Flambeau was in England. The police of three countries had tracked the great criminal at last from Ghent to Brussels, from Brussels to the Hook of Holland; and it was conjectured4 that he would take some advantage of the unfamiliarity5 and confusion of the Eucharistic Congress, then taking place in London. Probably he would travel as some minor6 clerk or secretary connected with it; but, of course, Valentin could not be certain; nobody could be certain about Flambeau.
It is many years now since this colossus of crime suddenly ceased keeping the world in a turmoil7; and when he ceased, as they said after the death of Roland, there was a great quiet upon the earth. But in his best days (I mean, of course, his worst) Flambeau was a figure as statuesque and international as the Kaiser. Almost every morning the daily paper announced that he had escaped the consequences of one extraordinary crime by committing another. He was a Gascon of gigantic stature8 and bodily daring; and the wildest tales were told of his outbursts of athletic9 humour; how he turned the juge d’instruction upside down and stood him on his head, “to clear his mind”; how he ran down the Rue10 de Rivoli with a policeman under each arm. It is due to him to say that his fantastic physical strength was generally employed in such bloodless though undignified scenes; his real crimes were chiefly those of ingenious and wholesale11 robbery. But each of his thefts was almost a new sin, and would make a story by itself. It was he who ran the great Tyrolean Dairy Company in London, with no dairies, no cows, no carts, no milk, but with some thousand subscribers. These he served by the simple operation of moving the little milk cans outside people’s doors to the doors of his own customers. It was he who had kept up an unaccountable and close correspondence with a young lady whose whole letter-bag was intercepted12, by the extraordinary trick of photographing his messages infinitesimally small upon the slides of a microscope. A sweeping13 simplicity14, however, marked many of his experiments. It is said that he once repainted all the numbers in a street in the dead of night merely to divert one traveller into a trap. It is quite certain that he invented a portable pillar-box, which he put up at corners in quiet suburbs on the chance of strangers dropping postal16 orders into it. Lastly, he was known to be a startling acrobat17; despite his huge figure, he could leap like a grasshopper18 and melt into the tree-tops like a monkey. Hence the great Valentin, when he set out to find Flambeau, was perfectly19 aware that his adventures would not end when he had found him.
But how was he to find him? On this the great Valentin’s ideas were still in process of settlement.
There was one thing which Flambeau, with all his dexterity20 of disguise, could not cover, and that was his singular height. If Valentin’s quick eye had caught a tall apple-woman, a tall grenadier, or even a tolerably tall duchess, he might have arrested them on the spot. But all along his train there was nobody that could be a disguised Flambeau, any more than a cat could be a disguised giraffe. About the people on the boat he had already satisfied himself; and the people picked up at Harwich or on the journey limited themselves with certainty to six. There was a short railway official travelling up to the terminus, three fairly short market gardeners picked up two stations afterwards, one very short widow lady going up from a small Essex town, and a very short Roman Catholic priest going up from a small Essex village. When it came to the last case, Valentin gave it up and almost laughed. The little priest was so much the essence of those Eastern flats; he had a face as round and dull as a Norfolk dumpling; he had eyes as empty as the North Sea; he had several brown paper parcels, which he was quite incapable21 of collecting. The Eucharistic Congress had doubtless sucked out of their local stagnation22 many such creatures, blind and helpless, like moles23 disinterred. Valentin was a sceptic in the severe style of France, and could have no love for priests. But he could have pity for them, and this one might have provoked pity in anybody. He had a large, shabby umbrella, which constantly fell on the floor. He did not seem to know which was the right end of his return ticket. He explained with a moon-calf simplicity to everybody in the carriage that he had to be careful, because he had something made of real silver “with blue stones” in one of his brown-paper parcels. His quaint24 blending of Essex flatness with saintly simplicity continuously amused the Frenchman till the priest arrived (somehow) at Tottenham with all his parcels, and came back for his umbrella. When he did the last, Valentin even had the good nature to warn him not to take care of the silver by telling everybody about it. But to whomever he talked, Valentin kept his eye open for someone else; he looked out steadily25 for anyone, rich or poor, male or female, who was well up to six feet; for Flambeau was four inches above it.
He alighted at Liverpool Street, however, quite conscientiously26 secure that he had not missed the criminal so far. He then went to Scotland Yard to regularise his position and arrange for help in case of need; he then lit another cigarette and went for a long stroll in the streets of London. As he was walking in the streets and squares beyond Victoria, he paused suddenly and stood. It was a quaint, quiet square, very typical of London, full of an accidental stillness. The tall, flat houses round looked at once prosperous and uninhabited; the square of shrubbery in the centre looked as deserted27 as a green Pacific islet. One of the four sides was much higher than the rest, like a dais; and the line of this side was broken by one of London’s admirable accidents—a restaurant that looked as if it had strayed from Soho. It was an unreasonably28 attractive object, with dwarf29 plants in pots and long, striped blinds of lemon yellow and white. It stood specially30 high above the street, and in the usual patchwork31 way of London, a flight of steps from the street ran up to meet the front door almost as a fire-escape might run up to a first-floor window. Valentin stood and smoked in front of the yellow-white blinds and considered them long.
