the innocence of father brown-第28部分

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；　you　dog？〃　　　　　The　priest　had　sprung　erect；　and　had　the　voice　of　steel　of　a　soldier　in　command。　　　　　〃No　fighting；〃　he　cried　coolly；　〃we　are　enough　to　hold　anyone　we　want　to。　　What　is　the　matter；　doctor？〃　　　　　〃Things　are　not　right　with　Quinton；〃　said　the　doctor；　quite　white。　　〃I　could　just　see　him　through　the　glass；　and　I　don't　like　the　way　he's　lying。　　It's　not　as　I　left　him；　anyhow。〃　　　　　〃Let　us　go　in　to　him；〃　said　Father　Brown　shortly。　　〃You　can　leave　Mr。　Atkinson　alone。　　I　have　had　him　in　sight　since　we　heard　Quinton's　voice。〃　　　　　〃I　will　stop　here　and　watch　him；〃　said　Flambeau　hurriedly。　〃You　go　in　and　see。〃　　　　　The　doctor　and　the　priest　flew　to　the　study　door；　unlocked　it；　and　fell　into　the　room。　　In　doing　so　they　nearly　fell　over　the　large　mahogany　table　in　the　centre　at　which　the　poet　usually　wrote；　for　the　place　was　lit　only　by　a　small　fire　kept　for　the　invalid。　　In　the　middle　of　this　table　lay　a　single　sheet　of　paper；　evidently　left　there　on　purpose。　　The　doctor　snatched　it　up；　glanced　at　it；　handed　it　to　Father　Brown；　and　crying；　〃Good　God；　look　at　that！〃　plunged　toward　the　glass　room　beyond；　where　the　terrible　tropic　flowers　still　seemed　to　keep　a　crimson　memory　of　the　sunset。　　　　　Father　Brown　read　the　words　three　times　before　he　put　down　the　paper。　　The　words　were：　〃I　die　by　my　own　hand；　yet　I　die　murdered！〃　They　were　in　the　quite　inimitable；　not　to　say　illegible；　handwriting　of　Leonard　Quinton。　　　　　Then　Father　Brown；　still　keeping　the　paper　in　his　hand；　strode　towards　the　conservatory；　only　to　meet　his　medical　friend　coming　back　with　a　face　of　assurance　and　collapse。　　〃He's　done　it；〃　said　Harris。　　　　　They　went　together　through　the　gorgeous　unnatural　beauty　of　cactus　and　azalea　and　found　Leonard　Quinton；　poet　and　romancer；　with　his　head　hanging　downward　off　his　ottoman　and　his　red　curls　sweeping　the　ground。　　Into　his　left　side　was　thrust　the　queer　dagger　that　they　had　picked　up　in　the　garden；　and　his　limp　hand　still　rested　on　the　hilt。　　　　　Outside　the　storm　had　come　at　one　stride；　like　the　night　in　Coleridge；　and　garden　and　glass　roof　were　darkened　with　driving　rain。　　Father　Brown　seemed　to　be　studying　the　paper　more　than　the　corpse；　he　held　it　close　to　his　eyes；　and　seemed　trying　to　read　it　in　the　twilight。　　Then　he　held　it　up　against　the　faint　light；　and；　as　he　did　so；　lightning　stared　at　them　for　an　instant　so　white　that　the　paper　looked　black　against　it。　　　　　Darkness　full　of　thunder　followed；　and　after　the　thunder　Father　Brown's　voice　said　out　of　the　dark：　〃Doctor；　this　paper　is　the　wrong　shape。〃　　　　　〃What　do　you　mean？〃　asked　Doctor　Harris；　with　a　frowning　stare。　　　　　〃It　isn't　square；〃　answered　Brown。　　〃It　has　a　sort　of　edge　snipped　off　at　the　corner。　　What　does　it　mean？〃　　　　　〃How　the　deuce　should　I　know？〃　growled　the　doctor。　　〃Shall　we　move　this　poor　chap；　do　you　think？　　He's　quite　dead。〃　　　　　〃No；〃　answered　the　priest；　〃we　must　leave　him　as　he　lies　and　send　for　the　police。〃　　But　he　was　still　scrutinising　the　paper。　　　　　As　they　went　back　through　the　study　he　stopped　by　the　table　and　picked　up　a　small　pair　of　nail　scissors。　　