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Chesterton + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's The Wisdom of Father Brown, by G. K. Chesterton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Wisdom of Father Brown + +Author: G. K. Chesterton + +Release Date: July 12, 2008 [EBook #223] +Last Updated: October 9, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WISDOM OF FATHER BROWN *** + + + + +Produced by Martin Ward, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE WISDOM OF FATHER BROWN + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By G. K. Chesterton + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + To <br /> LUCIAN OLDERSHAW + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ONE — The Absence of Mr Glass </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> TWO — The Paradise of Thieves </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THREE — The Duel of Dr Hirsch </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> FOUR — The Man in the Passage </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> FIVE — The Mistake of the Machine + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> SIX — The Head of Caesar </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> SEVEN — The Purple Wig </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> EIGHT — The Perishing of the + Pendragons </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> NINE — The God of the Gongs </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> TEN — The Salad of Colonel Cray </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> ELEVEN — The Strange Crime of John + Boulnois </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> TWELVE — The Fairy Tale of Father + Brown </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + ONE — The Absence of Mr Glass + </h2> + <p> + THE consulting-rooms of Dr Orion Hood, the eminent criminologist and + specialist in certain moral disorders, lay along the sea-front at + Scarborough, in a series of very large and well-lighted french windows, + which showed the North Sea like one endless outer wall of blue-green + marble. In such a place the sea had something of the monotony of a + blue-green dado: for the chambers themselves were ruled throughout by a + terrible tidiness not unlike the terrible tidiness of the sea. It must not + be supposed that Dr Hood’s apartments excluded luxury, or even poetry. + These things were there, in their place; but one felt that they were never + allowed out of their place. Luxury was there: there stood upon a special + table eight or ten boxes of the best cigars; but they were built upon a + plan so that the strongest were always nearest the wall and the mildest + nearest the window. A tantalus containing three kinds of spirit, all of a + liqueur excellence, stood always on this table of luxury; but the fanciful + have asserted that the whisky, brandy, and rum seemed always to stand at + the same level. Poetry was there: the left-hand corner of the room was + lined with as complete a set of English classics as the right hand could + show of English and foreign physiologists. But if one took a volume of + Chaucer or Shelley from that rank, its absence irritated the mind like a + gap in a man’s front teeth. One could not say the books were never read; + probably they were, but there was a sense of their being chained to their + places, like the Bibles in the old churches. Dr Hood treated his private + book-shelf as if it were a public library. And if this strict scientific + intangibility steeped even the shelves laden with lyrics and ballads and + the tables laden with drink and tobacco, it goes without saying that yet + more of such heathen holiness protected the other shelves that held the + specialist’s library, and the other tables that sustained the frail and + even fairylike instruments of chemistry or mechanics. + </p> + <p> + Dr Hood paced the length of his string of apartments, bounded—as the + boys’ geographies say—on the east by the North Sea and on the west + by the serried ranks of his sociological and criminologist library. He was + clad in an artist’s velvet, but with none of an artist’s negligence; his + hair was heavily shot with grey, but growing thick and healthy; his face + was lean, but sanguine and expectant. Everything about him and his room + indicated something at once rigid and restless, like that great northern + sea by which (on pure principles of hygiene) he had built his home. + </p> + <p> + Fate, being in a funny mood, pushed the door open and introduced into + those long, strict, sea-flanked apartments one who was perhaps the most + startling opposite of them and their master. In answer to a curt but civil + summons, the door opened inwards and there shambled into the room a + shapeless little figure, which seemed to find its own hat and umbrella as + unmanageable as a mass of luggage. The umbrella was a black and prosaic + bundle long past repair; the hat was a broad-curved black hat, clerical + but not common in England; the man was the very embodiment of all that is + homely and helpless. + </p> + <p> + The doctor regarded the new-comer with a restrained astonishment, not + unlike that he would have shown if some huge but obviously harmless + sea-beast had crawled into his room. The new-comer regarded the doctor + with that beaming but breathless geniality which characterizes a corpulent + charwoman who has just managed to stuff herself into an omnibus. It is a + rich confusion of social self-congratulation and bodily disarray. His hat + tumbled to the carpet, his heavy umbrella slipped between his knees with a + thud; he reached after the one and ducked after the other, but with an + unimpaired smile on his round face spoke simultaneously as follows: + </p> + <p> + “My name is Brown. Pray excuse me. I’ve come about that business of the + MacNabs. I have heard, you often help people out of such troubles. Pray + excuse me if I am wrong.” + </p> + <p> + By this time he had sprawlingly recovered the hat, and made an odd little + bobbing bow over it, as if setting everything quite right. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly understand you,” replied the scientist, with a cold intensity of + manner. “I fear you have mistaken the chambers. I am Dr Hood, and my work + is almost entirely literary and educational. It is true that I have + sometimes been consulted by the police in cases of peculiar difficulty and + importance, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, this is of the greatest importance,” broke in the little man called + Brown. “Why, her mother won’t let them get engaged.” And he leaned back in + his chair in radiant rationality. + </p> + <p> + The brows of Dr Hood were drawn down darkly, but the eyes under them were + bright with something that might be anger or might be amusement. “And + still,” he said, “I do not quite understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, they want to get married,” said the man with the clerical hat. + “Maggie MacNab and young Todhunter want to get married. Now, what can be + more important than that?” + </p> + <p> + The great Orion Hood’s scientific triumphs had deprived him of many things—some + said of his health, others of his God; but they had not wholly despoiled + him of his sense of the absurd. At the last plea of the ingenuous priest a + chuckle broke out of him from inside, and he threw himself into an + arm-chair in an ironical attitude of the consulting physician. + </p> + <p> + “Mr Brown,” he said gravely, “it is quite fourteen and a half years since + I was personally asked to test a personal problem: then it was the case of + an attempt to poison the French President at a Lord Mayor’s Banquet. It is + now, I understand, a question of whether some friend of yours called + Maggie is a suitable fiancee for some friend of hers called Todhunter. + Well, Mr Brown, I am a sportsman. I will take it on. I will give the + MacNab family my best advice, as good as I gave the French Republic and + the King of England—no, better: fourteen years better. I have + nothing else to do this afternoon. Tell me your story.” + </p> + <p> + The little clergyman called Brown thanked him with unquestionable warmth, + but still with a queer kind of simplicity. It was rather as if he were + thanking a stranger in a smoking-room for some trouble in passing the + matches, than as if he were (as he was) practically thanking the Curator + of Kew Gardens for coming with him into a field to find a four-leaved + clover. With scarcely a semi-colon after his hearty thanks, the little man + began his recital: + </p> + <p> + “I told you my name was Brown; well, that’s the fact, and I’m the priest + of the little Catholic Church I dare say you’ve seen beyond those straggly + streets, where the town ends towards the north. In the last and + straggliest of those streets which runs along the sea like a sea-wall + there is a very honest but rather sharp-tempered member of my flock, a + widow called MacNab. She has one daughter, and she lets lodgings, and + between her and the daughter, and between her and the lodgers—well, + I dare say there is a great deal to be said on both sides. At present she + has only one lodger, the young man called Todhunter; but he has given more + trouble than all the rest, for he wants to marry the young woman of the + house.” + </p> + <p> + “And the young woman of the house,” asked Dr Hood, with huge and silent + amusement, “what does she want?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, she wants to marry him,” cried Father Brown, sitting up eagerly. + “That is just the awful complication.” + </p> + <p> + “It is indeed a hideous enigma,” said Dr Hood. + </p> + <p> + “This young James Todhunter,” continued the cleric, “is a very decent man + so far as I know; but then nobody knows very much. He is a bright, + brownish little fellow, agile like a monkey, clean-shaven like an actor, + and obliging like a born courtier. He seems to have quite a pocketful of + money, but nobody knows what his trade is. Mrs MacNab, therefore (being of + a pessimistic turn), is quite sure it is something dreadful, and probably + connected with dynamite. The dynamite must be of a shy and noiseless sort, + for the poor fellow only shuts himself up for several hours of the day and + studies something behind a locked door. He declares his privacy is + temporary and justified, and promises to explain before the wedding. That + is all that anyone knows for certain, but Mrs MacNab will tell you a great + deal more than even she is certain of. You know how the tales grow like + grass on such a patch of ignorance as that. There are tales of two voices + heard talking in the room; though, when the door is opened, Todhunter is + always found alone. There are tales of a mysterious tall man in a silk + hat, who once came out of the sea-mists and apparently out of the sea, + stepping softly across the sandy fields and through the small back garden + at twilight, till he was heard talking to the lodger at his open window. + The colloquy seemed to end in a quarrel. Todhunter dashed down his window + with violence, and the man in the high hat melted into the sea-fog again. + This story is told by the family with the fiercest mystification; but I + really think Mrs MacNab prefers her own original tale: that the Other Man + (or whatever it is) crawls out every night from the big box in the corner, + which is kept locked all day. You see, therefore, how this sealed door of + Todhunter’s is treated as the gate of all the fancies and monstrosities of + the ‘Thousand and One Nights’. And yet there is the little fellow in his + respectable black jacket, as punctual and innocent as a parlour clock. He + pays his rent to the tick; he is practically a teetotaller; he is + tirelessly kind with the younger children, and can keep them amused for a + day on end; and, last and most urgent of all, he has made himself equally + popular with the eldest daughter, who is ready to go to church with him + tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + A man warmly concerned with any large theories has always a relish for + applying them to any triviality. The great specialist having condescended + to the priest’s simplicity, condescended expansively. He settled himself + with comfort in his arm-chair and began to talk in the tone of a somewhat + absent-minded lecturer: + </p> + <p> + “Even in a minute instance, it is best to look first to the main + tendencies of Nature. A particular flower may not be dead in early winter, + but the flowers are dying; a particular pebble may never be wetted with + the tide, but the tide is coming in. To the scientific eye all human + history is a series of collective movements, destructions or migrations, + like the massacre of flies in winter or the return of birds in spring. Now + the root fact in all history is Race. Race produces religion; Race + produces legal and ethical wars. There is no stronger case than that of + the wild, unworldly and perishing stock which we commonly call the Celts, + of whom your friends the MacNabs are specimens. Small, swarthy, and of + this dreamy and drifting blood, they accept easily the superstitious + explanation of any incidents, just as they still accept (you will excuse + me for saying) that superstitious explanation of all incidents which you + and your Church represent. It is not remarkable that such people, with the + sea moaning behind them and the Church (excuse me again) droning in front + of them, should put fantastic features into what are probably plain + events. You, with your small parochial responsibilities, see only this + particular Mrs MacNab, terrified with this particular tale of two voices + and a tall man out of the sea. But the man with the scientific imagination + sees, as it were, the whole clans of MacNab scattered over the whole + world, in its ultimate average as uniform as a tribe of birds. He sees + thousands of Mrs MacNabs, in thousands of houses, dropping their little + drop of morbidity in the tea-cups of their friends; he sees—” + </p> + <p> + Before the scientist could conclude his sentence, another and more + impatient summons sounded from without; someone with swishing skirts was + marshalled hurriedly down the corridor, and the door opened on a young + girl, decently dressed but disordered and red-hot with haste. She had + sea-blown blonde hair, and would have been entirely beautiful if her + cheek-bones had not been, in the Scotch manner, a little high in relief as + well as in colour. Her apology was almost as abrupt as a command. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir,” she said, “but I had to follow Father + Brown at once; it’s nothing less than life or death.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown began to get to his feet in some disorder. “Why, what has + happened, Maggie?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “James has been murdered, for all I can make out,” answered the girl, + still breathing hard from her rush. “That man Glass has been with him + again; I heard them talking through the door quite plain. Two separate + voices: for James speaks low, with a burr, and the other voice was high + and quavery.” + </p> + <p> + “That man Glass?” repeated the priest in some perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “I know his name is Glass,” answered the girl, in great impatience. “I + heard it through the door. They were quarrelling—about money, I + think—for I heard James say again and again, ‘That’s right, Mr + Glass,’ or ‘No, Mr Glass,’ and then, ‘Two or three, Mr Glass.’ But we’re + talking too much; you must come at once, and there may be time yet.” + </p> + <p> + “But time for what?” asked Dr Hood, who had been studying the young lady + with marked interest. “What is there about Mr Glass and his money troubles + that should impel such urgency?” + </p> + <p> + “I tried to break down the door and couldn’t,” answered the girl shortly, + “Then I ran to the back-yard, and managed to climb on to the window-sill + that looks into the room. It was all dim, and seemed to be empty, but I + swear I saw James lying huddled up in a corner, as if he were drugged or + strangled.” + </p> + <p> + “This is very serious,” said Father Brown, gathering his errant hat and + umbrella and standing up; “in point of fact I was just putting your case + before this gentleman, and his view—” + </p> + <p> + “Has been largely altered,” said the scientist gravely. “I do not think + this young lady is so Celtic as I had supposed. As I have nothing else to + do, I will put on my hat and stroll down town with you.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes all three were approaching the dreary tail of the + MacNabs’ street: the girl with the stern and breathless stride of the + mountaineer, the criminologist with a lounging grace (which was not + without a certain leopard-like swiftness), and the priest at an energetic + trot entirely devoid of distinction. The aspect of this edge of the town + was not entirely without justification for the doctor’s hints about + desolate moods and environments. The scattered houses stood farther and + farther apart in a broken string along the seashore; the afternoon was + closing with a premature and partly lurid twilight; the sea was of an inky + purple and murmuring ominously. In the scrappy back garden of the MacNabs + which ran down towards the sand, two black, barren-looking trees stood up + like demon hands held up in astonishment, and as Mrs MacNab ran down the + street to meet them with lean hands similarly spread, and her fierce face + in shadow, she was a little like a demon herself. The doctor and the + priest made scant reply to her shrill reiterations of her daughter’s + story, with more disturbing details of her own, to the divided vows of + vengeance against Mr Glass for murdering, and against Mr Todhunter for + being murdered, or against the latter for having dared to want to marry + her daughter, and for not having lived to do it. They passed through the + narrow passage in the front of the house until they came to the lodger’s + door at the back, and there Dr Hood, with the trick of an old detective, + put his shoulder sharply to the panel and burst in the door. + </p> + <p> + It opened on a scene of silent catastrophe. No one seeing it, even for a + flash, could doubt that the room had been the theatre of some thrilling + collision between two, or perhaps more, persons. Playing-cards lay + littered across the table or fluttered about the floor as if a game had + been interrupted. Two wine glasses stood ready for wine on a side-table, + but a third lay smashed in a star of crystal upon the carpet. A few feet + from it lay what looked like a long knife or short sword, straight, but + with an ornamental and pictured handle, its dull blade just caught a grey + glint from the dreary window behind, which showed the black trees against + the leaden level of the sea. Towards the opposite corner of the room was + rolled a gentleman’s silk top hat, as if it had just been knocked off his + head; so much so, indeed, that one almost looked to see it still rolling. + And in the corner behind it, thrown like a sack of potatoes, but corded + like a railway trunk, lay Mr James Todhunter, with a scarf across his + mouth, and six or seven ropes knotted round his elbows and ankles. His + brown eyes were alive and shifted alertly. + </p> + <p> + Dr Orion Hood paused for one instant on the doormat and drank in the whole + scene of voiceless violence. Then he stepped swiftly across the carpet, + picked up the tall silk hat, and gravely put it upon the head of the yet + pinioned Todhunter. It was so much too large for him that it almost + slipped down on to his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Mr Glass’s hat,” said the doctor, returning with it and peering into the + inside with a pocket lens. “How to explain the absence of Mr Glass and the + presence of Mr Glass’s hat? For Mr Glass is not a careless man with his + clothes. That hat is of a stylish shape and systematically brushed and + burnished, though not very new. An old dandy, I should think.” + </p> + <p> + “But, good heavens!” called out Miss MacNab, “aren’t you going to untie + the man first?” + </p> + <p> + “I say ‘old’ with intention, though not with certainty” continued the + expositor; “my reason for it might seem a little far-fetched. The hair of + human beings falls out in very varying degrees, but almost always falls + out slightly, and with the lens I should see the tiny hairs in a hat + recently worn. It has none, which leads me to guess that Mr Glass is bald. + Now when this is taken with the high-pitched and querulous voice which + Miss MacNab described so vividly (patience, my dear lady, patience), when + we take the hairless head together with the tone common in senile anger, I + should think we may deduce some advance in years. Nevertheless, he was + probably vigorous, and he was almost certainly tall. I might rely in some + degree on the story of his previous appearance at the window, as a tall + man in a silk hat, but I think I have more exact indication. This + wineglass has been smashed all over the place, but one of its splinters + lies on the high bracket beside the mantelpiece. No such fragment could + have fallen there if the vessel had been smashed in the hand of a + comparatively short man like Mr Todhunter.” + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said Father Brown, “might it not be as well to untie Mr + Todhunter?” + </p> + <p> + “Our lesson from the drinking-vessels does not end here,” proceeded the + specialist. “I may say at once that it is possible that the man Glass was + bald or nervous through dissipation rather than age. Mr Todhunter, as has + been remarked, is a quiet thrifty gentleman, essentially an abstainer. + These cards and wine-cups are no part of his normal habit; they have been + produced for a particular companion. But, as it happens, we may go + farther. Mr Todhunter may or may not possess this wine-service, but there + is no appearance of his possessing any wine. What, then, were these + vessels to contain? I would at once suggest some brandy or whisky, perhaps + of a luxurious sort, from a flask in the pocket of Mr Glass. We have thus + something like a picture of the man, or at least of the type: tall, + elderly, fashionable, but somewhat frayed, certainly fond of play and + strong waters, perhaps rather too fond of them. Mr Glass is a gentleman + not unknown on the fringes of society.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” cried the young woman, “if you don’t let me pass to untie him + I’ll run outside and scream for the police.” + </p> + <p> + “I should not advise you, Miss MacNab,” said Dr Hood gravely, “to be in + any hurry to fetch the police. Father Brown, I seriously ask you to + compose your flock, for their sakes, not for mine. Well, we have seen + something of the figure and quality of Mr Glass; what are the chief facts + known of Mr Todhunter? They are substantially three: that he is + economical, that he is more or less wealthy, and that he has a secret. + Now, surely it is obvious that there are the three chief marks of the kind + of man who is blackmailed. And surely it is equally obvious that the faded + finery, the profligate habits, and the shrill irritation of Mr Glass are + the unmistakable marks of the kind of man who blackmails him. We have the + two typical figures of a tragedy of hush money: on the one hand, the + respectable man with a mystery; on the other, the West-end vulture with a + scent for a mystery. These two men have met here today and have + quarrelled, using blows and a bare weapon.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to take those ropes off?” asked the girl stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + Dr Hood replaced the silk hat carefully on the side table, and went across + to the captive. He studied him intently, even moving him a little and + half-turning him round by the shoulders, but he only answered: + </p> + <p> + “No; I think these ropes will do very well till your friends the police + bring the handcuffs.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown, who had been looking dully at the carpet, lifted his round + face and said: “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + The man of science had picked up the peculiar dagger-sword from the carpet + and was examining it intently as he answered: + </p> + <p> + “Because you find Mr Todhunter tied up,” he said, “you all jump to the + conclusion that Mr Glass had tied him up; and then, I suppose, escaped. + There are four objections to this: First, why should a gentleman so dressy + as our friend Glass leave his hat behind him, if he left of his own free + will? Second,” he continued, moving towards the window, “this is the only + exit, and it is locked on the inside. Third, this blade here has a tiny + touch of blood at the point, but there is no wound on Mr Todhunter. Mr + Glass took that wound away with him, dead or alive. Add to all this + primary probability. It is much more likely that the blackmailed person + would try to kill his incubus, rather than that the blackmailer would try + to kill the goose that lays his golden egg. There, I think, we have a + pretty complete story.” + </p> + <p> + “But the ropes?” inquired the priest, whose eyes had remained open with a + rather vacant admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the ropes,” said the expert with a singular intonation. “Miss MacNab + very much wanted to know why I did not set Mr Todhunter free from his + ropes. Well, I will tell her. I did not do it because Mr Todhunter can set + himself free from them at any minute he chooses.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried the audience on quite different notes of astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “I have looked at all the knots on Mr Todhunter,” reiterated Hood quietly. + “I happen to know something about knots; they are quite a branch of + criminal science. Every one of those knots he has made himself and could + loosen himself; not one of them would have been made by an enemy really + trying to pinion him. The whole of this affair of the ropes is a clever + fake, to make us think him the victim of the struggle instead of the + wretched Glass, whose corpse may be hidden in the garden or stuffed up the + chimney.” + </p> + <p> + There was a rather depressed silence; the room was darkening, the + sea-blighted boughs of the garden trees looked leaner and blacker than + ever, yet they seemed to have come nearer to the window. One could almost + fancy they were sea-monsters like krakens or cuttlefish, writhing polypi + who had crawled up from the sea to see the end of this tragedy, even as + he, the villain and victim of it, the terrible man in the tall hat, had + once crawled up from the sea. For the whole air was dense with the + morbidity of blackmail, which is the most morbid of human things, because + it is a crime concealing a crime; a black plaster on a blacker wound. + </p> + <p> + The face of the little Catholic priest, which was commonly complacent and + even comic, had suddenly become knotted with a curious frown. It was not + the blank curiosity of his first innocence. It was rather that creative + curiosity which comes when a man has the beginnings of an idea. “Say it + again, please,” he said in a simple, bothered manner; “do you mean that + Todhunter can tie himself up all alone and untie himself all alone?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I mean,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Jerusalem!” ejaculated Brown suddenly, “I wonder if it could possibly be + that!” + </p> + <p> + He scuttled across the room rather like a rabbit, and peered with quite a + new impulsiveness into the partially-covered face of the captive. Then he + turned his own rather fatuous face to the company. “Yes, that’s it!” he + cried in a certain excitement. “Can’t you see it in the man’s face? Why, + look at his eyes!” + </p> + <p> + Both the Professor and the girl followed the direction of his glance. And + though the broad black scarf completely masked the lower half of + Todhunter’s visage, they did grow conscious of something struggling and + intense about the upper part of it. + </p> + <p> + “His eyes do look queer,” cried the young woman, strongly moved. “You + brutes; I believe it’s hurting him!” + </p> + <p> + “Not that, I think,” said Dr Hood; “the eyes have certainly a singular + expression. But I should interpret those transverse wrinkles as expressing + rather such slight psychological abnormality—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bosh!” cried Father Brown: “can’t you see he’s laughing?” + </p> + <p> + “Laughing!” repeated the doctor, with a start; “but what on earth can he + be laughing at?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied the Reverend Brown apologetically, “not to put too fine a + point on it, I think he is laughing at you. And indeed, I’m a little + inclined to laugh at myself, now I know about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you know about what?” asked Hood, in some exasperation. + </p> + <p> + “Now I know,” replied the priest, “the profession of Mr Todhunter.” + </p> + <p> + He shuffled about the room, looking at one object after another with what + seemed to be a vacant stare, and then invariably bursting into an equally + vacant laugh, a highly irritating process for those who had to watch it. + He laughed very much over the hat, still more uproariously over the broken + glass, but the blood on the sword point sent him into mortal convulsions + of amusement. Then he turned to the fuming specialist. + </p> + <p> + “Dr Hood,” he cried enthusiastically, “you are a great poet! You have + called an uncreated being out of the void. How much more godlike that is + than if you had only ferreted out the mere facts! Indeed, the mere facts + are rather commonplace and comic by comparison.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no notion what you are talking about,” said Dr Hood rather + haughtily; “my facts are all inevitable, though necessarily incomplete. A + place may be permitted to intuition, perhaps (or poetry if you prefer the + term), but only because the corresponding details cannot as yet be + ascertained. In the absence of Mr Glass—” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it, that’s it,” said the little priest, nodding quite eagerly, + “that’s the first idea to get fixed; the absence of Mr Glass. He is so + extremely absent. I suppose,” he added reflectively, “that there was never + anybody so absent as Mr Glass.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean he is absent from the town?” demanded the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “I mean he is absent from everywhere,” answered Father Brown; “he is + absent from the Nature of Things, so to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you seriously mean,” said the specialist with a smile, “that there is + no such person?” + </p> + <p> + The priest made a sign of assent. “It does seem a pity,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Orion Hood broke into a contemptuous laugh. “Well,” he said, “before we go + on to the hundred and one other evidences, let us take the first proof we + found; the first fact we fell over when we fell into this room. If there + is no Mr Glass, whose hat is this?” + </p> + <p> + “It is Mr Todhunter’s,” replied Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “But it doesn’t fit him,” cried Hood impatiently. “He couldn’t possibly + wear it!” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown shook his head with ineffable mildness. “I never said he + could wear it,” he answered. “I said it was his hat. Or, if you insist on + a shade of difference, a hat that is his.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is the shade of difference?” asked the criminologist with a + slight sneer. + </p> + <p> + “My good sir,” cried the mild little man, with his first movement akin to + impatience, “if you will walk down the street to the nearest hatter’s + shop, you will see that there is, in common speech, a difference between a + man’s hat and the hats that are his.” + </p> + <p> + “But a hatter,” protested Hood, “can get money out of his stock of new + hats. What could Todhunter get out of this one old hat?” + </p> + <p> + “Rabbits,” replied Father Brown promptly. + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried Dr Hood. + </p> + <p> + “Rabbits, ribbons, sweetmeats, goldfish, rolls of coloured paper,” said + the reverend gentleman with rapidity. “Didn’t you see it all when you + found out the faked ropes? It’s just the same with the sword. Mr Todhunter + hasn’t got a scratch on him, as you say; but he’s got a scratch in him, if + you follow me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean inside Mr Todhunter’s clothes?” inquired Mrs MacNab sternly. + </p> + <p> + “I do not mean inside Mr Todhunter’s clothes,” said Father Brown. “I mean + inside Mr Todhunter.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what in the name of Bedlam do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr Todhunter,” explained Father Brown placidly, “is learning to be a + professional conjurer, as well as juggler, ventriloquist, and expert in + the rope trick. The conjuring explains the hat. It is without traces of + hair, not because it is worn by the prematurely bald Mr Glass, but because + it has never been worn by anybody. The juggling explains the three + glasses, which Todhunter was teaching himself to throw up and catch in + rotation. But, being only at the stage of practice, he smashed one glass + against the ceiling. And the juggling also explains the sword, which it + was Mr Todhunter’s professional pride and duty to swallow. But, again, + being at the stage of practice, he very slightly grazed the inside of his + throat with the weapon. Hence he has a wound inside him, which I am sure + (from the expression on his face) is not a serious one. He was also + practising the trick of a release from ropes, like the Davenport Brothers, + and he was just about to free himself when we all burst into the room. The + cards, of course, are for card tricks, and they are scattered on the floor + because he had just been practising one of those dodges of sending them + flying through the air. He merely kept his trade secret, because he had to + keep his tricks secret, like any other conjurer. But the mere fact of an + idler in a top hat having once looked in at his back window, and been + driven away by him with great indignation, was enough to set us all on a + wrong track of romance, and make us imagine his whole life overshadowed by + the silk-hatted spectre of Mr Glass.” + </p> + <p> + “But what about the two voices?” asked Maggie, staring. + </p> + <p> + “Have you never heard a ventriloquist?” asked Father Brown. “Don’t you + know they speak first in their natural voice, and then answer themselves + in just that shrill, squeaky, unnatural voice that you heard?” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence, and Dr Hood regarded the little man who had + spoken with a dark and attentive smile. “You are certainly a very + ingenious person,” he said; “it could not have been done better in a book. + But there is just one part of Mr Glass you have not succeeded in + explaining away, and that is his name. Miss MacNab distinctly heard him so + addressed by Mr Todhunter.” + </p> + <p> + The Rev. Mr Brown broke into a rather childish giggle. “Well, that,” he + said, “that’s the silliest part of the whole silly story. When our + juggling friend here threw up the three glasses in turn, he counted them + aloud as he caught them, and also commented aloud when he failed to catch + them. What he really said was: ‘One, two and three—missed a glass + one, two—missed a glass.’ And so on.” + </p> + <p> + There was a second of stillness in the room, and then everyone with one + accord burst out laughing. As they did so the figure in the corner + complacently uncoiled all the ropes and let them fall with a flourish. + Then, advancing into the middle of the room with a bow, he produced from + his pocket a big bill printed in blue and red, which announced that + ZALADIN, the World’s Greatest Conjurer, Contortionist, Ventriloquist and + Human Kangaroo would be ready with an entirely new series of Tricks at the + Empire Pavilion, Scarborough, on Monday next at eight o’clock precisely. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWO. — The Paradise of Thieves + </h2> + <p> + THE great Muscari, most original of the young Tuscan poets, walked swiftly + into his favourite restaurant, which overlooked the Mediterranean, was + covered by an awning and fenced by little lemon and orange trees. Waiters + in white aprons were already laying out on white tables the insignia of an + early and elegant lunch; and this seemed to increase a satisfaction that + already touched the top of swagger. Muscari had an eagle nose like Dante; + his hair and neckerchief were dark and flowing; he carried a black cloak, + and might almost have carried a black mask, so much did he bear with him a + sort of Venetian melodrama. He acted as if a troubadour had still a + definite social office, like a bishop. He went as near as his century + permitted to walking the world literally like Don Juan, with rapier and + guitar. + </p> + <p> + For he never travelled without a case of swords, with which he had fought + many brilliant duels, or without a corresponding case for his mandolin, + with which he had actually serenaded Miss Ethel Harrogate, the highly + conventional daughter of a Yorkshire banker on a holiday. Yet he was + neither a charlatan nor a child; but a hot, logical Latin who liked a + certain thing and was it. His poetry was as straightforward as anyone + else’s prose. He desired fame or wine or the beauty of women with a torrid + directness inconceivable among the cloudy ideals or cloudy compromises of + the north; to vaguer races his intensity smelt of danger or even crime. + Like fire or the sea, he was too simple to be trusted. + </p> + <p> + The banker and his beautiful English daughter were staying at the hotel + attached to Muscari’s restaurant; that was why it was his favourite + restaurant. A glance flashed around the room told him at once, however, + that the English party had not descended. The restaurant was glittering, + but still comparatively empty. Two priests were talking at a table in a + corner, but Muscari (an ardent Catholic) took no more notice of them than + of a couple of crows. But from a yet farther seat, partly concealed behind + a dwarf tree golden with oranges, there rose and advanced towards the poet + a person whose costume was the most aggressively opposite to his own. + </p> + <p> + This figure was clad in tweeds of a piebald check, with a pink tie, a + sharp collar and protuberant yellow boots. He contrived, in the true + tradition of ‘Arry at Margate, to look at once startling and commonplace. + But as the Cockney apparition drew nearer, Muscari was astounded to + observe that the head was distinctly different from the body. It was an + Italian head: fuzzy, swarthy and very vivacious, that rose abruptly out of + the standing collar like cardboard and the comic pink tie. In fact it was + a head he knew. He recognized it, above all the dire erection of English + holiday array, as the face of an old but forgotten friend name Ezza. This + youth had been a prodigy at college, and European fame was promised him + when he was barely fifteen; but when he appeared in the world he failed, + first publicly as a dramatist and a demagogue, and then privately for + years on end as an actor, a traveller, a commission agent or a journalist. + Muscari had known him last behind the footlights; he was but too well + attuned to the excitements of that profession, and it was believed that + some moral calamity had swallowed him up. + </p> + <p> + “Ezza!” cried the poet, rising and shaking hands in a pleasant + astonishment. “Well, I’ve seen you in many costumes in the green room; but + I never expected to see you dressed up as an Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + “This,” answered Ezza gravely, “is not the costume of an Englishman, but + of the Italian of the future.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” remarked Muscari, “I confess I prefer the Italian of the + past.” + </p> + <p> + “That is your old mistake, Muscari,” said the man in tweeds, shaking his + head; “and the mistake of Italy. In the sixteenth century we Tuscans made + the morning: we had the newest steel, the newest carving, the newest + chemistry. Why should we not now have the newest factories, the newest + motors, the newest finance—the newest clothes?” + </p> + <p> + “Because they are not worth having,” answered Muscari. “You cannot make + Italians really progressive; they are too intelligent. Men who see the + short cut to good living will never go by the new elaborate roads.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, to me Marconi, or D’Annunzio, is the star of Italy” said the other. + “That is why I have become a Futurist—and a courier.” + </p> + <p> + “A courier!” cried Muscari, laughing. “Is that the last of your list of + trades? And whom are you conducting?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a man of the name of Harrogate, and his family, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Not the banker in this hotel?” inquired the poet, with some eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the man,” answered the courier. + </p> + <p> + “Does it pay well?” asked the troubadour innocently. + </p> + <p> + “It will pay me,” said Ezza, with a very enigmatic smile. “But I am a + rather curious sort of courier.” Then, as if changing the subject, he said + abruptly: “He has a daughter—and a son.” + </p> + <p> + “The daughter is divine,” affirmed Muscari, “the father and son are, I + suppose, human. But granted his harmless qualities doesn’t that banker + strike you as a splendid instance of my argument? Harrogate has millions + in his safes, and I have—the hole in my pocket. But you daren’t say—you + can’t say—that he’s cleverer than I, or bolder than I, or even more + energetic. He’s not clever, he’s got eyes like blue buttons; he’s not + energetic, he moves from chair to chair like a paralytic. He’s a + conscientious, kindly old blockhead; but he’s got money simply because he + collects money, as a boy collects stamps. You’re too strong-minded for + business, Ezza. You won’t get on. To be clever enough to get all that + money, one must be stupid enough to want it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m stupid enough for that,” said Ezza gloomily. “But I should suggest a + suspension of your critique of the banker, for here he comes.” + </p> + <p> + Mr Harrogate, the great financier, did indeed enter the room, but nobody + looked at him. He was a massive elderly man with a boiled blue eye and + faded grey-sandy moustaches; but for his heavy stoop he might have been a + colonel. He carried several unopened letters in his hand. His son Frank + was a really fine lad, curly-haired, sun-burnt and strenuous; but nobody + looked at him either. All eyes, as usual, were riveted, for the moment at + least, upon Ethel Harrogate, whose golden Greek head and colour of the + dawn seemed set purposely above that sapphire sea, like a goddess’s. The + poet Muscari drew a deep breath as if he were drinking something, as + indeed he was. He was drinking the Classic; which his fathers made. Ezza + studied her with a gaze equally intense and far more baffling. + </p> + <p> + Miss Harrogate was specially radiant and ready for conversation on this + occasion; and her family had fallen into the easier Continental habit, + allowing the stranger Muscari and even the courier Ezza to share their + table and their talk. In Ethel Harrogate conventionality crowned itself + with a perfection and splendour of its own. Proud of her father’s + prosperity, fond of fashionable pleasures, a fond daughter but an arrant + flirt, she was all these things with a sort of golden good-nature that + made her very pride pleasing and her worldly respectability a fresh and + hearty thing. + </p> + <p> + They were in an eddy of excitement about some alleged peril in the + mountain path they were to attempt that week. The danger was not from rock + and avalanche, but from something yet more romantic. Ethel had been + earnestly assured that brigands, the true cut-throats of the modern + legend, still haunted that ridge and held that pass of the Apennines. + </p> + <p> + “They say,” she cried, with the awful relish of a schoolgirl, “that all + that country isn’t ruled by the King of Italy, but by the King of Thieves. + Who is the King of Thieves?” + </p> + <p> + “A great man,” replied Muscari, “worthy to rank with your own Robin Hood, + signorina. Montano, the King of Thieves, was first heard of in the + mountains some ten years ago, when people said brigands were extinct. But + his wild authority spread with the swiftness of a silent revolution. Men + found his fierce proclamations nailed in every mountain village; his + sentinels, gun in hand, in every mountain ravine. Six times the Italian + Government tried to dislodge him, and was defeated in six pitched battles + as if by Napoleon.” + </p> + <p> + “Now that sort of thing,” observed the banker weightily, “would never be + allowed in England; perhaps, after all, we had better choose another + route. But the courier thought it perfectly safe.” + </p> + <p> + “It is perfectly safe,” said the courier contemptuously. “I have been over + it twenty times. There may have been some old jailbird called a King in + the time of our grandmothers; but he belongs to history if not to fable. + Brigandage is utterly stamped out.” + </p> + <p> + “It can never be utterly stamped out,” Muscari answered; “because armed + revolt is a recreation natural to southerners. Our peasants are like their + mountains, rich in grace and green gaiety, but with the fires beneath. + There is a point of human despair where the northern poor take to drink—and + our own poor take to daggers.” + </p> + <p> + “A poet is privileged,” replied Ezza, with a sneer. “If Signor Muscari + were English he would still be looking for highwaymen in Wandsworth. + Believe me, there is no more danger of being captured in Italy than of + being scalped in Boston.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you propose to attempt it?” asked Mr Harrogate, frowning. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it sounds rather dreadful,” cried the girl, turning her glorious eyes + on Muscari. “Do you really think the pass is dangerous?” + </p> + <p> + Muscari threw back his black mane. “I know it is dangerous:” he said. “I + am crossing it tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + The young Harrogate was left behind for a moment emptying a glass of white + wine and lighting a cigarette, as the beauty retired with the banker, the + courier and the poet, distributing peals of silvery satire. At about the + same instant the two priests in the corner rose; the taller, a + white-haired Italian, taking his leave. The shorter priest turned and + walked towards the banker’s son, and the latter was astonished to realize + that though a Roman priest the man was an Englishman. He vaguely + remembered meeting him at the social crushes of some of his Catholic + friends. But the man spoke before his memories could collect themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Mr Frank Harrogate, I think,” he said. “I have had an introduction, but I + do not mean to presume on it. The odd thing I have to say will come far + better from a stranger. Mr Harrogate, I say one word and go: take care of + your sister in her great sorrow.” + </p> + <p> + Even for Frank’s truly fraternal indifference the radiance and derision of + his sister still seemed to sparkle and ring; he could hear her laughter + still from the garden of the hotel, and he stared at his sombre adviser in + puzzledom. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean the brigands?” he asked; and then, remembering a vague fear + of his own, “or can you be thinking of Muscari?” + </p> + <p> + “One is never thinking of the real sorrow,” said the strange priest. “One + can only be kind when it comes.” + </p> + <p> + And he passed promptly from the room, leaving the other almost with his + mouth open. + </p> + <p> + A day or two afterwards a coach containing the company was really crawling + and staggering up the spurs of the menacing mountain range. Between Ezza’s + cheery denial of the danger and Muscari’s boisterous defiance of it, the + financial family were firm in their original purpose; and Muscari made his + mountain journey coincide with theirs. A more surprising feature was the + appearance at the coast-town station of the little priest of the + restaurant; he alleged merely that business led him also to cross the + mountains of the midland. But young Harrogate could not but connect his + presence with the mystical fears and warnings of yesterday. + </p> + <p> + The coach was a kind of commodious wagonette, invented by the modernist + talent of the courier, who dominated the expedition with his scientific + activity and breezy wit. The theory of danger from thieves was banished + from thought and speech; though so far conceded in formal act that some + slight protection was employed. The courier and the young banker carried + loaded revolvers, and Muscari (with much boyish gratification) buckled on + a kind of cutlass under his black cloak. + </p> + <p> + He had planted his person at a flying leap next to the lovely + Englishwoman; on the other side of her sat the priest, whose name was + Brown and who was fortunately a silent individual; the courier and the + father and son were on the banc behind. Muscari was in towering spirits, + seriously believing in the peril, and his talk to Ethel might well have + made her think him a maniac. But there was something in the crazy and + gorgeous ascent, amid crags like peaks loaded with woods like orchards, + that dragged her spirit up alone with his into purple preposterous heavens + with wheeling suns. The white road climbed like a white cat; it spanned + sunless chasms like a tight-rope; it was flung round far-off headlands + like a lasso. + </p> + <p> + And yet, however high they went, the desert still blossomed like the rose. + The fields were burnished in sun and wind with the colour of kingfisher + and parrot and humming-bird, the hues of a hundred flowering flowers. + There are no lovelier meadows and woodlands than the English, no nobler + crests or chasms than those of Snowdon and Glencoe. But Ethel Harrogate + had never before seen the southern parks tilted on the splintered northern + peaks; the gorge of Glencoe laden with the fruits of Kent. There was + nothing here of that chill and desolation that in Britain one associates + with high and wild scenery. It was rather like a mosaic palace, rent with + earthquakes; or like a Dutch tulip garden blown to the stars with + dynamite. + </p> + <p> + “It’s like Kew Gardens on Beachy Head,” said Ethel. + </p> + <p> + “It is our secret,” answered he, “the secret of the volcano; that is also + the secret of the revolution—that a thing can be violent and yet + fruitful.” + </p> + <p> + “You are rather violent yourself,” and she smiled at him. + </p> + <p> + “And yet rather fruitless,” he admitted; “if I die tonight I die unmarried + and a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not my fault if you have come,” she said after a difficult silence. + </p> + <p> + “It is never your fault,” answered Muscari; “it was not your fault that + Troy fell.” + </p> + <p> + As they spoke they came under overwhelming cliffs that spread almost like + wings above a corner of peculiar peril. Shocked by the big shadow on the + narrow ledge, the horses stirred doubtfully. The driver leapt to the earth + to hold their heads, and they became ungovernable. One horse reared up to + his full height—the titanic and terrifying height of a horse when he + becomes a biped. It was just enough to alter the equilibrium; the whole + coach heeled over like a ship and crashed through the fringe of bushes + over the cliff. Muscari threw an arm round Ethel, who clung to him, and + shouted aloud. It was for such moments that he lived. + </p> + <p> + At the moment when the gorgeous mountain walls went round the poet’s head + like a purple windmill a thing happened which was superficially even more + startling. The elderly and lethargic banker sprang erect in the coach and + leapt over the precipice before the tilted vehicle could take him there. + In the first flash it looked as wild as suicide; but in the second it was + as sensible as a safe investment. The Yorkshireman had evidently more + promptitude, as well as more sagacity, than Muscari had given him credit + for; for he landed in a lap of land which might have been specially padded + with turf and clover to receive him. As it happened, indeed, the whole + company were equally lucky, if less dignified in their form of ejection. + Immediately under this abrupt turn of the road was a grassy and flowery + hollow like a sunken meadow; a sort of green velvet pocket in the long, + green, trailing garments of the hills. Into this they were all tipped or + tumbled with little damage, save that their smallest baggage and even the + contents of their pockets were scattered in the grass around them. The + wrecked coach still hung above, entangled in the tough hedge, and the + horses plunged painfully down the slope. The first to sit up was the + little priest, who scratched his head with a face of foolish wonder. Frank + Harrogate heard him say to himself: “Now why on earth have we fallen just + here?” + </p> + <p> + He blinked at the litter around him, and recovered his own very clumsy + umbrella. Beyond it lay the broad sombrero fallen from the head of + Muscari, and beside it a sealed business letter which, after a glance at + the address, he returned to the elder Harrogate. On the other side of him + the grass partly hid Miss Ethel’s sunshade, and just beyond it lay a + curious little glass bottle hardly two inches long. The priest picked it + up; in a quick, unobtrusive manner he uncorked and sniffed it, and his + heavy face turned the colour of clay. