the wisdom of father brown-第41节

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e。

　　　　　〃Shall　I　tell　you　something　more？〃　she　said；　with　a　rather　fearful　smile。　　〃I　don't　think　he　did　it；　and　you　don't　either。〃　Father　Brown　returned　her　gaze　with　a　long；　grave　stare；　and　then　nodded；　yet　more　gravely。

　　　　　〃Father　Brown；〃　said　the　lady；　〃I　am　going　to　tell　you　all　I　know；　but　I　want　you　to　do　me　a　favour　first。　　Will　you　tell　me　why　you　haven't　jumped　to　the　conclusion　of　poor　John's　guilt；　as　all　the　rest　have　done？　　　Don't　mind　what　you　say：　　II　know　about　the　gossip　and　the　appearances　that　are　against　me。〃

　　　　　Father　Brown　looked　honestly　embarrassed；　and　passed　his　hand　across　his　forehead。　　〃Two　very　little　things；〃　he　said。　　〃At　least；　one's　very　trivial　and　the　other　very　vague。　　But　such　as　they　are；　they　don't　fit　in　with　Mr　Boulnois　being　the　murderer。〃

　　　　　He　turned　his　blank；　round　face　up　to　the　stars　and　continued　absentmindedly：　　〃To　take　the　vague　idea　first。　　I　attach　a　good　deal　of　importance　to　vague　ideas。　　All　those　things　that　‘aren't　evidence'　are　what　convince　me。　　I　think　a　moral　impossibility　the　biggest　of　all　impossibilities。　　I　know　your　husband　only　slightly；　but　I　think　this　crime　of　his；　as　generally　conceived；　something　very　like　a　moral　impossibility。　　Please　do　not　think　I　mean　that　Boulnois　could　not　be　so　wicked。　　Anybody　can　be　wickedas　wicked　as　he　chooses。　　We　can　direct　our　moral　wills；　but　we　can't　generally　change　our　instinctive　tastes　and　ways　of　doing　things。　　Boulnois　might　commit　a　murder；　but　not　this　murder。　　He　would　not　snatch　Romeo's　sword　from　its　romantic　scabbard；　or　slay　his　foe　on　the　sundial　as　on　a　kind　of　altar；　or　leave　his　body　among　the　roses；　or　fling　the　sword　away　among　the　pines。　　If　Boulnois　killed　anyone　he'd　do　it　quietly　and　heavily；　as　he'd　do　any　other　doubtful　thing　take　a　tenth　glass　of　port；　or　read　a　loose　Greek　poet。　　No；　the　romantic　setting　is　not　like　Boulnois。　　It's　more　like　Champion。〃

　　　　　〃Ah！〃　she　said；　and　looked　at　him　with　eyes　like　diamonds。

　　　　　〃And　the　trivial　thing　was　this；〃　said　Brown。　　〃There　were　finger…prints　on　that　sword；　finger…prints　can　be　detected　quite　a　time　after　they　are　made　if　they're　on　some　polished　surface　like　glass　or　steel。　　These　were　on　a　polished　surface。　　They　were　half…way　down　the　blade　of　the　sword。　　Whose　prints　they　were　I　have　no　earthly　clue；　but　why　should　anybody　hold　a　sword　half…way　down？　　It　was　a　long　sword；　but　length　is　an　advantage　in　lunging　at　an　enemy。　　At　least；　at　most　enemies。　　At　all　enemies　except　one。〃

　　　　　〃Except　one；〃　she　repeated。

　　　　　〃There　is　only　one　enemy；〃　said　Father　Brown；　〃whom　it　is　easier　to　kill　with　a　dagger　than　a　sword。〃

　　　　　〃I　know；〃　said　the　woman。　　〃Oneself。〃

　　　　　There　was　a　long　silence；　and　then　the　priest　said　quietly　but　abruptly：　　〃Am　I　right；　then？　　Did　Sir　Claude　kill　himself？〃

