebrows. “I live, + myself, in Himylaya Mansions, round the corner. Perhaps you might care to + come with me; I can go to my rooms and sort out these queer Welkin + documents, while you run round and get your friend the detective.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very good,” said Angus politely. “Well, the sooner we act the + better.” + </p> + <p> + Both men, with a queer kind of impromptu fairness, took the same sort of + formal farewell of the lady, and both jumped into the brisk little car. As + Smythe took the handles and they turned the great corner of the street, + Angus was amused to see a gigantesque poster of “Smythe’s Silent Service,” + with a picture of a huge headless iron doll, carrying a saucepan with the + legend, “A Cook Who is Never Cross.” + </p> + <p> + “I use them in my own flat,” said the little black-bearded man, laughing, + “partly for advertisements, and partly for real convenience. Honestly, and + all above board, those big clockwork dolls of mine do bring your coals or + claret or a timetable quicker than any live servants I’ve ever known, if + you know which knob to press. But I’ll never deny, between ourselves, that + such servants have their disadvantages, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” said Angus; “is there something they can’t do?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Smythe coolly; “they can’t tell me who left those + threatening letters at my flat.” + </p> + <p> + The man’s motor was small and swift like himself; in fact, like his + domestic service, it was of his own invention. If he was an advertising + quack, he was one who believed in his own wares. The sense of something + tiny and flying was accentuated as they swept up long white curves of road + in the dead but open daylight of evening. Soon the white curves came + sharper and dizzier; they were upon ascending spirals, as they say in the + modern religions. For, indeed, they were cresting a corner of London which + is almost as precipitous as Edinburgh, if not quite so picturesque. + Terrace rose above terrace, and the special tower of flats they sought, + rose above them all to almost Egyptian height, gilt by the level sunset. + The change, as they turned the corner and entered the crescent known as + Himylaya Mansions, was as abrupt as the opening of a window; for they + found that pile of flats sitting above London as above a green sea of + slate. Opposite to the mansions, on the other side of the gravel crescent, + was a bushy enclosure more like a steep hedge or dyke than a garden, and + some way below that ran a strip of artificial water, a sort of canal, like + the moat of that embowered fortress. As the car swept round the crescent + it passed, at one corner, the stray stall of a man selling chestnuts; and + right away at the other end of the curve, Angus could see a dim blue + policeman walking slowly. These were the only human shapes in that high + suburban solitude; but he had an irrational sense that they expressed the + speechless poetry of London. He felt as if they were figures in a story. + </p> + <p> + The little car shot up to the right house like a bullet, and shot out its + owner like a bomb shell. He was immediately inquiring of a tall + commissionaire in shining braid, and a short porter in shirt sleeves, + whether anybody or anything had been seeking his apartments. He was + assured that nobody and nothing had passed these officials since his last + inquiries; whereupon he and the slightly bewildered Angus were shot up in + the lift like a rocket, till they reached the top floor. + </p> + <p> + “Just come in for a minute,” said the breathless Smythe. “I want to show + you those Welkin letters. Then you might run round the corner and fetch + your friend.” He pressed a button concealed in the wall, and the door + opened of itself. + </p> + <p> + It opened on a long, commodious ante-room, of which the only arresting + features, ordinarily speaking, were the rows of tall half-human mechanical + figures that stood up on both sides like tailors’ dummies. Like tailors’ + dummies they were headless; and like tailors’ dummies they had a handsome + unnecessary humpiness in the shoulders, and a pigeon-breasted protuberance + of chest; but barring this, they were not much more like a human figure + than any automatic machine at a station that is about the human height. + They had two great hooks like arms, for carrying trays; and they were + painted pea-green, or vermilion, or black for convenience of distinction; + in every other way they were only automatic machines and nobody would have + looked twice at them. On this occasion, at least, nobody did. For between + the two rows of these domestic dummies lay something more interesting than + most of the mechanics of the world. It was a white, tattered scrap of + paper scrawled with red ink; and the agile inventor had snatched it up + almost as soon as the door flew open. He handed it to Angus without a + word. The red ink on it actually was not dry, and the message ran, “If you + have been to see her today, I shall kill you.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence, and then Isidore Smythe said quietly, “Would + you like a little whiskey? I rather feel as if I should.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; I should like a little Flambeau,” said Angus, gloomily. “This + business seems to me to be getting rather grave. I’m going round at once + to fetch him.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are,” said the other, with admirable cheerfulness. “Bring him + round here as quick as you can.” + </p> + <p> + But as Angus closed the front door behind him he saw Smythe push back a + button, and one of the clockwork images glided from its place and slid + along a groove in the floor carrying a tray with syphon and decanter. + There did seem something a trifle weird about leaving the little man alone + among those dead servants, who were coming to life as the door closed. + </p> + <p> + Six steps down from Smythe’s landing the man in shirt sleeves was doing + something with a pail. Angus stopped to extract a promise, fortified with + a prospective bribe, that he would remain in that place until the return + with the detective, and would keep count of any kind of stranger coming up + those stairs. Dashing down to the front hall he then laid similar charges + of vigilance on the commissionaire at the front door, from whom he learned + the simplifying circumstances that there was no back door. Not content + with this, he captured the floating policeman and induced him to stand + opposite the entrance and watch it; and finally paused an instant for a + pennyworth of chestnuts, and an inquiry as to the probable length of the + merchant’s stay in the neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + The chestnut seller, turning up the collar of his coat, told him he should + probably be moving shortly, as he thought it was going to snow. Indeed, + the evening was growing grey and bitter, but Angus, with all his + eloquence, proceeded to nail the chestnut man to his post. + </p> + <p> + “Keep yourself warm on your own chestnuts,” he said earnestly. “Eat up + your whole stock; I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll give you a sovereign + if you’ll wait here till I come back, and then tell me whether any man, + woman, or child has gone into that house where the commissionaire is + standing.” + </p> + <p> + He then walked away smartly, with a last look at the besieged tower. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve made a ring round that room, anyhow,” he said. “They can’t all four + of them be Mr. Welkin’s accomplices.” + </p> + <p> + Lucknow Mansions were, so to speak, on a lower platform of that hill of + houses, of which Himylaya Mansions might be called the peak. Mr. + Flambeau’s semi-official flat was on the ground floor, and presented in + every way a marked contrast to the American machinery and cold hotel-like + luxury of the flat of the Silent Service. Flambeau, who was a friend of + Angus, received him in a rococo artistic den behind his office, of which + the ornaments were sabres, harquebuses, Eastern curiosities, flasks of + Italian wine, savage cooking-pots, a plumy Persian cat, and a small + dusty-looking Roman Catholic priest, who looked particularly out of place. + </p> + <p> + “This is my friend Father Brown,” said Flambeau. “I’ve often wanted you to + meet him. Splendid weather, this; a little cold for Southerners like me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think it will keep clear,” said Angus, sitting down on a + violet-striped Eastern ottoman. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the priest quietly, “it has begun to snow.” + </p> + <p> + And, indeed, as he spoke, the first few flakes, foreseen by the man of + chestnuts, began to drift across the darkening windowpane. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Angus heavily. “I’m afraid I’ve come on business, and rather + jumpy business at that. The fact is, Flambeau, within a stone’s throw of + your house is a fellow who badly wants your help; he’s perpetually being + haunted and threatened by an invisible enemy—a scoundrel whom nobody + has even seen.” As Angus proceeded to tell the whole tale of Smythe and + Welkin, beginning with Laura’s story, and going on with his own, the + supernatural laugh at the corner of two empty streets, the strange + distinct words spoken in an empty room, Flambeau grew more and more + vividly concerned, and the little priest seemed to be left out of it, like + a piece of furniture. When it came to the scribbled stamp-paper pasted on + the window, Flambeau rose, seeming to fill the room with his huge + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I think you had better tell me the rest on + the nearest road to this man’s house. It strikes me, somehow, that there + is no time to be lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Delighted,” said Angus, rising also, “though he’s safe enough for the + present, for I’ve set four men to watch the only hole to his burrow.” + </p> + <p> + They turned out into the street, the small priest trundling after them + with the docility of a small dog. He merely said, in a cheerful way, like + one making conversation, “How quick the snow gets thick on the ground.” + </p> + <p> + As they threaded the steep side streets already powdered with silver, + Angus finished his story; and by the time they reached the crescent with + the towering flats, he had leisure to turn his attention to the four + sentinels. The chestnut seller, both before and after receiving a + sovereign, swore stubbornly that he had watched the door and seen no + visitor enter. The policeman was even more emphatic. He said he had had + experience of crooks of all kinds, in top hats and in rags; he wasn’t so + green as to expect suspicious characters to look suspicious; he looked out + for anybody, and, so help him, there had been nobody. And when all three + men gathered round the gilded commissionaire, who still stood smiling + astride of the porch, the verdict was more final still. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got a right to ask any man, duke or dustman, what he wants in these + flats,” said the genial and gold-laced giant, “and I’ll swear there’s been + nobody to ask since this gentleman went away.” + </p> + <p> + The unimportant Father Brown, who stood back, looking modestly at the + pavement, here ventured to say meekly, “Has nobody been up and down + stairs, then, since the snow began to fall? It began while we were all + round at Flambeau’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody’s been in here, sir, you can take it from me,” said the official, + with beaming authority. + </p> + <p> + “Then I wonder what that is?” said the priest, and stared at the ground + blankly like a fish. + </p> + <p> + The others all looked down also; and Flambeau used a fierce exclamation + and a French gesture. For it was unquestionably true that down the middle + of the entrance guarded by the man in gold lace, actually between the + arrogant, stretched legs of that colossus, ran a stringy pattern of grey + footprints stamped upon the white snow. + </p> + <p> + “God!” cried Angus involuntarily, “the Invisible Man!” + </p> + <p> + Without another word he turned and dashed up the stairs, with Flambeau + following; but Father Brown still stood looking about him in the snow-clad + street as if he had lost interest in his query. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau was plainly in a mood to break down the door with his big + shoulders; but the Scotchman, with more reason, if less intuition, fumbled + about on the frame of the door till he found the invisible button; and the + door swung slowly open. + </p> + <p> + It showed substantially the same serried interior; the hall had grown + darker, though it was still struck here and there with the last crimson + shafts of sunset, and one or two of the headless machines had been moved + from their places for this or that purpose, and stood here and there about + the twilit place. The green and red of their coats were all darkened in + the dusk; and their likeness to human shapes slightly increased by their + very shapelessness. But in the middle of them all, exactly where the paper + with the red ink had lain, there lay something that looked like red ink + spilt out of its bottle. But it was not red ink. + </p> + <p> + With a French combination of reason and violence Flambeau simply said + “Murder!” and, plunging into the flat, had explored, every corner and + cupboard of it in five minutes. But if he expected to find a corpse he + found none. Isidore Smythe was not in the place, either dead or alive. + After the most tearing search the two men met each other in the outer + hall, with streaming faces and staring eyes. “My friend,” said Flambeau, + talking French in his excitement, “not only is your murderer invisible, + but he makes invisible also the murdered man.” + </p> + <p> + Angus looked round at the dim room full of dummies, and in some Celtic + corner of his Scotch soul a shudder started. One of the life-size dolls + stood immediately overshadowing the blood stain, summoned, perhaps, by the + slain man an instant before he fell. One of the high-shouldered hooks that + served the thing for arms, was a little lifted, and Angus had suddenly the + horrid fancy that poor Smythe’s own iron child had struck him down. Matter + had rebelled, and these machines had killed their master. But even so, + what had they done with him? + </p> + <p> + “Eaten him?” said the nightmare at his ear; and he sickened for an instant + at the idea of rent, human remains absorbed and crushed into all that + acephalous clockwork. + </p> + <p> + He recovered his mental health by an emphatic effort, and said to + Flambeau, “Well, there it is. The poor fellow has evaporated like a cloud + and left a red streak on the floor. The tale does not belong to this + world.” + </p> + <p> + “There is only one thing to be done,” said Flambeau, “whether it belongs + to this world or the other. I must go down and talk to my friend.” + </p> + <p> + They descended, passing the man with the pail, who again asseverated that + he had let no intruder pass, down to the commissionaire and the hovering + chestnut man, who rigidly reasserted their own watchfulness. But when + Angus looked round for his fourth confirmation he could not see it, and + called out with some nervousness, “Where is the policeman?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said Father Brown; “that is my fault. I just sent him + down the road to investigate something—that I just thought worth + investigating.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we want him back pretty soon,” said Angus abruptly, “for the + wretched man upstairs has not only been murdered, but wiped out.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” asked the priest. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Flambeau, after a pause, “upon my soul I believe it is more + in your department than mine. No friend or foe has entered the house, but + Smythe is gone, as if stolen by the fairies. If that is not supernatural, + I—” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke they were all checked by an unusual sight; the big blue + policeman came round the corner of the crescent, running. He came straight + up to Brown. + </p> + <p> + “You’re right, sir,” he panted, “they’ve just found poor Mr. Smythe’s body + in the canal down below.” + </p> + <p> + Angus put his hand wildly to his head. “Did he run down and drown + himself?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “He never came down, I’ll swear,” said the constable, “and he wasn’t + drowned either, for he died of a great stab over the heart.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you saw no one enter?” said Flambeau in a grave voice. + </p> + <p> + “Let us walk down the road a little,” said the priest. + </p> + <p> + As they reached the other end of the crescent he observed abruptly, + “Stupid of me! I forgot to ask the policeman something. I wonder if they + found a light brown sack.” + </p> + <p> + “Why a light brown sack?” asked Angus, astonished. + </p> + <p> + “Because if it was any other coloured sack, the case must begin over + again,” said Father Brown; “but if it was a light brown sack, why, the + case is finished.” + </p> + <p> + “I am pleased to hear it,” said Angus with hearty irony. “It hasn’t begun, + so far as I am concerned.” + </p> + <p> + “You must tell us all about it,” said Flambeau with a strange heavy + simplicity, like a child. + </p> + <p> + Unconsciously they were walking with quickening steps down the long sweep + of road on the other side of the high crescent, Father Brown leading + briskly, though in silence. At last he said with an almost touching + vagueness, “Well, I’m afraid you’ll think it so prosy. We always begin at + the abstract end of things, and you can’t begin this story anywhere else. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever noticed this—that people never answer what you say? + They answer what you mean—or what they think you mean. Suppose one + lady says to another in a country house, ‘Is anybody staying with you?’ + the lady doesn’t answer ‘Yes; the butler, the three footmen, the + parlourmaid, and so on,’ though the parlourmaid may be in the room, or the + butler behind her chair. She says ‘There is nobody staying with us,’ + meaning nobody of the sort you mean. But suppose a doctor inquiring into + an epidemic asks, ‘Who is staying in the house?’ then the lady will + remember the butler, the parlourmaid, and the rest. All language is used + like that; you never get a question answered literally, even when you get + it answered truly. When those four quite honest men said that no man had + gone into the Mansions, they did not really mean that no man had gone into + them. They meant no man whom they could suspect of being your man. A man + did go into the house, and did come out of it, but they never noticed + him.” + </p> + <p> + “An invisible man?” inquired Angus, raising his red eyebrows. “A mentally + invisible man,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + A minute or two after he resumed in the same unassuming voice, like a man + thinking his way. “Of course you can’t think of such a man, until you do + think of him. That’s where his cleverness comes in. But I came to think of + him through two or three little things in the tale Mr. Angus told us. + First, there was the fact that this Welkin went for long walks. And then + there was the vast lot of stamp paper on the window. And then, most of + all, there were the two things the young lady said—things that + couldn’t be true. Don’t get annoyed,” he added hastily, noting a sudden + movement of the Scotchman’s head; “she thought they were true. A person + can’t be quite alone in a street a second before she receives a letter. + She can’t be quite alone in a street when she starts reading a letter just + received. There must be somebody pretty near her; he must be mentally + invisible.” + </p> + <p> + “Why must there be somebody near her?” asked Angus. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said Father Brown, “barring carrier-pigeons, somebody must have + brought her the letter.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really mean to say,” asked Flambeau, with energy, “that Welkin + carried his rival’s letters to his lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the priest. “Welkin carried his rival’s letters to his lady. + You see, he had to.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can’t stand much more of this,” exploded Flambeau. “Who is this + fellow? What does he look like? What is the usual get-up of a mentally + invisible man?” + </p> + <p> + “He is dressed rather handsomely in red, blue and gold,” replied the + priest promptly with precision, “and in this striking, and even showy, + costume he entered Himylaya Mansions under eight human eyes; he killed + Smythe in cold blood, and came down into the street again carrying the + dead body in his arms—” + </p> + <p> + “Reverend sir,” cried Angus, standing still, “are you raving mad, or am + I?” + </p> + <p> + “You are not mad,” said Brown, “only a little unobservant. You have not + noticed such a man as this, for example.” + </p> + <p> + He took three quick strides forward, and put his hand on the shoulder of + an ordinary passing postman who had bustled by them unnoticed under the + shade of the trees. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody ever notices postmen somehow,” he said thoughtfully; “yet they + have passions like other men, and even carry large bags where a small + corpse can be stowed quite easily.” + </p> + <p> + The postman, instead of turning naturally, had ducked and tumbled against + the garden fence. He was a lean fair-bearded man of very ordinary + appearance, but as he turned an alarmed face over his shoulder, all three + men were fixed with an almost fiendish squint. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Flambeau went back to his sabres, purple rugs and Persian cat, having many + things to attend to. John Turnbull Angus went back to the lady at the + shop, with whom that imprudent young man contrives to be extremely + comfortable. But Father Brown walked those snow-covered hills under the + stars for many hours with a murderer, and what they said to each other + will never be known. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Honour of Israel Gow + </h2> + <p> + A stormy evening of olive and silver was closing in, as Father Brown, + wrapped in a grey Scotch plaid, came to the end of a grey Scotch valley + and beheld the strange castle of Glengyle. It stopped one end of the glen + or hollow like a blind alley; and it looked like the end of the world. + Rising in steep roofs and spires of seagreen slate in the manner of the + old French-Scotch chateaux, it reminded an Englishman of the sinister + steeple-hats of witches in fairy tales; and the pine woods that rocked + round the green turrets looked, by comparison, as black as numberless + flocks of ravens. This note of a dreamy, almost a sleepy devilry, was no + mere fancy from the landscape. For there did rest on the place one of + those clouds of pride and madness and mysterious sorrow which lie more + heavily on the noble houses of Scotland than on any other of the children + of men. For Scotland has a double dose of the poison called heredity; the + sense of blood in the aristocrat, and the sense of doom in the Calvinist. + </p> + <p> + The priest had snatched a day from his business at Glasgow to meet his + friend Flambeau, the amateur detective, who was at Glengyle Castle with + another more formal officer investigating the life and death of the late + Earl of Glengyle. That mysterious person was the last representative of a + race whose valour, insanity, and violent cunning had made them terrible + even among the sinister nobility of their nation in the sixteenth century. + None were deeper in that labyrinthine ambition, in chamber within chamber + of that palace of lies that was built up around Mary Queen of Scots. + </p> + <p> + The rhyme in the country-side attested the motive and the result of their + machinations candidly: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies. +</pre> + <p> + For many centuries there had never been a decent lord in Glengyle Castle; + and with the Victorian era one would have thought that all eccentricities + were exhausted. The last Glengyle, however, satisfied his tribal tradition + by doing the only thing that was left for him to do; he disappeared. I do + not mean that he went abroad; by all accounts he was still in the castle, + if he was anywhere. But though his name was in the church register and the + big red Peerage, nobody ever saw him under the sun. + </p> + <p> + If anyone saw him it was a solitary man-servant, something between a groom + and a gardener. He was so deaf that the more business-like assumed him to + be dumb; while the more penetrating declared him to be half-witted. A + gaunt, red-haired labourer, with a dogged jaw and chin, but quite blank + blue eyes, he went by the name of Israel Gow, and was the one silent + servant on that deserted estate. But the energy with which he dug + potatoes, and the regularity with which he disappeared into the kitchen + gave people an impression that he was providing for the meals of a + superior, and that the strange earl was still concealed in the castle. If + society needed any further proof that he was there, the servant + persistently asserted that he was not at home. One morning the provost and + the minister (for the Glengyles were Presbyterian) were summoned to the + castle. There they found that the gardener, groom and cook had added to + his many professions that of an undertaker, and had nailed up his noble + master in a coffin. With how much or how little further inquiry this odd + fact was passed, did not as yet very plainly appear; for the thing had + never been legally investigated till Flambeau had gone north two or three + days before. By then the body of Lord Glengyle (if it was the body) had + lain for some time in the little churchyard on the hill. + </p> + <p> + As Father Brown passed through the dim garden and came under the shadow of + the chateau, the clouds were thick and the whole air damp and thundery. + Against the last stripe of the green-gold sunset he saw a black human + silhouette; a man in a chimney-pot hat, with a big spade over his + shoulder. The combination was queerly suggestive of a sexton; but when + Brown remembered the deaf servant who dug potatoes, he thought it natural + enough. He knew something of the Scotch peasant; he knew the + respectability which might well feel it necessary to wear “blacks” for an + official inquiry; he knew also the economy that would not lose an hour’s + digging for that. Even the man’s start and suspicious stare as the priest + went by were consonant enough with the vigilance and jealousy of such a + type. + </p> + <p> + The great door was opened by Flambeau himself, who had with him a lean man + with iron-grey hair and papers in his hand: Inspector Craven from Scotland + Yard. The entrance hall was mostly stripped and empty; but the pale, + sneering faces of one or two of the wicked Ogilvies looked down out of + black periwigs and blackening canvas. + </p> + <p> + Following them into an inner room, Father Brown found that the allies had + been seated at a long oak table, of which their end was covered with + scribbled papers, flanked with whisky and cigars. Through the whole of its + remaining length it was occupied by detached objects arranged at + intervals; objects about as inexplicable as any objects could be. One + looked like a small heap of glittering broken glass. Another looked like a + high heap of brown dust. A third appeared to be a plain stick of wood. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have a sort of geological museum here,” he said, as he sat + down, jerking his head briefly in the direction of the brown dust and the + crystalline fragments. + </p> + <p> + “Not a geological museum,” replied Flambeau; “say a psychological museum.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for the Lord’s sake,” cried the police detective laughing, “don’t + let’s begin with such long words.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know what psychology means?” asked Flambeau with friendly + surprise. “Psychology means being off your chump.” + </p> + <p> + “Still I hardly follow,” replied the official. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Flambeau, with decision, “I mean that we’ve only found out + one thing about Lord Glengyle. He was a maniac.” + </p> + <p> + The black silhouette of Gow with his top hat and spade passed the window, + dimly outlined against the darkening sky. Father Brown stared passively at + it and answered: + </p> + <p> + “I can understand there must have been something odd about the man, or he + wouldn’t have buried himself alive—nor been in such a hurry to bury + himself dead. But what makes you think it was lunacy?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Flambeau, “you just listen to the list of things Mr. Craven + has found in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “We must get a candle,” said Craven, suddenly. “A storm is getting up, and + it’s too dark to read.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you found any candles,” asked Brown smiling, “among your oddities?” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau raised a grave face, and fixed his dark eyes on his friend. + </p> + <p> + “That is curious, too,” he said. “Twenty-five candles, and not a trace of + a candlestick.” + </p> + <p> + In the rapidly darkening room and rapidly rising wind, Brown went along + the table to where a bundle of wax candles lay among the other scrappy + exhibits. As he did so he bent accidentally over the heap of red-brown + dust; and a sharp sneeze cracked the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” he said, “snuff!” + </p> + <p> + He took one of the candles, lit it carefully, came back and stuck it in + the neck of the whisky bottle. The unrestful night air, blowing through + the crazy window, waved the long flame like a banner. And on every side of + the castle they could hear the miles and miles of black pine wood seething + like a black sea around a rock. + </p> + <p> + “I will read the inventory,” began Craven gravely, picking up one of the + papers, “the inventory of what we found loose and unexplained in the + castle. You are to understand that the place generally was dismantled and + neglected; but one or two rooms had plainly been inhabited in a simple but + not squalid style by somebody; somebody who was not the servant Gow. The + list is as follows: + </p> + <p> + “First item. A very considerable hoard of precious stones, nearly all + diamonds, and all of them loose, without any setting whatever. Of course, + it is natural that the Ogilvies should have family jewels; but those are + exactly the jewels that are almost always set in particular articles of + ornament. The Ogilvies would seem to have kept theirs loose in their + pockets, like coppers. + </p> + <p> + “Second item. Heaps and heaps of loose snuff, not kept in a horn, or even + a pouch, but lying in heaps on the mantelpieces, on the sideboard, on the + piano, anywhere. It looks as if the old gentleman would not take the + trouble to look in a pocket or lift a lid. + </p> + <p> + “Third item. Here and there about the house curious little heaps of minute + pieces of metal, some like steel springs and some in the form of + microscopic wheels. As if they had gutted some mechanical toy. + </p> + <p> + “Fourth item. The wax candles, which have to be stuck in bottle necks + because there is nothing else to stick them in. Now I wish you to note how + very much queerer all this is than anything we anticipated. For the + central riddle we are prepared; we have all seen at a glance that there + was something wrong about the last earl. We have come here to find out + whether he really lived here, whether he really died here, whether that + red-haired scarecrow who did his burying had anything to do with his + dying. But suppose the worst in all this, the most lurid or melodramatic + solution you like. Suppose the servant really killed the master, or + suppose the master isn’t really dead, or suppose the master is dressed up + as the servant, or suppose the servant is buried for the master; invent + what Wilkie Collins’ tragedy you like, and you still have not explained a + candle without a candlestick, or why an elderly gentleman of good family + should habitually spill snuff on the piano. The core of the tale we could + imagine; it is the fringes that are mysterious. By no stretch of fancy can + the human mind connect together snuff and diamonds and wax and loose + clockwork.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I see the connection,” said the priest. “This Glengyle was mad + against the French Revolution. He was an enthusiast for the ancien regime, + and was trying to re-enact literally the family life of the last Bourbons. + He had snuff because it was the eighteenth century luxury; wax candles, + because they were the eighteenth century lighting; the mechanical bits of + iron represent the locksmith hobby of Louis XVI; the diamonds are for the + Diamond Necklace of Marie Antoinette.” + </p> + <p> + Both the other men were staring at him with round eyes. “What a perfectly + extraordinary notion!” cried Flambeau. “Do you really think that is the + truth?” + </p> + <p> + “I am perfectly sure it isn’t,” answered Father Brown, “only you said that + nobody could connect snuff and diamonds and clockwork and candles. I give + you that connection off-hand. The real truth, I am very sure, lies + deeper.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment and listened to the wailing of the wind in the turrets. + Then he said, “The late Earl of Glengyle was a thief. He lived a second + and darker life as a desperate housebreaker. He did not have any + candlesticks because he only used these candles cut short in the little + lantern he carried. The snuff he employed as the fiercest French criminals + have used pepper: to fling it suddenly in dense masses in the face of a + captor or pursuer. But the final proof is in the curious coincidence of + the diamonds and the small steel wheels. Surely that makes everything + plain to you? Diamonds and small steel wheels are the only two instruments + with which you can cut out a pane of glass.” + </p> + <p> + The bough of a broken pine tree lashed heavily in the blast against the + windowpane behind them, as if in parody of a burglar, but they did not + turn round. Their eyes were fastened on Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Diamonds and small wheels,” repeated Craven ruminating. “Is that all that + makes you think it the true explanation?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it the true explanation,” replied the priest placidly; “but + you said that nobody could connect the four things. The true tale, of + course, is something much more humdrum. Glengyle had found, or thought he + had found, precious stones on his estate. Somebody had bamboozled him with + those loose brilliants, saying they were found in the castle caverns. The + little wheels are some diamond-cutting affair. He had to do the thing very + roughly and in a small way, with the help of a few shepherds or rude + fellows on these hills. Snuff is the one great luxury of such Scotch + shepherds; it’s the one thing with which you can bribe them. They didn’t + have candlesticks because they didn’t want them; they held the candles in + their hands when they explored the caves.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” asked Flambeau after a long pause. “Have we got to the dull + truth at last?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + As the wind died in the most distant pine woods with a long hoot as of + mockery Father Brown, with an utterly impassive face, went on: + </p> + <p> + “I only suggested that because you said one could not plausibly connect + snuff with clockwork or candles with bright stones. Ten false philosophies + will fit the universe; ten false theories will fit Glengyle Castle. But we + want the real explanation of the castle and the universe. But are there no + other exhibits?” + </p> + <p> + Craven laughed, and Flambeau rose smiling to his feet and strolled down + the long table. + </p> + <p> + “Items five, six, seven, etc.,” he said, “and certainly more varied than + instructive. A curious collection, not of lead pencils, but of the lead + out of lead pencils. A senseless stick of bamboo, with the top rather + splintered. It might be the instrument of the crime. Only, there isn’t any + crime. The only other things are a few old missals and little Catholic + pictures, which the Ogilvies kept, I suppose, from the Middle Ages—their + family pride being stronger than their Puritanism. We only put them in the + museum because they seem curiously cut about and defaced.” + </p> + <p> + The heady tempest without drove a dreadful wrack of clouds across Glengyle + and threw the long room into darkness as Father Brown picked up the little + illuminated pages to examine them. He spoke before the drift of darkness + had passed; but it was the voice of an utterly new man. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Craven,” said he, talking like a man ten years younger, “you have got + a legal warrant, haven’t you, to go up and examine that grave? The sooner + we do it the better, and get to the bottom of this horrible affair. If I + were you I should start now.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” repeated the astonished detective, “and why now?” + </p> + <p> + “Because this is serious,” answered Brown; “this is not spilt snuff or + loose pebbles, that might be there for a hundred reasons. There is only + one reason I know of for this being done; and the reason goes down to the + roots of the world. These religious pictures are not just dirtied or torn + or scrawled over, which might be done in idleness or bigotry, by children + or by Protestants. These have been treated very carefully—and very + queerly. In every place where the great ornamented name of God comes in + the old illuminations it has been elaborately taken out. The only other + thing that has been removed is the halo round the head of the Child Jesus. + Therefore, I say, let us get our warrant and our spade and our hatchet, + and go up and break open that coffin.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” demanded the London officer. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” answered the little priest, and his voice seemed to rise + slightly in the roar of the gale. “I mean that the great devil of the + universe may be sitting on the top tower of this castle at this moment, as + big as a hundred elephants, and roaring like the Apocalypse. There is + black magic somewhere at the bottom of this.” + </p> + <p> + “Black magic,” repeated Flambeau in a low voice, for he was too + enlightened a man not to know of such things; “but what can these other + things mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, something damnable, I suppose,” replied Brown impatiently. “How + should I know? How can I guess all their mazes down below? Perhaps you can + make a torture out of snuff and bamboo. Perhaps lunatics lust after wax + and steel filings. Perhaps there is a maddening drug made of lead pencils! + Our shortest cut to the mystery is up the hill to the grave.” + </p> + <p> + His comrades hardly knew that they had obeyed and followed him till a + blast of the night wind nearly flung them on their faces in the garden. + Nevertheless they had obeyed him like automata; for Craven found a hatchet + in his hand, and the warrant in his pocket; Flambeau was carrying the + heavy spade of the strange gardener; Father Brown was carrying the little + gilt book from which had been torn the name of God. + </p> + <p> + The path up the hill to the churchyard was crooked but short; only under + that stress of wind it seemed laborious and long. Far as the eye could + see, farther and farther as they mounted the slope, were seas beyond seas + of pines, now all aslope one way under the wind. And that universal + gesture seemed as vain as it was vast, as vain as if that wind were + whistling about some unpeopled and purposeless planet. Through all that + infinite growth of grey-blue forests sang, shrill and high, that ancient + sorrow that is in the heart of all heathen things. One could fancy that + the voices from the under world of unfathomable foliage were cries of the + lost and wandering pagan gods: gods who had gone roaming in that + irrational forest, and who will never find their way back to heaven. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Father Brown in low but easy tone, “Scotch people before + Scotland existed were a curious lot. In fact, they’re a curious lot still. + But in the prehistoric times I fancy they really worshipped demons. That,” + he added genially, “is why they jumped at the Puritan theology.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said Flambeau, turning in a kind of fury, “what does all that + snuff mean?” + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” replied Brown, with equal seriousness, “there is one mark of + all genuine religions: materialism. Now, devil-worship is a perfectly + genuine religion.” + </p> + <p> + They had come up on the grassy scalp of the hill, one of the few bald + spots that stood clear of the crashing and roaring pine forest. A mean + enclosure, partly timber and partly wire, rattled in the tempest to tell + them the border of the graveyard. But by the time Inspector Craven had + come to the corner of the grave, and Flambeau had planted his spade point + downwards and leaned on it, they were both almost as shaken as the shaky + wood and wire. At the foot of the grave grew great tall thistles, grey and + silver in their decay. Once or twice, when a ball of thistledown broke + under the breeze and flew past him, Craven jumped slightly as if it had + been an arrow. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau drove the blade of his spade through the whistling grass into the + wet clay below. Then he seemed to stop and lean on it as on a staff. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said the priest very gently. “We are only trying to find the + truth. What are you afraid of?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid of finding it,” said Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + The London detective spoke suddenly in a high crowing voice that was meant + to be conversational and cheery. “I wonder why he really did hide himself + like that. Something nasty, I suppose; was he a leper?” + </p> + <p> + “Something worse than that,” said Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you imagine,” asked the other, “would be worse than a leper?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t imagine it,” said Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + He dug for some dreadful minutes in silence, and then said in a choked + voice, “I’m afraid of his not being the right shape.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor was that piece of paper, you know,” said Father Brown quietly, “and + we survived even that piece of paper.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau dug on with a blind energy. But the tempest had shouldered away + the choking grey clouds that clung to the hills like smoke and revealed + grey fields of faint starlight before he cleared the shape of a rude + timber coffin, and somehow tipped it up upon the turf. Craven stepped + forward with his axe; a thistle-top touched him, and he flinched. Then he + took a firmer stride, and hacked and wrenched with an energy like + Flambeau’s till the lid was torn off, and all that was there lay + glimmering in the grey starlight. + </p> + <p> + “Bones,” said Craven; and then he added, “but it is a man,” as if that + were something unexpected. + </p> + <p> + “Is he,” asked Flambeau in a voice that went oddly up and down, “is he all + right?” + </p> + <p> + “Seems so,” said the officer huskily, bending over the obscure and + decaying skeleton in the box. “Wait a minute.” + </p> + <p> + A vast heave went over Flambeau’s huge figure. “And now I come to think of + it,” he cried, “why in the name of madness shouldn’t he be all right? What + is it gets hold of a man on these cursed cold mountains? I think it’s the + black, brainless repetition; all these forests, and over all an ancient + horror of unconsciousness. It’s like the dream of an atheist. Pine-trees + and more pine-trees and millions more pine-trees—” + </p> + <p> + “God!” cried the man by the coffin, “but he hasn’t got a head.” + </p> + <p> + While the others stood rigid the priest, for the first time, showed a leap + of startled concern. + </p> + <p> + “No head!” he repeated. “No head?” as if he had almost expected some other + deficiency. + </p> + <p> + Half-witted visions of a headless baby born to Glengyle, of a headless + youth hiding himself in the castle, of a headless man pacing those ancient + halls or that gorgeous garden, passed in panorama through their minds. But + even in that stiffened instant the tale took no root in them and seemed to + have no reason in it. They stood listening to the loud woods and the + shrieking sky quite foolishly, like exhausted animals. Thought seemed to + be something enormous that had suddenly slipped out of their grasp. + </p> + <p> + “There are three headless men,” said Father Brown, “standing round this + open grave.” + </p> + <p> + The pale detective from London opened his mouth to speak, and left it open + like a yokel, while a long scream of wind tore the sky; then he looked at + the axe in his hands as if it did not belong to him, and dropped it. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Flambeau in that infantile and heavy voice he used very + seldom, “what are we to do?” + </p> + <p> + His friend’s reply came with the pent promptitude of a gun going off. + </p> + <p> + “Sleep!” cried Father Brown. “Sleep. We have come to the end of the ways. + Do you know what sleep is? Do you know that every man who sleeps believes + in God? It is a sacrament; for it is an act of faith and it is a food. And + we need a sacrament, if only a natural one. Something has fallen on us + that falls very seldom on men; perhaps the worst thing that can fall on + them.” + </p> + <p> + Craven’s parted lips came together to say, “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + The priest had turned his face to the castle as he answered: “We have + found the truth; and the truth makes no sense.” + </p> + <p> + He went down the path in front of them with a plunging and reckless step + very rare with him, and when they reached the castle again he threw + himself upon sleep with the simplicity of a dog. + </p> + <p> + Despite his mystic praise of slumber, Father Brown was up earlier than + anyone else except the silent gardener; and was found smoking a big pipe + and watching that expert at his speechless labours in the kitchen garden. + Towards daybreak the rocking storm had ended in roaring rains, and the day + came with a curious freshness. The gardener seemed even to have been + conversing, but at sight of the detectives he planted his spade sullenly + in a bed and, saying something about his breakfast, shifted along the + lines of cabbages and shut himself in the kitchen. “He’s a valuable man, + that,” said Father Brown. “He does the potatoes amazingly. Still,” he + added, with a dispassionate charity, “he has his faults; which of us + hasn’t? He doesn’t dig this bank quite regularly. There, for instance,” + and he stamped suddenly on one spot. “I’m really very doubtful about that + potato.” + </p> + <p> + “And why?” asked Craven, amused with the little man’s hobby. + </p> + <p> + “I’m doubtful about it,” said the other, “because old Gow was doubtful + about it himself. He put his spade in methodically in every place but just + this. There must be a mighty fine potato just here.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau pulled up the spade and impetuously drove it into the place. He + turned up, under a load of soil, something that did not look like a + potato, but rather like a monstrous, over-domed mushroom. But it struck + the spade with a cold click; it rolled over like a ball, and grinned up at + them. + </p> + <p> + “The Earl of Glengyle,” said Brown sadly, and looked down heavily at the + skull. + </p> + <p> + Then, after a momentary meditation, he plucked the spade from Flambeau, + and, saying “We must hide it again,” clamped the skull down in the earth. + Then he leaned his little body and huge head on the great handle of the + spade, that stood up stiffly in the earth, and his eyes were empty and his + forehead full of wrinkles. “If one could only conceive,” he muttered, “the + meaning of this last monstrosity.” And leaning on the large spade handle, + he buried his brows in his hands, as men do in church. + </p> + <p> + All the corners of the sky were brightening into blue and silver; the + birds were chattering in the tiny garden trees; so loud it seemed as if + the trees themselves were talking. But the three men were silent enough. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I give it all up,” said Flambeau at last boisterously. “My brain + and this world don’t fit each other; and there’s an end of it. Snuff, + spoilt Prayer Books, and the insides of musical boxes—what—” + </p> + <p> + Brown threw up his bothered brow and rapped on the spade handle with an + intolerance quite unusual with him. “Oh, tut, tut, tut, tut!” he cried. + “All that is as plain as a pikestaff. I understood the snuff and + clockwork, and so on, when I first opened my eyes this morning. And since + then I’ve had it out with old Gow, the gardener, who is neither so deaf + nor so stupid as he pretends. There’s nothing amiss about the loose items. + I was wrong about the torn mass-book, too; there’s no harm in that. But + it’s this last business. Desecrating graves and stealing dead men’s heads—surely + there’s harm in that? Surely there’s black magic still in that? That + doesn’t fit in to the quite simple story of the snuff and the candles.” + And, striding about again, he smoked moodily. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said Flambeau, with a grim humour, “you must be careful with + me and remember I was once a criminal. The great advantage of that estate + was that I always made up the story myself, and acted it as quick as I + chose. This detective business of waiting about is too much for my French + impatience. All my life, for good or evil, I have done things at the + instant; I always fought duels the next morning; I always paid bills on + the nail; I never even put off a visit to the dentist—” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown’s pipe fell out of his mouth and broke into three pieces on + the gravel path. He stood rolling his eyes, the exact picture of an idiot. + “Lord, what a turnip I am!” he kept saying. “Lord, what a turnip!” Then, + in a somewhat groggy kind of way, he began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “The dentist!” he repeated. “Six hours in the spiritual abyss, and all + because I never thought of the dentist! Such a simple, such a beautiful + and peaceful thought! Friends, we have passed a night in hell; but now the + sun is risen, the birds are singing, and the radiant form of the dentist + consoles the world.” + </p> + <p> + “I will get some sense out of this,” cried Flambeau, striding forward, “if + I use the tortures of the Inquisition.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown repressed what appeared to be a momentary disposition to + dance on the now sunlit lawn and cried quite piteously, like a child, “Oh, + let me be silly a little. You don’t know how unhappy I have been. And now + I know that there has been no deep sin in this business at all. Only a + little lunacy, perhaps—and who minds that?” + </p> + <p> + He spun round once more, then faced them with gravity. + </p> + <p> + “This is not a story of crime,” he said; “rather it is the story of a + strange and crooked honesty. We are dealing with the one man on earth, + perhaps, who has taken no more than his due. It is a study in the savage + living logic that has been the religion of this race. + </p> + <p> + “That old local rhyme about the house of Glengyle— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies— +</pre> + <p> + was literal as well as metaphorical. It did not merely mean that the + Glengyles sought for wealth; it was also true that they literally gathered + gold; they had a huge collection of ornaments and utensils in that metal. + They were, in fact, misers whose mania took that turn. In the light of + that fact, run through all the things we found in the castle. Diamonds + without their gold rings; candles without their gold candlesticks; snuff + without the gold snuff-boxes; pencil-leads without the gold pencil-cases; + a walking stick without its gold top; clockwork without the gold clocks—or + rather watches. And, mad as it sounds, because the halos and the name of + God in the old missals were of real gold; these also were taken away.” + </p> + <p> + The garden seemed to brighten, the grass to grow gayer in the + strengthening sun, as the crazy truth was told. Flambeau lit a cigarette + as his friend went on. + </p> + <p> + “Were taken away,” continued Father Brown; “were taken away—but not + stolen. Thieves would never have left this mystery. Thieves would have + taken the gold snuff-boxes, snuff and all; the gold pencil-cases, lead and + all. We have to deal with a man with a peculiar conscience, but certainly + a conscience. I found that mad moralist this morning in the kitchen garden + yonder, and I heard the whole story. + </p> + <p> + “The late Archibald Ogilvie was the nearest approach to a good man ever + born at Glengyle. But his bitter virtue took the turn of the misanthrope; + he moped over the dishonesty of his ancestors, from which, somehow, he + generalised a dishonesty of all men. More especially he distrusted + philanthropy or free-giving; and he swore if he could find one man who + took his exact rights he should have all the gold of Glengyle. Having + delivered this defiance to humanity he shut himself up, without the + smallest expectation of its being answered. One day, however, a deaf and + seemingly senseless lad from a distant village brought him a belated + telegram; and Glengyle, in his acrid pleasantry, gave him a new farthing. + At least he thought he had done so, but when he turned over his change he + found the new farthing still there and a sovereign gone. The accident + offered him vistas of sneering speculation. Either way, the boy would show + the greasy greed of the species. Either he would vanish, a thief stealing + a coin; or he would sneak back with it virtuously, a snob seeking a + reward. In the middle of that night Lord Glengyle was knocked up out of + his bed—for he lived alone—and forced to open the door to the + deaf idiot. The idiot brought with him, not the sovereign, but exactly + nineteen shillings and eleven-pence three-farthings in change. + </p> + <p> + “Then the wild exactitude of this action took hold of the mad lord’s brain + like fire. He swore he was Diogenes, that had long sought an honest man, + and at last had found one. He made a new will, which I have seen. He took + the literal youth into his huge, neglected house, and trained him up as + his solitary servant and—after an odd manner—his heir. And + whatever that queer creature understands, he understood absolutely his + lord’s two fixed ideas: first, that the letter of right is everything; and + second, that he himself was to have the gold of Glengyle. So far, that is + all; and that is simple. He has stripped the house of gold, and taken not + a grain that was not gold; not so much as a grain of snuff. He lifted the + gold leaf off an old illumination, fully satisfied that he left the rest + unspoilt. All that I understood; but I could not understand this skull + business. I was really uneasy about that human head buried among the + potatoes. It distressed me—till Flambeau said the word. + </p> + <p> + “It will be all right. He will put the skull back in the grave, when he + has taken the gold out of the tooth.” + </p> + <p> + And, indeed, when Flambeau crossed the hill that morning, he saw that + strange being, the just miser, digging at the desecrated grave, the plaid + round his throat thrashing out in the mountain wind; the sober top hat on + his head. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Wrong Shape + </h2> + <p> + Certain of the great roads going north out of London continue far into the + country a sort of attenuated and interrupted spectre of a street, with + great gaps in the building, but preserving the line. Here will be a group + of shops, followed by a fenced field or paddock, and then a famous + public-house, and then perhaps a market garden or a nursery garden, and + then one large private house, and then another field and another inn, and + so on. If anyone walks along one of these roads he will pass a house which + will probably catch his eye, though he may not be able to explain its + attraction. It is a long, low house, running parallel with the road, + painted mostly white and pale green, with a veranda and sun-blinds, and + porches capped with those quaint sort of cupolas like wooden umbrellas + that one sees in some old-fashioned houses. In fact, it is an + old-fashioned house, very English and very suburban in the good old + wealthy Clapham sense. And yet the house has a look of having been built + chiefly for the hot weather. Looking at its white paint and sun-blinds one + thinks vaguely of pugarees and even of palm trees. I cannot trace the + feeling to its root; perhaps the place was built by an Anglo-Indian. + </p> + <p> + Anyone passing this house, I say, would be namelessly fascinated by it; + would feel that it was a place about which some story was to be told. And + he would have been right, as you shall shortly hear. For this is the story—the + story of the strange things that did really happen in it in the + Whitsuntide of the year 18—: + </p> + <p> + Anyone passing the house on the Thursday before Whit-Sunday at about + half-past four p.m. would have seen the front door open, and Father Brown, + of the small church of St. Mungo, come out smoking a large pipe in company + with a very tall French friend of his called Flambeau, who was smoking a + very small cigarette. These persons may or may not be of interest to the + reader, but the truth is that they were not the only interesting things + that were displayed when the front door of the white-and-green house was + opened. There are further peculiarities about this house, which must be + described to start with, not only that the reader may understand this + tragic tale, but also that he may realise what it was that the opening of + the door revealed. + </p> + <p> + The whole house was built upon the plan of a T, but a T with a very long + cross piece and a very short tail piece. The long cross piece was the + frontage that ran along in face of the street, with the front door in the + middle; it was two stories high, and contained nearly all the important + rooms. The short tail piece, which ran out at the back immediately + opposite the front door, was one story high, and consisted only of two + long rooms, the one leading into the other. The first of these two rooms + was the study in which the celebrated Mr. Quinton wrote his wild Oriental + poems and romances. The farther room was a glass conservatory full of + tropical blossoms of quite unique and almost monstrous beauty, and on such + afternoons as these glowing with gorgeous sunlight. Thus when the hall + door was open, many a passer-by literally stopped to stare and gasp; for + he looked down a perspective of rich apartments to something really like a + transformation scene in a fairy play: purple clouds and golden suns and + crimson stars that were at once scorchingly vivid and yet transparent and + far away. + </p> + <p> + Leonard Quinton, the poet, had himself most carefully arranged this + effect; and it is doubtful whether he so perfectly expressed his + personality in any of his poems. For he was a man who drank and bathed in + colours, who indulged his lust for colour somewhat to the neglect of form—even + of good form. This it was that had turned his genius so wholly to eastern + art and imagery; to those bewildering carpets or blinding embroideries in + which all the colours seem fallen into a fortunate chaos, having nothing + to typify or to teach. He had attempted, not perhaps with complete + artistic success, but with acknowledged imagination and invention, to + compose epics and love stories reflecting the riot of violent and even + cruel colour; tales of tropical heavens of burning gold or blood-red + copper; of eastern heroes who rode with twelve-turbaned mitres upon + elephants painted purple or peacock green; of gigantic jewels that a + hundred negroes could not carry, but which burned with ancient and + strange-hued fires. + </p> + <p> + In short (to put the matter from the more common point of view), he dealt + much in eastern heavens, rather worse than most western hells; in eastern + monarchs, whom we might possibly call maniacs; and in eastern jewels which + a Bond Street jeweller (if the hundred staggering negroes brought them + into his shop) might possibly not regard as genuine. Quinton was a genius, + if a morbid one; and even his morbidity appeared more in his life than in + his work. In temperament he was weak and waspish, and his health had + suffered heavily from oriental experiments with opium. His wife—a + handsome, hard-working, and, indeed, over-worked woman objected to the + opium, but objected much more to a live Indian hermit in white and yellow + robes, whom her husband insisted on entertaining for months together, a + Virgil to guide his spirit through the heavens and the hells of the east. + </p> + <p> + It was out of this artistic household that Father Brown and his friend + stepped on to the door-step; and to judge from their faces, they stepped + out of it with much relief. Flambeau had known Quinton in wild student + days in Paris, and they had renewed the acquaintance for a week-end; but + apart from Flambeau’s more responsible developments of late, he did not + get on well with the poet now. Choking oneself with opium and writing + little erotic verses on vellum was not his notion of how a gentleman + should go to the devil. As the two paused on the door-step, before taking + a turn in the garden, the front garden gate was thrown open with violence, + and a young man with a billycock hat on the back of his head tumbled up + the steps in his eagerness. He was a dissipated-looking youth with a + gorgeous red necktie all awry, as if he had slept in it, and he kept + fidgeting and lashing about with one of those little jointed canes. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he said breathlessly, “I want to see old Quinton. I must see him. + Has he gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Quinton is in, I believe,” said Father Brown, cleaning his pipe, “but + I do not know if you can see him. The doctor is with him at present.” + </p> + <p> + The young man, who seemed not to be perfectly sober, stumbled into the + hall; and at the same moment the doctor came out of Quinton’s study, + shutting the door and beginning to put on his gloves. + </p> + <p> + “See Mr. Quinton?” said the doctor coolly. “No, I’m afraid you can’t. In + fact, you mustn’t on any account. Nobody must see him; I’ve just given him + his sleeping draught.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but look here, old chap,” said the youth in the red tie, trying + affectionately to capture the doctor by the lapels of his coat. “Look + here. I’m simply sewn up, I tell you. I—” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no good, Mr. Atkinson,” said the doctor, forcing him to fall back; + “when you can alter the effects of a drug I’ll alter my decision,” and, + settling on his hat, he stepped out into the sunlight with the other two. + He was a bull-necked, good-tempered little man with a small moustache, + inexpressibly ordinary, yet giving an impression of capacity. + </p> + <p> + The young man in the billycock, who did not seem to be gifted with any + tact in dealing with people beyond the general idea of clutching hold of + their coats, stood outside the door, as dazed as if he had been thrown out + bodily, and silently watched the other three walk away together through + the garden. + </p> + <p> + “That was a sound, spanking lie I told just now,” remarked the medical + man, laughing. “In point of fact, poor Quinton doesn’t have his sleeping + draught for nearly half an hour. But I’m not going to have him bothered + with that little beast, who only wants to borrow money that he wouldn’t + pay back if he could. He’s a dirty little scamp, though he is Mrs. + Quinton’s brother, and she’s as fine a woman as ever walked.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Father Brown. “She’s a good woman.” + </p> + <p> + “So I propose to hang about the garden till the creature has cleared off,” + went on the doctor, “and then I’ll go in to Quinton with the medicine. + Atkinson can’t get in, because I locked the door.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, Dr. Harris,” said Flambeau, “we might as well walk round at + the back by the end of the conservatory. There’s no entrance to it that + way, but it’s worth seeing, even from the outside.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I might get a squint at my patient,” laughed the doctor, “for he + prefers to lie on an ottoman right at the end of the conservatory amid all + those blood-red poinsettias; it would give me the creeps. But what are you + doing?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had stopped for a moment, and picked up out of the long + grass, where it had almost been wholly hidden, a queer, crooked Oriental + knife, inlaid exquisitely in coloured stones and metals. + </p> + <p> + “What is this?” asked Father Brown, regarding it with some disfavour. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Quinton’s, I suppose,” said Dr. Harris carelessly; “he has all sorts + of Chinese knickknacks about the place. Or perhaps it belongs to that mild + Hindoo of his whom he keeps on a string.” + </p> + <p> + “What Hindoo?” asked Father Brown, still staring at the dagger in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, some Indian conjuror,” said the doctor lightly; “a fraud, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t believe in magic?” asked Father Brown, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + “O crickey! magic!” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “It’s very beautiful,” said the priest in a low, dreaming voice; “the + colours are very beautiful. But it’s the wrong shape.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” asked Flambeau, staring. + </p> + <p> + “For anything. It’s the wrong shape in the abstract. Don’t you ever feel + that about Eastern art? The colours are intoxicatingly lovely; but the + shapes are mean and bad—deliberately mean and bad. I have seen + wicked things in a Turkey carpet.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu!” cried Flambeau, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “They are letters and symbols in a language I don’t know; but I know they + stand for evil words,” went on the priest, his voice growing lower and + lower. “The lines go wrong on purpose—like serpents doubling to + escape.” + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you talking about?” said the doctor with a loud laugh. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau spoke quietly to him in answer. “The Father sometimes gets this + mystic’s cloud on him,” he said; “but I give you fair warning that I have + never known him to have it except when there was some evil quite near.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rats!” said the scientist. + </p> + <p> + “Why, look at it,” cried Father Brown, holding out the crooked knife at + arm’s length, as if it were some glittering snake. “Don’t you see it is + the wrong shape? Don’t you see that it has no hearty and plain purpose? It + does not point like a spear. It does not sweep like a scythe. It does not + look like a weapon. It looks like an instrument of torture.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as you don’t seem to like it,” said the jolly Harris, “it had + better be taken back to its owner. Haven’t we come to the end of this + confounded conservatory yet? This house is the wrong shape, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand,” said Father Brown, shaking his head. “The shape of + this house is quaint—it is even laughable. But there is nothing + wrong about it.” + </p> + <p> + As they spoke they came round the curve of glass that ended the + conservatory, an uninterrupted curve, for there was neither door nor + window by which to enter at that end. The glass, however, was clear, and + the sun still bright, though beginning to set; and they could see not only + the flamboyant blossoms inside, but the frail figure of the poet in a + brown velvet coat lying languidly on the sofa, having, apparently, fallen + half asleep over a book. He was a pale, slight man, with loose, chestnut + hair and a fringe of beard that was the paradox of his face, for the beard + made him look less manly. These traits were well known to all three of + them; but even had it not been so, it may be doubted whether they would + have looked at Quinton just then. Their eyes were riveted on another + object. + </p> + <p> + Exactly in their path, immediately outside the round end of the glass + building, was standing a tall man, whose drapery fell to his feet in + faultless white, and whose bare, brown skull, face, and neck gleamed in + the setting sun like splendid bronze. He was looking through the glass at + the sleeper, and he was more motionless than a mountain. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that?” cried Father Brown, stepping back with a hissing intake of + his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is only that Hindoo humbug,” growled Harris; “but I don’t know + what the deuce he’s doing here.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks like hypnotism,” said Flambeau, biting his black moustache. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you unmedical fellows always talking bosh about hypnotism?” cried + the doctor. “It looks a deal more like burglary.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we will speak to it, at any rate,” said Flambeau, who was always + for action. One long stride took him to the place where the Indian stood. + Bowing from his great height, which overtopped even the Oriental’s, he + said with placid impudence: + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, sir. Do you want anything?” + </p> + <p> + Quite slowly, like a great ship turning into a harbour, the great yellow + face turned, and looked at last over its white shoulder. They were + startled to see that its yellow eyelids were quite sealed, as in sleep. + “Thank you,” said the face in excellent English. “I want nothing.” Then, + half opening the lids, so as to show a slit of opalescent eyeball, he + repeated, “I want nothing.” Then he opened his eyes wide with a startling + stare, said, “I want nothing,” and went rustling away into the rapidly + darkening garden. + </p> + <p> + “The Christian is more modest,” muttered Father Brown; “he wants + something.” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth was he doing?” asked Flambeau, knitting his black brows and + lowering his voice. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to talk to you later,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + The sunlight was still a reality, but it was the red light of evening, and + the bulk of the garden trees and bushes grew blacker and blacker against + it. They turned round the end of the conservatory, and walked in silence + down the other side to get round to the front door. As they went they + seemed to wake something, as one startles a bird, in the deeper corner + between the study and the main building; and again they saw the + white-robed fakir slide out of the shadow, and slip round towards the + front door. To their surprise, however, he had not been alone. They found + themselves abruptly pulled up and forced to banish their bewilderment by + the appearance of Mrs. Quinton, with her heavy golden hair and square pale + face, advancing on them out of the twilight. She looked a little stern, + but was entirely courteous. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Dr. Harris,” was all she said. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Mrs. Quinton,” said the little doctor heartily. “I am just + going to give your husband his sleeping draught.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said in a clear voice. “I think it is quite time.” And she + smiled at them, and went sweeping into the house. + </p> + <p> + “That woman’s over-driven,” said Father Brown; “that’s the kind of woman + that does her duty for twenty years, and then does something dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + The little doctor looked at him for the first time with an eye of + interest. “Did you ever study medicine?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “You have to know something of the mind as well as the body,” answered the + priest; “we have to know something of the body as well as the mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the doctor, “I think I’ll go and give Quinton his stuff.” + </p> + <p> + They had turned the corner of the front facade, and were approaching the + front doorway. As they turned into it they saw the man in the white robe + for the third time. He came so straight towards the front door that it + seemed quite incredible that he had not just come out of the study + opposite to it. Yet they knew that the study door was locked. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown and Flambeau, however, kept this weird contradiction to + themselves, and Dr. Harris was not a man to waste his thoughts on the + impossible. He permitted the omnipresent Asiatic to make his exit, and + then stepped briskly into the hall. There he found a figure which he had + already forgotten. The inane Atkinson was still hanging about, humming and + poking things with his knobby cane. The doctor’s face had a spasm of + disgust and decision, and he whispered rapidly to his companion: “I must + lock the door again, or this rat will get in. But I shall be out again in + two minutes.” + </p> + <p> + He rapidly unlocked the door and locked it again behind him, just balking + a blundering charge from the young man in the billycock. The young man + threw himself impatiently on a hall chair. Flambeau looked at a Persian + illumination on the wall; Father Brown, who seemed in a sort of daze, + dully eyed the door. In about four minutes the door was opened again. + Atkinson was quicker this time. He sprang forward, held the door open for + an instant, and called out: “Oh, I say, Quinton, I want—” + </p> + <p> + From the other end of the study came the clear voice of Quinton, in + something between a yawn and a yell of weary laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know what you want. Take it, and leave me in peace. I’m writing a + song about peacocks.” + </p> + <p> + Before the door closed half a sovereign came flying through the aperture; + and Atkinson, stumbling forward, caught it with singular dexterity. + </p> + <p> + “So that’s settled,” said the doctor, and, locking the door savagely, he + led the way out into the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Leonard can get a little peace now,” he added to Father Brown; “he’s + locked in all by himself for an hour or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the priest; “and his voice sounded jolly enough when we + left him.” Then he looked gravely round the garden, and saw the loose + figure of Atkinson standing and jingling the half-sovereign in his pocket, + and beyond, in the purple twilight, the figure of the Indian sitting bolt + upright upon a bank of grass with his face turned towards the setting sun. + Then he said abruptly: “Where is Mrs. Quinton!” + </p> + <p> + “She has gone up to her room,” said the doctor. “That is her shadow on the + blind.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown looked up, and frowningly scrutinised a dark outline at the + gas-lit window. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “that is her shadow,” and he walked a yard or two and + threw himself upon a garden seat. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau sat down beside him; but the doctor was one of those energetic + people who live naturally on their legs. He walked away, smoking, into the + twilight, and the two friends were left together. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” said Flambeau in French, “what is the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown was silent and motionless for half a minute, then he said: + “Superstition is irreligious, but there is something in the air of this + place. I think it’s that Indian—at least, partly.” + </p> + <p> + He sank into silence, and watched the distant outline of the Indian, who + still sat rigid as if in prayer. At first sight he seemed motionless, but + as Father Brown watched him he saw that the man swayed ever so slightly + with a rhythmic movement, just as the dark tree-tops swayed ever so + slightly in the wind that was creeping up the dim garden paths and + shuffling the fallen leaves a little. + </p> + <p> + The landscape was growing rapidly dark, as if for a storm, but they could + still see all the figures in their various places. Atkinson was leaning + against a tree with a listless face; Quinton’s wife was still at her + window; the doctor had gone strolling round the end of the conservatory; + they could see his cigar like a will-o’-the-wisp; and the fakir still sat + rigid and yet rocking, while the trees above him began to rock and almost + to roar. Storm was certainly coming. + </p> + <p> + “When that Indian spoke to us,” went on Brown in a conversational + undertone, “I had a sort of vision, a vision of him and all his universe. + Yet he only said the same thing three times. When first he said ‘I want + nothing,’ it meant only that he was impenetrable, that Asia does not give + itself away. Then he said again, ‘I want nothing,’ and I knew that he + meant that he was sufficient to himself, like a cosmos, that he needed no + God, neither admitted any sins. And when he said the third time, ‘I want + nothing,’ he said it with blazing eyes. And I knew that he meant literally + what he said; that nothing was his desire and his home; that he was weary + for nothing as for wine; that annihilation, the mere destruction of + everything or anything—” + </p> + <p> + Two drops of rain fell; and for some reason Flambeau started and looked + up, as if they had stung him. And the same instant the doctor down by the + end of the conservatory began running towards them, calling out something + as he ran. + </p> + <p> + As he came among them like a bombshell the restless Atkinson happened to + be taking a turn nearer to the house front; and the doctor clutched him by + the collar in a convulsive grip. “Foul play!” he cried; “what have you + been doing to him, you dog?” + </p> + <p> + The priest had sprung erect, and had the voice of steel of a soldier in + command. + </p> + <p> + “No fighting,” he cried coolly; “we are enough to hold anyone we want to. + What is the matter, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Things are not right with Quinton,” said the doctor, quite white. “I + could just see him through the glass, and I don’t like the way he’s lying. + It’s not as I left him, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go in to him,” said Father Brown shortly. “You can leave Mr. + Atkinson alone. I have had him in sight since we heard Quinton’s voice.” + </p> + <p> + “I will stop here and watch him,” said Flambeau hurriedly. “You go in and + see.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor and the priest flew to the study door, unlocked it, and fell + into the room. In doing so they nearly fell over the large mahogany table + in the centre at which the poet usually wrote; for the place was lit only + by a small fire kept for the invalid. In the middle of this table lay a + single sheet of paper, evidently left there on purpose. The doctor + snatched it up, glanced at it, handed it to Father Brown, and crying, + “Good God, look at that!” plunged toward the glass room beyond, where the + terrible tropic flowers still seemed to keep a crimson memory of the + sunset. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown read the words three times before he put down the paper. The + words were: “I die by my own hand; yet I die murdered!” They were in the + quite inimitable, not to say illegible, handwriting of Leonard Quinton. + </p> + <p> + Then Father Brown, still keeping the paper in his hand, strode towards the + conservatory, only to meet his medical friend coming back with a face of + assurance and collapse. “He’s done it,” said Harris. + </p> + <p> + They went together through the gorgeous unnatural beauty of cactus and + azalea and found Leonard Quinton, poet and romancer, with his head hanging + downward off his ottoman and his red curls sweeping the ground. Into his + left side was thrust the queer dagger that they had picked up in the + garden, and his limp hand still rested on the hilt. + </p> + <p> + Outside the storm had come at one stride, like the night in Coleridge, and + garden and glass roof were darkened with driving rain. Father Brown seemed + to be studying the paper more than the corpse; he held it close to his + eyes; and seemed trying to read it in the twilight. Then he held it up + against the faint light, and, as he did so, lightning stared at them for + an instant so white that the paper looked black against it. + </p> + <p> + Darkness full of thunder followed, and after the thunder Father Brown’s + voice said out of the dark: “Doctor, this paper is the wrong shape.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Doctor Harris, with a frowning stare. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t square,” answered Brown. “It has a sort of edge snipped off at + the corner. What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + “How the deuce should I know?” growled the doctor. “Shall we move this + poor chap, do you think? He’s quite dead.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered the priest; “we must leave him as he lies and send for the + police.” But he was still scrutinising the paper. + </p> + <p> + As they went back through the study he stopped by the table and picked up + a small pair of nail scissors. “Ah,” he said, with a sort of relief, “this + is what he did it with. But yet—” And he knitted his brows. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stop fooling with that scrap of paper,” said the doctor emphatically. + “It was a fad of his. He had hundreds of them. He cut all his paper like + that,” as he pointed to a stack of sermon paper still unused on another + and smaller table. Father Brown went up to it and held up a sheet. It was + the same irregular shape. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” he said. “And here I see the corners that were snipped off.” + And to the indignation of his colleague he began to count them. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right,” he said, with an apologetic smile. “Twenty-three + sheets cut and twenty-two corners cut off them. And as I see you are + impatient we will rejoin the others.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is to tell his wife?” asked Dr. Harris. “Will you go and tell her + now, while I send a servant for the police?” + </p> + <p> + “As you will,” said Father Brown indifferently. And he went out to the + hall door. + </p> + <p> + Here also he found a drama, though of a more grotesque sort. It showed + nothing less than his big friend Flambeau in an attitude to which he had + long been unaccustomed, while upon the pathway at the bottom of the steps + was sprawling with his boots in the air the amiable Atkinson, his + billycock hat and walking cane sent flying in opposite directions along + the path. Atkinson had at length wearied of Flambeau’s almost paternal + custody, and had endeavoured to knock him down, which was by no means a + smooth game to play with the Roi des Apaches, even after that monarch’s + abdication. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau was about to leap upon his enemy and secure him once more, when + the priest patted him easily on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Make it up with Mr. Atkinson, my friend,” he said. “Beg a mutual pardon + and say ‘Good night.’ We need not detain him any longer.” Then, as + Atkinson rose somewhat doubtfully and gathered his hat and stick and went + towards the garden gate, Father Brown said in a more serious voice: “Where + is that Indian?” + </p> + <p> + They all three (for the doctor had joined them) turned involuntarily + towards the dim grassy bank amid the tossing trees purple with twilight, + where they had last seen the brown man swaying in his strange prayers. The + Indian was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Confound him,” cried the doctor, stamping furiously. “Now I know that it + was that nigger that did it.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you didn’t believe in magic,” said Father Brown quietly. + </p> + <p> + “No more I did,” said the doctor, rolling his eyes. “I only know that I + loathed that yellow devil when I thought he was a sham wizard. And I shall + loathe him more if I come to think he was a real one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, his having escaped is nothing,” said Flambeau. “For we could have + proved nothing and done nothing against him. One hardly goes to the parish + constable with a story of suicide imposed by witchcraft or + auto-suggestion.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Father Brown had made his way into the house, and now went to + break the news to the wife of the dead man. + </p> + <p> + When he came out again he looked a little pale and tragic, but what passed + between them in that interview was never known, even when all was known. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau, who was talking quietly with the doctor, was surprised to see + his friend reappear so soon at his elbow; but Brown took no notice, and + merely drew the doctor apart. “You have sent for the police, haven’t you?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Harris. “They ought to be here in ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you do me a favour?” said the priest quietly. “The truth is, I make + a collection of these curious stories, which often contain, as in the case + of our Hindoo friend, elements which can hardly be put into a police + report. Now, I want you to write out a report of this case for my private + use. Yours is a clever trade,” he said, looking the doctor gravely and + steadily in the face. “I sometimes think that you know some details of + this matter which you have not thought fit to mention. Mine is a + confidential trade like yours, and I will treat anything you write for me + in strict confidence. But write the whole.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor, who had been listening thoughtfully with his head a little on + one side, looked the priest in the face for an instant, and said: “All + right,” and went into the study, closing the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Flambeau,” said Father Brown, “there is a long seat there under the + veranda, where we can smoke out of the rain. You are my only friend in the + world, and I want to talk to you. Or, perhaps, be silent with you.” + </p> + <p> + They established themselves comfortably in the veranda seat; Father Brown, + against his common habit, accepted a good cigar and smoked it steadily in + silence, while the rain shrieked and rattled on the roof of the veranda. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” he said at length, “this is a very queer case. A very queer + case.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think it was,” said Flambeau, with something like a shudder. + </p> + <p> + “You call it queer, and I call it queer,” said the other, “and yet we mean + quite opposite things. The modern mind always mixes up two different + ideas: mystery in the sense of what is marvellous, and mystery in the + sense of what is complicated. That is half its difficulty about miracles. + A miracle is startling; but it is simple. It is simple because it is a + miracle. It is power coming directly from God (or the devil) instead of + indirectly through nature or human wills. Now, you mean that this business + is marvellous because it is miraculous, because it is witchcraft worked by + a wicked Indian. Understand, I do not say that it was not spiritual or + diabolic. Heaven and hell only know by what surrounding influences strange + sins come into the lives of men. But for the present my point is this: If + it was pure magic, as you think, then it is marvellous; but it is not + mysterious—that is, it is not complicated. The quality of a miracle + is mysterious, but its manner is simple. Now, the manner of this business + has been the reverse of simple.” + </p> + <p> + The storm that had slackened for a little seemed to be swelling again, and + there came heavy movements as of faint thunder. Father Brown let fall the + ash of his cigar and went on: + </p> + <p> + “There has been in this incident,” he said, “a twisted, ugly, complex + quality that does not belong to the straight bolts either of heaven or + hell. As one knows the crooked track of a snail, I know the crooked track + of a man.” + </p> + <p> + The white lightning opened its enormous eye in one wink, the sky shut up + again, and the priest went on: + </p> + <p> + “Of all these crooked things, the crookedest was the shape of that piece + of paper. It was crookeder than the dagger that killed him.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean the paper on which Quinton confessed his suicide,” said + Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “I mean the paper on which Quinton wrote, ‘I die by my own hand,’” + answered Father Brown. “The shape of that paper, my friend, was the wrong + shape; the wrong shape, if ever I have seen it in this wicked world.” + </p> + <p> + “It only had a corner snipped off,” said Flambeau, “and I understand that + all Quinton’s paper was cut that way.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a very odd way,” said the other, “and a very bad way, to my taste + and fancy. Look here, Flambeau, this Quinton—God receive his soul!—was + perhaps a bit of a cur in some ways, but he really was an artist, with the + pencil as well as the pen. His handwriting, though hard to read, was bold + and beautiful. I can’t prove what I say; I can’t prove anything. But I + tell you with the full force of conviction that he could never have cut + that mean little piece off a sheet of paper. If he had wanted to cut down + paper for some purpose of fitting in, or binding up, or what not, he would + have made quite a different slash with the scissors. Do you remember the + shape? It was a mean shape. It was a wrong shape. Like this. Don’t you + remember?” + </p> + <p> + And he waved his burning cigar before him in the darkness, making + irregular squares so rapidly that Flambeau really seemed to see them as + fiery hieroglyphics upon the darkness—hieroglyphics such as his + friend had spoken of, which are undecipherable, yet can have no good + meaning. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Flambeau, as the priest put his cigar in his mouth again and + leaned back, staring at the roof, “suppose somebody else did use the + scissors. Why should somebody else, cutting pieces off his sermon paper, + make Quinton commit suicide?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown was still leaning back and staring at the roof, but he took + his cigar out of his mouth and said: “Quinton never did commit suicide.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau stared at him. “Why, confound it all,” he cried, “then why did he + confess to suicide?” + </p> + <p> + The priest leant forward again, settled his elbows on his knees, looked at + the ground, and said, in a low, distinct voice: “He never did confess to + suicide.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau laid his cigar down. “You mean,” he said, “that the writing was + forged?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Father Brown. “Quinton wrote it all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there you are,” said the aggravated Flambeau; “Quinton wrote, ‘I + die by my own hand,’ with his own hand on a plain piece of paper.” + </p> + <p> + “Of the wrong shape,” said the priest calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the shape be damned!” cried Flambeau. “What has the shape to do with + it?” + </p> + <p> + “There were twenty-three snipped papers,” resumed Brown unmoved, “and only + twenty-two pieces snipped off. Therefore one of the pieces had been + destroyed, probably that from the written paper. Does that suggest + anything to you?” + </p> + <p> + A light dawned on Flambeau’s face, and he said: “There was something else + written by Quinton, some other words. ‘They will tell you I die by my own + hand,’ or ‘Do not believe that—‘” + </p> + <p> + “Hotter, as the children say,” said his friend. “But the piece was hardly + half an inch across; there was no room for one word, let alone five. Can + you think of anything hardly bigger than a comma which the man with hell + in his heart had to tear away as a testimony against him?” + </p> + <p> + “I can think of nothing,” said Flambeau at last. + </p> + <p> + “What about quotation marks?” said the priest, and flung his cigar far + into the darkness like a shooting star. + </p> + <p> + All words had left the other man’s mouth, and Father Brown said, like one + going back to fundamentals: + </p> + <p> + “Leonard Quinton was a romancer, and was writing an Oriental romance about + wizardry and hypnotism. He—” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door opened briskly behind them, and the doctor came + out with his hat on. He put a long envelope into the priest’s hands. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the document you wanted,” he said, “and I must be getting home. + Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” said Father Brown, as the doctor walked briskly to the gate. + He had left the front door open, so that a shaft of gaslight fell upon + them. In the light of this Brown opened the envelope and read the + following words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEAR FATHER BROWN,—Vicisti Galilee. Otherwise, damn your + eyes, which are very penetrating ones. Can it be possible that + there is something in all that stuff of yours after all? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I am a man who has ever since boyhood believed in Nature and + in all natural functions and instincts, whether men called them + moral or immoral. Long before I became a doctor, when I was a + schoolboy keeping mice and spiders, I believed that to be a good + animal is the best thing in the world. But just now I am shaken; + I have believed in Nature; but it seems as if Nature could betray + a man. Can there be anything in your bosh? I am really getting + morbid. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I loved Quinton’s wife. What was there wrong in that? Nature + told me to, and it’s love that makes the world go round. I also + thought quite sincerely that she would be happier with a clean + animal like me than with that tormenting little lunatic. What was + there wrong in that? I was only facing facts, like a man of + science. She would have been happier. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + According to my own creed I was quite free to kill Quinton, + which was the best thing for everybody, even himself. But as a + healthy animal I had no notion of killing myself. I resolved, + therefore, that I would never do it until I saw a chance that + would leave me scot free. I saw that chance this morning. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have been three times, all told, into Quinton’s study today. + The first time I went in he would talk about nothing but the weird + tale, called “The Cure of a Saint,” which he was writing, which + was all about how some Indian hermit made an English colonel kill + himself by thinking about him. He showed me the last sheets, and + even read me the last paragraph, which was something like this: + “The conqueror of the Punjab, a mere yellow skeleton, but still + gigantic, managed to lift himself on his elbow and gasp in his + nephew’s ear: ‘I die by my own hand, yet I die murdered!’” It so + happened by one chance out of a hundred, that those last words + were written at the top of a new sheet of paper. I left the room, + and went out into the garden intoxicated with a frightful + opportunity. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We walked round the house; and two more things happened in my + favour. You suspected an Indian, and you found a dagger which the + Indian might most probably use. Taking the opportunity to stuff + it in my pocket I went back to Quinton’s study, locked the door, + and gave him his sleeping draught. He was against answering + Atkinson at all, but I urged him to call out and quiet the fellow, + because I wanted a clear proof that Quinton was alive when I left + the room for the second time. Quinton lay down in the conservatory, + and I came through the study. I am a quick man with my hands, and + in a minute and a half I had done what I wanted to do. I had + emptied all the first part of Quinton’s romance into the fireplace, + where it burnt to ashes. Then I saw that the quotation marks + wouldn’t do, so I snipped them off, and to make it seem likelier, + snipped the whole quire to match. Then I came out with the + knowledge that Quinton’s confession of suicide lay on the front + table, while Quinton lay alive but asleep in the conservatory + beyond. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The last act was a desperate one; you can guess it: I pretended + to have seen Quinton dead and rushed to his room. I delayed you + with the paper, and, being a quick man with my hands, killed + Quinton while you were looking at his confession of suicide. He + was half-asleep, being drugged, and I put his own hand on the + knife and drove it into his body. The knife was of so queer a + shape that no one but an operator could have calculated the angle + that would reach his heart. I wonder if you noticed this. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I had done it, the extraordinary thing happened. Nature + deserted me. I felt ill. I felt just as if I had done something + wrong. I think my brain is breaking up; I feel some sort of + desperate pleasure in thinking I have told the thing to somebody; + that I shall not have to be alone with it if I marry and have + children. What is the matter with me?... Madness... or can one + have remorse, just as if one were in Byron’s poems! I cannot + write any more. + + James Erskine Harris. +</pre> + <p> + Father Brown carefully folded up the letter, and put it in his breast + pocket just as there came a loud peal at the gate bell, and the wet + waterproofs of several policemen gleamed in the road outside. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Sins of Prince Saradine + </h2> + <p> + When Flambeau took his month’s holiday from his office in Westminster he + took it in a small sailing-boat, so small that it passed much of its time + as a rowing-boat. He took it, moreover, in little rivers in the Eastern + counties, rivers so small that the boat looked like a magic boat, sailing + on land through meadows and cornfields. The vessel was just comfortable + for two people; there was room only for necessities, and Flambeau had + stocked it with such things as his special philosophy considered + necessary. They reduced themselves, apparently, to four essentials: tins + of salmon, if he should want to eat; loaded revolvers, if he should want + to fight; a bottle of brandy, presumably in case he should faint; and a + priest, presumably in case he should die. With this light luggage he + crawled down the little Norfolk rivers, intending to reach the Broads at + last, but meanwhile delighting in the overhanging gardens and meadows, the + mirrored mansions or villages, lingering to fish in the pools and corners, + and in some sense hugging the shore. + </p> + <p> + Like a true philosopher, Flambeau had no aim in his holiday; but, like a + true philosopher, he had an excuse. He had a sort of half purpose, which + he took just so seriously that its success would crown the holiday, but + just so lightly that its failure would not spoil it. Years ago, when he + had been a king of thieves and the most famous figure in Paris, he had + often received wild communications of approval, denunciation, or even + love; but one had, somehow, stuck in his memory. It consisted simply of a + visiting-card, in an envelope with an English postmark. On the back of the + card was written in French and in green ink: “If you ever retire and + become respectable, come and see me. I want to meet you, for I have met + all the other great men of my time. That trick of yours of getting one + detective to arrest the other was the most splendid scene in French + history.” On the front of the card was engraved in the formal fashion, + “Prince Saradine, Reed House, Reed Island, Norfolk.” + </p> + <p> + He had not troubled much about the prince then, beyond ascertaining that + he had been a brilliant and fashionable figure in southern Italy. In his + youth, it was said, he had eloped with a married woman of high rank; the + escapade was scarcely startling in his social world, but it had clung to + men’s minds because of an additional tragedy: the alleged suicide of the + insulted husband, who appeared to have flung himself over a precipice in + Sicily. The prince then lived in Vienna for a time, but his more recent + years seemed to have been passed in perpetual and restless travel. But + when Flambeau, like the prince himself, had left European celebrity and + settled in England, it occurred to him that he might pay a surprise visit + to this eminent exile in the Norfolk Broads. Whether he should find the + place he had no idea; and, indeed, it was sufficiently small and + forgotten. But, as things fell out, he found it much sooner than he + expected. + </p> + <p> + They had moored their boat one night under a bank veiled in high grasses + and short pollarded trees. Sleep, after heavy sculling, had come to them + early, and by a corresponding accident they awoke before it was light. To + speak more strictly, they awoke before it was daylight; for a large lemon + moon was only just setting in the forest of high grass above their heads, + and the sky was of a vivid violet-blue, nocturnal but bright. Both men had + simultaneously a reminiscence of childhood, of the elfin and adventurous + time when tall weeds close over us like woods. Standing up thus against + the large low moon, the daisies really seemed to be giant daisies, the + dandelions to be giant dandelions. Somehow it reminded them of the dado of + a nursery wall-paper. The drop of the river-bed sufficed to sink them + under the roots of all shrubs and flowers and make them gaze upwards at + the grass. “By Jove!” said Flambeau, “it’s like being in fairyland.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown sat bolt upright in the boat and crossed himself. His + movement was so abrupt that his friend asked him, with a mild stare, what + was the matter. + </p> + <p> + “The people who wrote the mediaeval ballads,” answered the priest, “knew + more about fairies than you do. It isn’t only nice things that happen in + fairyland.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bosh!” said Flambeau. “Only nice things could happen under such an + innocent moon. I am for pushing on now and seeing what does really come. + We may die and rot before we ever see again such a moon or such a mood.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Father Brown. “I never said it was always wrong to enter + fairyland. I only said it was always dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + They pushed slowly up the brightening river; the glowing violet of the sky + and the pale gold of the moon grew fainter and fainter, and faded into + that vast colourless cosmos that precedes the colours of the dawn. When + the first faint stripes of red and gold and grey split the horizon from + end to end they were broken by the black bulk of a town or village which + sat on the river just ahead of them. It was already an easy twilight, in + which all things were visible, when they came under the hanging roofs and + bridges of this riverside hamlet. The houses, with their long, low, + stooping roofs, seemed to come down to drink at the river, like huge grey + and red cattle. The broadening and whitening dawn had already turned to + working daylight before they saw any living creature on the wharves and + bridges of that silent town. Eventually they saw a very placid and + prosperous man in his shirt sleeves, with a face as round as the recently + sunken moon, and rays of red whisker around the low arc of it, who was + leaning on a post above the sluggish tide. By an impulse not to be + analysed, Flambeau rose to his full height in the swaying boat and shouted + at the man to ask if he knew Reed Island or Reed House. The prosperous + man’s smile grew slightly more expansive, and he simply pointed up the + river towards the next bend of it. Flambeau went ahead without further + speech. + </p> + <p> + The boat took many such grassy corners and followed many such reedy and + silent reaches of river; but before the search had become monotonous they + had swung round a specially sharp angle and come into the silence of a + sort of pool or lake, the sight of which instinctively arrested them. For + in the middle of this wider piece of water, fringed on every side with + rushes, lay a long, low islet, along which ran a long, low house or + bungalow built of bamboo or some kind of tough tropic cane. The upstanding + rods of bamboo which made the walls were pale yellow, the sloping rods + that made the roof were of darker red or brown, otherwise the long house + was a thing of repetition and monotony. The early morning breeze rustled + the reeds round the island and sang in the strange ribbed house as in a + giant pan-pipe. + </p> + <p> + “By George!” cried Flambeau; “here is the place, after all! Here is Reed + Island, if ever there was one. Here is Reed House, if it is anywhere. I + believe that fat man with whiskers was a fairy.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” remarked Father Brown impartially. “If he was, he was a bad + fairy.” + </p> + <p> + But even as he spoke the impetuous Flambeau had run his boat ashore in the + rattling reeds, and they stood in the long, quaint islet beside the odd + and silent house. + </p> + <p> + The house stood with its back, as it were, to the river and the only + landing-stage; the main entrance was on the other side, and looked down + the long island garden. The visitors approached it, therefore, by a small + path running round nearly three sides of the house, close under the low + eaves. Through three different windows on three different sides they + looked in on the same long, well-lit room, panelled in light wood, with a + large number of looking-glasses, and laid out as for an elegant lunch. The + front door, when they came round to it at last, was flanked by two + turquoise-blue flower pots. It was opened by a butler of the drearier type—long, + lean, grey and listless—who murmured that Prince Saradine was from + home at present, but was expected hourly; the house being kept ready for + him and his guests. The exhibition of the card with the scrawl of green + ink awoke a flicker of life in the parchment face of the depressed + retainer, and it was with a certain shaky courtesy that he suggested that + the strangers should remain. “His Highness may be here any minute,” he + said, “and would be distressed to have just missed any gentleman he had + invited. We have orders always to keep a little cold lunch for him and his + friends, and I am sure he would wish it to be offered.” + </p> + <p> + Moved with curiosity to this minor adventure, Flambeau assented + gracefully, and followed the old man, who ushered him ceremoniously into + the long, lightly panelled room. There was nothing very notable about it, + except the rather unusual alternation of many long, low windows with many + long, low oblongs of looking-glass, which gave a singular air of lightness + and unsubstantialness to the place. It was somehow like lunching out of + doors. One or two pictures of a quiet kind hung in the corners, one a + large grey photograph of a very young man in uniform, another a red chalk + sketch of two long-haired boys. Asked by Flambeau whether the soldierly + person was the prince, the butler answered shortly in the negative; it was + the prince’s younger brother, Captain Stephen Saradine, he said. And with + that the old man seemed to dry up suddenly and lose all taste for + conversation. + </p> + <p> + After lunch had tailed off with exquisite coffee and liqueurs, the guests + were introduced to the garden, the library, and the housekeeper—a + dark, handsome lady, of no little majesty, and rather like a plutonic + Madonna. It appeared that she and the butler were the only survivors of + the prince’s original foreign menage the other servants now in the house + being new and collected in Norfolk by the housekeeper. This latter lady + went by the name of Mrs. Anthony, but she spoke with a slight Italian + accent, and Flambeau did not doubt that Anthony was a Norfolk version of + some more Latin name. Mr. Paul, the butler, also had a faintly foreign + air, but he was in tongue and training English, as are many of the most + polished men-servants of the cosmopolitan nobility. + </p> + <p> + Pretty and unique as it was, the place had about it a curious luminous + sadness. Hours passed in it like days. The long, well-windowed rooms were + full of daylight, but it seemed a dead daylight. And through all other + incidental noises, the sound of talk, the clink of glasses, or the passing + feet of servants, they could hear on all sides of the house the melancholy + noise of the river. + </p> + <p> + “We have taken a wrong turning, and come to a wrong place,” said Father + Brown, looking out of the window at the grey-green sedges and the silver + flood. “Never mind; one can sometimes do good by being the right person in + the wrong place.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown, though commonly a silent, was an oddly sympathetic little + man, and in those few but endless hours he unconsciously sank deeper into + the secrets of Reed House than his professional friend. He had that knack + of friendly silence which is so essential to gossip; and saying scarcely a + word, he probably obtained from his new acquaintances all that in any case + they would have told. The butler indeed was naturally uncommunicative. He + betrayed a sullen and almost animal affection for his master; who, he + said, had been very badly treated. The chief offender seemed to be his + highness’s brother, whose name alone would lengthen the old man’s lantern + jaws and pucker his parrot nose into a sneer. Captain Stephen was a + ne’er-do-well, apparently, and had drained his benevolent brother of + hundreds and thousands; forced him to fly from fashionable life and live + quietly in this retreat. That was all Paul, the butler, would say, and + Paul was obviously a partisan. + </p> + <p> + The Italian housekeeper was somewhat more communicative, being, as Brown + fancied, somewhat less content. Her tone about her master was faintly + acid; though not without a certain awe. Flambeau and his friend were + standing in the room of the looking-glasses examining the red sketch of + the two boys, when the housekeeper swept in swiftly on some domestic + errand. It was a peculiarity of this glittering, glass-panelled place that + anyone entering was reflected in four or five mirrors at once; and Father + Brown, without turning round, stopped in the middle of a sentence of + family criticism. But Flambeau, who had his face close up to the picture, + was already saying in a loud voice, “The brothers Saradine, I suppose. + They both look innocent enough. It would be hard to say which is the good + brother and which the bad.” Then, realising the lady’s presence, he turned + the conversation with some triviality, and strolled out into the garden. + But Father Brown still gazed steadily at the red crayon sketch; and Mrs. + Anthony still gazed steadily at Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + She had large and tragic brown eyes, and her olive face glowed darkly with + a curious and painful wonder—as of one doubtful of a stranger’s + identity or purpose. Whether the little priest’s coat and creed touched + some southern memories of confession, or whether she fancied he knew more + than he did, she said to him in a low voice as to a fellow plotter, “He is + right enough in one way, your friend. He says it would be hard to pick out + the good and bad brothers. Oh, it would be hard, it would be mighty hard, + to pick out the good one.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you,” said Father Brown, and began to move away. + </p> + <p> + The woman took a step nearer to him, with thunderous brows and a sort of + savage stoop, like a bull lowering his horns. + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t a good one,” she hissed. “There was badness enough in the + captain taking all that money, but I don’t think there was much goodness + in the prince giving it. The captain’s not the only one with something + against him.” + </p> + <p> + A light dawned on the cleric’s averted face, and his mouth formed silently + the word “blackmail.” Even as he did so the woman turned an abrupt white + face over her shoulder and almost fell. The door had opened soundlessly + and the pale Paul stood like a ghost in the doorway. By the weird trick of + the reflecting walls, it seemed as if five Pauls had entered by five doors + simultaneously. + </p> + <p> + “His Highness,” he said, “has just arrived.” + </p> + <p> + In the same flash the figure of a man had passed outside the first window, + crossing the sunlit pane like a lighted stage. An instant later he passed + at the second window and the many mirrors repainted in successive frames + the same eagle profile and marching figure. He was erect and alert, but + his hair was white and his complexion of an odd ivory yellow. He had that + short, curved Roman nose which generally goes with long, lean cheeks and + chin, but these were partly masked by moustache and imperial. The + moustache was much darker than the beard, giving an effect slightly + theatrical, and he was dressed up to the same dashing part, having a white + top hat, an orchid in his coat, a yellow waistcoat and yellow gloves which + he flapped and swung as he walked. When he came round to the front door + they heard the stiff Paul open it, and heard the new arrival say + cheerfully, “Well, you see I have come.” The stiff Mr. Paul bowed and + answered in his inaudible manner; for a few minutes their conversation + could not be heard. Then the butler said, “Everything is at your + disposal;” and the glove-flapping Prince Saradine came gaily into the room + to greet them. They beheld once more that spectral scene—five + princes entering a room with five doors. + </p> + <p> + The prince put the white hat and yellow gloves on the table and offered + his hand quite cordially. + </p> + <p> + “Delighted to see you here, Mr. Flambeau,” he said. “Knowing you very well + by reputation, if that’s not an indiscreet remark.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” answered Flambeau, laughing. “I am not sensitive. Very few + reputations are gained by unsullied virtue.” + </p> + <p> + The prince flashed a sharp look at him to see if the retort had any + personal point; then he laughed also and offered chairs to everyone, + including himself. + </p> + <p> + “Pleasant little place, this, I think,” he said with a detached air. “Not + much to do, I fear; but the fishing is really good.” + </p> + <p> + The priest, who was staring at him with the grave stare of a baby, was + haunted by some fancy that escaped definition. He looked at the grey, + carefully curled hair, yellow white visage, and slim, somewhat foppish + figure. These were not unnatural, though perhaps a shade prononcé, like + the outfit of a figure behind the footlights. The nameless interest lay in + something else, in the very framework of the face; Brown was tormented + with a half memory of having seen it somewhere before. The man looked like + some old friend of his dressed up. Then he suddenly remembered the + mirrors, and put his fancy down to some psychological effect of that + multiplication of human masks. + </p> + <p> + Prince Saradine distributed his social attentions between his guests with + great gaiety and tact. Finding the detective of a sporting turn and eager + to employ his holiday, he guided Flambeau and Flambeau’s boat down to the + best fishing spot in the stream, and was back in his own canoe in twenty + minutes to join Father Brown in the library and plunge equally politely + into the priest’s more philosophic pleasures. He seemed to know a great + deal both about the fishing and the books, though of these not the most + edifying; he spoke five or six languages, though chiefly the slang of + each. He had evidently lived in varied cities and very motley societies, + for some of his cheerfullest stories were about gambling hells and opium + dens, Australian bushrangers or Italian brigands. Father Brown knew that + the once-celebrated Saradine had spent his last few years in almost + ceaseless travel, but he had not guessed that the travels were so + disreputable or so amusing. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, with all his dignity of a man of the world, Prince Saradine + radiated to such sensitive observers as the priest, a certain atmosphere + of the restless and even the unreliable. His face was fastidious, but his + eye was wild; he had little nervous tricks, like a man shaken by drink or + drugs, and he neither had, nor professed to have, his hand on the helm of + household affairs. All these were left to the two old servants, especially + to the butler, who was plainly the central pillar of the house. Mr. Paul, + indeed, was not so much a butler as a sort of steward or, even, + chamberlain; he dined privately, but with almost as much pomp as his + master; he was feared by all the servants; and he consulted with the + prince decorously, but somewhat unbendingly—rather as if he were the + prince’s solicitor. The sombre housekeeper was a mere shadow in + comparison; indeed, she seemed to efface herself and wait only on the + butler, and Brown heard no more of those volcanic whispers which had half + told him of the younger brother who blackmailed the elder. Whether the + prince was really being thus bled by the absent captain, he could not be + certain, but there was something insecure and secretive about Saradine + that made the tale by no means incredible. + </p> + <p> + When they went once more into the long hall with the windows and the + mirrors, yellow evening was dropping over the waters and the willowy + banks; and a bittern sounded in the distance like an elf upon his dwarfish + drum. The same singular sentiment of some sad and evil fairyland crossed + the priest’s mind again like a little grey cloud. “I wish Flambeau were + back,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe in doom?” asked the restless Prince Saradine suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered his guest. “I believe in Doomsday.” + </p> + <p> + The prince turned from the window and stared at him in a singular manner, + his face in shadow against the sunset. “What do you mean?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that we here are on the wrong side of the tapestry,” answered + Father Brown. “The things that happen here do not seem to mean anything; + they mean something somewhere else. Somewhere else retribution will come + on the real offender. Here it often seems to fall on the wrong person.” + </p> + <p> + The prince made an inexplicable noise like an animal; in his shadowed face + the eyes were shining queerly. A new and shrewd thought exploded silently + in the other’s mind. Was there another meaning in Saradine’s blend of + brilliancy and abruptness? Was the prince—Was he perfectly sane? He + was repeating, “The wrong person—the wrong person,” many more times + than was natural in a social exclamation. + </p> + <p> + Then Father Brown awoke tardily to a second truth. In the mirrors before + him he could see the silent door standing open, and the silent Mr. Paul + standing in it, with his usual pallid impassiveness. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it better to announce at once,” he said, with the same stiff + respectfulness as of an old family lawyer, “a boat rowed by six men has + come to the landing-stage, and there’s a gentleman sitting in the stern.” + </p> + <p> + “A boat!” repeated the prince; “a gentleman?” and he rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + There was a startled silence punctuated only by the odd noise of the bird + in the sedge; and then, before anyone could speak again, a new face and + figure passed in profile round the three sunlit windows, as the prince had + passed an hour or two before. But except for the accident that both + outlines were aquiline, they had little in common. Instead of the new + white topper of Saradine, was a black one of antiquated or foreign shape; + under it was a young and very solemn face, clean shaven, blue about its + resolute chin, and carrying a faint suggestion of the young Napoleon. The + association was assisted by something old and odd about the whole get-up, + as of a man who had never troubled to change the fashions of his fathers. + He had a shabby blue frock coat, a red, soldierly looking waistcoat, and a + kind of coarse white trousers common among the early Victorians, but + strangely incongruous today. From all this old clothes-shop his olive face + stood out strangely young and monstrously sincere. + </p> + <p> + “The deuce!” said Prince Saradine, and clapping on his white hat he went + to the front door himself, flinging it open on the sunset garden. + </p> + <p> + By that time the new-comer and his followers were drawn up on the lawn + like a small stage army. The six boatmen had pulled the boat well up on + shore, and were guarding it almost menacingly, holding their oars erect + like spears. They were swarthy men, and some of them wore earrings. But + one of them stood forward beside the olive-faced young man in the red + waistcoat, and carried a large black case of unfamiliar form. + </p> + <p> + “Your name,” said the young man, “is Saradine?” + </p> + <p> + Saradine assented rather negligently. + </p> + <p> + The new-comer had dull, dog-like brown eyes, as different as possible from + the restless and glittering grey eyes of the prince. But once again Father + Brown was tortured with a sense of having seen somewhere a replica of the + face; and once again he remembered the repetitions of the glass-panelled + room, and put down the coincidence to that. “Confound this crystal + palace!” he muttered. “One sees everything too many times. It’s like a + dream.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are Prince Saradine,” said the young man, “I may tell you that my + name is Antonelli.” + </p> + <p> + “Antonelli,” repeated the prince languidly. “Somehow I remember the name.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to present myself,” said the young Italian. + </p> + <p> + With his left hand he politely took off his old-fashioned top-hat; with + his right he caught Prince Saradine so ringing a crack across the face + that the white top hat rolled down the steps and one of the blue + flower-pots rocked upon its pedestal. + </p> + <p> + The prince, whatever he was, was evidently not a coward; he sprang at his + enemy’s throat and almost bore him backwards to the grass. But his enemy + extricated himself with a singularly inappropriate air of hurried + politeness. + </p> + <p> + “That is all right,” he said, panting and in halting English. “I have + insulted. I will give satisfaction. Marco, open the case.” + </p> + <p> + The man beside him with the earrings and the big black case proceeded to + unlock it. He took out of it two long Italian rapiers, with splendid steel + hilts and blades, which he planted point downwards in the lawn. The + strange young man standing facing the entrance with his yellow and + vindictive face, the two swords standing up in the turf like two crosses + in a cemetery, and the line of the ranked towers behind, gave it all an + odd appearance of being some barbaric court of justice. But everything + else was unchanged, so sudden had been the interruption. The sunset gold + still glowed on the lawn, and the bittern still boomed as announcing some + small but dreadful destiny. + </p> + <p> + “Prince Saradine,” said the man called Antonelli, “when I was an infant in + the cradle you killed my father and stole my mother; my father was the + more fortunate. You did not kill him fairly, as I am going to kill you. + You and my wicked mother took him driving to a lonely pass in Sicily, + flung him down a cliff, and went on your way. I could imitate you if I + chose, but imitating you is too vile. I have followed you all over the + world, and you have always fled from me. But this is the end of the world—and + of you. I have you now, and I give you the chance you never gave my + father. Choose one of those swords.” + </p> + <p> + Prince Saradine, with contracted brows, seemed to hesitate a moment, but + his ears were still singing with the blow, and he sprang forward and + snatched at one of the hilts. Father Brown had also sprung forward, + striving to compose the dispute; but he soon found his personal presence + made matters worse. Saradine was a French freemason and a fierce atheist, + and a priest moved him by the law of contraries. And for the other man + neither priest nor layman moved him at all. This young man with the + Bonaparte face and the brown eyes was something far sterner than a puritan—a + pagan. He was a simple slayer from the morning of the earth; a man of the + stone age—a man of stone. + </p> + <p> + One hope remained, the summoning of the household; and Father Brown ran + back into the house. He found, however, that all the under servants had + been given a holiday ashore by the autocrat Paul, and that only the sombre + Mrs. Anthony moved uneasily about the long rooms. But the moment she + turned a ghastly face upon him, he resolved one of the riddles of the + house of mirrors. The heavy brown eyes of Antonelli were the heavy brown + eyes of Mrs. Anthony; and in a flash he saw half the story. + </p> + <p> + “Your son is outside,” he said without wasting words; “either he or the + prince will be killed. Where is Mr. Paul?” + </p> + <p> + “He is at the landing-stage,” said the woman faintly. “He is—he is—signalling + for help.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Anthony,” said Father Brown seriously, “there is no time for + nonsense. My friend has his boat down the river fishing. Your son’s boat + is guarded by your son’s men. There is only this one canoe; what is Mr. + Paul doing with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Santa Maria! I do not know,” she said; and swooned all her length on the + matted floor. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown lifted her to a sofa, flung a pot of water over her, shouted + for help, and then rushed down to the landing-stage of the little island. + But the canoe was already in mid-stream, and old Paul was pulling and + pushing it up the river with an energy incredible at his years. + </p> + <p> + “I will save my master,” he cried, his eyes blazing maniacally. “I will + save him yet!” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown could do nothing but gaze after the boat as it struggled + up-stream and pray that the old man might waken the little town in time. + </p> + <p> + “A duel is bad enough,” he muttered, rubbing up his rough dust-coloured + hair, “but there’s something wrong about this duel, even as a duel. I feel + it in my bones. But what can it be?” + </p> + <p> + As he stood staring at the water, a wavering mirror of sunset, he heard + from the other end of the island garden a small but unmistakable sound—the + cold concussion of steel. He turned his head. + </p> + <p> + Away on the farthest cape or headland of the long islet, on a strip of + turf beyond the last rank of roses, the duellists had already crossed + swords. Evening above them was a dome of virgin gold, and, distant as they + were, every detail was picked out. They had cast off their coats, but the + yellow waistcoat and white hair of Saradine, the red waistcoat and white + trousers of Antonelli, glittered in the level light like the colours of + the dancing clockwork dolls. The two swords sparkled from point to pommel + like two diamond pins. There was something frightful in the two figures + appearing so little and so gay. They looked like two butterflies trying to + pin each other to a cork. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown ran as hard as he could, his little legs going like a wheel. + But when he came to the field of combat he found he was born too late and + too early—too late to stop the strife, under the shadow of the grim + Sicilians leaning on their oars, and too early to anticipate any + disastrous issue of it. For the two men were singularly well matched, the + prince using his skill with a sort of cynical confidence, the Sicilian + using his with a murderous care. Few finer fencing matches can ever have + been seen in crowded amphitheatres than that which tinkled and sparkled on + that forgotten island in the reedy river. The dizzy fight was balanced so + long that hope began to revive in the protesting priest; by all common + probability Paul must soon come back with the police. It would be some + comfort even if Flambeau came back from his fishing, for Flambeau, + physically speaking, was worth four other men. But there was no sign of + Flambeau, and, what was much queerer, no sign of Paul or the police. No + other raft or stick was left to float on; in that lost island in that vast + nameless pool, they were cut off as on a rock in the Pacific. + </p> + <p> + Almost as he had the thought the ringing of the rapiers quickened to a + rattle, the prince’s arms flew up, and the point shot out behind between + his shoulder-blades. He went over with a great whirling movement, almost + like one throwing the half of a boy’s cart-wheel. The sword flew from his + hand like a shooting star, and dived into the distant river. And he + himself sank with so earth-shaking a subsidence that he broke a big + rose-tree with his body and shook up into the sky a cloud of red earth—like + the smoke of some heathen sacrifice. The Sicilian had made blood-offering + to the ghost of his father. + </p> + <p> + The priest was instantly on his knees by the corpse; but only to make too + sure that it was a corpse. As he was still trying some last hopeless tests + he heard for the first time voices from farther up the river, and saw a + police boat shoot up to the landing-stage, with constables and other + important people, including the excited Paul. The little priest rose with + a distinctly dubious grimace. + </p> + <p> + “Now, why on earth,” he muttered, “why on earth couldn’t he have come + before?” + </p> + <p> + Some seven minutes later the island was occupied by an invasion of + townsfolk and police, and the latter had put their hands on the victorious + duellist, ritually reminding him that anything he said might be used + against him. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not say anything,” said the monomaniac, with a wonderful and + peaceful face. “I shall never say anything more. I am very happy, and I + only want to be hanged.” + </p> + <p> + Then he shut his mouth as they led him away, and it is the strange but + certain truth that he never opened it again in this world, except to say + “Guilty” at his trial. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had stared at the suddenly crowded garden, the arrest of the + man of blood, the carrying away of the corpse after its examination by the + doctor, rather as one watches the break-up of some ugly dream; he was + motionless, like a man in a nightmare. He gave his name and address as a + witness, but declined their offer of a boat to the shore, and remained + alone in the island garden, gazing at the broken rose bush and the whole + green theatre of that swift and inexplicable tragedy. The light died along + the river; mist rose in the marshy banks; a few belated birds flitted + fitfully across. + </p> + <p> + Stuck stubbornly in his sub-consciousness (which was an unusually lively + one) was an unspeakable certainty that there was something still + unexplained. This sense that had clung to him all day could not be fully + explained by his fancy about “looking-glass land.” Somehow he had not seen + the real story, but some game or masque. And yet people do not get hanged + or run through the body for the sake of a charade. + </p> + <p> + As he sat on the steps of the landing-stage ruminating he grew conscious + of the tall, dark streak of a sail coming silently down the shining river, + and sprang to his feet with such a backrush of feeling that he almost + wept. + </p> + <p> + “Flambeau!” he cried, and shook his friend by both hands again and again, + much to the astonishment of that sportsman, as he came on shore with his + fishing tackle. “Flambeau,” he said, “so you’re not killed?” + </p> + <p> + “Killed!” repeated the angler in great astonishment. “And why should I be + killed?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, because nearly everybody else is,” said his companion rather wildly. + “Saradine got murdered, and Antonelli wants to be hanged, and his mother’s + fainted, and I, for one, don’t know whether I’m in this world or the next. + But, thank God, you’re in the same one.” And he took the bewildered + Flambeau’s arm. + </p> + <p> + As they turned from the landing-stage they came under the eaves of the low + bamboo house, and looked in through one of the windows, as they had done + on their first arrival. They beheld a lamp-lit interior well calculated to + arrest their eyes. The table in the long dining-room had been laid for + dinner when Saradine’s destroyer had fallen like a stormbolt on the + island. And the dinner was now in placid progress, for Mrs. Anthony sat + somewhat sullenly at the foot of the table, while at the head of it was + Mr. Paul, the major domo, eating and drinking of the best, his bleared, + bluish eyes standing queerly out of his face, his gaunt countenance + inscrutable, but by no means devoid of satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + With a gesture of powerful impatience, Flambeau rattled at the window, + wrenched it open, and put an indignant head into the lamp-lit room. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he cried. “I can understand you may need some refreshment, but + really to steal your master’s dinner while he lies murdered in the garden—” + </p> + <p> + “I have stolen a great many things in a long and pleasant life,” replied + the strange old gentleman placidly; “this dinner is one of the few things + I have not stolen. This dinner and this house and garden happen to belong + to me.” + </p> + <p> + A thought flashed across Flambeau’s face. “You mean to say,” he began, + “that the will of Prince Saradine—” + </p> + <p> + “I am Prince Saradine,” said the old man, munching a salted almond. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown, who was looking at the birds outside, jumped as if he were + shot, and put in at the window a pale face like a turnip. + </p> + <p> + “You are what?” he repeated in a shrill voice. + </p> + <p> + “Paul, Prince Saradine, A vos ordres,” said the venerable person politely, + lifting a glass of sherry. “I live here very quietly, being a domestic + kind of fellow; and for the sake of modesty I am called Mr. Paul, to + distinguish me from my unfortunate brother Mr. Stephen. He died, I hear, + recently—in the garden. Of course, it is not my fault if enemies + pursue him to this place. It is owing to the regrettable irregularity of + his life. He was not a domestic character.” + </p> + <p> + He relapsed into silence, and continued to gaze at the opposite wall just + above the bowed and sombre head of the woman. They saw plainly the family + likeness that had haunted them in the dead man. Then his old shoulders + began to heave and shake a little, as if he were choking, but his face did + not alter. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” cried Flambeau after a pause, “he’s laughing!” + </p> + <p> + “Come away,” said Father Brown, who was quite white. “Come away from this + house of hell. Let us get into an honest boat again.” + </p> + <p> + Night had sunk on rushes and river by the time they had pushed off from + the island, and they went down-stream in the dark, warming themselves with + two big cigars that glowed like crimson ships’ lanterns. Father Brown took + his cigar out of his mouth and said: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you can guess the whole story now? After all, it’s a primitive + story. A man had two enemies. He was a wise man. And so he discovered that + two enemies are better than one.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not follow that,” answered Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s really simple,” rejoined his friend. “Simple, though anything + but innocent. Both the Saradines were scamps, but the prince, the elder, + was the sort of scamp that gets to the top, and the younger, the captain, + was the sort that sinks to the bottom. This squalid officer fell from + beggar to blackmailer, and one ugly day he got his hold upon his brother, + the prince. Obviously it was for no light matter, for Prince Paul Saradine + was frankly ‘fast,’ and had no reputation to lose as to the mere sins of + society. In plain fact, it was a hanging matter, and Stephen literally had + a rope round his brother’s neck. He had somehow discovered the truth about + the Sicilian affair, and could prove that Paul murdered old Antonelli in + the mountains. The captain raked in the hush money heavily for ten years, + until even the prince’s splendid fortune began to look a little foolish. + </p> + <p> + “But Prince Saradine bore another burden besides his blood-sucking + brother. He knew that the son of Antonelli, a mere child at the time of + the murder, had been trained in savage Sicilian loyalty, and lived only to + avenge his father, not with the gibbet (for he lacked Stephen’s legal + proof), but with the old weapons of vendetta. The boy had practised arms + with a deadly perfection, and about the time that he was old enough to use + them Prince Saradine began, as the society papers said, to travel. The + fact is that he began to flee for his life, passing from place to place + like a hunted criminal; but with one relentless man upon his trail. That + was Prince Paul’s position, and by no means a pretty one. The more money + he spent on eluding Antonelli the less he had to silence Stephen. The more + he gave to silence Stephen the less chance there was of finally escaping + Antonelli. Then it was that he showed himself a great man—a genius + like Napoleon. + </p> + <p> + “Instead of resisting his two antagonists, he surrendered suddenly to both + of them. He gave way like a Japanese wrestler, and his foes fell prostrate + before him. He gave up the race round the world, and he gave up his + address to young Antonelli; then he gave up everything to his brother. He + sent Stephen money enough for smart clothes and easy travel, with a letter + saying roughly: ‘This is all I have left. You have cleaned me out. I still + have a little house in Norfolk, with servants and a cellar, and if you + want more from me you must take that. Come and take possession if you + like, and I will live there quietly as your friend or agent or anything.’ + He knew that the Sicilian had never seen the Saradine brothers save, + perhaps, in pictures; he knew they were somewhat alike, both having grey, + pointed beards. Then he shaved his own face and waited. The trap worked. + The unhappy captain, in his new clothes, entered the house in triumph as a + prince, and walked upon the Sicilian’s sword. + </p> + <p> + “There was one hitch, and it is to the honour of human nature. Evil + spirits like Saradine often blunder by never expecting the virtues of + mankind. He took it for granted that the Italian’s blow, when it came, + would be dark, violent and nameless, like the blow it avenged; that the + victim would be knifed at night, or shot from behind a hedge, and so die + without speech. It was a bad minute for Prince Paul when Antonelli’s + chivalry proposed a formal duel, with all its possible explanations. It + was then that I found him putting off in his boat with wild eyes. He was + fleeing, bareheaded, in an open boat before Antonelli should learn who he + was. + </p> + <p> + “But, however agitated, he was not hopeless. He knew the adventurer and he + knew the fanatic. It was quite probable that Stephen, the adventurer, + would hold his tongue, through his mere histrionic pleasure in playing a + part, his lust for clinging to his new cosy quarters, his rascal’s trust + in luck, and his fine fencing. It was certain that Antonelli, the fanatic, + would hold his tongue, and be hanged without telling tales of his family. + Paul hung about on the river till he knew the fight was over. Then he + roused the town, brought the police, saw his two vanquished enemies taken + away forever, and sat down smiling to his dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Laughing, God help us!” said Flambeau with a strong shudder. “Do they get + such ideas from Satan?” + </p> + <p> + “He got that idea from you,” answered the priest. + </p> + <p> + “God forbid!” ejaculated Flambeau. “From me! What do you mean!” + </p> + <p> + The priest pulled a visiting-card from his pocket and held it up in the + faint glow of his cigar; it was scrawled with green ink. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you remember his original invitation to you?” he asked, “and the + compliment to your criminal exploit? ‘That trick of yours,’ he says, ‘of + getting one detective to arrest the other’? He has just copied your trick. + With an enemy on each side of him, he slipped swiftly out of the way and + let them collide and kill each other.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau tore Prince Saradine’s card from the priest’s hands and rent it + savagely in small pieces. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the last of that old skull and crossbones,” he said as he + scattered the pieces upon the dark and disappearing waves of the stream; + “but I should think it would poison the fishes.” + </p> + <p> + The last gleam of white card and green ink was drowned and darkened; a + faint and vibrant colour as of morning changed the sky, and the moon + behind the grasses grew paler. They drifted in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Flambeau suddenly, “do you think it was all a dream?” + </p> + <p> + The priest shook his head, whether in dissent or agnosticism, but remained + mute. A smell of hawthorn and of orchards came to them through the + darkness, telling them that a wind was awake; the next moment it swayed + their little boat and swelled their sail, and carried them onward down the + winding river to happier places and the homes of harmless men. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Hammer of God + </h2> + <p> + The little village of Bohun Beacon was perched on a hill so steep that the + tall spire of its church seemed only like the peak of a small mountain. At + the foot of the church stood a smithy, generally red with fires and always + littered with hammers and scraps of iron; opposite to this, over a rude + cross of cobbled paths, was “The Blue Boar,” the only inn of the place. It + was upon this crossway, in the lifting of a leaden and silver daybreak, + that two brothers met in the street and spoke; though one was beginning + the day and the other finishing it. The Rev. and Hon. Wilfred Bohun was + very devout, and was making his way to some austere exercises of prayer or + contemplation at dawn. Colonel the Hon. Norman Bohun, his elder brother, + was by no means devout, and was sitting in evening dress on the bench + outside “The Blue Boar,” drinking what the philosophic observer was free + to regard either as his last glass on Tuesday or his first on Wednesday. + The colonel was not particular. + </p> + <p> + The Bohuns were one of the very few aristocratic families really dating + from the Middle Ages, and their pennon had actually seen Palestine. But it + is a great mistake to suppose that such houses stand high in chivalric + tradition. Few except the poor preserve traditions. Aristocrats live not + in traditions but in fashions. The Bohuns had been Mohocks under Queen + Anne and Mashers under Queen Victoria. But like more than one of the + really ancient houses, they had rotted in the last two centuries into mere + drunkards and dandy degenerates, till there had even come a whisper of + insanity. Certainly there was something hardly human about the colonel’s + wolfish pursuit of pleasure, and his chronic resolution not to go home + till morning had a touch of the hideous clarity of insomnia. He was a + tall, fine animal, elderly, but with hair still startlingly yellow. He + would have looked merely blonde and leonine, but his blue eyes were sunk + so deep in his face that they looked black. They were a little too close + together. He had very long yellow moustaches; on each side of them a fold + or furrow from nostril to jaw, so that a sneer seemed cut into his face. + Over his evening clothes he wore a curious pale yellow coat that looked + more like a very light dressing gown than an overcoat, and on the back of + his head was stuck an extraordinary broad-brimmed hat of a bright green + colour, evidently some oriental curiosity caught up at random. He was + proud of appearing in such incongruous attires—proud of the fact + that he always made them look congruous. + </p> + <p> + His brother the curate had also the yellow hair and the elegance, but he + was buttoned up to the chin in black, and his face was clean-shaven, + cultivated, and a little nervous. He seemed to live for nothing but his + religion; but there were some who said (notably the blacksmith, who was a + Presbyterian) that it was a love of Gothic architecture rather than of + God, and that his haunting of the church like a ghost was only another and + purer turn of the almost morbid thirst for beauty which sent his brother + raging after women and wine. This charge was doubtful, while the man’s + practical piety was indubitable. Indeed, the charge was mostly an ignorant + misunderstanding of the love of solitude and secret prayer, and was + founded on his being often found kneeling, not before the altar, but in + peculiar places, in the crypts or gallery, or even in the belfry. He was + at the moment about to enter the church through the yard of the smithy, + but stopped and frowned a little as he saw his brother’s cavernous eyes + staring in the same direction. On the hypothesis that the colonel was + interested in the church he did not waste any speculations. There only + remained the blacksmith’s shop, and though the blacksmith was a Puritan + and none of his people, Wilfred Bohun had heard some scandals about a + beautiful and rather celebrated wife. He flung a suspicious look across + the shed, and the colonel stood up laughing to speak to him. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Wilfred,” he said. “Like a good landlord I am watching + sleeplessly over my people. I am going to call on the blacksmith.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred looked at the ground, and said: “The blacksmith is out. He is over + at Greenford.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” answered the other with silent laughter; “that is why I am + calling on him.” + </p> + <p> + “Norman,” said the cleric, with his eye on a pebble in the road, “are you + ever afraid of thunderbolts?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked the colonel. “Is your hobby meteorology?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” said Wilfred, without looking up, “do you ever think that God + might strike you in the street?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said the colonel; “I see your hobby is folk-lore.” + </p> + <p> + “I know your hobby is blasphemy,” retorted the religious man, stung in the + one live place of his nature. “But if you do not fear God, you have good + reason to fear man.” + </p> + <p> + The elder raised his eyebrows politely. “Fear man?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Barnes the blacksmith is the biggest and strongest man for forty miles + round,” said the clergyman sternly. “I know you are no coward or weakling, + but he could throw you over the wall.” + </p> + <p> + This struck home, being true, and the lowering line by mouth and nostril + darkened and deepened. For a moment he stood with the heavy sneer on his + face. But in an instant Colonel Bohun had recovered his own cruel good + humour and laughed, showing two dog-like front teeth under his yellow + moustache. “In that case, my dear Wilfred,” he said quite carelessly, “it + was wise for the last of the Bohuns to come out partially in armour.” + </p> + <p> + And he took off the queer round hat covered with green, showing that it + was lined within with steel. Wilfred recognised it indeed as a light + Japanese or Chinese helmet torn down from a trophy that hung in the old + family hall. + </p> + <p> + “It was the first hat to hand,” explained his brother airily; “always the + nearest hat—and the nearest woman.” + </p> + <p> + “The blacksmith is away at Greenford,” said Wilfred quietly; “the time of + his return is unsettled.” + </p> + <p> + And with that he turned and went into the church with bowed head, crossing + himself like one who wishes to be quit of an unclean spirit. He was + anxious to forget such grossness in the cool twilight of his tall Gothic + cloisters; but on that morning it was fated that his still round of + religious exercises should be everywhere arrested by small shocks. As he + entered the church, hitherto always empty at that hour, a kneeling figure + rose hastily to its feet and came towards the full daylight of the + doorway. When the curate saw it he stood still with surprise. For the + early worshipper was none other than the village idiot, a nephew of the + blacksmith, one who neither would nor could care for the church or for + anything else. He was always called “Mad Joe,” and seemed to have no other + name; he was a dark, strong, slouching lad, with a heavy white face, dark + straight hair, and a mouth always open. As he passed the priest, his + moon-calf countenance gave no hint of what he had been doing or thinking + of. He had never been known to pray before. What sort of prayers was he + saying now? Extraordinary prayers surely. + </p> + <p> + Wilfred Bohun stood rooted to the spot long enough to see the idiot go out + into the sunshine, and even to see his dissolute brother hail him with a + sort of avuncular jocularity. The last thing he saw was the colonel + throwing pennies at the open mouth of Joe, with the serious appearance of + trying to hit it. + </p> + <p> + This ugly sunlit picture of the stupidity and cruelty of the earth sent + the ascetic finally to his prayers for purification and new thoughts. He + went up to a pew in the gallery, which brought him under a coloured window + which he loved and always quieted his spirit; a blue window with an angel + carrying lilies. There he began to think less about the half-wit, with his + livid face and mouth like a fish. He began to think less of his evil + brother, pacing like a lean lion in his horrible hunger. He sank deeper + and deeper into those cold and sweet colours of silver blossoms and + sapphire sky. + </p> + <p> + In this place half an hour afterwards he was found by Gibbs, the village + cobbler, who had been sent for him in some haste. He got to his feet with + promptitude, for he knew that no small matter would have brought Gibbs + into such a place at all. The cobbler was, as in many villages, an + atheist, and his appearance in church was a shade more extraordinary than + Mad Joe’s. It was a morning of theological enigmas. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Wilfred Bohun rather stiffly, but putting out a + trembling hand for his hat. + </p> + <p> + The atheist spoke in a tone that, coming from him, was quite startlingly + respectful, and even, as it were, huskily sympathetic. + </p> + <p> + “You must excuse me, sir,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “but we didn’t + think it right not to let you know at once. I’m afraid a rather dreadful + thing has happened, sir. I’m afraid your brother—” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred clenched his frail hands. “What devilry has he done now?” he cried + in voluntary passion. + </p> + <p> + “Why, sir,” said the cobbler, coughing, “I’m afraid he’s done nothing, and + won’t do anything. I’m afraid he’s done for. You had really better come + down, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The curate followed the cobbler down a short winding stair which brought + them out at an entrance rather higher than the street. Bohun saw the + tragedy in one glance, flat underneath him like a plan. In the yard of the + smithy were standing five or six men mostly in black, one in an + inspector’s uniform. They included the doctor, the Presbyterian minister, + and the priest from the Roman Catholic chapel, to which the blacksmith’s + wife belonged. The latter was speaking to her, indeed, very rapidly, in an + undertone, as she, a magnificent woman with red-gold hair, was sobbing + blindly on a bench. Between these two groups, and just clear of the main + heap of hammers, lay a man in evening dress, spread-eagled and flat on his + face. From the height above Wilfred could have sworn to every item of his + costume and appearance, down to the Bohun rings upon his fingers; but the + skull was only a hideous splash, like a star of blackness and blood. + </p> + <p> + Wilfred Bohun gave but one glance, and ran down the steps into the yard. + The doctor, who was the family physician, saluted him, but he scarcely + took any notice. He could only stammer out: “My brother is dead. What does + it mean? What is this horrible mystery?” There was an unhappy silence; and + then the cobbler, the most outspoken man present, answered: “Plenty of + horror, sir,” he said; “but not much mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Wilfred, with a white face. + </p> + <p> + “It’s plain enough,” answered Gibbs. “There is only one man for forty + miles round that could have struck such a blow as that, and he’s the man + that had most reason to.” + </p> + <p> + “We must not prejudge anything,” put in the doctor, a tall, black-bearded + man, rather nervously; “but it is competent for me to corroborate what Mr. + Gibbs says about the nature of the blow, sir; it is an incredible blow. + Mr. Gibbs says that only one man in this district could have done it. I + should have said myself that nobody could have done it.” + </p> + <p> + A shudder of superstition went through the slight figure of the curate. “I + can hardly understand,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bohun,” said the doctor in a low voice, “metaphors literally fail me. + It is inadequate to say that the skull was smashed to bits like an + eggshell. Fragments of bone were driven into the body and the ground like + bullets into a mud wall. It was the hand of a giant.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent a moment, looking grimly through his glasses; then he added: + “The thing has one advantage—that it clears most people of suspicion + at one stroke. If you or I or any normally made man in the country were + accused of this crime, we should be acquitted as an infant would be + acquitted of stealing the Nelson column.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what I say,” repeated the cobbler obstinately; “there’s only one + man that could have done it, and he’s the man that would have done it. + Where’s Simeon Barnes, the blacksmith?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s over at Greenford,” faltered the curate. + </p> + <p> + “More likely over in France,” muttered the cobbler. + </p> + <p> + “No; he is in neither of those places,” said a small and colourless voice, + which came from the little Roman priest who had joined the group. “As a + matter of fact, he is coming up the road at this moment.” + </p> + <p> + The little priest was not an interesting man to look at, having stubbly + brown hair and a round and stolid face. But if he had been as splendid as + Apollo no one would have looked at him at that moment. Everyone turned + round and peered at the pathway which wound across the plain below, along + which was indeed walking, at his own huge stride and with a hammer on his + shoulder, Simeon the smith. He was a bony and gigantic man, with deep, + dark, sinister eyes and a dark chin beard. He was walking and talking + quietly with two other men; and though he was never specially cheerful, he + seemed quite at his ease. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” cried the atheistic cobbler, “and there’s the hammer he did it + with.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the inspector, a sensible-looking man with a sandy moustache, + speaking for the first time. “There’s the hammer he did it with over there + by the church wall. We have left it and the body exactly as they are.” + </p> + <p> + All glanced round and the short priest went across and looked down in + silence at the tool where it lay. It was one of the smallest and the + lightest of the hammers, and would not have caught the eye among the rest; + but on the iron edge of it were blood and yellow hair. + </p> + <p> + After a silence the short priest spoke without looking up, and there was a + new note in his dull voice. “Mr. Gibbs was hardly right,” he said, “in + saying that there is no mystery. There is at least the mystery of why so + big a man should attempt so big a blow with so little a hammer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind that,” cried Gibbs, in a fever. “What are we to do with + Simeon Barnes?” + </p> + <p> + “Leave him alone,” said the priest quietly. “He is coming here of himself. + I know those two men with him. They are very good fellows from Greenford, + and they have come over about the Presbyterian chapel.” + </p> + <p> + Even as he spoke the tall smith swung round the corner of the church, and + strode into his own yard. Then he stood there quite still, and the hammer + fell from his hand. The inspector, who had preserved impenetrable + propriety, immediately went up to him. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t ask you, Mr. Barnes,” he said, “whether you know anything about + what has happened here. You are not bound to say. I hope you don’t know, + and that you will be able to prove it. But I must go through the form of + arresting you in the King’s name for the murder of Colonel Norman Bohun.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not bound to say anything,” said the cobbler in officious + excitement. “They’ve got to prove everything. They haven’t proved yet that + it is Colonel Bohun, with the head all smashed up like that.” + </p> + <p> + “That won’t wash,” said the doctor aside to the priest. “That’s out of the + detective stories. I was the colonel’s medical man, and I knew his body + better than he did. He had very fine hands, but quite peculiar ones. The + second and third fingers were the same length. Oh, that’s the colonel + right enough.” + </p> + <p> + As he glanced at the brained corpse upon the ground the iron eyes of the + motionless blacksmith followed them and rested there also. + </p> + <p> + “Is Colonel Bohun dead?” said the smith quite calmly. “Then he’s damned.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say anything! Oh, don’t say anything,” cried the atheist cobbler, + dancing about in an ecstasy of admiration of the English legal system. For + no man is such a legalist as the good Secularist. + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith turned on him over his shoulder the august face of a + fanatic. + </p> + <p> + “It’s well for you infidels to dodge like foxes because the world’s law + favours you,” he said; “but God guards His own in His pocket, as you shall + see this day.” + </p> + <p> + Then he pointed to the colonel and said: “When did this dog die in his + sins?” + </p> + <p> + “Moderate your language,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Moderate the Bible’s language, and I’ll moderate mine. When did he die?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw him alive at six o’clock this morning,” stammered Wilfred Bohun. + </p> + <p> + “God is good,” said the smith. “Mr. Inspector, I have not the slightest + objection to being arrested. It is you who may object to arresting me. I + don’t mind leaving the court without a stain on my character. You do mind + perhaps leaving the court with a bad set-back in your career.” + </p> + <p> + The solid inspector for the first time looked at the blacksmith with a + lively eye; as did everybody else, except the short, strange priest, who + was still looking down at the little hammer that had dealt the dreadful + blow. + </p> + <p> + “There are two men standing outside this shop,” went on the blacksmith + with ponderous lucidity, “good tradesmen in Greenford whom you all know, + who will swear that they saw me from before midnight till daybreak and + long after in the committee room of our Revival Mission, which sits all + night, we save souls so fast. In Greenford itself twenty people could + swear to me for all that time. If I were a heathen, Mr. Inspector, I would + let you walk on to your downfall. But as a Christian man I feel bound to + give you your chance, and ask you whether you will hear my alibi now or in + court.” + </p> + <p> + The inspector seemed for the first time disturbed, and said, “Of course I + should be glad to clear you altogether now.” + </p> + <p> + The smith walked out of his yard with the same long and easy stride, and + returned to his two friends from Greenford, who were indeed friends of + nearly everyone present. Each of them said a few words which no one ever + thought of disbelieving. When they had spoken, the innocence of Simeon + stood up as solid as the great church above them. + </p> + <p> + One of those silences struck the group which are more strange and + insufferable than any speech. Madly, in order to make conversation, the + curate said to the Catholic priest: + </p> + <p> + “You seem very much interested in that hammer, Father Brown.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am,” said Father Brown; “why is it such a small hammer?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor swung round on him. + </p> + <p> + “By George, that’s true,” he cried; “who would use a little hammer with + ten larger hammers lying about?” + </p> + <p> + Then he lowered his voice in the curate’s ear and said: “Only the kind of + person that can’t lift a large hammer. It is not a question of force or + courage between the sexes. It’s a question of lifting power in the + shoulders. A bold woman could commit ten murders with a light hammer and + never turn a hair. She could not kill a beetle with a heavy one.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred Bohun was staring at him with a sort of hypnotised horror, while + Father Brown listened with his head a little on one side, really + interested and attentive. The doctor went on with more hissing emphasis: + </p> + <p> + “Why do these idiots always assume that the only person who hates the + wife’s lover is the wife’s husband? Nine times out of ten the person who + most hates the wife’s lover is the wife. Who knows what insolence or + treachery he had shown her—look there!” + </p> + <p> + He made a momentary gesture towards the red-haired woman on the bench. She + had lifted her head at last and the tears were drying on her splendid + face. But the eyes were fixed on the corpse with an electric glare that + had in it something of idiocy. + </p> + <p> + The Rev. Wilfred Bohun made a limp gesture as if waving away all desire to + know; but Father Brown, dusting off his sleeve some ashes blown from the + furnace, spoke in his indifferent way. + </p> + <p> + “You are like so many doctors,” he said; “your mental science is really + suggestive. It is your physical science that is utterly impossible. I + agree that the woman wants to kill the co-respondent much more than the + petitioner does. And I agree that a woman will always pick up a small + hammer instead of a big one. But the difficulty is one of physical + impossibility. No woman ever born could have smashed a man’s skull out + flat like that.” Then he added reflectively, after a pause: “These people + haven’t grasped the whole of it. The man was actually wearing an iron + helmet, and the blow scattered it like broken glass. Look at that woman. + Look at her arms.” + </p> + <p> + Silence held them all up again, and then the doctor said rather sulkily: + “Well, I may be wrong; there are objections to everything. But I stick to + the main point. No man but an idiot would pick up that little hammer if he + could use a big hammer.” + </p> + <p> + With that the lean and quivering hands of Wilfred Bohun went up to his + head and seemed to clutch his scanty yellow hair. After an instant they + dropped, and he cried: “That was the word I wanted; you have said the + word.” + </p> + <p> + Then he continued, mastering his discomposure: “The words you said were, + ‘No man but an idiot would pick up the small hammer.’” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the doctor. “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the curate, “no man but an idiot did.” The rest stared at him + with eyes arrested and riveted, and he went on in a febrile and feminine + agitation. + </p> + <p> + “I am a priest,” he cried unsteadily, “and a priest should be no shedder + of blood. I—I mean that he should bring no one to the gallows. And I + thank God that I see the criminal clearly now—because he is a + criminal who cannot be brought to the gallows.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not denounce him?” inquired the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “He would not be hanged if I did denounce him,” answered Wilfred with a + wild but curiously happy smile. “When I went into the church this morning + I found a madman praying there—that poor Joe, who has been wrong all + his life. God knows what he prayed; but with such strange folk it is not + incredible to suppose that their prayers are all upside down. Very likely + a lunatic would pray before killing a man. When I last saw poor Joe he was + with my brother. My brother was mocking him.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” cried the doctor, “this is talking at last. But how do you + explain—” + </p> + <p> + The Rev. Wilfred was almost trembling with the excitement of his own + glimpse of the truth. “Don’t you see; don’t you see,” he cried feverishly; + “that is the only theory that covers both the queer things, that answers + both the riddles. The two riddles are the little hammer and the big blow. + The smith might have struck the big blow, but would not have chosen the + little hammer. His wife would have chosen the little hammer, but she could + not have struck the big blow. But the madman might have done both. As for + the little hammer—why, he was mad and might have picked up anything. + And for the big blow, have you never heard, doctor, that a maniac in his + paroxysm may have the strength of ten men?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor drew a deep breath and then said, “By golly, I believe you’ve + got it.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had fixed his eyes on the speaker so long and steadily as to + prove that his large grey, ox-like eyes were not quite so insignificant as + the rest of his face. When silence had fallen he said with marked respect: + “Mr. Bohun, yours is the only theory yet propounded which holds water + every way and is essentially unassailable. I think, therefore, that you + deserve to be told, on my positive knowledge, that it is not the true + one.” And with that the old little man walked away and stared again at the + hammer. + </p> + <p> + “That fellow seems to know more than he ought to,” whispered the doctor + peevishly to Wilfred. “Those popish priests are deucedly sly.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Bohun, with a sort of wild fatigue. “It was the lunatic. It + was the lunatic.” + </p> + <p> + The group of the two clerics and the doctor had fallen away from the more + official group containing the inspector and the man he had arrested. Now, + however, that their own party had broken up, they heard voices from the + others. The priest looked up quietly and then looked down again as he + heard the blacksmith say in a loud voice: + </p> + <p> + “I hope I’ve convinced you, Mr. Inspector. I’m a strong man, as you say, + but I couldn’t have flung my hammer bang here from Greenford. My hammer + hasn’t got wings that it should come flying half a mile over hedges and + fields.” + </p> + <p> + The inspector laughed amicably and said: “No, I think you can be + considered out of it, though it’s one of the rummiest coincidences I ever + saw. I can only ask you to give us all the assistance you can in finding a + man as big and strong as yourself. By George! you might be useful, if only + to hold him! I suppose you yourself have no guess at the man?” + </p> + <p> + “I may have a guess,” said the pale smith, “but it is not at a man.” Then, + seeing the scared eyes turn towards his wife on the bench, he put his huge + hand on her shoulder and said: “Nor a woman either.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked the inspector jocularly. “You don’t think cows + use hammers, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think no thing of flesh held that hammer,” said the blacksmith in a + stifled voice; “mortally speaking, I think the man died alone.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred made a sudden forward movement and peered at him with burning + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say, Barnes,” came the sharp voice of the cobbler, “that + the hammer jumped up of itself and knocked the man down?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you gentlemen may stare and snigger,” cried Simeon; “you clergymen + who tell us on Sunday in what a stillness the Lord smote Sennacherib. I + believe that One who walks invisible in every house defended the honour of + mine, and laid the defiler dead before the door of it. I believe the force + in that blow was just the force there is in earthquakes, and no force + less.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred said, with a voice utterly undescribable: “I told Norman myself to + beware of the thunderbolt.” + </p> + <p> + “That agent is outside my jurisdiction,” said the inspector with a slight + smile. + </p> + <p> + “You are not outside His,” answered the smith; “see you to it,” and, + turning his broad back, he went into the house. + </p> + <p> + The shaken Wilfred was led away by Father Brown, who had an easy and + friendly way with him. “Let us get out of this horrid place, Mr. Bohun,” + he said. “May I look inside your church? I hear it’s one of the oldest in + England. We take some interest, you know,” he added with a comical + grimace, “in old English churches.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred Bohun did not smile, for humour was never his strong point. But he + nodded rather eagerly, being only too ready to explain the Gothic + splendours to someone more likely to be sympathetic than the Presbyterian + blacksmith or the atheist cobbler. + </p> + <p> + “By all means,” he said; “let us go in at this side.” And he led the way + into the high side entrance at the top of the flight of steps. Father + Brown was mounting the first step to follow him when he felt a hand on his + shoulder, and turned to behold the dark, thin figure of the doctor, his + face darker yet with suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said the physician harshly, “you appear to know some secrets in + this black business. May I ask if you are going to keep them to yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, doctor,” answered the priest, smiling quite pleasantly, “there is + one very good reason why a man of my trade should keep things to himself + when he is not sure of them, and that is that it is so constantly his duty + to keep them to himself when he is sure of them. But if you think I have + been discourteously reticent with you or anyone, I will go to the extreme + limit of my custom. I will give you two very large hints.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir?” said the doctor gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “First,” said Father Brown quietly, “the thing is quite in your own + province. It is a matter of physical science. The blacksmith is mistaken, + not perhaps in saying that the blow was divine, but certainly in saying + that it came by a miracle. It was no miracle, doctor, except in so far as + man is himself a miracle, with his strange and wicked and yet half-heroic + heart. The force that smashed that skull was a force well known to + scientists—one of the most frequently debated of the laws of + nature.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor, who was looking at him with frowning intentness, only said: + “And the other hint?” + </p> + <p> + “The other hint is this,” said the priest. “Do you remember the + blacksmith, though he believes in miracles, talking scornfully of the + impossible fairy tale that his hammer had wings and flew half a mile + across country?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the doctor, “I remember that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” added Father Brown, with a broad smile, “that fairy tale was the + nearest thing to the real truth that has been said today.” And with that + he turned his back and stumped up the steps after the curate. + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Wilfred, who had been waiting for him, pale and impatient, as + if this little delay were the last straw for his nerves, led him + immediately to his favourite corner of the church, that part of the + gallery closest to the carved roof and lit by the wonderful window with + the angel. The little Latin priest explored and admired everything + exhaustively, talking cheerfully but in a low voice all the time. When in + the course of his investigation he found the side exit and the winding + stair down which Wilfred had rushed to find his brother dead, Father Brown + ran not down but up, with the agility of a monkey, and his clear voice + came from an outer platform above. + </p> + <p> + “Come up here, Mr. Bohun,” he called. “The air will do you good.” + </p> + <p> + Bohun followed him, and came out on a kind of stone gallery or balcony + outside the building, from which one could see the illimitable plain in + which their small hill stood, wooded away to the purple horizon and dotted + with villages and farms. Clear and square, but quite small beneath them, + was the blacksmith’s yard, where the inspector still stood taking notes + and the corpse still lay like a smashed fly. + </p> + <p> + “Might be the map of the world, mightn’t it?” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bohun very gravely, and nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + Immediately beneath and about them the lines of the Gothic building + plunged outwards into the void with a sickening swiftness akin to suicide. + There is that element of Titan energy in the architecture of the Middle + Ages that, from whatever aspect it be seen, it always seems to be rushing + away, like the strong back of some maddened horse. This church was hewn + out of ancient and silent stone, bearded with old fungoids and stained + with the nests of birds. And yet, when they saw it from below, it sprang + like a fountain at the stars; and when they saw it, as now, from above, it + poured like a cataract into a voiceless pit. For these two men on the + tower were left alone with the most terrible aspect of Gothic; the + monstrous foreshortening and disproportion, the dizzy perspectives, the + glimpses of great things small and small things great; a topsy-turvydom of + stone in the mid-air. Details of stone, enormous by their proximity, were + relieved against a pattern of fields and farms, pygmy in their distance. A + carved bird or beast at a corner seemed like some vast walking or flying + dragon wasting the pastures and villages below. The whole atmosphere was + dizzy and dangerous, as if men were upheld in air amid the gyrating wings + of colossal genii; and the whole of that old church, as tall and rich as a + cathedral, seemed to sit upon the sunlit country like a cloudburst. + </p> + <p> + “I think there is something rather dangerous about standing on these high + places even to pray,” said Father Brown. “Heights were made to be looked + at, not to be looked from.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that one may fall over,” asked Wilfred. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that one’s soul may fall if one’s body doesn’t,” said the other + priest. + </p> + <p> + “I scarcely understand you,” remarked Bohun indistinctly. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that blacksmith, for instance,” went on Father Brown calmly; “a + good man, but not a Christian—hard, imperious, unforgiving. Well, + his Scotch religion was made up by men who prayed on hills and high crags, + and learnt to look down on the world more than to look up at heaven. + Humility is the mother of giants. One sees great things from the valley; + only small things from the peak.” + </p> + <p> + “But he—he didn’t do it,” said Bohun tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the other in an odd voice; “we know he didn’t do it.” + </p> + <p> + After a moment he resumed, looking tranquilly out over the plain with his + pale grey eyes. “I knew a man,” he said, “who began by worshipping with + others before the altar, but who grew fond of high and lonely places to + pray from, corners or niches in the belfry or the spire. And once in one + of those dizzy places, where the whole world seemed to turn under him like + a wheel, his brain turned also, and he fancied he was God. So that, though + he was a good man, he committed a great crime.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred’s face was turned away, but his bony hands turned blue and white + as they tightened on the parapet of stone. + </p> + <p> + “He thought it was given to him to judge the world and strike down the + sinner. He would never have had such a thought if he had been kneeling + with other men upon a floor. But he saw all men walking about like + insects. He saw one especially strutting just below him, insolent and + evident by a bright green hat—a poisonous insect.” + </p> + <p> + Rooks cawed round the corners of the belfry; but there was no other sound + till Father Brown went on. + </p> + <p> + “This also tempted him, that he had in his hand one of the most awful + engines of nature; I mean gravitation, that mad and quickening rush by + which all earth’s creatures fly back to her heart when released. See, the + inspector is strutting just below us in the smithy. If I were to toss a + pebble over this parapet it would be something like a bullet by the time + it struck him. If I were to drop a hammer—even a small hammer—” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred Bohun threw one leg over the parapet, and Father Brown had him in + a minute by the collar. + </p> + <p> + “Not by that door,” he said quite gently; “that door leads to hell.” + </p> + <p> + Bohun staggered back against the wall, and stared at him with frightful + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know all this?” he cried. “Are you a devil?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a man,” answered Father Brown gravely; “and therefore have all + devils in my heart. Listen to me,” he said after a short pause. “I know + what you did—at least, I can guess the great part of it. When you + left your brother you were racked with no unrighteous rage, to the extent + even that you snatched up a small hammer, half inclined to kill him with + his foulness on his mouth. Recoiling, you thrust it under your buttoned + coat instead, and rushed into the church. You pray wildly in many places, + under the angel window, upon the platform above, and a higher platform + still, from which you could see the colonel’s Eastern hat like the back of + a green beetle crawling about. Then something snapped in your soul, and + you let God’s thunderbolt fall.” + </p> + <p> + Wilfred put a weak hand to his head, and asked in a low voice: “How did + you know that his hat looked like a green beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that,” said the other with the shadow of a smile, “that was common + sense. But hear me further. I say I know all this; but no one else shall + know it. The next step is for you; I shall take no more steps; I will seal + this with the seal of confession. If you ask me why, there are many + reasons, and only one that concerns you. I leave things to you because you + have not yet gone very far wrong, as assassins go. You did not help to fix + the crime on the smith when it was easy; or on his wife, when that was + easy. You tried to fix it on the imbecile because you knew that he could + not suffer. That was one of the gleams that it is my business to find in + assassins. And now come down into the village, and go your own way as free + as the wind; for I have said my last word.” + </p> + <p> + They went down the winding stairs in utter silence, and came out into the + sunlight by the smithy. Wilfred Bohun carefully unlatched the wooden gate + of the yard, and going up to the inspector, said: “I wish to give myself + up; I have killed my brother.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Eye of Apollo + </h2> + <p> + That singular smoky sparkle, at once a confusion and a transparency, which + is the strange secret of the Thames, was changing more and more from its + grey to its glittering extreme as the sun climbed to the zenith over + Westminster, and two men crossed Westminster Bridge. One man was very tall + and the other very short; they might even have been fantastically compared + to the arrogant clock-tower of Parliament and the humbler humped shoulders + of the Abbey, for the short man was in clerical dress. The official + description of the tall man was M. Hercule Flambeau, private detective, + and he was going to his new offices in a new pile of flats facing the + Abbey entrance. The official description of the short man was the Reverend + J. Brown, attached to St. Francis Xavier’s Church, Camberwell, and he was + coming from a Camberwell deathbed to see the new offices of his friend. + </p> + <p> + The building was American in its sky-scraping altitude, and American also + in the oiled elaboration of its machinery of telephones and lifts. But it + was barely finished and still understaffed; only three tenants had moved + in; the office just above Flambeau was occupied, as also was the office + just below him; the two floors above that and the three floors below were + entirely bare. But the first glance at the new tower of flats caught + something much more arresting. Save for a few relics of scaffolding, the + one glaring object was erected outside the office just above Flambeau’s. + It was an enormous gilt effigy of the human eye, surrounded with rays of + gold, and taking up as much room as two or three of the office windows. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth is that?” asked Father Brown, and stood still. “Oh, a new + religion,” said Flambeau, laughing; “one of those new religions that + forgive your sins by saying you never had any. Rather like Christian + Science, I should think. The fact is that a fellow calling himself Kalon + (I don’t know what his name is, except that it can’t be that) has taken + the flat just above me. I have two lady typewriters underneath me, and + this enthusiastic old humbug on top. He calls himself the New Priest of + Apollo, and he worships the sun.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him look out,” said Father Brown. “The sun was the cruellest of all + the gods. But what does that monstrous eye mean?” + </p> + <p> + “As I understand it, it is a theory of theirs,” answered Flambeau, “that a + man can endure anything if his mind is quite steady. Their two great + symbols are the sun and the open eye; for they say that if a man were + really healthy he could stare at the sun.” + </p> + <p> + “If a man were really healthy,” said Father Brown, “he would not bother to + stare at it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s all I can tell you about the new religion,” went on Flambeau + carelessly. “It claims, of course, that it can cure all physical + diseases.” + </p> + <p> + “Can it cure the one spiritual disease?” asked Father Brown, with a + serious curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “And what is the one spiritual disease?” asked Flambeau, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thinking one is quite well,” said his friend. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau was more interested in the quiet little office below him than in + the flamboyant temple above. He was a lucid Southerner, incapable of + conceiving himself as anything but a Catholic or an atheist; and new + religions of a bright and pallid sort were not much in his line. But + humanity was always in his line, especially when it was good-looking; + moreover, the ladies downstairs were characters in their way. The office + was kept by two sisters, both slight and dark, one of them tall and + striking. She had a dark, eager and aquiline profile, and was one of those + women whom one always thinks of in profile, as of the clean-cut edge of + some weapon. She seemed to cleave her way through life. She had eyes of + startling brilliancy, but it was the brilliancy of steel rather than of + diamonds; and her straight, slim figure was a shade too stiff for its + grace. Her younger sister was like her shortened shadow, a little greyer, + paler, and more insignificant. They both wore a business-like black, with + little masculine cuffs and collars. There are thousands of such curt, + strenuous ladies in the offices of London, but the interest of these lay + rather in their real than their apparent position. + </p> + <p> + For Pauline Stacey, the elder, was actually the heiress of a crest and + half a county, as well as great wealth; she had been brought up in castles + and gardens, before a frigid fierceness (peculiar to the modern woman) had + driven her to what she considered a harsher and a higher existence. She + had not, indeed, surrendered her money; in that there would have been a + romantic or monkish abandon quite alien to her masterful utilitarianism. + She held her wealth, she would say, for use upon practical social objects. + Part of it she had put into her business, the nucleus of a model + typewriting emporium; part of it was distributed in various leagues and + causes for the advancement of such work among women. How far Joan, her + sister and partner, shared this slightly prosaic idealism no one could be + very sure. But she followed her leader with a dog-like affection which was + somehow more attractive, with its touch of tragedy, than the hard, high + spirits of the elder. For Pauline Stacey had nothing to say to tragedy; + she was understood to deny its existence. + </p> + <p> + Her rigid rapidity and cold impatience had amused Flambeau very much on + the first occasion of his entering the flats. He had lingered outside the + lift in the entrance hall waiting for the lift-boy, who generally conducts + strangers to the various floors. But this bright-eyed falcon of a girl had + openly refused to endure such official delay. She said sharply that she + knew all about the lift, and was not dependent on boys—or men + either. Though her flat was only three floors above, she managed in the + few seconds of ascent to give Flambeau a great many of her fundamental + views in an off-hand manner; they were to the general effect that she was + a modern working woman and loved modern working machinery. Her bright + black eyes blazed with abstract anger against those who rebuke mechanic + science and ask for the return of romance. Everyone, she said, ought to be + able to manage machines, just as she could manage the lift. She seemed + almost to resent the fact of Flambeau opening the lift-door for her; and + that gentleman went up to his own apartments smiling with somewhat mingled + feelings at the memory of such spit-fire self-dependence. + </p> + <p> + She certainly had a temper, of a snappy, practical sort; the gestures of + her thin, elegant hands were abrupt or even destructive. + </p> + <p> + Once Flambeau entered her office on some typewriting business, and found + she had just flung a pair of spectacles belonging to her sister into the + middle of the floor and stamped on them. She was already in the rapids of + an ethical tirade about the “sickly medical notions” and the morbid + admission of weakness implied in such an apparatus. She dared her sister + to bring such artificial, unhealthy rubbish into the place again. She + asked if she was expected to wear wooden legs or false hair or glass eyes; + and as she spoke her eyes sparkled like the terrible crystal. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau, quite bewildered with this fanaticism, could not refrain from + asking Miss Pauline (with direct French logic) why a pair of spectacles + was a more morbid sign of weakness than a lift, and why, if science might + help us in the one effort, it might not help us in the other. + </p> + <p> + “That is so different,” said Pauline Stacey, loftily. “Batteries and + motors and all those things are marks of the force of man—yes, Mr. + Flambeau, and the force of woman, too! We shall take our turn at these + great engines that devour distance and defy time. That is high and + splendid—that is really science. But these nasty props and plasters + the doctors sell—why, they are just badges of poltroonery. Doctors + stick on legs and arms as if we were born cripples and sick slaves. But I + was free-born, Mr. Flambeau! People only think they need these things + because they have been trained in fear instead of being trained in power + and courage, just as the silly nurses tell children not to stare at the + sun, and so they can’t do it without blinking. But why among the stars + should there be one star I may not see? The sun is not my master, and I + will open my eyes and stare at him whenever I choose.” + </p> + <p> + “Your eyes,” said Flambeau, with a foreign bow, “will dazzle the sun.” He + took pleasure in complimenting this strange stiff beauty, partly because + it threw her a little off her balance. But as he went upstairs to his + floor he drew a deep breath and whistled, saying to himself: “So she has + got into the hands of that conjurer upstairs with his golden eye.” For, + little as he knew or cared about the new religion of Kalon, he had heard + of his special notion about sun-gazing. + </p> + <p> + He soon discovered that the spiritual bond between the floors above and + below him was close and increasing. The man who called himself Kalon was a + magnificent creature, worthy, in a physical sense, to be the pontiff of + Apollo. He was nearly as tall even as Flambeau, and very much better + looking, with a golden beard, strong blue eyes, and a mane flung back like + a lion’s. In structure he was the blonde beast of Nietzsche, but all this + animal beauty was heightened, brightened and softened by genuine intellect + and spirituality. If he looked like one of the great Saxon kings, he + looked like one of the kings that were also saints. And this despite the + cockney incongruity of his surroundings; the fact that he had an office + half-way up a building in Victoria Street; that the clerk (a commonplace + youth in cuffs and collars) sat in the outer room, between him and the + corridor; that his name was on a brass plate, and the gilt emblem of his + creed hung above his street, like the advertisement of an oculist. All + this vulgarity could not take away from the man called Kalon the vivid + oppression and inspiration that came from his soul and body. When all was + said, a man in the presence of this quack did feel in the presence of a + great man. Even in the loose jacket-suit of linen that he wore as a + workshop dress in his office he was a fascinating and formidable figure; + and when robed in the white vestments and crowned with the golden circlet, + in which he daily saluted the sun, he really looked so splendid that the + laughter of the street people sometimes died suddenly on their lips. For + three times in the day the new sun-worshipper went out on his little + balcony, in the face of all Westminster, to say some litany to his shining + lord: once at daybreak, once at sunset, and once at the shock of noon. And + it was while the shock of noon still shook faintly from the towers of + Parliament and parish church that Father Brown, the friend of Flambeau, + first looked up and saw the white priest of Apollo. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau had seen quite enough of these daily salutations of Phoebus, and + plunged into the porch of the tall building without even looking for his + clerical friend to follow. But Father Brown, whether from a professional + interest in ritual or a strong individual interest in tomfoolery, stopped + and stared up at the balcony of the sun-worshipper, just as he might have + stopped and stared up at a Punch and Judy. Kalon the Prophet was already + erect, with argent garments and uplifted hands, and the sound of his + strangely penetrating voice could be heard all the way down the busy + street uttering his solar litany. He was already in the middle of it; his + eyes were fixed upon the flaming disc. It is doubtful if he saw anything + or anyone on this earth; it is substantially certain that he did not see a + stunted, round-faced priest who, in the crowd below, looked up at him with + blinking eyes. That was perhaps the most startling difference between even + these two far divided men. Father Brown could not look at anything without + blinking; but the priest of Apollo could look on the blaze at noon without + a quiver of the eyelid. + </p> + <p> + “O sun,” cried the prophet, “O star that art too great to be allowed among + the stars! O fountain that flowest quietly in that secret spot that is + called space. White Father of all white unwearied things, white flames and + white flowers and white peaks. Father, who art more innocent than all thy + most innocent and quiet children; primal purity, into the peace of which—” + </p> + <p> + A rush and crash like the reversed rush of a rocket was cloven with a + strident and incessant yelling. Five people rushed into the gate of the + mansions as three people rushed out, and for an instant they all deafened + each other. The sense of some utterly abrupt horror seemed for a moment to + fill half the street with bad news—bad news that was all the worse + because no one knew what it was. Two figures remained still after the + crash of commotion: the fair priest of Apollo on the balcony above, and + the ugly priest of Christ below him. + </p> + <p> + At last the tall figure and titanic energy of Flambeau appeared in the + doorway of the mansions and dominated the little mob. Talking at the top + of his voice like a fog-horn, he told somebody or anybody to go for a + surgeon; and as he turned back into the dark and thronged entrance his + friend Father Brown dipped in insignificantly after him. Even as he ducked + and dived through the crowd he could still hear the magnificent melody and + monotony of the solar priest still calling on the happy god who is the + friend of fountains and flowers. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown found Flambeau and some six other people standing round the + enclosed space into which the lift commonly descended. But the lift had + not descended. Something else had descended; something that ought to have + come by a lift. + </p> + <p> + For the last four minutes Flambeau had looked down on it; had seen the + brained and bleeding figure of that beautiful woman who denied the + existence of tragedy. He had never had the slightest doubt that it was + Pauline Stacey; and, though he had sent for a doctor, he had not the + slightest doubt that she was dead. + </p> + <p> + He could not remember for certain whether he had liked her or disliked + her; there was so much both to like and dislike. But she had been a person + to him, and the unbearable pathos of details and habit stabbed him with + all the small daggers of bereavement. He remembered her pretty face and + priggish speeches with a sudden secret vividness which is all the + bitterness of death. In an instant like a bolt from the blue, like a + thunderbolt from nowhere, that beautiful and defiant body had been dashed + down the open well of the lift to death at the bottom. Was it suicide? + With so insolent an optimist it seemed impossible. Was it murder? But who + was there in those hardly inhabited flats to murder anybody? In a rush of + raucous words, which he meant to be strong and suddenly found weak, he + asked where was that fellow Kalon. A voice, habitually heavy, quiet and + full, assured him that Kalon for the last fifteen minutes had been away up + on his balcony worshipping his god. When Flambeau heard the voice, and + felt the hand of Father Brown, he turned his swarthy face and said + abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Then, if he has been up there all the time, who can have done it?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said the other, “we might go upstairs and find out. We have + half an hour before the police will move.” + </p> + <p> + Leaving the body of the slain heiress in charge of the surgeons, Flambeau + dashed up the stairs to the typewriting office, found it utterly empty, + and then dashed up to his own. Having entered that, he abruptly returned + with a new and white face to his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Her sister,” he said, with an unpleasant seriousness, “her sister seems + to have gone out for a walk.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown nodded. “Or, she may have gone up to the office of that sun + man,” he said. “If I were you I should just verify that, and then let us + all talk it over in your office. No,” he added suddenly, as if remembering + something, “shall I ever get over that stupidity of mine? Of course, in + their office downstairs.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau stared; but he followed the little father downstairs to the empty + flat of the Staceys, where that impenetrable pastor took a large + red-leather chair in the very entrance, from which he could see the stairs + and landings, and waited. He did not wait very long. In about four minutes + three figures descended the stairs, alike only in their solemnity. The + first was Joan Stacey, the sister of the dead woman—evidently she + had been upstairs in the temporary temple of Apollo; the second was the + priest of Apollo himself, his litany finished, sweeping down the empty + stairs in utter magnificence—something in his white robes, beard and + parted hair had the look of Dore’s Christ leaving the Pretorium; the third + was Flambeau, black browed and somewhat bewildered. + </p> + <p> + Miss Joan Stacey, dark, with a drawn face and hair prematurely touched + with grey, walked straight to her own desk and set out her papers with a + practical flap. The mere action rallied everyone else to sanity. If Miss + Joan Stacey was a criminal, she was a cool one. Father Brown regarded her + for some time with an odd little smile, and then, without taking his eyes + off her, addressed himself to somebody else. + </p> + <p> + “Prophet,” he said, presumably addressing Kalon, “I wish you would tell me + a lot about your religion.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be proud to do it,” said Kalon, inclining his still crowned head, + “but I am not sure that I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s like this,” said Father Brown, in his frankly doubtful way: “We + are taught that if a man has really bad first principles, that must be + partly his fault. But, for all that, we can make some difference between a + man who insults his quite clear conscience and a man with a conscience + more or less clouded with sophistries. Now, do you really think that + murder is wrong at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Is this an accusation?” asked Kalon very quietly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Brown, equally gently, “it is the speech for the defence.” + </p> + <p> + In the long and startled stillness of the room the prophet of Apollo + slowly rose; and really it was like the rising of the sun. He filled that + room with his light and life in such a manner that a man felt he could as + easily have filled Salisbury Plain. His robed form seemed to hang the + whole room with classic draperies; his epic gesture seemed to extend it + into grander perspectives, till the little black figure of the modern + cleric seemed to be a fault and an intrusion, a round, black blot upon + some splendour of Hellas. + </p> + <p> + “We meet at last, Caiaphas,” said the prophet. “Your church and mine are + the only realities on this earth. I adore the sun, and you the darkening + of the sun; you are the priest of the dying and I of the living God. Your + present work of suspicion and slander is worthy of your coat and creed. + All your church is but a black police; you are only spies and detectives + seeking to tear from men confessions of guilt, whether by treachery or + torture. You would convict men of crime, I would convict them of + innocence. You would convince them of sin, I would convince them of + virtue. + </p> + <p> + “Reader of the books of evil, one more word before I blow away your + baseless nightmares for ever. Not even faintly could you understand how + little I care whether you can convict me or no. The things you call + disgrace and horrible hanging are to me no more than an ogre in a child’s + toy-book to a man once grown up. You said you were offering the speech for + the defence. I care so little for the cloudland of this life that I will + offer you the speech for the prosecution. There is but one thing that can + be said against me in this matter, and I will say it myself. The woman + that is dead was my love and my bride; not after such manner as your tin + chapels call lawful, but by a law purer and sterner than you will ever + understand. She and I walked another world from yours, and trod palaces of + crystal while you were plodding through tunnels and corridors of brick. + Well, I know that policemen, theological and otherwise, always fancy that + where there has been love there must soon be hatred; so there you have the + first point made for the prosecution. But the second point is stronger; I + do not grudge it you. Not only is it true that Pauline loved me, but it is + also true that this very morning, before she died, she wrote at that table + a will leaving me and my new church half a million. Come, where are the + handcuffs? Do you suppose I care what foolish things you do with me? Penal + servitude will only be like waiting for her at a wayside station. The + gallows will only be going to her in a headlong car.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with the brain-shaking authority of an orator, and Flambeau and + Joan Stacey stared at him in amazed admiration. Father Brown’s face seemed + to express nothing but extreme distress; he looked at the ground with one + wrinkle of pain across his forehead. The prophet of the sun leaned easily + against the mantelpiece and resumed: + </p> + <p> + “In a few words I have put before you the whole case against me—the + only possible case against me. In fewer words still I will blow it to + pieces, so that not a trace of it remains. As to whether I have committed + this crime, the truth is in one sentence: I could not have committed this + crime. Pauline Stacey fell from this floor to the ground at five minutes + past twelve. A hundred people will go into the witness-box and say that I + was standing out upon the balcony of my own rooms above from just before + the stroke of noon to a quarter-past—the usual period of my public + prayers. My clerk (a respectable youth from Clapham, with no sort of + connection with me) will swear that he sat in my outer office all the + morning, and that no communication passed through. He will swear that I + arrived a full ten minutes before the hour, fifteen minutes before any + whisper of the accident, and that I did not leave the office or the + balcony all that time. No one ever had so complete an alibi; I could + subpoena half Westminster. I think you had better put the handcuffs away + again. The case is at an end. + </p> + <p> + “But last of all, that no breath of this idiotic suspicion remain in the + air, I will tell you all you want to know. I believe I do know how my + unhappy friend came by her death. You can, if you choose, blame me for it, + or my faith and philosophy at least; but you certainly cannot lock me up. + It is well known to all students of the higher truths that certain adepts + and illuminati have in history attained the power of levitation—that + is, of being self-sustained upon the empty air. It is but a part of that + general conquest of matter which is the main element in our occult wisdom. + Poor Pauline was of an impulsive and ambitious temper. I think, to tell + the truth, she thought herself somewhat deeper in the mysteries than she + was; and she has often said to me, as we went down in the lift together, + that if one’s will were strong enough, one could float down as harmlessly + as a feather. I solemnly believe that in some ecstasy of noble thoughts + she attempted the miracle. Her will, or faith, must have failed her at the + crucial instant, and the lower law of matter had its horrible revenge. + There is the whole story, gentlemen, very sad and, as you think, very + presumptuous and wicked, but certainly not criminal or in any way + connected with me. In the short-hand of the police-courts, you had better + call it suicide. I shall always call it heroic failure for the advance of + science and the slow scaling of heaven.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time Flambeau had ever seen Father Brown vanquished. He + still sat looking at the ground, with a painful and corrugated brow, as if + in shame. It was impossible to avoid the feeling which the prophet’s + winged words had fanned, that here was a sullen, professional suspecter of + men overwhelmed by a prouder and purer spirit of natural liberty and + health. At last he said, blinking as if in bodily distress: “Well, if that + is so, sir, you need do no more than take the testamentary paper you spoke + of and go. I wonder where the poor lady left it.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be over there on her desk by the door, I think,” said Kalon, with + that massive innocence of manner that seemed to acquit him wholly. “She + told me specially she would write it this morning, and I actually saw her + writing as I went up in the lift to my own room.” + </p> + <p> + “Was her door open then?” asked the priest, with his eye on the corner of + the matting. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Kalon calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it has been open ever since,” said the other, and resumed his silent + study of the mat. + </p> + <p> + “There is a paper over here,” said the grim Miss Joan, in a somewhat + singular voice. She had passed over to her sister’s desk by the doorway, + and was holding a sheet of blue foolscap in her hand. There was a sour + smile on her face that seemed unfit for such a scene or occasion, and + Flambeau looked at her with a darkening brow. + </p> + <p> + Kalon the prophet stood away from the paper with that loyal + unconsciousness that had carried him through. But Flambeau took it out of + the lady’s hand, and read it with the utmost amazement. It did, indeed, + begin in the formal manner of a will, but after the words “I give and + bequeath all of which I die possessed” the writing abruptly stopped with a + set of scratches, and there was no trace of the name of any legatee. + Flambeau, in wonder, handed this truncated testament to his clerical + friend, who glanced at it and silently gave it to the priest of the sun. + </p> + <p> + An instant afterwards that pontiff, in his splendid sweeping draperies, + had crossed the room in two great strides, and was towering over Joan + Stacey, his blue eyes standing from his head. + </p> + <p> + “What monkey tricks have you been playing here?” he cried. “That’s not all + Pauline wrote.” + </p> + <p> + They were startled to hear him speak in quite a new voice, with a Yankee + shrillness in it; all his grandeur and good English had fallen from him + like a cloak. + </p> + <p> + “That is the only thing on her desk,” said Joan, and confronted him + steadily with the same smile of evil favour. + </p> + <p> + Of a sudden the man broke out into blasphemies and cataracts of + incredulous words. There was something shocking about the dropping of his + mask; it was like a man’s real face falling off. + </p> + <p> + “See here!” he cried in broad American, when he was breathless with + cursing, “I may be an adventurer, but I guess you’re a murderess. Yes, + gentlemen, here’s your death explained, and without any levitation. The + poor girl is writing a will in my favour; her cursed sister comes in, + struggles for the pen, drags her to the well, and throws her down before + she can finish it. Sakes! I reckon we want the handcuffs after all.” + </p> + <p> + “As you have truly remarked,” replied Joan, with ugly calm, “your clerk is + a very respectable young man, who knows the nature of an oath; and he will + swear in any court that I was up in your office arranging some typewriting + work for five minutes before and five minutes after my sister fell. Mr. + Flambeau will tell you that he found me there.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. + </p> + <p> + “Why, then,” cried Flambeau, “Pauline was alone when she fell, and it was + suicide!” + </p> + <p> + “She was alone when she fell,” said Father Brown, “but it was not + suicide.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how did she die?” asked Flambeau impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “She was murdered.” + </p> + <p> + “But she was alone,” objected the detective. + </p> + <p> + “She was murdered when she was all alone,” answered the priest. + </p> + <p> + All the rest stared at him, but he remained sitting in the same old + dejected attitude, with a wrinkle in his round forehead and an appearance + of impersonal shame and sorrow; his voice was colourless and sad. + </p> + <p> + “What I want to know,” cried Kalon, with an oath, “is when the police are + coming for this bloody and wicked sister. She’s killed her flesh and + blood; she’s robbed me of half a million that was just as sacredly mine as—” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, prophet,” interrupted Flambeau, with a kind of sneer; + “remember that all this world is a cloudland.” + </p> + <p> + The hierophant of the sun-god made an effort to climb back on his + pedestal. “It is not the mere money,” he cried, “though that would equip + the cause throughout the world. It is also my beloved one’s wishes. To + Pauline all this was holy. In Pauline’s eyes—” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown suddenly sprang erect, so that his chair fell over flat + behind him. He was deathly pale, yet he seemed fired with a hope; his eyes + shone. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it!” he cried in a clear voice. “That’s the way to begin. In + Pauline’s eyes—” + </p> + <p> + The tall prophet retreated before the tiny priest in an almost mad + disorder. “What do you mean? How dare you?” he cried repeatedly. + </p> + <p> + “In Pauline’s eyes,” repeated the priest, his own shining more and more. + “Go on—in God’s name, go on. The foulest crime the fiends ever + prompted feels lighter after confession; and I implore you to confess. Go + on, go on—in Pauline’s eyes—” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go, you devil!” thundered Kalon, struggling like a giant in bonds. + “Who are you, you cursed spy, to weave your spiders’ webs round me, and + peep and peer? Let me go.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I stop him?” asked Flambeau, bounding towards the exit, for Kalon + had already thrown the door wide open. + </p> + <p> + “No; let him pass,” said Father Brown, with a strange deep sigh that + seemed to come from the depths of the universe. “Let Cain pass by, for he + belongs to God.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long-drawn silence in the room when he had left it, which was + to Flambeau’s fierce wits one long agony of interrogation. Miss Joan + Stacey very coolly tidied up the papers on her desk. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Flambeau at last, “it is my duty, not my curiosity only—it + is my duty to find out, if I can, who committed the crime.” + </p> + <p> + “Which crime?” asked Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “The one we are dealing with, of course,” replied his impatient friend. + </p> + <p> + “We are dealing with two crimes,” said Brown, “crimes of very different + weight—and by very different criminals.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Joan Stacey, having collected and put away her papers, proceeded to + lock up her drawer. Father Brown went on, noticing her as little as she + noticed him. + </p> + <p> + “The two crimes,” he observed, “were committed against the same weakness + of the same person, in a struggle for her money. The author of the larger + crime found himself thwarted by the smaller crime; the author of the + smaller crime got the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t go on like a lecturer,” groaned Flambeau; “put it in a few + words.” + </p> + <p> + “I can put it in one word,” answered his friend. + </p> + <p> + Miss Joan Stacey skewered her business-like black hat on to her head with + a business-like black frown before a little mirror, and, as the + conversation proceeded, took her handbag and umbrella in an unhurried + style, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + “The truth is one word, and a short one,” said Father Brown. “Pauline + Stacey was blind.” + </p> + <p> + “Blind!” repeated Flambeau, and rose slowly to his whole huge stature. + </p> + <p> + “She was subject to it by blood,” Brown proceeded. “Her sister would have + started eyeglasses if Pauline would have let her; but it was her special + philosophy or fad that one must not encourage such diseases by yielding to + them. She would not admit the cloud; or she tried to dispel it by will. So + her eyes got worse and worse with straining; but the worst strain was to + come. It came with this precious prophet, or whatever he calls himself, + who taught her to stare at the hot sun with the naked eye. It was called + accepting Apollo. Oh, if these new pagans would only be old pagans, they + would be a little wiser! The old pagans knew that mere naked + Nature-worship must have a cruel side. They knew that the eye of Apollo + can blast and blind.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, and the priest went on in a gentle and even broken + voice. “Whether or no that devil deliberately made her blind, there is no + doubt that he deliberately killed her through her blindness. The very + simplicity of the crime is sickening. You know he and she went up and down + in those lifts without official help; you know also how smoothly and + silently the lifts slide. Kalon brought the lift to the girl’s landing, + and saw her, through the open door, writing in her slow, sightless way the + will she had promised him. He called out to her cheerily that he had the + lift ready for her, and she was to come out when she was ready. Then he + pressed a button and shot soundlessly up to his own floor, walked through + his own office, out on to his own balcony, and was safely praying before + the crowded street when the poor girl, having finished her work, ran gaily + out to where lover and lift were to receive her, and stepped—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t!” cried Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “He ought to have got half a million by pressing that button,” continued + the little father, in the colourless voice in which he talked of such + horrors. “But that went smash. It went smash because there happened to be + another person who also wanted the money, and who also knew the secret + about poor Pauline’s sight. There was one thing about that will that I + think nobody noticed: although it was unfinished and without signature, + the other Miss Stacey and some servant of hers had already signed it as + witnesses. Joan had signed first, saying Pauline could finish it later, + with a typical feminine contempt for legal forms. Therefore, Joan wanted + her sister to sign the will without real witnesses. Why? I thought of the + blindness, and felt sure she had wanted Pauline to sign in solitude + because she had wanted her not to sign at all. + </p> + <p> + “People like the Staceys always use fountain pens; but this was specially + natural to Pauline. By habit and her strong will and memory she could + still write almost as well as if she saw; but she could not tell when her + pen needed dipping. Therefore, her fountain pens were carefully filled by + her sister—all except this fountain pen. This was carefully not + filled by her sister; the remains of the ink held out for a few lines and + then failed altogether. And the prophet lost five hundred thousand pounds + and committed one of the most brutal and brilliant murders in human + history for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau went to the open door and heard the official police ascending the + stairs. He turned and said: “You must have followed everything devilish + close to have traced the crime to Kalon in ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown gave a sort of start. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! to him,” he said. “No; I had to follow rather close to find out about + Miss Joan and the fountain pen. But I knew Kalon was the criminal before I + came into the front door.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be joking!” cried Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “I’m quite serious,” answered the priest. “I tell you I knew he had done + it, even before I knew what he had done.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “These pagan stoics,” said Brown reflectively, “always fail by their + strength. There came a crash and a scream down the street, and the priest + of Apollo did not start or look round. I did not know what it was. But I + knew that he was expecting it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Sign of the Broken Sword + </h2> + <p> + The thousand arms of the forest were grey, and its million fingers silver. + In a sky of dark green-blue-like slate the stars were bleak and brilliant + like splintered ice. All that thickly wooded and sparsely tenanted + countryside was stiff with a bitter and brittle frost. The black hollows + between the trunks of the trees looked like bottomless, black caverns of + that Scandinavian hell, a hell of incalculable cold. Even the square stone + tower of the church looked northern to the point of heathenry, as if it + were some barbaric tower among the sea rocks of Iceland. It was a queer + night for anyone to explore a churchyard. But, on the other hand, perhaps + it was worth exploring. + </p> + <p> + It rose abruptly out of the ashen wastes of forest in a sort of hump or + shoulder of green turf that looked grey in the starlight. Most of the + graves were on a slant, and the path leading up to the church was as steep + as a staircase. On the top of the hill, in the one flat and prominent + place, was the monument for which the place was famous. It contrasted + strangely with the featureless graves all round, for it was the work of + one of the greatest sculptors of modern Europe; and yet his fame was at + once forgotten in the fame of the man whose image he had made. It showed, + by touches of the small silver pencil of starlight, the massive metal + figure of a soldier recumbent, the strong hands sealed in an everlasting + worship, the great head pillowed upon a gun. The venerable face was + bearded, or rather whiskered, in the old, heavy Colonel Newcome fashion. + The uniform, though suggested with the few strokes of simplicity, was that + of modern war. By his right side lay a sword, of which the tip was broken + off; on the left side lay a Bible. On glowing summer afternoons wagonettes + came full of Americans and cultured suburbans to see the sepulchre; but + even then they felt the vast forest land with its one dumpy dome of + churchyard and church as a place oddly dumb and neglected. In this + freezing darkness of mid-winter one would think he might be left alone + with the stars. Nevertheless, in the stillness of those stiff woods a + wooden gate creaked, and two dim figures dressed in black climbed up the + little path to the tomb. + </p> + <p> + So faint was that frigid starlight that nothing could have been traced + about them except that while they both wore black, one man was enormously + big, and the other (perhaps by contrast) almost startlingly small. They + went up to the great graven tomb of the historic warrior, and stood for a + few minutes staring at it. There was no human, perhaps no living, thing + for a wide circle; and a morbid fancy might well have wondered if they + were human themselves. In any case, the beginning of their conversation + might have seemed strange. After the first silence the small man said to + the other: + </p> + <p> + “Where does a wise man hide a pebble?” + </p> + <p> + And the tall man answered in a low voice: “On the beach.” + </p> + <p> + The small man nodded, and after a short silence said: “Where does a wise + man hide a leaf?” + </p> + <p> + And the other answered: “In the forest.” + </p> + <p> + There was another stillness, and then the tall man resumed: “Do you mean + that when a wise man has to hide a real diamond he has been known to hide + it among sham ones?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said the little man with a laugh, “we will let bygones be + bygones.” + </p> + <p> + He stamped his cold feet for a second or two, and then said: “I’m not + thinking of that at all, but of something else; something rather peculiar. + Just strike a match, will you?” + </p> + <p> + The big man fumbled in his pocket, and soon a scratch and a flare painted + gold the whole flat side of the monument. On it was cut in black letters + the well-known words which so many Americans had reverently read: “Sacred + to the Memory of General Sir Arthur St. Clare, Hero and Martyr, who Always + Vanquished his Enemies and Always Spared Them, and Was Treacherously Slain + by Them At Last. May God in Whom he Trusted both Reward and Revenge him.” + </p> + <p> + The match burnt the big man’s fingers, blackened, and dropped. He was + about to strike another, but his small companion stopped him. “That’s all + right, Flambeau, old man; I saw what I wanted. Or, rather, I didn’t see + what I didn’t want. And now we must walk a mile and a half along the road + to the next inn, and I will try to tell you all about it. For Heaven knows + a man should have a fire and ale when he dares tell such a story.” + </p> + <p> + They descended the precipitous path, they relatched the rusty gate, and + set off at a stamping, ringing walk down the frozen forest road. They had + gone a full quarter of a mile before the smaller man spoke again. He said: + “Yes; the wise man hides a pebble on the beach. But what does he do if + there is no beach? Do you know anything of that great St. Clare trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about English generals, Father Brown,” answered the large + man, laughing, “though a little about English policemen. I only know that + you have dragged me a precious long dance to all the shrines of this + fellow, whoever he is. One would think he got buried in six different + places. I’ve seen a memorial to General St. Clare in Westminster Abbey. + I’ve seen a ramping equestrian statue of General St. Clare on the + Embankment. I’ve seen a medallion of St. Clare in the street he was born + in, and another in the street he lived in; and now you drag me after dark + to his coffin in the village churchyard. I am beginning to be a bit tired + of his magnificent personality, especially as I don’t in the least know + who he was. What are you hunting for in all these crypts and effigies?” + </p> + <p> + “I am only looking for one word,” said Father Brown. “A word that isn’t + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” asked Flambeau; “are you going to tell me anything about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I must divide it into two parts,” remarked the priest. “First there is + what everybody knows; and then there is what I know. Now, what everybody + knows is short and plain enough. It is also entirely wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are,” said the big man called Flambeau cheerfully. “Let’s begin + at the wrong end. Let’s begin with what everybody knows, which isn’t + true.” + </p> + <p> + “If not wholly untrue, it is at least very inadequate,” continued Brown; + “for in point of fact, all that the public knows amounts precisely to + this: The public knows that Arthur St. Clare was a great and successful + English general. It knows that after splendid yet careful campaigns both + in India and Africa he was in command against Brazil when the great + Brazilian patriot Olivier issued his ultimatum. It knows that on that + occasion St. Clare with a very small force attacked Olivier with a very + large one, and was captured after heroic resistance. And it knows that + after his capture, and to the abhorrence of the civilised world, St. Clare + was hanged on the nearest tree. He was found swinging there after the + Brazilians had retired, with his broken sword hung round his neck.” + </p> + <p> + “And that popular story is untrue?” suggested Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said his friend quietly, “that story is quite true, so far as it + goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think it goes far enough!” said Flambeau; “but if the popular + story is true, what is the mystery?” + </p> + <p> + They had passed many hundreds of grey and ghostly trees before the little + priest answered. Then he bit his finger reflectively and said: “Why, the + mystery is a mystery of psychology. Or, rather, it is a mystery of two + psychologies. In that Brazilian business two of the most famous men of + modern history acted flat against their characters. Mind you, Olivier and + St. Clare were both heroes—the old thing, and no mistake; it was + like the fight between Hector and Achilles. Now, what would you say to an + affair in which Achilles was timid and Hector was treacherous?” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said the large man impatiently as the other bit his finger again. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Arthur St. Clare was a soldier of the old religious type—the + type that saved us during the Mutiny,” continued Brown. “He was always + more for duty than for dash; and with all his personal courage was + decidedly a prudent commander, particularly indignant at any needless + waste of soldiers. Yet in this last battle he attempted something that a + baby could see was absurd. One need not be a strategist to see it was as + wild as wind; just as one need not be a strategist to keep out of the way + of a motor-bus. Well, that is the first mystery; what had become of the + English general’s head? The second riddle is, what had become of the + Brazilian general’s heart? President Olivier might be called a visionary + or a nuisance; but even his enemies admitted that he was magnanimous to + the point of knight errantry. Almost every other prisoner he had ever + captured had been set free or even loaded with benefits. Men who had + really wronged him came away touched by his simplicity and sweetness. Why + the deuce should he diabolically revenge himself only once in his life; + and that for the one particular blow that could not have hurt him? Well, + there you have it. One of the wisest men in the world acted like an idiot + for no reason. One of the best men in the world acted like a fiend for no + reason. That’s the long and the short of it; and I leave it to you, my + boy.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you don’t,” said the other with a snort. “I leave it to you; and you + jolly well tell me all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” resumed Father Brown, “it’s not fair to say that the public + impression is just what I’ve said, without adding that two things have + happened since. I can’t say they threw a new light; for nobody can make + sense of them. But they threw a new kind of darkness; they threw the + darkness in new directions. The first was this. The family physician of + the St. Clares quarrelled with that family, and began publishing a violent + series of articles, in which he said that the late general was a religious + maniac; but as far as the tale went, this seemed to mean little more than + a religious man. + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow, the story fizzled out. Everyone knew, of course, that St. Clare + had some of the eccentricities of puritan piety. The second incident was + much more arresting. In the luckless and unsupported regiment which made + that rash attempt at the Black River there was a certain Captain Keith, + who was at that time engaged to St. Clare’s daughter, and who afterwards + married her. He was one of those who were captured by Olivier, and, like + all the rest except the general, appears to have been bounteously treated + and promptly set free. Some twenty years afterwards this man, then + Lieutenant-Colonel Keith, published a sort of autobiography called ‘A + British Officer in Burmah and Brazil.’ In the place where the reader looks + eagerly for some account of the mystery of St. Clare’s disaster may be + found the following words: ‘Everywhere else in this book I have narrated + things exactly as they occurred, holding as I do the old-fashioned opinion + that the glory of England is old enough to take care of itself. The + exception I shall make is in this matter of the defeat by the Black River; + and my reasons, though private, are honourable and compelling. I will, + however, add this in justice to the memories of two distinguished men. + General St. Clare has been accused of incapacity on this occasion; I can + at least testify that this action, properly understood, was one of the + most brilliant and sagacious of his life. President Olivier by similar + report is charged with savage injustice. I think it due to the honour of + an enemy to say that he acted on this occasion with even more than his + characteristic good feeling. To put the matter popularly, I can assure my + countrymen that St. Clare was by no means such a fool nor Olivier such a + brute as he looked. This is all I have to say; nor shall any earthly + consideration induce me to add a word to it.’” + </p> + <p> + A large frozen moon like a lustrous snowball began to show through the + tangle of twigs in front of them, and by its light the narrator had been + able to refresh his memory of Captain Keith’s text from a scrap of printed + paper. As he folded it up and put it back in his pocket Flambeau threw up + his hand with a French gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a bit, wait a bit,” he cried excitedly. “I believe I can guess it at + the first go.” + </p> + <p> + He strode on, breathing hard, his black head and bull neck forward, like a + man winning a walking race. The little priest, amused and interested, had + some trouble in trotting beside him. Just before them the trees fell back + a little to left and right, and the road swept downwards across a clear, + moonlit valley, till it dived again like a rabbit into the wall of another + wood. The entrance to the farther forest looked small and round, like the + black hole of a remote railway tunnel. But it was within some hundred + yards, and gaped like a cavern before Flambeau spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got it,” he cried at last, slapping his thigh with his great hand. + “Four minutes’ thinking, and I can tell your whole story myself.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” assented his friend. “You tell it.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau lifted his head, but lowered his voice. “General Sir Arthur St. + Clare,” he said, “came of a family in which madness was hereditary; and + his whole aim was to keep this from his daughter, and even, if possible, + from his future son-in-law. Rightly or wrongly, he thought the final + collapse was close, and resolved on suicide. Yet ordinary suicide would + blazon the very idea he dreaded. As the campaign approached the clouds + came thicker on his brain; and at last in a mad moment he sacrificed his + public duty to his private. He rushed rashly into battle, hoping to fall + by the first shot. When he found that he had only attained capture and + discredit, the sealed bomb in his brain burst, and he broke his own sword + and hanged himself.” + </p> + <p> + He stared firmly at the grey facade of forest in front of him, with the + one black gap in it, like the mouth of the grave, into which their path + plunged. Perhaps something menacing in the road thus suddenly swallowed + reinforced his vivid vision of the tragedy, for he shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “A horrid story,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “A horrid story,” repeated the priest with bent head. “But not the real + story.” + </p> + <p> + Then he threw back his head with a sort of despair and cried: “Oh, I wish + it had been.” + </p> + <p> + The tall Flambeau faced round and stared at him. + </p> + <p> + “Yours is a clean story,” cried Father Brown, deeply moved. “A sweet, + pure, honest story, as open and white as that moon. Madness and despair + are innocent enough. There are worse things, Flambeau.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau looked up wildly at the moon thus invoked; and from where he + stood one black tree-bough curved across it exactly like a devil’s horn. + </p> + <p> + “Father—father,” cried Flambeau with the French gesture and stepping + yet more rapidly forward, “do you mean it was worse than that?” + </p> + <p> + “Worse than that,” said Paul like a grave echo. And they plunged into the + black cloister of the woodland, which ran by them in a dim tapestry of + trunks, like one of the dark corridors in a dream. + </p> + <p> + They were soon in the most secret entrails of the wood, and felt close + about them foliage that they could not see, when the priest said again: + </p> + <p> + “Where does a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest. But what does he do if + there is no forest?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” cried Flambeau irritably, “what does he do?” + </p> + <p> + “He grows a forest to hide it in,” said the priest in an obscure voice. “A + fearful sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” cried his friend impatiently, for the dark wood and the dark + saying got a little on his nerves; “will you tell me this story or not? + What other evidence is there to go on?” + </p> + <p> + “There are three more bits of evidence,” said the other, “that I have dug + up in holes and corners; and I will give them in logical rather than + chronological order. First of all, of course, our authority for the issue + and event of the battle is in Olivier’s own dispatches, which are lucid + enough. He was entrenched with two or three regiments on the heights that + swept down to the Black River, on the other side of which was lower and + more marshy ground. Beyond this again was gently rising country, on which + was the first English outpost, supported by others which lay, however, + considerably in its rear. The British forces as a whole were greatly + superior in numbers; but this particular regiment was just far enough from + its base to make Olivier consider the project of crossing the river to cut + it off. By sunset, however, he had decided to retain his own position, + which was a specially strong one. At daybreak next morning he was + thunderstruck to see that this stray handful of English, entirely + unsupported from their rear, had flung themselves across the river, half + by a bridge to the right, and the other half by a ford higher up, and were + massed upon the marshy bank below him. + </p> + <p> + “That they should attempt an attack with such numbers against such a + position was incredible enough; but Olivier noticed something yet more + extraordinary. For instead of attempting to seize more solid ground, this + mad regiment, having put the river in its rear by one wild charge, did + nothing more, but stuck there in the mire like flies in treacle. Needless + to say, the Brazilians blew great gaps in them with artillery, which they + could only return with spirited but lessening rifle fire. Yet they never + broke; and Olivier’s curt account ends with a strong tribute of admiration + for the mystic valour of these imbeciles. ‘Our line then advanced + finally,’ writes Olivier, ‘and drove them into the river; we captured + General St. Clare himself and several other officers. The colonel and the + major had both fallen in the battle. I cannot resist saying that few finer + sights can have been seen in history than the last stand of this + extraordinary regiment; wounded officers picking up the rifles of dead + soldiers, and the general himself facing us on horseback bareheaded and + with a broken sword.’ On what happened to the general afterwards Olivier + is as silent as Captain Keith.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” grunted Flambeau, “get on to the next bit of evidence.” + </p> + <p> + “The next evidence,” said Father Brown, “took some time to find, but it + will not take long to tell. I found at last in an almshouse down in the + Lincolnshire Fens an old soldier who not only was wounded at the Black + River, but had actually knelt beside the colonel of the regiment when he + died. This latter was a certain Colonel Clancy, a big bull of an Irishman; + and it would seem that he died almost as much of rage as of bullets. He, + at any rate, was not responsible for that ridiculous raid; it must have + been imposed on him by the general. His last edifying words, according to + my informant, were these: ‘And there goes the damned old donkey with the + end of his sword knocked off. I wish it was his head.’ You will remark + that everyone seems to have noticed this detail about the broken sword + blade, though most people regard it somewhat more reverently than did the + late Colonel Clancy. And now for the third fragment.” + </p> + <p> + Their path through the woodland began to go upward, and the speaker paused + a little for breath before he went on. Then he continued in the same + business-like tone: + </p> + <p> + “Only a month or two ago a certain Brazilian official died in England, + having quarrelled with Olivier and left his country. He was a well-known + figure both here and on the Continent, a Spaniard named Espado; I knew him + myself, a yellow-faced old dandy, with a hooked nose. For various private + reasons I had permission to see the documents he had left; he was a + Catholic, of course, and I had been with him towards the end. There was + nothing of his that lit up any corner of the black St. Clare business, + except five or six common exercise books filled with the diary of some + English soldier. I can only suppose that it was found by the Brazilians on + one of those that fell. Anyhow, it stopped abruptly the night before the + battle. + </p> + <p> + “But the account of that last day in the poor fellow’s life was certainly + worth reading. I have it on me; but it’s too dark to read it here, and I + will give you a resume. The first part of that entry is full of jokes, + evidently flung about among the men, about somebody called the Vulture. It + does not seem as if this person, whoever he was, was one of themselves, + nor even an Englishman; neither is he exactly spoken of as one of the + enemy. It sounds rather as if he were some local go-between and + non-combatant; perhaps a guide or a journalist. He has been closeted with + old Colonel Clancy; but is more often seen talking to the major. Indeed, + the major is somewhat prominent in this soldier’s narrative; a lean, + dark-haired man, apparently, of the name of Murray—a north of + Ireland man and a Puritan. There are continual jests about the contrast + between this Ulsterman’s austerity and the conviviality of Colonel Clancy. + There is also some joke about the Vulture wearing bright-coloured clothes. + </p> + <p> + “But all these levities are scattered by what may well be called the note + of a bugle. Behind the English camp and almost parallel to the river ran + one of the few great roads of that district. Westward the road curved + round towards the river, which it crossed by the bridge before mentioned. + To the east the road swept backwards into the wilds, and some two miles + along it was the next English outpost. From this direction there came + along the road that evening a glitter and clatter of light cavalry, in + which even the simple diarist could recognise with astonishment the + general with his staff. He rode the great white horse which you have seen + so often in illustrated papers and Academy pictures; and you may be sure + that the salute they gave him was not merely ceremonial. He, at least, + wasted no time on ceremony, but, springing from the saddle immediately, + mixed with the group of officers, and fell into emphatic though + confidential speech. What struck our friend the diarist most was his + special disposition to discuss matters with Major Murray; but, indeed, + such a selection, so long as it was not marked, was in no way unnatural. + The two men were made for sympathy; they were men who ‘read their Bibles’; + they were both the old Evangelical type of officer. However this may be, + it is certain that when the general mounted again he was still talking + earnestly to Murray; and that as he walked his horse slowly down the road + towards the river, the tall Ulsterman still walked by his bridle rein in + earnest debate. The soldiers watched the two until they vanished behind a + clump of trees where the road turned towards the river. The colonel had + gone back to his tent, and the men to their pickets; the man with the + diary lingered for another four minutes, and saw a marvellous sight. + </p> + <p> + “The great white horse which had marched slowly down the road, as it had + marched in so many processions, flew back, galloping up the road towards + them as if it were mad to win a race. At first they thought it had run + away with the man on its back; but they soon saw that the general, a fine + rider, was himself urging it to full speed. Horse and man swept up to them + like a whirlwind; and then, reining up the reeling charger, the general + turned on them a face like flame, and called for the colonel like the + trumpet that wakes the dead. + </p> + <p> + “I conceive that all the earthquake events of that catastrophe tumbled on + top of each other rather like lumber in the minds of men such as our + friend with the diary. With the dazed excitement of a dream, they found + themselves falling—literally falling—into their ranks, and + learned that an attack was to be led at once across the river. The general + and the major, it was said, had found out something at the bridge, and + there was only just time to strike for life. The major had gone back at + once to call up the reserve along the road behind; it was doubtful if even + with that prompt appeal help could reach them in time. But they must pass + the stream that night, and seize the heights by morning. It is with the + very stir and throb of that romantic nocturnal march that the diary + suddenly ends.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had mounted ahead; for the woodland path grew smaller, + steeper, and more twisted, till they felt as if they were ascending a + winding staircase. The priest’s voice came from above out of the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “There was one other little and enormous thing. When the general urged + them to their chivalric charge he half drew his sword from the scabbard; + and then, as if ashamed of such melodrama, thrust it back again. The sword + again, you see.” + </p> + <p> + A half-light broke through the network of boughs above them, flinging the + ghost of a net about their feet; for they were mounting again to the faint + luminosity of the naked night. Flambeau felt truth all round him as an + atmosphere, but not as an idea. He answered with bewildered brain: “Well, + what’s the matter with the sword? Officers generally have swords, don’t + they?” + </p> + <p> + “They are not often mentioned in modern war,” said the other + dispassionately; “but in this affair one falls over the blessed sword + everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is there in that?” growled Flambeau; “it was a twopence + coloured sort of incident; the old man’s blade breaking in his last + battle. Anyone might bet the papers would get hold of it, as they have. On + all these tombs and things it’s shown broken at the point. I hope you + haven’t dragged me through this Polar expedition merely because two men + with an eye for a picture saw St. Clare’s broken sword.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried Father Brown, with a sharp voice like a pistol shot; “but who + saw his unbroken sword?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” cried the other, and stood still under the stars. They + had come abruptly out of the grey gates of the wood. + </p> + <p> + “I say, who saw his unbroken sword?” repeated Father Brown obstinately. + “Not the writer of the diary, anyhow; the general sheathed it in time.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau looked about him in the moonlight, as a man struck blind might + look in the sun; and his friend went on, for the first time with + eagerness: + </p> + <p> + “Flambeau,” he cried, “I cannot prove it, even after hunting through the + tombs. But I am sure of it. Let me add just one more tiny fact that tips + the whole thing over. The colonel, by a strange chance, was one of the + first struck by a bullet. He was struck long before the troops came to + close quarters. But he saw St. Clare’s sword broken. Why was it broken? + How was it broken? My friend, it was broken before the battle.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said his friend, with a sort of forlorn jocularity; “and pray where + is the other piece?” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you,” said the priest promptly. “In the northeast corner of + the cemetery of the Protestant Cathedral at Belfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” inquired the other. “Have you looked for it?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t,” replied Brown, with frank regret. “There’s a great marble + monument on top of it; a monument to the heroic Major Murray, who fell + fighting gloriously at the famous Battle of the Black River.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau seemed suddenly galvanised into existence. “You mean,” he cried + hoarsely, “that General St. Clare hated Murray, and murdered him on the + field of battle because—” + </p> + <p> + “You are still full of good and pure thoughts,” said the other. “It was + worse than that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the large man, “my stock of evil imagination is used up.” + </p> + <p> + The priest seemed really doubtful where to begin, and at last he said + again: + </p> + <p> + “Where would a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest.” + </p> + <p> + The other did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “If there were no forest, he would make a forest. And if he wished to hide + a dead leaf, he would make a dead forest.” + </p> + <p> + There was still no reply, and the priest added still more mildly and + quietly: + </p> + <p> + “And if a man had to hide a dead body, he would make a field of dead + bodies to hide it in.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau began to stamp forward with an intolerance of delay in time or + space; but Father Brown went on as if he were continuing the last + sentence: + </p> + <p> + “Sir Arthur St. Clare, as I have already said, was a man who read his + Bible. That was what was the matter with him. When will people understand + that it is useless for a man to read his Bible unless he also reads + everybody else’s Bible? A printer reads a Bible for misprints. A Mormon + reads his Bible, and finds polygamy; a Christian Scientist reads his, and + finds we have no arms and legs. St. Clare was an old Anglo-Indian + Protestant soldier. Now, just think what that might mean; and, for + Heaven’s sake, don’t cant about it. It might mean a man physically + formidable living under a tropic sun in an Oriental society, and soaking + himself without sense or guidance in an Oriental Book. Of course, he read + the Old Testament rather than the New. Of course, he found in the Old + Testament anything that he wanted—lust, tyranny, treason. Oh, I dare + say he was honest, as you call it. But what is the good of a man being + honest in his worship of dishonesty? + </p> + <p> + “In each of the hot and secret countries to which the man went he kept a + harem, he tortured witnesses, he amassed shameful gold; but certainly he + would have said with steady eyes that he did it to the glory of the Lord. + My own theology is sufficiently expressed by asking which Lord? Anyhow, + there is this about such evil, that it opens door after door in hell, and + always into smaller and smaller chambers. This is the real case against + crime, that a man does not become wilder and wilder, but only meaner and + meaner. St. Clare was soon suffocated by difficulties of bribery and + blackmail; and needed more and more cash. And by the time of the Battle of + the Black River he had fallen from world to world to that place which + Dante makes the lowest floor of the universe.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked his friend again. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that,” retorted the cleric, and suddenly pointed at a puddle + sealed with ice that shone in the moon. “Do you remember whom Dante put in + the last circle of ice?” + </p> + <p> + “The traitors,” said Flambeau, and shuddered. As he looked around at the + inhuman landscape of trees, with taunting and almost obscene outlines, he + could almost fancy he was Dante, and the priest with the rivulet of a + voice was, indeed, a Virgil leading him through a land of eternal sins. + </p> + <p> + The voice went on: “Olivier, as you know, was quixotic, and would not + permit a secret service and spies. The thing, however, was done, like many + other things, behind his back. It was managed by my old friend Espado; he + was the bright-clad fop, whose hook nose got him called the Vulture. + Posing as a sort of philanthropist at the front, he felt his way through + the English Army, and at last got his fingers on its one corrupt man—please + God!—and that man at the top. St. Clare was in foul need of money, + and mountains of it. The discredited family doctor was threatening those + extraordinary exposures that afterwards began and were broken off; tales + of monstrous and prehistoric things in Park Lane; things done by an + English Evangelist that smelt like human sacrifice and hordes of slaves. + Money was wanted, too, for his daughter’s dowry; for to him the fame of + wealth was as sweet as wealth itself. He snapped the last thread, + whispered the word to Brazil, and wealth poured in from the enemies of + England. But another man had talked to Espado the Vulture as well as he. + Somehow the dark, grim young major from Ulster had guessed the hideous + truth; and when they walked slowly together down that road towards the + bridge Murray was telling the general that he must resign instantly, or be + court-martialled and shot. The general temporised with him till they came + to the fringe of tropic trees by the bridge; and there by the singing + river and the sunlit palms (for I can see the picture) the general drew + his sabre and plunged it through the body of the major.” + </p> + <p> + The wintry road curved over a ridge in cutting frost, with cruel black + shapes of bush and thicket; but Flambeau fancied that he saw beyond it + faintly the edge of an aureole that was not starlight and moonlight, but + some fire such as is made by men. He watched it as the tale drew to its + close. + </p> + <p> + “St. Clare was a hell-hound, but he was a hound of breed. Never, I’ll + swear, was he so lucid and so strong as when poor Murray lay a cold lump + at his feet. Never in all his triumphs, as Captain Keith said truly, was + the great man so great as he was in this last world-despised defeat. He + looked coolly at his weapon to wipe off the blood; he saw the point he had + planted between his victim’s shoulders had broken off in the body. He saw + quite calmly, as through a club windowpane, all that must follow. He saw + that men must find the unaccountable corpse; must extract the + unaccountable sword-point; must notice the unaccountable broken sword—or + absence of sword. He had killed, but not silenced. But his imperious + intellect rose against the facer; there was one way yet. He could make the + corpse less unaccountable. He could create a hill of corpses to cover this + one. In twenty minutes eight hundred English soldiers were marching down + to their death.” + </p> + <p> + The warmer glow behind the black winter wood grew richer and brighter, and + Flambeau strode on to reach it. Father Brown also quickened his stride; + but he seemed merely absorbed in his tale. + </p> + <p> + “Such was the valour of that English thousand, and such the genius of + their commander, that if they had at once attacked the hill, even their + mad march might have met some luck. But the evil mind that played with + them like pawns had other aims and reasons. They must remain in the + marshes by the bridge at least till British corpses should be a common + sight there. Then for the last grand scene; the silver-haired + soldier-saint would give up his shattered sword to save further slaughter. + Oh, it was well organised for an impromptu. But I think (I cannot prove), + I think that it was while they stuck there in the bloody mire that someone + doubted—and someone guessed.” + </p> + <p> + He was mute a moment, and then said: “There is a voice from nowhere that + tells me the man who guessed was the lover... the man to wed the old man’s + child.” + </p> + <p> + “But what about Olivier and the hanging?” asked Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “Olivier, partly from chivalry, partly from policy, seldom encumbered his + march with captives,” explained the narrator. “He released everybody in + most cases. He released everybody in this case.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody but the general,” said the tall man. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody,” said the priest. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau knit his black brows. “I don’t grasp it all yet,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “There is another picture, Flambeau,” said Brown in his more mystical + undertone. “I can’t prove it; but I can do more—I can see it. There + is a camp breaking up on the bare, torrid hills at morning, and Brazilian + uniforms massed in blocks and columns to march. There is the red shirt and + long black beard of Olivier, which blows as he stands, his broad-brimmed + hat in his hand. He is saying farewell to the great enemy he is setting + free—the simple, snow-headed English veteran, who thanks him in the + name of his men. The English remnant stand behind at attention; beside + them are stores and vehicles for the retreat. The drums roll; the + Brazilians are moving; the English are still like statues. So they abide + till the last hum and flash of the enemy have faded from the tropic + horizon. Then they alter their postures all at once, like dead men coming + to life; they turn their fifty faces upon the general—faces not to + be forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau gave a great jump. “Ah,” he cried, “you don’t mean—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Father Brown in a deep, moving voice. “It was an English hand + that put the rope round St. Clare’s neck; I believe the hand that put the + ring on his daughter’s finger. They were English hands that dragged him up + to the tree of shame; the hands of men that had adored him and followed + him to victory. And they were English souls (God pardon and endure us + all!) who stared at him swinging in that foreign sun on the green gallows + of palm, and prayed in their hatred that he might drop off it into hell.” + </p> + <p> + As the two topped the ridge there burst on them the strong scarlet light + of a red-curtained English inn. It stood sideways in the road, as if + standing aside in the amplitude of hospitality. Its three doors stood open + with invitation; and even where they stood they could hear the hum and + laughter of humanity happy for a night. + </p> + <p> + “I need not tell you more,” said Father Brown. “They tried him in the + wilderness and destroyed him; and then, for the honour of England and of + his daughter, they took an oath to seal up for ever the story of the + traitor’s purse and the assassin’s sword blade. Perhaps—Heaven help + them—they tried to forget it. Let us try to forget it, anyhow; here + is our inn.” + </p> + <p> + “With all my heart,” said Flambeau, and was just striding into the bright, + noisy bar when he stepped back and almost fell on the road. + </p> + <p> + “Look there, in the devil’s name!” he cried, and pointed rigidly at the + square wooden sign that overhung the road. It showed dimly the crude shape + of a sabre hilt and a shortened blade; and was inscribed in false archaic + lettering, “The Sign of the Broken Sword.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you not prepared?” asked Father Brown gently. “He is the god of this + country; half the inns and parks and streets are named after him and his + story.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought we had done with the leper,” cried Flambeau, and spat on the + road. + </p> + <p> + “You will never have done with him in England,” said the priest, looking + down, “while brass is strong and stone abides. His marble statues will + erect the souls of proud, innocent boys for centuries, his village tomb + will smell of loyalty as of lilies. Millions who never knew him shall love + him like a father—this man whom the last few that knew him dealt + with like dung. He shall be a saint; and the truth shall never be told of + him, because I have made up my mind at last. There is so much good and + evil in breaking secrets, that I put my conduct to a test. All these + newspapers will perish; the anti-Brazil boom is already over; Olivier is + already honoured everywhere. But I told myself that if anywhere, by name, + in metal or marble that will endure like the pyramids, Colonel Clancy, or + Captain Keith, or President Olivier, or any innocent man was wrongly + blamed, then I would speak. If it were only that St. Clare was wrongly + praised, I would be silent. And I will.” + </p> + <p> + They plunged into the red-curtained tavern, which was not only cosy, but + even luxurious inside. On a table stood a silver model of the tomb of St. + Clare, the silver head bowed, the silver sword broken. On the walls were + coloured photographs of the same scene, and of the system of wagonettes + that took tourists to see it. They sat down on the comfortable padded + benches. + </p> + <p> + “Come, it’s cold,” cried Father Brown; “let’s have some wine or beer.” + </p> + <p> + “Or brandy,” said Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Three Tools of Death + </h2> + <p> + Both by calling and conviction Father Brown knew better than most of us, + that every man is dignified when he is dead. But even he felt a pang of + incongruity when he was knocked up at daybreak and told that Sir Aaron + Armstrong had been murdered. There was something absurd and unseemly about + secret violence in connection with so entirely entertaining and popular a + figure. For Sir Aaron Armstrong was entertaining to the point of being + comic; and popular in such a manner as to be almost legendary. It was like + hearing that Sunny Jim had hanged himself; or that Mr. Pickwick had died + in Hanwell. For though Sir Aaron was a philanthropist, and thus dealt with + the darker side of our society, he prided himself on dealing with it in + the brightest possible style. His political and social speeches were + cataracts of anecdotes and “loud laughter”; his bodily health was of a + bursting sort; his ethics were all optimism; and he dealt with the Drink + problem (his favourite topic) with that immortal or even monotonous gaiety + which is so often a mark of the prosperous total abstainer. + </p> + <p> + The established story of his conversion was familiar on the more puritanic + platforms and pulpits, how he had been, when only a boy, drawn away from + Scotch theology to Scotch whisky, and how he had risen out of both and + become (as he modestly put it) what he was. Yet his wide white beard, + cherubic face, and sparkling spectacles, at the numberless dinners and + congresses where they appeared, made it hard to believe, somehow, that he + had ever been anything so morbid as either a dram-drinker or a Calvinist. + He was, one felt, the most seriously merry of all the sons of men. + </p> + <p> + He had lived on the rural skirt of Hampstead in a handsome house, high but + not broad, a modern and prosaic tower. The narrowest of its narrow sides + overhung the steep green bank of a railway, and was shaken by passing + trains. Sir Aaron Armstrong, as he boisterously explained, had no nerves. + But if the train had often given a shock to the house, that morning the + tables were turned, and it was the house that gave a shock to the train. + </p> + <p> + The engine slowed down and stopped just beyond that point where an angle + of the house impinged upon the sharp slope of turf. The arrest of most + mechanical things must be slow; but the living cause of this had been very + rapid. A man clad completely in black, even (it was remembered) to the + dreadful detail of black gloves, appeared on the ridge above the engine, + and waved his black hands like some sable windmill. This in itself would + hardly have stopped even a lingering train. But there came out of him a + cry which was talked of afterwards as something utterly unnatural and new. + It was one of those shouts that are horridly distinct even when we cannot + hear what is shouted. The word in this case was “Murder!” + </p> + <p> + But the engine-driver swears he would have pulled up just the same if he + had heard only the dreadful and definite accent and not the word. + </p> + <p> + The train once arrested, the most superficial stare could take in many + features of the tragedy. The man in black on the green bank was Sir Aaron + Armstrong’s man-servant Magnus. The baronet in his optimism had often + laughed at the black gloves of this dismal attendant; but no one was + likely to laugh at him just now. + </p> + <p> + So soon as an inquirer or two had stepped off the line and across the + smoky hedge, they saw, rolled down almost to the bottom of the bank, the + body of an old man in a yellow dressing-gown with a very vivid scarlet + lining. A scrap of rope seemed caught about his leg, entangled presumably + in a struggle. There was a smear or so of blood, though very little; but + the body was bent or broken into a posture impossible to any living thing. + It was Sir Aaron Armstrong. A few more bewildered moments brought out a + big fair-bearded man, whom some travellers could salute as the dead man’s + secretary, Patrick Royce, once well known in Bohemian society and even + famous in the Bohemian arts. In a manner more vague, but even more + convincing, he echoed the agony of the servant. By the time the third + figure of that household, Alice Armstrong, daughter of the dead man, had + come already tottering and waving into the garden, the engine-driver had + put a stop to his stoppage. The whistle had blown and the train had panted + on to get help from the next station. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had been thus rapidly summoned at the request of Patrick + Royce, the big ex-Bohemian secretary. Royce was an Irishman by birth; and + that casual kind of Catholic that never remembers his religion until he is + really in a hole. But Royce’s request might have been less promptly + complied with if one of the official detectives had not been a friend and + admirer of the unofficial Flambeau; and it was impossible to be a friend + of Flambeau without hearing numberless stories about Father Brown. Hence, + while the young detective (whose name was Merton) led the little priest + across the fields to the railway, their talk was more confidential than + could be expected between two total strangers. + </p> + <p> + “As far as I can see,” said Mr. Merton candidly, “there is no sense to be + made of it at all. There is nobody one can suspect. Magnus is a solemn old + fool; far too much of a fool to be an assassin. Royce has been the + baronet’s best friend for years; and his daughter undoubtedly adored him. + Besides, it’s all too absurd. Who would kill such a cheery old chap as + Armstrong? Who could dip his hands in the gore of an after-dinner speaker? + It would be like killing Father Christmas.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was a cheery house,” assented Father Brown. “It was a cheery + house while he was alive. Do you think it will be cheery now he is dead?” + </p> + <p> + Merton started a little and regarded his companion with an enlivened eye. + “Now he is dead?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” continued the priest stolidly, “he was cheerful. But did he + communicate his cheerfulness? Frankly, was anyone else in the house + cheerful but he?” + </p> + <p> + A window in Merton’s mind let in that strange light of surprise in which + we see for the first time things we have known all along. He had often + been to the Armstrongs’, on little police jobs of the philanthropist; and, + now he came to think of it, it was in itself a depressing house. The rooms + were very high and very cold; the decoration mean and provincial; the + draughty corridors were lit by electricity that was bleaker than + moonlight. And though the old man’s scarlet face and silver beard had + blazed like a bonfire in each room or passage in turn, it did not leave + any warmth behind it. Doubtless this spectral discomfort in the place was + partly due to the very vitality and exuberance of its owner; he needed no + stoves or lamps, he would say, but carried his own warmth with him. But + when Merton recalled the other inmates, he was compelled to confess that + they also were as shadows of their lord. The moody man-servant, with his + monstrous black gloves, was almost a nightmare; Royce, the secretary, was + solid enough, a big bull of a man, in tweeds, with a short beard; but the + straw-coloured beard was startlingly salted with grey like the tweeds, and + the broad forehead was barred with premature wrinkles. He was good-natured + enough also, but it was a sad sort of good-nature, almost a heart-broken + sort—he had the general air of being some sort of failure in life. + As for Armstrong’s daughter, it was almost incredible that she was his + daughter; she was so pallid in colour and sensitive in outline. She was + graceful, but there was a quiver in the very shape of her that was like + the lines of an aspen. Merton had sometimes wondered if she had learnt to + quail at the crash of the passing trains. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Father Brown, blinking modestly, “I’m not sure that the + Armstrong cheerfulness is so very cheerful—for other people. You say + that nobody could kill such a happy old man, but I’m not sure; ne nos + inducas in tentationem. If ever I murdered somebody,” he added quite + simply, “I dare say it might be an Optimist.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” cried Merton amused. “Do you think people dislike cheerfulness?” + </p> + <p> + “People like frequent laughter,” answered Father Brown, “but I don’t think + they like a permanent smile. Cheerfulness without humour is a very trying + thing.” + </p> + <p> + They walked some way in silence along the windy grassy bank by the rail, + and just as they came under the far-flung shadow of the tall Armstrong + house, Father Brown said suddenly, like a man throwing away a troublesome + thought rather than offering it seriously: “Of course, drink is neither + good nor bad in itself. But I can’t help sometimes feeling that men like + Armstrong want an occasional glass of wine to sadden them.” + </p> + <p> + Merton’s official superior, a grizzled and capable detective named Gilder, + was standing on the green bank waiting for the coroner, talking to Patrick + Royce, whose big shoulders and bristly beard and hair towered above him. + This was the more noticeable because Royce walked always with a sort of + powerful stoop, and seemed to be going about his small clerical and + domestic duties in a heavy and humbled style, like a buffalo drawing a + go-cart. + </p> + <p> + He raised his head with unusual pleasure at the sight of the priest, and + took him a few paces apart. Meanwhile Merton was addressing the older + detective respectfully indeed, but not without a certain boyish + impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Gilder, have you got much farther with the mystery?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no mystery,” replied Gilder, as he looked under dreamy eyelids + at the rooks. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is for me, at any rate,” said Merton, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “It is simple enough, my boy,” observed the senior investigator, stroking + his grey, pointed beard. “Three minutes after you’d gone for Mr. Royce’s + parson the whole thing came out. You know that pasty-faced servant in the + black gloves who stopped the train?” + </p> + <p> + “I should know him anywhere. Somehow he rather gave me the creeps.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” drawled Gilder, “when the train had gone on again, that man had + gone too. Rather a cool criminal, don’t you think, to escape by the very + train that went off for the police?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re pretty sure, I suppose,” remarked the young man, “that he really + did kill his master?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my son, I’m pretty sure,” replied Gilder drily, “for the trifling + reason that he has gone off with twenty thousand pounds in papers that + were in his master’s desk. No, the only thing worth calling a difficulty + is how he killed him. The skull seems broken as with some big weapon, but + there’s no weapon at all lying about, and the murderer would have found it + awkward to carry it away, unless the weapon was too small to be noticed.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the weapon was too big to be noticed,” said the priest, with an + odd little giggle. + </p> + <p> + Gilder looked round at this wild remark, and rather sternly asked Brown + what he meant. + </p> + <p> + “Silly way of putting it, I know,” said Father Brown apologetically. + “Sounds like a fairy tale. But poor Armstrong was killed with a giant’s + club, a great green club, too big to be seen, and which we call the earth. + He was broken against this green bank we are standing on.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” asked the detective quickly. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown turned his moon face up to the narrow facade of the house and + blinked hopelessly up. Following his eyes, they saw that right at the top + of this otherwise blind back quarter of the building, an attic window + stood open. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you see,” he explained, pointing a little awkwardly like a child, + “he was thrown down from there?” + </p> + <p> + Gilder frowningly scrutinised the window, and then said: “Well, it is + certainly possible. But I don’t see why you are so sure about it.” + </p> + <p> + Brown opened his grey eyes wide. “Why,” he said, “there’s a bit of rope + round the dead man’s leg. Don’t you see that other bit of rope up there + caught at the corner of the window?” + </p> + <p> + At that height the thing looked like the faintest particle of dust or + hair, but the shrewd old investigator was satisfied. “You’re quite right, + sir,” he said to Father Brown; “that is certainly one to you.” + </p> + <p> + Almost as he spoke a special train with one carriage took the curve of the + line on their left, and, stopping, disgorged another group of policemen, + in whose midst was the hangdog visage of Magnus, the absconded servant. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove! they’ve got him,” cried Gilder, and stepped forward with quite a + new alertness. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got the money!” he cried to the first policeman. + </p> + <p> + The man looked him in the face with a rather curious expression and said: + “No.” Then he added: “At least, not here.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is the inspector, please?” asked the man called Magnus. + </p> + <p> + When he spoke everyone instantly understood how this voice had stopped a + train. He was a dull-looking man with flat black hair, a colourless face, + and a faint suggestion of the East in the level slits in his eyes and + mouth. His blood and name, indeed, had remained dubious, ever since Sir + Aaron had “rescued” him from a waitership in a London restaurant, and (as + some said) from more infamous things. But his voice was as vivid as his + face was dead. Whether through exactitude in a foreign language, or in + deference to his master (who had been somewhat deaf), Magnus’s tones had a + peculiarly ringing and piercing quality, and the whole group quite jumped + when he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I always knew this would happen,” he said aloud with brazen blandness. + “My poor old master made game of me for wearing black; but I always said I + should be ready for his funeral.” + </p> + <p> + And he made a momentary movement with his two dark-gloved hands. + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant,” said Inspector Gilder, eyeing the black hands with wrath, + “aren’t you putting the bracelets on this fellow; he looks pretty + dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” said the sergeant, with the same odd look of wonder, “I don’t + know that we can.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked the other sharply. “Haven’t you arrested him?” + </p> + <p> + A faint scorn widened the slit-like mouth, and the whistle of an + approaching train seemed oddly to echo the mockery. + </p> + <p> + “We arrested him,” replied the sergeant gravely, “just as he was coming + out of the police station at Highgate, where he had deposited all his + master’s money in the care of Inspector Robinson.” + </p> + <p> + Gilder looked at the man-servant in utter amazement. “Why on earth did you + do that?” he asked of Magnus. + </p> + <p> + “To keep it safe from the criminal, of course,” replied that person + placidly. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” said Gilder, “Sir Aaron’s money might have been safely left with + Sir Aaron’s family.” + </p> + <p> + The tail of his sentence was drowned in the roar of the train as it went + rocking and clanking; but through all the hell of noises to which that + unhappy house was periodically subject, they could hear the syllables of + Magnus’s answer, in all their bell-like distinctness: “I have no reason to + feel confidence in Sir Aaron’s family.” + </p> + <p> + All the motionless men had the ghostly sensation of the presence of some + new person; and Merton was scarcely surprised when he looked up and saw + the pale face of Armstrong’s daughter over Father Brown’s shoulder. She + was still young and beautiful in a silvery style, but her hair was of so + dusty and hueless a brown that in some shadows it seemed to have turned + totally grey. + </p> + <p> + “Be careful what you say,” said Royce gruffly, “you’ll frighten Miss + Armstrong.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” said the man with the clear voice. + </p> + <p> + As the woman winced and everyone else wondered, he went on: “I am somewhat + used to Miss Armstrong’s tremors. I have seen her trembling off and on for + years. And some said she was shaking with cold and some she was shaking + with fear, but I know she was shaking with hate and wicked anger—fiends + that have had their feast this morning. She would have been away by now + with her lover and all the money but for me. Ever since my poor old master + prevented her from marrying that tipsy blackguard—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” said Gilder very sternly. “We have nothing to do with your family + fancies or suspicions. Unless you have some practical evidence, your mere + opinions—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I’ll give you practical evidence,” cut in Magnus, in his hacking + accent. “You’ll have to subpoena me, Mr. Inspector, and I shall have to + tell the truth. And the truth is this: An instant after the old man was + pitched bleeding out of the window, I ran into the attic, and found his + daughter swooning on the floor with a red dagger still in her hand. Allow + me to hand that also to the proper authorities.” He took from his + tail-pocket a long horn-hilted knife with a red smear on it, and handed it + politely to the sergeant. Then he stood back again, and his slits of eyes + almost faded from his face in one fat Chinese sneer. + </p> + <p> + Merton felt an almost bodily sickness at the sight of him; and he muttered + to Gilder: “Surely you would take Miss Armstrong’s word against his?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown suddenly lifted a face so absurdly fresh that it looked + somehow as if he had just washed it. “Yes,” he said, radiating innocence, + “but is Miss Armstrong’s word against his?” + </p> + <p> + The girl uttered a startled, singular little cry; everyone looked at her. + Her figure was rigid as if paralysed; only her face within its frame of + faint brown hair was alive with an appalling surprise. She stood like one + of a sudden lassooed and throttled. + </p> + <p> + “This man,” said Mr. Gilder gravely, “actually says that you were found + grasping a knife, insensible, after the murder.” + </p> + <p> + “He says the truth,” answered Alice. + </p> + <p> + The next fact of which they were conscious was that Patrick Royce strode + with his great stooping head into their ring and uttered the singular + words: “Well, if I’ve got to go, I’ll have a bit of pleasure first.” + </p> + <p> + His huge shoulder heaved and he sent an iron fist smash into Magnus’s + bland Mongolian visage, laying him on the lawn as flat as a starfish. Two + or three of the police instantly put their hands on Royce; but to the rest + it seemed as if all reason had broken up and the universe were turning + into a brainless harlequinade. + </p> + <p> + “None of that, Mr. Royce,” Gilder had called out authoritatively. “I shall + arrest you for assault.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you won’t,” answered the secretary in a voice like an iron gong, “you + will arrest me for murder.” + </p> + <p> + Gilder threw an alarmed glance at the man knocked down; but since that + outraged person was already sitting up and wiping a little blood off a + substantially uninjured face, he only said shortly: “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite true, as this fellow says,” explained Royce, “that Miss + Armstrong fainted with a knife in her hand. But she had not snatched the + knife to attack her father, but to defend him.” + </p> + <p> + “To defend him,” repeated Gilder gravely. “Against whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Against me,” answered the secretary. + </p> + <p> + Alice looked at him with a complex and baffling face; then she said in a + low voice: “After it all, I am still glad you are brave.” + </p> + <p> + “Come upstairs,” said Patrick Royce heavily, “and I will show you the + whole cursed thing.” + </p> + <p> + The attic, which was the secretary’s private place (and rather a small + cell for so large a hermit), had indeed all the vestiges of a violent + drama. Near the centre of the floor lay a large revolver as if flung away; + nearer to the left was rolled a whisky bottle, open but not quite empty. + The cloth of the little table lay dragged and trampled, and a length of + cord, like that found on the corpse, was cast wildly across the + windowsill. Two vases were smashed on the mantelpiece and one on the + carpet. + </p> + <p> + “I was drunk,” said Royce; and this simplicity in the prematurely battered + man somehow had the pathos of the first sin of a baby. + </p> + <p> + “You all know about me,” he continued huskily; “everybody knows how my + story began, and it may as well end like that too. I was called a clever + man once, and might have been a happy one; Armstrong saved the remains of + a brain and body from the taverns, and was always kind to me in his own + way, poor fellow! Only he wouldn’t let me marry Alice here; and it will + always be said that he was right enough. Well, you can form your own + conclusions, and you won’t want me to go into details. That is my whisky + bottle half emptied in the corner; that is my revolver quite emptied on + the carpet. It was the rope from my box that was found on the corpse, and + it was from my window the corpse was thrown. You need not set detectives + to grub up my tragedy; it is a common enough weed in this world. I give + myself to the gallows; and, by God, that is enough!” + </p> + <p> + At a sufficiently delicate sign, the police gathered round the large man + to lead him away; but their unobtrusiveness was somewhat staggered by the + remarkable appearance of Father Brown, who was on his hands and knees on + the carpet in the doorway, as if engaged in some kind of undignified + prayers. Being a person utterly insensible to the social figure he cut, he + remained in this posture, but turned a bright round face up at the + company, presenting the appearance of a quadruped with a very comic human + head. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he said good-naturedly, “this really won’t do at all, you know. + At the beginning you said we’d found no weapon. But now we’re finding too + many; there’s the knife to stab, and the rope to strangle, and the pistol + to shoot; and after all he broke his neck by falling out of a window! It + won’t do. It’s not economical.” And he shook his head at the ground as a + horse does grazing. + </p> + <p> + Inspector Gilder had opened his mouth with serious intentions, but before + he could speak the grotesque figure on the floor had gone on quite + volubly. + </p> + <p> + “And now three quite impossible things. First, these holes in the carpet, + where the six bullets have gone in. Why on earth should anybody fire at + the carpet? A drunken man lets fly at his enemy’s head, the thing that’s + grinning at him. He doesn’t pick a quarrel with his feet, or lay siege to + his slippers. And then there’s the rope”—and having done with the + carpet the speaker lifted his hands and put them in his pocket, but + continued unaffectedly on his knees—“in what conceivable + intoxication would anybody try to put a rope round a man’s neck and + finally put it round his leg? Royce, anyhow, was not so drunk as that, or + he would be sleeping like a log by now. And, plainest of all, the whisky + bottle. You suggest a dipsomaniac fought for the whisky bottle, and then + having won, rolled it away in a corner, spilling one half and leaving the + other. That is the very last thing a dipsomaniac would do.” + </p> + <p> + He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, and said to the self-accused murderer + in tones of limpid penitence: “I’m awfully sorry, my dear sir, but your + tale is really rubbish.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Alice Armstrong in a low tone to the priest, “can I speak to + you alone for a moment?” + </p> + <p> + This request forced the communicative cleric out of the gangway, and + before he could speak in the next room, the girl was talking with strange + incisiveness. + </p> + <p> + “You are a clever man,” she said, “and you are trying to save Patrick, I + know. But it’s no use. The core of all this is black, and the more things + you find out the more there will be against the miserable man I love.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Brown, looking at her steadily. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” she answered equally steadily, “I saw him commit the crime + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the unmoved Brown, “and what did he do?” + </p> + <p> + “I was in this room next to them,” she explained; “both doors were closed, + but I suddenly heard a voice, such as I had never heard on earth, roaring + ‘Hell, hell, hell,’ again and again, and then the two doors shook with the + first explosion of the revolver. Thrice again the thing banged before I + got the two doors open and found the room full of smoke; but the pistol + was smoking in my poor, mad Patrick’s hand; and I saw him fire the last + murderous volley with my own eyes. Then he leapt on my father, who was + clinging in terror to the window-sill, and, grappling, tried to strangle + him with the rope, which he threw over his head, but which slipped over + his struggling shoulders to his feet. Then it tightened round one leg and + Patrick dragged him along like a maniac. I snatched a knife from the mat, + and, rushing between them, managed to cut the rope before I fainted.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Father Brown, with the same wooden civility. “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + As the girl collapsed under her memories, the priest passed stiffly into + the next room, where he found Gilder and Merton alone with Patrick Royce, + who sat in a chair, handcuffed. There he said to the Inspector + submissively: + </p> + <p> + “Might I say a word to the prisoner in your presence; and might he take + off those funny cuffs for a minute?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a very powerful man,” said Merton in an undertone. “Why do you want + them taken off?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I thought,” replied the priest humbly, “that perhaps I might have + the very great honour of shaking hands with him.” + </p> + <p> + Both detectives stared, and Father Brown added: “Won’t you tell them about + it, sir?” + </p> + <p> + The man on the chair shook his tousled head, and the priest turned + impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will,” he said. “Private lives are more important than public + reputations. I am going to save the living, and let the dead bury their + dead.” + </p> + <p> + He went to the fatal window, and blinked out of it as he went on talking. + </p> + <p> + “I told you that in this case there were too many weapons and only one + death. I tell you now that they were not weapons, and were not used to + cause death. All those grisly tools, the noose, the bloody knife, the + exploding pistol, were instruments of a curious mercy. They were not used + to kill Sir Aaron, but to save him.” + </p> + <p> + “To save him!” repeated Gilder. “And from what?” + </p> + <p> + “From himself,” said Father Brown. “He was a suicidal maniac.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried Merton in an incredulous tone. “And the Religion of + Cheerfulness—” + </p> + <p> + “It is a cruel religion,” said the priest, looking out of the window. “Why + couldn’t they let him weep a little, like his fathers before him? His + plans stiffened, his views grew cold; behind that merry mask was the empty + mind of the atheist. At last, to keep up his hilarious public level, he + fell back on that dram-drinking he had abandoned long ago. But there is + this horror about alcoholism in a sincere teetotaler: that he pictures and + expects that psychological inferno from which he has warned others. It + leapt upon poor Armstrong prematurely, and by this morning he was in such + a case that he sat here and cried he was in hell, in so crazy a voice that + his daughter did not know it. He was mad for death, and with the monkey + tricks of the mad he had scattered round him death in many shapes—a + running noose and his friend’s revolver and a knife. Royce entered + accidentally and acted in a flash. He flung the knife on the mat behind + him, snatched up the revolver, and having no time to unload it, emptied it + shot after shot all over the floor. The suicide saw a fourth shape of + death, and made a dash for the window. The rescuer did the only thing he + could—ran after him with the rope and tried to tie him hand and + foot. Then it was that the unlucky girl ran in, and misunderstanding the + struggle, strove to slash her father free. At first she only slashed poor + Royce’s knuckles, from which has come all the little blood in this affair. + But, of course, you noticed that he left blood, but no wound, on that + servant’s face? Only before the poor woman swooned, she did hack her + father loose, so that he went crashing through that window into eternity.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long stillness slowly broken by the metallic noises of Gilder + unlocking the handcuffs of Patrick Royce, to whom he said: “I think I + should have told the truth, sir. You and the young lady are worth more + than Armstrong’s obituary notices.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound Armstrong’s notices,” cried Royce roughly. “Don’t you see it was + because she mustn’t know?” + </p> + <p> + “Mustn’t know what?” asked Merton. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that she killed her father, you fool!” roared the other. “He’d have + been alive now but for her. It might craze her to know that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t think it would,” remarked Father Brown, as he picked up his + hat. “I rather think I should tell her. Even the most murderous blunders + don’t poison life like sins; anyhow, I think you may both be the happier + now. I’ve got to go back to the Deaf School.” + </p> + <p> + As he went out on to the gusty grass an acquaintance from Highgate stopped + him and said: + </p> + <p> + “The Coroner has arrived. The inquiry is just going to begin.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got to get back to the Deaf School,” said Father Brown. “I’m sorry I + can’t stop for the inquiry.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Innocence of Father Brown, by G. K. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Innocence of Father Brown + +Author: G. K. Chesterton + +Release Date: July 6, 2008 [EBook #204] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Boss + + + + + +THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN + +By G. K. Chesterton + + Contents + + + The Blue Cross + The Secret Garden + The Queer Feet + The Flying Stars + The Invisible Man + The Honour of Israel Gow + The Wrong Shape + The Sins of Prince Saradine + The Hammer of God + The Eye of Apollo + The Sign of the Broken Sword + The Three Tools of Death + + + + + +The Blue Cross + +Between the silver ribbon of morning and the green glittering ribbon of +sea, the boat touched Harwich and let loose a swarm of folk like flies, +among whom the man we must follow was by no means conspicuous--nor +wished to be. There was nothing notable about him, except a slight +contrast between the holiday gaiety of his clothes and the official +gravity of his face. His clothes included a slight, pale grey jacket, +a white waistcoat, and a silver straw hat with a grey-blue ribbon. His +lean face was dark by contrast, and ended in a curt black beard that +looked Spanish and suggested an Elizabethan ruff. He was smoking a +cigarette with the seriousness of an idler. There was nothing about him +to indicate the fact that the grey jacket covered a loaded revolver, +that the white waistcoat covered a police card, or that the straw hat +covered one of the most powerful intellects in Europe. For this was +Valentin himself, the head of the Paris police and the most famous +investigator of the world; and he was coming from Brussels to London to +make the greatest arrest of the century. + +Flambeau was in England. The police of three countries had tracked the +great criminal at last from Ghent to Brussels, from Brussels to the Hook +of Holland; and it was conjectured that he would take some advantage of +the unfamiliarity and confusion of the Eucharistic Congress, then +taking place in London. Probably he would travel as some minor clerk +or secretary connected with it; but, of course, Valentin could not be +certain; nobody could be certain about Flambeau. + +It is many years now since this colossus of crime suddenly ceased +keeping the world in a turmoil; and when he ceased, as they said after +the death of Roland, there was a great quiet upon the earth. But in +his best days (I mean, of course, his worst) Flambeau was a figure as +statuesque and international as the Kaiser. Almost every morning the +daily paper announced that he had escaped the consequences of one +extraordinary crime by committing another. He was a Gascon of gigantic +stature and bodily daring; and the wildest tales were told of his +outbursts of athletic humour; how he turned the juge d'instruction +upside down and stood him on his head, "to clear his mind"; how he ran +down the Rue de Rivoli with a policeman under each arm. It is due to him +to say that his fantastic physical strength was generally employed in +such bloodless though undignified scenes; his real crimes were chiefly +those of ingenious and wholesale robbery. But each of his thefts was +almost a new sin, and would make a story by itself. It was he who ran +the great Tyrolean Dairy Company in London, with no dairies, no cows, no +carts, no milk, but with some thousand subscribers. These he served by +the simple operation of moving the little milk cans outside people's +doors to the doors of his own customers. It was he who had kept up an +unaccountable and close correspondence with a young lady whose whole +letter-bag was intercepted, by the extraordinary trick of photographing +his messages infinitesimally small upon the slides of a microscope. A +sweeping simplicity, however, marked many of his experiments. It is said +that he once repainted all the numbers in a street in the dead of night +merely to divert one traveller into a trap. It is quite certain that +he invented a portable pillar-box, which he put up at corners in quiet +suburbs on the chance of strangers dropping postal orders into it. +Lastly, he was known to be a startling acrobat; despite his huge figure, +he could leap like a grasshopper and melt into the tree-tops like a +monkey. Hence the great Valentin, when he set out to find Flambeau, was +perfectly aware that his adventures would not end when he had found him. + +But how was he to find him? On this the great Valentin's ideas were +still in process of settlement. + +There was one thing which Flambeau, with all his dexterity of disguise, +could not cover, and that was his singular height. If Valentin's quick +eye had caught a tall apple-woman, a tall grenadier, or even a tolerably +tall duchess, he might have arrested them on the spot. But all along his +train there was nobody that could be a disguised Flambeau, any more than +a cat could be a disguised giraffe. About the people on the boat he had +already satisfied himself; and the people picked up at Harwich or on +the journey limited themselves with certainty to six. There was a short +railway official travelling up to the terminus, three fairly short +market gardeners picked up two stations afterwards, one very short widow +lady going up from a small Essex town, and a very short Roman Catholic +priest going up from a small Essex village. When it came to the last +case, Valentin gave it up and almost laughed. The little priest was so +much the essence of those Eastern flats; he had a face as round and dull +as a Norfolk dumpling; he had eyes as empty as the North Sea; he had +several brown paper parcels, which he was quite incapable of collecting. +The Eucharistic Congress had doubtless sucked out of their local +stagnation many such creatures, blind and helpless, like moles +disinterred. Valentin was a sceptic in the severe style of France, and +could have no love for priests. But he could have pity for them, and +this one might have provoked pity in anybody. He had a large, shabby +umbrella, which constantly fell on the floor. He did not seem to know +which was the right end of his return ticket. He explained with a +moon-calf simplicity to everybody in the carriage that he had to be +careful, because he had something made of real silver "with blue stones" +in one of his brown-paper parcels. His quaint blending of Essex flatness +with saintly simplicity continuously amused the Frenchman till the +priest arrived (somehow) at Tottenham with all his parcels, and came +back for his umbrella. When he did the last, Valentin even had the good +nature to warn him not to take care of the silver by telling everybody +about it. But to whomever he talked, Valentin kept his eye open for +someone else; he looked out steadily for anyone, rich or poor, male or +female, who was well up to six feet; for Flambeau was four inches above +it. + +He alighted at Liverpool Street, however, quite conscientiously secure +that he had not missed the criminal so far. He then went to Scotland +Yard to regularise his position and arrange for help in case of need; he +then lit another cigarette and went for a long stroll in the streets of +London. As he was walking in the streets and squares beyond Victoria, he +paused suddenly and stood. It was a quaint, quiet square, very typical +of London, full of an accidental stillness. The tall, flat houses round +looked at once prosperous and uninhabited; the square of shrubbery in +the centre looked as deserted as a green Pacific islet. One of the four +sides was much higher than the rest, like a dais; and the line of this +side was broken by one of London's admirable accidents--a restaurant +that looked as if it had strayed from Soho. It was an unreasonably +attractive object, with dwarf plants in pots and long, striped blinds of +lemon yellow and white. It stood specially high above the street, and in +the usual patchwork way of London, a flight of steps from the street +ran up to meet the front door almost as a fire-escape might run up to +a first-floor window. Valentin stood and smoked in front of the +yellow-white blinds and considered them long. + +The most incredible thing about miracles is that they happen. A few +clouds in heaven do come together into the staring shape of one human +eye. A tree does stand up in the landscape of a doubtful journey in the +exact and elaborate shape of a note of interrogation. I have seen both +these things myself within the last few days. Nelson does die in the +instant of victory; and a man named Williams does quite accidentally +murder a man named Williamson; it sounds like a sort of infanticide. +In short, there is in life an element of elfin coincidence which people +reckoning on the prosaic may perpetually miss. As it has been well +expressed in the paradox of Poe, wisdom should reckon on the unforeseen. + +Aristide Valentin was unfathomably French; and the French intelligence +is intelligence specially and solely. He was not "a thinking machine"; +for that is a brainless phrase of modern fatalism and materialism. A +machine only is a machine because it cannot think. But he was a thinking +man, and a plain man at the same time. All his wonderful successes, that +looked like conjuring, had been gained by plodding logic, by clear +and commonplace French thought. The French electrify the world not by +starting any paradox, they electrify it by carrying out a truism. They +carry a truism so far--as in the French Revolution. But exactly because +Valentin understood reason, he understood the limits of reason. Only a +man who knows nothing of motors talks of motoring without petrol; only +a man who knows nothing of reason talks of reasoning without strong, +undisputed first principles. Here he had no strong first principles. +Flambeau had been missed at Harwich; and if he was in London at all, +he might be anything from a tall tramp on Wimbledon Common to a tall +toast-master at the Hotel Metropole. In such a naked state of nescience, +Valentin had a view and a method of his own. + +In such cases he reckoned on the unforeseen. In such cases, when he +could not follow the train of the reasonable, he coldly and carefully +followed the train of the unreasonable. Instead of going to the right +places--banks, police stations, rendezvous--he systematically went to +the wrong places; knocked at every empty house, turned down every cul de +sac, went up every lane blocked with rubbish, went round every crescent +that led him uselessly out of the way. He defended this crazy course +quite logically. He said that if one had a clue this was the worst way; +but if one had no clue at all it was the best, because there was just +the chance that any oddity that caught the eye of the pursuer might be +the same that had caught the eye of the pursued. Somewhere a man must +begin, and it had better be just where another man might stop. Something +about that flight of steps up to the shop, something about the quietude +and quaintness of the restaurant, roused all the detective's rare +romantic fancy and made him resolve to strike at random. He went up the +steps, and sitting down at a table by the window, asked for a cup of +black coffee. + +It was half-way through the morning, and he had not breakfasted; the +slight litter of other breakfasts stood about on the table to remind +him of his hunger; and adding a poached egg to his order, he proceeded +musingly to shake some white sugar into his coffee, thinking all the +time about Flambeau. He remembered how Flambeau had escaped, once by a +pair of nail scissors, and once by a house on fire; once by having to +pay for an unstamped letter, and once by getting people to look through +a telescope at a comet that might destroy the world. He thought his +detective brain as good as the criminal's, which was true. But he fully +realised the disadvantage. "The criminal is the creative artist; the +detective only the critic," he said with a sour smile, and lifted his +coffee cup to his lips slowly, and put it down very quickly. He had put +salt in it. + +He looked at the vessel from which the silvery powder had come; it +was certainly a sugar-basin; as unmistakably meant for sugar as a +champagne-bottle for champagne. He wondered why they should keep salt in +it. He looked to see if there were any more orthodox vessels. Yes; there +were two salt-cellars quite full. Perhaps there was some speciality in +the condiment in the salt-cellars. He tasted it; it was sugar. Then he +looked round at the restaurant with a refreshed air of interest, to see +if there were any other traces of that singular artistic taste which +puts the sugar in the salt-cellars and the salt in the sugar-basin. +Except for an odd splash of some dark fluid on one of the white-papered +walls, the whole place appeared neat, cheerful and ordinary. He rang the +bell for the waiter. + +When that official hurried up, fuzzy-haired and somewhat blear-eyed at +that early hour, the detective (who was not without an appreciation of +the simpler forms of humour) asked him to taste the sugar and see if +it was up to the high reputation of the hotel. The result was that the +waiter yawned suddenly and woke up. + +"Do you play this delicate joke on your customers every morning?" +inquired Valentin. "Does changing the salt and sugar never pall on you +as a jest?" + +The waiter, when this irony grew clearer, stammeringly assured him that +the establishment had certainly no such intention; it must be a most +curious mistake. He picked up the sugar-basin and looked at it; he +picked up the salt-cellar and looked at that, his face growing more and +more bewildered. At last he abruptly excused himself, and hurrying +away, returned in a few seconds with the proprietor. The proprietor also +examined the sugar-basin and then the salt-cellar; the proprietor also +looked bewildered. + +Suddenly the waiter seemed to grow inarticulate with a rush of words. + +"I zink," he stuttered eagerly, "I zink it is those two clergy-men." + +"What two clergymen?" + +"The two clergymen," said the waiter, "that threw soup at the wall." + +"Threw soup at the wall?" repeated Valentin, feeling sure this must be +some singular Italian metaphor. + +"Yes, yes," said the attendant excitedly, and pointed at the dark splash +on the white paper; "threw it over there on the wall." + +Valentin looked his query at the proprietor, who came to his rescue with +fuller reports. + +"Yes, sir," he said, "it's quite true, though I don't suppose it has +anything to do with the sugar and salt. Two clergymen came in and drank +soup here very early, as soon as the shutters were taken down. They were +both very quiet, respectable people; one of them paid the bill and went +out; the other, who seemed a slower coach altogether, was some minutes +longer getting his things together. But he went at last. Only, the +instant before he stepped into the street he deliberately picked up +his cup, which he had only half emptied, and threw the soup slap on the +wall. I was in the back room myself, and so was the waiter; so I could +only rush out in time to find the wall splashed and the shop empty. It +don't do any particular damage, but it was confounded cheek; and I tried +to catch the men in the street. They were too far off though; I only +noticed they went round the next corner into Carstairs Street." + +The detective was on his feet, hat settled and stick in hand. He had +already decided that in the universal darkness of his mind he could +only follow the first odd finger that pointed; and this finger was odd +enough. Paying his bill and clashing the glass doors behind him, he was +soon swinging round into the other street. + +It was fortunate that even in such fevered moments his eye was cool and +quick. Something in a shop-front went by him like a mere flash; yet +he went back to look at it. The shop was a popular greengrocer and +fruiterer's, an array of goods set out in the open air and plainly +ticketed with their names and prices. In the two most prominent +compartments were two heaps, of oranges and of nuts respectively. On +the heap of nuts lay a scrap of cardboard, on which was written in bold, +blue chalk, "Best tangerine oranges, two a penny." On the oranges was +the equally clear and exact description, "Finest Brazil nuts, 4d. a lb." +M. Valentin looked at these two placards and fancied he had met this +highly subtle form of humour before, and that somewhat recently. He +drew the attention of the red-faced fruiterer, who was looking +rather sullenly up and down the street, to this inaccuracy in his +advertisements. The fruiterer said nothing, but sharply put each +card into its proper place. The detective, leaning elegantly on his +walking-cane, continued to scrutinise the shop. At last he said, "Pray +excuse my apparent irrelevance, my good sir, but I should like to ask +you a question in experimental psychology and the association of ideas." + +The red-faced shopman regarded him with an eye of menace; but he +continued gaily, swinging his cane, "Why," he pursued, "why are two +tickets wrongly placed in a greengrocer's shop like a shovel hat that +has come to London for a holiday? Or, in case I do not make myself +clear, what is the mystical association which connects the idea of nuts +marked as oranges with the idea of two clergymen, one tall and the other +short?" + +The eyes of the tradesman stood out of his head like a snail's; he +really seemed for an instant likely to fling himself upon the stranger. +At last he stammered angrily: "I don't know what you 'ave to do with it, +but if you're one of their friends, you can tell 'em from me that I'll +knock their silly 'eads off, parsons or no parsons, if they upset my +apples again." + +"Indeed?" asked the detective, with great sympathy. "Did they upset your +apples?" + +"One of 'em did," said the heated shopman; "rolled 'em all over the +street. I'd 'ave caught the fool but for havin' to pick 'em up." + +"Which way did these parsons go?" asked Valentin. + +"Up that second road on the left-hand side, and then across the square," +said the other promptly. + +"Thanks," replied Valentin, and vanished like a fairy. On the other side +of the second square he found a policeman, and said: "This is urgent, +constable; have you seen two clergymen in shovel hats?" + +The policeman began to chuckle heavily. "I 'ave, sir; and if you arst +me, one of 'em was drunk. He stood in the middle of the road that +bewildered that--" + +"Which way did they go?" snapped Valentin. + +"They took one of them yellow buses over there," answered the man; "them +that go to Hampstead." + +Valentin produced his official card and said very rapidly: "Call up two +of your men to come with me in pursuit," and crossed the road with such +contagious energy that the ponderous policeman was moved to almost agile +obedience. In a minute and a half the French detective was joined on the +opposite pavement by an inspector and a man in plain clothes. + +"Well, sir," began the former, with smiling importance, "and what +may--?" + +Valentin pointed suddenly with his cane. "I'll tell you on the top of +that omnibus," he said, and was darting and dodging across the tangle of +the traffic. When all three sank panting on the top seats of the yellow +vehicle, the inspector said: "We could go four times as quick in a +taxi." + +"Quite true," replied their leader placidly, "if we only had an idea of +where we were going." + +"Well, where are you going?" asked the other, staring. + +Valentin smoked frowningly for a few seconds; then, removing his +cigarette, he said: "If you know what a man's doing, get in front of +him; but if you want to guess what he's doing, keep behind him. Stray +when he strays; stop when he stops; travel as slowly as he. Then you may +see what he saw and may act as he acted. All we can do is to keep our +eyes skinned for a queer thing." + +"What sort of queer thing do you mean?" asked the inspector. + +"Any sort of queer thing," answered Valentin, and relapsed into +obstinate silence. + +The yellow omnibus crawled up the northern roads for what seemed like +hours on end; the great detective would not explain further, and perhaps +his assistants felt a silent and growing doubt of his errand. Perhaps, +also, they felt a silent and growing desire for lunch, for the hours +crept long past the normal luncheon hour, and the long roads of the +North London suburbs seemed to shoot out into length after length like +an infernal telescope. It was one of those journeys on which a man +perpetually feels that now at last he must have come to the end of the +universe, and then finds he has only come to the beginning of Tufnell +Park. London died away in draggled taverns and dreary scrubs, and then +was unaccountably born again in blazing high streets and blatant hotels. +It was like passing through thirteen separate vulgar cities all +just touching each other. But though the winter twilight was already +threatening the road ahead of them, the Parisian detective still sat +silent and watchful, eyeing the frontage of the streets that slid by on +either side. By the time they had left Camden Town behind, the policemen +were nearly asleep; at least, they gave something like a jump as +Valentin leapt erect, struck a hand on each man's shoulder, and shouted +to the driver to stop. + +They tumbled down the steps into the road without realising why they +had been dislodged; when they looked round for enlightenment they found +Valentin triumphantly pointing his finger towards a window on the left +side of the road. It was a large window, forming part of the long +facade of a gilt and palatial public-house; it was the part reserved for +respectable dining, and labelled "Restaurant." This window, like all the +rest along the frontage of the hotel, was of frosted and figured glass; +but in the middle of it was a big, black smash, like a star in the ice. + +"Our cue at last," cried Valentin, waving his stick; "the place with the +broken window." + +"What window? What cue?" asked his principal assistant. "Why, what proof +is there that this has anything to do with them?" + +Valentin almost broke his bamboo stick with rage. + +"Proof!" he cried. "Good God! the man is looking for proof! Why, of +course, the chances are twenty to one that it has nothing to do with +them. But what else can we do? Don't you see we must either follow one +wild possibility or else go home to bed?" He banged his way into the +restaurant, followed by his companions, and they were soon seated at a +late luncheon at a little table, and looked at the star of smashed glass +from the inside. Not that it was very informative to them even then. + +"Got your window broken, I see," said Valentin to the waiter as he paid +the bill. + +"Yes, sir," answered the attendant, bending busily over the change, to +which Valentin silently added an enormous tip. The waiter straightened +himself with mild but unmistakable animation. + +"Ah, yes, sir," he said. "Very odd thing, that, sir." + +"Indeed?" Tell us about it," said the detective with careless curiosity. + +"Well, two gents in black came in," said the waiter; "two of those +foreign parsons that are running about. They had a cheap and quiet +little lunch, and one of them paid for it and went out. The other was +just going out to join him when I looked at my change again and found +he'd paid me more than three times too much. 'Here,' I says to the chap +who was nearly out of the door, 'you've paid too much.' 'Oh,' he says, +very cool, 'have we?' 'Yes,' I says, and picks up the bill to show him. +Well, that was a knock-out." + +"What do you mean?" asked his interlocutor. + +"Well, I'd have sworn on seven Bibles that I'd put 4s. on that bill. But +now I saw I'd put 14s., as plain as paint." + +"Well?" cried Valentin, moving slowly, but with burning eyes, "and +then?" + +"The parson at the door he says all serene, 'Sorry to confuse your +accounts, but it'll pay for the window.' 'What window?' I says. 'The +one I'm going to break,' he says, and smashed that blessed pane with his +umbrella." + +All three inquirers made an exclamation; and the inspector said under +his breath, "Are we after escaped lunatics?" The waiter went on with +some relish for the ridiculous story: + +"I was so knocked silly for a second, I couldn't do anything. The man +marched out of the place and joined his friend just round the corner. +Then they went so quick up Bullock Street that I couldn't catch them, +though I ran round the bars to do it." + +"Bullock Street," said the detective, and shot up that thoroughfare as +quickly as the strange couple he pursued. + +Their journey now took them through bare brick ways like tunnels; +streets with few lights and even with few windows; streets that seemed +built out of the blank backs of everything and everywhere. Dusk was +deepening, and it was not easy even for the London policemen to guess +in what exact direction they were treading. The inspector, however, was +pretty certain that they would eventually strike some part of Hampstead +Heath. Abruptly one bulging gas-lit window broke the blue twilight like +a bull's-eye lantern; and Valentin stopped an instant before a little +garish sweetstuff shop. After an instant's hesitation he went in; he +stood amid the gaudy colours of the confectionery with entire gravity +and bought thirteen chocolate cigars with a certain care. He was clearly +preparing an opening; but he did not need one. + +An angular, elderly young woman in the shop had regarded his elegant +appearance with a merely automatic inquiry; but when she saw the door +behind him blocked with the blue uniform of the inspector, her eyes +seemed to wake up. + +"Oh," she said, "if you've come about that parcel, I've sent it off +already." + +"Parcel?" repeated Valentin; and it was his turn to look inquiring. + +"I mean the parcel the gentleman left--the clergyman gentleman." + +"For goodness' sake," said Valentin, leaning forward with his first +real confession of eagerness, "for Heaven's sake tell us what happened +exactly." + +"Well," said the woman a little doubtfully, "the clergymen came in about +half an hour ago and bought some peppermints and talked a bit, and then +went off towards the Heath. But a second after, one of them runs +back into the shop and says, 'Have I left a parcel!' Well, I looked +everywhere and couldn't see one; so he says, 'Never mind; but if it +should turn up, please post it to this address,' and he left me the +address and a shilling for my trouble. And sure enough, though I thought +I'd looked everywhere, I found he'd left a brown paper parcel, so I +posted it to the place he said. I can't remember the address now; it +was somewhere in Westminster. But as the thing seemed so important, I +thought perhaps the police had come about it." + +"So they have," said Valentin shortly. "Is Hampstead Heath near here?" + +"Straight on for fifteen minutes," said the woman, "and you'll come +right out on the open." Valentin sprang out of the shop and began to +run. The other detectives followed him at a reluctant trot. + +The street they threaded was so narrow and shut in by shadows that when +they came out unexpectedly into the void common and vast sky they were +startled to find the evening still so light and clear. A perfect dome +of peacock-green sank into gold amid the blackening trees and the dark +violet distances. The glowing green tint was just deep enough to pick +out in points of crystal one or two stars. All that was left of the +daylight lay in a golden glitter across the edge of Hampstead and that +popular hollow which is called the Vale of Health. The holiday makers +who roam this region had not wholly dispersed; a few couples sat +shapelessly on benches; and here and there a distant girl still shrieked +in one of the swings. The glory of heaven deepened and darkened around +the sublime vulgarity of man; and standing on the slope and looking +across the valley, Valentin beheld the thing which he sought. + +Among the black and breaking groups in that distance was one especially +black which did not break--a group of two figures clerically clad. +Though they seemed as small as insects, Valentin could see that one of +them was much smaller than the other. Though the other had a student's +stoop and an inconspicuous manner, he could see that the man was well +over six feet high. He shut his teeth and went forward, whirling his +stick impatiently. By the time he had substantially diminished the +distance and magnified the two black figures as in a vast microscope, +he had perceived something else; something which startled him, and yet +which he had somehow expected. Whoever was the tall priest, there could +be no doubt about the identity of the short one. It was his friend of +the Harwich train, the stumpy little cure of Essex whom he had warned +about his brown paper parcels. + +Now, so far as this went, everything fitted in finally and rationally +enough. Valentin had learned by his inquiries that morning that a Father +Brown from Essex was bringing up a silver cross with sapphires, a +relic of considerable value, to show some of the foreign priests at the +congress. This undoubtedly was the "silver with blue stones"; and Father +Brown undoubtedly was the little greenhorn in the train. Now there +was nothing wonderful about the fact that what Valentin had found out +Flambeau had also found out; Flambeau found out everything. Also there +was nothing wonderful in the fact that when Flambeau heard of a sapphire +cross he should try to steal it; that was the most natural thing in all +natural history. And most certainly there was nothing wonderful about +the fact that Flambeau should have it all his own way with such a silly +sheep as the man with the umbrella and the parcels. He was the sort of +man whom anybody could lead on a string to the North Pole; it was not +surprising that an actor like Flambeau, dressed as another priest, could +lead him to Hampstead Heath. So far the crime seemed clear enough; and +while the detective pitied the priest for his helplessness, he almost +despised Flambeau for condescending to so gullible a victim. But when +Valentin thought of all that had happened in between, of all that had +led him to his triumph, he racked his brains for the smallest rhyme or +reason in it. What had the stealing of a blue-and-silver cross from a +priest from Essex to do with chucking soup at wall paper? What had it +to do with calling nuts oranges, or with paying for windows first and +breaking them afterwards? He had come to the end of his chase; yet +somehow he had missed the middle of it. When he failed (which was +seldom), he had usually grasped the clue, but nevertheless missed the +criminal. Here he had grasped the criminal, but still he could not grasp +the clue. + +The two figures that they followed were crawling like black flies +across the huge green contour of a hill. They were evidently sunk in +conversation, and perhaps did not notice where they were going; but they +were certainly going to the wilder and more silent heights of the Heath. +As their pursuers gained on them, the latter had to use the undignified +attitudes of the deer-stalker, to crouch behind clumps of trees and +even to crawl prostrate in deep grass. By these ungainly ingenuities the +hunters even came close enough to the quarry to hear the murmur of the +discussion, but no word could be distinguished except the word "reason" +recurring frequently in a high and almost childish voice. Once over +an abrupt dip of land and a dense tangle of thickets, the detectives +actually lost the two figures they were following. They did not find the +trail again for an agonising ten minutes, and then it led round the brow +of a great dome of hill overlooking an amphitheatre of rich and desolate +sunset scenery. Under a tree in this commanding yet neglected spot was +an old ramshackle wooden seat. On this seat sat the two priests still in +serious speech together. The gorgeous green and gold still clung to +the darkening horizon; but the dome above was turning slowly from +peacock-green to peacock-blue, and the stars detached themselves more +and more like solid jewels. Mutely motioning to his followers, Valentin +contrived to creep up behind the big branching tree, and, standing there +in deathly silence, heard the words of the strange priests for the first +time. + +After he had listened for a minute and a half, he was gripped by a +devilish doubt. Perhaps he had dragged the two English policemen to the +wastes of a nocturnal heath on an errand no saner than seeking figs on +its thistles. For the two priests were talking exactly like priests, +piously, with learning and leisure, about the most aerial enigmas of +theology. The little Essex priest spoke the more simply, with his round +face turned to the strengthening stars; the other talked with his +head bowed, as if he were not even worthy to look at them. But no more +innocently clerical conversation could have been heard in any white +Italian cloister or black Spanish cathedral. + +The first he heard was the tail of one of Father Brown's sentences, +which ended: "... what they really meant in the Middle Ages by the +heavens being incorruptible." + +The taller priest nodded his bowed head and said: + +"Ah, yes, these modern infidels appeal to their reason; but who can +look at those millions of worlds and not feel that there may well be +wonderful universes above us where reason is utterly unreasonable?" + +"No," said the other priest; "reason is always reasonable, even in the +last limbo, in the lost borderland of things. I know that people charge +the Church with lowering reason, but it is just the other way. Alone +on earth, the Church makes reason really supreme. Alone on earth, the +Church affirms that God himself is bound by reason." + +The other priest raised his austere face to the spangled sky and said: + +"Yet who knows if in that infinite universe--?" + +"Only infinite physically," said the little priest, turning sharply +in his seat, "not infinite in the sense of escaping from the laws of +truth." + +Valentin behind his tree was tearing his fingernails with silent fury. +He seemed almost to hear the sniggers of the English detectives whom +he had brought so far on a fantastic guess only to listen to the +metaphysical gossip of two mild old parsons. In his impatience he lost +the equally elaborate answer of the tall cleric, and when he listened +again it was again Father Brown who was speaking: + +"Reason and justice grip the remotest and the loneliest star. Look +at those stars. Don't they look as if they were single diamonds and +sapphires? Well, you can imagine any mad botany or geology you please. +Think of forests of adamant with leaves of brilliants. Think the moon +is a blue moon, a single elephantine sapphire. But don't fancy that all +that frantic astronomy would make the smallest difference to the reason +and justice of conduct. On plains of opal, under cliffs cut out of +pearl, you would still find a notice-board, 'Thou shalt not steal.'" + +Valentin was just in the act of rising from his rigid and crouching +attitude and creeping away as softly as might be, felled by the one +great folly of his life. But something in the very silence of the tall +priest made him stop until the latter spoke. When at last he did speak, +he said simply, his head bowed and his hands on his knees: + +"Well, I think that other worlds may perhaps rise higher than our +reason. The mystery of heaven is unfathomable, and I for one can only +bow my head." + +Then, with brow yet bent and without changing by the faintest shade his +attitude or voice, he added: + +"Just hand over that sapphire cross of yours, will you? We're all alone +here, and I could pull you to pieces like a straw doll." + +The utterly unaltered voice and attitude added a strange violence to +that shocking change of speech. But the guarder of the relic only seemed +to turn his head by the smallest section of the compass. He seemed still +to have a somewhat foolish face turned to the stars. Perhaps he had not +understood. Or, perhaps, he had understood and sat rigid with terror. + +"Yes," said the tall priest, in the same low voice and in the same still +posture, "yes, I am Flambeau." + +Then, after a pause, he said: + +"Come, will you give me that cross?" + +"No," said the other, and the monosyllable had an odd sound. + +Flambeau suddenly flung off all his pontifical pretensions. The great +robber leaned back in his seat and laughed low but long. + +"No," he cried, "you won't give it me, you proud prelate. You won't give +it me, you little celibate simpleton. Shall I tell you why you won't +give it me? Because I've got it already in my own breast-pocket." + +The small man from Essex turned what seemed to be a dazed face in the +dusk, and said, with the timid eagerness of "The Private Secretary": + +"Are--are you sure?" + +Flambeau yelled with delight. + +"Really, you're as good as a three-act farce," he cried. "Yes, you +turnip, I am quite sure. I had the sense to make a duplicate of the +right parcel, and now, my friend, you've got the duplicate and I've got +the jewels. An old dodge, Father Brown--a very old dodge." + +"Yes," said Father Brown, and passed his hand through his hair with the +same strange vagueness of manner. "Yes, I've heard of it before." + +The colossus of crime leaned over to the little rustic priest with a +sort of sudden interest. + +"You have heard of it?" he asked. "Where have you heard of it?" + +"Well, I mustn't tell you his name, of course," said the little man +simply. "He was a penitent, you know. He had lived prosperously for +about twenty years entirely on duplicate brown paper parcels. And so, +you see, when I began to suspect you, I thought of this poor chap's way +of doing it at once." + +"Began to suspect me?" repeated the outlaw with increased intensity. +"Did you really have the gumption to suspect me just because I brought +you up to this bare part of the heath?" + +"No, no," said Brown with an air of apology. "You see, I suspected you +when we first met. It's that little bulge up the sleeve where you people +have the spiked bracelet." + +"How in Tartarus," cried Flambeau, "did you ever hear of the spiked +bracelet?" + +"Oh, one's little flock, you know!" said Father Brown, arching his +eyebrows rather blankly. "When I was a curate in Hartlepool, there were +three of them with spiked bracelets. So, as I suspected you from the +first, don't you see, I made sure that the cross should go safe, anyhow. +I'm afraid I watched you, you know. So at last I saw you change the +parcels. Then, don't you see, I changed them back again. And then I left +the right one behind." + +"Left it behind?" repeated Flambeau, and for the first time there was +another note in his voice beside his triumph. + +"Well, it was like this," said the little priest, speaking in the same +unaffected way. "I went back to that sweet-shop and asked if I'd left a +parcel, and gave them a particular address if it turned up. Well, I knew +I hadn't; but when I went away again I did. So, instead of running after +me with that valuable parcel, they have sent it flying to a friend of +mine in Westminster." Then he added rather sadly: "I learnt that, too, +from a poor fellow in Hartlepool. He used to do it with handbags he +stole at railway stations, but he's in a monastery now. Oh, one gets to +know, you know," he added, rubbing his head again with the same sort of +desperate apology. "We can't help being priests. People come and tell us +these things." + +Flambeau tore a brown-paper parcel out of his inner pocket and rent it +in pieces. There was nothing but paper and sticks of lead inside it. He +sprang to his feet with a gigantic gesture, and cried: + +"I don't believe you. I don't believe a bumpkin like you could manage +all that. I believe you've still got the stuff on you, and if you don't +give it up--why, we're all alone, and I'll take it by force!" + +"No," said Father Brown simply, and stood up also, "you won't take it +by force. First, because I really haven't still got it. And, second, +because we are not alone." + +Flambeau stopped in his stride forward. + +"Behind that tree," said Father Brown, pointing, "are two strong +policemen and the greatest detective alive. How did they come here, do +you ask? Why, I brought them, of course! How did I do it? Why, I'll tell +you if you like! Lord bless you, we have to know twenty such things +when we work among the criminal classes! Well, I wasn't sure you were +a thief, and it would never do to make a scandal against one of our +own clergy. So I just tested you to see if anything would make you show +yourself. A man generally makes a small scene if he finds salt in his +coffee; if he doesn't, he has some reason for keeping quiet. I changed +the salt and sugar, and you kept quiet. A man generally objects if +his bill is three times too big. If he pays it, he has some motive for +passing unnoticed. I altered your bill, and you paid it." + +The world seemed waiting for Flambeau to leap like a tiger. But he was +held back as by a spell; he was stunned with the utmost curiosity. + +"Well," went on Father Brown, with lumbering lucidity, "as you wouldn't +leave any tracks for the police, of course somebody had to. At every +place we went to, I took care to do something that would get us talked +about for the rest of the day. I didn't do much harm--a splashed wall, +spilt apples, a broken window; but I saved the cross, as the cross will +always be saved. It is at Westminster by now. I rather wonder you didn't +stop it with the Donkey's Whistle." + +"With the what?" asked Flambeau. + +"I'm glad you've never heard of it," said the priest, making a face. +"It's a foul thing. I'm sure you're too good a man for a Whistler. I +couldn't have countered it even with the Spots myself; I'm not strong +enough in the legs." + +"What on earth are you talking about?" asked the other. + +"Well, I did think you'd know the Spots," said Father Brown, agreeably +surprised. "Oh, you can't have gone so very wrong yet!" + +"How in blazes do you know all these horrors?" cried Flambeau. + +The shadow of a smile crossed the round, simple face of his clerical +opponent. + +"Oh, by being a celibate simpleton, I suppose," he said. "Has it never +struck you that a man who does next to nothing but hear men's real sins +is not likely to be wholly unaware of human evil? But, as a matter of +fact, another part of my trade, too, made me sure you weren't a priest." + +"What?" asked the thief, almost gaping. + +"You attacked reason," said Father Brown. "It's bad theology." + +And even as he turned away to collect his property, the three policemen +came out from under the twilight trees. Flambeau was an artist and a +sportsman. He stepped back and swept Valentin a great bow. + +"Do not bow to me, mon ami," said Valentin with silver clearness. "Let +us both bow to our master." + +And they both stood an instant uncovered while the little Essex priest +blinked about for his umbrella. + + + + +The Secret Garden + + +Aristide Valentin, Chief of the Paris Police, was late for his dinner, +and some of his guests began to arrive before him. These were, however, +reassured by his confidential servant, Ivan, the old man with a scar, +and a face almost as grey as his moustaches, who always sat at a table +in the entrance hall--a hall hung with weapons. Valentin's house was +perhaps as peculiar and celebrated as its master. It was an old house, +with high walls and tall poplars almost overhanging the Seine; but the +oddity--and perhaps the police value--of its architecture was this: that +there was no ultimate exit at all except through this front door, which +was guarded by Ivan and the armoury. The garden was large and elaborate, +and there were many exits from the house into the garden. But there was +no exit from the garden into the world outside; all round it ran a tall, +smooth, unscalable wall with special spikes at the top; no bad garden, +perhaps, for a man to reflect in whom some hundred criminals had sworn +to kill. + +As Ivan explained to the guests, their host had telephoned that he +was detained for ten minutes. He was, in truth, making some last +arrangements about executions and such ugly things; and though these +duties were rootedly repulsive to him, he always performed them with +precision. Ruthless in the pursuit of criminals, he was very mild about +their punishment. Since he had been supreme over French--and largely +over European--policial methods, his great influence had been honourably +used for the mitigation of sentences and the purification of prisons. +He was one of the great humanitarian French freethinkers; and the only +thing wrong with them is that they make mercy even colder than justice. + +When Valentin arrived he was already dressed in black clothes and the +red rosette--an elegant figure, his dark beard already streaked with +grey. He went straight through his house to his study, which opened on +the grounds behind. The garden door of it was open, and after he had +carefully locked his box in its official place, he stood for a few +seconds at the open door looking out upon the garden. A sharp moon +was fighting with the flying rags and tatters of a storm, and Valentin +regarded it with a wistfulness unusual in such scientific natures as +his. Perhaps such scientific natures have some psychic prevision of the +most tremendous problem of their lives. From any such occult mood, +at least, he quickly recovered, for he knew he was late, and that his +guests had already begun to arrive. A glance at his drawing-room when he +entered it was enough to make certain that his principal guest was not +there, at any rate. He saw all the other pillars of the little party; +he saw Lord Galloway, the English Ambassador--a choleric old man with a +russet face like an apple, wearing the blue ribbon of the Garter. He +saw Lady Galloway, slim and threadlike, with silver hair and a face +sensitive and superior. He saw her daughter, Lady Margaret Graham, a +pale and pretty girl with an elfish face and copper-coloured hair. He +saw the Duchess of Mont St. Michel, black-eyed and opulent, and with +her her two daughters, black-eyed and opulent also. He saw Dr. Simon, +a typical French scientist, with glasses, a pointed brown beard, and a +forehead barred with those parallel wrinkles which are the penalty +of superciliousness, since they come through constantly elevating +the eyebrows. He saw Father Brown, of Cobhole, in Essex, whom he had +recently met in England. He saw--perhaps with more interest than any +of these--a tall man in uniform, who had bowed to the Galloways without +receiving any very hearty acknowledgment, and who now advanced alone to +pay his respects to his host. This was Commandant O'Brien, of the +French Foreign Legion. He was a slim yet somewhat swaggering figure, +clean-shaven, dark-haired, and blue-eyed, and, as seemed natural in an +officer of that famous regiment of victorious failures and successful +suicides, he had an air at once dashing and melancholy. He was by birth +an Irish gentleman, and in boyhood had known the Galloways--especially +Margaret Graham. He had left his country after some crash of debts, and +now expressed his complete freedom from British etiquette by swinging +about in uniform, sabre and spurs. When he bowed to the Ambassador's +family, Lord and Lady Galloway bent stiffly, and Lady Margaret looked +away. + +But for whatever old causes such people might be interested in each +other, their distinguished host was not specially interested in them. No +one of them at least was in his eyes the guest of the evening. Valentin +was expecting, for special reasons, a man of world-wide fame, whose +friendship he had secured during some of his great detective tours and +triumphs in the United States. He was expecting Julius K. Brayne, that +multi-millionaire whose colossal and even crushing endowments of small +religions have occasioned so much easy sport and easier solemnity for +the American and English papers. Nobody could quite make out whether Mr. +Brayne was an atheist or a Mormon or a Christian Scientist; but he was +ready to pour money into any intellectual vessel, so long as it was +an untried vessel. One of his hobbies was to wait for the American +Shakespeare--a hobby more patient than angling. He admired Walt Whitman, +but thought that Luke P. Tanner, of Paris, Pa., was more "progressive" +than Whitman any day. He liked anything that he thought "progressive." +He thought Valentin "progressive," thereby doing him a grave injustice. + +The solid appearance of Julius K. Brayne in the room was as decisive +as a dinner bell. He had this great quality, which very few of us +can claim, that his presence was as big as his absence. He was a huge +fellow, as fat as he was tall, clad in complete evening black, without +so much relief as a watch-chain or a ring. His hair was white and well +brushed back like a German's; his face was red, fierce and cherubic, +with one dark tuft under the lower lip that threw up that otherwise +infantile visage with an effect theatrical and even Mephistophelean. Not +long, however, did that salon merely stare at the celebrated American; +his lateness had already become a domestic problem, and he was sent with +all speed into the dining-room with Lady Galloway on his arm. + +Except on one point the Galloways were genial and casual enough. So long +as Lady Margaret did not take the arm of that adventurer O'Brien, her +father was quite satisfied; and she had not done so, she had decorously +gone in with Dr. Simon. Nevertheless, old Lord Galloway was restless and +almost rude. He was diplomatic enough during dinner, but when, over the +cigars, three of the younger men--Simon the doctor, Brown the priest, +and the detrimental O'Brien, the exile in a foreign uniform--all melted +away to mix with the ladies or smoke in the conservatory, then the +English diplomatist grew very undiplomatic indeed. He was stung +every sixty seconds with the thought that the scamp O'Brien might be +signalling to Margaret somehow; he did not attempt to imagine how. He +was left over the coffee with Brayne, the hoary Yankee who believed +in all religions, and Valentin, the grizzled Frenchman who believed in +none. They could argue with each other, but neither could appeal to +him. After a time this "progressive" logomachy had reached a crisis of +tedium; Lord Galloway got up also and sought the drawing-room. He lost +his way in long passages for some six or eight minutes: till he heard +the high-pitched, didactic voice of the doctor, and then the dull voice +of the priest, followed by general laughter. They also, he thought with +a curse, were probably arguing about "science and religion." But the +instant he opened the salon door he saw only one thing--he saw what +was not there. He saw that Commandant O'Brien was absent, and that Lady +Margaret was absent too. + +Rising impatiently from the drawing-room, as he had from the +dining-room, he stamped along the passage once more. His notion of +protecting his daughter from the Irish-Algerian n'er-do-well had become +something central and even mad in his mind. As he went towards the back +of the house, where was Valentin's study, he was surprised to meet his +daughter, who swept past with a white, scornful face, which was a second +enigma. If she had been with O'Brien, where was O'Brien! If she had +not been with O'Brien, where had she been? With a sort of senile and +passionate suspicion he groped his way to the dark back parts of the +mansion, and eventually found a servants' entrance that opened on to the +garden. The moon with her scimitar had now ripped up and rolled away all +the storm-wrack. The argent light lit up all four corners of the garden. +A tall figure in blue was striding across the lawn towards the study +door; a glint of moonlit silver on his facings picked him out as +Commandant O'Brien. + +He vanished through the French windows into the house, leaving Lord +Galloway in an indescribable temper, at once virulent and vague. The +blue-and-silver garden, like a scene in a theatre, seemed to taunt him +with all that tyrannic tenderness against which his worldly authority +was at war. The length and grace of the Irishman's stride enraged him as +if he were a rival instead of a father; the moonlight maddened him. +He was trapped as if by magic into a garden of troubadours, a Watteau +fairyland; and, willing to shake off such amorous imbecilities by +speech, he stepped briskly after his enemy. As he did so he tripped over +some tree or stone in the grass; looked down at it first with irritation +and then a second time with curiosity. The next instant the moon and the +tall poplars looked at an unusual sight--an elderly English diplomatist +running hard and crying or bellowing as he ran. + +His hoarse shouts brought a pale face to the study door, the beaming +glasses and worried brow of Dr. Simon, who heard the nobleman's first +clear words. Lord Galloway was crying: "A corpse in the grass--a +blood-stained corpse." O'Brien at last had gone utterly out of his mind. + +"We must tell Valentin at once," said the doctor, when the other had +brokenly described all that he had dared to examine. "It is fortunate +that he is here;" and even as he spoke the great detective entered the +study, attracted by the cry. It was almost amusing to note his typical +transformation; he had come with the common concern of a host and a +gentleman, fearing that some guest or servant was ill. When he was +told the gory fact, he turned with all his gravity instantly bright and +businesslike; for this, however abrupt and awful, was his business. + +"Strange, gentlemen," he said as they hurried out into the garden, "that +I should have hunted mysteries all over the earth, and now one comes and +settles in my own back-yard. But where is the place?" They crossed the +lawn less easily, as a slight mist had begun to rise from the river; but +under the guidance of the shaken Galloway they found the body sunken +in deep grass--the body of a very tall and broad-shouldered man. He lay +face downwards, so they could only see that his big shoulders were clad +in black cloth, and that his big head was bald, except for a wisp or +two of brown hair that clung to his skull like wet seaweed. A scarlet +serpent of blood crawled from under his fallen face. + +"At least," said Simon, with a deep and singular intonation, "he is none +of our party." + +"Examine him, doctor," cried Valentin rather sharply. "He may not be +dead." + +The doctor bent down. "He is not quite cold, but I am afraid he is dead +enough," he answered. "Just help me to lift him up." + +They lifted him carefully an inch from the ground, and all doubts as +to his being really dead were settled at once and frightfully. The head +fell away. It had been entirely sundered from the body; whoever had +cut his throat had managed to sever the neck as well. Even Valentin +was slightly shocked. "He must have been as strong as a gorilla," he +muttered. + +Not without a shiver, though he was used to anatomical abortions, Dr. +Simon lifted the head. It was slightly slashed about the neck and jaw, +but the face was substantially unhurt. It was a ponderous, yellow face, +at once sunken and swollen, with a hawk-like nose and heavy lids--a face +of a wicked Roman emperor, with, perhaps, a distant touch of a Chinese +emperor. All present seemed to look at it with the coldest eye of +ignorance. Nothing else could be noted about the man except that, as +they had lifted his body, they had seen underneath it the white gleam of +a shirt-front defaced with a red gleam of blood. As Dr. Simon said, +the man had never been of their party. But he might very well have been +trying to join it, for he had come dressed for such an occasion. + +Valentin went down on his hands and knees and examined with his closest +professional attention the grass and ground for some twenty yards round +the body, in which he was assisted less skillfully by the doctor, and +quite vaguely by the English lord. Nothing rewarded their grovellings +except a few twigs, snapped or chopped into very small lengths, which +Valentin lifted for an instant's examination and then tossed away. + +"Twigs," he said gravely; "twigs, and a total stranger with his head cut +off; that is all there is on this lawn." + +There was an almost creepy stillness, and then the unnerved Galloway +called out sharply: + +"Who's that! Who's that over there by the garden wall!" + +A small figure with a foolishly large head drew waveringly near them in +the moonlit haze; looked for an instant like a goblin, but turned out to +be the harmless little priest whom they had left in the drawing-room. + +"I say," he said meekly, "there are no gates to this garden, do you +know." + +Valentin's black brows had come together somewhat crossly, as they did +on principle at the sight of the cassock. But he was far too just a man +to deny the relevance of the remark. "You are right," he said. "Before +we find out how he came to be killed, we may have to find out how he +came to be here. Now listen to me, gentlemen. If it can be done without +prejudice to my position and duty, we shall all agree that certain +distinguished names might well be kept out of this. There are ladies, +gentlemen, and there is a foreign ambassador. If we must mark it down as +a crime, then it must be followed up as a crime. But till then I can use +my own discretion. I am the head of the police; I am so public that I +can afford to be private. Please Heaven, I will clear everyone of my own +guests before I call in my men to look for anybody else. Gentlemen, upon +your honour, you will none of you leave the house till tomorrow at noon; +there are bedrooms for all. Simon, I think you know where to find my +man, Ivan, in the front hall; he is a confidential man. Tell him to +leave another servant on guard and come to me at once. Lord Galloway, +you are certainly the best person to tell the ladies what has happened, +and prevent a panic. They also must stay. Father Brown and I will remain +with the body." + +When this spirit of the captain spoke in Valentin he was obeyed like a +bugle. Dr. Simon went through to the armoury and routed out Ivan, the +public detective's private detective. Galloway went to the drawing-room +and told the terrible news tactfully enough, so that by the time the +company assembled there the ladies were already startled and already +soothed. Meanwhile the good priest and the good atheist stood at the +head and foot of the dead man motionless in the moonlight, like symbolic +statues of their two philosophies of death. + +Ivan, the confidential man with the scar and the moustaches, came out +of the house like a cannon ball, and came racing across the lawn to +Valentin like a dog to his master. His livid face was quite lively +with the glow of this domestic detective story, and it was with almost +unpleasant eagerness that he asked his master's permission to examine +the remains. + +"Yes; look, if you like, Ivan," said Valentin, "but don't be long. We +must go in and thrash this out in the house." + +Ivan lifted the head, and then almost let it drop. + +"Why," he gasped, "it's--no, it isn't; it can't be. Do you know this +man, sir?" + +"No," said Valentin indifferently; "we had better go inside." + +Between them they carried the corpse to a sofa in the study, and then +all made their way to the drawing-room. + +The detective sat down at a desk quietly, and even without hesitation; +but his eye was the iron eye of a judge at assize. He made a few rapid +notes upon paper in front of him, and then said shortly: "Is everybody +here?" + +"Not Mr. Brayne," said the Duchess of Mont St. Michel, looking round. + +"No," said Lord Galloway in a hoarse, harsh voice. "And not Mr. Neil +O'Brien, I fancy. I saw that gentleman walking in the garden when the +corpse was still warm." + +"Ivan," said the detective, "go and fetch Commandant O'Brien and Mr. +Brayne. Mr. Brayne, I know, is finishing a cigar in the dining-room; +Commandant O'Brien, I think, is walking up and down the conservatory. I +am not sure." + +The faithful attendant flashed from the room, and before anyone could +stir or speak Valentin went on with the same soldierly swiftness of +exposition. + +"Everyone here knows that a dead man has been found in the garden, his +head cut clean from his body. Dr. Simon, you have examined it. Do you +think that to cut a man's throat like that would need great force? Or, +perhaps, only a very sharp knife?" + +"I should say that it could not be done with a knife at all," said the +pale doctor. + +"Have you any thought," resumed Valentin, "of a tool with which it could +be done?" + +"Speaking within modern probabilities, I really haven't," said the +doctor, arching his painful brows. "It's not easy to hack a neck through +even clumsily, and this was a very clean cut. It could be done with a +battle-axe or an old headsman's axe, or an old two-handed sword." + +"But, good heavens!" cried the Duchess, almost in hysterics, "there +aren't any two-handed swords and battle-axes round here." + +Valentin was still busy with the paper in front of him. "Tell me," he +said, still writing rapidly, "could it have been done with a long French +cavalry sabre?" + +A low knocking came at the door, which, for some unreasonable reason, +curdled everyone's blood like the knocking in Macbeth. Amid that frozen +silence Dr. Simon managed to say: "A sabre--yes, I suppose it could." + +"Thank you," said Valentin. "Come in, Ivan." + +The confidential Ivan opened the door and ushered in Commandant Neil +O'Brien, whom he had found at last pacing the garden again. + +The Irish officer stood up disordered and defiant on the threshold. +"What do you want with me?" he cried. + +"Please sit down," said Valentin in pleasant, level tones. "Why, you +aren't wearing your sword. Where is it?" + +"I left it on the library table," said O'Brien, his brogue deepening in +his disturbed mood. "It was a nuisance, it was getting--" + +"Ivan," said Valentin, "please go and get the Commandant's sword from +the library." Then, as the servant vanished, "Lord Galloway says he saw +you leaving the garden just before he found the corpse. What were you +doing in the garden?" + +The Commandant flung himself recklessly into a chair. "Oh," he cried in +pure Irish, "admirin' the moon. Communing with Nature, me bhoy." + +A heavy silence sank and endured, and at the end of it came again that +trivial and terrible knocking. Ivan reappeared, carrying an empty steel +scabbard. "This is all I can find," he said. + +"Put it on the table," said Valentin, without looking up. + +There was an inhuman silence in the room, like that sea of inhuman +silence round the dock of the condemned murderer. The Duchess's weak +exclamations had long ago died away. Lord Galloway's swollen hatred was +satisfied and even sobered. The voice that came was quite unexpected. + +"I think I can tell you," cried Lady Margaret, in that clear, quivering +voice with which a courageous woman speaks publicly. "I can tell you +what Mr. O'Brien was doing in the garden, since he is bound to +silence. He was asking me to marry him. I refused; I said in my family +circumstances I could give him nothing but my respect. He was a little +angry at that; he did not seem to think much of my respect. I wonder," +she added, with rather a wan smile, "if he will care at all for it now. +For I offer it him now. I will swear anywhere that he never did a thing +like this." + +Lord Galloway had edged up to his daughter, and was intimidating her in +what he imagined to be an undertone. "Hold your tongue, Maggie," he said +in a thunderous whisper. "Why should you shield the fellow? Where's his +sword? Where's his confounded cavalry--" + +He stopped because of the singular stare with which his daughter was +regarding him, a look that was indeed a lurid magnet for the whole +group. + +"You old fool!" she said in a low voice without pretence of piety, "what +do you suppose you are trying to prove? I tell you this man was innocent +while with me. But if he wasn't innocent, he was still with me. If he +murdered a man in the garden, who was it who must have seen--who must +at least have known? Do you hate Neil so much as to put your own +daughter--" + +Lady Galloway screamed. Everyone else sat tingling at the touch of those +satanic tragedies that have been between lovers before now. They saw +the proud, white face of the Scotch aristocrat and her lover, the Irish +adventurer, like old portraits in a dark house. The long silence was +full of formless historical memories of murdered husbands and poisonous +paramours. + +In the centre of this morbid silence an innocent voice said: "Was it a +very long cigar?" + +The change of thought was so sharp that they had to look round to see +who had spoken. + +"I mean," said little Father Brown, from the corner of the room, "I +mean that cigar Mr. Brayne is finishing. It seems nearly as long as a +walking-stick." + +Despite the irrelevance there was assent as well as irritation in +Valentin's face as he lifted his head. + +"Quite right," he remarked sharply. "Ivan, go and see about Mr. Brayne +again, and bring him here at once." + +The instant the factotum had closed the door, Valentin addressed the +girl with an entirely new earnestness. + +"Lady Margaret," he said, "we all feel, I am sure, both gratitude +and admiration for your act in rising above your lower dignity and +explaining the Commandant's conduct. But there is a hiatus still. +Lord Galloway, I understand, met you passing from the study to the +drawing-room, and it was only some minutes afterwards that he found the +garden and the Commandant still walking there." + +"You have to remember," replied Margaret, with a faint irony in her +voice, "that I had just refused him, so we should scarcely have come +back arm in arm. He is a gentleman, anyhow; and he loitered behind--and +so got charged with murder." + +"In those few moments," said Valentin gravely, "he might really--" + +The knock came again, and Ivan put in his scarred face. + +"Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but Mr. Brayne has left the house." + +"Left!" cried Valentin, and rose for the first time to his feet. + +"Gone. Scooted. Evaporated," replied Ivan in humorous French. "His hat +and coat are gone, too, and I'll tell you something to cap it all. I ran +outside the house to find any traces of him, and I found one, and a big +trace, too." + +"What do you mean?" asked Valentin. + +"I'll show you," said his servant, and reappeared with a flashing naked +cavalry sabre, streaked with blood about the point and edge. Everyone in +the room eyed it as if it were a thunderbolt; but the experienced Ivan +went on quite quietly: + +"I found this," he said, "flung among the bushes fifty yards up the road +to Paris. In other words, I found it just where your respectable Mr. +Brayne threw it when he ran away." + +There was again a silence, but of a new sort. Valentin took the sabre, +examined it, reflected with unaffected concentration of thought, and +then turned a respectful face to O'Brien. "Commandant," he said, "we +trust you will always produce this weapon if it is wanted for police +examination. Meanwhile," he added, slapping the steel back in the +ringing scabbard, "let me return you your sword." + +At the military symbolism of the action the audience could hardly +refrain from applause. + +For Neil O'Brien, indeed, that gesture was the turning-point of +existence. By the time he was wandering in the mysterious garden again +in the colours of the morning the tragic futility of his ordinary mien +had fallen from him; he was a man with many reasons for happiness. Lord +Galloway was a gentleman, and had offered him an apology. Lady Margaret +was something better than a lady, a woman at least, and had perhaps +given him something better than an apology, as they drifted among the +old flowerbeds before breakfast. The whole company was more lighthearted +and humane, for though the riddle of the death remained, the load of +suspicion was lifted off them all, and sent flying off to Paris with the +strange millionaire--a man they hardly knew. The devil was cast out of +the house--he had cast himself out. + +Still, the riddle remained; and when O'Brien threw himself on a garden +seat beside Dr. Simon, that keenly scientific person at once resumed +it. He did not get much talk out of O'Brien, whose thoughts were on +pleasanter things. + +"I can't say it interests me much," said the Irishman frankly, +"especially as it seems pretty plain now. Apparently Brayne hated this +stranger for some reason; lured him into the garden, and killed him with +my sword. Then he fled to the city, tossing the sword away as he went. +By the way, Ivan tells me the dead man had a Yankee dollar in his +pocket. So he was a countryman of Brayne's, and that seems to clinch it. +I don't see any difficulties about the business." + +"There are five colossal difficulties," said the doctor quietly; "like +high walls within walls. Don't mistake me. I don't doubt that Brayne +did it; his flight, I fancy, proves that. But as to how he did it. +First difficulty: Why should a man kill another man with a great hulking +sabre, when he can almost kill him with a pocket knife and put it back +in his pocket? Second difficulty: Why was there no noise or outcry? +Does a man commonly see another come up waving a scimitar and offer +no remarks? Third difficulty: A servant watched the front door all the +evening; and a rat cannot get into Valentin's garden anywhere. How did +the dead man get into the garden? Fourth difficulty: Given the same +conditions, how did Brayne get out of the garden?" + +"And the fifth," said Neil, with eyes fixed on the English priest who +was coming slowly up the path. + +"Is a trifle, I suppose," said the doctor, "but I think an odd one. When +I first saw how the head had been slashed, I supposed the assassin had +struck more than once. But on examination I found many cuts across the +truncated section; in other words, they were struck after the head was +off. Did Brayne hate his foe so fiendishly that he stood sabring his +body in the moonlight?" + +"Horrible!" said O'Brien, and shuddered. + +The little priest, Brown, had arrived while they were talking, and had +waited, with characteristic shyness, till they had finished. Then he +said awkwardly: + +"I say, I'm sorry to interrupt. But I was sent to tell you the news!" + +"News?" repeated Simon, and stared at him rather painfully through his +glasses. + +"Yes, I'm sorry," said Father Brown mildly. "There's been another +murder, you know." + +Both men on the seat sprang up, leaving it rocking. + +"And, what's stranger still," continued the priest, with his dull eye +on the rhododendrons, "it's the same disgusting sort; it's another +beheading. They found the second head actually bleeding into the river, +a few yards along Brayne's road to Paris; so they suppose that he--" + +"Great Heaven!" cried O'Brien. "Is Brayne a monomaniac?" + +"There are American vendettas," said the priest impassively. Then he +added: "They want you to come to the library and see it." + +Commandant O'Brien followed the others towards the inquest, feeling +decidedly sick. As a soldier, he loathed all this secretive carnage; +where were these extravagant amputations going to stop? First one +head was hacked off, and then another; in this case (he told himself +bitterly) it was not true that two heads were better than one. As he +crossed the study he almost staggered at a shocking coincidence. Upon +Valentin's table lay the coloured picture of yet a third bleeding head; +and it was the head of Valentin himself. A second glance showed him it +was only a Nationalist paper, called The Guillotine, which every week +showed one of its political opponents with rolling eyes and writhing +features just after execution; for Valentin was an anti-clerical of some +note. But O'Brien was an Irishman, with a kind of chastity even in his +sins; and his gorge rose against that great brutality of the intellect +which belongs only to France. He felt Paris as a whole, from the +grotesques on the Gothic churches to the gross caricatures in the +newspapers. He remembered the gigantic jests of the Revolution. He saw +the whole city as one ugly energy, from the sanguinary sketch lying on +Valentin's table up to where, above a mountain and forest of gargoyles, +the great devil grins on Notre Dame. + +The library was long, low, and dark; what light entered it shot from +under low blinds and had still some of the ruddy tinge of morning. +Valentin and his servant Ivan were waiting for them at the upper end of +a long, slightly-sloping desk, on which lay the mortal remains, looking +enormous in the twilight. The big black figure and yellow face of the +man found in the garden confronted them essentially unchanged. The +second head, which had been fished from among the river reeds that +morning, lay streaming and dripping beside it; Valentin's men were still +seeking to recover the rest of this second corpse, which was supposed +to be afloat. Father Brown, who did not seem to share O'Brien's +sensibilities in the least, went up to the second head and examined it +with his blinking care. It was little more than a mop of wet white hair, +fringed with silver fire in the red and level morning light; the face, +which seemed of an ugly, empurpled and perhaps criminal type, had been +much battered against trees or stones as it tossed in the water. + +"Good morning, Commandant O'Brien," said Valentin, with quiet +cordiality. "You have heard of Brayne's last experiment in butchery, I +suppose?" + +Father Brown was still bending over the head with white hair, and he +said, without looking up: + +"I suppose it is quite certain that Brayne cut off this head, too." + +"Well, it seems common sense," said Valentin, with his hands in his +pockets. "Killed in the same way as the other. Found within a few yards +of the other. And sliced by the same weapon which we know he carried +away." + +"Yes, yes; I know," replied Father Brown submissively. "Yet, you know, I +doubt whether Brayne could have cut off this head." + +"Why not?" inquired Dr. Simon, with a rational stare. + +"Well, doctor," said the priest, looking up blinking, "can a man cut off +his own head? I don't know." + +O'Brien felt an insane universe crashing about his ears; but the doctor +sprang forward with impetuous practicality and pushed back the wet white +hair. + +"Oh, there's no doubt it's Brayne," said the priest quietly. "He had +exactly that chip in the left ear." + +The detective, who had been regarding the priest with steady and +glittering eyes, opened his clenched mouth and said sharply: "You seem +to know a lot about him, Father Brown." + +"I do," said the little man simply. "I've been about with him for some +weeks. He was thinking of joining our church." + +The star of the fanatic sprang into Valentin's eyes; he strode towards +the priest with clenched hands. "And, perhaps," he cried, with a +blasting sneer, "perhaps he was also thinking of leaving all his money +to your church." + +"Perhaps he was," said Brown stolidly; "it is possible." + +"In that case," cried Valentin, with a dreadful smile, "you may indeed +know a great deal about him. About his life and about his--" + +Commandant O'Brien laid a hand on Valentin's arm. "Drop that slanderous +rubbish, Valentin," he said, "or there may be more swords yet." + +But Valentin (under the steady, humble gaze of the priest) had already +recovered himself. "Well," he said shortly, "people's private opinions +can wait. You gentlemen are still bound by your promise to stay; you +must enforce it on yourselves--and on each other. Ivan here will tell +you anything more you want to know; I must get to business and write to +the authorities. We can't keep this quiet any longer. I shall be writing +in my study if there is any more news." + +"Is there any more news, Ivan?" asked Dr. Simon, as the chief of police +strode out of the room. + +"Only one more thing, I think, sir," said Ivan, wrinkling up his grey +old face, "but that's important, too, in its way. There's that old +buffer you found on the lawn," and he pointed without pretence of +reverence at the big black body with the yellow head. "We've found out +who he is, anyhow." + +"Indeed!" cried the astonished doctor, "and who is he?" + +"His name was Arnold Becker," said the under-detective, "though he went +by many aliases. He was a wandering sort of scamp, and is known to have +been in America; so that was where Brayne got his knife into him. We +didn't have much to do with him ourselves, for he worked mostly in +Germany. We've communicated, of course, with the German police. But, +oddly enough, there was a twin brother of his, named Louis Becker, +whom we had a great deal to do with. In fact, we found it necessary to +guillotine him only yesterday. Well, it's a rum thing, gentlemen, but +when I saw that fellow flat on the lawn I had the greatest jump of my +life. If I hadn't seen Louis Becker guillotined with my own eyes, +I'd have sworn it was Louis Becker lying there in the grass. Then, of +course, I remembered his twin brother in Germany, and following up the +clue--" + +The explanatory Ivan stopped, for the excellent reason that nobody was +listening to him. The Commandant and the doctor were both staring at +Father Brown, who had sprung stiffly to his feet, and was holding his +temples tight like a man in sudden and violent pain. + +"Stop, stop, stop!" he cried; "stop talking a minute, for I see half. +Will God give me strength? Will my brain make the one jump and see all? +Heaven help me! I used to be fairly good at thinking. I could paraphrase +any page in Aquinas once. Will my head split--or will it see? I see +half--I only see half." + +He buried his head in his hands, and stood in a sort of rigid torture +of thought or prayer, while the other three could only go on staring at +this last prodigy of their wild twelve hours. + +When Father Brown's hands fell they showed a face quite fresh and +serious, like a child's. He heaved a huge sigh, and said: "Let us get +this said and done with as quickly as possible. Look here, this will +be the quickest way to convince you all of the truth." He turned to the +doctor. "Dr. Simon," he said, "you have a strong head-piece, and I heard +you this morning asking the five hardest questions about this business. +Well, if you will ask them again, I will answer them." + +Simon's pince-nez dropped from his nose in his doubt and wonder, but +he answered at once. "Well, the first question, you know, is why a man +should kill another with a clumsy sabre at all when a man can kill with +a bodkin?" + +"A man cannot behead with a bodkin," said Brown calmly, "and for this +murder beheading was absolutely necessary." + +"Why?" asked O'Brien, with interest. + +"And the next question?" asked Father Brown. + +"Well, why didn't the man cry out or anything?" asked the doctor; +"sabres in gardens are certainly unusual." + +"Twigs," said the priest gloomily, and turned to the window which looked +on the scene of death. "No one saw the point of the twigs. Why should +they lie on that lawn (look at it) so far from any tree? They were not +snapped off; they were chopped off. The murderer occupied his enemy +with some tricks with the sabre, showing how he could cut a branch in +mid-air, or what-not. Then, while his enemy bent down to see the result, +a silent slash, and the head fell." + +"Well," said the doctor slowly, "that seems plausible enough. But my +next two questions will stump anyone." + +The priest still stood looking critically out of the window and waited. + +"You know how all the garden was sealed up like an air-tight chamber," +went on the doctor. "Well, how did the strange man get into the garden?" + +Without turning round, the little priest answered: "There never was any +strange man in the garden." + +There was a silence, and then a sudden cackle of almost childish +laughter relieved the strain. The absurdity of Brown's remark moved Ivan +to open taunts. + +"Oh!" he cried; "then we didn't lug a great fat corpse on to a sofa last +night? He hadn't got into the garden, I suppose?" + +"Got into the garden?" repeated Brown reflectively. "No, not entirely." + +"Hang it all," cried Simon, "a man gets into a garden, or he doesn't." + +"Not necessarily," said the priest, with a faint smile. "What is the +nest question, doctor?" + +"I fancy you're ill," exclaimed Dr. Simon sharply; "but I'll ask the +next question if you like. How did Brayne get out of the garden?" + +"He didn't get out of the garden," said the priest, still looking out of +the window. + +"Didn't get out of the garden?" exploded Simon. + +"Not completely," said Father Brown. + +Simon shook his fists in a frenzy of French logic. "A man gets out of a +garden, or he doesn't," he cried. + +"Not always," said Father Brown. + +Dr. Simon sprang to his feet impatiently. "I have no time to spare on +such senseless talk," he cried angrily. "If you can't understand a man +being on one side of a wall or the other, I won't trouble you further." + +"Doctor," said the cleric very gently, "we have always got on very +pleasantly together. If only for the sake of old friendship, stop and +tell me your fifth question." + +The impatient Simon sank into a chair by the door and said briefly: "The +head and shoulders were cut about in a queer way. It seemed to be done +after death." + +"Yes," said the motionless priest, "it was done so as to make you assume +exactly the one simple falsehood that you did assume. It was done to +make you take for granted that the head belonged to the body." + +The borderland of the brain, where all the monsters are made, moved +horribly in the Gaelic O'Brien. He felt the chaotic presence of all +the horse-men and fish-women that man's unnatural fancy has begotten. A +voice older than his first fathers seemed saying in his ear: "Keep out +of the monstrous garden where grows the tree with double fruit. Avoid +the evil garden where died the man with two heads." Yet, while these +shameful symbolic shapes passed across the ancient mirror of his Irish +soul, his Frenchified intellect was quite alert, and was watching the +odd priest as closely and incredulously as all the rest. + +Father Brown had turned round at last, and stood against the window, +with his face in dense shadow; but even in that shadow they could see +it was pale as ashes. Nevertheless, he spoke quite sensibly, as if there +were no Gaelic souls on earth. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "you did not find the strange body of Becker in +the garden. You did not find any strange body in the garden. In face +of Dr. Simon's rationalism, I still affirm that Becker was only partly +present. Look here!" (pointing to the black bulk of the mysterious +corpse) "you never saw that man in your lives. Did you ever see this +man?" + +He rapidly rolled away the bald, yellow head of the unknown, and put in +its place the white-maned head beside it. And there, complete, unified, +unmistakable, lay Julius K. Brayne. + +"The murderer," went on Brown quietly, "hacked off his enemy's head and +flung the sword far over the wall. But he was too clever to fling the +sword only. He flung the head over the wall also. Then he had only to +clap on another head to the corpse, and (as he insisted on a private +inquest) you all imagined a totally new man." + +"Clap on another head!" said O'Brien staring. "What other head? Heads +don't grow on garden bushes, do they?" + +"No," said Father Brown huskily, and looking at his boots; "there +is only one place where they grow. They grow in the basket of the +guillotine, beside which the chief of police, Aristide Valentin, was +standing not an hour before the murder. Oh, my friends, hear me a minute +more before you tear me in pieces. Valentin is an honest man, if being +mad for an arguable cause is honesty. But did you never see in that +cold, grey eye of his that he is mad! He would do anything, anything, to +break what he calls the superstition of the Cross. He has fought for +it and starved for it, and now he has murdered for it. Brayne's crazy +millions had hitherto been scattered among so many sects that they did +little to alter the balance of things. But Valentin heard a whisper that +Brayne, like so many scatter-brained sceptics, was drifting to us; and +that was quite a different thing. Brayne would pour supplies into the +impoverished and pugnacious Church of France; he would support six +Nationalist newspapers like The Guillotine. The battle was already +balanced on a point, and the fanatic took flame at the risk. He resolved +to destroy the millionaire, and he did it as one would expect the +greatest of detectives to commit his only crime. He abstracted the +severed head of Becker on some criminological excuse, and took it home +in his official box. He had that last argument with Brayne, that Lord +Galloway did not hear the end of; that failing, he led him out into the +sealed garden, talked about swordsmanship, used twigs and a sabre for +illustration, and--" + +Ivan of the Scar sprang up. "You lunatic," he yelled; "you'll go to my +master now, if I take you by--" + +"Why, I was going there," said Brown heavily; "I must ask him to +confess, and all that." + +Driving the unhappy Brown before them like a hostage or sacrifice, they +rushed together into the sudden stillness of Valentin's study. + +The great detective sat at his desk apparently too occupied to hear +their turbulent entrance. They paused a moment, and then something in +the look of that upright and elegant back made the doctor run forward +suddenly. A touch and a glance showed him that there was a small box of +pills at Valentin's elbow, and that Valentin was dead in his chair; and +on the blind face of the suicide was more than the pride of Cato. + + + + +The Queer Feet + + +If you meet a member of that select club, "The Twelve True Fishermen," +entering the Vernon Hotel for the annual club dinner, you will observe, +as he takes off his overcoat, that his evening coat is green and not +black. If (supposing that you have the star-defying audacity to address +such a being) you ask him why, he will probably answer that he does it +to avoid being mistaken for a waiter. You will then retire crushed. But +you will leave behind you a mystery as yet unsolved and a tale worth +telling. + +If (to pursue the same vein of improbable conjecture) you were to meet +a mild, hard-working little priest, named Father Brown, and were to ask +him what he thought was the most singular luck of his life, he would +probably reply that upon the whole his best stroke was at the Vernon +Hotel, where he had averted a crime and, perhaps, saved a soul, merely +by listening to a few footsteps in a passage. He is perhaps a little +proud of this wild and wonderful guess of his, and it is possible that +he might refer to it. But since it is immeasurably unlikely that you +will ever rise high enough in the social world to find "The Twelve +True Fishermen," or that you will ever sink low enough among slums and +criminals to find Father Brown, I fear you will never hear the story at +all unless you hear it from me. + +The Vernon Hotel at which The Twelve True Fishermen held their annual +dinners was an institution such as can only exist in an oligarchical +society which has almost gone mad on good manners. It was that +topsy-turvy product--an "exclusive" commercial enterprise. That is, it +was a thing which paid not by attracting people, but actually by turning +people away. In the heart of a plutocracy tradesmen become cunning +enough to be more fastidious than their customers. They positively +create difficulties so that their wealthy and weary clients may spend +money and diplomacy in overcoming them. If there were a fashionable +hotel in London which no man could enter who was under six foot, society +would meekly make up parties of six-foot men to dine in it. If there +were an expensive restaurant which by a mere caprice of its proprietor +was only open on Thursday afternoon, it would be crowded on Thursday +afternoon. The Vernon Hotel stood, as if by accident, in the corner of a +square in Belgravia. It was a small hotel; and a very inconvenient +one. But its very inconveniences were considered as walls protecting a +particular class. One inconvenience, in particular, was held to be of +vital importance: the fact that practically only twenty-four people +could dine in the place at once. The only big dinner table was the +celebrated terrace table, which stood open to the air on a sort of +veranda overlooking one of the most exquisite old gardens in London. +Thus it happened that even the twenty-four seats at this table could +only be enjoyed in warm weather; and this making the enjoyment yet more +difficult made it yet more desired. The existing owner of the hotel was +a Jew named Lever; and he made nearly a million out of it, by making it +difficult to get into. Of course he combined with this limitation in the +scope of his enterprise the most careful polish in its performance. +The wines and cooking were really as good as any in Europe, and the +demeanour of the attendants exactly mirrored the fixed mood of the +English upper class. The proprietor knew all his waiters like the +fingers on his hand; there were only fifteen of them all told. It was +much easier to become a Member of Parliament than to become a waiter in +that hotel. Each waiter was trained in terrible silence and smoothness, +as if he were a gentleman's servant. And, indeed, there was generally at +least one waiter to every gentleman who dined. + +The club of The Twelve True Fishermen would not have consented to dine +anywhere but in such a place, for it insisted on a luxurious privacy; +and would have been quite upset by the mere thought that any other club +was even dining in the same building. On the occasion of their annual +dinner the Fishermen were in the habit of exposing all their treasures, +as if they were in a private house, especially the celebrated set +of fish knives and forks which were, as it were, the insignia of the +society, each being exquisitely wrought in silver in the form of a fish, +and each loaded at the hilt with one large pearl. These were always +laid out for the fish course, and the fish course was always the most +magnificent in that magnificent repast. The society had a vast number +of ceremonies and observances, but it had no history and no object; that +was where it was so very aristocratic. You did not have to be anything +in order to be one of the Twelve Fishers; unless you were already a +certain sort of person, you never even heard of them. It had been in +existence twelve years. Its president was Mr. Audley. Its vice-president +was the Duke of Chester. + +If I have in any degree conveyed the atmosphere of this appalling hotel, +the reader may feel a natural wonder as to how I came to know anything +about it, and may even speculate as to how so ordinary a person as my +friend Father Brown came to find himself in that golden galley. As far +as that is concerned, my story is simple, or even vulgar. There is in +the world a very aged rioter and demagogue who breaks into the most +refined retreats with the dreadful information that all men are +brothers, and wherever this leveller went on his pale horse it was +Father Brown's trade to follow. One of the waiters, an Italian, had +been struck down with a paralytic stroke that afternoon; and his Jewish +employer, marvelling mildly at such superstitions, had consented to send +for the nearest Popish priest. With what the waiter confessed to Father +Brown we are not concerned, for the excellent reason that that cleric +kept it to himself; but apparently it involved him in writing out a note +or statement for the conveying of some message or the righting of some +wrong. Father Brown, therefore, with a meek impudence which he would +have shown equally in Buckingham Palace, asked to be provided with a +room and writing materials. Mr. Lever was torn in two. He was a kind +man, and had also that bad imitation of kindness, the dislike of any +difficulty or scene. At the same time the presence of one unusual +stranger in his hotel that evening was like a speck of dirt on something +just cleaned. There was never any borderland or anteroom in the Vernon +Hotel, no people waiting in the hall, no customers coming in on chance. +There were fifteen waiters. There were twelve guests. It would be as +startling to find a new guest in the hotel that night as to find a +new brother taking breakfast or tea in one's own family. Moreover, +the priest's appearance was second-rate and his clothes muddy; a mere +glimpse of him afar off might precipitate a crisis in the club. Mr. +Lever at last hit on a plan to cover, since he might not obliterate, the +disgrace. When you enter (as you never will) the Vernon Hotel, you pass +down a short passage decorated with a few dingy but important pictures, +and come to the main vestibule and lounge which opens on your right +into passages leading to the public rooms, and on your left to a similar +passage pointing to the kitchens and offices of the hotel. Immediately +on your left hand is the corner of a glass office, which abuts upon +the lounge--a house within a house, so to speak, like the old hotel bar +which probably once occupied its place. + +In this office sat the representative of the proprietor (nobody in this +place ever appeared in person if he could help it), and just beyond the +office, on the way to the servants' quarters, was the gentlemen's cloak +room, the last boundary of the gentlemen's domain. But between the +office and the cloak room was a small private room without other outlet, +sometimes used by the proprietor for delicate and important matters, +such as lending a duke a thousand pounds or declining to lend him +sixpence. It is a mark of the magnificent tolerance of Mr. Lever that +he permitted this holy place to be for about half an hour profaned by a +mere priest, scribbling away on a piece of paper. The story which Father +Brown was writing down was very likely a much better story than this +one, only it will never be known. I can merely state that it was very +nearly as long, and that the last two or three paragraphs of it were the +least exciting and absorbing. + +For it was by the time that he had reached these that the priest began a +little to allow his thoughts to wander and his animal senses, which were +commonly keen, to awaken. The time of darkness and dinner was drawing +on; his own forgotten little room was without a light, and perhaps the +gathering gloom, as occasionally happens, sharpened the sense of sound. +As Father Brown wrote the last and least essential part of his document, +he caught himself writing to the rhythm of a recurrent noise outside, +just as one sometimes thinks to the tune of a railway train. When he +became conscious of the thing he found what it was: only the ordinary +patter of feet passing the door, which in an hotel was no very unlikely +matter. Nevertheless, he stared at the darkened ceiling, and listened to +the sound. After he had listened for a few seconds dreamily, he got to +his feet and listened intently, with his head a little on one side. +Then he sat down again and buried his brow in his hands, now not merely +listening, but listening and thinking also. + +The footsteps outside at any given moment were such as one might hear in +any hotel; and yet, taken as a whole, there was something very strange +about them. There were no other footsteps. It was always a very silent +house, for the few familiar guests went at once to their own apartments, +and the well-trained waiters were told to be almost invisible until +they were wanted. One could not conceive any place where there was less +reason to apprehend anything irregular. But these footsteps were so +odd that one could not decide to call them regular or irregular. Father +Brown followed them with his finger on the edge of the table, like a man +trying to learn a tune on the piano. + +First, there came a long rush of rapid little steps, such as a light man +might make in winning a walking race. At a certain point they stopped +and changed to a sort of slow, swinging stamp, numbering not a quarter +of the steps, but occupying about the same time. The moment the last +echoing stamp had died away would come again the run or ripple of light, +hurrying feet, and then again the thud of the heavier walking. It was +certainly the same pair of boots, partly because (as has been said) +there were no other boots about, and partly because they had a small +but unmistakable creak in them. Father Brown had the kind of head that +cannot help asking questions; and on this apparently trivial question +his head almost split. He had seen men run in order to jump. He had seen +men run in order to slide. But why on earth should a man run in order +to walk? Or, again, why should he walk in order to run? Yet no other +description would cover the antics of this invisible pair of legs. The +man was either walking very fast down one-half of the corridor in order +to walk very slow down the other half; or he was walking very slow +at one end to have the rapture of walking fast at the other. Neither +suggestion seemed to make much sense. His brain was growing darker and +darker, like his room. + +Yet, as he began to think steadily, the very blackness of his cell +seemed to make his thoughts more vivid; he began to see as in a kind of +vision the fantastic feet capering along the corridor in unnatural or +symbolic attitudes. Was it a heathen religious dance? Or some entirely +new kind of scientific exercise? Father Brown began to ask himself with +more exactness what the steps suggested. Taking the slow step first: it +certainly was not the step of the proprietor. Men of his type walk +with a rapid waddle, or they sit still. It could not be any servant or +messenger waiting for directions. It did not sound like it. The poorer +orders (in an oligarchy) sometimes lurch about when they are slightly +drunk, but generally, and especially in such gorgeous scenes, they stand +or sit in constrained attitudes. No; that heavy yet springy step, with +a kind of careless emphasis, not specially noisy, yet not caring what +noise it made, belonged to only one of the animals of this earth. It was +a gentleman of western Europe, and probably one who had never worked for +his living. + +Just as he came to this solid certainty, the step changed to the quicker +one, and ran past the door as feverishly as a rat. The listener remarked +that though this step was much swifter it was also much more noiseless, +almost as if the man were walking on tiptoe. Yet it was not associated +in his mind with secrecy, but with something else--something that he +could not remember. He was maddened by one of those half-memories that +make a man feel half-witted. Surely he had heard that strange, swift +walking somewhere. Suddenly he sprang to his feet with a new idea in +his head, and walked to the door. His room had no direct outlet on the +passage, but let on one side into the glass office, and on the other +into the cloak room beyond. He tried the door into the office, and +found it locked. Then he looked at the window, now a square pane full of +purple cloud cleft by livid sunset, and for an instant he smelt evil as +a dog smells rats. + +The rational part of him (whether the wiser or not) regained its +supremacy. He remembered that the proprietor had told him that he should +lock the door, and would come later to release him. He told himself that +twenty things he had not thought of might explain the eccentric sounds +outside; he reminded himself that there was just enough light left to +finish his own proper work. Bringing his paper to the window so as to +catch the last stormy evening light, he resolutely plunged once more +into the almost completed record. He had written for about twenty +minutes, bending closer and closer to his paper in the lessening light; +then suddenly he sat upright. He had heard the strange feet once more. + +This time they had a third oddity. Previously the unknown man had +walked, with levity indeed and lightning quickness, but he had walked. +This time he ran. One could hear the swift, soft, bounding steps coming +along the corridor, like the pads of a fleeing and leaping panther. +Whoever was coming was a very strong, active man, in still yet tearing +excitement. Yet, when the sound had swept up to the office like a sort +of whispering whirlwind, it suddenly changed again to the old slow, +swaggering stamp. + +Father Brown flung down his paper, and, knowing the office door to +be locked, went at once into the cloak room on the other side. The +attendant of this place was temporarily absent, probably because the +only guests were at dinner and his office was a sinecure. After groping +through a grey forest of overcoats, he found that the dim cloak room +opened on the lighted corridor in the form of a sort of counter or +half-door, like most of the counters across which we have all handed +umbrellas and received tickets. There was a light immediately above +the semicircular arch of this opening. It threw little illumination on +Father Brown himself, who seemed a mere dark outline against the dim +sunset window behind him. But it threw an almost theatrical light on the +man who stood outside the cloak room in the corridor. + +He was an elegant man in very plain evening dress; tall, but with an air +of not taking up much room; one felt that he could have slid along like +a shadow where many smaller men would have been obvious and obstructive. +His face, now flung back in the lamplight, was swarthy and vivacious, +the face of a foreigner. His figure was good, his manners good humoured +and confident; a critic could only say that his black coat was a shade +below his figure and manners, and even bulged and bagged in an odd +way. The moment he caught sight of Brown's black silhouette against the +sunset, he tossed down a scrap of paper with a number and called out +with amiable authority: "I want my hat and coat, please; I find I have +to go away at once." + +Father Brown took the paper without a word, and obediently went to look +for the coat; it was not the first menial work he had done in his +life. He brought it and laid it on the counter; meanwhile, the strange +gentleman who had been feeling in his waistcoat pocket, said laughing: +"I haven't got any silver; you can keep this." And he threw down half a +sovereign, and caught up his coat. + +Father Brown's figure remained quite dark and still; but in that instant +he had lost his head. His head was always most valuable when he had lost +it. In such moments he put two and two together and made four million. +Often the Catholic Church (which is wedded to common sense) did not +approve of it. Often he did not approve of it himself. But it was real +inspiration--important at rare crises--when whosoever shall lose his +head the same shall save it. + +"I think, sir," he said civilly, "that you have some silver in your +pocket." + +The tall gentleman stared. "Hang it," he cried, "if I choose to give you +gold, why should you complain?" + +"Because silver is sometimes more valuable than gold," said the priest +mildly; "that is, in large quantities." + +The stranger looked at him curiously. Then he looked still more +curiously up the passage towards the main entrance. Then he looked back +at Brown again, and then he looked very carefully at the window beyond +Brown's head, still coloured with the after-glow of the storm. Then he +seemed to make up his mind. He put one hand on the counter, vaulted +over as easily as an acrobat and towered above the priest, putting one +tremendous hand upon his collar. + +"Stand still," he said, in a hacking whisper. "I don't want to threaten +you, but--" + +"I do want to threaten you," said Father Brown, in a voice like a +rolling drum, "I want to threaten you with the worm that dieth not, and +the fire that is not quenched." + +"You're a rum sort of cloak-room clerk," said the other. + +"I am a priest, Monsieur Flambeau," said Brown, "and I am ready to hear +your confession." + +The other stood gasping for a few moments, and then staggered back into +a chair. + +The first two courses of the dinner of The Twelve True Fishermen had +proceeded with placid success. I do not possess a copy of the menu; and +if I did it would not convey anything to anybody. It was written in +a sort of super-French employed by cooks, but quite unintelligible to +Frenchmen. There was a tradition in the club that the hors d'oeuvres +should be various and manifold to the point of madness. They were taken +seriously because they were avowedly useless extras, like the whole +dinner and the whole club. There was also a tradition that the soup +course should be light and unpretending--a sort of simple and austere +vigil for the feast of fish that was to come. The talk was that strange, +slight talk which governs the British Empire, which governs it in +secret, and yet would scarcely enlighten an ordinary Englishman even if +he could overhear it. Cabinet ministers on both sides were alluded to +by their Christian names with a sort of bored benignity. The Radical +Chancellor of the Exchequer, whom the whole Tory party was supposed to +be cursing for his extortions, was praised for his minor poetry, or his +saddle in the hunting field. The Tory leader, whom all Liberals +were supposed to hate as a tyrant, was discussed and, on the whole, +praised--as a Liberal. It seemed somehow that politicians were very +important. And yet, anything seemed important about them except their +politics. Mr. Audley, the chairman, was an amiable, elderly man who +still wore Gladstone collars; he was a kind of symbol of all that +phantasmal and yet fixed society. He had never done anything--not even +anything wrong. He was not fast; he was not even particularly rich. +He was simply in the thing; and there was an end of it. No party could +ignore him, and if he had wished to be in the Cabinet he certainly would +have been put there. The Duke of Chester, the vice-president, was a +young and rising politician. That is to say, he was a pleasant youth, +with flat, fair hair and a freckled face, with moderate intelligence and +enormous estates. In public his appearances were always successful and +his principle was simple enough. When he thought of a joke he made it, +and was called brilliant. When he could not think of a joke he said that +this was no time for trifling, and was called able. In private, in a +club of his own class, he was simply quite pleasantly frank and silly, +like a schoolboy. Mr. Audley, never having been in politics, treated +them a little more seriously. Sometimes he even embarrassed the company +by phrases suggesting that there was some difference between a Liberal +and a Conservative. He himself was a Conservative, even in private life. +He had a roll of grey hair over the back of his collar, like certain +old-fashioned statesmen, and seen from behind he looked like the man the +empire wants. Seen from the front he looked like a mild, self-indulgent +bachelor, with rooms in the Albany--which he was. + +As has been remarked, there were twenty-four seats at the terrace table, +and only twelve members of the club. Thus they could occupy the terrace +in the most luxurious style of all, being ranged along the inner side of +the table, with no one opposite, commanding an uninterrupted view of +the garden, the colours of which were still vivid, though evening was +closing in somewhat luridly for the time of year. The chairman sat in +the centre of the line, and the vice-president at the right-hand end +of it. When the twelve guests first trooped into their seats it was the +custom (for some unknown reason) for all the fifteen waiters to stand +lining the wall like troops presenting arms to the king, while the fat +proprietor stood and bowed to the club with radiant surprise, as if he +had never heard of them before. But before the first chink of knife and +fork this army of retainers had vanished, only the one or two required +to collect and distribute the plates darting about in deathly silence. +Mr. Lever, the proprietor, of course had disappeared in convulsions of +courtesy long before. It would be exaggerative, indeed irreverent, +to say that he ever positively appeared again. But when the important +course, the fish course, was being brought on, there was--how shall I +put it?--a vivid shadow, a projection of his personality, which told +that he was hovering near. The sacred fish course consisted (to the eyes +of the vulgar) in a sort of monstrous pudding, about the size and shape +of a wedding cake, in which some considerable number of interesting +fishes had finally lost the shapes which God had given to them. The +Twelve True Fishermen took up their celebrated fish knives and fish +forks, and approached it as gravely as if every inch of the pudding cost +as much as the silver fork it was eaten with. So it did, for all I know. +This course was dealt with in eager and devouring silence; and it was +only when his plate was nearly empty that the young duke made the ritual +remark: "They can't do this anywhere but here." + +"Nowhere," said Mr. Audley, in a deep bass voice, turning to the speaker +and nodding his venerable head a number of times. "Nowhere, assuredly, +except here. It was represented to me that at the Cafe Anglais--" + +Here he was interrupted and even agitated for a moment by the removal +of his plate, but he recaptured the valuable thread of his thoughts. "It +was represented to me that the same could be done at the Cafe Anglais. +Nothing like it, sir," he said, shaking his head ruthlessly, like a +hanging judge. "Nothing like it." + +"Overrated place," said a certain Colonel Pound, speaking (by the look +of him) for the first time for some months. + +"Oh, I don't know," said the Duke of Chester, who was an optimist, "it's +jolly good for some things. You can't beat it at--" + +A waiter came swiftly along the room, and then stopped dead. His +stoppage was as silent as his tread; but all those vague and kindly +gentlemen were so used to the utter smoothness of the unseen machinery +which surrounded and supported their lives, that a waiter doing anything +unexpected was a start and a jar. They felt as you and I would feel if +the inanimate world disobeyed--if a chair ran away from us. + +The waiter stood staring a few seconds, while there deepened on every +face at table a strange shame which is wholly the product of our time. +It is the combination of modern humanitarianism with the horrible +modern abyss between the souls of the rich and poor. A genuine historic +aristocrat would have thrown things at the waiter, beginning with empty +bottles, and very probably ending with money. A genuine democrat would +have asked him, with comrade-like clearness of speech, what the devil he +was doing. But these modern plutocrats could not bear a poor man near +to them, either as a slave or as a friend. That something had gone wrong +with the servants was merely a dull, hot embarrassment. They did not +want to be brutal, and they dreaded the need to be benevolent. They +wanted the thing, whatever it was, to be over. It was over. The waiter, +after standing for some seconds rigid, like a cataleptic, turned round +and ran madly out of the room. + +When he reappeared in the room, or rather in the doorway, it was in +company with another waiter, with whom he whispered and gesticulated +with southern fierceness. Then the first waiter went away, leaving the +second waiter, and reappeared with a third waiter. By the time a fourth +waiter had joined this hurried synod, Mr. Audley felt it necessary to +break the silence in the interests of Tact. He used a very loud cough, +instead of a presidential hammer, and said: "Splendid work young +Moocher's doing in Burmah. Now, no other nation in the world could +have--" + +A fifth waiter had sped towards him like an arrow, and was whispering in +his ear: "So sorry. Important! Might the proprietor speak to you?" + +The chairman turned in disorder, and with a dazed stare saw Mr. Lever +coming towards them with his lumbering quickness. The gait of the good +proprietor was indeed his usual gait, but his face was by no means +usual. Generally it was a genial copper-brown; now it was a sickly +yellow. + +"You will pardon me, Mr. Audley," he said, with asthmatic +breathlessness. "I have great apprehensions. Your fish-plates, they are +cleared away with the knife and fork on them!" + +"Well, I hope so," said the chairman, with some warmth. + +"You see him?" panted the excited hotel keeper; "you see the waiter who +took them away? You know him?" + +"Know the waiter?" answered Mr. Audley indignantly. "Certainly not!" + +Mr. Lever opened his hands with a gesture of agony. "I never send him," +he said. "I know not when or why he come. I send my waiter to take away +the plates, and he find them already away." + +Mr. Audley still looked rather too bewildered to be really the man the +empire wants; none of the company could say anything except the man of +wood--Colonel Pound--who seemed galvanised into an unnatural life. He +rose rigidly from his chair, leaving all the rest sitting, screwed his +eyeglass into his eye, and spoke in a raucous undertone as if he had +half-forgotten how to speak. "Do you mean," he said, "that somebody has +stolen our silver fish service?" + +The proprietor repeated the open-handed gesture with even greater +helplessness and in a flash all the men at the table were on their feet. + +"Are all your waiters here?" demanded the colonel, in his low, harsh +accent. + +"Yes; they're all here. I noticed it myself," cried the young duke, +pushing his boyish face into the inmost ring. "Always count 'em as I +come in; they look so queer standing up against the wall." + +"But surely one cannot exactly remember," began Mr. Audley, with heavy +hesitation. + +"I remember exactly, I tell you," cried the duke excitedly. "There never +have been more than fifteen waiters at this place, and there were no +more than fifteen tonight, I'll swear; no more and no less." + +The proprietor turned upon him, quaking in a kind of palsy of surprise. +"You say--you say," he stammered, "that you see all my fifteen waiters?" + +"As usual," assented the duke. "What is the matter with that!" + +"Nothing," said Lever, with a deepening accent, "only you did not. For +one of zem is dead upstairs." + +There was a shocking stillness for an instant in that room. It may be +(so supernatural is the word death) that each of those idle men looked +for a second at his soul, and saw it as a small dried pea. One of +them--the duke, I think--even said with the idiotic kindness of wealth: +"Is there anything we can do?" + +"He has had a priest," said the Jew, not untouched. + +Then, as to the clang of doom, they awoke to their own position. For a +few weird seconds they had really felt as if the fifteenth waiter might +be the ghost of the dead man upstairs. They had been dumb under that +oppression, for ghosts were to them an embarrassment, like beggars. But +the remembrance of the silver broke the spell of the miraculous; broke +it abruptly and with a brutal reaction. The colonel flung over his chair +and strode to the door. "If there was a fifteenth man here, friends," he +said, "that fifteenth fellow was a thief. Down at once to the front +and back doors and secure everything; then we'll talk. The twenty-four +pearls of the club are worth recovering." + +Mr. Audley seemed at first to hesitate about whether it was gentlemanly +to be in such a hurry about anything; but, seeing the duke dash down the +stairs with youthful energy, he followed with a more mature motion. + +At the same instant a sixth waiter ran into the room, and declared that +he had found the pile of fish plates on a sideboard, with no trace of +the silver. + +The crowd of diners and attendants that tumbled helter-skelter down the +passages divided into two groups. Most of the Fishermen followed the +proprietor to the front room to demand news of any exit. Colonel Pound, +with the chairman, the vice-president, and one or two others darted down +the corridor leading to the servants' quarters, as the more likely line +of escape. As they did so they passed the dim alcove or cavern of +the cloak room, and saw a short, black-coated figure, presumably an +attendant, standing a little way back in the shadow of it. + +"Hallo, there!" called out the duke. "Have you seen anyone pass?" + +The short figure did not answer the question directly, but merely said: +"Perhaps I have got what you are looking for, gentlemen." + +They paused, wavering and wondering, while he quietly went to the back +of the cloak room, and came back with both hands full of shining silver, +which he laid out on the counter as calmly as a salesman. It took the +form of a dozen quaintly shaped forks and knives. + +"You--you--" began the colonel, quite thrown off his balance at last. +Then he peered into the dim little room and saw two things: first, that +the short, black-clad man was dressed like a clergyman; and, second, +that the window of the room behind him was burst, as if someone had +passed violently through. "Valuable things to deposit in a cloak room, +aren't they?" remarked the clergyman, with cheerful composure. + +"Did--did you steal those things?" stammered Mr. Audley, with staring +eyes. + +"If I did," said the cleric pleasantly, "at least I am bringing them +back again." + +"But you didn't," said Colonel Pound, still staring at the broken +window. + +"To make a clean breast of it, I didn't," said the other, with some +humour. And he seated himself quite gravely on a stool. "But you know +who did," said the, colonel. + +"I don't know his real name," said the priest placidly, "but I know +something of his fighting weight, and a great deal about his spiritual +difficulties. I formed the physical estimate when he was trying to +throttle me, and the moral estimate when he repented." + +"Oh, I say--repented!" cried young Chester, with a sort of crow of +laughter. + +Father Brown got to his feet, putting his hands behind him. "Odd, isn't +it," he said, "that a thief and a vagabond should repent, when so many +who are rich and secure remain hard and frivolous, and without fruit for +God or man? But there, if you will excuse me, you trespass a little upon +my province. If you doubt the penitence as a practical fact, there are +your knives and forks. You are The Twelve True Fishers, and there are +all your silver fish. But He has made me a fisher of men." + +"Did you catch this man?" asked the colonel, frowning. + +Father Brown looked him full in his frowning face. "Yes," he said, "I +caught him, with an unseen hook and an invisible line which is long +enough to let him wander to the ends of the world, and still to bring +him back with a twitch upon the thread." + +There was a long silence. All the other men present drifted away +to carry the recovered silver to their comrades, or to consult the +proprietor about the queer condition of affairs. But the grim-faced +colonel still sat sideways on the counter, swinging his long, lank legs +and biting his dark moustache. + +At last he said quietly to the priest: "He must have been a clever +fellow, but I think I know a cleverer." + +"He was a clever fellow," answered the other, "but I am not quite sure +of what other you mean." + +"I mean you," said the colonel, with a short laugh. "I don't want to get +the fellow jailed; make yourself easy about that. But I'd give a good +many silver forks to know exactly how you fell into this affair, and how +you got the stuff out of him. I reckon you're the most up-to-date devil +of the present company." + +Father Brown seemed rather to like the saturnine candour of the soldier. +"Well," he said, smiling, "I mustn't tell you anything of the man's +identity, or his own story, of course; but there's no particular reason +why I shouldn't tell you of the mere outside facts which I found out for +myself." + +He hopped over the barrier with unexpected activity, and sat beside +Colonel Pound, kicking his short legs like a little boy on a gate. He +began to tell the story as easily as if he were telling it to an old +friend by a Christmas fire. + +"You see, colonel," he said, "I was shut up in that small room there +doing some writing, when I heard a pair of feet in this passage doing a +dance that was as queer as the dance of death. First came quick, funny +little steps, like a man walking on tiptoe for a wager; then came slow, +careless, creaking steps, as of a big man walking about with a cigar. +But they were both made by the same feet, I swear, and they came in +rotation; first the run and then the walk, and then the run again. I +wondered at first idly and then wildly why a man should act these two +parts at once. One walk I knew; it was just like yours, colonel. It +was the walk of a well-fed gentleman waiting for something, who strolls +about rather because he is physically alert than because he is mentally +impatient. I knew that I knew the other walk, too, but I could not +remember what it was. What wild creature had I met on my travels that +tore along on tiptoe in that extraordinary style? Then I heard a clink +of plates somewhere; and the answer stood up as plain as St. Peter's. It +was the walk of a waiter--that walk with the body slanted forward, the +eyes looking down, the ball of the toe spurning away the ground, the +coat tails and napkin flying. Then I thought for a minute and a half +more. And I believe I saw the manner of the crime, as clearly as if I +were going to commit it." + +Colonel Pound looked at him keenly, but the speaker's mild grey eyes +were fixed upon the ceiling with almost empty wistfulness. + +"A crime," he said slowly, "is like any other work of art. Don't look +surprised; crimes are by no means the only works of art that come from +an infernal workshop. But every work of art, divine or diabolic, has +one indispensable mark--I mean, that the centre of it is simple, however +much the fulfilment may be complicated. Thus, in Hamlet, let us say, +the grotesqueness of the grave-digger, the flowers of the mad girl, the +fantastic finery of Osric, the pallor of the ghost and the grin of +the skull are all oddities in a sort of tangled wreath round one plain +tragic figure of a man in black. Well, this also," he said, getting +slowly down from his seat with a smile, "this also is the plain tragedy +of a man in black. Yes," he went on, seeing the colonel look up in some +wonder, "the whole of this tale turns on a black coat. In this, as in +Hamlet, there are the rococo excrescences--yourselves, let us say. There +is the dead waiter, who was there when he could not be there. There is +the invisible hand that swept your table clear of silver and melted +into air. But every clever crime is founded ultimately on some one quite +simple fact--some fact that is not itself mysterious. The mystification +comes in covering it up, in leading men's thoughts away from it. This +large and subtle and (in the ordinary course) most profitable crime, was +built on the plain fact that a gentleman's evening dress is the same as +a waiter's. All the rest was acting, and thundering good acting, too." + +"Still," said the colonel, getting up and frowning at his boots, "I am +not sure that I understand." + +"Colonel," said Father Brown, "I tell you that this archangel of +impudence who stole your forks walked up and down this passage twenty +times in the blaze of all the lamps, in the glare of all the eyes. He +did not go and hide in dim corners where suspicion might have searched +for him. He kept constantly on the move in the lighted corridors, and +everywhere that he went he seemed to be there by right. Don't ask me +what he was like; you have seen him yourself six or seven times tonight. +You were waiting with all the other grand people in the reception room +at the end of the passage there, with the terrace just beyond. Whenever +he came among you gentlemen, he came in the lightning style of a waiter, +with bent head, flapping napkin and flying feet. He shot out on to the +terrace, did something to the table cloth, and shot back again towards +the office and the waiters' quarters. By the time he had come under the +eye of the office clerk and the waiters he had become another man in +every inch of his body, in every instinctive gesture. He strolled among +the servants with the absent-minded insolence which they have all seen +in their patrons. It was no new thing to them that a swell from the +dinner party should pace all parts of the house like an animal at the +Zoo; they know that nothing marks the Smart Set more than a habit of +walking where one chooses. When he was magnificently weary of walking +down that particular passage he would wheel round and pace back past +the office; in the shadow of the arch just beyond he was altered as by +a blast of magic, and went hurrying forward again among the Twelve +Fishermen, an obsequious attendant. Why should the gentlemen look at +a chance waiter? Why should the waiters suspect a first-rate walking +gentleman? Once or twice he played the coolest tricks. In the +proprietor's private quarters he called out breezily for a syphon of +soda water, saying he was thirsty. He said genially that he would carry +it himself, and he did; he carried it quickly and correctly through the +thick of you, a waiter with an obvious errand. Of course, it could not +have been kept up long, but it only had to be kept up till the end of +the fish course. + +"His worst moment was when the waiters stood in a row; but even then he +contrived to lean against the wall just round the corner in such a way +that for that important instant the waiters thought him a gentleman, +while the gentlemen thought him a waiter. The rest went like winking. If +any waiter caught him away from the table, that waiter caught a languid +aristocrat. He had only to time himself two minutes before the fish was +cleared, become a swift servant, and clear it himself. He put the plates +down on a sideboard, stuffed the silver in his breast pocket, giving it +a bulgy look, and ran like a hare (I heard him coming) till he came to +the cloak room. There he had only to be a plutocrat again--a plutocrat +called away suddenly on business. He had only to give his ticket to +the cloak-room attendant, and go out again elegantly as he had come in. +Only--only I happened to be the cloak-room attendant." + +"What did you do to him?" cried the colonel, with unusual intensity. +"What did he tell you?" + +"I beg your pardon," said the priest immovably, "that is where the story +ends." + +"And the interesting story begins," muttered Pound. "I think I +understand his professional trick. But I don't seem to have got hold of +yours." + +"I must be going," said Father Brown. + +They walked together along the passage to the entrance hall, where they +saw the fresh, freckled face of the Duke of Chester, who was bounding +buoyantly along towards them. + +"Come along, Pound," he cried breathlessly. "I've been looking for you +everywhere. The dinner's going again in spanking style, and old Audley +has got to make a speech in honour of the forks being saved. We want to +start some new ceremony, don't you know, to commemorate the occasion. I +say, you really got the goods back, what do you suggest?" + +"Why," said the colonel, eyeing him with a certain sardonic approval, "I +should suggest that henceforward we wear green coats, instead of +black. One never knows what mistakes may arise when one looks so like a +waiter." + +"Oh, hang it all!" said the young man, "a gentleman never looks like a +waiter." + +"Nor a waiter like a gentleman, I suppose," said Colonel Pound, with the +same lowering laughter on his face. "Reverend sir, your friend must have +been very smart to act the gentleman." + +Father Brown buttoned up his commonplace overcoat to the neck, for the +night was stormy, and took his commonplace umbrella from the stand. + +"Yes," he said; "it must be very hard work to be a gentleman; but, do +you know, I have sometimes thought that it may be almost as laborious to +be a waiter." + +And saying "Good evening," he pushed open the heavy doors of that palace +of pleasures. The golden gates closed behind him, and he went at a brisk +walk through the damp, dark streets in search of a penny omnibus. + + + + +The Flying Stars + + +"The most beautiful crime I ever committed," Flambeau would say in his +highly moral old age, "was also, by a singular coincidence, my last. +It was committed at Christmas. As an artist I had always attempted to +provide crimes suitable to the special season or landscapes in which I +found myself, choosing this or that terrace or garden for a catastrophe, +as if for a statuary group. Thus squires should be swindled in long +rooms panelled with oak; while Jews, on the other hand, should rather +find themselves unexpectedly penniless among the lights and screens of +the Cafe Riche. Thus, in England, if I wished to relieve a dean of his +riches (which is not so easy as you might suppose), I wished to frame +him, if I make myself clear, in the green lawns and grey towers of some +cathedral town. Similarly, in France, when I had got money out of a rich +and wicked peasant (which is almost impossible), it gratified me to get +his indignant head relieved against a grey line of clipped poplars, +and those solemn plains of Gaul over which broods the mighty spirit of +Millet. + +"Well, my last crime was a Christmas crime, a cheery, cosy, English +middle-class crime; a crime of Charles Dickens. I did it in a good old +middle-class house near Putney, a house with a crescent of carriage +drive, a house with a stable by the side of it, a house with the name +on the two outer gates, a house with a monkey tree. Enough, you know the +species. I really think my imitation of Dickens's style was dexterous +and literary. It seems almost a pity I repented the same evening." + +Flambeau would then proceed to tell the story from the inside; and +even from the inside it was odd. Seen from the outside it was perfectly +incomprehensible, and it is from the outside that the stranger must +study it. From this standpoint the drama may be said to have begun when +the front doors of the house with the stable opened on the garden with +the monkey tree, and a young girl came out with bread to feed the birds +on the afternoon of Boxing Day. She had a pretty face, with brave brown +eyes; but her figure was beyond conjecture, for she was so wrapped up in +brown furs that it was hard to say which was hair and which was fur. But +for the attractive face she might have been a small toddling bear. + +The winter afternoon was reddening towards evening, and already a ruby +light was rolled over the bloomless beds, filling them, as it were, with +the ghosts of the dead roses. On one side of the house stood the stable, +on the other an alley or cloister of laurels led to the larger garden +behind. The young lady, having scattered bread for the birds (for +the fourth or fifth time that day, because the dog ate it), passed +unobtrusively down the lane of laurels and into a glimmering plantation +of evergreens behind. Here she gave an exclamation of wonder, real or +ritual, and looking up at the high garden wall above her, beheld it +fantastically bestridden by a somewhat fantastic figure. + +"Oh, don't jump, Mr. Crook," she called out in some alarm; "it's much +too high." + +The individual riding the party wall like an aerial horse was a tall, +angular young man, with dark hair sticking up like a hair brush, +intelligent and even distinguished lineaments, but a sallow and almost +alien complexion. This showed the more plainly because he wore an +aggressive red tie, the only part of his costume of which he seemed to +take any care. Perhaps it was a symbol. He took no notice of the girl's +alarmed adjuration, but leapt like a grasshopper to the ground beside +her, where he might very well have broken his legs. + +"I think I was meant to be a burglar," he said placidly, "and I have no +doubt I should have been if I hadn't happened to be born in that nice +house next door. I can't see any harm in it, anyhow." + +"How can you say such things!" she remonstrated. + +"Well," said the young man, "if you're born on the wrong side of the +wall, I can't see that it's wrong to climb over it." + +"I never know what you will say or do next," she said. + +"I don't often know myself," replied Mr. Crook; "but then I am on the +right side of the wall now." + +"And which is the right side of the wall?" asked the young lady, +smiling. + +"Whichever side you are on," said the young man named Crook. + +As they went together through the laurels towards the front garden +a motor horn sounded thrice, coming nearer and nearer, and a car of +splendid speed, great elegance, and a pale green colour swept up to the +front doors like a bird and stood throbbing. + +"Hullo, hullo!" said the young man with the red tie, "here's somebody +born on the right side, anyhow. I didn't know, Miss Adams, that your +Santa Claus was so modern as this." + +"Oh, that's my godfather, Sir Leopold Fischer. He always comes on Boxing +Day." + +Then, after an innocent pause, which unconsciously betrayed some lack of +enthusiasm, Ruby Adams added: + +"He is very kind." + +John Crook, journalist, had heard of that eminent City magnate; and +it was not his fault if the City magnate had not heard of him; for in +certain articles in The Clarion or The New Age Sir Leopold had been +dealt with austerely. But he said nothing and grimly watched the +unloading of the motor-car, which was rather a long process. A large, +neat chauffeur in green got out from the front, and a small, neat +manservant in grey got out from the back, and between them they +deposited Sir Leopold on the doorstep and began to unpack him, like some +very carefully protected parcel. Rugs enough to stock a bazaar, furs +of all the beasts of the forest, and scarves of all the colours of +the rainbow were unwrapped one by one, till they revealed something +resembling the human form; the form of a friendly, but foreign-looking +old gentleman, with a grey goat-like beard and a beaming smile, who +rubbed his big fur gloves together. + +Long before this revelation was complete the two big doors of the porch +had opened in the middle, and Colonel Adams (father of the furry young +lady) had come out himself to invite his eminent guest inside. He was a +tall, sunburnt, and very silent man, who wore a red smoking-cap like a +fez, making him look like one of the English Sirdars or Pashas in Egypt. +With him was his brother-in-law, lately come from Canada, a big and +rather boisterous young gentleman-farmer, with a yellow beard, by name +James Blount. With him also was the more insignificant figure of the +priest from the neighbouring Roman Church; for the colonel's late wife +had been a Catholic, and the children, as is common in such cases, had +been trained to follow her. Everything seemed undistinguished about +the priest, even down to his name, which was Brown; yet the colonel had +always found something companionable about him, and frequently asked him +to such family gatherings. + +In the large entrance hall of the house there was ample room even for +Sir Leopold and the removal of his wraps. Porch and vestibule, indeed, +were unduly large in proportion to the house, and formed, as it were, a +big room with the front door at one end, and the bottom of the staircase +at the other. In front of the large hall fire, over which hung the +colonel's sword, the process was completed and the company, including +the saturnine Crook, presented to Sir Leopold Fischer. That venerable +financier, however, still seemed struggling with portions of his +well-lined attire, and at length produced from a very interior tail-coat +pocket, a black oval case which he radiantly explained to be his +Christmas present for his god-daughter. With an unaffected vain-glory +that had something disarming about it he held out the case before them +all; it flew open at a touch and half-blinded them. It was just as if a +crystal fountain had spurted in their eyes. In a nest of orange velvet +lay like three eggs, three white and vivid diamonds that seemed to set +the very air on fire all round them. Fischer stood beaming benevolently +and drinking deep of the astonishment and ecstasy of the girl, the grim +admiration and gruff thanks of the colonel, the wonder of the whole +group. + +"I'll put 'em back now, my dear," said Fischer, returning the case to +the tails of his coat. "I had to be careful of 'em coming down. They're +the three great African diamonds called 'The Flying Stars,' because +they've been stolen so often. All the big criminals are on the track; +but even the rough men about in the streets and hotels could hardly have +kept their hands off them. I might have lost them on the road here. It +was quite possible." + +"Quite natural, I should say," growled the man in the red tie. "I +shouldn't blame 'em if they had taken 'em. When they ask for bread, and +you don't even give them a stone, I think they might take the stone for +themselves." + +"I won't have you talking like that," cried the girl, who was in a +curious glow. "You've only talked like that since you became a horrid +what's-his-name. You know what I mean. What do you call a man who wants +to embrace the chimney-sweep?" + +"A saint," said Father Brown. + +"I think," said Sir Leopold, with a supercilious smile, "that Ruby means +a Socialist." + +"A radical does not mean a man who lives on radishes," remarked Crook, +with some impatience; "and a Conservative does not mean a man who +preserves jam. Neither, I assure you, does a Socialist mean a man who +desires a social evening with the chimney-sweep. A Socialist means a +man who wants all the chimneys swept and all the chimney-sweeps paid for +it." + +"But who won't allow you," put in the priest in a low voice, "to own +your own soot." + +Crook looked at him with an eye of interest and even respect. "Does one +want to own soot?" he asked. + +"One might," answered Brown, with speculation in his eye. "I've heard +that gardeners use it. And I once made six children happy at Christmas +when the conjuror didn't come, entirely with soot--applied externally." + +"Oh, splendid," cried Ruby. "Oh, I wish you'd do it to this company." + +The boisterous Canadian, Mr. Blount, was lifting his loud voice in +applause, and the astonished financier his (in some considerable +deprecation), when a knock sounded at the double front doors. The priest +opened them, and they showed again the front garden of evergreens, +monkey-tree and all, now gathering gloom against a gorgeous violet +sunset. The scene thus framed was so coloured and quaint, like a back +scene in a play, that they forgot a moment the insignificant figure +standing in the door. He was dusty-looking and in a frayed coat, +evidently a common messenger. "Any of you gentlemen Mr. Blount?" he +asked, and held forward a letter doubtfully. Mr. Blount started, and +stopped in his shout of assent. Ripping up the envelope with evident +astonishment he read it; his face clouded a little, and then cleared, +and he turned to his brother-in-law and host. + +"I'm sick at being such a nuisance, colonel," he said, with the cheery +colonial conventions; "but would it upset you if an old acquaintance +called on me here tonight on business? In point of fact it's Florian, +that famous French acrobat and comic actor; I knew him years ago out +West (he was a French-Canadian by birth), and he seems to have business +for me, though I hardly guess what." + +"Of course, of course," replied the colonel carelessly--"My dear chap, +any friend of yours. No doubt he will prove an acquisition." + +"He'll black his face, if that's what you mean," cried Blount, laughing. +"I don't doubt he'd black everyone else's eyes. I don't care; I'm not +refined. I like the jolly old pantomime where a man sits on his top +hat." + +"Not on mine, please," said Sir Leopold Fischer, with dignity. + +"Well, well," observed Crook, airily, "don't let's quarrel. There are +lower jokes than sitting on a top hat." + +Dislike of the red-tied youth, born of his predatory opinions and +evident intimacy with the pretty godchild, led Fischer to say, in his +most sarcastic, magisterial manner: "No doubt you have found something +much lower than sitting on a top hat. What is it, pray?" + +"Letting a top hat sit on you, for instance," said the Socialist. + +"Now, now, now," cried the Canadian farmer with his barbarian +benevolence, "don't let's spoil a jolly evening. What I say is, let's +do something for the company tonight. Not blacking faces or sitting on +hats, if you don't like those--but something of the sort. Why couldn't +we have a proper old English pantomime--clown, columbine, and so on. I +saw one when I left England at twelve years old, and it's blazed in my +brain like a bonfire ever since. I came back to the old country +only last year, and I find the thing's extinct. Nothing but a lot of +snivelling fairy plays. I want a hot poker and a policeman made into +sausages, and they give me princesses moralising by moonlight, Blue +Birds, or something. Blue Beard's more in my line, and him I like best +when he turned into the pantaloon." + +"I'm all for making a policeman into sausages," said John Crook. "It's a +better definition of Socialism than some recently given. But surely the +get-up would be too big a business." + +"Not a scrap," cried Blount, quite carried away. "A harlequinade's the +quickest thing we can do, for two reasons. First, one can gag to any +degree; and, second, all the objects are household things--tables and +towel-horses and washing baskets, and things like that." + +"That's true," admitted Crook, nodding eagerly and walking about. +"But I'm afraid I can't have my policeman's uniform? Haven't killed a +policeman lately." + +Blount frowned thoughtfully a space, and then smote his thigh. "Yes, +we can!" he cried. "I've got Florian's address here, and he knows every +costumier in London. I'll phone him to bring a police dress when he +comes." And he went bounding away to the telephone. + +"Oh, it's glorious, godfather," cried Ruby, almost dancing. "I'll be +columbine and you shall be pantaloon." + +The millionaire held himself stiff with a sort of heathen solemnity. "I +think, my dear," he said, "you must get someone else for pantaloon." + +"I will be pantaloon, if you like," said Colonel Adams, taking his cigar +out of his mouth, and speaking for the first and last time. + +"You ought to have a statue," cried the Canadian, as he came back, +radiant, from the telephone. "There, we are all fitted. Mr. Crook shall +be clown; he's a journalist and knows all the oldest jokes. I can +be harlequin, that only wants long legs and jumping about. My friend +Florian 'phones he's bringing the police costume; he's changing on the +way. We can act it in this very hall, the audience sitting on those +broad stairs opposite, one row above another. These front doors can be +the back scene, either open or shut. Shut, you see an English interior. +Open, a moonlit garden. It all goes by magic." And snatching a chance +piece of billiard chalk from his pocket, he ran it across the hall +floor, half-way between the front door and the staircase, to mark the +line of the footlights. + +How even such a banquet of bosh was got ready in the time remained +a riddle. But they went at it with that mixture of recklessness and +industry that lives when youth is in a house; and youth was in that +house that night, though not all may have isolated the two faces and +hearts from which it flamed. As always happens, the invention grew +wilder and wilder through the very tameness of the bourgeois conventions +from which it had to create. The columbine looked charming in an +outstanding skirt that strangely resembled the large lamp-shade in the +drawing-room. The clown and pantaloon made themselves white with flour +from the cook, and red with rouge from some other domestic, who remained +(like all true Christian benefactors) anonymous. The harlequin, already +clad in silver paper out of cigar boxes, was, with difficulty, prevented +from smashing the old Victorian lustre chandeliers, that he might cover +himself with resplendent crystals. In fact he would certainly have done +so, had not Ruby unearthed some old pantomime paste jewels she had worn +at a fancy dress party as the Queen of Diamonds. Indeed, her uncle, +James Blount, was getting almost out of hand in his excitement; he was +like a schoolboy. He put a paper donkey's head unexpectedly on Father +Brown, who bore it patiently, and even found some private manner of +moving his ears. He even essayed to put the paper donkey's tail to the +coat-tails of Sir Leopold Fischer. This, however, was frowned down. +"Uncle is too absurd," cried Ruby to Crook, round whose shoulders she +had seriously placed a string of sausages. "Why is he so wild?" + +"He is harlequin to your columbine," said Crook. "I am only the clown +who makes the old jokes." + +"I wish you were the harlequin," she said, and left the string of +sausages swinging. + +Father Brown, though he knew every detail done behind the scenes, +and had even evoked applause by his transformation of a pillow into a +pantomime baby, went round to the front and sat among the audience +with all the solemn expectation of a child at his first matinee. The +spectators were few, relations, one or two local friends, and the +servants; Sir Leopold sat in the front seat, his full and still +fur-collared figure largely obscuring the view of the little cleric +behind him; but it has never been settled by artistic authorities +whether the cleric lost much. The pantomime was utterly chaotic, yet not +contemptible; there ran through it a rage of improvisation which came +chiefly from Crook the clown. Commonly he was a clever man, and he was +inspired tonight with a wild omniscience, a folly wiser than the world, +that which comes to a young man who has seen for an instant a particular +expression on a particular face. He was supposed to be the clown, but +he was really almost everything else, the author (so far as there was an +author), the prompter, the scene-painter, the scene-shifter, and, above +all, the orchestra. At abrupt intervals in the outrageous performance +he would hurl himself in full costume at the piano and bang out some +popular music equally absurd and appropriate. + +The climax of this, as of all else, was the moment when the two front +doors at the back of the scene flew open, showing the lovely moonlit +garden, but showing more prominently the famous professional guest; the +great Florian, dressed up as a policeman. The clown at the piano played +the constabulary chorus in the "Pirates of Penzance," but it was drowned +in the deafening applause, for every gesture of the great comic actor +was an admirable though restrained version of the carriage and manner +of the police. The harlequin leapt upon him and hit him over the helmet; +the pianist playing "Where did you get that hat?" he faced about in +admirably simulated astonishment, and then the leaping harlequin hit him +again (the pianist suggesting a few bars of "Then we had another one"). +Then the harlequin rushed right into the arms of the policeman and fell +on top of him, amid a roar of applause. Then it was that the strange +actor gave that celebrated imitation of a dead man, of which the fame +still lingers round Putney. It was almost impossible to believe that a +living person could appear so limp. + +The athletic harlequin swung him about like a sack or twisted or tossed +him like an Indian club; all the time to the most maddeningly ludicrous +tunes from the piano. When the harlequin heaved the comic constable +heavily off the floor the clown played "I arise from dreams of thee." +When he shuffled him across his back, "With my bundle on my shoulder," +and when the harlequin finally let fall the policeman with a most +convincing thud, the lunatic at the instrument struck into a jingling +measure with some words which are still believed to have been, "I sent a +letter to my love and on the way I dropped it." + +At about this limit of mental anarchy Father Brown's view was obscured +altogether; for the City magnate in front of him rose to his full height +and thrust his hands savagely into all his pockets. Then he sat down +nervously, still fumbling, and then stood up again. For an instant it +seemed seriously likely that he would stride across the footlights; then +he turned a glare at the clown playing the piano; and then he burst in +silence out of the room. + +The priest had only watched for a few more minutes the absurd but not +inelegant dance of the amateur harlequin over his splendidly unconscious +foe. With real though rude art, the harlequin danced slowly backwards +out of the door into the garden, which was full of moonlight and +stillness. The vamped dress of silver paper and paste, which had been +too glaring in the footlights, looked more and more magical and silvery +as it danced away under a brilliant moon. The audience was closing in +with a cataract of applause, when Brown felt his arm abruptly touched, +and he was asked in a whisper to come into the colonel's study. + +He followed his summoner with increasing doubt, which was not dispelled +by a solemn comicality in the scene of the study. There sat Colonel +Adams, still unaffectedly dressed as a pantaloon, with the knobbed +whalebone nodding above his brow, but with his poor old eyes sad enough +to have sobered a Saturnalia. Sir Leopold Fischer was leaning against +the mantelpiece and heaving with all the importance of panic. + +"This is a very painful matter, Father Brown," said Adams. "The truth +is, those diamonds we all saw this afternoon seem to have vanished from +my friend's tail-coat pocket. And as you--" + +"As I," supplemented Father Brown, with a broad grin, "was sitting just +behind him--" + +"Nothing of the sort shall be suggested," said Colonel Adams, with a +firm look at Fischer, which rather implied that some such thing had been +suggested. "I only ask you to give me the assistance that any gentleman +might give." + +"Which is turning out his pockets," said Father Brown, and proceeded to +do so, displaying seven and sixpence, a return ticket, a small silver +crucifix, a small breviary, and a stick of chocolate. + +The colonel looked at him long, and then said, "Do you know, I should +like to see the inside of your head more than the inside of your +pockets. My daughter is one of your people, I know; well, she has +lately--" and he stopped. + +"She has lately," cried out old Fischer, "opened her father's house to +a cut-throat Socialist, who says openly he would steal anything from a +richer man. This is the end of it. Here is the richer man--and none the +richer." + +"If you want the inside of my head you can have it," said Brown rather +wearily. "What it's worth you can say afterwards. But the first thing I +find in that disused pocket is this: that men who mean to steal diamonds +don't talk Socialism. They are more likely," he added demurely, "to +denounce it." + +Both the others shifted sharply and the priest went on: + +"You see, we know these people, more or less. That Socialist would no +more steal a diamond than a Pyramid. We ought to look at once to the one +man we don't know. The fellow acting the policeman--Florian. Where is he +exactly at this minute, I wonder." + +The pantaloon sprang erect and strode out of the room. An interlude +ensued, during which the millionaire stared at the priest, and the +priest at his breviary; then the pantaloon returned and said, with +staccato gravity, "The policeman is still lying on the stage. The +curtain has gone up and down six times; he is still lying there." + +Father Brown dropped his book and stood staring with a look of blank +mental ruin. Very slowly a light began to creep in his grey eyes, and +then he made the scarcely obvious answer. + +"Please forgive me, colonel, but when did your wife die?" + +"Wife!" replied the staring soldier, "she died this year two months. Her +brother James arrived just a week too late to see her." + +The little priest bounded like a rabbit shot. "Come on!" he cried in +quite unusual excitement. "Come on! We've got to go and look at that +policeman!" + +They rushed on to the now curtained stage, breaking rudely past the +columbine and clown (who seemed whispering quite contentedly), and +Father Brown bent over the prostrate comic policeman. + +"Chloroform," he said as he rose; "I only guessed it just now." + +There was a startled stillness, and then the colonel said slowly, +"Please say seriously what all this means." + +Father Brown suddenly shouted with laughter, then stopped, and +only struggled with it for instants during the rest of his speech. +"Gentlemen," he gasped, "there's not much time to talk. I must run after +the criminal. But this great French actor who played the policeman--this +clever corpse the harlequin waltzed with and dandled and threw about--he +was--" His voice again failed him, and he turned his back to run. + +"He was?" called Fischer inquiringly. + +"A real policeman," said Father Brown, and ran away into the dark. + +There were hollows and bowers at the extreme end of that leafy garden, +in which the laurels and other immortal shrubs showed against sapphire +sky and silver moon, even in that midwinter, warm colours as of the +south. The green gaiety of the waving laurels, the rich purple indigo +of the night, the moon like a monstrous crystal, make an almost +irresponsible romantic picture; and among the top branches of the garden +trees a strange figure is climbing, who looks not so much romantic as +impossible. He sparkles from head to heel, as if clad in ten million +moons; the real moon catches him at every movement and sets a new inch +of him on fire. But he swings, flashing and successful, from the short +tree in this garden to the tall, rambling tree in the other, and only +stops there because a shade has slid under the smaller tree and has +unmistakably called up to him. + +"Well, Flambeau," says the voice, "you really look like a Flying Star; +but that always means a Falling Star at last." + +The silver, sparkling figure above seems to lean forward in the laurels +and, confident of escape, listens to the little figure below. + +"You never did anything better, Flambeau. It was clever to come from +Canada (with a Paris ticket, I suppose) just a week after Mrs. Adams +died, when no one was in a mood to ask questions. It was cleverer to +have marked down the Flying Stars and the very day of Fischer's coming. +But there's no cleverness, but mere genius, in what followed. Stealing +the stones, I suppose, was nothing to you. You could have done it by +sleight of hand in a hundred other ways besides that pretence of putting +a paper donkey's tail to Fischer's coat. But in the rest you eclipsed +yourself." + +The silvery figure among the green leaves seems to linger as if +hypnotised, though his escape is easy behind him; he is staring at the +man below. + +"Oh, yes," says the man below, "I know all about it. I know you not +only forced the pantomime, but put it to a double use. You were going +to steal the stones quietly; news came by an accomplice that you were +already suspected, and a capable police officer was coming to rout you +up that very night. A common thief would have been thankful for the +warning and fled; but you are a poet. You already had the clever notion +of hiding the jewels in a blaze of false stage jewellery. Now, you saw +that if the dress were a harlequin's the appearance of a policeman +would be quite in keeping. The worthy officer started from Putney police +station to find you, and walked into the queerest trap ever set in this +world. When the front door opened he walked straight on to the stage of +a Christmas pantomime, where he could be kicked, clubbed, stunned and +drugged by the dancing harlequin, amid roars of laughter from all +the most respectable people in Putney. Oh, you will never do anything +better. And now, by the way, you might give me back those diamonds." + +The green branch on which the glittering figure swung, rustled as if in +astonishment; but the voice went on: + +"I want you to give them back, Flambeau, and I want you to give up this +life. There is still youth and honour and humour in you; don't fancy +they will last in that trade. Men may keep a sort of level of good, but +no man has ever been able to keep on one level of evil. That road goes +down and down. The kind man drinks and turns cruel; the frank man kills +and lies about it. Many a man I've known started like you to be an +honest outlaw, a merry robber of the rich, and ended stamped into slime. +Maurice Blum started out as an anarchist of principle, a father of the +poor; he ended a greasy spy and tale-bearer that both sides used and +despised. Harry Burke started his free money movement sincerely enough; +now he's sponging on a half-starved sister for endless brandies and +sodas. Lord Amber went into wild society in a sort of chivalry; now he's +paying blackmail to the lowest vultures in London. Captain Barillon +was the great gentleman-apache before your time; he died in a madhouse, +screaming with fear of the "narks" and receivers that had betrayed +him and hunted him down. I know the woods look very free behind you, +Flambeau; I know that in a flash you could melt into them like a monkey. +But some day you will be an old grey monkey, Flambeau. You will sit up +in your free forest cold at heart and close to death, and the tree-tops +will be very bare." + +Everything continued still, as if the small man below held the other in +the tree in some long invisible leash; and he went on: + +"Your downward steps have begun. You used to boast of doing nothing +mean, but you are doing something mean tonight. You are leaving +suspicion on an honest boy with a good deal against him already; you are +separating him from the woman he loves and who loves him. But you will +do meaner things than that before you die." + +Three flashing diamonds fell from the tree to the turf. The small man +stooped to pick them up, and when he looked up again the green cage of +the tree was emptied of its silver bird. + +The restoration of the gems (accidentally picked up by Father Brown, of +all people) ended the evening in uproarious triumph; and Sir Leopold, in +his height of good humour, even told the priest that though he himself +had broader views, he could respect those whose creed required them to +be cloistered and ignorant of this world. + + + + +The Invisible Man + + +In the cool blue twilight of two steep streets in Camden Town, the shop +at the corner, a confectioner's, glowed like the butt of a cigar. One +should rather say, perhaps, like the butt of a firework, for the light +was of many colours and some complexity, broken up by many mirrors and +dancing on many gilt and gaily-coloured cakes and sweetmeats. Against +this one fiery glass were glued the noses of many gutter-snipes, for +the chocolates were all wrapped in those red and gold and green metallic +colours which are almost better than chocolate itself; and the huge +white wedding-cake in the window was somehow at once remote and +satisfying, just as if the whole North Pole were good to eat. +Such rainbow provocations could naturally collect the youth of the +neighbourhood up to the ages of ten or twelve. But this corner was also +attractive to youth at a later stage; and a young man, not less than +twenty-four, was staring into the same shop window. To him, also, +the shop was of fiery charm, but this attraction was not wholly to be +explained by chocolates; which, however, he was far from despising. + +He was a tall, burly, red-haired young man, with a resolute face but +a listless manner. He carried under his arm a flat, grey portfolio of +black-and-white sketches, which he had sold with more or less success +to publishers ever since his uncle (who was an admiral) had disinherited +him for Socialism, because of a lecture which he had delivered against +that economic theory. His name was John Turnbull Angus. + +Entering at last, he walked through the confectioner's shop to the back +room, which was a sort of pastry-cook restaurant, merely raising his hat +to the young lady who was serving there. She was a dark, elegant, alert +girl in black, with a high colour and very quick, dark eyes; and after +the ordinary interval she followed him into the inner room to take his +order. + +His order was evidently a usual one. "I want, please," he said with +precision, "one halfpenny bun and a small cup of black coffee." An +instant before the girl could turn away he added, "Also, I want you to +marry me." + +The young lady of the shop stiffened suddenly and said, "Those are jokes +I don't allow." + +The red-haired young man lifted grey eyes of an unexpected gravity. + +"Really and truly," he said, "it's as serious--as serious as the +halfpenny bun. It is expensive, like the bun; one pays for it. It is +indigestible, like the bun. It hurts." + +The dark young lady had never taken her dark eyes off him, but seemed +to be studying him with almost tragic exactitude. At the end of her +scrutiny she had something like the shadow of a smile, and she sat down +in a chair. + +"Don't you think," observed Angus, absently, "that it's rather cruel to +eat these halfpenny buns? They might grow up into penny buns. I shall +give up these brutal sports when we are married." + +The dark young lady rose from her chair and walked to the window, +evidently in a state of strong but not unsympathetic cogitation. When at +last she swung round again with an air of resolution she was bewildered +to observe that the young man was carefully laying out on the table +various objects from the shop-window. They included a pyramid of highly +coloured sweets, several plates of sandwiches, and the two decanters +containing that mysterious port and sherry which are peculiar to +pastry-cooks. In the middle of this neat arrangement he had carefully +let down the enormous load of white sugared cake which had been the huge +ornament of the window. + +"What on earth are you doing?" she asked. + +"Duty, my dear Laura," he began. + +"Oh, for the Lord's sake, stop a minute," she cried, "and don't talk to +me in that way. I mean, what is all that?" + +"A ceremonial meal, Miss Hope." + +"And what is that?" she asked impatiently, pointing to the mountain of +sugar. + +"The wedding-cake, Mrs. Angus," he said. + +The girl marched to that article, removed it with some clatter, and put +it back in the shop window; she then returned, and, putting her elegant +elbows on the table, regarded the young man not unfavourably but with +considerable exasperation. + +"You don't give me any time to think," she said. + +"I'm not such a fool," he answered; "that's my Christian humility." + +She was still looking at him; but she had grown considerably graver +behind the smile. + +"Mr. Angus," she said steadily, "before there is a minute more of this +nonsense I must tell you something about myself as shortly as I can.'" + +"Delighted," replied Angus gravely. "You might tell me something about +myself, too, while you are about it." + +"Oh, do hold your tongue and listen," she said. "It's nothing that I'm +ashamed of, and it isn't even anything that I'm specially sorry about. +But what would you say if there were something that is no business of +mine and yet is my nightmare?" + +"In that case," said the man seriously, "I should suggest that you bring +back the cake." + +"Well, you must listen to the story first," said Laura, persistently. +"To begin with, I must tell you that my father owned the inn called the +'Red Fish' at Ludbury, and I used to serve people in the bar." + +"I have often wondered," he said, "why there was a kind of a Christian +air about this one confectioner's shop." + +"Ludbury is a sleepy, grassy little hole in the Eastern Counties, and +the only kind of people who ever came to the 'Red Fish' were occasional +commercial travellers, and for the rest, the most awful people you can +see, only you've never seen them. I mean little, loungy men, who had +just enough to live on and had nothing to do but lean about in bar-rooms +and bet on horses, in bad clothes that were just too good for them. +Even these wretched young rotters were not very common at our house; but +there were two of them that were a lot too common--common in every sort +of way. They both lived on money of their own, and were wearisomely idle +and over-dressed. But yet I was a bit sorry for them, because I half +believe they slunk into our little empty bar because each of them had a +slight deformity; the sort of thing that some yokels laugh at. It wasn't +exactly a deformity either; it was more an oddity. One of them was +a surprisingly small man, something like a dwarf, or at least like a +jockey. He was not at all jockeyish to look at, though; he had a round +black head and a well-trimmed black beard, bright eyes like a bird's; he +jingled money in his pockets; he jangled a great gold watch chain; and +he never turned up except dressed just too much like a gentleman to +be one. He was no fool though, though a futile idler; he was curiously +clever at all kinds of things that couldn't be the slightest use; a sort +of impromptu conjuring; making fifteen matches set fire to each other +like a regular firework; or cutting a banana or some such thing into a +dancing doll. His name was Isidore Smythe; and I can see him still, with +his little dark face, just coming up to the counter, making a jumping +kangaroo out of five cigars. + +"The other fellow was more silent and more ordinary; but somehow he +alarmed me much more than poor little Smythe. He was very tall and +slight, and light-haired; his nose had a high bridge, and he might +almost have been handsome in a spectral sort of way; but he had one of +the most appalling squints I have ever seen or heard of. When he looked +straight at you, you didn't know where you were yourself, let alone what +he was looking at. I fancy this sort of disfigurement embittered the +poor chap a little; for while Smythe was ready to show off his monkey +tricks anywhere, James Welkin (that was the squinting man's name) never +did anything except soak in our bar parlour, and go for great walks +by himself in the flat, grey country all round. All the same, I think +Smythe, too, was a little sensitive about being so small, though he +carried it off more smartly. And so it was that I was really puzzled, as +well as startled, and very sorry, when they both offered to marry me in +the same week. + +"Well, I did what I've since thought was perhaps a silly thing. But, +after all, these freaks were my friends in a way; and I had a horror of +their thinking I refused them for the real reason, which was that they +were so impossibly ugly. So I made up some gas of another sort, about +never meaning to marry anyone who hadn't carved his way in the world. I +said it was a point of principle with me not to live on money that +was just inherited like theirs. Two days after I had talked in this +well-meaning sort of way, the whole trouble began. The first thing I +heard was that both of them had gone off to seek their fortunes, as if +they were in some silly fairy tale. + +"Well, I've never seen either of them from that day to this. But I've +had two letters from the little man called Smythe, and really they were +rather exciting." + +"Ever heard of the other man?" asked Angus. + +"No, he never wrote," said the girl, after an instant's hesitation. +"Smythe's first letter was simply to say that he had started out walking +with Welkin to London; but Welkin was such a good walker that the little +man dropped out of it, and took a rest by the roadside. He happened to +be picked up by some travelling show, and, partly because he was nearly +a dwarf, and partly because he was really a clever little wretch, he +got on quite well in the show business, and was soon sent up to the +Aquarium, to do some tricks that I forget. That was his first letter. +His second was much more of a startler, and I only got it last week." + +The man called Angus emptied his coffee-cup and regarded her with mild +and patient eyes. Her own mouth took a slight twist of laughter as +she resumed, "I suppose you've seen on the hoardings all about this +'Smythe's Silent Service'? Or you must be the only person that hasn't. +Oh, I don't know much about it, it's some clockwork invention for doing +all the housework by machinery. You know the sort of thing: 'Press a +Button--A Butler who Never Drinks.' 