the wisdom of father brown-第4部分

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ss　against　the　ceiling。　　And　the　juggling　also　explains　the　sword；　which　it　was　Mr　Todhunter's　professional　pride　and　duty　to　swallow。　　But；　again；　being　at　the　stage　of　practice；　he　very　slightly　grazed　the　inside　of　his　throat　with　the　weapon。　　Hence　he　has　a　wound　inside　him；　which　I　am　sure　（from　the　expression　on　his　face）　is　not　a　serious　one。　　He　was　also　practising　the　trick　of　a　release　from　ropes；　like　the　Davenport　Brothers；　and　he　was　just　about　to　free　himself　when　we　all　burst　into　the　room。　　The　cards；　of　course；　are　for　card　tricks；　and　they　are　scattered　on　the　floor　because　he　had　just　been　practising　one　of　those　dodges　of　sending　them　flying　through　the　air。　　He　merely　kept　his　trade　secret；　because　he　had　to　keep　his　tricks　secret；　like　any　other　conjurer。　　But　the　mere　fact　of　an　idler　in　a　top　hat　having　once　looked　in　at　his　back　window；　and　been　driven　away　by　him　with　great　indignation；　was　enough　to　set　us　all　on　a　wrong　track　of　romance；　and　make　us　imagine　his　whole　life　overshadowed　by　the　silk…hatted　spectre　of　Mr　Glass。〃

　　　　　〃But　What　about　the　two　voices？〃　asked　Maggie；　staring。

　　　　　〃Have　you　never　heard　a　ventriloquist？〃　asked　Father　Brown。　　〃Don't　you　know　they　speak　first　in　their　natural　voice；　and　then　answer　themselves　in　just　that　shrill；　squeaky；　unnatural　voice　that　you　heard？〃

　　　　　There　was　a　long　silence；　and　Dr　Hood　regarded　the　little　man　who　had　spoken　with　a　dark　and　attentive　smile。　　〃You　are　certainly　a　very　ingenious　person；〃　he　said；　〃it　could　not　have　been　done　better　in　a　book。　　But　there　is　just　one　part　of　Mr　Glass　you　have　not　succeeded　in　explaining　away；　and　that　is　his　name。　　Miss　MacNab　distinctly　heard　him　so　addressed　by　Mr　Todhunter。〃

　　　　　The　Rev。　　Mr　Brown　broke　into　a　rather　childish　giggle。　　〃Well；　that；〃　he　said；　〃that's　the　silliest　part　of　the　whole　silly　story。　　When　our　juggling　friend　here　threw　up　the　three　glasses　in　turn；　he　counted　them　aloud　as　he　caught　them；　and　also　commented　aloud　when　he　failed　to　catch　them。　　What　he　really　said　was：　　‘One；　two　and　threemissed　a　glass　one；　twomissed　a　glass。'　　And　so　on。〃

　　　　　There　was　a　second　of　stillness　in　the　room；　and　then　everyone　with　one　accord　burst　out　laughing。　　As　they　did　so　the　figure　in　the　corner　complacently　uncoiled　all　the　ropes　and　let　them　fall　with　a　flourish。　　Then；　advancing　into　the　middle　of　the　room　with　a　bow；　he　produced　from　his　pocket　a　big　bill　printed　in　blue　and　red；　which　announced　that　ZALADIN；　the　World's　Greatest　Conjurer；　Contortionist；　Ventriloquist　and　Human　Kangaroo　would　be　ready　with　an　entirely　new　series　of　Tricks　at　the　Empire　Pavilion；　Scarborough；　on　Monday　next　at　eight　o'clock　precisely。



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　TWO


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　The　Paradise　of　Thieves


THE　great　Muscari；　most　original　of　the　young　Tuscan　poets；　walked　swiftly　into　his　favourite　restaurant；　which　overlooked　the　Mediterranean；　was　covered　by　an　awning　and　fenced　by　little　lemon　and　orange　trees。　　Waiters　in　white　aprons　were　already　laying　out　on　white　tables　the　insignia　of　an　early　and　elegant　lunch；　and　this　seemed　to　increase　a　satisfaction　that　already　touched　the　top　of　swagger。　　Muscari　had　an　eagle　nose　like　Dante；　his　hair　and　neckerchief　were　dark　and　flowing；　he　carried　a　black　cloak；　and　might　almost　have　carried　a　black　mask；　so　much　did　he　bear　with　him　a　sort　of　Venetian　melodrama。　　He　acted　as　if　a　troubadour　had　still　a　definite　social　office；　like　a　bishop。　　He　went　as　near　as　his　century　permitted　to　walking　the　world　literally　like　Don　Juan；　with　rapier　and　guitar。