　　　　　〃Yes〃　she　said；　with　a　face　like　marble。　　〃I　saw　him　do　it。〃

　　　　　〃He　died；〃　said　Father　Brown；　〃for　love　of　you？〃

　　　　　An　extraordinary　expression　flashed　across　her　face；　very　different　from　pity；　modesty；　remorse；　or　anything　her　companion　had　expected：　　her　voice　became　suddenly　strong　and　full。　　〃I　don't　believe；〃　she　said；　〃he　ever　cared　about　me　a　rap。　　He　hated　my　husband。〃

　　　　　〃Why？〃　asked　the　other；　and　turned　his　round　face　from　the　sky　to　the　lady。

　　　　　〃He　hated　my　husband　because。。。it　is　so　strange　I　hardly　know　how　to　say　it。。。because。。。〃

　　　　　〃Yes？〃　said　Brown　patiently。

　　　　　〃Because　my　husband　wouldn't　hate　him。〃

　　　　　Father　Brown　only　nodded；　and　seemed　still　to　be　listening；　he　differed　from　most　detectives　in　fact　and　fiction　in　a　small　point　he　never　pretended　not　to　understand　when　he　understood　perfectly　well。

　　　　　Mrs　Boulnois　drew　near　once　more　with　the　same　contained　glow　of　certainty。　　〃My　husband；〃　she　said；　〃is　a　great　man。　　Sir　Claude　Champion　was　not　a　great　man：　　he　was　a　celebrated　and　successful　man。　　My　husband　has　never　been　celebrated　or　successful；　and　it　is　the　solemn　truth　that　he　has　never　dreamed　of　being　so。　　He　no　more　expects　to　be　famous　for　thinking　than　for　smoking　cigars。　　On　all　that　side　he　has　a　sort　of　splendid　stupidity。　　He　has　never　grown　up。　　He　still　liked　Champion　exactly　as　he　liked　him　at　school；　he　admired　him　as　he　would　admire　a　conjuring　trick　done　at　the　dinner…table。　But　he　couldn't　be　got　to　conceive　the　notion　of　envying　Champion。　　And　Champion　wanted　to　be　envied。　　He　went　mad　and　killed　himself　for　that。〃

　　　　　〃Yes；〃　said　Father　Brown；　〃I　think　I　begin　to　understand。〃

　　　　　〃Oh；　don't　you　see？〃　she　cried；　〃the　whole　picture　is　made　for　that　the　place　is　planned　for　it。　　Champion　put　John　in　a　little　house　at　his　very　door；　like　a　dependantto　make　him　feel　a　failure。　　He　never　felt　it。　　He　thinks　no　more　about　such　things　than　than　an　absent…minded　lion。　　Champion　would　burst　in　on　John's　shabbiest　hours　or　homeliest　meals　with　some　dazzling　present　or　announcement　or　expedition　that　made　it　like　the　visit　of　Haroun　Alraschid；　and　John　would　accept　or　refuse　amiably　with　one　eye　off；　so　to　speak；　like　one　lazy　schoolboy　agreeing　or　disagreeing　with　another。　　After　five　years　of　it　John　had　not　turned　a　hair；　and　Sir　Claude　Champion　was　a　monomaniac。〃

　　　　　〃And　Haman　began　to　tell　them；〃　said　Father　Brown；　〃of　all　the　things　wherein　the　king　had　honoured　him；　and　he　said：　‘All　these　things　profit　me　nothing　while　I　see　Mordecai　the　Jew　sitting　in　the　gate。'〃

　　　　　〃The　crisis　came；〃　Mrs　Boulnois　continued；　〃when　I　persuaded　John　to　let　me　take　down　some　of　his　speculations　and　send　them　to　a　magazine。　　They　began　to　attract　attention；　especially　in　America；　and　one　paper　wanted　to　interview　him。　When　Champion　（who　was　interviewed　nearly　every　day）　heard　of　this　late　little　crumb　of　success　falling　to　his　unconscious　rival；　the　last　link　snapped　that　held　back　his　devilish　hatred。　Then　he　began　to　lay　that　insane　siege　to　my　own　love　and　honour　which　has　been　the　talk　of　the　shire。　　You　will　ask　me　why　I　allowed　such　atrocious　attentions。　　I　answer　that　I　could　not　have　declined　them　except　by　explaining　to　my　husband；　and　there　are　some　things　the　soul　cannot　do；　as　the　body　cannot　fly。　　Nobody　could　have　explained　to　my　husband。　　Nobody　could　do　it　now。　　If　you　said　to　him　in　so　many　words；　‘Champion　is　stealing　your　wife；'　he　would　think　the　joke　a　little　vulgar：　　that　it　could　be　anything　but　a　jokethat　notion　could　find　no　crack　in　his　great　skull　to　get　in　by。　　Well；　John　was　to　come　and　see　us　act　this　evening；　but　just　as　we　were　starting　he　said　he　wouldn't；　he　had　got　an　interesting　book　and　a　cigar。　　I　told　this　to　Sir　Claude；　and　it　was　his　death…blow。　　The　monomaniac　suddenly　saw　despair。　　He　stabbed　himself；　crying　out　like　a　devil　that　Boulnois　was　slaying　him；　he　lies　there　in　the　garden　dead　of　his　own　jealousy　to　produce　jealousy；　and　John　is　sitting　in　the　dining…room　reading　a　book。〃

