All these trivialities Brown heard and saw; but heard them as a tired man hears a tune22 in the railway wheels, or saw them as a sick man sees the pattern of his wall-paper. No one can calculate the turns of mood in convalescence23: but Father Brown’s depression must have had a great deal to do with his mere24 unfamiliarity25 with the sea. For as the river mouth narrowed like the neck of a bottle, and the water grew calmer and the air warmer and more earthly, he seemed to wake up and take notice like a baby. They had reached that phase just after sunset when air and water both look bright, but earth and all its growing things look almost black by comparison. About this particular evening, however, there was something exceptional. It was one of those rare atmospheres in which a smoked-glass slide seems to have been slid away from between us and Nature; so that even dark colours on that day look more gorgeous than bright colours on cloudier days. The trampled26 earth of the river-banks and the peaty stain in the pools did not look drab but glowing umber, and the dark woods astir in the breeze did not look, as usual, dim blue with mere depth of distance, but more like wind-tumbled masses of some vivid violet blossom. This magic clearness and intensity27 in the colours was further forced on Brown’s slowly reviving senses by something romantic and even secret in the very form of the landscape.
The river was still well wide and deep enough for a pleasure boat so small as theirs; but the curves of the country-side suggested that it was closing in on either hand; the woods seemed to be making broken and flying attempts at bridge-building—as if the boat were passing from the romance of a valley to the romance of a hollow and so to the supreme29 romance of a tunnel. Beyond this mere look of things there was little for Brown’s freshening fancy to feed on; he saw no human beings, except some gipsies trailing along the river bank, with faggots and osiers cut in the forest; and one sight no longer unconventional, but in such remote parts still uncommon30: a dark-haired lady, bare-headed, and paddling her own canoe. If Father Brown ever attached any importance to either of these, he certainly forgot them at the next turn of the river which brought in sight a singular object.
The water seemed to widen and split, being cloven by the dark wedge of a fish-shaped and wooded islet. With the rate at which they went, the islet seemed to swim towards them like a ship; a ship with a very high prow—or, to speak more strictly31, a very high funnel32. For at the extreme point nearest them stood up an odd-looking building, unlike anything they could remember or connect with any purpose. It was not specially33 high, but it was too high for its breadth to be called anything but a tower. Yet it appeared to be built entirely34 of wood, and that in a most unequal and eccentric way. Some of the planks35 and beams were of good, seasoned oak; some of such wood cut raw and recent; some again of white pinewood, and a great deal more of the same sort of wood painted black with tar36. These black beams were set crooked37 or crisscross at all kinds of angles, giving the whole a most patchy and puzzling appearance. There were one or two windows, which appeared to be coloured and leaded in an old-fashioned but more elaborate style. The travellers looked at it with that paradoxical feeling we have when something reminds us of something, and yet we are certain it is something very different.
Father Brown, even when he was mystified, was clever in analysing his own mystification. And he found himself reflecting that the oddity seemed to consist in a particular shape cut out in an incongruous material; as if one saw a top-hat made of tin, or a frock-coat cut out of tartan. He was sure he had seen timbers of different tints38 arranged like that somewhere, but never in such architectural proportions. The next moment a glimpse through the dark trees told him all he wanted to know and he laughed. Through a gap in the foliage39 there appeared for a moment one of those old wooden houses, faced with black beams, which are still to be found here and there in England, but which most of us see imitated in some show called “Old London” or “Shakespeare’s England’. It was in view only long enough for the priest to see that, however old-fashioned, it was a comfortable and well-kept country-house, with flower-beds in front of it. It had none of the piebald and crazy look of the tower that seemed made out of its refuse.
“What on earth’s this?” said Flambeau, who was still staring at the tower.