〃Ah；〃　he　said；　with　a　sort　of　relief；　〃this　is　what　he　did　it　with。　　But　yet〃　　And　he　knitted　his　brows。　　　　　〃Oh；　stop　fooling　with　that　scrap　of　paper；〃　said　the　doctor　emphatically。　　〃It　was　a　fad　of　his。　　He　had　hundreds　of　them。　　He　cut　all　his　paper　like　that；〃　as　he　pointed　to　a　stack　of　sermon　paper　still　unused　on　another　and　smaller　table。　　Father　Brown　went　up　to　it　and　held　up　a　sheet。　　It　was　the　same　irregular　shape。　　　　　〃Quite　so；〃　he　said。　　〃And　here　I　see　the　corners　that　were　snipped　off。〃　　And　to　the　indignation　of　his　colleague　he　began　to　count　them。　　　　　〃That's　all　right；〃　he　said；　with　an　apologetic　smile。　〃Twenty…three　sheets　cut　and　twenty…two　corners　cut　off　them。　　And　as　I　see　you　are　impatient　we　will　rejoin　the　others。〃　　　　　〃Who　is　to　tell　his　wife？〃　asked　Dr。　Harris。　　〃Will　you　go　and　tell　her　now；　while　I　send　a　servant　for　the　police？〃　　　　　〃As　you　will；〃　said　Father　Brown　indifferently。　　And　he　went　out　to　the　hall　door。　　　　　Here　also　he　found　a　drama；　though　of　a　more　grotesque　sort。　It　showed　nothing　less　than　his　big　friend　Flambeau　in　an　attitude　to　which　he　had　long　been　unaccustomed；　while　upon　the　pathway　at　the　bottom　of　the　steps　was　sprawling　with　his　boots　in　the　air　the　amiable　Atkinson；　his　billycock　hat　and　walking　cane　sent　flying　in　opposite　directions　along　the　path。　　Atkinson　had　at　length　wearied　of　Flambeau's　almost　paternal　custody；　and　had　endeavoured　to　knock　him　down；　which　was　by　no　means　a　smooth　game　to　play　with　the　Roi　des　Apaches；　even　after　that　monarch's　abdication。　　　　　Flambeau　was　about　to　leap　upon　his　enemy　and　secure　him　once　more；　when　the　priest　patted　him　easily　on　the　shoulder。　　　　　〃Make　it　up　with　Mr。　Atkinson；　my　friend；〃　he　said。　　〃Beg　a　mutual　pardon　and　say　‘Good　night。'　　We　need　not　detain　him　any　longer。〃　　Then；　as　Atkinson　rose　somewhat　doubtfully　and　gathered　his　hat　and　stick　and　went　towards　the　garden　gate；　Father　Brown　said　in　a　more　serious　voice：　〃Where　is　that　Indian？〃　　　　　They　all　three　（for　the　doctor　had　joined　them）　turned　involuntarily　towards　the　dim　grassy　bank　amid　the　tossing　trees　purple　with　twilight；　where　they　had　last　seen　the　brown　man　swaying　in　his　strange　prayers。　　The　Indian　was　gone。　　　　　〃Confound　him；〃　cried　the　doctor；　stamping　furiously。　　〃Now　I　know　that　it　was　that　nigger　that　did　it。〃　　　　　〃I　thought　you　didn't　believe　in　magic；〃　said　Father　Brown　quietly。　　　　　〃No　more　I　did；〃　said　the　doctor；　rolling　his　eyes。　　〃I　only　know　that　I　loathed　that　yellow　devil　when　I　thought　he　was　a　sham　wizard。　　And　I　shall　loathe　him　more　if　I　come　to　think　he　was　a　real　one。〃　　　　　〃Well；　his　having　escaped　is　nothing；〃　said　Flambeau。　　〃For　we　could　have　proved　nothing　and　done　nothing　against　him。　　One　hardly　goes　to　the　parish　constable　with　a　story　of　suicide　imposed　by　witchcraft　or　auto…suggestion。〃　　　　　Meanwhile　Father　Brown　had　made　his　way　into　the　house；　and　now　went　to　break　the　news　to　the　wife　of　the　dead　man。　　　　　When　he　came　out　again　he　looked　a　little　pale　and　tragic；　but　what　passed　between　them　in　that　interview　was　never　known；　even　when　all　was　known。　　　　　Flambeau；　who　was　talking　quietly　with　the　doctor；　was　surprised　to　see　his　friend　reappear　so　soon　at　his　elbow；　but　Brown　took　no　notice；　and　merely　drew　the　doctor　apart。　　〃You　have　sent　for　the　police；　haven't　you？〃　he　asked。　　　　　〃Yes；〃　answered　Harris。　　〃They　ought　to　be　here　in　ten　minutes。〃　　　　　〃Will　you　do　me　a　favour？〃　said　the　priest　quietly。　　〃The　truth　is；　I　make　a　collection　of　these　curious　stories；　which　often　contain；　as　in　the　case　of　our　Hindoo　friend；　elements　which　can　hardly　be　put　into　a　police　report。　　Now；　I　want　you　to　write　out　a　report　of　this　case　for　my　private　use。　　Yours　is　a　clever　trade；〃　he　said；　looking　the　doctor　gravely　and　steadily　in　the　face。　　〃I　sometimes　think　that　you　know　some　details　of　this　matter　which　you　have　not　thought　fit　to　mention。　　Mine　is　a　confidential　trade　like　yours；　and　I　will　treat　anything　you　write　for　me　in　strict　confidence。　　But　write　the　whole。〃　　　　　The　doctor；　who　had　been　listening　thoughtfully　with　his　head　a　little　on　one　side；　looked　the　priest　in　the　face　for　an　instant；　and　said：　〃All　right；〃　and　went　into　the　study；　closing　the　door　behind　him。　　　　　〃Flambeau；〃　said　Father　Brown；　〃there　is　a　long　seat　there　under　the　veranda；　where　we　can　smoke　out　of　the　rain。　　You　are　my　only　friend　in　the　world；　and　I　want　to　talk　to　you。　　Or；　perhaps；　be　silent　with　you。〃　　　　　They　established　themselves　comfortably　in　the　veranda　seat；　Father　Brown；　against　his　common　habit；　accepted　a　good　cigar　and　smoked　it　steadily　in　silence；　while　the　rain　shrieked　and　rattled　on　the　roof　of　the　veranda。　　　　　〃My　friend；〃　he　said　at　length；　〃this　is　a　very　queer　case。　　A　very　queer　case。〃　　　　　〃I　should　think　it　was；〃　said　Flambeau；　with　something　like　a　shudder。　　　　　〃You　call　it　queer；　and　I　call　it　queer；〃　said　the　other；　〃and　yet　we　mean　quite　opposite　things。　　The　modern　mind　always　mixes　up　two　different　ideas：　mystery　in　the　sense　of　what　is　marvellous；　and　mystery　in　the　sense　of　what　is　complicated。　　That　is　half　its　difficulty　about　miracles。　　A　miracle　is　startling；　but　it　is　simple。　　It　is　simple　because　it　is　a　miracle。　　It　is　power　coming　directly　from　God　（or　the　devil）　instead　of　indirectly　through　nature　or　human　wills。　　Now；　you　mean　that　this　business　is　marvellous　because　it　is　miraculous；　because　it　is　witchcraft　worked　by　a　wicked　Indian。　　Understand；　I　do　not　say　that　it　was　not　spiritual　or　diabolic。　　Heaven　and　hell　only　know　by　what　surrounding　influences　strange　sins　come　into　the　lives　of　men。　But　for　the　present　my　point　is　this：　If　it　was　pure　magic；　as　you　think；　then　it　is　marvellous；　but　it　is　not　mysteriousthat　is；　it　is　not　complicated。　　The　quality　of　a　miracle　is　mysterious；　but　its　manner　is　simple。　　Now；　the　manner　of　this　business　has　been　the　reverse　of　simple。〃　　　　　The　storm　that　had　slackened　for　a　little　seemed　to　be　swelling　again；　and　there　came　heavy　movements　as　of　faint　thunder。　　Father　Brown　let　fall　the　ash　of　his　cigar　and　went　on：　　　　　〃There　has　been　in　this　incident；〃　he　said；　〃a　twisted；　ugly；　complex　quality　that　does　not　belong　to　the