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven deliver us!” he muttered; “it can’t be hers! Has her sorrow come + on her already?” He slipped it into his own waistcoat pocket. “I think I’m + justified,” he said, “till I know a little more.” + </p> + <p> + He gazed painfully at the girl, at that moment being raised out of the + flowers by Muscari, who was saying: “We have fallen into heaven; it is a + sign. Mortals climb up and they fall down; but it is only gods and + goddesses who can fall upwards.” + </p> + <p> + And indeed she rose out of the sea of colours so beautiful and happy a + vision that the priest felt his suspicion shaken and shifted. “After all,” + he thought, “perhaps the poison isn’t hers; perhaps it’s one of Muscari’s + melodramatic tricks.” + </p> + <p> + Muscari set the lady lightly on her feet, made her an absurdly theatrical + bow, and then, drawing his cutlass, hacked hard at the taut reins of the + horses, so that they scrambled to their feet and stood in the grass + trembling. When he had done so, a most remarkable thing occurred. A very + quiet man, very poorly dressed and extremely sunburnt, came out of the + bushes and took hold of the horses’ heads. He had a queer-shaped knife, + very broad and crooked, buckled on his belt; there was nothing else + remarkable about him, except his sudden and silent appearance. The poet + asked him who he was, and he did not answer. + </p> + <p> + Looking around him at the confused and startled group in the hollow, + Muscari then perceived that another tanned and tattered man, with a short + gun under his arm, was looking at them from the ledge just below, leaning + his elbows on the edge of the turf. Then he looked up at the road from + which they had fallen and saw, looking down on them, the muzzles of four + other carbines and four other brown faces with bright but quite motionless + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The brigands!” cried Muscari, with a kind of monstrous gaiety. “This was + a trap. Ezza, if you will oblige me by shooting the coachman first, we can + cut our way out yet. There are only six of them.” + </p> + <p> + “The coachman,” said Ezza, who was standing grimly with his hands in his + pockets, “happens to be a servant of Mr Harrogate’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Then shoot him all the more,” cried the poet impatiently; “he was bribed + to upset his master. Then put the lady in the middle, and we will break + the line up there—with a rush.” + </p> + <p> + And, wading in wild grass and flowers, he advanced fearlessly on the four + carbines; but finding that no one followed except young Harrogate, he + turned, brandishing his cutlass to wave the others on. He beheld the + courier still standing slightly astride in the centre of the grassy ring, + his hands in his pockets; and his lean, ironical Italian face seemed to + grow longer and longer in the evening light. + </p> + <p> + “You thought, Muscari, I was the failure among our schoolfellows,” he + said, “and you thought you were the success. But I have succeeded more + than you and fill a bigger place in history. I have been acting epics + while you have been writing them.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, I tell you!” thundered Muscari from above. “Will you stand there + talking nonsense about yourself with a woman to save and three strong men + to help you? What do you call yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I call myself Montano,” cried the strange courier in a voice equally loud + and full. “I am the King of Thieves, and I welcome you all to my summer + palace.” + </p> + <p> + And even as he spoke five more silent men with weapons ready came out of + the bushes, and looked towards him for their orders. One of them held a + large paper in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “This pretty little nest where we are all picnicking,” went on the + courier-brigand, with the same easy yet sinister smile, “is, together with + some caves underneath it, known by the name of the Paradise of Thieves. It + is my principal stronghold on these hills; for (as you have doubtless + noticed) the eyrie is invisible both from the road above and from the + valley below. It is something better than impregnable; it is unnoticeable. + Here I mostly live, and here I shall certainly die, if the gendarmes ever + track me here. I am not the kind of criminal that ‘reserves his defence,’ + but the better kind that reserves his last bullet.” + </p> + <p> + All were staring at him thunderstruck and still, except Father Brown, who + heaved a huge sigh as of relief and fingered the little phial in his + pocket. “Thank God!” he muttered; “that’s much more probable. The poison + belongs to this robber-chief, of course. He carries it so that he may + never be captured, like Cato.” + </p> + <p> + The King of Thieves was, however, continuing his address with the same + kind of dangerous politeness. “It only remains for me,” he said, “to + explain to my guests the social conditions upon which I have the pleasure + of entertaining them. I need not expound the quaint old ritual of ransom, + which it is incumbent upon me to keep up; and even this only applies to a + part of the company. The Reverend Father Brown and the celebrated Signor + Muscari I shall release tomorrow at dawn and escort to my outposts. Poets + and priests, if you will pardon my simplicity of speech, never have any + money. And so (since it is impossible to get anything out of them), let + us, seize the opportunity to show our admiration for classic literature + and our reverence for Holy Church.” + </p> + <p> + He paused with an unpleasing smile; and Father Brown blinked repeatedly at + him, and seemed suddenly to be listening with great attention. The brigand + captain took the large paper from the attendant brigand and, glancing over + it, continued: “My other intentions are clearly set forth in this public + document, which I will hand round in a moment; and which after that will + be posted on a tree by every village in the valley, and every cross-road + in the hills. I will not weary you with the verbalism, since you will be + able to check it; the substance of my proclamation is this: I announce + first that I have captured the English millionaire, the colossus of + finance, Mr Samuel Harrogate. I next announce that I have found on his + person notes and bonds for two thousand pounds, which he has given up to + me. Now since it would be really immoral to announce such a thing to a + credulous public if it had not occurred, I suggest it should occur without + further delay. I suggest that Mr Harrogate senior should now give me the + two thousand pounds in his pocket.” + </p> + <p> + The banker looked at him under lowering brows, red-faced and sulky, but + seemingly cowed. That leap from the failing carriage seemed to have used + up his last virility. He had held back in a hang-dog style when his son + and Muscari had made a bold movement to break out of the brigand trap. And + now his red and trembling hand went reluctantly to his breast-pocket, and + passed a bundle of papers and envelopes to the brigand. + </p> + <p> + “Excellent!” cried that outlaw gaily; “so far we are all cosy. I resume + the points of my proclamation, so soon to be published to all Italy. The + third item is that of ransom. I am asking from the friends of the + Harrogate family a ransom of three thousand pounds, which I am sure is + almost insulting to that family in its moderate estimate of their + importance. Who would not pay triple this sum for another day’s + association with such a domestic circle? I will not conceal from you that + the document ends with certain legal phrases about the unpleasant things + that may happen if the money is not paid; but meanwhile, ladies and + gentlemen, let me assure you that I am comfortably off here for + accommodation, wine and cigars, and bid you for the present a + sportsman-like welcome to the luxuries of the Paradise of Thieves.” + </p> + <p> + All the time that he had been speaking, the dubious-looking men with + carbines and dirty slouch hats had been gathering silently in such + preponderating numbers that even Muscari was compelled to recognize his + sally with the sword as hopeless. He glanced around him; but the girl had + already gone over to soothe and comfort her father, for her natural + affection for his person was as strong or stronger than her somewhat + snobbish pride in his success. Muscari, with the illogicality of a lover, + admired this filial devotion, and yet was irritated by it. He slapped his + sword back in the scabbard and went and flung himself somewhat sulkily on + one of the green banks. The priest sat down within a yard or two, and + Muscari turned his aquiline nose on him in an instantaneous irritation. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the poet tartly, “do people still think me too romantic? Are + there, I wonder, any brigands left in the mountains?” + </p> + <p> + “There may be,” said Father Brown agnostically. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked the other sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I mean I am puzzled,” replied the priest. “I am puzzled about Ezza or + Montano, or whatever his name is. He seems to me much more inexplicable as + a brigand even than he was as a courier.” + </p> + <p> + “But in what way?” persisted his companion. “Santa Maria! I should have + thought the brigand was plain enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I find three curious difficulties,” said the priest in a quiet voice. “I + should like to have your opinion on them. First of all I must tell you I + was lunching in that restaurant at the seaside. As four of you left the + room, you and Miss Harrogate went ahead, talking and laughing; the banker + and the courier came behind, speaking sparely and rather low. But I could + not help hearing Ezza say these words—‘Well, let her have a little + fun; you know the blow may smash her any minute.’ Mr Harrogate answered + nothing; so the words must have had some meaning. On the impulse of the + moment I warned her brother that she might be in peril; I said nothing of + its nature, for I did not know. But if it meant this capture in the hills, + the thing is nonsense. Why should the brigand-courier warn his patron, + even by a hint, when it was his whole purpose to lure him into the + mountain-mousetrap? It could not have meant that. But if not, what is this + disaster, known both to courier and banker, which hangs over Miss + Harrogate’s head?” + </p> + <p> + “Disaster to Miss Harrogate!” ejaculated the poet, sitting up with some + ferocity. “Explain yourself; go on.” + </p> + <p> + “All my riddles, however, revolve round our bandit chief,” resumed the + priest reflectively. “And here is the second of them. Why did he put so + prominently in his demand for ransom the fact that he had taken two + thousand pounds from his victim on the spot? It had no faintest tendency + to evoke the ransom. Quite the other way, in fact. Harrogate’s friends + would be far likelier to fear for his fate if they thought the thieves + were poor and desperate. Yet the spoliation on the spot was emphasized and + even put first in the demand. Why should Ezza Montano want so specially to + tell all Europe that he had picked the pocket before he levied the + blackmail?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot imagine,” said Muscari, rubbing up his black hair for once with + an unaffected gesture. “You may think you enlighten me, but you are + leading me deeper in the dark. What may be the third objection to the King + of the Thieves?” “The third objection,” said Father Brown, still in + meditation, “is this bank we are sitting on. Why does our brigand-courier + call this his chief fortress and the Paradise of Thieves? It is certainly + a soft spot to fall on and a sweet spot to look at. It is also quite true, + as he says, that it is invisible from valley and peak, and is therefore a + hiding-place. But it is not a fortress. It never could be a fortress. I + think it would be the worst fortress in the world. For it is actually + commanded from above by the common high-road across the mountains—the + very place where the police would most probably pass. Why, five shabby + short guns held us helpless here about half an hour ago. The quarter of a + company of any kind of soldiers could have blown us over the precipice. + Whatever is the meaning of this odd little nook of grass and flowers, it + is not an entrenched position. It is something else; it has some other + strange sort of importance; some value that I do not understand. It is + more like an accidental theatre or a natural green-room; it is like the + scene for some romantic comedy; it is like....” + </p> + <p> + As the little priest’s words lengthened and lost themselves in a dull and + dreamy sincerity, Muscari, whose animal senses were alert and impatient, + heard a new noise in the mountains. Even for him the sound was as yet very + small and faint; but he could have sworn the evening breeze bore with it + something like the pulsation of horses’ hoofs and a distant hallooing. + </p> + <p> + At the same moment, and long before the vibration had touched the + less-experienced English ears, Montano the brigand ran up the bank above + them and stood in the broken hedge, steadying himself against a tree and + peering down the road. He was a strange figure as he stood there, for he + had assumed a flapped fantastic hat and swinging baldric and cutlass in + his capacity of bandit king, but the bright prosaic tweed of the courier + showed through in patches all over him. + </p> + <p> + The next moment he turned his olive, sneering face and made a movement + with his hand. The brigands scattered at the signal, not in confusion, but + in what was evidently a kind of guerrilla discipline. Instead of occupying + the road along the ridge, they sprinkled themselves along the side of it + behind the trees and the hedge, as if watching unseen for an enemy. The + noise beyond grew stronger, beginning to shake the mountain road, and a + voice could be clearly heard calling out orders. The brigands swayed and + huddled, cursing and whispering, and the evening air was full of little + metallic noises as they cocked their pistols, or loosened their knives, or + trailed their scabbards over the stones. Then the noises from both + quarters seemed to meet on the road above; branches broke, horses neighed, + men cried out. + </p> + <p> + “A rescue!” cried Muscari, springing to his feet and waving his hat; “the + gendarmes are on them! Now for freedom and a blow for it! Now to be rebels + against robbers! Come, don’t let us leave everything to the police; that + is so dreadfully modern. Fall on the rear of these ruffians. The gendarmes + are rescuing us; come, friends, let us rescue the gendarmes!” + </p> + <p> + And throwing his hat over the trees, he drew his cutlass once more and + began to escalade the slope up to the road. Frank Harrogate jumped up and + ran across to help him, revolver in hand, but was astounded to hear + himself imperatively recalled by the raucous voice of his father, who + seemed to be in great agitation. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t have it,” said the banker in a choking voice; “I command you not + to interfere.” + </p> + <p> + “But, father,” said Frank very warmly, “an Italian gentleman has led the + way. You wouldn’t have it said that the English hung back.” + </p> + <p> + “It is useless,” said the older man, who was trembling violently, “it is + useless. We must submit to our lot.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown looked at the banker; then he put his hand instinctively as + if on his heart, but really on the little bottle of poison; and a great + light came into his face like the light of the revelation of death. + </p> + <p> + Muscari meanwhile, without waiting for support, had crested the bank up to + the road, and struck the brigand king heavily on the shoulder, causing him + to stagger and swing round. Montano also had his cutlass unsheathed, and + Muscari, without further speech, sent a slash at his head which he was + compelled to catch and parry. But even as the two short blades crossed and + clashed the King of Thieves deliberately dropped his point and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the good, old man?” he said in spirited Italian slang; “this + damned farce will soon be over.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, you shuffler?” panted the fire-eating poet. “Is your + courage a sham as well as your honesty?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything about me is a sham,” responded the ex-courier in complete good + humour. “I am an actor; and if I ever had a private character, I have + forgotten it. I am no more a genuine brigand than I am a genuine courier. + I am only a bundle of masks, and you can’t fight a duel with that.” And he + laughed with boyish pleasure and fell into his old straddling attitude, + with his back to the skirmish up the road. + </p> + <p> + Darkness was deepening under the mountain walls, and it was not easy to + discern much of the progress of the struggle, save that tall men were + pushing their horses’ muzzles through a clinging crowd of brigands, who + seemed more inclined to harass and hustle the invaders than to kill them. + It was more like a town crowd preventing the passage of the police than + anything the poet had ever pictured as the last stand of doomed and + outlawed men of blood. Just as he was rolling his eyes in bewilderment he + felt a touch on his elbow, and found the odd little priest standing there + like a small Noah with a large hat, and requesting the favour of a word or + two. + </p> + <p> + “Signor Muscari,” said the cleric, “in this queer crisis personalities may + be pardoned. I may tell you without offence of a way in which you will do + more good than by helping the gendarmes, who are bound to break through in + any case. You will permit me the impertinent intimacy, but do you care + about that girl? Care enough to marry her and make her a good husband, I + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the poet quite simply. + </p> + <p> + “Does she care about you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” was the equally grave reply. + </p> + <p> + “Then go over there and offer yourself,” said the priest: “offer her + everything you can; offer her heaven and earth if you’ve got them. The + time is short.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the astonished man of letters. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said Father Brown, “her Doom is coming up the road.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing is coming up the road,” argued Muscari, “except the rescue.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you go over there,” said his adviser, “and be ready to rescue her + from the rescue.” + </p> + <p> + Almost as he spoke the hedges were broken all along the ridge by a rush of + the escaping brigands. They dived into bushes and thick grass like + defeated men pursued; and the great cocked hats of the mounted gendarmerie + were seen passing along above the broken hedge. Another order was given; + there was a noise of dismounting, and a tall officer with cocked hat, a + grey imperial, and a paper in his hand appeared in the gap that was the + gate of the Paradise of Thieves. There was a momentary silence, broken in + an extraordinary way by the banker, who cried out in a hoarse and + strangled voice: “Robbed! I’ve been robbed!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that was hours ago,” cried his son in astonishment: “when you were + robbed of two thousand pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “Not of two thousand pounds,” said the financier, with an abrupt and + terrible composure, “only of a small bottle.” + </p> + <p> + The policeman with the grey imperial was striding across the green hollow. + Encountering the King of the Thieves in his path, he clapped him on the + shoulder with something between a caress and a buffet and gave him a push + that sent him staggering away. “You’ll get into trouble, too,” he said, + “if you play these tricks.” + </p> + <p> + Again to Muscari’s artistic eye it seemed scarcely like the capture of a + great outlaw at bay. Passing on, the policeman halted before the Harrogate + group and said: “Samuel Harrogate, I arrest you in the name of the law for + embezzlement of the funds of the Hull and Huddersfield Bank.” + </p> + <p> + The great banker nodded with an odd air of business assent, seemed to + reflect a moment, and before they could interpose took a half turn and a + step that brought him to the edge of the outer mountain wall. Then, + flinging up his hands, he leapt exactly as he leapt out of the coach. But + this time he did not fall into a little meadow just beneath; he fell a + thousand feet below, to become a wreck of bones in the valley. + </p> + <p> + The anger of the Italian policeman, which he expressed volubly to Father + Brown, was largely mixed with admiration. “It was like him to escape us at + last,” he said. “He was a great brigand if you like. This last trick of + his I believe to be absolutely unprecedented. He fled with the company’s + money to Italy, and actually got himself captured by sham brigands in his + own pay, so as to explain both the disappearance of the money and the + disappearance of himself. That demand for ransom was really taken + seriously by most of the police. But for years he’s been doing things as + good as that, quite as good as that. He will be a serious loss to his + family.” + </p> + <p> + Muscari was leading away the unhappy daughter, who held hard to him, as + she did for many a year after. But even in that tragic wreck he could not + help having a smile and a hand of half-mocking friendship for the + indefensible Ezza Montano. “And where are you going next?” he asked him + over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Birmingham,” answered the actor, puffing a cigarette. “Didn’t I tell you + I was a Futurist? I really do believe in those things if I believe in + anything. Change, bustle and new things every morning. I am going to + Manchester, Liverpool, Leeds, Hull, Huddersfield, Glasgow, Chicago—in + short, to enlightened, energetic, civilized society!” + </p> + <p> + “In short,” said Muscari, “to the real Paradise of Thieves.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THREE — The Duel of Dr Hirsch + </h2> + <p> + M. MAURICE BRUN and M. Armand Armagnac were crossing the sunlit Champs + Elysee with a kind of vivacious respectability. They were both short, + brisk and bold. They both had black beards that did not seem to belong to + their faces, after the strange French fashion which makes real hair look + like artificial. M. Brun had a dark wedge of beard apparently affixed + under his lower lip. M. Armagnac, by way of a change, had two beards; one + sticking out from each corner of his emphatic chin. They were both young. + They were both atheists, with a depressing fixity of outlook but great + mobility of exposition. They were both pupils of the great Dr Hirsch, + scientist, publicist and moralist. + </p> + <p> + M. Brun had become prominent by his proposal that the common expression + “Adieu” should be obliterated from all the French classics, and a slight + fine imposed for its use in private life. “Then,” he said, “the very name + of your imagined God will have echoed for the last time in the ear of + man.” M. Armagnac specialized rather in a resistance to militarism, and + wished the chorus of the Marseillaise altered from “Aux armes, citoyens” + to “Aux greves, citoyens”. But his antimilitarism was of a peculiar and + Gallic sort. An eminent and very wealthy English Quaker, who had come to + see him to arrange for the disarmament of the whole planet, was rather + distressed by Armagnac’s proposal that (by way of beginning) the soldiers + should shoot their officers. + </p> + <p> + And indeed it was in this regard that the two men differed most from their + leader and father in philosophy. Dr Hirsch, though born in France and + covered with the most triumphant favours of French education, was + temperamentally of another type—mild, dreamy, humane; and, despite + his sceptical system, not devoid of transcendentalism. He was, in short, + more like a German than a Frenchman; and much as they admired him, + something in the subconsciousness of these Gauls was irritated at his + pleading for peace in so peaceful a manner. To their party throughout + Europe, however, Paul Hirsch was a saint of science. His large and daring + cosmic theories advertised his austere life and innocent, if somewhat + frigid, morality; he held something of the position of Darwin doubled with + the position of Tolstoy. But he was neither an anarchist nor an + antipatriot; his views on disarmament were moderate and evolutionary—the + Republican Government put considerable confidence in him as to various + chemical improvements. He had lately even discovered a noiseless + explosive, the secret of which the Government was carefully guarding. + </p> + <p> + His house stood in a handsome street near the Elysee—a street which + in that strong summer seemed almost as full of foliage as the park itself; + a row of chestnuts shattered the sunshine, interrupted only in one place + where a large cafe ran out into the street. Almost opposite to this were + the white and green blinds of the great scientist’s house, an iron + balcony, also painted green, running along in front of the first-floor + windows. Beneath this was the entrance into a kind of court, gay with + shrubs and tiles, into which the two Frenchmen passed in animated talk. + </p> + <p> + The door was opened to them by the doctor’s old servant, Simon, who might + very well have passed for a doctor himself, having a strict suit of black, + spectacles, grey hair, and a confidential manner. In fact, he was a far + more presentable man of science than his master, Dr Hirsch, who was a + forked radish of a fellow, with just enough bulb of a head to make his + body insignificant. With all the gravity of a great physician handling a + prescription, Simon handed a letter to M. Armagnac. That gentleman ripped + it up with a racial impatience, and rapidly read the following: + </p> + <p> + I cannot come down to speak to you. There is a man in this house whom I + refuse to meet. He is a Chauvinist officer, Dubosc. He is sitting on the + stairs. He has been kicking the furniture about in all the other rooms; I + have locked myself in my study, opposite that cafe. If you love me, go + over to the cafe and wait at one of the tables outside. I will try to send + him over to you. I want you to answer him and deal with him. I cannot meet + him myself. I cannot: I will not. + </p> + <p> + There is going to be another Dreyfus case. + </p> + <p> + P. HIRSCH + </p> + <p> + M. Armagnac looked at M. Brun. M. Brun borrowed the letter, read it, and + looked at M. Armagnac. Then both betook themselves briskly to one of the + little tables under the chestnuts opposite, where they procured two tall + glasses of horrible green absinthe, which they could drink apparently in + any weather and at any time. Otherwise the cafe seemed empty, except for + one soldier drinking coffee at one table, and at another a large man + drinking a small syrup and a priest drinking nothing. + </p> + <p> + Maurice Brun cleared his throat and said: “Of course we must help the + master in every way, but—” + </p> + <p> + There was an abrupt silence, and Armagnac said: “He may have excellent + reasons for not meeting the man himself, but—” + </p> + <p> + Before either could complete a sentence, it was evident that the invader + had been expelled from the house opposite. The shrubs under the archway + swayed and burst apart, as that unwelcome guest was shot out of them like + a cannon-ball. + </p> + <p> + He was a sturdy figure in a small and tilted Tyrolean felt hat, a figure + that had indeed something generally Tyrolean about it. The man’s shoulders + were big and broad, but his legs were neat and active in knee-breeches and + knitted stockings. His face was brown like a nut; he had very bright and + restless brown eyes; his dark hair was brushed back stiffly in front and + cropped close behind, outlining a square and powerful skull; and he had a + huge black moustache like the horns of a bison. Such a substantial head is + generally based on a bull neck; but this was hidden by a big coloured + scarf, swathed round up the man’s ears and falling in front inside his + jacket like a sort of fancy waistcoat. It was a scarf of strong dead + colours, dark red and old gold and purple, probably of Oriental + fabrication. Altogether the man had something a shade barbaric about him; + more like a Hungarian squire than an ordinary French officer. His French, + however, was obviously that of a native; and his French patriotism was so + impulsive as to be slightly absurd. His first act when he burst out of the + archway was to call in a clarion voice down the street: “Are there any + Frenchmen here?” as if he were calling for Christians in Mecca. + </p> + <p> + Armagnac and Brun instantly stood up; but they were too late. Men were + already running from the street corners; there was a small but + ever-clustering crowd. With the prompt French instinct for the politics of + the street, the man with the black moustache had already run across to a + corner of the cafe, sprung on one of the tables, and seizing a branch of + chestnut to steady himself, shouted as Camille Desmoulins once shouted + when he scattered the oak-leaves among the populace. + </p> + <p> + “Frenchmen!” he volleyed; “I cannot speak! God help me, that is why I am + speaking! The fellows in their filthy parliaments who learn to speak also + learn to be silent—silent as that spy cowering in the house + opposite! Silent as he is when I beat on his bedroom door! Silent as he is + now, though he hears my voice across this street and shakes where he sits! + Oh, they can be silent eloquently—the politicians! But the time has + come when we that cannot speak must speak. You are betrayed to the + Prussians. Betrayed at this moment. Betrayed by that man. I am Jules + Dubosc, Colonel of Artillery, Belfort. We caught a German spy in the + Vosges yesterday, and a paper was found on him—a paper I hold in my + hand. Oh, they tried to hush it up; but I took it direct to the man who + wrote it—the man in that house! It is in his hand. It is signed with + his initials. It is a direction for finding the secret of this new + Noiseless Powder. Hirsch invented it; Hirsch wrote this note about it. + This note is in German, and was found in a German’s pocket. ‘Tell the man + the formula for powder is in grey envelope in first drawer to the left of + Secretary’s desk, War Office, in red ink. He must be careful. P.H.’” + </p> + <p> + He rattled short sentences like a quick-firing gun, but he was plainly the + sort of man who is either mad or right. The mass of the crowd was + Nationalist, and already in threatening uproar; and a minority of equally + angry Intellectuals, led by Armagnac and Brun, only made the majority more + militant. + </p> + <p> + “If this is a military secret,” shouted Brun, “why do you yell about it in + the street?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you why I do!” roared Dubosc above the roaring crowd. “I went + to this man in straight and civil style. If he had any explanation it + could have been given in complete confidence. He refuses to explain. He + refers me to two strangers in a cafe as to two flunkeys. He has thrown me + out of the house, but I am going back into it, with the people of Paris + behind me!” + </p> + <p> + A shout seemed to shake the very facade of mansions and two stones flew, + one breaking a window above the balcony. The indignant Colonel plunged + once more under the archway and was heard crying and thundering inside. + Every instant the human sea grew wider and wider; it surged up against the + rails and steps of the traitor’s house; it was already certain that the + place would be burst into like the Bastille, when the broken french window + opened and Dr Hirsch came out on the balcony. For an instant the fury half + turned to laughter; for he was an absurd figure in such a scene. His long + bare neck and sloping shoulders were the shape of a champagne bottle, but + that was the only festive thing about him. His coat hung on him as on a + peg; he wore his carrot-coloured hair long and weedy; his cheeks and chin + were fully fringed with one of those irritating beards that begin far from + the mouth. He was very pale, and he wore blue spectacles. + </p> + <p> + Livid as he was, he spoke with a sort of prim decision, so that the mob + fell silent in the middle of his third sentence. + </p> + <p> + “...only two things to say to you now. The first is to my foes, the second + to my friends. To my foes I say: It is true I will not meet M. Dubosc, + though he is storming outside this very room. It is true I have asked two + other men to confront him for me. And I will tell you why! Because I will + not and must not see him—because it would be against all rules of + dignity and honour to see him. Before I am triumphantly cleared before a + court, there is another arbitration this gentleman owes me as a gentleman, + and in referring him to my seconds I am strictly—” + </p> + <p> + Armagnac and Brun were waving their hats wildly, and even the Doctor’s + enemies roared applause at this unexpected defiance. Once more a few + sentences were inaudible, but they could hear him say: “To my friends—I + myself should always prefer weapons purely intellectual, and to these an + evolved humanity will certainly confine itself. But our own most precious + truth is the fundamental force of matter and heredity. My books are + successful; my theories are unrefuted; but I suffer in politics from a + prejudice almost physical in the French. I cannot speak like Clemenceau + and Deroulede, for their words are like echoes of their pistols. The + French ask for a duellist as the English ask for a sportsman. Well, I give + my proofs: I will pay this barbaric bribe, and then go back to reason for + the rest of my life.” + </p> + <p> + Two men were instantly found in the crowd itself to offer their services + to Colonel Dubosc, who came out presently, satisfied. One was the common + soldier with the coffee, who said simply: “I will act for you, sir. I am + the Duc de Valognes.” The other was the big man, whom his friend the + priest sought at first to dissuade; and then walked away alone. + </p> + <p> + In the early evening a light dinner was spread at the back of the Cafe + Charlemagne. Though unroofed by any glass or gilt plaster, the guests were + nearly all under a delicate and irregular roof of leaves; for the + ornamental trees stood so thick around and among the tables as to give + something of the dimness and the dazzle of a small orchard. At one of the + central tables a very stumpy little priest sat in complete solitude, and + applied himself to a pile of whitebait with the gravest sort of enjoyment. + His daily living being very plain, he had a peculiar taste for sudden and + isolated luxuries; he was an abstemious epicure. He did not lift his eyes + from his plate, round which red pepper, lemons, brown bread and butter, + etc., were rigidly ranked, until a tall shadow fell across the table, and + his friend Flambeau sat down opposite. Flambeau was gloomy. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I must chuck this business,” said he heavily. “I’m all on the + side of the French soldiers like Dubosc, and I’m all against the French + atheists like Hirsch; but it seems to me in this case we’ve made a + mistake. The Duke and I thought it as well to investigate the charge, and + I must say I’m glad we did.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the paper a forgery, then?” asked the priest + </p> + <p> + “That’s just the odd thing,” replied Flambeau. “It’s exactly like Hirsch’s + writing, and nobody can point out any mistake in it. But it wasn’t written + by Hirsch. If he’s a French patriot he didn’t write it, because it gives + information to Germany. And if he’s a German spy he didn’t write it, well—because + it doesn’t give information to Germany.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean the information is wrong?” asked Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Wrong,” replied the other, “and wrong exactly where Dr Hirsch would have + been right—about the hiding-place of his own secret formula in his + own official department. By favour of Hirsch and the authorities, the Duke + and I have actually been allowed to inspect the secret drawer at the War + Office where the Hirsch formula is kept. We are the only people who have + ever known it, except the inventor himself and the Minister for War; but + the Minister permitted it to save Hirsch from fighting. After that we + really can’t support Dubosc if his revelation is a mare’s nest.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is?” asked Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” said his friend gloomily. “It is a clumsy forgery by somebody who + knew nothing of the real hiding-place. It says the paper is in the + cupboard on the right of the Secretary’s desk. As a fact the cupboard with + the secret drawer is some way to the left of the desk. It says the grey + envelope contains a long document written in red ink. It isn’t written in + red ink, but in ordinary black ink. It’s manifestly absurd to say that + Hirsch can have made a mistake about a paper that nobody knew of but + himself; or can have tried to help a foreign thief by telling him to + fumble in the wrong drawer. I think we must chuck it up and apologize to + old Carrots.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown seemed to cogitate; he lifted a little whitebait on his fork. + “You are sure the grey envelope was in the left cupboard?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Positive,” replied Flambeau. “The grey envelope—it was a white + envelope really—was—” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown put down the small silver fish and the fork and stared across + at his companion. “What?” he asked, in an altered voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what?” repeated Flambeau, eating heartily. + </p> + <p> + “It was not grey,” said the priest. “Flambeau, you frighten me.” + </p> + <p> + “What the deuce are you frightened of?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m frightened of a white envelope,” said the other seriously, “If it had + only just been grey! Hang it all, it might as well have been grey. But if + it was white, the whole business is black. The Doctor has been dabbling in + some of the old brimstone after all.” + </p> + <p> + “But I tell you he couldn’t have written such a note!” cried Flambeau. + “The note is utterly wrong about the facts. And innocent or guilty, Dr + Hirsch knew all about the facts.” + </p> + <p> + “The man who wrote that note knew all about the facts,” said his clerical + companion soberly. “He could never have got ‘em so wrong without knowing + about ‘em. You have to know an awful lot to be wrong on every subject—like + the devil.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean—?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean a man telling lies on chance would have told some of the truth,” + said his friend firmly. “Suppose someone sent you to find a house with a + green door and a blue blind, with a front garden but no back garden, with + a dog but no cat, and where they drank coffee but not tea. You would say + if you found no such house that it was all made up. But I say no. I say if + you found a house where the door was blue and the blind green, where there + was a back garden and no front garden, where cats were common and dogs + instantly shot, where tea was drunk in quarts and coffee forbidden—then + you would know you had found the house. The man must have known that + particular house to be so accurately inaccurate.” + </p> + <p> + “But what could it mean?” demanded the diner opposite. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t conceive,” said Brown; “I don’t understand this Hirsch affair at + all. As long as it was only the left drawer instead of the right, and red + ink instead of black, I thought it must be the chance blunders of a + forger, as you say. But three is a mystical number; it finishes things. It + finishes this. That the direction about the drawer, the colour of ink, the + colour of envelope, should none of them be right by accident, that can’t + be a coincidence. It wasn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it, then? Treason?” asked Flambeau, resuming his dinner. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that either,” answered Brown, with a face of blank + bewilderment. “The only thing I can think of.... Well, I never understood + that Dreyfus case. I can always grasp moral evidence easier than the other + sorts. I go by a man’s eyes and voice, don’t you know, and whether his + family seems happy, and by what subjects he chooses—and avoids. + Well, I was puzzled in the Dreyfus case. Not by the horrible things + imputed both ways; I know (though it’s not modern to say so) that human + nature in the highest places is still capable of being Cenci or Borgia. No—, + what puzzled me was the sincerity of both parties. I don’t mean the + political parties; the rank and file are always roughly honest, and often + duped. I mean the persons of the play. I mean the conspirators, if they + were conspirators. I mean the traitor, if he was a traitor. I mean the men + who must have known the truth. Now Dreyfus went on like a man who knew he + was a wronged man. And yet the French statesmen and soldiers went on as if + they knew he wasn’t a wronged man but simply a wrong ‘un. I don’t mean + they behaved well; I mean they behaved as if they were sure. I can’t + describe these things; I know what I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I did,” said his friend. “And what has it to do with old Hirsch?” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose a person in a position of trust,” went on the priest, “began to + give the enemy information because it was false information. Suppose he + even thought he was saving his country by misleading the foreigner. + Suppose this brought him into spy circles, and little loans were made to + him, and little ties tied on to him. Suppose he kept up his contradictory + position in a confused way by never telling the foreign spies the truth, + but letting it more and more be guessed. The better part of him (what was + left of it) would still say: ‘I have not helped the enemy; I said it was + the left drawer.’ The meaner part of him would already be saying: ‘But + they may have the sense to see that means the right.’ I think it is + psychologically possible—in an enlightened age, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be psychologically possible,” answered Flambeau, “and it certainly + would explain Dreyfus being certain he was wronged and his judges being + sure he was guilty. But it won’t wash historically, because Dreyfus’s + document (if it was his document) was literally correct.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t thinking of Dreyfus,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + Silence had sunk around them with the emptying of the tables; it was + already late, though the sunlight still clung to everything, as if + accidentally entangled in the trees. In the stillness Flambeau shifted his + seat sharply—making an isolated and echoing noise—and threw + his elbow over the angle of it. “Well,” he said, rather harshly, “if + Hirsch is not better than a timid treason-monger...” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn’t be too hard on them,” said Father Brown gently. “It’s not + entirely their fault; but they have no instincts. I mean those things that + make a woman refuse to dance with a man or a man to touch an investment. + They’ve been taught that it’s all a matter of degree.” + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow,” cried Flambeau impatiently, “he’s not a patch on my principal; + and I shall go through with it. Old Dubosc may be a bit mad, but he’s a + sort of patriot after all.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown continued to consume whitebait. + </p> + <p> + Something in the stolid way he did so caused Flambeau’s fierce black eyes + to ramble over his companion afresh. “What’s the matter with you?” + Flambeau demanded. “Dubosc’s all right in that way. You don’t doubt him?” + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said the small priest, laying down his knife and fork in a + kind of cold despair, “I doubt everything. Everything, I mean, that has + happened today. I doubt the whole story, though it has been acted before + my face. I doubt every sight that my eyes have seen since morning. There + is something in this business quite different from the ordinary police + mystery where one man is more or less lying and the other man more or less + telling the truth. Here both men.... Well! I’ve told you the only theory I + can think of that could satisfy anybody. It doesn’t satisfy me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor me either,” replied Flambeau frowning, while the other went on eating + fish with an air of entire resignation. “If all you can suggest is that + notion of a message conveyed by contraries, I call it uncommonly clever, + but...well, what would you call it?” + </p> + <p> + “I should call it thin,” said the priest promptly. “I should call it + uncommonly thin. But that’s the queer thing about the whole business. The + lie is like a schoolboy’s. There are only three versions, Dubosc’s and + Hirsch’s and that fancy of mine. Either that note was written by a French + officer to ruin a French official; or it was written by the French + official to help German officers; or it was written by the French official + to mislead German officers. Very well. You’d expect a secret paper passing + between such people, officials or officers, to look quite different from + that. You’d expect, probably a cipher, certainly abbreviations; most + certainly scientific and strictly professional terms. But this thing’s + elaborately simple, like a penny dreadful: ‘In the purple grotto you will + find the golden casket.’ It looks as if... as if it were meant to be seen + through at once.” + </p> + <p> + Almost before they could take it in a short figure in French uniform had + walked up to their table like the wind, and sat down with a sort of thump. + </p> + <p> + “I have extraordinary news,” said the Duc de Valognes. “I have just come + from this Colonel of ours. He is packing up to leave the country, and he + asks us to make his excuses sur le terrain.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” cried Flambeau, with an incredulity quite frightful—“apologize?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Duke gruffly; “then and there—before everybody—when + the swords are drawn. And you and I have to do it while he is leaving the + country.” + </p> + <p> + “But what can this mean?” cried Flambeau. “He can’t be afraid of that + little Hirsch! Confound it!” he cried, in a kind of rational rage; “nobody + could be afraid of Hirsch!” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it’s some plot!” snapped Valognes—“some plot of the Jews + and Freemasons. It’s meant to work up glory for Hirsch...” + </p> + <p> + The face of Father Brown was commonplace, but curiously contented; it + could shine with ignorance as well as with knowledge. But there was always + one flash when the foolish mask fell, and the wise mask fitted itself in + its place; and Flambeau, who knew his friend, knew that his friend had + suddenly understood. Brown said nothing, but finished his plate of fish. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you last see our precious Colonel?” asked Flambeau, irritably. + </p> + <p> + “He’s round at the Hotel Saint Louis by the Elysee, where we drove with + him. He’s packing up, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he be there still, do you think?” asked Flambeau, frowning at the + table. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think he can get away yet,” replied the Duke; “he’s packing to go + a long journey...” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Father Brown, quite simply, but suddenly standing up, “for a + very short journey. For one of the shortest, in fact. But we may still be + in time to catch him if we go there in a motor-cab.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing more could be got out of him until the cab swept round the corner + by the Hotel Saint Louis, where they got out, and he led the party up a + side lane already in deep shadow with the growing dusk. Once, when the + Duke impatiently asked whether Hirsch was guilty of treason or not, he + answered rather absently: “No; only of ambition—like Caesar.” Then + he somewhat inconsequently added: “He lives a very lonely life; he has had + to do everything for himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if he’s ambitious, he ought to be satisfied now,” said Flambeau + rather bitterly. “All Paris will cheer him now our cursed Colonel has + turned tail.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk so loud,” said Father Brown, lowering his voice, “your cursed + Colonel is just in front.” + </p> + <p> + The other two started and shrank farther back into the shadow of the wall, + for the sturdy figure of their runaway principal could indeed be seen + shuffling along in the twilight in front, a bag in each hand. He looked + much the same as when they first saw him, except that he had changed his + picturesque mountaineering knickers for a conventional pair of trousers. + It was clear he was already escaping from the hotel. + </p> + <p> + The lane down which they followed him was one of those that seem to be at + the back of things, and look like the wrong side of the stage scenery. A + colourless, continuous wall ran down one flank of it, interrupted at + intervals by dull-hued and dirt-stained doors, all shut fast and + featureless save for the chalk scribbles of some passing gamin. The tops + of trees, mostly rather depressing evergreens, showed at intervals over + the top of the wall, and beyond them in the grey and purple gloaming could + be seen the back of some long terrace of tall Parisian houses, really + comparatively close, but somehow looking as inaccessible as a range of + marble mountains. On the other side of the lane ran the high gilt railings + of a gloomy park. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau was looking round him in rather a weird way. “Do you know,” he + said, “there is something about this place that—” + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” called out the Duke sharply; “that fellow’s disappeared. + Vanished, like a blasted fairy!” + </p> + <p> + “He has a key,” explained their clerical friend. “He’s only gone into one + of these garden doors,” and as he spoke they heard one of the dull wooden + doors close again with a click in front of them. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau strode up to the door thus shut almost in his face, and stood in + front of it for a moment, biting his black moustache in a fury of + curiosity. Then he threw up his long arms and swung himself aloft like a + monkey and stood on the top of the wall, his enormous figure dark against + the purple sky, like the dark tree-tops. + </p> + <p> + The Duke looked at the priest. “Dubosc’s escape is more elaborate than we + thought,” he said; “but I suppose he is escaping from France.” + </p> + <p> + “He is escaping from everywhere,” answered Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + Valognes’s eyes brightened, but his voice sank. “Do you mean suicide?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “You will not find his body,” replied the other. + </p> + <p> + A kind of cry came from Flambeau on the wall above. “My God,” he exclaimed + in French, “I know what this place is now! Why, it’s the back of the + street where old Hirsch lives. I thought I could recognize the back of a + house as well as the back of a man.” + </p> + <p> + “And Dubosc’s gone in there!” cried the Duke, smiting his hip. “Why, + they’ll meet after all!” And with sudden Gallic vivacity he hopped up on + the wall beside Flambeau and sat there positively kicking his legs with + excitement. The priest alone remained below, leaning against the wall, + with his back to the whole theatre of events, and looking wistfully across + to the park palings and the twinkling, twilit trees. + </p> + <p> + The Duke, however stimulated, had the instincts of an aristocrat, and + desired rather to stare at the house than to spy on it; but Flambeau, who + had the instincts of a burglar (and a detective), had already swung + himself from the wall into the fork of a straggling tree from which he + could crawl quite close to the only illuminated window in the back of the + high dark house. A red blind had been pulled down over the light, but + pulled crookedly, so that it gaped on one side, and by risking his neck + along a branch that looked as treacherous as a twig, Flambeau could just + see Colonel Dubosc walking about in a brilliantly-lighted and luxurious + bedroom. But close as Flambeau was to the house, he heard the words of his + colleagues by the wall, and repeated them in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they will meet now after all!” + </p> + <p> + “They will never meet,” said Father Brown. “Hirsch was right when he said + that in such an affair the principals must not meet. Have you read a queer + psychological story by Henry James, of two persons who so perpetually + missed meeting each other by accident that they began to feel quite + frightened of each other, and to think it was fate? This is something of + the kind, but more curious.” + </p> + <p> + “There are people in Paris who will cure them of such morbid fancies,” + said Valognes vindictively. “They will jolly well have to meet if we + capture them and force them to fight.” + </p> + <p> + “They will not meet on the Day of Judgement,” said the priest. “If God + Almighty held the truncheon of the lists, if St Michael blew the trumpet + for the swords to cross—even then, if one of them stood ready, the + other would not come.