the wisdom of father brown-第11部分

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　　　　　He　continued　to　gaze　at　the　darkening　trees　opposite；　but　Valognes　turned　his　head　sharply　at　a　suppressed　exclamation　from　Flambeau。　　That　investigator；　peering　into　the　lighted　room；　had　just　seen　the　Colonel；　after　a　pace　or　two；　proceed　to　take　his　coat　off。　　Flambeau's　first　thought　was　that　this　really　looked　like　a　fight；　but　he　soon　dropped　the　thought　for　another。　　The　solidity　and　squareness　of　Dubosc's　chest　and　shoulders　was　all　a　powerful　piece　of　padding　and　came　off　with　his　coat。　　In　his　shirt　and　trousers　he　was　a　comparatively　slim　gentleman；　who　walked　across　the　bedroom　to　the　bathroom　with　no　more　pugnacious　purpose　than　that　of　washing　himself。　　He　bent　over　a　basin；　dried　his　dripping　hands　and　face　on　a　towel；　and　turned　again　so　that　the　strong　light　fell　on　his　face。　　His　brown　complexion　had　gone；　his　big　black　moustache　had　gone；　hewas　clean…shaven　and　very　pate。　　Nothing　remained　of　the　Colonel　but　his　bright；　hawk…like；　brown　eyes。　　Under　the　wall　Father　Brown　was　going　on　in　heavy　meditation；　as　if　to　himself。

　　　　　〃It　is　all　just　like　what　I　was　saying　to　Flambeau。　　These　opposites　won't　do。　　They　don't　work。　　They　don't　fight。　　If　it's　white　instead　of　black；　and　solid　instead　of　liquid；　and　so　on　all　along　the　linethen　there's　something　wrong；　Monsieur；　there's　something　wrong。　　One　of　these　men　is　fair　and　the　other　dark；　one　stout　and　the　other　slim；　one　strong　and　the　other　weak。　　One　has　a　moustache　and　no　beard；　so　you　can't　see　his　mouth；　the　other　has　a　beard　and　no　moustache；　so　you　can't　see　his　chin。　　One　has　hair　cropped　to　his　skull；　but　a　scarf　to　hide　his　neck；　the　other　has　low　shirt…collars；　but　long　hair　to　bide　his　skull。　　It's　all　too　neat　and　correct；　Monsieur；　and　there's　something　wrong。　　Things　made　so　opposite　are　things　that　cannot　quarrel。　　Wherever　the　one　sticks　out　the　other　sinks　in。　　Like　a　face　and　a　mask；　like　a　lock　and　a　key。。。〃

　　　　　Flambeau　was　peering　into　the　house　with　a　visage　as　white　as　a　sheet。　　The　occupant　of　the　room　was　standing　with　his　back　to　him；　but　in　front　of　a　looking…glass；　and　had　already　fitted　round　his　face　a　sort　of　framework　of　rank　red　hair；　hanging　disordered　from　the　head　and　clinging　round　the　jaws　and　chin　while　leaving　the　mocking　mouth　uncovered。　　Seen　thus　in　the　glass　the　white　face　looked　like　the　face　of　Judas　laughing　horribly　and　surrounded　by　capering　flames　of　hell。　　For　a　spasm　Flambeau　saw　the　fierce；　red…brown　eyes　dancing；　then　they　were　covered　with　a　pair　of　blue　spectacles。　　Slipping　on　a　loose　black　coat；　the　figure　vanished　towards　the　front　of　the　house。　　A　few　moments　later　a　roar　of　popular　applause　from　the　street　beyond　announced　that　Dr　Hirsch　had　once　more　appeared　upon　the　balcony。




　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　FOUR


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　The　Man　in　the　Passage


TWO　men　appeared　simultaneously　at　the　two　ends　of　a　sort　of　passage　running　along　the　side　of　the　Apollo　Theatre　in　the　Adelphi。　　The　evening　daylight　in　the　streets　was　large　and　luminous；　opalescent　and　empty。　　The　passage　was　comparatively　long　and　dark；　so　each　man　could　see　the　other　as　a　mere　black　silhouette　at　the　other　end。　　Nevertheless；　each　man　knew　the　other；　even　in　that　inky　outline；　for　they　were　both　men　of　striking　appearance　and　they　hated　each　other。

