M. Brun had become prominent by his proposal that the common expression “Adieu” should be obliterated6 from all the French classics, and a slight fine imposed for its use in private life. “Then,” he said, “the very name of your imagined God will have echoed for the last time in the ear of man.” M. Armagnac specialized7 rather in a resistance to militarism, and wished the chorus of the Marseillaise altered from “Aux armes, citoyens” to “Aux greves, citoyens”. But his antimilitarism was of a peculiar8 and Gallic sort. An eminent9 and very wealthy English Quaker, who had come to see him to arrange for the disarmament of the whole planet, was rather distressed10 by Armagnac’s proposal that (by way of beginning) the soldiers should shoot their officers.
And indeed it was in this regard that the two men differed most from their leader and father in philosophy. Dr Hirsch, though born in France and covered with the most triumphant11 favours of French education, was temperamentally of another type—mild, dreamy, humane12; and, despite his sceptical system, not devoid13 of transcendentalism. He was, in short, more like a German than a Frenchman; and much as they admired him, something in the subconsciousness14 of these Gauls was irritated at his pleading for peace in so peaceful a manner. To their party throughout Europe, however, Paul Hirsch was a saint of science. His large and daring cosmic theories advertised his austere15 life and innocent, if somewhat frigid16, morality; he held something of the position of Darwin doubled with the position of Tolstoy. But he was neither an anarchist17 nor an antipatriot; his views on disarmament were moderate and evolutionary—the Republican Government put considerable confidence in him as to various chemical improvements. He had lately even discovered a noiseless explosive, the secret of which the Government was carefully guarding.
His house stood in a handsome street near the Elysee—a street which in that strong summer seemed almost as full of foliage20 as the park itself; a row of chestnuts21 shattered the sunshine, interrupted only in one place where a large cafe ran out into the street. Almost opposite to this were the white and green blinds of the great scientist’s house, an iron balcony, also painted green, running along in front of the first-floor windows. Beneath this was the entrance into a kind of court, gay with shrubs23 and tiles, into which the two Frenchmen passed in animated24 talk.
The door was opened to them by the doctor’s old servant, Simon, who might very well have passed for a doctor himself, having a strict suit of black, spectacles, grey hair, and a confidential25 manner. In fact, he was a far more presentable man of science than his master, Dr Hirsch, who was a forked radish of a fellow, with just enough bulb of a head to make his body insignificant26. With all the gravity of a great physician handling a prescription27, Simon handed a letter to M. Armagnac. That gentleman ripped it up with a racial impatience28, and rapidly read the following:
I cannot come down to speak to you. There is a man in this house whom I refuse to meet. He is a Chauvinist29 officer, Dubosc. He is sitting on the stairs. He has been kicking the furniture about in all the other rooms; I have locked myself in my study, opposite that cafe. If you love me, go over to the cafe and wait at one of the tables outside. I will try to send him over to you. I want you to answer him and deal with him. I cannot meet him myself. I cannot: I will not.
There is going to be another Dreyfus case.
P. HIRSCH
M. Armagnac looked at M. Brun. M. Brun borrowed the letter, read it, and looked at M. Armagnac. Then both betook themselves briskly to one of the little tables under the chestnuts opposite, where they procured30 two tall glasses of horrible green absinthe, which they could drink apparently in any weather and at any time. Otherwise the cafe seemed empty, except for one soldier drinking coffee at one table, and at another a large man drinking a small syrup31 and a priest drinking nothing.
Maurice Brun cleared his throat and said: “Of course we must help the master in every way, but—”
There was an abrupt32 silence, and Armagnac said: “He may have excellent reasons for not meeting the man himself, but—”
Before either could complete a sentence, it was evident that the invader33 had been expelled from the house opposite. The shrubs under the archway swayed and burst apart, as that unwelcome guest was shot out of them like a cannon-ball.
He was a sturdy figure in a small and tilted34 Tyrolean felt hat, a figure that had indeed something generally Tyrolean about it. The man’s shoulders were big and broad, but his legs were neat and active in knee-breeches and knitted stockings. His face was brown like a nut; he had very bright and restless brown eyes; his dark hair was brushed back stiffly in front and cropped close behind, outlining a square and powerful skull35; and he had a huge black moustache like the horns of a bison. Such a substantial head is generally based on a bull neck; but this was hidden by a big coloured scarf, swathed round up the man’s ears and falling in front inside his jacket like a sort of fancy waistcoat. It was a scarf of strong dead colours, dark red and old gold and purple, probably of Oriental fabrication. Altogether the man had something a shade barbaric about him; more like a Hungarian squire36 than an ordinary French officer. His French, however, was obviously that of a native; and his French patriotism37 was so impulsive38 as to be slightly absurd. His first act when he burst out of the archway was to call in a clarion39 voice down the street: “Are there any Frenchmen here?” as if he were calling for Christians40 in Mecca.