Fanshaw’s eyes were shining, and he spoke40 triumphantly41. “Aha! you’ve not seen a place quite like this before, I fancy; that’s why I’ve brought you here, my friend. Now you shall see whether I exaggerate about the mariners42 of Cornwall. This place belongs to Old Pendragon, whom we call the Admiral; though he retired before getting the rank. The spirit of Raleigh and Hawkins is a memory with the Devon folk; it’s a modern fact with the Pendragons. If Queen Elizabeth were to rise from the grave and come up this river in a gilded43 barge44, she would be received by the Admiral in a house exactly such as she was accustomed to, in every corner and casement45, in every panel on the wall or plate on the table. And she would find an English Captain still talking fiercely of fresh lands to be found in little ships, as much as if she had dined with Drake.”
“She’d find a rum sort of thing in the garden,” said Father Brown, “which would not please her Renaissance46 eye. That Elizabethan domestic architecture is charming in its way; but it’s against the very nature of it to break out into turrets47.”
“And yet,” answered Fanshaw, “that’s the most romantic and Elizabethan part of the business. It was built by the Pendragons in the very days of the Spanish wars; and though it’s needed patching and even rebuilding for another reason, it’s always been rebuilt in the old way. The story goes that the lady of Sir Peter Pendragon built it in this place and to this height, because from the top you can just see the corner where vessels48 turn into the river mouth; and she wished to be the first to see her husband’s ship, as he sailed home from the Spanish Main.”
“For what other reason,” asked Father Brown, “do you mean that it has been rebuilt?”
“Oh, there’s a strange story about that, too,” said the young squire with relish49. “You are really in a land of strange stories. King Arthur was here and Merlin and the fairies before him. The story goes that Sir Peter Pendragon, who (I fear) had some of the faults of the pirates as well as the virtues50 of the sailor, was bringing home three Spanish gentlemen in honourable51 captivity52, intending to escort them to Elizabeth’s court. But he was a man of flaming and tigerish temper, and coming to high words with one of them, he caught him by the throat and flung him by accident or design, into the sea. A second Spaniard, who was the brother of the first, instantly drew his sword and flew at Pendragon, and after a short but furious combat in which both got three wounds in as many minutes, Pendragon drove his blade through the other’s body and the second Spaniard was accounted for. As it happened the ship had already turned into the river mouth and was close to comparatively shallow water. The third Spaniard sprang over the side of the ship, struck out for the shore, and was soon near enough to it to stand up to his waist in water. And turning again to face the ship, and holding up both arms to Heaven—like a prophet calling plagues upon a wicked city—he called out to Pendragon in a piercing and terrible voice, that he at least was yet living, that he would go on living, that he would live for ever; and that generation after generation the house of Pendragon should never see him or his, but should know by very certain signs that he and his vengeance53 were alive. With that he dived under the wave, and was either drowned or swam so long under water that no hair of his head was seen afterwards.”
“There’s that girl in the canoe again,” said Flambeau irrelevantly54, for good-looking young women would call him off any topic. “She seems bothered by the queer tower just as we were.”
Indeed, the black-haired young lady was letting her canoe float slowly and silently past the strange islet; and was looking intently up at the strange tower, with a strong glow of curiosity on her oval and olive face.
“Never mind girls,” said Fanshaw impatiently, “there are plenty of them in the world, but not many things like the Pendragon Tower. As you may easily suppose, plenty of superstitions56 and scandals have followed in the track of the Spaniard’s curse; and no doubt, as you would put it, any accident happening to this Cornish family would be connected with it by rural credulity. But it is perfectly57 true that this tower has been burnt down two or three times; and the family can’t be called lucky, for more than two, I think, of the Admiral’s near kin18 have perished by shipwreck58; and one at least, to my own knowledge, on practically the same spot where Sir Peter threw the Spaniard overboard.”
“What a pity!” exclaimed Flambeau. “She’s going.”
“When did your friend the Admiral tell you this family history?” asked Father Brown, as the girl in the canoe paddled off, without showing the least intention of extending her interest from the tower to the yacht, which Fanshaw had already caused to lie alongside the island.
“Many years ago,” replied Fanshaw; “he hasn’t been to sea for some time now, though he is as keen on it as ever. I believe there’s a family compact or something. Well, here’s the landing stage; let’s come ashore59 and see the old boy.”
