the wisdom of father brown-第15部分

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　　　　　〃I　think　them　equally　valueless；〃　replied　Brown。　　〃Blood　flows；　fast　or　slow；　in　dead　folk　or　living；　for　so　many　more　million　reasons　than　we　can　ever　know。　　Blood　will　have　to　flow　very　funnily；　blood　will　have　to　flow　up　the　Matterhorn；　before　I　will　take　it　as　a　sign　that　I　am　to　shed　it。〃

　　　　　〃The　method；〃　remarked　the　other；　〃has　been　guaranteed　by　some　of　the　greatest　American　men　of　science。〃

　　　　　〃What　sentimentalists　men　of　science　are！〃　exclaimed　Father　Brown；　〃and　how　much　more　sentimental　must　American　men　of　science　be！　　Who　but　a　Yankee　would　think　of　proving　anything　from　heart…throbs？　　Why；　they　must　be　as　sentimental　as　a　man　who　thinks　a　woman　is　in　love　with　him　if　she　blushes。　　That's　a　test　from　the　circulation　of　the　blood；　discovered　by　the　immortal　Harvey；　and　a　jolly　rotten　test；　too。〃

　　　　　〃But　surely；〃　insisted　Flambeau；　〃it　might　point　pretty　straight　at　something　or　other。〃

　　　　　〃There's　a　disadvantage　in　a　stick　pointing　straight；〃　answered　the　other。　　〃What　is　it？　　Why；　the　other　end　of　the　stick　always　points　the　opposite　way。　　It　depends　whether　you　get　hold　of　the　stick　by　the　right　end。　　I　saw　the　thing　done　once　and　I've　never　believed　in　it　since。〃　And　he　proceeded　to　tell　the　story　of　his　disillusionment。

　　　　　It　happened　nearly　twenty　years　before；　when　he　was　chaplain　to　his　co…religionists　in　a　prison　in　Chicagowhere　the　Irish　population　displayed　a　capacity　both　for　crime　and　penitence　which　kept　him　tolerably　busy。　　The　official　second…in…command　under　the　Governor　was　an　ex…detective　named　Greywood　Usher；　a　cadaverous；　careful…spoken　Yankee　philosopher；　occasionally　varying　a　very　rigid　visage　with　an　odd　apologetic　grimace。　　He　liked　Father　Brown　in　a　slightly　patronizing　way；　and　Father　Brown　liked　him；　though　he　heartily　disliked　his　theories。　　His　theories　were　extremely　complicated　and　were　held　with　extreme　simplicity。

　　　　　One　evening　he　had　sent　for　the　priest；　who；　according　to　his　custom；　took　a　seat　in　silence　at　a　table　piled　and　littered　with　papers；　and　waited。　　The　official　selected　from　the　papers　a　scrap　of　newspaper　cutting；　which　he　handed　across　to　the　cleric；　who　read　it　gravely。　　It　appeared　to　be　an　extract　from　one　of　the　pinkest　of　American　Society　papers；　and　ran　as　follows：

　　　　　〃Society's　brightest　widower　is　once　more　on　the　Freak　Dinner　stunt。　　All　our　exclusive　citizens　will　recall　the　Perambulator　Parade　Dinner；　in　which　Last…Trick　Todd；　at　his　palatial　home　at　Pilgrim's　Pond；　caused　so　many　of　our　prominent　debutantes　to　look　even　younger　than　their　years。　　Equally　elegant　and　more　miscellaneous　and　large…hearted　in　social　outlook　was　Last…Trick's　show　the　year　previous；　the　popular　Cannibal　Crush　Lunch；　at　which　the　confections　handed　round　were　sarcastically　moulded　in　the　forms　of　human　arms　and　legs；　and　during　which　more　than　one　of　our　gayest　mental　gymnasts　was　heard　offering　to　eat　his　partner。　　The　witticism　which　will　inspire　this　evening　is　as　yet　in　Mr　Todd's　pretty　reticent　intellect；　or　locked　in　the　jewelled　bosoms　of　our　city's　gayest　leaders；　but　there　is　talk　of　a　pretty　parody　of　the　simple　manners　and　customs　at　the　other　end　of　Society's　scale。　　This　would　be　all　the　more　telling；　as　hospitable　Todd　is　entertaining　in　Lord　Falconroy；　the　famous　traveller；　a　true…blooded　aristocrat　fresh　from　England's　oak…groves。　　Lord　Falconroy's　travels　began　before　his　ancient　feudal　title　was　resurrected；　he　was　in　the　Republic　in　his　youth；　and　fashion　murmurs　a　sly　reason　for　his　return。　　Miss　Etta　Todd　is　one　of　our　deep…souled　New　Yorkers；　and　comes　into　an　income　of　nearly　twelve　hundred　million　dollars。〃

