the innocence of father brown-第22部分

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；〃　said　Flambeau。　　　　　He　dug　for　some　dreadful　minutes　in　silence；　and　then　said　in　a　choked　voice；　〃I'm　afraid　of　his　not　being　the　right　shape。〃　　　　　〃Nor　was　that　piece　of　paper；　you　know；〃　said　Father　Brown　quietly；　〃and　we　survived　even　that　piece　of　paper。〃　　　　　Flambeau　dug　on　with　a　blind　energy。　　But　the　tempest　had　shouldered　away　the　choking　grey　clouds　that　clung　to　the　hills　like　smoke　and　revealed　grey　fields　of　faint　starlight　before　he　cleared　the　shape　of　a　rude　timber　coffin；　and　somehow　tipped　it　up　upon　the　turf。　　Craven　stepped　forward　with　his　axe；　a　thistle…top　touched　him；　and　he　flinched。　　Then　he　took　a　firmer　stride；　and　hacked　and　wrenched　with　an　energy　like　Flambeau's　till　the　lid　was　torn　off；　and　all　that　was　there　lay　glimmering　in　the　grey　starlight。　　　　　〃Bones；〃　said　Craven；　and　then　he　added；　〃but　it　is　a　man；〃　as　if　that　were　something　unexpected。　　　　　〃Is　he；〃　asked　Flambeau　in　a　voice　that　went　oddly　up　and　down；　〃is　he　all　right？〃　　　　　〃Seems　so；〃　said　the　officer　huskily；　bending　over　the　obscure　and　decaying　skeleton　in　the　box。　　〃Wait　a　minute。〃　　　　　A　vast　heave　went　over　Flambeau's　huge　figure。　　〃And　now　I　come　to　think　of　it；〃　he　cried；　〃why　in　the　name　of　madness　shouldn't　he　be　all　right？　　What　is　it　gets　hold　of　a　man　on　these　cursed　cold　mountains？　　I　think　it's　the　black；　brainless　repetition；　all　these　forests；　and　over　all　an　ancient　horror　of　unconsciousness。　　It's　like　the　dream　of　an　atheist。　　Pine…trees　and　more　pine…trees　and　millions　more　pine…trees〃　　　　　〃God！〃　cried　the　man　by　the　coffin；　〃but　he　hasn't　got　a　head。〃　　　　　While　the　others　stood　rigid　the　priest；　for　the　first　time；　showed　a　leap　of　startled　concern。　　　　　〃No　head！〃　he　repeated。　　〃No　head？〃　as　if　he　had　almost　expected　some　other　deficiency。　　　　　Half…witted　visions　of　a　headless　baby　born　to　Glengyle；　of　a　headless　youth　hiding　himself　in　the　castle；　of　a　headless　man　pacing　those　ancient　halls　or　that　gorgeous　garden；　passed　in　panorama　through　their　minds。　　But　even　in　that　stiffened　instant　the　tale　took　no　root　in　them　and　seemed　to　have　no　reason　in　it。　They　stood　listening　to　the　loud　woods　and　the　shrieking　sky　quite　foolishly；　like　exhausted　animals。　　Thought　seemed　to　be　something　enormous　that　had　suddenly　slipped　out　of　their　grasp。　　　　　〃There　are　three　headless　men；〃　said　Father　Brown；　〃standing　round　this　open　grave。〃　　　　　The　pale　detective　from　London　opened　his　mouth　to　speak；　and　left　it　open　like　a　yokel；　while　a　long　scream　of　wind　tore　the　sky；　then　he　looked　at　the　axe　in　his　hands　as　if　it　did　not　belong　to　him；　and　dropped　it。　　　　　〃Father；〃　said　Flambeau　in　that　infantile　and　heavy　voice　he　used　very　seldom；　〃what　are　we　to　do？〃　　　　　His　friend's　reply　came　with　the　pent　promptitude　of　a　gun　going　off。　　　　　〃Sleep！〃　cried　Father　Brown。　　〃Sleep。　　We　have　come　to　the　end　of　the　ways。　　Do　you　know　what　sleep　is？　　Do　you　know　that　every　man　who　sleeps　believes　in　God？　　It　is　a　sacrament；　for　it　is　an　act　of　faith　and　it　is　a　food。　　And　we　need　a　sacrament；　if　only　a　natural　one。　　Something　has　fallen　on　us　that　falls　very　seldom　on　men；　perhaps　the　worst　thing　that　can　fall　on　them。〃　　　　　Craven's　parted　lips　came　together　to　say；　〃What　do　you　mean？〃　　　　　The　priest　had　turned　his　face　to　the　castle　as　he　answered：　〃We　have　found　the　truth；　and　the　truth　makes　no　sense。