the innocence of father brown-第51章

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assed　shameful　gold；　but　certainly　he　would　have　said　with　steady　eyes　that　he　did　it　to　the　glory　of　the　Lord。　　My　own　theology　is　sufficiently　expressed　by　asking　which　Lord？　　Anyhow；　there　is　this　about　such　evil；　that　it　opens　door　after　door　in　hell；　and　always　into　smaller　and　smaller　chambers。　　This　is　the　real　case　against　crime；　that　a　man　does　not　become　wilder　and　wilder；　but　only　meaner　and　meaner。　　St。　Clare　was　soon　suffocated　by　difficulties　of　bribery　and　blackmail；　and　needed　more　and　more　cash。　　And　by　the　time　of　the　Battle　of　the　Black　River　he　had　fallen　from　world　to　world　to　that　place　which　Dante　makes　the　lowest　floor　of　the　universe。〃　　　　　〃What　do　you　mean？〃　asked　his　friend　again。　　　　　〃I　mean　that；〃　retorted　the　cleric；　and　suddenly　pointed　at　a　puddle　sealed　with　ice　that　shone　in　the　moon。　　〃Do　you　remember　whom　Dante　put　in　the　last　circle　of　ice？〃　　　　　〃The　traitors；〃　said　Flambeau；　and　shuddered。　　As　he　looked　around　at　the　inhuman　landscape　of　trees；　with　taunting　and　almost　obscene　outlines；　he　could　almost　fancy　he　was　Dante；　and　the　priest　with　the　rivulet　of　a　voice　was；　indeed；　a　Virgil　leading　him　through　a　land　of　eternal　sins。　　　　　The　voice　went　on：　〃Olivier；　as　you　know；　was　quixotic；　and　would　not　permit　a　secret　service　and　spies。　　The　thing；　however；　was　done；　like　many　other　things；　behind　his　back。　　It　was　managed　by　my　old　friend　Espado；　he　was　the　bright…clad　fop；　whose　hook　nose　got　him　called　the　Vulture。　　Posing　as　a　sort　of　philanthropist　at　the　front；　he　felt　his　way　through　the　English　Army；　and　at　last　got　his　fingers　on　its　one　corrupt　manplease　God！　and　that　man　at　the　top。　　St。　Clare　was　in　foul　need　of　money；　and　mountains　of　it。　　The　discredited　family　doctor　was　threatening　those　extraordinary　exposures　that　afterwards　began　and　were　broken　off；　tales　of　monstrous　and　prehistoric　things　in　Park　Lane；　things　done　by　an　English　Evangelist　that　smelt　like　human　sacrifice　and　hordes　of　slaves。　　Money　was　wanted；　too；　for　his　daughter's　dowry；　for　to　him　the　fame　of　wealth　was　as　sweet　as　wealth　itself。　　He　snapped　the　last　thread；　whispered　the　word　to　Brazil；　and　wealth　poured　in　from　the　enemies　of　England。　　But　another　man　had　talked　to　Espado　the　Vulture　as　well　as　he。　Somehow　the　dark；　grim　young　major　from　Ulster　had　guessed　the　hideous　truth；　and　when　they　walked　slowly　together　down　that　road　towards　the　bridge　Murray　was　telling　the　general　that　he　must　resign　instantly；　or　be　court…martialled　and　shot。　　The　general　temporised　with　him　till　they　came　to　the　fringe　of　tropic　trees　by　the　bridge；　and　there　by　the　singing　river　and　the　sunlit　palms　（for　I　can　see　the　picture）　the　general　drew　his　sabre　and　plunged　it　through　the　body　of　the　major。〃　　　　　The　wintry　road　curved　over　a　ridge　in　cutting　frost；　with　cruel　black　shapes　of　bush　and　thicket；　but　Flambeau　fancied　that　he　saw　beyond　it　faintly　the　edge　of　an　aureole　that　was　not　starlight　and　moonlight；　but　some　fire　such　as　is　made　by　men。　　He　watched　it　as　the　tale　drew　to　its　close。　　　　　〃St。　Clare　was　a　hell…hound；　but　he　was　a　hound　of　breed。　Never；　I'll　swear；　was　he　so　lucid　and　so　strong　as　when　poor　Murray　lay　a　cold　lump　at　his　feet。　　Never　in　all　his　triumphs；　as　Captain　Keith　said　truly；　was　the　great　man　so　great　as　he　was　in　this　last　world…despised　defeat。　　He　looked　coolly　at　his　weapon　to　wipe　off　the　blood；　he　saw　the　point　he　had　planted　between　his　victim's　shoulders　had　broken　off　in　the　body。　　He　saw　quite　calmly；　as　through　a　club　windowpane；　all　that　must　follow。　　He　saw　that　men　must　find　the　unaccountable　corpse；　must　extract　the　unaccountable　sword…point；　must　notice　the　unaccountable　broken　swordor　absence　of　sword。　　He　had　killed；　but　not　silenced。　But　his　imperious　intellect　rose　against　the　facer；　there　was　one　way　yet。　　He　could　make　the　corpse　less　unaccountable。　　He　could　create　a　hill　of　corpses　to　cover　this　one。　　In　twenty　minutes　eight　hundred　English　soldiers　were　marching　down　to　their　death。〃　　　　　The　warmer　glow　behind　the　black　winter　wood　grew　richer　and　brighter；　and　Flambeau　strode　on　to　reach　it。　　