The most incredible thing about miracles is that they happen. A few clouds in heaven do come together into the staring shape of one human eye. A tree does stand up in the landscape of a doubtful journey in the exact and elaborate shape of a note of interrogation. I have seen both these things myself within the last few days. Nelson does die in the instant of victory; and a man named Williams does quite accidentally murder a man named Williamson; it sounds like a sort of infanticide. In short, there is in life an element of elfin coincidence which people reckoning on the prosaic32 may perpetually miss. As it has been well expressed in the paradox33 of Poe, wisdom should reckon on the unforeseen.
Aristide Valentin was unfathomably French; and the French intelligence is intelligence specially and solely34. He was not “a thinking machine”; for that is a brainless phrase of modern fatalism and materialism35. A machine only is a machine because it cannot think. But he was a thinking man, and a plain man at the same time. All his wonderful successes, that looked like conjuring36, had been gained by plodding37 logic38, by clear and commonplace French thought. The French electrify39 the world not by starting any paradox, they electrify it by carrying out a truism. They carry a truism so far—as in the French Revolution. But exactly because Valentin understood reason, he understood the limits of reason. Only a man who knows nothing of motors talks of motoring without petrol; only a man who knows nothing of reason talks of reasoning without strong, undisputed first principles. Here he had no strong first principles. Flambeau had been missed at Harwich; and if he was in London at all, he might be anything from a tall tramp on Wimbledon Common to a tall toast-master at the Hotel Metropole. In such a naked state of nescience, Valentin had a view and a method of his own.
In such cases he reckoned on the unforeseen. In such cases, when he could not follow the train of the reasonable, he coldly and carefully followed the train of the unreasonable41. Instead of going to the right places—banks, police stations, rendezvous—he systematically42 went to the wrong places; knocked at every empty house, turned down every cul de sac, went up every lane blocked with rubbish, went round every crescent that led him uselessly out of the way. He defended this crazy course quite logically. He said that if one had a clue this was the worst way; but if one had no clue at all it was the best, because there was just the chance that any oddity that caught the eye of the pursuer might be the same that had caught the eye of the pursued. Somewhere a man must begin, and it had better be just where another man might stop. Something about that flight of steps up to the shop, something about the quietude and quaintness43 of the restaurant, roused all the detective’s rare romantic fancy and made him resolve to strike at random44. He went up the steps, and sitting down at a table by the window, asked for a cup of black coffee.
It was half-way through the morning, and he had not breakfasted; the slight litter of other breakfasts stood about on the table to remind him of his hunger; and adding a poached egg to his order, he proceeded musingly45 to shake some white sugar into his coffee, thinking all the time about Flambeau. He remembered how Flambeau had escaped, once by a pair of nail scissors, and once by a house on fire; once by having to pay for an unstamped letter, and once by getting people to look through a telescope at a comet that might destroy the world. He thought his detective brain as good as the criminal’s, which was true. But he fully40 realised the disadvantage. “The criminal is the creative artist; the detective only the critic,” he said with a sour smile, and lifted his coffee cup to his lips slowly, and put it down very quickly. He had put salt in it.
He looked at the vessel46 from which the silvery powder had come; it was certainly a sugar-basin; as unmistakably meant for sugar as a champagne47-bottle for champagne. He wondered why they should keep salt in it. He looked to see if there were any more orthodox vessels48. Yes; there were two salt-cellars quite full. Perhaps there was some speciality in the condiment49 in the salt-cellars. He tasted it; it was sugar. Then he looked round at the restaurant with a refreshed air of interest, to see if there were any other traces of that singular artistic50 taste which puts the sugar in the salt-cellars and the salt in the sugar-basin. Except for an odd splash of some dark fluid on one of the white-papered walls, the whole place appeared neat, cheerful and ordinary. He rang the bell for the waiter.
When that official hurried up, fuzzy-haired and somewhat blear-eyed at that early hour, the detective (who was not without an appreciation51 of the simpler forms of humour) asked him to taste the sugar and see if it was up to the high reputation of the hotel. The result was that the waiter yawned suddenly and woke up.
“Do you play this delicate joke on your customers every morning?” inquired Valentin. “Does changing the salt and sugar never pall52 on you as a jest?”
The waiter, when this irony53 grew clearer, stammeringly54 assured him that the establishment had certainly no such intention; it must be a most curious mistake. He picked up the sugar-basin and looked at it; he picked up the salt-cellar and looked at that, his face growing more and more bewildered. At last he abruptly56 excused himself, and hurrying away, returned in a few seconds with the proprietor57. The proprietor also examined the sugar-basin and then the salt-cellar; the proprietor also looked bewildered.