Armagnac and Brun instantly stood up; but they were too late. Men were already running from the street corners; there was a small but ever-clustering crowd. With the prompt French instinct for the politics of the street, the man with the black moustache had already run across to a corner of the cafe, sprung on one of the tables, and seizing a branch of chestnut22 to steady himself, shouted as Camille Desmoulins once shouted when he scattered41 the oak-leaves among the populace.
“Frenchmen!” he volleyed; “I cannot speak! God help me, that is why I am speaking! The fellows in their filthy42 parliaments who learn to speak also learn to be silent—silent as that spy cowering43 in the house opposite! Silent as he is when I beat on his bedroom door! Silent as he is now, though he hears my voice across this street and shakes where he sits! Oh, they can be silent eloquently—the politicians! But the time has come when we that cannot speak must speak. You are betrayed to the Prussians. Betrayed at this moment. Betrayed by that man. I am Jules Dubosc, Colonel of Artillery44, Belfort. We caught a German spy in the Vosges yesterday, and a paper was found on him—a paper I hold in my hand. Oh, they tried to hush45 it up; but I took it direct to the man who wrote it—the man in that house! It is in his hand. It is signed with his initials. It is a direction for finding the secret of this new Noiseless Powder. Hirsch invented it; Hirsch wrote this note about it. This note is in German, and was found in a German’s pocket. ‘Tell the man the formula for powder is in grey envelope in first drawer to the left of Secretary’s desk, War Office, in red ink. He must be careful. P.H.’”
He rattled46 short sentences like a quick-firing gun, but he was plainly the sort of man who is either mad or right. The mass of the crowd was Nationalist, and already in threatening uproar47; and a minority of equally angry Intellectuals, led by Armagnac and Brun, only made the majority more militant48.
“If this is a military secret,” shouted Brun, “why do you yell about it in the street?”
“I will tell you why I do!” roared Dubosc above the roaring crowd. “I went to this man in straight and civil style. If he had any explanation it could have been given in complete confidence. He refuses to explain. He refers me to two strangers in a cafe as to two flunkeys. He has thrown me out of the house, but I am going back into it, with the people of Paris behind me!”
A shout seemed to shake the very facade49 of mansions50 and two stones flew, one breaking a window above the balcony. The indignant Colonel plunged51 once more under the archway and was heard crying and thundering inside. Every instant the human sea grew wider and wider; it surged up against the rails and steps of the traitor52’s house; it was already certain that the place would be burst into like the Bastille, when the broken french window opened and Dr Hirsch came out on the balcony. For an instant the fury half turned to laughter; for he was an absurd figure in such a scene. His long bare neck and sloping shoulders were the shape of a champagne53 bottle, but that was the only festive54 thing about him. His coat hung on him as on a peg55; he wore his carrot-coloured hair long and weedy; his cheeks and chin were fully19 fringed with one of those irritating beards that begin far from the mouth. He was very pale, and he wore blue spectacles.
Livid as he was, he spoke56 with a sort of prim57 decision, so that the mob fell silent in the middle of his third sentence.
“...only two things to say to you now. The first is to my foes58, the second to my friends. To my foes I say: It is true I will not meet M. Dubosc, though he is storming outside this very room. It is true I have asked two other men to confront him for me. And I will tell you why! Because I will not and must not see him—because it would be against all rules of dignity and honour to see him. Before I am triumphantly59 cleared before a court, there is another arbitration60 this gentleman owes me as a gentleman, and in referring him to my seconds I am strictly61—”
Armagnac and Brun were waving their hats wildly, and even the Doctor’s enemies roared applause at this unexpected defiance62. Once more a few sentences were inaudible, but they could hear him say: “To my friends—I myself should always prefer weapons purely63 intellectual, and to these an evolved humanity will certainly confine itself. But our own most precious truth is the fundamental force of matter and heredity. My books are successful; my theories are unrefuted; but I suffer in politics from a prejudice almost physical in the French. I cannot speak like Clemenceau and Deroulede, for their words are like echoes of their pistols. The French ask for a duellist64 as the English ask for a sportsman. Well, I give my proofs: I will pay this barbaric bribe65, and then go back to reason for the rest of my life.”