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what does all this mysticism mean?” cried the Duc de Valognes, + impatiently; “why on earth shouldn’t they meet like other people?” + </p> + <p> + “They are the opposite of each other,” said Father Brown, with a queer + kind of smile. “They contradict each other. They cancel out, so to speak.” + </p> + <p> + He continued to gaze at the darkening trees opposite, but Valognes turned + his head sharply at a suppressed exclamation from Flambeau. That + investigator, peering into the lighted room, had just seen the Colonel, + after a pace or two, proceed to take his coat off. Flambeau’s first + thought was that this really looked like a fight; but he soon dropped the + thought for another. The solidity and squareness of Dubosc’s chest and + shoulders was all a powerful piece of padding and came off with his coat. + In his shirt and trousers he was a comparatively slim gentleman, who + walked across the bedroom to the bathroom with no more pugnacious purpose + than that of washing himself. He bent over a basin, dried his dripping + hands and face on a towel, and turned again so that the strong light fell + on his face. His brown complexion had gone, his big black moustache had + gone; he—was clean-shaven and very pate. Nothing remained of the + Colonel but his bright, hawk-like, brown eyes. Under the wall Father Brown + was going on in heavy meditation, as if to himself. + </p> + <p> + “It is all just like what I was saying to Flambeau. These opposites won’t + do. They don’t work. They don’t fight. If it’s white instead of black, and + solid instead of liquid, and so on all along the line—then there’s + something wrong, Monsieur, there’s something wrong. One of these men is + fair and the other dark, one stout and the other slim, one strong and the + other weak. One has a moustache and no beard, so you can’t see his mouth; + the other has a beard and no moustache, so you can’t see his chin. One has + hair cropped to his skull, but a scarf to hide his neck; the other has low + shirt-collars, but long hair to bide his skull. It’s all too neat and + correct, Monsieur, and there’s something wrong. Things made so opposite + are things that cannot quarrel. Wherever the one sticks out the other + sinks in. Like a face and a mask, like a lock and a key...” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau was peering into the house with a visage as white as a sheet. The + occupant of the room was standing with his back to him, but in front of a + looking-glass, and had already fitted round his face a sort of framework + of rank red hair, hanging disordered from the head and clinging round the + jaws and chin while leaving the mocking mouth uncovered. Seen thus in the + glass the white face looked like the face of Judas laughing horribly and + surrounded by capering flames of hell. For a spasm Flambeau saw the + fierce, red-brown eyes dancing, then they were covered with a pair of blue + spectacles. Slipping on a loose black coat, the figure vanished towards + the front of the house. A few moments later a roar of popular applause + from the street beyond announced that Dr Hirsch had once more appeared + upon the balcony. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FOUR — The Man in the Passage + </h2> + <p> + TWO men appeared simultaneously at the two ends of a sort of passage + running along the side of the Apollo Theatre in the Adelphi. The evening + daylight in the streets was large and luminous, opalescent and empty. The + passage was comparatively long and dark, so each man could see the other + as a mere black silhouette at the other end. Nevertheless, each man knew + the other, even in that inky outline; for they were both men of striking + appearance and they hated each other. + </p> + <p> + The covered passage opened at one end on one of the steep streets of the + Adelphi, and at the other on a terrace overlooking the sunset-coloured + river. One side of the passage was a blank wall, for the building it + supported was an old unsuccessful theatre restaurant, now shut up. The + other side of the passage contained two doors, one at each end. Neither + was what was commonly called the stage door; they were a sort of special + and private stage doors used by very special performers, and in this case + by the star actor and actress in the Shakespearean performance of the day. + Persons of that eminence often like to have such private exits and + entrances, for meeting friends or avoiding them. + </p> + <p> + The two men in question were certainly two such friends, men who evidently + knew the doors and counted on their opening, for each approached the door + at the upper end with equal coolness and confidence. Not, however, with + equal speed; but the man who walked fast was the man from the other end of + the tunnel, so they both arrived before the secret stage door almost at + the same instant. They saluted each other with civility, and waited a + moment before one of them, the sharper walker who seemed to have the + shorter patience, knocked at the door. + </p> + <p> + In this and everything else each man was opposite and neither could be + called inferior. As private persons both were handsome, capable and + popular. As public persons, both were in the first public rank. But + everything about them, from their glory to their good looks, was of a + diverse and incomparable kind. Sir Wilson Seymour was the kind of man + whose importance is known to everybody who knows. The more you mixed with + the innermost ring in every polity or profession, the more often you met + Sir Wilson Seymour. He was the one intelligent man on twenty unintelligent + committees—on every sort of subject, from the reform of the Royal + Academy to the project of bimetallism for Greater Britain. In the Arts + especially he was omnipotent. He was so unique that nobody could quite + decide whether he was a great aristocrat who had taken up Art, or a great + artist whom the aristocrats had taken up. But you could not meet him for + five minutes without realizing that you had really been ruled by him all + your life. + </p> + <p> + His appearance was “distinguished” in exactly the same sense; it was at + once conventional and unique. Fashion could have found no fault with his + high silk hat—, yet it was unlike anyone else’s hat—a little + higher, perhaps, and adding something to his natural height. His tall, + slender figure had a slight stoop yet it looked the reverse of feeble. His + hair was silver-grey, but he did not look old; it was worn longer than the + common yet he did not look effeminate; it was curly but it did not look + curled. His carefully pointed beard made him look more manly and militant + than otherwise, as it does in those old admirals of Velazquez with whose + dark portraits his house was hung. His grey gloves were a shade bluer, his + silver-knobbed cane a shade longer than scores of such gloves and canes + flapped and flourished about the theatres and the restaurants. + </p> + <p> + The other man was not so tall, yet would have struck nobody as short, but + merely as strong and handsome. His hair also was curly, but fair and + cropped close to a strong, massive head—the sort of head you break a + door with, as Chaucer said of the Miller’s. His military moustache and the + carriage of his shoulders showed him a soldier, but he had a pair of those + peculiar frank and piercing blue eyes which are more common in sailors. + His face was somewhat square, his jaw was square, his shoulders were + square, even his jacket was square. Indeed, in the wild school of + caricature then current, Mr Max Beerbohm had represented him as a + proposition in the fourth book of Euclid. + </p> + <p> + For he also was a public man, though with quite another sort of success. + You did not have to be in the best society to have heard of Captain + Cutler, of the siege of Hong-Kong, and the great march across China. You + could not get away from hearing of him wherever you were; his portrait was + on every other postcard; his maps and battles in every other illustrated + paper; songs in his honour in every other music-hall turn or on every + other barrel-organ. His fame, though probably more temporary, was ten + times more wide, popular and spontaneous than the other man’s. In + thousands of English homes he appeared enormous above England, like + Nelson. Yet he had infinitely less power in England than Sir Wilson + Seymour. + </p> + <p> + The door was opened to them by an aged servant or “dresser”, whose + broken-down face and figure and black shabby coat and trousers contrasted + queerly with the glittering interior of the great actress’s dressing-room. + It was fitted and filled with looking-glasses at every angle of + refraction, so that they looked like the hundred facets of one huge + diamond—if one could get inside a diamond. The other features of + luxury, a few flowers, a few coloured cushions, a few scraps of stage + costume, were multiplied by all the mirrors into the madness of the + Arabian Nights, and danced and changed places perpetually as the shuffling + attendant shifted a mirror outwards or shot one back against the wall. + </p> + <p> + They both spoke to the dingy dresser by name, calling him Parkinson, and + asking for the lady as Miss Aurora Rome. Parkinson said she was in the + other room, but he would go and tell her. A shade crossed the brow of both + visitors; for the other room was the private room of the great actor with + whom Miss Aurora was performing, and she was of the kind that does not + inflame admiration without inflaming jealousy. In about half a minute, + however, the inner door opened, and she entered as she always did, even in + private life, so that the very silence seemed to be a roar of applause, + and one well-deserved. She was clad in a somewhat strange garb of peacock + green and peacock blue satins, that gleamed like blue and green metals, + such as delight children and aesthetes, and her heavy, hot brown hair + framed one of those magic faces which are dangerous to all men, but + especially to boys and to men growing grey. In company with her male + colleague, the great American actor, Isidore Bruno, she was producing a + particularly poetical and fantastic interpretation of Midsummer Night’s + Dream: in which the artistic prominence was given to Oberon and Titania, + or in other words to Bruno and herself. Set in dreamy and exquisite + scenery, and moving in mystical dances, the green costume, like burnished + beetle-wings, expressed all the elusive individuality of an elfin queen. + But when personally confronted in what was still broad daylight, a man + looked only at the woman’s face. + </p> + <p> + She greeted both men with the beaming and baffling smile which kept so + many males at the same just dangerous distance from her. She accepted some + flowers from Cutler, which were as tropical and expensive as his + victories; and another sort of present from Sir Wilson Seymour, offered + later on and more nonchalantly by that gentleman. For it was against his + breeding to show eagerness, and against his conventional unconventionality + to give anything so obvious as flowers. He had picked up a trifle, he + said, which was rather a curiosity, it was an ancient Greek dagger of the + Mycenaean Epoch, and might well have been worn in the time of Theseus and + Hippolyta. It was made of brass like all the Heroic weapons, but, oddly + enough, sharp enough to prick anyone still. He had really been attracted + to it by the leaf-like shape; it was as perfect as a Greek vase. If it was + of any interest to Miss Rome or could come in anywhere in the play, he + hoped she would— + </p> + <p> + The inner door burst open and a big figure appeared, who was more of a + contrast to the explanatory Seymour than even Captain Cutler. Nearly + six-foot-six, and of more than theatrical thews and muscles, Isidore + Bruno, in the gorgeous leopard skin and golden-brown garments of Oberon, + looked like a barbaric god. He leaned on a sort of hunting-spear, which + across a theatre looked a slight, silvery wand, but which in the small and + comparatively crowded room looked as plain as a pike-staff—and as + menacing. His vivid black eyes rolled volcanically, his bronzed face, + handsome as it was, showed at that moment a combination of high cheekbones + with set white teeth, which recalled certain American conjectures about + his origin in the Southern plantations. + </p> + <p> + “Aurora,” he began, in that deep voice like a drum of passion that had + moved so many audiences, “will you—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped indecisively because a sixth figure had suddenly presented + itself just inside the doorway—a figure so incongruous in the scene + as to be almost comic. It was a very short man in the black uniform of the + Roman secular clergy, and looking (especially in such a presence as + Bruno’s and Aurora’s) rather like the wooden Noah out of an ark. He did + not, however, seem conscious of any contrast, but said with dull civility: + “I believe Miss Rome sent for me.” + </p> + <p> + A shrewd observer might have remarked that the emotional temperature + rather rose at so unemotional an interruption. The detachment of a + professional celibate seemed to reveal to the others that they stood round + the woman as a ring of amorous rivals; just as a stranger coming in with + frost on his coat will reveal that a room is like a furnace. The presence + of the one man who did not care about her increased Miss Rome’s sense that + everybody else was in love with her, and each in a somewhat dangerous way: + the actor with all the appetite of a savage and a spoilt child; the + soldier with all the simple selfishness of a man of will rather than mind; + Sir Wilson with that daily hardening concentration with which old + Hedonists take to a hobby; nay, even the abject Parkinson, who had known + her before her triumphs, and who followed her about the room with eyes or + feet, with the dumb fascination of a dog. + </p> + <p> + A shrewd person might also have noted a yet odder thing. The man like a + black wooden Noah (who was not wholly without shrewdness) noted it with a + considerable but contained amusement. It was evident that the great + Aurora, though by no means indifferent to the admiration of the other sex, + wanted at this moment to get rid of all the men who admired her and be + left alone with the man who did not—did not admire her in that sense + at least; for the little priest did admire and even enjoy the firm + feminine diplomacy with which she set about her task. There was, perhaps, + only one thing that Aurora Rome was clever about, and that was one half of + humanity—the other half. The little priest watched, like a + Napoleonic campaign, the swift precision of her policy for expelling all + while banishing none. Bruno, the big actor, was so babyish that it was + easy to send him off in brute sulks, banging the door. Cutler, the British + officer, was pachydermatous to ideas, but punctilious about behaviour. He + would ignore all hints, but he would die rather than ignore a definite + commission from a lady. As to old Seymour, he had to be treated + differently; he had to be left to the last. The only way to move him was + to appeal to him in confidence as an old friend, to let him into the + secret of the clearance. The priest did really admire Miss Rome as she + achieved all these three objects in one selected action. + </p> + <p> + She went across to Captain Cutler and said in her sweetest manner: “I + shall value all these flowers, because they must be your favourite + flowers. But they won’t be complete, you know, without my favourite + flower. Do go over to that shop round the corner and get me some + lilies-of-the-valley, and then it will be quite lovely.” + </p> + <p> + The first object of her diplomacy, the exit of the enraged Bruno, was at + once achieved. He had already handed his spear in a lordly style, like a + sceptre, to the piteous Parkinson, and was about to assume one of the + cushioned seats like a throne. But at this open appeal to his rival there + glowed in his opal eyeballs all the sensitive insolence of the slave; he + knotted his enormous brown fists for an instant, and then, dashing open + the door, disappeared into his own apartments beyond. But meanwhile Miss + Rome’s experiment in mobilizing the British Army had not succeeded so + simply as seemed probable. Cutler had indeed risen stiffly and suddenly, + and walked towards the door, hatless, as if at a word of command. But + perhaps there was something ostentatiously elegant about the languid + figure of Seymour leaning against one of the looking-glasses that brought + him up short at the entrance, turning his head this way and that like a + bewildered bulldog. + </p> + <p> + “I must show this stupid man where to go,” said Aurora in a whisper to + Seymour, and ran out to the threshold to speed the parting guest. + </p> + <p> + Seymour seemed to be listening, elegant and unconscious as was his + posture, and he seemed relieved when he heard the lady call out some last + instructions to the Captain, and then turn sharply and run laughing down + the passage towards the other end, the end on the terrace above the + Thames. Yet a second or two after Seymour’s brow darkened again. A man in + his position has so many rivals, and he remembered that at the other end + of the passage was the corresponding entrance to Bruno’s private room. He + did not lose his dignity; he said some civil words to Father Brown about + the revival of Byzantine architecture in the Westminster Cathedral, and + then, quite naturally, strolled out himself into the upper end of the + passage. Father Brown and Parkinson were left alone, and they were neither + of them men with a taste for superfluous conversation. The dresser went + round the room, pulling out looking-glasses and pushing them in again, his + dingy dark coat and trousers looking all the more dismal since he was + still holding the festive fairy spear of King Oberon. Every time he pulled + out the frame of a new glass, a new black figure of Father Brown appeared; + the absurd glass chamber was full of Father Browns, upside down in the air + like angels, turning somersaults like acrobats, turning their backs to + everybody like very rude persons. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown seemed quite unconscious of this cloud of witnesses, but + followed Parkinson with an idly attentive eye till he took himself and his + absurd spear into the farther room of Bruno. Then he abandoned himself to + such abstract meditations as always amused him—calculating the + angles of the mirrors, the angles of each refraction, the angle at which + each must fit into the wall...when he heard a strong but strangled cry. + </p> + <p> + He sprang to his feet and stood rigidly listening. At the same instant Sir + Wilson Seymour burst back into the room, white as ivory. “Who’s that man + in the passage?” he cried. “Where’s that dagger of mine?” + </p> + <p> + Before Father Brown could turn in his heavy boots Seymour was plunging + about the room looking for the weapon. And before he could possibly find + that weapon or any other, a brisk running of feet broke upon the pavement + outside, and the square face of Cutler was thrust into the same doorway. + He was still grotesquely grasping a bunch of lilies-of-the-valley. “What’s + this?” he cried. “What’s that creature down the passage? Is this some of + your tricks?” + </p> + <p> + “My tricks!” hissed his pale rival, and made a stride towards him. + </p> + <p> + In the instant of time in which all this happened Father Brown stepped out + into the top of the passage, looked down it, and at once walked briskly + towards what he saw. + </p> + <p> + At this the other two men dropped their quarrel and darted after him, + Cutler calling out: “What are you doing? Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Brown,” said the priest sadly, as he bent over something and + straightened himself again. “Miss Rome sent for me, and I came as quickly + as I could. I have come too late.” + </p> + <p> + The three men looked down, and in one of them at least the life died in + that late light of afternoon. It ran along the passage like a path of + gold, and in the midst of it Aurora Rome lay lustrous in her robes of + green and gold, with her dead face turned upwards. Her dress was torn away + as in a struggle, leaving the right shoulder bare, but the wound from + which the blood was welling was on the other side. The brass dagger lay + flat and gleaming a yard or so away. + </p> + <p> + There was a blank stillness for a measurable time, so that they could hear + far off a flower-girl’s laugh outside Charing Cross, and someone whistling + furiously for a taxicab in one of the streets off the Strand. Then the + Captain, with a movement so sudden that it might have been passion or + play-acting, took Sir Wilson Seymour by the throat. + </p> + <p> + Seymour looked at him steadily without either fight or fear. “You need not + kill me,” he said in a voice quite cold; “I shall do that on my own + account.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain’s hand hesitated and dropped; and the other added with the + same icy candour: “If I find I haven’t the nerve to do it with that dagger + I can do it in a month with drink.” + </p> + <p> + “Drink isn’t good enough for me,” replied Cutler, “but I’ll have blood for + this before I die. Not yours—but I think I know whose.” + </p> + <p> + And before the others could appreciate his intention he snatched up the + dagger, sprang at the other door at the lower end of the passage, burst it + open, bolt and all, and confronted Bruno in his dressing-room. As he did + so, old Parkinson tottered in his wavering way out of the door and caught + sight of the corpse lying in the passage. He moved shakily towards it; + looked at it weakly with a working face; then moved shakily back into the + dressing-room again, and sat down suddenly on one of the richly cushioned + chairs. Father Brown instantly ran across to him, taking no notice of + Cutler and the colossal actor, though the room already rang with their + blows and they began to struggle for the dagger. Seymour, who retained + some practical sense, was whistling for the police at the end of the + passage. + </p> + <p> + When the police arrived it was to tear the two men from an almost ape-like + grapple; and, after a few formal inquiries, to arrest Isidore Bruno upon a + charge of murder, brought against him by his furious opponent. The idea + that the great national hero of the hour had arrested a wrongdoer with his + own hand doubtless had its weight with the police, who are not without + elements of the journalist. They treated Cutler with a certain solemn + attention, and pointed out that he had got a slight slash on the hand. + Even as Cutler bore him back across tilted chair and table, Bruno had + twisted the dagger out of his grasp and disabled him just below the wrist. + The injury was really slight, but till he was removed from the room the + half-savage prisoner stared at the running blood with a steady smile. + </p> + <p> + “Looks a cannibal sort of chap, don’t he?” said the constable + confidentially to Cutler. + </p> + <p> + Cutler made no answer, but said sharply a moment after: “We must attend to + the...the death...” and his voice escaped from articulation. + </p> + <p> + “The two deaths,” came in the voice of the priest from the farther side of + the room. “This poor fellow was gone when I got across to him.” And he + stood looking down at old Parkinson, who sat in a black huddle on the + gorgeous chair. He also had paid his tribute, not without eloquence, to + the woman who had died. + </p> + <p> + The silence was first broken by Cutler, who seemed not untouched by a + rough tenderness. “I wish I was him,” he said huskily. “I remember he used + to watch her wherever she walked more than—anybody. She was his air, + and he’s dried up. He’s just dead.” + </p> + <p> + “We are all dead,” said Seymour in a strange voice, looking down the road. + </p> + <p> + They took leave of Father Brown at the corner of the road, with some + random apologies for any rudeness they might have shown. Both their faces + were tragic, but also cryptic. + </p> + <p> + The mind of the little priest was always a rabbit-warren of wild thoughts + that jumped too quickly for him to catch them. Like the white tail of a + rabbit he had the vanishing thought that he was certain of their grief, + but not so certain of their innocence. + </p> + <p> + “We had better all be going,” said Seymour heavily; “we have done all we + can to help.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you understand my motives,” asked Father Brown quietly, “if I say + you have done all you can to hurt?” + </p> + <p> + They both started as if guiltily, and Cutler said sharply: “To hurt whom?” + </p> + <p> + “To hurt yourselves,” answered the priest. “I would not add to your + troubles if it weren’t common justice to warn you. You’ve done nearly + everything you could do to hang yourselves, if this actor should be + acquitted. They’ll be sure to subpoena me; I shall be bound to say that + after the cry was heard each of you rushed into the room in a wild state + and began quarrelling about a dagger. As far as my words on oath can go, + you might either of you have done it. You hurt yourselves with that; and + then Captain Cutler must have hurt himself with the dagger.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurt myself!” exclaimed the Captain, with contempt. “A silly little + scratch.” + </p> + <p> + “Which drew blood,” replied the priest, nodding. “We know there’s blood on + the brass now. And so we shall never know whether there was blood on it + before.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence; and then Seymour said, with an emphasis quite alien + to his daily accent: “But I saw a man in the passage.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you did,” answered the cleric Brown with a face of wood, “so did + Captain Cutler. That’s what seems so improbable.” + </p> + <p> + Before either could make sufficient sense of it even to answer, Father + Brown had politely excused himself and gone stumping up the road with his + stumpy old umbrella. + </p> + <p> + As modern newspapers are conducted, the most honest and most important + news is the police news. If it be true that in the twentieth century more + space is given to murder than to politics, it is for the excellent reason + that murder is a more serious subject. But even this would hardly explain + the enormous omnipresence and widely distributed detail of “The Bruno + Case,” or “The Passage Mystery,” in the Press of London and the provinces. + So vast was the excitement that for some weeks the Press really told the + truth; and the reports of examination and cross-examination, if + interminable, even if intolerable are at least reliable. The true reason, + of course, was the coincidence of persons. The victim was a popular + actress; the accused was a popular actor; and the accused had been caught + red-handed, as it were, by the most popular soldier of the patriotic + season. In those extraordinary circumstances the Press was paralysed into + probity and accuracy; and the rest of this somewhat singular business can + practically be recorded from reports of Bruno’s trial. + </p> + <p> + The trial was presided over by Mr Justice Monkhouse, one of those who are + jeered at as humorous judges, but who are generally much more serious than + the serious judges, for their levity comes from a living impatience of + professional solemnity; while the serious judge is really filled with + frivolity, because he is filled with vanity. All the chief actors being of + a worldly importance, the barristers were well balanced; the prosecutor + for the Crown was Sir Walter Cowdray, a heavy, but weighty advocate of the + sort that knows how to seem English and trustworthy, and how to be + rhetorical with reluctance. The prisoner was defended by Mr Patrick + Butler, K.C., who was mistaken for a mere flaneur by those who + misunderstood the Irish character—and those who had not been + examined by him. The medical evidence involved no contradictions, the + doctor, whom Seymour had summoned on the spot, agreeing with the eminent + surgeon who had later examined the body. Aurora Rome had been stabbed with + some sharp instrument such as a knife or dagger; some instrument, at + least, of which the blade was short. The wound was just over the heart, + and she had died instantly. When the doctor first saw her she could hardly + have been dead for twenty minutes. Therefore when Father Brown found her + she could hardly have been dead for three. + </p> + <p> + Some official detective evidence followed, chiefly concerned with the + presence or absence of any proof of a struggle; the only suggestion of + this was the tearing of the dress at the shoulder, and this did not seem + to fit in particularly well with the direction and finality of the blow. + When these details had been supplied, though not explained, the first of + the important witnesses was called. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilson Seymour gave evidence as he did everything else that he did at + all—not only well, but perfectly. Though himself much more of a + public man than the judge, he conveyed exactly the fine shade of + self-effacement before the King’s justice; and though everyone looked at + him as they would at the Prime Minister or the Archbishop of Canterbury, + they could have said nothing of his part in it but that it was that of a + private gentleman, with an accent on the noun. He was also refreshingly + lucid, as he was on the committees. He had been calling on Miss Rome at + the theatre; he had met Captain Cutler there; they had been joined for a + short time by the accused, who had then returned to his own dressing-room; + they had then been joined by a Roman Catholic priest, who asked for the + deceased lady and said his name was Brown. Miss Rome had then gone just + outside the theatre to the entrance of the passage, in order to point out + to Captain Cutler a flower-shop at which he was to buy her some more + flowers; and the witness had remained in the room, exchanging a few words + with the priest. He had then distinctly heard the deceased, having sent + the Captain on his errand, turn round laughing and run down the passage + towards its other end, where was the prisoner’s dressing-room. In idle + curiosity as to the rapid movement of his friends, he had strolled out to + the head of the passage himself and looked down it towards the prisoner’s + door. Did he see anything in the passage? Yes; he saw something in the + passage. + </p> + <p> + Sir Walter Cowdray allowed an impressive interval, during which the + witness looked down, and for all his usual composure seemed to have more + than his usual pallor. Then the barrister said in a lower voice, which + seemed at once sympathetic and creepy: “Did you see it distinctly?” + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilson Seymour, however moved, had his excellent brains in full + working-order. “Very distinctly as regards its outline, but quite + indistinctly, indeed not at all, as regards the details inside the + outline. The passage is of such length that anyone in the middle of it + appears quite black against the light at the other end.” The witness + lowered his steady eyes once more and added: “I had noticed the fact + before, when Captain Cutler first entered it.” There was another silence, + and the judge leaned forward and made a note. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Sir Walter patiently, “what was the outline like? Was it, for + instance, like the figure of the murdered woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least,” answered Seymour quietly. + </p> + <p> + “What did it look like to you?” + </p> + <p> + “It looked to me,” replied the witness, “like a tall man.” + </p> + <p> + Everyone in court kept his eyes riveted on his pen, or his + umbrella-handle, or his book, or his boots or whatever he happened to be + looking at. They seemed to be holding their eyes away from the prisoner by + main force; but they felt his figure in the dock, and they felt it as + gigantic. Tall as Bruno was to the eye, he seemed to swell taller and + taller when an eyes had been torn away from him. + </p> + <p> + Cowdray was resuming his seat with his solemn face, smoothing his black + silk robes, and white silk whiskers. Sir Wilson was leaving the + witness-box, after a few final particulars to which there were many other + witnesses, when the counsel for the defence sprang up and stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “I shall only detain you a moment,” said Mr Butler, who was a + rustic-looking person with red eyebrows and an expression of partial + slumber. “Will you tell his lordship how you knew it was a man?” + </p> + <p> + A faint, refined smile seemed to pass over Seymour’s features. “I’m afraid + it is the vulgar test of trousers,” he said. “When I saw daylight between + the long legs I was sure it was a man, after all.” + </p> + <p> + Butler’s sleepy eyes opened as suddenly as some silent explosion. “After + all!” he repeated slowly. “So you did think at first it was a woman?” + </p> + <p> + Seymour looked troubled for the first time. “It is hardly a point of + fact,” he said, “but if his lordship would like me to answer for my + impression, of course I shall do so. There was something about the thing + that was not exactly a woman and yet was not quite a man; somehow the + curves were different. And it had something that looked like long hair.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Mr Butler, K.C., and sat down suddenly, as if he had got + what he wanted. + </p> + <p> + Captain Cutler was a far less plausible and composed witness than Sir + Wilson, but his account of the opening incidents was solidly the same. He + described the return of Bruno to his dressing-room, the dispatching of + himself to buy a bunch of lilies-of-the-valley, his return to the upper + end of the passage, the thing he saw in the passage, his suspicion of + Seymour, and his struggle with Bruno. But he could give little artistic + assistance about the black figure that he and Seymour had seen. Asked + about its outline, he said he was no art critic—with a somewhat too + obvious sneer at Seymour. Asked if it was a man or a woman, he said it + looked more like a beast—with a too obvious snarl at the prisoner. + But the man was plainly shaken with sorrow and sincere anger, and Cowdray + quickly excused him from confirming facts that were already fairly clear. + </p> + <p> + The defending counsel also was again brief in his cross-examination; + although (as was his custom) even in being brief, he seemed to take a long + time about it. “You used a rather remarkable expression,” he said, looking + at Cutler sleepily. “What do you mean by saying that it looked more like a + beast than a man or a woman?” + </p> + <p> + Cutler seemed seriously agitated. “Perhaps I oughtn’t to have said that,” + he said; “but when the brute has huge humped shoulders like a chimpanzee, + and bristles sticking out of its head like a pig—” + </p> + <p> + Mr Butler cut short his curious impatience in the middle. “Never mind + whether its hair was like a pig’s,” he said, “was it like a woman’s?” + </p> + <p> + “A woman’s!” cried the soldier. “Great Scott, no!” + </p> + <p> + “The last witness said it was,” commented the counsel, with unscrupulous + swiftness. “And did the figure have any of those serpentine and + semi-feminine curves to which eloquent allusion has been made? No? No + feminine curves? The figure, if I understand you, was rather heavy and + square than otherwise?” + </p> + <p> + “He may have been bending forward,” said Cutler, in a hoarse and rather + faint voice. + </p> + <p> + “Or again, he may not,” said Mr Butler, and sat down suddenly for the + second time. + </p> + <p> + The third, witness called by Sir Walter Cowdray was the little Catholic + clergyman, so little, compared with the others, that his head seemed + hardly to come above the box, so that it was like cross-examining a child. + But unfortunately Sir Walter had somehow got it into his head (mostly by + some ramifications of his family’s religion) that Father Brown was on the + side of the prisoner, because the prisoner was wicked and foreign and even + partly black. Therefore he took Father Brown up sharply whenever that + proud pontiff tried to explain anything; and told him to answer yes or no, + and tell the plain facts without any jesuitry. When Father Brown began, in + his simplicity, to say who he thought the man in the passage was, the + barrister told him that he did not want his theories. + </p> + <p> + “A black shape was seen in the passage. And you say you saw the black + shape. Well, what shape was it?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown blinked as under rebuke; but he had long known the literal + nature of obedience. “The shape,” he said, “was short and thick, but had + two sharp, black projections curved upwards on each side of the head or + top, rather like horns, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! the devil with horns, no doubt,” ejaculated Cowdray, sitting down in + triumphant jocularity. “It was the devil come to eat Protestants.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the priest dispassionately; “I know who it was.” + </p> + <p> + Those in court had been wrought up to an irrational, but real sense of + some monstrosity. They had forgotten the figure in the dock and thought + only of the figure in the passage. And the figure in the passage, + described by three capable and respectable men who had all seen it, was a + shifting nightmare: one called it a woman, and the other a beast, and the + other a devil.... + </p> + <p> + The judge was looking at Father Brown with level and piercing eyes. “You + are a most extraordinary witness,” he said; “but there is something about + you that makes me think you are trying to tell the truth. Well, who was + the man you saw in the passage?” + </p> + <p> + “He was myself,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + Butler, K.C., sprang to his feet in an extraordinary stillness, and said + quite calmly: “Your lordship will allow me to cross-examine?” And then, + without stopping, he shot at Brown the apparently disconnected question: + “You have heard about this dagger; you know the experts say the crime was + committed with a short blade?” + </p> + <p> + “A short blade,” assented Brown, nodding solemnly like an owl, “but a very + long hilt.” + </p> + <p> + Before the audience could quite dismiss the idea that the priest had + really seen himself doing murder with a short dagger with a long hilt + (which seemed somehow to make it more horrible), he had himself hurried on + to explain. + </p> + <p> + “I mean daggers aren’t the only things with short blades. Spears have + short blades. And spears catch at the end of the steel just like daggers, + if they’re that sort of fancy spear they had in theatres; like the spear + poor old Parkinson killed his wife with, just when she’d sent for me to + settle their family troubles—and I came just too late, God forgive + me! But he died penitent—he just died of being penitent. He couldn’t + bear what he’d done.” + </p> + <p> + The general impression in court was that the little priest, who was + gobbling away, had literally gone mad in the box. But the judge still + looked at him with bright and steady eyes of interest; and the counsel for + the defence went on with his questions unperturbed. + </p> + <p> + “If Parkinson did it with that pantomime spear,” said Butler, “he must + have thrust from four yards away. How do you account for signs of + struggle, like the dress dragged off the shoulder?” He had slipped into + treating his mere witness as an expert; but no one noticed it now. + </p> + <p> + “The poor lady’s dress was torn,” said the witness, “because it was caught + in a panel that slid to just behind her. She struggled to free herself, + and as she did so Parkinson came out of the prisoner’s room and lunged + with the spear.” + </p> + <p> + “A panel?” repeated the barrister in a curious voice. + </p> + <p> + “It was a looking-glass on the other side,” explained Father Brown. “When + I was in the dressing-room I noticed that some of them could probably be + slid out into the passage.” + </p> + <p> + There was another vast and unnatural silence, and this time it was the + judge who spoke. “So you really mean that when you looked down that + passage, the man you saw was yourself—in a mirror?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord; that was what I was trying to say,” said Brown, “but they + asked me for the shape; and our hats have corners just like horns, and so + I—” + </p> + <p> + The judge leaned forward, his old eyes yet more brilliant, and said in + specially distinct tones: “Do you really mean to say that when Sir Wilson + Seymour saw that wild what-you-call-him with curves and a woman’s hair and + a man’s trousers, what he saw was Sir Wilson Seymour?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “And you mean to say that when Captain Cutler saw that chimpanzee with + humped shoulders and hog’s bristles, he simply saw himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + The judge leaned back in his chair with a luxuriance in which it was hard + to separate the cynicism and the admiration. “And can you tell us why,” he + asked, “you should know your own figure in a looking-glass, when two such + distinguished men don’t?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown blinked even more painfully than before; then he stammered: + “Really, my lord, I don’t know unless it’s because I don’t look at it so + often.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIVE — The Mistake of the Machine + </h2> + <p> + FLAMBEAU and his friend the priest were sitting in the Temple Gardens + about sunset; and their neighbourhood or some such accidental influence + had turned their talk to matters of legal process. From the problem of the + licence in cross-examination, their talk strayed to Roman and mediaeval + torture, to the examining magistrate in France and the Third Degree in + America. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been reading,” said Flambeau, “of this new psychometric method they + talk about so much, especially in America. You know what I mean; they put + a pulsometer on a man’s wrist and judge by how his heart goes at the + pronunciation of certain words. What do you think of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it very interesting,” replied Father Brown; “it reminds me of + that interesting idea in the Dark Ages that blood would flow from a corpse + if the murderer touched it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really mean,” demanded his friend, “that you think the two methods + equally valuable?” + </p> + <p> + “I think them equally valueless,” replied Brown. “Blood flows, fast or + slow, in dead folk or living, for so many more million reasons than we can + ever know. Blood will have to flow very funnily; blood will have to flow + up the Matterhorn, before I will take it as a sign that I am to shed it.” + </p> + <p> + “The method,” remarked the other, “has been guaranteed by some of the + greatest American men of science.” + </p> + <p> + “What sentimentalists men of science are!” exclaimed Father Brown, “and + how much more sentimental must American men of science be! Who but a + Yankee would think of proving anything from heart-throbs? Why, they must + be as sentimental as a man who thinks a woman is in love with him if she + blushes. That’s a test from the circulation of the blood, discovered by + the immortal Harvey; and a jolly rotten test, too.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely,” insisted Flambeau, “it might point pretty straight at + something or other.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a disadvantage in a stick pointing straight,” answered the other. + “What is it? Why, the other end of the stick always points the opposite + way. It depends whether you get hold of the stick by the right end. I saw + the thing done once and I’ve never believed in it since.” And he proceeded + to tell the story of his disillusionment. + </p> + <p> + It happened nearly twenty years before, when he was chaplain to his + co-religionists in a prison in Chicago—where the Irish population + displayed a capacity both for crime and penitence which kept him tolerably + busy. The official second-in-command under the Governor was an + ex-detective named Greywood Usher, a cadaverous, careful-spoken Yankee + philosopher, occasionally varying a very rigid visage with an odd + apologetic grimace. He liked Father Brown in a slightly patronizing way; + and Father Brown liked him, though he heartily disliked his theories. His + theories were extremely complicated and were held with extreme simplicity. + </p> + <p> + One evening he had sent for the priest, who, according to his custom, took + a seat in silence at a table piled and littered with papers, and waited. + The official selected from the papers a scrap of newspaper cutting, which + he handed across to the cleric, who read it gravely. It appeared to be an + extract from one of the pinkest of American Society papers, and ran as + follows: + </p> + <p> + “Society’s brightest widower is once more on the Freak Dinner stunt. All + our exclusive citizens will recall the Perambulator Parade Dinner, in + which Last-Trick Todd, at his palatial home at Pilgrim’s Pond, caused so + many of our prominent debutantes to look even younger than their years. + Equally elegant and more miscellaneous and large-hearted in social outlook + was Last-Trick’s show the year previous, the popular Cannibal Crush Lunch, + at which the confections handed round were sarcastically moulded in the + forms of human arms and legs, and during which more than one of our gayest + mental gymnasts was heard offering to eat his partner. The witticism which + will inspire this evening is as yet in Mr Todd’s pretty reticent + intellect, or locked in the jewelled bosoms of our city’s gayest leaders; + but there is talk of a pretty parody of the simple manners and customs at + the other end of Society’s scale. This would be all the more telling, as + hospitable Todd is entertaining in Lord Falconroy, the famous traveller, a + true-blooded aristocrat fresh from England’s oak-groves. Lord Falconroy’s + travels began before his ancient feudal title was resurrected, he was in + the Republic in his youth, and fashion murmurs a sly reason for his + return. Miss Etta Todd is one of our deep-souled New Yorkers, and comes + into an income of nearly twelve hundred million dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” asked Usher, “does that interest you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, words rather fail me,” answered Father Brown. “I cannot think at + this moment of anything in this world that would interest me less. And, + unless the just anger of the Republic is at last going to electrocute + journalists for writing like that, I don’t quite see why it should + interest you either.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr Usher dryly, and handing across another scrap of newspaper. + “Well, does that interest you?” + </p> + <p> + The paragraph was headed “Savage Murder of a Warder. Convict Escapes,” and + ran: “Just before dawn this morning a shout for help was heard in the + Convict Settlement at Sequah in this State. The authorities, hurrying in + the direction of the cry, found the corpse of the warder who patrols the + top of the north wall of the prison, the steepest and most difficult exit, + for which one man has always been found sufficient. The unfortunate + officer had, however, been hurled from the high wall, his brains beaten + out as with a club, and his gun was missing. Further inquiries showed that + one of the cells was empty; it had been occupied by a rather sullen + ruffian giving his name as Oscar Rian. He was only temporarily detained + for some comparatively trivial assault; but he gave everyone the + impression of a man with a black past and a dangerous future. Finally, + when daylight had fully revealed the scene of murder, it was found that he + had written on the wall above the body a fragmentary sentence, apparently + with a finger dipped in blood: ‘This was self-defence and he had the gun. + I meant no harm to him or any man but one. I am keeping the bullet for + Pilgrim’s Pond—O.R.’ A man must have used most fiendish treachery or + most savage and amazing bodily daring to have stormed such a wall in spite + of an armed man.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the literary style is somewhat improved,” admitted the priest + cheerfully, “but still I don’t see what I can do for you. I should cut a + poor figure, with my short legs, running about this State after an + athletic assassin of that sort. I doubt whether anybody could find him. + The convict settlement at Sequah is thirty miles from here; the country + between is wild and tangled enough, and the country beyond, where he will + surely have the sense to go, is a perfect no-man’s land tumbling away to + the prairies. He may be in any hole or up any tree.” + </p> + <p> + “He isn’t in any hole,” said the governor; “he isn’t up any tree.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, how do you know?” asked Father Brown, blinking. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to speak to him?” inquired Usher. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown opened his innocent eyes wide. “He is here?” he exclaimed. + “Why, how did your men get hold of him?” + </p> + <p> + “I got hold of him myself,” drawled the American, rising and lazily + stretching his lanky legs before the fire. “I got hold of him with the + crooked end of a walking-stick. Don’t look so surprised. I really did. You + know I sometimes take a turn in the country lanes outside this dismal + place; well, I was walking early this evening up a steep lane with dark + hedges and grey-looking ploughed fields on both sides; and a young moon + was up and silvering the road. By the light of it I saw a man running + across the field towards the road; running with his body bent and at a + good mile-race trot. He appeared to be much exhausted; but when he came to + the thick black hedge he went through it as if it were made of spiders’ + webs;—or rather (for I heard the strong branches breaking and + snapping like bayonets) as if he himself were made of stone. In the + instant in which he appeared up against the moon, crossing the road, I + slung my hooked cane at his legs, tripping him and bringing him down. Then + I blew my whistle long and loud, and our fellows came running up to secure + him.” + </p> + <p> + “It would have been rather awkward,” remarked Brown, “if you had found he + was a popular athlete practising a mile race.” + </p> + <p> + “He was not,” said Usher grimly. “We soon found out who he was; but I had + guessed it with the first glint of the moon on him.” + </p> + <p> + “You thought it was the runaway convict,” observed the priest simply, + “because you had read in the newspaper cutting that morning that a convict + had run away.” + </p> + <p> + “I had somewhat better grounds,” replied the governor coolly. “I pass over + the first as too simple to be emphasized—I mean that fashionable + athletes do not run across ploughed fields or scratch their eyes out in + bramble hedges. Nor do they run all doubled up like a crouching dog. There + were more decisive details to a fairly well-trained eye. The man was clad + in coarse and ragged clothes, but they were something more than merely + coarse and ragged. They were so ill-fitting as to be quite grotesque; even + as he appeared in black outline against the moonrise, the coat-collar in + which his head was buried made him look like a hunchback, and the long + loose sleeves looked as if he had no hands. It at once occurred to me that + he had somehow managed to change his convict clothes for some + confederate’s clothes which did not fit him. Second, there was a pretty + stiff wind against which he was running; so that I must have seen the + streaky look of blowing hair, if the hair had not been very short. Then I + remembered that beyond these ploughed fields he was crossing lay Pilgrim’s + Pond, for which (you will remember) the convict was keeping his bullet; + and I sent my walking-stick flying.” + </p> + <p> + “A brilliant piece of rapid deduction,” said Father Brown; “but had he got + a gun?” + </p> + <p> + As Usher stopped abruptly in his walk the priest added apologetically: + “I’ve been told a bullet is not half so useful without it.” + </p> + <p> + “He had no gun,” said the other gravely; “but that was doubtless due to + some very natural mischance or change of plans. Probably the same policy + that made him change the clothes made him drop the gun; he began to repent + the coat he had left behind him in the blood of his victim.