Suddenly the waiter seemed to grow inarticulate with a rush of words.
“What two clergymen?”
“The two clergymen,” said the waiter, “that threw soup at the wall.”
“Threw soup at the wall?” repeated Valentin, feeling sure this must be some singular Italian metaphor59.
“Yes, yes,” said the attendant excitedly, and pointed60 at the dark splash on the white paper; “threw it over there on the wall.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, “it’s quite true, though I don’t suppose it has anything to do with the sugar and salt. Two clergymen came in and drank soup here very early, as soon as the shutters62 were taken down. They were both very quiet, respectable people; one of them paid the bill and went out; the other, who seemed a slower coach altogether, was some minutes longer getting his things together. But he went at last. Only, the instant before he stepped into the street he deliberately63 picked up his cup, which he had only half emptied, and threw the soup slap on the wall. I was in the back room myself, and so was the waiter; so I could only rush out in time to find the wall splashed and the shop empty. It don’t do any particular damage, but it was confounded cheek; and I tried to catch the men in the street. They were too far off though; I only noticed they went round the next corner into Carstairs Street.”
The detective was on his feet, hat settled and stick in hand. He had already decided64 that in the universal darkness of his mind he could only follow the first odd finger that pointed; and this finger was odd enough. Paying his bill and clashing the glass doors behind him, he was soon swinging round into the other street.
It was fortunate that even in such fevered moments his eye was cool and quick. Something in a shop-front went by him like a mere15 flash; yet he went back to look at it. The shop was a popular greengrocer and fruiterer’s, an array of goods set out in the open air and plainly ticketed with their names and prices. In the two most prominent compartments65 were two heaps, of oranges and of nuts respectively. On the heap of nuts lay a scrap66 of cardboard, on which was written in bold, blue chalk, “Best tangerine67 oranges, two a penny.” On the oranges was the equally clear and exact description, “Finest Brazil nuts, 4d. a lb.” M. Valentin looked at these two placards and fancied he had met this highly subtle form of humour before, and that somewhat recently. He drew the attention of the red-faced fruiterer, who was looking rather sullenly68 up and down the street, to this inaccuracy in his advertisements. The fruiterer said nothing, but sharply put each card into its proper place. The detective, leaning elegantly on his walking-cane69, continued to scrutinise the shop. At last he said, “Pray excuse my apparent irrelevance70, my good sir, but I should like to ask you a question in experimental psychology71 and the association of ideas.”
The red-faced shopman regarded him with an eye of menace; but he continued gaily72, swinging his cane, “Why,” he pursued, “why are two tickets wrongly placed in a greengrocer’s shop like a shovel73 hat that has come to London for a holiday? Or, in case I do not make myself clear, what is the mystical association which connects the idea of nuts marked as oranges with the idea of two clergymen, one tall and the other short?”
The eyes of the tradesman stood out of his head like a snail’s; he really seemed for an instant likely to fling himself upon the stranger. At last he stammered74 angrily: “I don’t know what you ‘ave to do with it, but if you’re one of their friends, you can tell ‘em from me that I’ll knock their silly ‘eads off, parsons or no parsons, if they upset my apples again.”
“Indeed?” asked the detective, with great sympathy. “Did they upset your apples?”
“One of ‘em did,” said the heated shopman; “rolled ‘em all over the street. I’d ‘ave caught the fool but for havin’ to pick ‘em up.”
“Which way did these parsons go?” asked Valentin.
“Thanks,” replied Valentin, and vanished like a fairy. On the other side of the second square he found a policeman, and said: “This is urgent, constable76; have you seen two clergymen in shovel hats?”
The policeman began to chuckle77 heavily. “I ‘ave, sir; and if you arst me, one of ‘em was drunk. He stood in the middle of the road that bewildered that—”
“Which way did they go?” snapped Valentin.
“They took one of them yellow buses over there,” answered the man; “them that go to Hampstead.”
Valentin produced his official card and said very rapidly: “Call up two of your men to come with me in pursuit,” and crossed the road with such contagious78 energy that the ponderous79 policeman was moved to almost agile80 obedience81. In a minute and a half the French detective was joined on the opposite pavement by an inspector82 and a man in plain clothes.
“Well, sir,” began the former, with smiling importance, “and what may—?”
Valentin pointed suddenly with his cane. “I’ll tell you on the top of that omnibus,” he said, and was darting83 and dodging84 across the tangle85 of the traffic. When all three sank panting on the top seats of the yellow vehicle, the inspector said: “We could go four times as quick in a taxi.”
“Well, where are you going?” asked the other, staring.
Valentin smoked frowningly for a few seconds; then, removing his cigarette, he said: “If you know what a man’s doing, get in front of him; but if you want to guess what he’s doing, keep behind him. Stray when he strays; stop when he stops; travel as slowly as he. Then you may see what he saw and may act as he acted. All we can do is to keep our eyes skinned for a queer thing.”