Father　Brown　also　quickened　his　stride；　but　he　seemed　merely　absorbed　in　his　tale。　　　　　〃Such　was　the　valour　of　that　English　thousand；　and　such　the　genius　of　their　commander；　that　if　they　had　at　once　attacked　the　hill；　even　their　mad　march　might　have　met　some　luck。　　But　the　evil　mind　that　played　with　them　like　pawns　had　other　aims　and　reasons。　They　must　remain　in　the　marshes　by　the　bridge　at　least　till　British　corpses　should　be　a　common　sight　there。　　Then　for　the　last　grand　scene；　the　silver…haired　soldier…saint　would　give　up　his　shattered　sword　to　save　further　slaughter。　　Oh；　it　was　well　organised　for　an　impromptu。　　But　I　think　（I　cannot　prove）；　I　think　that　it　was　while　they　stuck　there　in　the　bloody　mire　that　someone　doubted　and　someone　guessed。〃　　　　　He　was　mute　a　moment；　and　then　said：　〃There　is　a　voice　from　nowhere　that　tells　me　the　man　who　guessed　was　the　lover　。。。　the　man　to　wed　the　old　man's　child。〃　　　　　〃But　what　about　Olivier　and　the　hanging？〃　asked　Flambeau。　　　　　〃Olivier；　partly　from　chivalry；　partly　from　policy；　seldom　encumbered　his　march　with　captives；〃　explained　the　narrator。　　〃He　released　everybody　in　most　cases。　　He　released　everybody　in　this　case。　　　　　〃Everybody　but　the　general；〃　said　the　tall　man。　　　　　〃Everybody；〃　said　the　priest。　　　　　Flambeau　knit　his　black　brows。　　〃I　don't　grasp　it　all　yet；〃　he　said。　　　　　〃There　is　another　picture；　Flambeau；〃　said　Brown　in　his　more　mystical　undertone。　　〃I　can't　prove　it；　but　I　can　do　moreI　can　see　it。　　There　is　a　camp　breaking　up　on　the　bare；　torrid　hills　at　morning；　and　Brazilian　uniforms　massed　in　blocks　and　columns　to　march。　　There　is　the　red　shirt　and　long　black　beard　of　Olivier；　which　blows　as　he　stands；　his　broad…brimmed　hat　in　his　hand。　　He　is　saying　farewell　to　the　great　enemy　he　is　setting　freethe　simple；　snow…headed　English　veteran；　who　thanks　him　in　the　name　of　his　men。　　The　English　remnant　stand　behind　at　attention；　beside　them　are　stores　and　vehicles　for　the　retreat。　　The　drums　roll；　the　Brazilians　are　moving；　the　English　are　still　like　statues。　　So　they　abide　till　the　last　hum　and　flash　of　the　enemy　have　faded　from　the　tropic　horizon。　　Then　they　alter　their　postures　all　at　once；　like　dead　men　coming　to　life；　they　turn　their　fifty　faces　upon　the　generalfaces　not　to　be　forgotten。〃　　　　　Flambeau　gave　a　great　jump。　　〃Ah；〃　he　cried；　〃you　don't　mean〃　　　　　〃Yes；〃　said　Father　Brown　in　a　deep；　moving　voice。　　〃It　was　an　English　hand　that　put　the　rope　round　St。　Clare's　neck；　I　believe　the　hand　that　put　the　ring　on　his　daughter's　finger。　　They　were　English　hands　that　dragged　him　up　to　the　tree　of　shame；　the　hands　of　men　that　had　adored　him　and　followed　him　to　victory。　　And　they　were　English　souls　（God　pardon　and　endure　us　all！）　who　stared　at　him　swinging　in　that　foreign　sun　on　the　green　gallows　of　palm；　and　prayed　in　their　hatred　that　he　might　drop　off　it　into　hell。〃　　　　　As　the　two　topped　the　ridge　there　burst　on　them　the　strong　scarlet　light　of　a　red…curtained　English　inn。　　It　stood　sideways　in　the　road；　as　if　standing　aside　in　the　amplitude　of　hospitality。　Its　three　doors　stood　open　with　invitation；　and　even　where　they　stood　they　could　hear　the　hum　and　laughter　of　humanity　happy　for　a　night。　　　　　〃I　need　not　tell　you　more；〃　said　Father　Brown。　　〃They　tried　him　in　the　wilderness　and　destroyed　him；　and　then；　for　the　honour　of　England　and　of　his　daughter；　they　took　an　oath　to　seal　up　for　ever　the　story　of　the　traitor's　purse　and　the　assassin's　sword　blade。　　PerhapsHeaven　help　themthey　tried　to　forget　it。　Let　us　try　to　forget　it；　anyhow；　here　is　our　inn。〃　　　　　〃With　all　my　heart；〃　said　Flambeau；　and　was　just　striding　into　the　bright；　noisy　bar　when　he　stepped　back　and　almost　fell　on　the　road。　　　　　〃Look　there；　in　the　devil's　name！〃　he　cried；　and　pointed　rigidly　at　the　square　wooden　sign　that　overhung　the　road。　　It　showed　dimly　the　crude　shape　of　a　sabre　hilt　and　a　shortened　blade；　and　was　inscribed　in　false　archaic　lettering；　〃The　Sign　of　the　Broken　Sword。〃　　　　　〃Were　you　not　prepared？〃　asked　Father　Brown　gently。　　〃He　is　the　god　of　this　country；　half　the　inns　and　parks　and　streets　are　named　after　him　and　his　story。〃　　　　　〃I　thought　we　h