　　　　　The　covered　passage　opened　at　one　end　on　one　of　the　steep　streets　of　the　Adelphi；　and　at　the　other　on　a　terrace　overlooking　the　sunset…coloured　river。　　One　side　of　the　passage　was　a　blank　wall；　for　the　building　it　supported　was　an　old　unsuccessful　theatre　restaurant；　now　shut　up。　　The　other　side　of　the　passage　contained　two　doors；　one　at　each　end。　　Neither　was　what　was　commonly　called　the　stage　door；　they　were　a　sort　of　special　and　private　stage　doors　used　by　very　special　performers；　and　in　this　case　by　the　star　actor　and　actress　in　the　Shakespearean　performance　of　the　day。　　Persons　of　that　eminence　often　like　to　have　such　private　exits　and　entrances；　for　meeting　friends　or　avoiding　them。

　　　　　The　two　men　in　question　were　certainly　two　such　friends；　men　who　evidently　knew　the　doors　and　counted　on　their　opening；　for　each　approached　the　door　at　the　upper　end　with　equal　coolness　and　confidence。　　Not；　however；　with　equal　speed；　but　the　man　who　walked　fast　was　the　man　from　the　other　end　of　the　tunnel；　so　they　both　arrived　before　the　secret　stage　door　almost　at　the　same　instant。　　They　saluted　each　other　with　civility；　and　waited　a　moment　before　one　of　them；　the　sharper　walker　who　seemed　to　have　the　shorter　patience；　knocked　at　the　door。

　　　　　In　this　and　everything　else　each　man　was　opposite　and　neither　could　be　called　inferior。　　As　private　persons　both　were　handsome；　capable　and　popular。　　As　public　persons；　both　were　in　the　first　public　rank。　　But　everything　about　them；　from　their　glory　to　their　good　looks；　was　of　a　diverse　and　incomparable　kind。　　Sir　Wilson　Seymour　was　the　kind　of　man　whose　importance　is　known　to　everybody　who　knows。　　The　more　you　mixed　with　the　innermost　ring　in　every　polity　or　profession；　the　more　　often　you　met　Sir　Wilson　Seymour。　　He　was　the　one　intelligent　man　on　twenty　unintelligent　committeeson　every　sort　of　subject；　from　the　reform　of　the　Royal　Academy　to　the　project　of　bimetallism　for　Greater　Britain。　　In　the　Arts　especially　he　was　omnipotent。　　He　was　so　unique　that　nobody　could　quite　decide　whether　he　was　a　great　aristocrat　who　had　taken　up　Art；　or　a　great　artist　whom　the　aristocrats　had　taken　up。　　But　you　could　not　meet　him　for　five　minutes　without　realizing　that　you　had　really　been　ruled　by　him　all　your　life。

　　　　　His　appearance　was　〃distinguished〃　in　exactly　the　same　sense；　it　was　at　once　conventional　and　unique。　　Fashion　could　have　found　no　fault　with　his　high　silk　hat；　yet　it　was　unlike　anyone　else's　hat　a　little　higher；　perhaps；　and　adding　something　to　his　natural　height。　　His　tall；　slender　figure　had　a　slight　stoop　yet　it　looked　the　reverse　of　feeble。　　His　hair　was　silver…grey；　but　he　did　not　look　old；　it　was　worn　longer　than　the　common　yet　he　did　not　look　effeminate；　it　was　curly　but　it　did　not　look　curled。　　His　carefully　pointed　beard　made　him　look　more　manly　and　militant　than　otherwise；　as　it　does　in　those　old　admirals　of　Velazquez　with　whose　dark　portraits　his　house　was　hung。　　His　grey　gloves　were　a　shade　bluer；　his　silver…knobbed　cane　a　shade　longer　than　scores　of　such　gloves　and　canes　flapped　and　flourished　about　the　theatres　and　the　restaurants。

　　　　　The　other　man　was　not　so　tall；　yet　would　have　struck　nobody　as　short；　but　merely　as　strong　and　handsome。　　His　hair　also　was　curly；　but　fair　and　cropped　close　to　a　strong；　massive　headthe　sort　of　head　you　break　a　door　with；　as　Chaucer　said　of　the　Miller's。　　His　military　moustache　and　the　carriage　of　his　shoulders　showed　him　a　soldier；　but　he　had　a　pair　of　those　peculiar　frank　and　piercing　blue　eyes　which　are　more　common　in　sailors。　　His　face　was　somewhat　square；　his　jaw　was　square；　his　shoulders　were　square；　even　his　jacket　was　square。　　Indeed；　in　the　wild　school　of　caricature　then　current；　Mr　Max　Beerbohm　had　represented　him　as　a　proposition　in　the　fourth　book　of　Euclid。