“What sort of queer thing do you mean?” asked the inspector.
The yellow omnibus crawled up the northern roads for what seemed like hours on end; the great detective would not explain further, and perhaps his assistants felt a silent and growing doubt of his errand. Perhaps, also, they felt a silent and growing desire for lunch, for the hours crept long past the normal luncheon88 hour, and the long roads of the North London suburbs seemed to shoot out into length after length like an infernal telescope. It was one of those journeys on which a man perpetually feels that now at last he must have come to the end of the universe, and then finds he has only come to the beginning of Tufnell Park. London died away in draggled taverns89 and dreary90 scrubs, and then was unaccountably born again in blazing high streets and blatant91 hotels. It was like passing through thirteen separate vulgar cities all just touching92 each other. But though the winter twilight93 was already threatening the road ahead of them, the Parisian detective still sat silent and watchful94, eyeing the frontage of the streets that slid by on either side. By the time they had left Camden Town behind, the policemen were nearly asleep; at least, they gave something like a jump as Valentin leapt erect95, struck a hand on each man’s shoulder, and shouted to the driver to stop.
They tumbled down the steps into the road without realising why they had been dislodged; when they looked round for enlightenment they found Valentin triumphantly96 pointing his finger towards a window on the left side of the road. It was a large window, forming part of the long facade97 of a gilt98 and palatial99 public-house; it was the part reserved for respectable dining, and labelled “Restaurant.” This window, like all the rest along the frontage of the hotel, was of frosted and figured glass; but in the middle of it was a big, black smash, like a star in the ice.
“Our cue at last,” cried Valentin, waving his stick; “the place with the broken window.”
“What window? What cue?” asked his principal assistant. “Why, what proof is there that this has anything to do with them?”
Valentin almost broke his bamboo stick with rage.
“Proof!” he cried. “Good God! the man is looking for proof! Why, of course, the chances are twenty to one that it has nothing to do with them. But what else can we do? Don’t you see we must either follow one wild possibility or else go home to bed?” He banged his way into the restaurant, followed by his companions, and they were soon seated at a late luncheon at a little table, and looked at the star of smashed glass from the inside. Not that it was very informative100 to them even then.
“Got your window broken, I see,” said Valentin to the waiter as he paid the bill.
“Yes, sir,” answered the attendant, bending busily over the change, to which Valentin silently added an enormous tip. The waiter straightened himself with mild but unmistakable animation101.
“Ah, yes, sir,” he said. “Very odd thing, that, sir.”
“Indeed?” Tell us about it,” said the detective with careless curiosity.
“Well, two gents in black came in,” said the waiter; “two of those foreign parsons that are running about. They had a cheap and quiet little lunch, and one of them paid for it and went out. The other was just going out to join him when I looked at my change again and found he’d paid me more than three times too much. ‘Here,’ I says to the chap who was nearly out of the door, ‘you’ve paid too much.’ ‘Oh,’ he says, very cool, ‘have we?’ ‘Yes,’ I says, and picks up the bill to show him. Well, that was a knock-out.”
“What do you mean?” asked his interlocutor.
“Well, I’d have sworn on seven Bibles that I’d put 4s. on that bill. But now I saw I’d put 14s., as plain as paint.”
“Well?” cried Valentin, moving slowly, but with burning eyes, “and then?”
“The parson at the door he says all serene102, ‘Sorry to confuse your accounts, but it’ll pay for the window.’ ‘What window?’ I says. ‘The one I’m going to break,’ he says, and smashed that blessed pane103 with his umbrella.”
All three inquirers made an exclamation104; and the inspector said under his breath, “Are we after escaped lunatics?” The waiter went on with some relish105 for the ridiculous story:
“I was so knocked silly for a second, I couldn’t do anything. The man marched out of the place and joined his friend just round the corner. Then they went so quick up Bullock Street that I couldn’t catch them, though I ran round the bars to do it.”
“Bullock Street,” said the detective, and shot up that thoroughfare as quickly as the strange couple he pursued.
Their journey now took them through bare brick ways like tunnels; streets with few lights and even with few windows; streets that seemed built out of the blank backs of everything and everywhere. Dusk was deepening, and it was not easy even for the London policemen to guess in what exact direction they were treading. The inspector, however, was pretty certain that they would eventually strike some part of Hampstead Heath. Abruptly one bulging106 gas-lit window broke the blue twilight like a bull’s-eye lantern; and Valentin stopped an instant before a little garish107 sweetstuff shop. After an instant’s hesitation108 he went in; he stood amid the gaudy109 colours of the confectionery with entire gravity and bought thirteen chocolate cigars with a certain care. He was clearly preparing an opening; but he did not need one.
