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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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