the innocence of father brown-第23部分

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ut　his　bitter　virtue　took　the　turn　of　the　misanthrope；　he　moped　over　the　dishonesty　of　his　ancestors；　from　which；　somehow；　he　generalised　a　dishonesty　of　all　men。　　More　especially　he　distrusted　philanthropy　or　free…giving；　and　he　swore　if　he　could　find　one　man　who　took　his　exact　rights　he　should　have　all　the　gold　of　Glengyle。　　Having　delivered　this　defiance　to　humanity　he　shut　himself　up；　without　the　smallest　expectation　of　its　being　answered。　　One　day；　however；　a　deaf　and　seemingly　senseless　lad　from　a　distant　village　brought　him　a　belated　telegram；　and　Glengyle；　in　his　acrid　pleasantry；　gave　him　a　new　farthing。　　At　least　he　thought　he　had　done　so；　but　when　he　turned　over　his　change　he　found　the　new　farthing　still　there　and　a　sovereign　gone。　　The　accident　offered　him　vistas　of　sneering　speculation。　　Either　way；　the　boy　would　show　the　greasy　greed　of　the　species。　　Either　he　would　vanish；　a　thief　stealing　a　coin；　or　he　would　sneak　back　with　it　virtuously；　a　snob　seeking　a　reward。　In　the　middle　of　that　night　Lord　Glengyle　was　knocked　up　out　of　his　bedfor　he　lived　aloneand　forced　to　open　the　door　to　the　deaf　idiot。　　The　idiot　brought　with　him；　not　the　sovereign；　but　exactly　nineteen　shillings　and　eleven…pence　three…farthings　in　change。　　　　　〃Then　the　wild　exactitude　of　this　action　took　hold　of　the　mad　lord's　brain　like　fire。　　He　swore　he　was　Diogenes；　that　had　long　sought　an　honest　man；　and　at　last　had　found　one。　　He　made　a　new　will；　which　I　have　seen。　　He　took　the　literal　youth　into　his　huge；　neglected　house；　and　trained　him　up　as　his　solitary　servant　and　after　an　odd　mannerhis　heir。　　And　whatever　that　queer　creature　understands；　he　understood　absolutely　his　lord's　two　fixed　ideas：　first；　that　the　letter　of　right　is　everything；　and　second；　that　he　himself　was　to　have　the　gold　of　Glengyle。　　So　far；　that　is　all；　and　that　is　simple。　　He　has　stripped　the　house　of　gold；　and　taken　not　a　grain　that　was　not　gold；　not　so　much　as　a　grain　of　snuff。　　He　lifted　the　gold　leaf　off　an　old　illumination；　fully　satisfied　that　he　left　the　rest　unspoilt。　　All　that　I　understood；　but　I　could　not　understand　this　skull　business。　I　was　really　uneasy　about　that　human　head　buried　among　the　potatoes。　　It　distressed　metill　Flambeau　said　the　word。　　　　　〃It　will　be　all　right。　　He　will　put　the　skull　back　in　the　grave；　when　he　has　taken　the　gold　out　of　the　tooth。〃　　　　　And；　indeed；　when　Flambeau　crossed　the　hill　that　morning；　he　saw　that　strange　being；　the　just　miser；　digging　at　the　desecrated　grave；　the　plaid　round　his　throat　thrashing　out　in　the　mountain　wind；　the　sober　top　hat　on　his　head。



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　The　Wrong　Shape

Certain　of　the　great　roads　going　north　out　of　London　continue　far　into　the　country　a　sort　of　attenuated　and　interrupted　spectre　of　a　street；　with　great　gaps　in　the　building；　but　preserving　the　line。　Here　will　be　a　group　of　shops；　followed　by　a　fenced　field　or　paddock；　and　then　a　famous　public…house；　and　then　perhaps　a　market　garden　or　a　nursery　garden；　and　then　one　large　private　house；　and　then　another　field　and　another　inn；　and　so　on。　　If　anyone　walks　along　one　of　these　roads　he　will　pass　a　house　which　will　probably　catch　his　eye；　though　he　may　not　be　able　to　explain　its　attraction。　It　is　a　long；　low　house；　running　parallel　with　the　road；　painted　mostly　white　and　pale　green；　with　a　veranda　and　sun…blinds；　and　porches　capped　with　those　quaint　sort　of　cupolas　like　wooden　umbrellas　that　one　sees　in　some　old…fashioned　houses。　　