An angular, elderly young woman in the shop had regarded his elegant appearance with a merely automatic inquiry110; but when she saw the door behind him blocked with the blue uniform of the inspector, her eyes seemed to wake up.
“Oh,” she said, “if you’ve come about that parcel, I’ve sent it off already.”
“Parcel?” repeated Valentin; and it was his turn to look inquiring.
“I mean the parcel the gentleman left—the clergyman gentleman.”
“For goodness’ sake,” said Valentin, leaning forward with his first real confession111 of eagerness, “for Heaven’s sake tell us what happened exactly.”
“Well,” said the woman a little doubtfully, “the clergymen came in about half an hour ago and bought some peppermints112 and talked a bit, and then went off towards the Heath. But a second after, one of them runs back into the shop and says, ‘Have I left a parcel!’ Well, I looked everywhere and couldn’t see one; so he says, ‘Never mind; but if it should turn up, please post it to this address,’ and he left me the address and a shilling for my trouble. And sure enough, though I thought I’d looked everywhere, I found he’d left a brown paper parcel, so I posted it to the place he said. I can’t remember the address now; it was somewhere in Westminster. But as the thing seemed so important, I thought perhaps the police had come about it.”
“So they have,” said Valentin shortly. “Is Hampstead Heath near here?”
“Straight on for fifteen minutes,” said the woman, “and you’ll come right out on the open.” Valentin sprang out of the shop and began to run. The other detectives followed him at a reluctant trot113.
The street they threaded was so narrow and shut in by shadows that when they came out unexpectedly into the void common and vast sky they were startled to find the evening still so light and clear. A perfect dome114 of peacock-green sank into gold amid the blackening trees and the dark violet distances. The glowing green tint115 was just deep enough to pick out in points of crystal one or two stars. All that was left of the daylight lay in a golden glitter across the edge of Hampstead and that popular hollow which is called the Vale of Health. The holiday makers116 who roam this region had not wholly dispersed117; a few couples sat shapelessly on benches; and here and there a distant girl still shrieked118 in one of the swings. The glory of heaven deepened and darkened around the sublime119 vulgarity of man; and standing120 on the slope and looking across the valley, Valentin beheld121 the thing which he sought.
Among the black and breaking groups in that distance was one especially black which did not break—a group of two figures clerically clad. Though they seemed as small as insects, Valentin could see that one of them was much smaller than the other. Though the other had a student’s stoop and an inconspicuous manner, he could see that the man was well over six feet high. He shut his teeth and went forward, whirling his stick impatiently. By the time he had substantially diminished the distance and magnified the two black figures as in a vast microscope, he had perceived something else; something which startled him, and yet which he had somehow expected. Whoever was the tall priest, there could be no doubt about the identity of the short one. It was his friend of the Harwich train, the stumpy little cure of Essex whom he had warned about his brown paper parcels.
Now, so far as this went, everything fitted in finally and rationally enough. Valentin had learned by his inquiries122 that morning that a Father Brown from Essex was bringing up a silver cross with sapphires124, a relic125 of considerable value, to show some of the foreign priests at the congress. This undoubtedly126 was the “silver with blue stones”; and Father Brown undoubtedly was the little greenhorn in the train. Now there was nothing wonderful about the fact that what Valentin had found out Flambeau had also found out; Flambeau found out everything. Also there was nothing wonderful in the fact that when Flambeau heard of a sapphire123 cross he should try to steal it; that was the most natural thing in all natural history. And most certainly there was nothing wonderful about the fact that Flambeau should have it all his own way with such a silly sheep as the man with the umbrella and the parcels. He was the sort of man whom anybody could lead on a string to the North Pole; it was not surprising that an actor like Flambeau, dressed as another priest, could lead him to Hampstead Heath. So far the crime seemed clear enough; and while the detective pitied the priest for his helplessness, he almost despised Flambeau for condescending127 to so gullible128 a victim. But when Valentin thought of all that had happened in between, of all that had led him to his triumph, he racked his brains for the smallest rhyme or reason in it. What had the stealing of a blue-and-silver cross from a priest from Essex to do with chucking soup at wall paper? What had it to do with calling nuts oranges, or with paying for windows first and breaking them afterwards? He had come to the end of his chase; yet somehow he had missed the middle of it. When he failed (which was seldom), he had usually grasped the clue, but nevertheless missed the criminal. Here he had grasped the criminal, but still he could not grasp the clue.