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is possible enough,” answered the priest. + </p> + <p> + “And it’s hardly worth speculating on,” said Usher, turning to some other + papers, “for we know it’s the man by this time.” + </p> + <p> + His clerical friend asked faintly: “But how?” And Greywood Usher threw + down the newspapers and took up the two press-cuttings again. + </p> + <p> + “Well, since you are so obstinate,” he said, “let’s begin at the + beginning. You will notice that these two cuttings have only one thing in + common, which is the mention of Pilgrim’s Pond, the estate, as you know, + of the millionaire Ireton Todd. You also know that he is a remarkable + character; one of those that rose on stepping-stones—” + </p> + <p> + “Of our dead selves to higher things,” assented his companion. “Yes; I + know that. Petroleum, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow,” said Usher, “Last-Trick Todd counts for a great deal in this rum + affair.” + </p> + <p> + He stretched himself once more before the fire and continued talking in + his expansive, radiantly explanatory style. + </p> + <p> + “To begin with, on the face of it, there is no mystery here at all. It is + not mysterious, it is not even odd, that a jailbird should take his gun to + Pilgrim’s Pond. Our people aren’t like the English, who will forgive a man + for being rich if he throws away money on hospitals or horses. Last-Trick + Todd has made himself big by his own considerable abilities; and there’s + no doubt that many of those on whom he has shown his abilities would like + to show theirs on him with a shot-gun. Todd might easily get dropped by + some man he’d never even heard of; some labourer he’d locked out, or some + clerk in a business he’d busted. Last-Trick is a man of mental endowments + and a high public character; but in this country the relations of + employers and employed are considerably strained. + </p> + <p> + “That’s how the whole thing looks supposing this Rian made for Pilgrim’s + Pond to kill Todd. So it looked to me, till another little discovery woke + up what I have of the detective in me. When I had my prisoner safe, I + picked up my cane again and strolled down the two or three turns of + country road that brought me to one of the side entrances of Todd’s + grounds, the one nearest to the pool or lake after which the place is + named. It was some two hours ago, about seven by this time; the moonlight + was more luminous, and I could see the long white streaks of it lying on + the mysterious mere with its grey, greasy, half-liquid shores in which + they say our fathers used to make witches walk until they sank. I’d + forgotten the exact tale; but you know the place I mean; it lies north of + Todd’s house towards the wilderness, and has two queer wrinkled trees, so + dismal that they look more like huge fungoids than decent foliage. As I + stood peering at this misty pool, I fancied I saw the faint figure of a + man moving from the house towards it, but it was all too dim and distant + for one to be certain of the fact, and still less of the details. Besides, + my attention was very sharply arrested by something much closer. I + crouched behind the fence which ran not more than two hundred yards from + one wing of the great mansion, and which was fortunately split in places, + as if specially for the application of a cautious eye. A door had opened + in the dark bulk of the left wing, and a figure appeared black against the + illuminated interior—a muffled figure bending forward, evidently + peering out into the night. It closed the door behind it, and I saw it was + carrying a lantern, which threw a patch of imperfect light on the dress + and figure of the wearer. It seemed to be the figure of a woman, wrapped + up in a ragged cloak and evidently disguised to avoid notice; there was + something very strange both about the rags and the furtiveness in a person + coming out of those rooms lined with gold. She took cautiously the curved + garden path which brought her within half a hundred yards of me—, + then she stood up for an instant on the terrace of turf that looks towards + the slimy lake, and holding her flaming lantern above her head she + deliberately swung it three times to and fro as for a signal. As she swung + it the second time a flicker of its light fell for a moment on her own + face, a face that I knew. She was unnaturally pale, and her head was + bundled in her borrowed plebeian shawl; but I am certain it was Etta Todd, + the millionaire’s daughter. + </p> + <p> + “She retraced her steps in equal secrecy and the door closed behind her + again. I was about to climb the fence and follow, when I realized that the + detective fever that had lured me into the adventure was rather + undignified; and that in a more authoritative capacity I already held all + the cards in my hand. I was just turning away when a new noise broke on + the night. A window was thrown up in one of the upper floors, but just + round the corner of the house so that I could not see it; and a voice of + terrible distinctness was heard shouting across the dark garden to know + where Lord Falconroy was, for he was missing from every room in the house. + There was no mistaking that voice. I have heard it on many a political + platform or meeting of directors; it was Ireton Todd himself. Some of the + others seemed to have gone to the lower windows or on to the steps, and + were calling up to him that Falconroy had gone for a stroll down to the + Pilgrim’s Pond an hour before, and could not be traced since. Then Todd + cried ‘Mighty Murder!’ and shut down the window violently; and I could + hear him plunging down the stairs inside. Repossessing myself of my former + and wiser purpose, I whipped out of the way of the general search that + must follow; and returned here not later than eight o’clock. + </p> + <p> + “I now ask you to recall that little Society paragraph which seemed to you + so painfully lacking in interest. If the convict was not keeping the shot + for Todd, as he evidently wasn’t, it is most likely that he was keeping it + for Lord Falconroy; and it looks as if he had delivered the goods. No more + handy place to shoot a man than in the curious geological surroundings of + that pool, where a body thrown down would sink through thick slime to a + depth practically unknown. Let us suppose, then, that our friend with the + cropped hair came to kill Falconroy and not Todd. But, as I have pointed + out, there are many reasons why people in America might want to kill Todd. + There is no reason why anybody in America should want to kill an English + lord newly landed, except for the one reason mentioned in the pink paper—that + the lord is paying his attentions to the millionaire’s daughter. Our + crop-haired friend, despite his ill-fitting clothes, must be an aspiring + lover. + </p> + <p> + “I know the notion will seem to you jarring and even comic; but that’s + because you are English. It sounds to you like saying the Archbishop of + Canterbury’s daughter will be married in St George’s, Hanover Square, to a + crossing-sweeper on ticket-of-leave. You don’t do justice to the climbing + and aspiring power of our more remarkable citizens. You see a good-looking + grey-haired man in evening-dress with a sort of authority about him, you + know he is a pillar of the State, and you fancy he had a father. You are + in error. You do not realize that a comparatively few years ago he may + have been in a tenement or (quite likely) in a jail. You don’t allow for + our national buoyancy and uplift. Many of our most influential citizens + have not only risen recently, but risen comparatively late in life. Todd’s + daughter was fully eighteen when her father first made his pile; so there + isn’t really anything impossible in her having a hanger-on in low life; or + even in her hanging on to him, as I think she must be doing, to judge by + the lantern business. If so, the hand that held the lantern may not be + unconnected with the hand that held the gun. This case, sir, will make a + noise.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the priest patiently, “and what did you do next?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you’ll be shocked,” replied Greywood Usher, “as I know you don’t + cotton to the march of science in these matters. I am given a good deal of + discretion here, and perhaps take a little more than I’m given; and I + thought it was an excellent opportunity to test that Psychometric Machine + I told you about. Now, in my opinion, that machine can’t lie.” + </p> + <p> + “No machine can lie,” said Father Brown; “nor can it tell the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “It did in this case, as I’ll show you,” went on Usher positively. “I sat + the man in the ill-fitting clothes in a comfortable chair, and simply + wrote words on a blackboard; and the machine simply recorded the + variations of his pulse; and I simply observed his manner. The trick is to + introduce some word connected with the supposed crime in a list of words + connected with something quite different, yet a list in which it occurs + quite naturally. Thus I wrote ‘heron’ and ‘eagle’ and ‘owl’, and when I + wrote ‘falcon’ he was tremendously agitated; and when I began to make an + ‘r’ at the end of the word, that machine just bounded. Who else in this + republic has any reason to jump at the name of a newly-arrived Englishman + like Falconroy except the man who’s shot him? Isn’t that better evidence + than a lot of gabble from witnesses—if the evidence of a reliable + machine?” + </p> + <p> + “You always forget,” observed his companion, “that the reliable machine + always has to be worked by an unreliable machine.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what do you mean?” asked the detective. + </p> + <p> + “I mean Man,” said Father Brown, “the most unreliable machine I know of. I + don’t want to be rude; and I don’t think you will consider Man to be an + offensive or inaccurate description of yourself. You say you observed his + manner; but how do you know you observed it right? You say the words have + to come in a natural way; but how do you know that you did it naturally? + How do you know, if you come to that, that he did not observe your manner? + Who is to prove that you were not tremendously agitated? There was no + machine tied on to your pulse.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you,” cried the American in the utmost excitement, “I was as cool + as a cucumber.” + </p> + <p> + “Criminals also can be as cool as cucumbers,” said Brown with a smile. + “And almost as cool as you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this one wasn’t,” said Usher, throwing the papers about. “Oh, you + make me tired!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry,” said the other. “I only point out what seems a reasonable + possibility. If you could tell by his manner when the word that might hang + him had come, why shouldn’t he tell from your manner that the word that + might hang him was coming? I should ask for more than words myself before + I hanged anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Usher smote the table and rose in a sort of angry triumph. + </p> + <p> + “And that,” he cried, “is just what I’m going to give you. I tried the + machine first just in order to test the thing in other ways afterwards and + the machine, sir, is right.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment and resumed with less excitement. “I rather want to + insist, if it comes to that, that so far I had very little to go on except + the scientific experiment. There was really nothing against the man at + all. His clothes were ill-fitting, as I’ve said, but they were rather + better, if anything, than those of the submerged class to which he + evidently belonged. Moreover, under all the stains of his plunging through + ploughed fields or bursting through dusty hedges, the man was + comparatively clean. This might mean, of course, that he had only just + broken prison; but it reminded me more of the desperate decency of the + comparatively respectable poor. His demeanour was, I am bound to confess, + quite in accordance with theirs. He was silent and dignified as they are; + he seemed to have a big, but buried, grievance, as they do. He professed + total ignorance of the crime and the whole question; and showed nothing + but a sullen impatience for something sensible that might come to take him + out of his meaningless scrape. He asked me more than once if he could + telephone for a lawyer who had helped him a long time ago in a trade + dispute, and in every sense acted as you would expect an innocent man to + act. There was nothing against him in the world except that little finger + on the dial that pointed to the change of his pulse. + </p> + <p> + “Then, sir, the machine was on its trial; and the machine was right. By + the time I came with him out of the private room into the vestibule where + all sorts of other people were awaiting examination, I think he had + already more or less made up his mind to clear things up by something like + a confession. He turned to me and began to say in a low voice: ‘Oh, I + can’t stick this any more. If you must know all about me—’ + </p> + <p> + “At the same instant one of the poor women sitting on the long bench stood + up, screaming aloud and pointing at him with her finger. I have never in + my life heard anything more demoniacally distinct. Her lean finger seemed + to pick him out as if it were a pea-shooter. Though the word was a mere + howl, every syllable was as clear as a separate stroke on the clock. + </p> + <p> + “‘Drugger Davis!’ she shouted. ‘They’ve got Drugger Davis!’ + </p> + <p> + “Among the wretched women, mostly thieves and streetwalkers, twenty faces + were turned, gaping with glee and hate. If I had never heard the words, I + should have known by the very shock upon his features that the so-called + Oscar Rian had heard his real name. But I’m not quite so ignorant, you may + be surprised to hear. Drugger Davis was one of the most terrible and + depraved criminals that ever baffled our police. It is certain he had done + murder more than once long before his last exploit with the warder. But he + was never entirely fixed for it, curiously enough because he did it in the + same manner as those milder—or meaner—crimes for which he was + fixed pretty often. He was a handsome, well-bred-looking brute, as he + still is, to some extent; and he used mostly to go about with barmaids or + shop-girls and do them out of their money. Very often, though, he went a + good deal farther; and they were found drugged with cigarettes or + chocolates and their whole property missing. Then came one case where the + girl was found dead; but deliberation could not quite be proved, and, what + was more practical still, the criminal could not be found. I heard a + rumour of his having reappeared somewhere in the opposite character this + time, lending money instead of borrowing it; but still to such poor widows + as he might personally fascinate, but still with the same bad result for + them. Well, there is your innocent man, and there is his innocent record. + Even, since then, four criminals and three warders have identified him and + confirmed the story. Now what have you got to say to my poor little + machine after that? Hasn’t the machine done for him? Or do you prefer to + say that the woman and I have done for him?” + </p> + <p> + “As to what you’ve done for him,” replied Father Brown, rising and shaking + himself in a floppy way, “you’ve saved him from the electrical chair. I + don’t think they can kill Drugger Davis on that old vague story of the + poison; and as for the convict who killed the warder, I suppose it’s + obvious that you haven’t got him. Mr Davis is innocent of that crime, at + any rate.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” demanded the other. “Why should he be innocent of that + crime?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless us all!” cried the small man in one of his rare moments of + animation, “why, because he’s guilty of the other crimes! I don’t know + what you people are made of. You seem to think that all sins are kept + together in a bag. You talk as if a miser on Monday were always a + spendthrift on Tuesday. You tell me this man you have here spent weeks and + months wheedling needy women out of small sums of money; that he used a + drug at the best, and a poison at the worst; that he turned up afterwards + as the lowest kind of moneylender, and cheated most poor people in the + same patient and pacific style. Let it be granted—let us admit, for + the sake of argument, that he did all this. If that is so, I will tell you + what he didn’t do. He didn’t storm a spiked wall against a man with a + loaded gun. He didn’t write on the wall with his own hand, to say he had + done it. He didn’t stop to state that his justification was self-defence. + He didn’t explain that he had no quarrel with the poor warder. He didn’t + name the house of the rich man to which he was going with the gun. He + didn’t write his own, initials in a man’s blood. Saints alive! Can’t you + see the whole character is different, in good and evil? Why, you don’t + seem to be like I am a bit. One would think you’d never had any vices of + your own.” + </p> + <p> + The amazed American had already parted his lips in protest when the door + of his private and official room was hammered and rattled in an + unceremonious way to which he was totally unaccustomed. + </p> + <p> + The door flew open. The moment before Greywood Usher had been coming to + the conclusion that Father Brown might possibly be mad. The moment after + he began to think he was mad himself. There burst and fell into his + private room a man in the filthiest rags, with a greasy squash hat still + askew on his head, and a shabby green shade shoved up from one of his + eyes, both of which were glaring like a tiger’s. The rest of his face was + almost undiscoverable, being masked with a matted beard and whiskers + through which the nose could barely thrust itself, and further buried in a + squalid red scarf or handkerchief. Mr Usher prided himself on having seen + most of the roughest specimens in the State, but he thought he had never + seen such a baboon dressed as a scarecrow as this. But, above all, he had + never in all his placid scientific existence heard a man like that speak + to him first. + </p> + <p> + “See here, old man Usher,” shouted the being in the red handkerchief, “I’m + getting tired. Don’t you try any of your hide-and-seek on me; I don’t get + fooled any. Leave go of my guests, and I’ll let up on the fancy clockwork. + Keep him here for a split instant and you’ll feel pretty mean. I reckon + I’m not a man with no pull.” + </p> + <p> + The eminent Usher was regarding the bellowing monster with an amazement + which had dried up all other sentiments. The mere shock to his eyes had + rendered his ears, almost useless. At last he rang a bell with a hand of + violence. While the bell was still strong and pealing, the voice of Father + Brown fell soft but distinct. + </p> + <p> + “I have a suggestion to make,” he said, “but it seems a little confusing. + I don’t know this gentleman—but—but I think I know him. Now, + you know him—you know him quite well—but you don’t know him—naturally. + Sounds paradoxical, I know.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon the Cosmos is cracked,” said Usher, and fell asprawl in his + round office chair. + </p> + <p> + “Now, see here,” vociferated the stranger, striking the table, but + speaking in a voice that was all the more mysterious because it was + comparatively mild and rational though still resounding. “I won’t let you + in. I want—” + </p> + <p> + “Who in hell are you?” yelled Usher, suddenly sitting up straight. + </p> + <p> + “I think the gentleman’s name is Todd,” said the priest. + </p> + <p> + Then he picked up the pink slip of newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “I fear you don’t read the Society papers properly,” he said, and began to + read out in a monotonous voice, “‘Or locked in the jewelled bosoms of our + city’s gayest leaders; but there is talk of a pretty parody of the manners + and customs of the other end of Society’s scale.’ There’s been a big Slum + Dinner up at Pilgrim’s Pond tonight; and a man, one of the guests, + disappeared. Mr Ireton Todd is a good host, and has tracked him here, + without even waiting to take off his fancy-dress.” + </p> + <p> + “What man do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean the man with comically ill-fitting clothes you saw running across + the ploughed field. Hadn’t you better go and investigate him? He will be + rather impatient to get back to his champagne, from which he ran away in + such a hurry, when the convict with the gun hove in sight.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you seriously mean—” began the official. + </p> + <p> + “Why, look here, Mr Usher,” said Father Brown quietly, “you said the + machine couldn’t make a mistake; and in one sense it didn’t. But the other + machine did; the machine that worked it. You assumed that the man in rags + jumped at the name of Lord Falconroy, because he was Lord Falconroy’s + murderer. He jumped at the name of Lord Falconroy because he is Lord + Falconroy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why the blazes didn’t he say so?” demanded the staring Usher. + </p> + <p> + “He felt his plight and recent panic were hardly patrician,” replied the + priest, “so he tried to keep the name back at first. But he was just going + to tell it you, when”—and Father Brown looked down at his boots—“when + a woman found another name for him.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can’t be so mad as to say,” said Greywood Usher, very white, + “that Lord Falconroy was Drugger Davis.” + </p> + <p> + The priest looked at him very earnestly, but with a baffling and + undecipherable face. + </p> + <p> + “I am not saying anything about it,” he said. “I leave all the rest to + you. Your pink paper says that the title was recently revived for him; but + those papers are very unreliable. It says he was in the States in youth; + but the whole story seems very strange. Davis and Falconroy are both + pretty considerable cowards, but so are lots of other men. I would not + hang a dog on my own opinion about this. But I think,” he went on softly + and reflectively, “I think you Americans are too modest. I think you + idealize the English aristocracy—even in assuming it to be so + aristocratic. You see a good-looking Englishman in evening-dress; you know + he’s in the House of Lords; and you fancy he has a father. You don’t allow + for our national buoyancy and uplift. Many of our most influential + noblemen have not only risen recently, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stop it!” cried Greywood Usher, wringing one lean hand in impatience + against a shade of irony in the other’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t stay talking to this lunatic!” cried Todd brutally. “Take me to my + friend.” + </p> + <p> + Next morning Father Brown appeared with the same demure expression, + carrying yet another piece of pink newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid you neglect the fashionable press rather,” he said, “but this + cutting may interest you.” + </p> + <p> + Usher read the headlines, “Last-Trick’s Strayed Revellers: Mirthful + Incident near Pilgrim’s Pond.” The paragraph went on: “A laughable + occurrence took place outside Wilkinson’s Motor Garage last night. A + policeman on duty had his attention drawn by larrikins to a man in prison + dress who was stepping with considerable coolness into the steering-seat + of a pretty high-toned Panhard; he was accompanied by a girl wrapped in a + ragged shawl. On the police interfering, the young woman threw back the + shawl, and all recognized Millionaire Todd’s daughter, who had just come + from the Slum Freak Dinner at the Pond, where all the choicest guests were + in a similar deshabille. She and the gentleman who had donned prison + uniform were going for the customary joy-ride.” + </p> + <p> + Under the pink slip Mr Usher found a strip of a later paper, headed, + “Astounding Escape of Millionaire’s Daughter with Convict. She had + Arranged Freak Dinner. Now Safe in—” + </p> + <p> + Mr Greenwood Usher lifted his eyes, but Father Brown was gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SIX — The Head of Caesar + </h2> + <p> + THERE is somewhere in Brompton or Kensington an interminable avenue of + tall houses, rich but largely empty, that looks like a terrace of tombs. + The very steps up to the dark front doors seem as steep as the side of + pyramids; one would hesitate to knock at the door, lest it should be + opened by a mummy. But a yet more depressing feature in the grey facade is + its telescopic length and changeless continuity. The pilgrim walking down + it begins to think he will never come to a break or a corner; but there is + one exception—a very small one, but hailed by the pilgrim almost + with a shout. There is a sort of mews between two of the tall mansions, a + mere slit like the crack of a door by comparison with the street, but just + large enough to permit a pigmy ale-house or eating-house, still allowed by + the rich to their stable-servants, to stand in the angle. There is + something cheery in its very dinginess, and something free and elfin in + its very insignificance. At the feet of those grey stone giants it looks + like a lighted house of dwarfs. + </p> + <p> + Anyone passing the place during a certain autumn evening, itself almost + fairylike, might have seen a hand pull aside the red half-blind which + (along with some large white lettering) half hid the interior from the + street, and a face peer out not unlike a rather innocent goblin’s. It was, + in fact, the face of one with the harmless human name of Brown, formerly + priest of Cobhole in Essex, and now working in London. His friend, + Flambeau, a semi-official investigator, was sitting opposite him, making + his last notes of a case he had cleared up in the neighbourhood. They were + sitting at a small table, close up to the window, when the priest pulled + the curtain back and looked out. He waited till a stranger in the street + had passed the window, to let the curtain fall into its place again. Then + his round eyes rolled to the large white lettering on the window above his + head, and then strayed to the next table, at which sat only a navvy with + beer and cheese, and a young girl with red hair and a glass of milk. Then + (seeing his friend put away the pocket-book), he said softly: + </p> + <p> + “If you’ve got ten minutes, I wish you’d follow that man with the false + nose.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau looked up in surprise; but the girl with the red hair also looked + up, and with something that was stronger than astonishment. She was simply + and even loosely dressed in light brown sacking stuff; but she was a lady, + and even, on a second glance, a rather needlessly haughty one. “The man + with the false nose!” repeated Flambeau. “Who’s he?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t a notion,” answered Father Brown. “I want you to find out; I + ask it as a favour. He went down there”—and he jerked his thumb over + his shoulder in one of his undistinguished gestures—“and can’t have + passed three lamp-posts yet. I only want to know the direction.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau gazed at his friend for some time, with an expression between + perplexity and amusement; and then, rising from the table; squeezed his + huge form out of the little door of the dwarf tavern, and melted into the + twilight. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown took a small book out of his pocket and began to read + steadily; he betrayed no consciousness of the fact that the red-haired + lady had left her own table and sat down opposite him. At last she leaned + over and said in a low, strong voice: “Why do you say that? How do you + know it’s false?” + </p> + <p> + He lifted his rather heavy eyelids, which fluttered in considerable + embarrassment. Then his dubious eye roamed again to the white lettering on + the glass front of the public-house. The young woman’s eyes followed his, + and rested there also, but in pure puzzledom. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Father Brown, answering her thoughts. “It doesn’t say ‘Sela’, + like the thing in the Psalms; I read it like that myself when I was + wool-gathering just now; it says ‘Ales.’” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” inquired the staring young lady. “What does it matter what it + says?” + </p> + <p> + His ruminating eye roved to the girl’s light canvas sleeve, round the + wrist of which ran a very slight thread of artistic pattern, just enough + to distinguish it from a working-dress of a common woman and make it more + like the working-dress of a lady art-student. He seemed to find much food + for thought in this; but his reply was very slow and hesitant. “You see, + madam,” he said, “from outside the place looks—well, it is a + perfectly decent place—but ladies like you don’t—don’t + generally think so. They never go into such places from choice, except—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Except an unfortunate few who don’t go in to drink milk.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a most singular person,” said the young lady. “What is your + object in all this?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to trouble you about it,” he replied, very gently. “Only to arm + myself with knowledge enough to help you, if ever you freely ask my help.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should I need help?” + </p> + <p> + He continued his dreamy monologue. “You couldn’t have come in to see + protegees, humble friends, that sort of thing, or you’d have gone through + into the parlour... and you couldn’t have come in because you were ill, or + you’d have spoken to the woman of the place, who’s obviously + respectable... besides, you don’t look ill in that way, but only + unhappy.... This street is the only original long lane that has no + turning; and the houses on both sides are shut up.... I could only suppose + that you’d seen somebody coming whom you didn’t want to meet; and found + the public-house was the only shelter in this wilderness of stone.... I + don’t think I went beyond the licence of a stranger in glancing at the + only man who passed immediately after.... And as I thought he looked like + the wrong sort... and you looked like the right sort.... I held myself + ready to help if he annoyed you; that is all. As for my friend, he’ll be + back soon; and he certainly can’t find out anything by stumping down a + road like this.... I didn’t think he could.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you send him out?” she cried, leaning forward with yet + warmer curiosity. She had the proud, impetuous face that goes with reddish + colouring, and a Roman nose, as it did in Marie Antoinette. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her steadily for the first time, and said: “Because I hoped + you would speak to me.” + </p> + <p> + She looked back at him for some time with a heated face, in which there + hung a red shadow of anger; then, despite her anxieties, humour broke out + of her eyes and the corners of her mouth, and she answered almost grimly: + “Well, if you’re so keen on my conversation, perhaps you’ll answer my + question.” After a pause she added: “I had the honour to ask you why you + thought the man’s nose was false.” + </p> + <p> + “The wax always spots like that just a little in this weather,” answered + Father Brown with entire simplicity. + </p> + <p> + “But it’s such a crooked nose,” remonstrated the red-haired girl. + </p> + <p> + The priest smiled in his turn. “I don’t say it’s the sort of nose one + would wear out of mere foppery,” he admitted. “This man, I think, wears it + because his real nose is so much nicer.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” she insisted. + </p> + <p> + “What is the nursery-rhyme?” observed Brown absent-mindedly. “There was a + crooked man and he went a crooked mile.... That man, I fancy, has gone a + very crooked road—by following his nose.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what’s he done?” she demanded, rather shakily. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to force your confidence by a hair,” said Father Brown, very + quietly. “But I think you could tell me more about that than I can tell + you.” + </p> + <p> + The girl sprang to her feet and stood quite quietly, but with clenched + hands, like one about to stride away; then her hands loosened slowly, and + she sat down again. “You are more of a mystery than all the others,” she + said desperately, “but I feel there might be a heart in your mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “What we all dread most,” said the priest in a low voice, “is a maze with + no centre. That is why atheism is only a nightmare.” “I will tell you + everything,” said the red-haired girl doggedly, “except why I am telling + you; and that I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + She picked at the darned table-cloth and went on: “You look as if you knew + what isn’t snobbery as well as what is; and when I say that ours is a good + old family, you’ll understand it is a necessary part of the story; indeed, + my chief danger is in my brother’s high-and-dry notions, noblesse oblige + and all that. Well, my name is Christabel Carstairs; and my father was + that Colonel Carstairs you’ve probably heard of, who made the famous + Carstairs Collection of Roman coins. I could never describe my father to + you; the nearest I can say is that he was very like a Roman coin himself. + He was as handsome and as genuine and as valuable and as metallic and as + out-of-date. He was prouder of his Collection than of his coat-of-arms—nobody + could say more than that. His extraordinary character came out most in his + will. He had two sons and one daughter. He quarrelled with one son, my + brother Giles, and sent him to Australia on a small allowance. He then + made a will leaving the Carstairs Collection, actually with a yet smaller + allowance, to my brother Arthur. He meant it as a reward, as the highest + honour he could offer, in acknowledgement of Arthur’s loyalty and + rectitude and the distinctions he had already gained in mathematics and + economics at Cambridge. He left me practically all his pretty large + fortune; and I am sure he meant it in contempt. + </p> + <p> + “Arthur, you may say, might well complain of this; but Arthur is my father + over again. Though he had some differences with my father in early youth, + no sooner had he taken over the Collection than he became like a pagan + priest dedicated to a temple. He mixed up these Roman halfpence with the + honour of the Carstairs family in the same stiff, idolatrous way as his + father before him. He acted as if Roman money must be guarded by all the + Roman virtues. He took no pleasures; he spent nothing on himself; he lived + for the Collection. Often he would not trouble to dress for his simple + meals; but pattered about among the corded brown-paper parcels (which no + one else was allowed to touch) in an old brown dressing-gown. With its + rope and tassel and his pale, thin, refined face, it made him look like an + old ascetic monk. Every now and then, though, he would appear dressed like + a decidedly fashionable gentleman; but that was only when he went up to + the London sales or shops to make an addition to the Carstairs Collection. + </p> + <p> + “Now, if you’ve known any young people, you won’t be shocked if I say that + I got into rather a low frame of mind with all this; the frame of mind in + which one begins to say that the Ancient Romans were all very well in + their way. I’m not like my brother Arthur; I can’t help enjoying + enjoyment. I got a lot of romance and rubbish where I got my red hair, + from the other side of the family. Poor Giles was the same; and I think + the atmosphere of coins might count in excuse for him; though he really + did wrong and nearly went to prison. But he didn’t behave any worse than I + did; as you shall hear. + </p> + <p> + “I come now to the silly part of the story. I think a man as clever as you + can guess the sort of thing that would begin to relieve the monotony for + an unruly girl of seventeen placed in such a position. But I am so rattled + with more dreadful things that I can hardly read my own feeling; and don’t + know whether I despise it now as a flirtation or bear it as a broken + heart. We lived then at a little seaside watering-place in South Wales, + and a retired sea-captain living a few doors off had a son about five + years older than myself, who had been a friend of Giles before he went to + the Colonies. His name does not affect my tale; but I tell you it was + Philip Hawker, because I am telling you everything. We used to go + shrimping together, and said and thought we were in love with each other; + at least he certainly said he was, and I certainly thought I was. If I + tell you he had bronzed curly hair and a falconish sort of face, bronzed + by the sea also, it’s not for his sake, I assure you, but for the story; + for it was the cause of a very curious coincidence. + </p> + <p> + “One summer afternoon, when I had promised to go shrimping along the sands + with Philip, I was waiting rather impatiently in the front drawing-room, + watching Arthur handle some packets of coins he had just purchased and + slowly shunt them, one or two at a time, into his own dark study and + museum which was at the back of the house. As soon as I heard the heavy + door close on him finally, I made a bolt for my shrimping-net and + tam-o’-shanter and was just going to slip out, when I saw that my brother + had left behind him one coin that lay gleaming on the long bench by the + window. It was a bronze coin, and the colour, combined with the exact + curve of the Roman nose and something in the very lift of the long, wiry + neck, made the head of Caesar on it the almost precise portrait of Philip + Hawker. Then I suddenly remembered Giles telling Philip of a coin that was + like him, and Philip wishing he had it. Perhaps you can fancy the wild, + foolish thoughts with which my head went round; I felt as if I had had a + gift from the fairies. It seemed to me that if I could only run away with + this, and give it to Philip like a wild sort of wedding-ring, it would be + a bond between us for ever; I felt a thousand such things at once. Then + there yawned under me, like the pit, the enormous, awful notion of what I + was doing; above all, the unbearable thought, which was like touching hot + iron, of what Arthur would think of it. A Carstairs a thief; and a thief + of the Carstairs treasure! I believe my brother could see me burned like a + witch for such a thing, But then, the very thought of such fanatical + cruelty heightened my old hatred of his dingy old antiquarian fussiness + and my longing for the youth and liberty that called to me from the sea. + Outside was strong sunlight with a wind; and a yellow head of some broom + or gorse in the garden rapped against the glass of the window. I thought + of that living and growing gold calling to me from all the heaths of the + world—and then of that dead, dull gold and bronze and brass of my + brother’s growing dustier and dustier as life went by. Nature and the + Carstairs Collection had come to grips at last. + </p> + <p> + “Nature is older than the Carstairs Collection. As I ran down the streets + to the sea, the coin clenched tight in my fist, I felt all the Roman + Empire on my back as well as the Carstairs pedigree. It was not only the + old lion argent that was roaring in my ear, but all the eagles of the + Caesars seemed flapping and screaming in pursuit of me. And yet my heart + rose higher and higher like a child’s kite, until I came over the loose, + dry sand-hills and to the flat, wet sands, where Philip stood already up + to his ankles in the shallow shining water, some hundred yards out to sea. + There was a great red sunset; and the long stretch of low water, hardly + rising over the ankle for half a mile, was like a lake of ruby flame. It + was not till I had torn off my shoes and stockings and waded to where he + stood, which was well away from the dry land, that I turned and looked + round. We were quite alone in a circle of sea-water and wet sand, and I + gave him the head of Caesar. + </p> + <p> + “At the very instant I had a shock of fancy: that a man far away on the + sand-hills was looking at me intently. I must have felt immediately after + that it was a mere leap of unreasonable nerves; for the man was only a + dark dot in the distance, and I could only just see that he was standing + quite still and gazing, with his head a little on one side. There was no + earthly logical evidence that he was looking at me; he might have been + looking at a ship, or the sunset, or the sea-gulls, or at any of the + people who still strayed here and there on the shore between us. + Nevertheless, whatever my start sprang from was prophetic; for, as I + gazed, he started walking briskly in a bee-line towards us across the wide + wet sands. As he drew nearer and nearer I saw that he was dark and + bearded, and that his eyes were marked with dark spectacles. He was + dressed poorly but respectably in black, from the old black top hat on his + head to the solid black boots on his feet. In spite of these he walked + straight into the sea without a flash of hesitation, and came on at me + with the steadiness of a travelling bullet. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell you the sense of monstrosity and miracle I had when he thus + silently burst the barrier between land and water. It was as if he had + walked straight off a cliff and still marched steadily in mid-air. It was + as if a house had flown up into the sky or a man’s head had fallen off. He + was only wetting his boots; but he seemed to be a demon disregarding a law + of Nature. If he had hesitated an instant at the water’s edge it would + have been nothing. As it was, he seemed to look so much at me alone as not + to notice the ocean. Philip was some yards away with his back to me, + bending over his net. The stranger came on till he stood within two yards + of me, the water washing half-way up to his knees. Then he said, with a + clearly modulated and rather mincing articulation: ‘Would it discommode + you to contribute elsewhere a coin with a somewhat different + superscription?’ + </p> + <p> + “With one exception there was nothing definably abnormal about him. His + tinted glasses were not really opaque, but of a blue kind common enough, + nor were the eyes behind them shifty, but regarded me steadily. His dark + beard was not really long or wild—, but he looked rather hairy, + because the beard began very high up in his face, just under the + cheek-bones. His complexion was neither sallow nor livid, but on the + contrary rather clear and youthful; yet this gave a pink-and-white wax + look which somehow (I don’t know why) rather increased the horror. The + only oddity one could fix was that his nose, which was otherwise of a good + shape, was just slightly turned sideways at the tip; as if, when it was + soft, it had been tapped on one side with a toy hammer. The thing was + hardly a deformity; yet I cannot tell you what a living nightmare it was + to me. As he stood there in the sunset-stained water he affected me as + some hellish sea-monster just risen roaring out of a sea like blood. I + don’t know why a touch on the nose should affect my imagination so much. I + think it seemed as if he could move his nose like a finger. And as if he + had just that moment moved it. + </p> + <p> + “‘Any little assistance,’ he continued with the same queer, priggish + accent, ‘that may obviate the necessity of my communicating with the + family.’ + </p> + <p> + “Then it rushed over me that I was being blackmailed for the theft of the + bronze piece; and all my merely superstitious fears and doubts were + swallowed up in one overpowering, practical question. How could he have + found out? I had stolen the thing suddenly and on impulse; I was certainly + alone; for I always made sure of being unobserved when I slipped out to + see Philip in this way. I had not, to all appearance, been followed in the + street; and if I had, they could not ‘X-ray’ the coin in my closed hand. + The man standing on the sand-hills could no more have seen what I gave + Philip than shoot a fly in one eye, like the man in the fairy-tale. + </p> + <p> + “‘Philip,’ I cried helplessly, ‘ask this man what he wants.’ + </p> + <p> + “When Philip lifted his head at last from mending his net he looked rather + red, as if sulky or ashamed; but it may have been only the exertion of + stooping and the red evening light; I may have only had another of the + morbid fancies that seemed to be dancing about me. He merely said gruffly + to the man: ‘You clear out of this.’ And, motioning me to follow, set off + wading shoreward without paying further attention to him. He stepped on to + a stone breakwater that ran out from among the roots of the sand-hills, + and so struck homeward, perhaps thinking our incubus would find it less + easy to walk on such rough stones, green and slippery with seaweed, than + we, who were young and used to it. But my persecutor walked as daintily as + he talked; and he still followed me, picking his way and picking his + phrases. I heard his delicate, detestable voice appealing to me over my + shoulder, until at last, when we had crested the sand-hills, Philip’s + patience (which was by no means so conspicuous on most occasions) seemed + to snap. He turned suddenly, saying, ‘Go back. I can’t talk to you now.’ + And as the man hovered and opened his mouth, Philip struck him a buffet on + it that sent him flying from the top of the tallest sand-hill to the + bottom. I saw him crawling out below, covered with sand. + </p> + <p> + “This stroke comforted me somehow, though it might well increase my peril; + but Philip showed none of his usual elation at his own prowess. Though as + affectionate as ever, he still seemed cast down; and before I could ask + him anything fully, he parted with me at his own gate, with two remarks + that struck me as strange. He said that, all things considered, I ought to + put the coin back in the Collection; but that he himself would keep it + ‘for the present’. And then he added quite suddenly and irrelevantly: ‘You + know Giles is back from Australia?’” + </p> + <p> + The door of the tavern opened and the gigantic shadow of the investigator + Flambeau fell across the table. Father Brown presented him to the lady in + his own slight, persuasive style of speech, mentioning his knowledge and + sympathy in such cases; and almost without knowing, the girl was soon + reiterating her story to two listeners. But Flambeau, as he bowed and sat + down, handed the priest a small slip of paper. Brown accepted it with some + surprise and read on it: “Cab to Wagga Wagga, 379, Mafeking Avenue, + Putney.” The girl was going on with her story. + </p> + <p> + “I went up the steep street to my own house with my head in a whirl; it + had not begun to clear when I came to the doorstep, on which I found a + milk-can—and the man with the twisted nose. The milk-can told me the + servants were all out; for, of course, Arthur, browsing about in his brown + dressing-gown in a brown study, would not hear or answer a bell. Thus + there was no one to help me in the house, except my brother, whose help + must be my ruin. In desperation I thrust two shillings into the horrid + thing’s hand, and told him to call again in a few days, when I had thought + it out. He went off sulking, but more sheepishly than I had expected—perhaps + he had been shaken by his fall—and I watched the star of sand + splashed on his back receding down the road with a horrid vindictive + pleasure. He turned a corner some six houses down. + </p> + <p> + “Then I let myself in, made myself some tea, and tried to think it out. I + sat at the drawing-room window looking on to the garden, which still + glowed with the last full evening light. But I was too distracted and + dreamy to look at the lawns and flower-pots and flower-beds with any + concentration. So I took the shock the more sharply because I’d seen it so + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “The man or monster I’d sent away was standing quite still in the middle + of the garden. Oh, we’ve all read a lot about pale-faced phantoms in the + dark; but this was more dreadful than anything of that kind could ever be. + Because, though he cast a long evening shadow, he still stood in warm + sunlight. And because his face was not pale, but had that waxen bloom + still upon it that belongs to a barber’s dummy. He stood quite still, with + his face towards me; and I can’t tell you how horrid he looked among the + tulips and all those tall, gaudy, almost hothouse-looking flowers. It + looked as if we’d stuck up a waxwork instead of a statue in the centre of + our garden. + </p> + <p> + “Yet almost the instant he saw me move in the window he turned and ran out + of the garden by the back gate, which stood open and by which he had + undoubtedly entered. This renewed timidity on his part was so different + from the impudence with which he had walked into the sea, that I felt + vaguely comforted. I fancied, perhaps, that he feared confronting Arthur + more than I knew. Anyhow, I settled down at last, and had a quiet dinner + alone (for it was against the rules to disturb Arthur when he was + rearranging the museum), and, my thoughts, a little released, fled to + Philip and lost themselves, I suppose. Anyhow, I was looking blankly, but + rather pleasantly than otherwise, at another window, uncurtained, but by + this time black as a slate with the final night-fall. It seemed to me that + something like a snail was on the outside of the window-pane. But when I + stared harder, it was more like a man’s thumb pressed on the pane; it had + that curled look that a thumb has. With my fear and courage re-awakened + together, I rushed at the window and then recoiled with a strangled scream + that any man but Arthur must have heard. + </p> + <p> + “For it was not a thumb, any more than it was a snail. It was the tip of a + crooked nose, crushed against the glass; it looked white with the + pressure; and the staring face and eyes behind it were at first invisible + and afterwards grey like a ghost. I slammed the shutters together somehow, + rushed up to my room and locked myself in. But, even as I passed, I could + swear I saw a second black window with something on it that was like a + snail. + </p> + <p> + “It might be best to go to Arthur after all. If the thing was crawling + close all around the house like a cat, it might have purposes worse even + than blackmail. My brother might cast me out and curse me for ever, but he + was a gentleman, and would defend me on the spot. After ten minutes’ + curious thinking, I went down, knocked on the door and then went in: to + see the last and worst sight. + </p> + <p> + “My brother’s chair was empty, and he was obviously out. But the man with + the crooked nose was sitting waiting for his return, with his hat still + insolently on his head, and actually reading one of my brother’s books + under my brother’s lamp. His face was composed and occupied, but his + nose-tip still had the air of being the most mobile part of his face, as + if it had just turned from left to right like an elephant’s proboscis. I + had thought him poisonous enough while he was pursuing and watching me; + but I think his unconsciousness of my presence was more frightful still. + </p> + <p> + “I think I screamed loud and long; but that doesn’t matter. What I did + next does matter: I gave him all the money I had, including a good deal in + paper which, though it was mine, I dare say I had no right to touch. He + went off at last, with hateful, tactful regrets all in long words; and I + sat down, feeling ruined in every sense. And yet I was saved that very + night by a pure accident. Arthur had gone off suddenly to London, as he so + often did, for bargains; and returned, late but radiant, having nearly + secured a treasure that was an added splendour even to the family + Collection. He was so resplendent that I was almost emboldened to confess + the abstraction of the lesser gem—, but he bore down all other + topics with his over-powering projects. Because the bargain might still + misfire any moment, he insisted on my packing at once and going up with + him to lodgings he had already taken in Fulham, to be near the curio-shop + in question. Thus in spite of myself, I fled from my foe almost in the + dead of night—but from Philip also.... My brother was often at the + South Kensington Museum, and, in order to make some sort of secondary life + for myself, I paid for a few lessons at the Art Schools. I was coming back + from them this evening, when I saw the abomination of desolation walking + alive down the long straight street and the rest is as this gentleman has + said. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got only one thing to say. I don’t deserve to be helped; and I don’t + question or complain of my punishment; it is just, it ought to have + happened. But I still question, with bursting brains, how it can have + happened. Am I punished by miracle? or how can anyone but Philip and + myself know I gave him a tiny coin in the middle of the sea?” + </p> + <p> + “It is an extraordinary problem,” admitted Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + “Not so extraordinary as the answer,” remarked Father Brown rather + gloomily. “Miss Carstairs, will you be at home if we call at your Fulham + place in an hour and a half hence?” + </p> + <p> + The girl looked at him, and then rose and put her gloves on. “Yes,” she + said, “I’ll be there”; and almost instantly left the place. + </p> + <p> + That night the detective and the priest were still talking of the matter + as they drew near the Fulham house, a tenement strangely mean even for a + temporary residence of the Carstairs family. + </p> + <p> + “Of course the superficial, on reflection,” said Flambeau, “would think + first of this Australian brother who’s been in trouble before, who’s come + back so suddenly and who’s just the man to have shabby confederates. But I + can’t see how he can come into the thing by any process of thought, + unless...” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked his companion patiently. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau lowered his voice. “Unless the girl’s lover comes in, too, and he + would be the blacker villain. The Australian chap did know that Hawker + wanted the coin. But I can’t see how on earth he could know that Hawker + had got it, unless Hawker signalled to him or his representative across + the shore.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” assented the priest, with respect. + </p> + <p> + “Have you noted another thing?” went on Flambeau eagerly, “this Hawker + hears his love insulted, but doesn’t strike till he’s got to the soft + sand-hills, where he can be victor in a mere sham-fight. If he’d struck + amid rocks and sea, he might have hurt his ally.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true again,” said Father Brown, nodding. + </p> + <p> + “And now, take it from the start. It lies between few people, but at least + three. You want one person for suicide; two people for murder; but at + least three people for blackmail” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the priest softly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, obviously,” cried his friend, “there must be one to be exposed; one + to threaten exposure; and one at least whom exposure would horrify.” + </p> + <p> + After a long ruminant pause, the priest said: “You miss a logical step. + Three persons are needed as ideas. Only two are needed as agents.” + </p> + <p> + “What can you mean?” asked the other. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t a blackmailer,” asked Brown, in a low voice, “threaten his + victim with himself? Suppose a wife became a rigid teetotaller in order to + frighten her husband into concealing his pub-frequenting, and then wrote + him blackmailing letters in another hand, threatening to tell his wife! + Why shouldn’t it work? Suppose a father forbade a son to gamble and then, + following him in a good disguise, threatened the boy with his own sham + paternal strictness! Suppose—but, here we are, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “My God!” cried Flambeau; “you don’t mean—” + </p> + <p> + An active figure ran down the steps of the house and showed under the + golden lamplight the unmistakable head that resembled the Roman coin. + “Miss Carstairs,” said Hawker without ceremony, “wouldn’t go in till you + came.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” observed Brown confidently, “don’t you think it’s the best thing + she can do to stop outside—with you to look after her? You see, I + rather guess you have guessed it all yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the young man, in an undertone, “I guessed on the sands and + now I know; that was why I let him fall soft.” + </p> + <p> + Taking a latchkey from the girl and the coin from Hawker, Flambeau let + himself and his friend into the empty house and passed into the outer + parlour. It was empty of all occupants but one. The man whom Father Brown + had seen pass the tavern was standing against the wall as if at bay; + unchanged, save that he had taken off his black coat and was wearing a + brown dressing-gown. + </p> + <p> + “We have come,” said Father Brown politely, “to give back this coin to its + owner.” And he handed it to the man with the nose. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau’s eyes rolled. “Is this man a coin-collector?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “This man is Mr Arthur Carstairs,” said the priest positively, “and he is + a coin-collector of a somewhat singular kind.” + </p> + <p> + The man changed colour so horribly that the crooked nose stood out on his + face like a separate and comic thing. He spoke, nevertheless, with a sort + of despairing dignity. “You shall see, then,” he said, “that I have not + lost all the family qualities.” And he turned suddenly and strode into an + inner room, slamming the door. + </p> + <p> + “Stop him!” shouted Father Brown, bounding and half falling over a chair; + and, after a wrench or two, Flambeau had the door open. But it was too + late. In dead silence Flambeau strode across and telephoned for doctor and + police. + </p> + <p> + An empty medicine bottle lay on the floor. Across the table the body of + the man in the brown dressing-gown lay amid his burst and gaping + brown-paper parcels; out of which poured and rolled, not Roman, but very + modern English coins. + </p> + <p> + The priest held up the bronze head of Caesar. “This,” he said, “was all + that was left of the Carstairs Collection.” + </p> + <p> + After a silence he went on, with more than common gentleness: “It was a + cruel will his wicked father made, and you see he did resent it a little. + He hated the Roman money he had, and grew fonder of the real money denied + him. He not only sold the Collection bit by bit, but sank bit by bit to + the basest ways of making money—even to blackmailing his own family + in a disguise. He blackmailed his brother from Australia for his little + forgotten crime (that is why he took the cab to Wagga Wagga in Putney), he + blackmailed his sister for the theft he alone could have noticed. And + that, by the way, is why she had that supernatural guess when he was away + on the sand-dunes. Mere figure and gait, however distant, are more likely + to remind us of somebody than a well-made-up face quite close.” + </p> + <p> + There was another silence. “Well,” growled the detective, “and so this + great numismatist and coin-collector was nothing but a vulgar miser.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there so great a difference?” asked Father Brown, in the same strange, + indulgent tone. “What is there wrong about a miser that is not often as + wrong about a collector? What is wrong, except... thou shalt not make to + thyself any graven image; thou shalt not bow down to them nor serve them, + for I...but we must go and see how the poor young people are getting on.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Flambeau, “that in spite of everything, they are probably + getting on very well.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SEVEN — The Purple Wig + </h2> + <p> + MR EDWARD NUTT, the industrious editor of the Daily Reformer, sat at his + desk, opening letters and marking proofs to the merry tune of a + typewriter, worked by a vigorous young lady. + </p> + <p> + He was a stoutish, fair man, in his shirt-sleeves; his movements were + resolute, his mouth firm and his tones final; but his round, rather + babyish blue eyes had a bewildered and even wistful look that rather + contradicted all this. Nor indeed was the expression altogether + misleading. It might truly be said of him, as for many journalists in + authority, that his most familiar emotion was one of continuous fear; fear + of libel actions, fear of lost advertisements, fear of misprints, fear of + the sack. + </p> + <p> + His life was a series of distracted compromises between the proprietor of + the paper (and of him), who was a senile soap-boiler with three + ineradicable mistakes in his mind, and the very able staff he had + collected to run the paper; some of whom were brilliant and experienced + men and (what was even worse) sincere enthusiasts for the political policy + of the paper. + </p> + <p> + A letter from one of these lay immediately before him, and rapid and + resolute as he was, he seemed almost to hesitate before opening it. He + took up a strip of proof instead, ran down it with a blue eye, and a blue + pencil, altered the word “adultery” to the word “impropriety,” and the + word “Jew” to the word “Alien,” rang a bell and sent it flying upstairs. + </p> + <p> + Then, with a more thoughtful eye, he ripped open the letter from his more + distinguished contributor, which bore a postmark of Devonshire, and read + as follows: + </p> + <p> + DEAR NUTT,—As I see you’re working Spooks and Dooks at the same + time, what about an article on that rum business of the Eyres of Exmoor; + or as the old women call it down here, the Devil’s Ear of Eyre? The head + of the family, you know, is the Duke of Exmoor; he is one of the few + really stiff old Tory aristocrats left, a sound old crusted tyrant it is + quite in our line to make trouble about. And I think I’m on the track of a + story that will make trouble. + </p> + <p> + Of course I don’t believe in the old legend about James I; and as for you, + you don’t believe in anything, not even in journalism. The legend, you’ll + probably remember, was about the blackest business in English history—the + poisoning of Overbury by that witch’s cat Frances Howard, and the quite + mysterious terror which forced the King to pardon the murderers. There was + a lot of alleged witchcraft mixed up with it; and the story goes that a + man-servant listening at the keyhole heard the truth in a talk between the + King and Carr; and the bodily ear with which he heard grew large and + monstrous as by magic, so awful was the secret. And though he had to be + loaded with lands and gold and made an ancestor of dukes, the elf-shaped + ear is still recurrent in the family. Well, you don’t believe in black + magic; and if you did, you couldn’t use it for copy. If a miracle happened + in your office, you’d have to hush it up, now so many bishops are + agnostics. But that is not the point. The point is that there really is + something queer about Exmoor and his family; something quite natural, I + dare say, but quite abnormal. And the Ear is in it somehow, I fancy; + either a symbol or a delusion or disease or something. Another tradition + says that Cavaliers just after James I began to wear their hair long only + to cover the ear of the first Lord Exmoor. This also is no doubt fanciful. + </p> + <p> + The reason I point it out to you is this: It seems to me that we make a + mistake in attacking aristocracy entirely for its champagne and diamonds. + Most men rather admire the nobs for having a good time, but I think we + surrender too much when we admit that aristocracy has made even the + aristocrats happy. I suggest a series of articles pointing out how dreary, + how inhuman, how downright diabolist, is the very smell and atmosphere of + some of these great houses. There are plenty of instances; but you + couldn’t begin with a better one than the Ear of the Eyres. By the end of + the week I think I can get you the truth about it.—Yours ever, + FRANCIS FINN. + </p> + <p> + Mr Nutt reflected a moment, staring at his left boot; then he called out + in a strong, loud and entirely lifeless voice, in which every syllable + sounded alike: “Miss Barlow, take down a letter to Mr Finn, please.” + </p> + <p> + DEAR FINN,—I think it would do; copy should reach us second post + Saturday.—Yours, E. NUTT. + </p> + <p> + This elaborate epistle he articulated as if it were all one word; and Miss + Barlow rattled it down as if it were all one word. Then he took up another + strip of proof and a blue pencil, and altered the word “supernatural” to + the word “marvellous”, and the expression “shoot down” to the expression + “repress”. + </p> + <p> + In such happy, healthful activities did Mr Nutt disport himself, until the + ensuing Saturday found him at the same desk, dictating to the same typist, + and using the same blue pencil on the first instalment of Mr Finn’s + revelations. The opening was a sound piece of slashing invective about the + evil secrets of princes, and despair in the high places of the earth. + Though written violently, it was in excellent English; but the editor, as + usual, had given to somebody else the task of breaking it up into + sub-headings, which were of a spicier sort, as “Peeress and Poisons”, and + “The Eerie Ear”, “The Eyres in their Eyrie”, and so on through a hundred + happy changes. Then followed the legend of the Ear, amplified from Finn’s + first letter, and then the substance of his later discoveries, as follows: + </p> + <p> + I know it is the practice of journalists to put the end of the story at + the beginning and call it a headline. I know that journalism largely + consists in saying “Lord Jones Dead” to people who never knew that Lord + Jones was alive. Your present correspondent thinks that this, like many + other journalistic customs, is bad journalism; and that the Daily Reformer + has to set a better example in such things. He proposes to tell his story + as it occurred, step by step. He will use the real names of the parties, + who in most cases are ready to confirm his testimony. As for the + headlines, the sensational proclamations—they will come at the end. + </p> + <p> + I was walking along a public path that threads through a private + Devonshire orchard and seems to point towards Devonshire cider, when I + came suddenly upon just such a place as the path suggested. It was a long, + low inn, consisting really of a cottage and two barns; thatched all over + with the thatch that looks like brown and grey hair grown before history. + But outside the door was a sign which called it the Blue Dragon; and under + the sign was one of those long rustic tables that used to stand outside + most of the free English inns, before teetotallers and brewers between + them destroyed freedom. And at this table sat three gentlemen, who might + have lived a hundred years ago. + </p> + <p> + Now that I know them all better, there is no difficulty about + disentangling the impressions; but just then they looked like three very + solid ghosts. The dominant figure, both because he was bigger in all three + dimensions, and because he sat centrally in the length of the table, + facing me, was a tall, fat man dressed completely in black, with a + rubicund, even apoplectic visage, but a rather bald and rather bothered + brow. Looking at him again, more strictly, I could not exactly say what it + was that gave me the sense of antiquity, except the antique cut of his + white clerical necktie and the barred wrinkles across his brow. + </p> + <p> + It was even less easy to fix the impression in the case of the man at the + right end of the table, who, to say truth, was as commonplace a person as + could be seen anywhere, with a round, brown-haired head and a round snub + nose, but also clad in clerical black, of a stricter cut. It was only when + I saw his broad curved hat lying on the table beside him that I realized + why I connected him with anything ancient. He was a Roman Catholic priest. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the third man, at the other end of the table, had really more to + do with it than the rest, though he was both slighter in physical presence + and more inconsiderate in his dress. His lank limbs were clad, I might + also say clutched, in very tight grey sleeves and pantaloons; he had a + long, sallow, aquiline face which seemed somehow all the more saturnine + because his lantern jaws were imprisoned in his collar and neck-cloth more + in the style of the old stock; and his hair (which ought to have been dark + brown) was of an odd dim, russet colour which, in conjunction with his + yellow face, looked rather purple than red. The unobtrusive yet unusual + colour was all the more notable because his hair was almost unnaturally + healthy and curling, and he wore it full. But, after all analysis, I + incline to think that what gave me my first old-fashioned impression was + simply a set of tall, old-fashioned wine-glasses, one or two lemons and + two churchwarden pipes. And also, perhaps, the old-world errand on which I + had come. + </p> + <p> + Being a hardened reporter, and it being apparently a public inn, I did not + need to summon much of my impudence to sit down at the long table and + order some cider. The big man in black seemed very learned, especially + about local antiquities; the small man in black, though he talked much + less, surprised me with a yet wider culture. So we got on very well + together; but the third man, the old gentleman in the tight pantaloons, + seemed rather distant and haughty, until I slid into the subject of the + Duke of Exmoor and his ancestry. + </p> + <p> + I thought the subject seemed to embarrass the other two a little; but it + broke the spell of the third man’s silence most successfully. Speaking + with restraint and with the accent of a highly educated gentleman, and + puffing at intervals at his long churchwarden pipe, he proceeded to tell + me some of the most horrible stories I have ever heard in my life: how one + of the Eyres in the former ages had hanged his own father; and another had + his wife scourged at the cart tail through the village; and another had + set fire to a church full of children, and so on. + </p> + <p> + Some of the tales, indeed, are not fit for public print—, such as + the story of the Scarlet Nuns, the abominable story of the Spotted Dog, or + the thing that was done in the quarry. And all this red roll of impieties + came from his thin, genteel lips rather primly than otherwise, as he sat + sipping the wine out of his tall, thin glass. + </p> + <p> + I could see that the big man opposite me was trying, if anything, to stop + him; but he evidently held the old gentleman in considerable respect, and + could not venture to do so at all abruptly. And the little priest at the + other end of the-table, though free from any such air of embarrassment, + looked steadily at the table, and seemed to listen to the recital with + great pain—as well as he might. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t seem,” I said to the narrator, “to be very fond of the Exmoor + pedigree.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me a moment, his lips still prim, but whitening and + tightening; then he deliberately broke his long pipe and glass on the + table and stood up, the very picture of a perfect gentleman with the + framing temper of a fiend. + </p> + <p> + “These gentlemen,” he said, “will tell you whether I have cause to like + it. The curse of the Eyres of old has lain heavy on this country, and many + have suffered from it. They know there are none who have suffered from it + as I have.” And with that he crushed a piece of the fallen glass under his + heel, and strode away among the green twilight of the twinkling + apple-trees. + </p> + <p> + “That is an extraordinary old gentleman,” I said to the other two; “do you + happen to know what the Exmoor family has done to him? Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + The big man in black was staring at me with the wild air of a baffled + bull; he did not at first seem to take it in. Then he said at last, “Don’t + you know who he is?” + </p> + <p> + I reaffirmed my ignorance, and there was another silence; then the little + priest said, still looking at the table, “That is the Duke of Exmoor.” + </p> + <p> + Then, before I could collect my scattered senses, he added equally + quietly, but with an air of regularizing things: “My friend here is Doctor + Mull, the Duke’s librarian. My name is Brown.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” I stammered, “if that is the Duke, why does he damn all the old + dukes like that?” + </p> + <p> + “He seems really to believe,” answered the priest called Brown, “that they + have left a curse on him.” Then he added, with some irrelevance, “That’s + why he wears a wig.” + </p> + <p> + It was a few moments before his meaning dawned on me. “You don’t mean that + fable about the fantastic ear?” I demanded. “I’ve heard of it, of course, + but surely it must be a superstitious yarn spun out of something much + simpler. I’ve sometimes thought it was a wild version of one of those + mutilation stories. They used to crop criminals’ ears in the sixteenth + century.” + </p> + <p> + “I hardly think it was that,” answered the little man thoughtfully, “but + it is not outside ordinary science or natural law for a family to have + some deformity frequently reappearing—such as one ear bigger than + the other.” + </p> + <p> + The big librarian had buried his big bald brow in his big red hands, like + a man trying to think out his duty. “No,” he groaned. “You do the man a + wrong after all. Understand, I’ve no reason to defend him, or even keep + faith with him. He has been a tyrant to me as to everybody else. Don’t + fancy because you see him sitting here that he isn’t a great lord in the + worst sense of the word. He would fetch a man a mile to ring a bell a yard + off—if it would summon another man three miles to fetch a matchbox + three yards off. He must have a footman to carry his walking-stick; a body + servant to hold up his opera-glasses—” + </p> + <p> + “But not a valet to brush his clothes,” cut in the priest, with a curious + dryness, “for the valet would want to brush his wig, too.” + </p> + <p> + The librarian turned to him and seemed to forget my presence; he was + strongly moved and, I think, a little heated with wine. “I don’t know how + you know it, Father Brown,” he said, “but you are right. He lets the whole + world do everything for him—except dress him. And that he insists on + doing in a literal solitude like a desert. Anybody is kicked out of the + house without a character who is so much as found near his dressing-room + door. + </p> + <p> + “He seems a pleasant old party,” I remarked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Dr Mull quite simply; “and yet that is just what I mean by + saying you are unjust to him after all. Gentlemen, the Duke does really + feel the bitterness about the curse that he uttered just now. He does, + with sincere shame and terror, hide under that purple wig something he + thinks it would blast the sons of man to see. I know it is so; and I know + it is not a mere natural disfigurement, like a criminal mutilation, or a + hereditary disproportion in the features. I know it is worse than that; + because a man told me who was present at a scene that no man could invent, + where a stronger man than any of us tried to defy the secret, and was + scared away from it.” + </p> + <p> + I opened my mouth to speak, but Mull went on in oblivion of me, speaking + out of the cavern of his hands. “I don’t mind telling you, Father, because + it’s really more defending the poor Duke than giving him away. Didn’t you + ever hear of the time when he very nearly lost all the estates?” + </p> + <p> + The priest shook his head; and the librarian proceeded to tell the tale as + he had heard it from his predecessor in the same post, who had been his + patron and instructor, and whom he seemed to trust implicitly. Up to a + certain point it was a common enough tale of the decline of a great + family’s fortunes—the tale of a family lawyer. His lawyer, however, + had the sense to cheat honestly, if the expression explains itself. + Instead of using funds he held in trust, he took advantage of the Duke’s + carelessness to put the family in a financial hole, in which it might be + necessary for the Duke to let him hold them in reality. + </p> + <p> + The lawyer’s name was Isaac Green, but the Duke always called him Elisha; + presumably in reference to the fact that he was quite bald, though + certainly not more than thirty. He had risen very rapidly, but from very + dirty beginnings; being first a “nark” or informer, and then a + money-lender: but as solicitor to the Eyres he had the sense, as I say, to + keep technically straight until he was ready to deal the final blow. The + blow fell at dinner; and the old librarian said he should never forget the + very look of the lampshades and the decanters, as the little lawyer, with + a steady smile, proposed to the great landlord that they should halve the + estates between them. The sequel certainly could not be overlooked; for + the Duke, in dead silence, smashed a decanter on the man’s bald head as + suddenly as I had seen him smash the glass that day in the orchard. It + left a red triangular scar on the scalp, and the lawyer’s eyes altered, + but not his smile. + </p> + <p> + He rose tottering to his feet, and struck back as such men do strike. “I + am glad of that,” he said, “for now I can take the whole estate. The law + will give it to me.” + </p> + <p> + Exmoor, it seems, was white as ashes, but his eyes still blazed. “The law + will give it you,” he said; “but you will not take it.... Why not? Why? + because it would mean the crack of doom for me, and if you take it I shall + take off my wig.... Why, you pitiful plucked fowl, anyone can see your + bare head. But no man shall see mine and live.” + </p> + <p> + Well, you may say what you like and make it mean what you like. But Mull + swears it is the solemn fact that the lawyer, after shaking his knotted + fists in the air for an instant, simply ran from the room and never + reappeared in the countryside; and since then Exmoor has been feared more + for a warlock than even for a landlord and a magistrate. + </p> + <p> + Now Dr Mull told his story with rather wild theatrical gestures, and with + a passion I think at least partisan. I was quite conscious of the + possibility that the whole was the extravagance of an old braggart and + gossip. But before I end this half of my discoveries, I think it due to Dr + Mull to record that my two first inquiries have confirmed his story. I + learned from an old apothecary in the village that there was a bald man in + evening dress, giving the name of Green, who came to him one night to have + a three-cornered cut on his forehead plastered. And I learnt from the + legal records and old newspapers that there was a lawsuit threatened, and + at least begun, by one Green against the Duke of Exmoor. + </p> + <p> + Mr Nutt, of the Daily Reformer, wrote some highly incongruous words across + the top of the copy, made some highly mysterious marks down the side of + it, and called to Miss Barlow in the same loud, monotonous voice: “Take + down a letter to Mr Finn.” + </p> + <p> + DEAR FINN,—Your copy will do, but I have had to headline it a bit; + and our public would never stand a Romanist priest in the story—you + must keep your eye on the suburbs. I’ve altered him to Mr Brown, a + Spiritualist. + </p> + <p> + Yours, + </p> + <p> + E. NUTT. + </p> + <p> + A day or two afterward found the active and judicious editor examining, + with blue eyes that seemed to grow rounder and rounder, the second + instalment of Mr Finn’s tale of mysteries in high life. It began with the + words: + </p> + <p> + I have made an astounding discovery. I freely confess it is quite + different from anything I expected to discover, and will give a much more + practical shock to the public. I venture to say, without any vanity, that + the words I now write will be read all over Europe, and certainly all over + America and the Colonies. And yet I heard all I have to tell before I left + this same little wooden table in this same little wood of apple-trees. + </p> + <p> + I owe it all to the small priest Brown; he is an extraordinary man. The + big librarian had left the table, perhaps ashamed of his long tongue, + perhaps anxious about the storm in which his mysterious master had + vanished: anyway, he betook himself heavily in the Duke’s tracks through + the trees. Father Brown had picked up one of the lemons and was eyeing it + with an odd pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “What a lovely colour a lemon is!” he said. “There’s one thing I don’t + like about the Duke’s wig—the colour.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I understand,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say he’s got good reason to cover his ears, like King Midas,” went + on the priest, with a cheerful simplicity which somehow seemed rather + flippant under the circumstances. “I can quite understand that it’s nicer + to cover them with hair than with brass plates or leather flaps. But if he + wants to use hair, why doesn’t he make it look like hair? There never was + hair of that colour in this world. It looks more like a sunset-cloud + coming through the wood. Why doesn’t he conceal the family curse better, + if he’s really so ashamed of it? Shall I tell you? It’s because he isn’t + ashamed of it. He’s proud of it” + </p> + <p> + “It’s an ugly wig to be proud of—and an ugly story,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Consider,” replied this curious little man, “how you yourself really feel + about such things. I don’t suggest you’re either more snobbish or more + morbid than the rest of us: but don’t you feel in a vague way that a + genuine old family curse is rather a fine thing to have? Would you be + ashamed, wouldn’t you be a little proud, if the heir of the Glamis horror + called you his friend? or if Byron’s family had confided, to you only, the + evil adventures of their race? Don’t be too hard on the aristocrats + themselves if their heads are as weak as ours would be, and they are snobs + about their own sorrows.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” I cried; “and that’s true enough. My own mother’s family had a + banshee; and, now I come to think of it, it has comforted me in many a + cold hour.” + </p> + <p> + “And think,” he went on, “of that stream of blood and poison that spurted + from his thin lips the instant you so much as mentioned his ancestors. Why + should he show every stranger over such a Chamber of Horrors unless he is + proud of it? He doesn’t conceal his wig, he doesn’t conceal his blood, he + doesn’t conceal his family curse, he doesn’t conceal the family crimes—but—” + </p> + <p> + The little man’s voice changed so suddenly, he shut his hand so sharply, + and his eyes so rapidly grew rounder and brighter like a waking owl’s, + that it had all the abruptness of a small explosion on the table. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he ended, “he does really conceal his toilet.” + </p> + <p> + It somehow completed the thrill of my fanciful nerves that at that instant + the Duke appeared again silently among the glimmering trees, with his soft + foot and sunset-hued hair, coming round the corner of the house in company + with his librarian. Before he came within earshot, Father Brown had added + quite composedly, “Why does he really hide the secret of what he does with + the purple wig? Because it isn’t the sort of secret we suppose.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke came round the corner and resumed his seat at the head of the + table with all his native dignity. The embarrassment of the librarian left + him hovering on his hind legs, like a huge bear. The Duke addressed the + priest with great seriousness. “Father Brown,” he said, “Doctor Mull + informs me that you have come here to make a request. I no longer profess + an observance of the religion of my fathers; but for their sakes, and for + the sake of the days when we met before, I am very willing to hear you. + But I presume you would rather be heard in private.” + </p> + <p> + Whatever I retain of the gentleman made me stand up. Whatever I have + attained of the journalist made me stand still. Before this paralysis + could pass, the priest had made a momentarily detaining motion. “If,” he + said, “your Grace will permit me my real petition, or if I retain any + right to advise you, I would urge that as many people as possible should + be present. All over this country I have found hundreds, even of my own + faith and flock, whose imaginations are poisoned by the spell which I + implore you to break. I wish we could have all Devonshire here to see you + do it.” + </p> + <p> + “To see me do what?” asked the Duke, arching his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “To see you take off your wig,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + The Duke’s face did not move; but he looked at his petitioner with a + glassy stare which was the most awful expression I have ever seen on a + human face. I could see the librarian’s great legs wavering under him like + the shadows of stems in a pool; and I could not banish from my own brain + the fancy that the trees all around us were filling softly in the silence + with devils instead of birds. + </p> + <p> + “I spare you,” said the Duke in a voice of inhuman pity. “I refuse. If I + gave you the faintest hint of the load of horror I have to bear alone, you + would lie shrieking at these feet of mine and begging to know no more. I + will spare you the hint. You shall not spell the first letter of what is + written on the altar of the Unknown God.” + </p> + <p> + “I know the Unknown God,” said the little priest, with an unconscious + grandeur of certitude that stood up like a granite tower. “I know his + name; it is Satan. The true God was made flesh and dwelt among us. And I + say to you, wherever you find men ruled merely by mystery, it is the + mystery of iniquity. If the devil tells you something is too fearful to + look at, look at it. If he says something is too terrible to hear, hear + it. If you think some truth unbearable, bear it. I entreat your Grace to + end this nightmare now and here at this table.” + </p> + <p> + “If I did,” said the Duke in a low voice, “you and all you believe, and + all by which alone you live, would be the first to shrivel and perish. You + would have an instant to know the great Nothing before you died.” + </p> + <p> + “The Cross of Christ be between me and harm,” said Father Brown. “Take off + your wig.” + </p> + <p> + I was leaning over the table in ungovernable excitement; in listening to + this extraordinary duel half a thought had come into my head. “Your + Grace,” I cried, “I call your bluff. Take off that wig or I will knock it + off.” + </p> + <p> + I suppose I can be prosecuted for assault, but I am very glad I did it. + When he said, in the same voice of stone, “I refuse,” I simply sprang on + him. For three long instants he strained against me as if he had all hell + to help him; but I forced his head until the hairy cap fell off it. I + admit that, whilst wrestling, I shut my eyes as it fell. + </p> + <p> + I was awakened by a cry from Mull, who was also by this time at the Duke’s + side. His head and mine were both bending over the bald head of the + wigless Duke. Then the silence was snapped by the librarian exclaiming: + “What can it mean? Why, the man had nothing to hide. His ears are just + like everybody else’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Father Brown, “that is what he had to hide.” + </p> + <p> + The priest walked straight up to him, but strangely enough did not even + glance at his ears. He stared with an almost comical seriousness at his + bald forehead, and pointed to a three-cornered cicatrice, long healed, but + still discernible. “Mr Green, I think.” he said politely, “and he did get + the whole estate after all.” + </p> + <p> + And now let me tell the readers of the Daily Reformer what I think the + most remarkable thing in the whole affair. This transformation scene, + which will seem to you as wild and purple as a Persian fairy-tale, has + been (except for my technical assault) strictly legal and constitutional + from its first beginnings. This man with the odd scar and the ordinary + ears is not an impostor. Though (in one sense) he wears another man’s wig + and claims another man’s ear, he has not stolen another man’s coronet. He + really is the one and only Duke of Exmoor. What happened was this. The old + Duke really had a slight malformation of the ear, which really was more or + less hereditary. He really was morbid about it; and it is likely enough + that he did invoke it as a kind of curse in the violent scene (which + undoubtedly happened) in which he struck Green with the decanter. But the + contest ended very differently. Green pressed his claim and got the + estates; the dispossessed nobleman shot himself and died without issue. + After a decent interval the beautiful English Government revived the + “extinct” peerage of Exmoor, and bestowed it, as is usual, on the most + important person, the person who had got the property. + </p> + <p> + This man used the old feudal fables—properly, in his snobbish soul, + really envied and admired them. So that thousands of poor English people + trembled before a mysterious chieftain with an ancient destiny and a + diadem of evil stars—when they are really trembling before a + guttersnipe who was a pettifogger and a pawnbroker not twelve years ago. I + think it very typical of the real case against our aristocracy as it is, + and as it will be till God sends us braver men. + </p> + <p> + Mr Nutt put down the manuscript and called out with unusual sharpness: + “Miss Barlow, please take down a letter to Mr Finn.” + </p> + <p> + DEAR FINN,—You must be mad; we can’t touch this. I wanted vampires + and the bad old days and aristocracy hand-in-hand with superstition. They + like that but you must know the Exmoors would never forgive this. And what + would our people say then, I should like to know! Why, Sir Simon is one of + Exmoor’s greatest pals; and it would ruin that cousin of the Eyres that’s + standing for us at Bradford. Besides, old Soap-Suds was sick enough at not + getting his peerage last year; he’d sack me by wire if I lost him it with + such lunacy as this. And what about Duffey? He’s doing us some rattling + articles on “The Heel of the Norman.” And how can he write about Normans + if the man’s only a solicitor? Do be reasonable.—Yours, E. NUTT. + </p> + <p> + As Miss Barlow rattled away cheerfully, he crumpled up the copy and tossed + it into the waste-paper basket; but not before he had, automatically and + by force of habit, altered the word “God” to the word “circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EIGHT — The Perishing of the Pendragons + </h2> + <p> + FATHER BROWN was in no mood for adventures. He had lately fallen ill with + over-work, and when he began to recover, his friend Flambeau had taken him + on a cruise in a small yacht with Sir Cecil Fanshaw, a young Cornish + squire and an enthusiast for Cornish coast scenery. But Brown was still + rather weak; he was no very happy sailor; and though he was never of the + sort that either grumbles or breaks down, his spirits did not rise above + patience and civility. When the other two men praised the ragged violet + sunset or the ragged volcanic crags, he agreed with them. When Flambeau + pointed out a rock shaped like a dragon, he looked at it and thought it + very like a dragon. When Fanshaw more excitedly indicated a rock that was + like Merlin, he looked at it, and signified assent. When Flambeau asked + whether this rocky gate of the twisted river was not the gate of + Fairyland, he said “Yes.” He heard the most important things and the most + trivial with the same tasteless absorption. He heard that the coast was + death to all but careful seamen; he also heard that the ship’s cat was + asleep. He heard that Fanshaw couldn’t find his cigar-holder anywhere; he + also heard the pilot deliver the oracle “Both eyes bright, she’s all + right; one eye winks, down she sinks.” He heard Flambeau say to Fanshaw + that no doubt this meant the pilot must keep both eyes open and be spry. + And he heard Fanshaw say to Flambeau that, oddly enough, it didn’t mean + this: it meant that while they saw two of the coast lights, one near and + the other distant, exactly side by side, they were in the right + river-channel; but that if one light was hidden behind the other, they + were going on the rocks. He heard Fanshaw add that his country was full of + such quaint fables and idioms; it was the very home of romance; he even + pitted this part of Cornwall against Devonshire, as a claimant to the + laurels of Elizabethan seamanship. According to him there had been + captains among these coves and islets compared with whom Drake was + practically a landsman. He heard Flambeau laugh, and ask if, perhaps, the + adventurous title of “Westward Ho!” only meant that all Devonshire men + wished they were living in Cornwall. He heard Fanshaw say there was no + need to be silly; that not only had Cornish captains been heroes, but that + they were heroes still: that near that very spot there was an old admiral, + now retired, who was scarred by thrilling voyages full of adventures; and + who had in his youth found the last group of eight Pacific Islands that + was added to the chart of the world. This Cecil Fanshaw was, in person, of + the kind that commonly urges such crude but pleasing enthusiasms; a very + young man, light-haired, high-coloured, with an eager profile; with a + boyish bravado of spirits, but an almost girlish delicacy of tint and + type. The big shoulders, black brows and black mousquetaire swagger of + Flambeau were a great contrast. + </p> + <p> + All these trivialities Brown heard and saw; but heard them as a tired man + hears a tune in the railway wheels, or saw them as a sick man sees the + pattern of his wall-paper. No one can calculate the turns of mood in + convalescence: but Father Brown’s depression must have had a great deal to + do with his mere unfamiliarity with the sea. For as the river mouth + narrowed like the neck of a bottle, and the water grew calmer and the air + warmer and more earthly, he seemed to wake up and take notice like a baby. + They had reached that phase just after sunset when air and water both look + bright, but earth and all its growing things look almost black by + comparison. About this particular evening, however, there was something + exceptional. It was one of those rare atmospheres in which a smoked-glass + slide seems to have been slid away from between us and Nature; so that + even dark colours on that day look more gorgeous than bright colours on + cloudier days. The trampled earth of the river-banks and the peaty stain + in the pools did not look drab but glowing umber, and the dark woods astir + in the breeze did not look, as usual, dim blue with mere depth of + distance, but more like wind-tumbled masses of some vivid violet blossom. + This magic clearness and intensity in the colours was further forced on + Brown’s slowly reviving senses by something romantic and even secret in + the very form of the landscape. + </p> + <p> + The river was still well wide and deep enough for a pleasure boat so small + as theirs; but the curves of the country-side suggested that it was + closing in on either hand; the woods seemed to be making broken and flying + attempts at bridge-building—as if the boat were passing from the + romance of a valley to the romance of a hollow and so to the supreme + romance of a tunnel. Beyond this mere look of things there was little for + Brown’s freshening fancy to feed on; he saw no human beings, except some + gipsies trailing along the river bank, with faggots and osiers cut in the + forest; and one sight no longer unconventional, but in such remote parts + still uncommon: a dark-haired lady, bare-headed, and paddling her own + canoe. If Father Brown ever attached any importance to either of these, he + certainly forgot them at the next turn of the river which brought in sight + a singular object. + </p> + <p> + The water seemed to widen and split, being cloven by the dark wedge of a + fish-shaped and wooded islet. With the rate at which they went, the islet + seemed to swim towards them like a ship; a ship with a very high prow—or, + to speak more strictly, a very high funnel. For at the extreme point + nearest them stood up an odd-looking building, unlike anything they could + remember or connect with any purpose. It was not specially high, but it + was too high for its breadth to be called anything but a tower. Yet it + appeared to be built entirely of wood, and that in a most unequal and + eccentric way. Some of the planks and beams were of good, seasoned oak; + some of such wood cut raw and recent; some again of white pinewood, and a + great deal more of the same sort of wood painted black with tar. These + black beams were set crooked or crisscross at all kinds of angles, giving + the whole a most patchy and puzzling appearance. There were one or two + windows, which appeared to be coloured and leaded in an old-fashioned but + more elaborate style. The travellers looked at it with that paradoxical + feeling we have when something reminds us of something, and yet we are + certain it is something very different. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown, even when he was mystified, was clever in analysing his own + mystification. And he found himself reflecting that the oddity seemed to + consist in a particular shape cut out in an incongruous material; as if + one saw a top-hat made of tin, or a frock-coat cut out of tartan. He was + sure he had seen timbers of different tints arranged like that somewhere, + but never in such architectural proportions. The next moment a glimpse + through the dark trees told him all he wanted to know and he laughed. + Through a gap in the foliage there appeared for a moment one of those old + wooden houses, faced with black beams, which are still to be found here + and there in England, but which most of us see imitated in some show + called “Old London” or “Shakespeare’s England’. It was in view only long + enough for the priest to see that, however old-fashioned, it was a + comfortable and well-kept country-house, with flower-beds in front of it. + It had none of the piebald and crazy look of the tower that seemed made + out of its refuse. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth’s this?” said Flambeau, who was still staring at the tower. + </p> + <p> + Fanshaw’s eyes were shining, and he spoke triumphantly. “Aha! you’ve not + seen a place quite like this before, I fancy; that’s why I’ve brought you + here, my friend. Now you shall see whether I exaggerate about the mariners + of Cornwall. This place belongs to Old Pendragon, whom we call the + Admiral; though he retired before getting the rank. The spirit of Raleigh + and Hawkins is a memory with the Devon folk; it’s a modern fact with the + Pendragons. If Queen Elizabeth were to rise from the grave and come up + this river in a gilded barge, she would be received by the Admiral in a + house exactly such as she was accustomed to, in every corner and casement, + in every panel on the wall or plate on the table. And she would find an + English Captain still talking fiercely of fresh lands to be found in + little ships, as much as if she had dined with Drake.” + </p> + <p> + “She’d find a rum sort of thing in the garden,” said Father Brown, “which + would not please her Renaissance eye. That Elizabethan domestic + architecture is charming in its way; but it’s against the very nature of + it to break out into turrets.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” answered Fanshaw, “that’s the most romantic and Elizabethan + part of the business. It was built by the Pendragons in the very days of + the Spanish wars; and though it’s needed patching and even rebuilding for + another reason, it’s always been rebuilt in the old way. The story goes + that the lady of Sir Peter Pendragon built it in this place and to this + height, because from the top you can just see the corner where vessels + turn into the river mouth; and she wished to be the first to see her + husband’s ship, as he sailed home from the Spanish Main.” + </p> + <p> + “For what other reason,” asked Father Brown, “do you mean that it has been + rebuilt?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there’s a strange story about that, too,” said the young squire with + relish. “You are really in a land of strange stories. King Arthur was here + and Merlin and the fairies before him. The story goes that Sir Peter + Pendragon, who (I fear) had some of the faults of the pirates as well as + the virtues of the sailor, was bringing home three Spanish gentlemen in + honourable captivity, intending to escort them to Elizabeth’s court. But + he was a man of flaming and tigerish temper, and coming to high words with + one of them, he caught him by the throat and flung him by accident or + design, into the sea. A second Spaniard, who was the brother of the first, + instantly drew his sword and flew at Pendragon, and after a short but + furious combat in which both got three wounds in as many minutes, + Pendragon drove his blade through the other’s body and the second Spaniard + was accounted for. As it happened the ship had already turned into the + river mouth and was close to comparatively shallow water. The third + Spaniard sprang over the side of the ship, struck out for the shore, and + was soon near enough to it to stand up to his waist in water. And turning + again to face the ship, and holding up both arms to Heaven—like a + prophet calling plagues upon a wicked city—he called out to + Pendragon in a piercing and terrible voice, that he at least was yet + living, that he would go on living, that he would live for ever; and that + generation after generation the house of Pendragon should never see him or + his, but should know by very certain signs that he and his vengeance were + alive. With that he dived under the wave, and was either drowned or swam + so long under water that no hair of his head was seen afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s that girl in the canoe again,” said Flambeau irrelevantly, for + good-looking young women would call him off any topic. “She seems bothered + by the queer tower just as we were.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the black-haired young lady was letting her canoe float slowly and + silently past the strange islet; and was looking intently up at the + strange tower, with a strong glow of curiosity on her oval and olive face. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind girls,” said Fanshaw impatiently, “there are plenty of them in + the world, but not many things like the Pendragon Tower. As you may easily + suppose, plenty of superstitions and scandals have followed in the track + of the Spaniard’s curse; and no doubt, as you would put it, any accident + happening to this Cornish family would be connected with it by rural + credulity. But it is perfectly true that this tower has been burnt down + two or three times; and the family can’t be called lucky, for more than + two, I think, of the Admiral’s near kin have perished by shipwreck; and + one at least, to my own knowledge, on practically the same spot where Sir + Peter threw the Spaniard overboard.” + </p> + <p> + “What a pity!” exclaimed Flambeau. “She’s going.” + </p> + <p> + “When did your friend the Admiral tell you this family history?” asked + Father Brown, as the girl in the canoe paddled off, without showing the + least intention of extending her interest from the tower to the yacht, + which Fanshaw had already caused to lie alongside the island. + </p> + <p> + “Many years ago,” replied Fanshaw; “he hasn’t been to sea for some time + now, though he is as keen on it as ever. I believe there’s a family + compact or something. Well, here’s the landing stage; let’s come ashore + and see the old boy.” + </p> + <p> + They followed him on to the island, just under the tower, and Father + Brown, whether from the mere touch of dry land, or the interest of + something on the other bank of the river (which he stared at very hard for + some seconds), seemed singularly improved in briskness. They entered a + wooded avenue between two fences of thin greyish wood, such as often + enclose parks or gardens, and over the top of which the dark trees tossed + to and fro like black and purple plumes upon the hearse of a giant. The + tower, as they left it behind, looked all the quainter, because such + entrances are usually flanked by two towers; and this one looked lopsided. + But for this, the avenue had the usual appearance of the entrance to a + gentleman’s grounds; and, being so curved that the house was now out of + sight, somehow looked a much larger park than any plantation on such an + island could really be. Father Brown was, perhaps, a little fanciful in + his fatigue, but he almost thought the whole place must be growing larger, + as things do in a nightmare. Anyhow, a mystical monotony was the only + character of their march, until Fanshaw suddenly stopped, and pointed to + something sticking out through the grey fence—something that looked + at first rather like the imprisoned horn of some beast. Closer observation + showed that it was a slightly curved blade of metal that shone faintly in + the fading light. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau, who like all Frenchmen had been a soldier, bent over it and said + in a startled voice: “Why, it’s a sabre! I believe I know the sort, heavy + and curved, but shorter than the cavalry; they used to have them in + artillery and the—” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke the blade plucked itself out of the crack it had made and came + down again with a more ponderous slash, splitting the fissiparous fence to + the bottom with a rending noise. Then it was pulled out again, flashed + above the fence some feet further along, and again split it halfway down + with the first stroke; and after waggling a little to extricate itself + (accompanied with curses in the darkness) split it down to the ground with + a second. Then a kick of devilish energy sent the whole loosened square of + thin wood flying into the pathway, and a great gap of dark coppice gaped + in the paling. + </p> + <p> + Fanshaw peered into the dark opening and uttered an exclamation of + astonishment. “My dear Admiral!” he exclaimed, “do you—er—do + you generally cut out a new front door whenever you want to go for a + walk?” + </p> + <p> + The voice in the gloom swore again, and then broke into a jolly laugh. + “No,” it said; “I’ve really got to cut down this fence somehow; it’s + spoiling all the plants, and no one else here can do it. But I’ll only + carve another bit off the front door, and then come out and welcome you.” + </p> + <p> + And sure enough, he heaved up his weapon once more, and, hacking twice, + brought down another and similar strip of fence, making the opening about + fourteen feet wide in all. Then through this larger forest gateway he came + out into the evening light, with a chip of grey wood sticking to his + sword-blade. + </p> + <p> + He momentarily fulfilled all Fanshaw’s fable of an old piratical Admiral; + though the details seemed afterwards to decompose into accidents. For + instance, he wore a broad-brimmed hat as protection against the sun; but + the front flap of it was turned up straight to the sky, and the two + corners pulled down lower than the ears, so that it stood across his + forehead in a crescent like the old cocked hat worn by Nelson. He wore an + ordinary dark-blue jacket, with nothing special about the buttons, but the + combination of it with white linen trousers somehow had a sailorish look. + He was tall and loose, and walked with a sort of swagger, which was not a + sailor’s roll, and yet somehow suggested it; and he held in his hand a + short sabre which was like a navy cutlass, but about twice as big. Under + the bridge of the hat his eagle face looked eager, all the more because it + was not only clean-shaven, but without eyebrows. It seemed almost as if + all the hair had come off his face from his thrusting it through a throng + of elements. His eyes were prominent and piercing. His colour was + curiously attractive, while partly tropical; it reminded one vaguely of a + blood-orange. That is, that while it was ruddy and sanguine, there was a + yellow in it that was in no way sickly, but seemed rather to glow like + gold apples of the Hesperides—Father Brown thought he had never seen + a figure so expressive of all the romances about the countries of the Sun. + </p> + <p> + When Fanshaw had presented his two friends to their host he fell again + into a tone of rallying the latter about his wreckage of the fence and his + apparent rage of profanity. The Admiral pooh-poohed it at first as a piece + of necessary but annoying garden work; but at length the ring of real + energy came back into his laughter, and he cried with a mixture of + impatience and good humour: + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps I do go at it a bit rabidly, and feel a kind of pleasure in + smashing anything. So would you if your only pleasure was in cruising + about to find some new Cannibal Islands, and you had to stick on this + muddy little rockery in a sort of rustic pond. When I remember how I’ve + cut down a mile and a half of green poisonous jungle with an old cutlass + half as sharp as this; and then remember I must stop here and chop this + matchwood, because of some confounded old bargain scribbled in a family + Bible, why, I—” + </p> + <p> + He swung up the heavy steel again; and this time sundered the wall of wood + from top to bottom at one stroke. + </p> + <p> + “I feel like that,” he said laughing, but furiously flinging the sword + some yards down the path, “and now let’s go up to the house; you must have + some dinner.” + </p> + <p> + The semicircle of lawn in front of the house was varied by three circular + garden beds, one of red tulips, a second of yellow tulips, and the third + of some white, waxen-looking blossoms that the visitors did not know and + presumed to be exotic. A heavy, hairy and rather sullen-looking gardener + was hanging up a heavy coil of garden hose. The corners of the expiring + sunset which seemed to cling about the corners of the house gave glimpses + here and there of the colours of remoter flowerbeds; and in a treeless + space on one side of the house opening upon the river stood a tall brass + tripod on which was tilted a big brass telescope. Just outside the steps + of the porch stood a little painted green garden table, as if someone had + just had tea there. The entrance was flanked with two of those + half-featured lumps of stone with holes for eyes that are said to be South + Sea idols; and on the brown oak beam across the doorway were some confused + carvings that looked almost as barbaric. + </p> + <p> + As they passed indoors, the little cleric hopped suddenly on to the table, + and standing on it peered unaffectedly through his spectacles at the + mouldings in the oak. Admiral Pendragon looked very much astonished, + though not particularly annoyed; while Fanshaw was so amused with what + looked like a performing pigmy on his little stand, that he could not + control his laughter. But Father Brown was not likely to notice either the + laughter or the astonishment. + </p> + <p> + He was gazing at three carved symbols, which, though very worn and + obscure, seemed still to convey some sense to him. The first seemed to be + the outline of some tower or other building, crowned with what looked like + curly-pointed ribbons. The second was clearer: an old Elizabethan galley + with decorative waves beneath it, but interrupted in the middle by a + curious jagged rock, which was either a fault in the wood or some + conventional representation of the water coming in. The third represented + the upper half of a human figure, ending in an escalloped line like the + waves; the face was rubbed and featureless, and both arms were held very + stiffly up in the air. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” muttered Father Brown, blinking, “here is the legend of the + Spaniard plain enough. Here he is holding up his arms and cursing in the + sea; and here are the two curses: the wrecked ship and the burning of + Pendragon Tower.” + </p> + <p> + Pendragon shook his head with a kind of venerable amusement. “And how many + other things might it not be?” he said. “Don’t you know that that sort of + half-man, like a half-lion or half-stag, is quite common in heraldry? + Might not that line through the ship be one of those parti-per-pale lines, + indented, I think they call it? And though the third thing isn’t so very + heraldic, it would be more heraldic to suppose it a tower crowned with + laurel than with fire; and it looks just as like it.” + </p> + <p> + “But it seems rather odd,” said Flambeau, “that it should exactly confirm + the old legend.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” replied the sceptical traveller, “but you don’t know how much of the + old legend may have been made up from the old figures. Besides, it isn’t + the only old legend. Fanshaw, here, who is fond of such things, will tell + you there are other versions of the tale, and much more horrible ones. One + story credits my unfortunate ancestor with having had the Spaniard cut in + two; and that will fit the pretty picture also. Another obligingly credits + our family with the possession of a tower full of snakes and explains + those little, wriggly things in that way. And a third theory supposes the + crooked line on the ship to be a conventionalized thunderbolt; but that + alone, if seriously examined, would show what a very little way these + unhappy coincidences really go.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, how do you mean?” asked Fanshaw. + </p> + <p> + “It so happens,” replied his host coolly, “that there was no thunder and + lightning at all in the two or three shipwrecks I know of in our family.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Father Brown, and jumped down from the little table. + </p> + <p> + There was another silence in which they heard the continuous murmur of the + river; then Fanshaw said, in a doubtful and perhaps disappointed tone: + “Then you don’t think there is anything in the tales of the tower in + flames?” + </p> + <p> + “There are the tales, of course,” said the Admiral, shrugging his + shoulders; “and some of them, I don’t deny, on evidence as decent as one + ever gets for such things. Someone saw a blaze hereabout, don’t you know, + as he walked home through a wood; someone keeping sheep on the uplands + inland thought he saw a flame hovering over Pendragon Tower. Well, a damp + dab of mud like this confounded island seems the last place where one + would think of fires.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that fire over there?” asked Father Brown with a gentle + suddenness, pointing to the woods on the left river-bank. They were all + thrown a little off their balance, and the more fanciful Fanshaw had even + some difficulty in recovering his, as they saw a long, thin stream of blue + smoke ascending silently into the end of the evening light. + </p> + <p> + Then Pendragon broke into a scornful laugh again. “Gipsies!” he said; + “they’ve been camping about here for about a week. Gentlemen, you want + your dinner,” and he turned as if to enter the house. + </p> + <p> + But the antiquarian superstition in Fanshaw was still quivering, and he + said hastily: “But, Admiral, what’s that hissing noise quite near the + island? It’s very like fire.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s more like what it is,” said the Admiral, laughing as he led the way; + “it’s only some canoe going by.” + </p> + <p> + Almost as he spoke, the butler, a lean man in black, with very black hair + and a very long, yellow face, appeared in the doorway and told him that + dinner was served. + </p> + <p> + The dining-room was as nautical as the cabin of a ship; but its note was + rather that of the modern than the Elizabethan captain. There were, + indeed, three antiquated cutlasses in a trophy over the fireplace, and one + brown sixteenth-century map with Tritons and little ships dotted about a + curly sea. But such things were less prominent on the white panelling than + some cases of quaint-coloured South American birds, very scientifically + stuffed, fantastic shells from the Pacific, and several instruments so + rude and queer in shape that savages might have used them either to kill + their enemies or to cook them. But the alien colour culminated in the fact + that, besides the butler, the Admiral’s only servants were two negroes, + somewhat quaintly clad in tight uniforms of yellow. The priest’s + instinctive trick of analysing his own impressions told him that the + colour and the little neat coat-tails of these bipeds had suggested the + word “Canary,” and so by a mere pun connected them with southward travel. + Towards the end of the dinner they took their yellow clothes and black + faces out of the room, leaving only the black clothes and yellow face of + the butler. + </p> + <p> + “I’m rather sorry you take this so lightly,” said Fanshaw to the host; + “for the truth is, I’ve brought these friends of mine with the idea of + their helping you, as they know a good deal of these things. Don’t you + really believe in the family story at all?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe in anything,” answered Pendragon very briskly, with a + bright eye cocked at a red tropical bird. “I’m a man of science.” + </p> + <p> + Rather to Flambeau’s surprise, his clerical friend, who seemed to have + entirely woken up, took up the digression and talked natural history with + his host with a flow of words and much unexpected information, until the + dessert and decanters were set down and the last of the servants vanished. + Then he said, without altering his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t think me impertinent, Admiral Pendragon. I don’t ask for + curiosity, but really for my guidance and your convenience. Have I made a + bad shot if I guess you don’t want these old things talked of before your + butler?” + </p> + <p> + The Admiral lifted the hairless arches over his eyes and exclaimed: “Well, + I don’t know where you got it, but the truth is I can’t stand the fellow, + though I’ve no excuse for discharging a family servant. Fanshaw, with his + fairy tales, would say my blood moved against men with that black, + Spanish-looking hair.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau struck the table with his heavy fist. “By Jove!” he cried; “and + so had that girl!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it’ll all end tonight,” continued the Admiral, “when my nephew + comes back safe from his ship. You looked surprised. You won’t understand, + I suppose, unless I tell you the story. You see, my father had two sons; I + remained a bachelor, but my elder brother married, and had a son who + became a sailor like all the rest of us, and will inherit the proper + estate. Well, my father was a strange man; he somehow combined Fanshaw’s + superstition with a good deal of my scepticism—they were always + fighting in him; and after my first voyages, he developed a notion which + he thought somehow would settle finally whether the curse was truth or + trash. If all the Pendragons sailed about anyhow, he thought there would + be too much chance of natural catastrophes to prove anything. But if we + went to sea one at a time in strict order of succession to the property, + he thought it might show whether any connected fate followed the family as + a family. It was a silly notion, I think, and I quarrelled with my father + pretty heartily; for I was an ambitious man and was left to the last, + coming, by succession, after my own nephew.” + </p> + <p> + “And your father and brother,” said the priest, very gently, “died at sea, + I fear.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” groaned the Admiral; “by one of those brutal accidents on which are + built all the lying mythologies of mankind, they were both shipwrecked. My + father, coming up this coast out of the Atlantic, was washed up on these + Cornish rocks. My brother’s ship was sunk, no one knows where, on the + voyage home from Tasmania. His body was never found. I tell you it was + from perfectly natural mishap; lots of other people besides Pendragons + were drowned; and both disasters are discussed in a normal way by + navigators. But, of course, it set this forest of superstition on fire; + and men saw the flaming tower everywhere. That’s why I say it will be all + right when Walter returns. The girl he’s engaged to was coming today; but + I was so afraid of some chance delay frightening her that I wired her not + to come till she heard from me. But he’s practically sure to be here some + time tonight, and then it’ll all end in smoke—tobacco smoke. We’ll + crack that old lie when we crack a bottle of this wine.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good wine,” said Father Brown, gravely lifting his glass, “but, as + you see, a very bad wine-bibber. I most sincerely beg your pardon”: for he + had spilt a small spot of wine on the table-cloth. He drank and put down + the glass with a composed face; but his hand had started at the exact + moment when he became conscious of a face looking in through the garden + window just behind the Admiral—the face of a woman, swarthy, with + southern hair and eyes, and young, but like a mask of tragedy. + </p> + <p> + After a pause the priest spoke again in his mild manner. “Admiral,” he + said, “will you do me a favour? Let me, and my friends if they like, stop + in that tower of yours just for tonight? Do you know that in my business + you’re an exorcist almost before anything else?” + </p> + <p> + Pendragon sprang to his feet and paced swiftly to and fro across the + window, from which the face had instantly vanished. “I tell you there is + nothing in it,” he cried, with ringing violence. “There is one thing I + know about this matter. You may call me an atheist. I am an atheist.” Here + he swung round and fixed Father Brown with a face of frightful + concentration. “This business is perfectly natural. There is no curse in + it at all.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown smiled. “In that case,” he said, “there can’t be any + objection to my sleeping in your delightful summer-house.” + </p> + <p> + “The idea is utterly ridiculous,” replied the Admiral, beating a tattoo on + the back of his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Please forgive me for everything,” said Brown in his most sympathetic + tone, “including spilling the wine. But it seems to me you are not quite + so easy about the flaming tower as you try to be.” + </p> + <p> + Admiral Pendragon sat down again as abruptly as he had risen; but he sat + quite still, and when he spoke again it was in a lower voice. “You do it + at your own peril,” he said; “but wouldn’t you be an atheist to keep sane + in all this devilry?” + </p> + <p> + Some three hours afterwards Fanshaw, Flambeau and the priest were still + dawdling about the garden in the dark; and it began to dawn on the other + two that Father Brown had no intention of going to bed either in the tower + or the house. + </p> + <p> + “I think the lawn wants weeding,” said he dreamily. “If I could find a + spud or something I’d do it myself.” + </p> + <p> + They followed him, laughing and half remonstrating; but he replied with + the utmost solemnity, explaining to them, in a maddening little sermon, + that one can always find some small occupation that is helpful to others. + He did not find a spud; but he found an old broom made of twigs, with + which he began energetically to brush the fallen leaves off the grass. + </p> + <p> + “Always some little thing to be done,” he said with idiotic cheerfulness; + “as George Herbert says: ‘Who sweeps an Admiral’s garden in Cornwall as + for Thy laws makes that and the action fine.’ And now,” he added, suddenly + slinging the broom away, “Let’s go and water the flowers.” + </p> + <p> + With the same mixed emotions they watched him uncoil some considerable + lengths of the large garden hose, saying with an air of wistful + discrimination: “The red tulips before the yellow, I think. Look a bit + dry, don’t you think?” + </p> + <p> + He turned the little tap on the instrument, and the water shot out + straight and solid as a long rod of steel. + </p> + <p> + “Look out, Samson,” cried Flambeau; “why, you’ve cut off the tulip’s + head.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown stood ruefully contemplating the decapitated plant. + </p> + <p> + “Mine does seem to be a rather kill or cure sort of watering,” he + admitted, scratching his head. “I suppose it’s a pity I didn’t find the + spud. You should have seen me with the spud! Talking of tools, you’ve got + that swordstick, Flambeau, you always carry? That’s right; and Sir Cecil + could have that sword the Admiral threw away by the fence here. How grey + everything looks!” + </p> + <p> + “The mist’s rising from the river,” said the staring Flambeau. + </p> + <p> + Almost as he spoke the huge figure of the hairy gardener appeared on a + higher ridge of the trenched and terraced lawn, hailing them with a + brandished rake and a horribly bellowing voice. “Put down that hose,” he + shouted; “put down that hose and go to your—” + </p> + <p> + “I am fearfully clumsy,” replied the reverend gentleman weakly; “do you + know, I upset some wine at dinner.” He made a wavering half-turn of + apology towards the gardener, with the hose still spouting in his hand. + The gardener caught the cold crash of the water full in his face like the + crash of a cannon-ball; staggered, slipped and went sprawling with his + boots in the air. + </p> + <p> + “How very dreadful!” said Father Brown, looking round in a sort of wonder. + “Why, I’ve hit a man!” + </p> + <p> + He stood with his head forward for a moment as if looking or listening; + and then set off at a trot towards the tower, still trailing the hose + behind him. The tower was quite close, but its outline was curiously dim. + </p> + <p> + “Your river mist,” he said, “has a rum smell.” + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord it has,” cried Fanshaw, who was very white. “But you can’t + mean—” + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” said Father Brown, “that one of the Admiral’s scientific + predictions is coming true tonight. This story is going to end in smoke.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke a most beautiful rose-red light seemed to burst into blossom + like a gigantic rose; but accompanied with a crackling and rattling noise + that was like the laughter of devils. + </p> + <p> + “My God! what is this?” cried Sir Cecil Fanshaw. + </p> + <p> + “The sign of the flaming tower,” said Father Brown, and sent the driving + water from his hose into the heart of the red patch. + </p> + <p> + “Lucky we hadn’t gone to bed!” ejaculated Fanshaw. “I suppose it can’t + spread to the house.” + </p> + <p> + “You may remember,” said the priest quietly, “that the wooden fence that + might have carried it was cut away.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau turned electrified eyes upon his friend, but Fanshaw only said + rather absently: “Well, nobody can be killed, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “This is rather a curious kind of tower,” observed Father Brown, “when it + takes to killing people, it always kills people who are somewhere else.” + </p> + <p> + At the same instant the monstrous figure of the gardener with the + streaming beard stood again on the green ridge against the sky, waving + others to come on; but now waving not a rake but a cutlass. Behind him + came the two negroes, also with the old crooked cutlasses out of the + trophy. But in the blood-red glare, with their black faces and yellow + figures, they looked like devils carrying instruments of torture. In the + dim garden behind them a distant voice was heard calling out brief + directions. When the priest heard the voice, a terrible change came over + his countenance. + </p> + <p> + But he remained composed; and never took his eye off the patch of flame + which had begun by spreading, but now seemed to shrink a little as it + hissed under the torch of the long silver spear of water. He kept his + finger along the nozzle of the pipe to ensure the aim, and attended to no + other business, knowing only by the noise and that semi-conscious corner + of the eye, the exciting incidents that began to tumble themselves about + the island garden. He gave two brief directions to his friends. One was: + “Knock these fellows down somehow and tie them up, whoever they are; + there’s rope down by those faggots. They want to take away my nice hose.” + The other was: “As soon as you get a chance, call out to that canoeing + girl; she’s over on the bank with the gipsies. Ask her if they could get + some buckets across and fill them from the river.” Then he closed his + mouth and continued to water the new red flower as ruthlessly as he had + watered the red tulip. + </p> + <p> + He never turned his head to look at the strange fight that followed + between the foes and friends of the mysterious fire. He almost felt the + island shake when Flambeau collided with the huge gardener; he merely + imagined how it would whirl round them as they wrestled. He heard the + crashing fall; and his friend’s gasp of triumph as he dashed on to the + first negro; and the cries of both the blacks as Flambeau and Fanshaw + bound them. Flambeau’s enormous strength more than redressed the odds in + the fight, especially as the fourth man still hovered near the house, only + a shadow and a voice. He heard also the water broken by the paddles of a + canoe; the girl’s voice giving orders, the voices of gipsies answering and + coming nearer, the plumping and sucking noise of empty buckets plunged + into a full stream; and finally the sound of many feet around the fire. + But all this was less to him than the fact that the red rent, which had + lately once more increased, had once more slightly diminished. + </p> + <p> + Then came a cry that very nearly made him turn his head. Flambeau and + Fanshaw, now reinforced by some of the gipsies, had rushed after the + mysterious man by the house; and he heard from the other end of the garden + the Frenchman’s cry of horror and astonishment. It was echoed by a howl + not to be called human, as the being broke from their hold and ran along + the garden. Three times at least it raced round the whole island, in a way + that was as horrible as the chase of a lunatic, both in the cries of the + pursued and the ropes carried by the pursuers; but was more horrible + still, because it somehow suggested one of the chasing games of children + in a garden. Then, finding them closing in on every side, the figure + sprang upon one of the higher river banks and disappeared with a splash + into the dark and driving river. + </p> + <p> + “You can do no more, I fear,” said Brown in a voice cold with pain. “He + has been washed down to the rocks by now, where he has sent so many + others. He knew the use of a family legend.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t talk in these parables,” cried Flambeau impatiently. “Can’t you + put it simply in words of one syllable?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Brown, with his eye on the hose. “‘Both eyes bright, she’s + all right; one eye blinks, down she sinks.’” + </p> + <p> + The fire hissed and shrieked more and more, like a strangled thing, as it + grew narrower and narrower under the flood from the pipe and buckets, but + Father Brown still kept his eye on it as he went on speaking: + </p> + <p> + “I thought of asking this young lady, if it were morning yet, to look + through that telescope at the river mouth and the river. She might have + seen something to interest her: the sign of the ship, or Mr Walter + Pendragon coming home, and perhaps even the sign of the half-man, for + though he is certainly safe by now, he may very well have waded ashore. He + has been within a shave of another shipwreck; and would never have escaped + it, if the lady hadn’t had the sense to suspect the old Admiral’s telegram + and come down to watch him. Don’t let’s talk about the old Admiral. Don’t + let’s talk about anything. It’s enough to say that whenever this tower, + with its pitch and resin-wood, really caught fire, the spark on the + horizon always looked like the twin light to the coast light-house.” + </p> + <p> + “And that,” said Flambeau, “is how the father and brother died. The wicked + uncle of the legends very nearly got his estate after all.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown did not answer; indeed, he did not speak again, save for + civilities, till they were all safe round a cigar-box in the cabin of the + yacht. He saw that the frustrated fire was extinguished; and then refused + to linger, though he actually heard young Pendragon, escorted by an + enthusiastic crowd, come tramping up the river bank; and might (had he + been moved by romantic curiosities) have received the combined thanks of + the man from the ship and the girl from the canoe. But his fatigue had + fallen on him once more, and he only started once, when Flambeau abruptly + told him he had dropped cigar-ash on his trousers. + </p> + <p> + “That’s no cigar-ash,” he said rather wearily. “That’s from the fire, but + you don’t think so because you’re all smoking cigars. That’s just the way + I got my first faint suspicion about the chart.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean Pendragon’s chart of his Pacific Islands?” asked Fanshaw. + </p> + <p> + “You thought it was a chart of the Pacific Islands,” answered Brown. “Put + a feather with a fossil and a bit of coral and everyone will think it’s a + specimen. Put the same feather with a ribbon and an artificial flower and + everyone will think it’s for a lady’s hat. Put the same feather with an + ink-bottle, a book and a stack of writing-paper, and most men will swear + they’ve seen a quill pen. So you saw that map among tropic birds and + shells and thought it was a map of Pacific Islands. It was the map of this + river.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you know?” asked Fanshaw. + </p> + <p> + “I saw the rock you thought was like a dragon, and the one like Merlin, + and—” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have noticed a lot as we came in,” cried Fanshaw. “We thought + you were rather abstracted.” + </p> + <p> + “I was sea-sick,” said Father Brown simply. “I felt simply horrible. But + feeling horrible has nothing to do with not seeing things.” And he closed + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think most men would have seen that?” asked Flambeau. He received + no answer: Father Brown was asleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NINE — The God of the Gongs + </h2> + <p> + IT was one of those chilly and empty afternoons in early winter, when the + daylight is silver rather than gold and pewter rather than silver. If it + was dreary in a hundred bleak offices and yawning drawing-rooms, it was + drearier still along the edges of the flat Essex coast, where the monotony + was the more inhuman for being broken at very long intervals by a + lamp-post that looked less civilized than a tree, or a tree that looked + more ugly than a lamp-post. A light fall of snow had half-melted into a + few strips, also looking leaden rather than silver, when it had been fixed + again by the seal of frost; no fresh snow had fallen, but a ribbon of the + old snow ran along the very margin of the coast, so as to parallel the + pale ribbon of the foam. + </p> + <p> + The line of the sea looked frozen in the very vividness of its + violet-blue, like the vein of a frozen finger. For miles and miles, + forward and back, there was no breathing soul, save two pedestrians, + walking at a brisk pace, though one had much longer legs and took much + longer strides than the other. + </p> + <p> + It did not seem a very appropriate place or time for a holiday, but Father + Brown had few holidays, and had to take them when he could, and he always + preferred, if possible, to take them in company with his old friend + Flambeau, ex-criminal and ex-detective. The priest had had a fancy for + visiting his old parish at Cobhole, and was going north-eastward along the + coast. + </p> + <p> + After walking a mile or two farther, they found that the shore was + beginning to be formally embanked, so as to form something like a parade; + the ugly lamp-posts became less few and far between and more ornamental, + though quite equally ugly. Half a mile farther on Father Brown was puzzled + first by little labyrinths of flowerless flower-pots, covered with the + low, flat, quiet-coloured plants that look less like a garden than a + tessellated pavement, between weak curly paths studded with seats with + curly backs. He faintly sniffed the atmosphere of a certain sort of + seaside town that he did not specially care about, and, looking ahead + along the parade by the sea, he saw something that put the matter beyond a + doubt. In the grey distance the big bandstand of a watering-place stood up + like a giant mushroom with six legs. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Father Brown, turning up his coat-collar and drawing a + woollen scarf rather closer round his neck, “that we are approaching a + pleasure resort.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear,” answered Flambeau, “a pleasure resort to which few people just + now have the pleasure of resorting. They try to revive these places in the + winter, but it never succeeds except with Brighton and the old ones. This + must be Seawood, I think—Lord Pooley’s experiment; he had the + Sicilian Singers down at Christmas, and there’s talk about holding one of + the great glove-fights here. But they’ll have to chuck the rotten place + into the sea; it’s as dreary as a lost railway-carriage.” + </p> + <p> + They had come under the big bandstand, and the priest was looking up at it + with a curiosity that had something rather odd about it, his head a little + on one side, like a bird’s. It was the conventional, rather tawdry kind of + erection for its purpose: a flattened dome or canopy, gilt here and there, + and lifted on six slender pillars of painted wood, the whole being raised + about five feet above the parade on a round wooden platform like a drum. + But there was something fantastic about the snow combined with something + artificial about the gold that haunted Flambeau as well as his friend with + some association he could not capture, but which he knew was at once + artistic and alien. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got it,” he said at last. “It’s Japanese. It’s like those fanciful + Japanese prints, where the snow on the mountain looks like sugar, and the + gilt on the pagodas is like gilt on gingerbread. It looks just like a + little pagan temple.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Father Brown. “Let’s have a look at the god.” And with an + agility hardly to be expected of him, he hopped up on to the raised + platform. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well,” said Flambeau, laughing; and the next instant his own + towering figure was visible on that quaint elevation. + </p> + <p> + Slight as was the difference of height, it gave in those level wastes a + sense of seeing yet farther and farther across land and sea. Inland the + little wintry gardens faded into a confused grey copse; beyond that, in + the distance, were long low barns of a lonely farmhouse, and beyond that + nothing but the long East Anglian plains. Seawards there was no sail or + sign of life save a few seagulls: and even they looked like the last + snowflakes, and seemed to float rather than fly. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau turned abruptly at an exclamation behind him. It seemed to come + from lower down than might have been expected, and to be addressed to his + heels rather than his head. He instantly held out his hand, but he could + hardly help laughing at what he saw. For some reason or other the platform + had given way under Father Brown, and the unfortunate little man had + dropped through to the level of the parade. He was just tall enough, or + short enough, for his head alone to stick out of the hole in the broken + wood, looking like St John the Baptist’s head on a charger. The face wore + a disconcerted expression, as did, perhaps, that of St John the Baptist. + </p> + <p> + In a moment he began to laugh a little. “This wood must be rotten,” said + Flambeau. “Though it seems odd it should bear me, and you go through the + weak place. Let me help you out.” + </p> + <p> + But the little priest was looking rather curiously at the corners and + edges of the wood alleged to be rotten, and there was a sort of trouble on + his brow. + </p> + <p> + “Come along,” cried Flambeau impatiently, still with his big brown hand + extended. “Don’t you want to get out?” + </p> + <p> + The priest was holding a splinter of the broken wood between his finger + and thumb, and did not immediately reply. At last he said thoughtfully: + “Want to get out? Why, no. I rather think I want to get in.” And he dived + into the darkness under the wooden floor so abruptly as to knock off his + big curved clerical hat and leave it lying on the boards above, without + any clerical head in it. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau looked once more inland and out to sea, and once more could see + nothing but seas as wintry as the snow, and snows as level as the sea. + </p> + <p> + There came a scurrying noise behind him, and the little priest came + scrambling out of the hole faster than he had fallen in. His face was no + longer disconcerted, but rather resolute, and, perhaps only through the + reflections of the snow, a trifle paler than usual. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked his tall friend. “Have you found the god of the temple?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Father Brown. “I have found what was sometimes more + important. The Sacrifice.” + </p> + <p> + “What the devil do you mean?” cried Flambeau, quite alarmed. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown did not answer. He was staring, with a knot in his forehead, + at the landscape; and he suddenly pointed at it. “What’s that house over + there?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Following his finger, Flambeau saw for the first time the corners of a + building nearer than the farmhouse, but screened for the most part with a + fringe of trees. It was not a large building, and stood well back from the + shore—, but a glint of ornament on it suggested that it was part of + the same watering-place scheme of decoration as the bandstand, the little + gardens and the curly-backed iron seats. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown jumped off the bandstand, his friend following; and as they + walked in the direction indicated the trees fell away to right and left, + and they saw a small, rather flashy hotel, such as is common in resorts—the + hotel of the Saloon Bar rather than the Bar Parlour. Almost the whole + frontage was of gilt plaster and figured glass, and between that grey + seascape and the grey, witch-like trees, its gimcrack quality had + something spectral in its melancholy. They both felt vaguely that if any + food or drink were offered at such a hostelry, it would be the paste-board + ham and empty mug of the pantomime. + </p> + <p> + In this, however, they were not altogether confirmed. As they drew nearer + and nearer to the place they saw in front of the buffet, which was + apparently closed, one of the iron garden-seats with curly backs that had + adorned the gardens, but much longer, running almost the whole length of + the frontage. Presumably, it was placed so that visitors might sit there + and look at the sea, but one hardly expected to find anyone doing it in + such weather. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, just in front of the extreme end of the iron seat stood a + small round restaurant table, and on this stood a small bottle of Chablis + and a plate of almonds and raisins. Behind the table and on the seat sat a + dark-haired young man, bareheaded, and gazing at the sea in a state of + almost astonishing immobility. + </p> + <p> + But though he might have been a waxwork when they were within four yards + of him, he jumped up like a jack-in-the-box when they came within three, + and said in a deferential, though not undignified, manner: “Will you step + inside, gentlemen? I have no staff at present, but I can get you anything + simple myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Much obliged,” said Flambeau. “So you are the proprietor?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the dark man, dropping back a little into his motionless + manner. “My waiters are all Italians, you see, and I thought it only fair + they should see their countryman beat the black, if he really can do it. + You know the great fight between Malvoli and Nigger Ned is coming off + after all?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid we can’t wait to trouble your hospitality seriously,” said + Father Brown. “But my friend would be glad of a glass of sherry, I’m sure, + to keep out the cold and drink success to the Latin champion.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau did not understand the sherry, but he did not object to it in the + least. He could only say amiably: “Oh, thank you very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Sherry, sir—certainly,” said their host, turning to his hostel. + “Excuse me if I detain you a few minutes. As I told you, I have no staff—” + And he went towards the black windows of his shuttered and unlighted inn. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it doesn’t really matter,” began Flambeau, but the man turned to + reassure him. + </p> + <p> + “I have the keys,” he said. “I could find my way in the dark.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t mean—” began Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + He was interrupted by a bellowing human voice that came out of the bowels + of the uninhabited hotel. It thundered some foreign name loudly but + inaudibly, and the hotel proprietor moved more sharply towards it than he + had done for Flambeau’s sherry. As instant evidence proved, the proprietor + had told, then and after, nothing but the literal truth. But both Flambeau + and Father Brown have often confessed that, in all their (often + outrageous) adventures, nothing had so chilled their blood as that voice + of an ogre, sounding suddenly out of a silent and empty inn. + </p> + <p> + “My cook!” cried the proprietor hastily. “I had forgotten my cook. He will + be starting presently. Sherry, sir?” + </p> + <p> + And, sure enough, there appeared in the doorway a big white bulk with + white cap and white apron, as befits a cook, but with the needless + emphasis of a black face. Flambeau had often heard that negroes made good + cooks. But somehow something in the contrast of colour and caste increased + his surprise that the hotel proprietor should answer the call of the cook, + and not the cook the call of the proprietor. But he reflected that head + cooks are proverbially arrogant; and, besides, the host had come back with + the sherry, and that was the great thing. + </p> + <p> + “I rather wonder,” said Father Brown, “that there are so few people about + the beach, when this big fight is coming on after all. We only met one man + for miles.” + </p> + <p> + The hotel proprietor shrugged his shoulders. “They come from the other end + of the town, you see—from the station, three miles from here. They + are only interested in the sport, and will stop in hotels for the night + only. After all, it is hardly weather for basking on the shore.” + </p> + <p> + “Or on the seat,” said Flambeau, and pointed to the little table. + </p> + <p> + “I have to keep a look-out,” said the man with the motionless face. He was + a quiet, well-featured fellow, rather sallow; his dark clothes had nothing + distinctive about them, except that his black necktie was worn rather + high, like a stock, and secured by a gold pin with some grotesque head to + it. Nor was there anything notable in the face, except something that was + probably a mere nervous trick—a habit of opening one eye more + narrowly than the other, giving the impression that the other was larger, + or was, perhaps, artificial. + </p> + <p> + The silence that ensued was broken by their host saying quietly: + “Whereabouts did you meet the one man on your march?” + </p> + <p> + “Curiously enough,” answered the priest, “close by here—just by that + bandstand.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau, who had sat on the long iron seat to finish his sherry, put it + down and rose to his feet, staring at his friend in amazement. He opened + his mouth to speak, and then shut it again. + </p> + <p> + “Curious,” said the dark-haired man thoughtfully. “What was he like?” + </p> + <p> + “It was rather dark when I saw him,” began Father Brown, “but he was—” + </p> + <p> + As has been said, the hotel-keeper can be proved to have told the precise + truth. His phrase that the cook was starting presently was fulfilled to + the letter, for the cook came out, pulling his gloves on, even as they + spoke. + </p> + <p> + But he was a very different figure from the confused mass of white and + black that had appeared for an instant in the doorway. He was buttoned and + buckled up to his bursting eyeballs in the most brilliant fashion. A tall + black hat was tilted on his broad black head—a hat of the sort that + the French wit has compared to eight mirrors. But somehow the black man + was like the black hat. He also was black, and yet his glossy skin flung + back the light at eight angles or more. It is needless to say that he wore + white spats and a white slip inside his waistcoat. The red flower stood up + in his buttonhole aggressively, as if it had suddenly grown there. And in + the way he carried his cane in one hand and his cigar in the other there + was a certain attitude—an attitude we must always remember when we + talk of racial prejudices: something innocent and insolent—the cake + walk. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” said Flambeau, looking after him, “I’m not surprised that + they lynch them.” + </p> + <p> + “I am never surprised,” said Father Brown, “at any work of hell. But as I + was saying,” he resumed, as the negro, still ostentatiously pulling on his + yellow gloves, betook himself briskly towards the watering-place, a queer + music-hall figure against that grey and frosty scene—“as I was + saying, I couldn’t describe the man very minutely, but he had a flourish + and old-fashioned whiskers and moustachios, dark or dyed, as in the + pictures of foreign financiers, round his neck was wrapped a long purple + scarf that thrashed out in the wind as he walked. It was fixed at the + throat rather in the way that nurses fix children’s comforters with a + safety-pin. Only this,” added the priest, gazing placidly out to sea, “was + not a safety-pin.” + </p> + <p> + The man sitting on the long iron bench was also gazing placidly out to + sea. Now he was once more in repose. Flambeau felt quite certain that one + of his eyes was naturally larger than the other. Both were now well + opened, and he could almost fancy the left eye grew larger as he gazed. + </p> + <p> + “It was a very long gold pin, and had the carved head of a monkey or some + such thing,” continued the cleric; “and it was fixed in a rather odd way—he + wore pince-nez and a broad black—” + </p> + <p> + The motionless man continued to gaze at the sea, and the eyes in his head + might have belonged to two different men. Then he made a movement of + blinding swiftness. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown had his back to him, and in that flash might have fallen dead + on his face. Flambeau had no weapon, but his large brown hands were + resting on the end of the long iron seat. His shoulders abruptly altered + their shape, and he heaved the whole huge thing high over his head, like a + headsman’s axe about to fall. The mere height of the thing, as he held it + vertical, looked like a long iron ladder by which he was inviting men to + climb towards the stars. But the long shadow, in the level evening light, + looked like a giant brandishing the Eiffel Tower. It was the shock of that + shadow, before the shock of the iron crash, that made the stranger quail + and dodge, and then dart into his inn, leaving the flat and shining dagger + he had dropped exactly where it had fallen. + </p> + <p> + “We must get away from here instantly,” cried Flambeau, flinging the huge + seat away with furious indifference on the beach. He caught the little + priest by the elbow and ran him down a grey perspective of barren back + garden, at the end of which there was a closed back garden door. Flambeau + bent over it an instant in violent silence, and then said: “The door is + locked.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke a black feather from one of the ornamental firs fell, brushing + the brim of his hat. It startled him more than the small and distant + detonation that had come just before. Then came another distant + detonation, and the door he was trying to open shook under the bullet + buried in it. Flambeau’s shoulders again filled out and altered suddenly. + Three hinges and a lock burst at the same instant, and he went out into + the empty path behind, carrying the great garden door with him, as Samson + carried the gates of Gaza. + </p> + <p> + Then he flung the garden door over the garden wall, just as a third shot + picked up a spurt of snow and dust behind his heel. Without ceremony he + snatched up the little priest, slung him astraddle on his shoulders, and + went racing towards Seawood as fast as his long legs could carry him. It + was not until nearly two miles farther on that he set his small companion + down. It had hardly been a dignified escape, in spite of the classic model + of Anchises, but Father Brown’s face only wore a broad grin. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Flambeau, after an impatient silence, as they resumed their + more conventional tramp through the streets on the edge of the town, where + no outrage need be feared, “I don’t know what all this means, but I take + it I may trust my own eyes that you never met the man you have so + accurately described.” + </p> + <p> + “I did meet him in a way,” Brown said, biting his finger rather nervously—“I + did really. And it was too dark to see him properly, because it was under + that bandstand affair. But I’m afraid I didn’t describe him so very + accurately after all, for his pince-nez was broken under him, and the long + gold pin wasn’t stuck through his purple scarf but through his heart.” + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose,” said the other in a lower voice, “that glass-eyed guy had + something to do with it.” + </p> + <p> + “I had hoped he had only a little,” answered Brown in a rather troubled + voice, “and I may have been wrong in what I did. I acted on impulse. But I + fear this business has deep roots and dark.” + </p> + <p> + They walked on through some streets in silence. The yellow lamps were + beginning to be lit in the cold blue twilight, and they were evidently + approaching the more central parts of the town. Highly coloured bills + announcing the glove-fight between Nigger Ned and Malvoli were slapped + about the walls. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Flambeau, “I never murdered anyone, even in my criminal days, + but I can almost sympathize with anyone doing it in such a dreary place. + Of all God-forsaken dustbins of Nature, I think the most heart-breaking + are places like that bandstand, that were meant to be festive and are + forlorn. I can fancy a morbid man feeling he must kill his rival in the + solitude and irony of such a scene. I remember once taking a tramp in your + glorious Surrey hills, thinking of nothing but gorse and skylarks, when I + came out on a vast circle of land, and over me lifted a vast, voiceless + structure, tier above tier of seats, as huge as a Roman amphitheatre and + as empty as a new letter-rack. A bird sailed in heaven over it. It was the + Grand Stand at Epsom. And I felt that no one would ever be happy there + again.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s odd you should mention Epsom,” said the priest. “Do you remember + what was called the Sutton Mystery, because two suspected men—ice-cream + men, I think—happened to live at Sutton? They were eventually + released. A man was found strangled, it was said, on the Downs round that + part. As a fact, I know (from an Irish policeman who is a friend of mine) + that he was found close up to the Epsom Grand Stand—in fact, only + hidden by one of the lower doors being pushed back.” + </p> + <p> + “That is queer,” assented Flambeau. “But it rather confirms my view that + such pleasure places look awfully lonely out of season, or the man + wouldn’t have been murdered there.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not so sure he—” began Brown, and stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Not so sure he was murdered?” queried his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Not so sure he was murdered out of the season,” answered the little + priest, with simplicity. “Don’t you think there’s something rather tricky + about this solitude, Flambeau? Do you feel sure a wise murderer would + always want the spot to be lonely? It’s very, very seldom a man is quite + alone. And, short of that, the more alone he is, the more certain he is to + be seen. No; I think there must be some other—Why, here we are at + the Pavilion or Palace, or whatever they call it.” + </p> + <p> + They had emerged on a small square, brilliantly lighted, of which the + principal building was gay with gilding, gaudy with posters, and flanked + with two giant photographs of Malvoli and Nigger Ned. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” cried Flambeau in great surprise, as his clerical friend stumped + straight up the broad steps. “I didn’t know pugilism was your latest + hobby. Are you going to see the fight?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think there will be any fight,” replied Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + They passed rapidly through ante-rooms and inner rooms; they passed + through the hall of combat itself, raised, roped, and padded with + innumerable seats and boxes, and still the cleric did not look round or + pause till he came to a clerk at a desk outside a door marked “Committee”. + There he stopped and asked to see Lord Pooley. + </p> + <p> + The attendant observed that his lordship was very busy, as the fight was + coming on soon, but Father Brown had a good-tempered tedium of reiteration + for which the official mind is generally not prepared. In a few moments + the rather baffled Flambeau found himself in the presence of a man who was + still shouting directions to another man going out of the room. “Be + careful, you know, about the ropes after the fourth—Well, and what + do you want, I wonder!” + </p> + <p> + Lord Pooley was a gentleman, and, like most of the few remaining to our + race, was worried—especially about money. He was half grey and half + flaxen, and he had the eyes of fever and a high-bridged, frost-bitten + nose. + </p> + <p> + “Only a word,” said Father Brown. “I have come to prevent a man being + killed.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Pooley bounded off his chair as if a spring had flung him from it. + “I’m damned if I’ll stand any more of this!” he cried. “You and your + committees and parsons and petitions! Weren’t there parsons in the old + days, when they fought without gloves? Now they’re fighting with the + regulation gloves, and there’s not the rag of a possibility of either of + the boxers being killed.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t mean either of the boxers,” said the little priest. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, well!” said the nobleman, with a touch of frosty humour. + “Who’s going to be killed? The referee?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know who’s going to be killed,” replied Father Brown, with a + reflective stare. “If I did I shouldn’t have to spoil your pleasure. I + could simply get him to escape. I never could see anything wrong about + prize-fights. As it is, I must ask you to announce that the fight is off + for the present.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything else?” jeered the gentleman with feverish eyes. “And what do you + say to the two thousand people who have come to see it?” + </p> + <p> + “I say there will be one thousand nine-hundred and ninety-nine of them + left alive when they have seen it,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + Lord Pooley looked at Flambeau. “Is your friend mad?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Far from it,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “And look here,” resumed Pooley in his restless way, “it’s worse than + that. A whole pack of Italians have turned up to back Malvoli—swarthy, + savage fellows of some country, anyhow. You know what these Mediterranean + races are like. If I send out word that it’s off we shall have Malvoli + storming in here at the head of a whole Corsican clan.