〃　　　　　He　went　down　the　path　in　front　of　them　with　a　plunging　and　reckless　step　very　rare　with　him；　and　when　they　reached　the　castle　again　he　threw　himself　upon　sleep　with　the　simplicity　of　a　dog。　　　　　Despite　his　mystic　praise　of　slumber；　Father　Brown　was　up　earlier　than　anyone　else　except　the　silent　gardener；　and　was　found　smoking　a　big　pipe　and　watching　that　expert　at　his　speechless　labours　in　the　kitchen　garden。　　Towards　daybreak　the　rocking　storm　had　ended　in　roaring　rains；　and　the　day　came　with　a　curious　freshness。　　The　gardener　seemed　even　to　have　been　conversing；　but　at　sight　of　the　detectives　he　planted　his　spade　sullenly　in　a　bed　and；　saying　something　about　his　breakfast；　shifted　along　the　lines　of　cabbages　and　shut　himself　in　the　kitchen。　　〃He's　a　valuable　man；　that；〃　said　Father　Brown。　　〃He　does　the　potatoes　amazingly。　Still；〃　he　added；　with　a　dispassionate　charity；　〃he　has　his　faults；　which　of　us　hasn't？　　He　doesn't　dig　this　bank　quite　regularly。　There；　for　instance；〃　and　he　stamped　suddenly　on　one　spot。　　〃I'm　really　very　doubtful　about　that　potato。〃　　　　　〃And　why？〃　asked　Craven；　amused　with　the　little　man's　hobby。　　　　　〃I'm　doubtful　about　it；〃　said　the　other；　〃because　old　Gow　was　doubtful　about　it　himself。　　He　put　his　spade　in　methodically　in　every　place　but　just　this。　　There　must　be　a　mighty　fine　potato　just　here。〃　　　　　Flambeau　pulled　up　the　spade　and　impetuously　drove　it　into　the　place。　　He　turned　up；　under　a　load　of　soil；　something　that　did　not　look　like　a　potato；　but　rather　like　a　monstrous；　over…domed　mushroom。　　But　it　struck　the　spade　with　a　cold　click；　it　rolled　over　like　a　ball；　and　grinned　up　at　them。　　　　　〃The　Earl　of　Glengyle；〃　said　Brown　sadly；　and　looked　down　heavily　at　the　skull。　　　　　Then；　after　a　momentary　meditation；　he　plucked　the　spade　from　Flambeau；　and；　saying　〃We　must　hide　it　again；〃　clamped　the　skull　down　in　the　earth。　　Then　he　leaned　his　little　body　and　huge　head　on　the　great　handle　of　the　spade；　that　stood　up　stiffly　in　the　earth；　and　his　eyes　were　empty　and　his　forehead　full　of　wrinkles。　〃If　one　could　only　conceive；〃　he　muttered；　〃the　meaning　of　this　last　monstrosity。〃　　And　leaning　on　the　large　spade　handle；　he　buried　his　brows　in　his　hands；　as　men　do　in　church。　　　　　All　the　corners　of　the　sky　were　brightening　into　blue　and　silver；　the　birds　were　chattering　in　the　tiny　garden　trees；　so　loud　it　seemed　as　if　the　trees　themselves　were　talking。　　But　the　three　men　were　silent　enough。　　　　　〃Well；　I　give　it　all　up；〃　said　Flambeau　at　last　boisterously。　〃My　brain　and　this　world　don't　fit　each　other；　and　there's　an　end　of　it。　　Snuff；　spoilt　Prayer　Books；　and　the　insides　of　musical　boxeswhat〃　　　　　Brown　threw　up　his　bothered　brow　and　rapped　on　the　spade　handle　with　an　intolerance　quite　unusual　with　him。　　〃Oh；　tut；　tut；　tut；　tut！〃　he　cried。　　〃All　that　is　as　plain　as　a　pikestaff。　　I　understood　the　snuff　and　clockwork；　and　so　on；　when　I　first　opened　my　eyes　this　morning。　　And　since　then　I've　had　it　out　with　old　Gow；　the　gardener；　who　is　neither　so　deaf　nor　so　stupid　as　he　pretends。　　There's　nothing　amiss　about　the　loose　items。　　I　was　wrong　about　the　torn　mass…book；　too；　there's　no　harm　in　that。　　But　it's　this　last　business。　　Desecrating　graves　and　stealing　dead　men's　headssurely　there's　harm　in　that？　　Surely　there's　black　magic　still　in　that？　　That　doesn't　fit　in　to　the　quite　simple　story　of　the　snuff　and　the　candles。〃　　And；　striding　about　again；　he　smoked　moodily。　　　　　〃My　friend；〃　said　Flambeau；　with　a　grim　humour；　〃you　must　be　careful　with　me　and　remember　I　was　once　a　criminal。　　