The two figures that they followed were crawling like black flies across the huge green contour of a hill. They were evidently sunk in conversation, and perhaps did not notice where they were going; but they were certainly going to the wilder and more silent heights of the Heath. As their pursuers gained on them, the latter had to use the undignified attitudes of the deer-stalker, to crouch129 behind clumps130 of trees and even to crawl prostrate131 in deep grass. By these ungainly ingenuities132 the hunters even came close enough to the quarry133 to hear the murmur134 of the discussion, but no word could be distinguished135 except the word “reason” recurring136 frequently in a high and almost childish voice. Once over an abrupt55 dip of land and a dense137 tangle of thickets138, the detectives actually lost the two figures they were following. They did not find the trail again for an agonising ten minutes, and then it led round the brow of a great dome of hill overlooking an amphitheatre of rich and desolate139 sunset scenery. Under a tree in this commanding yet neglected spot was an old ramshackle wooden seat. On this seat sat the two priests still in serious speech together. The gorgeous green and gold still clung to the darkening horizon; but the dome above was turning slowly from peacock-green to peacock-blue, and the stars detached themselves more and more like solid jewels. Mutely motioning to his followers140, Valentin contrived141 to creep up behind the big branching tree, and, standing there in deathly silence, heard the words of the strange priests for the first time.
After he had listened for a minute and a half, he was gripped by a devilish doubt. Perhaps he had dragged the two English policemen to the wastes of a nocturnal heath on an errand no saner142 than seeking figs143 on its thistles. For the two priests were talking exactly like priests, piously144, with learning and leisure, about the most aerial enigmas145 of theology. The little Essex priest spoke146 the more simply, with his round face turned to the strengthening stars; the other talked with his head bowed, as if he were not even worthy147 to look at them. But no more innocently clerical conversation could have been heard in any white Italian cloister148 or black Spanish cathedral.
The first he heard was the tail of one of Father Brown’s sentences, which ended: “... what they really meant in the Middle Ages by the heavens being incorruptible.”
The taller priest nodded his bowed head and said:
“Ah, yes, these modern infidels appeal to their reason; but who can look at those millions of worlds and not feel that there may well be wonderful universes above us where reason is utterly149 unreasonable?”
“No,” said the other priest; “reason is always reasonable, even in the last limbo150, in the lost borderland of things. I know that people charge the Church with lowering reason, but it is just the other way. Alone on earth, the Church makes reason really supreme151. Alone on earth, the Church affirms that God himself is bound by reason.”
“Yet who knows if in that infinite universe—?”
“Only infinite physically,” said the little priest, turning sharply in his seat, “not infinite in the sense of escaping from the laws of truth.”
Valentin behind his tree was tearing his fingernails with silent fury. He seemed almost to hear the sniggers of the English detectives whom he had brought so far on a fantastic guess only to listen to the metaphysical gossip of two mild old parsons. In his impatience153 he lost the equally elaborate answer of the tall cleric, and when he listened again it was again Father Brown who was speaking:
“Reason and justice grip the remotest and the loneliest star. Look at those stars. Don’t they look as if they were single diamonds and sapphires? Well, you can imagine any mad botany or geology you please. Think of forests of adamant154 with leaves of brilliants. Think the moon is a blue moon, a single elephantine sapphire. But don’t fancy that all that frantic155 astronomy would make the smallest difference to the reason and justice of conduct. On plains of opal, under cliffs cut out of pearl, you would still find a notice-board, ‘Thou shalt not steal.’”
Valentin was just in the act of rising from his rigid156 and crouching157 attitude and creeping away as softly as might be, felled by the one great folly158 of his life. But something in the very silence of the tall priest made him stop until the latter spoke. When at last he did speak, he said simply, his head bowed and his hands on his knees:
“Well, I think that other worlds may perhaps rise higher than our reason. The mystery of heaven is unfathomable, and I for one can only bow my head.”
Then, with brow yet bent159 and without changing by the faintest shade his attitude or voice, he added:
“Just hand over that sapphire cross of yours, will you? We’re all alone here, and I could pull you to pieces like a straw doll.”
The utterly unaltered voice and attitude added a strange violence to that shocking change of speech. But the guarder of the relic only seemed to turn his head by the smallest section of the compass. He seemed still to have a somewhat foolish face turned to the stars. Perhaps he had not understood. Or, perhaps, he had understood and sat rigid with terror.
“Yes,” said the tall priest, in the same low voice and in the same still posture160, “yes, I am Flambeau.”
Then, after a pause, he said:
“Come, will you give me that cross?”
“No,” said the other, and the monosyllable had an odd sound.
Flambeau suddenly flung off all his pontifical161 pretensions162. The great robber leaned back in his seat and laughed low but long.
“No,” he cried, “you won’t give it me, you proud prelate. You won’t give it me, you little celibate163 simpleton. Shall I tell you why you won’t give it me? Because I’ve got it already in my own breast-pocket.”
The small man from Essex turned what seemed to be a dazed face in the dusk, and said, with the timid eagerness of “The Private Secretary”:
“Are—are you sure?”
Flambeau yelled with delight.
“Really, you’re as good as a three-act farce,” he cried. “Yes, you turnip164, I am quite sure. I had the sense to make a duplicate of the right parcel, and now, my friend, you’ve got the duplicate and I’ve got the jewels. An old dodge165, Father Brown—a very old dodge.”
