the innocence of father brown-第34章

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an　guess　the　whole　story　now？　　After　all；　it's　a　primitive　story。　　A　man　had　two　enemies。　　He　was　a　wise　man。　And　so　he　discovered　that　two　enemies　are　better　than　one。〃　　　　　〃I　do　not　follow　that；〃　answered　Flambeau。　　　　　〃Oh；　it's　really　simple；〃　rejoined　his　friend。　　〃Simple；　though　anything　but　innocent。　　Both　the　Saradines　were　scamps；　but　the　prince；　the　elder；　was　the　sort　of　scamp　that　gets　to　the　top；　and　the　younger；　the　captain；　was　the　sort　that　sinks　to　the　bottom。　　This　squalid　officer　fell　from　beggar　to　blackmailer；　and　one　ugly　day　he　got　his　hold　upon　his　brother；　the　prince。　Obviously　it　was　for　no　light　matter；　for　Prince　Paul　Saradine　was　frankly　‘fast；'　and　had　no　reputation　to　lose　as　to　the　mere　sins　of　society。　　In　plain　fact；　it　was　a　hanging　matter；　and　Stephen　literally　had　a　rope　round　his　brother's　neck。　　He　had　somehow　discovered　the　truth　about　the　Sicilian　affair；　and　could　prove　that　Paul　murdered　old　Antonelli　in　the　mountains。　　The　captain　raked　in　the　hush　money　heavily　for　ten　years；　until　even　the　prince's　splendid　fortune　began　to　look　a　little　foolish。　　　　　〃But　Prince　Saradine　bore　another　burden　besides　his　blood…sucking　brother。　　He　knew　that　the　son　of　Antonelli；　a　mere　child　at　the　time　of　the　murder；　had　been　trained　in　savage　Sicilian　loyalty；　and　lived　only　to　avenge　his　father；　not　with　the　gibbet　（for　he　lacked　Stephen's　legal　proof）；　but　with　the　old　weapons　of　vendetta。　　The　boy　had　practised　arms　with　a　deadly　perfection；　and　about　the　time　that　he　was　old　enough　to　use　them　Prince　Saradine　began；　as　the　society　papers　said；　to　travel。　　The　fact　is　that　he　began　to　flee　for　his　life；　passing　from　place　to　place　like　a　hunted　criminal；　but　with　one　relentless　man　upon　his　trail。　　That　was　Prince　Paul's　position；　and　by　no　means　a　pretty　one。　　The　more　money　he　spent　on　eluding　Antonelli　the　less　he　had　to　silence　Stephen。　　The　more　he　gave　to　silence　Stephen　the　less　chance　there　was　of　finally　escaping　Antonelli。　　Then　it　was　that　he　showed　himself　a　great　mana　genius　like　Napoleon。　　　　　〃Instead　of　resisting　his　two　antagonists；　he　surrendered　suddenly　to　both　of　them。　　He　gave　way　like　a　Japanese　wrestler；　and　his　foes　fell　prostrate　before　him。　　He　gave　up　the　race　round　the　world；　and　he　gave　up　his　address　to　young　Antonelli；　then　he　gave　up　everything　to　his　brother。　　He　sent　Stephen　money　enough　for　smart　clothes　and　easy　travel；　with　a　letter　saying　roughly：　‘This　is　all　I　have　left。　　You　have　cleaned　me　out。　　I　still　have　a　little　house　in　Norfolk；　with　servants　and　a　cellar；　and　if　you　want　more　from　me　you　must　take　that。　　Come　and　take　possession　if　you　like；　and　I　will　live　there　quietly　as　your　friend　or　agent　or　anything。'　　He　knew　that　the　Sicilian　had　never　seen　the　Saradine　brothers　save；　perhaps；　in　pictures；　he　knew　they　were　somewhat　alike；　both　having　grey；　pointed　beards。　　Then　he　shaved　his　own　face　and　waited。　　The　trap　worked。　　The　unhappy　captain；　in　his　new　clothes；　entered　the　house　in　triumph　as　a　prince；　and　walked　upon　the　Sicilian's　sword。　　　　　