Two men were instantly found in the crowd itself to offer their services to Colonel Dubosc, who came out presently, satisfied. One was the common soldier with the coffee, who said simply: “I will act for you, sir. I am the Duc de Valognes.” The other was the big man, whom his friend the priest sought at first to dissuade66; and then walked away alone.
In the early evening a light dinner was spread at the back of the Cafe Charlemagne. Though unroofed by any glass or gilt67 plaster, the guests were nearly all under a delicate and irregular roof of leaves; for the ornamental68 trees stood so thick around and among the tables as to give something of the dimness and the dazzle of a small orchard69. At one of the central tables a very stumpy little priest sat in complete solitude70, and applied71 himself to a pile of whitebait with the gravest sort of enjoyment72. His daily living being very plain, he had a peculiar taste for sudden and isolated73 luxuries; he was an abstemious74 epicure75. He did not lift his eyes from his plate, round which red pepper, lemons, brown bread and butter, etc., were rigidly76 ranked, until a tall shadow fell across the table, and his friend Flambeau sat down opposite. Flambeau was gloomy.
“I’m afraid I must chuck this business,” said he heavily. “I’m all on the side of the French soldiers like Dubosc, and I’m all against the French atheists like Hirsch; but it seems to me in this case we’ve made a mistake. The Duke and I thought it as well to investigate the charge, and I must say I’m glad we did.”
“That’s just the odd thing,” replied Flambeau. “It’s exactly like Hirsch’s writing, and nobody can point out any mistake in it. But it wasn’t written by Hirsch. If he’s a French patriot18 he didn’t write it, because it gives information to Germany. And if he’s a German spy he didn’t write it, well—because it doesn’t give information to Germany.”
“You mean the information is wrong?” asked Father Brown.
“Wrong,” replied the other, “and wrong exactly where Dr Hirsch would have been right—about the hiding-place of his own secret formula in his own official department. By favour of Hirsch and the authorities, the Duke and I have actually been allowed to inspect the secret drawer at the War Office where the Hirsch formula is kept. We are the only people who have ever known it, except the inventor himself and the Minister for War; but the Minister permitted it to save Hirsch from fighting. After that we really can’t support Dubosc if his revelation is a mare’s nest.”
“And it is?” asked Father Brown.
“It is,” said his friend gloomily. “It is a clumsy forgery by somebody who knew nothing of the real hiding-place. It says the paper is in the cupboard on the right of the Secretary’s desk. As a fact the cupboard with the secret drawer is some way to the left of the desk. It says the grey envelope contains a long document written in red ink. It isn’t written in red ink, but in ordinary black ink. It’s manifestly absurd to say that Hirsch can have made a mistake about a paper that nobody knew of but himself; or can have tried to help a foreign thief by telling him to fumble79 in the wrong drawer. I think we must chuck it up and apologize to old Carrots.”
Father Brown seemed to cogitate80; he lifted a little whitebait on his fork. “You are sure the grey envelope was in the left cupboard?” he asked.
“Positive,” replied Flambeau. “The grey envelope—it was a white envelope really—was—”
Father Brown put down the small silver fish and the fork and stared across at his companion. “What?” he asked, in an altered voice.
“It was not grey,” said the priest. “Flambeau, you frighten me.”
“What the deuce are you frightened of?”
“I’m frightened of a white envelope,” said the other seriously, “If it had only just been grey! Hang it all, it might as well have been grey. But if it was white, the whole business is black. The Doctor has been dabbling82 in some of the old brimstone after all.”
“But I tell you he couldn’t have written such a note!” cried Flambeau. “The note is utterly83 wrong about the facts. And innocent or guilty, Dr Hirsch knew all about the facts.”
“The man who wrote that note knew all about the facts,” said his clerical companion soberly. “He could never have got ‘em so wrong without knowing about ‘em. You have to know an awful lot to be wrong on every subject—like the devil.”
“Do you mean—?”