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, it is a matter of life and death,” said the priest. “Ring your + bell. Give your message. And see whether it is Malvoli who answers.” + </p> + <p> + The nobleman struck the bell on the table with an odd air of new + curiosity. He said to the clerk who appeared almost instantly in the + doorway: “I have a serious announcement to make to the audience shortly. + Meanwhile, would you kindly tell the two champions that the fight will + have to be put off.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk stared for some seconds as if at a demon and vanished. + </p> + <p> + “What authority have you for what you say?” asked Lord Pooley abruptly. + “Whom did you consult?” + </p> + <p> + “I consulted a bandstand,” said Father Brown, scratching his head. “But, + no, I’m wrong; I consulted a book, too. I picked it up on a bookstall in + London—very cheap, too.” + </p> + <p> + He had taken out of his pocket a small, stout, leather-bound volume, and + Flambeau, looking over his shoulder, could see that it was some book of + old travels, and had a leaf turned down for reference. + </p> + <p> + “‘The only form in which Voodoo—‘” began Father Brown, reading + aloud. + </p> + <p> + “In which what?” inquired his lordship. + </p> + <p> + “‘In which Voodoo,’” repeated the reader, almost with relish, “‘is widely + organized outside Jamaica itself is in the form known as the Monkey, or + the God of the Gongs, which is powerful in many parts of the two American + continents, especially among half-breeds, many of whom look exactly like + white men. It differs from most other forms of devil-worship and human + sacrifice in the fact that the blood is not shed formally on the altar, + but by a sort of assassination among the crowd. The gongs beat with a + deafening din as the doors of the shrine open and the monkey-god is + revealed; almost the whole congregation rivet ecstatic eyes on him. But + after—‘” + </p> + <p> + The door of the room was flung open, and the fashionable negro stood + framed in it, his eyeballs rolling, his silk hat still insolently tilted + on his head. “Huh!” he cried, showing his apish teeth. “What this? Huh! + Huh! You steal a coloured gentleman’s prize—prize his already—yo’ + think yo’ jes’ save that white ‘Talian trash—” + </p> + <p> + “The matter is only deferred,” said the nobleman quietly. “I will be with + you to explain in a minute or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Who you to—” shouted Nigger Ned, beginning to storm. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Pooley,” replied the other, with a creditable coolness. “I am + the organizing secretary, and I advise you just now to leave the room.” + </p> + <p> + “Who this fellow?” demanded the dark champion, pointing to the priest + disdainfully. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Brown,” was the reply. “And I advise you just now to leave the + country.” + </p> + <p> + The prize-fighter stood glaring for a few seconds, and then, rather to the + surprise of Flambeau and the others, strode out, sending the door to with + a crash behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” asked Father Brown rubbing his dusty hair up, “what do you think + of Leonardo da Vinci? A beautiful Italian head.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Lord Pooley, “I’ve taken a considerable responsibility, + on your bare word. I think you ought to tell me more about this.” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite right, my lord,” answered Brown. “And it won’t take long to + tell.” He put the little leather book in his overcoat pocket. “I think we + know all that this can tell us, but you shall look at it to see if I’m + right. That negro who has just swaggered out is one of the most dangerous + men on earth, for he has the brains of a European, with the instincts of a + cannibal. He has turned what was clean, common-sense butchery among his + fellow-barbarians into a very modern and scientific secret society of + assassins. He doesn’t know I know it, nor, for the matter of that, that I + can’t prove it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence, and the little man went on. + </p> + <p> + “But if I want to murder somebody, will it really be the best plan to make + sure I’m alone with him?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Pooley’s eyes recovered their frosty twinkle as he looked at the + little clergyman. He only said: “If you want to murder somebody, I should + advise it.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown shook his head, like a murderer of much riper experience. “So + Flambeau said,” he replied, with a sigh. “But consider. The more a man + feels lonely the less he can be sure he is alone. It must mean empty + spaces round him, and they are just what make him obvious. Have you never + seen one ploughman from the heights, or one shepherd from the valleys? + Have you never walked along a cliff, and seen one man walking along the + sands? Didn’t you know when he’s killed a crab, and wouldn’t you have + known if it had been a creditor? No! No! No! For an intelligent murderer, + such as you or I might be, it is an impossible plan to make sure that + nobody is looking at you.” + </p> + <p> + “But what other plan is there?” + </p> + <p> + “There is only one,” said the priest. “To make sure that everybody is + looking at something else. A man is throttled close by the big stand at + Epsom. Anybody might have seen it done while the stand stood empty—any + tramp under the hedges or motorist among the hills. But nobody would have + seen it when the stand was crowded and the whole ring roaring, when the + favourite was coming in first—or wasn’t. The twisting of a + neck-cloth, the thrusting of a body behind a door could be done in an + instant—so long as it was that instant. It was the same, of course,” + he continued turning to Flambeau, “with that poor fellow under the + bandstand. He was dropped through the hole (it wasn’t an accidental hole) + just at some very dramatic moment of the entertainment, when the bow of + some great violinist or the voice of some great singer opened or came to + its climax. And here, of course, when the knock-out blow came—it + would not be the only one. That is the little trick Nigger Ned has adopted + from his old God of Gongs.” + </p> + <p> + “By the way, Malvoli—” Pooley began. + </p> + <p> + “Malvoli,” said the priest, “has nothing to do with it. I dare say he has + some Italians with him, but our amiable friends are not Italians. They are + octoroons and African half-bloods of various shades, but I fear we English + think all foreigners are much the same so long as they are dark and dirty. + Also,” he added, with a smile, “I fear the English decline to draw any + fine distinction between the moral character produced by my religion and + that which blooms out of Voodoo.” + </p> + <p> + The blaze of the spring season had burst upon Seawood, littering its + foreshore with famines and bathing-machines, with nomadic preachers and + nigger minstrels, before the two friends saw it again, and long before the + storm of pursuit after the strange secret society had died away. Almost on + every hand the secret of their purpose perished with them. The man of the + hotel was found drifting dead on the sea like so much seaweed; his right + eye was closed in peace, but his left eye was wide open, and glistened + like glass in the moon. Nigger Ned had been overtaken a mile or two away, + and murdered three policemen with his closed left hand. The remaining + officer was surprised—nay, pained—and the negro got away. But + this was enough to set all the English papers in a flame, and for a month + or two the main purpose of the British Empire was to prevent the buck + nigger (who was so in both senses) escaping by any English port. Persons + of a figure remotely reconcilable with his were subjected to quite + extraordinary inquisitions, made to scrub their faces before going on + board ship, as if each white complexion were made up like a mask, of + greasepaint. Every negro in England was put under special regulations and + made to report himself; the outgoing ships would no more have taken a + nigger than a basilisk. For people had found out how fearful and vast and + silent was the force of the savage secret society, and by the time + Flambeau and Father Brown were leaning on the parade parapet in April, the + Black Man meant in England almost what he once meant in Scotland. + </p> + <p> + “He must be still in England,” observed Flambeau, “and horridly well + hidden, too. They must have found him at the ports if he had only whitened + his face.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, he is really a clever man,” said Father Brown apologetically. + “And I’m sure he wouldn’t whiten his face.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but what would he do?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Father Brown, “he would blacken his face.” + </p> + <p> + Flambeau, leaning motionless on the parapet, laughed and said: “My dear + fellow!” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown, also leaning motionless on the parapet, moved one finger for + an instant into the direction of the soot-masked niggers singing on the + sands. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TEN — The Salad of Colonel Cray + </h2> + <p> + FATHER BROWN was walking home from Mass on a white weird morning when the + mists were slowly lifting—one of those mornings when the very + element of light appears as something mysterious and new. The scattered + trees outlined themselves more and more out of the vapour, as if they were + first drawn in grey chalk and then in charcoal. At yet more distant + intervals appeared the houses upon the broken fringe of the suburb; their + outlines became clearer and clearer until he recognized many in which he + had chance acquaintances, and many more the names of whose owners he knew. + But all the windows and doors were sealed; none of the people were of the + sort that would be up at such a time, or still less on such an errand. But + as he passed under the shadow of one handsome villa with verandas and wide + ornate gardens, he heard a noise that made him almost involuntarily stop. + It was the unmistakable noise of a pistol or carbine or some light firearm + discharged; but it was not this that puzzled him most. The first full + noise was immediately followed by a series of fainter noises—as he + counted them, about six. He supposed it must be the echo; but the odd + thing was that the echo was not in the least like the original sound. It + was not like anything else that he could think of; the three things + nearest to it seemed to be the noise made by siphons of soda-water, one of + the many noises made by an animal, and the noise made by a person + attempting to conceal laughter. None of which seemed to make much sense. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown was made of two men. There was a man of action, who was as + modest as a primrose and as punctual as a clock; who went his small round + of duties and never dreamed of altering it. There was also a man of + reflection, who was much simpler but much stronger, who could not easily + be stopped; whose thought was always (in the only intelligent sense of the + words) free thought. He could not help, even unconsciously, asking himself + all the questions that there were to be asked, and answering as many of + them as he could; all that went on like his breathing or circulation. But + he never consciously carried his actions outside the sphere of his own + duty; and in this case the two attitudes were aptly tested. He was just + about to resume his trudge in the twilight, telling himself it was no + affair of his, but instinctively twisting and untwisting twenty theories + about what the odd noises might mean. Then the grey sky-line brightened + into silver, and in the broadening light he realized that he had been to + the house which belonged to an Anglo-Indian Major named Putnam; and that + the Major had a native cook from Malta who was of his communion. He also + began to remember that pistol-shots are sometimes serious things; + accompanied with consequences with which he was legitimately concerned. He + turned back and went in at the garden gate, making for the front door. + </p> + <p> + Half-way down one side of the house stood out a projection like a very low + shed; it was, as he afterwards discovered, a large dustbin. Round the + corner of this came a figure, at first a mere shadow in the haze, + apparently bending and peering about. Then, coming nearer, it solidified + into a figure that was, indeed, rather unusually solid. Major Putnam was a + bald-headed, bull-necked man, short and very broad, with one of those + rather apoplectic faces that are produced by a prolonged attempt to + combine the oriental climate with the occidental luxuries. But the face + was a good-humoured one, and even now, though evidently puzzled and + inquisitive, wore a kind of innocent grin. He had a large palm-leaf hat on + the back of his head (suggesting a halo that was by no means appropriate + to the face), but otherwise he was clad only in a very vivid suit of + striped scarlet and yellow pyjamas; which, though glowing enough to + behold, must have been, on a fresh morning, pretty chilly to wear. He had + evidently come out of his house in a hurry, and the priest was not + surprised when he called out without further ceremony: “Did you hear that + noise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Father Brown; “I thought I had better look in, in case + anything was the matter.” + </p> + <p> + The Major looked at him rather queerly with his good-humoured gooseberry + eyes. “What do you think the noise was?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It sounded like a gun or something,” replied the other, with some + hesitation; “but it seemed to have a singular sort of echo.” + </p> + <p> + The Major was still looking at him quietly, but with protruding eyes, when + the front door was flung open, releasing a flood of gaslight on the face + of the fading mist; and another figure in pyjamas sprang or tumbled out + into the garden. The figure was much longer, leaner, and more athletic; + the pyjamas, though equally tropical, were comparatively tasteful, being + of white with a light lemon-yellow stripe. The man was haggard, but + handsome, more sunburned than the other; he had an aquiline profile and + rather deep-sunken eyes, and a slight air of oddity arising from the + combination of coal-black hair with a much lighter moustache. All this + Father Brown absorbed in detail more at leisure. For the moment he only + saw one thing about the man; which was the revolver in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Cray!” exclaimed the Major, staring at him; “did you fire that shot?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did,” retorted the black-haired gentleman hotly; “and so would you + in my place. If you were chased everywhere by devils and nearly—” + </p> + <p> + The Major seemed to intervene rather hurriedly. “This is my friend Father + Brown,” he said. And then to Brown: “I don’t know whether you’ve met + Colonel Cray of the Royal Artillery.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of him, of course,” said the priest innocently. “Did you—did + you hit anything?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” answered Cray with gravity. + </p> + <p> + “Did he—” asked Major Putnam in a lowered voice, “did he fall or cry + out, or anything?” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Cray was regarding his host with a strange and steady stare. “I’ll + tell you exactly what he did,” he said. “He sneezed.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown’s hand went half-way to his head, with the gesture of a man + remembering somebody’s name. He knew now what it was that was neither + soda-water nor the snorting of a dog. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” ejaculated the staring Major, “I never heard before that a service + revolver was a thing to be sneezed at.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” said Father Brown faintly. “It’s lucky you didn’t turn your + artillery on him or you might have given him quite a bad cold.” Then, + after a bewildered pause, he said: “Was it a burglar?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go inside,” said Major Putnam, rather sharply, and led the way + into his house. + </p> + <p> + The interior exhibited a paradox often to be marked in such morning hours: + that the rooms seemed brighter than the sky outside; even after the Major + had turned out the one gaslight in the front hall. Father Brown was + surprised to see the whole dining-table set out as for a festive meal, + with napkins in their rings, and wine-glasses of some six unnecessary + shapes set beside every plate. It was common enough, at that time of the + morning, to find the remains of a banquet over-night; but to find it + freshly spread so early was unusual. + </p> + <p> + While he stood wavering in the hall Major Putnam rushed past him and sent + a raging eye over the whole oblong of the tablecloth. At last he spoke, + spluttering: “All the silver gone!” he gasped. “Fish-knives and forks + gone. Old cruet-stand gone. Even the old silver cream-jug gone. And now, + Father Brown, I am ready to answer your question of whether it was a + burglar.” + </p> + <p> + “They’re simply a blind,” said Cray stubbornly. “I know better than you + why people persecute this house; I know better than you why—” + </p> + <p> + The Major patted him on the shoulder with a gesture almost peculiar to the + soothing of a sick child, and said: “It was a burglar. Obviously it was a + burglar.” + </p> + <p> + “A burglar with a bad cold,” observed Father Brown, “that might assist you + to trace him in the neighbourhood.” + </p> + <p> + The Major shook his head in a sombre manner. “He must be far beyond trace + now, I fear,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Then, as the restless man with the revolver turned again towards the door + in the garden, he added in a husky, confidential voice: “I doubt whether I + should send for the police, for fear my friend here has been a little too + free with his bullets, and got on the wrong side of the law. He’s lived in + very wild places; and, to be frank with you, I think he sometimes fancies + things.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you once told me,” said Brown, “that he believes some Indian + secret society is pursuing him.” + </p> + <p> + Major Putnam nodded, but at the same time shrugged his shoulders. “I + suppose we’d better follow him outside,” he said. “I don’t want any more—shall + we say, sneezing?” + </p> + <p> + They passed out into the morning light, which was now even tinged with + sunshine, and saw Colonel Cray’s tall figure bent almost double, minutely + examining the condition of gravel and grass. While the Major strolled + unobtrusively towards him, the priest took an equally indolent turn, which + took him round the next corner of the house to within a yard or two of the + projecting dustbin. + </p> + <p> + He stood regarding this dismal object for some minute and a half—, + then he stepped towards it, lifted the lid and put his head inside. Dust + and other discolouring matter shook upwards as he did so; but Father Brown + never observed his own appearance, whatever else he observed. He remained + thus for a measurable period, as if engaged in some mysterious prayers. + Then he came out again, with some ashes on his hair, and walked + unconcernedly away. + </p> + <p> + By the time he came round to the garden door again he found a group there + which seemed to roll away morbidities as the sunlight had already rolled + away the mists. It was in no way rationally reassuring; it was simply + broadly comic, like a cluster of Dickens’s characters. Major Putnam had + managed to slip inside and plunge into a proper shirt and trousers, with a + crimson cummerbund, and a light square jacket over all; thus normally set + off, his red festive face seemed bursting with a commonplace cordiality. + He was indeed emphatic, but then he was talking to his cook—the + swarthy son of Malta, whose lean, yellow and rather careworn face + contrasted quaintly with his snow-white cap and costume. The cook might + well be careworn, for cookery was the Major’s hobby. He was one of those + amateurs who always know more than the professional. The only other person + he even admitted to be a judge of an omelette was his friend Cray—and + as Brown remembered this, he turned to look for the other officer. In the + new presence of daylight and people clothed and in their right mind, the + sight of him was rather a shock. The taller and more elegant man was still + in his night-garb, with tousled black hair, and now crawling about the + garden on his hands and knees, still looking for traces of the burglar; + and now and again, to all appearance, striking the ground with his hand in + anger at not finding him. Seeing him thus quadrupedal in the grass, the + priest raised his eyebrows rather sadly; and for the first time guessed + that “fancies things” might be an euphemism. + </p> + <p> + The third item in the group of the cook and the epicure was also known to + Father Brown; it was Audrey Watson, the Major’s ward and housekeeper; and + at this moment, to judge by her apron, tucked-up sleeves and resolute + manner, much more the housekeeper than the ward. + </p> + <p> + “It serves you right,” she was saying: “I always told you not to have that + old-fashioned cruet-stand.” + </p> + <p> + “I prefer it,” said Putnam, placably. “I’m old-fashioned myself; and the + things keep together.” + </p> + <p> + “And vanish together, as you see,” she retorted. “Well, if you are not + going to bother about the burglar, I shouldn’t bother about the lunch. + It’s Sunday, and we can’t send for vinegar and all that in the town; and + you Indian gentlemen can’t enjoy what you call a dinner without a lot of + hot things. I wish to goodness now you hadn’t asked Cousin Oliver to take + me to the musical service. It isn’t over till half-past twelve, and the + Colonel has to leave by then. I don’t believe you men can manage alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, we can, my dear,” said the Major, looking at her very amiably. + “Marco has all the sauces, and we’ve often done ourselves well in very + rough places, as you might know by now. And it’s time you had a treat, + Audrey; you mustn’t be a housekeeper every hour of the day; and I know you + want to hear the music.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to go to church,” she said, with rather severe eyes. + </p> + <p> + She was one of those handsome women who will always be handsome, because + the beauty is not in an air or a tint, but in the very structure of the + head and features. But though she was not yet middle-aged and her auburn + hair was of a Titianesque fullness in form and colour, there was a look in + her mouth and around her eyes which suggested that some sorrows wasted + her, as winds waste at last the edges of a Greek temple. For indeed the + little domestic difficulty of which she was now speaking so decisively was + rather comic than tragic. Father Brown gathered, from the course of the + conversation, that Cray, the other gourmet, had to leave before the usual + lunch-time; but that Putnam, his host, not to be done out of a final feast + with an old crony, had arranged for a special dejeuner to be set out and + consumed in the course of the morning, while Audrey and other graver + persons were at morning service. She was going there under the escort of a + relative and old friend of hers, Dr Oliver Oman, who, though a scientific + man of a somewhat bitter type, was enthusiastic for music, and would go + even to church to get it. There was nothing in all this that could + conceivably concern the tragedy in Miss Watson’s face; and by a half + conscious instinct, Father Brown turned again to the seeming lunatic + grubbing about in the grass. + </p> + <p> + When he strolled across to him, the black, unbrushed head was lifted + abruptly, as if in some surprise at his continued presence. And indeed, + Father Brown, for reasons best known to himself, had lingered much longer + than politeness required; or even, in the ordinary sense, permitted. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” cried Cray, with wild eyes. “I suppose you think I’m mad, like the + rest?” + </p> + <p> + “I have considered the thesis,” answered the little man, composedly. “And + I incline to think you are not.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” snapped Cray quite savagely. + </p> + <p> + “Real madmen,” explained Father Brown, “always encourage their own + morbidity. They never strive against it. But you are trying to find traces + of the burglar; even when there aren’t any. You are struggling against it. + You want what no madman ever wants.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” + </p> + <p> + “You want to be proved wrong,” said Brown. + </p> + <p> + During the last words Cray had sprung or staggered to his feet and was + regarding the cleric with agitated eyes. “By hell, but that is a true + word!” he cried. “They are all at me here that the fellow was only after + the silver—as if I shouldn’t be only too pleased to think so! She’s + been at me,” and he tossed his tousled black head towards Audrey, but the + other had no need of the direction, “she’s been at me today about how + cruel I was to shoot a poor harmless house-breaker, and how I have the + devil in me against poor harmless natives. But I was a good-natured man + once—as good-natured as Putnam.” + </p> + <p> + After a pause he said: “Look here, I’ve never seen you before; but you + shall judge of the whole story. Old Putnam and I were friends in the same + mess; but, owing to some accidents on the Afghan border, I got my command + much sooner than most men; only we were both invalided home for a bit. I + was engaged to Audrey out there; and we all travelled back together. But + on the journey back things happened. Curious things. The result of them + was that Putnam wants it broken off, and even Audrey keeps it hanging on—and + I know what they mean. I know what they think I am. So do you. + </p> + <p> + “Well, these are the facts. The last day we were in an Indian city I asked + Putnam if I could get some Trichinopoli cigars, he directed me to a little + place opposite his lodgings. I have since found he was quite right; but + ‘opposite’ is a dangerous word when one decent house stands opposite five + or six squalid ones; and I must have mistaken the door. It opened with + difficulty, and then only on darkness; but as I turned back, the door + behind me sank back and settled into its place with a noise as of + innumerable bolts. There was nothing to do but to walk forward; which I + did through passage after passage, pitch-dark. Then I came to a flight of + steps, and then to a blind door, secured by a latch of elaborate Eastern + ironwork, which I could only trace by touch, but which I loosened at last. + I came out again upon gloom, which was half turned into a greenish + twilight by a multitude of small but steady lamps below. They showed + merely the feet or fringes of some huge and empty architecture. Just in + front of me was something that looked like a mountain. I confess I nearly + fell on the great stone platform on which I had emerged, to realize that + it was an idol. And worst of all, an idol with its back to me. + </p> + <p> + “It was hardly half human, I guessed; to judge by the small squat head, + and still more by a thing like a tail or extra limb turned up behind and + pointing, like a loathsome large finger, at some symbol graven in the + centre of the vast stone back. I had begun, in the dim light, to guess at + the hieroglyphic, not without horror, when a more horrible thing happened. + A door opened silently in the temple wall behind me and a man came out, + with a brown face and a black coat. He had a carved smile on his face, of + copper flesh and ivory teeth; but I think the most hateful thing about him + was that he was in European dress. I was prepared, I think, for shrouded + priests or naked fakirs. But this seemed to say that the devilry was over + all the earth. As indeed I found it to be. + </p> + <p> + “‘If you had only seen the Monkey’s Feet,’ he said, smiling steadily, and + without other preface, ‘we should have been very gentle—you would + only be tortured and die. If you had seen the Monkey’s Face, still we + should be very moderate, very tolerant—you would only be tortured + and live. But as you have seen the Monkey’s Tail, we must pronounce the + worst sentence, which is—Go Free.’ + </p> + <p> + “When he said the words I heard the elaborate iron latch with which I had + struggled, automatically unlock itself: and then, far down the dark + passages I had passed, I heard the heavy street-door shifting its own + bolts backwards. + </p> + <p> + “‘It is vain to ask for mercy; you must go free,’ said the smiling man. + ‘Henceforth a hair shall slay you like a sword, and a breath shall bite + you like an adder; weapons shall come against you out of nowhere; and you + shall die many times.’ And with that he was swallowed once more in the + wall behind; and I went out into the street.” + </p> + <p> + Cray paused; and Father Brown unaffectedly sat down on the lawn and began + to pick daisies. + </p> + <p> + Then the soldier continued: “Putnam, of course, with his jolly common + sense, pooh-poohed all my fears; and from that time dates his doubt of my + mental balance. Well, I’ll simply tell you, in the fewest words, the three + things that have happened since; and you shall judge which of us is right. + </p> + <p> + “The first happened in an Indian village on the edge of the jungle, but + hundreds of miles from the temple, or town, or type of tribes and customs + where the curse had been put on me. I woke in black midnight, and lay + thinking of nothing in particular, when I felt a faint tickling thing, + like a thread or a hair, trailed across my throat. I shrank back out of + its way, and could not help thinking of the words in the temple. But when + I got up and sought lights and a mirror, the line across my neck was a + line of blood. + </p> + <p> + “The second happened in a lodging in Port Said, later, on our journey home + together. It was a jumble of tavern and curiosity-shop; and though there + was nothing there remotely suggesting the cult of the Monkey, it is, of + course, possible that some of its images or talismans were in such a + place. Its curse was there, anyhow. I woke again in the dark with a + sensation that could not be put in colder or more literal words than that + a breath bit like an adder. Existence was an agony of extinction; I dashed + my head against walls until I dashed it against a window; and fell rather + than jumped into the garden below. Putnam, poor fellow, who had called the + other thing a chance scratch, was bound to take seriously the fact of + finding me half insensible on the grass at dawn. But I fear it was my + mental state he took seriously; and not my story. + </p> + <p> + “The third happened in Malta. We were in a fortress there; and as it + happened our bedrooms overlooked the open sea, which almost came up to our + window-sills, save for a flat white outer wall as bare as the sea. I woke + up again; but it was not dark. There was a full moon, as I walked to the + window; I could have seen a bird on the bare battlement, or a sail on the + horizon. What I did see was a sort of stick or branch circling, + self-supported, in the empty sky. It flew straight in at my window and + smashed the lamp beside the pillow I had just quitted. It was one of those + queer-shaped war-clubs some Eastern tribes use. But it had come from no + human hand.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown threw away a daisy-chain he was making, and rose with a + wistful look. “Has Major Putnam,” he asked, “got any Eastern curios, + idols, weapons and so on, from which one might get a hint?” + </p> + <p> + “Plenty of those, though not much use, I fear,” replied Cray; “but by all + means come into his study.” + </p> + <p> + As they entered they passed Miss Watson buttoning her gloves for church, + and heard the voice of Putnam downstairs still giving a lecture on cookery + to the cook. In the Major’s study and den of curios they came suddenly on + a third party, silk-hatted and dressed for the street, who was poring over + an open book on the smoking-table—a book which he dropped rather + guiltily, and turned. + </p> + <p> + Cray introduced him civilly enough, as Dr Oman, but he showed such + disfavour in his very face that Brown guessed the two men, whether Audrey + knew it or not, were rivals. Nor was the priest wholly unsympathetic with + the prejudice. Dr Oman was a very well-dressed gentleman indeed; + well-featured, though almost dark enough for an Asiatic. But Father Brown + had to tell himself sharply that one should be in charity even with those + who wax their pointed beards, who have small gloved hands, and who speak + with perfectly modulated voices. + </p> + <p> + Cray seemed to find something specially irritating in the small + prayer-book in Oman’s dark-gloved hand. “I didn’t know that was in your + line,” he said rather rudely. + </p> + <p> + Oman laughed mildly, but without offence. “This is more so, I know,” he + said, laying his hand on the big book he had dropped, “a dictionary of + drugs and such things. But it’s rather too large to take to church.” Then + he closed the larger book, and there seemed again the faintest touch of + hurry and embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said the priest, who seemed anxious to change the subject, + “all these spears and things are from India?” + </p> + <p> + “From everywhere,” answered the doctor. “Putnam is an old soldier, and has + been in Mexico and Australia, and the Cannibal Islands for all I know.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it was not in the Cannibal Islands,” said Brown, “that he learnt + the art of cookery.” And he ran his eyes over the stew-pots or other + strange utensils on the wall. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the jolly subject of their conversation thrust his + laughing, lobsterish face into the room. “Come along, Cray,” he cried. + “Your lunch is just coming in. And the bells are ringing for those who + want to go to church.” + </p> + <p> + Cray slipped upstairs to change; Dr Oman and Miss Watson betook themselves + solemnly down the street, with a string of other churchgoers; but Father + Brown noticed that the doctor twice looked back and scrutinized the house; + and even came back to the corner of the street to look at it again. + </p> + <p> + The priest looked puzzled. “He can’t have been at the dustbin,” he + muttered. “Not in those clothes. Or was he there earlier today?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown, touching other people, was as sensitive as a barometer; but + today he seemed about as sensitive as a rhinoceros. By no social law, + rigid or implied, could he be supposed to linger round the lunch of the + Anglo-Indian friends; but he lingered, covering his position with torrents + of amusing but quite needless conversation. He was the more puzzling + because he did not seem to want any lunch. As one after another of the + most exquisitely balanced kedgerees of curries, accompanied with their + appropriate vintages, were laid before the other two, he only repeated + that it was one of his fast-days, and munched a piece of bread and sipped + and then left untasted a tumbler of cold water. His talk, however, was + exuberant. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you,” he cried—, “I’ll mix you a + salad! I can’t eat it, but I’ll mix it like an angel! You’ve got a lettuce + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunately it’s the only thing we have got,” answered the + good-humoured Major. “You must remember that mustard, vinegar, oil and so + on vanished with the cruet and the burglar.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” replied Brown, rather vaguely. “That’s what I’ve always been + afraid would happen. That’s why I always carry a cruet-stand about with + me. I’m so fond of salads.” + </p> + <p> + And to the amazement of the two men he took a pepper-pot out of his + waistcoat pocket and put it on the table. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why the burglar wanted mustard, too,” he went on, taking a + mustard-pot from another pocket. “A mustard plaster, I suppose. And + vinegar”—and producing that condiment—“haven’t I heard + something about vinegar and brown paper? As for oil, which I think I put + in my left—” + </p> + <p> + His garrulity was an instant arrested; for lifting his eyes, he saw what + no one else saw—the black figure of Dr Oman standing on the sunlit + lawn and looking steadily into the room. Before he could quite recover + himself Cray had cloven in. + </p> + <p> + “You’re an astounding card,” he said, staring. “I shall come and hear your + sermons, if they’re as amusing as your manners.” His voice changed a + little, and he leaned back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there are sermons in a cruet-stand, too,” said Father Brown, quite + gravely. “Have you heard of faith like a grain of mustard-seed; or charity + that anoints with oil? And as for vinegar, can any soldiers forget that + solitary soldier, who, when the sun was darkened—” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Cray leaned forward a little and clutched the tablecloth. + </p> + <p> + Father Brown, who was making the salad, tipped two spoonfuls of the + mustard into the tumbler of water beside him; stood up and said in a new, + loud and sudden voice—“Drink that!” + </p> + <p> + At the same moment the motionless doctor in the garden came running, and + bursting open a window cried: “Am I wanted? Has he been poisoned?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty near,” said Brown, with the shadow of a smile; for the emetic had + very suddenly taken effect. And Cray lay in a deck-chair, gasping as for + life, but alive. + </p> + <p> + Major Putnam had sprung up, his purple face mottled. “A crime!” he cried + hoarsely. “I will go for the police!” + </p> + <p> + The priest could hear him dragging down his palm-leaf hat from the peg and + tumbling out of the front door; he heard the garden gate slam. But he only + stood looking at Cray; and after a silence said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “I shall not talk to you much; but I will tell you what you want to know. + There is no curse on you. The Temple of the Monkey was either a + coincidence or a part of the trick; the trick was the trick of a white + man. There is only one weapon that will bring blood with that mere + feathery touch: a razor held by a white man. There is one way of making a + common room full of invisible, overpowering poison: turning on the gas—the + crime of a white man. And there is only one kind of club that can be + thrown out of a window, turn in mid-air and come back to the window next + to it: the Australian boomerang. You’ll see some of them in the Major’s + study.” + </p> + <p> + With that he went outside and spoke for a moment to the doctor. The moment + after, Audrey Watson came rushing into the house and fell on her knees + beside Cray’s chair. He could not hear what they said to each other; but + their faces moved with amazement, not unhappiness. The doctor and the + priest walked slowly towards the garden gate. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the Major was in love with her, too,” he said with a sigh; and + when the other nodded, observed: “You were very generous, doctor. You did + a fine thing. But what made you suspect?” + </p> + <p> + “A very small thing,” said Oman; “but it kept me restless in church till I + came back to see that all was well. That book on his table was a work on + poisons; and was put down open at the place where it stated that a certain + Indian poison, though deadly and difficult to trace, was particularly + easily reversible by the use of the commonest emetics. I suppose he read + that at the last moment—” + </p> + <p> + “And remembered that there were emetics in the cruet-stand,” said Father + Brown. “Exactly. He threw the cruet in the dustbin—where I found it, + along with other silver—for the sake of a burglary blind. But if you + look at that pepper-pot I put on the table, you’ll see a small hole. + That’s where Cray’s bullet struck, shaking up the pepper and making the + criminal sneeze.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. Then Dr Oman said grimly: “The Major is a long time + looking for the police.” + </p> + <p> + “Or the police in looking for the Major?” said the priest. “Well, + good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ELEVEN — The Strange Crime of John Boulnois + </h2> + <p> + MR CALHOUN KIDD was a very young gentleman with a very old face, a face + dried up with its own eagerness, framed in blue-black hair and a black + butterfly tie. He was the emissary in England of the colossal American + daily called the Western Sun—also humorously described as the + “Rising Sunset”. This was in allusion to a great journalistic declaration + (attributed to Mr Kidd himself) that “he guessed the sun would rise in the + west yet, if American citizens did a bit more hustling.” Those, however, + who mock American journalism from the standpoint of somewhat mellower + traditions forget a certain paradox which partly redeems it. For while the + journalism of the States permits a pantomimic vulgarity long past anything + English, it also shows a real excitement about the most earnest mental + problems, of which English papers are innocent, or rather incapable. The + Sun was full of the most solemn matters treated in the most farcical way. + William James figured there as well as “Weary Willie,” and pragmatists + alternated with pugilists in the long procession of its portraits. + </p> + <p> + Thus, when a very unobtrusive Oxford man named John Boulnois wrote in a + very unreadable review called the Natural Philosophy Quarterly a series of + articles on alleged weak points in Darwinian evolution, it fluttered no + corner of the English papers; though Boulnois’s theory (which was that of + a comparatively stationary universe visited occasionally by convulsions of + change) had some rather faddy fashionableness at Oxford, and got so far as + to be named “Catastrophism”. But many American papers seized on the + challenge as a great event; and the Sun threw the shadow of Mr Boulnois + quite gigantically across its pages. By the paradox already noted, + articles of valuable intelligence and enthusiasm were presented with + headlines apparently written by an illiterate maniac, headlines such as + “Darwin Chews Dirt; Critic Boulnois says He Jumps the Shocks”—or + “Keep Catastrophic, says Thinker Boulnois.” And Mr Calhoun Kidd, of the + Western Sun, was bidden to take his butterfly tie and lugubrious visage + down to the little house outside Oxford where Thinker Boulnois lived in + happy ignorance of such a title. + </p> + <p> + That fated philosopher had consented, in a somewhat dazed manner, to + receive the interviewer, and had named the hour of nine that evening. The + last of a summer sunset clung about Cumnor and the low wooded hills; the + romantic Yankee was both doubtful of his road and inquisitive about his + surroundings; and seeing the door of a genuine feudal old-country inn, The + Champion Arms, standing open, he went in to make inquiries. + </p> + <p> + In the bar parlour he rang the bell, and had to wait some little time for + a reply to it. The only other person present was a lean man with close red + hair and loose, horsey-looking clothes, who was drinking very bad whisky, + but smoking a very good cigar. The whisky, of course, was the choice brand + of The Champion Arms; the cigar he had probably brought with him from + London. Nothing could be more different than his cynical negligence from + the dapper dryness of the young American; but something in his pencil and + open notebook, and perhaps in the expression of his alert blue eye, caused + Kidd to guess, correctly, that he was a brother journalist. + </p> + <p> + “Could you do me the favour,” asked Kidd, with the courtesy of his nation, + “of directing me to the Grey Cottage, where Mr Boulnois lives, as I + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a few yards down the road,” said the red-haired man, removing his + cigar; “I shall be passing it myself in a minute, but I’m going on to + Pendragon Park to try and see the fun.” + </p> + <p> + “What is Pendragon Park?” asked Calhoun Kidd. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Claude Champion’s place—haven’t you come down for that, too?” + asked the other pressman, looking up. “You’re a journalist, aren’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have come to see Mr Boulnois,” said Kidd. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve come to see Mrs Boulnois,” replied the other. “But I shan’t catch + her at home.” And he laughed rather unpleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “Are you interested in Catastrophism?” asked the wondering Yankee. + </p> + <p> + “I’m interested in catastrophes; and there are going to be some,” replied + his companion gloomily. “Mine’s a filthy trade, and I never pretend it + isn’t.” + </p> + <p> + With that he spat on the floor; yet somehow in the very act and instant + one could realize that the man had been brought up as a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + The American pressman considered him with more attention. His face was + pale and dissipated, with the promise of formidable passions yet to be + loosed; but it was a clever and sensitive face; his clothes were coarse + and careless, but he had a good seal ring on one of his long, thin + fingers. His name, which came out in the course of talk, was James Dalroy; + he was the son of a bankrupt Irish landlord, and attached to a pink paper + which he heartily despised, called Smart Society, in the capacity of + reporter and of something painfully like a spy. + </p> + <p> + Smart Society, I regret to say, felt none of that interest in Boulnois on + Darwin which was such a credit to the head and hearts of the Western Sun. + Dalroy had come down, it seemed, to snuff up the scent of a scandal which + might very well end in the Divorce Court, but which was at present + hovering between Grey Cottage and Pendragon Park. + </p> + <p> + Sir Claude Champion was known to the readers of the Western Sun as well as + Mr Boulnois. So were the Pope and the Derby Winner; but the idea of their + intimate acquaintanceship would have struck Kidd as equally incongruous. + He had heard of (and written about, nay, falsely pretended to know) Sir + Claude Champion, as “one of the brightest and wealthiest of England’s + Upper Ten”; as the great sportsman who raced yachts round the world; as + the great traveller who wrote books about the Himalayas, as the politician + who swept constituencies with a startling sort of Tory Democracy, and as + the great dabbler in art, music, literature, and, above all, acting. Sir + Claude was really rather magnificent in other than American eyes. There + was something of the Renascence Prince about his omnivorous culture and + restless publicity—, he was not only a great amateur, but an ardent + one. There was in him none of that antiquarian frivolity that we convey by + the word “dilettante”. + </p> + <p> + That faultless falcon profile with purple-black Italian eye, which had + been snap-shotted so often both for Smart Society and the Western Sun, + gave everyone the impression of a man eaten by ambition as by a fire, or + even a disease. But though Kidd knew a great deal about Sir Claude—a + great deal more, in fact, than there was to know—it would never have + crossed his wildest dreams to connect so showy an aristocrat with the + newly-unearthed founder of Catastrophism, or to guess that Sir Claude + Champion and John Boulnois could be intimate friends. Such, according to + Dalroy’s account, was nevertheless the fact. The two had hunted in couples + at school and college, and, though their social destinies had been very + different (for Champion was a great landlord and almost a millionaire, + while Boulnois was a poor scholar and, until just lately, an unknown one), + they still kept in very close touch with each other. Indeed, Boulnois’s + cottage stood just outside the gates of Pendragon Park. + </p> + <p> + But whether the two men could be friends much longer was becoming a dark + and ugly question. A year or two before, Boulnois had married a beautiful + and not unsuccessful actress, to whom he was devoted in his own shy and + ponderous style; and the proximity of the household to Champion’s had + given that flighty celebrity opportunities for behaving in a way that + could not but cause painful and rather base excitement. Sir Claude had + carried the arts of publicity to perfection; and he seemed to take a crazy + pleasure in being equally ostentatious in an intrigue that could do him no + sort of honour. Footmen from Pendragon were perpetually leaving bouquets + for Mrs Boulnois; carriages and motor-cars were perpetually calling at the + cottage for Mrs Boulnois; balls and masquerades perpetually filled the + grounds in which the baronet paraded Mrs Boulnois, like the Queen of Love + and Beauty at a tournament. That very evening, marked by Mr Kidd for the + exposition of Catastrophism, had been marked by Sir Claude Champion for an + open-air rendering of Romeo and Juliet, in which he was to play Romeo to a + Juliet it was needless to name. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it can go on without a smash,” said the young man with red + hair, getting up and shaking himself. “Old Boulnois may be squared—or + he may be square. But if he’s square he’s thick—what you might call + cubic. But I don’t believe it’s possible.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a man of grand intellectual powers,” said Calhoun Kidd in a deep + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Dalroy; “but even a man of grand intellectual powers can’t + be such a blighted fool as all that. Must you be going on? I shall be + following myself in a minute or two.” + </p> + <p> + But Calhoun Kidd, having finished a milk and soda, betook himself smartly + up the road towards the Grey Cottage, leaving his cynical informant to his + whisky and tobacco. The last of the daylight had faded; the skies were of + a dark, green-grey, like slate, studded here and there with a star, but + lighter on the left side of the sky, with the promise of a rising moon. + </p> + <p> + The Grey Cottage, which stood entrenched, as it were, in a square of + stiff, high thorn-hedges, was so close under the pines and palisades of + the Park that Kidd at first mistook it for the Park Lodge. Finding the + name on the narrow wooden gate, however, and seeing by his watch that the + hour of the “Thinker’s” appointment had just struck, he went in and + knocked at the front door. Inside the garden hedge, he could see that the + house, though unpretentious enough, was larger and more luxurious than it + looked at first, and was quite a different kind of place from a porter’s + lodge. A dog-kennel and a beehive stood outside, like symbols of old + English country-life; the moon was rising behind a plantation of + prosperous pear trees, the dog that came out of the kennel was + reverend-looking and reluctant to bark; and the plain, elderly man-servant + who opened the door was brief but dignified. + </p> + <p> + “Mr Boulnois asked me to offer his apologies, sir,” he said, “but he has + been obliged to go out suddenly.” + </p> + <p> + “But see here, I had an appointment,” said the interviewer, with a rising + voice. “Do you know where he went to?” + </p> + <p> + “To Pendragon Park, sir,” said the servant, rather sombrely, and began to + close the door. + </p> + <p> + Kidd started a little. + </p> + <p> + “Did he go with Mrs—with the rest of the party?” he asked rather + vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said the man shortly; “he stayed behind, and then went out + alone.” And he shut the door, brutally, but with an air of duty not done. + </p> + <p> + The American, that curious compound of impudence and sensitiveness, was + annoyed. He felt a strong desire to hustle them all along a bit and teach + them business habits; the hoary old dog and the grizzled, heavy-faced old + butler with his prehistoric shirt-front, and the drowsy old moon, and + above all the scatter-brained old philosopher who couldn’t keep an + appointment. + </p> + <p> + “If that’s the way he goes on he deserves to lose his wife’s purest + devotion,” said Mr Calhoun Kidd. “But perhaps he’s gone over to make a + row. In that case I reckon a man from the Western Sun will be on the + spot.” + </p> + <p> + And turning the corner by the open lodge-gates, he set off, stumping up + the long avenue of black pine-woods that pointed in abrupt perspective + towards the inner gardens of Pendragon Park. The trees were as black and + orderly as plumes upon a hearse; there were still a few stars. He was a + man with more literary than direct natural associations; the word + “Ravenswood” came into his head repeatedly. It was partly the raven colour + of the pine-woods; but partly also an indescribable atmosphere almost + described in Scott’s great tragedy; the smell of something that died in + the eighteenth century; the smell of dank gardens and broken urns, of + wrongs that will never now be righted; of something that is none the less + incurably sad because it is strangely unreal. + </p> + <p> + More than once, as he went up that strange, black road of tragic artifice, + he stopped, startled, thinking he heard steps in front of him. He could + see nothing in front but the twin sombre walls of pine and the wedge of + starlit sky above them. At first he thought he must have fancied it or + been mocked by a mere echo of his own tramp. But as he went on he was more + and more inclined to conclude, with the remains of his reason, that there + really were other feet upon the road. He thought hazily of ghosts; and was + surprised how swiftly he could see the image of an appropriate and local + ghost, one with a face as white as Pierrot’s, but patched with black. The + apex of the triangle of dark-blue sky was growing brighter and bluer, but + he did not realize as yet that this was because he was coming nearer to + the lights of the great house and garden. He only felt that the atmosphere + was growing more intense, there was in the sadness more violence and + secrecy—more—he hesitated for the word, and then said it with + a jerk of laughter—Catastrophism. + </p> + <p> + More pines, more pathway slid past him, and then he stood rooted as by a + blast of magic. It is vain to say that he felt as if he had got into a + dream; but this time he felt quite certain that he had got into a book. + For we human beings are used to inappropriate things; we are accustomed to + the clatter of the incongruous; it is a tune to which we can go to sleep. + If one appropriate thing happens, it wakes us up like the pang of a + perfect chord. Something happened such as would have happened in such a + place in a forgotten tale. + </p> + <p> + Over the black pine-wood came flying and flashing in the moon a naked + sword—such a slender and sparkling rapier as may have fought many an + unjust duel in that ancient park. It fell on the pathway far in front of + him and lay there glistening like a large needle. He ran like a hare and + bent to look at it. Seen at close quarters it had rather a showy look: the + big red jewels in the hilt and guard were a little dubious. But there were + other red drops upon the blade which were not dubious. + </p> + <p> + He looked round wildly in the direction from which the dazzling missile + had come, and saw that at this point the sable facade of fir and pine was + interrupted by a smaller road at right angles; which, when he turned it, + brought him in full view of the long, lighted house, with a lake and + fountains in front of it. Nevertheless, he did not look at this, having + something more interesting to look at. + </p> + <p> + Above him, at the angle of the steep green bank of the terraced garden, + was one of those small picturesque surprises common in the old landscape + gardening; a kind of small round hill or dome of grass, like a giant + mole-hill, ringed and crowned with three concentric fences of roses, and + having a sundial in the highest point in the centre. Kidd could see the + finger of the dial stand up dark against the sky like the dorsal fin of a + shark and the vain moonlight clinging to that idle clock. But he saw + something else clinging to it also, for one wild moment—the figure + of a man. + </p> + <p> + Though he saw it there only for a moment, though it was outlandish and + incredible in costume, being clad from neck to heel in tight crimson, with + glints of gold, yet he knew in one flash of moonlight who it was. That + white face flung up to heaven, clean-shaven and so unnaturally young, like + Byron with a Roman nose, those black curls already grizzled—he had + seen the thousand public portraits of Sir Claude Champion. The wild red + figure reeled an instant against the sundial; the next it had rolled down + the steep bank and lay at the American’s feet, faintly moving one arm. A + gaudy, unnatural gold ornament on the arm suddenly reminded Kidd of Romeo + and Juliet; of course the tight crimson suit was part of the play. But + there was a long red stain down the bank from which the man had rolled—that + was no part of the play. He had been run through the body. + </p> + <p> + Mr Calhoun Kidd shouted and shouted again. Once more he seemed to hear + phantasmal footsteps, and started to find another figure already near him. + He knew the figure, and yet it terrified him. The dissipated youth who had + called himself Dalroy had a horribly quiet way with him; if Boulnois + failed to keep appointments that had been made, Dalroy had a sinister air + of keeping appointments that hadn’t. The moonlight discoloured everything, + against Dalroy’s red hair his wan face looked not so much white as pale + green. + </p> + <p> + All this morbid impressionism must be Kidd’s excuse for having cried out, + brutally and beyond all reason: “Did you do this, you devil?” + </p> + <p> + James Dalroy smiled his unpleasing smile; but before he could speak, the + fallen figure made another movement of the arm, waving vaguely towards the + place where the sword fell; then came a moan, and then it managed to + speak. + </p> + <p> + “Boulnois.... Boulnois, I say.... Boulnois did it... jealous of me...he + was jealous, he was, he was...” + </p> + <p> + Kidd bent his head down to hear more, and just managed to catch the words: + </p> + <p> + “Boulnois...with my own sword...he threw it...” + </p> + <p> + Again the failing hand waved towards the sword, and then fell rigid with a + thud. In Kidd rose from its depth all that acrid humour that is the + strange salt of the seriousness of his race. + </p> + <p> + “See here,” he said sharply and with command, “you must fetch a doctor. + This man’s dead.” + </p> + <p> + “And a priest, too, I suppose,” said Dalroy in an undecipherable manner. + “All these Champions are papists.” + </p> + <p> + The American knelt down by the body, felt the heart, propped up the head + and used some last efforts at restoration; but before the other journalist + reappeared, followed by a doctor and a priest, he was already prepared to + assert they were too late. + </p> + <p> + “Were you too late also?” asked the doctor, a solid prosperous-looking + man, with conventional moustache and whiskers, but a lively eye, which + darted over Kidd dubiously. + </p> + <p> + “In one sense,” drawled the representative of the Sun. “I was too late to + save the man, but I guess I was in time to hear something of importance. I + heard the dead man denounce his assassin.” + </p> + <p> + “And who was the assassin?” asked the doctor, drawing his eyebrows + together. + </p> + <p> + “Boulnois,” said Calhoun Kidd, and whistled softly. + </p> + <p> + The doctor stared at him gloomily with a reddening brow—, but he did + not contradict. Then the priest, a shorter figure in the background, said + mildly: “I understood that Mr Boulnois was not coming to Pendragon Park + this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “There again,” said the Yankee grimly, “I may be in a position to give the + old country a fact or two. Yes, sir, John Boulnois was going to stay in + all this evening; he fixed up a real good appointment there with me. But + John Boulnois changed his mind; John Boulnois left his home abruptly and + all alone, and came over to this darned Park an hour or so ago. His butler + told me so. I think we hold what the all-wise police call a clue—have + you sent for them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the doctor, “but we haven’t alarmed anyone else yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Does Mrs Boulnois know?” asked James Dalroy, and again Kidd was conscious + of an irrational desire to hit him on his curling mouth. + </p> + <p> + “I have not told her,” said the doctor gruffly—, “but here come the + police.” + </p> + <p> + The little priest had stepped out into the main avenue, and now returned + with the fallen sword, which looked ludicrously large and theatrical when + attached to his dumpy figure, at once clerical and commonplace. “Just + before the police come,” he said apologetically, “has anyone got a light?” + </p> + <p> + The Yankee journalist took an electric torch from his pocket, and the + priest held it close to the middle part of the blade, which he examined + with blinking care. Then, without glancing at the point or pommel, he + handed the long weapon to the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “I fear I’m no use here,” he said, with a brief sigh. “I’ll say good night + to you, gentlemen.” And he walked away up the dark avenue towards the + house, his hands clasped behind him and his big head bent in cogitation. + </p> + <p> + The rest of the group made increased haste towards the lodge-gates, where + an inspector and two constables could already be seen in consultation with + the lodge-keeper. But the little priest only walked slower and slower in + the dim cloister of pine, and at last stopped dead, on the steps of the + house. It was his silent way of acknowledging an equally silent approach; + for there came towards him a presence that might have satisfied even + Calhoun Kidd’s demands for a lovely and aristocratic ghost. It was a young + woman in silvery satins of a Renascence design; she had golden hair in two + long shining ropes, and a face so startingly pale between them that she + might have been chryselephantine—made, that is, like some old Greek + statues, out of ivory and gold. But her eyes were very bright, and her + voice, though low, was confident. + </p> + <p> + “Father Brown?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs Boulnois?” he replied gravely. Then he looked at her and immediately + said: “I see you know about Sir Claude.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know I know?” she asked steadily. + </p> + <p> + He did not answer the question, but asked another: “Have you seen your + husband?” + </p> + <p> + “My husband is at home,” she said. “He has nothing to do with this.” + </p> + <p> + Again he did not answer; and the woman drew nearer to him, with a + curiously intense expression on her face. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you something more?” she said, with a rather fearful smile. + “I don’t think he did it, and you don’t either.” Father Brown returned her + gaze with a long, grave stare, and then nodded, yet more gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Father Brown,” said the lady, “I am going to tell you all I know, but I + want you to do me a favour first. Will you tell me why you haven’t jumped + to the conclusion of poor John’s guilt, as all the rest have done? Don’t + mind what you say: I—I know about the gossip and the appearances + that are against me.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown looked honestly embarrassed, and passed his hand across his + forehead. “Two very little things,” he said. “At least, one’s very trivial + and the other very vague. But such as they are, they don’t fit in with Mr + Boulnois being the murderer.” + </p> + <p> + He turned his blank, round face up to the stars and continued + absentmindedly: “To take the vague idea first. I attach a good deal of + importance to vague ideas. All those things that ‘aren’t evidence’ are + what convince me. I think a moral impossibility the biggest of all + impossibilities. I know your husband only slightly, but I think this crime + of his, as generally conceived, something very like a moral impossibility. + Please do not think I mean that Boulnois could not be so wicked. Anybody + can be wicked—as wicked as he chooses. We can direct our moral + wills; but we can’t generally change our instinctive tastes and ways of + doing things. Boulnois might commit a murder, but not this murder. He + would not snatch Romeo’s sword from its romantic scabbard; or slay his foe + on the sundial as on a kind of altar; or leave his body among the roses, + or fling the sword away among the pines. If Boulnois killed anyone he’d do + it quietly and heavily, as he’d do any other doubtful thing—take a + tenth glass of port, or read a loose Greek poet. No, the romantic setting + is not like Boulnois. It’s more like Champion.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, and looked at him with eyes like diamonds. + </p> + <p> + “And the trivial thing was this,” said Brown. “There were finger-prints on + that sword; finger-prints can be detected quite a time after they are made + if they’re on some polished surface like glass or steel. These were on a + polished surface. They were half-way down the blade of the sword. Whose + prints they were I have no earthly clue; but why should anybody hold a + sword half-way down? It was a long sword, but length is an advantage in + lunging at an enemy. At least, at most enemies. At all enemies except + one.” + </p> + <p> + “Except one,” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “There is only one enemy,” said Father Brown, “whom it is easier to kill + with a dagger than a sword.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said the woman. “Oneself.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence, and then the priest said quietly but abruptly: + “Am I right, then? Did Sir Claude kill himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes” she said, with a face like marble. “I saw him do it.” + </p> + <p> + “He died,” said Father Brown, “for love of you?” + </p> + <p> + An extraordinary expression flashed across her face, very different from + pity, modesty, remorse, or anything her companion had expected: her voice + became suddenly strong and full. “I don’t believe,” she said, “he ever + cared about me a rap. He hated my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the other, and turned his round face from the sky to the + lady. + </p> + <p> + “He hated my husband because...it is so strange I hardly know how to say + it...because...” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Brown patiently. + </p> + <p> + “Because my husband wouldn’t hate him.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown only nodded, and seemed still to be listening; he differed + from most detectives in fact and fiction in a small point—he never + pretended not to understand when he understood perfectly well. + </p> + <p> + Mrs Boulnois drew near once more with the same contained glow of + certainty. “My husband,” she said, “is a great man. Sir Claude Champion + was not a great man: he was a celebrated and successful man. My husband + has never been celebrated or successful; and it is the solemn truth that + he has never dreamed of being so. He no more expects to be famous for + thinking than for smoking cigars. On all that side he has a sort of + splendid stupidity. He has never grown up. He still liked Champion exactly + as he liked him at school; he admired him as he would admire a conjuring + trick done at the dinner-table. But he couldn’t be got to conceive the + notion of envying Champion. And Champion wanted to be envied. He went mad + and killed himself for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Father Brown; “I think I begin to understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t you see?” she cried; “the whole picture is made for that—the + place is planned for it. Champion put John in a little house at his very + door, like a dependant—to make him feel a failure. He never felt it. + He thinks no more about such things than—than an absent-minded lion. + Champion would burst in on John’s shabbiest hours or homeliest meals with + some dazzling present or announcement or expedition that made it like the + visit of Haroun Alraschid, and John would accept or refuse amiably with + one eye off, so to speak, like one lazy schoolboy agreeing or disagreeing + with another. After five years of it John had not turned a hair; and Sir + Claude Champion was a monomaniac.” + </p> + <p> + “And Haman began to tell them,” said Father Brown, “of all the things + wherein the king had honoured him; and he said: ‘All these things profit + me nothing while I see Mordecai the Jew sitting in the gate.’” + </p> + <p> + “The crisis came,” Mrs Boulnois continued, “when I persuaded John to let + me take down some of his speculations and send them to a magazine. They + began to attract attention, especially in America, and one paper wanted to + interview him. When Champion (who was interviewed nearly every day) heard + of this late little crumb of success falling to his unconscious rival, the + last link snapped that held back his devilish hatred. Then he began to lay + that insane siege to my own love and honour which has been the talk of the + shire. You will ask me why I allowed such atrocious attentions. I answer + that I could not have declined them except by explaining to my husband, + and there are some things the soul cannot do, as the body cannot fly. + Nobody could have explained to my husband. Nobody could do it now. If you + said to him in so many words, ‘Champion is stealing your wife,’ he would + think the joke a little vulgar: that it could be anything but a joke—that + notion could find no crack in his great skull to get in by. Well, John was + to come and see us act this evening, but just as we were starting he said + he wouldn’t; he had got an interesting book and a cigar. I told this to + Sir Claude, and it was his death-blow. The monomaniac suddenly saw + despair. He stabbed himself, crying out like a devil that Boulnois was + slaying him; he lies there in the garden dead of his own jealousy to + produce jealousy, and John is sitting in the dining-room reading a book.” + </p> + <p> + There was another silence, and then the little priest said: “There is only + one weak point, Mrs Boulnois, in all your very vivid account. Your husband + is not sitting in the dining-room reading a book. That American reporter + told me he had been to your house, and your butler told him Mr Boulnois + had gone to Pendragon Park after all.” + </p> + <p> + Her bright eyes widened to an almost electric glare; and yet it seemed + rather bewilderment than confusion or fear. “Why, what can you mean?” she + cried. “All the servants were out of the house, seeing the theatricals. + And we don’t keep a butler, thank goodness!” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown started and spun half round like an absurd teetotum. “What, + what?” he cried seeming galvanized into sudden life. “Look here—I + say—can I make your husband hear if I go to the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the servants will be back by now,” she said, wondering. + </p> + <p> + “Right, right!” rejoined the cleric energetically, and set off scuttling + up the path towards the Park gates. He turned once to say: “Better get + hold of that Yankee, or ‘Crime of John Boulnois’ will be all over the + Republic in large letters.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand,” said Mrs Boulnois. “He wouldn’t mind. I don’t + think he imagines that America really is a place.” + </p> + <p> + When Father Brown reached the house with the beehive and the drowsy dog, a + small and neat maid-servant showed him into the dining-room, where + Boulnois sat reading by a shaded lamp, exactly as his wife described him. + A decanter of port and a wineglass were at his elbow; and the instant the + priest entered he noted the long ash stand out unbroken on his cigar. + </p> + <p> + “He has been here for half an hour at least,” thought Father Brown. In + fact, he had the air of sitting where he had sat when his dinner was + cleared away. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t get up, Mr Boulnois,” said the priest in his pleasant, prosaic way. + “I shan’t interrupt you a moment. I fear I break in on some of your + scientific studies.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Boulnois; “I was reading ‘The Bloody Thumb.’” He said it with + neither frown nor smile, and his visitor was conscious of a certain deep + and virile indifference in the man which his wife had called greatness. He + laid down a gory yellow “shocker” without even feeling its incongruity + enough to comment on it humorously. John Boulnois was a big, slow-moving + man with a massive head, partly grey and partly bald, and blunt, burly + features. He was in shabby and very old-fashioned evening-dress, with a + narrow triangular opening of shirt-front: he had assumed it that evening + in his original purpose of going to see his wife act Juliet. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t keep you long from ‘The Bloody Thumb’ or any other catastrophic + affairs,” said Father Brown, smiling. “I only came to ask you about the + crime you committed this evening.” + </p> + <p> + Boulnois looked at him steadily, but a red bar began to show across his + broad brow; and he seemed like one discovering embarrassment for the first + time. + </p> + <p> + “I know it was a strange crime,” assented Brown in a low voice. “Stranger + than murder perhaps—to you. The little sins are sometimes harder to + confess than the big ones—but that’s why it’s so important to + confess them. Your crime is committed by every fashionable hostess six + times a week: and yet you find it sticks to your tongue like a nameless + atrocity.” + </p> + <p> + “It makes one feel,” said the philosopher slowly, “such a damned fool.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” assented the other, “but one often has to choose between feeling + a damned fool and being one.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t analyse myself well,” went on Boulnois; “but sitting in that + chair with that story I was as happy as a schoolboy on a half-holiday. It + was security, eternity—I can’t convey it... the cigars were within + reach...the matches were within reach... the Thumb had four more + appearances to...it was not only a peace, but a plenitude. Then that bell + rang, and I thought for one long, mortal minute that I couldn’t get out of + that chair—literally, physically, muscularly couldn’t. Then I did it + like a man lifting the world, because I knew all the servants were out. I + opened the front door, and there was a little man with his mouth open to + speak and his notebook open to write in. I remembered the Yankee + interviewer I had forgotten. His hair was parted in the middle, and I tell + you that murder—” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Father Brown. “I’ve seen him.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t commit murder,” continued the Catastrophist mildly, “but only + perjury. I said I had gone across to Pendragon Park and shut the door in + his face. That is my crime, Father Brown, and I don’t know what penance + you would inflict for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t inflict any penance,” said the clerical gentleman, collecting + his heavy hat and umbrella with an air of some amusement; “quite the + contrary. I came here specially to let you off the little penance which + would otherwise have followed your little offence.” + </p> + <p> + “And what,” asked Boulnois, smiling, “is the little penance I have so + luckily been let off?” + </p> + <p> + “Being hanged,” said Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWELVE — The Fairy Tale of Father Brown + </h2> + <p> + THE picturesque city and state of Heiligwaldenstein was one of those toy + kingdoms of which certain parts of the German Empire still consist. It had + come under the Prussian hegemony quite late in history—hardly fifty + years before the fine summer day when Flambeau and Father Brown found + themselves sitting in its gardens and drinking its beer. There had been + not a little of war and wild justice there within living memory, as soon + will be shown. But in merely looking at it one could not dismiss that + impression of childishness which is the most charming side of Germany—those + little pantomime, paternal monarchies in which a king seems as domestic as + a cook. The German soldiers by the innumerable sentry-boxes looked + strangely like German toys, and the clean-cut battlements of the castle, + gilded by the sunshine, looked the more like the gilt gingerbread. For it + was brilliant weather. The sky was as Prussian a blue as Potsdam itself + could require, but it was yet more like that lavish and glowing use of the + colour which a child extracts from a shilling paint-box. Even the + grey-ribbed trees looked young, for the pointed buds on them were still + pink, and in a pattern against the strong blue looked like innumerable + childish figures. + </p> + <p> + Despite his prosaic appearance and generally practical walk of life, + Father Brown was not without a certain streak of romance in his + composition, though he generally kept his daydreams to himself, as many + children do. Amid the brisk, bright colours of such a day, and in the + heraldic framework of such a town, he did feel rather as if he had entered + a fairy tale. He took a childish pleasure, as a younger brother might, in + the formidable sword-stick which Flambeau always flung as he walked, and + which now stood upright beside his tall mug of Munich. Nay, in his sleepy + irresponsibility, he even found himself eyeing the knobbed and clumsy head + of his own shabby umbrella, with some faint memories of the ogre’s club in + a coloured toy-book. But he never composed anything in the form of + fiction, unless it be the tale that follows: + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” he said, “whether one would have real adventures in a place + like this, if one put oneself in the way? It’s a splendid back-scene for + them, but I always have a kind of feeling that they would fight you with + pasteboard sabres more than real, horrible swords.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” said his friend. “In this place they not only fight + with swords, but kill without swords. And there’s worse than that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what do you mean?” asked Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” replied the other, “I should say this was the only place in Europe + where a man was ever shot without firearms.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean a bow and arrow?” asked Brown in some wonder. + </p> + <p> + “I mean a bullet in the brain,” replied Flambeau. “Don’t you know the + story of the late Prince of this place? It was one of the great police + mysteries about twenty years ago. You remember, of course, that this place + was forcibly annexed at the time of Bismarck’s very earliest schemes of + consolidation—forcibly, that is, but not at all easily. The empire + (or what wanted to be one) sent Prince Otto of Grossenmark to rule the + place in the Imperial interests. We saw his portrait in the gallery there—a + handsome old gentleman if he’d had any hair or eyebrows, and hadn’t been + wrinkled all over like a vulture; but he had things to harass him, as I’ll + explain in a minute. He was a soldier of distinguished skill and success, + but he didn’t have altogether an easy job with this little place. He was + defeated in several battles by the celebrated Arnhold brothers—the + three guerrilla patriots to whom Swinburne wrote a poem, you remember: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wolves with the hair of the ermine, + Crows that are crowned and kings— + These things be many as vermin, + Yet Three shall abide these things. +</pre> + <p> + Or something of that kind. Indeed, it is by no means certain that the + occupation would ever have been successful had not one of the three + brothers, Paul, despicably, but very decisively declined to abide these + things any longer, and, by surrendering all the secrets of the + insurrection, ensured its overthrow and his own ultimate promotion to the + post of chamberlain to Prince Otto. After this, Ludwig, the one genuine + hero among Mr Swinburne’s heroes, was killed, sword in hand, in the + capture of the city; and the third, Heinrich, who, though not a traitor, + had always been tame and even timid compared with his active brothers, + retired into something like a hermitage, became converted to a Christian + quietism which was almost Quakerish, and never mixed with men except to + give nearly all he had to the poor. They tell me that not long ago he + could still be seen about the neighbourhood occasionally, a man in a black + cloak, nearly blind, with very wild, white hair, but a face of astonishing + softness.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Father Brown. “I saw him once.” + </p> + <p> + His friend looked at him in some surprise. “I didn’t know you’d been here + before,” he said. “Perhaps you know as much about it as I do. Anyhow, + that’s the story of the Arnholds, and he was the last survivor of them. + Yes, and of all the men who played parts in that drama.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that the Prince, too, died long before?” + </p> + <p> + “Died,” repeated Flambeau, “and that’s about as much as we can say. You + must understand that towards the end of his life he began to have those + tricks of the nerves not uncommon with tyrants. He multiplied the ordinary + daily and nightly guard round his castle till there seemed to be more + sentry-boxes than houses in the town, and doubtful characters were shot + without mercy. He lived almost entirely in a little room that was in the + very centre of the enormous labyrinth of all the other rooms, and even in + this he erected another sort of central cabin or cupboard, lined with + steel, like a safe or a battleship. Some say that under the floor of this + again was a secret hole in the earth, no more than large enough to hold + him, so that, in his anxiety to avoid the grave, he was willing to go into + a place pretty much like it. But he went further yet. The populace had + been supposed to be disarmed ever since the suppression of the revolt, but + Otto now insisted, as governments very seldom insist, on an absolute and + literal disarmament. It was carried out, with extraordinary thoroughness + and severity, by very well-organized officials over a small and familiar + area, and, so far as human strength and science can be absolutely certain + of anything, Prince Otto was absolutely certain that nobody could + introduce so much as a toy pistol into Heiligwaldenstein.” + </p> + <p> + “Human science can never be quite certain of things like that,” said + Father Brown, still looking at the red budding of the branches over his + head, “if only because of the difficulty about definition and connotation. + What is a weapon? People have been murdered with the mildest domestic + comforts; certainly with tea-kettles, probably with tea-cosies. On the + other hand, if you showed an Ancient Briton a revolver, I doubt if he + would know it was a weapon—until it was fired into him, of course. + Perhaps somebody introduced a firearm so new that it didn’t even look like + a firearm. Perhaps it looked like a thimble or something. Was the bullet + at all peculiar?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I ever heard of,” answered Flambeau; “but my information is + fragmentary, and only comes from my old friend Grimm. He was a very able + detective in the German service, and he tried to arrest me; I arrested him + instead, and we had many interesting chats. He was in charge here of the + inquiry about Prince Otto, but I forgot to ask him anything about the + bullet. According to Grimm, what happened was this.” He paused a moment to + drain the greater part of his dark lager at a draught, and then resumed: + </p> + <p> + “On the evening in question, it seems, the Prince was expected to appear + in one of the outer rooms, because he had to receive certain visitors whom + he really wished to meet. They were geological experts sent to investigate + the old question of the alleged supply of gold from the rocks round here, + upon which (as it was said) the small city-state had so long maintained + its credit and been able to negotiate with its neighbours even under the + ceaseless bombardment of bigger armies. Hitherto it had never been found + by the most exacting inquiry which could—” + </p> + <p> + “Which could be quite certain of discovering a toy pistol,” said Father + Brown with a smile. “But what about the brother who ratted? Hadn’t he + anything to tell the Prince?” + </p> + <p> + “He always asseverated that he did not know,” replied Flambeau; “that this + was the one secret his brothers had not told him. It is only right to say + that it received some support from fragmentary words—spoken by the + great Ludwig in the hour of death, when he looked at Heinrich but pointed + at Paul, and said, ‘You have not told him...’ and was soon afterwards + incapable of speech. Anyhow, the deputation of distinguished geologists + and mineralogists from Paris and Berlin were there in the most magnificent + and appropriate dress, for there are no men who like wearing their + decorations so much as the men of science—as anybody knows who has + ever been to a soiree of the Royal Society. It was a brilliant gathering, + but very late, and gradually the Chamberlain—you saw his portrait, + too: a man with black eyebrows, serious eyes, and a meaningless sort of + smile underneath—the Chamberlain, I say, discovered there was + everything there except the Prince himself. He searched all the outer + salons; then, remembering the man’s mad fits of fear, hurried to the + inmost chamber. That also was empty, but the steel turret or cabin erected + in the middle of it took some time to open. When it did open it was empty, + too. He went and looked into the hole in the ground, which seemed deeper + and somehow all the more like a grave—that is his account, of + course. And even as he did so he heard a burst of cries and tumult in the + long rooms and corridors without. + </p> + <p> + “First it was a distant din and thrill of something unthinkable on the + horizon of the crowd, even beyond the castle. Next it was a wordless + clamour startlingly close, and loud enough to be distinct if each word had + not killed the other. Next came words of a terrible clearness, coming + nearer, and next one man, rushing into the room and telling the news as + briefly as such news is told. + </p> + <p> + “Otto, Prince of Heiligwaldenstein and Grossenmark, was lying in the dews + of the darkening twilight in the woods beyond the castle, with his arms + flung out and his face flung up to the moon. The blood still pulsed from + his shattered temple and jaw, but it was the only part of him that moved + like a living thing. He was clad in his full white and yellow uniform, as + to receive his guests within, except that the sash or scarf had been + unbound and lay rather crumpled by his side. Before he could be lifted he + was dead. But, dead or alive, he was a riddle—he who had always + hidden in the inmost chamber out there in the wet woods, unarmed and + alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Who found his body?” asked Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Some girl attached to the Court named Hedwig von something or other,” + replied his friend, “who had been out in the wood picking wild flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “Had she picked any?” asked the priest, staring rather vacantly at the + veil of the branches above him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Flambeau. “I particularly remember that the Chamberlain, or + old Grimm or somebody, said how horrible it was, when they came up at her + call, to see a girl holding spring flowers and bending over that—that + bloody collapse. However, the main point is that before help arrived he + was dead, and the news, of course, had to be carried back to the castle. + The consternation it created was something beyond even that natural in a + Court at the fall of a potentate. The foreign visitors, especially the + mining experts, were in the wildest doubt and excitement, as well as many + important Prussian officials, and it soon began to be clear that the + scheme for finding the treasure bulked much bigger in the business than + people had supposed. Experts and officials had been promised great prizes + or international advantages, and some even said that the Prince’s secret + apartments and strong military protection were due less to fear of the + populace than to the pursuit of some private investigation of—” + </p> + <p> + “Had the flowers got long stalks?” asked Father Brown. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau stared at him. “What an odd person you are!” he said. “That’s + exactly what old Grimm said. He said the ugliest part of it, he thought—uglier + than the blood and bullet—was that the flowers were quite short, + plucked close under the head.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the priest, “when a grown up girl is really picking + flowers, she picks them with plenty of stalk. If she just pulled their + heads off, as a child does, it looks as if—” And he hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” inquired the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it looks rather as if she had snatched them nervously, to make an + excuse for being there after—well, after she was there.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you’re driving at,” said Flambeau rather gloomily. “But that + and every other suspicion breaks down on the one point—the want of a + weapon. He could have been killed, as you say, with lots of other things—even + with his own military sash; but we have to explain not how he was killed, + but how he was shot. And the fact is we can’t. They had the girl most + ruthlessly searched; for, to tell the truth, she was a little suspect, + though the niece and ward of the wicked old Chamberlain, Paul Arnhold. But + she was very romantic, and was suspected of sympathy with the old + revolutionary enthusiasm in her family. All the same, however romantic you + are, you can’t imagine a big bullet into a man’s jaw or brain without + using a gun or pistol. And there was no pistol, though there were two + pistol shots. I leave it to you, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know there were two shots?” asked the little priest. + </p> + <p> + “There was only one in his head,” said his companion, “but there was + another bullet-hole in the sash.” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown’s smooth brow became suddenly constricted. “Was the other + bullet found?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Flambeau started a little. “I don’t think I remember,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on! Hold on! Hold on!” cried Brown, frowning more and more, with a + quite unusual concentration of curiosity. “Don’t think me rude. Let me + think this out for a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Flambeau, laughing, and finished his beer. A slight + breeze stirred the budding trees and blew up into the sky cloudlets of + white and pink that seemed to make the sky bluer and the whole coloured + scene more quaint. They might have been cherubs flying home to the + casements of a sort of celestial nursery. The oldest tower of the castle, + the Dragon Tower, stood up as grotesque as the ale-mug, but as homely. + Only beyond the tower glimmered the wood in which the man had lain dead. + </p> + <p> + “What became of this Hedwig eventually?” asked the priest at last. + </p> + <p> + “She is married to General Schwartz,” said Flambeau. “No doubt you’ve + heard of his career, which was rather romantic. He had distinguished + himself even, before his exploits at Sadowa and Gravelotte; in fact, he + rose from the ranks, which is very unusual even in the smallest of the + German...” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown sat up suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Rose from the ranks!” he cried, and made a mouth as if to whistle. “Well, + well, what a queer story! What a queer way of killing a man; but I suppose + it was the only one possible. But to think of hate so patient—” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” demanded the other. “In what way did they kill the + man?” + </p> + <p> + “They killed him with the sash,” said Brown carefully; and then, as + Flambeau protested: “Yes, yes, I know about the bullet. Perhaps I ought to + say he died of having a sash. I know it doesn’t sound like having a + disease.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Flambeau, “that you’ve got some notion in your head, but + it won’t easily get the bullet out of his. As I explained before, he might + easily have been strangled. But he was shot. By whom? By what?” + </p> + <p> + “He was shot by his own orders,” said the priest. + </p> + <p> + “You mean he committed suicide?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say by his own wish,” replied Father Brown. “I said by his own + orders.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyhow, what is your theory?” + </p> + <p> + Father Brown laughed. “I am only on my holiday,” he said. “I haven’t got + any theories. Only this place reminds me of fairy stories, and, if you + like, I’ll tell you a story.” + </p> + <p> + The little pink clouds, that looked rather like sweet-stuff, had floated + up to crown the turrets of the gilt gingerbread castle, and the pink baby + fingers of the budding trees seemed spreading and stretching to reach + them; the blue sky began to take a bright violet of evening, when Father + Brown suddenly spoke again: + </p> + <p> + “It was on a dismal night, with rain still dropping from the trees and dew + already clustering, that Prince Otto of Grossenmark stepped hurriedly out + of a side door of the castle and walked swiftly into the wood. One of the + innumerable sentries saluted him, but he did not notice it. He had no wish + to be specially noticed himself. He was glad when the great trees, grey + and already greasy with rain, swallowed him up like a swamp. He had + deliberately chosen the least frequented side of his palace, but even that + was more frequented than he liked. But there was no particular chance of + officious or diplomatic pursuit, for his exit had been a sudden impulse. + All the full-dressed diplomatists he left behind were unimportant. He had + realized suddenly that he could do without them. + </p> + <p> + “His great passion was not the much nobler dread of death, but the strange + desire of gold. For this legend of the gold he had left Grossenmark and + invaded Heiligwaldenstein. For this and only this he had bought the + traitor and butchered the hero, for this he had long questioned and + cross-questioned the false Chamberlain, until he had come to the + conclusion that, touching his ignorance, the renegade really told the + truth. For this he had, somewhat reluctantly, paid and promised money on + the chance of gaining the larger amount; and for this he had stolen out of + his palace like a thief in the rain, for he had thought of another way to + get the desire of his eyes, and to get it cheap. + </p> + <p> + “Away at the upper end of a rambling mountain path to which he was making + his way, among the pillared rocks along the ridge that hangs above the + town, stood the hermitage, hardly more than a cavern fenced with thorn, in + which the third of the great brethren had long hidden himself from the + world. He, thought Prince Otto, could have no real reason for refusing to + give up the gold. He had known its place for years, and made no effort to + find it, even before his new ascetic creed had cut him off from property + or pleasures. True, he had been an enemy, but he now professed a duty of + having no enemies. Some concession to his cause, some appeal to his + principles, would probably get the mere money secret out of him. Otto was + no coward, in spite of his network of military precautions, and, in any + case, his avarice was stronger than his fears. Nor was there much cause + for fear. Since he was certain there were no private arms in the whole + principality, he was a hundred times more certain there were none in the + Quaker’s little hermitage on the hill, where he lived on herbs, with two + old rustic servants, and with no other voice of man for year after year. + Prince Otto looked down with something of a grim smile at the bright, + square labyrinths of the lamp-lit city below him. For as far as the eye + could see there ran the rifles of his friends, and not one pinch of powder + for his enemies. Rifles ranked so close even to that mountain path that a + cry from him would bring the soldiers rushing up the hill, to say nothing + of the fact that the wood and ridge were patrolled at regular intervals; + rifles so far away, in the dim woods, dwarfed by distance, beyond the + river, that an enemy could not slink into the town by any detour. And + round the palace rifles at the west door and the east door, at the north + door and the south, and all along the four facades linking them. He was + safe. + </p> + <p> + “It was all the more clear when he had crested the ridge and found how + naked was the nest of his old enemy. He found himself on a small platform + of rock, broken abruptly by the three corners of precipice. Behind was the + black cave, masked with green thorn, so low that it was hard to believe + that a man could enter it. In front was the fall of the cliffs and the + vast but cloudy vision of the valley. On the small rock platform stood an + old bronze lectern or reading-stand, groaning under a great German Bible. + The bronze or copper of it had grown green with the eating airs of that + exalted place, and Otto had instantly the thought, ‘Even if they had arms, + they must be rusted by now.’ Moonrise had already made a deathly dawn + behind the crests and crags, and the rain had ceased. + </p> + <p> + “Behind the lectern, and looking across the valley, stood a very old man + in a black robe that fell as straight as the cliffs around him, but whose + white hair and weak voice seemed alike to waver in the wind. He was + evidently reading some daily lesson as part of his religious exercises. + ‘They trust in their horses...’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Sir,’ said the Prince of Heiligwaldenstein, with quite unusual courtesy, + ‘I should like only one word with you.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘...and in their chariots,’ went on the old man weakly, ‘but we will + trust in the name of the Lord of Hosts....’ His last words were inaudible, + but he closed the book reverently and, being nearly blind, made a groping + movement and gripped the reading-stand. Instantly his two servants slipped + out of the low-browed cavern and supported him. They wore dull-black gowns + like his own, but they had not the frosty silver on the hair, nor the + frost-bitten refinement of the features. They were peasants, Croat or + Magyar, with broad, blunt visages and blinking eyes. For the first time + something troubled the Prince, but his courage and diplomatic sense stood + firm. + </p> + <p> + “‘I fear we have not met,’ he said, ‘since that awful cannonade in which + your poor brother died.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘All my brothers died,’ said the old man, still looking across the + valley. Then, for one instant turning on Otto his drooping, delicate + features, and the wintry hair that seemed to drip over his eyebrows like + icicles, he added: ‘You see, I am dead, too.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I hope you’ll understand,’ said the Prince, controlling himself almost + to a point of conciliation, ‘that I do not come here to haunt you, as a + mere ghost of those great quarrels. We will not talk about who was right + or wrong in that, but at least there was one point on which we were never + wrong, because you were always right. Whatever is to be said of the policy + of your family, no one for one moment imagines that you were moved by the + mere gold; you have proved yourself above the suspicion that...’ + </p> + <p> + “The old man in the black gown had hitherto continued to gaze at him with + watery blue eyes and a sort of weak wisdom in his face. But when the word + ‘gold’ was said he held out his hand as if in arrest of something, and + turned away his face to the mountains. + </p> + <p> + “‘He has spoken of gold,’ he said. ‘He has spoken of things not lawful. + Let him cease to speak.’ + </p> + <p> + “Otto had the vice of his Prussian type and tradition, which is to regard + success not as an incident but as a quality. He conceived himself and his + like as perpetually conquering peoples who were perpetually being + conquered. Consequently, he was ill acquainted with the emotion of + surprise, and ill prepared for the next movement, which startled and + stiffened him. He had opened his mouth to answer the hermit, when the + mouth was stopped and the voice strangled by a strong, soft gag suddenly + twisted round his head like a tourniquet. It was fully forty seconds + before he even realized that the two Hungarian servants had done it, and + that they had done it with his own military scarf. + </p> + <p> + “The old man went again weakly to his great brazen-supported Bible, turned + over the leaves, with a patience that had something horrible about it, + till he came to the Epistle of St James, and then began to read: ‘The + tongue is a little member, but—’ + </p> + <p> + “Something in the very voice made the Prince turn suddenly and plunge down + the mountain-path he had climbed. He was half-way towards the gardens of + the palace before he even tried to tear the strangling scarf from his neck + and jaws. He tried again and again, and it was impossible; the men who had + knotted that gag knew the difference between what a man can do with his + hands in front of him and what he can do with his hands behind his head. + His legs were free to leap like an antelope on the mountains, his arms + were free to use any gesture or wave any signal, but he could not speak. A + dumb devil was in him. + </p> + <p> + “He had come close to the woods that walled in the castle before he had + quite realized what his wordless state meant and was meant to mean. Once + more he looked down grimly at the bright, square labyrinths of the + lamp-lit city below him, and he smiled no more. He felt himself repeating + the phrases of his former mood with a murderous irony. Far as the eye + could see ran the rifles of his friends, every one of whom would shoot him + dead if he could not answer the challenge. Rifles were so near that the + wood and ridge could be patrolled at regular intervals; therefore it was + useless to hide in the wood till morning. Rifles were ranked so far away + that an enemy could not slink into the town by any detour; therefore it + was vain to return to the city by any remote course. A cry from him would + bring his soldiers rushing up the hill. But from him no cry would come. + </p> + <p> + “The moon had risen in strengthening silver, and the sky showed in stripes + of bright, nocturnal blue between the black stripes of the pines about the + castle. Flowers of some wide and feathery sort—for he had never + noticed such things before—were at once luminous and discoloured by + the moonshine, and seemed indescribably fantastic as they clustered, as if + crawling about the roots of the trees. Perhaps his reason had been + suddenly unseated by the unnatural captivity he carried with him, but in + that wood he felt something unfathomably German—the fairy tale. He + knew with half his mind that he was drawing near to the castle of an ogre—he + had forgotten that he was the ogre. He remembered asking his mother if + bears lived in the old park at home. He stooped to pick a flower, as if it + were a charm against enchantment. The stalk was stronger than he expected, + and broke with a slight snap. Carefully trying to place it in his scarf, + he heard the halloo, ‘Who goes there?’ Then he remembered the scarf was + not in its usual place. + </p> + <p> + “He tried to scream and was silent. The second challenge came; and then a + shot that shrieked as it came and then was stilled suddenly by impact. + Otto of Grossenmark lay very peacefully among the fairy trees, and would + do no more harm either with gold or steel; only the silver pencil of the + moon would pick out and trace here and there the intricate ornament of his + uniform, or the old wrinkles on his brow. May God have mercy on his soul. + </p> + <p> + “The sentry who had fired, according to the strict orders of the garrison, + naturally ran forward to find some trace of his quarry. He was a private + named Schwartz, since not unknown in his profession, and what he found was + a bald man in uniform, but with his face so bandaged by a kind of mask + made of his own military scarf that nothing but open, dead eyes could be + seen, glittering stonily in the moonlight. The bullet had gone through the + gag into the jaw; that is why there was a shot-hole in the scarf, but only + one shot. Naturally, if not correctly, young Schwartz tore off the + mysterious silken mask and cast it on the grass; and then he saw whom he + had slain. + </p> + <p> + “We cannot be certain of the next phase. But I incline to believe that + there was a fairy tale, after all, in that little wood, horrible as was + its occasion. Whether the young lady named Hedwig had any previous + knowledge of the soldier she saved and eventually married, or whether she + came accidentally upon the accident and their intimacy began that night, + we shall probably never know. But we can know, I fancy, that this Hedwig + was a heroine, and deserved to marry a man who became something of a hero. + She did the bold and the wise thing. She persuaded the sentry to go back + to his post, in which place there was nothing to connect him with the + disaster; he was but one of the most loyal and orderly of fifty such + sentries within call. She remained by the body and gave the alarm; and + there was nothing to connect her with the disaster either, since she had + not got, and could not have, any firearms. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Father Brown rising cheerfully “I hope they’re happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” asked his friend. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to have another look at that portrait of the Chamberlain, the + Arnhold who betrayed his brethren,” answered the priest. “I wonder what + part—I wonder if a man is less a traitor when he is twice a + traitor?” + </p> + <p> + And he ruminated long before the portrait of a white-haired man with black + eyebrows and a pink, painted sort of smile that seemed to contradict the + black warning in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Wisdom of Father Brown, by G. K. 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