　　　　　For　he　never　travelled　without　a　case　of　swords；　with　which　he　had　fought　many　brilliant　duels；　or　without　a　corresponding　case　for　his　mandolin；　with　which　he　had　actually　serenaded　Miss　Ethel　Harrogate；　the　highly　conventional　daughter　of　a　Yorkshire　banker　on　a　holiday。　　Yet　he　was　neither　a　charlatan　nor　a　child；　but　a　hot；　logical　Latin　who　liked　a　certain　thing　and　was　it。　　His　poetry　was　as　straightforward　as　anyone　else's　prose。　　He　desired　fame　or　wine　or　the　beauty　of　women　with　a　torrid　directness　inconceivable　among　the　cloudy　ideals　or　cloudy　compromises　of　the　north；　to　vaguer　races　his　intensity　smelt　of　danger　or　even　crime。　　Like　fire　or　the　sea；　he　was　too　simple　to　be　trusted。

　　　　　The　banker　and　his　beautiful　English　daughter　were　staying　at　the　hotel　attached　to　Muscari's　restaurant；　that　was　why　it　was　his　favourite　restaurant。　　A　glance　flashed　around　the　room　told　him　at　once；　however；　that　the　English　party　had　not　descended。　　The　restaurant　was　glittering；　but　still　comparatively　empty。　　Two　priests　were　talking　at　a　table　in　a　corner；　but　Muscari　（an　ardent　Catholic）　took　no　more　notice　of　them　than　of　a　couple　of　crows。　　But　from　a　yet　farther　seat；　partly　concealed　behind　a　dwarf　tree　golden　with　oranges；　there　rose　and　advanced　towards　the　poet　a　person　whose　costume　was　the　most　aggressively　opposite　to　his　own。

　　　　　This　figure　was　clad　in　tweeds　of　a　piebald　check；　with　a　pink　tie；　a　sharp　collar　and　protuberant　yellow　boots。　　He　contrived；　in　the　true　tradition　of　'Arry　at　Margate；　to　look　at　once　startling　and　commonplace。　　But　as　the　Cockney　apparition　drew　nearer；　Muscari　was　astounded　to　observe　that　the　head　was　distinctly　different　from　the　body。　　It　was　an　Italian　head：　fuzzy；　swarthy　and　very　vivacious；　that　rose　abruptly　out　of　the　standing　collar　like　cardboard　and　the　comic　pink　tie。　　In　fact　it　was　a　head　he　knew。　　He　recognized　it；　above　all　the　dire　erection　of　English　holiday　array；　as　the　face　of　an　old　but　forgotten　friend　name　Ezza。　　This　youth　had　been　a　prodigy　at　college；　and　European　fame　was　promised　him　when　he　was　barely　fifteen；　but　when　he　appeared　in　the　world　he　failed；　first　publicly　as　a　dramatist　and　a　demagogue；　and　then　privately　for　years　on　end　as　an　actor；　a　traveller；　a　commission　agent　or　a　journalist。　　Muscari　had　known　him　last　behind　the　footlights；　he　was　but　too　well　attuned　to　the　excitements　of　that　profession；　and　it　was　believed　that　some　moral　calamity　had　swallowed　him　up。

　　　　　〃Ezza！〃　cried　the　poet；　rising　and　shaking　hands　in　a　pleasant　astonishment。　　〃Well；　I've　seen　you　in　many　costumes　in　the　green　room；　but　I　never　expected　to　see　you　dressed　up　as　an　Englishman。〃

　　　　　〃This；〃　answered　Ezza　gravely；　〃is　not　the　costume　of　an　Englishman；　but　of　the　Italian　of　the　future。〃

　　　　　〃In　that　case；〃　remarked　Muscari；　〃I　confess　I　prefer　the　Italian　of　the　past。〃

　　　　　〃That　is　your　old　mistake；　Muscari；〃　said　the　man　in　tweeds；　shaking　his　head；　〃and　the　mistake　of　Italy。　　In　the　sixteenth　century　we　Tuscans　made　the　morning：　　we　had　the　newest　steel；　the　newest　carving；　the　newest　chemistry。　　Why　should　we　not　now　have　the　newest　factories；　the　newest　motors；　the　newest　financethe　newest　clothes？〃