“I mean a man telling lies on chance would have told some of the truth,” said his friend firmly. “Suppose someone sent you to find a house with a green door and a blue blind, with a front garden but no back garden, with a dog but no cat, and where they drank coffee but not tea. You would say if you found no such house that it was all made up. But I say no. I say if you found a house where the door was blue and the blind green, where there was a back garden and no front garden, where cats were common and dogs instantly shot, where tea was drunk in quarts and coffee forbidden—then you would know you had found the house. The man must have known that particular house to be so accurately84 inaccurate85.”
“But what could it mean?” demanded the diner opposite.
“I can’t conceive,” said Brown; “I don’t understand this Hirsch affair at all. As long as it was only the left drawer instead of the right, and red ink instead of black, I thought it must be the chance blunders of a forger78, as you say. But three is a mystical number; it finishes things. It finishes this. That the direction about the drawer, the colour of ink, the colour of envelope, should none of them be right by accident, that can’t be a coincidence. It wasn’t.”
“What was it, then? Treason?” asked Flambeau, resuming his dinner.
“I don’t know that either,” answered Brown, with a face of blank bewilderment. “The only thing I can think of.... Well, I never understood that Dreyfus case. I can always grasp moral evidence easier than the other sorts. I go by a man’s eyes and voice, don’t you know, and whether his family seems happy, and by what subjects he chooses—and avoids. Well, I was puzzled in the Dreyfus case. Not by the horrible things imputed86 both ways; I know (though it’s not modern to say so) that human nature in the highest places is still capable of being Cenci or Borgia. No—, what puzzled me was the sincerity87 of both parties. I don’t mean the political parties; the rank and file are always roughly honest, and often duped. I mean the persons of the play. I mean the conspirators88, if they were conspirators. I mean the traitor, if he was a traitor. I mean the men who must have known the truth. Now Dreyfus went on like a man who knew he was a wronged man. And yet the French statesmen and soldiers went on as if they knew he wasn’t a wronged man but simply a wrong ‘un. I don’t mean they behaved well; I mean they behaved as if they were sure. I can’t describe these things; I know what I mean.”
“I wish I did,” said his friend. “And what has it to do with old Hirsch?”
“Suppose a person in a position of trust,” went on the priest, “began to give the enemy information because it was false information. Suppose he even thought he was saving his country by misleading the foreigner. Suppose this brought him into spy circles, and little loans were made to him, and little ties tied on to him. Suppose he kept up his contradictory89 position in a confused way by never telling the foreign spies the truth, but letting it more and more be guessed. The better part of him (what was left of it) would still say: ‘I have not helped the enemy; I said it was the left drawer.’ The meaner part of him would already be saying: ‘But they may have the sense to see that means the right.’ I think it is psychologically possible—in an enlightened age, you know.”
“It may be psychologically possible,” answered Flambeau, “and it certainly would explain Dreyfus being certain he was wronged and his judges being sure he was guilty. But it won’t wash historically, because Dreyfus’s document (if it was his document) was literally90 correct.”
“I wasn’t thinking of Dreyfus,” said Father Brown.
Silence had sunk around them with the emptying of the tables; it was already late, though the sunlight still clung to everything, as if accidentally entangled91 in the trees. In the stillness Flambeau shifted his seat sharply—making an isolated and echoing noise—and threw his elbow over the angle of it. “Well,” he said, rather harshly, “if Hirsch is not better than a timid treason-monger...”
“You mustn’t be too hard on them,” said Father Brown gently. “It’s not entirely92 their fault; but they have no instincts. I mean those things that make a woman refuse to dance with a man or a man to touch an investment. They’ve been taught that it’s all a matter of degree.”
“Anyhow,” cried Flambeau impatiently, “he’s not a patch on my principal; and I shall go through with it. Old Dubosc may be a bit mad, but he’s a sort of patriot after all.”
Father Brown continued to consume whitebait.
Something in the stolid93 way he did so caused Flambeau’s fierce black eyes to ramble94 over his companion afresh. “What’s the matter with you?” Flambeau demanded. “Dubosc’s all right in that way. You don’t doubt him?”
“My friend,” said the small priest, laying down his knife and fork in a kind of cold despair, “I doubt everything. Everything, I mean, that has happened today. I doubt the whole story, though it has been acted before my face. I doubt every sight that my eyes have seen since morning. There is something in this business quite different from the ordinary police mystery where one man is more or less lying and the other man more or less telling the truth. Here both men.... Well! I’ve told you the only theory I can think of that could satisfy anybody. It doesn’t satisfy me.”