“Yes,” said Father Brown, and passed his hand through his hair with the same strange vagueness of manner. “Yes, I’ve heard of it before.”
“You have heard of it?” he asked. “Where have you heard of it?”
“Well, I mustn’t tell you his name, of course,” said the little man simply. “He was a penitent167, you know. He had lived prosperously for about twenty years entirely168 on duplicate brown paper parcels. And so, you see, when I began to suspect you, I thought of this poor chap’s way of doing it at once.”
“Began to suspect me?” repeated the outlaw169 with increased intensity170. “Did you really have the gumption171 to suspect me just because I brought you up to this bare part of the heath?”
“No, no,” said Brown with an air of apology. “You see, I suspected you when we first met. It’s that little bulge172 up the sleeve where you people have the spiked173 bracelet174.”
“How in Tartarus,” cried Flambeau, “did you ever hear of the spiked bracelet?”
“Oh, one’s little flock, you know!” said Father Brown, arching his eyebrows175 rather blankly. “When I was a curate in Hartlepool, there were three of them with spiked bracelets176. So, as I suspected you from the first, don’t you see, I made sure that the cross should go safe, anyhow. I’m afraid I watched you, you know. So at last I saw you change the parcels. Then, don’t you see, I changed them back again. And then I left the right one behind.”
“Left it behind?” repeated Flambeau, and for the first time there was another note in his voice beside his triumph.
“Well, it was like this,” said the little priest, speaking in the same unaffected way. “I went back to that sweet-shop and asked if I’d left a parcel, and gave them a particular address if it turned up. Well, I knew I hadn’t; but when I went away again I did. So, instead of running after me with that valuable parcel, they have sent it flying to a friend of mine in Westminster.” Then he added rather sadly: “I learnt that, too, from a poor fellow in Hartlepool. He used to do it with handbags he stole at railway stations, but he’s in a monastery177 now. Oh, one gets to know, you know,” he added, rubbing his head again with the same sort of desperate apology. “We can’t help being priests. People come and tell us these things.”
Flambeau tore a brown-paper parcel out of his inner pocket and rent it in pieces. There was nothing but paper and sticks of lead inside it. He sprang to his feet with a gigantic gesture, and cried:
“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe a bumpkin like you could manage all that. I believe you’ve still got the stuff on you, and if you don’t give it up—why, we’re all alone, and I’ll take it by force!”
“No,” said Father Brown simply, and stood up also, “you won’t take it by force. First, because I really haven’t still got it. And, second, because we are not alone.”
Flambeau stopped in his stride forward.
“Behind that tree,” said Father Brown, pointing, “are two strong policemen and the greatest detective alive. How did they come here, do you ask? Why, I brought them, of course! How did I do it? Why, I’ll tell you if you like! Lord bless you, we have to know twenty such things when we work among the criminal classes! Well, I wasn’t sure you were a thief, and it would never do to make a scandal against one of our own clergy. So I just tested you to see if anything would make you show yourself. A man generally makes a small scene if he finds salt in his coffee; if he doesn’t, he has some reason for keeping quiet. I changed the salt and sugar, and you kept quiet. A man generally objects if his bill is three times too big. If he pays it, he has some motive178 for passing unnoticed. I altered your bill, and you paid it.”
The world seemed waiting for Flambeau to leap like a tiger. But he was held back as by a spell; he was stunned179 with the utmost curiosity.
“Well,” went on Father Brown, with lumbering180 lucidity181, “as you wouldn’t leave any tracks for the police, of course somebody had to. At every place we went to, I took care to do something that would get us talked about for the rest of the day. I didn’t do much harm—a splashed wall, spilt apples, a broken window; but I saved the cross, as the cross will always be saved. It is at Westminster by now. I rather wonder you didn’t stop it with the Donkey’s Whistle.”
“With the what?” asked Flambeau.
“I’m glad you’ve never heard of it,” said the priest, making a face. “It’s a foul182 thing. I’m sure you’re too good a man for a Whistler. I couldn’t have countered it even with the Spots myself; I’m not strong enough in the legs.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” asked the other.
“Well, I did think you’d know the Spots,” said Father Brown, agreeably surprised. “Oh, you can’t have gone so very wrong yet!”
“How in blazes do you know all these horrors?” cried Flambeau.
The shadow of a smile crossed the round, simple face of his clerical opponent.
“Oh, by being a celibate simpleton, I suppose,” he said. “Has it never struck you that a man who does next to nothing but hear men’s real sins is not likely to be wholly unaware183 of human evil? But, as a matter of fact, another part of my trade, too, made me sure you weren’t a priest.”
“You attacked reason,” said Father Brown. “It’s bad theology.”
And even as he turned away to collect his property, the three policemen came out from under the twilight trees. Flambeau was an artist and a sportsman. He stepped back and swept Valentin a great bow.