〃There　was　one　hitch；　and　it　is　to　the　honour　of　human　nature。　Evil　spirits　like　Saradine　often　blunder　by　never　expecting　the　virtues　of　mankind。　　He　took　it　for　granted　that　the　Italian's　blow；　when　it　came；　would　be　dark；　violent　and　nameless；　like　the　blow　it　avenged；　that　the　victim　would　be　knifed　at　night；　or　shot　from　behind　a　hedge；　and　so　die　without　speech。　　It　was　a　bad　minute　for　Prince　Paul　when　Antonelli's　chivalry　proposed　a　formal　duel；　with　all　its　possible　explanations。　　It　was　then　that　I　found　him　putting　off　in　his　boat　with　wild　eyes。　　He　was　fleeing；　bareheaded；　in　an　open　boat　before　Antonelli　should　learn　who　he　was。　　　　　〃But；　however　agitated；　he　was　not　hopeless。　　He　knew　the　adventurer　and　he　knew　the　fanatic。　　It　was　quite　probable　that　Stephen；　the　adventurer；　would　hold　his　tongue；　through　his　mere　histrionic　pleasure　in　playing　a　part；　his　lust　for　clinging　to　his　new　cosy　quarters；　his　rascal's　trust　in　luck；　and　his　fine　fencing。　　It　was　certain　that　Antonelli；　the　fanatic；　would　hold　his　tongue；　and　be　hanged　without　telling　tales　of　his　family。　Paul　hung　about　on　the　river　till　he　knew　the　fight　was　over。　Then　he　roused　the　town；　brought　the　police；　saw　his　two　vanquished　enemies　taken　away　forever；　and　sat　down　smiling　to　his　dinner。〃　　　　　〃Laughing；　God　help　us！〃　said　Flambeau　with　a　strong　shudder。　〃Do　they　get　such　ideas　from　Satan？〃　　　　　〃He　got　that　idea　from　you；〃　answered　the　priest。　　　　　〃God　forbid！〃　ejaculated　Flambeau。　　〃From　me！　　What　do　you　mean！〃　　　　　The　priest　pulled　a　visiting…card　from　his　pocket　and　held　it　up　in　the　faint　glow　of　his　cigar；　it　was　scrawled　with　green　ink。　　　　　〃Don't　you　remember　his　original　invitation　to　you？〃　he　asked；　〃and　the　compliment　to　your　criminal　exploit？　　‘That　trick　of　yours；'　he　says；　‘of　getting　one　detective　to　arrest　the　other'？　He　has　just　copied　your　trick。　　With　an　enemy　on　each　side　of　him；　he　slipped　swiftly　out　of　the　way　and　let　them　collide　and　kill　each　other。〃　　　　　Flambeau　tore　Prince　Saradine's　card　from　the　priest's　hands　and　rent　it　savagely　in　small　pieces。　　　　　〃There's　the　last　of　that　old　skull　and　crossbones；〃　he　said　as　he　scattered　the　pieces　upon　the　dark　and　disappearing　waves　of　the　stream；　〃but　I　should　think　it　would　poison　the　fishes。〃　　　　　The　last　gleam　of　white　card　and　green　ink　was　drowned　and　darkened；　a　faint　and　vibrant　colour　as　of　morning　changed　the　sky；　and　the　moon　behind　the　grasses　grew　paler。　　They　drifted　in　silence。　　　　　〃Father；〃　said　Flambeau　suddenly；　〃do　you　think　it　was　all　a　dream？〃　　　　　The　priest　shook　his　head；　whether　in　dissent　or　agnosticism；　but　remained　mute。　　A　smell　of　hawthorn　and　of　orchards　came　to　them　through　the　darkness；　telling　them　that　a　wind　was　awake；　the　next　moment　it　swayed　their　little　boat　and　swelled　their　sail；　and　carried　them　onward　down　the　winding　river　to　happier　places　and　the　homes　of　harmless　men。



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　The　Hammer　of　God