　　　　　〃Well；〃　asked　Usher；　〃does　that　interest　you？〃

　　　　　〃Why；　words　rather　fail　me；〃　answered　Father　Brown。　　〃I　cannot　think　at　this　moment　of　anything　in　this　world　that　would　interest　me　less。　　And；　unless　the　just　anger　of　the　Republic　is　at　last　going　to　electrocute　journalists　for　writing　like　that；　I　don't　quite　see　why　it　should　interest　you　either。〃

　　　　　〃Ah！〃　said　Mr　Usher　dryly；　and　handing　across　another　scrap　of　newspaper。　　〃Well；　does　that　interest　you？〃

　　　　　The　paragraph　was　headed　〃Savage　Murder　of　a　Warder。　　Convict　Escapes；〃　and　ran：　　〃Just　before　dawn　this　morning　a　shout　for　help　was　heard　in　the　Convict　Settlement　at　Sequah　in　this　State。　　The　authorities；　hurrying　in　the　direction　of　the　cry；　found　the　corpse　of　the　warder　who　patrols　the　top　of　the　north　wall　of　the　prison；　the　steepest　and　most　difficult　exit；　for　which　one　man　has　always　been　found　sufficient。　　The　unfortunate　officer　had；　however；　been　hurled　from　the　high　wall；　his　brains　beaten　out　as　with　a　club；　and　his　gun　was　missing。　　Further　inquiries　showed　that　one　of　the　cells　was　empty；　it　had　been　occupied　by　a　rather　sullen　ruffian　giving　his　name　as　Oscar　Rian。　　He　was　only　temporarily　detained　for　some　comparatively　trivial　assault；　but　he　gave　everyone　the　impression　of　a　man　with　a　black　past　and　a　dangerous　future。　　Finally；　when　daylight　bad　fully　revealed　the　scene　of　murder；　it　was　found　that　he　had　written　on　the　wall　above　the　body　a　fragmentary　sentence；　apparently　with　a　finger　dipped　in　blood：　　‘This　was　self…defence　and　he　had　the　gun。　　I　meant　no　harm　to　him　or　any　man　but　one。　　I　am　keeping　the　bullet　for　Pilgrim's　PondO。R。'　　A　man　must　have　used　most　fiendish　treachery　or　most　savage　and　amazing　bodily　daring　to　have　stormed　such　a　wall　in　spite　of　an　armed　man。〃

　　　　　〃Well；　the　literary　style　is　somewhat　improved；〃　admitted　the　priest　cheerfully；　〃but　still　I　don't　see　what　I　can　do　for　you。　　I　should　cut　a　poor　figure；　with　my　short　legs；　running　about　this　State　after　an　athletic　assassin　of　that　sort。　　I　doubt　whether　anybody　could　find　him。　　The　convict　settlement　at　Sequah　is　thirty　miles　from　here；　the　country　between　is　wild　and　tangled　enough；　and　the　country　beyond；　where　he　will　surely　have　the　sense　to　go；　is　a　perfect　no…man's　land　tumbling　away　to　the　prairies。　　He　may　be　in　any　hole　or　up　any　tree。〃

　　　　　〃He　isn't　in　any　hold；〃　said　the　governor；　〃he　isn't　up　any　tree。〃

　　　　　〃Why；　how　do　you　know？〃　asked　Father　Brown；　blinking。

　　　　　〃Would　you　like　to　speak　to　him？〃　inquired　Usher。

　　　　　Father　Brown　opened　his　innocent　eyes　wide。　　〃He　is　here？〃　he　exclaimed。　　〃Why；　how　did　your　men　get　hold　of　him？〃