　　　　　〃Because　they　are　not　worth　having；〃　answered　Muscari。　　〃You　cannot　make　Italians　really　progressive；　they　are　too　intelligent。　　Men　who　see　the　short　cut　to　good　living　will　never　go　by　the　new　elaborate　roads。〃

　　　　　〃Well；　to　me　Marconi；　or　D'Annunzio；　is　the　star　of　Italy〃　said　the　other。　　〃That　is　why　I　have　become　a　Futuristand　a　courier。〃

　　　　　〃A　courier！〃　cried　Muscari；　laughing。　　〃Is　that　the　last　of　your　list　of　trades？　　And　whom　are　you　conducting？〃

　　　　　〃Oh；　a　man　of　the　name　of　Harrogate；　and　his　family；　I　believe。〃

　　　　　〃Not　the　banker　in　this　hotel？〃　inquired　the　poet；　with　some　eagerness。

　　　　　〃That's　the　man；〃　answered　the　courier。

　　　　　〃Does　it　pay　well？〃　asked　the　troubadour　innocently。

　　　　　〃It　will　pay　me；〃　said　Ezza；　with　a　very　enigmatic　smile。　　〃But　I　am　a　rather　curious　sort　of　courier。〃　　Then；　as　if　changing　the　subject；　he　said　abruptly：　　〃He　has　a　daughterand　a　son。〃

　　　　　〃The　daughter　is　divine；〃　affirmed　Muscari；　〃the　father　and　son　are；　I　suppose；　human。　　But　granted　his　harmless　qualities　doesn't　that　banker　strike　you　as　a　splendid　instance　of　my　argument？　　Harrogate　has　millions　in　his　safes；　and　I　havethe　hole　in　my　pocket。　　But　you　daren't　say　you　can't　saythat　he's　cleverer　than　I；　or　bolder　than　I；　or　even　more　energetic。　　He's　not　clever；　he's　got　eyes　like　blue　buttons；　he's　not　energetic；　he　moves　from　chair　to　chair　like　a　paralytic。　　He's　a　conscientious；　kindly　old　blockhead；　but　he's　got　money　simply　because　he　collects　money；　as　a　boy　collects　stamps。　　You're　too　strong…minded　for　business；　Ezza。　　You　won't　get　on。　　To　be　clever　enough　to　get　all　that　money；　one　must　be　stupid　enough　to　want　it。〃

　　　　　〃I'm　stupid　enough　for　that；〃　said　Ezza　gloomily。　　〃But　I　should　suggest　a　suspension　of　your　critique　of　the　banker；　for　here　he　comes。〃

　　　　　Mr　Harrogate；　the　great　financier；　did　indeed　enter　the　room；　but　nobody　looked　at　him。　　He　was　a　massive　elderly　man　with　a　boiled　blue　eye　and　faded　grey…sandy　moustaches；　but　for　his　heavy　stoop　he　might　have　been　a　colonel。　　He　carried　several　unopened　letters　in　his　hand。　　His　son　Frank　was　a　really　fine　lad；　curly…haired；　sun…burnt　and　strenuous；　but　nobody　looked　at　him　either。　　All　eyes；　as　usual；　were　riveted；　for　the　moment　at　least；　upon　Ethel　Harrogate；　whose　golden　Greek　head　and　colour　of　the　dawn　seemed　set　purposely　above　that　sapphire　sea；　like　a　goddess's。　　The　poet　Muscari　drew　a　deep　breath　as　if　he　were　drinking　something；　as　indeed　he　was。　　He　was　drinking　the　Classic；　which　his　fathers　made。　　Ezza　studied　her　with　a　gaze　equally　intense　and　far　more　baffling。

　　　　　Miss　Harrogate　was　specially　radiant　and　ready　for　conversation　on　this　occasion；　and　her　family　had　fallen　into　the　easier　Continental　habit；　allowing　the　stranger　Muscari　and　even　the　courier　Ezza　to　share　their　table　and　their　talk。　　In　Ethel　Harrogate　conventionality　crowned　itself　with　a　perfection　and　splendour　of　its　own。　　Proud　of　her　father's　prosperity；　fond　of　fashionable　pleasures；　a　fond　daughter　but　an　arrant　flirt；　she　was　all　these　things　with　a　sort　of　golden　good…nature　that　made　her　very　pride　pleasing　and　her　worldly　respectability　a　fresh　and　hearty　thing。

　　　　　They　were　in　an　eddy　of　excitement　about　some　alleged　peril　in　the　mountain　path　they　were　to　attempt　that　week。　　The　danger　was　not　from　rock　and　avalanche；　but　from　something　yet　more　rom