　　　　　There　was　another　silence；　and　then　the　little　priest　said：　〃There　is　only　one　weak　point；　Mrs　Boulnois；　in　all　your　very　vivid　account。　　Your　husband　is　not　sitting　in　the　dining…room　reading　a　book。　　That　American　reporter　told　me　he　had　been　to　your　house；　and　your　butler　told　him　Mr　Boulnois　had　gone　to　Pendragon　Park　after　all。〃

　　　　　Her　bright　eyes　widened　to　an　almost　electric　glare；　and　yet　it　seemed　rather　bewilderment　than　confusion　or　fear。　　〃Why；　what　can　you　mean？〃　she　cried。　　〃All　the　servants　were　out　of　the　house；　seeing　the　theatricals。　　And　we　don't　keep　a　butler；　thank　goodness！〃

　　　　　Father　Brown　started　and　spun　half　round　like　an　absurd　teetotum。　　〃What；　what？〃　he　cried　seeming　galvanized　into　sudden　life。　　〃Look　hereI　saycan　I　make　your　husband　hear　if　I　go　to　the　house？〃

　　　　　〃Oh；　the　servants　will　be　back　by　now；〃　she　said；　wondering。

　　　　　〃Right；　right！〃　rejoined　the　cleric　energetically；　and　set　off　scuttling　up　the　path　towards　the　Park　gates。　　He　turned　once　to　say：　　〃Better　get　hold　of　that　Yankee；　or　‘Crime　of　John　Boulnois'　will　be　all　over　the　Republic　in　large　letters。〃

　　　　　〃You　don't　understand；〃　said　Mrs　Boulnois。　　〃He　wouldn't　mind。　　I　don't　think　he　imagines　that　America　really　is　a　place。〃

　　　　　When　Father　Brown　reached　the　house　with　the　beehive　and　the　drowsy　dog；　a　small　and　neat　maid…servant　showed　him　into　the　dining…room；　where　Boulnois　sat　reading　by　a　shaded　lamp；　exactly　as　his　wife　described　him。　　A　decanter　of　port　and　a　wineglass　were　at　his　elbow；　and　the　instant　the　priest　entered　he　noted　the　long　ash　stand　out　unbroken　on　his　cigar。

　　　　　〃He　has　been　here　for　half　an　hour　at　least；〃　thought　Father　Brown。　　In　fact；　he　had　the　air　of　sitting　where　he　had　sat　when　his　dinner　was　cleared　away。

　　　　　〃Don't　get　up；　Mr　Boulnois；〃　said　the　priest　in　his　pleasant；　prosaic　way。　　〃I　shan't　interrupt　you　a　moment。　　I　fear　I　break　in　on　some　of　your　scientific　studies。〃

　　　　　〃No；〃　said　Boulnois；　〃I　was　reading　‘The　Bloody　Thumb。'〃　He　said　it　with　neither　frown　nor　smile；　and　his　visitor　was　conscious　of　a　certain　deep　and　virile　indifference　in　the　man　which　his　wife　had　called　greatness。　　He　laid　down　a　gory　yellow　〃shocker〃　without　even　feeling　its　incongruity　enough　to　comment　on　it　humorously。　　John　Boulnois　was　a　big；　slow…moving　man　with　a　mas