the wisdom of father brown-第12部分

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ive　as　his　victories；　and　another　sort　of　present　from　Sir　Wilson　Seymour；　offered　later　on　and　more　nonchalantly　by　that　gentleman。　　For　it　was　against　his　breeding　to　show　eagerness；　and　against　his　conventional　unconventionality　to　give　anything　so　obvious　as　flowers。　　He　had　picked　up　a　trifle；　he　said；　which　was　rather　a　curiosity；　it　was　an　ancient　Greek　dagger　of　the　Mycenaean　Epoch；　and　might　well　have　been　worn　in　the　time　of　Theseus　and　Hippolyta。　　It　was　made　of　brass　like　all　the　Heroic　weapons；　but；　oddly　enough；　sharp　enough　to　prick　anyone　still。　　He　had　really　been　attracted　to　it　by　the　leaf…like　shape；　it　was　as　perfect　as　a　Greek　vase。　　If　it　was　of　any　interest　to　Miss　Rome　or　could　come　in　anywhere　in　the　play；　he　hoped　she　would

　　　　　The　inner　door　burst　open　and　a　big　figure　appeared；　who　was　more　of　a　contrast　to　the　explanatory　Seymour　than　even　Captain　Cutler。　　Nearly　six…foot…six；　and　of　more　than　theatrical　thews　and　muscles；　Isidore　Bruno；　in　the　gorgeous　leopard　skin　and　golden…brown　garments　of　Oberon；　looked　like　a　barbaric　god。　　He　leaned　on　a　sort　of　hunting…spear；　which　across　a　theatre　looked　a　slight；　silvery　wand；　but　which　in　the　small　and　comparatively　crowded　room　looked　as　plain　as　a　pike…staffand　as　menacing。　　His　vivid　black　eyes　rolled　volcanically；　his　bronzed　face；　handsome　as　it　was；　showed　at　that　moment　a　combination　of　high　cheekbones　with　set　white　teeth；　which　recalled　certain　American　conjectures　about　his　origin　in　the　Southern　plantations。

　　　　　〃Aurora；〃　he　began；　in　that　deep　voice　like　a　drum　of　passion　that　had　moved　so　many　audiences；　〃will　you〃

　　　　　He　stopped　indecisively　because　a　sixth　figure　had　suddenly　presented　itself　just　inside　the　doorwaya　figure　so　incongruous　in　the　scene　as　to　be　almost　comic。　　It　was　a　very　short　man　in　the　black　uniform　of　the　Roman　secular　clergy；　and　looking　（especially　in　such　a　presence　as　Bruno's　and　Aurora's）　rather　like　the　wooden　Noah　out　of　an　ark。　　He　did　not；　however；　seem　conscious　of　any　contrast；　but　said　with　dull　civility：　〃I　believe　Miss　Rome　sent　for　me。〃

　　　　　A　shrewd　observer　might　have　remarked　that　the　emotional　temperature　rather　rose　at　so　unemotional　an　interruption。　　The　detachment　of　a　professional　celibate　seemed　to　reveal　to　the　others　that　they　stood　round　the　woman　as　a　ring　of　amorous　rivals；　just　as　a　stranger　coming　in　with　frost　on　his　coat　will　reveal　that　a　room　is　like　a　furnace。　　The　presence　of　the　one　man　who　did　not　care　about　her　increased　Miss　Rome's　sense　that　everybody　else　was　in　love　with　her；　and　each　in　a　somewhat　dangerous　way：　　the　actor　with　all　the　appetite　of　a　savage　and　a　spoilt　child；　the　soldier　with　all　the　simple　selfishness　of　a　man　of　will　rather　than　mind；　Sir　Wilson　with　that　daily　hardening　concentration　with　which　old　Hedonists　take　to　a　hobby；　nay；　even　the　abject　Parkinson；　who　had　known　her　before　her　triumphs；　and　who　followed　her　about　the　room　with　eyes　or　feet；　with　the　dumb　fascination　of　a　dog。