“Nor me either,” replied Flambeau frowning, while the other went on eating fish with an air of entire resignation. “If all you can suggest is that notion of a message conveyed by contraries, I call it uncommonly95 clever, but...well, what would you call it?”
“I should call it thin,” said the priest promptly96. “I should call it uncommonly thin. But that’s the queer thing about the whole business. The lie is like a schoolboy’s. There are only three versions, Dubosc’s and Hirsch’s and that fancy of mine. Either that note was written by a French officer to ruin a French official; or it was written by the French official to help German officers; or it was written by the French official to mislead German officers. Very well. You’d expect a secret paper passing between such people, officials or officers, to look quite different from that. You’d expect, probably a cipher97, certainly abbreviations; most certainly scientific and strictly professional terms. But this thing’s elaborately simple, like a penny dreadful: ‘In the purple grotto98 you will find the golden casket.’ It looks as if... as if it were meant to be seen through at once.”
Almost before they could take it in a short figure in French uniform had walked up to their table like the wind, and sat down with a sort of thump99.
“I have extraordinary news,” said the Duc de Valognes. “I have just come from this Colonel of ours. He is packing up to leave the country, and he asks us to make his excuses sur le terrain100.”
“What?” cried Flambeau, with an incredulity quite frightful—“apologize?”
“Yes,” said the Duke gruffly; “then and there—before everybody—when the swords are drawn101. And you and I have to do it while he is leaving the country.”
“But what can this mean?” cried Flambeau. “He can’t be afraid of that little Hirsch! Confound it!” he cried, in a kind of rational rage; “nobody could be afraid of Hirsch!”
“I believe it’s some plot!” snapped Valognes—“some plot of the Jews and Freemasons. It’s meant to work up glory for Hirsch...”
The face of Father Brown was commonplace, but curiously102 contented103; it could shine with ignorance as well as with knowledge. But there was always one flash when the foolish mask fell, and the wise mask fitted itself in its place; and Flambeau, who knew his friend, knew that his friend had suddenly understood. Brown said nothing, but finished his plate of fish.
“He’s round at the Hotel Saint Louis by the Elysee, where we drove with him. He’s packing up, I tell you.”
“Will he be there still, do you think?” asked Flambeau, frowning at the table.
“I don’t think he can get away yet,” replied the Duke; “he’s packing to go a long journey...”
“No,” said Father Brown, quite simply, but suddenly standing105 up, “for a very short journey. For one of the shortest, in fact. But we may still be in time to catch him if we go there in a motor-cab.”
Nothing more could be got out of him until the cab swept round the corner by the Hotel Saint Louis, where they got out, and he led the party up a side lane already in deep shadow with the growing dusk. Once, when the Duke impatiently asked whether Hirsch was guilty of treason or not, he answered rather absently: “No; only of ambition—like Caesar.” Then he somewhat inconsequently added: “He lives a very lonely life; he has had to do everything for himself.”
“Well, if he’s ambitious, he ought to be satisfied now,” said Flambeau rather bitterly. “All Paris will cheer him now our cursed Colonel has turned tail.”
“Don’t talk so loud,” said Father Brown, lowering his voice, “your cursed Colonel is just in front.”
The other two started and shrank farther back into the shadow of the wall, for the sturdy figure of their runaway106 principal could indeed be seen shuffling107 along in the twilight108 in front, a bag in each hand. He looked much the same as when they first saw him, except that he had changed his picturesque109 mountaineering knickers for a conventional pair of trousers. It was clear he was already escaping from the hotel.
The lane down which they followed him was one of those that seem to be at the back of things, and look like the wrong side of the stage scenery. A colourless, continuous wall ran down one flank of it, interrupted at intervals110 by dull-hued and dirt-stained doors, all shut fast and featureless save for the chalk scribbles111 of some passing gamin. The tops of trees, mostly rather depressing evergreens112, showed at intervals over the top of the wall, and beyond them in the grey and purple gloaming could be seen the back of some long terrace of tall Parisian houses, really comparatively close, but somehow looking as inaccessible113 as a range of marble mountains. On the other side of the lane ran the high gilt railings of a gloomy park.
Flambeau was looking round him in rather a weird114 way. “Do you know,” he said, “there is something about this place that—”
“Hullo!” called out the Duke sharply; “that fellow’s disappeared. Vanished, like a blasted fairy!”