'Turn a Handle--Ten Housemaids who +Never Flirt.' You must have seen the advertisements. Well, whatever +these machines are, they are making pots of money; and they are making +it all for that little imp whom I knew down in Ludbury. I can't help +feeling pleased the poor little chap has fallen on his feet; but the +plain fact is, I'm in terror of his turning up any minute and telling me +he's carved his way in the world--as he certainly has." + +"And the other man?" repeated Angus with a sort of obstinate quietude. + +Laura Hope got to her feet suddenly. "My friend," she said, "I think +you are a witch. Yes, you are quite right. I have not seen a line of the +other man's writing; and I have no more notion than the dead of what or +where he is. But it is of him that I am frightened. It is he who is all +about my path. It is he who has half driven me mad. Indeed, I think he +has driven me mad; for I have felt him where he could not have been, and +I have heard his voice when he could not have spoken." + +"Well, my dear," said the young man, cheerfully, "if he were Satan +himself, he is done for now you have told somebody. One goes mad all +alone, old girl. But when was it you fancied you felt and heard our +squinting friend?" + +"I heard James Welkin laugh as plainly as I hear you speak," said the +girl, steadily. "There was nobody there, for I stood just outside the +shop at the corner, and could see down both streets at once. I had +forgotten how he laughed, though his laugh was as odd as his squint. I +had not thought of him for nearly a year. But it's a solemn truth that a +few seconds later the first letter came from his rival." + +"Did you ever make the spectre speak or squeak, or anything?" asked +Angus, with some interest. + +Laura suddenly shuddered, and then said, with an unshaken voice, "Yes. +Just when I had finished reading the second letter from Isidore Smythe +announcing his success. Just then, I heard Welkin say, 'He shan't have +you, though.' It was quite plain, as if he were in the room. It is +awful, I think I must be mad." + +"If you really were mad," said the young man, "you would think you must +be sane. But certainly there seems to me to be something a little rum +about this unseen gentleman. Two heads are better than one--I spare you +allusions to any other organs and really, if you would allow me, as +a sturdy, practical man, to bring back the wedding-cake out of the +window--" + +Even as he spoke, there was a sort of steely shriek in the street +outside, and a small motor, driven at devilish speed, shot up to the +door of the shop and stuck there. In the same flash of time a small man +in a shiny top hat stood stamping in the outer room. + +Angus, who had hitherto maintained hilarious ease from motives of mental +hygiene, revealed the strain of his soul by striding abruptly out of +the inner room and confronting the new-comer. A glance at him was quite +sufficient to confirm the savage guesswork of a man in love. This +very dapper but dwarfish figure, with the spike of black beard carried +insolently forward, the clever unrestful eyes, the neat but very nervous +fingers, could be none other than the man just described to him: Isidore +Smythe, who made dolls out of banana skins and match-boxes; Isidore +Smythe, who made millions out of undrinking butlers and unflirting +housemaids of metal. For a moment the two men, instinctively +understanding each other's air of possession, looked at each other with +that curious cold generosity which is the soul of rivalry. + +Mr. Smythe, however, made no allusion to the ultimate ground of their +antagonism, but said simply and explosively, "Has Miss Hope seen that +thing on the window?" + +"On the window?" repeated the staring Angus. + +"There's no time to explain other things," said the small millionaire +shortly. "There's some tomfoolery going on here that has to be +investigated." + +He pointed his polished walking-stick at the window, recently depleted +by the bridal preparations of Mr. Angus; and that gentleman was +astonished to see along the front of the glass a long strip of paper +pasted, which had certainly not been on the window when he looked +through it some time before. Following the energetic Smythe outside into +the street, he found that some yard and a half of stamp paper had been +carefully gummed along the glass outside, and on this was written in +straggly characters, "If you marry Smythe, he will die." + +"Laura," said Angus, putting his big red head into the shop, "you're not +mad." + +"It's the writing of that fellow Welkin," said Smythe gruffly. "I +haven't seen him for years, but he's always bothering me. Five times in +the last fortnight he's had threatening letters left at my flat, and I +can't even find out who leaves them, let alone if it is Welkin himself. +The porter of the flats swears that no suspicious characters have been +seen, and here he has pasted up a sort of dado on a public shop window, +while the people in the shop--" + +"Quite so," said Angus modestly, "while the people in the shop were +having tea. Well, sir, I can assure you I appreciate your common sense +in dealing so directly with the matter. We can talk about other things +afterwards. The fellow cannot be very far off yet, for I swear there was +no paper there when I went last to the window, ten or fifteen minutes +ago. On the other hand, he's too far off to be chased, as we don't even +know the direction. If you'll take my advice, Mr. Smythe, you'll put +this at once in the hands of some energetic inquiry man, private rather +than public. I know an extremely clever fellow, who has set up in +business five minutes from here in your car. His name's Flambeau, and +though his youth was a bit stormy, he's a strictly honest man now, and +his brains are worth money. He lives in Lucknow Mansions, Hampstead." + +"That is odd," said the little man, arching his black eyebrows. "I live, +myself, in Himylaya Mansions, round the corner. Perhaps you might care +to come with me; I can go to my rooms and sort out these queer Welkin +documents, while you run round and get your friend the detective." + +"You are very good," said Angus politely. "Well, the sooner we act the +better." + +Both men, with a queer kind of impromptu fairness, took the same sort of +formal farewell of the lady, and both jumped into the brisk little +car. As Smythe took the handles and they turned the great corner of the +street, Angus was amused to see a gigantesque poster of "Smythe's +Silent Service," with a picture of a huge headless iron doll, carrying a +saucepan with the legend, "A Cook Who is Never Cross." + +"I use them in my own flat," said the little black-bearded man, +laughing, "partly for advertisements, and partly for real convenience. +Honestly, and all above board, those big clockwork dolls of mine do +bring your coals or claret or a timetable quicker than any live servants +I've ever known, if you know which knob to press. But I'll never deny, +between ourselves, that such servants have their disadvantages, too." + +"Indeed?" said Angus; "is there something they can't do?" + +"Yes," replied Smythe coolly; "they can't tell me who left those +threatening letters at my flat." + +The man's motor was small and swift like himself; in fact, like his +domestic service, it was of his own invention. If he was an advertising +quack, he was one who believed in his own wares. The sense of something +tiny and flying was accentuated as they swept up long white curves of +road in the dead but open daylight of evening. Soon the white curves +came sharper and dizzier; they were upon ascending spirals, as they say +in the modern religions. For, indeed, they were cresting a corner of +London which is almost as precipitous as Edinburgh, if not quite so +picturesque. Terrace rose above terrace, and the special tower of flats +they sought, rose above them all to almost Egyptian height, gilt by +the level sunset. The change, as they turned the corner and entered the +crescent known as Himylaya Mansions, was as abrupt as the opening of a +window; for they found that pile of flats sitting above London as above +a green sea of slate. Opposite to the mansions, on the other side of the +gravel crescent, was a bushy enclosure more like a steep hedge or dyke +than a garden, and some way below that ran a strip of artificial water, +a sort of canal, like the moat of that embowered fortress. As the car +swept round the crescent it passed, at one corner, the stray stall of +a man selling chestnuts; and right away at the other end of the curve, +Angus could see a dim blue policeman walking slowly. These were the only +human shapes in that high suburban solitude; but he had an irrational +sense that they expressed the speechless poetry of London. He felt as if +they were figures in a story. + +The little car shot up to the right house like a bullet, and shot out +its owner like a bomb shell. He was immediately inquiring of a tall +commissionaire in shining braid, and a short porter in shirt sleeves, +whether anybody or anything had been seeking his apartments. He was +assured that nobody and nothing had passed these officials since his +last inquiries; whereupon he and the slightly bewildered Angus were shot +up in the lift like a rocket, till they reached the top floor. + +"Just come in for a minute," said the breathless Smythe. "I want to show +you those Welkin letters. Then you might run round the corner and fetch +your friend." He pressed a button concealed in the wall, and the door +opened of itself. + +It opened on a long, commodious ante-room, of which the only arresting +features, ordinarily speaking, were the rows of tall half-human +mechanical figures that stood up on both sides like tailors' dummies. +Like tailors' dummies they were headless; and like tailors' dummies +they had a handsome unnecessary humpiness in the shoulders, and a +pigeon-breasted protuberance of chest; but barring this, they were not +much more like a human figure than any automatic machine at a station +that is about the human height. They had two great hooks like arms, for +carrying trays; and they were painted pea-green, or vermilion, or +black for convenience of distinction; in every other way they were only +automatic machines and nobody would have looked twice at them. On +this occasion, at least, nobody did. For between the two rows of +these domestic dummies lay something more interesting than most of the +mechanics of the world. It was a white, tattered scrap of paper scrawled +with red ink; and the agile inventor had snatched it up almost as soon +as the door flew open. He handed it to Angus without a word. The red ink +on it actually was not dry, and the message ran, "If you have been to +see her today, I shall kill you." + +There was a short silence, and then Isidore Smythe said quietly, "Would +you like a little whiskey? I rather feel as if I should." + +"Thank you; I should like a little Flambeau," said Angus, gloomily. +"This business seems to me to be getting rather grave. I'm going round +at once to fetch him." + +"Right you are," said the other, with admirable cheerfulness. "Bring him +round here as quick as you can." + +But as Angus closed the front door behind him he saw Smythe push back a +button, and one of the clockwork images glided from its place and slid +along a groove in the floor carrying a tray with syphon and decanter. +There did seem something a trifle weird about leaving the little man +alone among those dead servants, who were coming to life as the door +closed. + +Six steps down from Smythe's landing the man in shirt sleeves was doing +something with a pail. Angus stopped to extract a promise, fortified +with a prospective bribe, that he would remain in that place until the +return with the detective, and would keep count of any kind of stranger +coming up those stairs. Dashing down to the front hall he then laid +similar charges of vigilance on the commissionaire at the front door, +from whom he learned the simplifying circumstances that there was no +back door. Not content with this, he captured the floating policeman +and induced him to stand opposite the entrance and watch it; and finally +paused an instant for a pennyworth of chestnuts, and an inquiry as to +the probable length of the merchant's stay in the neighbourhood. + +The chestnut seller, turning up the collar of his coat, told him he +should probably be moving shortly, as he thought it was going to snow. +Indeed, the evening was growing grey and bitter, but Angus, with all his +eloquence, proceeded to nail the chestnut man to his post. + +"Keep yourself warm on your own chestnuts," he said earnestly. "Eat +up your whole stock; I'll make it worth your while. I'll give you a +sovereign if you'll wait here till I come back, and then tell me +whether any man, woman, or child has gone into that house where the +commissionaire is standing." + +He then walked away smartly, with a last look at the besieged tower. + +"I've made a ring round that room, anyhow," he said. "They can't all +four of them be Mr. Welkin's accomplices." + +Lucknow Mansions were, so to speak, on a lower platform of that hill +of houses, of which Himylaya Mansions might be called the peak. Mr. +Flambeau's semi-official flat was on the ground floor, and presented +in every way a marked contrast to the American machinery and cold +hotel-like luxury of the flat of the Silent Service. Flambeau, who was +a friend of Angus, received him in a rococo artistic den behind his +office, of which the ornaments were sabres, harquebuses, Eastern +curiosities, flasks of Italian wine, savage cooking-pots, a plumy +Persian cat, and a small dusty-looking Roman Catholic priest, who looked +particularly out of place. + +"This is my friend Father Brown," said Flambeau. "I've often wanted you +to meet him. Splendid weather, this; a little cold for Southerners like +me." + +"Yes, I think it will keep clear," said Angus, sitting down on a +violet-striped Eastern ottoman. + +"No," said the priest quietly, "it has begun to snow." + +And, indeed, as he spoke, the first few flakes, foreseen by the man of +chestnuts, began to drift across the darkening windowpane. + +"Well," said Angus heavily. "I'm afraid I've come on business, and +rather jumpy business at that. The fact is, Flambeau, within a stone's +throw of your house is a fellow who badly wants your help; he's +perpetually being haunted and threatened by an invisible enemy--a +scoundrel whom nobody has even seen." As Angus proceeded to tell the +whole tale of Smythe and Welkin, beginning with Laura's story, and +going on with his own, the supernatural laugh at the corner of two empty +streets, the strange distinct words spoken in an empty room, Flambeau +grew more and more vividly concerned, and the little priest seemed to be +left out of it, like a piece of furniture. When it came to the scribbled +stamp-paper pasted on the window, Flambeau rose, seeming to fill the +room with his huge shoulders. + +"If you don't mind," he said, "I think you had better tell me the rest +on the nearest road to this man's house. It strikes me, somehow, that +there is no time to be lost." + +"Delighted," said Angus, rising also, "though he's safe enough for the +present, for I've set four men to watch the only hole to his burrow." + +They turned out into the street, the small priest trundling after them +with the docility of a small dog. He merely said, in a cheerful way, +like one making conversation, "How quick the snow gets thick on the +ground." + +As they threaded the steep side streets already powdered with silver, +Angus finished his story; and by the time they reached the crescent with +the towering flats, he had leisure to turn his attention to the four +sentinels. The chestnut seller, both before and after receiving a +sovereign, swore stubbornly that he had watched the door and seen no +visitor enter. The policeman was even more emphatic. He said he had had +experience of crooks of all kinds, in top hats and in rags; he wasn't so +green as to expect suspicious characters to look suspicious; he looked +out for anybody, and, so help him, there had been nobody. And when all +three men gathered round the gilded commissionaire, who still stood +smiling astride of the porch, the verdict was more final still. + +"I've got a right to ask any man, duke or dustman, what he wants in +these flats," said the genial and gold-laced giant, "and I'll swear +there's been nobody to ask since this gentleman went away." + +The unimportant Father Brown, who stood back, looking modestly at the +pavement, here ventured to say meekly, "Has nobody been up and down +stairs, then, since the snow began to fall? It began while we were all +round at Flambeau's." + +"Nobody's been in here, sir, you can take it from me," said the +official, with beaming authority. + +"Then I wonder what that is?" said the priest, and stared at the ground +blankly like a fish. + +The others all looked down also; and Flambeau used a fierce exclamation +and a French gesture. For it was unquestionably true that down the +middle of the entrance guarded by the man in gold lace, actually between +the arrogant, stretched legs of that colossus, ran a stringy pattern of +grey footprints stamped upon the white snow. + +"God!" cried Angus involuntarily, "the Invisible Man!" + +Without another word he turned and dashed up the stairs, with Flambeau +following; but Father Brown still stood looking about him in the +snow-clad street as if he had lost interest in his query. + +Flambeau was plainly in a mood to break down the door with his big +shoulders; but the Scotchman, with more reason, if less intuition, +fumbled about on the frame of the door till he found the invisible +button; and the door swung slowly open. + +It showed substantially the same serried interior; the hall had grown +darker, though it was still struck here and there with the last crimson +shafts of sunset, and one or two of the headless machines had been moved +from their places for this or that purpose, and stood here and there +about the twilit place. The green and red of their coats were all +darkened in the dusk; and their likeness to human shapes slightly +increased by their very shapelessness. But in the middle of them all, +exactly where the paper with the red ink had lain, there lay something +that looked like red ink spilt out of its bottle. But it was not red +ink. + +With a French combination of reason and violence Flambeau simply said +"Murder!" and, plunging into the flat, had explored, every corner and +cupboard of it in five minutes. But if he expected to find a corpse he +found none. Isidore Smythe was not in the place, either dead or alive. +After the most tearing search the two men met each other in the outer +hall, with streaming faces and staring eyes. "My friend," said Flambeau, +talking French in his excitement, "not only is your murderer invisible, +but he makes invisible also the murdered man." + +Angus looked round at the dim room full of dummies, and in some Celtic +corner of his Scotch soul a shudder started. One of the life-size dolls +stood immediately overshadowing the blood stain, summoned, perhaps, +by the slain man an instant before he fell. One of the high-shouldered +hooks that served the thing for arms, was a little lifted, and Angus had +suddenly the horrid fancy that poor Smythe's own iron child had struck +him down. Matter had rebelled, and these machines had killed their +master. But even so, what had they done with him? + +"Eaten him?" said the nightmare at his ear; and he sickened for an +instant at the idea of rent, human remains absorbed and crushed into all +that acephalous clockwork. + +He recovered his mental health by an emphatic effort, and said to +Flambeau, "Well, there it is. The poor fellow has evaporated like a +cloud and left a red streak on the floor. The tale does not belong to +this world." + +"There is only one thing to be done," said Flambeau, "whether it belongs +to this world or the other. I must go down and talk to my friend." + +They descended, passing the man with the pail, who again asseverated +that he had let no intruder pass, down to the commissionaire and the +hovering chestnut man, who rigidly reasserted their own watchfulness. +But when Angus looked round for his fourth confirmation he could not see +it, and called out with some nervousness, "Where is the policeman?" + +"I beg your pardon," said Father Brown; "that is my fault. I just sent +him down the road to investigate something--that I just thought worth +investigating." + +"Well, we want him back pretty soon," said Angus abruptly, "for the +wretched man upstairs has not only been murdered, but wiped out." + +"How?" asked the priest. + +"Father," said Flambeau, after a pause, "upon my soul I believe it is +more in your department than mine. No friend or foe has entered the +house, but Smythe is gone, as if stolen by the fairies. If that is not +supernatural, I--" + +As he spoke they were all checked by an unusual sight; the big blue +policeman came round the corner of the crescent, running. He came +straight up to Brown. + +"You're right, sir," he panted, "they've just found poor Mr. Smythe's +body in the canal down below." + +Angus put his hand wildly to his head. "Did he run down and drown +himself?" he asked. + +"He never came down, I'll swear," said the constable, "and he wasn't +drowned either, for he died of a great stab over the heart." + +"And yet you saw no one enter?" said Flambeau in a grave voice. + +"Let us walk down the road a little," said the priest. + +As they reached the other end of the crescent he observed abruptly, +"Stupid of me! I forgot to ask the policeman something. I wonder if they +found a light brown sack." + +"Why a light brown sack?" asked Angus, astonished. + +"Because if it was any other coloured sack, the case must begin over +again," said Father Brown; "but if it was a light brown sack, why, the +case is finished." + +"I am pleased to hear it," said Angus with hearty irony. "It hasn't +begun, so far as I am concerned." + +"You must tell us all about it," said Flambeau with a strange heavy +simplicity, like a child. + +Unconsciously they were walking with quickening steps down the long +sweep of road on the other side of the high crescent, Father Brown +leading briskly, though in silence. At last he said with an almost +touching vagueness, "Well, I'm afraid you'll think it so prosy. We +always begin at the abstract end of things, and you can't begin this +story anywhere else. + +"Have you ever noticed this--that people never answer what you say? They +answer what you mean--or what they think you mean. Suppose one lady says +to another in a country house, 'Is anybody staying with you?' the lady +doesn't answer 'Yes; the butler, the three footmen, the parlourmaid, and +so on,' though the parlourmaid may be in the room, or the butler behind +her chair. She says 'There is nobody staying with us,' meaning nobody of +the sort you mean. But suppose a doctor inquiring into an epidemic asks, +'Who is staying in the house?' then the lady will remember the butler, +the parlourmaid, and the rest. All language is used like that; you never +get a question answered literally, even when you get it answered truly. +When those four quite honest men said that no man had gone into the +Mansions, they did not really mean that no man had gone into them. They +meant no man whom they could suspect of being your man. A man did go +into the house, and did come out of it, but they never noticed him." + +"An invisible man?" inquired Angus, raising his red eyebrows. "A +mentally invisible man," said Father Brown. + +A minute or two after he resumed in the same unassuming voice, like a +man thinking his way. "Of course you can't think of such a man, until +you do think of him. That's where his cleverness comes in. But I came +to think of him through two or three little things in the tale Mr. Angus +told us. First, there was the fact that this Welkin went for long walks. +And then there was the vast lot of stamp paper on the window. And then, +most of all, there were the two things the young lady said--things that +couldn't be true. Don't get annoyed," he added hastily, noting a sudden +movement of the Scotchman's head; "she thought they were true. A person +can't be quite alone in a street a second before she receives a letter. +She can't be quite alone in a street when she starts reading a letter +just received. There must be somebody pretty near her; he must be +mentally invisible." + +"Why must there be somebody near her?" asked Angus. + +"Because," said Father Brown, "barring carrier-pigeons, somebody must +have brought her the letter." + +"Do you really mean to say," asked Flambeau, with energy, "that Welkin +carried his rival's letters to his lady?" + +"Yes," said the priest. "Welkin carried his rival's letters to his lady. +You see, he had to." + +"Oh, I can't stand much more of this," exploded Flambeau. "Who is this +fellow? What does he look like? What is the usual get-up of a mentally +invisible man?" + +"He is dressed rather handsomely in red, blue and gold," replied the +priest promptly with precision, "and in this striking, and even showy, +costume he entered Himylaya Mansions under eight human eyes; he killed +Smythe in cold blood, and came down into the street again carrying the +dead body in his arms--" + +"Reverend sir," cried Angus, standing still, "are you raving mad, or am +I?" + +"You are not mad," said Brown, "only a little unobservant. You have not +noticed such a man as this, for example." + +He took three quick strides forward, and put his hand on the shoulder of +an ordinary passing postman who had bustled by them unnoticed under the +shade of the trees. + +"Nobody ever notices postmen somehow," he said thoughtfully; "yet they +have passions like other men, and even carry large bags where a small +corpse can be stowed quite easily." + +The postman, instead of turning naturally, had ducked and tumbled +against the garden fence. He was a lean fair-bearded man of very +ordinary appearance, but as he turned an alarmed face over his shoulder, +all three men were fixed with an almost fiendish squint. + + * * * * * + +Flambeau went back to his sabres, purple rugs and Persian cat, having +many things to attend to. John Turnbull Angus went back to the lady at +the shop, with whom that imprudent young man contrives to be extremely +comfortable. But Father Brown walked those snow-covered hills under the +stars for many hours with a murderer, and what they said to each other +will never be known. + + + + +The Honour of Israel Gow + + +A stormy evening of olive and silver was closing in, as Father Brown, +wrapped in a grey Scotch plaid, came to the end of a grey Scotch valley +and beheld the strange castle of Glengyle. It stopped one end of the +glen or hollow like a blind alley; and it looked like the end of the +world. Rising in steep roofs and spires of seagreen slate in the manner +of the old French-Scotch chateaux, it reminded an Englishman of the +sinister steeple-hats of witches in fairy tales; and the pine woods +that rocked round the green turrets looked, by comparison, as black +as numberless flocks of ravens. This note of a dreamy, almost a sleepy +devilry, was no mere fancy from the landscape. For there did rest on +the place one of those clouds of pride and madness and mysterious sorrow +which lie more heavily on the noble houses of Scotland than on any other +of the children of men. For Scotland has a double dose of the poison +called heredity; the sense of blood in the aristocrat, and the sense of +doom in the Calvinist. + +The priest had snatched a day from his business at Glasgow to meet his +friend Flambeau, the amateur detective, who was at Glengyle Castle with +another more formal officer investigating the life and death of the late +Earl of Glengyle. That mysterious person was the last representative +of a race whose valour, insanity, and violent cunning had made them +terrible even among the sinister nobility of their nation in the +sixteenth century. None were deeper in that labyrinthine ambition, in +chamber within chamber of that palace of lies that was built up around +Mary Queen of Scots. + +The rhyme in the country-side attested the motive and the result of +their machinations candidly: + + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies. + +For many centuries there had never been a decent lord in Glengyle +Castle; and with the Victorian era one would have thought that all +eccentricities were exhausted. The last Glengyle, however, satisfied his +tribal tradition by doing the only thing that was left for him to do; he +disappeared. I do not mean that he went abroad; by all accounts he was +still in the castle, if he was anywhere. But though his name was in the +church register and the big red Peerage, nobody ever saw him under the +sun. + +If anyone saw him it was a solitary man-servant, something between a +groom and a gardener. He was so deaf that the more business-like +assumed him to be dumb; while the more penetrating declared him to be +half-witted. A gaunt, red-haired labourer, with a dogged jaw and chin, +but quite blank blue eyes, he went by the name of Israel Gow, and was +the one silent servant on that deserted estate. But the energy with +which he dug potatoes, and the regularity with which he disappeared +into the kitchen gave people an impression that he was providing for the +meals of a superior, and that the strange earl was still concealed in +the castle. If society needed any further proof that he was there, the +servant persistently asserted that he was not at home. One morning the +provost and the minister (for the Glengyles were Presbyterian) were +summoned to the castle. There they found that the gardener, groom and +cook had added to his many professions that of an undertaker, and had +nailed up his noble master in a coffin. With how much or how little +further inquiry this odd fact was passed, did not as yet very plainly +appear; for the thing had never been legally investigated till Flambeau +had gone north two or three days before. By then the body of Lord +Glengyle (if it was the body) had lain for some time in the little +churchyard on the hill. + +As Father Brown passed through the dim garden and came under the +shadow of the chateau, the clouds were thick and the whole air damp +and thundery. Against the last stripe of the green-gold sunset he saw +a black human silhouette; a man in a chimney-pot hat, with a big spade +over his shoulder. The combination was queerly suggestive of a sexton; +but when Brown remembered the deaf servant who dug potatoes, he thought +it natural enough. He knew something of the Scotch peasant; he knew the +respectability which might well feel it necessary to wear "blacks" for +an official inquiry; he knew also the economy that would not lose an +hour's digging for that. Even the man's start and suspicious stare as +the priest went by were consonant enough with the vigilance and jealousy +of such a type. + +The great door was opened by Flambeau himself, who had with him a lean +man with iron-grey hair and papers in his hand: Inspector Craven from +Scotland Yard. The entrance hall was mostly stripped and empty; but the +pale, sneering faces of one or two of the wicked Ogilvies looked down +out of black periwigs and blackening canvas. + +Following them into an inner room, Father Brown found that the allies +had been seated at a long oak table, of which their end was covered with +scribbled papers, flanked with whisky and cigars. Through the whole of +its remaining length it was occupied by detached objects arranged at +intervals; objects about as inexplicable as any objects could be. One +looked like a small heap of glittering broken glass. Another looked like +a high heap of brown dust. A third appeared to be a plain stick of wood. + +"You seem to have a sort of geological museum here," he said, as he sat +down, jerking his head briefly in the direction of the brown dust and +the crystalline fragments. + +"Not a geological museum," replied Flambeau; "say a psychological +museum." + +"Oh, for the Lord's sake," cried the police detective laughing, "don't +let's begin with such long words." + +"Don't you know what psychology means?" asked Flambeau with friendly +surprise. "Psychology means being off your chump." + +"Still I hardly follow," replied the official. + +"Well," said Flambeau, with decision, "I mean that we've only found out +one thing about Lord Glengyle. He was a maniac." + +The black silhouette of Gow with his top hat and spade passed the +window, dimly outlined against the darkening sky. Father Brown stared +passively at it and answered: + +"I can understand there must have been something odd about the man, or +he wouldn't have buried himself alive--nor been in such a hurry to bury +himself dead. But what makes you think it was lunacy?" + +"Well," said Flambeau, "you just listen to the list of things Mr. Craven +has found in the house." + +"We must get a candle," said Craven, suddenly. "A storm is getting up, +and it's too dark to read." + +"Have you found any candles," asked Brown smiling, "among your +oddities?" + +Flambeau raised a grave face, and fixed his dark eyes on his friend. + +"That is curious, too," he said. "Twenty-five candles, and not a trace +of a candlestick." + +In the rapidly darkening room and rapidly rising wind, Brown went along +the table to where a bundle of wax candles lay among the other scrappy +exhibits. As he did so he bent accidentally over the heap of red-brown +dust; and a sharp sneeze cracked the silence. + +"Hullo!" he said, "snuff!" + +He took one of the candles, lit it carefully, came back and stuck it in +the neck of the whisky bottle. The unrestful night air, blowing through +the crazy window, waved the long flame like a banner. And on every side +of the castle they could hear the miles and miles of black pine wood +seething like a black sea around a rock. + +"I will read the inventory," began Craven gravely, picking up one of +the papers, "the inventory of what we found loose and unexplained in the +castle. You are to understand that the place generally was dismantled +and neglected; but one or two rooms had plainly been inhabited in a +simple but not squalid style by somebody; somebody who was not the +servant Gow. The list is as follows: + +"First item. A very considerable hoard of precious stones, nearly +all diamonds, and all of them loose, without any setting whatever. Of +course, it is natural that the Ogilvies should have family jewels; but +those are exactly the jewels that are almost always set in particular +articles of ornament. The Ogilvies would seem to have kept theirs loose +in their pockets, like coppers. + +"Second item. Heaps and heaps of loose snuff, not kept in a horn, or +even a pouch, but lying in heaps on the mantelpieces, on the sideboard, +on the piano, anywhere. It looks as if the old gentleman would not take +the trouble to look in a pocket or lift a lid. + +"Third item. Here and there about the house curious little heaps of +minute pieces of metal, some like steel springs and some in the form of +microscopic wheels. As if they had gutted some mechanical toy. + +"Fourth item. The wax candles, which have to be stuck in bottle necks +because there is nothing else to stick them in. Now I wish you to note +how very much queerer all this is than anything we anticipated. For the +central riddle we are prepared; we have all seen at a glance that there +was something wrong about the last earl. We have come here to find out +whether he really lived here, whether he really died here, whether that +red-haired scarecrow who did his burying had anything to do with his +dying. But suppose the worst in all this, the most lurid or melodramatic +solution you like. Suppose the servant really killed the master, or +suppose the master isn't really dead, or suppose the master is dressed +up as the servant, or suppose the servant is buried for the master; +invent what Wilkie Collins' tragedy you like, and you still have not +explained a candle without a candlestick, or why an elderly gentleman of +good family should habitually spill snuff on the piano. The core of +the tale we could imagine; it is the fringes that are mysterious. By no +stretch of fancy can the human mind connect together snuff and diamonds +and wax and loose clockwork." + +"I think I see the connection," said the priest. "This Glengyle was +mad against the French Revolution. He was an enthusiast for the ancien +regime, and was trying to re-enact literally the family life of the last +Bourbons. He had snuff because it was the eighteenth century luxury; +wax candles, because they were the eighteenth century lighting; the +mechanical bits of iron represent the locksmith hobby of Louis XVI; the +diamonds are for the Diamond Necklace of Marie Antoinette." + +Both the other men were staring at him with round eyes. "What a +perfectly extraordinary notion!" cried Flambeau. "Do you really think +that is the truth?" + +"I am perfectly sure it isn't," answered Father Brown, "only you said +that nobody could connect snuff and diamonds and clockwork and candles. +I give you that connection off-hand. The real truth, I am very sure, +lies deeper." + +He paused a moment and listened to the wailing of the wind in the +turrets. Then he said, "The late Earl of Glengyle was a thief. He lived +a second and darker life as a desperate housebreaker. He did not have +any candlesticks because he only used these candles cut short in the +little lantern he carried. The snuff he employed as the fiercest French +criminals have used pepper: to fling it suddenly in dense masses in +the face of a captor or pursuer. But the final proof is in the curious +coincidence of the diamonds and the small steel wheels. Surely that +makes everything plain to you? Diamonds and small steel wheels are the +only two instruments with which you can cut out a pane of glass." + +The bough of a broken pine tree lashed heavily in the blast against the +windowpane behind them, as if in parody of a burglar, but they did not +turn round. Their eyes were fastened on Father Brown. + +"Diamonds and small wheels," repeated Craven ruminating. "Is that all +that makes you think it the true explanation?" + +"I don't think it the true explanation," replied the priest placidly; +"but you said that nobody could connect the four things. The true +tale, of course, is something much more humdrum. Glengyle had found, +or thought he had found, precious stones on his estate. Somebody had +bamboozled him with those loose brilliants, saying they were found in +the castle caverns. The little wheels are some diamond-cutting affair. +He had to do the thing very roughly and in a small way, with the help of +a few shepherds or rude fellows on these hills. Snuff is the one great +luxury of such Scotch shepherds; it's the one thing with which you can +bribe them. They didn't have candlesticks because they didn't want them; +they held the candles in their hands when they explored the caves." + +"Is that all?" asked Flambeau after a long pause. "Have we got to the +dull truth at last?" + +"Oh, no," said Father Brown. + +As the wind died in the most distant pine woods with a long hoot as of +mockery Father Brown, with an utterly impassive face, went on: + +"I only suggested that because you said one could not plausibly +connect snuff with clockwork or candles with bright stones. Ten false +philosophies will fit the universe; ten false theories will fit Glengyle +Castle. But we want the real explanation of the castle and the universe. +But are there no other exhibits?" + +Craven laughed, and Flambeau rose smiling to his feet and strolled down +the long table. + +"Items five, six, seven, etc.," he said, "and certainly more varied than +instructive. A curious collection, not of lead pencils, but of the lead +out of lead pencils. A senseless stick of bamboo, with the top rather +splintered. It might be the instrument of the crime. Only, there isn't +any crime. The only other things are a few old missals and little +Catholic pictures, which the Ogilvies kept, I suppose, from the Middle +Ages--their family pride being stronger than their Puritanism. We +only put them in the museum because they seem curiously cut about and +defaced." + +The heady tempest without drove a dreadful wrack of clouds across +Glengyle and threw the long room into darkness as Father Brown picked up +the little illuminated pages to examine them. He spoke before the drift +of darkness had passed; but it was the voice of an utterly new man. + +"Mr. Craven," said he, talking like a man ten years younger, "you have +got a legal warrant, haven't you, to go up and examine that grave? +The sooner we do it the better, and get to the bottom of this horrible +affair. If I were you I should start now." + +"Now," repeated the astonished detective, "and why now?" + +"Because this is serious," answered Brown; "this is not spilt snuff or +loose pebbles, that might be there for a hundred reasons. There is only +one reason I know of for this being done; and the reason goes down to +the roots of the world. These religious pictures are not just dirtied +or torn or scrawled over, which might be done in idleness or bigotry, by +children or by Protestants. These have been treated very carefully--and +very queerly. In every place where the great ornamented name of God +comes in the old illuminations it has been elaborately taken out. The +only other thing that has been removed is the halo round the head of the +Child Jesus. Therefore, I say, let us get our warrant and our spade and +our hatchet, and go up and break open that coffin." + +"What do you mean?" demanded the London officer. + +"I mean," answered the little priest, and his voice seemed to rise +slightly in the roar of the gale. "I mean that the great devil of the +universe may be sitting on the top tower of this castle at this moment, +as big as a hundred elephants, and roaring like the Apocalypse. There is +black magic somewhere at the bottom of this." + +"Black magic," repeated Flambeau in a low voice, for he was too +enlightened a man not to know of such things; "but what can these other +things mean?" + +"Oh, something damnable, I suppose," replied Brown impatiently. "How +should I know? How can I guess all their mazes down below? Perhaps you +can make a torture out of snuff and bamboo. Perhaps lunatics lust after +wax and steel filings. Perhaps there is a maddening drug made of lead +pencils! Our shortest cut to the mystery is up the hill to the grave." + +His comrades hardly knew that they had obeyed and followed him till a +blast of the night wind nearly flung them on their faces in the garden. +Nevertheless they had obeyed him like automata; for Craven found +a hatchet in his hand, and the warrant in his pocket; Flambeau was +carrying the heavy spade of the strange gardener; Father Brown was +carrying the little gilt book from which had been torn the name of God. + +The path up the hill to the churchyard was crooked but short; only under +that stress of wind it seemed laborious and long. Far as the eye could +see, farther and farther as they mounted the slope, were seas beyond +seas of pines, now all aslope one way under the wind. And that universal +gesture seemed as vain as it was vast, as vain as if that wind were +whistling about some unpeopled and purposeless planet. Through all that +infinite growth of grey-blue forests sang, shrill and high, that ancient +sorrow that is in the heart of all heathen things. One could fancy that +the voices from the under world of unfathomable foliage were cries of +the lost and wandering pagan gods: gods who had gone roaming in that +irrational forest, and who will never find their way back to heaven. + +"You see," said Father Brown in low but easy tone, "Scotch people before +Scotland existed were a curious lot. In fact, they're a curious lot +still. But in the prehistoric times I fancy they really worshipped +demons. That," he added genially, "is why they jumped at the Puritan +theology." + +"My friend," said Flambeau, turning in a kind of fury, "what does all +that snuff mean?" + +"My friend," replied Brown, with equal seriousness, "there is one mark +of all genuine religions: materialism. Now, devil-worship is a perfectly +genuine religion." + +They had come up on the grassy scalp of the hill, one of the few bald +spots that stood clear of the crashing and roaring pine forest. A mean +enclosure, partly timber and partly wire, rattled in the tempest to tell +them the border of the graveyard. But by the time Inspector Craven had +come to the corner of the grave, and Flambeau had planted his spade +point downwards and leaned on it, they were both almost as shaken as the +shaky wood and wire. At the foot of the grave grew great tall +thistles, grey and silver in their decay. Once or twice, when a ball +of thistledown broke under the breeze and flew past him, Craven jumped +slightly as if it had been an arrow. + +Flambeau drove the blade of his spade through the whistling grass into +the wet clay below. Then he seemed to stop and lean on it as on a staff. + +"Go on," said the priest very gently. "We are only trying to find the +truth. What are you afraid of?" + +"I am afraid of finding it," said Flambeau. + +The London detective spoke suddenly in a high crowing voice that was +meant to be conversational and cheery. "I wonder why he really did hide +himself like that. Something nasty, I suppose; was he a leper?" + +"Something worse than that," said Flambeau. + +"And what do you imagine," asked the other, "would be worse than a +leper?" + +"I don't imagine it," said Flambeau. + +He dug for some dreadful minutes in silence, and then said in a choked +voice, "I'm afraid of his not being the right shape." + +"Nor was that piece of paper, you know," said Father Brown quietly, "and +we survived even that piece of paper." + +Flambeau dug on with a blind energy. But the tempest had shouldered away +the choking grey clouds that clung to the hills like smoke and revealed +grey fields of faint starlight before he cleared the shape of a rude +timber coffin, and somehow tipped it up upon the turf. Craven stepped +forward with his axe; a thistle-top touched him, and he flinched. Then +he took a firmer stride, and hacked and wrenched with an energy like +Flambeau's till the lid was torn off, and all that was there lay +glimmering in the grey starlight. + +"Bones," said Craven; and then he added, "but it is a man," as if that +were something unexpected. + +"Is he," asked Flambeau in a voice that went oddly up and down, "is he +all right?" + +"Seems so," said the officer huskily, bending over the obscure and +decaying skeleton in the box. "Wait a minute." + +A vast heave went over Flambeau's huge figure. "And now I come to think +of it," he cried, "why in the name of madness shouldn't he be all right? +What is it gets hold of a man on these cursed cold mountains? I think +it's the black, brainless repetition; all these forests, and over all +an ancient horror of unconsciousness. It's like the dream of an atheist. +Pine-trees and more pine-trees and millions more pine-trees--" + +"God!" cried the man by the coffin, "but he hasn't got a head." + +While the others stood rigid the priest, for the first time, showed a +leap of startled concern. + +"No head!" he repeated. "No head?" as if he had almost expected some +other deficiency. + +Half-witted visions of a headless baby born to Glengyle, of a headless +youth hiding himself in the castle, of a headless man pacing those +ancient halls or that gorgeous garden, passed in panorama through their +minds. But even in that stiffened instant the tale took no root in them +and seemed to have no reason in it. They stood listening to the loud +woods and the shrieking sky quite foolishly, like exhausted animals. +Thought seemed to be something enormous that had suddenly slipped out of +their grasp. + +"There are three headless men," said Father Brown, "standing round this +open grave." + +The pale detective from London opened his mouth to speak, and left it +open like a yokel, while a long scream of wind tore the sky; then he +looked at the axe in his hands as if it did not belong to him, and +dropped it. + +"Father," said Flambeau in that infantile and heavy voice he used very +seldom, "what are we to do?" + +His friend's reply came with the pent promptitude of a gun going off. + +"Sleep!" cried Father Brown. "Sleep. We have come to the end of the +ways. Do you know what sleep is? Do you know that every man who sleeps +believes in God? It is a sacrament; for it is an act of faith and it is +a food. And we need a sacrament, if only a natural one. Something has +fallen on us that falls very seldom on men; perhaps the worst thing that +can fall on them." + +Craven's parted lips came together to say, "What do you mean?" + +The priest had turned his face to the castle as he answered: "We have +found the truth; and the truth makes no sense." + +He went down the path in front of them with a plunging and reckless +step very rare with him, and when they reached the castle again he threw +himself upon sleep with the simplicity of a dog. + +Despite his mystic praise of slumber, Father Brown was up earlier than +anyone else except the silent gardener; and was found smoking a big +pipe and watching that expert at his speechless labours in the kitchen +garden. Towards daybreak the rocking storm had ended in roaring rains, +and the day came with a curious freshness. The gardener seemed even +to have been conversing, but at sight of the detectives he planted +his spade sullenly in a bed and, saying something about his breakfast, +shifted along the lines of cabbages and shut himself in the kitchen. +"He's a valuable man, that," said Father Brown. "He does the potatoes +amazingly. Still," he added, with a dispassionate charity, "he has his +faults; which of us hasn't? He doesn't dig this bank quite regularly. +There, for instance," and he stamped suddenly on one spot. "I'm really +very doubtful about that potato." + +"And why?" asked Craven, amused with the little man's hobby. + +"I'm doubtful about it," said the other, "because old Gow was doubtful +about it himself. He put his spade in methodically in every place but +just this. There must be a mighty fine potato just here." + +Flambeau pulled up the spade and impetuously drove it into the place. +He turned up, under a load of soil, something that did not look like a +potato, but rather like a monstrous, over-domed mushroom. But it struck +the spade with a cold click; it rolled over like a ball, and grinned up +at them. + +"The Earl of Glengyle," said Brown sadly, and looked down heavily at the +skull. + +Then, after a momentary meditation, he plucked the spade from Flambeau, +and, saying "We must hide it again," clamped the skull down in the +earth. Then he leaned his little body and huge head on the great handle +of the spade, that stood up stiffly in the earth, and his eyes were +empty and his forehead full of wrinkles. "If one could only conceive," +he muttered, "the meaning of this last monstrosity." And leaning on +the large spade handle, he buried his brows in his hands, as men do in +church. + +All the corners of the sky were brightening into blue and silver; the +birds were chattering in the tiny garden trees; so loud it seemed as if +the trees themselves were talking. But the three men were silent enough. + +"Well, I give it all up," said Flambeau at last boisterously. "My brain +and this world don't fit each other; and there's an end of it. Snuff, +spoilt Prayer Books, and the insides of musical boxes--what--" + +Brown threw up his bothered brow and rapped on the spade handle with an +intolerance quite unusual with him. "Oh, tut, tut, tut, tut!" he +cried. "All that is as plain as a pikestaff. I understood the snuff +and clockwork, and so on, when I first opened my eyes this morning. And +since then I've had it out with old Gow, the gardener, who is neither so +deaf nor so stupid as he pretends. There's nothing amiss about the loose +items. I was wrong about the torn mass-book, too; there's no harm in +that. But it's this last business. Desecrating graves and stealing dead +men's heads--surely there's harm in that? Surely there's black magic +still in that? That doesn't fit in to the quite simple story of the +snuff and the candles." And, striding about again, he smoked moodily. + +"My friend," said Flambeau, with a grim humour, "you must be careful +with me and remember I was once a criminal. The great advantage of that +estate was that I always made up the story myself, and acted it as quick +as I chose. This detective business of waiting about is too much for my +French impatience. All my life, for good or evil, I have done things at +the instant; I always fought duels the next morning; I always paid bills +on the nail; I never even put off a visit to the dentist--" + +Father Brown's pipe fell out of his mouth and broke into three pieces +on the gravel path. He stood rolling his eyes, the exact picture of +an idiot. "Lord, what a turnip I am!" he kept saying. "Lord, what a +turnip!" Then, in a somewhat groggy kind of way, he began to laugh. + +"The dentist!" he repeated. "Six hours in the spiritual abyss, and all +because I never thought of the dentist! Such a simple, such a beautiful +and peaceful thought! Friends, we have passed a night in hell; but now +the sun is risen, the birds are singing, and the radiant form of the +dentist consoles the world." + +"I will get some sense out of this," cried Flambeau, striding forward, +"if I use the tortures of the Inquisition." + +Father Brown repressed what appeared to be a momentary disposition to +dance on the now sunlit lawn and cried quite piteously, like a child, +"Oh, let me be silly a little. You don't know how unhappy I have been. +And now I know that there has been no deep sin in this business at all. +Only a little lunacy, perhaps--and who minds that?" + +He spun round once more, then faced them with gravity. + +"This is not a story of crime," he said; "rather it is the story of a +strange and crooked honesty. We are dealing with the one man on earth, +perhaps, who has taken no more than his due. It is a study in the savage +living logic that has been the religion of this race. + +"That old local rhyme about the house of Glengyle-- + + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies-- + +was literal as well as metaphorical. It did not merely mean that the +Glengyles sought for wealth; it was also true that they literally +gathered gold; they had a huge collection of ornaments and utensils in +that metal. They were, in fact, misers whose mania took that turn. +In the light of that fact, run through all the things we found in the +castle. Diamonds without their gold rings; candles without their gold +candlesticks; snuff without the gold snuff-boxes; pencil-leads without +the gold pencil-cases; a walking stick without its gold top; clockwork +without the gold clocks--or rather watches. And, mad as it sounds, +because the halos and the name of God in the old missals were of real +gold; these also were taken away." + +The garden seemed to brighten, the grass to grow gayer in the +strengthening sun, as the crazy truth was told. Flambeau lit a cigarette +as his friend went on. + +"Were taken away," continued Father Brown; "were taken away--but not +stolen. Thieves would never have left this mystery. Thieves would have +taken the gold snuff-boxes, snuff and all; the gold pencil-cases, lead +and all. We have to deal with a man with a peculiar conscience, but +certainly a conscience. I found that mad moralist this morning in the +kitchen garden yonder, and I heard the whole story. + +"The late Archibald Ogilvie was the nearest approach to a good man +ever born at Glengyle. But his bitter virtue took the turn of the +misanthrope; he moped over the dishonesty of his ancestors, from which, +somehow, he generalised a dishonesty of all men. More especially he +distrusted philanthropy or free-giving; and he swore if he could +find one man who took his exact rights he should have all the gold of +Glengyle. Having delivered this defiance to humanity he shut himself +up, without the smallest expectation of its being answered. One day, +however, a deaf and seemingly senseless lad from a distant village +brought him a belated telegram; and Glengyle, in his acrid pleasantry, +gave him a new farthing. At least he thought he had done so, but when +he turned over his change he found the new farthing still there and a +sovereign gone. The accident offered him vistas of sneering speculation. +Either way, the boy would show the greasy greed of the species. Either +he would vanish, a thief stealing a coin; or he would sneak back with +it virtuously, a snob seeking a reward. In the middle of that night Lord +Glengyle was knocked up out of his bed--for he lived alone--and forced +to open the door to the deaf idiot. The idiot brought with him, not +the sovereign, but exactly nineteen shillings and eleven-pence +three-farthings in change. + +"Then the wild exactitude of this action took hold of the mad lord's +brain like fire. He swore he was Diogenes, that had long sought an +honest man, and at last had found one. He made a new will, which I have +seen. He took the literal youth into his huge, neglected house, and +trained him up as his solitary servant and--after an odd manner--his +heir. And whatever that queer creature understands, he understood +absolutely his lord's two fixed ideas: first, that the letter of right +is everything; and second, that he himself was to have the gold of +Glengyle. So far, that is all; and that is simple. He has stripped the +house of gold, and taken not a grain that was not gold; not so much as +a grain of snuff. He lifted the gold leaf off an old illumination, fully +satisfied that he left the rest unspoilt. All that I understood; but I +could not understand this skull business. I was really uneasy about that +human head buried among the potatoes. It distressed me--till Flambeau +said the word. + +"It will be all right. He will put the skull back in the grave, when he +has taken the gold out of the tooth." + +And, indeed, when Flambeau crossed the hill that morning, he saw that +strange being, the just miser, digging at the desecrated grave, the +plaid round his throat thrashing out in the mountain wind; the sober top +hat on his head. + + + + +The Wrong Shape + + +Certain of the great roads going north out of London continue far into +the country a sort of attenuated and interrupted spectre of a street, +with great gaps in the building, but preserving the line. Here will be a +group of shops, followed by a fenced field or paddock, and then a famous +public-house, and then perhaps a market garden or a nursery garden, and +then one large private house, and then another field and another inn, +and so on. If anyone walks along one of these roads he will pass a house +which will probably catch his eye, though he may not be able to explain +its attraction. It is a long, low house, running parallel with the road, +painted mostly white and pale green, with a veranda and sun-blinds, and +porches capped with those quaint sort of cupolas like wooden umbrellas +that one sees in some old-fashioned houses. In fact, it is an +old-fashioned house, very English and very suburban in the good old +wealthy Clapham sense. And yet the house has a look of having been built +chiefly for the hot weather. Looking at its white paint and sun-blinds +one thinks vaguely of pugarees and even of palm trees. I cannot trace +the feeling to its root; perhaps the place was built by an Anglo-Indian. + +Anyone passing this house, I say, would be namelessly fascinated by it; +would feel that it was a place about which some story was to be told. +And he would have been right, as you shall shortly hear. For this is the +story--the story of the strange things that did really happen in it in +the Whitsuntide of the year 18--: + +Anyone passing the house on the Thursday before Whit-Sunday at about +half-past four p.m. would have seen the front door open, and Father +Brown, of the small church of St. Mungo, come out smoking a large pipe +in company with a very tall French friend of his called Flambeau, who +was smoking a very small cigarette. These persons may or may not be of +interest to the reader, but the truth is that they were not the only +interesting things that were displayed when the front door of the +white-and-green house was opened. There are further peculiarities about +this house, which must be described to start with, not only that the +reader may understand this tragic tale, but also that he may realise +what it was that the opening of the door revealed. + +The whole house was built upon the plan of a T, but a T with a very long +cross piece and a very short tail piece. The long cross piece was the +frontage that ran along in face of the street, with the front door +in the middle; it was two stories high, and contained nearly all +the important rooms. The short tail piece, which ran out at the back +immediately opposite the front door, was one story high, and consisted +only of two long rooms, the one leading into the other. The first of +these two rooms was the study in which the celebrated Mr. Quinton wrote +his wild Oriental poems and romances. The farther room was a glass +conservatory full of tropical blossoms of quite unique and almost +monstrous beauty, and on such afternoons as these glowing with gorgeous +sunlight. Thus when the hall door was open, many a passer-by literally +stopped to stare and gasp; for he looked down a perspective of rich +apartments to something really like a transformation scene in a fairy +play: purple clouds and golden suns and crimson stars that were at once +scorchingly vivid and yet transparent and far away. + +Leonard Quinton, the poet, had himself most carefully arranged this +effect; and it is doubtful whether he so perfectly expressed his +personality in any of his poems. For he was a man who drank and bathed +in colours, who indulged his lust for colour somewhat to the neglect +of form--even of good form. This it was that had turned his genius +so wholly to eastern art and imagery; to those bewildering carpets +or blinding embroideries in which all the colours seem fallen into a +fortunate chaos, having nothing to typify or to teach. He had attempted, +not perhaps with complete artistic success, but with acknowledged +imagination and invention, to compose epics and love stories reflecting +the riot of violent and even cruel colour; tales of tropical heavens +of burning gold or blood-red copper; of eastern heroes who rode with +twelve-turbaned mitres upon elephants painted purple or peacock green; +of gigantic jewels that a hundred negroes could not carry, but which +burned with ancient and strange-hued fires. + +In short (to put the matter from the more common point of view), he +dealt much in eastern heavens, rather worse than most western hells; in +eastern monarchs, whom we might possibly call maniacs; and in eastern +jewels which a Bond Street jeweller (if the hundred staggering negroes +brought them into his shop) might possibly not regard as genuine. +Quinton was a genius, if a morbid one; and even his morbidity appeared +more in his life than in his work. In temperament he was weak and +waspish, and his health had suffered heavily from oriental experiments +with opium. His wife--a handsome, hard-working, and, indeed, over-worked +woman objected to the opium, but objected much more to a live Indian +hermit in white and yellow robes, whom her husband insisted on +entertaining for months together, a Virgil to guide his spirit through +the heavens and the hells of the east. + +It was out of this artistic household that Father Brown and his friend +stepped on to the door-step; and to judge from their faces, they stepped +out of it with much relief. Flambeau had known Quinton in wild student +days in Paris, and they had renewed the acquaintance for a week-end; but +apart from Flambeau's more responsible developments of late, he did not +get on well with the poet now. Choking oneself with opium and writing +little erotic verses on vellum was not his notion of how a gentleman +should go to the devil. As the two paused on the door-step, before +taking a turn in the garden, the front garden gate was thrown open with +violence, and a young man with a billycock hat on the back of his head +tumbled up the steps in his eagerness. He was a dissipated-looking youth +with a gorgeous red necktie all awry, as if he had slept in it, and he +kept fidgeting and lashing about with one of those little jointed canes. + +"I say," he said breathlessly, "I want to see old Quinton. I must see +him. Has he gone?" + +"Mr. Quinton is in, I believe," said Father Brown, cleaning his pipe, +"but I do not know if you can see him. The doctor is with him at +present." + +The young man, who seemed not to be perfectly sober, stumbled into the +hall; and at the same moment the doctor came out of Quinton's study, +shutting the door and beginning to put on his gloves. + +"See Mr. Quinton?" said the doctor coolly. "No, I'm afraid you can't. In +fact, you mustn't on any account. Nobody must see him; I've just given +him his sleeping draught." + +"No, but look here, old chap," said the youth in the red tie, trying +affectionately to capture the doctor by the lapels of his coat. "Look +here. I'm simply sewn up, I tell you. I--" + +"It's no good, Mr. Atkinson," said the doctor, forcing him to fall back; +"when you can alter the effects of a drug I'll alter my decision," and, +settling on his hat, he stepped out into the sunlight with the other +two. He was a bull-necked, good-tempered little man with a small +moustache, inexpressibly ordinary, yet giving an impression of capacity. + +The young man in the billycock, who did not seem to be gifted with any +tact in dealing with people beyond the general idea of clutching hold of +their coats, stood outside the door, as dazed as if he had been thrown +out bodily, and silently watched the other three walk away together +through the garden. + +"That was a sound, spanking lie I told just now," remarked the medical +man, laughing. "In point of fact, poor Quinton doesn't have his sleeping +draught for nearly half an hour. But I'm not going to have him bothered +with that little beast, who only wants to borrow money that he wouldn't +pay back if he could. He's a dirty little scamp, though he is Mrs. +Quinton's brother, and she's as fine a woman as ever walked." + +"Yes," said Father Brown. "She's a good woman." + +"So I propose to hang about the garden till the creature has cleared +off," went on the doctor, "and then I'll go in to Quinton with the +medicine. Atkinson can't get in, because I locked the door." + +"In that case, Dr. Harris," said Flambeau, "we might as well walk round +at the back by the end of the conservatory. There's no entrance to it +that way, but it's worth seeing, even from the outside." + +"Yes, and I might get a squint at my patient," laughed the doctor, "for +he prefers to lie on an ottoman right at the end of the conservatory +amid all those blood-red poinsettias; it would give me the creeps. But +what are you doing?" + +Father Brown had stopped for a moment, and picked up out of the long +grass, where it had almost been wholly hidden, a queer, crooked Oriental +knife, inlaid exquisitely in coloured stones and metals. + +"What is this?" asked Father Brown, regarding it with some disfavour. + +"Oh, Quinton's, I suppose," said Dr. Harris carelessly; "he has all +sorts of Chinese knickknacks about the place. Or perhaps it belongs to +that mild Hindoo of his whom he keeps on a string." + +"What Hindoo?" asked Father Brown, still staring at the dagger in his +hand. + +"Oh, some Indian conjuror," said the doctor lightly; "a fraud, of +course." + +"You don't believe in magic?" asked Father Brown, without looking up. + +"O crickey! magic!" said the doctor. + +"It's very beautiful," said the priest in a low, dreaming voice; "the +colours are very beautiful. But it's the wrong shape." + +"What for?" asked Flambeau, staring. + +"For anything. It's the wrong shape in the abstract. Don't you ever feel +that about Eastern art? The colours are intoxicatingly lovely; but the +shapes are mean and bad--deliberately mean and bad. I have seen wicked +things in a Turkey carpet." + +"Mon Dieu!" cried Flambeau, laughing. + +"They are letters and symbols in a language I don't know; but I know +they stand for evil words," went on the priest, his voice growing lower +and lower. "The lines go wrong on purpose--like serpents doubling to +escape." + +"What the devil are you talking about?" said the doctor with a loud +laugh. + +Flambeau spoke quietly to him in answer. "The Father sometimes gets this +mystic's cloud on him," he said; "but I give you fair warning that I +have never known him to have it except when there was some evil quite +near." + +"Oh, rats!" said the scientist. + +"Why, look at it," cried Father Brown, holding out the crooked knife at +arm's length, as if it were some glittering snake. "Don't you see it is +the wrong shape? Don't you see that it has no hearty and plain purpose? +It does not point like a spear. It does not sweep like a scythe. It does +not look like a weapon. It looks like an instrument of torture." + +"Well, as you don't seem to like it," said the jolly Harris, "it had +better be taken back to its owner. Haven't we come to the end of this +confounded conservatory yet? This house is the wrong shape, if you +like." + +"You don't understand," said Father Brown, shaking his head. "The shape +of this house is quaint--it is even laughable. But there is nothing +wrong about it." + +As they spoke they came round the curve of glass that ended the +conservatory, an uninterrupted curve, for there was neither door nor +window by which to enter at that end. The glass, however, was clear, and +the sun still bright, though beginning to set; and they could see not +only the flamboyant blossoms inside, but the frail figure of the poet +in a brown velvet coat lying languidly on the sofa, having, apparently, +fallen half asleep over a book. He was a pale, slight man, with loose, +chestnut hair and a fringe of beard that was the paradox of his face, +for the beard made him look less manly. These traits were well known +to all three of them; but even had it not been so, it may be doubted +whether they would have looked at Quinton just then. Their eyes were +riveted on another object. + +Exactly in their path, immediately outside the round end of the glass +building, was standing a tall man, whose drapery fell to his feet in +faultless white, and whose bare, brown skull, face, and neck gleamed in +the setting sun like splendid bronze. He was looking through the glass +at the sleeper, and he was more motionless than a mountain. + +"Who is that?" cried Father Brown, stepping back with a hissing intake +of his breath. + +"Oh, it is only that Hindoo humbug," growled Harris; "but I don't know +what the deuce he's doing here." + +"It looks like hypnotism," said Flambeau, biting his black moustache. + +"Why are you unmedical fellows always talking bosh about hypnotism?" +cried the doctor. "It looks a deal more like burglary." + +"Well, we will speak to it, at any rate," said Flambeau, who was always +for action. One long stride took him to the place where the Indian +stood. Bowing from his great height, which overtopped even the +Oriental's, he said with placid impudence: + +"Good evening, sir. Do you want anything?" + +Quite slowly, like a great ship turning into a harbour, the great yellow +face turned, and looked at last over its white shoulder. They were +startled to see that its yellow eyelids were quite sealed, as in sleep. +"Thank you," said the face in excellent English. "I want nothing." Then, +half opening the lids, so as to show a slit of opalescent eyeball, +he repeated, "I want nothing." Then he opened his eyes wide with a +startling stare, said, "I want nothing," and went rustling away into the +rapidly darkening garden. + +"The Christian is more modest," muttered Father Brown; "he wants +something." + +"What on earth was he doing?" asked Flambeau, knitting his black brows +and lowering his voice. + +"I should like to talk to you later," said Father Brown. + +The sunlight was still a reality, but it was the red light of evening, +and the bulk of the garden trees and bushes grew blacker and blacker +against it. They turned round the end of the conservatory, and walked in +silence down the other side to get round to the front door. As they went +they seemed to wake something, as one startles a bird, in the deeper +corner between the study and the main building; and again they saw the +white-robed fakir slide out of the shadow, and slip round towards the +front door. To their surprise, however, he had not been alone. +They found themselves abruptly pulled up and forced to banish their +bewilderment by the appearance of Mrs. Quinton, with her heavy golden +hair and square pale face, advancing on them out of the twilight. She +looked a little stern, but was entirely courteous. + +"Good evening, Dr. Harris," was all she said. + +"Good evening, Mrs. Quinton," said the little doctor heartily. "I am +just going to give your husband his sleeping draught." + +"Yes," she said in a clear voice. "I think it is quite time." And she +smiled at them, and went sweeping into the house. + +"That woman's over-driven," said Father Brown; "that's the kind of woman +that does her duty for twenty years, and then does something dreadful." + +The little doctor looked at him for the first time with an eye of +interest. "Did you ever study medicine?" he asked. + +"You have to know something of the mind as well as the body," answered +the priest; "we have to know something of the body as well as the mind." + +"Well," said the doctor, "I think I'll go and give Quinton his stuff." + +They had turned the corner of the front facade, and were approaching the +front doorway. As they turned into it they saw the man in the white robe +for the third time. He came so straight towards the front door that +it seemed quite incredible that he had not just come out of the study +opposite to it. Yet they knew that the study door was locked. + +Father Brown and Flambeau, however, kept this weird contradiction to +themselves, and Dr. Harris was not a man to waste his thoughts on the +impossible. He permitted the omnipresent Asiatic to make his exit, and +then stepped briskly into the hall. There he found a figure which he had +already forgotten. The inane Atkinson was still hanging about, humming +and poking things with his knobby cane. The doctor's face had a spasm of +disgust and decision, and he whispered rapidly to his companion: "I must +lock the door again, or this rat will get in. But I shall be out again +in two minutes." + +He rapidly unlocked the door and locked it again behind him, just +balking a blundering charge from the young man in the billycock. The +young man threw himself impatiently on a hall chair. Flambeau looked at +a Persian illumination on the wall; Father Brown, who seemed in a sort +of daze, dully eyed the door. In about four minutes the door was opened +again. Atkinson was quicker this time. He sprang forward, held the door +open for an instant, and called out: "Oh, I say, Quinton, I want--" + +From the other end of the study came the clear voice of Quinton, in +something between a yawn and a yell of weary laughter. + +"Oh, I know what you want. Take it, and leave me in peace. I'm writing a +song about peacocks." + +Before the door closed half a sovereign came flying through the +aperture; and Atkinson, stumbling forward, caught it with singular +dexterity. + +"So that's settled," said the doctor, and, locking the door savagely, he +led the way out into the garden. + +"Poor Leonard can get a little peace now," he added to Father Brown; +"he's locked in all by himself for an hour or two." + +"Yes," answered the priest; "and his voice sounded jolly enough when we +left him." Then he looked gravely round the garden, and saw the loose +figure of Atkinson standing and jingling the half-sovereign in his +pocket, and beyond, in the purple twilight, the figure of the Indian +sitting bolt upright upon a bank of grass with his face turned towards +the setting sun. Then he said abruptly: "Where is Mrs. Quinton!" + +"She has gone up to her room," said the doctor. "That is her shadow on +the blind." + +Father Brown looked up, and frowningly scrutinised a dark outline at the +gas-lit window. + +"Yes," he said, "that is her shadow," and he walked a yard or two and +threw himself upon a garden seat. + +Flambeau sat down beside him; but the doctor was one of those energetic +people who live naturally on their legs. He walked away, smoking, into +the twilight, and the two friends were left together. + +"My father," said Flambeau in French, "what is the matter with you?" + +Father Brown was silent and motionless for half a minute, then he said: +"Superstition is irreligious, but there is something in the air of this +place. I think it's that Indian--at least, partly." + +He sank into silence, and watched the distant outline of the Indian, who +still sat rigid as if in prayer. At first sight he seemed motionless, +but as Father Brown watched him he saw that the man swayed ever so +slightly with a rhythmic movement, just as the dark tree-tops swayed +ever so slightly in the wind that was creeping up the dim garden paths +and shuffling the fallen leaves a little. + +The landscape was growing rapidly dark, as if for a storm, but they +could still see all the figures in their various places. Atkinson was +leaning against a tree with a listless face; Quinton's wife was still +at her window; the doctor had gone strolling round the end of the +conservatory; they could see his cigar like a will-o'-the-wisp; and the +fakir still sat rigid and yet rocking, while the trees above him began +to rock and almost to roar. Storm was certainly coming. + +"When that Indian spoke to us," went on Brown in a conversational +undertone, "I had a sort of vision, a vision of him and all his +universe. Yet he only said the same thing three times. When first he +said 'I want nothing,' it meant only that he was impenetrable, that Asia +does not give itself away. Then he said again, 'I want nothing,' and +I knew that he meant that he was sufficient to himself, like a cosmos, +that he needed no God, neither admitted any sins. And when he said the +third time, 'I want nothing,' he said it with blazing eyes. And I knew +that he meant literally what he said; that nothing was his desire and +his home; that he was weary for nothing as for wine; that annihilation, +the mere destruction of everything or anything--" + +Two drops of rain fell; and for some reason Flambeau started and looked +up, as if they had stung him. And the same instant the doctor down by +the end of the conservatory began running towards them, calling out +something as he ran. + +As he came among them like a bombshell the restless Atkinson happened to +be taking a turn nearer to the house front; and the doctor clutched him +by the collar in a convulsive grip. "Foul play!" he cried; "what have +you been doing to him, you dog?" + +The priest had sprung erect, and had the voice of steel of a soldier in +command. + +"No fighting," he cried coolly; "we are enough to hold anyone we want +to. What is the matter, doctor?" + +"Things are not right with Quinton," said the doctor, quite white. "I +could just see him through the glass, and I don't like the way he's +lying. It's not as I left him, anyhow." + +"Let us go in to him," said Father Brown shortly. "You can leave Mr. +Atkinson alone. I have had him in sight since we heard Quinton's voice." + +"I will stop here and watch him," said Flambeau hurriedly. "You go in +and see." + +The doctor and the priest flew to the study door, unlocked it, and fell +into the room. In doing so they nearly fell over the large mahogany +table in the centre at which the poet usually wrote; for the place was +lit only by a small fire kept for the invalid. In the middle of this +table lay a single sheet of paper, evidently left there on purpose. The +doctor snatched it up, glanced at it, handed it to Father Brown, and +crying, "Good God, look at that!" plunged toward the glass room beyond, +where the terrible tropic flowers still seemed to keep a crimson memory +of the sunset. + +Father Brown read the words three times before he put down the paper. +The words were: "I die by my own hand; yet I die murdered!" They were +in the quite inimitable, not to say illegible, handwriting of Leonard +Quinton. + +Then Father Brown, still keeping the paper in his hand, strode towards +the conservatory, only to meet his medical friend coming back with a +face of assurance and collapse. "He's done it," said Harris. + +They went together through the gorgeous unnatural beauty of cactus +and azalea and found Leonard Quinton, poet and romancer, with his head +hanging downward off his ottoman and his red curls sweeping the ground. +Into his left side was thrust the queer dagger that they had picked up +in the garden, and his limp hand still rested on the hilt. + +Outside the storm had come at one stride, like the night in Coleridge, +and garden and glass roof were darkened with driving rain. Father Brown +seemed to be studying the paper more than the corpse; he held it close +to his eyes; and seemed trying to read it in the twilight. Then he held +it up against the faint light, and, as he did so, lightning stared at +them for an instant so white that the paper looked black against it. + +Darkness full of thunder followed, and after the thunder Father Brown's +voice said out of the dark: "Doctor, this paper is the wrong shape." + +"What do you mean?" asked Doctor Harris, with a frowning stare. + +"It isn't square," answered Brown. "It has a sort of edge snipped off at +the corner. What does it mean?" + +"How the deuce should I know?" growled the doctor. "Shall we move this +poor chap, do you think? He's quite dead." + +"No," answered the priest; "we must leave him as he lies and send for +the police." But he was still scrutinising the paper. + +As they went back through the study he stopped by the table and picked +up a small pair of nail scissors. "Ah," he said, with a sort of relief, +"this is what he did it with. But yet--" And he knitted his brows. + +"Oh, stop fooling with that scrap of paper," said the doctor +emphatically. "It was a fad of his. He had hundreds of them. He cut all +his paper like that," as he pointed to a stack of sermon paper still +unused on another and smaller table. Father Brown went up to it and held +up a sheet. It was the same irregular shape. + +"Quite so," he said. "And here I see the corners that were snipped off." +And to the indignation of his colleague he began to count them. + +"That's all right," he said, with an apologetic smile. "Twenty-three +sheets cut and twenty-two corners cut off them. And as I see you are +impatient we will rejoin the others." + +"Who is to tell his wife?" asked Dr. Harris. "Will you go and tell her +now, while I send a servant for the police?" + +"As you will," said Father Brown indifferently. And he went out to the +hall door. + +Here also he found a drama, though of a more grotesque sort. It showed +nothing less than his big friend Flambeau in an attitude to which he +had long been unaccustomed, while upon the pathway at the bottom of the +steps was sprawling with his boots in the air the amiable Atkinson, his +billycock hat and walking cane sent flying in opposite directions along +the path. Atkinson had at length wearied of Flambeau's almost paternal +custody, and had endeavoured to knock him down, which was by no means a +smooth game to play with the Roi des Apaches, even after that monarch's +abdication. + +Flambeau was about to leap upon his enemy and secure him once more, when +the priest patted him easily on the shoulder. + +"Make it up with Mr. Atkinson, my friend," he said. "Beg a mutual pardon +and say 'Good night.' We need not detain him any longer." Then, as +Atkinson rose somewhat doubtfully and gathered his hat and stick and +went towards the garden gate, Father Brown said in a more serious voice: +"Where is that Indian?" + +They all three (for the doctor had joined them) turned involuntarily +towards the dim grassy bank amid the tossing trees purple with twilight, +where they had last seen the brown man swaying in his strange prayers. +The Indian was gone. + +"Confound him," cried the doctor, stamping furiously. "Now I know that +it was that nigger that did it." + +"I thought you didn't believe in magic," said Father Brown quietly. + +"No more I did," said the doctor, rolling his eyes. "I only know that +I loathed that yellow devil when I thought he was a sham wizard. And I +shall loathe him more if I come to think he was a real one." + +"Well, his having escaped is nothing," said Flambeau. "For we could +have proved nothing and done nothing against him. One hardly goes to +the parish constable with a story of suicide imposed by witchcraft or +auto-suggestion." + +Meanwhile Father Brown had made his way into the house, and now went to +break the news to the wife of the dead man. + +When he came out again he looked a little pale and tragic, but what +passed between them in that interview was never known, even when all was +known. + +Flambeau, who was talking quietly with the doctor, was surprised to see +his friend reappear so soon at his elbow; but Brown took no notice, and +merely drew the doctor apart. "You have sent for the police, haven't +you?" he asked. + +"Yes," answered Harris. "They ought to be here in ten minutes." + +"Will you do me a favour?" said the priest quietly. "The truth is, I +make a collection of these curious stories, which often contain, as in +the case of our Hindoo friend, elements which can hardly be put into a +police report. Now, I want you to write out a report of this case for +my private use. Yours is a clever trade," he said, looking the doctor +gravely and steadily in the face. "I sometimes think that you know some +details of this matter which you have not thought fit to mention. Mine +is a confidential trade like yours, and I will treat anything you write +for me in strict confidence. But write the whole." + +The doctor, who had been listening thoughtfully with his head a little +on one side, looked the priest in the face for an instant, and said: +"All right," and went into the study, closing the door behind him. + +"Flambeau," said Father Brown, "there is a long seat there under the +veranda, where we can smoke out of the rain. You are my only friend in +the world, and I want to talk to you. Or, perhaps, be silent with you." + +They established themselves comfortably in the veranda seat; Father +Brown, against his common habit, accepted a good cigar and smoked it +steadily in silence, while the rain shrieked and rattled on the roof of +the veranda. + +"My friend," he said at length, "this is a very queer case. A very queer +case." + +"I should think it was," said Flambeau, with something like a shudder. + +"You call it queer, and I call it queer," said the other, "and yet +we mean quite opposite things. The modern mind always mixes up two +different ideas: mystery in the sense of what is marvellous, and mystery +in the sense of what is complicated. That is half its difficulty about +miracles. A miracle is startling; but it is simple. It is simple because +it is a miracle. It is power coming directly from God (or the devil) +instead of indirectly through nature or human wills. Now, you mean that +this business is marvellous because it is miraculous, because it is +witchcraft worked by a wicked Indian. Understand, I do not say that +it was not spiritual or diabolic. Heaven and hell only know by what +surrounding influences strange sins come into the lives of men. But for +the present my point is this: If it was pure magic, as you think, +then it is marvellous; but it is not mysterious--that is, it is not +complicated. The quality of a miracle is mysterious, but its manner +is simple. Now, the manner of this business has been the reverse of +simple." + +The storm that had slackened for a little seemed to be swelling again, +and there came heavy movements as of faint thunder. Father Brown let +fall the ash of his cigar and went on: + +"There has been in this incident," he said, "a twisted, ugly, complex +quality that does not belong to the straight bolts either of heaven +or hell. As one knows the crooked track of a snail, I know the crooked +track of a man." + +The white lightning opened its enormous eye in one wink, the sky shut up +again, and the priest went on: + +"Of all these crooked things, the crookedest was the shape of that piece +of paper. It was crookeder than the dagger that killed him." + +"You mean the paper on which Quinton confessed his suicide," said +Flambeau. + +"I mean the paper on which Quinton wrote, 'I die by my own hand,'" +answered Father Brown. "The shape of that paper, my friend, was the +wrong shape; the wrong shape, if ever I have seen it in this wicked +world." + +"It only had a corner snipped off," said Flambeau, "and I understand +that all Quinton's paper was cut that way." + +"It was a very odd way," said the other, "and a very bad way, to my +taste and fancy. Look here, Flambeau, this Quinton--God receive his +soul!--was perhaps a bit of a cur in some ways, but he really was an +artist, with the pencil as well as the pen. His handwriting, though hard +to read, was bold and beautiful. I can't prove what I say; I can't prove +anything. But I tell you with the full force of conviction that he could +never have cut that mean little piece off a sheet of paper. If he had +wanted to cut down paper for some purpose of fitting in, or binding +up, or what not, he would have made quite a different slash with the +scissors. Do you remember the shape? It was a mean shape. It was a wrong +shape. Like this. Don't you remember?" + +And he waved his burning cigar before him in the darkness, making +irregular squares so rapidly that Flambeau really seemed to see them as +fiery hieroglyphics upon the darkness--hieroglyphics such as his friend +had spoken of, which are undecipherable, yet can have no good meaning. + +"But," said Flambeau, as the priest put his cigar in his mouth again +and leaned back, staring at the roof, "suppose somebody else did use the +scissors. Why should somebody else, cutting pieces off his sermon paper, +make Quinton commit suicide?" + +Father Brown was still leaning back and staring at the roof, but he took +his cigar out of his mouth and said: "Quinton never did commit suicide." + +Flambeau stared at him. "Why, confound it all," he cried, "then why did +he confess to suicide?" + +The priest leant forward again, settled his elbows on his knees, looked +at the ground, and said, in a low, distinct voice: "He never did confess +to suicide." + +Flambeau laid his cigar down. "You mean," he said, "that the writing was +forged?" + +"No," said Father Brown. "Quinton wrote it all right." + +"Well, there you are," said the aggravated Flambeau; "Quinton wrote, 'I +die by my own hand,' with his own hand on a plain piece of paper." + +"Of the wrong shape," said the priest calmly. + +"Oh, the shape be damned!" cried Flambeau. "What has the shape to do +with it?" + +"There were twenty-three snipped papers," resumed Brown unmoved, "and +only twenty-two pieces snipped off. Therefore one of the pieces had +been destroyed, probably that from the written paper. Does that suggest +anything to you?" + +A light dawned on Flambeau's face, and he said: "There was something +else written by Quinton, some other words. 'They will tell you I die by +my own hand,' or 'Do not believe that--'" + +"Hotter, as the children say," said his friend. "But the piece was +hardly half an inch across; there was no room for one word, let alone +five. Can you think of anything hardly bigger than a comma which the man +with hell in his heart had to tear away as a testimony against him?" + +"I can think of nothing," said Flambeau at last. + +"What about quotation marks?" said the priest, and flung his cigar far +into the darkness like a shooting star. + +All words had left the other man's mouth, and Father Brown said, like +one going back to fundamentals: + +"Leonard Quinton was a romancer, and was writing an Oriental romance +about wizardry and hypnotism. He--" + +At this moment the door opened briskly behind them, and the doctor came +out with his hat on. He put a long envelope into the priest's hands. + +"That's the document you wanted," he said, "and I must be getting home. +Good night." + +"Good night," said Father Brown, as the doctor walked briskly to the +gate. He had left the front door open, so that a shaft of gaslight fell +upon them. In the light of this Brown opened the envelope and read the +following words: + + + + DEAR FATHER BROWN,--Vicisti Galilee. Otherwise, damn your + eyes, which are very penetrating ones. Can it be possible that + there is something in all that stuff of yours after all? + + + I am a man who has ever since boyhood believed in Nature and + in all natural functions and instincts, whether men called them + moral or immoral. Long before I became a doctor, when I was a + schoolboy keeping mice and spiders, I believed that to be a good + animal is the best thing in the world. But just now I am shaken; + I have believed in Nature; but it seems as if Nature could betray + a man. Can there be anything in your bosh? I am really getting + morbid. + + + I loved Quinton's wife. What was there wrong in that? Nature + told me to, and it's love that makes the world go round. I also + thought quite sincerely that she would be happier with a clean + animal like me than with that tormenting little lunatic. What was + there wrong in that? I was only facing facts, like a man of + science. She would have been happier. + + + According to my own creed I was quite free to kill Quinton, + which was the best thing for everybody, even himself. But as a + healthy animal I had no notion of killing myself. I resolved, + therefore, that I would never do it until I saw a chance that + would leave me scot free. I saw that chance this morning. + + + I have been three times, all told, into Quinton's study today. + The first time I went in he would talk about nothing but the weird + tale, called "The Cure of a Saint," which he was writing, which + was all about how some Indian hermit made an English colonel kill + himself by thinking about him. He showed me the last sheets, and + even read me the last paragraph, which was something like this: + "The conqueror of the Punjab, a mere yellow skeleton, but still + gigantic, managed to lift himself on his elbow and gasp in his + nephew's ear: 'I die by my own hand, yet I die murdered!'" It so + happened by one chance out of a hundred, that those last words + were written at the top of a new sheet of paper. I left the room, + and went out into the garden intoxicated with a frightful + opportunity. + + + We walked round the house; and two more things happened in my + favour. You suspected an Indian, and you found a dagger which the + Indian might most probably use. Taking the opportunity to stuff + it in my pocket I went back to Quinton's study, locked the door, + and gave him his sleeping draught. He was against answering + Atkinson at all, but I urged him to call out and quiet the fellow, + because I wanted a clear proof that Quinton was alive when I left + the room for the second time. Quinton lay down in the conservatory, + and I came through the study. I am a quick man with my hands, and + in a minute and a half I had done what I wanted to do. I had + emptied all the first part of Quinton's romance into the fireplace, + where it burnt to ashes. Then I saw that the quotation marks + wouldn't do, so I snipped them off, and to make it seem likelier, + snipped the whole quire to match. Then I came out with the + knowledge that Quinton's confession of suicide lay on the front + table, while Quinton lay alive but asleep in the conservatory + beyond. + + + The last act was a desperate one; you can guess it: I pretended + to have seen Quinton dead and rushed to his room. I delayed you + with the paper, and, being a quick man with my hands, killed + Quinton while you were looking at his confession of suicide. He + was half-asleep, being drugged, and I put his own hand on the + knife and drove it into his body. The knife was of so queer a + shape that no one but an operator could have calculated the angle + that would reach his heart. I wonder if you noticed this. + + + When I had done it, the extraordinary thing happened. Nature + deserted me. I felt ill. I felt just as if I had done something + wrong. I think my brain is breaking up; I feel some sort of + desperate pleasure in thinking I have told the thing to somebody; + that I shall not have to be alone with it if I marry and have + children. What is the matter with me?... Madness... or can one + have remorse, just as if one were in Byron's poems! I cannot + write any more. + + James Erskine Harris. + + +Father Brown carefully folded up the letter, and put it in his breast +pocket just as there came a loud peal at the gate bell, and the wet +waterproofs of several policemen gleamed in the road outside. + + + + +The Sins of Prince Saradine + + +When Flambeau took his month's holiday from his office in Westminster +he took it in a small sailing-boat, so small that it passed much of its +time as a rowing-boat. He took it, moreover, in little rivers in the +Eastern counties, rivers so small that the boat looked like a magic +boat, sailing on land through meadows and cornfields. The vessel was +just comfortable for two people; there was room only for necessities, +and Flambeau had stocked it with such things as his special philosophy +considered necessary. They reduced themselves, apparently, to four +essentials: tins of salmon, if he should want to eat; loaded revolvers, +if he should want to fight; a bottle of brandy, presumably in case he +should faint; and a priest, presumably in case he should die. With this +light luggage he crawled down the little Norfolk rivers, intending to +reach the Broads at last, but meanwhile delighting in the overhanging +gardens and meadows, the mirrored mansions or villages, lingering to +fish in the pools and corners, and in some sense hugging the shore. + +Like a true philosopher, Flambeau had no aim in his holiday; but, like a +true philosopher, he had an excuse. He had a sort of half purpose, which +he took just so seriously that its success would crown the holiday, but +just so lightly that its failure would not spoil it. Years ago, when he +had been a king of thieves and the most famous figure in Paris, he had +often received wild communications of approval, denunciation, or even +love; but one had, somehow, stuck in his memory. It consisted simply of +a visiting-card, in an envelope with an English postmark. On the back of +the card was written in French and in green ink: "If you ever retire and +become respectable, come and see me. I want to meet you, for I have met +all the other great men of my time. That trick of yours of getting one +detective to arrest the other was the most splendid scene in French +history." On the front of the card was engraved in the formal fashion, +"Prince Saradine, Reed House, Reed Island, Norfolk." + +He had not troubled much about the prince then, beyond ascertaining that +he had been a brilliant and fashionable figure in southern Italy. In his +youth, it was said, he had eloped with a married woman of high rank; the +escapade was scarcely startling in his social world, but it had clung to +men's minds because of an additional tragedy: the alleged suicide of the +insulted husband, who appeared to have flung himself over a precipice in +Sicily. The prince then lived in Vienna for a time, but his more recent +years seemed to have been passed in perpetual and restless travel. But +when Flambeau, like the prince himself, had left European celebrity +and settled in England, it occurred to him that he might pay a surprise +visit to this eminent exile in the Norfolk Broads. Whether he should +find the place he had no idea; and, indeed, it was sufficiently small +and forgotten. But, as things fell out, he found it much sooner than he +expected. + +They had moored their boat one night under a bank veiled in high grasses +and short pollarded trees. Sleep, after heavy sculling, had come to them +early, and by a corresponding accident they awoke before it was light. +To speak more strictly, they awoke before it was daylight; for a large +lemon moon was only just setting in the forest of high grass above their +heads, and the sky was of a vivid violet-blue, nocturnal but bright. +Both men had simultaneously a reminiscence of childhood, of the elfin +and adventurous time when tall weeds close over us like woods. Standing +up thus against the large low moon, the daisies really seemed to +be giant daisies, the dandelions to be giant dandelions. Somehow it +reminded them of the dado of a nursery wall-paper. The drop of the +river-bed sufficed to sink them under the roots of all shrubs and +flowers and make them gaze upwards at the grass. "By Jove!" said +Flambeau, "it's like being in fairyland." + +Father Brown sat bolt upright in the boat and crossed himself. His +movement was so abrupt that his friend asked him, with a mild stare, +what was the matter. + +"The people who wrote the mediaeval ballads," answered the priest, "knew +more about fairies than you do. It isn't only nice things that happen in +fairyland." + +"Oh, bosh!" said Flambeau. "Only nice things could happen under such an +innocent moon. I am for pushing on now and seeing what does really come. +We may die and rot before we ever see again such a moon or such a mood." + +"All right," said Father Brown. "I never said it was always wrong to +enter fairyland. I only said it was always dangerous." + +They pushed slowly up the brightening river; the glowing violet of the +sky and the pale gold of the moon grew fainter and fainter, and faded +into that vast colourless cosmos that precedes the colours of the dawn. +When the first faint stripes of red and gold and grey split the horizon +from end to end they were broken by the black bulk of a town or village +which sat on the river just ahead of them. It was already an easy +twilight, in which all things were visible, when they came under the +hanging roofs and bridges of this riverside hamlet. The houses, with +their long, low, stooping roofs, seemed to come down to drink at the +river, like huge grey and red cattle. The broadening and whitening +dawn had already turned to working daylight before they saw any living +creature on the wharves and bridges of that silent town. Eventually they +saw a very placid and prosperous man in his shirt sleeves, with a face +as round as the recently sunken moon, and rays of red whisker around the +low arc of it, who was leaning on a post above the sluggish tide. By +an impulse not to be analysed, Flambeau rose to his full height in the +swaying boat and shouted at the man to ask if he knew Reed Island or +Reed House. The prosperous man's smile grew slightly more expansive, +and he simply pointed up the river towards the next bend of it. Flambeau +went ahead without further speech. + +The boat took many such grassy corners and followed many such reedy and +silent reaches of river; but before the search had become monotonous +they had swung round a specially sharp angle and come into the silence +of a sort of pool or lake, the sight of which instinctively arrested +them. For in the middle of this wider piece of water, fringed on every +side with rushes, lay a long, low islet, along which ran a long, low +house or bungalow built of bamboo or some kind of tough tropic cane. +The upstanding rods of bamboo which made the walls were pale yellow, the +sloping rods that made the roof were of darker red or brown, otherwise +the long house was a thing of repetition and monotony. The early morning +breeze rustled the reeds round the island and sang in the strange ribbed +house as in a giant pan-pipe. + +"By George!" cried Flambeau; "here is the place, after all! Here is Reed +Island, if ever there was one. Here is Reed House, if it is anywhere. I +believe that fat man with whiskers was a fairy." + +"Perhaps," remarked Father Brown impartially. "If he was, he was a bad +fairy." + +But even as he spoke the impetuous Flambeau had run his boat ashore in +the rattling reeds, and they stood in the long, quaint islet beside the +odd and silent house. + +The house stood with its back, as it were, to the river and the only +landing-stage; the main entrance was on the other side, and looked down +the long island garden. The visitors approached it, therefore, by a +small path running round nearly three sides of the house, close under +the low eaves. Through three different windows on three different sides +they looked in on the same long, well-lit room, panelled in light wood, +with a large number of looking-glasses, and laid out as for an elegant +lunch. The front door, when they came round to it at last, was flanked +by two turquoise-blue flower pots. It was opened by a butler of the +drearier type--long, lean, grey and listless--who murmured that Prince +Saradine was from home at present, but was expected hourly; the house +being kept ready for him and his guests. The exhibition of the card with +the scrawl of green ink awoke a flicker of life in the parchment face of +the depressed retainer, and it was with a certain shaky courtesy that +he suggested that the strangers should remain. "His Highness may be here +any minute," he said, "and would be distressed to have just missed any +gentleman he had invited. We have orders always to keep a little cold +lunch for him and his friends, and I am sure he would wish it to be +offered." + +Moved with curiosity to this minor adventure, Flambeau assented +gracefully, and followed the old man, who ushered him ceremoniously into +the long, lightly panelled room. There was nothing very notable about +it, except the rather unusual alternation of many long, low windows with +many long, low oblongs of looking-glass, which gave a singular air +of lightness and unsubstantialness to the place. It was somehow like +lunching out of doors. One or two pictures of a quiet kind hung in the +corners, one a large grey photograph of a very young man in uniform, +another a red chalk sketch of two long-haired boys. Asked by Flambeau +whether the soldierly person was the prince, the butler answered shortly +in the negative; it was the prince's younger brother, Captain Stephen +Saradine, he said. And with that the old man seemed to dry up suddenly +and lose all taste for conversation. + +After lunch had tailed off with exquisite coffee and liqueurs, +the guests were introduced to the garden, the library, and the +housekeeper--a dark, handsome lady, of no little majesty, and rather +like a plutonic Madonna. It appeared that she and the butler were +the only survivors of the prince's original foreign menage the other +servants now in the house being new and collected in Norfolk by the +housekeeper. This latter lady went by the name of Mrs. Anthony, but +she spoke with a slight Italian accent, and Flambeau did not doubt that +Anthony was a Norfolk version of some more Latin name. Mr. Paul, +the butler, also had a faintly foreign air, but he was in tongue and +training English, as are many of the most polished men-servants of the +cosmopolitan nobility. + +Pretty and unique as it was, the place had about it a curious luminous +sadness. Hours passed in it like days. The long, well-windowed rooms +were full of daylight, but it seemed a dead daylight. And through all +other incidental noises, the sound of talk, the clink of glasses, or the +passing feet of servants, they could hear on all sides of the house the +melancholy noise of the river. + +"We have taken a wrong turning, and come to a wrong place," said Father +Brown, looking out of the window at the grey-green sedges and the silver +flood. "Never mind; one can sometimes do good by being the right person +in the wrong place." + +Father Brown, though commonly a silent, was an oddly sympathetic little +man, and in those few but endless hours he unconsciously sank deeper +into the secrets of Reed House than his professional friend. He had that +knack of friendly silence which is so essential to gossip; and saying +scarcely a word, he probably obtained from his new acquaintances all +that in any case they would have told. The butler indeed was naturally +uncommunicative. He betrayed a sullen and almost animal affection +for his master; who, he said, had been very badly treated. The chief +offender seemed to be his highness's brother, whose name alone would +lengthen the old man's lantern jaws and pucker his parrot nose into a +sneer. Captain Stephen was a ne'er-do-well, apparently, and had drained +his benevolent brother of hundreds and thousands; forced him to fly from +fashionable life and live quietly in this retreat. That was all Paul, +the butler, would say, and Paul was obviously a partisan. + +The Italian housekeeper was somewhat more communicative, being, as Brown +fancied, somewhat less content. Her tone about her master was faintly +acid; though not without a certain awe. Flambeau and his friend were +standing in the room of the looking-glasses examining the red sketch +of the two boys, when the housekeeper swept in swiftly on some domestic +errand. It was a peculiarity of this glittering, glass-panelled place +that anyone entering was reflected in four or five mirrors at once; and +Father Brown, without turning round, stopped in the middle of a sentence +of family criticism. But Flambeau, who had his face close up to the +picture, was already saying in a loud voice, "The brothers Saradine, I +suppose. They both look innocent enough. It would be hard to say which +is the good brother and which the bad." Then, realising the lady's +presence, he turned the conversation with some triviality, and strolled +out into the garden. But Father Brown still gazed steadily at the red +crayon sketch; and Mrs. Anthony still gazed steadily at Father Brown. + +She had large and tragic brown eyes, and her olive face glowed darkly +with a curious and painful wonder--as of one doubtful of a stranger's +identity or purpose. Whether the little priest's coat and creed touched +some southern memories of confession, or whether she fancied he knew +more than he did, she said to him in a low voice as to a fellow plotter, +"He is right enough in one way, your friend. He says it would be hard +to pick out the good and bad brothers. Oh, it would be hard, it would be +mighty hard, to pick out the good one." + +"I don't understand you," said Father Brown, and began to move away. + +The woman took a step nearer to him, with thunderous brows and a sort of +savage stoop, like a bull lowering his horns. + +"There isn't a good one," she hissed. "There was badness enough in the +captain taking all that money, but I don't think there was much goodness +in the prince giving it. The captain's not the only one with something +against him." + +A light dawned on the cleric's averted face, and his mouth formed +silently the word "blackmail." Even as he did so the woman turned an +abrupt white face over her shoulder and almost fell. The door had opened +soundlessly and the pale Paul stood like a ghost in the doorway. By +the weird trick of the reflecting walls, it seemed as if five Pauls had +entered by five doors simultaneously. + +"His Highness," he said, "has just arrived." + +In the same flash the figure of a man had passed outside the first +window, crossing the sunlit pane like a lighted stage. An instant +later he passed at the second window and the many mirrors repainted in +successive frames the same eagle profile and marching figure. He was +erect and alert, but his hair was white and his complexion of an odd +ivory yellow. He had that short, curved Roman nose which generally +goes with long, lean cheeks and chin, but these were partly masked by +moustache and imperial. The moustache was much darker than the beard, +giving an effect slightly theatrical, and he was dressed up to the same +dashing part, having a white top hat, an orchid in his coat, a yellow +waistcoat and yellow gloves which he flapped and swung as he walked. +When he came round to the front door they heard the stiff Paul open it, +and heard the new arrival say cheerfully, "Well, you see I have come." +The stiff Mr. Paul bowed and answered in his inaudible manner; for a +few minutes their conversation could not be heard. Then the butler said, +"Everything is at your disposal;" and the glove-flapping Prince Saradine +came gaily into the room to greet them. They beheld once more that +spectral scene--five princes entering a room with five doors. + +The prince put the white hat and yellow gloves on the table and offered +his hand quite cordially. + +"Delighted to see you here, Mr. Flambeau," he said. "Knowing you very +well by reputation, if that's not an indiscreet remark." + +"Not at all," answered Flambeau, laughing. "I am not sensitive. Very few +reputations are gained by unsullied virtue." + +The prince flashed a sharp look at him to see if the retort had any +personal point; then he laughed also and offered chairs to everyone, +including himself. + +"Pleasant little place, this, I think," he said with a detached air. +"Not much to do, I fear; but the fishing is really good." + +The priest, who was staring at him with the grave stare of a baby, was +haunted by some fancy that escaped definition. He looked at the grey, +carefully curled hair, yellow white visage, and slim, somewhat foppish +figure. These were not unnatural, though perhaps a shade prononce, like +the outfit of a figure behind the footlights. The nameless interest +lay in something else, in the very framework of the face; Brown was +tormented with a half memory of having seen it somewhere before. The +man looked like some old friend of his dressed up. Then he suddenly +remembered the mirrors, and put his fancy down to some psychological +effect of that multiplication of human masks. + +Prince Saradine distributed his social attentions between his guests +with great gaiety and tact. Finding the detective of a sporting turn and +eager to employ his holiday, he guided Flambeau and Flambeau's boat down +to the best fishing spot in the stream, and was back in his own canoe +in twenty minutes to join Father Brown in the library and plunge equally +politely into the priest's more philosophic pleasures. He seemed to know +a great deal both about the fishing and the books, though of these not +the most edifying; he spoke five or six languages, though chiefly the +slang of each. He had evidently lived in varied cities and very motley +societies, for some of his cheerfullest stories were about gambling +hells and opium dens, Australian bushrangers or Italian brigands. Father +Brown knew that the once-celebrated Saradine had spent his last few +years in almost ceaseless travel, but he had not guessed that the +travels were so disreputable or so amusing. + +Indeed, with all his dignity of a man of the world, Prince Saradine +radiated to such sensitive observers as the priest, a certain atmosphere +of the restless and even the unreliable. His face was fastidious, but +his eye was wild; he had little nervous tricks, like a man shaken by +drink or drugs, and he neither had, nor professed to have, his hand +on the helm of household affairs. All these were left to the two old +servants, especially to the butler, who was plainly the central pillar +of the house. Mr. Paul, indeed, was not so much a butler as a sort of +steward or, even, chamberlain; he dined privately, but with almost +as much pomp as his master; he was feared by all the servants; and he +consulted with the prince decorously, but somewhat unbendingly--rather +as if he were the prince's solicitor. The sombre housekeeper was a mere +shadow in comparison; indeed, she seemed to efface herself and wait only +on the butler, and Brown heard no more of those volcanic whispers which +had half told him of the younger brother who blackmailed the elder. +Whether the prince was really being thus bled by the absent captain, +he could not be certain, but there was something insecure and secretive +about Saradine that made the tale by no means incredible. + +When they went once more into the long hall with the windows and the +mirrors, yellow evening was dropping over the waters and the willowy +banks; and a bittern sounded in the distance like an elf upon his +dwarfish drum. The same singular sentiment of some sad and evil +fairyland crossed the priest's mind again like a little grey cloud. "I +wish Flambeau were back," he muttered. + +"Do you believe in doom?" asked the restless Prince Saradine suddenly. + +"No," answered his guest. "I believe in Doomsday." + +The prince turned from the window and stared at him in a singular +manner, his face in shadow against the sunset. "What do you mean?" he +asked. + +"I mean that we here are on the wrong side of the tapestry," answered +Father Brown. "The things that happen here do not seem to mean anything; +they mean something somewhere else. Somewhere else retribution will come +on the real offender. Here it often seems to fall on the wrong person." + +The prince made an inexplicable noise like an animal; in his shadowed +face the eyes were shining queerly. A new and shrewd thought exploded +silently in the other's mind. Was there another meaning in Saradine's +blend of brilliancy and abruptness? Was the prince--Was he perfectly +sane? He was repeating, "The wrong person--the wrong person," many more +times than was natural in a social exclamation. + +Then Father Brown awoke tardily to a second truth. In the mirrors before +him he could see the silent door standing open, and the silent Mr. Paul +standing in it, with his usual pallid impassiveness. + +"I thought it better to announce at once," he said, with the same stiff +respectfulness as of an old family lawyer, "a boat rowed by six men +has come to the landing-stage, and there's a gentleman sitting in the +stern." + +"A boat!" repeated the prince; "a gentleman?" and he rose to his feet. + +There was a startled silence punctuated only by the odd noise of the +bird in the sedge; and then, before anyone could speak again, a new +face and figure passed in profile round the three sunlit windows, as +the prince had passed an hour or two before. But except for the accident +that both outlines were aquiline, they had little in common. Instead +of the new white topper of Saradine, was a black one of antiquated or +foreign shape; under it was a young and very solemn face, clean shaven, +blue about its resolute chin, and carrying a faint suggestion of the +young Napoleon. The association was assisted by something old and odd +about the whole get-up, as of a man who had never troubled to change +the fashions of his fathers. He had a shabby blue frock coat, a red, +soldierly looking waistcoat, and a kind of coarse white trousers common +among the early Victorians, but strangely incongruous today. From all +this old clothes-shop his olive face stood out strangely young and +monstrously sincere. + +"The deuce!" said Prince Saradine, and clapping on his white hat he went +to the front door himself, flinging it open on the sunset garden. + +By that time the new-comer and his followers were drawn up on the lawn +like a small stage army. The six boatmen had pulled the boat well up on +shore, and were guarding it almost menacingly, holding their oars erect +like spears. They were swarthy men, and some of them wore earrings. But +one of them stood forward beside the olive-faced young man in the red +waistcoat, and carried a large black case of unfamiliar form. + +"Your name," said the young man, "is Saradine?" + +Saradine assented rather negligently. + +The new-comer had dull, dog-like brown eyes, as different as possible +from the restless and glittering grey eyes of the prince. But once +again Father Brown was tortured with a sense of having seen somewhere a +replica of the face; and once again he remembered the repetitions of +the glass-panelled room, and put down the coincidence to that. "Confound +this crystal palace!" he muttered. "One sees everything too many times. +It's like a dream." + +"If you are Prince Saradine," said the young man, "I may tell you that +my name is Antonelli." + +"Antonelli," repeated the prince languidly. "Somehow I remember the +name." + +"Permit me to present myself," said the young Italian. + +With his left hand he politely took off his old-fashioned top-hat; with +his right he caught Prince Saradine so ringing a crack across the +face that the white top hat rolled down the steps and one of the blue +flower-pots rocked upon its pedestal. + +The prince, whatever he was, was evidently not a coward; he sprang at +his enemy's throat and almost bore him backwards to the grass. But his +enemy extricated himself with a singularly inappropriate air of hurried +politeness. + +"That is all right," he said, panting and in halting English. "I have +insulted. I will give satisfaction. Marco, open the case." + +The man beside him with the earrings and the big black case proceeded +to unlock it. He took out of it two long Italian rapiers, with splendid +steel hilts and blades, which he planted point downwards in the lawn. +The strange young man standing facing the entrance with his yellow and +vindictive face, the two swords standing up in the turf like two crosses +in a cemetery, and the line of the ranked towers behind, gave it all an +odd appearance of being some barbaric court of justice. But everything +else was unchanged, so sudden had been the interruption. The sunset gold +still glowed on the lawn, and the bittern still boomed as announcing +some small but dreadful destiny. + +"Prince Saradine," said the man called Antonelli, "when I was an infant +in the cradle you killed my father and stole my mother; my father was +the more fortunate. You did not kill him fairly, as I am going to kill +you. You and my wicked mother took him driving to a lonely pass in +Sicily, flung him down a cliff, and went on your way. I could imitate +you if I chose, but imitating you is too vile. I have followed you all +over the world, and you have always fled from me. But this is the end +of the world--and of you. I have you now, and I give you the chance you +never gave my father. Choose one of those swords." + +Prince Saradine, with contracted brows, seemed to hesitate a moment, +but his ears were still singing with the blow, and he sprang forward +and snatched at one of the hilts. Father Brown had also sprung forward, +striving to compose the dispute; but he soon found his personal presence +made matters worse. Saradine was a French freemason and a fierce +atheist, and a priest moved him by the law of contraries. And for the +other man neither priest nor layman moved him at all. This young man +with the Bonaparte face and the brown eyes was something far sterner +than a puritan--a pagan. He was a simple slayer from the morning of the +earth; a man of the stone age--a man of stone. + +One hope remained, the summoning of the household; and Father Brown ran +back into the house. He found, however, that all the under servants +had been given a holiday ashore by the autocrat Paul, and that only the +sombre Mrs. Anthony moved uneasily about the long rooms. But the moment +she turned a ghastly face upon him, he resolved one of the riddles of +the house of mirrors. The heavy brown eyes of Antonelli were the heavy +brown eyes of Mrs. Anthony; and in a flash he saw half the story. + +"Your son is outside," he said without wasting words; "either he or the +prince will be killed. Where is Mr. Paul?" + +"He is at the landing-stage," said the woman faintly. "He is--he +is--signalling for help." + +"Mrs. Anthony," said Father Brown seriously, "there is no time for +nonsense. My friend has his boat down the river fishing. Your son's boat +is guarded by your son's men. There is only this one canoe; what is Mr. +Paul doing with it?" + +"Santa Maria! I do not know," she said; and swooned all her length on +the matted floor. + +Father Brown lifted her to a sofa, flung a pot of water over her, +shouted for help, and then rushed down to the landing-stage of the +little island. But the canoe was already in mid-stream, and old Paul +was pulling and pushing it up the river with an energy incredible at his +years. + +"I will save my master," he cried, his eyes blazing maniacally. "I will +save him yet!" + +Father Brown could do nothing but gaze after the boat as it struggled +up-stream and pray that the old man might waken the little town in time. + +"A duel is bad enough," he muttered, rubbing up his rough dust-coloured +hair, "but there's something wrong about this duel, even as a duel. I +feel it in my bones. But what can it be?" + +As he stood staring at the water, a wavering mirror of sunset, he +heard from the other end of the island garden a small but unmistakable +sound--the cold concussion of steel. He turned his head. + +Away on the farthest cape or headland of the long islet, on a strip of +turf beyond the last rank of roses, the duellists had already crossed +swords. Evening above them was a dome of virgin gold, and, distant as +they were, every detail was picked out. They had cast off their coats, +but the yellow waistcoat and white hair of Saradine, the red waistcoat +and white trousers of Antonelli, glittered in the level light like the +colours of the dancing clockwork dolls. The two swords sparkled from +point to pommel like two diamond pins. There was something frightful +in the two figures appearing so little and so gay. They looked like two +butterflies trying to pin each other to a cork. + +Father Brown ran as hard as he could, his little legs going like a +wheel. But when he came to the field of combat he found he was born too +late and too early--too late to stop the strife, under the shadow of the +grim Sicilians leaning on their oars, and too early to anticipate any +disastrous issue of it. For the two men were singularly well matched, +the prince using his skill with a sort of cynical confidence, the +Sicilian using his with a murderous care. Few finer fencing matches can +ever have been seen in crowded amphitheatres than that which tinkled and +sparkled on that forgotten island in the reedy river. The dizzy fight +was balanced so long that hope began to revive in the protesting priest; +by all common probability Paul must soon come back with the police. It +would be some comfort even if Flambeau came back from his fishing, for +Flambeau, physically speaking, was worth four other men. But there was +no sign of Flambeau, and, what was much queerer, no sign of Paul or the +police. No other raft or stick was left to float on; in that lost +island in that vast nameless pool, they were cut off as on a rock in the +Pacific. + +Almost as he had the thought the ringing of the rapiers quickened to a +rattle, the prince's arms flew up, and the point shot out behind between +his shoulder-blades. He went over with a great whirling movement, almost +like one throwing the half of a boy's cart-wheel. The sword flew from +his hand like a shooting star, and dived into the distant river. And +he himself sank with so earth-shaking a subsidence that he broke a +big rose-tree with his body and shook up into the sky a cloud of red +earth--like the smoke of some heathen sacrifice. The Sicilian had made +blood-offering to the ghost of his father. + +The priest was instantly on his knees by the corpse; but only to make +too sure that it was a corpse. As he was still trying some last hopeless +tests he heard for the first time voices from farther up the river, and +saw a police boat shoot up to the landing-stage, with constables and +other important people, including the excited Paul. The little priest +rose with a distinctly dubious grimace. + +"Now, why on earth," he muttered, "why on earth couldn't he have come +before?" + +Some seven minutes later the island was occupied by an invasion +of townsfolk and police, and the latter had put their hands on the +victorious duellist, ritually reminding him that anything he said might +be used against him. + +"I shall not say anything," said the monomaniac, with a wonderful and +peaceful face. "I shall never say anything more. I am very happy, and I +only want to be hanged." + +Then he shut his mouth as they led him away, and it is the strange but +certain truth that he never opened it again in this world, except to say +"Guilty" at his trial. + +Father Brown had stared at the suddenly crowded garden, the arrest of +the man of blood, the carrying away of the corpse after its examination +by the doctor, rather as one watches the break-up of some ugly dream; he +was motionless, like a man in a nightmare. He gave his name and address +as a witness, but declined their offer of a boat to the shore, and +remained alone in the island garden, gazing at the broken rose bush +and the whole green theatre of that swift and inexplicable tragedy. The +light died along the river; mist rose in the marshy banks; a few belated +birds flitted fitfully across. + +Stuck stubbornly in his sub-consciousness (which was an unusually +lively one) was an unspeakable certainty that there was something still +unexplained. This sense that had clung to him all day could not be fully +explained by his fancy about "looking-glass land." Somehow he had not +seen the real story, but some game or masque. And yet people do not get +hanged or run through the body for the sake of a charade. + +As he sat on the steps of the landing-stage ruminating he grew conscious +of the tall, dark streak of a sail coming silently down the shining +river, and sprang to his feet with such a backrush of feeling that he +almost wept. + +"Flambeau!" he cried, and shook his friend by both hands again and +again, much to the astonishment of that sportsman, as he came on shore +with his fishing tackle. "Flambeau," he said, "so you're not killed?" + +"Killed!" repeated the angler in great astonishment. "And why should I +be killed?" + +"Oh, because nearly everybody else is," said his companion rather +wildly. "Saradine got murdered, and Antonelli wants to be hanged, and +his mother's fainted, and I, for one, don't know whether I'm in this +world or the next. But, thank God, you're in the same one." And he took +the bewildered Flambeau's arm. + +As they turned from the landing-stage they came under the eaves of the +low bamboo house, and looked in through one of the windows, as they +had done on their first arrival. They beheld a lamp-lit interior well +calculated to arrest their eyes. The table in the long dining-room +had been laid for dinner when Saradine's destroyer had fallen like a +stormbolt on the island. And the dinner was now in placid progress, for +Mrs. Anthony sat somewhat sullenly at the foot of the table, while at +the head of it was Mr. Paul, the major domo, eating and drinking of the +best, his bleared, bluish eyes standing queerly out of his face, his +gaunt countenance inscrutable, but by no means devoid of satisfaction. + +With a gesture of powerful impatience, Flambeau rattled at the window, +wrenched it open, and put an indignant head into the lamp-lit room. + +"Well," he cried. "I can understand you may need some refreshment, +but really to steal your master's dinner while he lies murdered in the +garden--" + +"I have stolen a great many things in a long and pleasant life," replied +the strange old gentleman placidly; "this dinner is one of the few +things I have not stolen. This dinner and this house and garden happen +to belong to me." + +A thought flashed across Flambeau's face. "You mean to say," he began, +"that the will of Prince Saradine--" + +"I am Prince Saradine," said the old man, munching a salted almond. + +Father Brown, who was looking at the birds outside, jumped as if he were +shot, and put in at the window a pale face like a turnip. + +"You are what?" he repeated in a shrill voice. + +"Paul, Prince Saradine, A vos ordres," said the venerable person +politely, lifting a glass of sherry. "I live here very quietly, being +a domestic kind of fellow; and for the sake of modesty I am called Mr. +Paul, to distinguish me from my unfortunate brother Mr. Stephen. He +died, I hear, recently--in the garden. Of course, it is not my fault +if enemies pursue him to this place. It is owing to the regrettable +irregularity of his life. He was not a domestic character." + +He relapsed into silence, and continued to gaze at the opposite wall +just above the bowed and sombre head of the woman. They saw plainly +the family likeness that had haunted them in the dead man. Then his old +shoulders began to heave and shake a little, as if he were choking, but +his face did not alter. + +"My God!" cried Flambeau after a pause, "he's laughing!" + +"Come away," said Father Brown, who was quite white. "Come away from +this house of hell. Let us get into an honest boat again." + +Night had sunk on rushes and river by the time they had pushed off from +the island, and they went down-stream in the dark, warming themselves +with two big cigars that glowed like crimson ships' lanterns. Father +Brown took his cigar out of his mouth and said: + +"I suppose you can guess the whole story now? After all, it's a +primitive story. A man had two enemies. He was a wise man. And so he +discovered that two enemies are better than one." + +"I do not follow that," answered Flambeau. + +"Oh, it's really simple," rejoined his friend. "Simple, though anything +but innocent. Both the Saradines were scamps, but the prince, the +elder, was the sort of scamp that gets to the top, and the younger, the +captain, was the sort that sinks to the bottom. This squalid officer +fell from beggar to blackmailer, and one ugly day he got his hold upon +his brother, the prince. Obviously it was for no light matter, for +Prince Paul Saradine was frankly 'fast,' and had no reputation to lose +as to the mere sins of society. In plain fact, it was a hanging matter, +and Stephen literally had a rope round his brother's neck. He had +somehow discovered the truth about the Sicilian affair, and could prove +that Paul murdered old Antonelli in the mountains. The captain raked in +the hush money heavily for ten years, until even the prince's splendid +fortune began to look a little foolish. + +"But Prince Saradine bore another burden besides his blood-sucking +brother. He knew that the son of Antonelli, a mere child at the time of +the murder, had been trained in savage Sicilian loyalty, and lived only +to avenge his father, not with the gibbet (for he lacked Stephen's legal +proof), but with the old weapons of vendetta. The boy had practised arms +with a deadly perfection, and about the time that he was old enough to +use them Prince Saradine began, as the society papers said, to travel. +The fact is that he began to flee for his life, passing from place +to place like a hunted criminal; but with one relentless man upon his +trail. That was Prince Paul's position, and by no means a pretty one. +The more money he spent on eluding Antonelli the less he had to silence +Stephen. The more he gave to silence Stephen the less chance there was +of finally escaping Antonelli. Then it was that he showed himself a +great man--a genius like Napoleon. + +"Instead of resisting his two antagonists, he surrendered suddenly to +both of them. He gave way like a Japanese wrestler, and his foes fell +prostrate before him. He gave up the race round the world, and he gave +up his address to young Antonelli; then he gave up everything to his +brother. He sent Stephen money enough for smart clothes and easy travel, +with a letter saying roughly: 'This is all I have left. You have cleaned +me out. I still have a little house in Norfolk, with servants and a +cellar, and if you want more from me you must take that. Come and take +possession if you like, and I will live there quietly as your friend +or agent or anything.' He knew that the Sicilian had never seen the +Saradine brothers save, perhaps, in pictures; he knew they were somewhat +alike, both having grey, pointed beards. Then he shaved his own face +and waited. The trap worked. The unhappy captain, in his new clothes, +entered the house in triumph as a prince, and walked upon the Sicilian's +sword. + +"There was one hitch, and it is to the honour of human nature. Evil +spirits like Saradine often blunder by never expecting the virtues of +mankind. He took it for granted that the Italian's blow, when it came, +would be dark, violent and nameless, like the blow it avenged; that the +victim would be knifed at night, or shot from behind a hedge, and so +die without speech. It was a bad minute for Prince Paul when Antonelli's +chivalry proposed a formal duel, with all its possible explanations. It +was then that I found him putting off in his boat with wild eyes. He was +fleeing, bareheaded, in an open boat before Antonelli should learn who +he was. + +"But, however agitated, he was not hopeless. He knew the adventurer and +he knew the fanatic. It was quite probable that Stephen, the adventurer, +would hold his tongue, through his mere histrionic pleasure in playing a +part, his lust for clinging to his new cosy quarters, his rascal's +trust in luck, and his fine fencing. It was certain that Antonelli, the +fanatic, would hold his tongue, and be hanged without telling tales +of his family. Paul hung about on the river till he knew the fight +was over. Then he roused the town, brought the police, saw his two +vanquished enemies taken away forever, and sat down smiling to his +dinner." + +"Laughing, God help us!" said Flambeau with a strong shudder. "Do they +get such ideas from Satan?" + +"He got that idea from you," answered the priest. + +"God forbid!" ejaculated Flambeau. "From me! What do you mean!" + +The priest pulled a visiting-card from his pocket and held it up in the +faint glow of his cigar; it was scrawled with green ink. + +"Don't you remember his original invitation to you?" he asked, "and the +compliment to your criminal exploit? 