　　　　　A　shrewd　person　might　also　have　noted　a　yet　odder　thing。　　The　man　like　a　black　wooden　Noah　（who　was　not　wholly　without　shrewdness）　noted　it　with　a　considerable　but　contained　amusement。　　It　was　evident　that　the　great　Aurora；　though　by　no　means　indifferent　to　the　admiration　of　the　other　sex；　wanted　at　this　moment　to　get　rid　of　all　the　men　who　admired　her　and　be　left　alone　with　the　man　who　did　not　did　not　admire　her　in　that　sense　at　least；　for　the　little　priest　did　admire　and　even　enjoy　the　firm　feminine　diplomacy　with　which　she　set　about　her　task。　　There　was；　perhaps；　only　one　thing　that　Aurora　Rome　was　clever　about；　and　that　was　one　half　of　humanity　the　other　half。　　The　little　priest　watched；　like　a　Napoleonic　campaign；　the　swift　precision　of　her　policy　for　expelling　all　while　banishing　none。　　Bruno；　the　big　actor；　was　so　babyish　that　it　was　easy　to　send　him　off　in　brute　sulks；　banging　the　door。　　Cutler；　the　British　officer；　was　pachydermatous　to　ideas；　but　punctilious　about　behaviour。　　He　would　ignore　all　hints；　but　he　would　die　rather　than　ignore　a　definite　commission　from　a　lady。　　As　to　old　Seymour；　he　had　to　be　treated　differently；　he　had　to　be　left　to　the　last。　　The　only　way　to　move　him　was　to　appeal　to　him　in　confidence　as　an　old　friend；　to　let　him　into　the　secret　of　the　clearance。　　The　priest　did　really　admire　Miss　Rome　as　she　achieved　all　these　three　objects　in　one　selected　action。

　　　　　She　went　across　to　Captain　Cutler　and　said　in　her　sweetest　manner：　　〃I　shall　value　all　these　flowers；　because　they　must　be　your　favourite　flowers。　　But　they　won't　be　complete；　you　know；　without　my　favourite　flower。　　Do　go　over　to　that　shop　round　the　corner　and　get　me　some　lilies…of…the…valley；　and　then　it　will　be　quite　lovely。〃

　　　　　The　first　object　of　her　diplomacy；　the　exit　of　the　enraged　Bruno；　was　at　once　achieved。　　He　had　already　handed　his　spear　in　a　lordly　style；　like　a　sceptre；　to　the　piteous　Parkinson；　and　was　about　to　assume　one　of　the　cushioned　seats　like　a　throne。　　But　at　this　open　appeal　to　his　rival　there　glowed　in　his　opal　eyeballs　all　the　sensitive　insolence　of　the　slave；　he　knotted　his　enormous　brown　fists　for　an　instant；　and　then；　dashing　open　the　door；　disappeared　into　his　own　apartments　beyond。　　But　meanwhile　Miss　Rome's　experiment　in　mobilizing　the　British　Army　had　not　succeeded　so　simply　as　seemed　probable。　　Cutler　had　indeed　risen　stiffly　and　suddenly；　and　walked　towards　the　door；　hatless；　as　if　at　a　word　of　command。　　But　perhaps　there　was　something　ostentatiously　elegant　about　the　languid　figure　of　Seymour　leaning　against　one　of　the　looking…glasses　that　brought　him　up　short　at　the　entrance；　turning　his　head　this　way　and　that　like　a　bewildered　bulldog。

　　　　　〃I　must　show　this　stupid　man　where　to　go；〃　said　Aurora　in　a　whisper　to　Seymour；　and　ran　out　to　the　threshold　to　speed　the　parting　guest。

　　　　　Seymour　seemed　to　be　listening；　elegant　and　unconscious　as　was　his　posture；　and　he　seemed　relieved　when　he　heard　the　lady　call　out　some　last　instructions　to　the　Captain；　and　then　turn　sharply　and　run　laughing　down　the　passage　towards　the　other　end；　the　end　on　the　terrace　above　the　Thames。　　Yet　a　second　or　two　after　Seymour's　brow　darkened　again。　　A　man　in　his　position　has　so　many　rivals；　and　he　remembered　that　at　the　other　end　of　the　passage　was　the　corresponding　entrance　to　Bruno's　private　room。　　He　did　not　lose　his　dignity；　he　said　some　civil　words　to　Father　Brown　about　the　revival　of　Byzantine　architecture　in　the　Westminster　Cathedral；　and　then；　quite　naturally；　strolled　out　himself　into　the　upper　end　of　the　passage。　　Father　Brown　and　Parkinson　were　left　alone；　and　they　were　neither　of　them　men　with　a　taste　for　superfluous　conversation。　　The　dresser　went　round　the　room；　pulling　out　looking…glasses　and　pushing　them　in　again；　his　dingy　dark　coat　and　trousers　looking　all　the　more　dismal　since　he　was　still　holding　the　festive　fairy　spear　of　King　Oberon。　　Every　time　he　pulled　out　the　frame　of　a　new　glass；　a　new　black　figure　of　Father　Brown　appeared；　the　absurd　glass　chamber　was　full　of　Father　Browns；　upside　down　in　the　air　like　angels；　turning　somersaults　like　acrobats；　turning　their　backs　to　everybody　like　very　rude　persons。