“He has a key,” explained their clerical friend. “He’s only gone into one of these garden doors,” and as he spoke they heard one of the dull wooden doors close again with a click in front of them.
Flambeau strode up to the door thus shut almost in his face, and stood in front of it for a moment, biting his black moustache in a fury of curiosity. Then he threw up his long arms and swung himself aloft like a monkey and stood on the top of the wall, his enormous figure dark against the purple sky, like the dark tree-tops.
The Duke looked at the priest. “Dubosc’s escape is more elaborate than we thought,” he said; “but I suppose he is escaping from France.”
“He is escaping from everywhere,” answered Father Brown.
Valognes’s eyes brightened, but his voice sank. “Do you mean suicide?” he asked.
“You will not find his body,” replied the other.
A kind of cry came from Flambeau on the wall above. “My God,” he exclaimed in French, “I know what this place is now! Why, it’s the back of the street where old Hirsch lives. I thought I could recognize the back of a house as well as the back of a man.”
“And Dubosc’s gone in there!” cried the Duke, smiting115 his hip116. “Why, they’ll meet after all!” And with sudden Gallic vivacity117 he hopped118 up on the wall beside Flambeau and sat there positively119 kicking his legs with excitement. The priest alone remained below, leaning against the wall, with his back to the whole theatre of events, and looking wistfully across to the park palings and the twinkling, twilit trees.
The Duke, however stimulated120, had the instincts of an aristocrat121, and desired rather to stare at the house than to spy on it; but Flambeau, who had the instincts of a burglar (and a detective), had already swung himself from the wall into the fork of a straggling tree from which he could crawl quite close to the only illuminated122 window in the back of the high dark house. A red blind had been pulled down over the light, but pulled crookedly123, so that it gaped124 on one side, and by risking his neck along a branch that looked as treacherous125 as a twig126, Flambeau could just see Colonel Dubosc walking about in a brilliantly-lighted and luxurious127 bedroom. But close as Flambeau was to the house, he heard the words of his colleagues by the wall, and repeated them in a low voice.
“Yes, they will meet now after all!”
“They will never meet,” said Father Brown. “Hirsch was right when he said that in such an affair the principals must not meet. Have you read a queer psychological story by Henry James, of two persons who so perpetually missed meeting each other by accident that they began to feel quite frightened of each other, and to think it was fate? This is something of the kind, but more curious.”
“There are people in Paris who will cure them of such morbid128 fancies,” said Valognes vindictively129. “They will jolly well have to meet if we capture them and force them to fight.”
“They will not meet on the Day of Judgement,” said the priest. “If God Almighty130 held the truncheon of the lists, if St Michael blew the trumpet131 for the swords to cross—even then, if one of them stood ready, the other would not come.”
“Oh, what does all this mysticism mean?” cried the Duc de Valognes, impatiently; “why on earth shouldn’t they meet like other people?”
“They are the opposite of each other,” said Father Brown, with a queer kind of smile. “They contradict each other. They cancel out, so to speak.”
He continued to gaze at the darkening trees opposite, but Valognes turned his head sharply at a suppressed exclamation132 from Flambeau. That investigator133, peering into the lighted room, had just seen the Colonel, after a pace or two, proceed to take his coat off. Flambeau’s first thought was that this really looked like a fight; but he soon dropped the thought for another. The solidity and squareness of Dubosc’s chest and shoulders was all a powerful piece of padding and came off with his coat. In his shirt and trousers he was a comparatively slim gentleman, who walked across the bedroom to the bathroom with no more pugnacious134 purpose than that of washing himself. He bent135 over a basin, dried his dripping hands and face on a towel, and turned again so that the strong light fell on his face. His brown complexion136 had gone, his big black moustache had gone; he—was clean-shaven and very pate137. Nothing remained of the Colonel but his bright, hawk-like, brown eyes. Under the wall Father Brown was going on in heavy meditation138, as if to himself.
“It is all just like what I was saying to Flambeau. These opposites won’t do. They don’t work. They don’t fight. If it’s white instead of black, and solid instead of liquid, and so on all along the line—then there’s something wrong, Monsieur, there’s something wrong. One of these men is fair and the other dark, one stout139 and the other slim, one strong and the other weak. One has a moustache and no beard, so you can’t see his mouth; the other has a beard and no moustache, so you can’t see his chin. One has hair cropped to his skull, but a scarf to hide his neck; the other has low shirt-collars, but long hair to bide140 his skull. It’s all too neat and correct, Monsieur, and there’s something wrong. Things made so opposite are things that cannot quarrel. Wherever the one sticks out the other sinks in. Like a face and a mask, like a lock and a key...”