　　　　　For　he　also　was　a　public　man；　though　with　quite　another　sort　of　success。　　You　did　not　have　to　be　in　the　best　society　to　have　heard　of　Captain　Cutler；　of　the　siege　of　Hong…Kong；　and　the　great　march　across　China。　　You　could　not　get　away　from　hearing　of　him　wherever　you　were；　his　portrait　was　on　every　other　postcard；　his　maps　and　battles　in　every　other　illustrated　paper；　songs　in　his　honour　in　every　other　music…hall　turn　or　on　every　other　barrel…organ。　　His　fame；　though　probably　more　temporary；　was　ten　times　more　wide；　popular　and　spontaneous　than　the　other　man's。　　In　thousands　of　English　homes　he　appeared　enormous　above　England；　like　Nelson。　　Yet　he　had　infinitely　less　power　in　England　than　Sir　Wilson　Seymour。

　　　　　The　door　was　opened　to　them　by　an　aged　servant　or　〃dresser〃；　whose　broken…down　face　and　figure　and　black　shabby　coat　and　trousers　contrasted　queerly　with　the　glittering　interior　of　the　great　actress's　dressing…room。　　It　was　fitted　and　filled　with　looking…glasses　at　every　angle　of　refraction；　so　that　they　looked　like　the　hundred　facets　of　one　huge　diamondif　one　could　get　inside　a　diamond。　　The　other　features　of　luxury；　a　few　flowers；　a　few　coloured　cushions；　a　few　scraps　of　stage　costume；　were　multiplied　by　all　the　mirrors　into　the　madness　of　the　Arabian　Nights；　and　danced　and　changed　places　perpetually　as　the　shuffling　attendant　shifted　a　mirror　outwards　or　shot　one　back　against　the　wall。

　　　　　They　both　spoke　to　the　dingy　dresser　by　name；　calling　him　Parkinson；　and　asking　for　the　lady　as　Miss　Aurora　Rome。　　Parkinson　said　she　was　in　the　other　room；　but　he　would　go　and　tell　her。　　A　shade　crossed　the　brow　of　both　visitors；　for　the　other　room　was　the　private　room　of　the　great　actor　with　whom　Miss　Aurora　was　performing；　and　she　was　of　the　kind　that　does　not　inflame　admiration　without　inflaming　jealousy。　　In　about　half　a　minute；　however；　the　inner　door　opened；　and　she　entered　as　she　always　did；　even　in　private　life；　so　that　the　very　silence　seemed　to　be　a　roar　of　applause；　and　one　well…deserved。　　She　was　clad　in　a　somewhat　strange　garb　of　peacock　green　and　peacock　blue　satins；　that　gleamed　like　blue　and　green　metals；　such　as　delight　children　and　aesthetes；　and　her　heavy；　hot　brown　hair　framed　one　of　those　magic　faces　which　are　dangerous　to　all　men；　but　especially　to　boys　and　to　men　growing　grey。　　In　company　with　her　male　colleague；　the　great　American　actor；　Isidore　Bruno；　she　was　producing　a　particularly　poetical　and　fantastic　interpretation　of　Midsummer　Night's　Dream：　　in　which　the　artistic　prominence　was　given　to　Oberon　and　Titania；　or　in　other　words　to　Bruno　and　herself。　　Set　in　dreamy　and　exquisite　scenery；　and　moving　in　mystical　dances；　the　green　costume；　like　burnished　beetle…wings；　expressed　all　the　elusive　individuality　of　an　elfin　queen。　　But　when　personally　confronted　in　what　was　still　broad　daylight；　a　man　looked　only　at　the　woman's　face。

　　　　　She　greeted　both　men　with　the　beaming　and　baffling　smile　which　kept　so　many　males　at　the　same　just　dangerous　distance　from　her。　　She　accepted　some　flowers　from　Cutler；　which　were　as　tropical　and　expensive　as　his　victori