the innocence of father brown-第45章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　don't　they？〃　　　　　〃They　are　not　often　mentioned　in　modern　war；〃　said　the　other　dispassionately；　〃but　in　this　affair　one　falls　over　the　blessed　sword　everywhere。〃　　　　　〃Well；　what　is　there　in　that？〃　growled　Flambeau；　〃it　was　a　twopence　coloured　sort　of　incident；　the　old　man's　blade　breaking　in　his　last　battle。　　Anyone　might　bet　the　papers　would　get　hold　of　it；　as　they　have。　　On　all　these　tombs　and　things　it's　shown　broken　at　the　point。　　I　hope　you　haven't　dragged　me　through　this　Polar　expedition　merely　because　two　men　with　an　eye　for　a　picture　saw　St。　Clare's　broken　sword。〃　　　　　〃No；〃　cried　Father　Brown；　with　a　sharp　voice　like　a　pistol　shot；　〃but　who　saw　his　unbroken　sword？〃　　　　　〃What　do　you　mean？〃　cried　the　other；　and　stood　still　under　the　stars。　　They　had　come　abruptly　out　of　the　grey　gates　of　the　wood。　　　　　〃I　say；　who　saw　his　unbroken　sword？〃　repeated　Father　Brown　obstinately。　　〃Not　the　writer　of　the　diary；　anyhow；　the　general　sheathed　it　in　time。〃　　　　　Flambeau　looked　about　him　in　the　moonlight；　as　a　man　struck　blind　might　look　in　the　sun；　and　his　friend　went　on；　for　the　first　time　with　eagerness：　　　　　〃Flambeau；〃　he　cried；　〃I　cannot　prove　it；　even　after　hunting　through　the　tombs。　　But　I　am　sure　of　it。　　Let　me　add　just　one　more　tiny　fact　that　tips　the　whole　thing　over。　　The　colonel；　by　a　strange　chance；　was　one　of　the　first　struck　by　a　bullet。　　He　was　struck　long　before　the　troops　came　to　close　quarters。　　But　he　saw　St。　Clare's　sword　broken。　　Why　was　it　broken？　　How　was　it　broken？　My　friend；　it　was　broken　before　the　battle。〃　　　　　〃Oh！〃　said　his　friend；　with　a　sort　of　forlorn　jocularity；　〃and　pray　where　is　the　other　piece？〃　　　　　〃I　can　tell　you；〃　said　the　priest　promptly。　　〃In　the　northeast　corner　of　the　cemetery　of　the　Protestant　Cathedral　at　Belfast。〃　　　　　〃Indeed？〃　inquired　the　other。　　〃Have　you　looked　for　it？〃　　　　　〃I　couldn't；〃　replied　Brown；　with　frank　regret。　　〃There's　a　great　marble　monument　on　top　of　it；　a　monument　to　the　heroic　Major　Murray；　who　fell　fighting　gloriously　at　the　famous　Battle　of　the　Black　River。〃　　　　　Flambeau　seemed　suddenly　galvanised　into　existence。　　〃You　mean；〃　he　cried　hoarsely；　〃that　General　St。　Clare　hated　Murray；　and　murdered　him　on　the　field　of　battle　because〃　　　　　〃You　are　still　full　of　good　and　pure　thoughts；〃　said　the　other。　　〃It　was　worse　than　that。〃　　　　　〃Well；〃　said　the　large　man；　〃my　stock　of　evil　imagination　is　used　up。〃　　　　　The　priest　seemed　really　doubtful　where　to　begin；　and　at　last　he　said　again：　　　　　〃Where　would　a　wise　man　hide　a　leaf？　　In　the　forest。〃　　　　　The　other　did　not　answer。　　　　　〃If　there　were　no　forest；　he　would　make　a　forest。　　And　if　he　wished　to　hide　a　dead　leaf；　he　would　make　a　dead　forest。〃　　　　　There　was　still　no　reply；　and　the　priest　added　still　more　mildly　and　quietly：　　　　　〃And　if　a　man　had　to　hide　a　dead　body；　he　would　make　a　field　of　dead　bodies　to　hide　it　in。〃　　　　　Flambeau　began　to　stamp　forward　with　an　intolerance　of　delay　in　time　or　space；　but　Father　Brown　went　on　as　if　he　were　continuing　the　last　sentence：　　　　　〃Sir　Arthur　St。　