They followed him on to the island, just under the tower, and Father Brown, whether from the mere touch of dry land, or the interest of something on the other bank of the river (which he stared at very hard for some seconds), seemed singularly improved in briskness60. They entered a wooded avenue between two fences of thin greyish wood, such as often enclose parks or gardens, and over the top of which the dark trees tossed to and fro like black and purple plumes61 upon the hearse of a giant. The tower, as they left it behind, looked all the quainter62, because such entrances are usually flanked by two towers; and this one looked lopsided. But for this, the avenue had the usual appearance of the entrance to a gentleman’s grounds; and, being so curved that the house was now out of sight, somehow looked a much larger park than any plantation63 on such an island could really be. Father Brown was, perhaps, a little fanciful in his fatigue64, but he almost thought the whole place must be growing larger, as things do in a nightmare. Anyhow, a mystical monotony was the only character of their march, until Fanshaw suddenly stopped, and pointed to something sticking out through the grey fence—something that looked at first rather like the imprisoned65 horn of some beast. Closer observation showed that it was a slightly curved blade of metal that shone faintly in the fading light.
Flambeau, who like all Frenchmen had been a soldier, bent66 over it and said in a startled voice: “Why, it’s a sabre! I believe I know the sort, heavy and curved, but shorter than the cavalry67; they used to have them in artillery68 and the—”
As he spoke the blade plucked itself out of the crack it had made and came down again with a more ponderous69 slash70, splitting the fissiparous fence to the bottom with a rending71 noise. Then it was pulled out again, flashed above the fence some feet further along, and again split it halfway72 down with the first stroke; and after waggling a little to extricate73 itself (accompanied with curses in the darkness) split it down to the ground with a second. Then a kick of devilish energy sent the whole loosened square of thin wood flying into the pathway, and a great gap of dark coppice gaped74 in the paling.
Fanshaw peered into the dark opening and uttered an exclamation75 of astonishment76. “My dear Admiral!” he exclaimed, “do you—er—do you generally cut out a new front door whenever you want to go for a walk?”
The voice in the gloom swore again, and then broke into a jolly laugh. “No,” it said; “I’ve really got to cut down this fence somehow; it’s spoiling all the plants, and no one else here can do it. But I’ll only carve another bit off the front door, and then come out and welcome you.”
And sure enough, he heaved up his weapon once more, and, hacking77 twice, brought down another and similar strip of fence, making the opening about fourteen feet wide in all. Then through this larger forest gateway78 he came out into the evening light, with a chip of grey wood sticking to his sword-blade.
He momentarily fulfilled all Fanshaw’s fable13 of an old piratical Admiral; though the details seemed afterwards to decompose79 into accidents. For instance, he wore a broad-brimmed hat as protection against the sun; but the front flap of it was turned up straight to the sky, and the two corners pulled down lower than the ears, so that it stood across his forehead in a crescent like the old cocked hat worn by Nelson. He wore an ordinary dark-blue jacket, with nothing special about the buttons, but the combination of it with white linen80 trousers somehow had a sailorish look. He was tall and loose, and walked with a sort of swagger, which was not a sailor’s roll, and yet somehow suggested it; and he held in his hand a short sabre which was like a navy cutlass, but about twice as big. Under the bridge of the hat his eagle face looked eager, all the more because it was not only clean-shaven, but without eyebrows81. It seemed almost as if all the hair had come off his face from his thrusting it through a throng82 of elements. His eyes were prominent and piercing. His colour was curiously83 attractive, while partly tropical; it reminded one vaguely84 of a blood-orange. That is, that while it was ruddy and sanguine85, there was a yellow in it that was in no way sickly, but seemed rather to glow like gold apples of the Hesperides—Father Brown thought he had never seen a figure so expressive86 of all the romances about the countries of the Sun.