　　　　　Father　Brown　seemed　quite　unconscious　of　this　cloud　of　witnesses；　but　followed　Parkinson　with　an　idly　attentive　eye　till　he　took　himself　and　his　absurd　spear　into　the　farther　room　of　Bruno。　　Then　he　abandoned　himself　to　such　abstract　meditations　as　always　amused　him　calculating　the　angles　of　the　mirrors；　the　angles　of　each　refraction；　the　angle　at　which　each　must　fit　into　the　wall。。。when　he　heard　a　strong　but　strangled　cry。

　　　　　He　sprang　to　his　feet　and　stood　rigidly　listening。　　At　the　same　instant　Sir　Wilson　Seymour　burst　back　into　the　room；　white　as　ivory。　　〃Who's　that　man　in　the　passage？〃　he　cried。　　〃Where's　that　dagger　of　mine？〃

　　　　　Before　Father　Brown　could　turn　in　his　heavy　boots　Seymour　was　plunging　about　the　room　looking　for　the　weapon。　　And　before　he　could　possibly　find　that　weapon　or　any　other；　a　brisk　running　of　feet　broke　upon　the　pavement　outside；　and　the　square　face　of　Cutler　was　thrust　into　the　same　doorway。　　He　was　still　grotesquely　grasping　a　bunch　of　lilies…of…the…valley。　　〃What's　this？〃　he　cried。　　〃What's　that　creature　down　the　passage？　　Is　this　some　of　your　tricks？〃

　　　　　〃My　tricks！〃　hissed　his　pale　rival；　and　made　a　stride　towards　him。

　　　　　In　the　instant　of　time　in　which　all　this　happened　Father　Brown　stepped　out　into　the　top　of　the　passage；　looked　down　it；　and　at　once　walked　briskly　towards　what　he　saw。

　　　　　At　this　the　other　two　men　dropped　their　quarrel　and　darted　after　him；　Cutler　calling　out：　　〃What　are　you　doing？　　Who　are　you？〃

　　　　　〃My　name　is　Brown；〃　said　the　priest　sadly；　as　he　bent　over　something　and　straightened　himself　again。　　〃Miss　Rome　sent　for　me；　and　I　came　as　quickly　as　I　could。　　I　have　come　too　late。〃

　　　　　The　three　men　looked　down；　and　in　one　of　them　at　least　the　life　died　in　that　late　light　of　afternoon。　　It　ran　along　the　passage　like　a　path　of　gold；　and　in　the　midst　of　it　Aurora　Rome　lay　lustrous　in　her　robes　of　green　and　gold；　with　her　dead　face　turned　upwards。　　Her　dress　was　torn　away　as　in　a　struggle；　leaving　the　right　shoulder　bare；　but　the　wound　from　which　the　blood　was　welling　was　on　the　other　side。　　The　brass　dagger　lay　flat　and　gleaming　a　yard　or　so　away。

　　　　　There　was　a　blank　stillness　for　a　measurable　time；　so　that　they　could　hear　far　off　a　flower…girl's　laugh　outside　Charing　Cross；　and　someone　whistling　furiously　for　a　taxicab　in　one　of　the　streets　off　the　Strand。　　Then　the　Captain；　with　a　movement　so　sudden　that　it　might　have　been　passion　or　play…acting；　took　Sir　Wilson　Seymour　by　the　throat。

　　　　　Seymour　looked　at　him　steadily　without　either　fight　or　fear。　　〃You　need　not　kill　me；〃　he　said　in　a　voice　quite　cold；　〃I　shall　do　that　on　my　own　account。〃

　　　　　The　Captain's　hand　hesitated　and　dropped；　and　the　other　added　with　the　same　icy　candour：　　〃If　I　find　I　haven't　the　nerve　to　do　it　with　that　dagger　I　can　do　it　in　a　month　with　drink。〃

　　　　　〃Drink　isn't　good　enough　for　me；〃　replied　Cutler；　〃but　I'll　have　blood　for　this　before　I　die。　　Not　yoursbut　I　think　I　know　whose。〃

　　　　　And　before　the　others　could　appreciate　his　intention　he　snatc