'That trick of yours,' he says, +'of getting one detective to arrest the other'? He has just copied your +trick. With an enemy on each side of him, he slipped swiftly out of the +way and let them collide and kill each other." + +Flambeau tore Prince Saradine's card from the priest's hands and rent it +savagely in small pieces. + +"There's the last of that old skull and crossbones," he said as he +scattered the pieces upon the dark and disappearing waves of the stream; +"but I should think it would poison the fishes." + +The last gleam of white card and green ink was drowned and darkened; +a faint and vibrant colour as of morning changed the sky, and the moon +behind the grasses grew paler. They drifted in silence. + +"Father," said Flambeau suddenly, "do you think it was all a dream?" + +The priest shook his head, whether in dissent or agnosticism, but +remained mute. A smell of hawthorn and of orchards came to them through +the darkness, telling them that a wind was awake; the next moment it +swayed their little boat and swelled their sail, and carried them onward +down the winding river to happier places and the homes of harmless men. + + + + +The Hammer of God + + +The little village of Bohun Beacon was perched on a hill so steep +that the tall spire of its church seemed only like the peak of a small +mountain. At the foot of the church stood a smithy, generally red with +fires and always littered with hammers and scraps of iron; opposite to +this, over a rude cross of cobbled paths, was "The Blue Boar," the only +inn of the place. It was upon this crossway, in the lifting of a leaden +and silver daybreak, that two brothers met in the street and spoke; +though one was beginning the day and the other finishing it. The Rev. +and Hon. Wilfred Bohun was very devout, and was making his way to some +austere exercises of prayer or contemplation at dawn. Colonel the Hon. +Norman Bohun, his elder brother, was by no means devout, and was sitting +in evening dress on the bench outside "The Blue Boar," drinking what +the philosophic observer was free to regard either as his last glass on +Tuesday or his first on Wednesday. The colonel was not particular. + +The Bohuns were one of the very few aristocratic families really dating +from the Middle Ages, and their pennon had actually seen Palestine. +But it is a great mistake to suppose that such houses stand high +in chivalric tradition. Few except the poor preserve traditions. +Aristocrats live not in traditions but in fashions. The Bohuns had been +Mohocks under Queen Anne and Mashers under Queen Victoria. But like more +than one of the really ancient houses, they had rotted in the last two +centuries into mere drunkards and dandy degenerates, till there had even +come a whisper of insanity. Certainly there was something hardly +human about the colonel's wolfish pursuit of pleasure, and his chronic +resolution not to go home till morning had a touch of the hideous +clarity of insomnia. He was a tall, fine animal, elderly, but with +hair still startlingly yellow. He would have looked merely blonde and +leonine, but his blue eyes were sunk so deep in his face that they +looked black. They were a little too close together. He had very long +yellow moustaches; on each side of them a fold or furrow from nostril to +jaw, so that a sneer seemed cut into his face. Over his evening clothes +he wore a curious pale yellow coat that looked more like a very light +dressing gown than an overcoat, and on the back of his head was stuck an +extraordinary broad-brimmed hat of a bright green colour, evidently some +oriental curiosity caught up at random. He was proud of appearing in +such incongruous attires--proud of the fact that he always made them +look congruous. + +His brother the curate had also the yellow hair and the elegance, but +he was buttoned up to the chin in black, and his face was clean-shaven, +cultivated, and a little nervous. He seemed to live for nothing but his +religion; but there were some who said (notably the blacksmith, who was +a Presbyterian) that it was a love of Gothic architecture rather than of +God, and that his haunting of the church like a ghost was only another +and purer turn of the almost morbid thirst for beauty which sent his +brother raging after women and wine. This charge was doubtful, while the +man's practical piety was indubitable. Indeed, the charge was mostly an +ignorant misunderstanding of the love of solitude and secret prayer, and +was founded on his being often found kneeling, not before the altar, but +in peculiar places, in the crypts or gallery, or even in the belfry. +He was at the moment about to enter the church through the yard of +the smithy, but stopped and frowned a little as he saw his brother's +cavernous eyes staring in the same direction. On the hypothesis that the +colonel was interested in the church he did not waste any speculations. +There only remained the blacksmith's shop, and though the blacksmith was +a Puritan and none of his people, Wilfred Bohun had heard some scandals +about a beautiful and rather celebrated wife. He flung a suspicious look +across the shed, and the colonel stood up laughing to speak to him. + +"Good morning, Wilfred," he said. "Like a good landlord I am watching +sleeplessly over my people. I am going to call on the blacksmith." + +Wilfred looked at the ground, and said: "The blacksmith is out. He is +over at Greenford." + +"I know," answered the other with silent laughter; "that is why I am +calling on him." + +"Norman," said the cleric, with his eye on a pebble in the road, "are +you ever afraid of thunderbolts?" + +"What do you mean?" asked the colonel. "Is your hobby meteorology?" + +"I mean," said Wilfred, without looking up, "do you ever think that God +might strike you in the street?" + +"I beg your pardon," said the colonel; "I see your hobby is folk-lore." + +"I know your hobby is blasphemy," retorted the religious man, stung in +the one live place of his nature. "But if you do not fear God, you have +good reason to fear man." + +The elder raised his eyebrows politely. "Fear man?" he said. + +"Barnes the blacksmith is the biggest and strongest man for forty +miles round," said the clergyman sternly. "I know you are no coward or +weakling, but he could throw you over the wall." + +This struck home, being true, and the lowering line by mouth and nostril +darkened and deepened. For a moment he stood with the heavy sneer on his +face. But in an instant Colonel Bohun had recovered his own cruel good +humour and laughed, showing two dog-like front teeth under his yellow +moustache. "In that case, my dear Wilfred," he said quite carelessly, +"it was wise for the last of the Bohuns to come out partially in +armour." + +And he took off the queer round hat covered with green, showing that +it was lined within with steel. Wilfred recognised it indeed as a light +Japanese or Chinese helmet torn down from a trophy that hung in the old +family hall. + +"It was the first hat to hand," explained his brother airily; "always +the nearest hat--and the nearest woman." + +"The blacksmith is away at Greenford," said Wilfred quietly; "the time +of his return is unsettled." + +And with that he turned and went into the church with bowed head, +crossing himself like one who wishes to be quit of an unclean spirit. +He was anxious to forget such grossness in the cool twilight of his tall +Gothic cloisters; but on that morning it was fated that his still round +of religious exercises should be everywhere arrested by small shocks. +As he entered the church, hitherto always empty at that hour, a kneeling +figure rose hastily to its feet and came towards the full daylight of +the doorway. When the curate saw it he stood still with surprise. For +the early worshipper was none other than the village idiot, a nephew of +the blacksmith, one who neither would nor could care for the church or +for anything else. He was always called "Mad Joe," and seemed to have +no other name; he was a dark, strong, slouching lad, with a heavy white +face, dark straight hair, and a mouth always open. As he passed the +priest, his moon-calf countenance gave no hint of what he had been doing +or thinking of. He had never been known to pray before. What sort of +prayers was he saying now? Extraordinary prayers surely. + +Wilfred Bohun stood rooted to the spot long enough to see the idiot go +out into the sunshine, and even to see his dissolute brother hail him +with a sort of avuncular jocularity. The last thing he saw was the +colonel throwing pennies at the open mouth of Joe, with the serious +appearance of trying to hit it. + +This ugly sunlit picture of the stupidity and cruelty of the earth sent +the ascetic finally to his prayers for purification and new thoughts. +He went up to a pew in the gallery, which brought him under a coloured +window which he loved and always quieted his spirit; a blue window +with an angel carrying lilies. There he began to think less about the +half-wit, with his livid face and mouth like a fish. He began to think +less of his evil brother, pacing like a lean lion in his horrible +hunger. He sank deeper and deeper into those cold and sweet colours of +silver blossoms and sapphire sky. + +In this place half an hour afterwards he was found by Gibbs, the village +cobbler, who had been sent for him in some haste. He got to his feet +with promptitude, for he knew that no small matter would have brought +Gibbs into such a place at all. The cobbler was, as in many villages, +an atheist, and his appearance in church was a shade more extraordinary +than Mad Joe's. It was a morning of theological enigmas. + +"What is it?" asked Wilfred Bohun rather stiffly, but putting out a +trembling hand for his hat. + +The atheist spoke in a tone that, coming from him, was quite startlingly +respectful, and even, as it were, huskily sympathetic. + +"You must excuse me, sir," he said in a hoarse whisper, "but we didn't +think it right not to let you know at once. I'm afraid a rather dreadful +thing has happened, sir. I'm afraid your brother--" + +Wilfred clenched his frail hands. "What devilry has he done now?" he +cried in voluntary passion. + +"Why, sir," said the cobbler, coughing, "I'm afraid he's done nothing, +and won't do anything. I'm afraid he's done for. You had really better +come down, sir." + +The curate followed the cobbler down a short winding stair which brought +them out at an entrance rather higher than the street. Bohun saw the +tragedy in one glance, flat underneath him like a plan. In the yard +of the smithy were standing five or six men mostly in black, one in +an inspector's uniform. They included the doctor, the Presbyterian +minister, and the priest from the Roman Catholic chapel, to which the +blacksmith's wife belonged. The latter was speaking to her, indeed, +very rapidly, in an undertone, as she, a magnificent woman with red-gold +hair, was sobbing blindly on a bench. Between these two groups, and +just clear of the main heap of hammers, lay a man in evening dress, +spread-eagled and flat on his face. From the height above Wilfred could +have sworn to every item of his costume and appearance, down to the +Bohun rings upon his fingers; but the skull was only a hideous splash, +like a star of blackness and blood. + +Wilfred Bohun gave but one glance, and ran down the steps into the yard. +The doctor, who was the family physician, saluted him, but he scarcely +took any notice. He could only stammer out: "My brother is dead. What +does it mean? What is this horrible mystery?" There was an unhappy +silence; and then the cobbler, the most outspoken man present, answered: +"Plenty of horror, sir," he said; "but not much mystery." + +"What do you mean?" asked Wilfred, with a white face. + +"It's plain enough," answered Gibbs. "There is only one man for forty +miles round that could have struck such a blow as that, and he's the man +that had most reason to." + +"We must not prejudge anything," put in the doctor, a tall, +black-bearded man, rather nervously; "but it is competent for me to +corroborate what Mr. Gibbs says about the nature of the blow, sir; it +is an incredible blow. Mr. Gibbs says that only one man in this district +could have done it. I should have said myself that nobody could have +done it." + +A shudder of superstition went through the slight figure of the curate. +"I can hardly understand," he said. + +"Mr. Bohun," said the doctor in a low voice, "metaphors literally fail +me. It is inadequate to say that the skull was smashed to bits like an +eggshell. Fragments of bone were driven into the body and the ground +like bullets into a mud wall. It was the hand of a giant." + +He was silent a moment, looking grimly through his glasses; then he +added: "The thing has one advantage--that it clears most people of +suspicion at one stroke. If you or I or any normally made man in the +country were accused of this crime, we should be acquitted as an infant +would be acquitted of stealing the Nelson column." + +"That's what I say," repeated the cobbler obstinately; "there's only one +man that could have done it, and he's the man that would have done it. +Where's Simeon Barnes, the blacksmith?" + +"He's over at Greenford," faltered the curate. + +"More likely over in France," muttered the cobbler. + +"No; he is in neither of those places," said a small and colourless +voice, which came from the little Roman priest who had joined the group. +"As a matter of fact, he is coming up the road at this moment." + +The little priest was not an interesting man to look at, having stubbly +brown hair and a round and stolid face. But if he had been as splendid +as Apollo no one would have looked at him at that moment. Everyone +turned round and peered at the pathway which wound across the plain +below, along which was indeed walking, at his own huge stride and with +a hammer on his shoulder, Simeon the smith. He was a bony and gigantic +man, with deep, dark, sinister eyes and a dark chin beard. He was +walking and talking quietly with two other men; and though he was never +specially cheerful, he seemed quite at his ease. + +"My God!" cried the atheistic cobbler, "and there's the hammer he did it +with." + +"No," said the inspector, a sensible-looking man with a sandy moustache, +speaking for the first time. "There's the hammer he did it with over +there by the church wall. We have left it and the body exactly as they +are." + +All glanced round and the short priest went across and looked down in +silence at the tool where it lay. It was one of the smallest and the +lightest of the hammers, and would not have caught the eye among the +rest; but on the iron edge of it were blood and yellow hair. + +After a silence the short priest spoke without looking up, and there was +a new note in his dull voice. "Mr. Gibbs was hardly right," he said, "in +saying that there is no mystery. There is at least the mystery of why so +big a man should attempt so big a blow with so little a hammer." + +"Oh, never mind that," cried Gibbs, in a fever. "What are we to do with +Simeon Barnes?" + +"Leave him alone," said the priest quietly. "He is coming here of +himself. I know those two men with him. They are very good fellows from +Greenford, and they have come over about the Presbyterian chapel." + +Even as he spoke the tall smith swung round the corner of the church, +and strode into his own yard. Then he stood there quite still, and the +hammer fell from his hand. The inspector, who had preserved impenetrable +propriety, immediately went up to him. + +"I won't ask you, Mr. Barnes," he said, "whether you know anything about +what has happened here. You are not bound to say. I hope you don't know, +and that you will be able to prove it. But I must go through the form +of arresting you in the King's name for the murder of Colonel Norman +Bohun." + +"You are not bound to say anything," said the cobbler in officious +excitement. "They've got to prove everything. They haven't proved yet +that it is Colonel Bohun, with the head all smashed up like that." + +"That won't wash," said the doctor aside to the priest. "That's out of +the detective stories. I was the colonel's medical man, and I knew his +body better than he did. He had very fine hands, but quite peculiar +ones. The second and third fingers were the same length. Oh, that's the +colonel right enough." + +As he glanced at the brained corpse upon the ground the iron eyes of the +motionless blacksmith followed them and rested there also. + +"Is Colonel Bohun dead?" said the smith quite calmly. "Then he's +damned." + +"Don't say anything! Oh, don't say anything," cried the atheist cobbler, +dancing about in an ecstasy of admiration of the English legal system. +For no man is such a legalist as the good Secularist. + +The blacksmith turned on him over his shoulder the august face of a +fanatic. + +"It's well for you infidels to dodge like foxes because the world's law +favours you," he said; "but God guards His own in His pocket, as you +shall see this day." + +Then he pointed to the colonel and said: "When did this dog die in his +sins?" + +"Moderate your language," said the doctor. + +"Moderate the Bible's language, and I'll moderate mine. When did he +die?" + +"I saw him alive at six o'clock this morning," stammered Wilfred Bohun. + +"God is good," said the smith. "Mr. Inspector, I have not the slightest +objection to being arrested. It is you who may object to arresting me. +I don't mind leaving the court without a stain on my character. You do +mind perhaps leaving the court with a bad set-back in your career." + +The solid inspector for the first time looked at the blacksmith with a +lively eye; as did everybody else, except the short, strange priest, who +was still looking down at the little hammer that had dealt the dreadful +blow. + +"There are two men standing outside this shop," went on the blacksmith +with ponderous lucidity, "good tradesmen in Greenford whom you all know, +who will swear that they saw me from before midnight till daybreak and +long after in the committee room of our Revival Mission, which sits all +night, we save souls so fast. In Greenford itself twenty people could +swear to me for all that time. If I were a heathen, Mr. Inspector, I +would let you walk on to your downfall. But as a Christian man I feel +bound to give you your chance, and ask you whether you will hear my +alibi now or in court." + +The inspector seemed for the first time disturbed, and said, "Of course +I should be glad to clear you altogether now." + +The smith walked out of his yard with the same long and easy stride, and +returned to his two friends from Greenford, who were indeed friends of +nearly everyone present. Each of them said a few words which no one ever +thought of disbelieving. When they had spoken, the innocence of Simeon +stood up as solid as the great church above them. + +One of those silences struck the group which are more strange and +insufferable than any speech. Madly, in order to make conversation, the +curate said to the Catholic priest: + +"You seem very much interested in that hammer, Father Brown." + +"Yes, I am," said Father Brown; "why is it such a small hammer?" + +The doctor swung round on him. + +"By George, that's true," he cried; "who would use a little hammer with +ten larger hammers lying about?" + +Then he lowered his voice in the curate's ear and said: "Only the kind +of person that can't lift a large hammer. It is not a question of force +or courage between the sexes. It's a question of lifting power in the +shoulders. A bold woman could commit ten murders with a light hammer and +never turn a hair. She could not kill a beetle with a heavy one." + +Wilfred Bohun was staring at him with a sort of hypnotised horror, +while Father Brown listened with his head a little on one side, really +interested and attentive. The doctor went on with more hissing emphasis: + +"Why do these idiots always assume that the only person who hates the +wife's lover is the wife's husband? Nine times out of ten the person +who most hates the wife's lover is the wife. Who knows what insolence or +treachery he had shown her--look there!" + +He made a momentary gesture towards the red-haired woman on the bench. +She had lifted her head at last and the tears were drying on her +splendid face. But the eyes were fixed on the corpse with an electric +glare that had in it something of idiocy. + +The Rev. Wilfred Bohun made a limp gesture as if waving away all desire +to know; but Father Brown, dusting off his sleeve some ashes blown from +the furnace, spoke in his indifferent way. + +"You are like so many doctors," he said; "your mental science is really +suggestive. It is your physical science that is utterly impossible. I +agree that the woman wants to kill the co-respondent much more than the +petitioner does. And I agree that a woman will always pick up a small +hammer instead of a big one. But the difficulty is one of physical +impossibility. No woman ever born could have smashed a man's skull +out flat like that." Then he added reflectively, after a pause: "These +people haven't grasped the whole of it. The man was actually wearing an +iron helmet, and the blow scattered it like broken glass. Look at that +woman. Look at her arms." + +Silence held them all up again, and then the doctor said rather sulkily: +"Well, I may be wrong; there are objections to everything. But I stick +to the main point. No man but an idiot would pick up that little hammer +if he could use a big hammer." + +With that the lean and quivering hands of Wilfred Bohun went up to his +head and seemed to clutch his scanty yellow hair. After an instant they +dropped, and he cried: "That was the word I wanted; you have said the +word." + +Then he continued, mastering his discomposure: "The words you said were, +'No man but an idiot would pick up the small hammer.'" + +"Yes," said the doctor. "Well?" + +"Well," said the curate, "no man but an idiot did." The rest stared +at him with eyes arrested and riveted, and he went on in a febrile and +feminine agitation. + +"I am a priest," he cried unsteadily, "and a priest should be no shedder +of blood. I--I mean that he should bring no one to the gallows. And I +thank God that I see the criminal clearly now--because he is a criminal +who cannot be brought to the gallows." + +"You will not denounce him?" inquired the doctor. + +"He would not be hanged if I did denounce him," answered Wilfred with +a wild but curiously happy smile. "When I went into the church this +morning I found a madman praying there--that poor Joe, who has been +wrong all his life. God knows what he prayed; but with such strange folk +it is not incredible to suppose that their prayers are all upside down. +Very likely a lunatic would pray before killing a man. When I last saw +poor Joe he was with my brother. My brother was mocking him." + +"By Jove!" cried the doctor, "this is talking at last. But how do you +explain--" + +The Rev. Wilfred was almost trembling with the excitement of his +own glimpse of the truth. "Don't you see; don't you see," he cried +feverishly; "that is the only theory that covers both the queer things, +that answers both the riddles. The two riddles are the little hammer and +the big blow. The smith might have struck the big blow, but would not +have chosen the little hammer. His wife would have chosen the little +hammer, but she could not have struck the big blow. But the madman might +have done both. As for the little hammer--why, he was mad and might have +picked up anything. And for the big blow, have you never heard, doctor, +that a maniac in his paroxysm may have the strength of ten men?" + +The doctor drew a deep breath and then said, "By golly, I believe you've +got it." + +Father Brown had fixed his eyes on the speaker so long and steadily +as to prove that his large grey, ox-like eyes were not quite so +insignificant as the rest of his face. When silence had fallen he said +with marked respect: "Mr. Bohun, yours is the only theory yet propounded +which holds water every way and is essentially unassailable. I think, +therefore, that you deserve to be told, on my positive knowledge, that +it is not the true one." And with that the old little man walked away +and stared again at the hammer. + +"That fellow seems to know more than he ought to," whispered the doctor +peevishly to Wilfred. "Those popish priests are deucedly sly." + +"No, no," said Bohun, with a sort of wild fatigue. "It was the lunatic. +It was the lunatic." + +The group of the two clerics and the doctor had fallen away from +the more official group containing the inspector and the man he had +arrested. Now, however, that their own party had broken up, they heard +voices from the others. The priest looked up quietly and then looked +down again as he heard the blacksmith say in a loud voice: + +"I hope I've convinced you, Mr. Inspector. I'm a strong man, as you say, +but I couldn't have flung my hammer bang here from Greenford. My hammer +hasn't got wings that it should come flying half a mile over hedges and +fields." + +The inspector laughed amicably and said: "No, I think you can be +considered out of it, though it's one of the rummiest coincidences I +ever saw. I can only ask you to give us all the assistance you can in +finding a man as big and strong as yourself. By George! you might be +useful, if only to hold him! I suppose you yourself have no guess at the +man?" + +"I may have a guess," said the pale smith, "but it is not at a man." +Then, seeing the scared eyes turn towards his wife on the bench, he put +his huge hand on her shoulder and said: "Nor a woman either." + +"What do you mean?" asked the inspector jocularly. "You don't think cows +use hammers, do you?" + +"I think no thing of flesh held that hammer," said the blacksmith in a +stifled voice; "mortally speaking, I think the man died alone." + +Wilfred made a sudden forward movement and peered at him with burning +eyes. + +"Do you mean to say, Barnes," came the sharp voice of the cobbler, "that +the hammer jumped up of itself and knocked the man down?" + +"Oh, you gentlemen may stare and snigger," cried Simeon; "you clergymen +who tell us on Sunday in what a stillness the Lord smote Sennacherib. I +believe that One who walks invisible in every house defended the honour +of mine, and laid the defiler dead before the door of it. I believe the +force in that blow was just the force there is in earthquakes, and no +force less." + +Wilfred said, with a voice utterly undescribable: "I told Norman myself +to beware of the thunderbolt." + +"That agent is outside my jurisdiction," said the inspector with a +slight smile. + +"You are not outside His," answered the smith; "see you to it," and, +turning his broad back, he went into the house. + +The shaken Wilfred was led away by Father Brown, who had an easy and +friendly way with him. "Let us get out of this horrid place, Mr. Bohun," +he said. "May I look inside your church? I hear it's one of the oldest +in England. We take some interest, you know," he added with a comical +grimace, "in old English churches." + +Wilfred Bohun did not smile, for humour was never his strong point. But +he nodded rather eagerly, being only too ready to explain the +Gothic splendours to someone more likely to be sympathetic than the +Presbyterian blacksmith or the atheist cobbler. + +"By all means," he said; "let us go in at this side." And he led the way +into the high side entrance at the top of the flight of steps. Father +Brown was mounting the first step to follow him when he felt a hand on +his shoulder, and turned to behold the dark, thin figure of the doctor, +his face darker yet with suspicion. + +"Sir," said the physician harshly, "you appear to know some secrets +in this black business. May I ask if you are going to keep them to +yourself?" + +"Why, doctor," answered the priest, smiling quite pleasantly, "there is +one very good reason why a man of my trade should keep things to himself +when he is not sure of them, and that is that it is so constantly his +duty to keep them to himself when he is sure of them. But if you think +I have been discourteously reticent with you or anyone, I will go to the +extreme limit of my custom. I will give you two very large hints." + +"Well, sir?" said the doctor gloomily. + +"First," said Father Brown quietly, "the thing is quite in your +own province. It is a matter of physical science. The blacksmith is +mistaken, not perhaps in saying that the blow was divine, but certainly +in saying that it came by a miracle. It was no miracle, doctor, except +in so far as man is himself a miracle, with his strange and wicked and +yet half-heroic heart. The force that smashed that skull was a force +well known to scientists--one of the most frequently debated of the laws +of nature." + +The doctor, who was looking at him with frowning intentness, only said: +"And the other hint?" + +"The other hint is this," said the priest. "Do you remember the +blacksmith, though he believes in miracles, talking scornfully of the +impossible fairy tale that his hammer had wings and flew half a mile +across country?" + +"Yes," said the doctor, "I remember that." + +"Well," added Father Brown, with a broad smile, "that fairy tale was the +nearest thing to the real truth that has been said today." And with that +he turned his back and stumped up the steps after the curate. + +The Reverend Wilfred, who had been waiting for him, pale and impatient, +as if this little delay were the last straw for his nerves, led him +immediately to his favourite corner of the church, that part of the +gallery closest to the carved roof and lit by the wonderful window +with the angel. The little Latin priest explored and admired everything +exhaustively, talking cheerfully but in a low voice all the time. +When in the course of his investigation he found the side exit and the +winding stair down which Wilfred had rushed to find his brother dead, +Father Brown ran not down but up, with the agility of a monkey, and his +clear voice came from an outer platform above. + +"Come up here, Mr. Bohun," he called. "The air will do you good." + +Bohun followed him, and came out on a kind of stone gallery or balcony +outside the building, from which one could see the illimitable plain +in which their small hill stood, wooded away to the purple horizon +and dotted with villages and farms. Clear and square, but quite small +beneath them, was the blacksmith's yard, where the inspector still stood +taking notes and the corpse still lay like a smashed fly. + +"Might be the map of the world, mightn't it?" said Father Brown. + +"Yes," said Bohun very gravely, and nodded his head. + +Immediately beneath and about them the lines of the Gothic building +plunged outwards into the void with a sickening swiftness akin to +suicide. There is that element of Titan energy in the architecture of +the Middle Ages that, from whatever aspect it be seen, it always seems +to be rushing away, like the strong back of some maddened horse. This +church was hewn out of ancient and silent stone, bearded with old +fungoids and stained with the nests of birds. And yet, when they saw it +from below, it sprang like a fountain at the stars; and when they saw +it, as now, from above, it poured like a cataract into a voiceless pit. +For these two men on the tower were left alone with the most terrible +aspect of Gothic; the monstrous foreshortening and disproportion, the +dizzy perspectives, the glimpses of great things small and small things +great; a topsy-turvydom of stone in the mid-air. Details of stone, +enormous by their proximity, were relieved against a pattern of fields +and farms, pygmy in their distance. A carved bird or beast at a corner +seemed like some vast walking or flying dragon wasting the pastures and +villages below. The whole atmosphere was dizzy and dangerous, as if men +were upheld in air amid the gyrating wings of colossal genii; and the +whole of that old church, as tall and rich as a cathedral, seemed to sit +upon the sunlit country like a cloudburst. + +"I think there is something rather dangerous about standing on these +high places even to pray," said Father Brown. "Heights were made to be +looked at, not to be looked from." + +"Do you mean that one may fall over," asked Wilfred. + +"I mean that one's soul may fall if one's body doesn't," said the other +priest. + +"I scarcely understand you," remarked Bohun indistinctly. + +"Look at that blacksmith, for instance," went on Father Brown calmly; "a +good man, but not a Christian--hard, imperious, unforgiving. Well, his +Scotch religion was made up by men who prayed on hills and high crags, +and learnt to look down on the world more than to look up at heaven. +Humility is the mother of giants. One sees great things from the valley; +only small things from the peak." + +"But he--he didn't do it," said Bohun tremulously. + +"No," said the other in an odd voice; "we know he didn't do it." + +After a moment he resumed, looking tranquilly out over the plain with +his pale grey eyes. "I knew a man," he said, "who began by worshipping +with others before the altar, but who grew fond of high and lonely +places to pray from, corners or niches in the belfry or the spire. And +once in one of those dizzy places, where the whole world seemed to turn +under him like a wheel, his brain turned also, and he fancied he was +God. So that, though he was a good man, he committed a great crime." + +Wilfred's face was turned away, but his bony hands turned blue and white +as they tightened on the parapet of stone. + +"He thought it was given to him to judge the world and strike down the +sinner. He would never have had such a thought if he had been kneeling +with other men upon a floor. But he saw all men walking about like +insects. He saw one especially strutting just below him, insolent and +evident by a bright green hat--a poisonous insect." + +Rooks cawed round the corners of the belfry; but there was no other +sound till Father Brown went on. + +"This also tempted him, that he had in his hand one of the most awful +engines of nature; I mean gravitation, that mad and quickening rush by +which all earth's creatures fly back to her heart when released. See, +the inspector is strutting just below us in the smithy. If I were to +toss a pebble over this parapet it would be something like a bullet +by the time it struck him. If I were to drop a hammer--even a small +hammer--" + +Wilfred Bohun threw one leg over the parapet, and Father Brown had him +in a minute by the collar. + +"Not by that door," he said quite gently; "that door leads to hell." + +Bohun staggered back against the wall, and stared at him with frightful +eyes. + +"How do you know all this?" he cried. "Are you a devil?" + +"I am a man," answered Father Brown gravely; "and therefore have all +devils in my heart. Listen to me," he said after a short pause. "I know +what you did--at least, I can guess the great part of it. When you left +your brother you were racked with no unrighteous rage, to the extent +even that you snatched up a small hammer, half inclined to kill him with +his foulness on his mouth. Recoiling, you thrust it under your buttoned +coat instead, and rushed into the church. You pray wildly in many +places, under the angel window, upon the platform above, and a higher +platform still, from which you could see the colonel's Eastern hat like +the back of a green beetle crawling about. Then something snapped in +your soul, and you let God's thunderbolt fall." + +Wilfred put a weak hand to his head, and asked in a low voice: "How did +you know that his hat looked like a green beetle?" + +"Oh, that," said the other with the shadow of a smile, "that was common +sense. But hear me further. I say I know all this; but no one else shall +know it. The next step is for you; I shall take no more steps; I will +seal this with the seal of confession. If you ask me why, there are many +reasons, and only one that concerns you. I leave things to you because +you have not yet gone very far wrong, as assassins go. You did not help +to fix the crime on the smith when it was easy; or on his wife, when +that was easy. You tried to fix it on the imbecile because you knew that +he could not suffer. That was one of the gleams that it is my business +to find in assassins. And now come down into the village, and go your +own way as free as the wind; for I have said my last word." + +They went down the winding stairs in utter silence, and came out into +the sunlight by the smithy. Wilfred Bohun carefully unlatched the wooden +gate of the yard, and going up to the inspector, said: "I wish to give +myself up; I have killed my brother." + + + + +The Eye of Apollo + + +That singular smoky sparkle, at once a confusion and a transparency, +which is the strange secret of the Thames, was changing more and more +from its grey to its glittering extreme as the sun climbed to the zenith +over Westminster, and two men crossed Westminster Bridge. One man +was very tall and the other very short; they might even have been +fantastically compared to the arrogant clock-tower of Parliament and the +humbler humped shoulders of the Abbey, for the short man was in clerical +dress. The official description of the tall man was M. Hercule Flambeau, +private detective, and he was going to his new offices in a new pile of +flats facing the Abbey entrance. The official description of the short +man was the Reverend J. Brown, attached to St. Francis Xavier's Church, +Camberwell, and he was coming from a Camberwell deathbed to see the new +offices of his friend. + +The building was American in its sky-scraping altitude, and American +also in the oiled elaboration of its machinery of telephones and lifts. +But it was barely finished and still understaffed; only three tenants +had moved in; the office just above Flambeau was occupied, as also +was the office just below him; the two floors above that and the three +floors below were entirely bare. But the first glance at the new tower +of flats caught something much more arresting. Save for a few relics of +scaffolding, the one glaring object was erected outside the office +just above Flambeau's. It was an enormous gilt effigy of the human eye, +surrounded with rays of gold, and taking up as much room as two or three +of the office windows. + +"What on earth is that?" asked Father Brown, and stood still. "Oh, a +new religion," said Flambeau, laughing; "one of those new religions that +forgive your sins by saying you never had any. Rather like Christian +Science, I should think. The fact is that a fellow calling himself Kalon +(I don't know what his name is, except that it can't be that) has taken +the flat just above me. I have two lady typewriters underneath me, and +this enthusiastic old humbug on top. He calls himself the New Priest of +Apollo, and he worships the sun." + +"Let him look out," said Father Brown. "The sun was the cruellest of all +the gods. But what does that monstrous eye mean?" + +"As I understand it, it is a theory of theirs," answered Flambeau, "that +a man can endure anything if his mind is quite steady. Their two great +symbols are the sun and the open eye; for they say that if a man were +really healthy he could stare at the sun." + +"If a man were really healthy," said Father Brown, "he would not bother +to stare at it." + +"Well, that's all I can tell you about the new religion," went on +Flambeau carelessly. "It claims, of course, that it can cure all +physical diseases." + +"Can it cure the one spiritual disease?" asked Father Brown, with a +serious curiosity. + +"And what is the one spiritual disease?" asked Flambeau, smiling. + +"Oh, thinking one is quite well," said his friend. + +Flambeau was more interested in the quiet little office below him than +in the flamboyant temple above. He was a lucid Southerner, incapable +of conceiving himself as anything but a Catholic or an atheist; and new +religions of a bright and pallid sort were not much in his line. But +humanity was always in his line, especially when it was good-looking; +moreover, the ladies downstairs were characters in their way. The office +was kept by two sisters, both slight and dark, one of them tall and +striking. She had a dark, eager and aquiline profile, and was one of +those women whom one always thinks of in profile, as of the clean-cut +edge of some weapon. She seemed to cleave her way through life. She had +eyes of startling brilliancy, but it was the brilliancy of steel rather +than of diamonds; and her straight, slim figure was a shade too stiff +for its grace. Her younger sister was like her shortened shadow, +a little greyer, paler, and more insignificant. They both wore a +business-like black, with little masculine cuffs and collars. There are +thousands of such curt, strenuous ladies in the offices of London, +but the interest of these lay rather in their real than their apparent +position. + +For Pauline Stacey, the elder, was actually the heiress of a crest +and half a county, as well as great wealth; she had been brought up in +castles and gardens, before a frigid fierceness (peculiar to the modern +woman) had driven her to what she considered a harsher and a higher +existence. She had not, indeed, surrendered her money; in that there +would have been a romantic or monkish abandon quite alien to her +masterful utilitarianism. She held her wealth, she would say, for use +upon practical social objects. Part of it she had put into her business, +the nucleus of a model typewriting emporium; part of it was distributed +in various leagues and causes for the advancement of such work among +women. How far Joan, her sister and partner, shared this slightly +prosaic idealism no one could be very sure. But she followed her leader +with a dog-like affection which was somehow more attractive, with its +touch of tragedy, than the hard, high spirits of the elder. For Pauline +Stacey had nothing to say to tragedy; she was understood to deny its +existence. + +Her rigid rapidity and cold impatience had amused Flambeau very much on +the first occasion of his entering the flats. He had lingered outside +the lift in the entrance hall waiting for the lift-boy, who generally +conducts strangers to the various floors. But this bright-eyed falcon +of a girl had openly refused to endure such official delay. She said +sharply that she knew all about the lift, and was not dependent on +boys--or men either. Though her flat was only three floors above, she +managed in the few seconds of ascent to give Flambeau a great many of +her fundamental views in an off-hand manner; they were to the general +effect that she was a modern working woman and loved modern working +machinery. Her bright black eyes blazed with abstract anger against +those who rebuke mechanic science and ask for the return of romance. +Everyone, she said, ought to be able to manage machines, just as she +could manage the lift. She seemed almost to resent the fact of Flambeau +opening the lift-door for her; and that gentleman went up to his own +apartments smiling with somewhat mingled feelings at the memory of such +spit-fire self-dependence. + +She certainly had a temper, of a snappy, practical sort; the gestures of +her thin, elegant hands were abrupt or even destructive. + +Once Flambeau entered her office on some typewriting business, and found +she had just flung a pair of spectacles belonging to her sister into the +middle of the floor and stamped on them. She was already in the rapids +of an ethical tirade about the "sickly medical notions" and the morbid +admission of weakness implied in such an apparatus. She dared her sister +to bring such artificial, unhealthy rubbish into the place again. She +asked if she was expected to wear wooden legs or false hair or glass +eyes; and as she spoke her eyes sparkled like the terrible crystal. + +Flambeau, quite bewildered with this fanaticism, could not refrain from +asking Miss Pauline (with direct French logic) why a pair of spectacles +was a more morbid sign of weakness than a lift, and why, if science +might help us in the one effort, it might not help us in the other. + +"That is so different," said Pauline Stacey, loftily. "Batteries and +motors and all those things are marks of the force of man--yes, Mr. +Flambeau, and the force of woman, too! We shall take our turn at these +great engines that devour distance and defy time. That is high and +splendid--that is really science. But these nasty props and plasters the +doctors sell--why, they are just badges of poltroonery. Doctors stick +on legs and arms as if we were born cripples and sick slaves. But I +was free-born, Mr. Flambeau! People only think they need these things +because they have been trained in fear instead of being trained in power +and courage, just as the silly nurses tell children not to stare at the +sun, and so they can't do it without blinking. But why among the stars +should there be one star I may not see? The sun is not my master, and I +will open my eyes and stare at him whenever I choose." + +"Your eyes," said Flambeau, with a foreign bow, "will dazzle the sun." +He took pleasure in complimenting this strange stiff beauty, partly +because it threw her a little off her balance. But as he went upstairs +to his floor he drew a deep breath and whistled, saying to himself: "So +she has got into the hands of that conjurer upstairs with his golden +eye." For, little as he knew or cared about the new religion of Kalon, +he had heard of his special notion about sun-gazing. + +He soon discovered that the spiritual bond between the floors above and +below him was close and increasing. The man who called himself Kalon was +a magnificent creature, worthy, in a physical sense, to be the pontiff +of Apollo. He was nearly as tall even as Flambeau, and very much better +looking, with a golden beard, strong blue eyes, and a mane flung back +like a lion's. In structure he was the blonde beast of Nietzsche, +but all this animal beauty was heightened, brightened and softened by +genuine intellect and spirituality. If he looked like one of the great +Saxon kings, he looked like one of the kings that were also saints. And +this despite the cockney incongruity of his surroundings; the fact that +he had an office half-way up a building in Victoria Street; that the +clerk (a commonplace youth in cuffs and collars) sat in the outer room, +between him and the corridor; that his name was on a brass plate, +and the gilt emblem of his creed hung above his street, like the +advertisement of an oculist. All this vulgarity could not take away from +the man called Kalon the vivid oppression and inspiration that came +from his soul and body. When all was said, a man in the presence of +this quack did feel in the presence of a great man. Even in the loose +jacket-suit of linen that he wore as a workshop dress in his office he +was a fascinating and formidable figure; and when robed in the white +vestments and crowned with the golden circlet, in which he daily saluted +the sun, he really looked so splendid that the laughter of the street +people sometimes died suddenly on their lips. For three times in the day +the new sun-worshipper went out on his little balcony, in the face +of all Westminster, to say some litany to his shining lord: once at +daybreak, once at sunset, and once at the shock of noon. And it +was while the shock of noon still shook faintly from the towers of +Parliament and parish church that Father Brown, the friend of Flambeau, +first looked up and saw the white priest of Apollo. + +Flambeau had seen quite enough of these daily salutations of Phoebus, +and plunged into the porch of the tall building without even looking +for his clerical friend to follow. But Father Brown, whether from a +professional interest in ritual or a strong individual interest in +tomfoolery, stopped and stared up at the balcony of the sun-worshipper, +just as he might have stopped and stared up at a Punch and Judy. Kalon +the Prophet was already erect, with argent garments and uplifted hands, +and the sound of his strangely penetrating voice could be heard all the +way down the busy street uttering his solar litany. He was already +in the middle of it; his eyes were fixed upon the flaming disc. It is +doubtful if he saw anything or anyone on this earth; it is substantially +certain that he did not see a stunted, round-faced priest who, in the +crowd below, looked up at him with blinking eyes. That was perhaps the +most startling difference between even these two far divided men. Father +Brown could not look at anything without blinking; but the priest of +Apollo could look on the blaze at noon without a quiver of the eyelid. + +"O sun," cried the prophet, "O star that art too great to be allowed +among the stars! O fountain that flowest quietly in that secret spot +that is called space. White Father of all white unwearied things, white +flames and white flowers and white peaks. Father, who art more innocent +than all thy most innocent and quiet children; primal purity, into the +peace of which--" + +A rush and crash like the reversed rush of a rocket was cloven with a +strident and incessant yelling. Five people rushed into the gate of +the mansions as three people rushed out, and for an instant they all +deafened each other. The sense of some utterly abrupt horror seemed for +a moment to fill half the street with bad news--bad news that was all +the worse because no one knew what it was. Two figures remained still +after the crash of commotion: the fair priest of Apollo on the balcony +above, and the ugly priest of Christ below him. + +At last the tall figure and titanic energy of Flambeau appeared in the +doorway of the mansions and dominated the little mob. Talking at the top +of his voice like a fog-horn, he told somebody or anybody to go for a +surgeon; and as he turned back into the dark and thronged entrance his +friend Father Brown dipped in insignificantly after him. Even as he +ducked and dived through the crowd he could still hear the magnificent +melody and monotony of the solar priest still calling on the happy god +who is the friend of fountains and flowers. + +Father Brown found Flambeau and some six other people standing round the +enclosed space into which the lift commonly descended. But the lift had +not descended. Something else had descended; something that ought to +have come by a lift. + +For the last four minutes Flambeau had looked down on it; had seen +the brained and bleeding figure of that beautiful woman who denied the +existence of tragedy. He had never had the slightest doubt that it was +Pauline Stacey; and, though he had sent for a doctor, he had not the +slightest doubt that she was dead. + +He could not remember for certain whether he had liked her or disliked +her; there was so much both to like and dislike. But she had been a +person to him, and the unbearable pathos of details and habit stabbed +him with all the small daggers of bereavement. He remembered her pretty +face and priggish speeches with a sudden secret vividness which is all +the bitterness of death. In an instant like a bolt from the blue, like +a thunderbolt from nowhere, that beautiful and defiant body had been +dashed down the open well of the lift to death at the bottom. Was it +suicide? With so insolent an optimist it seemed impossible. Was it +murder? But who was there in those hardly inhabited flats to murder +anybody? In a rush of raucous words, which he meant to be strong and +suddenly found weak, he asked where was that fellow Kalon. A voice, +habitually heavy, quiet and full, assured him that Kalon for the last +fifteen minutes had been away up on his balcony worshipping his god. +When Flambeau heard the voice, and felt the hand of Father Brown, he +turned his swarthy face and said abruptly: + +"Then, if he has been up there all the time, who can have done it?" + +"Perhaps," said the other, "we might go upstairs and find out. We have +half an hour before the police will move." + +Leaving the body of the slain heiress in charge of the surgeons, +Flambeau dashed up the stairs to the typewriting office, found it +utterly empty, and then dashed up to his own. Having entered that, he +abruptly returned with a new and white face to his friend. + +"Her sister," he said, with an unpleasant seriousness, "her sister seems +to have gone out for a walk." + +Father Brown nodded. "Or, she may have gone up to the office of that sun +man," he said. "If I were you I should just verify that, and then let +us all talk it over in your office. No," he added suddenly, as if +remembering something, "shall I ever get over that stupidity of mine? Of +course, in their office downstairs." + +Flambeau stared; but he followed the little father downstairs to the +empty flat of the Staceys, where that impenetrable pastor took a large +red-leather chair in the very entrance, from which he could see the +stairs and landings, and waited. He did not wait very long. In about +four minutes three figures descended the stairs, alike only in +their solemnity. The first was Joan Stacey, the sister of the dead +woman--evidently she had been upstairs in the temporary temple of +Apollo; the second was the priest of Apollo himself, his +litany finished, sweeping down the empty stairs in utter +magnificence--something in his white robes, beard and parted hair had +the look of Dore's Christ leaving the Pretorium; the third was Flambeau, +black browed and somewhat bewildered. + +Miss Joan Stacey, dark, with a drawn face and hair prematurely touched +with grey, walked straight to her own desk and set out her papers with a +practical flap. The mere action rallied everyone else to sanity. If Miss +Joan Stacey was a criminal, she was a cool one. Father Brown regarded +her for some time with an odd little smile, and then, without taking his +eyes off her, addressed himself to somebody else. + +"Prophet," he said, presumably addressing Kalon, "I wish you would tell +me a lot about your religion." + +"I shall be proud to do it," said Kalon, inclining his still crowned +head, "but I am not sure that I understand." + +"Why, it's like this," said Father Brown, in his frankly doubtful way: +"We are taught that if a man has really bad first principles, that must +be partly his fault. But, for all that, we can make some difference +between a man who insults his quite clear conscience and a man with a +conscience more or less clouded with sophistries. Now, do you really +think that murder is wrong at all?" + +"Is this an accusation?" asked Kalon very quietly. + +"No," answered Brown, equally gently, "it is the speech for the +defence." + +In the long and startled stillness of the room the prophet of Apollo +slowly rose; and really it was like the rising of the sun. He filled +that room with his light and life in such a manner that a man felt he +could as easily have filled Salisbury Plain. His robed form seemed to +hang the whole room with classic draperies; his epic gesture seemed to +extend it into grander perspectives, till the little black figure of the +modern cleric seemed to be a fault and an intrusion, a round, black blot +upon some splendour of Hellas. + +"We meet at last, Caiaphas," said the prophet. "Your church and mine are +the only realities on this earth. I adore the sun, and you the darkening +of the sun; you are the priest of the dying and I of the living God. +Your present work of suspicion and slander is worthy of your coat and +creed. All your church is but a black police; you are only spies and +detectives seeking to tear from men confessions of guilt, whether by +treachery or torture. You would convict men of crime, I would convict +them of innocence. You would convince them of sin, I would convince them +of virtue. + +"Reader of the books of evil, one more word before I blow away your +baseless nightmares for ever. Not even faintly could you understand +how little I care whether you can convict me or no. The things you +call disgrace and horrible hanging are to me no more than an ogre in a +child's toy-book to a man once grown up. You said you were offering the +speech for the defence. I care so little for the cloudland of this life +that I will offer you the speech for the prosecution. There is but one +thing that can be said against me in this matter, and I will say it +myself. The woman that is dead was my love and my bride; not after such +manner as your tin chapels call lawful, but by a law purer and sterner +than you will ever understand. She and I walked another world from +yours, and trod palaces of crystal while you were plodding through +tunnels and corridors of brick. Well, I know that policemen, theological +and otherwise, always fancy that where there has been love there +must soon be hatred; so there you have the first point made for the +prosecution. But the second point is stronger; I do not grudge it you. +Not only is it true that Pauline loved me, but it is also true that this +very morning, before she died, she wrote at that table a will leaving me +and my new church half a million. Come, where are the handcuffs? Do you +suppose I care what foolish things you do with me? Penal servitude will +only be like waiting for her at a wayside station. The gallows will only +be going to her in a headlong car." + +He spoke with the brain-shaking authority of an orator, and Flambeau +and Joan Stacey stared at him in amazed admiration. Father Brown's face +seemed to express nothing but extreme distress; he looked at the ground +with one wrinkle of pain across his forehead. The prophet of the sun +leaned easily against the mantelpiece and resumed: + +"In a few words I have put before you the whole case against me--the +only possible case against me. In fewer words still I will blow it +to pieces, so that not a trace of it remains. As to whether I have +committed this crime, the truth is in one sentence: I could not have +committed this crime. Pauline Stacey fell from this floor to the +ground at five minutes past twelve. A hundred people will go into the +witness-box and say that I was standing out upon the balcony of my own +rooms above from just before the stroke of noon to a quarter-past--the +usual period of my public prayers. My clerk (a respectable youth from +Clapham, with no sort of connection with me) will swear that he sat +in my outer office all the morning, and that no communication passed +through. He will swear that I arrived a full ten minutes before the +hour, fifteen minutes before any whisper of the accident, and that I did +not leave the office or the balcony all that time. No one ever had so +complete an alibi; I could subpoena half Westminster. I think you had +better put the handcuffs away again. The case is at an end. + +"But last of all, that no breath of this idiotic suspicion remain in the +air, I will tell you all you want to know. I believe I do know how my +unhappy friend came by her death. You can, if you choose, blame me for +it, or my faith and philosophy at least; but you certainly cannot +lock me up. It is well known to all students of the higher truths that +certain adepts and illuminati have in history attained the power of +levitation--that is, of being self-sustained upon the empty air. It is +but a part of that general conquest of matter which is the main element +in our occult wisdom. Poor Pauline was of an impulsive and ambitious +temper. I think, to tell the truth, she thought herself somewhat deeper +in the mysteries than she was; and she has often said to me, as we went +down in the lift together, that if one's will were strong enough, one +could float down as harmlessly as a feather. I solemnly believe that in +some ecstasy of noble thoughts she attempted the miracle. Her will, or +faith, must have failed her at the crucial instant, and the lower law +of matter had its horrible revenge. There is the whole story, gentlemen, +very sad and, as you think, very presumptuous and wicked, but certainly +not criminal or in any way connected with me. In the short-hand of the +police-courts, you had better call it suicide. I shall always call +it heroic failure for the advance of science and the slow scaling of +heaven." + +It was the first time Flambeau had ever seen Father Brown vanquished. He +still sat looking at the ground, with a painful and corrugated brow, as +if in shame. It was impossible to avoid the feeling which the prophet's +winged words had fanned, that here was a sullen, professional suspecter +of men overwhelmed by a prouder and purer spirit of natural liberty and +health. At last he said, blinking as if in bodily distress: "Well, if +that is so, sir, you need do no more than take the testamentary paper +you spoke of and go. I wonder where the poor lady left it." + +"It will be over there on her desk by the door, I think," said Kalon, +with that massive innocence of manner that seemed to acquit him wholly. +"She told me specially she would write it this morning, and I actually +saw her writing as I went up in the lift to my own room." + +"Was her door open then?" asked the priest, with his eye on the corner +of the matting. + +"Yes," said Kalon calmly. + +"Ah! it has been open ever since," said the other, and resumed his +silent study of the mat. + +"There is a paper over here," said the grim Miss Joan, in a somewhat +singular voice. She had passed over to her sister's desk by the doorway, +and was holding a sheet of blue foolscap in her hand. There was a sour +smile on her face that seemed unfit for such a scene or occasion, and +Flambeau looked at her with a darkening brow. + +Kalon the prophet stood away from the paper with that loyal +unconsciousness that had carried him through. But Flambeau took it +out of the lady's hand, and read it with the utmost amazement. It did, +indeed, begin in the formal manner of a will, but after the words "I +give and bequeath all of which I die possessed" the writing abruptly +stopped with a set of scratches, and there was no trace of the name of +any legatee. Flambeau, in wonder, handed this truncated testament to his +clerical friend, who glanced at it and silently gave it to the priest of +the sun. + +An instant afterwards that pontiff, in his splendid sweeping draperies, +had crossed the room in two great strides, and was towering over Joan +Stacey, his blue eyes standing from his head. + +"What monkey tricks have you been playing here?" he cried. "That's not +all Pauline wrote." + +They were startled to hear him speak in quite a new voice, with a Yankee +shrillness in it; all his grandeur and good English had fallen from him +like a cloak. + +"That is the only thing on her desk," said Joan, and confronted him +steadily with the same smile of evil favour. + +Of a sudden the man broke out into blasphemies and cataracts of +incredulous words. There was something shocking about the dropping of +his mask; it was like a man's real face falling off. + +"See here!" he cried in broad American, when he was breathless with +cursing, "I may be an adventurer, but I guess you're a murderess. Yes, +gentlemen, here's your death explained, and without any levitation. The +poor girl is writing a will in my favour; her cursed sister comes in, +struggles for the pen, drags her to the well, and throws her down before +she can finish it. Sakes! I reckon we want the handcuffs after all." + +"As you have truly remarked," replied Joan, with ugly calm, "your clerk +is a very respectable young man, who knows the nature of an oath; and +he will swear in any court that I was up in your office arranging some +typewriting work for five minutes before and five minutes after my +sister fell. Mr. Flambeau will tell you that he found me there." + +There was a silence. + +"Why, then," cried Flambeau, "Pauline was alone when she fell, and it +was suicide!" + +"She was alone when she fell," said Father Brown, "but it was not +suicide." + +"Then how did she die?" asked Flambeau impatiently. + +"She was murdered." + +"But she was alone," objected the detective. + +"She was murdered when she was all alone," answered the priest. + +All the rest stared at him, but he remained sitting in the same +old dejected attitude, with a wrinkle in his round forehead and an +appearance of impersonal shame and sorrow; his voice was colourless and +sad. + +"What I want to know," cried Kalon, with an oath, "is when the police +are coming for this bloody and wicked sister. She's killed her flesh and +blood; she's robbed me of half a million that was just as sacredly mine +as--" + +"Come, come, prophet," interrupted Flambeau, with a kind of sneer; +"remember that all this world is a cloudland." + +The hierophant of the sun-god made an effort to climb back on his +pedestal. "It is not the mere money," he cried, "though that would equip +the cause throughout the world. It is also my beloved one's wishes. To +Pauline all this was holy. In Pauline's eyes--" + +Father Brown suddenly sprang erect, so that his chair fell over flat +behind him. He was deathly pale, yet he seemed fired with a hope; his +eyes shone. + +"That's it!" he cried in a clear voice. "That's the way to begin. In +Pauline's eyes--" + +The tall prophet retreated before the tiny priest in an almost mad +disorder. "What do you mean? How dare you?" he cried repeatedly. + +"In Pauline's eyes," repeated the priest, his own shining more and more. +"Go on--in God's name, go on. The foulest crime the fiends ever prompted +feels lighter after confession; and I implore you to confess. Go on, go +on--in Pauline's eyes--" + +"Let me go, you devil!" thundered Kalon, struggling like a giant in +bonds. "Who are you, you cursed spy, to weave your spiders' webs round +me, and peep and peer? Let me go." + +"Shall I stop him?" asked Flambeau, bounding towards the exit, for Kalon +had already thrown the door wide open. + +"No; let him pass," said Father Brown, with a strange deep sigh that +seemed to come from the depths of the universe. "Let Cain pass by, for +he belongs to God." + +There was a long-drawn silence in the room when he had left it, which +was to Flambeau's fierce wits one long agony of interrogation. Miss Joan +Stacey very coolly tidied up the papers on her desk. + +"Father," said Flambeau at last, "it is my duty, not my curiosity +only--it is my duty to find out, if I can, who committed the crime." + +"Which crime?" asked Father Brown. + +"The one we are dealing with, of course," replied his impatient friend. + +"We are dealing with two crimes," said Brown, "crimes of very different +weight--and by very different criminals." + +Miss Joan Stacey, having collected and put away her papers, proceeded to +lock up her drawer. Father Brown went on, noticing her as little as she +noticed him. + +"The two crimes," he observed, "were committed against the same weakness +of the same person, in a struggle for her money. The author of the +larger crime found himself thwarted by the smaller crime; the author of +the smaller crime got the money." + +"Oh, don't go on like a lecturer," groaned Flambeau; "put it in a few +words." + +"I can put it in one word," answered his friend. + +Miss Joan Stacey skewered her business-like black hat on to her head +with a business-like black frown before a little mirror, and, as the +conversation proceeded, took her handbag and umbrella in an unhurried +style, and left the room. + +"The truth is one word, and a short one," said Father Brown. "Pauline +Stacey was blind." + +"Blind!" repeated Flambeau, and rose slowly to his whole huge stature. + +"She was subject to it by blood," Brown proceeded. "Her sister would +have started eyeglasses if Pauline would have let her; but it was her +special philosophy or fad that one must not encourage such diseases by +yielding to them. She would not admit the cloud; or she tried to dispel +it by will. So her eyes got worse and worse with straining; but the +worst strain was to come. It came with this precious prophet, or +whatever he calls himself, who taught her to stare at the hot sun with +the naked eye. It was called accepting Apollo. Oh, if these new pagans +would only be old pagans, they would be a little wiser! The old pagans +knew that mere naked Nature-worship must have a cruel side. They knew +that the eye of Apollo can blast and blind." + +There was a pause, and the priest went on in a gentle and even broken +voice. "Whether or no that devil deliberately made her blind, there is +no doubt that he deliberately killed her through her blindness. The very +simplicity of the crime is sickening. You know he and she went up and +down in those lifts without official help; you know also how smoothly +and silently the lifts slide. Kalon brought the lift to the girl's +landing, and saw her, through the open door, writing in her slow, +sightless way the will she had promised him. He called out to her +cheerily that he had the lift ready for her, and she was to come out +when she was ready. Then he pressed a button and shot soundlessly up to +his own floor, walked through his own office, out on to his own balcony, +and was safely praying before the crowded street when the poor girl, +having finished her work, ran gaily out to where lover and lift were to +receive her, and stepped--" + +"Don't!" cried Flambeau. + +"He ought to have got half a million by pressing that button," continued +the little father, in the colourless voice in which he talked of such +horrors. "But that went smash. It went smash because there happened +to be another person who also wanted the money, and who also knew the +secret about poor Pauline's sight. There was one thing about that will +that I think nobody noticed: although it was unfinished and without +signature, the other Miss Stacey and some servant of hers had already +signed it as witnesses. Joan had signed first, saying Pauline could +finish it later, with a typical feminine contempt for legal forms. +Therefore, Joan wanted her sister to sign the will without real +witnesses. Why? I thought of the blindness, and felt sure she had wanted +Pauline to sign in solitude because she had wanted her not to sign at +all. + +"People like the Staceys always use fountain pens; but this was +specially natural to Pauline. By habit and her strong will and memory +she could still write almost as well as if she saw; but she could not +tell when her pen needed dipping. Therefore, her fountain pens were +carefully filled by her sister--all except this fountain pen. This was +carefully not filled by her sister; the remains of the ink held out +for a few lines and then failed altogether. And the prophet lost +five hundred thousand pounds and committed one of the most brutal and +brilliant murders in human history for nothing." + +Flambeau went to the open door and heard the official police ascending +the stairs. He turned and said: "You must have followed everything +devilish close to have traced the crime to Kalon in ten minutes." + +Father Brown gave a sort of start. + +"Oh! to him," he said. "No; I had to follow rather close to find out +about Miss Joan and the fountain pen. But I knew Kalon was the criminal +before I came into the front door." + +"You must be joking!" cried Flambeau. + +"I'm quite serious," answered the priest. "I tell you I knew he had done +it, even before I knew what he had done." + +"But why?" + +"These pagan stoics," said Brown reflectively, "always fail by their +strength. There came a crash and a scream down the street, and the +priest of Apollo did not start or look round. I did not know what it +was. But I knew that he was expecting it." + + + + +The Sign of the Broken Sword + + +The thousand arms of the forest were grey, and its million fingers +silver. In a sky of dark green-blue-like slate the stars were bleak +and brilliant like splintered ice. All that thickly wooded and sparsely +tenanted countryside was stiff with a bitter and brittle frost. The +black hollows between the trunks of the trees looked like bottomless, +black caverns of that Scandinavian hell, a hell of incalculable cold. +Even the square stone tower of the church looked northern to the point +of heathenry, as if it were some barbaric tower among the sea rocks of +Iceland. It was a queer night for anyone to explore a churchyard. But, +on the other hand, perhaps it was worth exploring. + +It rose abruptly out of the ashen wastes of forest in a sort of hump or +shoulder of green turf that looked grey in the starlight. Most of the +graves were on a slant, and the path leading up to the church was +as steep as a staircase. On the top of the hill, in the one flat and +prominent place, was the monument for which the place was famous. It +contrasted strangely with the featureless graves all round, for it was +the work of one of the greatest sculptors of modern Europe; and yet his +fame was at once forgotten in the fame of the man whose image he had +made. It showed, by touches of the small silver pencil of starlight, the +massive metal figure of a soldier recumbent, the strong hands sealed +in an everlasting worship, the great head pillowed upon a gun. The +venerable face was bearded, or rather whiskered, in the old, heavy +Colonel Newcome fashion. The uniform, though suggested with the few +strokes of simplicity, was that of modern war. By his right side lay a +sword, of which the tip was broken off; on the left side lay a Bible. On +glowing summer afternoons wagonettes came full of Americans and cultured +suburbans to see the sepulchre; but even then they felt the vast forest +land with its one dumpy dome of churchyard and church as a place oddly +dumb and neglected. In this freezing darkness of mid-winter one would +think he might be left alone with the stars. Nevertheless, in the +stillness of those stiff woods a wooden gate creaked, and two dim +figures dressed in black climbed up the little path to the tomb. + +So faint was that frigid starlight that nothing could have been +traced about them except that while they both wore black, one man was +enormously big, and the other (perhaps by contrast) almost startlingly +small. They went up to the great graven tomb of the historic warrior, +and stood for a few minutes staring at it. There was no human, perhaps +no living, thing for a wide circle; and a morbid fancy might well have +wondered if they were human themselves. In any case, the beginning of +their conversation might have seemed strange. After the first silence +the small man said to the other: + +"Where does a wise man hide a pebble?" + +And the tall man answered in a low voice: "On the beach." + +The small man nodded, and after a short silence said: "Where does a wise +man hide a leaf?" + +And the other answered: "In the forest." + +There was another stillness, and then the tall man resumed: "Do you mean +that when a wise man has to hide a real diamond he has been known to +hide it among sham ones?" + +"No, no," said the little man with a laugh, "we will let bygones be +bygones." + +He stamped his cold feet for a second or two, and then said: "I'm +not thinking of that at all, but of something else; something rather +peculiar. Just strike a match, will you?" + +The big man fumbled in his pocket, and soon a scratch and a flare +painted gold the whole flat side of the monument. On it was cut in black +letters the well-known words which so many Americans had reverently +read: "Sacred to the Memory of General Sir Arthur St. Clare, Hero and +Martyr, who Always Vanquished his Enemies and Always Spared Them, and +Was Treacherously Slain by Them At Last. May God in Whom he Trusted both +Reward and Revenge him." + +The match burnt the big man's fingers, blackened, and dropped. He was +about to strike another, but his small companion stopped him. "That's +all right, Flambeau, old man; I saw what I wanted. Or, rather, I didn't +see what I didn't want. And now we must walk a mile and a half along +the road to the next inn, and I will try to tell you all about it. For +Heaven knows a man should have a fire and ale when he dares tell such a +story." + +They descended the precipitous path, they relatched the rusty gate, and +set off at a stamping, ringing walk down the frozen forest road. They +had gone a full quarter of a mile before the smaller man spoke again. He +said: "Yes; the wise man hides a pebble on the beach. But what does he +do if there is no beach? Do you know anything of that great St. Clare +trouble?" + +"I know nothing about English generals, Father Brown," answered the +large man, laughing, "though a little about English policemen. I only +know that you have dragged me a precious long dance to all the shrines +of this fellow, whoever he is. One would think he got buried in +six different places. I've seen a memorial to General St. Clare in +Westminster Abbey. I've seen a ramping equestrian statue of General +St. Clare on the Embankment. I've seen a medallion of St. Clare in the +street he was born in, and another in the street he lived in; and now +you drag me after dark to his coffin in the village churchyard. I am +beginning to be a bit tired of his magnificent personality, especially +as I don't in the least know who he was. What are you hunting for in all +these crypts and effigies?" + +"I am only looking for one word," said Father Brown. "A word that isn't +there." + +"Well," asked Flambeau; "are you going to tell me anything about it?" + +"I must divide it into two parts," remarked the priest. "First there is +what everybody knows; and then there is what I know. Now, what everybody +knows is short and plain enough. It is also entirely wrong." + +"Right you are," said the big man called Flambeau cheerfully. "Let's +begin at the wrong end. Let's begin with what everybody knows, which +isn't true." + +"If not wholly untrue, it is at least very inadequate," continued Brown; +"for in point of fact, all that the public knows amounts precisely to +this: The public knows that Arthur St. Clare was a great and successful +English general. It knows that after splendid yet careful campaigns +both in India and Africa he was in command against Brazil when the great +Brazilian patriot Olivier issued his ultimatum. It knows that on that +occasion St. Clare with a very small force attacked Olivier with a very +large one, and was captured after heroic resistance. And it knows that +after his capture, and to the abhorrence of the civilised world, St. +Clare was hanged on the nearest tree. He was found swinging there after +the Brazilians had retired, with his broken sword hung round his neck." + +"And that popular story is untrue?" suggested Flambeau. + +"No," said his friend quietly, "that story is quite true, so far as it +goes." + +"Well, I think it goes far enough!" said Flambeau; "but if the popular +story is true, what is the mystery?" + +They had passed many hundreds of grey and ghostly trees before the +little priest answered. Then he bit his finger reflectively and said: +"Why, the mystery is a mystery of psychology. Or, rather, it is a +mystery of two psychologies. In that Brazilian business two of the most +famous men of modern history acted flat against their characters. Mind +you, Olivier and St. Clare were both heroes--the old thing, and no +mistake; it was like the fight between Hector and Achilles. Now, what +would you say to an affair in which Achilles was timid and Hector was +treacherous?" + +"Go on," said the large man impatiently as the other bit his finger +again. + +"Sir Arthur St. Clare was a soldier of the old religious type--the type +that saved us during the Mutiny," continued Brown. "He was always more +for duty than for dash; and with all his personal courage was decidedly +a prudent commander, particularly indignant at any needless waste of +soldiers. Yet in this last battle he attempted something that a baby +could see was absurd. One need not be a strategist to see it was as wild +as wind; just as one need not be a strategist to keep out of the way +of a motor-bus. Well, that is the first mystery; what had become of the +English general's head? The second riddle is, what had become of the +Brazilian general's heart? President Olivier might be called a visionary +or a nuisance; but even his enemies admitted that he was magnanimous to +the point of knight errantry. Almost every other prisoner he had ever +captured had been set free or even loaded with benefits. Men who had +really wronged him came away touched by his simplicity and sweetness. +Why the deuce should he diabolically revenge himself only once in his +life; and that for the one particular blow that could not have hurt him? +Well, there you have it. One of the wisest men in the world acted like +an idiot for no reason. One of the best men in the world acted like a +fiend for no reason. That's the long and the short of it; and I leave it +to you, my boy." + +"No, you don't," said the other with a snort. "I leave it to you; and +you jolly well tell me all about it." + +"Well," resumed Father Brown, "it's not fair to say that the public +impression is just what I've said, without adding that two things have +happened since. I can't say they threw a new light; for nobody can make +sense of them. But they threw a new kind of darkness; they threw the +darkness in new directions. The first was this. The family physician +of the St. Clares quarrelled with that family, and began publishing a +violent series of articles, in which he said that the late general was +a religious maniac; but as far as the tale went, this seemed to mean +little more than a religious man. + +"Anyhow, the story fizzled out. Everyone knew, of course, that St. Clare +had some of the eccentricities of puritan piety. The second incident was +much more arresting. In the luckless and unsupported regiment which made +that rash attempt at the Black River there was a certain Captain Keith, +who was at that time engaged to St. Clare's daughter, and who afterwards +married her. He was one of those who were captured by Olivier, and, +like all the rest except the general, appears to have been bounteously +treated and promptly set free. Some twenty years afterwards this man, +then Lieutenant-Colonel Keith, published a sort of autobiography called +'A British Officer in Burmah and Brazil.' In the place where the reader +looks eagerly for some account of the mystery of St. Clare's disaster +may be found the following words: 'Everywhere else in this book I +have narrated things exactly as they occurred, holding as I do the +old-fashioned opinion that the glory of England is old enough to take +care of itself. The exception I shall make is in this matter of +the defeat by the Black River; and my reasons, though private, are +honourable and compelling. I will, however, add this in justice to the +memories of two distinguished men. General St. Clare has been accused +of incapacity on this occasion; I can at least testify that this action, +properly understood, was one of the most brilliant and sagacious of +his life. President Olivier by similar report is charged with savage +injustice. I think it due to the honour of an enemy to say that he acted +on this occasion with even more than his characteristic good feeling. To +put the matter popularly, I can assure my countrymen that St. Clare was +by no means such a fool nor Olivier such a brute as he looked. This is +all I have to say; nor shall any earthly consideration induce me to add +a word to it.'" + +A large frozen moon like a lustrous snowball began to show through the +tangle of twigs in front of them, and by its light the narrator had +been able to refresh his memory of Captain Keith's text from a scrap of +printed paper. As he folded it up and put it back in his pocket Flambeau +threw up his hand with a French gesture. + +"Wait a bit, wait a bit," he cried excitedly. "I believe I can guess it +at the first go." + +He strode on, breathing hard, his black head and bull neck forward, like +a man winning a walking race. The little priest, amused and interested, +had some trouble in trotting beside him. Just before them the trees fell +back a little to left and right, and the road swept downwards across a +clear, moonlit valley, till it dived again like a rabbit into the wall +of another wood. The entrance to the farther forest looked small and +round, like the black hole of a remote railway tunnel. But it was within +some hundred yards, and gaped like a cavern before Flambeau spoke again. + +"I've got it," he cried at last, slapping his thigh with his great hand. +"Four minutes' thinking, and I can tell your whole story myself." + +"All right," assented his friend. "You tell it." + +Flambeau lifted his head, but lowered his voice. "General Sir Arthur St. +Clare," he said, "came of a family in which madness was hereditary; and +his whole aim was to keep this from his daughter, and even, if possible, +from his future son-in-law. Rightly or wrongly, he thought the final +collapse was close, and resolved on suicide. Yet ordinary suicide would +blazon the very idea he dreaded. As the campaign approached the clouds +came thicker on his brain; and at last in a mad moment he sacrificed his +public duty to his private. He rushed rashly into battle, hoping to fall +by the first shot. When he found that he had only attained capture and +discredit, the sealed bomb in his brain burst, and he broke his own +sword and hanged himself." + +He stared firmly at the grey facade of forest in front of him, with the +one black gap in it, like the mouth of the grave, into which their path +plunged. Perhaps something menacing in the road thus suddenly swallowed +reinforced his vivid vision of the tragedy, for he shuddered. + +"A horrid story," he said. + +"A horrid story," repeated the priest with bent head. "But not the real +story." + +Then he threw back his head with a sort of despair and cried: "Oh, I +wish it had been." + +The tall Flambeau faced round and stared at him. + +"Yours is a clean story," cried Father Brown, deeply moved. "A sweet, +pure, honest story, as open and white as that moon. Madness and despair +are innocent enough. There are worse things, Flambeau." + +Flambeau looked up wildly at the moon thus invoked; and from where he +stood one black tree-bough curved across it exactly like a devil's horn. + +"Father--father," cried Flambeau with the French gesture and stepping +yet more rapidly forward, "do you mean it was worse than that?" + +"Worse than that," said Paul like a grave echo. And they plunged into +the black cloister of the woodland, which ran by them in a dim tapestry +of trunks, like one of the dark corridors in a dream. + +They were soon in the most secret entrails of the wood, and felt close +about them foliage that they could not see, when the priest said again: + +"Where does a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest. But what does he do +if there is no forest?" + +"Well, well," cried Flambeau irritably, "what does he do?" + +"He grows a forest to hide it in," said the priest in an obscure voice. +"A fearful sin." + +"Look here," cried his friend impatiently, for the dark wood and the +dark saying got a little on his nerves; "will you tell me this story or +not? What other evidence is there to go on?" + +"There are three more bits of evidence," said the other, "that I have +dug up in holes and corners; and I will give them in logical rather +than chronological order. First of all, of course, our authority for the +issue and event of the battle is in Olivier's own dispatches, which +are lucid enough. He was entrenched with two or three regiments on the +heights that swept down to the Black River, on the other side of which +was lower and more marshy ground. Beyond this again was gently rising +country, on which was the first English outpost, supported by others +which lay, however, considerably in its rear. The British forces as a +whole were greatly superior in numbers; but this particular regiment was +just far enough from its base to make Olivier consider the project of +crossing the river to cut it off. By sunset, however, he had decided to +retain his own position, which was a specially strong one. At daybreak +next morning he was thunderstruck to see that this stray handful of +English, entirely unsupported from their rear, had flung themselves +across the river, half by a bridge to the right, and the other half by a +ford higher up, and were massed upon the marshy bank below him. + +"That they should attempt an attack with such numbers against such a +position was incredible enough; but Olivier noticed something yet more +extraordinary. For instead of attempting to seize more solid ground, +this mad regiment, having put the river in its rear by one wild charge, +did nothing more, but stuck there in the mire like flies in treacle. +Needless to say, the Brazilians blew great gaps in them with artillery, +which they could only return with spirited but lessening rifle fire. Yet +they never broke; and Olivier's curt account ends with a strong tribute +of admiration for the mystic valour of these imbeciles. 'Our line then +advanced finally,' writes Olivier, 'and drove them into the river; +we captured General St. Clare himself and several other officers. The +colonel and the major had both fallen in the battle. I cannot resist +saying that few finer sights can have been seen in history than the last +stand of this extraordinary regiment; wounded officers picking up the +rifles of dead soldiers, and the general himself facing us on horseback +bareheaded and with a broken sword.' On what happened to the general +afterwards Olivier is as silent as Captain Keith." + +"Well," grunted Flambeau, "get on to the next bit of evidence." + +"The next evidence," said Father Brown, "took some time to find, but it +will not take long to tell. I found at last in an almshouse down in the +Lincolnshire Fens an old soldier who not only was wounded at the Black +River, but had actually knelt beside the colonel of the regiment when +he died. This latter was a certain Colonel Clancy, a big bull of an +Irishman; and it would seem that he died almost as much of rage as of +bullets. He, at any rate, was not responsible for that ridiculous raid; +it must have been imposed on him by the general. His last edifying +words, according to my informant, were these: 'And there goes the damned +old donkey with the end of his sword knocked off. I wish it was his +head.' You will remark that everyone seems to have noticed this detail +about the broken sword blade, though most people regard it somewhat +more reverently than did the late Colonel Clancy. And now for the third +fragment." + +Their path through the woodland began to go upward, and the speaker +paused a little for breath before he went on. Then he continued in the +same business-like tone: + +"Only a month or two ago a certain Brazilian official died in England, +having quarrelled with Olivier and left his country. He was a well-known +figure both here and on the Continent, a Spaniard named Espado; I knew +him myself, a yellow-faced old dandy, with a hooked nose. For various +private reasons I had permission to see the documents he had left; he +was a Catholic, of course, and I had been with him towards the end. +There was nothing of his that lit up any corner of the black St. Clare +business, except five or six common exercise books filled with the diary +of some English soldier. I can only suppose that it was found by the +Brazilians on one of those that fell. Anyhow, it stopped abruptly the +night before the battle. + +"But the account of that last day in the poor fellow's life was +certainly worth reading. I have it on me; but it's too dark to read it +here, and I will give you a resume. The first part of that entry is full +of jokes, evidently flung about among the men, about somebody called the +Vulture. It does not seem as if this person, whoever he was, was one of +themselves, nor even an Englishman; neither is he exactly spoken of as +one of the enemy. It sounds rather as if he were some local go-between +and non-combatant; perhaps a guide or a journalist. He has been closeted +with old Colonel Clancy; but is more often seen talking to the major. +Indeed, the major is somewhat prominent in this soldier's narrative; +a lean, dark-haired man, apparently, of the name of Murray--a north of +Ireland man and a Puritan. There are continual jests about the contrast +between this Ulsterman's austerity and the conviviality of +Colonel Clancy. There is also some joke about the Vulture wearing +bright-coloured clothes. + +"But all these levities are scattered by what may well be called the +note of a bugle. Behind the English camp and almost parallel to the +river ran one of the few great roads of that district. Westward the road +curved round towards the river, which it crossed by the bridge before +mentioned. To the east the road swept backwards into the wilds, and some +two miles along it was the next English outpost. From this direction +there came along the road that evening a glitter and clatter of +light cavalry, in which even the simple diarist could recognise with +astonishment the general with his staff. He rode the great white horse +which you have seen so often in illustrated papers and Academy pictures; +and you may be sure that the salute they gave him was not merely +ceremonial. He, at least, wasted no time on ceremony, but, springing +from the saddle immediately, mixed with the group of officers, and fell +into emphatic though confidential speech. What struck our friend the +diarist most was his special disposition to discuss matters with Major +Murray; but, indeed, such a selection, so long as it was not marked, was +in no way unnatural. The two men were made for sympathy; they were men +who 'read their Bibles'; they were both the old Evangelical type of +officer. However this may be, it is certain that when the general +mounted again he was still talking earnestly to Murray; and that as +he walked his horse slowly down the road towards the river, the tall +Ulsterman still walked by his bridle rein in earnest debate. The +soldiers watched the two until they vanished behind a clump of trees +where the road turned towards the river. The colonel had gone back to +his tent, and the men to their pickets; the man with the diary lingered +for another four minutes, and saw a marvellous sight. + +"The great white horse which had marched slowly down the road, as it had +marched in so many processions, flew back, galloping up the road towards +them as if it were mad to win a race. At first they thought it had run +away with the man on its back; but they soon saw that the general, a +fine rider, was himself urging it to full speed. Horse and man swept up +to them like a whirlwind; and then, reining up the reeling charger, the +general turned on them a face like flame, and called for the colonel +like the trumpet that wakes the dead. + +"I conceive that all the earthquake events of that catastrophe tumbled +on top of each other rather like lumber in the minds of men such as our +friend with the diary. With the dazed excitement of a dream, they found +themselves falling--literally falling--into their ranks, and learned +that an attack was to be led at once across the river. The general and +the major, it was said, had found out something at the bridge, and there +was only just time to strike for life. The major had gone back at once +to call up the reserve along the road behind; it was doubtful if even +with that prompt appeal help could reach them in time. But they must +pass the stream that night, and seize the heights by morning. It is with +the very stir and throb of that romantic nocturnal march that the diary +suddenly ends." + +Father Brown had mounted ahead; for the woodland path grew smaller, +steeper, and more twisted, till they felt as if they were ascending +a winding staircase. The priest's voice came from above out of the +darkness. + +"There was one other little and enormous thing. When the general urged +them to their chivalric charge he half drew his sword from the scabbard; +and then, as if ashamed of such melodrama, thrust it back again. The +sword again, you see." + +A half-light broke through the network of boughs above them, flinging +the ghost of a net about their feet; for they were mounting again to the +faint luminosity of the naked night. Flambeau felt truth all round him +as an atmosphere, but not as an idea. He answered with bewildered brain: +"Well, what's the matter with the sword? Officers generally have swords, +don't they?" + +"They are not often mentioned in modern war," said the other +dispassionately; "but in this affair one falls over the blessed sword +everywhere." + +"Well, what is there in that?" growled Flambeau; "it was a twopence +coloured sort of incident; the old man's blade breaking in his last +battle. Anyone might bet the papers would get hold of it, as they have. +On all these tombs and things it's shown broken at the point. I hope you +haven't dragged me through this Polar expedition merely because two men +with an eye for a picture saw St. Clare's broken sword." + +"No," cried Father Brown, with a sharp voice like a pistol shot; "but +who saw his unbroken sword?" + +"What do you mean?" cried the other, and stood still under the stars. +They had come abruptly out of the grey gates of the wood. + +"I say, who saw his unbroken sword?" repeated Father Brown obstinately. +"Not the writer of the diary, anyhow; the general sheathed it in time." + +Flambeau looked about him in the moonlight, as a man struck blind +might look in the sun; and his friend went on, for the first time with +eagerness: + +"Flambeau," he cried, "I cannot prove it, even after hunting through the +tombs. But I am sure of it. Let me add just one more tiny fact that tips +the whole thing over. The colonel, by a strange chance, was one of the +first struck by a bullet. He was struck long before the troops came to +close quarters. But he saw St. Clare's sword broken. Why was it broken? +How was it broken? My friend, it was broken before the battle." + +"Oh!" said his friend, with a sort of forlorn jocularity; "and pray +where is the other piece?" + +"I can tell you," said the priest promptly. "In the northeast corner of +the cemetery of the Protestant Cathedral at Belfast." + +"Indeed?" inquired the other. "Have you looked for it?" + +"I couldn't," replied Brown, with frank regret. "There's a great marble +monument on top of it; a monument to the heroic Major Murray, who fell +fighting gloriously at the famous Battle of the Black River." + +Flambeau seemed suddenly galvanised into existence. "You mean," he cried +hoarsely, "that General St. Clare hated Murray, and murdered him on the +field of battle because--" + +"You are still full of good and pure thoughts," said the other. "It was +worse than that." + +"Well," said the large man, "my stock of evil imagination is used up." + +The priest seemed really doubtful where to begin, and at last he said +again: + +"Where would a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest." + +The other did not answer. + +"If there were no forest, he would make a forest. And if he wished to +hide a dead leaf, he would make a dead forest." + +There was still no reply, and the priest added still more mildly and +quietly: + +"And if a man had to hide a dead body, he would make a field of dead +bodies to hide it in." + +Flambeau began to stamp forward with an intolerance of delay in time +or space; but Father Brown went on as if he were continuing the last +sentence: + +"Sir Arthur St. Clare, as I have already said, was a man who read +his Bible. That was what was the matter with him. When will people +understand that it is useless for a man to read his Bible unless he also +reads everybody else's Bible? A printer reads a Bible for misprints. A +Mormon reads his Bible, and finds polygamy; a Christian Scientist +reads his, and finds we have no arms and legs. St. Clare was an old +Anglo-Indian Protestant soldier. Now, just think what that might +mean; and, for Heaven's sake, don't cant about it. It might mean a man +physically formidable living under a tropic sun in an Oriental society, +and soaking himself without sense or guidance in an Oriental Book. Of +course, he read the Old Testament rather than the New. Of course, he +found in the Old Testament anything that he wanted--lust, tyranny, +treason. Oh, I dare say he was honest, as you call it. But what is the +good of a man being honest in his worship of dishonesty? + +"In each of the hot and secret countries to which the man went he kept a +harem, he tortured witnesses, he amassed shameful gold; but certainly +he would have said with steady eyes that he did it to the glory of the +Lord. My own theology is sufficiently expressed by asking which Lord? +Anyhow, there is this about such evil, that it opens door after door +in hell, and always into smaller and smaller chambers. This is the real +case against crime, that a man does not become wilder and wilder, but +only meaner and meaner. St. Clare was soon suffocated by difficulties of +bribery and blackmail; and needed more and more cash. And by the time of +the Battle of the Black River he had fallen from world to world to that +place which Dante makes the lowest floor of the universe." + +"What do you mean?" asked his friend again. + +"I mean that," retorted the cleric, and suddenly pointed at a puddle +sealed with ice that shone in the moon. "Do you remember whom Dante put +in the last circle of ice?" + +"The traitors," said Flambeau, and shuddered. As he looked around at the +inhuman landscape of trees, with taunting and almost obscene outlines, +he could almost fancy he was Dante, and the priest with the rivulet of a +voice was, indeed, a Virgil leading him through a land of eternal sins. + +The voice went on: "Olivier, as you know, was quixotic, and would not +permit a secret service and spies. The thing, however, was done, like +many other things, behind his back. It was managed by my old friend +Espado; he was the bright-clad fop, whose hook nose got him called the +Vulture. Posing as a sort of philanthropist at the front, he felt his +way through the English Army, and at last got his fingers on its one +corrupt man--please God!--and that man at the top. St. Clare was in foul +need of money, and mountains of it. The discredited family doctor was +threatening those extraordinary exposures that afterwards began and +were broken off; tales of monstrous and prehistoric things in Park Lane; +things done by an English Evangelist that smelt like human sacrifice and +hordes of slaves. Money was wanted, too, for his daughter's dowry; for +to him the fame of wealth was as sweet as wealth itself. He snapped the +last thread, whispered the word to Brazil, and wealth poured in from the +enemies of England. But another man had talked to Espado the Vulture as +well as he. Somehow the dark, grim young major from Ulster had guessed +the hideous truth; and when they walked slowly together down that road +towards the bridge Murray was telling the general that he must resign +instantly, or be court-martialled and shot. The general temporised with +him till they came to the fringe of tropic trees by the bridge; and +there by the singing river and the sunlit palms (for I can see the +picture) the general drew his sabre and plunged it through the body of +the major." + +The wintry road curved over a ridge in cutting frost, with cruel black +shapes of bush and thicket; but Flambeau fancied that he saw beyond it +faintly the edge of an aureole that was not starlight and moonlight, but +some fire such as is made by men. He watched it as the tale drew to its +close. + +"St. Clare was a hell-hound, but he was a hound of breed. Never, I'll +swear, was he so lucid and so strong as when poor Murray lay a cold lump +at his feet. Never in all his triumphs, as Captain Keith said truly, was +the great man so great as he was in this last world-despised defeat. He +looked coolly at his weapon to wipe off the blood; he saw the point he +had planted between his victim's shoulders had broken off in the body. +He saw quite calmly, as through a club windowpane, all that must follow. +He saw that men must find the unaccountable corpse; must extract +the unaccountable sword-point; must notice the unaccountable broken +sword--or absence of sword. He had killed, but not silenced. But his +imperious intellect rose against the facer; there was one way yet. He +could make the corpse less unaccountable. He could create a hill of +corpses to cover this one. In twenty minutes eight hundred English +soldiers were marching down to their death." + +The warmer glow behind the black winter wood grew richer and brighter, +and Flambeau strode on to reach it. Father Brown also quickened his +stride; but he seemed merely absorbed in his tale. + +"Such was the valour of that English thousand, and such the genius of +their commander, that if they had at once attacked the hill, even their +mad march might have met some luck. But the evil mind that played with +them like pawns had other aims and reasons. They must remain in the +marshes by the bridge at least till British corpses should be a +common sight there. Then for the last grand scene; the silver-haired +soldier-saint would give up his shattered sword to save further +slaughter. Oh, it was well organised for an impromptu. But I think (I +cannot prove), I think that it was while they stuck there in the bloody +mire that someone doubted--and someone guessed." + +He was mute a moment, and then said: "There is a voice from nowhere that +tells me the man who guessed was the lover... the man to wed the old +man's child." + +"But what about Olivier and the hanging?" asked Flambeau. + +"Olivier, partly from chivalry, partly from policy, seldom encumbered +his march with captives," explained the narrator. "He released everybody +in most cases. He released everybody in this case." + +"Everybody but the general," said the tall man. + +"Everybody," said the priest. + +Flambeau knit his black brows. "I don't grasp it all yet," he said. + +"There is another picture, Flambeau," said Brown in his more mystical +undertone. "I can't prove it; but I can do more--I can see it. There is +a camp breaking up on the bare, torrid hills at morning, and Brazilian +uniforms massed in blocks and columns to march. There is the red +shirt and long black beard of Olivier, which blows as he stands, his +broad-brimmed hat in his hand. He is saying farewell to the great enemy +he is setting free--the simple, snow-headed English veteran, who +thanks him in the name of his men. The English remnant stand behind +at attention; beside them are stores and vehicles for the retreat. +The drums roll; the Brazilians are moving; the English are still like +statues. So they abide till the last hum and flash of the enemy have +faded from the tropic horizon. Then they alter their postures all at +once, like dead men coming to life; they turn their fifty faces upon the +general--faces not to be forgotten." + +Flambeau gave a great jump. "Ah," he cried, "you don't mean--" + +"Yes," said Father Brown in a deep, moving voice. "It was an English +hand that put the rope round St. Clare's neck; I believe the hand that +put the ring on his daughter's finger. They were English hands that +dragged him up to the tree of shame; the hands of men that had adored +him and followed him to victory. And they were English souls (God pardon +and endure us all!) who stared at him swinging in that foreign sun on +the green gallows of palm, and prayed in their hatred that he might drop +off it into hell." + +As the two topped the ridge there burst on them the strong scarlet light +of a red-curtained English inn. It stood sideways in the road, as if +standing aside in the amplitude of hospitality. Its three doors stood +open with invitation; and even where they stood they could hear the hum +and laughter of humanity happy for a night. + +"I need not tell you more," said Father Brown. "They tried him in the +wilderness and destroyed him; and then, for the honour of England and +of his daughter, they took an oath to seal up for ever the story of the +traitor's purse and the assassin's sword blade. Perhaps--Heaven help +them--they tried to forget it. Let us try to forget it, anyhow; here is +our inn." + +"With all my heart," said Flambeau, and was just striding into the +bright, noisy bar when he stepped back and almost fell on the road. + +"Look there, in the devil's name!" he cried, and pointed rigidly at the +square wooden sign that overhung the road. It showed dimly the crude +shape of a sabre hilt and a shortened blade; and was inscribed in false +archaic lettering, "The Sign of the Broken Sword." + +"Were you not prepared?" asked Father Brown gently. "He is the god of +this country; half the inns and parks and streets are named after him +and his story." + +"I thought we had done with the leper," cried Flambeau, and spat on the +road. + +"You will never have done with him in England," said the priest, looking +down, "while brass is strong and stone abides. His marble statues will +erect the souls of proud, innocent boys for centuries, his village tomb +will smell of loyalty as of lilies. Millions who never knew him shall +love him like a father--this man whom the last few that knew him dealt +with like dung. He shall be a saint; and the truth shall never be told +of him, because I have made up my mind at last. There is so much good +and evil in breaking secrets, that I put my conduct to a test. All these +newspapers will perish; the anti-Brazil boom is already over; Olivier +is already honoured everywhere. But I told myself that if anywhere, by +name, in metal or marble that will endure like the pyramids, Colonel +Clancy, or Captain Keith, or President Olivier, or any innocent man was +wrongly blamed, then I would speak. If it were only that St. Clare was +wrongly praised, I would be silent. And I will." + +They plunged into the red-curtained tavern, which was not only cosy, but +even luxurious inside. On a table stood a silver model of the tomb of +St. Clare, the silver head bowed, the silver sword broken. On the +walls were coloured photographs of the same scene, and of the system +of wagonettes that took tourists to see it. They sat down on the +comfortable padded benches. + +"Come, it's cold," cried Father Brown; "let's have some wine or beer." + +"Or brandy," said Flambeau. + + + + +The Three Tools of Death + + +Both by calling and conviction Father Brown knew better than most of us, +that every man is dignified when he is dead. But even he felt a pang of +incongruity when he was knocked up at daybreak and told that Sir Aaron +Armstrong had been murdered. There was something absurd and unseemly +about secret violence in connection with so entirely entertaining and +popular a figure. For Sir Aaron Armstrong was entertaining to the point +of being comic; and popular in such a manner as to be almost legendary. +It was like hearing that Sunny Jim had hanged himself; or that Mr. +Pickwick had died in Hanwell. For though Sir Aaron was a philanthropist, +and thus dealt with the darker side of our society, he prided himself +on dealing with it in the brightest possible style. His political and +social speeches were cataracts of anecdotes and "loud laughter"; his +bodily health was of a bursting sort; his ethics were all optimism; and +he dealt with the Drink problem (his favourite topic) with that immortal +or even monotonous gaiety which is so often a mark of the prosperous +total abstainer. + +The established story of his conversion was familiar on the more +puritanic platforms and pulpits, how he had been, when only a boy, drawn +away from Scotch theology to Scotch whisky, and how he had risen out of +both and become (as he modestly put it) what he was. Yet his wide +white beard, cherubic face, and sparkling spectacles, at the numberless +dinners and congresses where they appeared, made it hard to believe, +somehow, that he had ever been anything so morbid as either a +dram-drinker or a Calvinist. He was, one felt, the most seriously merry +of all the sons of men. + +He had lived on the rural skirt of Hampstead in a handsome house, high +but not broad, a modern and prosaic tower. The narrowest of its narrow +sides overhung the steep green bank of a railway, and was shaken by +passing trains. Sir Aaron Armstrong, as he boisterously explained, had +no nerves. But if the train had often given a shock to the house, that +morning the tables were turned, and it was the house that gave a shock +to the train. + +The engine slowed down and stopped just beyond that point where an angle +of the house impinged upon the sharp slope of turf. The arrest of most +mechanical things must be slow; but the living cause of this had been +very rapid. A man clad completely in black, even (it was remembered) +to the dreadful detail of black gloves, appeared on the ridge above +the engine, and waved his black hands like some sable windmill. This in +itself would hardly have stopped even a lingering train. But there came +out of him a cry which was talked of afterwards as something utterly +unnatural and new. It was one of those shouts that are horridly distinct +even when we cannot hear what is shouted. The word in this case was +"Murder!" + +But the engine-driver swears he would have pulled up just the same if he +had heard only the dreadful and definite accent and not the word. + +The train once arrested, the most superficial stare could take in many +features of the tragedy. The man in black on the green bank was Sir +Aaron Armstrong's man-servant Magnus. The baronet in his optimism had +often laughed at the black gloves of this dismal attendant; but no one +was likely to laugh at him just now. + +So soon as an inquirer or two had stepped off the line and across the +smoky hedge, they saw, rolled down almost to the bottom of the bank, the +body of an old man in a yellow dressing-gown with a very vivid +scarlet lining. A scrap of rope seemed caught about his leg, entangled +presumably in a struggle. There was a smear or so of blood, though very +little; but the body was bent or broken into a posture impossible to any +living thing. It was Sir Aaron Armstrong. A few more bewildered moments +brought out a big fair-bearded man, whom some travellers could salute +as the dead man's secretary, Patrick Royce, once well known in Bohemian +society and even famous in the Bohemian arts. In a manner more vague, +but even more convincing, he echoed the agony of the servant. By the +time the third figure of that household, Alice Armstrong, daughter of +the dead man, had come already tottering and waving into the garden, the +engine-driver had put a stop to his stoppage. The whistle had blown and +the train had panted on to get help from the next station. + +Father Brown had been thus rapidly summoned at the request of Patrick +Royce, the big ex-Bohemian secretary. Royce was an Irishman by birth; +and that casual kind of Catholic that never remembers his religion +until he is really in a hole. But Royce's request might have been less +promptly complied with if one of the official detectives had not been a +friend and admirer of the unofficial Flambeau; and it was impossible to +be a friend of Flambeau without hearing numberless stories about Father +Brown. Hence, while the young detective (whose name was Merton) led +the little priest across the fields to the railway, their talk was more +confidential than could be expected between two total strangers. + +"As far as I can see," said Mr. Merton candidly, "there is no sense +to be made of it at all. There is nobody one can suspect. Magnus is a +solemn old fool; far too much of a fool to be an assassin. Royce has +been the baronet's best friend for years; and his daughter undoubtedly +adored him. Besides, it's all too absurd. Who would kill such a cheery +old chap as Armstrong? Who could dip his hands in the gore of an +after-dinner speaker? It would be like killing Father Christmas." + +"Yes, it was a cheery house," assented Father Brown. "It was a cheery +house while he was alive. Do you think it will be cheery now he is +dead?" + +Merton started a little and regarded his companion with an enlivened +eye. "Now he is dead?" he repeated. + +"Yes," continued the priest stolidly, "he was cheerful. But did he +communicate his cheerfulness? Frankly, was anyone else in the house +cheerful but he?" + +A window in Merton's mind let in that strange light of surprise in which +we see for the first time things we have known all along. He had often +been to the Armstrongs', on little police jobs of the philanthropist; +and, now he came to think of it, it was in itself a depressing house. +The rooms were very high and very cold; the decoration mean and +provincial; the draughty corridors were lit by electricity that was +bleaker than moonlight. And though the old man's scarlet face and silver +beard had blazed like a bonfire in each room or passage in turn, it did +not leave any warmth behind it. Doubtless this spectral discomfort in +the place was partly due to the very vitality and exuberance of its +owner; he needed no stoves or lamps, he would say, but carried his own +warmth with him. But when Merton recalled the other inmates, he was +compelled to confess that they also were as shadows of their lord. +The moody man-servant, with his monstrous black gloves, was almost a +nightmare; Royce, the secretary, was solid enough, a big bull of a +man, in tweeds, with a short beard; but the straw-coloured beard was +startlingly salted with grey like the tweeds, and the broad forehead was +barred with premature wrinkles. He was good-natured enough also, but it +was a sad sort of good-nature, almost a heart-broken sort--he had the +general air of being some sort of failure in life. As for Armstrong's +daughter, it was almost incredible that she was his daughter; she was so +pallid in colour and sensitive in outline. She was graceful, but there +was a quiver in the very shape of her that was like the lines of an +aspen. Merton had sometimes wondered if she had learnt to quail at the +crash of the passing trains. + +"You see," said Father Brown, blinking modestly, "I'm not sure that the +Armstrong cheerfulness is so very cheerful--for other people. You say +that nobody could kill such a happy old man, but I'm not sure; ne nos +inducas in tentationem. If ever I murdered somebody," he added quite +simply, "I dare say it might be an Optimist." + +"Why?" cried Merton amused. "Do you think people dislike cheerfulness?" + +"People like frequent laughter," answered Father Brown, "but I don't +think they like a permanent smile. Cheerfulness without humour is a very +trying thing." + +They walked some way in silence along the windy grassy bank by the rail, +and just as they came under the far-flung shadow of the tall Armstrong +house, Father Brown said suddenly, like a man throwing away a +troublesome thought rather than offering it seriously: "Of course, drink +is neither good nor bad in itself. But I can't help sometimes feeling +that men like Armstrong want an occasional glass of wine to sadden +them." + +Merton's official superior, a grizzled and capable detective named +Gilder, was standing on the green bank waiting for the coroner, talking +to Patrick Royce, whose big shoulders and bristly beard and hair towered +above him. This was the more noticeable because Royce walked always +with a sort of powerful stoop, and seemed to be going about his small +clerical and domestic duties in a heavy and humbled style, like a +buffalo drawing a go-cart. + +He raised his head with unusual pleasure at the sight of the priest, and +took him a few paces apart. Meanwhile Merton was addressing the +older detective respectfully indeed, but not without a certain boyish +impatience. + +"Well, Mr. Gilder, have you got much farther with the mystery?" + +"There is no mystery," replied Gilder, as he looked under dreamy eyelids +at the rooks. + +"Well, there is for me, at any rate," said Merton, smiling. + +"It is simple enough, my boy," observed the senior investigator, +stroking his grey, pointed beard. "Three minutes after you'd gone for +Mr. Royce's parson the whole thing came out. You know that pasty-faced +servant in the black gloves who stopped the train?" + +"I should know him anywhere. Somehow he rather gave me the creeps." + +"Well," drawled Gilder, "when the train had gone on again, that man had +gone too. Rather a cool criminal, don't you think, to escape by the very +train that went off for the police?" + +"You're pretty sure, I suppose," remarked the young man, "that he really +did kill his master?" + +"Yes, my son, I'm pretty sure," replied Gilder drily, "for the trifling +reason that he has gone off with twenty thousand pounds in papers that +were in his master's desk. No, the only thing worth calling a difficulty +is how he killed him. The skull seems broken as with some big weapon, +but there's no weapon at all lying about, and the murderer would have +found it awkward to carry it away, unless the weapon was too small to be +noticed." + +"Perhaps the weapon was too big to be noticed," said the priest, with an +odd little giggle. + +Gilder looked round at this wild remark, and rather sternly asked Brown +what he meant. + +"Silly way of putting it, I know," said Father Brown apologetically. +"Sounds like a fairy tale. But poor Armstrong was killed with a giant's +club, a great green club, too big to be seen, and which we call the +earth. He was broken against this green bank we are standing on." + +"How do you mean?" asked the detective quickly. + +Father Brown turned his moon face up to the narrow facade of the house +and blinked hopelessly up. Following his eyes, they saw that right at +the top of this otherwise blind back quarter of the building, an attic +window stood open. + +"Don't you see," he explained, pointing a little awkwardly like a child, +"he was thrown down from there?" + +Gilder frowningly scrutinised the window, and then said: "Well, it is +certainly possible. But I don't see why you are so sure about it." + +Brown opened his grey eyes wide. "Why," he said, "there's a bit of rope +round the dead man's leg. Don't you see that other bit of rope up there +caught at the corner of the window?" + +At that height the thing looked like the faintest particle of dust +or hair, but the shrewd old investigator was satisfied. "You're quite +right, sir," he said to Father Brown; "that is certainly one to you." + +Almost as he spoke a special train with one carriage took the curve +of the line on their left, and, stopping, disgorged another group +of policemen, in whose midst was the hangdog visage of Magnus, the +absconded servant. + +"By Jove! they've got him," cried Gilder, and stepped forward with quite +a new alertness. + +"Have you got the money!" he cried to the first policeman. + +The man looked him in the face with a rather curious expression and +said: "No." Then he added: "At least, not here." + +"Which is the inspector, please?" asked the man called Magnus. + +When he spoke everyone instantly understood how this voice had stopped +a train. He was a dull-looking man with flat black hair, a colourless +face, and a faint suggestion of the East in the level slits in his eyes +and mouth. His blood and name, indeed, had remained dubious, ever since +Sir Aaron had "rescued" him from a waitership in a London restaurant, +and (as some said) from more infamous things. But his voice was as vivid +as his face was dead. Whether through exactitude in a foreign language, +or in deference to his master (who had been somewhat deaf), Magnus's +tones had a peculiarly ringing and piercing quality, and the whole group +quite jumped when he spoke. + +"I always knew this would happen," he said aloud with brazen blandness. +"My poor old master made game of me for wearing black; but I always said +I should be ready for his funeral." + +And he made a momentary movement with his two dark-gloved hands. + +"Sergeant," said Inspector Gilder, eyeing the black hands with wrath, +"aren't you putting the bracelets on this fellow; he looks pretty +dangerous." + +"Well, sir," said the sergeant, with the same odd look of wonder, "I +don't know that we can." + +"What do you mean?" asked the other sharply. "Haven't you arrested him?" + +A faint scorn widened the slit-like mouth, and the whistle of an +approaching train seemed oddly to echo the mockery. + +"We arrested him," replied the sergeant gravely, "just as he was coming +out of the police station at Highgate, where he had deposited all his +master's money in the care of Inspector Robinson." + +Gilder looked at the man-servant in utter amazement. "Why on earth did +you do that?" he asked of Magnus. + +"To keep it safe from the criminal, of course," replied that person +placidly. + +"Surely," said Gilder, "Sir Aaron's money might have been safely left +with Sir Aaron's family." + +The tail of his sentence was drowned in the roar of the train as it went +rocking and clanking; but through all the hell of noises to which that +unhappy house was periodically subject, they could hear the syllables of +Magnus's answer, in all their bell-like distinctness: "I have no reason +to feel confidence in Sir Aaron's family." + +All the motionless men had the ghostly sensation of the presence of some +new person; and Merton was scarcely surprised when he looked up and saw +the pale face of Armstrong's daughter over Father Brown's shoulder. She +was still young and beautiful in a silvery style, but her hair was of so +dusty and hueless a brown that in some shadows it seemed to have turned +totally grey. + +"Be careful what you say," said Royce gruffly, "you'll frighten Miss +Armstrong." + +"I hope so," said the man with the clear voice. + +As the woman winced and everyone else wondered, he went on: "I am +somewhat used to Miss Armstrong's tremors. I have seen her trembling off +and on for years. And some said she was shaking with cold and some she +was shaking with fear, but I know she was shaking with hate and wicked +anger--fiends that have had their feast this morning. She would have +been away by now with her lover and all the money but for me. Ever since +my poor old master prevented her from marrying that tipsy blackguard--" + +"Stop," said Gilder very sternly. "We have nothing to do with your +family fancies or suspicions. Unless you have some practical evidence, +your mere opinions--" + +"Oh! I'll give you practical evidence," cut in Magnus, in his hacking +accent. "You'll have to subpoena me, Mr. Inspector, and I shall have to +tell the truth. And the truth is this: An instant after the old man was +pitched bleeding out of the window, I ran into the attic, and found +his daughter swooning on the floor with a red dagger still in her hand. +Allow me to hand that also to the proper authorities." He took from his +tail-pocket a long horn-hilted knife with a red smear on it, and handed +it politely to the sergeant. Then he stood back again, and his slits of +eyes almost faded from his face in one fat Chinese sneer. + +Merton felt an almost bodily sickness at the sight of him; and he +muttered to Gilder: "Surely you would take Miss Armstrong's word against +his?" + +Father Brown suddenly lifted a face so absurdly fresh that it looked +somehow as if he had just washed it. "Yes," he said, radiating +innocence, "but is Miss Armstrong's word against his?" + +The girl uttered a startled, singular little cry; everyone looked at +her. Her figure was rigid as if paralysed; only her face within its +frame of faint brown hair was alive with an appalling surprise. She +stood like one of a sudden lassooed and throttled. + +"This man," said Mr. Gilder gravely, "actually says that you were found +grasping a knife, insensible, after the murder." + +"He says the truth," answered Alice. + +The next fact of which they were conscious was that Patrick Royce strode +with his great stooping head into their ring and uttered the singular +words: "Well, if I've got to go, I'll have a bit of pleasure first." + +His huge shoulder heaved and he sent an iron fist smash into Magnus's +bland Mongolian visage, laying him on the lawn as flat as a starfish. +Two or three of the police instantly put their hands on Royce; but to +the rest it seemed as if all reason had broken up and the universe were +turning into a brainless harlequinade. + +"None of that, Mr. Royce," Gilder had called out authoritatively. "I +shall arrest you for assault." + +"No, you won't," answered the secretary in a voice like an iron gong, +"you will arrest me for murder." + +Gilder threw an alarmed glance at the man knocked down; but since that +outraged person was already sitting up and wiping a little blood off a +substantially uninjured face, he only said shortly: "What do you mean?" + +"It is quite true, as this fellow says," explained Royce, "that Miss +Armstrong fainted with a knife in her hand. But she had not snatched the +knife to attack her father, but to defend him." + +"To defend him," repeated Gilder gravely. "Against whom?" + +"Against me," answered the secretary. + +Alice looked at him with a complex and baffling face; then she said in a +low voice: "After it all, I am still glad you are brave." + +"Come upstairs," said Patrick Royce heavily, "and I will show you the +whole cursed thing." + +The attic, which was the secretary's private place (and rather a small +cell for so large a hermit), had indeed all the vestiges of a violent +drama. Near the centre of the floor lay a large revolver as if flung +away; nearer to the left was rolled a whisky bottle, open but not quite +empty. The cloth of the little table lay dragged and trampled, and a +length of cord, like that found on the corpse, was cast wildly across +the windowsill. Two vases were smashed on the mantelpiece and one on the +carpet. + +"I was drunk," said Royce; and this simplicity in the prematurely +battered man somehow had the pathos of the first sin of a baby. + +"You all know about me," he continued huskily; "everybody knows how my +story began, and it may as well end like that too. I was called a clever +man once, and might have been a happy one; Armstrong saved the remains +of a brain and body from the taverns, and was always kind to me in his +own way, poor fellow! Only he wouldn't let me marry Alice here; and it +will always be said that he was right enough. Well, you can form your +own conclusions, and you won't want me to go into details. That is my +whisky bottle half emptied in the corner; that is my revolver quite +emptied on the carpet. It was the rope from my box that was found on the +corpse, and it was from my window the corpse was thrown. You need not +set detectives to grub up my tragedy; it is a common enough weed in this +world. I give myself to the gallows; and, by God, that is enough!" + +At a sufficiently delicate sign, the police gathered round the large man +to lead him away; but their unobtrusiveness was somewhat staggered by +the remarkable appearance of Father Brown, who was on his hands and +knees on the carpet in the doorway, as if engaged in some kind of +undignified prayers. Being a person utterly insensible to the social +figure he cut, he remained in this posture, but turned a bright round +face up at the company, presenting the appearance of a quadruped with a +very comic human head. + +"I say," he said good-naturedly, "this really won't do at all, you know. +At the beginning you said we'd found no weapon. But now we're finding +too many; there's the knife to stab, and the rope to strangle, and the +pistol to shoot; and after all he broke his neck by falling out of a +window! It won't do. It's not economical." And he shook his head at the +ground as a horse does grazing. + +Inspector Gilder had opened his mouth with serious intentions, but +before he could speak the grotesque figure on the floor had gone on +quite volubly. + +"And now three quite impossible things. First, these holes in the +carpet, where the six bullets have gone in. Why on earth should anybody +fire at the carpet? A drunken man lets fly at his enemy's head, the +thing that's grinning at him. He doesn't pick a quarrel with his feet, +or lay siege to his slippers. And then there's the rope"--and having +done with the carpet the speaker lifted his hands and put them in his +pocket, but continued unaffectedly on his knees--"in what conceivable +intoxication would anybody try to put a rope round a man's neck and +finally put it round his leg? Royce, anyhow, was not so drunk as that, +or he would be sleeping like a log by now. And, plainest of all, the +whisky bottle. You suggest a dipsomaniac fought for the whisky bottle, +and then having won, rolled it away in a corner, spilling one half and +leaving the other. That is the very last thing a dipsomaniac would do." + +He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, and said to the self-accused +murderer in tones of limpid penitence: "I'm awfully sorry, my dear sir, +but your tale is really rubbish." + +"Sir," said Alice Armstrong in a low tone to the priest, "can I speak to +you alone for a moment?" + +This request forced the communicative cleric out of the gangway, and +before he could speak in the next room, the girl was talking with +strange incisiveness. + +"You are a clever man," she said, "and you are trying to save Patrick, +I know. But it's no use. The core of all this is black, and the more +things you find out the more there will be against the miserable man I +love." + +"Why?" asked Brown, looking at her steadily. + +"Because," she answered equally steadily, "I saw him commit the crime +myself." + +"Ah!" said the unmoved Brown, "and what did he do?" + +"I was in this room next to them," she explained; "both doors were +closed, but I suddenly heard a voice, such as I had never heard on +earth, roaring 'Hell, hell, hell,' again and again, and then the two +doors shook with the first explosion of the revolver. Thrice again the +thing banged before I got the two doors open and found the room full of +smoke; but the pistol was smoking in my poor, mad Patrick's hand; and I +saw him fire the last murderous volley with my own eyes. Then he leapt +on my father, who was clinging in terror to the window-sill, and, +grappling, tried to strangle him with the rope, which he threw over his +head, but which slipped over his struggling shoulders to his feet. Then +it tightened round one leg and Patrick dragged him along like a maniac. +I snatched a knife from the mat, and, rushing between them, managed to +cut the rope before I fainted." + +"I see," said Father Brown, with the same wooden civility. "Thank you." + +As the girl collapsed under her memories, the priest passed stiffly +into the next room, where he found Gilder and Merton alone with Patrick +Royce, who sat in a chair, handcuffed. There he said to the Inspector +submissively: + +"Might I say a word to the prisoner in your presence; and might he take +off those funny cuffs for a minute?" + +"He is a very powerful man," said Merton in an undertone. "Why do you +want them taken off?" + +"Why, I thought," replied the priest humbly, "that perhaps I might have +the very great honour of shaking hands with him." + +Both detectives stared, and Father Brown added: "Won't you tell them +about it, sir?" + +The man on the chair shook his tousled head, and the priest turned +impatiently. + +"Then I will," he said. "Private lives are more important than public +reputations. I am going to save the living, and let the dead bury their +dead." + +He went to the fatal window, and blinked out of it as he went on +talking. + +"I told you that in this case there were too many weapons and only one +death. I tell you now that they were not weapons, and were not used to +cause death. All those grisly tools, the noose, the bloody knife, the +exploding pistol, were instruments of a curious mercy. They were not +used to kill Sir Aaron, but to save him." + +"To save him!" repeated Gilder. "And from what?" + +"From himself," said Father Brown. "He was a suicidal maniac." + +"What?" cried Merton in an incredulous tone. "And the Religion of +Cheerfulness--" + +"It is a cruel religion," said the priest, looking out of the window. +"Why couldn't they let him weep a little, like his fathers before him? +His plans stiffened, his views grew cold; behind that merry mask was +the empty mind of the atheist. At last, to keep up his hilarious public +level, he fell back on that dram-drinking he had abandoned long ago. But +there is this horror about alcoholism in a sincere teetotaler: that he +pictures and expects that psychological inferno from which he has warned +others. It leapt upon poor Armstrong prematurely, and by this morning +he was in such a case that he sat here and cried he was in hell, in so +crazy a voice that his daughter did not know it. He was mad for death, +and with the monkey tricks of the mad he had scattered round him death +in many shapes--a running noose and his friend's revolver and a knife. +Royce entered accidentally and acted in a flash. He flung the knife +on the mat behind him, snatched up the revolver, and having no time to +unload it, emptied it shot after shot all over the floor. The suicide +saw a fourth shape of death, and made a dash for the window. The rescuer +did the only thing he could--ran after him with the rope and tried to +tie him hand and foot. Then it was that the unlucky girl ran in, and +misunderstanding the struggle, strove to slash her father free. At first +she only slashed poor Royce's knuckles, from which has come all the +little blood in this affair. But, of course, you noticed that he left +blood, but no wound, on that servant's face? Only before the poor woman +swooned, she did hack her father loose, so that he went crashing through +that window into eternity." + +There was a long stillness slowly broken by the metallic noises of +Gilder unlocking the handcuffs of Patrick Royce, to whom he said: "I +think I should have told the truth, sir. You and the young lady are +worth more than Armstrong's obituary notices." + +"Confound Armstrong's notices," cried Royce roughly. "Don't you see it +was because she mustn't know?" + +"Mustn't know what?" asked Merton. + +"Why, that she killed her father, you fool!" roared the other. "He'd +have been alive now but for her. It might craze her to know that." + +"No, I don't think it would," remarked Father Brown, as he picked up his +hat. "I rather think I should tell her. Even the most murderous blunders +don't poison life like sins; anyhow, I think you may both be the happier +now. I've got to go back to the Deaf School." + +As he went out on to the gusty grass an acquaintance from Highgate +stopped him and said: + +"The Coroner has arrived. The inquiry is just going to begin." + +"I've got to get back to the Deaf School," said Father Brown. "I'm sorry +I can't stop for the inquiry." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Innocence of Father Brown, by G. K. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + +THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN + + + + Contents + + + The Blue Cross + The Secret Garden + The Queer Feet + The Flying Stars + The Invisible Man + The Honour of Israel Gow + The Wrong Shape + The Sins of Prince Saradine + The Hammer of God + The Eye of Apollo + The Sign of the Broken Sword + The Three Tools of Death + + + + The Blue Cross + +Between the silver ribbon of morning and the green glittering +ribbon of sea, the boat touched Harwich and let loose a swarm of +folk like flies, among whom the man we must follow was by no means +conspicuous--nor wished to be. There was nothing notable about +him, except a slight contrast between the holiday gaiety of his +clothes and the official gravity of his face. His clothes +included a slight, pale grey jacket, a white waistcoat, and a +silver straw hat with a grey-blue ribbon. His lean face was dark +by contrast, and ended in a curt black beard that looked Spanish +and suggested an Elizabethan ruff. He was smoking a cigarette +with the seriousness of an idler. There was nothing about him to +indicate the fact that the grey jacket covered a loaded revolver, +that the white waistcoat covered a police card, or that the straw +hat covered one of the most powerful intellects in Europe. For +this was Valentin himself, the head of the Paris police and the +most famous investigator of the world; and he was coming from +Brussels to London to make the greatest arrest of the century. + +Flambeau was in England. The police of three countries had +tracked the great criminal at last from Ghent to Brussels, from +Brussels to the Hook of Holland; and it was conjectured that he +would take some advantage of the unfamiliarity and confusion of +the Eucharistic Congress, then taking place in London. Probably +he would travel as some minor clerk or secretary connected with +it; but, of course, Valentin could not be certain; nobody could be +certain about Flambeau. + +It is many years now since this colossus of crime suddenly +ceased keeping the world in a turmoil; and when he ceased, as they +said after the death of Roland, there was a great quiet upon the +earth. But in his best days (I mean, of course, his worst) +Flambeau was a figure as statuesque and international as the +Kaiser. Almost every morning the daily paper announced that he +had escaped the consequences of one extraordinary crime by +committing another. He was a Gascon of gigantic stature and +bodily daring; and the wildest tales were told of his outbursts of +athletic humour; how he turned the juge d'instruction upside down +and stood him on his head, "to clear his mind"; how he ran down +the Rue de Rivoli with a policeman under each arm. It is due to +him to say that his fantastic physical strength was generally +employed in such bloodless though undignified scenes; his real +crimes were chiefly those of ingenious and wholesale robbery. But +each of his thefts was almost a new sin, and would make a story by +itself. It was he who ran the great Tyrolean Dairy Company in +London, with no dairies, no cows, no carts, no milk, but with some +thousand subscribers. These he served by the simple operation of +moving the little milk cans outside people's doors to the doors of +his own customers. It was he who had kept up an unaccountable and +close correspondence with a young lady whose whole letter-bag was +intercepted, by the extraordinary trick of photographing his +messages infinitesimally small upon the slides of a microscope. A +sweeping simplicity, however, marked many of his experiments. It +is said that he once repainted all the numbers in a street in the +dead of night merely to divert one traveller into a trap. It is +quite certain that he invented a portable pillar-box, which he put +up at corners in quiet suburbs on the chance of strangers dropping +postal orders into it. Lastly, he was known to be a startling +acrobat; despite his huge figure, he could leap like a grasshopper +and melt into the tree-tops like a monkey. Hence the great +Valentin, when he set out to find Flambeau, was perfectly aware +that his adventures would not end when he had found him. + +But how was he to find him? On this the great Valentin's +ideas were still in process of settlement. + +There was one thing which Flambeau, with all his dexterity of +disguise, could not cover, and that was his singular height. If +Valentin's quick eye had caught a tall apple-woman, a tall +grenadier, or even a tolerably tall duchess, he might have +arrested them on the spot. But all along his train there was +nobody that could be a disguised Flambeau, any more than a cat +could be a disguised giraffe. About the people on the boat he had +already satisfied himself; and the people picked up at Harwich or +on the journey limited themselves with certainty to six. There +was a short railway official travelling up to the terminus, three +fairly short market gardeners picked up two stations afterwards, +one very short widow lady going up from a small Essex town, and a +very short Roman Catholic priest going up from a small Essex +village. When it came to the last case, Valentin gave it up and +almost laughed. The little priest was so much the essence of +those Eastern flats; he had a face as round and dull as a Norfolk +dumpling; he had eyes as empty as the North Sea; he had several +brown paper parcels, which he was quite incapable of collecting. +The Eucharistic Congress had doubtless sucked out of their local +stagnation many such creatures, blind and helpless, like moles +disinterred. Valentin was a sceptic in the severe style of +France, and could have no love for priests. But he could have +pity for them, and this one might have provoked pity in anybody. +He had a large, shabby umbrella, which constantly fell on the +floor. He did not seem to know which was the right end of his +return ticket. He explained with a moon-calf simplicity to +everybody in the carriage that he had to be careful, because he +had something made of real silver "with blue stones" in one of his +brown-paper parcels. His quaint blending of Essex flatness with +saintly simplicity continuously amused the Frenchman till the +priest arrived (somehow) at Tottenham with all his parcels, and +came back for his umbrella. When he did the last, Valentin even +had the good nature to warn him not to take care of the silver by +telling everybody about it. But to whomever he talked, Valentin +kept his eye open for someone else; he looked out steadily for +anyone, rich or poor, male or female, who was well up to six feet; +for Flambeau was four inches above it. + +He alighted at Liverpool Street, however, quite conscientiously +secure that he had not missed the criminal so far. He then went +to Scotland Yard to regularise his position and arrange for help +in case of need; he then lit another cigarette and went for a long +stroll in the streets of London. As he was walking in the streets +and squares beyond Victoria, he paused suddenly and stood. It was +a quaint, quiet square, very typical of London, full of an +accidental stillness. The tall, flat houses round looked at once +prosperous and uninhabited; the square of shrubbery in the centre +looked as deserted as a green Pacific islet. One of the four +sides was much higher than the rest, like a dais; and the line of +this side was broken by one of London's admirable accidents--a +restaurant that looked as if it had strayed from Soho. It was an +unreasonably attractive object, with dwarf plants in pots and +long, striped blinds of lemon yellow and white. It stood specially +high above the street, and in the usual patchwork way of London, a +flight of steps from the street ran up to meet the front door +almost as a fire-escape might run up to a first-floor window. +Valentin stood and smoked in front of the yellow-white blinds and +considered them long. + +The most incredible thing about miracles is that they happen. +A few clouds in heaven do come together into the staring shape of +one human eye. A tree does stand up in the landscape of a +doubtful journey in the exact and elaborate shape of a note of +interrogation. I have seen both these things myself within the +last few days. Nelson does die in the instant of victory; and a +man named Williams does quite accidentally murder a man named +Williamson; it sounds like a sort of infanticide. In short, there +is in life an element of elfin coincidence which people reckoning +on the prosaic may perpetually miss. As it has been well +expressed in the paradox of Poe, wisdom should reckon on the +unforeseen. + +Aristide Valentin was unfathomably French; and the French +intelligence is intelligence specially and solely. He was not "a +thinking machine"; for that is a brainless phrase of modern +fatalism and materialism. A machine only is a machine because it +cannot think. But he was a thinking man, and a plain man at the +same time. All his wonderful successes, that looked like conjuring, +had been gained by plodding logic, by clear and commonplace French +thought. The French electrify the world not by starting any +paradox, they electrify it by carrying out a truism. They carry a +truism so far--as in the French Revolution. But exactly because +Valentin understood reason, he understood the limits of reason. +Only a man who knows nothing of motors talks of motoring without +petrol; only a man who knows nothing of reason talks of reasoning +without strong, undisputed first principles. Here he had no +strong first principles. Flambeau had been missed at Harwich; and +if he was in London at all, he might be anything from a tall tramp +on Wimbledon Common to a tall toast-master at the Hotel Metropole. +In such a naked state of nescience, Valentin had a view and a +method of his own. + +In such cases he reckoned on the unforeseen. In such cases, +when he could not follow the train of the reasonable, he coldly +and carefully followed the train of the unreasonable. Instead of +going to the right places--banks, police stations, rendezvous-- +he systematically went to the wrong places; knocked at every empty +house, turned down every cul de sac, went up every lane blocked +with rubbish, went round every crescent that led him uselessly out +of the way. He defended this crazy course quite logically. He +said that if one had a clue this was the worst way; but if one had +no clue at all it was the best, because there was just the chance +that any oddity that caught the eye of the pursuer might be the +same that had caught the eye of the pursued. Somewhere a man must +begin, and it had better be just where another man might stop. +Something about that flight of steps up to the shop, something +about the quietude and quaintness of the restaurant, roused all +the detective's rare romantic fancy and made him resolve to strike +at random. He went up the steps, and sitting down at a table by +the window, asked for a cup of black coffee. + +It was half-way through the morning, and he had not +breakfasted; the slight litter of other breakfasts stood about on +the table to remind him of his hunger; and adding a poached egg to +his order, he proceeded musingly to shake some white sugar into +his coffee, thinking all the time about Flambeau. He remembered +how Flambeau had escaped, once by a pair of nail scissors, and +once by a house on fire; once by having to pay for an unstamped +letter, and once by getting people to look through a telescope at +a comet that might destroy the world. He thought his detective +brain as good as the criminal's, which was true. But he fully +realised the disadvantage. "The criminal is the creative artist; +the detective only the critic," he said with a sour smile, and +lifted his coffee cup to his lips slowly, and put it down very +quickly. He had put salt in it. + +He looked at the vessel from which the silvery powder had +come; it was certainly a sugar-basin; as unmistakably meant for +sugar as a champagne-bottle for champagne. He wondered why they +should keep salt in it. He looked to see if there were any more +orthodox vessels. Yes; there were two salt-cellars quite full. +Perhaps there was some speciality in the condiment in the +salt-cellars. He tasted it; it was sugar. Then he looked round +at the restaurant with a refreshed air of interest, to see if +there were any other traces of that singular artistic taste which +puts the sugar in the salt-cellars and the salt in the sugar-basin. +Except for an odd splash of some dark fluid on one of the +white-papered walls, the whole place appeared neat, cheerful and +ordinary. He rang the bell for the waiter. + +When that official hurried up, fuzzy-haired and somewhat +blear-eyed at that early hour, the detective (who was not without +an appreciation of the simpler forms of humour) asked him to taste +the sugar and see if it was up to the high reputation of the hotel. +The result was that the waiter yawned suddenly and woke up. + +"Do you play this delicate joke on your customers every +morning?" inquired Valentin. "Does changing the salt and sugar +never pall on you as a jest?" + +The waiter, when this irony grew clearer, stammeringly assured +him that the establishment had certainly no such intention; it +must be a most curious mistake. He picked up the sugar-basin and +looked at it; he picked up the salt-cellar and looked at that, his +face growing more and more bewildered. At last he abruptly +excused himself, and hurrying away, returned in a few seconds with +the proprietor. The proprietor also examined the sugar-basin and +then the salt-cellar; the proprietor also looked bewildered. + +Suddenly the waiter seemed to grow inarticulate with a rush of +words. + +"I zink," he stuttered eagerly, "I zink it is those two +clergy-men." + +"What two clergymen?" + +"The two clergymen," said the waiter, "that threw soup at the +wall." + +"Threw soup at the wall?" repeated Valentin, feeling sure this +must be some singular Italian metaphor. + +"Yes, yes," said the attendant excitedly, and pointed at the +dark splash on the white paper; "threw it over there on the wall." + +Valentin looked his query at the proprietor, who came to his +rescue with fuller reports. + +"Yes, sir," he said, "it's quite true, though I don't suppose +it has anything to do with the sugar and salt. Two clergymen came +in and drank soup here very early, as soon as the shutters were +taken down. They were both very quiet, respectable people; one of +them paid the bill and went out; the other, who seemed a slower +coach altogether, was some minutes longer getting his things +together. But he went at last. Only, the instant before he +stepped into the street he deliberately picked up his cup, which +he had only half emptied, and threw the soup slap on the wall. I +was in the back room myself, and so was the waiter; so I could +only rush out in time to find the wall splashed and the shop +empty. It don't do any particular damage, but it was confounded +cheek; and I tried to catch the men in the street. They were too +far off though; I only noticed they went round the next corner +into Carstairs Street." + +The detective was on his feet, hat settled and stick in hand. +He had already decided that in the universal darkness of his mind +he could only follow the first odd finger that pointed; and this +finger was odd enough. Paying his bill and clashing the glass +doors behind him, he was soon swinging round into the other +street. + +It was fortunate that even in such fevered moments his eye was +cool and quick. Something in a shop-front went by him like a mere +flash; yet he went back to look at it. The shop was a popular +greengrocer and fruiterer's, an array of goods set out in the open +air and plainly ticketed with their names and prices. In the two +most prominent compartments were two heaps, of oranges and of nuts +respectively. On the heap of nuts lay a scrap of cardboard, on +which was written in bold, blue chalk, "Best tangerine oranges, +two a penny." On the oranges was the equally clear and exact +description, "Finest Brazil nuts, 4d. a lb." M. Valentin looked +at these two placards and fancied he had met this highly subtle +form of humour before, and that somewhat recently. He drew the +attention of the red-faced fruiterer, who was looking rather +sullenly up and down the street, to this inaccuracy in his +advertisements. The fruiterer said nothing, but sharply put each +card into its proper place. The detective, leaning elegantly on +his walking-cane, continued to scrutinise the shop. At last he +said, "Pray excuse my apparent irrelevance, my good sir, but I +should like to ask you a question in experimental psychology and +the association of ideas." + +The red-faced shopman regarded him with an eye of menace; but +he continued gaily, swinging his cane, "Why," he pursued, "why are +two tickets wrongly placed in a greengrocer's shop like a shovel +hat that has come to London for a holiday? Or, in case I do not +make myself clear, what is the mystical association which connects +the idea of nuts marked as oranges with the idea of two clergymen, +one tall and the other short?" + +The eyes of the tradesman stood out of his head like a +snail's; he really seemed for an instant likely to fling himself +upon the stranger. At last he stammered angrily: "I don't know +what you 'ave to do with it, but if you're one of their friends, +you can tell 'em from me that I'll knock their silly 'eads off, +parsons or no parsons, if they upset my apples again." + +"Indeed?" asked the detective, with great sympathy. "Did they +upset your apples?" + +"One of 'em did," said the heated shopman; "rolled 'em all +over the street. I'd 'ave caught the fool but for havin' to pick +'em up." + +"Which way did these parsons go?" asked Valentin. + +"Up that second road on the left-hand side, and then across +the square," said the other promptly. + +"Thanks," replied Valentin, and vanished like a fairy. On the +other side of the second square he found a policeman, and said: +"This is urgent, constable; have you seen two clergymen in shovel +hats?" + +The policeman began to chuckle heavily. "I 'ave, sir; and if +you arst me, one of 'em was drunk. He stood in the middle of the +road that bewildered that--" + +"Which way did they go?" snapped Valentin. + +"They took one of them yellow buses over there," answered the +man; "them that go to Hampstead." + +Valentin produced his official card and said very rapidly: +"Call up two of your men to come with me in pursuit," and crossed +the road with such contagious energy that the ponderous policeman +was moved to almost agile obedience. In a minute and a half the +French detective was joined on the opposite pavement by an +inspector and a man in plain clothes. + +"Well, sir," began the former, with smiling importance, "and +what may--?" + +Valentin pointed suddenly with his cane. "I'll tell you on +the top of that omnibus," he said, and was darting and dodging +across the tangle of the traffic. When all three sank panting on +the top seats of the yellow vehicle, the inspector said: "We could +go four times as quick in a taxi." + +"Quite true," replied their leader placidly, "if we only had +an idea of where we were going." + +"Well, where are you going?" asked the other, staring. + +Valentin smoked frowningly for a few seconds; then, removing +his cigarette, he said: "If you know what a man's doing, get in +front of him; but if you want to guess what he's doing, keep +behind him. Stray when he strays; stop when he stops; travel as +slowly as he. Then you may see what he saw and may act as he +acted. All we can do is to keep our eyes skinned for a queer +thing." + +"What sort of queer thing do you mean?" asked the inspector. + +"Any sort of queer thing," answered Valentin, and relapsed +into obstinate silence. + +The yellow omnibus crawled up the northern roads for what +seemed like hours on end; the great detective would not explain +further, and perhaps his assistants felt a silent and growing doubt +of his errand. Perhaps, also, they felt a silent and growing +desire for lunch, for the hours crept long past the normal luncheon +hour, and the long roads of the North London suburbs seemed to +shoot out into length after length like an infernal telescope. It +was one of those journeys on which a man perpetually feels that +now at last he must have come to the end of the universe, and then +finds he has only come to the beginning of Tufnell Park. London +died away in draggled taverns and dreary scrubs, and then was +unaccountably born again in blazing high streets and blatant +hotels. It was like passing through thirteen separate vulgar +cities all just touching each other. But though the winter +twilight was already threatening the road ahead of them, the +Parisian detective still sat silent and watchful, eyeing the +frontage of the streets that slid by on either side. By the time +they had left Camden Town behind, the policemen were nearly +asleep; at least, they gave something like a jump as Valentin +leapt erect, struck a hand on each man's shoulder, and shouted to +the driver to stop. + +They tumbled down the steps into the road without realising +why they had been dislodged; when they looked round for +enlightenment they found Valentin triumphantly pointing his finger +towards a window on the left side of the road. It was a large +window, forming part of the long facade of a gilt and palatial +public-house; it was the part reserved for respectable dining, and +labelled "Restaurant." This window, like all the rest along the +frontage of the hotel, was of frosted and figured glass; but in +the middle of it was a big, black smash, like a star in the ice. + +"Our cue at last," cried Valentin, waving his stick; "the +place with the broken window." + +"What window? What cue?" asked his principal assistant. +"Why, what proof is there that this has anything to do with them?" + +Valentin almost broke his bamboo stick with rage. + +"Proof!" he cried. "Good God! the man is looking for proof! +Why, of course, the chances are twenty to one that it has nothing +to do with them. But what else can we do? Don't you see we must +either follow one wild possibility or else go home to bed?" He +banged his way into the restaurant, followed by his companions, +and they were soon seated at a late luncheon at a little table, +and looked at the star of smashed glass from the inside. Not that +it was very informative to them even then. + +"Got your window broken, I see," said Valentin to the waiter +as he paid the bill. + +"Yes, sir," answered the attendant, bending busily over the +change, to which Valentin silently added an enormous tip. The +waiter straightened himself with mild but unmistakable animation. + +"Ah, yes, sir," he said. "Very odd thing, that, sir." + +"Indeed?" Tell us about it," said the detective with careless +curiosity. + +"Well, two gents in black came in," said the waiter; "two of +those foreign parsons that are running about. They had a cheap +and quiet little lunch, and one of them paid for it and went out. +The other was just going out to join him when I looked at my +change again and found he'd paid me more than three times too +much. `Here,' I says to the chap who was nearly out of the door, +`you've paid too much.' `Oh,' he says, very cool, `have we?' +'Yes,' I says, and picks up the bill to show him. Well, that was +a knock-out." + +"What do you mean?" asked his interlocutor. + +"Well, I'd have sworn on seven Bibles that I'd put 4s. on that +bill. But now I saw I'd put 14s., as plain as paint." + +"Well?" cried Valentin, moving slowly, but with burning eyes, +"and then?" + +"The parson at the door he says all serene, `Sorry to confuse +your accounts, but it'll pay for the window.' `What window?' I +says. `The one I'm going to break,' he says, and smashed that +blessed pane with his umbrella." + +All three inquirers made an exclamation; and the inspector +said under his breath, "Are we after escaped lunatics?" The waiter +went on with some relish for the ridiculous story: + +"I was so knocked silly for a second, I couldn't do anything. +The man marched out of the place and joined his friend just round +the corner. Then they went so quick up Bullock Street that I +couldn't catch them, though I ran round the bars to do it." + +"Bullock Street," said the detective, and shot up that +thoroughfare as quickly as the strange couple he pursued. + +Their journey now took them through bare brick ways like +tunnels; streets with few lights and even with few windows; +streets that seemed built out of the blank backs of everything and +everywhere. Dusk was deepening, and it was not easy even for the +London policemen to guess in what exact direction they were +treading. The inspector, however, was pretty certain that they +would eventually strike some part of Hampstead Heath. Abruptly +one bulging gas-lit window broke the blue twilight like a +bull's-eye lantern; and Valentin stopped an instant before a little +garish sweetstuff shop. After an instant's hesitation he went in; +he stood amid the gaudy colours of the confectionery with entire +gravity and bought thirteen chocolate cigars with a certain care. +He was clearly preparing an opening; but he did not need one. + +An angular, elderly young woman in the shop had regarded his +elegant appearance with a merely automatic inquiry; but when she +saw the door behind him blocked with the blue uniform of the +inspector, her eyes seemed to wake up. + +"Oh," she said, "if you've come about that parcel, I've sent +it off already." + +"Parcel?" repeated Valentin; and it was his turn to look +inquiring. + +"I mean the parcel the gentleman left--the clergyman +gentleman." + +"For goodness' sake," said Valentin, leaning forward with his +first real confession of eagerness, "for Heaven's sake tell us +what happened exactly." + +"Well," said the woman a little doubtfully, "the clergymen +came in about half an hour ago and bought some peppermints and +talked a bit, and then went off towards the Heath. But a second +after, one of them runs back into the shop and says, `Have I left +a parcel!' Well, I looked everywhere and couldn't see one; so he +says, `Never mind; but if it should turn up, please post it to +this address,' and he left me the address and a shilling for my +trouble. And sure enough, though I thought I'd looked everywhere, +I found he'd left a brown paper parcel, so I posted it to the +place he said. I can't remember the address now; it was somewhere +in Westminster. But as the thing seemed so important, I thought +perhaps the police had come about it." + +"So they have," said Valentin shortly. "Is Hampstead Heath +near here?" + +"Straight on for fifteen minutes," said the woman, "and you'll +come right out on the open." Valentin sprang out of the shop and +began to run. The other detectives followed him at a reluctant +trot. + +The street they threaded was so narrow and shut in by shadows +that when they came out unexpectedly into the void common and vast +sky they were startled to find the evening still so light and +clear. A perfect dome of peacock-green sank into gold amid the +blackening trees and the dark violet distances. The glowing green +tint was just deep enough to pick out in points of crystal one or +two stars. All that was left of the daylight lay in a golden +glitter across the edge of Hampstead and that popular hollow which +is called the Vale of Health. The holiday makers who roam this +region had not wholly dispersed; a few couples sat shapelessly on +benches; and here and there a distant girl still shrieked in one +of the swings. The glory of heaven deepened and darkened around +the sublime vulgarity of man; and standing on the slope and looking +across the valley, Valentin beheld the thing which he sought. + +Among the black and breaking groups in that distance was one +especially black which did not break--a group of two figures +clerically clad. Though they seemed as small as insects, Valentin +could see that one of them was much smaller than the other. +Though the other had a student's stoop and an inconspicuous manner, +he could see that the man was well over six feet high. He shut +his teeth and went forward, whirling his stick impatiently. By +the time he had substantially diminished the distance and +magnified the two black figures as in a vast microscope, he had +perceived something else; something which startled him, and yet +which he had somehow expected. Whoever was the tall priest, there +could be no doubt about the identity of the short one. It was his +friend of the Harwich train, the stumpy little cure of Essex whom +he had warned about his brown paper parcels. + +Now, so far as this went, everything fitted in finally and +rationally enough. Valentin had learned by his inquiries that +morning that a Father Brown from Essex was bringing up a silver +cross with sapphires, a relic of considerable value, to show some +of the foreign priests at the congress. This undoubtedly was the +"silver with blue stones"; and Father Brown undoubtedly was the +little greenhorn in the train. Now there was nothing wonderful +about the fact that what Valentin had found out Flambeau had also +found out; Flambeau found out everything. Also there was nothing +wonderful in the fact that when Flambeau heard of a sapphire cross +he should try to steal it; that was the most natural thing in all +natural history. And most certainly there was nothing wonderful +about the fact that Flambeau should have it all his own way with +such a silly sheep as the man with the umbrella and the parcels. +He was the sort of man whom anybody could lead on a string to the +North Pole; it was not surprising that an actor like Flambeau, +dressed as another priest, could lead him to Hampstead Heath. So +far the crime seemed clear enough; and while the detective pitied +the priest for his helplessness, he almost despised Flambeau for +condescending to so gullible a victim. But when Valentin thought +of all that had happened in between, of all that had led him to +his triumph, he racked his brains for the smallest rhyme or reason +in it. What had the stealing of a blue-and-silver cross from a +priest from Essex to do with chucking soup at wall paper? What +had it to do with calling nuts oranges, or with paying for windows +first and breaking them afterwards? He had come to the end of his +chase; yet somehow he had missed the middle of it. When he failed +(which was seldom), he had usually grasped the clue, but +nevertheless missed the criminal. Here he had grasped the +criminal, but still he could not grasp the clue. + +The two figures that they followed were crawling like black +flies across the huge green contour of a hill. They were evidently +sunk in conversation, and perhaps did not notice where they were +going; but they were certainly going to the wilder and more silent +heights of the Heath. As their pursuers gained on them, the +latter had to use the undignified attitudes of the deer-stalker, +to crouch behind clumps of trees and even to crawl prostrate in +deep grass. By these ungainly ingenuities the hunters even came +close enough to the quarry to hear the murmur of the discussion, +but no word could be distinguished except the word "reason" +recurring frequently in a high and almost childish voice. Once +over an abrupt dip of land and a dense tangle of thickets, the +detectives actually lost the two figures they were following. +They did not find the trail again for an agonising ten minutes, +and then it led round the brow of a great dome of hill overlooking +an amphitheatre of rich and desolate sunset scenery. Under a tree +in this commanding yet neglected spot was an old ramshackle wooden +seat. On this seat sat the two priests still in serious speech +together. The gorgeous green and gold still clung to the darkening +horizon; but the dome above was turning slowly from peacock-green +to peacock-blue, and the stars detached themselves more and more +like solid jewels. Mutely motioning to his followers, Valentin +contrived to creep up behind the big branching tree, and, standing +there in deathly silence, heard the words of the strange priests +for the first time. + +After he had listened for a minute and a half, he was gripped +by a devilish doubt. Perhaps he had dragged the two English +policemen to the wastes of a nocturnal heath on an errand no saner +than seeking figs on its thistles. For the two priests were +talking exactly like priests, piously, with learning and leisure, +about the most aerial enigmas of theology. The little Essex +priest spoke the more simply, with his round face turned to the +strengthening stars; the other talked with his head bowed, as if +he were not even worthy to look at them. But no more innocently +clerical conversation could have been heard in any white Italian +cloister or black Spanish cathedral. + +The first he heard was the tail of one of Father Brown's +sentences, which ended: "... what they really meant in the Middle +Ages by the heavens being incorruptible." + +The taller priest nodded his bowed head and said: + +"Ah, yes, these modern infidels appeal to their reason; but +who can look at those millions of worlds and not feel that there +may well be wonderful universes above us where reason is utterly +unreasonable?" + +"No," said the other priest; "reason is always reasonable, +even in the last limbo, in the lost borderland of things. I know +that people charge the Church with lowering reason, but it is just +the other way. Alone on earth, the Church makes reason really +supreme. Alone on earth, the Church affirms that God himself is +bound by reason." + +The other priest raised his austere face to the spangled sky +and said: + +"Yet who knows if in that infinite universe--?" + +"Only infinite physically," said the little priest, turning +sharply in his seat, "not infinite in the sense of escaping from +the laws of truth." + +Valentin behind his tree was tearing his fingernails with +silent fury. He seemed almost to hear the sniggers of the English +detectives whom he had brought so far on a fantastic guess only to +listen to the metaphysical gossip of two mild old parsons. In his +impatience he lost the equally elaborate answer of the tall cleric, +and when he listened again it was again Father Brown who was +speaking: + +"Reason and justice grip the remotest and the loneliest star. +Look at those stars. Don't they look as if they were single +diamonds and sapphires? Well, you can imagine any mad botany or +geology you please. Think of forests of adamant with leaves of +brilliants. Think the moon is a blue moon, a single elephantine +sapphire. But don't fancy that all that frantic astronomy would +make the smallest difference to the reason and justice of conduct. +On plains of opal, under cliffs cut out of pearl, you would still +find a notice-board, `Thou shalt not steal.'" + +Valentin was just in the act of rising from his rigid and +crouching attitude and creeping away as softly as might be, felled +by the one great folly of his life. But something in the very +silence of the tall priest made him stop until the latter spoke. +When at last he did speak, he said simply, his head bowed and his +hands on his knees: + +"Well, I think that other worlds may perhaps rise higher than +our reason. The mystery of heaven is unfathomable, and I for one +can only bow my head." + +Then, with brow yet bent and without changing by the faintest +shade his attitude or voice, he added: + +"Just hand over that sapphire cross of yours, will you? We're +all alone here, and I could pull you to pieces like a straw doll." + +The utterly unaltered voice and attitude added a strange +violence to that shocking change of speech. But the guarder of +the relic only seemed to turn his head by the smallest section of +the compass. He seemed still to have a somewhat foolish face +turned to the stars. Perhaps he had not understood. Or, perhaps, +he had understood and sat rigid with terror. + +"Yes," said the tall priest, in the same low voice and in the +same still posture, "yes, I am Flambeau." + +Then, after a pause, he said: + +"Come, will you give me that cross?" + +"No," said the other, and the monosyllable had an odd sound. + +Flambeau suddenly flung off all his pontifical pretensions. +The great robber leaned back in his seat and laughed low but long. + +"No," he cried, "you won't give it me, you proud prelate. You +won't give it me, you little celibate simpleton. Shall I tell you +why you won't give it me? Because I've got it already in my own +breast-pocket." + +The small man from Essex turned what seemed to be a dazed face +in the dusk, and said, with the timid eagerness of "The Private +Secretary": + +"Are--are you sure?" + +Flambeau yelled with delight. + +"Really, you're as good as a three-act farce," he cried. +"Yes, you turnip, I am quite sure. I had the sense to make a +duplicate of the right parcel, and now, my friend, you've got the +duplicate and I've got the jewels. An old dodge, Father Brown-- +a very old dodge." + +"Yes," said Father Brown, and passed his hand through his hair +with the same strange vagueness of manner. "Yes, I've heard of it +before." + +The colossus of crime leaned over to the little rustic priest +with a sort of sudden interest. + +"You have heard of it?" he asked. "Where have you heard of +it?" + +"Well, I mustn't tell you his name, of course," said the +little man simply. "He was a penitent, you know. He had lived +prosperously for about twenty years entirely on duplicate brown +paper parcels. And so, you see, when I began to suspect you, I +thought of this poor chap's way of doing it at once." + +"Began to suspect me?" repeated the outlaw with increased +intensity. "Did you really have the gumption to suspect me just +because I brought you up to this bare part of the heath?" + +"No, no," said Brown with an air of apology. "You see, I +suspected you when we first met. It's that little bulge up the +sleeve where you people have the spiked bracelet." + +"How in Tartarus," cried Flambeau, "did you ever hear of the +spiked bracelet?" + +"Oh, one's little flock, you know!" said Father Brown, arching +his eyebrows rather blankly. "When I was a curate in Hartlepool, +there were three of them with spiked bracelets. So, as I +suspected you from the first, don't you see, I made sure that the +cross should go safe, anyhow. I'm afraid I watched you, you know. +So at last I saw you change the parcels. Then, don't you see, I +changed them back again. And then I left the right one behind." + +"Left it behind?" repeated Flambeau, and for the first time +there was another note in his voice beside his triumph. + +"Well, it was like this," said the little priest, speaking in +the same unaffected way. "I went back to that sweet-shop and +asked if I'd left a parcel, and gave them a particular address if +it turned up. Well, I knew I hadn't; but when I went away again I +did. So, instead of running after me with that valuable parcel, +they have sent it flying to a friend of mine in Westminster." +Then he added rather sadly: "I learnt that, too, from a poor +fellow in Hartlepool. He used to do it with handbags he stole at +railway stations, but he's in a monastery now. Oh, one gets to +know, you know," he added, rubbing his head again with the same +sort of desperate apology. "We can't help being priests. People +come and tell us these things." + +Flambeau tore a brown-paper parcel out of his inner pocket and +rent it in pieces. There was nothing but paper and sticks of lead +inside it. He sprang to his feet with a gigantic gesture, and +cried: + +"I don't believe you. I don't believe a bumpkin like you +could manage all that. I believe you've still got the stuff on +you, and if you don't give it up--why, we're all alone, and I'll +take it by force!" + +"No," said Father Brown simply, and stood up also, "you won't +take it by force. First, because I really haven't still got it. +And, second, because we are not alone." + +Flambeau stopped in his stride forward. + +"Behind that tree," said Father Brown, pointing, "are two +strong policemen and the greatest detective alive. How did they +come here, do you ask? Why, I brought them, of course! How did I +do it? Why, I'll tell you if you like! Lord bless you, we have +to know twenty such things when we work among the criminal classes! +Well, I wasn't sure you were a thief, and it would never do to +make a scandal against one of our own clergy. So I just tested +you to see if anything would make you show yourself. A man +generally makes a small scene if he finds salt in his coffee; if +he doesn't, he has some reason for keeping quiet. I changed the +salt and sugar, and you kept quiet. A man generally objects if +his bill is three times too big. If he pays it, he has some motive +for passing unnoticed. I altered your bill, and you paid it." + +The world seemed waiting for Flambeau to leap like a tiger. +But he was held back as by a spell; he was stunned with the utmost +curiosity. + +"Well," went on Father Brown, with lumbering lucidity, "as you +wouldn't leave any tracks for the police, of course somebody had +to. At every place we went to, I took care to do something that +would get us talked about for the rest of the day. I didn't do +much harm--a splashed wall, spilt apples, a broken window; but I +saved the cross, as the cross will always be saved. It is at +Westminster by now. I rather wonder you didn't stop it with the +Donkey's Whistle." + +"With the what?" asked Flambeau. + +"I'm glad you've never heard of it," said the priest, making a +face. "It's a foul thing. I'm sure you're too good a man for a +Whistler. I couldn't have countered it even with the Spots myself; +I'm not strong enough in the legs." + +"What on earth are you talking about?" asked the other. + +"Well, I did think you'd know the Spots," said Father Brown, +agreeably surprised. "Oh, you can't have gone so very wrong yet!" + +"How in blazes do you know all these horrors?" cried Flambeau. + +The shadow of a smile crossed the round, simple face of his +clerical opponent. + +"Oh, by being a celibate simpleton, I suppose," he said. "Has +it never struck you that a man who does next to nothing but hear +men's real sins is not likely to be wholly unaware of human evil? +But, as a matter of fact, another part of my trade, too, made me +sure you weren't a priest." + +"What?" asked the thief, almost gaping. + +"You attacked reason," said Father Brown. "It's bad theology." + +And even as he turned away to collect his property, the three +policemen came out from under the twilight trees. Flambeau was an +artist and a sportsman. He stepped back and swept Valentin a great +bow. + +"Do not bow to me, mon ami," said Valentin with silver +clearness. "Let us both bow to our master." + +And they both stood an instant uncovered while the little Essex +priest blinked about for his umbrella. + + + + The Secret Garden + +Aristide Valentin, Chief of the Paris Police, was late for his +dinner, and some of his guests began to arrive before him. These +were, however, reassured by his confidential servant, Ivan, the +old man with a scar, and a face almost as grey as his moustaches, +who always sat at a table in the entrance hall--a hall hung with +weapons. Valentin's house was perhaps as peculiar and celebrated +as its master. It was an old house, with high walls and tall +poplars almost overhanging the Seine; but the oddity--and +perhaps the police value--of its architecture was this: that +there was no ultimate exit at all except through this front door, +which was guarded by Ivan and the armoury. The garden was large +and elaborate, and there were many exits from the house into the +garden. But there was no exit from the garden into the world +outside; all round it ran a tall, smooth, unscalable wall with +special spikes at the top; no bad garden, perhaps, for a man to +reflect in whom some hundred criminals had sworn to kill. + +As Ivan explained to the guests, their host had telephoned +that he was detained for ten minutes. He was, in truth, making +some last arrangements about executions and such ugly things; and +though these duties were rootedly repulsive to him, he always +performed them with precision. Ruthless in the pursuit of +criminals, he was very mild about their punishment. Since he had +been supreme over French--and largely over European--policial +methods, his great influence had been honourably used for the +mitigation of sentences and the purification of prisons. He was +one of the great humanitarian French freethinkers; and the only +thing wrong with them is that they make mercy even colder than +justice. + +When Valentin arrived he was already dressed in black clothes +and the red rosette--an elegant figure, his dark beard already +streaked with grey. He went straight through his house to his +study, which opened on the grounds behind. The garden door of it +was open, and after he had carefully locked his box in its official +place, he stood for a few seconds at the open door looking out upon +the garden. A sharp moon was fighting with the flying rags and +tatters of a storm, and Valentin regarded it with a wistfulness +unusual in such scientific natures as his. Perhaps such scientific +natures have some psychic prevision of the most tremendous problem +of their lives. From any such occult mood, at least, he quickly +recovered, for he knew he was late, and that his guests had +already begun to arrive. A glance at his drawing-room when he +entered it was enough to make certain that his principal guest was +not there, at any rate. He saw all the other pillars of the +little party; he saw Lord Galloway, the English Ambassador--a +choleric old man with a russet face like an apple, wearing the +blue ribbon of the Garter. He saw Lady Galloway, slim and +threadlike, with silver hair and a face sensitive and superior. +He saw her daughter, Lady Margaret Graham, a pale and pretty girl +with an elfish face and copper-coloured hair. He saw the Duchess +of Mont St. Michel, black-eyed and opulent, and with her her two +daughters, black-eyed and opulent also. He saw Dr. Simon, a +typical French scientist, with glasses, a pointed brown beard, and +a forehead barred with those parallel wrinkles which are the +penalty of superciliousness, since they come through constantly +elevating the eyebrows. He saw Father Brown, of Cobhole, in Essex, +whom he had recently met in England. He saw--perhaps with more +interest than any of these--a tall man in uniform, who had bowed +to the Galloways without receiving any very hearty acknowledgment, +and who now advanced alone to pay his respects to his host. This +was Commandant O'Brien, of the French Foreign Legion. He was a +slim yet somewhat swaggering figure, clean-shaven, dark-haired, +and blue-eyed, and, as seemed natural in an officer of that famous +regiment of victorious failures and successful suicides, he had an +air at once dashing and melancholy. He was by birth an Irish +gentleman, and in boyhood had known the Galloways--especially +Margaret Graham. He had left his country after some crash of +debts, and now expressed his complete freedom from British +etiquette by swinging about in uniform, sabre and spurs. When he +bowed to the Ambassador's family, Lord and Lady Galloway bent +stiffly, and Lady Margaret looked away. + +But for whatever old causes such people might be interested in +each other, their distinguished host was not specially interested +in them. No one of them at least was in his eyes the guest of the +evening. Valentin was expecting, for special reasons, a man of +world-wide fame, whose friendship he had secured during some of +his great detective tours and triumphs in the United States. He +was expecting Julius K. Brayne, that multi-millionaire whose +colossal and even crushing endowments of small religions have +occasioned so much easy sport and easier solemnity for the +American and English papers. Nobody could quite make out whether +Mr. Brayne was an atheist or a Mormon or a Christian Scientist; +but he was ready to pour money into any intellectual vessel, so +long as it was an untried vessel. One of his hobbies was to wait +for the American Shakespeare--a hobby more patient than angling. +He admired Walt Whitman, but thought that Luke P. Tanner, of +Paris, Pa., was more "progressive" than Whitman any day. He liked +anything that he thought "progressive." He thought Valentin +"progressive," thereby doing him a grave injustice. + +The solid appearance of Julius K. Brayne in the room was as +decisive as a dinner bell. He had this great quality, which very +few of us can claim, that his presence was as big as his absence. +He was a huge fellow, as fat as he was tall, clad in complete +evening black, without so much relief as a watch-chain or a ring. +His hair was white and well brushed back like a German's; his face +was red, fierce and cherubic, with one dark tuft under the lower +lip that threw up that otherwise infantile visage with an effect +theatrical and even Mephistophelean. Not long, however, did that +salon merely stare at the celebrated American; his lateness had +already become a domestic problem, and he was sent with all speed +into the dining-room with Lady Galloway on his arm. + +Except on one point the Galloways were genial and casual +enough. So long as Lady Margaret did not take the arm of that +adventurer O'Brien, her father was quite satisfied; and she had +not done so, she had decorously gone in with Dr. Simon. +Nevertheless, old Lord Galloway was restless and almost rude. He +was diplomatic enough during dinner, but when, over the cigars, +three of the younger men--Simon the doctor, Brown the priest, +and the detrimental O'Brien, the exile in a foreign uniform--all +melted away to mix with the ladies or smoke in the conservatory, +then the English diplomatist grew very undiplomatic indeed. He +was stung every sixty seconds with the thought that the scamp +O'Brien might be signalling to Margaret somehow; he did not +attempt to imagine how. He was left over the coffee with Brayne, +the hoary Yankee who believed in all religions, and Valentin, the +grizzled Frenchman who believed in none. They could argue with +each other, but neither could appeal to him. After a time this +"progressive" logomachy had reached a crisis of tedium; Lord +Galloway got up also and sought the drawing-room. He lost his way +in long passages for some six or eight minutes: till he heard the +high-pitched, didactic voice of the doctor, and then the dull +voice of the priest, followed by general laughter. They also, he +thought with a curse, were probably arguing about "science and +religion." But the instant he opened the salon door he saw only +one thing--he saw what was not there. He saw that Commandant +O'Brien was absent, and that Lady Margaret was absent too. + +Rising impatiently from the drawing-room, as he had from the +dining-room, he stamped along the passage once more. His notion +of protecting his daughter from the Irish-Algerian n'er-do-weel +had become something central and even mad in his mind. As he went +towards the back of the house, where was Valentin's study, he was +surprised to meet his daughter, who swept past with a white, +scornful face, which was a second enigma. If she had been with +O'Brien, where was O'Brien! If she had not been with O'Brien, +where had she been? With a sort of senile and passionate +suspicion he groped his way to the dark back parts of the mansion, +and eventually found a servants' entrance that opened on to the +garden. The moon with her scimitar had now ripped up and rolled +away all the storm-wrack. The argent light lit up all four corners +of the garden. A tall figure in blue was striding across the lawn +towards the study door; a glint of moonlit silver on his facings +picked him out as Commandant O'Brien. + +He vanished through the French windows into the house, leaving +Lord Galloway in an indescribable temper, at once virulent and +vague. The blue-and-silver garden, like a scene in a theatre, +seemed to taunt him with all that tyrannic tenderness against +which his worldly authority was at war. The length and grace of +the Irishman's stride enraged him as if he were a rival instead of +a father; the moonlight maddened him. He was trapped as if by +magic into a garden of troubadours, a Watteau fairyland; and, +willing to shake off such amorous imbecilities by speech, he +stepped briskly after his enemy. As he did so he tripped over +some tree or stone in the grass; looked down at it first with +irritation and then a second time with curiosity. The next +instant the moon and the tall poplars looked at an unusual sight +--an elderly English diplomatist running hard and crying or +bellowing as he ran. + +His hoarse shouts brought a pale face to the study door, the +beaming glasses and worried brow of Dr. Simon, who heard the +nobleman's first clear words. Lord Galloway was crying: "A corpse +in the grass--a blood-stained corpse." O'Brien at last had gone +utterly out of his mind. + +"We must tell Valentin at once," said the doctor, when the +other had brokenly described all that he had dared to examine. +"It is fortunate that he is here"; and even as he spoke the great +detective entered the study, attracted by the cry. It was almost +amusing to note his typical transformation; he had come with the +common concern of a host and a gentleman, fearing that some guest +or servant was ill. When he was told the gory fact, he turned +with all his gravity instantly bright and businesslike; for this, +however abrupt and awful, was his business. + +"Strange, gentlemen," he said as they hurried out into the +garden, "that I should have hunted mysteries all over the earth, +and now one comes and settles in my own back-yard. But where is +the place?" They crossed the lawn less easily, as a slight mist +had begun to rise from the river; but under the guidance of the +shaken Galloway they found the body sunken in deep grass--the +body of a very tall and broad-shouldered man. He lay face +downwards, so they could only see that his big shoulders were clad +in black cloth, and that his big head was bald, except for a wisp +or two of brown hair that clung to his skull like wet seaweed. A +scarlet serpent of blood crawled from under his fallen face. + +"At least," said Simon, with a deep and singular intonation, +"he is none of our party." + +"Examine him, doctor," cried Valentin rather sharply. "He may +not be dead." + +The doctor bent down. "He is not quite cold, but I am afraid +he is dead enough," he answered. "Just help me to lift him up." + +They lifted him carefully an inch from the ground, and all +doubts as to his being really dead were settled at once and +frightfully. The head fell away. It had been entirely sundered +from the body; whoever had cut his throat had managed to sever the +neck as well. Even Valentin was slightly shocked. "He must have +been as strong as a gorilla," he muttered. + +Not without a shiver, though he was used to anatomical +abortions, Dr. Simon lifted the head. It was slightly slashed +about the neck and jaw, but the face was substantially unhurt. It +was a ponderous, yellow face, at once sunken and swollen, with a +hawk-like nose and heavy lids--a face of a wicked Roman emperor, +with, perhaps, a distant touch of a Chinese emperor. All present +seemed to look at it with the coldest eye of ignorance. Nothing +else could be noted about the man except that, as they had lifted +his body, they had seen underneath it the white gleam of a +shirt-front defaced with a red gleam of blood. As Dr. Simon said, +the man had never been of their party. But he might very well +have been trying to join it, for he had come dressed for such an +occasion. + +Valentin went down on his hands and knees and examined with +his closest professional attention the grass and ground for some +twenty yards round the body, in which he was assisted less +skillfully by the doctor, and quite vaguely by the English lord. +Nothing rewarded their grovellings except a few twigs, snapped or +chopped into very small lengths, which Valentin lifted for an +instant's examination and then tossed away. + +"Twigs," he said gravely; "twigs, and a total stranger with +his head cut off; that is all there is on this lawn." + +There was an almost creepy stillness, and then the unnerved +Galloway called out sharply: + +"Who's that! Who's that over there by the garden wall!" + +A small figure with a foolishly large head drew waveringly +near them in the moonlit haze; looked for an instant like a +goblin, but turned out to be the harmless little priest whom they +had left in the drawing-room. + +"I say," he said meekly, "there are no gates to this garden, +do you know." + +Valentin's black brows had come together somewhat crossly, as +they did on principle at the sight of the cassock. But he was far +too just a man to deny the relevance of the remark. "You are +right," he said. "Before we find out how he came to be killed, we +may have to find out how he came to be here. Now listen to me, +gentlemen. If it can be done without prejudice to my position and +duty, we shall all agree that certain distinguished names might +well be kept out of this. There are ladies, gentlemen, and there +is a foreign ambassador. If we must mark it down as a crime, then +it must be followed up as a crime. But till then I can use my own +discretion. I am the head of the police; I am so public that I +can afford to be private. Please Heaven, I will clear everyone of +my own guests before I call in my men to look for anybody else. +Gentlemen, upon your honour, you will none of you leave the house +till tomorrow at noon; there are bedrooms for all. Simon, I think +you know where to find my man, Ivan, in the front hall; he is a +confidential man. Tell him to leave another servant on guard and +come to me at once. Lord Galloway, you are certainly the best +person to tell the ladies what has happened, and prevent a panic. +They also must stay. Father Brown and I will remain with the +body." + +When this spirit of the captain spoke in Valentin he was obeyed +like a bugle. Dr. Simon went through to the armoury and routed +out Ivan, the public detective's private detective. Galloway went +to the drawing-room and told the terrible news tactfully enough, +so that by the time the company assembled there the ladies were +already startled and already soothed. Meanwhile the good priest +and the good atheist stood at the head and foot of the dead man +motionless in the moonlight, like symbolic statues of their two +philosophies of death. + +Ivan, the confidential man with the scar and the moustaches, +came out of the house like a cannon ball, and came racing across +the lawn to Valentin like a dog to his master. His livid face was +quite lively with the glow of this domestic detective story, and +it was with almost unpleasant eagerness that he asked his master's +permission to examine the remains. + +"Yes; look, if you like, Ivan," said Valentin, "but don't be +long. We must go in and thrash this out in the house." + +Ivan lifted the head, and then almost let it drop. + +"Why," he gasped, "it's--no, it isn't; it can't be. Do you +know this man, sir?" + +"No," said Valentin indifferently; "we had better go inside." + +Between them they carried the corpse to a sofa in the study, +and then all made their way to the drawing-room. + +The detective sat down at a desk quietly, and even without +hesitation; but his eye was the iron eye of a judge at assize. He +made a few rapid notes upon paper in front of him, and then said +shortly: "Is everybody here?" + +"Not Mr. Brayne," said the Duchess of Mont St. Michel, looking +round. + +"No," said Lord Galloway in a hoarse, harsh voice. "And not +Mr. Neil O'Brien, I fancy. I saw that gentleman walking in the +garden when the corpse was still warm." + +"Ivan," said the detective, "go and fetch Commandant O'Brien +and Mr. Brayne. Mr. Brayne, I know, is finishing a cigar in the +dining-room; Commandant O'Brien, I think, is walking up and down +the conservatory. I am not sure." + +The faithful attendant flashed from the room, and before +anyone could stir or speak Valentin went on with the same +soldierly swiftness of exposition. + +"Everyone here knows that a dead man has been found in the +garden, his head cut clean from his body. Dr. Simon, you have +examined it. Do you think that to cut a man's throat like that +would need great force? Or, perhaps, only a very sharp knife?" + +"I should say that it could not be done with a knife at all," +said the pale doctor. + +"Have you any thought," resumed Valentin, "of a tool with +which it could be done?" + +"Speaking within modern probabilities, I really haven't," said +the doctor, arching his painful brows. "It's not easy to hack a +neck through even clumsily, and this was a very clean cut. It +could be done with a battle-axe or an old headsman's axe, or an +old two-handed sword." + +"But, good heavens!" cried the Duchess, almost in hysterics, +"there aren't any two-handed swords and battle-axes round here." + +Valentin was still busy with the paper in front of him. "Tell +me," he said, still writing rapidly, "could it have been done with +a long French cavalry sabre?" + +A low knocking came at the door, which, for some unreasonable +reason, curdled everyone's blood like the knocking in Macbeth. +Amid that frozen silence Dr. Simon managed to say: "A sabre-- +yes, I suppose it could." + +"Thank you," said Valentin. "Come in, Ivan." + +The confidential Ivan opened the door and ushered in Commandant +Neil O'Brien, whom he had found at last pacing the garden again. + +The Irish officer stood up disordered and defiant on the +threshold. "What do you want with me?" he cried. + +"Please sit down," said Valentin in pleasant, level tones. +"Why, you aren't wearing your sword. Where is it?" + +"I left it on the library table," said O'Brien, his brogue +deepening in his disturbed mood. "It was a nuisance, it was +getting--" + +"Ivan," said Valentin, "please go and get the Commandant's +sword from the library." Then, as the servant vanished, "Lord +Galloway says he saw you leaving the garden just before he found +the corpse. What were you doing in the garden?" + +The Commandant flung himself recklessly into a chair. "Oh," +he cried in pure Irish, "admirin' the moon. Communing with +Nature, me bhoy." + +A heavy silence sank and endured, and at the end of it came +again that trivial and terrible knocking. Ivan reappeared, +carrying an empty steel scabbard. "This is all I can find," he +said. + +"Put it on the table," said Valentin, without looking up. + +There was an inhuman silence in the room, like that sea of +inhuman silence round the dock of the condemned murderer. The +Duchess's weak exclamations had long ago died away. Lord +Galloway's swollen hatred was satisfied and even sobered. The +voice that came was quite unexpected. + +"I think I can tell you," cried Lady Margaret, in that clear, +quivering voice with which a courageous woman speaks publicly. "I +can tell you what Mr. O'Brien was doing in the garden, since he is +bound to silence. He was asking me to marry him. I refused; I +said in my family circumstances I could give him nothing but my +respect. He was a little angry at that; he did not seem to think +much of my respect. I wonder," she added, with rather a wan +smile, "if he will care at all for it now. For I offer it him +now. I will swear anywhere that he never did a thing like this." + +Lord Galloway had edged up to his daughter, and was +intimidating her in what he imagined to be an undertone. "Hold +your tongue, Maggie," he said in a thunderous whisper. "Why +should you shield the fellow? Where's his sword? Where's his +confounded cavalry--" + +He stopped because of the singular stare with which his +daughter was regarding him, a look that was indeed a lurid magnet +for the whole group. + +"You old fool!" she said in a low voice without pretence of +piety, "what do you suppose you are trying to prove? I tell you +this man was innocent while with me. But if he wasn't innocent, +he was still with me. If he murdered a man in the garden, who was +it who must have seen--who must at least have known? Do you +hate Neil so much as to put your own daughter--" + +Lady Galloway screamed. Everyone else sat tingling at the +touch of those satanic tragedies that have been between lovers +before now. They saw the proud, white face of the Scotch +aristocrat and her lover, the Irish adventurer, like old portraits +in a dark house. The long silence was full of formless historical +memories of murdered husbands and poisonous paramours. + +In the centre of this morbid silence an innocent voice said: +"Was it a very long cigar?" + +The change of thought was so sharp that they had to look round +to see who had spoken. + +"I mean," said little Father Brown, from the corner of the +room, "I mean that cigar Mr. Brayne is finishing. It seems nearly +as long as a walking-stick." + +Despite the irrelevance there was assent as well as irritation +in Valentin's face as he lifted his head. + +"Quite right," he remarked sharply. "Ivan, go and see about +Mr. Brayne again, and bring him here at once." + +The instant the factotum had closed the door, Valentin +addressed the girl with an entirely new earnestness. + +"Lady Margaret," he said, "we all feel, I am sure, both +gratitude and admiration for your act in rising above your lower +dignity and explaining the Commandant's conduct. But there is a +hiatus still. Lord Galloway, I understand, met you passing from +the study to the drawing-room, and it was only some minutes +afterwards that he found the garden and the Commandant still +walking there." + +"You have to remember," replied Margaret, with a faint irony +in her voice, "that I had just refused him, so we should scarcely +have come back arm in arm. He is a gentleman, anyhow; and he +loitered behind--and so got charged with murder." + +"In those few moments," said Valentin gravely, "he might +really--" + +The knock came again, and Ivan put in his scarred face. + +"Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but Mr. Brayne has left the +house." + +"Left!" cried Valentin, and rose for the first time to his +feet. + +"Gone. Scooted. Evaporated," replied Ivan in humorous +French. "His hat and coat are gone, too, and I'll tell you +something to cap it all. I ran outside the house to find any +traces of him, and I found one, and a big trace, too." + +"What do you mean?" asked Valentin. + +"I'll show you," said his servant, and reappeared with a +flashing naked cavalry sabre, streaked with blood about the point +and edge. Everyone in the room eyed it as if it were a +thunderbolt; but the experienced Ivan went on quite quietly: + +"I found this," he said, "flung among the bushes fifty yards +up the road to Paris. In other words, I found it just where your +respectable Mr. Brayne threw it when he ran away." + +There was again a silence, but of a new sort. Valentin took +the sabre, examined it, reflected with unaffected concentration of +thought, and then turned a respectful face to O'Brien. +"Commandant," he said, "we trust you will always produce this +weapon if it is wanted for police examination. Meanwhile," he +added, slapping the steel back in the ringing scabbard, "let me +return you your sword." + +At the military symbolism of the action the audience could +hardly refrain from applause. + +For Neil O'Brien, indeed, that gesture was the turning-point +of existence. By the time he was wandering in the mysterious +garden again in the colours of the morning the tragic futility of +his ordinary mien had fallen from him; he was a man with many +reasons for happiness. Lord Galloway was a gentleman, and had +offered him an apology. Lady Margaret was something better than a +lady, a woman at least, and had perhaps given him something better +than an apology, as they drifted among the old flowerbeds before +breakfast. The whole company was more lighthearted and humane, +for though the riddle of the death remained, the load of suspicion +was lifted off them all, and sent flying off to Paris with the +strange millionaire--a man they hardly knew. The devil was cast +out of the house--he had cast himself out. + +Still, the riddle remained; and when O'Brien threw himself on +a garden seat beside Dr. Simon, that keenly scientific person at +once resumed it. He did not get much talk out of O'Brien, whose +thoughts were on pleasanter things. + +"I can't say it interests me much," said the Irishman frankly, +"especially as it seems pretty plain now. Apparently Brayne hated +this stranger for some reason; lured him into the garden, and +killed him with my sword. Then he fled to the city, tossing the +sword away as he went. By the way, Ivan tells me the dead man had +a Yankee dollar in his pocket. So he was a countryman of Brayne's, +and that seems to clinch it. I don't see any difficulties about +the business." + +"There are five colossal difficulties," said the doctor +quietly; "like high walls within walls. Don't mistake me. I +don't doubt that Brayne did it; his flight, I fancy, proves that. +But as to how he did it. First difficulty: Why should a man kill +another man with a great hulking sabre, when he can almost kill +him with a pocket knife and put it back in his pocket? Second +difficulty: Why was there no noise or outcry? Does a man commonly +see another come up waving a scimitar and offer no remarks? Third +difficulty: A servant watched the front door all the evening; and +a rat cannot get into Valentin's garden anywhere. How did the +dead man get into the garden? Fourth difficulty: Given the same +conditions, how did Brayne get out of the garden?" + +"And the fifth," said Neil, with eyes fixed on the English +priest who was coming slowly up the path. + +"Is a trifle, I suppose," said the doctor, "but I think an odd +one. When I first saw how the head had been slashed, I supposed +the assassin had struck more than once. But on examination I +found many cuts across the truncated section; in other words, they +were struck after the head was off. Did Brayne hate his foe so +fiendishly that he stood sabring his body in the moonlight?" + +"Horrible!" said O'Brien, and shuddered. + +The little priest, Brown, had arrived while they were talking, +and had waited, with characteristic shyness, till they had +finished. Then he said awkwardly: + +"I say, I'm sorry to interrupt. But I was sent to tell you +the news!" + +"News?" repeated Simon, and stared at him rather painfully +through his glasses. + +"Yes, I'm sorry," said Father Brown mildly. "There's been +another murder, you know." + +Both men on the seat sprang up, leaving it rocking. + +"And, what's stranger still," continued the priest, with his +dull eye on the rhododendrons, "it's the same disgusting sort; +it's another beheading. They found the second head actually +bleeding into the river, a few yards along Brayne's road to Paris; +so they suppose that he--" + +"Great Heaven!" cried O'Brien. "Is Brayne a monomaniac?" + +"There are American vendettas," said the priest impassively. +Then he added: "They want you to come to the library and see it." + +Commandant O'Brien followed the others towards the inquest, +feeling decidedly sick. As a soldier, he loathed all this +secretive carnage; where were these extravagant amputations going +to stop? First one head was hacked off, and then another; in this +case (he told himself bitterly) it was not true that two heads +were better than one. As he crossed the study he almost staggered +at a shocking coincidence. Upon Valentin's table lay the coloured +picture of yet a third bleeding head; and it was the head of +Valentin himself. A second glance showed him it was only a +Nationalist paper, called The Guillotine, which every week showed +one of its political opponents with rolling eyes and writhing +features just after execution; for Valentin was an anti-clerical +of some note. But O'Brien was an Irishman, with a kind of +chastity even in his sins; and his gorge rose against that great +brutality of the intellect which belongs only to France. He felt +Paris as a whole, from the grotesques on the Gothic churches to +the gross caricatures in the newspapers. He remembered the +gigantic jests of the Revolution. He saw the whole city as one +ugly energy, from the sanguinary sketch lying on Valentin's table +up to where, above a mountain and forest of gargoyles, the great +devil grins on Notre Dame. + +The library was long, low, and dark; what light entered it shot +from under low blinds and had still some of the ruddy tinge of +morning. Valentin and his servant Ivan were waiting for them at +the upper end of a long, slightly-sloping desk, on which lay the +mortal remains, looking enormous in the twilight. The big black +figure and yellow face of the man found in the garden confronted +them essentially unchanged. The second head, which had been +fished from among the river reeds that morning, lay streaming and +dripping beside it; Valentin's men were still seeking to recover +the rest of this second corpse, which was supposed to be afloat. +Father Brown, who did not seem to share O'Brien's sensibilities in +the least, went up to the second head and examined it with his +blinking care. It was little more than a mop of wet white hair, +fringed with silver fire in the red and level morning light; the +face, which seemed of an ugly, empurpled and perhaps criminal +type, had been much battered against trees or stones as it tossed +in the water. + +"Good morning, Commandant O'Brien," said Valentin, with quiet +cordiality. "You have heard of Brayne's last experiment in +butchery, I suppose?" + +Father Brown was still bending over the head with white hair, +and he said, without looking up: + +"I suppose it is quite certain that Brayne cut off this head, +too." + +"Well, it seems common sense," said Valentin, with his hands +in his pockets. "Killed in the same way as the other. Found +within a few yards of the other. And sliced by the same weapon +which we know he carried away." + +"Yes, yes; I know," replied Father Brown submissively. "Yet, +you know, I doubt whether Brayne could have cut off this head." + +"Why not?" inquired Dr. Simon, with a rational stare. + +"Well, doctor," said the priest, looking up blinking, "can a +man cut off his own head? I don't know." + +O'Brien felt an insane universe crashing about his ears; but +the doctor sprang forward with impetuous practicality and pushed +back the wet white hair. + +"Oh, there's no doubt it's Brayne," said the priest quietly. +"He had exactly that chip in the left ear." + +The detective, who had been regarding the priest with steady +and glittering eyes, opened his clenched mouth and said sharply: +"You seem to know a lot about him, Father Brown." + +"I do," said the little man simply. "I've been about with him +for some weeks. He was thinking of joining our church." + +The star of the fanatic sprang into Valentin's eyes; he strode +towards the priest with clenched hands. "And, perhaps," he cried, +with a blasting sneer, "perhaps he was also thinking of leaving +all his money to your church." + +"Perhaps he was," said Brown stolidly; "it is possible." + +"In that case," cried Valentin, with a dreadful smile, "you +may indeed know a great deal about him. About his life and about +his--" + +Commandant O'Brien laid a hand on Valentin's arm. "Drop that +slanderous rubbish, Valentin," he said, "or there may be more +swords yet." + +But Valentin (under the steady, humble gaze of the priest) had +already recovered himself. "Well," he said shortly, "people's +private opinions can wait. You gentlemen are still bound by your +promise to stay; you must enforce it on yourselves--and on each +other. Ivan here will tell you anything more you want to know; +I must get to business and write to the authorities. We can't +keep this quiet any longer. I shall be writing in my study if +there is any more news." + +"Is there any more news, Ivan?" asked Dr. Simon, as the chief +of police strode out of the room. + +"Only one more thing, I think, sir," said Ivan, wrinkling up +his grey old face, "but that's important, too, in its way. +There's that old buffer you found on the lawn," and he pointed +without pretence of reverence at the big black body with the +yellow head. "We've found out who he is, anyhow." + +"Indeed!" cried the astonished doctor, "and who is he?" + +"His name was Arnold Becker," said the under-detective, +"though he went by many aliases. He was a wandering sort of scamp, +and is known to have been in America; so that was where Brayne got +his knife into him. We didn't have much to do with him ourselves, +for he worked mostly in Germany. We've communicated, of course, +with the German police. But, oddly enough, there was a twin +brother of his, named Louis Becker, whom we had a great deal to do +with. In fact, we found it necessary to guillotine him only +yesterday. Well, it's a rum thing, gentlemen, but when I saw that +fellow flat on the lawn I had the greatest jump of my life. If I +hadn't seen Louis Becker guillotined with my own eyes, I'd have +sworn it was Louis Becker lying there in the grass. Then, of +course, I remembered his twin brother in Germany, and following up +the clue--" + +The explanatory Ivan stopped, for the excellent reason that +nobody was listening to him. The Commandant and the doctor were +both staring at Father Brown, who had sprung stiffly to his feet, +and was holding his temples tight like a man in sudden and violent +pain. + +"Stop, stop, stop!" he cried; "stop talking a minute, for I +see half. Will God give me strength? Will my brain make the one +jump and see all? Heaven help me! I used to be fairly good at +thinking. I could paraphrase any page in Aquinas once. Will my +head split--or will it see? I see half--I only see half." + +He buried his head in his hands, and stood in a sort of rigid +torture of thought or prayer, while the other three could only go +on staring at this last prodigy of their wild twelve hours. + +When Father Brown's hands fell they showed a face quite fresh +and serious, like a child's. He heaved a huge sigh, and said: +"Let us get this said and done with as quickly as possible. Look +here, this will be the quickest way to convince you all of the +truth." He turned to the doctor. "Dr. Simon," he said, "you have +a strong head-piece, and I heard you this morning asking the five +hardest questions about this business. Well, if you will ask them +again, I will answer them." + +Simon's pince-nez dropped from his nose in his doubt and +wonder, but he answered at once. "Well, the first question, you +know, is why a man should kill another with a clumsy sabre at all +when a man can kill with a bodkin?" + +"A man cannot behead with a bodkin," said Brown calmly, "and +for this murder beheading was absolutely necessary." + +"Why?" asked O'Brien, with interest. + +"And the next question?" asked Father Brown. + +"Well, why didn't the man cry out or anything?" asked the +doctor; "sabres in gardens are certainly unusual." + +"Twigs," said the priest gloomily, and turned to the window +which looked on the scene of death. "No one saw the point of the +twigs. Why should they lie on that lawn (look at it) so far from +any tree? They were not snapped off; they were chopped off. The +murderer occupied his enemy with some tricks with the sabre, +showing how he could cut a branch in mid-air, or what-not. Then, +while his enemy bent down to see the result, a silent slash, and +the head fell." + +"Well," said the doctor slowly, "that seems plausible enough. +But my next two questions will stump anyone." + +The priest still stood looking critically out of the window +and waited. + +"You know how all the garden was sealed up like an air-tight +chamber," went on the doctor. "Well, how did the strange man get +into the garden?" + +Without turning round, the little priest answered: "There +never was any strange man in the garden." + +There was a silence, and then a sudden cackle of almost +childish laughter relieved the strain. The absurdity of Brown's +remark moved Ivan to open taunts. + +"Oh!" he cried; "then we didn't lug a great fat corpse on to a +sofa last night? He hadn't got into the garden, I suppose?" + +"Got into the garden?" repeated Brown reflectively. "No, not +entirely." + +"Hang it all," cried Simon, "a man gets into a garden, or he +doesn't." + +"Not necessarily," said the priest, with a faint smile. "What +is the nest question, doctor?" + +"I fancy you're ill," exclaimed Dr. Simon sharply; "but I'll +ask the next question if you like. How did Brayne get out of the +garden?" + +"He didn't get out of the garden," said the priest, still +looking out of the window. + +"Didn't get out of the garden?" exploded Simon. + +"Not completely," said Father Brown. + +Simon shook his fists in a frenzy of French logic. "A man +gets out of a garden, or he doesn't," he cried. + +"Not always," said Father Brown. + +Dr. Simon sprang to his feet impatiently. "I have no time to +spare on such senseless talk," he cried angrily. "If you can't +understand a man being on one side of a wall or the other, I won't +trouble you further." + +"Doctor," said the cleric very gently, "we have always got on +very pleasantly together. If only for the sake of old friendship, +stop and tell me your fifth question." + +The impatient Simon sank into a chair by the door and said +briefly: "The head and shoulders were cut about in a queer way. +It seemed to be done after death." + +"Yes," said the motionless priest, "it was done so as to make +you assume exactly the one simple falsehood that you did assume. +It was done to make you take for granted that the head belonged to +the body." + +The borderland of the brain, where all the monsters are made, +moved horribly in the Gaelic O'Brien. He felt the chaotic +presence of all the horse-men and fish-women that man's unnatural +fancy has begotten. A voice older than his first fathers seemed +saying in his ear: "Keep out of the monstrous garden where grows +the tree with double fruit. Avoid the evil garden where died the +man with two heads." Yet, while these shameful symbolic shapes +passed across the ancient mirror of his Irish soul, his +Frenchified intellect was quite alert, and was watching the odd +priest as closely and incredulously as all the rest. + +Father Brown had turned round at last, and stood against the +window, with his face in dense shadow; but even in that shadow +they could see it was pale as ashes. Nevertheless, he spoke quite +sensibly, as if there were no Gaelic souls on earth. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "you did not find the strange body of +Becker in the garden. You did not find any strange body in the +garden. In face of Dr. Simon's rationalism, I still affirm that +Becker was only partly present. Look here!" (pointing to the +black bulk of the mysterious corpse) "you never saw that man in +your lives. Did you ever see this man?" + +He rapidly rolled away the bald, yellow head of the unknown, +and put in its place the white-maned head beside it. And there, +complete, unified, unmistakable, lay Julius K. Brayne. + +"The murderer," went on Brown quietly, "hacked off his enemy's +head and flung the sword far over the wall. But he was too clever +to fling the sword only. He flung the head over the wall also. +Then he had only to clap on another head to the corpse, and (as he +insisted on a private inquest) you all imagined a totally new +man." + +"Clap on another head!" said O'Brien staring. "What other +head? Heads don't grow on garden bushes, do they?" + +"No," said Father Brown huskily, and looking at his boots; +"there is only one place where they grow. They grow in the basket +of the guillotine, beside which the chief of police, Aristide +Valentin, was standing not an hour before the murder. Oh, my +friends, hear me a minute more before you tear me in pieces. +Valentin is an honest man, if being mad for an arguable cause is +honesty. But did you never see in that cold, grey eye of his that +he is mad! He would do anything, anything, to break what he calls +the superstition of the Cross. He has fought for it and starved +for it, and now he has murdered for it. Brayne's crazy millions +had hitherto been scattered among so many sects that they did +little to alter the balance of things. But Valentin heard a +whisper that Brayne, like so many scatter-brained sceptics, was +drifting to us; and that was quite a different thing. Brayne +would pour supplies into the impoverished and pugnacious Church of +France; he would support six Nationalist newspapers like The +Guillotine. The battle was already balanced on a point, and the +fanatic took flame at the risk. He resolved to destroy the +millionaire, and he did it as one would expect the greatest of +detectives to commit his only crime. He abstracted the severed +head of Becker on some criminological excuse, and took it home in +his official box. He had that last argument with Brayne, that +Lord Galloway did not hear the end of; that failing, he led him +out into the sealed garden, talked about swordsmanship, used twigs +and a sabre for illustration, and--" + +Ivan of the Scar sprang up. "You lunatic," he yelled; "you'll +go to my master now, if I take you by--" + +"Why, I was going there," said Brown heavily; "I must ask him +to confess, and all that." + +Driving the unhappy Brown before them like a hostage or +sacrifice, they rushed together into the sudden stillness of +Valentin's study. + +The great detective sat at his desk apparently too occupied to +hear their turbulent entrance. They paused a moment, and then +something in the look of that upright and elegant back made the +doctor run forward suddenly. A touch and a glance showed him that +there was a small box of pills at Valentin's elbow, and that +Valentin was dead in his chair; and on the blind face of the +suicide was more than the pride of Cato. + + + + The Queer Feet + +If you meet a member of that select club, "The Twelve True +Fishermen," entering the Vernon Hotel for the annual club dinner, +you will observe, as he takes off his overcoat, that his evening +coat is green and not black. If (supposing that you have the +star-defying audacity to address such a being) you ask him why, he +will probably answer that he does it to avoid being mistaken for a +waiter. You will then retire crushed. But you will leave behind +you a mystery as yet unsolved and a tale worth telling. + +If (to pursue the same vein of improbable conjecture) you were +to meet a mild, hard-working little priest, named Father Brown, +and were to ask him what he thought was the most singular luck of +his life, he would probably reply that upon the whole his best +stroke was at the Vernon Hotel, where he had averted a crime and, +perhaps, saved a soul, merely by listening to a few footsteps in a +passage. He is perhaps a little proud of this wild and wonderful +guess of his, and it is possible that he might refer to it. But +since it is immeasurably unlikely that you will ever rise high +enough in the social world to find "The Twelve True Fishermen," or +that you will ever sink low enough among slums and criminals to +find Father Brown, I fear you will never hear the story at all +unless you hear it from me. + +The Vernon Hotel at which The Twelve True Fishermen held their +annual dinners was an institution such as can only exist in an +oligarchical society which has almost gone mad on good manners. +It was that topsy-turvy product--an "exclusive" commercial +enterprise. That is, it was a thing which paid not by attracting +people, but actually by turning people away. In the heart of a +plutocracy tradesmen become cunning enough to be more fastidious +than their customers. They positively create difficulties so that +their wealthy and weary clients may spend money and diplomacy in +overcoming them. If there were a fashionable hotel in London +which no man could enter who was under six foot, society would +meekly make up parties of six-foot men to dine in it. If there +were an expensive restaurant which by a mere caprice of its +proprietor was only open on Thursday afternoon, it would be +crowded on Thursday afternoon. The Vernon Hotel stood, as if by +accident, in the corner of a square in Belgravia. It was a small +hotel; and a very inconvenient one. But its very inconveniences +were considered as walls protecting a particular class. One +inconvenience, in particular, was held to be of vital importance: +the fact that practically only twenty-four people could dine in +the place at once. The only big dinner table was the celebrated +terrace table, which stood open to the air on a sort of veranda +overlooking one of the most exquisite old gardens in London. Thus +it happened that even the twenty-four seats at this table could +only be enjoyed in warm weather; and this making the enjoyment yet +more difficult made it yet more desired. The existing owner of +the hotel was a Jew named Lever; and he made nearly a million out +of it, by making it difficult to get into. Of course he combined +with this limitation in the scope of his enterprise the most +careful polish in its performance. The wines and cooking were +really as good as any in Europe, and the demeanour of the +attendants exactly mirrored the fixed mood of the English upper +class. The proprietor knew all his waiters like the fingers on +his hand; there were only fifteen of them all told. It was much +easier to become a Member of Parliament than to become a waiter in +that hotel. Each waiter was trained in terrible silence and +smoothness, as if he were a gentleman's servant. And, indeed, +there was generally at least one waiter to every gentleman who +dined. + +The club of The Twelve True Fishermen would not have consented +to dine anywhere but in such a place, for it insisted on a +luxurious privacy; and would have been quite upset by the mere +thought that any other club was even dining in the same building. +On the occasion of their annual dinner the Fishermen were in the +habit of exposing all their treasures, as if they were in a +private house, especially the celebrated set of fish knives and +forks which were, as it were, the insignia of the society, each +being exquisitely wrought in silver in the form of a fish, and +each loaded at the hilt with one large pearl. These were always +laid out for the fish course, and the fish course was always the +most magnificent in that magnificent repast. The society had a +vast number of ceremonies and observances, but it had no history +and no object; that was where it was so very aristocratic. You +did not have to be anything in order to be one of the Twelve +Fishers; unless you were already a certain sort of person, you +never even heard of them. It had been in existence twelve years. +Its president was Mr. Audley. Its vice-president was the Duke of +Chester. + +If I have in any degree conveyed the atmosphere of this +appalling hotel, the reader may feel a natural wonder as to how I +came to know anything about it, and may even speculate as to how +so ordinary a person as my friend Father Brown came to find himself +in that golden galley. As far as that is concerned, my story is +simple, or even vulgar. There is in the world a very aged rioter +and demagogue who breaks into the most refined retreats with the +dreadful information that all men are brothers, and wherever this +leveller went on his pale horse it was Father Brown's trade to +follow. One of the waiters, an Italian, had been struck down with +a paralytic stroke that afternoon; and his Jewish employer, +marvelling mildly at such superstitions, had consented to send for +the nearest Popish priest. With what the waiter confessed to +Father Brown we are not concerned, for the excellent reason that +that cleric kept it to himself; but apparently it involved him in +writing out a note or statement for the conveying of some message +or the righting of some wrong. Father Brown, therefore, with a +meek impudence which he would have shown equally in Buckingham +Palace, asked to be provided with a room and writing materials. +Mr. Lever was torn in two. He was a kind man, and had also that +bad imitation of kindness, the dislike of any difficulty or scene. +At the same time the presence of one unusual stranger in his hotel +that evening was like a speck of dirt on something just cleaned. +There was never any borderland or anteroom in the Vernon Hotel, no +people waiting in the hall, no customers coming in on chance. +There were fifteen waiters. There were twelve guests. It would +be as startling to find a new guest in the hotel that night as to +find a new brother taking breakfast or tea in one's own family. +Moreover, the priest's appearance was second-rate and his clothes +muddy; a mere glimpse of him afar off might precipitate a crisis +in the club. Mr. Lever at last hit on a plan to cover, since he +might not obliterate, the disgrace. When you enter (as you never +will) the Vernon Hotel, you pass down a short passage decorated +with a few dingy but important pictures, and come to the main +vestibule and lounge which opens on your right into passages +leading to the public rooms, and on your left to a similar passage +pointing to the kitchens and offices of the hotel. Immediately on +your left hand is the corner of a glass office, which abuts upon +the lounge--a house within a house, so to speak, like the old +hotel bar which probably once occupied its place. + +In this office sat the representative of the proprietor +(nobody in this place ever appeared in person if he could help +it), and just beyond the office, on the way to the servants' +quarters, was the gentlemen's cloak room, the last boundary of the +gentlemen's domain. But between the office and the cloak room was +a small private room without other outlet, sometimes used by the +proprietor for delicate and important matters, such as lending a +duke a thousand pounds or declining to lend him sixpence. It is a +mark of the magnificent tolerance of Mr. Lever that he permitted +this holy place to be for about half an hour profaned by a mere +priest, scribbling away on a piece of paper. The story which +Father Brown was writing down was very likely a much better story +than this one, only it will never be known. I can merely state +that it was very nearly as long, and that the last two or three +paragraphs of it were the least exciting and absorbing. + +For it was by the time that he had reached these that the +priest began a little to allow his thoughts to wander and his +animal senses, which were commonly keen, to awaken. The time of +darkness and dinner was drawing on; his own forgotten little room +was without a light, and perhaps the gathering gloom, as +occasionally happens, sharpened the sense of sound. As Father +Brown wrote the last and least essential part of his document, he +caught himself writing to the rhythm of a recurrent noise outside, +just as one sometimes thinks to the tune of a railway train. When +he became conscious of the thing he found what it was: only the +ordinary patter of feet passing the door, which in an hotel was no +very unlikely matter. Nevertheless, he stared at the darkened +ceiling, and listened to the sound. After he had listened for a +few seconds dreamily, he got to his feet and listened intently, +with his head a little on one side. Then he sat down again and +buried his brow in his hands, now not merely listening, but +listening and thinking also. + +The footsteps outside at any given moment were such as one +might hear in any hotel; and yet, taken as a whole, there was +something very strange about them. There were no other footsteps. +It was always a very silent house, for the few familiar guests +went at once to their own apartments, and the well-trained waiters +were told to be almost invisible until they were wanted. One +could not conceive any place where there was less reason to +apprehend anything irregular. But these footsteps were so odd +that one could not decide to call them regular or irregular. +Father Brown followed them with his finger on the edge of the +table, like a man trying to learn a tune on the piano. + +First, there came a long rush of rapid little steps, such as a +light man might make in winning a walking race. At a certain +point they stopped and changed to a sort of slow, swinging stamp, +numbering not a quarter of the steps, but occupying about the same +time. The moment the last echoing stamp had died away would come +again the run or ripple of light, hurrying feet, and then again +the thud of the heavier walking. It was certainly the same pair +of boots, partly because (as has been said) there were no other +boots about, and partly because they had a small but unmistakable +creak in them. Father Brown had the kind of head that cannot help +asking questions; and on this apparently trivial question his head +almost split. He had seen men run in order to jump. He had seen +men run in order to slide. But why on earth should a man run in +order to walk? Or, again, why should he walk in order to run? +Yet no other description would cover the antics of this invisible +pair of legs. The man was either walking very fast down one-half +of the corridor in order to walk very slow down the other half; or +he was walking very slow at one end to have the rapture of walking +fast at the other. Neither suggestion seemed to make much sense. +His brain was growing darker and darker, like his room. + +Yet, as he began to think steadily, the very blackness of his +cell seemed to make his thoughts more vivid; he began to see as in +a kind of vision the fantastic feet capering along the corridor in +unnatural or symbolic attitudes. Was it a heathen religious dance? +Or some entirely new kind of scientific exercise? Father Brown +began to ask himself with more exactness what the steps suggested. +Taking the slow step first: it certainly was not the step of the +proprietor. Men of his type walk with a rapid waddle, or they sit +still. It could not be any servant or messenger waiting for +directions. It did not sound like it. The poorer orders (in an +oligarchy) sometimes lurch about when they are slightly drunk, but +generally, and especially in such gorgeous scenes, they stand or +sit in constrained attitudes. No; that heavy yet springy step, +with a kind of careless emphasis, not specially noisy, yet not +caring what noise it made, belonged to only one of the animals of +this earth. It was a gentleman of western Europe, and probably +one who had never worked for his living. + +Just as he came to this solid certainty, the step changed to +the quicker one, and ran past the door as feverishly as a rat. +The listener remarked that though this step was much swifter it +was also much more noiseless, almost as if the man were walking on +tiptoe. Yet it was not associated in his mind with secrecy, but +with something else--something that he could not remember. He +was maddened by one of those half-memories that make a man feel +half-witted. Surely he had heard that strange, swift walking +somewhere. Suddenly he sprang to his feet with a new idea in his +head, and walked to the door. His room had no direct outlet on +the passage, but let on one side into the glass office, and on the +other into the cloak room beyond. He tried the door into the +office, and found it locked. Then he looked at the window, now a +square pane full of purple cloud cleft by livid sunset, and for an +instant he smelt evil as a dog smells rats. + +The rational part of him (whether the wiser or not) regained +its supremacy. He remembered that the proprietor had told him +that he should lock the door, and would come later to release him. +He told himself that twenty things he had not thought of might +explain the eccentric sounds outside; he reminded himself that +there was just enough light left to finish his own proper work. +Bringing his paper to the window so as to catch the last stormy +evening light, he resolutely plunged once more into the almost +completed record. He had written for about twenty minutes, bending +closer and closer to his paper in the lessening light; then +suddenly he sat upright. He had heard the strange feet once more. + +This time they had a third oddity. Previously the unknown man +had walked, with levity indeed and lightning quickness, but he had +walked. This time he ran. One could hear the swift, soft, +bounding steps coming along the corridor, like the pads of a +fleeing and leaping panther. Whoever was coming was a very strong, +active man, in still yet tearing excitement. Yet, when the sound +had swept up to the office like a sort of whispering whirlwind, it +suddenly changed again to the old slow, swaggering stamp. + +Father Brown flung down his paper, and, knowing the office door +to be locked, went at once into the cloak room on the other side. +The attendant of this place was temporarily absent, probably +because the only guests were at dinner and his office was a +sinecure. After groping through a grey forest of overcoats, he +found that the dim cloak room opened on the lighted corridor in +the form of a sort of counter or half-door, like most of the +counters across which we have all handed umbrellas and received +tickets. There was a light immediately above the semicircular arch +of this opening. It threw little illumination on Father Brown +himself, who seemed a mere dark outline against the dim sunset +window behind him. But it threw an almost theatrical light on the +man who stood outside the cloak room in the corridor. + +He was an elegant man in very plain evening dress; tall, but +with an air of not taking up much room; one felt that he could +have slid along like a shadow where many smaller men would have +been obvious and obstructive. His face, now flung back in the +lamplight, was swarthy and vivacious, the face of a foreigner. +His figure was good, his manners good humoured and confident; a +critic could only say that his black coat was a shade below his +figure and manners, and even bulged and bagged in an odd way. The +moment he caught sight of Brown's black silhouette against the +sunset, he tossed down a scrap of paper with a number and called +out with amiable authority: "I want my hat and coat, please; I +find I have to go away at once." + +Father Brown took the paper without a word, and obediently +went to look for the coat; it was not the first menial work he had +done in his life. He brought it and laid it on the counter; +meanwhile, the strange gentleman who had been feeling in his +waistcoat pocket, said laughing: "I haven't got any silver; you +can keep this." And he threw down half a sovereign, and caught up +his coat. + +Father Brown's figure remained quite dark and still; but in +that instant he had lost his head. His head was always most +valuable when he had lost it. In such moments he put two and two +together and made four million. Often the Catholic Church (which +is wedded to common sense) did not approve of it. Often he did not +approve of it himself. But it was real inspiration--important +at rare crises--when whosoever shall lose his head the same shall +save it. + +"I think, sir," he said civilly, "that you have some silver in +your pocket." + +The tall gentleman stared. "Hang it," he cried, "if I choose +to give you gold, why should you complain?" + +"Because silver is sometimes more valuable than gold," said +the priest mildly; "that is, in large quantities." + +The stranger looked at him curiously. Then he looked still +more curiously up the passage towards the main entrance. Then he +looked back at Brown again, and then he looked very carefully at +the window beyond Brown's head, still coloured with the after-glow +of the storm. Then he seemed to make up his mind. He put one hand +on the counter, vaulted over as easily as an acrobat and towered +above the priest, putting one tremendous hand upon his collar. + +"Stand still," he said, in a hacking whisper. "I don't want +to threaten you, but--" + +"I do want to threaten you," said Father Brown, in a voice +like a rolling drum, "I want to threaten you with the worm that +dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched." + +"You're a rum sort of cloak-room clerk," said the other. + +"I am a priest, Monsieur Flambeau," said Brown, "and I am +ready to hear your confession." + +The other stood gasping for a few moments, and then staggered +back into a chair. + +The first two courses of the dinner of The Twelve True +Fishermen had proceeded with placid success. I do not possess a +copy of the menu; and if I did it would not convey anything to +anybody. It was written in a sort of super-French employed by +cooks, but quite unintelligible to Frenchmen. There was a +tradition in the club that the hors d'oeuvres should be various +and manifold to the point of madness. They were taken seriously +because they were avowedly useless extras, like the whole dinner +and the whole club. There was also a tradition that the soup +course should be light and unpretending--a sort of simple and +austere vigil for the feast of fish that was to come. The talk +was that strange, slight talk which governs the British Empire, +which governs it in secret, and yet would scarcely enlighten an +ordinary Englishman even if he could overhear it. Cabinet +ministers on both sides were alluded to by their Christian names +with a sort of bored benignity. The Radical Chancellor of the +Exchequer, whom the whole Tory party was supposed to be cursing +for his extortions, was praised for his minor poetry, or his saddle +in the hunting field. The Tory leader, whom all Liberals were +supposed to hate as a tyrant, was discussed and, on the whole, +praised--as a Liberal. It seemed somehow that politicians were +very important. And yet, anything seemed important about them +except their politics. Mr. Audley, the chairman, was an amiable, +elderly man who still wore Gladstone collars; he was a kind of +symbol of all that phantasmal and yet fixed society. He had never +done anything--not even anything wrong. He was not fast; he was +not even particularly rich. He was simply in the thing; and there +was an end of it. No party could ignore him, and if he had wished +to be in the Cabinet he certainly would have been put there. The +Duke of Chester, the vice-president, was a young and rising +politician. That is to say, he was a pleasant youth, with flat, +fair hair and a freckled face, with moderate intelligence and +enormous estates. In public his appearances were always +successful and his principle was simple enough. When he thought +of a joke he made it, and was called brilliant. When he could not +think of a joke he said that this was no time for trifling, and +was called able. In private, in a club of his own class, he was +simply quite pleasantly frank and silly, like a schoolboy. Mr. +Audley, never having been in politics, treated them a little more +seriously. Sometimes he even embarrassed the company by phrases +suggesting that there was some difference between a Liberal and a +Conservative. He himself was a Conservative, even in private +life. He had a roll of grey hair over the back of his collar, +like certain old-fashioned statesmen, and seen from behind he +looked like the man the empire wants. Seen from the front he +looked like a mild, self-indulgent bachelor, with rooms in the +Albany--which he was. + +As has been remarked, there were twenty-four seats at the +terrace table, and only twelve members of the club. Thus they +could occupy the terrace in the most luxurious style of all, being +ranged along the inner side of the table, with no one opposite, +commanding an uninterrupted view of the garden, the colours of +which were still vivid, though evening was closing in somewhat +luridly for the time of year. The chairman sat in the centre of +the line, and the vice-president at the right-hand end of it. +When the twelve guests first trooped into their seats it was the +custom (for some unknown reason) for all the fifteen waiters to +stand lining the wall like troops presenting arms to the king, +while the fat proprietor stood and bowed to the club with radiant +surprise, as if he had never heard of them before. But before the +first chink of knife and fork this army of retainers had vanished, +only the one or two required to collect and distribute the plates +darting about in deathly silence. Mr. Lever, the proprietor, of +course had disappeared in convulsions of courtesy long before. It +would be exaggerative, indeed irreverent, to say that he ever +positively appeared again. But when the important course, the fish +course, was being brought on, there was--how shall I put it? -- +a vivid shadow, a projection of his personality, which told that +he was hovering near. The sacred fish course consisted (to the +eyes of the vulgar) in a sort of monstrous pudding, about the size +and shape of a wedding cake, in which some considerable number of +interesting fishes had finally lost the shapes which God had given +to them. The Twelve True Fishermen took up their celebrated fish +knives and fish forks, and approached it as gravely as if every +inch of the pudding cost as much as the silver fork it was eaten +with. So it did, for all I know. This course was dealt with in +eager and devouring silence; and it was only when his plate was +nearly empty that the young duke made the ritual remark: "They +can't do this anywhere but here." + +"Nowhere," said Mr. Audley, in a deep bass voice, turning to +the speaker and nodding his venerable head a number of times. +"Nowhere, assuredly, except here. It was represented to me that +at the Cafe Anglais--" + +Here he was interrupted and even agitated for a moment by the +removal of his plate, but he recaptured the valuable thread of his +thoughts. "It was represented to me that the same could be done +at the Cafe Anglais. Nothing like it, sir," he said, shaking his +head ruthlessly, like a hanging judge. "Nothing like it." + +"Overrated place," said a certain Colonel Pound, speaking (by +the look of him) for the first time for some months. + +"Oh, I don't know," said the Duke of Chester, who was an +optimist, "it's jolly good for some things. You can't beat it +at--" + +A waiter came swiftly along the room, and then stopped dead. +His stoppage was as silent as his tread; but all those vague and +kindly gentlemen were so used to the utter smoothness of the +unseen machinery which surrounded and supported their lives, that +a waiter doing anything unexpected was a start and a jar. They +felt as you and I would feel if the inanimate world disobeyed-- +if a chair ran away from us. + +The waiter stood staring a few seconds, while there deepened +on every face at table a strange shame which is wholly the product +of our time. It is the combination of modern humanitarianism with +the horrible modern abyss between the souls of the rich and poor. +A genuine historic aristocrat would have thrown things at the +waiter, beginning with empty bottles, and very probably ending +with money. A genuine democrat would have asked him, with +comrade-like clearness of speech, what the devil he was doing. +But these modern plutocrats could not bear a poor man near to +them, either as a slave or as a friend. That something had gone +wrong with the servants was merely a dull, hot embarrassment. +They did not want to be brutal, and they dreaded the need to be +benevolent. They wanted the thing, whatever it was, to be over. +It was over. The waiter, after standing for some seconds rigid, +like a cataleptic, turned round and ran madly out of the room. + +When he reappeared in the room, or rather in the doorway, it +was in company with another waiter, with whom he whispered and +gesticulated with southern fierceness. Then the first waiter went +away, leaving the second waiter, and reappeared with a third +waiter. By the time a fourth waiter had joined this hurried +synod, Mr. Audley felt it necessary to break the silence in the +interests of Tact. He used a very loud cough, instead of a +presidential hammer, and said: "Splendid work young Moocher's +doing in Burmah. Now, no other nation in the world could have--" + +A fifth waiter had sped towards him like an arrow, and was +whispering in his ear: "So sorry. Important! Might the proprietor +speak to you?" + +The chairman turned in disorder, and with a dazed stare saw +Mr. Lever coming towards them with his lumbering quickness. The +gait of the good proprietor was indeed his usual gait, but his +face was by no means usual. Generally it was a genial +copper-brown; now it was a sickly yellow. + +"You will pardon me, Mr. Audley," he said, with asthmatic +breathlessness. "I have great apprehensions. Your fish-plates, +they are cleared away with the knife and fork on them!" + +"Well, I hope so," said the chairman, with some warmth. + +"You see him?" panted the excited hotel keeper; "you see the +waiter who took them away? You know him?" + +"Know the waiter?" answered Mr. Audley indignantly. "Certainly +not!" + +Mr. Lever opened his hands with a gesture of agony. "I never +send him," he said. "I know not when or why he come. I send my +waiter to take away the plates, and he find them already away." + +Mr. Audley still looked rather too bewildered to be really the +man the empire wants; none of the company could say anything except +the man of wood--Colonel Pound--who seemed galvanised into an +unnatural life. He rose rigidly from his chair, leaving all the +rest sitting, screwed his eyeglass into his eye, and spoke in a +raucous undertone as if he had half-forgotten how to speak. "Do +you mean," he said, "that somebody has stolen our silver fish +service?" + +The proprietor repeated the open-handed gesture with even +greater helplessness and in a flash all the men at the table were +on their feet. + +"Are all your waiters here?" demanded the colonel, in his low, +harsh accent. + +"Yes; they're all here. I noticed it myself," cried the young +duke, pushing his boyish face into the inmost ring. "Always count +'em as I come in; they look so queer standing up against the wall." + +"But surely one cannot exactly remember," began Mr. Audley, +with heavy hesitation. + +"I remember exactly, I tell you," cried the duke excitedly. +"There never have been more than fifteen waiters at this place, +and there were no more than fifteen tonight, I'll swear; no more +and no less." + +The proprietor turned upon him, quaking in a kind of palsy of +surprise. "You say--you say," he stammered, "that you see all +my fifteen waiters?" + +"As usual," assented the duke. "What is the matter with that!" + +"Nothing," said Lever, with a deepening accent, "only you did +not. For one of zem is dead upstairs." + +There was a shocking stillness for an instant in that room. +It may be (so supernatural is the word death) that each of those +idle men looked for a second at his soul, and saw it as a small +dried pea. One of them--the duke, I think--even said with the +idiotic kindness of wealth: "Is there anything we can do?" + +"He has had a priest," said the Jew, not untouched. + +Then, as to the clang of doom, they awoke to their own +position. For a few weird seconds they had really felt as if the +fifteenth waiter might be the ghost of the dead man upstairs. +They had been dumb under that oppression, for ghosts were to them +an embarrassment, like beggars. But the remembrance of the silver +broke the spell of the miraculous; broke it abruptly and with a +brutal reaction. The colonel flung over his chair and strode to +the door. "If there was a fifteenth man here, friends," he said, +"that fifteenth fellow was a thief. Down at once to the front and +back doors and secure everything; then we'll talk. The twenty-four +pearls of the club are worth recovering." + +Mr. Audley seemed at first to hesitate about whether it was +gentlemanly to be in such a hurry about anything; but, seeing the +duke dash down the stairs with youthful energy, he followed with a +more mature motion. + +At the same instant a sixth waiter ran into the room, and +declared that he had found the pile of fish plates on a sideboard, +with no trace of the silver. + +The crowd of diners and attendants that tumbled helter-skelter +down the passages divided into two groups. Most of the Fishermen +followed the proprietor to the front room to demand news of any +exit. Colonel Pound, with the chairman, the vice-president, and +one or two others darted down the corridor leading to the servants' +quarters, as the more likely line of escape. As they did so they +passed the dim alcove or cavern of the cloak room, and saw a +short, black-coated figure, presumably an attendant, standing a +little way back in the shadow of it. + +"Hallo, there!" called out the duke. "Have you seen anyone +pass?" + +The short figure did not answer the question directly, but +merely said: "Perhaps I have got what you are looking for, +gentlemen." + +They paused, wavering and wondering, while he quietly went to +the back of the cloak room, and came back with both hands full of +shining silver, which he laid out on the counter as calmly as a +salesman. It took the form of a dozen quaintly shaped forks and +knives. + +"You--you--" began the colonel, quite thrown off his +balance at last. Then he peered into the dim little room and saw +two things: first, that the short, black-clad man was dressed like +a clergyman; and, second, that the window of the room behind him +was burst, as if someone had passed violently through. "Valuable +things to deposit in a cloak room, aren't they?" remarked the +clergyman, with cheerful composure. + +"Did--did you steal those things?" stammered Mr. Audley, +with staring eyes. + +"If I did," said the cleric pleasantly, "at least I am bringing +them back again." + +"But you didn't," said Colonel Pound, still staring at the +broken window. + +"To make a clean breast of it, I didn't," said the other, with +some humour. And he seated himself quite gravely on a stool. +"But you know who did," said the, colonel. + +"I don't know his real name," said the priest placidly, "but I +know something of his fighting weight, and a great deal about his +spiritual difficulties. I formed the physical estimate when he was +trying to throttle me, and the moral estimate when he repented." + +"Oh, I say--repented!" cried young Chester, with a sort +of crow of laughter. + +Father Brown got to his feet, putting his hands behind him. +"Odd, isn't it," he said, "that a thief and a vagabond should +repent, when so many who are rich and secure remain hard and +frivolous, and without fruit for God or man? But there, if you +will excuse me, you trespass a little upon my province. If you +doubt the penitence as a practical fact, there are your knives and +forks. You are The Twelve True Fishers, and there are all your +silver fish. But He has made me a fisher of men." + +"Did you catch this man?" asked the colonel, frowning. + +Father Brown looked him full in his frowning face. "Yes," he +said, "I caught him, with an unseen hook and an invisible line +which is long enough to let him wander to the ends of the world, +and still to bring him back with a twitch upon the thread." + +There was a long silence. All the other men present drifted +away to carry the recovered silver to their comrades, or to consult +the proprietor about the queer condition of affairs. But the +grim-faced colonel still sat sideways on the counter, swinging his +long, lank legs and biting his dark moustache. + +At last he said quietly to the priest: "He must have been a +clever fellow, but I think I know a cleverer." + +"He was a clever fellow," answered the other, "but I am not +quite sure of what other you mean." + +"I mean you," said the colonel, with a short laugh. "I don't +want to get the fellow jailed; make yourself easy about that. But +I'd give a good many silver forks to know exactly how you fell +into this affair, and how you got the stuff out of him. I reckon +you're the most up-to-date devil of the present company." + +Father Brown seemed rather to like the saturnine candour of +the soldier. "Well," he said, smiling, "I mustn't tell you +anything of the man's identity, or his own story, of course; but +there's no particular reason why I shouldn't tell you of the mere +outside facts which I found out for myself." + +He hopped over the barrier with unexpected activity, and sat +beside Colonel Pound, kicking his short legs like a little boy on +a gate. He began to tell the story as easily as if he were +telling it to an old friend by a Christmas fire. + +"You see, colonel," he said, "I was shut up in that small room +there doing some writing, when I heard a pair of feet in this +passage doing a dance that was as queer as the dance of death. +First came quick, funny little steps, like a man walking on tiptoe +for a wager; then came slow, careless, creaking steps, as of a big +man walking about with a cigar. But they were both made by the +same feet, I swear, and they came in rotation; first the run and +then the walk, and then the run again. I wondered at first idly +and then wildly why a man should act these two parts at once. One +walk I knew; it was just like yours, colonel. It was the walk of +a well-fed gentleman waiting for something, who strolls about +rather because he is physically alert than because he is mentally +impatient. I knew that I knew the other walk, too, but I could +not remember what it was. What wild creature had I met on my +travels that tore along on tiptoe in that extraordinary style? +Then I heard a clink of plates somewhere; and the answer stood up +as plain as St. Peter's. It was the walk of a waiter--that walk +with the body slanted forward, the eyes looking down, the ball of +the toe spurning away the ground, the coat tails and napkin flying. +Then I thought for a minute and a half more. And I believe I saw +the manner of the crime, as clearly as if I were going to commit +it." + +Colonel Pound looked at him keenly, but the speaker's mild grey +eyes were fixed upon the ceiling with almost empty wistfulness. + +"A crime," he said slowly, "is like any other work of art. +Don't look surprised; crimes are by no means the only works of art +that come from an infernal workshop. But every work of art, divine +or diabolic, has one indispensable mark--I mean, that the centre +of it is simple, however much the fulfilment may be complicated. +Thus, in Hamlet, let us say, the grotesqueness of the grave-digger, +the flowers of the mad girl, the fantastic finery of Osric, the +pallor of the ghost and the grin of the skull are all oddities in +a sort of tangled wreath round one plain tragic figure of a man in +black. Well, this also," he said, getting slowly down from his +seat with a smile, "this also is the plain tragedy of a man in +black. Yes," he went on, seeing the colonel look up in some +wonder, "the whole of this tale turns on a black coat. In this, +as in Hamlet, there are the rococo excrescences--yourselves, let +us say. There is the dead waiter, who was there when he could not +be there. There is the invisible hand that swept your table clear +of silver and melted into air. But every clever crime is founded +ultimately on some one quite simple fact--some fact that is not +itself mysterious. The mystification comes in covering it up, in +leading men's thoughts away from it. This large and subtle and +(in the ordinary course) most profitable crime, was built on the +plain fact that a gentleman's evening dress is the same as a +waiter's. All the rest was acting, and thundering good acting, +too." + +"Still," said the colonel, getting up and frowning at his +boots, "I am not sure that I understand." + +"Colonel," said Father Brown, "I tell you that this archangel +of impudence who stole your forks walked up and down this passage +twenty times in the blaze of all the lamps, in the glare of all +the eyes. He did not go and hide in dim corners where suspicion +might have searched for him. He kept constantly on the move in +the lighted corridors, and everywhere that he went he seemed to be +there by right. Don't ask me what he was like; you have seen him +yourself six or seven times tonight. You were waiting with all +the other grand people in the reception room at the end of the +passage there, with the terrace just beyond. Whenever he came +among you gentlemen, he came in the lightning style of a waiter, +with bent head, flapping napkin and flying feet. He shot out on +to the terrace, did something to the table cloth, and shot back +again towards the office and the waiters' quarters. By the time +he had come under the eye of the office clerk and the waiters he +had become another man in every inch of his body, in every +instinctive gesture. He strolled among the servants with the +absent-minded insolence which they have all seen in their patrons. +It was no new thing to them that a swell from the dinner party +should pace all parts of the house like an animal at the Zoo; they +know that nothing marks the Smart Set more than a habit of walking +where one chooses. When he was magnificently weary of walking +down that particular passage he would wheel round and pace back +past the office; in the shadow of the arch just beyond he was +altered as by a blast of magic, and went hurrying forward again +among the Twelve Fishermen, an obsequious attendant. Why should +the gentlemen look at a chance waiter? Why should the waiters +suspect a first-rate walking gentleman? Once or twice he played +the coolest tricks. In the proprietor's private quarters he +called out breezily for a syphon of soda water, saying he was +thirsty. He said genially that he would carry it himself, and he +did; he carried it quickly and correctly through the thick of you, +a waiter with an obvious errand. Of course, it could not have +been kept up long, but it only had to be kept up till the end of +the fish course. + +"His worst moment was when the waiters stood in a row; but +even then he contrived to lean against the wall just round the +corner in such a way that for that important instant the waiters +thought him a gentleman, while the gentlemen thought him a waiter. +The rest went like winking. If any waiter caught him away from +the table, that waiter caught a languid aristocrat. He had only +to time himself two minutes before the fish was cleared, become a +swift servant, and clear it himself. He put the plates down on a +sideboard, stuffed the silver in his breast pocket, giving it a +bulgy look, and ran like a hare (I heard him coming) till he came +to the cloak room. There he had only to be a plutocrat again--a +plutocrat called away suddenly on business. He had only to give +his ticket to the cloak-room attendant, and go out again elegantly +as he had come in. Only--only I happened to be the cloak-room +attendant." + +"What did you do to him?" cried the colonel, with unusual +intensity. "What did he tell you?" + +"I beg your pardon," said the priest immovably, "that is where +the story ends." + +"And the interesting story begins," muttered Pound. "I think +I understand his professional trick. But I don't seem to have got +hold of yours." + +"I must be going," said Father Brown. + +They walked together along the passage to the entrance hall, +where they saw the fresh, freckled face of the Duke of Chester, +who was bounding buoyantly along towards them. + +"Come along, Pound," he cried breathlessly. "I've been looking +for you everywhere. The dinner's going again in spanking style, +and old Audley has got to make a speech in honour of the forks +being saved. We want to start some new ceremony, don't you know, +to commemorate the occasion. I say, you really got the goods back, +what do you suggest?" + +"Why," said the colonel, eyeing him with a certain sardonic +approval, "I should suggest that henceforward we wear green coats, +instead of black. One never knows what mistakes may arise when +one looks so like a waiter." + +"Oh, hang it all!" said the young man, "a gentleman never looks +like a waiter." + +"Nor a waiter like a gentleman, I suppose," said Colonel Pound, +with the same lowering laughter on his face. "Reverend sir, your +friend must have been very smart to act the gentleman." + +Father Brown buttoned up his commonplace overcoat to the neck, +for the night was stormy, and took his commonplace umbrella from +the stand. + +"Yes," he said; "it must be very hard work to be a gentleman; +but, do you know, I have sometimes thought that it may be almost +as laborious to be a waiter." + +And saying "Good evening," he pushed open the heavy doors of +that palace of pleasures. The golden gates closed behind him, and +he went at a brisk walk through the damp, dark streets in search +of a penny omnibus. + + + + The Flying Stars + +"The most beautiful crime I ever committed," Flambeau would say in +his highly moral old age, "was also, by a singular coincidence, my +last. It was committed at Christmas. As an artist I had always +attempted to provide crimes suitable to the special season or +landscapes in which I found myself, choosing this or that terrace +or garden for a catastrophe, as if for a statuary group. Thus +squires should be swindled in long rooms panelled with oak; while +Jews, on the other hand, should rather find themselves unexpectedly +penniless among the lights and screens of the Cafe Riche. Thus, +in England, if I wished to relieve a dean of his riches (which is +not so easy as you might suppose), I wished to frame him, if I +make myself clear, in the green lawns and grey towers of some +cathedral town. Similarly, in France, when I had got money out of +a rich and wicked peasant (which is almost impossible), it +gratified me to get his indignant head relieved against a grey +line of clipped poplars, and those solemn plains of Gaul over +which broods the mighty spirit of Millet. + +"Well, my last crime was a Christmas crime, a cheery, cosy, +English middle-class crime; a crime of Charles Dickens. I did it +in a good old middle-class house near Putney, a house with a +crescent of carriage drive, a house with a stable by the side of +it, a house with the name on the two outer gates, a house with a +monkey tree. Enough, you know the species. I really think my +imitation of Dickens's style was dexterous and literary. It seems +almost a pity I repented the same evening." + +Flambeau would then proceed to tell the story from the inside; +and even from the inside it was odd. Seen from the outside it was +perfectly incomprehensible, and it is from the outside that the +stranger must study it. From this standpoint the drama may be +said to have begun when the front doors of the house with the +stable opened on the garden with the monkey tree, and a young girl +came out with bread to feed the birds on the afternoon of Boxing +Day. She had a pretty face, with brave brown eyes; but her figure +was beyond conjecture, for she was so wrapped up in brown furs +that it was hard to say which was hair and which was fur. But for +the attractive face she might have been a small toddling bear. + +The winter afternoon was reddening towards evening, and +already a ruby light was rolled over the bloomless beds, filling +them, as it were, with the ghosts of the dead roses. On one side +of the house stood the stable, on the other an alley or cloister +of laurels led to the larger garden behind. The young lady, having +scattered bread for the birds (for the fourth or fifth time that +day, because the dog ate it), passed unobtrusively down the lane +of laurels and into a glimmering plantation of evergreens behind. +Here she gave an exclamation of wonder, real or ritual, and looking +up at the high garden wall above her, beheld it fantastically +bestridden by a somewhat fantastic figure. + +"Oh, don't jump, Mr. Crook," she called out in some alarm; +"it's much too high." + +The individual riding the party wall like an aerial horse was +a tall, angular young man, with dark hair sticking up like a hair +brush, intelligent and even distinguished lineaments, but a sallow +and almost alien complexion. This showed the more plainly because +he wore an aggressive red tie, the only part of his costume of +which he seemed to take any care. Perhaps it was a symbol. He +took no notice of the girl's alarmed adjuration, but leapt like a +grasshopper to the ground beside her, where he might very well +have broken his legs. + +"I think I was meant to be a burglar," he said placidly, "and +I have no doubt I should have been if I hadn't happened to be born +in that nice house next door. I can't see any harm in it, anyhow." + +"How can you say such things!" she remonstrated. + +"Well," said the young man, "if you're born on the wrong side +of the wall, I can't see that it's wrong to climb over it." + +"I never know what you will say or do next," she said. + +"I don't often know myself," replied Mr. Crook; "but then I am +on the right side of the wall now." + +"And which is the right side of the wall?" asked the young +lady, smiling. + +"Whichever side you are on," said the young man named Crook. + +As they went together through the laurels towards the front +garden a motor horn sounded thrice, coming nearer and nearer, and +a car of splendid speed, great elegance, and a pale green colour +swept up to the front doors like a bird and stood throbbing. + +"Hullo, hullo!" said the young man with the red tie, "here's +somebody born on the right side, anyhow. I didn't know, Miss +Adams, that your Santa Claus was so modern as this." + +"Oh, that's my godfather, Sir Leopold Fischer. He always +comes on Boxing Day." + +Then, after an innocent pause, which unconsciously betrayed +some lack of enthusiasm, Ruby Adams added: + +"He is very kind." + +John Crook, journalist, had heard of that eminent City magnate; +and it was not his fault if the City magnate had not heard of him; +for in certain articles in The Clarion or The New Age Sir Leopold +had been dealt with austerely. But he said nothing and grimly +watched the unloading of the motor-car, which was rather a long +process. A large, neat chauffeur in green got out from the front, +and a small, neat manservant in grey got out from the back, and +between them they deposited Sir Leopold on the doorstep and began +to unpack him, like some very carefully protected parcel. Rugs +enough to stock a bazaar, furs of all the beasts of the forest, +and scarves of all the colours of the rainbow were unwrapped one +by one, till they revealed something resembling the human form; +the form of a friendly, but foreign-looking old gentleman, with a +grey goat-like beard and a beaming smile, who rubbed his big fur +gloves together. + +Long before this revelation was complete the two big doors of +the porch had opened in the middle, and Colonel Adams (father of +the furry young lady) had come out himself to invite his eminent +guest inside. He was a tall, sunburnt, and very silent man, who +wore a red smoking-cap like a fez, making him look like one of the +English Sirdars or Pashas in Egypt. With him was his +brother-in-law, lately come from Canada, a big and rather +boisterous young gentleman-farmer, with a yellow beard, by name +James Blount. With him also was the more insignificant figure of +the priest from the neighbouring Roman Church; for the colonel's +late wife had been a Catholic, and the children, as is common in +such cases, had been trained to follow her. Everything seemed +undistinguished about the priest, even down to his name, which was +Brown; yet the colonel had always found something companionable +about him, and frequently asked him to such family gatherings. + +In the large entrance hall of the house there was ample room +even for Sir Leopold and the removal of his wraps. Porch and +vestibule, indeed, were unduly large in proportion to the house, +and formed, as it were, a big room with the front door at one end, +and the bottom of the staircase at the other. In front of the +large hall fire, over which hung the colonel's sword, the process +was completed and the company, including the saturnine Crook, +presented to Sir Leopold Fischer. That venerable financier, +however, still seemed struggling with portions of his well-lined +attire, and at length produced from a very interior tail-coat +pocket, a black oval case which he radiantly explained to be his +Christmas present for his god-daughter. With an unaffected +vain-glory that had something disarming about it he held out the +case before them all; it flew open at a touch and half-blinded +them. It was just as if a crystal fountain had spurted in their +eyes. In a nest of orange velvet lay like three eggs, three white +and vivid diamonds that seemed to set the very air on fire all +round them. Fischer stood beaming benevolently and drinking deep +of the astonishment and ecstasy of the girl, the grim admiration +and gruff thanks of the colonel, the wonder of the whole group. + +"I'll put 'em back now, my dear," said Fischer, returning the +case to the tails of his coat. "I had to be careful of 'em coming +down. They're the three great African diamonds called `The Flying +Stars,' because they've been stolen so often. All the big +criminals are on the track; but even the rough men about in the +streets and hotels could hardly have kept their hands off them. +I might have lost them on the road here. It was quite possible." + +"Quite natural, I should say," growled the man in the red tie. +"I shouldn't blame 'em if they had taken 'em. When they ask for +bread, and you don't even give them a stone, I think they might +take the stone for themselves." + +"I won't have you talking like that," cried the girl, who was +in a curious glow. "You've only talked like that since you became +a horrid what's-his-name. You know what I mean. What do you call +a man who wants to embrace the chimney-sweep?" + +"A saint," said Father Brown. + +"I think," said Sir Leopold, with a supercilious smile, "that +Ruby means a Socialist." + +"A radical does not mean a man who lives on radishes," remarked +Crook, with some impatience; "and a Conservative does not mean a +man who preserves jam. Neither, I assure you, does a Socialist +mean a man who desires a social evening with the chimney-sweep. A +Socialist means a man who wants all the chimneys swept and all the +chimney-sweeps paid for it." + +"But who won't allow you," put in the priest in a low voice, +"to own your own soot." + +Crook looked at him with an eye of interest and even respect. +"Does one want to own soot?" he asked. + +"One might," answered Brown, with speculation in his eye. +"I've heard that gardeners use it. And I once made six children +happy at Christmas when the conjuror didn't come, entirely with +soot--applied externally." + +"Oh, splendid," cried Ruby. "Oh, I wish you'd do it to this +company." + +The boisterous Canadian, Mr. Blount, was lifting his loud +voice in applause, and the astonished financier his (in some +considerable deprecation), when a knock sounded at the double +front doors. The priest opened them, and they showed again the +front garden of evergreens, monkey-tree and all, now gathering +gloom against a gorgeous violet sunset. The scene thus framed was +so coloured and quaint, like a back scene in a play, that they +forgot a moment the insignificant figure standing in the door. He +was dusty-looking and in a frayed coat, evidently a common +messenger. "Any of you gentlemen Mr. Blount?" he asked, and held +forward a letter doubtfully. Mr. Blount started, and stopped in +his shout of assent. Ripping up the envelope with evident +astonishment he read it; his face clouded a little, and then +cleared, and he turned to his brother-in-law and host. + +"I'm sick at being such a nuisance, colonel," he said, with +the cheery colonial conventions; "but would it upset you if an old +acquaintance called on me here tonight on business? In point of +fact it's Florian, that famous French acrobat and comic actor; I +knew him years ago out West (he was a French-Canadian by birth), +and he seems to have business for me, though I hardly guess what." + +"Of course, of course," replied the colonel carelessly--"My +dear chap, any friend of yours. No doubt he will prove an +acquisition." + +"He'll black his face, if that's what you mean," cried Blount, +laughing. "I don't doubt he'd black everyone else's eyes. I don't +care; I'm not refined. I like the jolly old pantomime where a man +sits on his top hat." + +"Not on mine, please," said Sir Leopold Fischer, with dignity. + +"Well, well," observed Crook, airily, "don't let's quarrel. +There are lower jokes than sitting on a top hat." + +Dislike of the red-tied youth, born of his predatory opinions +and evident intimacy with the pretty godchild, led Fischer to say, +in his most sarcastic, magisterial manner: "No doubt you have found +something much lower than sitting on a top hat. What is it, pray?" + +"Letting a top hat sit on you, for instance," said the +Socialist. + +"Now, now, now," cried the Canadian farmer with his barbarian +benevolence, "don't let's spoil a jolly evening. What I say is, +let's do something for the company tonight. Not blacking faces or +sitting on hats, if you don't like those--but something of the +sort. Why couldn't we have a proper old English pantomime-- +clown, columbine, and so on. I saw one when I left England at +twelve years old, and it's blazed in my brain like a bonfire ever +since. I came back to the old country only last year, and I find +the thing's extinct. Nothing but a lot of snivelling fairy plays. +I want a hot poker and a policeman made into sausages, and they +give me princesses moralising by moonlight, Blue Birds, or +something. Blue Beard's more in my line, and him I like best when +he turned into the pantaloon." + +"I'm all for making a policeman into sausages," said John +Crook. "It's a better definition of Socialism than some recently +given. But surely the get-up would be too big a business." + +"Not a scrap," cried Blount, quite carried away. "A +harlequinade's the quickest thing we can do, for two reasons. +First, one can gag to any degree; and, second, all the objects are +household things--tables and towel-horses and washing baskets, +and things like that." + +"That's true," admitted Crook, nodding eagerly and walking +about. "But I'm afraid I can't have my policeman's uniform? +Haven't killed a policeman lately." + +Blount frowned thoughtfully a space, and then smote his thigh. +"Yes, we can!" he cried. "I've got Florian's address here, and he +knows every costumier in London. I'll phone him to bring a police +dress when he comes." And he went bounding away to the telephone. + +"Oh, it's glorious, godfather," cried Ruby, almost dancing. +"I'll be columbine and you shall be pantaloon." + +The millionaire held himself stiff with a sort of heathen +solemnity. "I think, my dear," he said, "you must get someone +else for pantaloon." + +"I will be pantaloon, if you like," said Colonel Adams, taking +his cigar out of his mouth, and speaking for the first and last +time. + +"You ought to have a statue," cried the Canadian, as he came +back, radiant, from the telephone. "There, we are all fitted. +Mr. Crook shall be clown; he's a journalist and knows all the +oldest jokes. I can be harlequin, that only wants long legs and +jumping about. My friend Florian 'phones he's bringing the police +costume; he's changing on the way. We can act it in this very +hall, the audience sitting on those broad stairs opposite, one row +above another. These front doors can be the back scene, either +open or shut. Shut, you see an English interior. Open, a moonlit +garden. It all goes by magic." And snatching a chance piece of +billiard chalk from his pocket, he ran it across the hall floor, +half-way between the front door and the staircase, to mark the +line of the footlights. + +How even such a banquet of bosh was got ready in the time +remained a riddle. But they went at it with that mixture of +recklessness and industry that lives when youth is in a house; and +youth was in that house that night, though not all may have +isolated the two faces and hearts from which it flamed. As always +happens, the invention grew wilder and wilder through the very +tameness of the bourgeois conventions from which it had to create. +The columbine looked charming in an outstanding skirt that +strangely resembled the large lamp-shade in the drawing-room. The +clown and pantaloon made themselves white with flour from the cook, +and red with rouge from some other domestic, who remained (like +all true Christian benefactors) anonymous. The harlequin, already +clad in silver paper out of cigar boxes, was, with difficulty, +prevented from smashing the old Victorian lustre chandeliers, that +he might cover himself with resplendent crystals. In fact he +would certainly have done so, had not Ruby unearthed some old +pantomime paste jewels she had worn at a fancy dress party as the +Queen of Diamonds. Indeed, her uncle, James Blount, was getting +almost out of hand in his excitement; he was like a schoolboy. He +put a paper donkey's head unexpectedly on Father Brown, who bore +it patiently, and even found some private manner of moving his +ears. He even essayed to put the paper donkey's tail to the +coat-tails of Sir Leopold Fischer. This, however, was frowned +down. "Uncle is too absurd," cried Ruby to Crook, round whose +shoulders she had seriously placed a string of sausages. "Why is +he so wild?" + +"He is harlequin to your columbine," said Crook. "I am only +the clown who makes the old jokes." + +"I wish you were the harlequin," she said, and left the string +of sausages swinging. + +Father Brown, though he knew every detail done behind the +scenes, and had even evoked applause by his transformation of a +pillow into a pantomime baby, went round to the front and sat +among the audience with all the solemn expectation of a child at +his first matinee. The spectators were few, relations, one or two +local friends, and the servants; Sir Leopold sat in the front +seat, his full and still fur-collared figure largely obscuring the +view of the little cleric behind him; but it has never been +settled by artistic authorities whether the cleric lost much. The +pantomime was utterly chaotic, yet not contemptible; there ran +through it a rage of improvisation which came chiefly from Crook +the clown. Commonly he was a clever man, and he was inspired +tonight with a wild omniscience, a folly wiser than the world, +that which comes to a young man who has seen for an instant a +particular expression on a particular face. He was supposed to be +the clown, but he was really almost everything else, the author +(so far as there was an author), the prompter, the scene-painter, +the scene-shifter, and, above all, the orchestra. At abrupt +intervals in the outrageous performance he would hurl himself in +full costume at the piano and bang out some popular music equally +absurd and appropriate. + +The climax of this, as of all else, was the moment when the +two front doors at the back of the scene flew open, showing the +lovely moonlit garden, but showing more prominently the famous +professional guest; the great Florian, dressed up as a policeman. +The clown at the piano played the constabulary chorus in the +"Pirates of Penzance," but it was drowned in the deafening +applause, for every gesture of the great comic actor was an +admirable though restrained version of the carriage and manner of +the police. The harlequin leapt upon him and hit him over the +helmet; the pianist playing "Where did you get that hat?" he faced +about in admirably simulated astonishment, and then the leaping +harlequin hit him again (the pianist suggesting a few bars of +"Then we had another one"). Then the harlequin rushed right into +the arms of the policeman and fell on top of him, amid a roar of +applause. Then it was that the strange actor gave that celebrated +imitation of a dead man, of which the fame still lingers round +Putney. It was almost impossible to believe that a living person +could appear so limp. + +The athletic harlequin swung him about like a sack or twisted +or tossed him like an Indian club; all the time to the most +maddeningly ludicrous tunes from the piano. When the harlequin +heaved the comic constable heavily off the floor the clown played +"I arise from dreams of thee." When he shuffled him across his +back, "With my bundle on my shoulder," and when the harlequin +finally let fall the policeman with a most convincing thud, the +lunatic at the instrument struck into a jingling measure with some +words which are still believed to have been, "I sent a letter to +my love and on the way I dropped it." + +At about this limit of mental anarchy Father Brown's view was +obscured altogether; for the City magnate in front of him rose to +his full height and thrust his hands savagely into all his pockets. +Then he sat down nervously, still fumbling, and then stood up +again. For an instant it seemed seriously likely that he would +stride across the footlights; then he turned a glare at the clown +playing the piano; and then he burst in silence out of the room. + +The priest had only watched for a few more minutes the absurd +but not inelegant dance of the amateur harlequin over his +splendidly unconscious foe. With real though rude art, the +harlequin danced slowly backwards out of the door into the garden, +which was full of moonlight and stillness. The vamped dress of +silver paper and paste, which had been too glaring in the +footlights, looked more and more magical and silvery as it danced +away under a brilliant moon. The audience was closing in with a +cataract of applause, when Brown felt his arm abruptly touched, +and he was asked in a whisper to come into the colonel's study. + +He followed his summoner with increasing doubt, which was not +dispelled by a solemn comicality in the scene