Flambeau was peering into the house with a visage as white as a sheet. The occupant of the room was standing with his back to him, but in front of a looking-glass, and had already fitted round his face a sort of framework of rank red hair, hanging disordered from the head and clinging round the jaws141 and chin while leaving the mocking mouth uncovered. Seen thus in the glass the white face looked like the face of Judas laughing horribly and surrounded by capering142 flames of hell. For a spasm143 Flambeau saw the fierce, red-brown eyes dancing, then they were covered with a pair of blue spectacles. Slipping on a loose black coat, the figure vanished towards the front of the house. A few moments later a roar of popular applause from the street beyond announced that Dr Hirsch had once more appeared upon the balcony.
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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mobility
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| n.可动性，变动性，情感不定 | |
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obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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7
specialized
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| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
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8
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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9
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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10
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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11
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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12
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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13
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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14
subconsciousness
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| 潜意识；下意识 | |
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15
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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16
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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17
anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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18
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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19
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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20
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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21
chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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22
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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23
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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24
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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25
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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26
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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27
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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28
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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29
chauvinist
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| n.沙文主义者 | |
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30
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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31
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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32
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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33
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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34
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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35
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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36
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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37
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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38
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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39
clarion
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|
| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
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40
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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41
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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42
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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43
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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44
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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45
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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46
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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47
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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48
militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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49
facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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50
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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51
plunged
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|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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52
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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53
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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54
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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55
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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56
spoke
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| 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 | |
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57
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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58
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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59
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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60
arbitration
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| n.调停，仲裁 | |
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61
strictly
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|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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62
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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63
purely
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|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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64
duellist
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|
| n.决斗者；[体]重剑运动员 | |
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65
bribe
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|
| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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66
dissuade
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|
| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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67
gilt
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|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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68
ornamental
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|
| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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69
orchard
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|
| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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70
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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71
applied
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|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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72
enjoyment
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|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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73
isolated
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|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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74
abstemious
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|
| adj.有节制的，节俭的 | |
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75
epicure
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|
| n.行家，美食家 | |
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76
rigidly
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|
| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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77
forgery
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|
| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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78
forger
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|
| v.伪造；n.（钱、文件等的）伪造者 | |
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79
fumble
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|
| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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80
cogitate
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|
| v.慎重思考，思索 | |
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81
heartily
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|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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82
dabbling
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|
| v.涉猎( dabble的现在分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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83
utterly
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|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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84
accurately
|
|
| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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85
inaccurate
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|
| adj.错误的，不正确的，不准确的 | |
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86
imputed
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|
| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
sincerity
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|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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88
conspirators
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|
| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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89
contradictory
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|
| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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90
literally
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|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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91
entangled
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|
| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
entirely
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|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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93
stolid
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|
| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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94
ramble
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|
| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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95
uncommonly
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|
| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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96
promptly
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|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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97
cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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98
grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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99
thump
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|
| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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100
terrain
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| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
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101
drawn
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|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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102
curiously
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|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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103
contented
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|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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104
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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105
standing
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|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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106
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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107
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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108
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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109
picturesque
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|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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110
intervals
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|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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111
scribbles
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|
| n.潦草的书写( scribble的名词复数 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下v.潦草的书写( scribble的第三人称单数 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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112
evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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113
inaccessible
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|
| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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114
weird
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|
| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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115
smiting
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|
| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的现在分词 ) | |
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116
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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117
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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118
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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119
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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120
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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121
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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122
illuminated
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|
| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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123
crookedly
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| adv. 弯曲地，不诚实地 | |
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124
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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125
treacherous
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|
| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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126
twig
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|
| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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127
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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128
morbid
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|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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129
vindictively
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| adv.恶毒地；报复地 | |
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130
almighty
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|
| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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131
trumpet
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|
| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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132
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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133
investigator
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| n.研究者，调查者，审查者 | |
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134
pugnacious
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| adj.好斗的 | |
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135
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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136
complexion
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|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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137
pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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138
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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140
bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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141
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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142
capering
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的现在分词 )；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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143
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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