When Fanshaw had presented his two friends to their host he fell again into a tone of rallying the latter about his wreckage87 of the fence and his apparent rage of profanity. The Admiral pooh-poohed it at first as a piece of necessary but annoying garden work; but at length the ring of real energy came back into his laughter, and he cried with a mixture of impatience88 and good humour:
“Well, perhaps I do go at it a bit rabidly, and feel a kind of pleasure in smashing anything. So would you if your only pleasure was in cruising about to find some new Cannibal Islands, and you had to stick on this muddy little rockery in a sort of rustic89 pond. When I remember how I’ve cut down a mile and a half of green poisonous jungle with an old cutlass half as sharp as this; and then remember I must stop here and chop this matchwood, because of some confounded old bargain scribbled90 in a family Bible, why, I—”
He swung up the heavy steel again; and this time sundered91 the wall of wood from top to bottom at one stroke.
“I feel like that,” he said laughing, but furiously flinging the sword some yards down the path, “and now let’s go up to the house; you must have some dinner.”
The semicircle of lawn in front of the house was varied92 by three circular garden beds, one of red tulips, a second of yellow tulips, and the third of some white, waxen-looking blossoms that the visitors did not know and presumed to be exotic. A heavy, hairy and rather sullen-looking gardener was hanging up a heavy coil of garden hose. The corners of the expiring sunset which seemed to cling about the corners of the house gave glimpses here and there of the colours of remoter flowerbeds; and in a treeless space on one side of the house opening upon the river stood a tall brass93 tripod on which was tilted94 a big brass telescope. Just outside the steps of the porch stood a little painted green garden table, as if someone had just had tea there. The entrance was flanked with two of those half-featured lumps of stone with holes for eyes that are said to be South Sea idols95; and on the brown oak beam across the doorway96 were some confused carvings97 that looked almost as barbaric.
As they passed indoors, the little cleric hopped98 suddenly on to the table, and standing99 on it peered unaffectedly through his spectacles at the mouldings in the oak. Admiral Pendragon looked very much astonished, though not particularly annoyed; while Fanshaw was so amused with what looked like a performing pigmy on his little stand, that he could not control his laughter. But Father Brown was not likely to notice either the laughter or the astonishment.
He was gazing at three carved symbols, which, though very worn and obscure, seemed still to convey some sense to him. The first seemed to be the outline of some tower or other building, crowned with what looked like curly-pointed ribbons. The second was clearer: an old Elizabethan galley100 with decorative101 waves beneath it, but interrupted in the middle by a curious jagged rock, which was either a fault in the wood or some conventional representation of the water coming in. The third represented the upper half of a human figure, ending in an escalloped line like the waves; the face was rubbed and featureless, and both arms were held very stiffly up in the air.
“Well,” muttered Father Brown, blinking, “here is the legend of the Spaniard plain enough. Here he is holding up his arms and cursing in the sea; and here are the two curses: the wrecked102 ship and the burning of Pendragon Tower.”
Pendragon shook his head with a kind of venerable amusement. “And how many other things might it not be?” he said. “Don’t you know that that sort of half-man, like a half-lion or half-stag, is quite common in heraldry? Might not that line through the ship be one of those parti-per-pale lines, indented103, I think they call it? And though the third thing isn’t so very heraldic, it would be more heraldic to suppose it a tower crowned with laurel than with fire; and it looks just as like it.”
“But it seems rather odd,” said Flambeau, “that it should exactly confirm the old legend.”
“Ah,” replied the sceptical traveller, “but you don’t know how much of the old legend may have been made up from the old figures. Besides, it isn’t the only old legend. Fanshaw, here, who is fond of such things, will tell you there are other versions of the tale, and much more horrible ones. One story credits my unfortunate ancestor with having had the Spaniard cut in two; and that will fit the pretty picture also. Another obligingly credits our family with the possession of a tower full of snakes and explains those little, wriggly104 things in that way. And a third theory supposes the crooked line on the ship to be a conventionalized thunderbolt; but that alone, if seriously examined, would show what a very little way these unhappy coincidences really go.”