of the study. There +sat Colonel Adams, still unaffectedly dressed as a pantaloon, with +the knobbed whalebone nodding above his brow, but with his poor +old eyes sad enough to have sobered a Saturnalia. Sir Leopold +Fischer was leaning against the mantelpiece and heaving with all +the importance of panic. + +"This is a very painful matter, Father Brown," said Adams. +"The truth is, those diamonds we all saw this afternoon seem to +have vanished from my friend's tail-coat pocket. And as you--" + +"As I," supplemented Father Brown, with a broad grin, "was +sitting just behind him--" + +"Nothing of the sort shall be suggested," said Colonel Adams, +with a firm look at Fischer, which rather implied that some such +thing had been suggested. "I only ask you to give me the +assistance that any gentleman might give." + +"Which is turning out his pockets," said Father Brown, and +proceeded to do so, displaying seven and sixpence, a return +ticket, a small silver crucifix, a small breviary, and a stick of +chocolate. + +The colonel looked at him long, and then said, "Do you know, I +should like to see the inside of your head more than the inside of +your pockets. My daughter is one of your people, I know; well, +she has lately--" and he stopped. + +"She has lately," cried out old Fischer, "opened her father's +house to a cut-throat Socialist, who says openly he would steal +anything from a richer man. This is the end of it. Here is the +richer man--and none the richer." + +"If you want the inside of my head you can have it," said +Brown rather wearily. "What it's worth you can say afterwards. +But the first thing I find in that disused pocket is this: that +men who mean to steal diamonds don't talk Socialism. They are +more likely," he added demurely, "to denounce it." + +Both the others shifted sharply and the priest went on: + +"You see, we know these people, more or less. That Socialist +would no more steal a diamond than a Pyramid. We ought to look at +once to the one man we don't know. The fellow acting the policeman +--Florian. Where is he exactly at this minute, I wonder." + +The pantaloon sprang erect and strode out of the room. An +interlude ensued, during which the millionaire stared at the +priest, and the priest at his breviary; then the pantaloon +returned and said, with staccato gravity, "The policeman is still +lying on the stage. The curtain has gone up and down six times; +he is still lying there." + +Father Brown dropped his book and stood staring with a look of +blank mental ruin. Very slowly a light began to creep in his grey +eyes, and then he made the scarcely obvious answer. + +"Please forgive me, colonel, but when did your wife die?" + +"Wife!" replied the staring soldier, "she died this year two +months. Her brother James arrived just a week too late to see +her." + +The little priest bounded like a rabbit shot. "Come on!" he +cried in quite unusual excitement. "Come on! We've got to go and +look at that policeman!" + +They rushed on to the now curtained stage, breaking rudely past +the columbine and clown (who seemed whispering quite contentedly), +and Father Brown bent over the prostrate comic policeman. + +"Chloroform," he said as he rose; "I only guessed it just now." + +There was a startled stillness, and then the colonel said +slowly, "Please say seriously what all this means." + +Father Brown suddenly shouted with laughter, then stopped, and +only struggled with it for instants during the rest of his speech. +"Gentlemen," he gasped, "there's not much time to talk. I must +run after the criminal. But this great French actor who played +the policeman--this clever corpse the harlequin waltzed with and +dandled and threw about--he was--" His voice again failed him, +and he turned his back to run. + +"He was?" called Fischer inquiringly. + +"A real policeman," said Father Brown, and ran away into the +dark. + +There were hollows and bowers at the extreme end of that leafy +garden, in which the laurels and other immortal shrubs showed +against sapphire sky and silver moon, even in that midwinter, warm +colours as of the south. The green gaiety of the waving laurels, +the rich purple indigo of the night, the moon like a monstrous +crystal, make an almost irresponsible romantic picture; and among +the top branches of the garden trees a strange figure is climbing, +who looks not so much romantic as impossible. He sparkles from +head to heel, as if clad in ten million moons; the real moon +catches him at every movement and sets a new inch of him on fire. +But he swings, flashing and successful, from the short tree in +this garden to the tall, rambling tree in the other, and only +stops there because a shade has slid under the smaller tree and +has unmistakably called up to him. + +"Well, Flambeau," says the voice, "you really look like a +Flying Star; but that always means a Falling Star at last." + +The silver, sparkling figure above seems to lean forward in +the laurels and, confident of escape, listens to the little figure +below. + +"You never did anything better, Flambeau. It was clever to +come from Canada (with a Paris ticket, I suppose) just a week after +Mrs. Adams died, when no one was in a mood to ask questions. It +was cleverer to have marked down the Flying Stars and the very day +of Fischer's coming. But there's no cleverness, but mere genius, +in what followed. Stealing the stones, I suppose, was nothing to +you. You could have done it by sleight of hand in a hundred other +ways besides that pretence of putting a paper donkey's tail to +Fischer's coat. But in the rest you eclipsed yourself." + +The silvery figure among the green leaves seems to linger as +if hypnotised, though his escape is easy behind him; he is staring +at the man below. + +"Oh, yes," says the man below, "I know all about it. I know +you not only forced the pantomime, but put it to a double use. You +were going to steal the stones quietly; news came by an accomplice +that you were already suspected, and a capable police officer was +coming to rout you up that very night. A common thief would have +been thankful for the warning and fled; but you are a poet. You +already had the clever notion of hiding the jewels in a blaze of +false stage jewellery. Now, you saw that if the dress were a +harlequin's the appearance of a policeman would be quite in +keeping. The worthy officer started from Putney police station to +find you, and walked into the queerest trap ever set in this world. +When the front door opened he walked straight on to the stage of a +Christmas pantomime, where he could be kicked, clubbed, stunned +and drugged by the dancing harlequin, amid roars of laughter from +all the most respectable people in Putney. Oh, you will never do +anything better. And now, by the way, you might give me back +those diamonds." + +The green branch on which the glittering figure swung, rustled +as if in astonishment; but the voice went on: + +"I want you to give them back, Flambeau, and I want you to give +up this life. There is still youth and honour and humour in you; +don't fancy they will last in that trade. Men may keep a sort of +level of good, but no man has ever been able to keep on one level +of evil. That road goes down and down. The kind man drinks and +turns cruel; the frank man kills and lies about it. Many a man +I've known started like you to be an honest outlaw, a merry robber +of the rich, and ended stamped into slime. Maurice Blum started +out as an anarchist of principle, a father of the poor; he ended a +greasy spy and tale-bearer that both sides used and despised. +Harry Burke started his free money movement sincerely enough; now +he's sponging on a half-starved sister for endless brandies and +sodas. Lord Amber went into wild society in a sort of chivalry; +now he's paying blackmail to the lowest vultures in London. +Captain Barillon was the great gentleman-apache before your time; +he died in a madhouse, screaming with fear of the "narks" and +receivers that had betrayed him and hunted him down. I know the +woods look very free behind you, Flambeau; I know that in a flash +you could melt into them like a monkey. But some day you will be +an old grey monkey, Flambeau. You will sit up in your free forest +cold at heart and close to death, and the tree-tops will be very +bare." + +Everything continued still, as if the small man below held the +other in the tree in some long invisible leash; and he went on: + +"Your downward steps have begun. You used to boast of doing +nothing mean, but you are doing something mean tonight. You are +leaving suspicion on an honest boy with a good deal against him +already; you are separating him from the woman he loves and who +loves him. But you will do meaner things than that before you +die." + +Three flashing diamonds fell from the tree to the turf. The +small man stooped to pick them up, and when he looked up again the +green cage of the tree was emptied of its silver bird. + +The restoration of the gems (accidentally picked up by Father +Brown, of all people) ended the evening in uproarious triumph; and +Sir Leopold, in his height of good humour, even told the priest +that though he himself had broader views, he could respect those +whose creed required them to be cloistered and ignorant of this +world. + + + + The Invisible Man + +In the cool blue twilight of two steep streets in Camden Town, the +shop at the corner, a confectioner's, glowed like the butt of a +cigar. One should rather say, perhaps, like the butt of a firework, +for the light was of many colours and some complexity, broken up +by many mirrors and dancing on many gilt and gaily-coloured cakes +and sweetmeats. Against this one fiery glass were glued the noses +of many gutter-snipes, for the chocolates were all wrapped in +those red and gold and green metallic colours which are almost +better than chocolate itself; and the huge white wedding-cake in +the window was somehow at once remote and satisfying, just as if +the whole North Pole were good to eat. Such rainbow provocations +could naturally collect the youth of the neighbourhood up to the +ages of ten or twelve. But this corner was also attractive to +youth at a later stage; and a young man, not less than twenty-four, +was staring into the same shop window. To him, also, the shop was +of fiery charm, but this attraction was not wholly to be explained +by chocolates; which, however, he was far from despising. + +He was a tall, burly, red-haired young man, with a resolute +face but a listless manner. He carried under his arm a flat, grey +portfolio of black-and-white sketches, which he had sold with more +or less success to publishers ever since his uncle (who was an +admiral) had disinherited him for Socialism, because of a lecture +which he had delivered against that economic theory. His name was +John Turnbull Angus. + +Entering at last, he walked through the confectioner's shop to +the back room, which was a sort of pastry-cook restaurant, merely +raising his hat to the young lady who was serving there. She was +a dark, elegant, alert girl in black, with a high colour and very +quick, dark eyes; and after the ordinary interval she followed him +into the inner room to take his order. + +His order was evidently a usual one. "I want, please," he +said with precision, "one halfpenny bun and a small cup of black +coffee." An instant before the girl could turn away he added, +"Also, I want you to marry me." + +The young lady of the shop stiffened suddenly and said, "Those +are jokes I don't allow." + +The red-haired young man lifted grey eyes of an unexpected +gravity. + +"Really and truly," he said, "it's as serious--as serious as +the halfpenny bun. It is expensive, like the bun; one pays for +it. It is indigestible, like the bun. It hurts." + +The dark young lady had never taken her dark eyes off him, but +seemed to be studying him with almost tragic exactitude. At the +end of her scrutiny she had something like the shadow of a smile, +and she sat down in a chair. + +"Don't you think," observed Angus, absently, "that it's rather +cruel to eat these halfpenny buns? They might grow up into penny +buns. I shall give up these brutal sports when we are married." + +The dark young lady rose from her chair and walked to the +window, evidently in a state of strong but not unsympathetic +cogitation. When at last she swung round again with an air of +resolution she was bewildered to observe that the young man was +carefully laying out on the table various objects from the +shop-window. They included a pyramid of highly coloured sweets, +several plates of sandwiches, and the two decanters containing +that mysterious port and sherry which are peculiar to pastry-cooks. +In the middle of this neat arrangement he had carefully let down +the enormous load of white sugared cake which had been the huge +ornament of the window. + +"What on earth are you doing?" she asked. + +"Duty, my dear Laura," he began. + +"Oh, for the Lord's sake, stop a minute," she cried, "and +don't talk to me in that way. I mean, what is all that?" + +"A ceremonial meal, Miss Hope." + +"And what is that?" she asked impatiently, pointing to the +mountain of sugar. + +"The wedding-cake, Mrs. Angus," he said. + +The girl marched to that article, removed it with some +clatter, and put it back in the shop window; she then returned, +and, putting her elegant elbows on the table, regarded the young +man not unfavourably but with considerable exasperation. + +"You don't give me any time to think," she said. + +"I'm not such a fool," he answered; "that's my Christian +humility." + +She was still looking at him; but she had grown considerably +graver behind the smile. + +"Mr. Angus," she said steadily, "before there is a minute more +of this nonsense I must tell you something about myself as shortly +as I can.'" + +"Delighted," replied Angus gravely. "You might tell me +something about myself, too, while you are about it." + +"Oh, do hold your tongue and listen," she said. "It's nothing +that I'm ashamed of, and it isn't even anything that I'm specially +sorry about. But what would you say if there were something that +is no business of mine and yet is my nightmare?" + +"In that case," said the man seriously, "I should suggest that +you bring back the cake." + +"Well, you must listen to the story first," said Laura, +persistently. "To begin with, I must tell you that my father +owned the inn called the `Red Fish' at Ludbury, and I used to +serve people in the bar." + +"I have often wondered," he said, "why there was a kind of a +Christian air about this one confectioner's shop." + +"Ludbury is a sleepy, grassy little hole in the Eastern +Counties, and the only kind of people who ever came to the `Red +Fish' were occasional commercial travellers, and for the rest, the +most awful people you can see, only you've never seen them. I +mean little, loungy men, who had just enough to live on and had +nothing to do but lean about in bar-rooms and bet on horses, in +bad clothes that were just too good for them. Even these wretched +young rotters were not very common at our house; but there were +two of them that were a lot too common--common in every sort of +way. They both lived on money of their own, and were wearisomely +idle and over-dressed. But yet I was a bit sorry for them, because +I half believe they slunk into our little empty bar because each +of them had a slight deformity; the sort of thing that some yokels +laugh at. It wasn't exactly a deformity either; it was more an +oddity. One of them was a surprisingly small man, something like +a dwarf, or at least like a jockey. He was not at all jockeyish +to look at, though; he had a round black head and a well-trimmed +black beard, bright eyes like a bird's; he jingled money in his +pockets; he jangled a great gold watch chain; and he never turned +up except dressed just too much like a gentleman to be one. He +was no fool though, though a futile idler; he was curiously clever +at all kinds of things that couldn't be the slightest use; a sort +of impromptu conjuring; making fifteen matches set fire to each +other like a regular firework; or cutting a banana or some such +thing into a dancing doll. His name was Isidore Smythe; and I can +see him still, with his little dark face, just coming up to the +counter, making a jumping kangaroo out of five cigars. + +"The other fellow was more silent and more ordinary; but +somehow he alarmed me much more than poor little Smythe. He was +very tall and slight, and light-haired; his nose had a high bridge, +and he might almost have been handsome in a spectral sort of way; +but he had one of the most appalling squints I have ever seen or +heard of. When he looked straight at you, you didn't know where +you were yourself, let alone what he was looking at. I fancy this +sort of disfigurement embittered the poor chap a little; for while +Smythe was ready to show off his monkey tricks anywhere, James +Welkin (that was the squinting man's name) never did anything +except soak in our bar parlour, and go for great walks by himself +in the flat, grey country all round. All the same, I think Smythe, +too, was a little sensitive about being so small, though he carried +it off more smartly. And so it was that I was really puzzled, as +well as startled, and very sorry, when they both offered to marry +me in the same week. + +"Well, I did what I've since thought was perhaps a silly thing. +But, after all, these freaks were my friends in a way; and I had a +horror of their thinking I refused them for the real reason, which +was that they were so impossibly ugly. So I made up some gas of +another sort, about never meaning to marry anyone who hadn't +carved his way in the world. I said it was a point of principle +with me not to live on money that was just inherited like theirs. +Two days after I had talked in this well-meaning sort of way, the +whole trouble began. The first thing I heard was that both of +them had gone off to seek their fortunes, as if they were in some +silly fairy tale. + +"Well, I've never seen either of them from that day to this. +But I've had two letters from the little man called Smythe, and +really they were rather exciting." + +"Ever heard of the other man?" asked Angus. + +"No, he never wrote," said the girl, after an instant's +hesitation. "Smythe's first letter was simply to say that he had +started out walking with Welkin to London; but Welkin was such a +good walker that the little man dropped out of it, and took a rest +by the roadside. He happened to be picked up by some travelling +show, and, partly because he was nearly a dwarf, and partly +because he was really a clever little wretch, he got on quite well +in the show business, and was soon sent up to the Aquarium, to do +some tricks that I forget. That was his first letter. His second +was much more of a startler, and I only got it last week." + +The man called Angus emptied his coffee-cup and regarded her +with mild and patient eyes. Her own mouth took a slight twist of +laughter as she resumed, "I suppose you've seen on the hoardings +all about this `Smythe's Silent Service'? Or you must be the only +person that hasn't. Oh, I don't know much about it, it's some +clockwork invention for doing all the housework by machinery. You +know the sort of thing: `Press a Button--A Butler who Never +Drinks.' `Turn a Handle--Ten Housemaids who Never Flirt.' You +must have seen the advertisements. Well, whatever these machines +are, they are making pots of money; and they are making it all for +that little imp whom I knew down in Ludbury. I can't help feeling +pleased the poor little chap has fallen on his feet; but the plain +fact is, I'm in terror of his turning up any minute and telling me +he's carved his way in the world--as he certainly has." + +"And the other man?" repeated Angus with a sort of obstinate +quietude. + +Laura Hope got to her feet suddenly. "My friend," she said, +"I think you are a witch. Yes, you are quite right. I have not +seen a line of the other man's writing; and I have no more notion +than the dead of what or where he is. But it is of him that I am +frightened. It is he who is all about my path. It is he who has +half driven me mad. Indeed, I think he has driven me mad; for I +have felt him where he could not have been, and I have heard his +voice when he could not have spoken." + +"Well, my dear," said the young man, cheerfully, "if he were +Satan himself, he is done for now you have told somebody. One +goes mad all alone, old girl. But when was it you fancied you +felt and heard our squinting friend?" + +"I heard James Welkin laugh as plainly as I hear you speak," +said the girl, steadily. "There was nobody there, for I stood +just outside the shop at the corner, and could see down both +streets at once. I had forgotten how he laughed, though his laugh +was as odd as his squint. I had not thought of him for nearly a +year. But it's a solemn truth that a few seconds later the first +letter came from his rival." + +"Did you ever make the spectre speak or squeak, or anything?" +asked Angus, with some interest. + +Laura suddenly shuddered, and then said, with an unshaken +voice, "Yes. Just when I had finished reading the second letter +from Isidore Smythe announcing his success. Just then, I heard +Welkin say, `He shan't have you, though.' It was quite plain, as +if he were in the room. It is awful, I think I must be mad." + +"If you really were mad," said the young man, "you would think +you must be sane. But certainly there seems to me to be something +a little rum about this unseen gentleman. Two heads are better +than one--I spare you allusions to any other organs and really, +if you would allow me, as a sturdy, practical man, to bring back +the wedding-cake out of the window--" + +Even as he spoke, there was a sort of steely shriek in the +street outside, and a small motor, driven at devilish speed, shot +up to the door of the shop and stuck there. In the same flash of +time a small man in a shiny top hat stood stamping in the outer +room. + +Angus, who had hitherto maintained hilarious ease from motives +of mental hygiene, revealed the strain of his soul by striding +abruptly out of the inner room and confronting the new-comer. A +glance at him was quite sufficient to confirm the savage guesswork +of a man in love. This very dapper but dwarfish figure, with the +spike of black beard carried insolently forward, the clever +unrestful eyes, the neat but very nervous fingers, could be none +other than the man just described to him: Isidore Smythe, who made +dolls out of banana skins and match-boxes; Isidore Smythe, who +made millions out of undrinking butlers and unflirting housemaids +of metal. For a moment the two men, instinctively understanding +each other's air of possession, looked at each other with that +curious cold generosity which is the soul of rivalry. + +Mr. Smythe, however, made no allusion to the ultimate ground +of their antagonism, but said simply and explosively, "Has Miss +Hope seen that thing on the window?" + +"On the window?" repeated the staring Angus. + +"There's no time to explain other things," said the small +millionaire shortly. "There's some tomfoolery going on here that +has to be investigated." + +He pointed his polished walking-stick at the window, recently +depleted by the bridal preparations of Mr. Angus; and that +gentleman was astonished to see along the front of the glass a +long strip of paper pasted, which had certainly not been on the +window when he looked through it some time before. Following the +energetic Smythe outside into the street, he found that some yard +and a half of stamp paper had been carefully gummed along the +glass outside, and on this was written in straggly characters, +"If you marry Smythe, he will die." + +"Laura," said Angus, putting his big red head into the shop, +"you're not mad." + +"It's the writing of that fellow Welkin," said Smythe gruffly. +"I haven't seen him for years, but he's always bothering me. Five +times in the last fortnight he's had threatening letters left at my +flat, and I can't even find out who leaves them, let alone if it is +Welkin himself. The porter of the flats swears that no suspicious +characters have been seen, and here he has pasted up a sort of dado +on a public shop window, while the people in the shop--" + +"Quite so," said Angus modestly, "while the people in the shop +were having tea. Well, sir, I can assure you I appreciate your +common sense in dealing so directly with the matter. We can talk +about other things afterwards. The fellow cannot be very far off +yet, for I swear there was no paper there when I went last to the +window, ten or fifteen minutes ago. On the other hand, he's too +far off to be chased, as we don't even know the direction. If +you'll take my advice, Mr. Smythe, you'll put this at once in the +hands of some energetic inquiry man, private rather than public. +I know an extremely clever fellow, who has set up in business five +minutes from here in your car. His name's Flambeau, and though +his youth was a bit stormy, he's a strictly honest man now, and +his brains are worth money. He lives in Lucknow Mansions, +Hampstead." + +"That is odd," said the little man, arching his black +eyebrows. "I live, myself, in Himylaya Mansions, round the +corner. Perhaps you might care to come with me; I can go to my +rooms and sort out these queer Welkin documents, while you run +round and get your friend the detective." + +"You are very good," said Angus politely. "Well, the sooner +we act the better." + +Both men, with a queer kind of impromptu fairness, took the +same sort of formal farewell of the lady, and both jumped into the +brisk little car. As Smythe took the handles and they turned the +great corner of the street, Angus was amused to see a gigantesque +poster of "Smythe's Silent Service," with a picture of a huge +headless iron doll, carrying a saucepan with the legend, "A Cook +Who is Never Cross." + +"I use them in my own flat," said the little black-bearded +man, laughing, "partly for advertisements, and partly for real +convenience. Honestly, and all above board, those big clockwork +dolls of mine do bring your coals or claret or a timetable quicker +than any live servants I've ever known, if you know which knob to +press. But I'll never deny, between ourselves, that such servants +have their disadvantages, too." + +"Indeed?" said Angus; "is there something they can't do?" + +"Yes," replied Smythe coolly; "they can't tell me who left +those threatening letters at my flat." + +The man's motor was small and swift like himself; in fact, +like his domestic service, it was of his own invention. If he was +an advertising quack, he was one who believed in his own wares. +The sense of something tiny and flying was accentuated as they +swept up long white curves of road in the dead but open daylight +of evening. Soon the white curves came sharper and dizzier; they +were upon ascending spirals, as they say in the modern religions. +For, indeed, they were cresting a corner of London which is almost +as precipitous as Edinburgh, if not quite so picturesque. Terrace +rose above terrace, and the special tower of flats they sought, +rose above them all to almost Egyptian height, gilt by the level +sunset. The change, as they turned the corner and entered the +crescent known as Himylaya Mansions, was as abrupt as the opening +of a window; for they found that pile of flats sitting above +London as above a green sea of slate. Opposite to the mansions, +on the other side of the gravel crescent, was a bushy enclosure +more like a steep hedge or dyke than a garden, and some way below +that ran a strip of artificial water, a sort of canal, like the +moat of that embowered fortress. As the car swept round the +crescent it passed, at one corner, the stray stall of a man +selling chestnuts; and right away at the other end of the curve, +Angus could see a dim blue policeman walking slowly. These were +the only human shapes in that high suburban solitude; but he had +an irrational sense that they expressed the speechless poetry of +London. He felt as if they were figures in a story. + +The little car shot up to the right house like a bullet, and +shot out its owner like a bomb shell. He was immediately +inquiring of a tall commissionaire in shining braid, and a short +porter in shirt sleeves, whether anybody or anything had been +seeking his apartments. He was assured that nobody and nothing +had passed these officials since his last inquiries; whereupon he +and the slightly bewildered Angus were shot up in the lift like a +rocket, till they reached the top floor. + +"Just come in for a minute," said the breathless Smythe. "I +want to show you those Welkin letters. Then you might run round +the corner and fetch your friend." He pressed a button concealed +in the wall, and the door opened of itself. + +It opened on a long, commodious ante-room, of which the only +arresting features, ordinarily speaking, were the rows of tall +half-human mechanical figures that stood up on both sides like +tailors' dummies. Like tailors' dummies they were headless; and +like tailors' dummies they had a handsome unnecessary humpiness in +the shoulders, and a pigeon-breasted protuberance of chest; but +barring this, they were not much more like a human figure than any +automatic machine at a station that is about the human height. +They had two great hooks like arms, for carrying trays; and they +were painted pea-green, or vermilion, or black for convenience of +distinction; in every other way they were only automatic machines +and nobody would have looked twice at them. On this occasion, at +least, nobody did. For between the two rows of these domestic +dummies lay something more interesting than most of the mechanics +of the world. It was a white, tattered scrap of paper scrawled +with red ink; and the agile inventor had snatched it up almost as +soon as the door flew open. He handed it to Angus without a word. +The red ink on it actually was not dry, and the message ran, "If +you have been to see her today, I shall kill you." + +There was a short silence, and then Isidore Smythe said +quietly, "Would you like a little whiskey? I rather feel as if I +should." + +"Thank you; I should like a little Flambeau," said Angus, +gloomily. "This business seems to me to be getting rather grave. +I'm going round at once to fetch him." + +"Right you are," said the other, with admirable cheerfulness. +"Bring him round here as quick as you can." + +But as Angus closed the front door behind him he saw Smythe +push back a button, and one of the clockwork images glided from +its place and slid along a groove in the floor carrying a tray +with syphon and decanter. There did seem something a trifle weird +about leaving the little man alone among those dead servants, who +were coming to life as the door closed. + +Six steps down from Smythe's landing the man in shirt sleeves +was doing something with a pail. Angus stopped to extract a +promise, fortified with a prospective bribe, that he would remain +in that place until the return with the detective, and would keep +count of any kind of stranger coming up those stairs. Dashing +down to the front hall he then laid similar charges of vigilance +on the commissionaire at the front door, from whom he learned the +simplifying circumstances that there was no back door. Not +content with this, he captured the floating policeman and induced +him to stand opposite the entrance and watch it; and finally +paused an instant for a pennyworth of chestnuts, and an inquiry as +to the probable length of the merchant's stay in the +neighbourhood. + +The chestnut seller, turning up the collar of his coat, told +him he should probably be moving shortly, as he thought it was +going to snow. Indeed, the evening was growing grey and bitter, +but Angus, with all his eloquence, proceeded to nail the chestnut +man to his post. + +"Keep yourself warm on your own chestnuts," he said earnestly. +"Eat up your whole stock; I'll make it worth your while. I'll +give you a sovereign if you'll wait here till I come back, and +then tell me whether any man, woman, or child has gone into that +house where the commissionaire is standing." + +He then walked away smartly, with a last look at the besieged +tower. + +"I've made a ring round that room, anyhow," he said. "They +can't all four of them be Mr. Welkin's accomplices." + +Lucknow Mansions were, so to speak, on a lower platform of +that hill of houses, of which Himylaya Mansions might be called +the peak. Mr. Flambeau's semi-official flat was on the ground +floor, and presented in every way a marked contrast to the +American machinery and cold hotel-like luxury of the flat of the +Silent Service. Flambeau, who was a friend of Angus, received him +in a rococo artistic den behind his office, of which the ornaments +were sabres, harquebuses, Eastern curiosities, flasks of Italian +wine, savage cooking-pots, a plumy Persian cat, and a small +dusty-looking Roman Catholic priest, who looked particularly out +of place. + +"This is my friend Father Brown," said Flambeau. "I've often +wanted you to meet him. Splendid weather, this; a little cold for +Southerners like me." + +"Yes, I think it will keep clear," said Angus, sitting down on +a violet-striped Eastern ottoman. + +"No," said the priest quietly, "it has begun to snow." + +And, indeed, as he spoke, the first few flakes, foreseen by the +man of chestnuts, began to drift across the darkening windowpane. + +"Well," said Angus heavily. "I'm afraid I've come on business, +and rather jumpy business at that. The fact is, Flambeau, within a +stone's throw of your house is a fellow who badly wants your help; +he's perpetually being haunted and threatened by an invisible enemy +--a scoundrel whom nobody has even seen." As Angus proceeded to +tell the whole tale of Smythe and Welkin, beginning with Laura's +story, and going on with his own, the supernatural laugh at the +corner of two empty streets, the strange distinct words spoken in +an empty room, Flambeau grew more and more vividly concerned, and +the little priest seemed to be left out of it, like a piece of +furniture. When it came to the scribbled stamp-paper pasted on +the window, Flambeau rose, seeming to fill the room with his huge +shoulders. + +"If you don't mind," he said, "I think you had better tell me +the rest on the nearest road to this man's house. It strikes me, +somehow, that there is no time to be lost." + +"Delighted," said Angus, rising also, "though he's safe enough +for the present, for I've set four men to watch the only hole to +his burrow." + +They turned out into the street, the small priest trundling +after them with the docility of a small dog. He merely said, in a +cheerful way, like one making conversation, "How quick the snow +gets thick on the ground." + +As they threaded the steep side streets already powdered with +silver, Angus finished his story; and by the time they reached the +crescent with the towering flats, he had leisure to turn his +attention to the four sentinels. The chestnut seller, both before +and after receiving a sovereign, swore stubbornly that he had +watched the door and seen no visitor enter. The policeman was +even more emphatic. He said he had had experience of crooks of +all kinds, in top hats and in rags; he wasn't so green as to +expect suspicious characters to look suspicious; he looked out for +anybody, and, so help him, there had been nobody. And when all +three men gathered round the gilded commissionaire, who still +stood smiling astride of the porch, the verdict was more final +still. + +"I've got a right to ask any man, duke or dustman, what he +wants in these flats," said the genial and gold-laced giant, "and +I'll swear there's been nobody to ask since this gentleman went +away." + +The unimportant Father Brown, who stood back, looking modestly +at the pavement, here ventured to say meekly, "Has nobody been up +and down stairs, then, since the snow began to fall? It began +while we were all round at Flambeau's." + +"Nobody's been in here, sir, you can take it from me," said +the official, with beaming authority. + +"Then I wonder what that is?" said the priest, and stared at +the ground blankly like a fish. + +The others all looked down also; and Flambeau used a fierce +exclamation and a French gesture. For it was unquestionably true +that down the middle of the entrance guarded by the man in gold +lace, actually between the arrogant, stretched legs of that +colossus, ran a stringy pattern of grey footprints stamped upon +the white snow. + +"God!" cried Angus involuntarily, "the Invisible Man!" + +Without another word he turned and dashed up the stairs, with +Flambeau following; but Father Brown still stood looking about him +in the snow-clad street as if he had lost interest in his query. + +Flambeau was plainly in a mood to break down the door with his +big shoulders; but the Scotchman, with more reason, if less +intuition, fumbled about on the frame of the door till he found +the invisible button; and the door swung slowly open. + +It showed substantially the same serried interior; the hall +had grown darker, though it was still struck here and there with +the last crimson shafts of sunset, and one or two of the headless +machines had been moved from their places for this or that +purpose, and stood here and there about the twilit place. The +green and red of their coats were all darkened in the dusk; and +their likeness to human shapes slightly increased by their very +shapelessness. But in the middle of them all, exactly where the +paper with the red ink had lain, there lay something that looked +like red ink spilt out of its bottle. But it was not red ink. + +With a French combination of reason and violence Flambeau +simply said "Murder!" and, plunging into the flat, had explored, +every corner and cupboard of it in five minutes. But if he +expected to find a corpse he found none. Isidore Smythe was not +in the place, either dead or alive. After the most tearing search +the two men met each other in the outer hall, with streaming faces +and staring eyes. "My friend," said Flambeau, talking French in +his excitement, "not only is your murderer invisible, but he makes +invisible also the murdered man." + +Angus looked round at the dim room full of dummies, and in +some Celtic corner of his Scotch soul a shudder started. One of +the life-size dolls stood immediately overshadowing the blood +stain, summoned, perhaps, by the slain man an instant before he +fell. One of the high-shouldered hooks that served the thing for +arms, was a little lifted, and Angus had suddenly the horrid fancy +that poor Smythe's own iron child had struck him down. Matter had +rebelled, and these machines had killed their master. But even +so, what had they done with him? + +"Eaten him?" said the nightmare at his ear; and he sickened +for an instant at the idea of rent, human remains absorbed and +crushed into all that acephalous clockwork. + +He recovered his mental health by an emphatic effort, and said +to Flambeau, "Well, there it is. The poor fellow has evaporated +like a cloud and left a red streak on the floor. The tale does +not belong to this world." + +"There is only one thing to be done," said Flambeau, "whether +it belongs to this world or the other. I must go down and talk to +my friend." + +They descended, passing the man with the pail, who again +asseverated that he had let no intruder pass, down to the +commissionaire and the hovering chestnut man, who rigidly +reasserted their own watchfulness. But when Angus looked round +for his fourth confirmation he could not see it, and called out +with some nervousness, "Where is the policeman?" + +"I beg your pardon," said Father Brown; "that is my fault. I +just sent him down the road to investigate something--that I +just thought worth investigating." + +"Well, we want him back pretty soon," said Angus abruptly, +"for the wretched man upstairs has not only been murdered, but +wiped out." + +"How?" asked the priest. + +"Father," said Flambeau, after a pause, "upon my soul I believe +it is more in your department than mine. No friend or foe has +entered the house, but Smythe is gone, as if stolen by the fairies. +If that is not supernatural, I--" + +As he spoke they were all checked by an unusual sight; the big +blue policeman came round the corner of the crescent, running. He +came straight up to Brown. + +"You're right, sir," he panted, "they've just found poor Mr. +Smythe's body in the canal down below." + +Angus put his hand wildly to his head. "Did he run down and +drown himself?" he asked. + +"He never came down, I'll swear," said the constable, "and he +wasn't drowned either, for he died of a great stab over the heart." + +"And yet you saw no one enter?" said Flambeau in a grave voice. + +"Let us walk down the road a little," said the priest. + +As they reached the other end of the crescent he observed +abruptly, "Stupid of me! I forgot to ask the policeman something. +I wonder if they found a light brown sack." + +"Why a light brown sack?" asked Angus, astonished. + +"Because if it was any other coloured sack, the case must +begin over again," said Father Brown; "but if it was a light brown +sack, why, the case is finished." + +"I am pleased to hear it," said Angus with hearty irony. "It +hasn't begun, so far as I am concerned." + +"You must tell us all about it," said Flambeau with a strange +heavy simplicity, like a child. + +Unconsciously they were walking with quickening steps down the +long sweep of road on the other side of the high crescent, Father +Brown leading briskly, though in silence. At last he said with an +almost touching vagueness, "Well, I'm afraid you'll think it so +prosy. We always begin at the abstract end of things, and you +can't begin this story anywhere else. + +"Have you ever noticed this--that people never answer what +you say? They answer what you mean--or what they think you +mean. Suppose one lady says to another in a country house, `Is +anybody staying with you?' the lady doesn't answer `Yes; the +butler, the three footmen, the parlourmaid, and so on,' though the +parlourmaid may be in the room, or the butler behind her chair. +She says `There is nobody staying with us,' meaning nobody of the +sort you mean. But suppose a doctor inquiring into an epidemic +asks, `Who is staying in the house?' then the lady will remember +the butler, the parlourmaid, and the rest. All language is used +like that; you never get a question answered literally, even when +you get it answered truly. When those four quite honest men said +that no man had gone into the Mansions, they did not really mean +that no man had gone into them. They meant no man whom they could +suspect of being your man. A man did go into the house, and did +come out of it, but they never noticed him." + +"An invisible man?" inquired Angus, raising his red eyebrows. +"A mentally invisible man," said Father Brown. + +A minute or two after he resumed in the same unassuming voice, +like a man thinking his way. "Of course you can't think of such a +man, until you do think of him. That's where his cleverness comes +in. But I came to think of him through two or three little things +in the tale Mr. Angus told us. First, there was the fact that +this Welkin went for long walks. And then there was the vast lot +of stamp paper on the window. And then, most of all, there were +the two things the young lady said--things that couldn't be true. +Don't get annoyed," he added hastily, noting a sudden movement of +the Scotchman's head; "she thought they were true. A person can't +be quite alone in a street a second before she receives a letter. +She can't be quite alone in a street when she starts reading a +letter just received. There must be somebody pretty near her; he +must be mentally invisible." + +"Why must there be somebody near her?" asked Angus. + +"Because," said Father Brown, "barring carrier-pigeons, +somebody must have brought her the letter." + +"Do you really mean to say," asked Flambeau, with energy, +"that Welkin carried his rival's letters to his lady?" + +"Yes," said the priest. "Welkin carried his rival's letters +to his lady. You see, he had to." + +"Oh, I can't stand much more of this," exploded Flambeau. +"Who is this fellow? What does he look like? What is the usual +get-up of a mentally invisible man?" + +"He is dressed rather handsomely in red, blue and gold," +replied the priest promptly with precision, "and in this striking, +and even showy, costume he entered Himylaya Mansions under eight +human eyes; he killed Smythe in cold blood, and came down into the +street again carrying the dead body in his arms--" + +"Reverend sir," cried Angus, standing still, "are you raving +mad, or am I?" + +"You are not mad," said Brown, "only a little unobservant. +You have not noticed such a man as this, for example." + +He took three quick strides forward, and put his hand on the +shoulder of an ordinary passing postman who had bustled by them +unnoticed under the shade of the trees. + +"Nobody ever notices postmen somehow," he said thoughtfully; +"yet they have passions like other men, and even carry large bags +where a small corpse can be stowed quite easily." + +The postman, instead of turning naturally, had ducked and +tumbled against the garden fence. He was a lean fair-bearded man +of very ordinary appearance, but as he turned an alarmed face over +his shoulder, all three men were fixed with an almost fiendish +squint. + + * * * * * * + +Flambeau went back to his sabres, purple rugs and Persian cat, +having many things to attend to. John Turnbull Angus went back to +the lady at the shop, with whom that imprudent young man contrives +to be extremely comfortable. But Father Brown walked those +snow-covered hills under the stars for many hours with a murderer, +and what they said to each other will never be known. + + + + The Honour of Israel Gow + +A stormy evening of olive and silver was closing in, as Father +Brown, wrapped in a grey Scotch plaid, came to the end of a grey +Scotch valley and beheld the strange castle of Glengyle. It +stopped one end of the glen or hollow like a blind alley; and it +looked like the end of the world. Rising in steep roofs and +spires of seagreen slate in the manner of the old French-Scotch +chateaux, it reminded an Englishman of the sinister steeple-hats +of witches in fairy tales; and the pine woods that rocked round +the green turrets looked, by comparison, as black as numberless +flocks of ravens. This note of a dreamy, almost a sleepy devilry, +was no mere fancy from the landscape. For there did rest on the +place one of those clouds of pride and madness and mysterious +sorrow which lie more heavily on the noble houses of Scotland than +on any other of the children of men. For Scotland has a double +dose of the poison called heredity; the sense of blood in the +aristocrat, and the sense of doom in the Calvinist. + +The priest had snatched a day from his business at Glasgow to +meet his friend Flambeau, the amateur detective, who was at +Glengyle Castle with another more formal officer investigating the +life and death of the late Earl of Glengyle. That mysterious +person was the last representative of a race whose valour, +insanity, and violent cunning had made them terrible even among +the sinister nobility of their nation in the sixteenth century. +None were deeper in that labyrinthine ambition, in chamber within +chamber of that palace of lies that was built up around Mary Queen +of Scots. + +The rhyme in the country-side attested the motive and the +result of their machinations candidly: + + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies. + +For many centuries there had never been a decent lord in +Glengyle Castle; and with the Victorian era one would have thought +that all eccentricities were exhausted. The last Glengyle, +however, satisfied his tribal tradition by doing the only thing +that was left for him to do; he disappeared. I do not mean that +he went abroad; by all accounts he was still in the castle, if he +was anywhere. But though his name was in the church register and +the big red Peerage, nobody ever saw him under the sun. + +If anyone saw him it was a solitary man-servant, something +between a groom and a gardener. He was so deaf that the more +business-like assumed him to be dumb; while the more penetrating +declared him to be half-witted. A gaunt, red-haired labourer, +with a dogged jaw and chin, but quite blank blue eyes, he went by +the name of Israel Gow, and was the one silent servant on that +deserted estate. But the energy with which he dug potatoes, and +the regularity with which he disappeared into the kitchen gave +people an impression that he was providing for the meals of a +superior, and that the strange earl was still concealed in the +castle. If society needed any further proof that he was there, +the servant persistently asserted that he was not at home. One +morning the provost and the minister (for the Glengyles were +Presbyterian) were summoned to the castle. There they found that +the gardener, groom and cook had added to his many professions +that of an undertaker, and had nailed up his noble master in a +coffin. With how much or how little further inquiry this odd fact +was passed, did not as yet very plainly appear; for the thing had +never been legally investigated till Flambeau had gone north two +or three days before. By then the body of Lord Glengyle (if it +was the body) had lain for some time in the little churchyard on +the hill. + +As Father Brown passed through the dim garden and came under +the shadow of the chateau, the clouds were thick and the whole air +damp and thundery. Against the last stripe of the green-gold +sunset he saw a black human silhouette; a man in a chimney-pot +hat, with a big spade over his shoulder. The combination was +queerly suggestive of a sexton; but when Brown remembered the deaf +servant who dug potatoes, he thought it natural enough. He knew +something of the Scotch peasant; he knew the respectability which +might well feel it necessary to wear "blacks" for an official +inquiry; he knew also the economy that would not lose an hour's +digging for that. Even the man's start and suspicious stare as +the priest went by were consonant enough with the vigilance and +jealousy of such a type. + +The great door was opened by Flambeau himself, who had with +him a lean man with iron-grey hair and papers in his hand: +Inspector Craven from Scotland Yard. The entrance hall was mostly +stripped and empty; but the pale, sneering faces of one or two of +the wicked Ogilvies looked down out of black periwigs and +blackening canvas. + +Following them into an inner room, Father Brown found that the +allies had been seated at a long oak table, of which their end was +covered with scribbled papers, flanked with whisky and cigars. +Through the whole of its remaining length it was occupied by +detached objects arranged at intervals; objects about as +inexplicable as any objects could be. One looked like a small +heap of glittering broken glass. Another looked like a high heap +of brown dust. A third appeared to be a plain stick of wood. + +"You seem to have a sort of geological museum here," he said, +as he sat down, jerking his head briefly in the direction of the +brown dust and the crystalline fragments. + +"Not a geological museum," replied Flambeau; "say a +psychological museum." + +"Oh, for the Lord's sake," cried the police detective laughing, +"don't let's begin with such long words." + +"Don't you know what psychology means?" asked Flambeau with +friendly surprise. "Psychology means being off your chump." + +"Still I hardly follow," replied the official. + +"Well," said Flambeau, with decision, "I mean that we've only +found out one thing about Lord Glengyle. He was a maniac." + +The black silhouette of Gow with his top hat and spade passed +the window, dimly outlined against the darkening sky. Father +Brown stared passively at it and answered: + +"I can understand there must have been something odd about the +man, or he wouldn't have buried himself alive--nor been in such +a hurry to bury himself dead. But what makes you think it was +lunacy?" + +"Well," said Flambeau, "you just listen to the list of things +Mr. Craven has found in the house." + +"We must get a candle," said Craven, suddenly. "A storm is +getting up, and it's too dark to read." + +"Have you found any candles," asked Brown smiling, "among your +oddities?" + +Flambeau raised a grave face, and fixed his dark eyes on his +friend. + +"That is curious, too," he said. "Twenty-five candles, and +not a trace of a candlestick." + +In the rapidly darkening room and rapidly rising wind, Brown +went along the table to where a bundle of wax candles lay among +the other scrappy exhibits. As he did so he bent accidentally +over the heap of red-brown dust; and a sharp sneeze cracked the +silence. + +"Hullo!" he said, "snuff!" + +He took one of the candles, lit it carefully, came back and +stuck it in the neck of the whisky bottle. The unrestful night +air, blowing through the crazy window, waved the long flame like a +banner. And on every side of the castle they could hear the miles +and miles of black pine wood seething like a black sea around a +rock. + +"I will read the inventory," began Craven gravely, picking up +one of the papers, "the inventory of what we found loose and +unexplained in the castle. You are to understand that the place +generally was dismantled and neglected; but one or two rooms had +plainly been inhabited in a simple but not squalid style by +somebody; somebody who was not the servant Gow. The list is as +follows: + +"First item. A very considerable hoard of precious stones, +nearly all diamonds, and all of them loose, without any setting +whatever. Of course, it is natural that the Ogilvies should have +family jewels; but those are exactly the jewels that are almost +always set in particular articles of ornament. The Ogilvies would +seem to have kept theirs loose in their pockets, like coppers. + +"Second item. Heaps and heaps of loose snuff, not kept in a +horn, or even a pouch, but lying in heaps on the mantelpieces, on +the sideboard, on the piano, anywhere. It looks as if the old +gentleman would not take the trouble to look in a pocket or lift a +lid. + +"Third item. Here and there about the house curious little +heaps of minute pieces of metal, some like steel springs and some +in the form of microscopic wheels. As if they had gutted some +mechanical toy. + +"Fourth item. The wax candles, which have to be stuck in +bottle necks because there is nothing else to stick them in. Now +I wish you to note how very much queerer all this is than anything +we anticipated. For the central riddle we are prepared; we have +all seen at a glance that there was something wrong about the last +earl. We have come here to find out whether he really lived here, +whether he really died here, whether that red-haired scarecrow who +did his burying had anything to do with his dying. But suppose +the worst in all this, the most lurid or melodramatic solution you +like. Suppose the servant really killed the master, or suppose +the master isn't really dead, or suppose the master is dressed up +as the servant, or suppose the servant is buried for the master; +invent what Wilkie Collins' tragedy you like, and you still have +not explained a candle without a candlestick, or why an elderly +gentleman of good family should habitually spill snuff on the +piano. The core of the tale we could imagine; it is the fringes +that are mysterious. By no stretch of fancy can the human mind +connect together snuff and diamonds and wax and loose clockwork." + +"I think I see the connection," said the priest. "This +Glengyle was mad against the French Revolution. He was an +enthusiast for the ancien regime, and was trying to re-enact +literally the family life of the last Bourbons. He had snuff +because it was the eighteenth century luxury; wax candles, because +they were the eighteenth century lighting; the mechanical bits of +iron represent the locksmith hobby of Louis XVI; the diamonds are +for the Diamond Necklace of Marie Antoinette." + +Both the other men were staring at him with round eyes. "What +a perfectly extraordinary notion!" cried Flambeau. "Do you really +think that is the truth?" + +"I am perfectly sure it isn't," answered Father Brown, "only +you said that nobody could connect snuff and diamonds and clockwork +and candles. I give you that connection off-hand. The real truth, +I am very sure, lies deeper." + +He paused a moment and listened to the wailing of the wind in +the turrets. Then he said, "The late Earl of Glengyle was a thief. +He lived a second and darker life as a desperate housebreaker. He +did not have any candlesticks because he only used these candles +cut short in the little lantern he carried. The snuff he employed +as the fiercest French criminals have used pepper: to fling it +suddenly in dense masses in the face of a captor or pursuer. But +the final proof is in the curious coincidence of the diamonds and +the small steel wheels. Surely that makes everything plain to +you? Diamonds and small steel wheels are the only two instruments +with which you can cut out a pane of glass." + +The bough of a broken pine tree lashed heavily in the blast +against the windowpane behind them, as if in parody of a burglar, +but they did not turn round. Their eyes were fastened on Father +Brown. + +"Diamonds and small wheels," repeated Craven ruminating. +"Is that all that makes you think it the true explanation?" + +"I don't think it the true explanation," replied the priest +placidly; "but you said that nobody could connect the four things. +The true tale, of course, is something much more humdrum. Glengyle +had found, or thought he had found, precious stones on his estate. +Somebody had bamboozled him with those loose brilliants, saying +they were found in the castle caverns. The little wheels are some +diamond-cutting affair. He had to do the thing very roughly and +in a small way, with the help of a few shepherds or rude fellows +on these hills. Snuff is the one great luxury of such Scotch +shepherds; it's the one thing with which you can bribe them. They +didn't have candlesticks because they didn't want them; they held +the candles in their hands when they explored the caves." + +"Is that all?" asked Flambeau after a long pause. "Have we +got to the dull truth at last?" + +"Oh, no," said Father Brown. + +As the wind died in the most distant pine woods with a long +hoot as of mockery Father Brown, with an utterly impassive face, +went on: + +"I only suggested that because you said one could not plausibly +connect snuff with clockwork or candles with bright stones. Ten +false philosophies will fit the universe; ten false theories will +fit Glengyle Castle. But we want the real explanation of the +castle and the universe. But are there no other exhibits?" + +Craven laughed, and Flambeau rose smiling to his feet and +strolled down the long table. + +"Items five, six, seven, etc.," he said, "and certainly more +varied than instructive. A curious collection, not of lead +pencils, but of the lead out of lead pencils. A senseless stick +of bamboo, with the top rather splintered. It might be the +instrument of the crime. Only, there isn't any crime. The only +other things are a few old missals and little Catholic pictures, +which the Ogilvies kept, I suppose, from the Middle Ages--their +family pride being stronger than their Puritanism. We only put +them in the museum because they seem curiously cut about and +defaced." + +The heady tempest without drove a dreadful wrack of clouds +across Glengyle and threw the long room into darkness as Father +Brown picked up the little illuminated pages to examine them. He +spoke before the drift of darkness had passed; but it was the +voice of an utterly new man. + +"Mr. Craven," said he, talking like a man ten years younger, +"you have got a legal warrant, haven't you, to go up and examine +that grave? The sooner we do it the better, and get to the bottom +of this horrible affair. If I were you I should start now." + +"Now," repeated the astonished detective, "and why now?" + +"Because this is serious," answered Brown; "this is not spilt +snuff or loose pebbles, that might be there for a hundred reasons. +There is only one reason I know of for this being done; and the +reason goes down to the roots of the world. These religious +pictures are not just dirtied or torn or scrawled over, which +might be done in idleness or bigotry, by children or by +Protestants. These have been treated very carefully--and very +queerly. In every place where the great ornamented name of God +comes in the old illuminations it has been elaborately taken out. +The only other thing that has been removed is the halo round the +head of the Child Jesus. Therefore, I say, let us get our warrant +and our spade and our hatchet, and go up and break open that +coffin." + +"What do you mean?" demanded the London officer. + +"I mean," answered the little priest, and his voice seemed to +rise slightly in the roar of the gale. "I mean that the great +devil of the universe may be sitting on the top tower of this +castle at this moment, as big as a hundred elephants, and roaring +like the Apocalypse. There is black magic somewhere at the bottom +of this." + +"Black magic," repeated Flambeau in a low voice, for he was +too enlightened a man not to know of such things; "but what can +these other things mean?" + +"Oh, something damnable, I suppose," replied Brown impatiently. +"How should I know? How can I guess all their mazes down below? +Perhaps you can make a torture out of snuff and bamboo. Perhaps +lunatics lust after wax and steel filings. Perhaps there is a +maddening drug made of lead pencils! Our shortest cut to the +mystery is up the hill to the grave." + +His comrades hardly knew that they had obeyed and followed him +till a blast of the night wind nearly flung them on their faces in +the garden. Nevertheless they had obeyed him like automata; for +Craven found a hatchet in his hand, and the warrant in his pocket; +Flambeau was carrying the heavy spade of the strange gardener; +Father Brown was carrying the little gilt book from which had been +torn the name of God. + +The path up the hill to the churchyard was crooked but short; +only under that stress of wind it seemed laborious and long. Far +as the eye could see, farther and farther as they mounted the +slope, were seas beyond seas of pines, now all aslope one way +under the wind. And that universal gesture seemed as vain as it +was vast, as vain as if that wind were whistling about some +unpeopled and purposeless planet. Through all that infinite +growth of grey-blue forests sang, shrill and high, that ancient +sorrow that is in the heart of all heathen things. One could +fancy that the voices from the under world of unfathomable foliage +were cries of the lost and wandering pagan gods: gods who had gone +roaming in that irrational forest, and who will never find their +way back to heaven. + +"You see," said Father Brown in low but easy tone, "Scotch +people before Scotland existed were a curious lot. In fact, +they're a curious lot still. But in the prehistoric times I fancy +they really worshipped demons. That," he added genially, "is why +they jumped at the Puritan theology." + +"My friend," said Flambeau, turning in a kind of fury, "what +does all that snuff mean?" + +"My friend," replied Brown, with equal seriousness, "there is +one mark of all genuine religions: materialism. Now, devil-worship +is a perfectly genuine religion." + +They had come up on the grassy scalp of the hill, one of the +few bald spots that stood clear of the crashing and roaring pine +forest. A mean enclosure, partly timber and partly wire, rattled +in the tempest to tell them the border of the graveyard. But by +the time Inspector Craven had come to the corner of the grave, +and Flambeau had planted his spade point downwards and leaned on +it, they were both almost as shaken as the shaky wood and wire. +At the foot of the grave grew great tall thistles, grey and silver +in their decay. Once or twice, when a ball of thistledown broke +under the breeze and flew past him, Craven jumped slightly as if +it had been an arrow. + +Flambeau drove the blade of his spade through the whistling +grass into the wet clay below. Then he seemed to stop and lean on +it as on a staff. + +"Go on," said the priest very gently. "We are only trying to +find the truth. What are you afraid of?" + +"I am afraid of finding it," said Flambeau. + +The London detective spoke suddenly in a high crowing voice +that was meant to be conversational and cheery. "I wonder why he +really did hide himself like that. Something nasty, I suppose; +was he a leper?" + +"Something worse than that," said Flambeau. + +"And what do you imagine," asked the other, "would be worse +than a leper?" + +"I don't imagine it," said Flambeau. + +He dug for some dreadful minutes in silence, and then said in +a choked voice, "I'm afraid of his not being the right shape." + +"Nor was that piece of paper, you know," said Father Brown +quietly, "and we survived even that piece of paper." + +Flambeau dug on with a blind energy. But the tempest had +shouldered away the choking grey clouds that clung to the hills +like smoke and revealed grey fields of faint starlight before he +cleared the shape of a rude timber coffin, and somehow tipped it +up upon the turf. Craven stepped forward with his axe; a +thistle-top touched him, and he flinched. Then he took a firmer +stride, and hacked and wrenched with an energy like Flambeau's +till the lid was torn off, and all that was there lay glimmering +in the grey starlight. + +"Bones," said Craven; and then he added, "but it is a man," as +if that were something unexpected. + +"Is he," asked Flambeau in a voice that went oddly up and +down, "is he all right?" + +"Seems so," said the officer huskily, bending over the obscure +and decaying skeleton in the box. "Wait a minute." + +A vast heave went over Flambeau's huge figure. "And now I +come to think of it," he cried, "why in the name of madness +shouldn't he be all right? What is it gets hold of a man on these +cursed cold mountains? I think it's the black, brainless +repetition; all these forests, and over all an ancient horror of +unconsciousness. It's like the dream of an atheist. Pine-trees +and more pine-trees and millions more pine-trees--" + +"God!" cried the man by the coffin, "but he hasn't got a head." + +While the others stood rigid the priest, for the first time, +showed a leap of startled concern. + +"No head!" he repeated. "No head?" as if he had almost +expected some other deficiency. + +Half-witted visions of a headless baby born to Glengyle, of a +headless youth hiding himself in the castle, of a headless man +pacing those ancient halls or that gorgeous garden, passed in +panorama through their minds. But even in that stiffened instant +the tale took no root in them and seemed to have no reason in it. +They stood listening to the loud woods and the shrieking sky quite +foolishly, like exhausted animals. Thought seemed to be something +enormous that had suddenly slipped out of their grasp. + +"There are three headless men," said Father Brown, "standing +round this open grave." + +The pale detective from London opened his mouth to speak, and +left it open like a yokel, while a long scream of wind tore the +sky; then he looked at the axe in his hands as if it did not +belong to him, and dropped it. + +"Father," said Flambeau in that infantile and heavy voice he +used very seldom, "what are we to do?" + +His friend's reply came with the pent promptitude of a gun +going off. + +"Sleep!" cried Father Brown. "Sleep. We have come to the end +of the ways. Do you know what sleep is? Do you know that every +man who sleeps believes in God? It is a sacrament; for it is an +act of faith and it is a food. And we need a sacrament, if only a +natural one. Something has fallen on us that falls very seldom on +men; perhaps the worst thing that can fall on them." + +Craven's parted lips came together to say, "What do you mean?" + +The priest had turned his face to the castle as he answered: +"We have found the truth; and the truth makes no sense." + +He went down the path in front of them with a plunging and +reckless step very rare with him, and when they reached the castle +again he threw himself upon sleep with the simplicity of a dog. + +Despite his mystic praise of slumber, Father Brown was up +earlier than anyone else except the silent gardener; and was found +smoking a big pipe and watching that expert at his speechless +labours in the kitchen garden. Towards daybreak the rocking storm +had ended in roaring rains, and the day came with a curious +freshness. The gardener seemed even to have been conversing, but +at sight of the detectives he planted his spade sullenly in a bed +and, saying something about his breakfast, shifted along the lines +of cabbages and shut himself in the kitchen. "He's a valuable +man, that," said Father Brown. "He does the potatoes amazingly. +Still," he added, with a dispassionate charity, "he has his faults; +which of us hasn't? He doesn't dig this bank quite regularly. +There, for instance," and he stamped suddenly on one spot. "I'm +really very doubtful about that potato." + +"And why?" asked Craven, amused with the little man's hobby. + +"I'm doubtful about it," said the other, "because old Gow was +doubtful about it himself. He put his spade in methodically in +every place but just this. There must be a mighty fine potato +just here." + +Flambeau pulled up the spade and impetuously drove it into the +place. He turned up, under a load of soil, something that did not +look like a potato, but rather like a monstrous, over-domed +mushroom. But it struck the spade with a cold click; it rolled +over like a ball, and grinned up at them. + +"The Earl of Glengyle," said Brown sadly, and looked down +heavily at the skull. + +Then, after a momentary meditation, he plucked the spade from +Flambeau, and, saying "We must hide it again," clamped the skull +down in the earth. Then he leaned his little body and huge head +on the great handle of the spade, that stood up stiffly in the +earth, and his eyes were empty and his forehead full of wrinkles. +"If one could only conceive," he muttered, "the meaning of this +last monstrosity." And leaning on the large spade handle, he +buried his brows in his hands, as men do in church. + +All the corners of the sky were brightening into blue and +silver; the birds were chattering in the tiny garden trees; so +loud it seemed as if the trees themselves were talking. But the +three men were silent enough. + +"Well, I give it all up," said Flambeau at last boisterously. +"My brain and this world don't fit each other; and there's an end +of it. Snuff, spoilt Prayer Books, and the insides of musical +boxes--what--" + +Brown threw up his bothered brow and rapped on the spade +handle with an intolerance quite unusual with him. "Oh, tut, tut, +tut, tut!" he cried. "All that is as plain as a pikestaff. I +understood the snuff and clockwork, and so on, when I first opened +my eyes this morning. And since then I've had it out with old +Gow, the gardener, who is neither so deaf nor so stupid as he +pretends. There's nothing amiss about the loose items. I was +wrong about the torn mass-book, too; there's no harm in that. But +it's this last business. Desecrating graves and stealing dead +men's heads--surely there's harm in that? Surely there's black +magic still in that? That doesn't fit in to the quite simple +story of the snuff and the candles." And, striding about again, +he smoked moodily. + +"My friend," said Flambeau, with a grim humour, "you must be +careful with me and remember I was once a criminal. The great +advantage of that estate was that I always made up the story +myself, and acted it as quick as I chose. This detective business +of waiting about is too much for my French impatience. All my +life, for good or evil, I have done things at the instant; I +always fought duels the next morning; I always paid bills on the +nail; I never even put off a visit to the dentist--" + +Father Brown's pipe fell out of his mouth and broke into three +pieces on the gravel path. He stood rolling his eyes, the exact +picture of an idiot. "Lord, what a turnip I am!" he kept saying. +"Lord, what a turnip!" Then, in a somewhat groggy kind of way, he +began to laugh. + +"The dentist!" he repeated. "Six hours in the spiritual +abyss, and all because I never thought of the dentist! Such a +simple, such a beautiful and peaceful thought! Friends, we have +passed a night in hell; but now the sun is risen, the birds are +singing, and the radiant form of the dentist consoles the world." + +"I will get some sense out of this," cried Flambeau, striding +forward, "if I use the tortures of the Inquisition." + +Father Brown repressed what appeared to be a momentary +disposition to dance on the now sunlit lawn and cried quite +piteously, like a child, "Oh, let me be silly a little. You don't +know how unhappy I have been. And now I know that there has been +no deep sin in this business at all. Only a little lunacy, perhaps +--and who minds that?" + +He spun round once more, then faced them with gravity. + +"This is not a story of crime," he said; "rather it is the +story of a strange and crooked honesty. We are dealing with the +one man on earth, perhaps, who has taken no more than his due. It +is a study in the savage living logic that has been the religion +of this race. + +"That old local rhyme about the house of Glengyle-- + + As green sap to the simmer trees + Is red gold to the Ogilvies-- + +was literal as well as metaphorical. It did not merely mean that +the Glengyles sought for wealth; it was also true that they +literally gathered gold; they had a huge collection of ornaments +and utensils in that metal. They were, in fact, misers whose +mania took that turn. In the light of that fact, run through all +the things we found in the castle. Diamonds without their gold +rings; candles without their gold candlesticks; snuff without the +gold snuff-boxes; pencil-leads without the gold pencil-cases; a +walking stick without its gold top; clockwork without the gold +clocks--or rather watches. And, mad as it sounds, because the +halos and the name of God in the old missals were of real gold; +these also were taken away." + +The garden seemed to brighten, the grass to grow gayer in the +strengthening sun, as the crazy truth was told. Flambeau lit a +cigarette as his friend went on. + +"Were taken away," continued Father Brown; "were taken away-- +but not stolen. Thieves would never have left this mystery. +Thieves would have taken the gold snuff-boxes, snuff and all; the +gold pencil-cases, lead and all. We have to deal with a man with +a peculiar conscience, but certainly a conscience. I found that +mad moralist this morning in the kitchen garden yonder, and I +heard the whole story. + +"The late Archibald Ogilvie was the nearest approach to a good +man ever born at Glengyle. But his bitter virtue took the turn of +the misanthrope; he moped over the dishonesty of his ancestors, +from which, somehow, he generalised a dishonesty of all men. More +especially he distrusted philanthropy or free-giving; and he swore +if he could find one man who took his exact rights he should have +all the gold of Glengyle. Having delivered this defiance to +humanity he shut himself up, without the smallest expectation of +its being answered. One day, however, a deaf and seemingly +senseless lad from a distant village brought him a belated +telegram; and Glengyle, in his acrid pleasantry, gave him a new +farthing. At least he thought he had done so, but when he turned +over his change he found the new farthing still there and a +sovereign gone. The accident offered him vistas of sneering +speculation. Either way, the boy would show the greasy greed of +the species. Either he would vanish, a thief stealing a coin; or +he would sneak back with it virtuously, a snob seeking a reward. +In the middle of that night Lord Glengyle was knocked up out of +his bed--for he lived alone--and forced to open the door to +the deaf idiot. The idiot brought with him, not the sovereign, +but exactly nineteen shillings and eleven-pence three-farthings +in change. + +"Then the wild exactitude of this action took hold of the mad +lord's brain like fire. He swore he was Diogenes, that had long +sought an honest man, and at last had found one. He made a new +will, which I have seen. He took the literal youth into his huge, +neglected house, and trained him up as his solitary servant and +--after an odd manner--his heir. And whatever that queer +creature understands, he understood absolutely his lord's two +fixed ideas: first, that the letter of right is everything; and +second, that he himself was to have the gold of Glengyle. So far, +that is all; and that is simple. He has stripped the house of +gold, and taken not a grain that was not gold; not so much as a +grain of snuff. He lifted the gold leaf off an old illumination, +fully satisfied that he left the rest unspoilt. All that I +understood; but I could not understand this skull business. +I was really uneasy about that human head buried among the +potatoes. It distressed me--till Flambeau said the word. + +"It will be all right. He will put the skull back in the +grave, when he has taken the gold out of the tooth." + +And, indeed, when Flambeau crossed the hill that morning, he +saw that strange being, the just miser, digging at the desecrated +grave, the plaid round his throat thrashing out in the mountain +wind; the sober top hat on his head. + + + + The Wrong Shape + +Certain of the great roads going north out of London continue far +into the country a sort of attenuated and interrupted spectre of a +street, with great gaps in the building, but preserving the line. +Here will be a group of shops, followed by a fenced field or +paddock, and then a famous public-house, and then perhaps a market +garden or a nursery garden, and then one large private house, and +then another field and another inn, and so on. If anyone walks +along one of these roads he will pass a house which will probably +catch his eye, though he may not be able to explain its attraction. +It is a long, low house, running parallel with the road, painted +mostly white and pale green, with a veranda and sun-blinds, and +porches capped with those quaint sort of cupolas like wooden +umbrellas that one sees in some old-fashioned houses. In fact, it +is an old-fashioned house, very English and very suburban in the +good old wealthy Clapham sense. And yet the house has a look of +having been built chiefly for the hot weather. Looking at its +white paint and sun-blinds one thinks vaguely of pugarees and even +of palm trees. I cannot trace the feeling to its root; perhaps +the place was built by an Anglo-Indian. + +Anyone passing this house, I say, would be namelessly +fascinated by it; would feel that it was a place about which some +story was to be told. And he would have been right, as you shall +shortly hear. For this is the story--the story of the strange +things that did really happen in it in the Whitsuntide of the year +18--: + +Anyone passing the house on the Thursday before WhitSunday at +about half-past four p.m. would have seen the front door open, and +Father Brown, of the small church of St. Mungo, come out smoking a +large pipe in company with a very tall French friend of his called +Flambeau, who was smoking a very small cigarette. These persons +may or may not be of interest to the reader, but the truth is that +they were not the only interesting things that were displayed when +the front door of the white-and-green house was opened. There are +further peculiarities about this house, which must be described to +start with, not only that the reader may understand this tragic +tale, but also that he may realise what it was that the opening of +the door revealed. + +The whole house was built upon the plan of a T, but a T with a +very long cross piece and a very short tail piece. The long cross +piece was the frontage that ran along in face of the street, with +the front door in the middle; it was two stories high, and +contained nearly all the important rooms. The short tail piece, +which ran out at the back immediately opposite the front door, was +one story high, and consisted only of two long rooms, the one +leading into the other. The first of these two rooms was the study +in which the celebrated Mr. Quinton wrote his wild Oriental poems +and romances. The farther room was a glass conservatory full of +tropical blossoms of quite unique and almost monstrous beauty, and +on such afternoons as these glowing with gorgeous sunlight. Thus +when the hall door was open, many a passer-by literally stopped to +stare and gasp; for he looked down a perspective of rich apartments +to something really like a transformation scene in a fairy play: +purple clouds and golden suns and crimson stars that were at once +scorchingly vivid and yet transparent and far away. + +Leonard Quinton, the poet, had himself most carefully arranged +this effect; and it is doubtful whether he so perfectly expressed +his personality in any of his poems. For he was a man who drank +and bathed in colours, who indulged his lust for colour somewhat +to the neglect of form--even of good form. This it was that had +turned his genius so wholly to eastern art and imagery; to those +bewildering carpets or blinding embroideries in which all the +colours seem fallen into a fortunate chaos, having nothing to +typify or to teach. He had attempted, not perhaps with complete +artistic success, but with acknowledged imagination and invention, +to compose epics and love stories reflecting the riot of violent +and even cruel colour; tales of tropical heavens of burning gold or +blood-red copper; of eastern heroes who rode with twelve-turbaned +mitres upon elephants painted purple or peacock green; of gigantic +jewels that a hundred negroes could not carry, but which burned +with ancient and strange-hued fires. + +In short (to put the matter from the more common point of +view), he dealt much in eastern heavens, rather worse than most +western hells; in eastern monarchs, whom we might possibly call +maniacs; and in eastern jewels which a Bond Street jeweller (if +the hundred staggering negroes brought them into his shop) might +possibly not regard as genuine. Quinton was a genius, if a morbid +one; and even his morbidity appeared more in his life than in his +work. In temperament he was weak and waspish, and his health had +suffered heavily from oriental experiments with opium. His wife +--a handsome, hard-working, and, indeed, over-worked woman +objected to the opium, but objected much more to a live Indian +hermit in white and yellow robes, whom her husband insisted on +entertaining for months together, a Virgil to guide his spirit +through the heavens and the hells of the east. + +It was out of this artistic household that Father Brown and +his friend stepped on to the door-step; and to judge from their +faces, they stepped out of it with much relief. Flambeau had +known Quinton in wild student days in Paris, and they had renewed +the acquaintance for a week-end; but apart from Flambeau's more +responsible developments of late, he did not get on well with the +poet now. Choking oneself with opium and writing little erotic +verses on vellum was not his notion of how a gentleman should go +to the devil. As the two paused on the door-step, before taking a +turn in the garden, the front garden gate was thrown open with +violence, and a young man with a billycock hat on the back of his +head tumbled up the steps in his eagerness. He was a +dissipated-looking youth with a gorgeous red necktie all awry, as +if he had slept in it, and he kept fidgeting and lashing about +with one of those little jointed canes. + +"I say," he said breathlessly, "I want to see old Quinton. I +must see him. Has he gone?" + +"Mr. Quinton is in, I believe," said Father Brown, cleaning +his pipe, "but I do not know if you can see him. The doctor is +with him at present." + +The young man, who seemed not to be perfectly sober, stumbled +into the hall; and at the same moment the doctor came out of +Quinton's study, shutting the door and beginning to put on his +gloves. + +"See Mr. Quinton?" said the doctor coolly. "No, I'm afraid +you can't. In fact, you mustn't on any account. Nobody must see +him; I've just given him his sleeping draught." + +"No, but look here, old chap," said the youth in the red tie, +trying affectionately to capture the doctor by the lapels of his +coat. "Look here. I'm simply sewn up, I tell you. I--" + +"It's no good, Mr. Atkinson," said the doctor, forcing him to +fall back; "when you can alter the effects of a drug I'll alter my +decision," and, settling on his hat, he stepped out into the +sunlight with the other two. He was a bull-necked, good-tempered +little man with a small moustache, inexpressibly ordinary, yet +giving an impression of capacity. + +The young man in the billycock, who did not seem to be gifted +with any tact in dealing with people beyond the general idea of +clutching hold of their coats, stood outside the door, as dazed as +if he had been thrown out bodily, and silently watched the other +three walk away together through the garden. + +"That was a sound, spanking lie I told just now," remarked the +medical man, laughing. "In point of fact, poor Quinton doesn't +have his sleeping draught for nearly half an hour. But I'm not +going to have him bothered with that little beast, who only wants +to borrow money that he wouldn't pay back if he could. He's a +dirty little scamp, though he is Mrs. Quinton's brother, and she's +as fine a woman as ever walked." + +"Yes," said Father Brown. "She's a good woman." + +"So I propose to hang about the garden till the creature has +cleared off," went on the doctor, "and then I'll go in to Quinton +with the medicine. Atkinson can't get in, because I locked the +door." + +"In that case, Dr. Harris," said Flambeau, "we might as well +walk round at the back by the end of the conservatory. There's no +entrance to it that way, but it's worth seeing, even from the +outside." + +"Yes, and I might get a squint at my patient," laughed the +doctor, "for he prefers to lie on an ottoman right at the end of +the conservatory amid all those blood-red poinsettias; it would +give me the creeps. But what are you doing?" + +Father Brown had stopped for a moment, and picked up out of +the long grass, where it had almost been wholly hidden, a queer, +crooked Oriental knife, inlaid exquisitely in coloured stones and +metals. + +"What is this?" asked Father Brown, regarding it with some +disfavour. + +"Oh, Quinton's, I suppose," said Dr. Harris carelessly; "he +has all sorts of Chinese knickknacks about the place. Or perhaps +it belongs to that mild Hindoo of his whom he keeps on a string." + +"What Hindoo?" asked Father Brown, still staring at the dagger +in his hand. + +"Oh, some Indian conjuror," said the doctor lightly; "a fraud, +of course." + +"You don't believe in magic?" asked Father Brown, without +looking up. + +"O crickey! magic!" said the doctor. + +"It's very beautiful," said the priest in a low, dreaming +voice; "the colours are very beautiful. But it's the wrong shape." + +"What for?" asked Flambeau, staring. + +"For anything. It's the wrong shape in the abstract. Don't +you ever feel that about Eastern art? The colours are +intoxicatingly lovely; but the shapes are mean and bad-- +deliberately mean and bad. I have seen wicked things in a Turkey +carpet." + +"Mon Dieu!" cried Flambeau, laughing. + +"They are letters and symbols in a language I don't know; but +I know they stand for evil words," went on the priest, his voice +growing lower and lower. "The lines go wrong on purpose--like +serpents doubling to escape." + +"What the devil are you talking about?" said the doctor with a +loud laugh. + +Flambeau spoke quietly to him in answer. "The Father +sometimes gets this mystic's cloud on him," he said; "but I give +you fair warning that I have never known him to have it except +when there was some evil quite near." + +"Oh, rats!" said the scientist. + +"Why, look at it," cried Father Brown, holding out the crooked +knife at arm's length, as if it were some glittering snake. +"Don't you see it is the wrong shape? Don't you see that it has +no hearty and plain purpose? It does not point like a spear. It +does not sweep like a scythe. It does not look like a weapon. It +looks like an instrument of torture." + +"Well, as you don't seem to like it," said the jolly Harris, +"it had better be taken back to its owner. Haven't we come to the +end of this confounded conservatory yet? This house is the wrong +shape, if you like." + +"You don't understand," said Father Brown, shaking his head. +"The shape of this house is quaint--it is even laughable. But +there is nothing wrong about it." + +As they spoke they came round the curve of glass that ended +the conservatory, an uninterrupted curve, for there was neither +door nor window by which to enter at that end. The glass, +however, was clear, and the sun still bright, though beginning to +set; and they could see not only the flamboyant blossoms inside, +but the frail figure of the poet in a brown velvet coat lying +languidly on the sofa, having, apparently, fallen half asleep over +a book. He was a pale, slight man, with loose, chestnut hair and +a fringe of beard that was the paradox of his face, for the beard +made him look less manly. These traits were well known to all +three of them; but even had it not been so, it may be doubted +whether they would have looked at Quinton just then. Their eyes +were riveted on another object. + +Exactly in their path, immediately outside the round end of +the glass building, was standing a tall man, whose drapery fell to +his feet in faultless white, and whose bare, brown skull, face, +and neck gleamed in the setting sun like splendid bronze. He was +looking through the glass at the sleeper, and he was more +motionless than a mountain. + +"Who is that?" cried Father Brown, stepping back with a +hissing intake of his breath. + +"Oh, it is only that Hindoo humbug," growled Harris; "but I +don't know what the deuce he's doing here." + +"It looks like hypnotism," said Flambeau, biting his black +moustache. + +"Why are you unmedical fellows always talking bosh about +hypnotism?" cried the doctor. "It looks a deal more like +burglary." + +"Well, we will speak to it, at any rate," said Flambeau, who +was always for action. One long stride took him to the place +where the Indian stood. Bowing from his great height, which +overtopped even the Oriental's, he said with placid impudence: + +"Good evening, sir. Do you want anything?" + +Quite slowly, like a great ship turning into a harbour, the +great yellow face turned, and looked at last over its white +shoulder. They were startled to see that its yellow eyelids were +quite sealed, as in sleep. "Thank you," said the face in +excellent English. "I want nothing." Then, half opening the +lids, so as to show a slit of opalescent eyeball, he repeated, "I +want nothing." Then he opened his eyes wide with a startling +stare, said, "I want nothing," and went rustling away into the +rapidly darkening garden. + +"The Christian is more modest," muttered Father Brown; "he +wants something." + +"What on earth was he doing?" asked Flambeau, knitting his +black brows and lowering his voice. + +"I should like to talk to you later," said Father Brown. + +The sunlight was still a reality, but it was the red light of +evening, and the bulk of the garden trees and bushes grew blacker +and blacker against it. They turned round the end of the +conservatory, and walked in silence down the other side to get +round to the front door. As they went they seemed to wake +something, as one startles a bird, in the deeper corner between +the study and the main building; and again they saw the +white-robed fakir slide out of the shadow, and slip round towards +the front door. To their surprise, however, he had not been +alone. They found themselves abruptly pulled up and forced to +banish their bewilderment by the appearance of Mrs. Quinton, with +her heavy golden hair and square pale face, advancing on them out +of the twilight. She looked a little stern, but was entirely +courteous. + +"Good evening, Dr. Harris," was all she said. + +"Good evening, Mrs. Quinton," said the little doctor heartily. +"I am just going to give your husband his sleeping draught." + +"Yes," she said in a clear voice. "I think it is quite time." +And she smiled at them, and went sweeping into the house. + +"That woman's over-driven," said Father Brown; "that's the +kind of woman that does her duty for twenty years, and then does +something dreadful." + +The little doctor looked at him for the first time with an eye +of interest. "Did you ever study medicine?" he asked. + +"You have to know something of the mind as well as the body," +answered the priest; "we have to know something of the body as +well as the mind." + +"Well," said the doctor, "I think I'll go and give Quinton his +stuff." + +They had turned the corner of the front facade, and were +approaching the front doorway. As they turned into it they saw +the man in the white robe for the third time. He came so straight +towards the front door that it seemed quite incredible that he had +not just come out of the study opposite to it. Yet they knew that +the study door was locked. + +Father Brown and Flambeau, however, kept this weird +contradiction to themselves, and Dr. Harris was not a man to +waste his thoughts on the impossible. He permitted the +omnipresent Asiatic to make his exit, and then stepped briskly +into the hall. There he found a figure which he had already +forgotten. The inane Atkinson was still hanging about, humming +and poking things with his knobby cane. The doctor's face had a +spasm of disgust and decision, and he whispered rapidly to his +companion: "I must lock the door again, or this rat will get in. +But I shall be out again in two minutes." + +He rapidly unlocked the door and locked it again behind him, +just balking a blundering charge from the young man in the +billycock. The young man threw himself impatiently on a hall +chair. Flambeau looked at a Persian illumination on the wall; +Father Brown, who seemed in a sort of daze, dully eyed the door. +In about four minutes the door was opened again. Atkinson was +quicker this time. He sprang forward, held the door open for an +instant, and called out: "Oh, I say, Quinton, I want--" + +From the other end of the study came the clear voice of +Quinton, in something between a yawn and a yell of weary laughter. + +"Oh, I know what you want. Take it, and leave me in peace. +I'm writing a song about peacocks." + +Before the door closed half a sovereign came flying through +the aperture; and Atkinson, stumbling forward, caught it with +singular dexterity. + +"So that's settled," said the doctor, and, locking the door +savagely, he led the way out into the garden. + +"Poor Leonard can get a little peace now," he added to Father +Brown; "he's locked in all by himself for an hour or two." + +"Yes," answered the priest; "and his voice sounded jolly enough +when we left him." Then he looked gravely round the garden, and +saw the loose figure of Atkinson standing and jingling the +half-sovereign in his pocket, and beyond, in the purple twilight, +the figure of the Indian sitting bolt upright upon a bank of grass +with his face turned towards the setting sun. Then he said +abruptly: "Where is Mrs. Quinton!" + +"She has gone up to her room," said the doctor. "That is her +shadow on the blind." + +Father Brown looked up, and frowningly scrutinised a dark +outline at the gas-lit window. + +"Yes," he said, "that is her shadow," and he walked a yard or +two and threw himself upon a garden seat. + +Flambeau sat down beside him; but the doctor was one of those +energetic people who live naturally on their legs. He walked +away, smoking, into the twilight, and the two friends were left +together. + +"My father," said Flambeau in French, "what is the matter with +you?" + +Father Brown was silent and motionless for half a minute, then +he said: "Superstition is irreligious, but there is something in +the air of this place. I think it's that Indian--at least, +partly." + +He sank into silence, and watched the distant outline of the +Indian, who still sat rigid as if in prayer. At first sight he +seemed motionless, but as Father Brown watched him he saw that the +man swayed ever so slightly with a rhythmic movement, just as the +dark tree-tops swayed ever so slightly in the wind that was +creeping up the dim garden paths and shuffling the fallen leaves a +little. + +The landscape was growing rapidly dark, as if for a storm, but +they could still see all the figures in their various places. +Atkinson was leaning against a tree with a listless face; Quinton's +wife was still at her window; the doctor had gone strolling round +the end of the conservatory; they could see his cigar like a +will-o'-the-wisp; and the fakir still sat rigid and yet rocking, +while the trees above him began to rock and almost to roar. Storm +was certainly coming. + +"When that Indian spoke to us," went on Brown in a +conversational undertone, "I had a sort of vision, a vision of him +and all his universe. Yet he only said the same thing three +times. When first he said `I want nothing,' it meant only that he +was impenetrable, that Asia does not give itself away. Then he +said again, `I want nothing,' and I knew that he meant that he was +sufficient to himself, like a cosmos, that he needed no God, +neither admitted any sins. And when he said the third time, `I +want nothing,' he said it with blazing eyes. And I knew that he +meant literally what he said; that nothing was his desire and his +home; that he was weary for nothing as for wine; that annihilation, +the mere destruction of everything or anything--" + +Two drops of rain fell; and for some reason Flambeau started +and looked up, as if they had stung him. And the same instant the +doctor down by the end of the conservatory began running towards +them, calling out something as he ran. + +As he came among them like a bombshell the restless Atkinson +happened to be taking a turn nearer to the house front; and the +doctor clutched him by the collar in a convulsive grip. "Foul +play!" he cried; "what have you been doing to him, you dog?" + +The priest had sprung erect, and had the voice of steel of a +soldier in command. + +"No fighting," he cried coolly; "we are enough to hold anyone +we want to. What is the matter, doctor?" + +"Things are not right with Quinton," said the doctor, quite +white. "I could just see him through the glass, and I don't like +the way he's lying. It's not as I left him, anyhow." + +"Let us go in to him," said Father Brown shortly. "You can +leave Mr. Atkinson alone. I have had him in sight since we heard +Quinton's voice." + +"I will stop here and watch him," said Flambeau hurriedly. +"You go in and see." + +The doctor and the priest flew to the study door, unlocked it, +and fell into the room. In doing so they nearly fell over the +large mahogany table in the centre at which the poet usually +wrote; for the place was lit only by a small fire kept for the +invalid. In the middle of this table lay a single sheet of paper, +evidently left there on purpose. The doctor snatched it up, +glanced at it, handed it to Father Brown, and crying, "Good God, +look at that!" plunged toward the glass room beyond, where the +terrible tropic flowers still seemed to keep a crimson memory of +the sunset. + +Father Brown read the words three times before he put down the +paper. The words were: "I die by my own hand; yet I die murdered!" +They were in the quite inimitable, not to say illegible, handwriting +of Leonard Quinton. + +Then Father Brown, still keeping the paper in his hand, strode +towards the conservatory, only to meet his medical friend coming +back with a face of assurance and collapse. "He's done it," said +Harris. + +They went together through the gorgeous unnatural beauty of +cactus and azalea and found Leonard Quinton, poet and romancer, +with his head hanging downward off his ottoman and his red curls +sweeping the ground. Into his left side was thrust the queer +dagger that they had picked up in the garden, and his limp hand +still rested on the hilt. + +Outside the storm had come at one stride, like the night in +Coleridge, and garden and glass roof were darkened with driving +rain. Father Brown seemed to be studying the paper more than the +corpse; he held it close to his eyes; and seemed trying to read it +in the twilight. Then he held it up against the faint light, and, +as he did so, lightning stared at them for an instant so white +that the paper looked black against it. + +Darkness full of thunder followed, and after the thunder +Father Brown's voice said out of the dark: "Doctor, this paper is +the wrong shape." + +"What do you mean?" asked Doctor Harris, with a frowning +stare. + +"It isn't square," answered Brown. "It has a sort of edge +snipped off at the corner. What does it mean?" + +"How the deuce should I know?" growled the doctor. "Shall we +move this poor chap, do you think? He's quite dead." + +"No," answered the priest; "we must leave him as he lies and +send for the police." But he was still scrutinising the paper. + +As they went back through the study he stopped by the table +and picked up a small pair of nail scissors. "Ah," he said, with +a sort of relief, "this is what he did it with. But yet--" And +he knitted his brows. + +"Oh, stop fooling with that scrap of paper," said the doctor +emphatically. "It was a fad of his. He had hundreds of them. He +cut all his paper like that," as he pointed to a stack of sermon +paper still unused on another and smaller table. Father Brown +went up to it and held up a sheet. It was the same irregular +shape. + +"Quite so," he said. "And here I see the corners that were +snipped off." And to the indignation of his colleague he began to +count them. + +"That's all right," he said, with an apologetic smile. +"Twenty-three sheets cut and twenty-two corners cut off them. And +as I see you are impatient we will rejoin the others." + +"Who is to tell his wife?" asked Dr. Harris. "Will you go and +tell her now, while I send a servant for the police?" + +"As you will," said Father Brown indifferently. And he went +out to the hall door. + +Here also he found a drama, though of a more grotesque sort. +It showed nothing less than his big friend Flambeau in an attitude +to which he had long been unaccustomed, while upon the pathway at +the bottom of the steps was sprawling with his boots in the air +the amiable Atkinson, his billycock hat and walking cane sent +flying in opposite directions along the path. Atkinson had at +length wearied of Flambeau's almost paternal custody, and had +endeavoured to knock him down, which was by no means a smooth game +to play with the Roi des Apaches, even after that monarch's +abdication. + +Flambeau was about to leap upon his enemy and secure him once +more, when the priest patted him easily on the shoulder. + +"Make it up with Mr. Atkinson, my friend," he said. "Beg a +mutual pardon and say `Good night.' We need not detain him any +longer." Then, as Atkinson rose somewhat doubtfully and gathered +his hat and stick and went towards the garden gate, Father Brown +said in a more serious voice: "Where is that Indian?" + +They all three (for the doctor had joined them) turned +involuntarily towards the dim grassy bank amid the tossing trees +purple with twilight, where they had last seen the brown man +swaying in his strange prayers. The Indian was gone. + +"Confound him," cried the doctor, stamping furiously. "Now I +know that it was that nigger that did it." + +"I thought you didn't believe in magic," said Father Brown +quietly. + +"No more I did," said the doctor, rolling his eyes. "I only +know that I loathed that yellow devil when I thought he was a sham +wizard. And I shall loathe him more if I come to think he was a +real one." + +"Well, his having escaped is nothing," said Flambeau. "For we +could have proved nothing and done nothing against him. One hardly +goes to the parish constable with a story of suicide imposed by +witchcraft or auto-suggestion." + +Meanwhile Father Brown had made his way into the house, and +now went to break the news to the wife of the dead man. + +When he came out again he looked a little pale and tragic, but +what passed between them in that interview was never known, even +when all was known. + +Flambeau, who was talking quietly with the doctor, was +surprised to see his friend reappear so soon at his elbow; but +Brown took no notice, and merely drew the doctor apart. "You have +sent for the police, haven't you?" he asked. + +"Yes," answered Harris. "They ought to be here in ten +minutes." + +"Will you do me a favour?" said the priest quietly. "The +truth is, I make a collection of these curious stories, which +often contain, as in the case of our Hindoo friend, elements which +can hardly be put into a police report. Now, I want you to write +out a report of this case for my private use. Yours is a clever +trade," he said, looking the doctor gravely and steadily in the +face. "I sometimes think that you know some details of this +matter which you have not thought fit to mention. Mine is a +confidential trade like yours, and I will treat anything you write +for me in strict confidence. But write the whole." + +The doctor, who had been listening thoughtfully with his head +a little on one side, looked the priest in the face for an +instant, and said: "All right," and went into the study, closing +the door behind him. + +"Flambeau," said Father Brown, "there is a long seat there +under the veranda, where we can smoke out of the rain. You are my +only friend in the world, and I want to talk to you. Or, perhaps, +be silent with you." + +They established themselves comfortably in the veranda seat; +Father Brown, against his common habit, accepted a good cigar and +smoked it steadily in silence, while the rain shrieked and rattled +on the roof of the veranda. + +"My friend," he said at length, "this is a very queer case. A +very queer case." + +"I should think it was," said Flambeau, with something like a +shudder. + +"You call it queer, and I call it queer," said the other, "and +yet we mean quite opposite things. The modern mind always mixes +up two different ideas: mystery in the sense of what is marvellous, +and mystery in the sense of what is complicated. That is half its +difficulty about miracles. A miracle is startling; but it is +simple. It is simple because it is a miracle. It is power coming +directly from God (or the devil) instead of indirectly through +nature or human wills. Now, you mean that this business is +marvellous because it is miraculous, because it is witchcraft +worked by a wicked Indian. Understand, I do not say that it was +not spiritual or diabolic. Heaven and hell only know by what +surrounding influences strange sins come into the lives of men. +But for the present my point is this: If it was pure magic, as you +think, then it is marvellous; but it is not mysterious--that is, +it is not complicated. The quality of a miracle is mysterious, +but its manner is simple. Now, the manner of this business has +been the reverse of simple." + +The storm that had slackened for a little seemed to be swelling +again, and there came heavy movements as of faint thunder. Father +Brown let fall the ash of his cigar and went on: + +"There has been in this incident," he said, "a twisted, ugly, +complex quality that does not belong to the straight bolts either +of heaven or hell. As one knows the crooked track of a snail, I +know the crooked track of a man." + +The white lightning opened its enormous eye in one wink, the +sky shut up again, and the priest went on: + +"Of all these crooked things, the crookedest was the shape of +that piece of paper. It was crookeder than the dagger that killed +him." + +"You mean the paper on which Quinton confessed his suicide," +said Flambeau. + +"I mean the paper on which Quinton wrote, `I die by my own +hand,'" answered Father Brown. "The shape of that paper, my +friend, was the wrong shape; the wrong shape, if ever I have seen +it in this wicked world." + +"It only had a corner snipped off," said Flambeau, "and I +understand that all Quinton's paper was cut that way." + +"It was a very odd way," said the other, "and a very bad way, +to my taste and fancy. Look here, Flambeau, this Quinton--God +receive his soul!--was perhaps a bit of a cur in some ways, but +he really was an artist, with the pencil as well as the pen. His +handwriting, though hard to read, was bold and beautiful. I can't +prove what I say; I can't prove anything. But I tell you with the +full force of conviction that he could never have cut that mean +little piece off a sheet of paper. If he had wanted to cut down +paper for some purpose of fitting in, or binding up, or what not, +he would have made quite a different slash with the scissors. Do +you remember the shape? It was a mean shape. It was a wrong +shape. Like this. Don't you remember?" + +And he waved his burning cigar before him in the darkness, +making irregular squares so rapidly that Flambeau really seemed to +see them as fiery hieroglyphics upon the darkness--hieroglyphics +such as his friend had spoken of, which are undecipherable, yet +can have no good meaning. + +"But," said Flambeau, as the priest put his cigar in his mouth +again and leaned back, staring at the roof, "suppose somebody else +did use the scissors. Why should somebody else, cutting pieces off +his sermon paper, make Quinton commit suicide?" + +Father Brown was still leaning back and staring at the roof, +but he took his cigar out of his mouth and said: "Quinton never +did commit suicide." + +Flambeau stared at him. "Why, confound it all," he cried, +"then why did he confess to suicide?" + +The priest leant forward again, settled his elbows on his +knees, looked at the ground, and said, in a low, distinct voice: +"He never did confess to suicide." + +Flambeau laid his cigar down. "You mean," he said, "that the +writing was forged?" + +"No," said Father Brown. "Quinton wrote it all right." + +"Well, there you are," said the aggravated Flambeau; "Quinton +wrote, `I die by my own hand,' with his own hand on a plain piece +of paper." + +"Of the wrong shape," said the priest calmly. + +"Oh, the shape be damned!" cried Flambeau. "What has the +shape to do with it?" + +"There were twenty-three snipped papers," resumed Brown +unmoved, "and only twenty-two pieces snipped off. Therefore one +of the pieces had been destroyed, probably that from the written +paper. Does that suggest anything to you?" + +A light dawned on Flambeau's face, and he said: "There was +something else written by Quinton, some other words. `They will +tell you I die by my own hand,' or `Do not believe that--'" + +"Hotter, as the children say," said his friend. "But the +piece was hardly half an inch across; there was no room for one +word, let alone five. Can you think of anything hardly bigger +than a comma which the man with hell in his heart had to tear away +as a testimony against him?" + +"I can think of nothing," said Flambeau at last. + +"What about quotation marks?" said the priest, and flung his +cigar far into the darkness like a shooting star. + +All words had left the other man's mouth, and Father Brown +said, like one going back to fundamentals: + +"Leonard Quinton was a romancer, and was writing an Oriental +romance about wizardry and hypnotism. He--" + +At this moment the door opened briskly behind them, and the +doctor came out with his hat on. He put a long envelope into the +priest's hands. + +"That's the document you wanted," he said, "and I must be +getting home. Good night." + +"Good night," said Father Brown, as the doctor walked briskly +to the gate. He had left the front door open, so that a shaft of +gaslight fell upon them. In the light of this Brown opened the +envelope and read the following words: + + + + DEAR FATHER BROWN,--Vicisti Galilee. Otherwise, damn your + eyes, which are very penetrating ones. Can it be possible that + there is something in all that stuff of yours after all? + + + I am a man who has ever since boyhood believed in Nature and + in all natural functions and instincts, whether men called them + moral or immoral. Long before I became a doctor, when I was a + schoolboy keeping mice and spiders, I believed that to be a good + animal is the best thing in the world. But just now I am shaken; + I have believed in Nature; but it seems as if Nature could betray + a man. Can there be anything in your bosh? I am really getting + morbid. + + + I loved Quinton's wife. What was there wrong in that? Nature + told me to, and it's love that makes the world go round. I also + thought quite sincerely that she would be happier with a clean + animal like me than with that tormenting little lunatic. What was + there wrong in that? I was only facing facts, like a man of + science. She would have been happier. + + + According to my own creed I was quite free to kill Quinton, + which was the best thing for everybody, even himself. But as a + healthy animal I had no notion of killing myself. I resolved, + therefore, that I would never do it until I saw a chance that + would leave me scot free. I saw that chance this morning. + + + I have been three times, all told, into Quinton's study today. + The first time I went in he would talk about nothing but the weird + tale, called "The Cure of a Saint," which he was writing, which + was all about how some Indian hermit made an English colonel kill + himself by thinking about him. He showed me the last sheets, and + even read me the last paragraph, which was something like this: + "The conqueror of the Punjab, a mere yellow skeleton, but still + gigantic, managed to lift himself on his elbow and gasp in his + nephew's ear: `I die by my own hand, yet I die murdered!'" It so + happened by one chance out of a hundred, that those last words + were written at the top of a new sheet of paper. I left the room, + and went out into the garden intoxicated with a frightful + opportunity. + + + We walked round the house; and two more things happened in my + favour. You suspected an Indian, and you found a dagger which the + Indian might most probably use. Taking the opportunity to stuff + it in my pocket I went back to Quinton's study, locked the door, + and gave him his sleeping draught. He was against answering + Atkinson at all, but I urged him to call out and quiet the fellow, + because I wanted a clear proof that Quinton was alive when I left + the room for the second time. Quinton lay down in the conservatory, + and I came through the study. I am a quick man with my hands, and + in a minute and a half I had done what I wanted to do. I had + emptied all the first part of Quinton's romance into the fireplace, + where it burnt to ashes. Then I saw that the quotation marks + wouldn't do, so I snipped them off, and to make it seem likelier, + snipped the whole quire to match. Then I came out with the + knowledge that Quinton's confession of suicide lay on the front + table, while Quinton lay alive but asleep in the conservatory + beyond. + + + The last act was a desperate one; you can guess it: I pretended + to have seen Quinton dead and rushed to his room. I delayed you + with the paper, and, being a quick man with my hands, killed + Quinton while you were looking at his confession of suicide. He + was half-asleep, being drugged, and I put his own hand on the + knife and drove it into his body. The knife was of so queer a + shape that no one but an operator could have calculated the angle + that would reach his heart. I wonder if you noticed this. + + + When I had done it, the extraordinary thing happened. Nature + deserted me. I felt ill. I felt just as if I had done something + wrong. I think my brain is breaking up; I feel some sort of + desperate pleasure in thinking I have told the thing to somebody; + that I shall not have to be alone with it if I marry and have + children. What is the matter with me? ... Madness ... or can one + have remorse, just as if one were in Byron's poems! I cannot + write any more. + + James Erskine Harris. + + + + +Father Brown carefully folded up the letter, and put it in his +breast pocket just as there came a loud peal at the gate bell, and +the wet waterproofs of several policemen gleamed in the road +outside. + + + + The Sins of Prince Saradine + +When Flambeau took his month's holiday from his office in +Westminster he took it in a small sailing-boat, so small that it +passed much of its time as a rowing-boat. He took it, moreover, +in little rivers in the Eastern counties, rivers so small that the +boat looked like a magic boat, sailing on land through meadows and +cornfields. The vessel was just comfortable for two people; there +was room only for necessities, and Flambeau had stocked it with +such things as his special philosophy considered necessary. They +reduced themselves, apparently, to four essentials: tins of +salmon, if he should want to eat; loaded revolvers, if he should +want to fight; a bottle of brandy, presumably in case he should +faint; and a priest, presumably in case he should die. With this +light luggage he crawled down the little Norfolk rivers, intending +to reach the Broads at last, but meanwhile delighting in the +overhanging gardens and meadows, the mirrored mansions or villages, +lingering to fish in the pools and corners, and in some sense +hugging the shore. + +Like a true philosopher, Flambeau had no aim in his holiday; +but, like a true philosopher, he had an excuse. He had a sort of +half purpose, which he took just so seriously that its success +would crown the holiday, but just so lightly that its failure +would not spoil it. Years ago, when he had been a king of thieves +and the most famous figure in Paris, he had often received wild +communications of approval, denunciation, or even love; but one +had, somehow, stuck in his memory. It consisted simply of a +visiting-card, in an envelope with an English postmark. On the +back of the card was written in French and in green ink: "If you +ever retire and become respectable, come and see me. I want to +meet you, for I have met all the other great men of my time. That +trick of yours of getting one detective to arrest the other was +the most splendid scene in French history." On the front of the +card was engraved in the formal fashion, "Prince Saradine, Reed +House, Reed Island, Norfolk." + +He had not troubled much about the prince then, beyond +ascertaining that he had been a brilliant and fashionable figure +in southern Italy. In his youth, it was said, he had eloped with +a married woman of high rank; the escapade was scarcely startling +in his social world, but it had clung to men's minds because of an +additional tragedy: the alleged suicide of the insulted husband, +who appeared to have flung himself over a precipice in Sicily. +The prince then lived in Vienna for a time, but his more recent +years seemed to have been passed in perpetual and restless travel. +But when Flambeau, like the prince himself, had left European +celebrity and settled in England, it occurred to him that he might +pay a surprise visit to this eminent exile in the Norfolk Broads. +Whether he should find the place he had no idea; and, indeed, it +was sufficiently small and forgotten. But, as things fell out, he +found it much sooner than he expected. + +They had moored their boat one night under a bank veiled in +high grasses and short pollarded trees. Sleep, after heavy +sculling, had come to them early, and by a corresponding accident +they awoke before it was light. To speak more strictly, they +awoke before it was daylight; for a large lemon moon was only just +setting in the forest of high grass above their heads, and the sky +was of a vivid violet-blue, nocturnal but bright. Both men had +simultaneously a reminiscence of childhood, of the elfin and +adventurous time when tall weeds close over us like woods. +Standing up thus against the large low moon, the daisies really +seemed to be giant daisies, the dandelions to be giant dandelions. +Somehow it reminded them of the dado of a nursery wall-paper. The +drop of the river-bed sufficed to sink them under the roots of all +shrubs and flowers and make them gaze upwards at the grass. "By +Jove!" said Flambeau, "it's like being in fairyland." + +Father Brown sat bolt upright in the boat and crossed himself. +His movement was so abrupt that his friend asked him, with a mild +stare, what was the matter. + +"The people who wrote the mediaeval ballads," answered the +priest, "knew more about fairies than you do. It isn't only nice +things that happen in fairyland." + +"Oh, bosh!" said Flambeau. "Only nice things could happen +under such an innocent moon. I am for pushing on now and seeing +what does really come. We may die and rot before we ever see +again such a moon or such a mood." + +"All right," said Father Brown. "I never said it was always +wrong to enter fairyland. I only said it was always dangerous." + +They pushed slowly up the brightening river; the glowing +violet of the sky and the pale gold of the moon grew fainter and +fainter, and faded into that vast colourless cosmos that precedes +the colours of the dawn. When the first faint stripes of red and +gold and grey split the horizon from end to end they were broken +by the black bulk of a town or village which sat on the river just +ahead of them. It was already an easy twilight, in which all +things were visible, when they came under the hanging roofs and +bridges of this riverside hamlet. The houses, with their long, +low, stooping roofs, seemed to come down to drink at the river, +like huge grey and red cattle. The broadening and whitening dawn +had already turned to working daylight before they saw any living +creature on the wharves and bridges of that silent town. +Eventually they saw a very placid and prosperous man in his shirt +sleeves, with a face as round as the recently sunken moon, and +rays of red whisker around the low arc of it, who was leaning on a +post above the sluggish tide. By an impulse not to be analysed, +Flambeau rose to his full height in the swaying boat and shouted +at the man to ask if he knew Reed Island or Reed House. The +prosperous man's smile grew slightly more expansive, and he simply +pointed up the river towards the next bend of it. Flambeau went +ahead without further speech. + +The boat took many such grassy corners and followed many such +reedy and silent reaches of river; but before the search had +become monotonous they had swung round a specially sharp angle and +come into the silence of a sort of pool or lake, the sight of +which instinctively arrested them. For in the middle of this +wider piece of water, fringed on every side with rushes, lay a +long, low islet, along which ran a long, low house or bungalow +built of bamboo or some kind of tough tropic cane. The upstanding +rods of bamboo which made the walls were pale yellow, the sloping +rods that made the roof were of darker red or brown, otherwise the +long house was a thing of repetition and monotony. The early +morning breeze rustled the reeds round the island and sang in the +strange ribbed house as in a giant pan-pipe. + +"By George!" cried Flambeau; "here is the place, after all! +Here is Reed Island, if ever there was one. Here is Reed House, +if it is anywhere. I believe that fat man with whiskers was a +fairy." + +"Perhaps," remarked Father Brown impartially. "If he was, he +was a bad fairy." + +But even as he spoke the impetuous Flambeau had run his boat +ashore in the rattling reeds, and they stood in the long, quaint +islet beside the odd and silent house. + +The house stood with its back, as it were, to the river and +the only landing-stage; the main entrance was on the other side, +and looked down the long island garden. The visitors approached +it, therefore, by a small path running round nearly three sides of +the house, close under the low eaves. Through three different +windows on three different sides they looked in on the same long, +well-lit room, panelled in light wood, with a large number of +looking-glasses, and laid out as for an elegant lunch. The front +door, when they came round to it at last, was flanked by two +turquoise-blue flower pots. It was opened by a butler of the +drearier type--long, lean, grey and listless--who murmured +that Prince Saradine was from home at present, but was expected +hourly; the house being kept ready for him and his guests. The +exhibition of the card with the scrawl of green ink awoke a flicker +of life in the parchment face of the depressed retainer, and it +was with a certain shaky courtesy that he suggested that the +strangers should remain. "His Highness may be here any minute," +he said, "and would be distressed to have just missed any gentleman +he had invited. We have orders always to keep a little cold lunch +for him and his friends, and I am sure he would wish it to be +offered." + +Moved with curiosity to this minor adventure, Flambeau assented +gracefully, and followed the old man, who ushered him ceremoniously +into the long, lightly panelled room. There was nothing very +notable about it, except the rather unusual alternation of many +long, low windows with many long, low oblongs of looking-glass, +which gave a singular air of lightness and unsubstantialness to +the place. It was somehow like lunching out of doors. One or two +pictures of a quiet kind hung in the corners, one a large grey +photograph of a very young man in uniform, another a red chalk +sketch of two long-haired boys. Asked by Flambeau whether the +soldierly person was the prince, the butler answered shortly in +the negative; it was the prince's younger brother, Captain Stephen +Saradine, he said. And with that the old man seemed to dry up +suddenly and lose all taste for conversation. + +After lunch had tailed off with exquisite coffee and liqueurs, +the guests were introduced to the garden, the library, and the +housekeeper--a dark, handsome lady, of no little majesty, and +rather like a plutonic Madonna. It appeared that she and the +butler were the only survivors of the prince's original foreign +menage the other servants now in the house being new and collected +in Norfolk by the housekeeper. This latter lady went by the name +of Mrs. Anthony, but she spoke with a slight Italian accent, and +Flambeau did not doubt that Anthony was a Norfolk version of some +more Latin name. Mr. Paul, the butler, also had a faintly foreign +air, but he was in tongue and training English, as are many of the +most polished men-servants of the cosmopolitan nobility. + +Pretty and unique as it was, the place had about it a curious +luminous sadness. Hours passed in it like days. The long, +well-windowed rooms were full of daylight, but it seemed a dead +daylight. And through all other incidental noises, the sound of +talk, the clink of glasses, or the passing feet of servants, they +could hear on all sides of the house the melancholy noise of the +river. + +"We have taken a wrong turning, and come to a wrong place," +said Father Brown, looking out of the window at the grey-green +sedges and the silver flood. "Never mind; one can sometimes do +good by being the right person in the wrong place." + +Father Brown, though commonly a silent, was an oddly +sympathetic little man, and in those few but endless hours he +unconsciously sank deeper into the secrets of Reed House than his +professional friend. He had that knack of friendly silence which +is so essential to gossip; and saying scarcely a word, he probably +obtained from his new acquaintances all that in any case they +would have told. The butler indeed was naturally uncommunicative. +He betrayed a sullen and almost animal affection for his master; +who, he said, had been very badly treated. The chief offender +seemed to be his highness's brother, whose name alone would +lengthen the old man's lantern jaws and pucker his parrot nose +into a sneer. Captain Stephen was a ne'er-do-weel, apparently, +and had drained his benevolent brother of hundreds and thousands; +forced him to fly from fashionable life and live quietly in this +retreat. That was all Paul, the butler, would say, and Paul was +obviously a partisan. + +The Italian housekeeper was somewhat more communicative, +being, as Brown fancied, somewhat less content. Her tone about +her master was faintly acid; though not without a certain awe. +Flambeau and his friend were standing in the room of the +looking-glasses examining the red sketch of the two boys, when the +housekeeper swept in swiftly on some domestic errand. It was a +peculiarity of this glittering, glass-panelled place that anyone +entering was reflected in four or five mirrors at once; and Father +Brown, without turning round, stopped in the middle of a sentence +of family criticism. But Flambeau, who had his face close up to +the picture, was already saying in a loud voice, "The brothers +Saradine, I suppose. They both look innocent enough. It would be +hard to say which is the good brother and which the bad." Then, +realising the lady's presence, he turned the conversation with +some triviality, and strolled out into the garden. But Father +Brown still gazed steadily at the red crayon sketch; and Mrs. +Anthony still gazed steadily at Father Brown. + +She had large and tragic brown eyes, and her olive face glowed +darkly with a curious and painful wonder--as of one doubtful of +a stranger's identity or purpose. Whether the little priest's coat +and creed touched some southern memories of confession, or whether +she fancied he knew more than he did, she said to him in a low +voice as to a fellow plotter, "He is right enough in one way, your +friend. He says it would be hard to pick out the good and bad +brothers. Oh, it would be hard, it would be mighty hard, to pick +out the good one." + +"I don't understand you," said Father Brown, and began to move +away. + +The woman took a step nearer to him, with thunderous brows and +a sort of savage stoop, like a bull lowering his horns. + +"There isn't a good one," she hissed. "There was badness +enough in the captain taking all that money, but I don't think +there was much goodness in the prince giving it. The captain's +not the only one with something against him." + +A light dawned on the cleric's averted face, and his mouth +formed silently the word "blackmail." Even as he did so the woman +turned an abrupt white face over her shoulder and almost fell. +The door had opened soundlessly and the pale Paul stood like a +ghost in the doorway. By the weird trick of the reflecting walls, +it seemed as if five Pauls had entered by five doors +simultaneously. + +"His Highness," he said, "has just arrived." + +In the same flash the figure of a man had passed outside the +first window, crossing the sunlit pane like a lighted stage. An +instant later he passed at the second window and the many mirrors +repainted in successive frames the same eagle profile and marching +figure. He was erect and alert, but his hair was white and his +complexion of an odd ivory yellow. He had that short, curved +Roman nose which generally goes with long, lean cheeks and chin, +but these were partly masked by moustache and imperial. The +moustache was much darker than the beard, giving an effect +slightly theatrical, and he was dressed up to the same dashing +part, having a white top hat, an orchid in his coat, a yellow +waistcoat and yellow gloves which he flapped and swung as he +walked. When he came round to the front door they heard the stiff +Paul open it, and heard the new arrival say cheerfully, "Well, you +see I have come." The stiff Mr. Paul bowed and answered in his +inaudible manner; for a few minutes their conversation could not +be heard. Then the butler said, "Everything is at your disposal"; +and the glove-flapping Prince Saradine came gaily into the room to +greet them. They beheld once more that spectral scene--five +princes entering a room with five doors. + +The prince put the white hat and yellow gloves on the table +and offered his hand quite cordially. + +"Delighted to see you here, Mr. Flambeau," he said. "Knowing +you very well by reputation, if that's not an indiscreet remark." + +"Not at all," answered Flambeau, laughing. "I am not +sensitive. Very few reputations are gained by unsullied virtue." + +The prince flashed a sharp look at him to see if the retort +had any personal point; then he laughed also and offered chairs to +everyone, including himself. + +"Pleasant little place, this, I think," he said with a +detached air. "Not much to do, I fear; but the fishing is really +good." + +The priest, who was staring at him with the grave stare of a +baby, was haunted by some fancy that escaped definition. He looked +at the grey, carefully curled hair, yellow white visage, and slim, +somewhat foppish figure. These were not unnatural, though perhaps +a shade prononc, like the outfit of a figure behind the +footlights. The nameless interest lay in something else, in the +very framework of the face; Brown was tormented with a half memory +of having seen it somewhere before. The man looked like some old +friend of his dressed up. Then he suddenly remembered the +mirrors, and put his fancy down to some psychological effect of +that multiplication of human masks. + +Prince Saradine distributed his social attentions between his +guests with great gaiety and tact. Finding the detective of a +sporting turn and eager to employ his holiday, he guided Flambeau +and Flambeau's boat down to the best fishing spot in the stream, +and was back in his own canoe in twenty minutes to join Father +Brown in the library and plunge equally politely into the priest's +more philosophic pleasures. He seemed to know a great deal both +about the fishing and the books, though of these not the most +edifying; he spoke five or six languages, though chiefly the slang +of each. He had evidently lived in varied cities and very motley +societies, for some of his cheerfullest stories were about +gambling hells and opium dens, Australian bushrangers or Italian +brigands. Father Brown knew that the once-celebrated Saradine had +spent his last few years in almost ceaseless travel, but he had +not guessed that the travels were so disreputable or so amusing. + +Indeed, with all his dignity of a man of the world, Prince +Saradine radiated to such sensitive observers as the priest, a +certain atmosphere of the restless and even the unreliable. His +face was fastidious, but his eye was wild; he had little nervous +tricks, like a man shaken by drink or drugs, and he neither had, +nor professed to have, his hand on the helm of household affairs. +All these were left to the two old servants, especially to the +butler, who was plainly the central pillar of the house. Mr. +Paul, indeed, was not so much a butler as a sort of steward or, +even, chamberlain; he dined privately, but with almost as much +pomp as his master; he was feared by all the servants; and he +consulted with the prince decorously, but somewhat unbendingly-- +rather as if he were the prince's solicitor. The sombre +housekeeper was a mere shadow in comparison; indeed, she seemed to +efface herself and wait only on the butler, and Brown heard no +more of those volcanic whispers which had half told him of the +younger brother who blackmailed the elder. Whether the prince was +really being thus bled by the absent captain, he could not be +certain, but there was something insecure and secretive about +Saradine that made the tale by no means incredible. + +When they went once more into the long hall with the windows +and the mirrors, yellow evening was dropping over the waters and +the willowy banks; and a bittern sounded in the distance like an +elf upon his dwarfish drum. The same singular sentiment of some +sad and evil fairyland crossed the priest's mind again like a +little grey cloud. "I wish Flambeau were back," he muttered. + +"Do you believe in doom?" asked the restless Prince Saradine +suddenly. + +"No," answered his guest. "I believe in Doomsday." + +The prince turned from the window and stared at him in a +singular manner, his face in shadow against the sunset. "What do +you mean?" he asked. + +"I mean that we here are on the wrong side of the tapestry," +answered Father Brown. "The things that happen here do not seem +to mean anything; they mean something somewhere else. Somewhere +else retribution will come on the real offender. Here it often +seems to fall on the wrong person." + +The prince made an inexplicable noise like an animal; in his +shadowed face the eyes were shining queerly. A new and shrewd +thought exploded silently in the other's mind. Was there another +meaning in Saradine's blend of brilliancy and abruptness? Was the +prince-- Was he perfectly sane? He was repeating, "The wrong +person--the wrong person," many more times than was natural in a +social exclamation. + +Then Father Brown awoke tardily to a second truth. In the +mirrors before him he could see the silent door standing open, and +the silent Mr. Paul standing in it, with his usual pallid +impassiveness. + +"I thought it better to announce at once," he said, with the +same stiff respectfulness as of an old family lawyer, "a boat +rowed by six men has come to the landing-stage, and there's a +gentleman sitting in the stern." + +"A boat!" repeated the prince; "a gentleman?" and he rose to +his feet. + +There was a startled silence punctuated only by the odd noise +of the bird in the sedge; and then, before anyone could speak +again, a new face and figure passed in profile round the three +sunlit windows, as the prince had passed an hour or two before. +But except for the accident that both outlines were aquiline, they +had little in common. Instead of the new white topper of Saradine, +was a black one of antiquated or foreign shape; under it was a +young and very solemn face, clean shaven, blue about its resolute +chin, and carrying a faint suggestion of the young Napoleon. The +association was assisted by something old and odd about the whole +get-up, as of a man who had never troubled to change the fashions +of his fathers. He had a shabby blue frock coat, a red, soldierly +looking waistcoat, and a kind of coarse white trousers common among +the early Victorians, but strangely incongruous today. From all +this old clothes-shop his olive face stood out strangely young and +monstrously sincere. + +"The deuce!" said Prince Saradine, and clapping on his white +hat he went to the front door himself, flinging it open on the +sunset garden. + +By that time the new-comer and his followers were drawn up on +the lawn like a small stage army. The six boatmen had pulled the +boat well up on shore, and were guarding it almost menacingly, +holding their oars erect like spears. They were swarthy men, and +some of them wore earrings. But one of them stood forward beside +the olive-faced young man in the red waistcoat, and carried a large +black case of unfamiliar form. + +"Your name," said the young man, "is Saradine?" + +Saradine assented rather negligently. + +The new-comer had dull, dog-like brown eyes, as different as +possible from the restless and glittering grey eyes of the prince. +But once again Father Brown was tortured with a sense of having +seen somewhere a replica of the face; and once again he remembered +the repetitions of the glass-panelled room, and put down the +coincidence to that. "Confound this crystal palace!" he muttered. +"One sees everything too many times. It's like a dream." + +"If you are Prince Saradine," said the young man, "I may tell +you that my name is Antonelli." + +"Antonelli," repeated the prince languidly. "Somehow I +remember the name." + +"Permit me to present myself," said the young Italian. + +With his left hand he politely took off his old-fashioned +top-hat; with his right he caught Prince Saradine so ringing a +crack across the face that the white top hat rolled down the steps +and one of the blue flower-pots rocked upon its pedestal. + +The prince, whatever he was, was evidently not a coward; he +sprang at his enemy's throat and almost bore him backwards to the +grass. But his enemy extricated himself with a singularly +inappropriate air of hurried politeness. + +"That is all right," he said, panting and in halting English. +"I have insulted. I will give satisfaction. Marco, open the +case." + +The man beside him with the earrings and the big black case +proceeded to unlock it. He took out of it two long Italian +rapiers, with splendid steel hilts and blades, which he planted +point downwards in the lawn. The strange young man standing facing +the entrance with his yellow and vindictive face, the two swords +standing up in the turf like two crosses in a cemetery, and the +line of the ranked towers behind, gave it all an odd appearance of +being some barbaric court of justice. But everything else was +unchanged, so sudden had been the interruption. The sunset gold +still glowed on the lawn, and the bittern still boomed as +announcing some small but dreadful destiny. + +"Prince Saradine," said the man called Antonelli, "when I was +an infant in the cradle you killed my father and stole my mother; +my father was the more fortunate. You did not kill him fairly, as +I am going to kill you. You and my wicked mother took him driving +to a lonely pass in Sicily, flung him down a cliff, and went on +your way. I could imitate you if I chose, but imitating you is +too vile. I have followed you all over the world, and you have +always fled from me. But this is the end of the world--and of +you. I have you now, and I give you the chance you never gave my +father. Choose one of those swords." + +Prince Saradine, with contracted brows, seemed to hesitate a +moment, but his ears were still singing with the blow, and he +sprang forward and snatched at one of the hilts. Father Brown had +also sprung forward, striving to compose the dispute; but he soon +found his personal presence made matters worse. Saradine was a +French freemason and a fierce atheist, and a priest moved him by +the law of contraries. And for the other man neither priest nor +layman moved him at all. This young man with the Bonaparte face +and the brown eyes was something far sterner than a puritan--a +pagan. He was a simple slayer from the morning of the earth; a +man of the stone age--a man of stone. + +One hope remained, the summoning of the household; and Father +Brown ran back into the house. He found, however, that all the +under servants had been given a holiday ashore by the autocrat +Paul, and that only the sombre Mrs. Anthony moved uneasily about +the long rooms. But the moment she turned a ghastly face upon +him, he resolved one of the riddles of the house of mirrors. The +heavy brown eyes of Antonelli were the heavy brown eyes of Mrs. +Anthony; and in a flash he saw half the story. + +"Your son is outside," he said without wasting words; "either +he or the prince will be killed. Where is Mr. Paul?" + +"He is at the landing-stage," said the woman faintly. "He is +--he is--signalling for help." + +"Mrs. Anthony," said Father Brown seriously, "there is no time +for nonsense. My friend has his boat down the river fishing. +Your son's boat is guarded by your son's men. There is only this +one canoe; what is Mr. Paul doing with it?" + +"Santa Maria! I do not know," she said; and swooned all her +length on the matted floor. + +Father Brown lifted her to a sofa, flung a pot of water over +her, shouted for help, and then rushed down to the landing-stage +of the little island. But the canoe was already in mid-stream, +and old Paul was pulling and pushing it up the river with an +energy incredible at his years. + +"I will save my master," he cried, his eyes blazing maniacally. +"I will save him yet!" + +Father Brown could do nothing but gaze after the boat as it +struggled up-stream and pray that the old man might waken the +little town in time. + +"A duel is bad enough," he muttered, rubbing up his rough +dust-coloured hair, "but there's something wrong about this duel, +even as a duel. I feel it in my bones. But what can it be?" + +As he stood staring at the water, a wavering mirror of sunset, +he heard from the other end of the island garden a small but +unmistakable sound--the cold concussion of steel. He turned his +head. + +Away on the farthest cape or headland of the long islet, on a +strip of turf beyond the last rank of roses, the duellists had +already crossed swords. Evening above them was a dome of virgin +gold, and, distant as they were, every detail was picked out. +They had cast off their coats, but the yellow waistcoat and white +hair of Saradine, the red waistcoat and white trousers of +Antonelli, glittered in the level light like the colours of the +dancing clockwork dolls. The two swords sparkled from point to +pommel like two diamond pins. There was something frightful in +the two figures appearing so little and so gay. They looked like +two butterflies trying to pin each other to a cork. + +Father Brown ran as hard as he could, his little legs going +like a wheel. But when he came to the field of combat he found he +was born too late and too early--too late to stop the strife, +under the shadow of the grim Sicilians leaning on their oars, and +too early to anticipate any disastrous issue of it. For the two +men were singularly well matched, the prince using his skill with +a sort of cynical confidence, the Sicilian using his with a +murderous care. Few finer fencing matches can ever have been seen +in crowded amphitheatres than that which tinkled and sparkled on +that forgotten island in the reedy river. The dizzy fight was +balanced so long that hope began to revive in the protesting +priest; by all common probability Paul must soon come back with +the police. It would be some comfort even if Flambeau came back +from his fishing, for Flambeau, physically speaking, was worth +four other men. But there was no sign of Flambeau, and, what was +much queerer, no sign of Paul or the police. No other raft or +stick was left to float on; in that lost island in that vast +nameless pool, they were cut off as on a rock in the Pacific. + +Almost as he had the thought the ringing of the rapiers +quickened to a rattle, the prince's arms flew up, and the point +shot out behind between his shoulder-blades. He went over with a +great whirling movement, almost like one throwing the half of a +boy's cart-wheel. The sword flew from his hand like a shooting +star, and dived into the distant river. And he himself sank with +so earth-shaking a subsidence that he broke a big rose-tree with +his body and shook up into the sky a cloud of red earth--like +the smoke of some heathen sacrifice. The Sicilian had made +blood-offering to the ghost of his father. + +The priest was instantly on his knees by the corpse; but only +to make too sure that it was a corpse. As he was still trying +some last hopeless tests he heard for the first time voices from +farther up the river, and saw a police boat shoot up to the +landing-stage, with constables and other important people, +including the excited Paul. The little priest rose with a +distinctly dubious grimace. + +"Now, why on earth," he muttered, "why on earth couldn't he +have come before?" + +Some seven minutes later the island was occupied by an +invasion of townsfolk and police, and the latter had put their +hands on the victorious duellist, ritually reminding him that +anything he said might be used against him. + +"I shall not say anything," said the monomaniac, with a +wonderful and peaceful face. "I shall never say anything more. +I am very happy, and I only want to be hanged." + +Then he shut his mouth as they led him away, and it is the +strange but certain truth that he never opened it again in this +world, except to say "Guilty" at his trial. + +Father Brown had stared at the suddenly crowded garden, the +arrest of the man of blood, the carrying away of the corpse after +its examination