The　little　village　of　Bohun　Beacon　was　perched　on　a　hill　so　steep　that　the　tall　spire　of　its　church　seemed　only　like　the　peak　of　a　small　mountain。　　At　the　foot　of　the　church　stood　a　smithy；　generally　red　with　fires　and　always　littered　with　hammers　and　scraps　of　iron；　opposite　to　this；　over　a　rude　cross　of　cobbled　paths；　was　〃The　Blue　Boar；〃　the　only　inn　of　the　place。　　It　was　upon　this　crossway；　in　the　lifting　of　a　leaden　and　silver　daybreak；　that　two　brothers　met　in　the　street　and　spoke；　though　one　was　beginning　the　day　and　the　other　finishing　it。　　The　Rev。　and　Hon。　Wilfred　Bohun　was　very　devout；　and　was　making　his　way　to　some　austere　exercises　of　prayer　or　contemplation　at　dawn。　Colonel　the　Hon。　Norman　Bohun；　his　elder　brother；　was　by　no　means　devout；　and　was　sitting　in　evening　dress　on　the　bench　outside　〃The　Blue　Boar；〃　drinking　what　the　philosophic　observer　was　free　to　regard　either　as　his　last　glass　on　Tuesday　or　his　first　on　Wednesday。　　The　colonel　was　not　particular。　　　　　The　Bohuns　were　one　of　the　very　few　aristocratic　families　really　dating　from　the　Middle　Ages；　and　their　pennon　had　actually　seen　Palestine。　　But　it　is　a　great　mistake　to　suppose　that　such　houses　stand　high　in　chivalric　tradition。　　Few　except　the　poor　preserve　traditions。　　Aristocrats　live　not　in　traditions　but　in　fashions。　　The　Bohuns　had　been　Mohocks　under　Queen　Anne　and　Mashers　under　Queen　Victoria。　　But　like　more　than　one　of　the　really　ancient　houses；　they　had　rotted　in　the　last　two　centuries　into　mere　drunkards　and　dandy　degenerates；　till　there　had　even　come　a　whisper　of　insanity。　　Certainly　there　was　something　hardly　human　about　the　colonel's　wolfish　pursuit　of　pleasure；　and　his　chronic　resolution　not　to　go　home　till　morning　had　a　touch　of　the　hideous　clarity　of　insomnia。　　He　was　a　tall；　fine　animal；　elderly；　but　with　hair　still　startlingly　yellow。　　He　would　have　looked　merely　blonde　and　leonine；　but　his　blue　eyes　were　sunk　so　deep　in　his　face　that　they　looked　black。　　They　were　a　little　too　close　together。　　He　had　very　long　yellow　moustaches；　on　each　side　of　them　a　fold　or　furrow　from　nostril　to　jaw；　so　that　a　sneer　seemed　cut　into　his　face。　　Over　his　evening　clothes　he　wore　a　curious　pale　yellow　coat　that　looked　more　like　a　very　light　dressing　gown　than　an　overcoat；　and　on　the　back　of　his　head　was　stuck　an　extraordinary　broad…brimmed　hat　of　a　bright　green　colour；　evidently　some　oriental　curiosity　caught　up　at　random。　　He　was　proud　of　appearing　in　such　incongruous　attiresproud　of　the　fact　that　he　always　made　them　look　congruous。　　　　　His　brother　the　curate　had　also　the　yellow　hair　and　the　elegance；　but　he　was　buttoned　up　to　the　chin　in　black；　and　his　face　was　clean…shaven；　cultivated；　and　a　little　nervous。　　He　seemed　to　live　for　nothing　but　his　religion；　but　there　were　some　who　said　（notably　the　blacksmith；　who　was　a　Presbyterian）　that　it　was　a　love　of　Gothic　architecture　rather　than　of　God；　and　that　his　haunting　of　the　church　like　a　ghost　was　only　another　and　purer　turn　of　the　almost　morbid　thirst　for　beauty　which　sent　his　brother　raging　after　women　and　wine。　　This　charge　was　doubtful；　while　the　man's　practical　piety　was　indubitable。　　Indeed；　the　charge　was　mostly　an　ignorant　misunderstanding　of　the　love　of　solitude　and　secret