“Why, how do you mean?” asked Fanshaw.
“It so happens,” replied his host coolly, “that there was no thunder and lightning at all in the two or three shipwrecks105 I know of in our family.”
“Oh!” said Father Brown, and jumped down from the little table.
There was another silence in which they heard the continuous murmur106 of the river; then Fanshaw said, in a doubtful and perhaps disappointed tone: “Then you don’t think there is anything in the tales of the tower in flames?”
“There are the tales, of course,” said the Admiral, shrugging his shoulders; “and some of them, I don’t deny, on evidence as decent as one ever gets for such things. Someone saw a blaze hereabout, don’t you know, as he walked home through a wood; someone keeping sheep on the uplands inland thought he saw a flame hovering107 over Pendragon Tower. Well, a damp dab108 of mud like this confounded island seems the last place where one would think of fires.”
“What is that fire over there?” asked Father Brown with a gentle suddenness, pointing to the woods on the left river-bank. They were all thrown a little off their balance, and the more fanciful Fanshaw had even some difficulty in recovering his, as they saw a long, thin stream of blue smoke ascending109 silently into the end of the evening light.
Then Pendragon broke into a scornful laugh again. “Gipsies!” he said; “they’ve been camping about here for about a week. Gentlemen, you want your dinner,” and he turned as if to enter the house.
But the antiquarian superstition55 in Fanshaw was still quivering, and he said hastily: “But, Admiral, what’s that hissing110 noise quite near the island? It’s very like fire.”
“It’s more like what it is,” said the Admiral, laughing as he led the way; “it’s only some canoe going by.”
Almost as he spoke, the butler, a lean man in black, with very black hair and a very long, yellow face, appeared in the doorway and told him that dinner was served.
The dining-room was as nautical111 as the cabin of a ship; but its note was rather that of the modern than the Elizabethan captain. There were, indeed, three antiquated112 cutlasses in a trophy113 over the fireplace, and one brown sixteenth-century map with Tritons and little ships dotted about a curly sea. But such things were less prominent on the white panelling than some cases of quaint-coloured South American birds, very scientifically stuffed, fantastic shells from the Pacific, and several instruments so rude and queer in shape that savages114 might have used them either to kill their enemies or to cook them. But the alien colour culminated115 in the fact that, besides the butler, the Admiral’s only servants were two negroes, somewhat quaintly116 clad in tight uniforms of yellow. The priest’s instinctive117 trick of analysing his own impressions told him that the colour and the little neat coat-tails of these bipeds had suggested the word “Canary,” and so by a mere pun connected them with southward travel. Towards the end of the dinner they took their yellow clothes and black faces out of the room, leaving only the black clothes and yellow face of the butler.
“I’m rather sorry you take this so lightly,” said Fanshaw to the host; “for the truth is, I’ve brought these friends of mine with the idea of their helping118 you, as they know a good deal of these things. Don’t you really believe in the family story at all?”
“I don’t believe in anything,” answered Pendragon very briskly, with a bright eye cocked at a red tropical bird. “I’m a man of science.”
Rather to Flambeau’s surprise, his clerical friend, who seemed to have entirely woken up, took up the digression and talked natural history with his host with a flow of words and much unexpected information, until the dessert and decanters were set down and the last of the servants vanished. Then he said, without altering his tone.
“Please don’t think me impertinent, Admiral Pendragon. I don’t ask for curiosity, but really for my guidance and your convenience. Have I made a bad shot if I guess you don’t want these old things talked of before your butler?”
The Admiral lifted the hairless arches over his eyes and exclaimed: “Well, I don’t know where you got it, but the truth is I can’t stand the fellow, though I’ve no excuse for discharging a family servant. Fanshaw, with his fairy tales, would say my blood moved against men with that black, Spanish-looking hair.”
Flambeau struck the table with his heavy fist. “By Jove!” he cried; “and so had that girl!”
“I hope it’ll all end tonight,” continued the Admiral, “when my nephew comes back safe from his ship. You looked surprised. You won’t understand, I suppose, unless I tell you the story. You see, my father had two sons; I remained a bachelor, but my elder brother married, and had a son who became a sailor like all the rest of us, and will inherit the proper estate. Well, my father was a strange man; he somehow combined Fanshaw’s superstition with a good deal of my scepticism—they were always fighting in him; and after my first voyages, he developed a notion which he thought somehow would settle finally whether the curse was truth or trash. If all the Pendragons sailed about anyhow, he thought there would be too much chance of natural catastrophes119 to prove anything. But if we went to sea one at a time in strict order of succession to the property, he thought it might show whether any connected fate followed the family as a family. It was a silly notion, I think, and I quarrelled with my father pretty heartily120; for I was an ambitious man and was left to the last, coming, by succession, after my own nephew.”
“And your father and brother,” said the priest, very gently, “died at sea, I fear.”
“Yes,” groaned121 the Admiral; “by one of those brutal122 accidents on which are built all the lying mythologies123 of mankind, they were both shipwrecked. My father, coming up this coast out of the Atlantic, was washed up on these Cornish rocks. My brother’s ship was sunk, no one knows where, on the voyage home from Tasmania. His body was never found. I tell you it was from perfectly natural mishap124; lots of other people besides Pendragons were drowned; and both disasters are discussed in a normal way by navigators. But, of course, it set this forest of superstition on fire; and men saw the flaming tower everywhere. That’s why I say it will be all right when Walter returns. The girl he’s engaged to was coming today; but I was so afraid of some chance delay frightening her that I wired her not to come till she heard from me. But he’s practically sure to be here some time tonight, and then it’ll all end in smoke—tobacco smoke. We’ll crack that old lie when we crack a bottle of this wine.”
“Very good wine,” said Father Brown, gravely lifting his glass, “but, as you see, a very bad wine-bibber. I most sincerely beg your pardon”: for he had spilt a small spot of wine on the table-cloth. He drank and put down the glass with a composed face; but his hand had started at the exact moment when he became conscious of a face looking in through the garden window just behind the Admiral—the face of a woman, swarthy, with southern hair and eyes, and young, but like a mask of tragedy.
After a pause the priest spoke again in his mild manner. “Admiral,” he said, “will you do me a favour? Let me, and my friends if they like, stop in that tower of yours just for tonight? Do you know that in my business you’re an exorcist almost before anything else?”
Pendragon sprang to his feet and paced swiftly to and fro across the window, from which the face had instantly vanished. “I tell you there is nothing in it,” he cried, with ringing violence. “There is one thing I know about this matter. You may call me an atheist125. I am an atheist.” Here he swung round and fixed126 Father Brown with a face of frightful127 concentration. “This business is perfectly natural. There is no curse in it at all.”
Father Brown smiled. “In that case,” he said, “there can’t be any objection to my sleeping in your delightful128 summer-house.”
“The idea is utterly129 ridiculous,” replied the Admiral, beating a tattoo130 on the back of his chair.
“Please forgive me for everything,” said Brown in his most sympathetic tone, “including spilling the wine. But it seems to me you are not quite so easy about the flaming tower as you try to be.”
Admiral Pendragon sat down again as abruptly131 as he had risen; but he sat quite still, and when he spoke again it was in a lower voice. “You do it at your own peril,” he said; “but wouldn’t you be an atheist to keep sane132 in all this devilry?”
Some three hours afterwards Fanshaw, Flambeau and the priest were still dawdling133 about the garden in the dark; and it began to dawn on the other two that Father Brown had no intention of going to bed either in the tower or the house.
“I think the lawn wants weeding,” said he dreamily. “If I could find a spud or something I’d do it myself.”
They followed him, laughing and half remonstrating134; but he replied with the utmost solemnity, explaining to them, in a maddening little sermon, that one can always find some small occupation that is helpful to others. He did not find a spud; but he found an old broom made of twigs135, with which he began energetically to brush the fallen leaves off the grass.