“Do not bow to me, mon ami,” said Valentin with silver clearness. “Let us both bow to our master.”
And they both stood an instant uncovered while the little Essex priest blinked about for his umbrella.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
swarm
|
|
| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
curt
|
|
| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
investigator
|
|
| n.研究者，调查者，审查者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
conjectured
|
|
| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
unfamiliarity
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
turmoil
|
|
| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
stature
|
|
| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
athletic
|
|
| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
rue
|
|
| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
wholesale
|
|
| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
intercepted
|
|
| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
postal
|
|
| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
acrobat
|
|
| n.特技演员，杂技演员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
grasshopper
|
|
| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
dexterity
|
|
| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
stagnation
|
|
| n. 停滞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
moles
|
|
| 防波堤( mole的名词复数 )； 鼹鼠； 痣； 间谍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
conscientiously
|
|
| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
unreasonably
|
|
| adv. 不合理地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
dwarf
|
|
| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
patchwork
|
|
| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
prosaic
|
|
| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
paradox
|
|
| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
solely
|
|
| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
materialism
|
|
| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
conjuring
|
|
| n.魔术 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
plodding
|
|
| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
logic
|
|
| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
electrify
|
|
| v.使充电；使电气化；使触电；使震惊；使兴奋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
unreasonable
|
|
| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
systematically
|
|
| adv.有系统地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
quaintness
|
|
| n.离奇有趣，古怪的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
random
|
|
| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
musingly
|
|
| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
46
vessel
|
|
| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
champagne
|
|
| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
vessels
|
|
| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
condiment
|
|
| n.调味品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
appreciation
|
|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
pall
|
|
| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
stammeringly
|
|
| adv.stammering（口吃的）的变形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
55
abrupt
|
|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
proprietor
|
|
| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
clergy
|
|
| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
metaphor
|
|
| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
query
|
|
| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
shutters
|
|
| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
compartments
|
|
| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
scrap
|
|
| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
tangerine
|
|
| n.橘子，橘子树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
sullenly
|
|
| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
cane
|
|
| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
irrelevance
|
|
| n.无关紧要；不相关；不相关的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
psychology
|
|
| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
shovel
|
|
| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
stammered
|
|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
constable
|
|
| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
chuckle
|
|
| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
contagious
|
|
| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
ponderous
|
|
| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
agile
|
|
| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
inspector
|
|
| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
darting
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
dodging
|
|
| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
tangle
|
|
| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
placidly
|
|
| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
luncheon
|
|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
taverns
|
|
| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
blatant
|
|
| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
triumphantly
|
|
| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
facade
|
|
| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
gilt
|
|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
palatial
|
|
| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
informative
|
|
| adj.提供资料的，增进知识的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
animation
|
|
| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
pane
|
|
| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
relish
|
|
| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
bulging
|
|
| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
garish
|
|
| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
gaudy
|
|
| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
peppermints
|
|
| n.薄荷( peppermint的名词复数 )；薄荷糖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
trot
|
|
| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
dome
|
|
| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
tint
|
|
| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
makers
|
|
| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
dispersed
|
|
| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
shrieked
|
|
| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
sapphire
|
|
| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
sapphires
|
|
| n.蓝宝石，钢玉宝石( sapphire的名词复数 )；蔚蓝色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
relic
|
|
| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
condescending
|
|
| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
gullible
|
|
| adj.易受骗的；轻信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
crouch
|
|
| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
clumps
|
|
| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
prostrate
|
|
| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
ingenuities
|
|
| 足智多谋，心灵手巧( ingenuity的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
133
quarry
|
|
| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
recurring
|
|
| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
dense
|
|
| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
thickets
|
|
| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
followers
|
|
| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
saner
|
|
| adj.心智健全的( sane的比较级 )；神志正常的；明智的；稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
figs
|
|
| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
piously
|
|
| adv.虔诚地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
enigmas
|
|
| n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等，奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
cloister
|
|
| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
limbo
|
|
| n.地狱的边缘；监狱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
austere
|
|
| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
adamant
|
|
| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
frantic
|
|
| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
crouching
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
posture
|
|
| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
pontifical
|
|
| adj.自以为是的，武断的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
pretensions
|
|
| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
celibate
|
|
| adj.独身的，独身主义的；n.独身者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
turnip
|
|
| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
dodge
|
|
| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
rustic
|
|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
penitent
|
|
| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
outlaw
|
|
| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
gumption
|
|
| n.才干 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
bulge
|
|
| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
spiked
|
|
| adj.有穗的；成锥形的；有尖顶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
bracelet
|
|
| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
bracelets
|
|
| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
monastery
|
|
| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
stunned
|
|
| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
lumbering
|
|
| n.采伐林木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
lucidity
|
|
| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
unaware
|
|
| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
gaping
|
|
| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |