the innocence of father brown-第43章

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art　of　it。　　When　you　left　your　brother　you　were　racked　with　no　unrighteous　rage；　to　the　extent　even　that　you　snatched　up　a　small　hammer；　half　inclined　to　kill　him　with　his　foulness　on　his　mouth。　Recoiling；　you　thrust　it　under　your　buttoned　coat　instead；　and　rushed　into　the　church。　　You　pray　wildly　in　many　places；　under　the　angel　window；　upon　the　platform　above；　and　a　higher　platform　still；　from　which　you　could　see　the　colonel's　Eastern　hat　like　the　back　of　a　green　beetle　crawling　about。　　Then　something　snapped　in　your　soul；　and　you　let　God's　thunderbolt　fall。〃　　　　　Wilfred　put　a　weak　hand　to　his　head；　and　asked　in　a　low　voice：　〃How　did　you　know　that　his　hat　looked　like　a　green　beetle？〃　　　　　〃Oh；　that；〃　said　the　other　with　the　shadow　of　a　smile；　〃that　was　common　sense。　　But　hear　me　further。　　I　say　I　know　all　this；　but　no　one　else　shall　know　it。　　The　next　step　is　for　you；　I　shall　take　no　more　steps；　I　will　seal　this　with　the　seal　of　confession。　If　you　ask　me　why；　there　are　many　reasons；　and　only　one　that　concerns　you。　　I　leave　things　to　you　because　you　have　not　yet　gone　very　far　wrong；　as　assassins　go。　　You　did　not　help　to　fix　the　crime　on　the　smith　when　it　was　easy；　or　on　his　wife；　when　that　was　easy。　　You　tried　to　fix　it　on　the　imbecile　because　you　knew　that　he　could　not　suffer。　　That　was　one　of　the　gleams　that　it　is　my　business　to　find　in　assassins。　　And　now　come　down　into　the　village；　and　go　your　own　way　as　free　as　the　wind；　for　I　have　said　my　last　word。〃　　　　　They　went　down　the　winding　stairs　in　utter　silence；　and　came　out　into　the　sunlight　by　the　smithy。　　Wilfred　Bohun　carefully　unlatched　the　wooden　gate　of　the　yard；　and　going　up　to　the　inspector；　said：　〃I　wish　to　give　myself　up；　I　have　killed　my　brother。〃



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　The　Eye　of　Apollo

That　singular　smoky　sparkle；　at　once　a　confusion　and　a　transparency；　which　is　the　strange　secret　of　the　Thames；　was　changing　more　and　more　from　its　grey　to　its　glittering　extreme　as　the　sun　climbed　to　the　zenith　over　Westminster；　and　two　men　crossed　Westminster　Bridge。　　One　man　was　very　tall　and　the　other　very　short；　they　might　even　have　been　fantastically　compared　to　the　arrogant　clock…tower　of　Parliament　and　the　humbler　humped　shoulders　of　the　Abbey；　for　the　short　man　was　in　clerical　dress。　　The　official　description　of　the　tall　man　was　M。　Hercule　Flambeau；　private　detective；　and　he　was　going　to　his　new　offices　in　a　new　pile　of　flats　facing　the　Abbey　entrance。　　The　official　description　of　the　short　man　was　the　Reverend　J。　Brown；　attached　to　St。　Francis　Xavier's　Church；　Camberwell；　and　he　was　coming　from　a　Camberwell　deathbed　to　see　the　new　offices　of　his　friend。　　　　　The　building　was　American　in　its　sky…scraping　altitude；　and　American　also　in　the　oiled　elaboration　of　its　machinery　of　telephones　and　lifts。　　But　it　was　barely　finished　and　still　understaffed；　only　three　tenants　had　moved　in；　the　office　just　above　Flambeau　was　occupied；　as　also　was　the　office　just　below　him；　the　two　floors　above　that　and　the　three　floors　below　were　entirely　bare。　　But　the　first　glance　at　the　new　tower　of　flats　caught　something　much　more　arresting。　　Save　for　a　few　relics　of　scaffolding；　the　one　glaring　object　was　erected　outside　the　office　just　above　Flambeau's。　　It　was　an　enormous　gilt　effigy　of　the　human　eye；　surrounded　with　rays　of　gold；　and　taking　up　as　much　room　as　two　or　three　of　the　office　windows。　　　　　〃What　on　earth　is　that？〃　asked　Father　Brown；　and　stood　still。　〃Oh；　a　new　religion；〃　said　Flambeau；　laughing；　〃one　of　those　new　religions　that　forgive　your　sins　by　saying　you　never　had　any。　Rather　like　Christian　Science；　I　should　think。　　The　fact　is　that　a　fellow　calling　himself　Kalon　（I　don't　know　what　his　name　is；　except　that　it　can't　be　that）　has　taken　the　flat　just　above　me。　I　have　two　lady　typewriters　underneath　me；　and　this　enthusiastic　old　humbug　on　top。　　He　calls　himself　the　New　Priest　of　Apollo；　and　he　worships　the　sun。〃　　　　　〃Let　him　look　out；〃　said　Father　Brown。　　〃The　sun　was　the　cruellest　of　all　the　gods。　　But　what　does　that　monstrous　eye　mean？〃　　　　　〃As　I　understand　it；　it　is　a　theory　of　theirs；〃　answered　Flambeau；　〃that　a　man　can　endure　anything　if　his　mind　is　quite　steady。　　Their　two　great　symbols　are　the　sun　and　the　open　eye；　for　they　say　that　if　a　man　were　really　healthy　he　could　stare　at　the　sun。〃　　　　　〃If　a　man　were　really　healthy；〃　said　Father　Brown；　〃he　would　not　bother　to　stare　at　it。〃　　　　　〃Well；　that's　all　I　can　tell　you　about　the　new　religion；〃　went　on　Flambeau　carelessly。　　〃It　claims；　of　course；　that　it　can　cure　all　physical　diseases。〃　　　　　〃Can　it　cure　the　one　spiritual　disease？〃　asked　Father　Brown；　with　a　serious　curiosity。　　　　　〃And　what　is　the　one　spiritual　disease？〃　asked　Flambeau；　smiling。　　　　　〃Oh；　thinking　one　is　quite　well；〃　said　his　friend。　　　　　Flambeau　was　more　interested　in　the　quiet　little　office　below　him　than　in　the　flamboyant　temple　above。　　He　was　a　lucid　Southerner；　incapable　of　conceiving　himself　as　anything　but　a　Catholic　or　an　atheist；　and　new　religions　of　a　bright　and　pallid　sort　were　not　much　in　his　line。　　But　humanity　was　always　in　his　line；　especially　when　it　was　good…looking；　moreover；　the　ladies　downstairs　were　characters　in　their　way。　　The　office　was　kept　by　two　sisters；　both　slight　and　dark；　one　of　them　tall　and　striking。　She　had　a　dark；　eager　and　aquiline　profile；　and　was　one　of　those　women　whom　one　always　thinks　of　in　profile；　as　of　the　clean…cut　edge　of　some　weapon。　　She　seemed　to　cleave　her　way　through　life。　She　had　eyes　of　startling　brilliancy；　but　it　was　the　brilliancy　of　steel　rather　than　of　diamonds；　and　her　straight；　slim　figure　was　a　shade　too　stiff　for　its　grace。　　Her　younger　sister　was　like　her　shortened　shadow；　a　little　greyer；　paler；　and　more　insignificant。　They　both　wore　a　business…like　black；　with　little　masculine　cuffs　and　collars。　　There　are　thousands　of　such　curt；　strenuous　ladies　in　the　offices　of　London；　but　the　interest　of　these　lay　rather　in　their　real　than　their　apparent　position。　　　　　For　Pauline　Stacey；　the　elder；　was　actually　the　heiress　of　a　crest　and　half　a　county；　as　well　as　great　wealth　；　she　had　been　brought　up　in　castles　and　gardens；　before　a　frigid　fierceness　（peculiar　to　the　modern　woman）　had　driven　her　to　what　she　considered　a　harsher　and　a　higher　existence。　　She　had　not；　indeed；　surrendered　her　money；　in　that　there　would　have　been　a　romantic　or　monkish　abandon　quite　alien　to　her　masterful　utilitarianism。　　She　held　her　wealth；　she　would　say；　for　use　upon　practical　social　objects。　　Part　of　it　she　had　put　into　her　business；　the　nucleus　of　a　model　typewriting　emporium；　part　of　it　was　distributed　in　various　leagues　and　causes　for　the　advancement　of　such　work　among　women。　　How　far　Joan；　her　sister　and　partner；　shared　this　slightly　prosaic　idealism　no　one　could　be　very　sure。　　But　she　followed　her　leader　with　a　dog…like　affection　which　was　somehow　more　attractive；　with　its　touch　of　tragedy；　than　the　hard；　high　spirits　of　the　elder。　　For　Pauline　Stacey　had　nothing　to　say　to　tragedy；　she　was　understood　to　deny　its　existence。　　　　　Her　rigid　rapidity　and　cold　impatience　had　amused　Flambeau　very　much　on　the　first　occasion　of　his　entering　the　flats。　　He　had　lingered　outside　the　lift　in　the　entrance　hall　waiting　for　the　lift…boy；　who　generally　conducts　strangers　to　the　various　floors。　But　this　bright…eyed　falcon　of　a　girl　had　openly　refused　to　endure　such　official　delay。　　She　said　sharply　that　she　knew　all　about　the　lift；　and　was　not　dependent　on　boysor　men　either。　　Though　her　flat　was　only　three　floors　above；　she　managed　in　the　few　seconds　of　ascent　to　give　Flambeau　a　great　many　of　her　fundamental　views　in　an　off…hand　manner；　they　were　to　the　general　effect　that　she　was　a　modern　working　woman　and　loved　modern　working　machinery。　Her　bright　black　eyes　blazed　with　abstract　anger　against　those　who　rebuke　mechanic　science　and　ask　for　the　return　of　romance。　Everyone；　she　said；　ought　to　be　able　to　manage　machines；　just　as　she　could　manage　the　lift。　　She　seemed　almost　to　resent　the　fact　of　Flambeau　opening　the　lift…door　for　her；　and　that　gentleman　went　up　to　his　own　apartments　smiling　with　somewhat　mingled　feelings　at　the　memory　of　such　spit…fire　self…dependence。　　　　　She　certainly　had　a　temper；　of　a　snappy；　practical　sort；　the　gestures　of