“Always some little thing to be done,” he said with idiotic136 cheerfulness; “as George Herbert says: ‘Who sweeps an Admiral’s garden in Cornwall as for Thy laws makes that and the action fine.’ And now,” he added, suddenly slinging137 the broom away, “Let’s go and water the flowers.”
With the same mixed emotions they watched him uncoil some considerable lengths of the large garden hose, saying with an air of wistful discrimination: “The red tulips before the yellow, I think. Look a bit dry, don’t you think?”
He turned the little tap on the instrument, and the water shot out straight and solid as a long rod of steel.
“Look out, Samson,” cried Flambeau; “why, you’ve cut off the tulip’s head.”
Father Brown stood ruefully contemplating138 the decapitated plant.
“Mine does seem to be a rather kill or cure sort of watering,” he admitted, scratching his head. “I suppose it’s a pity I didn’t find the spud. You should have seen me with the spud! Talking of tools, you’ve got that swordstick, Flambeau, you always carry? That’s right; and Sir Cecil could have that sword the Admiral threw away by the fence here. How grey everything looks!”
“The mist’s rising from the river,” said the staring Flambeau.
Almost as he spoke the huge figure of the hairy gardener appeared on a higher ridge28 of the trenched and terraced lawn, hailing them with a brandished139 rake and a horribly bellowing140 voice. “Put down that hose,” he shouted; “put down that hose and go to your—”
“I am fearfully clumsy,” replied the reverend gentleman weakly; “do you know, I upset some wine at dinner.” He made a wavering half-turn of apology towards the gardener, with the hose still spouting141 in his hand. The gardener caught the cold crash of the water full in his face like the crash of a cannon-ball; staggered, slipped and went sprawling142 with his boots in the air.
“How very dreadful!” said Father Brown, looking round in a sort of wonder. “Why, I’ve hit a man!”
He stood with his head forward for a moment as if looking or listening; and then set off at a trot143 towards the tower, still trailing the hose behind him. The tower was quite close, but its outline was curiously dim.
“Your river mist,” he said, “has a rum smell.”
“By the Lord it has,” cried Fanshaw, who was very white. “But you can’t mean—”
“I mean,” said Father Brown, “that one of the Admiral’s scientific predictions is coming true tonight. This story is going to end in smoke.”
As he spoke a most beautiful rose-red light seemed to burst into blossom like a gigantic rose; but accompanied with a crackling and rattling144 noise that was like the laughter of devils.
“My God! what is this?” cried Sir Cecil Fanshaw.
“The sign of the flaming tower,” said Father Brown, and sent the driving water from his hose into the heart of the red patch.
“Lucky we hadn’t gone to bed!” ejaculated Fanshaw. “I suppose it can’t spread to the house.”
“You may remember,” said the priest quietly, “that the wooden fence that might have carried it was cut away.”
Flambeau turned electrified145 eyes upon his friend, but Fanshaw only said rather absently: “Well, nobody can be killed, anyhow.”
“This is rather a curious kind of tower,” observed Father Brown, “when it takes to killing146 people, it always kills people who are somewhere else.”
At the same instant the monstrous147 figure of the gardener with the streaming beard stood again on the green ridge against the sky, waving others to come on; but now waving not a rake but a cutlass. Behind him came the two negroes, also with the old crooked cutlasses out of the trophy. But in the blood-red glare, with their black faces and yellow figures, they looked like devils carrying instruments of torture. In the dim garden behind them a distant voice was heard calling out brief directions. When the priest heard the voice, a terrible change came over his countenance148.
But he remained composed; and never took his eye off the patch of flame which had begun by spreading, but now seemed to shrink a little as it hissed149 under the torch of the long silver spear of water. He kept his finger along the nozzle of the pipe to ensure the aim, and attended to no other business, knowing only by the noise and that semi-conscious corner of the eye, the exciting incidents that began to tumble themselves about the island garden. He gave two brief directions to his friends. One was: “Knock these fellows down somehow and tie them up, whoever they are; there’s rope down by those faggots. They want to take away my nice hose.” The other was: “As soon as you get a chance, call out to that canoeing girl; she’s over on the bank with the gipsies. Ask her if they could get some buckets across and fill them from the river.” Then he closed his mouth and continued to water the new red flower as ruthlessly as he had watered the red tulip.