In　fact；　it　is　an　old…fashioned　house；　very　English　and　very　suburban　in　the　good　old　wealthy　Clapham　sense。　　And　yet　the　house　has　a　look　of　having　been　built　chiefly　for　the　hot　weather。　　Looking　at　its　white　paint　and　sun…blinds　one　thinks　vaguely　of　pugarees　and　even　of　palm　trees。　　I　cannot　trace　the　feeling　to　its　root；　perhaps　the　place　was　built　by　an　Anglo…Indian。　　　　　Anyone　passing　this　house；　I　say；　would　be　namelessly　fascinated　by　it；　would　feel　that　it　was　a　place　about　which　some　story　was　to　be　told。　　And　he　would　have　been　right；　as　you　shall　shortly　hear。　　For　this　is　the　storythe　story　of　the　strange　things　that　did　really　happen　in　it　in　the　Whitsuntide　of　the　year　18：　　　　　Anyone　passing　the　house　on　the　Thursday　before　WhitSunday　at　about　half…past　four　p。m。　would　have　seen　the　front　door　open；　and　Father　Brown；　of　the　small　church　of　St。　Mungo；　come　out　smoking　a　large　pipe　in　company　with　a　very　tall　French　friend　of　his　called　Flambeau；　who　was　smoking　a　very　small　cigarette。　　These　persons　may　or　may　not　be　of　interest　to　the　reader；　but　the　truth　is　that　they　were　not　the　only　interesting　things　that　were　displayed　when　the　front　door　of　the　white…and…green　house　was　opened。　　There　are　further　peculiarities　about　this　house；　which　must　be　described　to　start　with；　not　only　that　the　reader　may　understand　this　tragic　tale；　but　also　that　he　may　realise　what　it　was　that　the　opening　of　the　door　revealed。　　　　　The　whole　house　was　built　upon　the　plan　of　a　T；　but　a　T　with　a　very　long　cross　piece　and　a　very　short　tail　piece。　　The　long　cross　piece　was　the　frontage　that　ran　along　in　face　of　the　street；　with　the　front　door　in　the　middle；　it　was　two　stories　high；　and　contained　nearly　all　the　important　rooms。　　The　short　tail　piece；　which　ran　out　at　the　back　immediately　opposite　the　front　door；　was　one　story　high；　and　consisted　only　of　two　long　rooms；　the　one　leading　into　the　other。　　The　first　of　these　two　rooms　was　the　study　in　which　the　celebrated　Mr。　Quinton　wrote　his　wild　Oriental　poems　and　romances。　　The　farther　room　was　a　glass　conservatory　full　of　tropical　blossoms　of　quite　unique　and　almost　monstrous　beauty；　and　on　such　afternoons　as　these　glowing　with　gorgeous　sunlight。　　Thus　when　the　hall　door　was　open；　many　a　passer…by　literally　stopped　to　stare　and　gasp；　for　he　looked　down　a　perspective　of　rich　apartments　to　something　really　like　a　transformation　scene　in　a　fairy　play：　purple　clouds　and　golden　suns　and　crimson　stars　that　were　at　once　scorchingly　vivid　and　yet　transparent　and　far　away。　　　　　Leonard　Quinton；　the　poet；　had　himself　most　carefully　arranged　this　effect；　and　it　is　doubtful　whether　he　so　perfectly　expressed　his　personality　in　any　of　his　poems。　　For　he　was　a　man　who　drank　and　bathed　in　colours；　who　indulged　his　lust　for　colour　somewhat　to　the　neglect　of　formeven　of　good　form。　　This　it　was　that　had　turned　his　genius　so　wholly　to　eastern　art　and　imagery；　to　those　bewildering　carpets　or　blinding　embroideries　in　which　all　the　colours　seem　fallen　into　a　fortunate　chaos；　having　nothing　to　typify　or　to　teach。　　He　had　attempted；　not　perhaps　with　complete　artistic　success；　but　with　acknowledged　imagination　and　invention；　to　compose　epics　and　love　stories　reflecting　the　riot　of　violent　and　even　cruel　colour；　tales　of　tropical　heavens　of　burning　gold　or　blood…red　copper；　of　eastern　heroes　who　rode　with　twelve…turbaned　mitres　upon　elephants　painted　purple　or　peacock　green；　of　gigantic　jewels　that　a　hundred　negroes　could　not　carry；　but　which　burned　with　ancient　and　strange…hued　fires。　　　　　In　short　（to　put　the　matter　from　the　more　common　point　of　view）；　he　dealt　much　in　eastern　heavens；　rather　worse　than　most　western　hells；　in　eastern　monarchs；　whom　we　might　possibly　call　maniacs；　and　in　eastern　jewels　which　a　Bond　Street　jeweller　（if　the　hundred　staggering　negroes　brought　them　into　his　shop）　might　possibly　not　regard　as　genuine。　　Quinton　was　a　genius；　if　a　morbid　one；　and　even　his　morbidity　appeared　more　in　his　life　than　in　his　work。　　In　temperament　he　was　weak　and　waspish；　and　his　health　had　suffered　heavily　from　oriental　experiments　with　opium。　　His　wife　a　handsome；　hard…working；　and；　indeed；　over…worked　woman　objected　to　the　opium；　but　objected　much　more　to　a　live　Indian　hermit　in　white　and　yellow　robes；　whom　her　husband　insisted　on　entertaining　for　months　together；　a　Virgil　to　guide　his　spirit　through　the　heavens　and　the　hells　of　the　east。　　　　　It　was　out　of　this　artistic　household　that　Father　Brown　and　his　friend　stepped　on　to　the　door…step；　and　to　judge　from　their　faces；　they　stepped　out　of　it　with　much　relief。　　Flambeau　had　known　Quinton　in　wild　student　days　in　Paris；　and　they　had　renewed　the　acquaintance　for　a　week…end；　but　apart　from　Flambeau's　more　responsible　developments　of　late；　he　did　not　get　on　well　with　the　poet　now。　　Choking　oneself　with　opium　and　writing　little　erotic　verses　on　vellum　was　not　his　notion　of　how　a　gentleman　should　go　to　the　devil。　　As　the　two　paused　on　the　door…step；　before　taking　a　turn　in　the　garden；　the　front　garden　gate　was　thrown　open　with　violence；　and　a　young　man　with　a　billycock　hat　on　the　back　of　his　head　tumbled　up　the　steps　in　his　eagerness。　　He　was　a　dissipated…looking　youth　with　a　gorgeous　red　necktie　all　awry；　as　if　he　had　slept　in　it；　and　he　kept　fidgeting　and　lashing　about　with　one　of　those　little　jointed　canes。　　　　　〃I　say；〃　he　said　breathlessly；　〃I　want　to　see　old　Quinton。　　I　must　see　him。　　Has　he　gone？〃　　　　　〃Mr。　Quinton　is　in；　I　believe；〃　said　Father　Brown；　cleaning　his　pipe；　〃but　I　do　not　know　if　you　can　see　him。　　The　doctor　is　with　him　at　present。〃　　　　　The　young　man；　who　seemed　not　to　be　perfectly　sober；　stumbled　into　the　hall；　and　at　the　same　moment　the　doctor　came　out　of　Quinton's　study；　shutting　the　door　and　beginning　to　put　on　his　gloves。　　　　　〃See　Mr。　Quinton？〃　said　the　doctor　coolly。　　〃No；　I'm　afraid　you　can't。　　In　fact；　you　mustn't　on　any　account。　　Nobody　must　see　him；　I've　just　given　him　his　sleeping　draught。〃　　　　　〃No；　but　look　here；　old　chap；〃　said　the　youth　in　the　red　tie；　trying　affectionately　to　capture　the　doctor　by　the　lapels　of　his　coat。　　〃Look　here。　　I'm　simply　sewn　up；　I　tell　you。　　I〃　　　　　〃It's　no　good；　Mr。　Atkinson；〃　said　the　doctor；　forcing　him　to　fall　back；　〃when　you　can　alter　the　effects　of　a　drug　I'll　alter　my　decision；〃　and；　settling　on　his　hat；　he　stepped　out　into　the　sunlight　with　the　other　two。　　He　was　a　bull…necked；　good…tempered　little　man　with　a　small　moustache；　inexpressibly　ordinary；　yet　giving　an　impression　of　capacity。　　　　　The　young　man　in　the　billycock；　who　did　not　seem　to　be　gifted　with　any　tact　in　dealing　with　people　beyond　the　general　idea　of　clutching　hold　of　their　coats；　stood　outside　the　door；　as　dazed　as　if　he　had　been　thrown　out　bodily；　and　silently　watched　the　other　three　walk　away　together　through　the　garden。