by the doctor, rather as one watches the break-up +of some ugly dream; he was motionless, like a man in a nightmare. +He gave his name and address as a witness, but declined their +offer of a boat to the shore, and remained alone in the island +garden, gazing at the broken rose bush and the whole green theatre +of that swift and inexplicable tragedy. The light died along the +river; mist rose in the marshy banks; a few belated birds flitted +fitfully across. + +Stuck stubbornly in his sub-consciousness (which was an +unusually lively one) was an unspeakable certainty that there was +something still unexplained. This sense that had clung to him all +day could not be fully explained by his fancy about "looking-glass +land." Somehow he had not seen the real story, but some game or +masque. And yet people do not get hanged or run through the body +for the sake of a charade. + +As he sat on the steps of the landing-stage ruminating he grew +conscious of the tall, dark streak of a sail coming silently down +the shining river, and sprang to his feet with such a backrush of +feeling that he almost wept. + +"Flambeau!" he cried, and shook his friend by both hands again +and again, much to the astonishment of that sportsman, as he came +on shore with his fishing tackle. "Flambeau," he said, "so you're +not killed?" + +"Killed!" repeated the angler in great astonishment. "And why +should I be killed?" + +"Oh, because nearly everybody else is," said his companion +rather wildly. "Saradine got murdered, and Antonelli wants to be +hanged, and his mother's fainted, and I, for one, don't know +whether I'm in this world or the next. But, thank God, you're in +the same one." And he took the bewildered Flambeau's arm. + +As they turned from the landing-stage they came under the +eaves of the low bamboo house, and looked in through one of the +windows, as they had done on their first arrival. They beheld a +lamp-lit interior well calculated to arrest their eyes. The table +in the long dining-room had been laid for dinner when Saradine's +destroyer had fallen like a stormbolt on the island. And the +dinner was now in placid progress, for Mrs. Anthony sat somewhat +sullenly at the foot of the table, while at the head of it was Mr. +Paul, the major domo, eating and drinking of the best, his +bleared, bluish eyes standing queerly out of his face, his gaunt +countenance inscrutable, but by no means devoid of satisfaction. + +With a gesture of powerful impatience, Flambeau rattled at the +window, wrenched it open, and put an indignant head into the +lamp-lit room. + +"Well," he cried. "I can understand you may need some +refreshment, but really to steal your master's dinner while he +lies murdered in the garden--" + +"I have stolen a great many things in a long and pleasant +life," replied the strange old gentleman placidly; "this dinner is +one of the few things I have not stolen. This dinner and this +house and garden happen to belong to me." + +A thought flashed across Flambeau's face. "You mean to say," +he began, "that the will of Prince Saradine--" + +"I am Prince Saradine," said the old man, munching a salted +almond. + +Father Brown, who was looking at the birds outside, jumped as +if he were shot, and put in at the window a pale face like a +turnip. + +"You are what?" he repeated in a shrill voice. + +"Paul, Prince Saradine, A vos ordres," said the venerable +person politely, lifting a glass of sherry. "I live here very +quietly, being a domestic kind of fellow; and for the sake of +modesty I am called Mr. Paul, to distinguish me from my +unfortunate brother Mr. Stephen. He died, I hear, recently--in +the garden. Of course, it is not my fault if enemies pursue him +to this place. It is owing to the regrettable irregularity of his +life. He was not a domestic character." + +He relapsed into silence, and continued to gaze at the +opposite wall just above the bowed and sombre head of the woman. +They saw plainly the family likeness that had haunted them in the +dead man. Then his old shoulders began to heave and shake a +little, as if he were choking, but his face did not alter. + +"My God!" cried Flambeau after a pause, "he's laughing!" + +"Come away," said Father Brown, who was quite white. "Come +away from this house of hell. Let us get into an honest boat +again." + +Night had sunk on rushes and river by the time they had pushed +off from the island, and they went down-stream in the dark, +warming themselves with two big cigars that glowed like crimson +ships' lanterns. Father Brown took his cigar out of his mouth and +said: + +"I suppose you can guess the whole story now? After all, it's +a primitive story. A man had two enemies. He was a wise man. +And so he discovered that two enemies are better than one." + +"I do not follow that," answered Flambeau. + +"Oh, it's really simple," rejoined his friend. "Simple, +though anything but innocent. Both the Saradines were scamps, but +the prince, the elder, was the sort of scamp that gets to the top, +and the younger, the captain, was the sort that sinks to the +bottom. This squalid officer fell from beggar to blackmailer, and +one ugly day he got his hold upon his brother, the prince. +Obviously it was for no light matter, for Prince Paul Saradine was +frankly `fast,' and had no reputation to lose as to the mere sins +of society. In plain fact, it was a hanging matter, and Stephen +literally had a rope round his brother's neck. He had somehow +discovered the truth about the Sicilian affair, and could prove +that Paul murdered old Antonelli in the mountains. The captain +raked in the hush money heavily for ten years, until even the +prince's splendid fortune began to look a little foolish. + +"But Prince Saradine bore another burden besides his +blood-sucking brother. He knew that the son of Antonelli, a mere +child at the time of the murder, had been trained in savage +Sicilian loyalty, and lived only to avenge his father, not with +the gibbet (for he lacked Stephen's legal proof), but with the old +weapons of vendetta. The boy had practised arms with a deadly +perfection, and about the time that he was old enough to use them +Prince Saradine began, as the society papers said, to travel. The +fact is that he began to flee for his life, passing from place to +place like a hunted criminal; but with one relentless man upon his +trail. That was Prince Paul's position, and by no means a pretty +one. The more money he spent on eluding Antonelli the less he had +to silence Stephen. The more he gave to silence Stephen the less +chance there was of finally escaping Antonelli. Then it was that +he showed himself a great man--a genius like Napoleon. + +"Instead of resisting his two antagonists, he surrendered +suddenly to both of them. He gave way like a Japanese wrestler, +and his foes fell prostrate before him. He gave up the race round +the world, and he gave up his address to young Antonelli; then he +gave up everything to his brother. He sent Stephen money enough +for smart clothes and easy travel, with a letter saying roughly: +`This is all I have left. You have cleaned me out. I still have +a little house in Norfolk, with servants and a cellar, and if you +want more from me you must take that. Come and take possession if +you like, and I will live there quietly as your friend or agent or +anything.' He knew that the Sicilian had never seen the Saradine +brothers save, perhaps, in pictures; he knew they were somewhat +alike, both having grey, pointed beards. Then he shaved his own +face and waited. The trap worked. The unhappy captain, in his +new clothes, entered the house in triumph as a prince, and walked +upon the Sicilian's sword. + +"There was one hitch, and it is to the honour of human nature. +Evil spirits like Saradine often blunder by never expecting the +virtues of mankind. He took it for granted that the Italian's +blow, when it came, would be dark, violent and nameless, like the +blow it avenged; that the victim would be knifed at night, or shot +from behind a hedge, and so die without speech. It was a bad +minute for Prince Paul when Antonelli's chivalry proposed a formal +duel, with all its possible explanations. It was then that I +found him putting off in his boat with wild eyes. He was fleeing, +bareheaded, in an open boat before Antonelli should learn who he +was. + +"But, however agitated, he was not hopeless. He knew the +adventurer and he knew the fanatic. It was quite probable that +Stephen, the adventurer, would hold his tongue, through his mere +histrionic pleasure in playing a part, his lust for clinging to +his new cosy quarters, his rascal's trust in luck, and his fine +fencing. It was certain that Antonelli, the fanatic, would hold +his tongue, and be hanged without telling tales of his family. +Paul hung about on the river till he knew the fight was over. +Then he roused the town, brought the police, saw his two vanquished +enemies taken away forever, and sat down smiling to his dinner." + +"Laughing, God help us!" said Flambeau with a strong shudder. +"Do they get such ideas from Satan?" + +"He got that idea from you," answered the priest. + +"God forbid!" ejaculated Flambeau. "From me! What do you +mean!" + +The priest pulled a visiting-card from his pocket and held it +up in the faint glow of his cigar; it was scrawled with green ink. + +"Don't you remember his original invitation to you?" he asked, +"and the compliment to your criminal exploit? `That trick of +yours,' he says, `of getting one detective to arrest the other'? +He has just copied your trick. With an enemy on each side of him, +he slipped swiftly out of the way and let them collide and kill +each other." + +Flambeau tore Prince Saradine's card from the priest's hands +and rent it savagely in small pieces. + +"There's the last of that old skull and crossbones," he said +as he scattered the pieces upon the dark and disappearing waves of +the stream; "but I should think it would poison the fishes." + +The last gleam of white card and green ink was drowned and +darkened; a faint and vibrant colour as of morning changed the +sky, and the moon behind the grasses grew paler. They drifted in +silence. + +"Father," said Flambeau suddenly, "do you think it was all a +dream?" + +The priest shook his head, whether in dissent or agnosticism, +but remained mute. A smell of hawthorn and of orchards came to +them through the darkness, telling them that a wind was awake; the +next moment it swayed their little boat and swelled their sail, +and carried them onward down the winding river to happier places +and the homes of harmless men. + + + + The Hammer of God + +The little village of Bohun Beacon was perched on a hill so steep +that the tall spire of its church seemed only like the peak of a +small mountain. At the foot of the church stood a smithy, +generally red with fires and always littered with hammers and +scraps of iron; opposite to this, over a rude cross of cobbled +paths, was "The Blue Boar," the only inn of the place. It was +upon this crossway, in the lifting of a leaden and silver +daybreak, that two brothers met in the street and spoke; though +one was beginning the day and the other finishing it. The Rev. +and Hon. Wilfred Bohun was very devout, and was making his way to +some austere exercises of prayer or contemplation at dawn. +Colonel the Hon. Norman Bohun, his elder brother, was by no means +devout, and was sitting in evening dress on the bench outside "The +Blue Boar," drinking what the philosophic observer was free to +regard either as his last glass on Tuesday or his first on +Wednesday. The colonel was not particular. + +The Bohuns were one of the very few aristocratic families +really dating from the Middle Ages, and their pennon had actually +seen Palestine. But it is a great mistake to suppose that such +houses stand high in chivalric tradition. Few except the poor +preserve traditions. Aristocrats live not in traditions but in +fashions. The Bohuns had been Mohocks under Queen Anne and +Mashers under Queen Victoria. But like more than one of the +really ancient houses, they had rotted in the last two centuries +into mere drunkards and dandy degenerates, till there had even +come a whisper of insanity. Certainly there was something hardly +human about the colonel's wolfish pursuit of pleasure, and his +chronic resolution not to go home till morning had a touch of the +hideous clarity of insomnia. He was a tall, fine animal, elderly, +but with hair still startlingly yellow. He would have looked +merely blonde and leonine, but his blue eyes were sunk so deep in +his face that they looked black. They were a little too close +together. He had very long yellow moustaches; on each side of +them a fold or furrow from nostril to jaw, so that a sneer seemed +cut into his face. Over his evening clothes he wore a curious +pale yellow coat that looked more like a very light dressing gown +than an overcoat, and on the back of his head was stuck an +extraordinary broad-brimmed hat of a bright green colour, +evidently some oriental curiosity caught up at random. He was +proud of appearing in such incongruous attires--proud of the +fact that he always made them look congruous. + +His brother the curate had also the yellow hair and the +elegance, but he was buttoned up to the chin in black, and his +face was clean-shaven, cultivated, and a little nervous. He +seemed to live for nothing but his religion; but there were some +who said (notably the blacksmith, who was a Presbyterian) that it +was a love of Gothic architecture rather than of God, and that his +haunting of the church like a ghost was only another and purer +turn of the almost morbid thirst for beauty which sent his brother +raging after women and wine. This charge was doubtful, while the +man's practical piety was indubitable. Indeed, the charge was +mostly an ignorant misunderstanding of the love of solitude and +secret prayer, and was founded on his being often found kneeling, +not before the altar, but in peculiar places, in the crypts or +gallery, or even in the belfry. He was at the moment about to +enter the church through the yard of the smithy, but stopped and +frowned a little as he saw his brother's cavernous eyes staring in +the same direction. On the hypothesis that the colonel was +interested in the church he did not waste any speculations. There +only remained the blacksmith's shop, and though the blacksmith was +a Puritan and none of his people, Wilfred Bohun had heard some +scandals about a beautiful and rather celebrated wife. He flung a +suspicious look across the shed, and the colonel stood up laughing +to speak to him. + +"Good morning, Wilfred," he said. "Like a good landlord I am +watching sleeplessly over my people. I am going to call on the +blacksmith." + +Wilfred looked at the ground, and said: "The blacksmith is out. +He is over at Greenford." + +"I know," answered the other with silent laughter; "that is +why I am calling on him." + +"Norman," said the cleric, with his eye on a pebble in the +road, "are you ever afraid of thunderbolts?" + +"What do you mean?" asked the colonel. "Is your hobby +meteorology?" + +"I mean," said Wilfred, without looking up, "do you ever think +that God might strike you in the street?" + +"I beg your pardon," said the colonel; "I see your hobby is +folk-lore." + +"I know your hobby is blasphemy," retorted the religious man, +stung in the one live place of his nature. "But if you do not +fear God, you have good reason to fear man." + +The elder raised his eyebrows politely. "Fear man?" he said. + +"Barnes the blacksmith is the biggest and strongest man for +forty miles round," said the clergyman sternly. "I know you are +no coward or weakling, but he could throw you over the wall." + +This struck home, being true, and the lowering line by mouth +and nostril darkened and deepened. For a moment he stood with the +heavy sneer on his face. But in an instant Colonel Bohun had +recovered his own cruel good humour and laughed, showing two +dog-like front teeth under his yellow moustache. "In that case, +my dear Wilfred," he said quite carelessly, "it was wise for the +last of the Bohuns to come out partially in armour." + +And he took off the queer round hat covered with green, +showing that it was lined within with steel. Wilfred recognised +it indeed as a light Japanese or Chinese helmet torn down from a +trophy that hung in the old family hall. + +"It was the first hat to hand," explained his brother airily; +"always the nearest hat--and the nearest woman." + +"The blacksmith is away at Greenford," said Wilfred quietly; +"the time of his return is unsettled." + +And with that he turned and went into the church with bowed +head, crossing himself like one who wishes to be quit of an +unclean spirit. He was anxious to forget such grossness in the +cool twilight of his tall Gothic cloisters; but on that morning it +was fated that his still round of religious exercises should be +everywhere arrested by small shocks. As he entered the church, +hitherto always empty at that hour, a kneeling figure rose hastily +to its feet and came towards the full daylight of the doorway. +When the curate saw it he stood still with surprise. For the +early worshipper was none other than the village idiot, a nephew +of the blacksmith, one who neither would nor could care for the +church or for anything else. He was always called "Mad Joe," and +seemed to have no other name; he was a dark, strong, slouching +lad, with a heavy white face, dark straight hair, and a mouth +always open. As he passed the priest, his moon-calf countenance +gave no hint of what he had been doing or thinking of. He had +never been known to pray before. What sort of prayers was he +saying now? Extraordinary prayers surely. + +Wilfred Bohun stood rooted to the spot long enough to see the +idiot go out into the sunshine, and even to see his dissolute +brother hail him with a sort of avuncular jocularity. The last +thing he saw was the colonel throwing pennies at the open mouth of +Joe, with the serious appearance of trying to hit it. + +This ugly sunlit picture of the stupidity and cruelty of the +earth sent the ascetic finally to his prayers for purification and +new thoughts. He went up to a pew in the gallery, which brought +him under a coloured window which he loved and always quieted his +spirit; a blue window with an angel carrying lilies. There he +began to think less about the half-wit, with his livid face and +mouth like a fish. He began to think less of his evil brother, +pacing like a lean lion in his horrible hunger. He sank deeper +and deeper into those cold and sweet colours of silver blossoms +and sapphire sky. + +In this place half an hour afterwards he was found by Gibbs, +the village cobbler, who had been sent for him in some haste. He +got to his feet with promptitude, for he knew that no small matter +would have brought Gibbs into such a place at all. The cobbler +was, as in many villages, an atheist, and his appearance in church +was a shade more extraordinary than Mad Joe's. It was a morning +of theological enigmas. + +"What is it?" asked Wilfred Bohun rather stiffly, but putting +out a trembling hand for his hat. + +The atheist spoke in a tone that, coming from him, was quite +startlingly respectful, and even, as it were, huskily sympathetic. + +"You must excuse me, sir," he said in a hoarse whisper, "but +we didn't think it right not to let you know at once. I'm afraid +a rather dreadful thing has happened, sir. I'm afraid your +brother--" + +Wilfred clenched his frail hands. "What devilry has he done +now?" he cried in voluntary passion. + +"Why, sir," said the cobbler, coughing, "I'm afraid he's done +nothing, and won't do anything. I'm afraid he's done for. You +had really better come down, sir." + +The curate followed the cobbler down a short winding stair +which brought them out at an entrance rather higher than the +street. Bohun saw the tragedy in one glance, flat underneath him +like a plan. In the yard of the smithy were standing five or six +men mostly in black, one in an inspector's uniform. They included +the doctor, the Presbyterian minister, and the priest from the +Roman Catholic chapel, to which the blacksmith's wife belonged. +The latter was speaking to her, indeed, very rapidly, in an +undertone, as she, a magnificent woman with red-gold hair, was +sobbing blindly on a bench. Between these two groups, and just +clear of the main heap of hammers, lay a man in evening dress, +spread-eagled and flat on his face. From the height above Wilfred +could have sworn to every item of his costume and appearance, down +to the Bohun rings upon his fingers; but the skull was only a +hideous splash, like a star of blackness and blood. + +Wilfred Bohun gave but one glance, and ran down the steps into +the yard. The doctor, who was the family physician, saluted him, +but he scarcely took any notice. He could only stammer out: "My +brother is dead. What does it mean? What is this horrible +mystery?" There was an unhappy silence; and then the cobbler, the +most outspoken man present, answered: "Plenty of horror, sir," he +said; "but not much mystery." + +"What do you mean?" asked Wilfred, with a white face. + +"It's plain enough," answered Gibbs. "There is only one man +for forty miles round that could have struck such a blow as that, +and he's the man that had most reason to." + +"We must not prejudge anything," put in the doctor, a tall, +black-bearded man, rather nervously; "but it is competent for me +to corroborate what Mr. Gibbs says about the nature of the blow, +sir; it is an incredible blow. Mr. Gibbs says that only one man +in this district could have done it. I should have said myself +that nobody could have done it." + +A shudder of superstition went through the slight figure of +the curate. "I can hardly understand," he said. + +"Mr. Bohun," said the doctor in a low voice, "metaphors +literally fail me. It is inadequate to say that the skull was +smashed to bits like an eggshell. Fragments of bone were driven +into the body and the ground like bullets into a mud wall. It was +the hand of a giant." + +He was silent a moment, looking grimly through his glasses; +then he added: "The thing has one advantage--that it clears most +people of suspicion at one stroke. If you or I or any normally +made man in the country were accused of this crime, we should be +acquitted as an infant would be acquitted of stealing the Nelson +column." + +"That's what I say," repeated the cobbler obstinately; +"there's only one man that could have done it, and he's the man +that would have done it. Where's Simeon Barnes, the blacksmith?" + +"He's over at Greenford," faltered the curate. + +"More likely over in France," muttered the cobbler. + +"No; he is in neither of those places," said a small and +colourless voice, which came from the little Roman priest who had +joined the group. "As a matter of fact, he is coming up the road +at this moment." + +The little priest was not an interesting man to look at, +having stubbly brown hair and a round and stolid face. But if he +had been as splendid as Apollo no one would have looked at him at +that moment. Everyone turned round and peered at the pathway +which wound across the plain below, along which was indeed walking, +at his own huge stride and with a hammer on his shoulder, Simeon +the smith. He was a bony and gigantic man, with deep, dark, +sinister eyes and a dark chin beard. He was walking and talking +quietly with two other men; and though he was never specially +cheerful, he seemed quite at his ease. + +"My God!" cried the atheistic cobbler, "and there's the hammer +he did it with." + +"No," said the inspector, a sensible-looking man with a sandy +moustache, speaking for the first time. "There's the hammer he +did it with over there by the church wall. We have left it and +the body exactly as they are." + +All glanced round and the short priest went across and looked +down in silence at the tool where it lay. It was one of the +smallest and the lightest of the hammers, and would not have +caught the eye among the rest; but on the iron edge of it were +blood and yellow hair. + +After a silence the short priest spoke without looking up, and +there was a new note in his dull voice. "Mr. Gibbs was hardly +right," he said, "in saying that there is no mystery. There is at +least the mystery of why so big a man should attempt so big a blow +with so little a hammer." + +"Oh, never mind that," cried Gibbs, in a fever. "What are we +to do with Simeon Barnes?" + +"Leave him alone," said the priest quietly. "He is coming +here of himself. I know those two men with him. They are very +good fellows from Greenford, and they have come over about the +Presbyterian chapel." + +Even as he spoke the tall smith swung round the corner of the +church, and strode into his own yard. Then he stood there quite +still, and the hammer fell from his hand. The inspector, who had +preserved impenetrable propriety, immediately went up to him. + +"I won't ask you, Mr. Barnes," he said, "whether you know +anything about what has happened here. You are not bound to say. +I hope you don't know, and that you will be able to prove it. But +I must go through the form of arresting you in the King's name for +the murder of Colonel Norman Bohun." + +"You are not bound to say anything," said the cobbler in +officious excitement. "They've got to prove everything. They +haven't proved yet that it is Colonel Bohun, with the head all +smashed up like that." + +"That won't wash," said the doctor aside to the priest. +"That's out of the detective stories. I was the colonel's medical +man, and I knew his body better than he did. He had very fine +hands, but quite peculiar ones. The second and third fingers were +the same length. Oh, that's the colonel right enough." + +As he glanced at the brained corpse upon the ground the iron +eyes of the motionless blacksmith followed them and rested there +also. + +"Is Colonel Bohun dead?" said the smith quite calmly. "Then +he's damned." + +"Don't say anything! Oh, don't say anything," cried the +atheist cobbler, dancing about in an ecstasy of admiration of the +English legal system. For no man is such a legalist as the good +Secularist. + +The blacksmith turned on him over his shoulder the august face +of a fanatic. + +"It's well for you infidels to dodge like foxes because the +world's law favours you," he said; "but God guards His own in His +pocket, as you shall see this day." + +Then he pointed to the colonel and said: "When did this dog +die in his sins?" + +"Moderate your language," said the doctor. + +"Moderate the Bible's language, and I'll moderate mine. When +did he die?" + +"I saw him alive at six o'clock this morning," stammered +Wilfred Bohun. + +"God is good," said the smith. "Mr. Inspector, I have not the +slightest objection to being arrested. It is you who may object +to arresting me. I don't mind leaving the court without a stain +on my character. You do mind perhaps leaving the court with a bad +set-back in your career." + +The solid inspector for the first time looked at the +blacksmith with a lively eye; as did everybody else, except the +short, strange priest, who was still looking down at the little +hammer that had dealt the dreadful blow. + +"There are two men standing outside this shop," went on the +blacksmith with ponderous lucidity, "good tradesmen in Greenford +whom you all know, who will swear that they saw me from before +midnight till daybreak and long after in the committee room of our +Revival Mission, which sits all night, we save souls so fast. In +Greenford itself twenty people could swear to me for all that +time. If I were a heathen, Mr. Inspector, I would let you walk on +to your downfall. But as a Christian man I feel bound to give you +your chance, and ask you whether you will hear my alibi now or in +court." + +The inspector seemed for the first time disturbed, and said, +"Of course I should be glad to clear you altogether now." + +The smith walked out of his yard with the same long and easy +stride, and returned to his two friends from Greenford, who were +indeed friends of nearly everyone present. Each of them said a +few words which no one ever thought of disbelieving. When they +had spoken, the innocence of Simeon stood up as solid as the great +church above them. + +One of those silences struck the group which are more strange +and insufferable than any speech. Madly, in order to make +conversation, the curate said to the Catholic priest: + +"You seem very much interested in that hammer, Father Brown." + +"Yes, I am," said Father Brown; "why is it such a small +hammer?" + +The doctor swung round on him. + +"By George, that's true," he cried; "who would use a little +hammer with ten larger hammers lying about?" + +Then he lowered his voice in the curate's ear and said: "Only +the kind of person that can't lift a large hammer. It is not a +question of force or courage between the sexes. It's a question +of lifting power in the shoulders. A bold woman could commit ten +murders with a light hammer and never turn a hair. She could not +kill a beetle with a heavy one." + +Wilfred Bohun was staring at him with a sort of hypnotised +horror, while Father Brown listened with his head a little on one +side, really interested and attentive. The doctor went on with +more hissing emphasis: + +"Why do these idiots always assume that the only person who +hates the wife's lover is the wife's husband? Nine times out of +ten the person who most hates the wife's lover is the wife. Who +knows what insolence or treachery he had shown her--look there!" + +He made a momentary gesture towards the red-haired woman on +the bench. She had lifted her head at last and the tears were +drying on her splendid face. But the eyes were fixed on the +corpse with an electric glare that had in it something of idiocy. + +The Rev. Wilfred Bohun made a limp gesture as if waving away +all desire to know; but Father Brown, dusting off his sleeve some +ashes blown from the furnace, spoke in his indifferent way. + +"You are like so many doctors," he said; "your mental science +is really suggestive. It is your physical science that is utterly +impossible. I agree that the woman wants to kill the +co-respondent much more than the petitioner does. And I agree +that a woman will always pick up a small hammer instead of a big +one. But the difficulty is one of physical impossibility. No +woman ever born could have smashed a man's skull out flat like +that." Then he added reflectively, after a pause: "These people +haven't grasped the whole of it. The man was actually wearing an +iron helmet, and the blow scattered it like broken glass. Look at +that woman. Look at her arms." + +Silence held them all up again, and then the doctor said +rather sulkily: "Well, I may be wrong; there are objections to +everything. But I stick to the main point. No man but an idiot +would pick up that little hammer if he could use a big hammer." + +With that the lean and quivering hands of Wilfred Bohun went +up to his head and seemed to clutch his scanty yellow hair. After +an instant they dropped, and he cried: "That was the word I wanted; +you have said the word." + +Then he continued, mastering his discomposure: "The words you +said were, `No man but an idiot would pick up the small hammer.'" + +"Yes," said the doctor. "Well?" + +"Well," said the curate, "no man but an idiot did." The rest +stared at him with eyes arrested and riveted, and he went on in a +febrile and feminine agitation. + +"I am a priest," he cried unsteadily, "and a priest should be +no shedder of blood. I--I mean that he should bring no one to +the gallows. And I thank God that I see the criminal clearly now +--because he is a criminal who cannot be brought to the gallows." + +"You will not denounce him?" inquired the doctor. + +"He would not be hanged if I did denounce him," answered +Wilfred with a wild but curiously happy smile. "When I went into +the church this morning I found a madman praying there--that +poor Joe, who has been wrong all his life. God knows what he +prayed; but with such strange folk it is not incredible to suppose +that their prayers are all upside down. Very likely a lunatic +would pray before killing a man. When I last saw poor Joe he was +with my brother. My brother was mocking him." + +"By Jove!" cried the doctor, "this is talking at last. But +how do you explain--" + +The Rev. Wilfred was almost trembling with the excitement of +his own glimpse of the truth. "Don't you see; don't you see," he +cried feverishly; "that is the only theory that covers both the +queer things, that answers both the riddles. The two riddles are +the little hammer and the big blow. The smith might have struck +the big blow, but would not have chosen the little hammer. His +wife would have chosen the little hammer, but she could not have +struck the big blow. But the madman might have done both. As for +the little hammer--why, he was mad and might have picked up +anything. And for the big blow, have you never heard, doctor, +that a maniac in his paroxysm may have the strength of ten men?" + +The doctor drew a deep breath and then said, "By golly, I +believe you've got it." + +Father Brown had fixed his eyes on the speaker so long and +steadily as to prove that his large grey, ox-like eyes were not +quite so insignificant as the rest of his face. When silence had +fallen he said with marked respect: "Mr. Bohun, yours is the only +theory yet propounded which holds water every way and is +essentially unassailable. I think, therefore, that you deserve to +be told, on my positive knowledge, that it is not the true one." +And with that the old little man walked away and stared again at +the hammer. + +"That fellow seems to know more than he ought to," whispered +the doctor peevishly to Wilfred. "Those popish priests are +deucedly sly." + +"No, no," said Bohun, with a sort of wild fatigue. "It was +the lunatic. It was the lunatic." + +The group of the two clerics and the doctor had fallen away +from the more official group containing the inspector and the man +he had arrested. Now, however, that their own party had broken +up, they heard voices from the others. The priest looked up +quietly and then looked down again as he heard the blacksmith say +in a loud voice: + +"I hope I've convinced you, Mr. Inspector. I'm a strong man, +as you say, but I couldn't have flung my hammer bang here from +Greenford. My hammer hasn't got wings that it should come flying +half a mile over hedges and fields." + +The inspector laughed amicably and said: "No, I think you can +be considered out of it, though it's one of the rummiest +coincidences I ever saw. I can only ask you to give us all the +assistance you can in finding a man as big and strong as yourself. +By George! you might be useful, if only to hold him! I suppose +you yourself have no guess at the man?" + +"I may have a guess," said the pale smith, "but it is not at a +man." Then, seeing the scared eyes turn towards his wife on the +bench, he put his huge hand on her shoulder and said: "Nor a woman +either." + +"What do you mean?" asked the inspector jocularly. "You don't +think cows use hammers, do you?" + +"I think no thing of flesh held that hammer," said the +blacksmith in a stifled voice; "mortally speaking, I think the man +died alone." + +Wilfred made a sudden forward movement and peered at him with +burning eyes. + +"Do you mean to say, Barnes," came the sharp voice of the +cobbler, "that the hammer jumped up of itself and knocked the man +down?" + +"Oh, you gentlemen may stare and snigger," cried Simeon; "you +clergymen who tell us on Sunday in what a stillness the Lord smote +Sennacherib. I believe that One who walks invisible in every +house defended the honour of mine, and laid the defiler dead +before the door of it. I believe the force in that blow was just +the force there is in earthquakes, and no force less." + +Wilfred said, with a voice utterly undescribable: "I told +Norman myself to beware of the thunderbolt." + +"That agent is outside my jurisdiction," said the inspector +with a slight smile. + +"You are not outside His," answered the smith; "see you to it," +and, turning his broad back, he went into the house. + +The shaken Wilfred was led away by Father Brown, who had an +easy and friendly way with him. "Let us get out of this horrid +place, Mr. Bohun," he said. "May I look inside your church? I +hear it's one of the oldest in England. We take some interest, +you know," he added with a comical grimace, "in old English +churches." + +Wilfred Bohun did not smile, for humour was never his strong +point. But he nodded rather eagerly, being only too ready to +explain the Gothic splendours to someone more likely to be +sympathetic than the Presbyterian blacksmith or the atheist +cobbler. + +"By all means," he said; "let us go in at this side." And he +led the way into the high side entrance at the top of the flight +of steps. Father Brown was mounting the first step to follow him +when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to behold the dark, +thin figure of the doctor, his face darker yet with suspicion. + +"Sir," said the physician harshly, "you appear to know some +secrets in this black business. May I ask if you are going to +keep them to yourself?" + +"Why, doctor," answered the priest, smiling quite pleasantly, +"there is one very good reason why a man of my trade should keep +things to himself when he is not sure of them, and that is that it +is so constantly his duty to keep them to himself when he is sure +of them. But if you think I have been discourteously reticent +with you or anyone, I will go to the extreme limit of my custom. +I will give you two very large hints." + +"Well, sir?" said the doctor gloomily. + +"First," said Father Brown quietly, "the thing is quite in +your own province. It is a matter of physical science. The +blacksmith is mistaken, not perhaps in saying that the blow was +divine, but certainly in saying that it came by a miracle. It was +no miracle, doctor, except in so far as man is himself a miracle, +with his strange and wicked and yet half-heroic heart. The force +that smashed that skull was a force well known to scientists-- +one of the most frequently debated of the laws of nature." + +The doctor, who was looking at him with frowning intentness, +only said: "And the other hint?" + +"The other hint is this," said the priest. "Do you remember +the blacksmith, though he believes in miracles, talking scornfully +of the impossible fairy tale that his hammer had wings and flew +half a mile across country?" + +"Yes," said the doctor, "I remember that." + +"Well," added Father Brown, with a broad smile, "that fairy +tale was the nearest thing to the real truth that has been said +today." And with that he turned his back and stumped up the steps +after the curate. + +The Reverend Wilfred, who had been waiting for him, pale and +impatient, as if this little delay were the last straw for his +nerves, led him immediately to his favourite corner of the church, +that part of the gallery closest to the carved roof and lit by the +wonderful window with the angel. The little Latin priest explored +and admired everything exhaustively, talking cheerfully but in a +low voice all the time. When in the course of his investigation +he found the side exit and the winding stair down which Wilfred +had rushed to find his brother dead, Father Brown ran not down but +up, with the agility of a monkey, and his clear voice came from an +outer platform above. + +"Come up here, Mr. Bohun," he called. "The air will do you +good." + +Bohun followed him, and came out on a kind of stone gallery or +balcony outside the building, from which one could see the +illimitable plain in which their small hill stood, wooded away to +the purple horizon and dotted with villages and farms. Clear and +square, but quite small beneath them, was the blacksmith's yard, +where the inspector still stood taking notes and the corpse still +lay like a smashed fly. + +"Might be the map of the world, mightn't it?" said Father +Brown. + +"Yes," said Bohun very gravely, and nodded his head. + +Immediately beneath and about them the lines of the Gothic +building plunged outwards into the void with a sickening swiftness +akin to suicide. There is that element of Titan energy in the +architecture of the Middle Ages that, from whatever aspect it be +seen, it always seems to be rushing away, like the strong back of +some maddened horse. This church was hewn out of ancient and +silent stone, bearded with old fungoids and stained with the nests +of birds. And yet, when they saw it from below, it sprang like a +fountain at the stars; and when they saw it, as now, from above, +it poured like a cataract into a voiceless pit. For these two men +on the tower were left alone with the most terrible aspect of +Gothic; the monstrous foreshortening and disproportion, the dizzy +perspectives, the glimpses of great things small and small things +great; a topsy-turvydom of stone in the mid-air. Details of stone, +enormous by their proximity, were relieved against a pattern of +fields and farms, pygmy in their distance. A carved bird or beast +at a corner seemed like some vast walking or flying dragon wasting +the pastures and villages below. The whole atmosphere was dizzy +and dangerous, as if men were upheld in air amid the gyrating +wings of colossal genii; and the whole of that old church, as tall +and rich as a cathedral, seemed to sit upon the sunlit country +like a cloudburst. + +"I think there is something rather dangerous about standing on +these high places even to pray," said Father Brown. "Heights were +made to be looked at, not to be looked from." + +"Do you mean that one may fall over," asked Wilfred. + +"I mean that one's soul may fall if one's body doesn't," said +the other priest. + +"I scarcely understand you," remarked Bohun indistinctly. + +"Look at that blacksmith, for instance," went on Father Brown +calmly; "a good man, but not a Christian--hard, imperious, +unforgiving. Well, his Scotch religion was made up by men who +prayed on hills and high crags, and learnt to look down on the +world more than to look up at heaven. Humility is the mother of +giants. One sees great things from the valley; only small things +from the peak." + +"But he--he didn't do it," said Bohun tremulously. + +"No," said the other in an odd voice; "we know he didn't do +it." + +After a moment he resumed, looking tranquilly out over the +plain with his pale grey eyes. "I knew a man," he said, "who +began by worshipping with others before the altar, but who grew +fond of high and lonely places to pray from, corners or niches in +the belfry or the spire. And once in one of those dizzy places, +where the whole world seemed to turn under him like a wheel, his +brain turned also, and he fancied he was God. So that, though he +was a good man, he committed a great crime." + +Wilfred's face was turned away, but his bony hands turned blue +and white as they tightened on the parapet of stone. + +"He thought it was given to him to judge the world and strike +down the sinner. He would never have had such a thought if he had +been kneeling with other men upon a floor. But he saw all men +walking about like insects. He saw one especially strutting just +below him, insolent and evident by a bright green hat--a +poisonous insect." + +Rooks cawed round the corners of the belfry; but there was no +other sound till Father Brown went on. + +"This also tempted him, that he had in his hand one of the +most awful engines of nature; I mean gravitation, that mad and +quickening rush by which all earth's creatures fly back to her +heart when released. See, the inspector is strutting just below +us in the smithy. If I were to toss a pebble over this parapet it +would be something like a bullet by the time it struck him. If I +were to drop a hammer--even a small hammer--" + +Wilfred Bohun threw one leg over the parapet, and Father Brown +had him in a minute by the collar. + +"Not by that door," he said quite gently; "that door leads to +hell." + +Bohun staggered back against the wall, and stared at him with +frightful eyes. + +"How do you know all this?" he cried. "Are you a devil?" + +"I am a man," answered Father Brown gravely; "and therefore +have all devils in my heart. Listen to me," he said after a short +pause. "I know what you did--at least, I can guess the great +part of it. When you left your brother you were racked with no +unrighteous rage, to the extent even that you snatched up a small +hammer, half inclined to kill him with his foulness on his mouth. +Recoiling, you thrust it under your buttoned coat instead, and +rushed into the church. You pray wildly in many places, under the +angel window, upon the platform above, and a higher platform +still, from which you could see the colonel's Eastern hat like the +back of a green beetle crawling about. Then something snapped in +your soul, and you let God's thunderbolt fall." + +Wilfred put a weak hand to his head, and asked in a low voice: +"How did you know that his hat looked like a green beetle?" + +"Oh, that," said the other with the shadow of a smile, "that +was common sense. But hear me further. I say I know all this; +but no one else shall know it. The next step is for you; I shall +take no more steps; I will seal this with the seal of confession. +If you ask me why, there are many reasons, and only one that +concerns you. I leave things to you because you have not yet gone +very far wrong, as assassins go. You did not help to fix the +crime on the smith when it was easy; or on his wife, when that was +easy. You tried to fix it on the imbecile because you knew that +he could not suffer. That was one of the gleams that it is my +business to find in assassins. And now come down into the +village, and go your own way as free as the wind; for I have said +my last word." + +They went down the winding stairs in utter silence, and came +out into the sunlight by the smithy. Wilfred Bohun carefully +unlatched the wooden gate of the yard, and going up to the +inspector, said: "I wish to give myself up; I have killed my +brother." + + + + The Eye of Apollo + +That singular smoky sparkle, at once a confusion and a transparency, +which is the strange secret of the Thames, was changing more and +more from its grey to its glittering extreme as the sun climbed to +the zenith over Westminster, and two men crossed Westminster +Bridge. One man was very tall and the other very short; they +might even have been fantastically compared to the arrogant +clock-tower of Parliament and the humbler humped shoulders of the +Abbey, for the short man was in clerical dress. The official +description of the tall man was M. Hercule Flambeau, private +detective, and he was going to his new offices in a new pile of +flats facing the Abbey entrance. The official description of the +short man was the Reverend J. Brown, attached to St. Francis +Xavier's Church, Camberwell, and he was coming from a Camberwell +deathbed to see the new offices of his friend. + +The building was American in its sky-scraping altitude, and +American also in the oiled elaboration of its machinery of +telephones and lifts. But it was barely finished and still +understaffed; only three tenants had moved in; the office just +above Flambeau was occupied, as also was the office just below +him; the two floors above that and the three floors below were +entirely bare. But the first glance at the new tower of flats +caught something much more arresting. Save for a few relics of +scaffolding, the one glaring object was erected outside the office +just above Flambeau's. It was an enormous gilt effigy of the +human eye, surrounded with rays of gold, and taking up as much +room as two or three of the office windows. + +"What on earth is that?" asked Father Brown, and stood still. +"Oh, a new religion," said Flambeau, laughing; "one of those new +religions that forgive your sins by saying you never had any. +Rather like Christian Science, I should think. The fact is that a +fellow calling himself Kalon (I don't know what his name is, +except that it can't be that) has taken the flat just above me. +I have two lady typewriters underneath me, and this enthusiastic +old humbug on top. He calls himself the New Priest of Apollo, and +he worships the sun." + +"Let him look out," said Father Brown. "The sun was the +cruellest of all the gods. But what does that monstrous eye mean?" + +"As I understand it, it is a theory of theirs," answered +Flambeau, "that a man can endure anything if his mind is quite +steady. Their two great symbols are the sun and the open eye; for +they say that if a man were really healthy he could stare at the +sun." + +"If a man were really healthy," said Father Brown, "he would +not bother to stare at it." + +"Well, that's all I can tell you about the new religion," went +on Flambeau carelessly. "It claims, of course, that it can cure +all physical diseases." + +"Can it cure the one spiritual disease?" asked Father Brown, +with a serious curiosity. + +"And what is the one spiritual disease?" asked Flambeau, +smiling. + +"Oh, thinking one is quite well," said his friend. + +Flambeau was more interested in the quiet little office below +him than in the flamboyant temple above. He was a lucid +Southerner, incapable of conceiving himself as anything but a +Catholic or an atheist; and new religions of a bright and pallid +sort were not much in his line. But humanity was always in his +line, especially when it was good-looking; moreover, the ladies +downstairs were characters in their way. The office was kept by +two sisters, both slight and dark, one of them tall and striking. +She had a dark, eager and aquiline profile, and was one of those +women whom one always thinks of in profile, as of the clean-cut +edge of some weapon. She seemed to cleave her way through life. +She had eyes of startling brilliancy, but it was the brilliancy of +steel rather than of diamonds; and her straight, slim figure was a +shade too stiff for its grace. Her younger sister was like her +shortened shadow, a little greyer, paler, and more insignificant. +They both wore a business-like black, with little masculine cuffs +and collars. There are thousands of such curt, strenuous ladies +in the offices of London, but the interest of these lay rather in +their real than their apparent position. + +For Pauline Stacey, the elder, was actually the heiress of a +crest and half a county, as well as great wealth; she had been +brought up in castles and gardens, before a frigid fierceness +(peculiar to the modern woman) had driven her to what she +considered a harsher and a higher existence. She had not, indeed, +surrendered her money; in that there would have been a romantic or +monkish abandon quite alien to her masterful utilitarianism. She +held her wealth, she would say, for use upon practical social +objects. Part of it she had put into her business, the nucleus of +a model typewriting emporium; part of it was distributed in +various leagues and causes for the advancement of such work among +women. How far Joan, her sister and partner, shared this slightly +prosaic idealism no one could be very sure. But she followed her +leader with a dog-like affection which was somehow more attractive, +with its touch of tragedy, than the hard, high spirits of the +elder. For Pauline Stacey had nothing to say to tragedy; she was +understood to deny its existence. + +Her rigid rapidity and cold impatience had amused Flambeau +very much on the first occasion of his entering the flats. He had +lingered outside the lift in the entrance hall waiting for the +lift-boy, who generally conducts strangers to the various floors. +But this bright-eyed falcon of a girl had openly refused to endure +such official delay. She said sharply that she knew all about the +lift, and was not dependent on boys--or men either. Though her +flat was only three floors above, she managed in the few seconds +of ascent to give Flambeau a great many of her fundamental views +in an off-hand manner; they were to the general effect that she +was a modern working woman and loved modern working machinery. +Her bright black eyes blazed with abstract anger against those who +rebuke mechanic science and ask for the return of romance. +Everyone, she said, ought to be able to manage machines, just as +she could manage the lift. She seemed almost to resent the fact +of Flambeau opening the lift-door for her; and that gentleman went +up to his own apartments smiling with somewhat mingled feelings at +the memory of such spit-fire self-dependence. + +She certainly had a temper, of a snappy, practical sort; the +gestures of her thin, elegant hands were abrupt or even +destructive. + +Once Flambeau entered her office on some typewriting business, and +found she had just flung a pair of spectacles belonging to her +sister into the middle of the floor and stamped on them. She was +already in the rapids of an ethical tirade about the "sickly +medical notions" and the morbid admission of weakness implied in +such an apparatus. She dared her sister to bring such artificial, +unhealthy rubbish into the place again. She asked if she was +expected to wear wooden legs or false hair or glass eyes; and as +she spoke her eyes sparkled like the terrible crystal. + +Flambeau, quite bewildered with this fanaticism, could not +refrain from asking Miss Pauline (with direct French logic) why a +pair of spectacles was a more morbid sign of weakness than a lift, +and why, if science might help us in the one effort, it might not +help us in the other. + +"That is so different," said Pauline Stacey, loftily. +"Batteries and motors and all those things are marks of the force +of man--yes, Mr. Flambeau, and the force of woman, too! We +shall take our turn at these great engines that devour distance +and defy time. That is high and splendid--that is really +science. But these nasty props and plasters the doctors sell-- +why, they are just badges of poltroonery. Doctors stick on legs +and arms as if we were born cripples and sick slaves. But I was +free-born, Mr. Flambeau! People only think they need these things +because they have been trained in fear instead of being trained in +power and courage, just as the silly nurses tell children not to +stare at the sun, and so they can't do it without blinking. But +why among the stars should there be one star I may not see? The +sun is not my master, and I will open my eyes and stare at him +whenever I choose." + +"Your eyes," said Flambeau, with a foreign bow, "will dazzle +the sun." He took pleasure in complimenting this strange stiff +beauty, partly because it threw her a little off her balance. But +as he went upstairs to his floor he drew a deep breath and +whistled, saying to himself: "So she has got into the hands of +that conjurer upstairs with his golden eye." For, little as he +knew or cared about the new religion of Kalon, he had heard of his +special notion about sun-gazing. + +He soon discovered that the spiritual bond between the floors +above and below him was close and increasing. The man who called +himself Kalon was a magnificent creature, worthy, in a physical +sense, to be the pontiff of Apollo. He was nearly as tall even as +Flambeau, and very much better looking, with a golden beard, strong +blue eyes, and a mane flung back like a lion's. In structure he +was the blonde beast of Nietzsche, but all this animal beauty was +heightened, brightened and softened by genuine intellect and +spirituality. If he looked like one of the great Saxon kings, he +looked like one of the kings that were also saints. And this +despite the cockney incongruity of his surroundings; the fact that +he had an office half-way up a building in Victoria Street; that +the clerk (a commonplace youth in cuffs and collars) sat in the +outer room, between him and the corridor; that his name was on a +brass plate, and the gilt emblem of his creed hung above his +street, like the advertisement of an oculist. All this vulgarity +could not take away from the man called Kalon the vivid oppression +and inspiration that came from his soul and body. When all was +said, a man in the presence of this quack did feel in the presence +of a great man. Even in the loose jacket-suit of linen that he +wore as a workshop dress in his office he was a fascinating and +formidable figure; and when robed in the white vestments and +crowned with the golden circlet, in which he daily saluted the sun, +he really looked so splendid that the laughter of the street people +sometimes died suddenly on their lips. For three times in the day +the new sun-worshipper went out on his little balcony, in the face +of all Westminster, to say some litany to his shining lord: once +at daybreak, once at sunset, and once at the shock of noon. And +it was while the shock of noon still shook faintly from the towers +of Parliament and parish church that Father Brown, the friend of +Flambeau, first looked up and saw the white priest of Apollo. + +Flambeau had seen quite enough of these daily salutations of +Phoebus, and plunged into the porch of the tall building without +even looking for his clerical friend to follow. But Father Brown, +whether from a professional interest in ritual or a strong +individual interest in tomfoolery, stopped and stared up at the +balcony of the sun-worshipper, just as he might have stopped and +stared up at a Punch and Judy. Kalon the Prophet was already +erect, with argent garments and uplifted hands, and the sound of +his strangely penetrating voice could be heard all the way down +the busy street uttering his solar litany. He was already in the +middle of it; his eyes were fixed upon the flaming disc. It is +doubtful if he saw anything or anyone on this earth; it is +substantially certain that he did not see a stunted, round-faced +priest who, in the crowd below, looked up at him with blinking +eyes. That was perhaps the most startling difference between even +these two far divided men. Father Brown could not look at +anything without blinking; but the priest of Apollo could look on +the blaze at noon without a quiver of the eyelid. + +"O sun," cried the prophet, "O star that art too great to be +allowed among the stars! O fountain that flowest quietly in that +secret spot that is called space. White Father of all white +unwearied things, white flames and white flowers and white peaks. +Father, who art more innocent than all thy most innocent and quiet +children; primal purity, into the peace of which--" + +A rush and crash like the reversed rush of a rocket was cloven +with a strident and incessant yelling. Five people rushed into +the gate of the mansions as three people rushed out, and for an +instant they all deafened each other. The sense of some utterly +abrupt horror seemed for a moment to fill half the street with bad +news--bad news that was all the worse because no one knew what +it was. Two figures remained still after the crash of commotion: +the fair priest of Apollo on the balcony above, and the ugly +priest of Christ below him. + +At last the tall figure and titanic energy of Flambeau +appeared in the doorway of the mansions and dominated the little +mob. Talking at the top of his voice like a fog-horn, he told +somebody or anybody to go for a surgeon; and as he turned back +into the dark and thronged entrance his friend Father Brown dipped +in insignificantly after him. Even as he ducked and dived through +the crowd he could still hear the magnificent melody and monotony +of the solar priest still calling on the happy god who is the +friend of fountains and flowers. + +Father Brown found Flambeau and some six other people standing +round the enclosed space into which the lift commonly descended. +But the lift had not descended. Something else had descended; +something that ought to have come by a lift. + +For the last four minutes Flambeau had looked down on it; had +seen the brained and bleeding figure of that beautiful woman who +denied the existence of tragedy. He had never had the slightest +doubt that it was Pauline Stacey; and, though he had sent for a +doctor, he had not the slightest doubt that she was dead. + +He could not remember for certain whether he had liked her or +disliked her; there was so much both to like and dislike. But she +had been a person to him, and the unbearable pathos of details and +habit stabbed him with all the small daggers of bereavement. He +remembered her pretty face and priggish speeches with a sudden +secret vividness which is all the bitterness of death. In an +instant like a bolt from the blue, like a thunderbolt from nowhere, +that beautiful and defiant body had been dashed down the open well +of the lift to death at the bottom. Was it suicide? With so +insolent an optimist it seemed impossible. Was it murder? But +who was there in those hardly inhabited flats to murder anybody? +In a rush of raucous words, which he meant to be strong and +suddenly found weak, he asked where was that fellow Kalon. A +voice, habitually heavy, quiet and full, assured him that Kalon +for the last fifteen minutes had been away up on his balcony +worshipping his god. When Flambeau heard the voice, and felt the +hand of Father Brown, he turned his swarthy face and said abruptly: + +"Then, if he has been up there all the time, who can have done +it?" + +"Perhaps," said the other, "we might go upstairs and find out. +We have half an hour before the police will move." + +Leaving the body of the slain heiress in charge of the +surgeons, Flambeau dashed up the stairs to the typewriting office, +found it utterly empty, and then dashed up to his own. Having +entered that, he abruptly returned with a new and white face to +his friend. + +"Her sister," he said, with an unpleasant seriousness, "her +sister seems to have gone out for a walk." + +Father Brown nodded. "Or, she may have gone up to the office +of that sun man," he said. "If I were you I should just verify +that, and then let us all talk it over in your office. No," he +added suddenly, as if remembering something, "shall I ever get +over that stupidity of mine? Of course, in their office +downstairs." + +Flambeau stared; but he followed the little father downstairs +to the empty flat of the Staceys, where that impenetrable pastor +took a large red-leather chair in the very entrance, from which he +could see the stairs and landings, and waited. He did not wait +very long. In about four minutes three figures descended the +stairs, alike only in their solemnity. The first was Joan Stacey, +the sister of the dead woman--evidently she had been upstairs in +the temporary temple of Apollo; the second was the priest of +Apollo himself, his litany finished, sweeping down the empty +stairs in utter magnificence--something in his white robes, +beard and parted hair had the look of Dore's Christ leaving the +Pretorium; the third was Flambeau, black browed and somewhat +bewildered. + +Miss Joan Stacey, dark, with a drawn face and hair prematurely +touched with grey, walked straight to her own desk and set out her +papers with a practical flap. The mere action rallied everyone +else to sanity. If Miss Joan Stacey was a criminal, she was a +cool one. Father Brown regarded her for some time with an odd +little smile, and then, without taking his eyes off her, addressed +himself to somebody else. + +"Prophet," he said, presumably addressing Kalon, "I wish you +would tell me a lot about your religion." + +"I shall be proud to do it," said Kalon, inclining his still +crowned head, "but I am not sure that I understand." + +"Why, it's like this," said Father Brown, in his frankly +doubtful way: "We are taught that if a man has really bad first +principles, that must be partly his fault. But, for all that, we +can make some difference between a man who insults his quite clear +conscience and a man with a conscience more or less clouded with +sophistries. Now, do you really think that murder is wrong at +all?" + +"Is this an accusation?" asked Kalon very quietly. + +"No," answered Brown, equally gently, "it is the speech for +the defence." + +In the long and startled stillness of the room the prophet of +Apollo slowly rose; and really it was like the rising of the sun. +He filled that room with his light and life in such a manner that +a man felt he could as easily have filled Salisbury Plain. His +robed form seemed to hang the whole room with classic draperies; +his epic gesture seemed to extend it into grander perspectives, +till the little black figure of the modern cleric seemed to be a +fault and an intrusion, a round, black blot upon some splendour of +Hellas. + +"We meet at last, Caiaphas," said the prophet. "Your church +and mine are the only realities on this earth. I adore the sun, +and you the darkening of the sun; you are the priest of the dying +and I of the living God. Your present work of suspicion and +slander is worthy of your coat and creed. All your church is but +a black police; you are only spies and detectives seeking to tear +from men confessions of guilt, whether by treachery or torture. +You would convict men of crime, I would convict them of innocence. +You would convince them of sin, I would convince them of virtue. + +"Reader of the books of evil, one more word before I blow away +your baseless nightmares for ever. Not even faintly could you +understand how little I care whether you can convict me or no. +The things you call disgrace and horrible hanging are to me no +more than an ogre in a child's toy-book to a man once grown up. +You said you were offering the speech for the defence. I care so +little for the cloudland of this life that I will offer you the +speech for the prosecution. There is but one thing that can be +said against me in this matter, and I will say it myself. The +woman that is dead was my love and my bride; not after such manner +as your tin chapels call lawful, but by a law purer and sterner +than you will ever understand. She and I walked another world +from yours, and trod palaces of crystal while you were plodding +through tunnels and corridors of brick. Well, I know that +policemen, theological and otherwise, always fancy that where +there has been love there must soon be hatred; so there you have +the first point made for the prosecution. But the second point is +stronger; I do not grudge it you. Not only is it true that +Pauline loved me, but it is also true that this very morning, +before she died, she wrote at that table a will leaving me and my +new church half a million. Come, where are the handcuffs? Do you +suppose I care what foolish things you do with me? Penal +servitude will only be like waiting for her at a wayside station. +The gallows will only be going to her in a headlong car." + +He spoke with the brain-shaking authority of an orator, and +Flambeau and Joan Stacey stared at him in amazed admiration. +Father Brown's face seemed to express nothing but extreme +distress; he looked at the ground with one wrinkle of pain across +his forehead. The prophet of the sun leaned easily against the +mantelpiece and resumed: + +"In a few words I have put before you the whole case against +me--the only possible case against me. In fewer words still I +will blow it to pieces, so that not a trace of it remains. As to +whether I have committed this crime, the truth is in one sentence: +I could not have committed this crime. Pauline Stacey fell from +this floor to the ground at five minutes past twelve. A hundred +people will go into the witness-box and say that I was standing +out upon the balcony of my own rooms above from just before the +stroke of noon to a quarter-past--the usual period of my public +prayers. My clerk (a respectable youth from Clapham, with no sort +of connection with me) will swear that he sat in my outer office +all the morning, and that no communication passed through. He +will swear that I arrived a full ten minutes before the hour, +fifteen minutes before any whisper of the accident, and that I did +not leave the office or the balcony all that time. No one ever +had so complete an alibi; I could subpoena half Westminster. I +think you had better put the handcuffs away again. The case is at +an end. + +"But last of all, that no breath of this idiotic suspicion +remain in the air, I will tell you all you want to know. I +believe I do know how my unhappy friend came by her death. You +can, if you choose, blame me for it, or my faith and philosophy at +least; but you certainly cannot lock me up. It is well known to +all students of the higher truths that certain adepts and +illuminati have in history attained the power of levitation-- +that is, of being self-sustained upon the empty air. It is but a +part of that general conquest of matter which is the main element +in our occult wisdom. Poor Pauline was of an impulsive and +ambitious temper. I think, to tell the truth, she thought herself +somewhat deeper in the mysteries than she was; and she has often +said to me, as we went down in the lift together, that if one's +will were strong enough, one could float down as harmlessly as a +feather. I solemnly believe that in some ecstasy of noble thoughts +she attempted the miracle. Her will, or faith, must have failed +her at the crucial instant, and the lower law of matter had its +horrible revenge. There is the whole story, gentlemen, very sad +and, as you think, very presumptuous and wicked, but certainly not +criminal or in any way connected with me. In the short-hand of +the police-courts, you had better call it suicide. I shall always +call it heroic failure for the advance of science and the slow +scaling of heaven." + +It was the first time Flambeau had ever seen Father Brown +vanquished. He still sat looking at the ground, with a painful +and corrugated brow, as if in shame. It was impossible to avoid +the feeling which the prophet's winged words had fanned, that here +was a sullen, professional suspecter of men overwhelmed by a +prouder and purer spirit of natural liberty and health. At last +he said, blinking as if in bodily distress: "Well, if that is so, +sir, you need do no more than take the testamentary paper you +spoke of and go. I wonder where the poor lady left it." + +"It will be over there on her desk by the door, I think," said +Kalon, with that massive innocence of manner that seemed to acquit +him wholly. "She told me specially she would write it this +morning, and I actually saw her writing as I went up in the lift +to my own room." + +"Was her door open then?" asked the priest, with his eye on +the corner of the matting. + +"Yes," said Kalon calmly. + +"Ah! it has been open ever since," said the other, and resumed +his silent study of the mat. + +"There is a paper over here," said the grim Miss Joan, in a +somewhat singular voice. She had passed over to her sister's desk +by the doorway, and was holding a sheet of blue foolscap in her +hand. There was a sour smile on her face that seemed unfit for +such a scene or occasion, and Flambeau looked at her with a +darkening brow. + +Kalon the prophet stood away from the paper with that loyal +unconsciousness that had carried him through. But Flambeau took +it out of the lady's hand, and read it with the utmost amazement. +It did, indeed, begin in the formal manner of a will, but after +the words "I give and bequeath all of which I die possessed" the +writing abruptly stopped with a set of scratches, and there was no +trace of the name of any legatee. Flambeau, in wonder, handed +this truncated testament to his clerical friend, who glanced at it +and silently gave it to the priest of the sun. + +An instant afterwards that pontiff, in his splendid sweeping +draperies, had crossed the room in two great strides, and was +towering over Joan Stacey, his blue eyes standing from his head. + +"What monkey tricks have you been playing here?" he cried. +"That's not all Pauline wrote." + +They were startled to hear him speak in quite a new voice, +with a Yankee shrillness in it; all his grandeur and good English +had fallen from him like a cloak. + +"That is the only thing on her desk," said Joan, and +confronted him steadily with the same smile of evil favour. + +Of a sudden the man broke out into blasphemies and cataracts +of incredulous words. There was something shocking about the +dropping of his mask; it was like a man's real face falling off. + +"See here!" he cried in broad American, when he was breathless +with cursing, "I may be an adventurer, but I guess you're a +murderess. Yes, gentlemen, here's your death explained, and +without any levitation. The poor girl is writing a will in my +favour; her cursed sister comes in, struggles for the pen, drags +her to the well, and throws her down before she can finish it. +Sakes! I reckon we want the handcuffs after all." + +"As you have truly remarked," replied Joan, with ugly calm, +"your clerk is a very respectable young man, who knows the nature +of an oath; and he will swear in any court that I was up in your +office arranging some typewriting work for five minutes before and +five minutes after my sister fell. Mr. Flambeau will tell you +that he found me there." + +There was a silence. + +"Why, then," cried Flambeau, "Pauline was alone when she fell, +and it was suicide!" + +"She was alone when she fell," said Father Brown, "but it was +not suicide." + +"Then how did she die?" asked Flambeau impatiently. + +"She was murdered." + +"But she was alone," objected the detective. + +"She was murdered when she was all alone," answered the +priest. + +All the rest stared at him, but he remained sitting in the +same old dejected attitude, with a wrinkle in his round forehead +and an appearance of impersonal shame and sorrow; his voice was +colourless and sad. + +"What I want to know," cried Kalon, with an oath, "is when the +police are coming for this bloody and wicked sister. She's killed +her flesh and blood; she's robbed me of half a million that was +just as sacredly mine as--" + +"Come, come, prophet," interrupted Flambeau, with a kind of +sneer; "remember that all this world is a cloudland." + +The hierophant of the sun-god made an effort to climb back on +his pedestal. "It is not the mere money," he cried, "though that +would equip the cause throughout the world. It is also my beloved +one's wishes. To Pauline all this was holy. In Pauline's eyes--" + +Father Brown suddenly sprang erect, so that his chair fell +over flat behind him. He was deathly pale, yet he seemed fired +with a hope; his eyes shone. + +"That's it!" he cried in a clear voice. "That's the way to +begin. In Pauline's eyes--" + +The tall prophet retreated before the tiny priest in an almost +mad disorder. "What do you mean? How dare you?" he cried +repeatedly. + +"In Pauline's eyes," repeated the priest, his own shining more +and more. "Go on--in God's name, go on. The foulest crime the +fiends ever prompted feels lighter after confession; and I implore +you to confess. Go on, go on--in Pauline's eyes--" + +"Let me go, you devil!" thundered Kalon, struggling like a +giant in bonds. "Who are you, you cursed spy, to weave your +spiders' webs round me, and peep and peer? Let me go." + +"Shall I stop him?" asked Flambeau, bounding towards the exit, +for Kalon had already thrown the door wide open. + +"No; let him pass," said Father Brown, with a strange deep +sigh that seemed to come from the depths of the universe. "Let +Cain pass by, for he belongs to God." + +There was a long-drawn silence in the room when he had left +it, which was to Flambeau's fierce wits one long agony of +interrogation. Miss Joan Stacey very coolly tidied up the papers +on her desk. + +"Father," said Flambeau at last, "it is my duty, not my +curiosity only--it is my duty to find out, if I can, who +committed the crime." + +"Which crime?" asked Father Brown. + +"The one we are dealing with, of course," replied his +impatient friend. + +"We are dealing with two crimes," said Brown, "crimes of very +different weight--and by very different criminals." + +Miss Joan Stacey, having collected and put away her papers, +proceeded to lock up her drawer. Father Brown went on, noticing +her as little as she noticed him. + +"The two crimes," he observed, "were committed against the +same weakness of the same person, in a struggle for her money. +The author of the larger crime found himself thwarted by the +smaller crime; the author of the smaller crime got the money." + +"Oh, don't go on like a lecturer," groaned Flambeau; "put it +in a few words." + +"I can put it in one word," answered his friend. + +Miss Joan Stacey skewered her business-like black hat on to +her head with a business-like black frown before a little mirror, +and, as the conversation proceeded, took her handbag and umbrella +in an unhurried style, and left the room. + +"The truth is one word, and a short one," said Father Brown. +"Pauline Stacey was blind." + +"Blind!" repeated Flambeau, and rose slowly to his whole huge +stature. + +"She was subject to it by blood," Brown proceeded. "Her +sister would have started eyeglasses if Pauline would have let +her; but it was her special philosophy or fad that one must not +encourage such diseases by yielding to them. She would not admit +the cloud; or she tried to dispel it by will. So her eyes got +worse and worse with straining; but the worst strain was to come. +It came with this precious prophet, or whatever he calls himself, +who taught her to stare at the hot sun with the naked eye. It was +called accepting Apollo. Oh, if these new pagans would only be +old pagans, they would be a little wiser! The old pagans knew +that mere naked Nature-worship must have a cruel side. They knew +that the eye of Apollo can blast and blind." + +There was a pause, and the priest went on in a gentle and even +broken voice. "Whether or no that devil deliberately made her +blind, there is no doubt that he deliberately killed her through +her blindness. The very simplicity of the crime is sickening. +You know he and she went up and down in those lifts without +official help; you know also how smoothly and silently the lifts +slide. Kalon brought the lift to the girl's landing, and saw her, +through the open door, writing in her slow, sightless way the will +she had promised him. He called out to her cheerily that he had +the lift ready for her, and she was to come out when she was ready. +Then he pressed a button and shot soundlessly up to his own floor, +walked through his own office, out on to his own balcony, and was +safely praying before the crowded street when the poor girl, +having finished her work, ran gaily out to where lover and lift +were to receive her, and stepped--" + +"Don't!" cried Flambeau. + +"He ought to have got half a million by pressing that button," +continued the little father, in the colourless voice in which he +talked of such horrors. "But that went smash. It went smash +because there happened to be another person who also wanted the +money, and who also knew the secret about poor Pauline's sight. +There was one thing about that will that I think nobody noticed: +although it was unfinished and without signature, the other Miss +Stacey and some servant of hers had already signed it as witnesses. +Joan had signed first, saying Pauline could finish it later, with +a typical feminine contempt for legal forms. Therefore, Joan +wanted her sister to sign the will without real witnesses. Why? +I thought of the blindness, and felt sure she had wanted Pauline +to sign in solitude because she had wanted her not to sign at all. + +"People like the Staceys always use fountain pens; but this +was specially natural to Pauline. By habit and her strong will +and memory she could still write almost as well as if she saw; but +she could not tell when her pen needed dipping. Therefore, her +fountain pens were carefully filled by her sister--all except +this fountain pen. This was carefully not filled by her sister; +the remains of the ink held out for a few lines and then failed +altogether. And the prophet lost five hundred thousand pounds and +committed one of the most brutal and brilliant murders in human +history for nothing." + +Flambeau went to the open door and heard the official police +ascending the stairs. He turned and said: "You must have followed +everything devilish close to have traced the crime to Kalon in ten +minutes." + +Father Brown gave a sort of start. + +"Oh! to him," he said. "No; I had to follow rather close to +find out about Miss Joan and the fountain pen. But I knew Kalon +was the criminal before I came into the front door." + +"You must be joking!" cried Flambeau. + +"I'm quite serious," answered the priest. "I tell you I knew +he had done it, even before I knew what he had done." + +"But why?" + +"These pagan stoics," said Brown reflectively, "always fail by +their strength. There came a crash and a scream down the street, +and the priest of Apollo did not start or look round. I did not +know what it was. But I knew that he was expecting it." + + + + The Sign of the Broken Sword + +The thousand arms of the forest were grey, and its million fingers +silver. In a sky of dark green-blue-like slate the stars were +bleak and brilliant like splintered ice. All that thickly wooded +and sparsely tenanted countryside was stiff with a bitter and +brittle frost. The black hollows between the trunks of the trees +looked like bottomless, black caverns of that Scandinavian hell, a +hell of incalculable cold. Even the square stone tower of the +church looked northern to the point of heathenry, as if it were +some barbaric tower among the sea rocks of Iceland. It was a +queer night for anyone to explore a churchyard. But, on the other +hand, perhaps it was worth exploring. + +It rose abruptly out of the ashen wastes of forest in a sort +of hump or shoulder of green turf that looked grey in the +starlight. Most of the graves were on a slant, and the path +leading up to the church was as steep as a staircase. On the top +of the hill, in the one flat and prominent place, was the monument +for which the place was famous. It contrasted strangely with the +featureless graves all round, for it was the work of one of the +greatest sculptors of modern Europe; and yet his fame was at once +forgotten in the fame of the man whose image he had made. It +showed, by touches of the small silver pencil of starlight, the +massive metal figure of a soldier recumbent, the strong hands +sealed in an everlasting worship, the great head pillowed upon a +gun. The venerable face was bearded, or rather whiskered, in the +old, heavy Colonel Newcome fashion. The uniform, though suggested +with the few strokes of simplicity, was that of modern war. By +his right side lay a sword, of which the tip was broken off; on +the left side lay a Bible. On glowing summer afternoons +wagonettes came full of Americans and cultured suburbans to see +the sepulchre; but even then they felt the vast forest land with +its one dumpy dome of churchyard and church as a place oddly dumb +and neglected. In this freezing darkness of mid-winter one would +think he might be left alone with the stars. Nevertheless, in the +stillness of those stiff woods a wooden gate creaked, and two dim +figures dressed in black climbed up the little path to the tomb. + +So faint was that frigid starlight that nothing could have +been traced about them except that while they both wore black, one +man was enormously big, and the other (perhaps by contrast) almost +startlingly small. They went up to the great graven tomb of the +historic warrior, and stood for a few minutes staring at it. +There was no human, perhaps no living, thing for a wide circle; +and a morbid fancy might well have wondered if they were human +themselves. In any case, the beginning of their conversation +might have seemed strange. After the first silence the small man +said to the other: + +"Where does a wise man hide a pebble?" + +And the tall man answered in a low voice: "On the beach." + +The small man nodded, and after a short silence said: "Where +does a wise man hide a leaf?" + +And the other answered: "In the forest." + +There was another stillness, and then the tall man resumed: +"Do you mean that when a wise man has to hide a real diamond he +has been known to hide it among sham ones?" + +"No, no," said the little man with a laugh, "we will let +bygones be bygones." + +He stamped his cold feet for a second or two, and then said: +"I'm not thinking of that at all, but of something else; something +rather peculiar. Just strike a match, will you?" + +The big man fumbled in his pocket, and soon a scratch and a +flare painted gold the whole flat side of the monument. On it was +cut in black letters the well-known words which so many Americans +had reverently read: "Sacred to the Memory of General Sir Arthur +St. Clare, Hero and Martyr, who Always Vanquished his Enemies and +Always Spared Them, and Was Treacherously Slain by Them At Last. +May God in Whom he Trusted both Reward and Revenge him." + +The match burnt the big man's fingers, blackened, and dropped. +He was about to strike another, but his small companion stopped +him. "That's all right, Flambeau, old man; I saw what I wanted. +Or, rather, I didn't see what I didn't want. And now we must walk +a mile and a half along the road to the next inn, and I will try +to tell you all about it. For Heaven knows a man should have a +fire and ale when he dares tell such a story." + +They descended the precipitous path, they relatched the rusty +gate, and set off at a stamping, ringing walk down the frozen +forest road. They had gone a full quarter of a mile before the +smaller man spoke again. He said: "Yes; the wise man hides a +pebble on the beach. But what does he do if there is no beach? +Do you know anything of that great St. Clare trouble?" + +"I know nothing about English generals, Father Brown," +answered the large man, laughing, "though a little about English +policemen. I only know that you have dragged me a precious long +dance to all the shrines of this fellow, whoever he is. One would +think he got buried in six different places. I've seen a memorial +to General St. Clare in Westminster Abbey. I've seen a ramping +equestrian statue of General St. Clare on the Embankment. I've +seen a medallion of St. Clare in the street he was born in, and +another in the street he lived in; and now you drag me after dark +to his coffin in the village churchyard. I am beginning to be a +bit tired of his magnificent personality, especially as I don't in +the least know who he was. What are you hunting for in all these +crypts and effigies?" + +"I am only looking for one word," said Father Brown. "A word +that isn't there." + +"Well," asked Flambeau; "are you going to tell me anything +about it?" + +"I must divide it into two parts," remarked the priest. +"First there is what everybody knows; and then there is what I +know. Now, what everybody knows is short and plain enough. It is +also entirely wrong." + +"Right you are," said the big man called Flambeau cheerfully. +"Let's begin at the wrong end. Let's begin with what everybody +knows, which isn't true." + +"If not wholly untrue, it is at least very inadequate," +continued Brown; "for in point of fact, all that the public knows +amounts precisely to this: The public knows that Arthur St. Clare +was a great and successful English general. It knows that after +splendid yet careful campaigns both in India and Africa he was in +command against Brazil when the great Brazilian patriot Olivier +issued his ultimatum. It knows that on that occasion St. Clare +with a very small force attacked Olivier with a very large one, +and was captured after heroic resistance. And it knows that after +his capture, and to the abhorrence of the civilised world, St. +Clare was hanged on the nearest tree. He was found swinging there +after the Brazilians had retired, with his broken sword hung round +his neck." + +"And that popular story is untrue?" suggested Flambeau. + +"No," said his friend quietly, "that story is quite true, so +far as it goes." + +"Well, I think it goes far enough!" said Flambeau; "but if the +popular story is true, what is the mystery?" + +They had passed many hundreds of grey and ghostly trees before +the little priest answered. Then he bit his finger reflectively +and said: "Why, the mystery is a mystery of psychology. Or, +rather, it is a mystery of two psychologies. In that Brazilian +business two of the most famous men of modern history acted flat +against their characters. Mind you, Olivier and St. Clare were +both heroes--the old thing, and no mistake; it was like the +fight between Hector and Achilles. Now, what would you say to an +affair in which Achilles was timid and Hector was treacherous?" + +"Go on," said the large man impatiently as the other bit his +finger again. + +"Sir Arthur St. Clare was a soldier of the old religious type +--the type that saved us during the Mutiny," continued Brown. +"He was always more for duty than for dash; and with all his +personal courage was decidedly a prudent commander, particularly +indignant at any needless waste of soldiers. Yet in this last +battle he attempted something that a baby could see was absurd. +One need not be a strategist to see it was as wild as wind; just +as one need not be a strategist to keep out of the way of a +motor-bus. Well, that is the first mystery; what had become of +the English general's head? The second riddle is, what had become +of the Brazilian general's heart? President Olivier might be +called a visionary or a nuisance; but even his enemies admitted +that he was magnanimous to the point of knight errantry. Almost +every other prisoner he had ever captured had been set free or +even loaded with benefits. Men who had really wronged him came +away touched by his simplicity and sweetness. Why the deuce +should he diabolically revenge himself only once in his life; and +that for the one particular blow that could not have hurt him? +Well, there you have it. One of the wisest men in the world acted +like an idiot for no reason. One of the best men in the world +acted like a fiend for no reason. That's the long and the short +of it; and I leave it to you, my boy." + +"No, you don't," said the other with a snort. "I leave it to +you; and you jolly well tell me all about it." + +"Well," resumed Father Brown, "it's not fair to say that the +public impression is just what I've said, without adding that two +things have happened since. I can't say they threw a new light; +for nobody can make sense of them. But they threw a new kind of +darkness; they threw the darkness in new directions. The first was +this. The family physician of the St. Clares quarrelled with that +family, and began publishing a violent series of articles, in which +he said that the late general was a religious maniac; but as far as +the tale went, this seemed to mean little more than a religious +man. + +"Anyhow, the story fizzled out. Everyone knew, of course, that St. +Clare had some of the eccentricities of puritan piety. The second +incident was much more arresting. In the luckless and unsupported +regiment which made that rash attempt at the Black River there was +a certain Captain Keith, who was at that time engaged to St. Clare's +daughter, and who afterwards married her. He was one of those who +were captured by Olivier, and, like all the rest except the general, +appears to have been bounteously treated and promptly set free. +Some twenty years afterwards this man, then Lieutenant-Colonel +Keith, published a sort of autobiography called `A British Officer +in Burmah and Brazil.' In the place where the reader looks eagerly +for some account of the mystery of St. Clare's disaster may be +found the following words: `Everywhere else in this book I have +narrated things exactly as they occurred, holding as I do the +old-fashioned opinion that the glory of England is old enough to +take care of itself. The exception I shall make is in this matter +of the defeat by the Black River; and my reasons, though private, +are honourable and compelling. I will, however, add this in +justice to the memories of two distinguished men. General St. +Clare has been accused of incapacity on this occasion; I can at +least testify that this action, properly understood, was one of +the most brilliant and sagacious of his life. President Olivier +by similar report is charged with savage injustice. I think it +due to the honour of an enemy to say that he acted on this +occasion with even more than his characteristic good feeling. +To put the matter popularly, I can assure my countrymen that St. +Clare was by no means such a fool nor Olivier such a brute as he +looked. This is all I have to say; nor shall any earthly +consideration induce me to add a word to it.'" + +A large frozen moon like a lustrous snowball began to show +through the tangle of twigs in front of them, and by its light the +narrator had been able to refresh his memory of Captain Keith's +text from a scrap of printed paper. As he folded it up and put it +back in his pocket Flambeau threw up his hand with a French +gesture. + +"Wait a bit, wait a bit," he cried excitedly. "I believe I +can guess it at the first go." + +He strode on, breathing hard, his black head and bull neck +forward, like a man winning a walking race. The little priest, +amused and interested, had some trouble in trotting beside him. +Just before them the trees fell back a little to left and right, +and the road swept downwards across a clear, moonlit valley, till +it dived again like a rabbit into the wall of another wood. The +entrance to the farther forest looked small and round, like the +black hole of a remote railway tunnel. But it was within some +hundred yards, and gaped like a cavern before Flambeau spoke +again. + +"I've got it," he cried at last, slapping his thigh with his +great hand. "Four minutes' thinking, and I can tell your whole +story myself." + +"All right," assented his friend. "You tell it." + +Flambeau lifted his head, but lowered his voice. "General Sir +Arthur St. Clare," he said, "came of a family in which madness was +hereditary; and his whole aim was to keep this from his daughter, +and even, if possible, from his future son-in-law. Rightly or +wrongly, he thought the final collapse was close, and resolved on +suicide. Yet ordinary suicide would blazon the very idea he +dreaded. As the campaign approached the clouds came thicker on +his brain; and at last in a mad moment he sacrificed his public +duty to his private. He rushed rashly into battle, hoping to fall +by the first shot. When he found that he had only attained +capture and discredit, the sealed bomb in his brain burst, and he +broke his own sword and hanged himself." + +He stared firmly at the grey facade of forest in front of him, +with the one black gap in it, like the mouth of the grave, into +which their path plunged. Perhaps something menacing in the road +thus suddenly swallowed reinforced his vivid vision of the tragedy, +for he shuddered. + +"A horrid story," he said. + +"A horrid story," repeated the priest with bent head. "But +not the real story." + +Then he threw back his head with a sort of despair and cried: +"Oh, I wish it had been." + +The tall Flambeau faced round and stared at him. + +"Yours is a clean story," cried Father Brown, deeply moved. +"A sweet, pure, honest story, as open and white as that moon. +Madness and despair are innocent enough. There are worse things, +Flambeau." + +Flambeau looked up wildly at the moon thus invoked; and from +where he stood one black tree-bough curved across it exactly like +a devil's horn. + +"Father--father," cried Flambeau with the French gesture +and stepping yet more rapidly forward, "do you mean it was worse +than that?" + +"Worse than that," said Paul like a grave echo. And they +plunged into the black cloister of the woodland, which ran by them +in a dim tapestry of trunks, like one of the dark corridors in a +dream. + +They were soon in the most secret entrails of the wood, and +felt close about them foliage that they could not see, when the +priest said again: + +"Where does a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest. But what +does he do if there is no forest?" + +"Well, well," cried Flambeau irritably, "what does he do?" + +"He grows a forest to hide it in," said the priest in an +obscure voice. "A fearful sin." + +"Look here," cried his friend impatiently, for the dark wood +and the dark saying got a little on his nerves; "will you tell +me this story or not? What other evidence is there to go on?" + +"There are three more bits of evidence," said the other, "that +I have dug up in holes and corners; and I will give them in logical +rather than chronological order. First of all, of course, our +authority for the issue and event of the battle is in Olivier's +own dispatches, which are lucid enough. He was entrenched with +two or three regiments on the heights that swept down to the Black +River, on the other side of which was lower and more marshy +ground. Beyond this again was gently rising country, on which was +the first English outpost, supported by others which lay, however, +considerably in its rear. The British forces as a whole were +greatly superior in numbers; but this particular regiment was just +far enough from its base to make Olivier consider the project of +crossing the river to cut it off. By sunset, however, he had +decided to retain his own position, which was a specially strong +one. At daybreak next morning he was thunderstruck to see that +this stray handful of English, entirely unsupported from their +rear, had flung themselves across the river, half by a bridge to +the right, and the other half by a ford higher up, and were massed +upon the marshy bank below him. + +"That they should attempt an attack with such numbers against +such a position was incredible enough; but Olivier noticed +something yet more extraordinary. For instead of attempting to +seize more solid ground, this mad regiment, having put the river +in its rear by one wild charge, did nothing more, but stuck there +in the mire like flies in treacle. Needless to say, the Brazilians +blew great gaps in them with artillery, which they could only +return with spirited but lessening rifle fire. Yet they never +broke; and Olivier's curt account ends with a strong tribute of +admiration for the mystic valour of these imbeciles. `Our line +then advanced finally,' writes Olivier, `and drove them into the +river; we captured General St. Clare himself and several other +officers. The colonel and the major had both fallen in the battle. +I cannot resist saying that few finer sights can have been seen in +history than the last stand of this extraordinary regiment; wounded +officers picking up the rifles of dead soldiers, and the general +himself facing us on horseback bareheaded and with a broken sword.' +On what happened to the general afterwards Olivier is as silent as +Captain Keith." + +"Well," grunted Flambeau, "get on to the next bit of evidence." + +"The next evidence," said Father Brown, "took some time to +find, but it will not take long to tell. I found at last in an +almshouse down in the Lincolnshire Fens an old soldier who not +only was wounded at the Black River, but had actually knelt beside +the colonel of the regiment when he died. This latter was a +certain Colonel Clancy, a big bull of an Irishman; and it would +seem that he died almost as much of rage as of bullets. He, at +any rate, was not responsible for that ridiculous raid; it must +have been imposed on him by the general. His last edifying words, +according to my informant, were these: `And there goes the damned +old donkey with the end of his sword knocked off. I wish it was +his head.' You will remark that everyone seems to have noticed +this detail about the broken sword blade, though most people +regard it somewhat more reverently than did the late Colonel +Clancy. And now for the third fragment." + +Their path through the woodland began to go upward, and the +speaker paused a little for breath before he went on. Then he +continued in the same business-like tone: + +"Only a month or two ago a certain Brazilian official died in +England, having quarrelled with Olivier and left his country. He +was a well-known figure both here and on the Continent, a Spaniard +named Espado; I knew him myself, a yellow-faced old dandy, with a +hooked nose. For various private reasons I had permission to see +the documents he had left; he was a Catholic, of course, and I had +been with him towards the end. There was nothing of his that lit +up any corner of the black St. Clare business, except five or six +common exercise books filled with the diary of some English +soldier. I can only suppose that it was found by the Brazilians +on one of those that fell. Anyhow, it stopped abruptly the night +before the battle. + +"But the account of that last day in the poor fellow's life +was certainly worth reading. I have it on me; but it's too dark +to read it here, and I will give you a resume. The first part of +that entry is full of jokes, evidently flung about among the men, +about somebody called the Vulture. It does not seem as if this +person, whoever he was, was one of themselves, nor even an +Englishman; neither is he exactly spoken of as one of the enemy. +It sounds rather as if he were some local go-between and +non-combatant; perhaps a guide or a journalist. He has been +closeted with old Colonel Clancy; but is more often seen talking +to the major. Indeed, the major is somewhat prominent in this +soldier's narrative; a lean, dark-haired man, apparently, of the +name of Murray--a north of Ireland man and a Puritan. There are +continual jests about the contrast between this Ulsterman's +austerity and the conviviality of Colonel Clancy. There is also +some joke about the Vulture wearing bright-coloured clothes. + +"But all these levities are scattered by what may well be +called the note of a bugle. Behind the English camp and almost +parallel to the river ran one of the few great roads of that +district. Westward the road curved round towards the river, which +it crossed by the bridge before mentioned. To the east the road +swept backwards into the wilds, and some two miles along it was +the next English outpost. From this direction there came along +the road that evening a glitter and clatter of light cavalry, in +which even the simple diarist could recognise with astonishment +the general with his staff. He rode the great white horse which +you have seen so often in illustrated papers and Academy pictures; +and you may be sure that the salute they gave him was not merely +ceremonial. He, at least, wasted no time on ceremony, but, +springing from the saddle immediately, mixed with the group of +officers, and fell into emphatic though confidential speech. What +struck our friend the diarist most was his special disposition to +discuss matters with Major Murray; but, indeed, such a selection, +so long as it was not marked, was in no way unnatural. The two +men were made for sympathy; they were men who `read their Bibles'; +they were both the old Evangelical type of officer. However this +may be, it is certain that when the general mounted again he was +still talking earnestly to Murray; and that as he walked his horse +slowly down the road towards the river, the tall Ulsterman still +walked by his bridle rein in earnest debate. The soldiers watched +the two until they vanished behind a clump of trees where the road +turned towards the river. The colonel had gone back to his tent, +and the men to their pickets; the man with the diary lingered for +another four minutes, and saw a marvellous sight. + +"The great white horse which had marched slowly down the road, +as it had marched in so many processions, flew back, galloping up +the road towards them as if it were mad to win a race. At first +they thought it had run away with the man on its back; but they +soon saw that the general, a fine rider, was himself urging it to +full speed. Horse and man swept up to them like a whirlwind; and +then, reining up the reeling charger, the general turned on them a +face like flame, and called for the colonel like the trumpet that +wakes the dead. + +"I conceive that all the earthquake events of that catastrophe +tumbled on top of each other rather like lumber in the minds of +men such as our friend with the diary. With the dazed excitement +of a dream, they found themselves falling--literally falling-- +into their ranks, and learned that an attack was to be led at once +across the river. The general and the major, it was said, had +found out something at the bridge, and there was only just time to +strike for life. The major had gone back at once to call up the +reserve along the road behind; it was doubtful if even with that +prompt appeal help could reach them in time. But they must pass +the stream that night, and seize the heights by morning. It is +with the very stir and throb of that romantic nocturnal march that +the diary suddenly ends." + +Father Brown had mounted ahead; for the woodland path grew +smaller, steeper, and more twisted, till they felt as if they were +ascending a winding staircase. The priest's voice came from above +out of the darkness. + +"There was one other little and enormous thing. When the +general urged them to their chivalric charge he half drew his +sword from the scabbard; and then, as if ashamed of such +melodrama, thrust it back again. The sword again, you see." + +A half-light broke through the network of boughs above them, +flinging the ghost of a net about their feet; for they were +mounting again to the faint luminosity of the naked night. +Flambeau felt truth all round him as an atmosphere, but not as an +idea. He answered with bewildered brain: "Well, what's the matter +with the sword? Officers generally have swords, don't they?" + +"They are not often mentioned in modern war," said the other +dispassionately; "but in this affair one falls over the blessed +sword everywhere." + +"Well, what is there in that?" growled Flambeau; "it was a +twopence coloured sort of incident; the old man's blade breaking +in his last battle. Anyone might bet the papers would get hold of +it, as they have. On all these tombs and things it's shown broken +at the point. I hope you haven't dragged me through this Polar +expedition merely because two men with an eye for a picture saw +St. Clare's broken sword." + +"No," cried Father Brown, with a sharp voice like a pistol +shot; "but who saw his unbroken sword?" + +"What do you mean?" cried the other, and stood still under the +stars. They had come abruptly out of the grey gates of the wood. + +"I say, who saw his unbroken sword?" repeated Father Brown +obstinately. "Not the writer of the diary, anyhow; the general +sheathed it in time." + +Flambeau looked about him in the moonlight, as a man struck +blind might look in the sun; and his friend went on, for the first +time with eagerness: + +"Flambeau," he cried, "I cannot prove it, even after hunting +through the tombs. But I am sure of it. Let me add just one more +tiny fact that tips the whole thing over. The colonel, by a +strange chance, was one of the first struck by a bullet. He was +struck long before the troops came to close quarters. But he saw +St. Clare's sword broken. Why was it broken? How was it broken? +My friend, it was broken before the battle." + +"Oh!" said his friend, with a sort of forlorn jocularity; "and +pray where is the other piece?" + +"I can tell you," said the priest promptly. "In the northeast +corner of the cemetery of the Protestant Cathedral at Belfast." + +"Indeed?" inquired the other. "Have you looked for it?" + +"I couldn't," replied Brown, with frank regret. "There's a +great marble monument on top of it; a monument to the heroic Major +Murray, who fell fighting gloriously at the famous Battle of the +Black River." + +Flambeau seemed suddenly galvanised into existence. "You +mean," he cried hoarsely, "that General St. Clare hated Murray, +and murdered him on the field of battle because--" + +"You are still full of good and pure thoughts," said the +other. "It was worse than that." + +"Well," said the large man, "my stock of evil imagination is +used up." + +The priest seemed really doubtful where to begin, and at last +he said again: + +"Where would a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest." + +The other did not answer. + +"If there were no forest, he would make a forest. And if he +wished to hide a dead leaf, he would make a dead forest." + +There was still no reply, and the priest added still more +mildly and quietly: + +"And if a man had to hide a dead body, he would make a field +of dead bodies to hide it in." + +Flambeau began to stamp forward with an intolerance of delay +in time or space; but Father Brown went on as if he were continuing +the last sentence: + +"Sir Arthur St. Clare, as I have already said, was a man who +read his Bible. That was what was the matter with him. When will +people understand that it is useless for a man to read his Bible +unless he also reads everybody else's Bible? A printer reads a +Bible for misprints. A Mormon reads his Bible, and finds polygamy; +a Christian Scientist reads his, and finds we have no arms and +legs. St. Clare was an old Anglo-Indian Protestant soldier. Now, +just think what that might mean; and, for Heaven's sake, don't +cant about it. It might mean a man physically formidable living +under a tropic sun in an Oriental society, and soaking himself +without sense or guidance in an Oriental Book. Of course, he read +the Old Testament rather than the New. Of course, he found in the +Old Testament anything that he wanted--lust, tyranny, treason. +Oh, I dare say he was honest, as you call it. But what is the +good of a man being honest in his worship of dishonesty? + +"In each of the hot and secret countries to which the man went +he kept a harem, he tortured witnesses, he amassed shameful gold; +but certainly he would have said with steady eyes that he did it +to the glory of the Lord. My own theology is sufficiently +expressed by asking which Lord? Anyhow, there is this about such +evil, that it opens door after door in hell, and always into +smaller and smaller chambers. This is the real case against crime, +that a man does not become wilder and wilder, but only meaner and +meaner. St. Clare was soon suffocated by difficulties of bribery +and blackmail; and needed more and more cash. And by the time of +the Battle of the Black River he had fallen from world to world to +that place which Dante makes the lowest floor of the universe." + +"What do you mean?" asked his friend again. + +"I mean that," retorted the cleric, and suddenly pointed at a +puddle sealed with ice that shone in the moon. "Do you remember +whom Dante put in the last circle of ice?" + +"The traitors," said Flambeau, and shuddered. As he looked +around at the inhuman landscape of trees, with taunting and almost +obscene outlines, he could almost fancy he was Dante, and the +priest with the rivulet of a voice was, indeed, a Virgil leading +him through a land of eternal sins. + +The voice went on: "Olivier, as you know, was quixotic, and +would not permit a secret service and spies. The thing, however, +was done, like many other things, behind his back. It was managed +by my old friend Espado; he was the bright-clad fop, whose hook +nose got him called the Vulture. Posing as a sort of +philanthropist at the front, he felt his way through the English +Army, and at last got his fingers on its one corrupt man--please +God!--and that man at the top. St. Clare was in foul need of +money, and mountains of it. The discredited family doctor was +threatening those extraordinary exposures that afterwards began +and were broken off; tales of monstrous and prehistoric things in +Park Lane; things done by an English Evangelist that smelt like +human sacrifice and hordes of slaves. Money was wanted, too, for +his daughter's dowry; for to him the fame of wealth was as sweet +as wealth itself. He snapped the last thread, whispered the word +to Brazil, and wealth poured in from the enemies of England. But +another man had talked to Espado the Vulture as well as he. +Somehow the dark, grim young major from Ulster had guessed the +hideous truth; and when they walked slowly together down that road +towards the bridge Murray was telling the general that he must +resign instantly, or be court-martialled and shot. The general +temporised with him till they came to the fringe of tropic trees +by the bridge; and there by the singing river and the sunlit palms +(for I can see the picture) the general drew his sabre and plunged +it through the body of the major." + +The wintry road curved over a ridge in cutting frost, with +cruel black shapes of bush and thicket; but Flambeau fancied that +he saw beyond it faintly the edge of an aureole that was not +starlight and moonlight, but some fire such as is made by men. He +watched it as the tale drew to its close. + +"St. Clare was a hell-hound, but he was a hound of breed. +Never, I'll swear, was he so lucid and so strong as when poor +Murray lay a cold lump at his feet. Never in all his triumphs, as +Captain Keith said truly, was the great man so great as he was in +this last world-despised defeat. He looked coolly at his weapon +to wipe off the blood; he saw the point he had planted between his +victim's shoulders had broken off in the body. He saw quite +calmly, as through a club windowpane, all that must follow. He +saw that men must find the unaccountable corpse; must extract the +unaccountable sword-point; must notice the unaccountable broken +sword--or absence of sword. He had killed, but not silenced. +But his imperious intellect rose against the facer; there was one +way yet. He could make the corpse less unaccountable. He could +create a hill of corpses to cover this one. In twenty minutes +eight hundred English soldiers were marching down to their death." + +The warmer glow behind the black winter wood grew richer and +brighter, and Flambeau strode on to reach it. Father Brown also +quickened his stride; but he seemed merely absorbed in his tale. + +"Such was the valour of that English thousand, and such the +genius of their commander, that if they had at once attacked the +hill, even their mad march might have met some luck. But the evil +mind that played with them like pawns had other aims and reasons. +They must remain in the marshes by the bridge at least till British +corpses should be a common sight there. Then for the last grand +scene; the silver-haired soldier-saint would give up his shattered +sword to save further slaughter. Oh, it was well organised for an +impromptu. But I think (I cannot prove), I think that it was +while they stuck there in the bloody mire that someone doubted-- +and someone guessed." + +He was mute a moment, and then said: "There is a voice from +nowhere that tells me the man who guessed was the lover ... the +man to wed the old man's child." + +"But what about Olivier and the hanging?" asked Flambeau. + +"Olivier, partly from chivalry, partly from policy, seldom +encumbered his march with captives," explained the narrator. "He +released everybody in most cases. He released everybody in this +case." + +"Everybody but the general," said the tall man. + +"Everybody," said the priest. + +Flambeau knit his black brows. "I don't grasp it all yet," he +said. + +"There is another picture, Flambeau," said Brown in his more +mystical undertone. "I can't prove it; but I can do more--I can +see it. There is a camp breaking up on the bare, torrid hills at +morning, and Brazilian uniforms massed in blocks and columns to +march. There is the red shirt and long black beard of Olivier, +which blows as he stands, his broad-brimmed hat in his hand. He +is saying farewell to the great enemy he is setting free--the +simple, snow-headed English veteran, who thanks him in the name of +his men. The English remnant stand behind at attention; beside +them are stores and vehicles for the retreat. The drums roll; the +Brazilians are moving; the English are still like statues. So +they abide till the last hum and flash of the enemy have faded +from the tropic horizon. Then they alter their postures all at +once, like dead men coming to life; they turn their fifty faces +upon the general--faces not to be forgotten." + +Flambeau gave a great jump. "Ah," he cried, "you don't mean--" + +"Yes," said Father Brown in a deep, moving voice. "It was an +English hand that put the rope round St. Clare's neck; I believe +the hand that put the ring on his daughter's finger. They were +English hands that dragged him up to the tree of shame; the hands +of men that had adored him and followed him to victory. And they +were English souls (God pardon and endure us all!) who stared at +him swinging in that foreign sun on the green gallows of palm, and +prayed in their hatred that he might drop off it into hell." + +As the two topped the ridge there burst on them the strong +scarlet light of a red-curtained English inn. It stood sideways +in the road, as if standing aside in the amplitude of hospitality. +Its three doors stood open with invitation; and even where they +stood they could hear the hum and laughter of humanity happy for a +night. + +"I need not tell you more," said Father Brown. "They tried +him in the wilderness and destroyed him; and then, for the honour +of England and of his daughter, they took an oath to seal up for +ever the story of the traitor's purse and the assassin's sword +blade. Perhaps--Heaven help them--they tried to forget it. +Let us try to forget it, anyhow; here is our inn." + +"With all my heart," said Flambeau, and was just striding into +the bright, noisy bar when he stepped back and almost fell on the +road. + +"Look there, in the devil's name!" he cried, and pointed +rigidly at the square wooden sign that overhung the road. It +showed dimly the crude shape of a sabre hilt and a shortened +blade; and was inscribed in false archaic lettering, "The Sign of +the Broken Sword." + +"Were you not prepared?" asked Father Brown gently. "He is +the god of this country; half the inns and parks and streets are +named after him and his story." + +"I thought we had done with the leper," cried Flambeau, and +spat on the road. + +"You will never have done with him in England," said the +priest, looking down, "while brass is strong and stone abides. +His marble statues will erect the souls of proud, innocent boys +for centuries, his village tomb will smell of loyalty as of lilies. +Millions who never knew him shall love him like a father--this +man whom the last few that knew him dealt with like dung. He shall +be a saint; and the truth shall never be told of him, because I +have made up my mind at last. There is so much good and evil in +breaking secrets, that I put my conduct to a test. All these +newspapers will perish; the anti-Brazil boom is already over; +Olivier is already honoured everywhere. But I told myself that if +anywhere, by name, in metal or marble that will endure like the +pyramids, Colonel Clancy, or Captain Keith, or President Olivier, +or any innocent man was wrongly blamed, then I would speak. If it +were only that St. Clare was wrongly praised, I would be silent. +And I will." + +They plunged into the red-curtained tavern, which was not only +cosy, but even luxurious inside. On a table stood a silver model +of the tomb of St. Clare, the silver head bowed, the silver sword +broken. On the walls were coloured photographs of the same scene, +and of the system of wagonettes that took tourists to see it. +They sat down on the comfortable padded benches. + +"Come, it's cold," cried Father Brown; "let's have some wine +or beer." + +"Or brandy," said Flambeau. + + + + The Three Tools of Death + +Both by calling and conviction Father Brown knew better than most +of us, that every man is dignified when he is dead. But even he +felt a pang of incongruity when he was knocked up at daybreak and +told that Sir Aaron Armstrong had been murdered. There was +something absurd and unseemly about secret violence in connection +with so entirely entertaining and popular a figure. For Sir Aaron +Armstrong was entertaining to the point of being comic; and +popular in such a manner as to be almost legendary. It was like +hearing that Sunny Jim had hanged himself; or that Mr. Pickwick +had died in Hanwell. For though Sir Aaron was a philanthropist, +and thus dealt with the darker side of our society, he prided +himself on dealing with it in the brightest possible style. His +political and social speeches were cataracts of anecdotes and +"loud laughter"; his bodily health was of a bursting sort; his +ethics were all optimism; and he dealt with the Drink problem (his +favourite topic) with that immortal or even monotonous gaiety +which is so often a mark of the prosperous total abstainer. + +The established story of his conversion was familiar on the +more puritanic platforms and pulpits, how he had been, when only a +boy, drawn away from Scotch theology to Scotch whisky, and how he +had risen out of both and become (as he modestly put it) what he +was. Yet his wide white beard, cherubic face, and sparkling +spectacles, at the numberless dinners and congresses where they +appeared, made it hard to believe, somehow, that he had ever been +anything so morbid as either a dram-drinker or a Calvinist. He +was, one felt, the most seriously merry of all the sons of men. + +He had lived on the rural skirt of Hampstead in a handsome +house, high but not broad, a modern and prosaic tower. The +narrowest of its narrow sides overhung the steep green bank of a +railway, and was shaken by passing trains. Sir Aaron Armstrong, +as he boisterously explained, had no nerves. But if the train had +often given a shock to the house, that morning the tables were +turned, and it was the house that gave a shock to the train. + +The engine slowed down and stopped just beyond that point +where an angle of the house impinged upon the sharp slope of turf. +The arrest of most mechanical things must be slow; but the living +cause of this had been very rapid. A man clad completely in +black, even (it was remembered) to the dreadful detail of black +gloves, appeared on the ridge above the engine, and waved his +black hands like some sable windmill. This in itself would hardly +have stopped even a lingering train. But there came out of him a +cry which was talked of afterwards as something utterly unnatural +and new. It was one of those shouts that are horridly distinct +even when we cannot hear what is shouted. The word in this case +was "Murder!" + +But the engine-driver swears he would have pulled up just the +same if he had heard only the dreadful and definite accent and not +the word. + +The train once arrested, the most superficial stare could take +in many features of the tragedy. The man in black on the green +bank was Sir Aaron Armstrong's man-servant Magnus. The baronet in +his optimism had often laughed at the black gloves of this dismal +attendant; but no one was likely to laugh at him just now. + +So soon as an inquirer or two had stepped off the line and +across the smoky hedge, they saw, rolled down almost to the bottom +of the bank, the body of an old man in a yellow dressing-gown with +a very vivid scarlet lining. A scrap of rope seemed caught about +his leg, entangled presumably in a struggle. There was a smear or +so of blood, though very little; but the body was bent or broken +into a posture impossible to any living thing. It was Sir Aaron +Armstrong. A few more bewildered moments brought out a big +fair-bearded man, whom some travellers could salute as the dead +man's secretary, Patrick Royce, once well known in Bohemian +society and even famous in the Bohemian arts. In a manner more +vague, but even more convincing, he echoed the agony of the +servant. By the time the third figure of that household, Alice +Armstrong, daughter of the dead man, had come already tottering +and waving into the garden, the engine-driver had put a stop to +his stoppage. The whistle had blown and the train had panted on +to get help from the next station. + +Father Brown had been thus rapidly summoned at the request of +Patrick Royce, the big ex-Bohemian secretary. Royce was an +Irishman by birth; and that casual kind of Catholic that never +remembers his religion until he is really in a hole. But Royce's +request might have been less promptly complied with if one of the +official detectives had not been a friend and admirer of the +unofficial Flambeau; and it was impossible to be a friend of +Flambeau without hearing numberless stories about Father Brown. +Hence, while the young detective (whose name was Merton) led the +little priest across the fields to the railway, their talk was more +confidential than could be expected between two total strangers. + +"As far as I can see," said Mr. Merton candidly, "there is no +sense to be made of it at all. There is nobody one can suspect. +Magnus is a solemn old fool; far too much of a fool to be an +assassin. Royce has been the baronet's best friend for years; and +his daughter undoubtedly adored him. Besides, it's all too absurd. +Who would kill such a cheery old chap as Armstrong? Who could dip +his hands in the gore of an after-dinner speaker? It would be +like killing Father Christmas." + +"Yes, it was a cheery house," assented Father Brown. "It was +a cheery house while he was alive. Do you think it will be cheery +now he is dead?" + +Merton started a little and regarded his companion with an +enlivened eye. "Now he is dead?" he repeated. + +"Yes," continued the priest stolidly, "he was cheerful. But +did he communicate his cheerfulness? Frankly, was anyone else in +the house cheerful but he?" + +A window in Merton's mind let in that strange light of surprise +in which we see for the first time things we have known all along. +He had often been to the Armstrongs', on little police jobs of the +philanthropist; and, now he came to think of it, it was in itself +a depressing house. The rooms were very high and very cold; the +decoration mean and provincial; the draughty corridors were lit by +electricity that was bleaker than moonlight. And though the old +man's scarlet face and silver beard had blazed like a bonfire in +each room or passage in turn, it did not leave any warmth behind +it. Doubtless this spectral discomfort in the place was partly +due to the very vitality and exuberance of its owner; he needed no +stoves or lamps, he would say, but carried his own warmth with +him. But when Merton recalled the other inmates, he was compelled +to confess that they also were as shadows of their lord. The +moody man-servant, with his monstrous black gloves, was almost a +nightmare; Royce, the secretary, was solid enough, a big bull of a +man, in tweeds, with a short beard; but the straw-coloured beard +was startlingly salted with grey like the tweeds, and the broad +forehead was barred with premature wrinkles. He was good-natured +enough also, but it was a sad sort of good-nature, almost a +heart-broken sort--he had the general air of being some sort of +failure in life. As for Armstrong's daughter, it was almost +incredible that she was his daughter; she was so pallid in colour +and sensitive in outline. She was graceful, but there was a +quiver in the very shape of her that was like the lines of an +aspen. Merton had sometimes wondered if she had learnt to quail +at the crash of the passing trains. + +"You see," said Father Brown, blinking modestly, "I'm not sure +that the Armstrong cheerfulness is so very cheerful--for other +people. You say that nobody could kill such a happy old man, but +I'm not sure; ne nos inducas in tentationem. If ever I murdered +somebody," he added quite simply, "I dare say it might be an +Optimist." + +"Why?" cried Merton amused. "Do you think people dislike +cheerfulness?" + +"People like frequent laughter," answered Father Brown, "but I +don't think they like a permanent smile. Cheerfulness without +humour is a very trying thing." + +They walked some way in silence along the windy grassy bank by +the rail, and just as they came under the far-flung shadow of the +tall Armstrong house, Father Brown said suddenly, like a man +throwing away a troublesome thought rather than offering it +seriously: "Of course, drink is neither good nor bad in itself. +But I can't help sometimes feeling that men like Armstrong want an +occasional glass of wine to sadden them." + +Merton's official superior, a grizzled and capable detective +named Gilder, was standing on the green bank waiting for the +coroner, talking to Patrick Royce, whose big shoulders and bristly +beard and hair towered above him. This was the more noticeable +because Royce walked always with a sort of powerful stoop, and +seemed to be going about his small clerical and domestic duties in +a heavy and humbled style, like a buffalo drawing a go-cart. + +He raised his head with unusual pleasure at the sight of the +priest, and took him a few paces apart. Meanwhile Merton was +addressing the older detective respectfully indeed, but not +without a certain boyish impatience. + +"Well, Mr. Gilder, have you got much farther with the mystery?" + +"There is no mystery," replied Gilder, as he looked under +dreamy eyelids at the rooks. + +"Well, there is for me, at any rate," said Merton, smiling. + +"It is simple enough, my boy," observed the senior +investigator, +stroking his grey, pointed beard. "Three minutes after you'd gone +for Mr. Royce's parson the whole thing came out. You know that +pasty-faced servant in the black gloves who stopped the train?" + +"I should know him anywhere. Somehow he rather gave me the +creeps." + +"Well," drawled Gilder, "when the train had gone on again, +that man had gone too. Rather a cool criminal, don't you think, +to escape by the very train that went off for the police?" + +"You're pretty sure, I suppose," remarked the young man, "that +he really did kill his master?" + +"Yes, my son, I'm pretty sure," replied Gilder drily, "for the +trifling reason that he has gone off with twenty thousand pounds +in papers that were in his master's desk. No, the only thing +worth calling a difficulty is how he killed him. The skull seems +broken as with some big weapon, but there's no weapon at all lying +about, and the murderer would have found it awkward to carry it +away, unless the weapon was too small to be noticed." + +"Perhaps the weapon was too big to be noticed," said the +priest, with an odd little giggle. + +Gilder looked round at this wild remark, and rather sternly +asked Brown what he meant. + +"Silly way of putting it, I know," said Father Brown +apologetically. "Sounds like a fairy tale. But poor Armstrong +was killed with a giant's club, a great green club, too big to be +seen, and which we call the earth. He was broken against this +green bank we are standing on." + +"How do you mean?" asked the detective quickly. + +Father Brown turned his moon face up to the narrow facade of +the house and blinked hopelessly up. Following his eyes, they saw +that right at the top of this otherwise blind back quarter of the +building, an attic window stood open. + +"Don't you see," he explained, pointing a little awkwardly +like a child, "he was thrown down from there?" + +Gilder frowningly scrutinised the window, and then said: +"Well, it is certainly possible. But I don't see why you are so +sure about it." + +Brown opened his grey eyes wide. "Why," he said, "there's a +bit of rope round the dead man's leg. Don't you see that other +bit of rope up there caught at the corner of the window?" + +At that height the thing looked like the faintest particle of +dust or hair, but the shrewd old investigator was satisfied. +"You're quite right, sir," he said to Father Brown; "that is +certainly one to you." + +Almost as he spoke a special train with one carriage took the +curve of the line on their left, and, stopping, disgorged another +group of policemen, in whose midst was the hangdog visage of +Magnus, the absconded servant. + +"By Jove! they've got him," cried Gilder, and stepped forward +with quite a new alertness. + +"Have you got the money!" he cried to the first policeman. + +The man looked him in the face with a rather curious expression +and said: "No." Then he added: "At least, not here." + +"Which is the inspector, please?" asked the man called Magnus. + +When he spoke everyone instantly understood how this voice had +stopped a train. He was a dull-looking man with flat black hair, +a colourless face, and a faint suggestion of the East in the level +slits in his eyes and mouth. His blood and name, indeed, had +remained dubious, ever since Sir Aaron had "rescued" him from a +waitership in a London restaurant, and (as some said) from more +infamous things. But his voice was as vivid as his face was dead. +Whether through exactitude in a foreign language, or in deference +to his master (who had been somewhat deaf), Magnus's tones had a +peculiarly ringing and piercing quality, and the whole group quite +jumped when he spoke. + +"I always knew this would happen," he said aloud with brazen +blandness. "My poor old master made game of me for wearing black; +but I always said I should be ready for his funeral." + +And he made a momentary movement with his two dark-gloved +hands. + +"Sergeant," said Inspector Gilder, eyeing the black hands with +wrath, "aren't you putting the bracelets on this fellow; he looks +pretty dangerous." + +"Well, sir," said the sergeant, with the same odd look of +wonder, "I don't know that we can." + +"What do you mean?" asked the other sharply. "Haven't you +arrested him?" + +A faint scorn widened the slit-like mouth, and the whistle of +an approaching train seemed oddly to echo the mockery. + +"We arrested him," replied the sergeant gravely, "just as he +was coming out of the police station at Highgate, where he had +deposited all his master's money in the care of Inspector +Robinson." + +Gilder looked at the man-servant in utter amazement. "Why on +earth did you do that?" he asked of Magnus. + +"To keep it safe from the criminal, of course," replied that +person placidly. + +"Surely," said Gilder, "Sir Aaron's money might have been +safely left with Sir Aaron's family." + +The tail of his sentence was drowned in the roar of the train +as it went rocking and clanking; but through all the hell of +noises to which that unhappy house was periodically subject, they +could hear the syllables of Magnus's answer, in all their +bell-like distinctness: "I have no reason to feel confidence in +Sir Aaron's family." + +All the motionless men had the ghostly sensation of the +presence of some new person; and Merton was scarcely surprised +when he looked up and saw the pale face of Armstrong's daughter +over Father Brown's shoulder. She was still young and beautiful +in a silvery style, but her hair was of so dusty and hueless a +brown that in some shadows it seemed to have turned totally grey. + +"Be careful what you say," said Royce gruffly, "you'll +frighten Miss Armstrong." + +"I hope so," said the man with the clear voice. + +As the woman winced and everyone else wondered, he went on: +"I am somewhat used to Miss Armstrong's tremors. I have seen her +trembling off and on for years. And some said she was shaking +with cold and some she was shaking with fear, but I know she was +shaking with hate and wicked anger--fiends that have had their +feast this morning. She would have been away by now with her +lover and all the money but for me. Ever since my poor old master +prevented her from marrying that tipsy blackguard--" + +"Stop," said Gilder very sternly. "We have nothing to do with +your family fancies or suspicions. Unless you have some practical +evidence, your mere opinions--" + +"Oh! I'll give you practical evidence," cut in Magnus, in his +hacking accent. "You'll have to subpoena me, Mr. Inspector, and I +shall have to tell the truth. And the truth is this: An instant +after the old man was pitched bleeding out of the window, I ran +into the attic, and found his daughter swooning on the floor with +a red dagger still in her hand. Allow me to hand that also to the +proper authorities." He took from his tail-pocket a long +horn-hilted knife with a red smear on it, and handed it politely +to the sergeant. Then he stood back again, and his slits of eyes +almost faded from his face in one fat Chinese sneer. + +Merton felt an almost bodily sickness at the sight of him; and +he muttered to Gilder: "Surely you would take Miss Armstrong's +word against his?" + +Father Brown suddenly lifted a face so absurdly fresh that it +looked somehow as if he had just washed it. "Yes," he said, +radiating innocence, "but is Miss Armstrong's word against his?" + +The girl uttered a startled, singular little cry; everyone +looked at her. Her figure was rigid as if paralysed; only her +face within its frame of faint brown hair was alive with an +appalling surprise. She stood like one of a sudden lassooed and +throttled. + +"This man," said Mr. Gilder gravely, "actually says that you +were found grasping a knife, insensible, after the murder." + +"He says the truth," answered Alice. + +The next fact of which they were conscious was that Patrick +Royce strode with his great stooping head into their ring and +uttered the singular words: "Well, if I've got to go, I'll have a +bit of pleasure first." + +His huge shoulder heaved and he sent an iron fist smash into +Magnus's bland Mongolian visage, laying him on the lawn as flat as +a starfish. Two or three of the police instantly put their hands +on Royce; but to the rest it seemed as if all reason had broken up +and the universe were turning into a brainless harlequinade. + +"None of that, Mr. Royce," Gilder had called out +authoritatively. +"I shall arrest you for assault." + +"No, you won't," answered the secretary in a voice like an +iron gong, "you will arrest me for murder." + +Gilder threw an alarmed glance at the man knocked down; but +since that outraged person was already sitting up and wiping a +little blood off a substantially uninjured face, he only said +shortly: "What do you mean?" + +"It is quite true, as this fellow says," explained Royce, +"that Miss Armstrong fainted with a knife in her hand. But she +had not snatched the knife to attack her father, but to defend +him." + +"To defend him," repeated Gilder gravely. "Against whom?" + +"Against me," answered the secretary. + +Alice looked at him with a complex and baffling face; then she +said in a low voice: "After it all, I am still glad you are brave." + +"Come upstairs," said Patrick Royce heavily, "and I will show +you the whole cursed thing." + +The attic, which was the secretary's private place (and rather +a small cell for so large a hermit), had indeed all the vestiges +of a violent drama. Near the centre of the floor lay a large +revolver as if flung away; nearer to the left was rolled a whisky +bottle, open but not quite empty. The cloth of the little table +lay dragged and trampled, and a length of cord, like that found on +the corpse, was cast wildly across the windowsill. Two vases were +smashed on the mantelpiece and one on the carpet. + +"I was drunk," said Royce; and this simplicity in the +prematurely battered man somehow had the pathos of the first sin +of a baby. + +"You all know about me," he continued huskily; "everybody +knows how my story began, and it may as well end like that too. +I was called a clever man once, and might have been a happy one; +Armstrong saved the remains of a brain and body from the taverns, +and was always kind to me in his own way, poor fellow! Only he +wouldn't let me marry Alice here; and it will always be said that +he was right enough. Well, you can form your own conclusions, and +you won't want me to go into details. That is my whisky bottle +half emptied in the corner; that is my revolver quite emptied on +the carpet. It was the rope from my box that was found on the +corpse, and it was from my window the corpse was thrown. You need +not set detectives to grub up my tragedy; it is a common enough +weed in this world. I give myself to the gallows; and, by God, +that is enough!" + +At a sufficiently delicate sign, the police gathered round +the large man to lead him away; but their unobtrusiveness was +somewhat staggered by the remarkable appearance of Father Brown, +who was on his hands and knees on the carpet in the doorway, as +if engaged in some kind of undignified prayers. Being a person +utterly insensible to the social figure he cut, he remained in +this posture, but turned a bright round face up at the company, +presenting the appearance of a quadruped with a very comic human +head. + +"I say," he said good-naturedly, "this really won't do at all, +you know. At the beginning you said we'd found no weapon. But +now we're finding too many; there's the knife to stab, and the +rope to strangle, and the pistol to shoot; and after all he broke +his neck by falling out of a window! It won't do. It's not +economical." And he shook his head at the ground as a horse does +grazing. + +Inspector Gilder had opened his mouth with serious intentions, +but before he could speak the grotesque figure on the floor had +gone on quite volubly. + +"And now three quite impossible things. First, these holes in +the carpet, where the six bullets have gone in. Why on earth +should anybody fire at the carpet? A drunken man lets fly at his +enemy's head, the thing that's grinning at him. He doesn't pick a +quarrel with his feet, or lay siege to his slippers. And then +there's the rope"--and having done with the carpet the speaker +lifted his hands and put them in his pocket, but continued +unaffectedly on his knees--"in what conceivable intoxication +would anybody try to put a rope round a man's neck and finally put +it round his leg? Royce, anyhow, was not so drunk as that, or he +would be sleeping like a log by now. And, plainest of all, the +whisky bottle. You suggest a dipsomaniac fought for the whisky +bottle, and then having won, rolled it away in a corner, spilling +one half and leaving the other. That is the very last thing a +dipsomaniac would do." + +He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, and said to the +self-accused murderer in tones of limpid penitence: "I'm awfully +sorry, my dear sir, but your tale is really rubbish." + +"Sir," said Alice Armstrong in a low tone to the priest, "can +I speak to you alone for a moment?" + +This request forced the communicative cleric out of the +gangway, and before he could speak in the next room, the girl was +talking with strange incisiveness. + +"You are a clever man," she said, "and you are trying to save +Patrick, I know. But it's no use. The core of all this is black, +and the more things you find out the more there will be against +the miserable man I love." + +"Why?" asked Brown, looking at her steadily. + +"Because," she answered equally steadily, "I saw him commit +the crime myself." + +"Ah!" said the unmoved Brown, "and what did he do?" + +"I was in this room next to them," she explained; "both doors +were closed, but I suddenly heard a voice, such as I had never +heard on earth, roaring `Hell, hell, hell,' again and again, and +then the two doors shook with the first explosion of the revolver. +Thrice again the thing banged before I got the two doors open and +found the room full of smoke; but the pistol was smoking in my +poor, mad Patrick's hand; and I saw him fire the last murderous +volley with my own eyes. Then he leapt on my father, who was +clinging in terror to the window-sill, and, grappling, tried to +strangle him with the rope, which he threw over his head, but +which slipped over his struggling shoulders to his feet. Then it +tightened round one leg and Patrick dragged him along like a +maniac. I snatched a knife from the mat, and, rushing between +them, managed to cut the rope before I fainted." + +"I see," said Father Brown, with the same wooden civility. +"Thank you." + +As the girl collapsed under her memories, the priest passed +stiffly into the next room, where he found Gilder and Merton alone +with Patrick Royce, who sat in a chair, handcuffed. There he said +to the Inspector submissively: + +"Might I say a word to the prisoner in your presence; and +might he take off those funny cuffs for a minute?" + +"He is a very powerful man," said Merton in an undertone. +"Why do you want them taken off?" + +"Why, I thought," replied the priest humbly, "that perhaps I +might have the very great honour of shaking hands with him." + +Both detectives stared, and Father Brown added: "Won't you +tell them about it, sir?" + +The man on the chair shook his tousled head, and the priest +turned impatiently. + +"Then I will," he said. "Private lives are more important +than public reputations. I am going to save the living, and let +the dead bury their dead." + +He went to the fatal window, and blinked out of it as he went +on talking. + +"I told you that in this case there were too many weapons and +only one death. I tell you now that they were not weapons, and +were not used to cause death. All those grisly tools, the noose, +the bloody knife, the exploding pistol, were instruments of a +curious mercy. They were not used to kill Sir Aaron, but to save +him." + +"To save him!" repeated Gilder. "And from what?" + +"From himself," said Father Brown. "He was a suicidal maniac." + +"What?" cried Merton in an incredulous tone. "And the +Religion of Cheerfulness--" + +"It is a cruel religion," said the priest, looking out of the +window. "Why couldn't they let him weep a little, like his fathers +before him? His plans stiffened, his views grew cold; behind that +merry mask was the empty mind of the atheist. At last, to keep up +his hilarious public level, he fell back on that dram-drinking he +had abandoned long ago. But there is this horror about alcoholism +in a sincere teetotaler: that he pictures and expects that +psychological inferno from which he has warned others. It leapt +upon poor Armstrong prematurely, and by this morning he was in +such a case that he sat here and cried he was in hell, in so crazy +a voice that his daughter did not know it. He was mad for death, +and with the monkey tricks of the mad he had scattered round him +death in many shapes--a running noose and his friend's revolver +and a knife. Royce entered accidentally and acted in a flash. He +flung the knife on the mat behind him, snatched up the revolver, +and having no time to unload it, emptied it shot after shot all +over the floor. The suicide saw a fourth shape of death, and made +a dash for the window. The rescuer did the only thing he could-- +ran after him with the rope and tried to tie him hand and foot. +Then it was that the unlucky girl ran in, and misunderstanding the +struggle, strove to slash her father free. At first she only +slashed poor Royce's knuckles, from which has come all the little +blood in this affair. But, of course, you noticed that he left +blood, but no wound, on that servant's face? Only before the poor +woman swooned, she did hack her father loose, so that he went +crashing through that window into eternity." + +There was a long stillness slowly broken by the metallic +noises of Gilder unlocking the handcuffs of Patrick Royce, to whom +he said: "I think I should have told the truth, sir. You and the +young lady are worth more than Armstrong's obituary notices." + +"Confound Armstrong's notices," cried Royce roughly. "Don't +you see it was because she mustn't know?" + +"Mustn't know what?" asked Merton. + +"Why, that she killed her father, you fool!" roared the other. +"He'd have been alive now but for her. It might craze her to know +that." + +"No, I don't think it would," remarked Father Brown, as he +picked up his hat. "I rather think I should tell her. Even the +most murderous blunders don't poison life like sins; anyhow, I +think you may both be the happier now. I've got to go back to the +Deaf School." + +As he went out on to the gusty grass an acquaintance from +Highgate stopped him and said: + +"The Coroner has arrived. The inquiry is just going to begin." + +"I've got to get back to the Deaf School," said Father Brown. +"I'm sorry I can't stop for the inquiry." + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Innocence of Father Brown + + diff --git a/old/infrb10.zip b/old/infrb10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e9ca21d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/infrb10.zip |