Clare；　as　I　have　already　said；　was　a　man　who　read　his　Bible。　　That　was　what　was　the　matter　with　him。　　When　will　people　understand　that　it　is　useless　for　a　man　to　read　his　Bible　unless　he　also　reads　everybody　else's　Bible？　　A　printer　reads　a　Bible　for　misprints。　　A　Mormon　reads　his　Bible；　and　finds　polygamy；　a　Christian　Scientist　reads　his；　and　finds　we　have　no　arms　and　legs。　　St。　Clare　was　an　old　Anglo…Indian　Protestant　soldier。　　Now；　just　think　what　that　might　mean；　and；　for　Heaven's　sake；　don't　cant　about　it。　　It　might　mean　a　man　physically　formidable　living　under　a　tropic　sun　in　an　Oriental　society；　and　soaking　himself　without　sense　or　guidance　in　an　Oriental　Book。　　Of　course；　he　read　the　Old　Testament　rather　than　the　New。　　Of　course；　he　found　in　the　Old　Testament　anything　that　he　wantedlust；　tyranny；　treason。　Oh；　I　dare　say　he　was　honest；　as　you　call　it。　　But　what　is　the　good　of　a　man　being　honest　in　his　worship　of　dishonesty？　　　　　〃In　each　of　the　hot　and　secret　countries　to　which　the　man　went　he　kept　a　harem；　he　tortured　witnesses；　he　amassed　shameful　gold；　but　certainly　he　would　have　said　with　steady　eyes　that　he　did　it　to　the　glory　of　the　Lord。　　My　own　theology　is　sufficiently　expressed　by　asking　which　Lord？　　Anyhow；　there　is　this　about　such　evil；　that　it　opens　door　after　door　in　hell；　and　always　into　smaller　and　smaller　chambers。　　This　is　the　real　case　against　crime；　that　a　man　does　not　become　wilder　and　wilder；　but　only　meaner　and　meaner。　　St。　Clare　was　soon　suffocated　by　difficulties　of　bribery　and　blackmail；　and　needed　more　and　more　cash。　　And　by　the　time　of　the　Battle　of　the　Black　River　he　had　fallen　from　world　to　world　to　that　place　which　Dante　makes　the　lowest　floor　of　the　universe。〃　　　　　〃What　do　you　mean？〃　asked　his　friend　again。　　　　　〃I　mean　that；〃　retorted　the　cleric；　and　suddenly　pointed　at　a　puddle　sealed　with　ice　that　shone　in　the　moon。　　〃Do　you　remember　whom　Dante　put　in　the　last　circle　of　ice？〃　　　　　〃The　traitors；〃　said　Flambeau；　and　shuddered。　　As　he　looked　around　at　the　inhuman　landscape　of　trees；　with　taunting　and　almost　obscene　outlines；　he　could　almost　fancy　he　was　Dante；　and　the　priest　with　the　rivulet　of　a　voice　was；　indeed；　a　Virgil　leading　him　through　a　land　of　eternal　sins。　　　　　The　voice　went　on：　〃Olivier；　as　you　know；　was　quixotic；　and　would　not　permit　a　secret　service　and　spies。　　The　thing；　however；　was　done；　like　many　other　things；　behind　his　back。　　It　was　managed　by　my　old　friend　Espado；　he　was　the　bright…clad　fop；　whose　hook　nose　got　him　called　the　Vulture。　　Posing　as　a　sort　of　philanthropist　at　the　front；　he　felt　his　way　through　the　English　Army；　and　at　last　got　his　fingers　on　its　one　corrupt　manplease　God！　and　that　man　at　the　top。　　St。　Clare　was　in　foul　need　of　money；　and　mountains　of　it。　　The　discredited　family　doctor　was　threatening　those　extraordinary　exposures　that　afterwards　began　and　were　broken　off；　tales　of　monstrous　and　prehistoric　things　in　Park　Lane；　things　done　by　an　English　Evangelist　that　smelt　like　human　sacrifice　and　hordes　of　slaves。　　Money　was　wanted；　too；　for　his　daughter's　dowry；　for　to　him　the　fame　of　wealth　was　as　sweet　as　wealth　itself。　　