The　great　advantage　of　that　estate　was　that　I　always　made　up　the　story　myself；　and　acted　it　as　quick　as　I　chose。　　This　detective　business　of　waiting　about　is　too　much　for　my　French　impatience。　　All　my　life；　for　good　or　evil；　I　have　done　things　at　the　instant；　I　always　fought　duels　the　next　morning；　I　always　paid　bills　on　the　nail；　I　never　even　put　off　a　visit　to　the　dentist〃　　　　　Father　Brown's　pipe　fell　out　of　his　mouth　and　broke　into　three　pieces　on　the　gravel　path。　　He　stood　rolling　his　eyes；　the　exact　picture　of　an　idiot。　　〃Lord；　what　a　turnip　I　am！〃　he　kept　saying。　〃Lord；　what　a　turnip！〃　　Then；　in　a　somewhat　groggy　kind　of　way；　he　began　to　laugh。　　　　　〃The　dentist！〃　he　repeated。　　〃Six　hours　in　the　spiritual　abyss；　and　all　because　I　never　thought　of　the　dentist！　　Such　a　simple；　such　a　beautiful　and　peaceful　thought！　　Friends；　we　have　passed　a　night　in　hell；　but　now　the　sun　is　risen；　the　birds　are　singing；　and　the　radiant　form　of　the　dentist　consoles　the　world。〃　　　　　〃I　will　get　some　sense　out　of　this；〃　cried　Flambeau；　striding　forward；　〃if　I　use　the　tortures　of　the　Inquisition。〃　　　　　Father　Brown　repressed　what　appeared　to　be　a　momentary　disposition　to　dance　on　the　now　sunlit　lawn　and　cried　quite　piteously；　like　a　child；　〃Oh；　let　me　be　silly　a　little。　　You　don't　know　how　unhappy　I　have　been。　　And　now　I　know　that　there　has　been　no　deep　sin　in　this　business　at　all。　　Only　a　little　lunacy；　perhaps　and　who　minds　that？〃　　　　　He　spun　round　once　more；　then　faced　them　with　gravity。　　　　　〃This　is　not　a　story　of　crime；〃　he　said；　〃rather　it　is　the　story　of　a　strange　and　crooked　honesty。　　We　are　dealing　with　the　one　man　on　earth；　perhaps；　who　has　taken　no　more　than　his　due。　　It　is　a　study　in　the　savage　living　logic　that　has　been　the　religion　of　this　race。　　　　　〃That　old　local　rhyme　about　the　house　of　Glengyle　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　As　green　sap　to　the　simmer　trees　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Is　red　gold　to　the　Ogilvies　was　literal　as　well　as　metaphorical。　　It　did　not　merely　mean　that　the　Glengyles　sought　for　wealth；　it　was　also　true　that　they　literally　gathered　gold；　they　had　a　huge　collection　of　ornaments　and　utensils　in　that　metal。　　They　were；　in　fact；　misers　whose　mania　took　that　turn。　　In　the　light　of　that　fact；　run　through　all　the　things　we　found　in　the　castle。　　Diamonds　without　their　gold　rings；　candles　without　their　gold　candlesticks；　snuff　without　the　gold　snuff…boxes；　pencil…leads　without　the　gold　pencil…cases；　a　walking　stick　without　its　gold　top；　clockwork　without　the　gold　clocksor　rather　watches。　　And；　mad　as　it　sounds；　because　the　halos　and　the　name　of　God　in　the　old　missals　were　of　real　gold；　these　also　were　taken　away。〃　　　　　The　garden　seemed　to　brighten；　the　grass　to　grow　gayer　in　the　strengthening　sun；　as　the　crazy　truth　was　told。　　Flambeau　lit　a　cigarette　as　his　friend　went　on。　　　　　〃Were　taken　away；〃　continued　Father　Brown；　〃were　taken　away　but　not　stolen。　　Thieves　would　never　have　left　this　mystery。　Thieves　would　have　taken　the　gold　snuff…boxes；　snuff　and　all；　the　gold　pencil…cases；　lead　and　all。　　We　have　to　deal　with　a　man　with　a　peculiar　conscience；　but　certainly　a　conscience。　　I　found　that　mad　moralist　this　morning　in　the　kitchen　garden　yonder；　and　I　heard　the　whole　story。　　　　　〃The　late　Archibald　Ogilvie　was　the　nearest　approach　to　a　good　man　ever　born　at　Glengyle。　　But　his　bitter　virtue　took　the　turn　of　the　misanthrope；　he　moped　over　the　dishonesty　of　his　ancestors