　　　　　〃I　got　hold　of　him　myself；〃　drawled　the　American；　rising　and　lazily　stretching　his　lanky　legs　before　the　fire。　　〃I　got　hold　of　him　with　the　crooked　end　of　a　walking…stick。　　Don't　look　so　surprised。　　I　really　did。　　You　know　I　sometimes　take　a　turn　in　the　country　lanes　outside　this　dismal　place；　well；　I　was　walking　early　this　evening　up　a　steep　lane　with　dark　hedges　and　grey…looking　ploughed　fields　on　both　sides；　and　a　young　moon　was　up　and　silvering　the　road。　　By　the　light　of　it　I　saw　a　man　running　across　the　field　towards　the　road；　running　with　his　body　bent　and　at　a　good　mile…race　trot。　　He　appeared　to　be　much　exhausted；　but　when　he　came　to　the　thick　black　hedge　he　went　through　it　as　if　it　were　made　of　spiders'　webs；　or　rather　（for　I　heard　the　strong　branches　breaking　and　snapping　like　bayonets）　as　if　he　himself　were　made　of　stone。　　In　the　instant　in　which　he　appeared　up　against　the　moon；　crossing　the　road；　I　slung　my　hooked　cane　at　his　legs；　tripping　him　and　bringing　him　down。　　Then　I　blew　my　whistle　long　and　loud；　and　our　fellows　came　running　up　to　secure　him。〃

　　　　　〃It　would　have　been　rather　awkward；〃　remarked　Brown；　〃if　you　had　found　he　was　a　popular　athlete　practising　a　mile　race。〃

　　　　　〃He　was　not；〃　said　Usher　grimly。　　〃We　soon　found　out　who　he　was；　but　I　had　guessed　it　with　the　first　glint　of　the　moon　on　him。〃

　　　　　〃You　thought　it　was　the　runaway　convict；〃　observed　the　priest　simply；　〃because　you　had　read　in　the　newspaper　cutting　that　morning　that　a　convict　had　run　away。〃

　　　　　〃I　had　somewhat　better　grounds；〃　replied　the　governor　coolly。　　〃I　pass　over　the　first　as　too　simple　to　be　emphasized　I　mean　that　fashionable　athletes　do　not　run　across　ploughed　fields　or　scratch　their　eyes　out　in　bramble　hedges。　　Nor　do　they　run　all　doubled　up　like　a　crouching　dog。　　There　were　more　decisive　details　to　a　fairly　well…trained　eye。　　The　man　was　clad　in　coarse　and　ragged　clothes；　but　they　were　something　more　than　merely　coarse　and　ragged。　　They　were　so　ill…fitting　as　to　be　quite　grotesque；　even　as　he　appeared　in　black　outline　against　the　moonrise；　the　coat…collar　in　which　his　head　was　buried　made　him　look　like　a　hunchback；　and　the　long　loose　sleeves　looked　as　if　he　had　no　hands。　　It　at　once　occurred　to　me　that　he　had　somehow　managed　to　change　his　convict　clothes　for　some　confederate's　clothes　which　did　not　fit　him。　　Second；　there　was　a　pretty　stiff　wind　against　which　he　was　running；　so　that　I　must　have　seen　the　streaky　look　of　blowing　hair；　if　the　hair　had　not　been　very　short。　　Then　I　remembered　that　beyond　these　ploughed　fields　he　was　crossing　lay　Pilgrim's　Pond；　for　which　（you　will　remember）　the　convict　was　keeping　his　bullet；　and　I　sent　my　walking…stick　flying。〃

　　　　　〃A　brilliant　piece　of　rapid　deduction；〃　said　Father　Brown；　〃but　had　he　got　a　gun？〃

　　　　　As　Usher　stopped　abruptly　in　his　walk　the　priest　added　apologetically：　　〃I've　been　told　a　bullet　is　not　half　so　useful　without　it。〃

　　　　　〃He　had　no　gun；〃　said　the　other　gravely；　〃but　that　was　doubtless　due　to　some　very　natural　mischance　or　change　of　plans。　　Probably　the　same　policy　that　made　him　change　the　clothes　made　him　drop　the　gun；　he　began　to　repent　the　coat　he　had　left　behind　him　in　the　blood　of　his　victim。〃

　　　　　〃Well；　that　is　possible　enough；〃　answered　the　priest。

　　　　　〃And　it's　hardly　worth　speculating　on；〃　said　Usher；　turning　to　some　other　papers；　〃for　we　know　it's　the　man　by　this　time。〃

　　　　　His　clerical　friend　asked　faintly：　　〃But　how？〃　　And　Greywood　Usher　threw　down　the　newspapers　and　took　up　the　two　press…cuttings　again。

　　　　　〃Well；　since　you　are　so　obstinate；〃　he　said；　〃let's　begin　at　the　beginning。　　You　will　notice　that　these　two　cuttings　have　only　one　thing　in　common；　which　is　the　mention　of　Pilgrim's　Pond；　the　estate；　as　you　know；　of　the　millionaire　Ireton　Todd。　　You　also　know　that　he　is　a　remarkable　character；　one　of　those　that　rose　on　stepping…stones〃

　　　　　〃Of　our　dead　sel