He　snapped　the　last　thread；　whispered　the　word　to　Brazil；　and　wealth　poured　in　from　the　enemies　of　England。　　But　another　man　had　talked　to　Espado　the　Vulture　as　well　as　he。　Somehow　the　dark；　grim　young　major　from　Ulster　had　guessed　the　hideous　truth；　and　when　they　walked　slowly　together　down　that　road　towards　the　bridge　Murray　was　telling　the　general　that　he　must　resign　instantly；　or　be　court…martialled　and　shot。　　The　general　temporised　with　him　till　they　came　to　the　fringe　of　tropic　trees　by　the　bridge；　and　there　by　the　singing　river　and　the　sunlit　palms　（for　I　can　see　the　picture）　the　general　drew　his　sabre　and　plunged　it　through　the　body　of　the　major。〃　　　　　The　wintry　road　curved　over　a　ridge　in　cutting　frost；　with　cruel　black　shapes　of　bush　and　thicket；　but　Flambeau　fancied　that　he　saw　beyond　it　faintly　the　edge　of　an　aureole　that　was　not　starlight　and　moonlight；　but　some　fire　such　as　is　made　by　men。　　He　watched　it　as　the　tale　drew　to　its　close。　　　　　〃St。　Clare　was　a　hell…hound；　but　he　was　a　hound　of　breed。　Never；　I'll　swear；　was　he　so　lucid　and　so　strong　as　when　poor　Murray　lay　a　cold　lump　at　his　feet。　　Never　in　all　his　triumphs；　as　Captain　Keith　said　truly；　was　the　great　man　so　great　as　he　was　in　this　last　world…despised　defeat。　　He　looked　coolly　at　his　weapon　to　wipe　off　the　blood；　he　saw　the　point　he　had　planted　between　his　victim's　shoulders　had　broken　off　in　the　body。　　He　saw　quite　calmly；　as　through　a　club　windowpane；　all　that　must　follow。　　He　saw　that　men　must　find　the　unaccountable　corpse；　must　extract　the　unaccountable　sword…point；　must　notice　the　unaccountable　broken　swordor　absence　of　sword。　　He　had　killed；　but　not　silenced。　But　his　imperious　intellect　rose　against　the　facer；　there　was　one　way　yet。　　He　could　make　the　corpse　less　unaccountable。　　He　could　create　a　hill　of　corpses　to　cover　this　one。　　In　twenty　minutes　eight　hundred　English　soldiers　were　marching　down　to　their　death。〃　　　　　The　warmer　glow　behind　the　black　winter　wood　grew　richer　and　brighter；　and　Flambeau　strode　on　to　reach　it。　　Father　Brown　also　quickened　his　stride；　but　he　seemed　merely　absorbed　in　his　tale。　　　　　〃Such　was　the　valour　of　that　English　thousand；　and　such　the　genius　of　their　commander；　that　if　they　had　at　once　attacked　the　hill；　even　their　mad　march　might　have　met　some　luck。　　But　the　evil　mind　that　played　with　them　like　pawns　had　other　aims　and　reasons。　They　must　remain　in　the　marshes　by　the　bridge　at　least　till　British　corpses　should　be　a　common　sight　there。　　Then　for　the　last　grand　scene；　the　silver…haired　soldier…saint　would　give　up　his　shattered　sword　to　save　further　slaughter。　　Oh；　it　was　well　organised　for　an　impromptu。　　But　I　think　（I　cannot　prove）；　I　think　that　it　was　while　they　stuck　there　in　the　bloody　mire　that　someone　doubted　and　someone　guessed。〃　　　　　He　was　mute　a　moment；　and　then　said：　〃There　is　a　voice　from　nowhere　that　tells　me　the　man　who　guessed　was　the　lover　。。。　the　man　to　wed　the　old　man's　child。〃　　　　　〃But　what　about　Olivier　and　the　hanging？〃　asked　Flambeau。　　　　　〃Olivier；　partly　from　chivalry；　partly　from　policy；　seldom　encumbered　his　march　with　captives；〃　ex