He never turned his head to look at the strange fight that followed between the foes150 and friends of the mysterious fire. He almost felt the island shake when Flambeau collided with the huge gardener; he merely imagined how it would whirl round them as they wrestled151. He heard the crashing fall; and his friend’s gasp152 of triumph as he dashed on to the first negro; and the cries of both the blacks as Flambeau and Fanshaw bound them. Flambeau’s enormous strength more than redressed153 the odds154 in the fight, especially as the fourth man still hovered155 near the house, only a shadow and a voice. He heard also the water broken by the paddles of a canoe; the girl’s voice giving orders, the voices of gipsies answering and coming nearer, the plumping and sucking noise of empty buckets plunged156 into a full stream; and finally the sound of many feet around the fire. But all this was less to him than the fact that the red rent, which had lately once more increased, had once more slightly diminished.
Then came a cry that very nearly made him turn his head. Flambeau and Fanshaw, now reinforced by some of the gipsies, had rushed after the mysterious man by the house; and he heard from the other end of the garden the Frenchman’s cry of horror and astonishment. It was echoed by a howl not to be called human, as the being broke from their hold and ran along the garden. Three times at least it raced round the whole island, in a way that was as horrible as the chase of a lunatic, both in the cries of the pursued and the ropes carried by the pursuers; but was more horrible still, because it somehow suggested one of the chasing games of children in a garden. Then, finding them closing in on every side, the figure sprang upon one of the higher river banks and disappeared with a splash into the dark and driving river.
“You can do no more, I fear,” said Brown in a voice cold with pain. “He has been washed down to the rocks by now, where he has sent so many others. He knew the use of a family legend.”
“Oh, don’t talk in these parables,” cried Flambeau impatiently. “Can’t you put it simply in words of one syllable157?”
“Yes,” answered Brown, with his eye on the hose. “‘Both eyes bright, she’s all right; one eye blinks, down she sinks.’”
The fire hissed and shrieked158 more and more, like a strangled thing, as it grew narrower and narrower under the flood from the pipe and buckets, but Father Brown still kept his eye on it as he went on speaking:
“I thought of asking this young lady, if it were morning yet, to look through that telescope at the river mouth and the river. She might have seen something to interest her: the sign of the ship, or Mr Walter Pendragon coming home, and perhaps even the sign of the half-man, for though he is certainly safe by now, he may very well have waded159 ashore. He has been within a shave of another shipwreck; and would never have escaped it, if the lady hadn’t had the sense to suspect the old Admiral’s telegram and come down to watch him. Don’t let’s talk about the old Admiral. Don’t let’s talk about anything. It’s enough to say that whenever this tower, with its pitch and resin-wood, really caught fire, the spark on the horizon always looked like the twin light to the coast light-house.”
“And that,” said Flambeau, “is how the father and brother died. The wicked uncle of the legends very nearly got his estate after all.”
Father Brown did not answer; indeed, he did not speak again, save for civilities, till they were all safe round a cigar-box in the cabin of the yacht. He saw that the frustrated160 fire was extinguished; and then refused to linger, though he actually heard young Pendragon, escorted by an enthusiastic crowd, come tramping up the river bank; and might (had he been moved by romantic curiosities) have received the combined thanks of the man from the ship and the girl from the canoe. But his fatigue had fallen on him once more, and he only started once, when Flambeau abruptly told him he had dropped cigar-ash on his trousers.
“That’s no cigar-ash,” he said rather wearily. “That’s from the fire, but you don’t think so because you’re all smoking cigars. That’s just the way I got my first faint suspicion about the chart.”
“Do you mean Pendragon’s chart of his Pacific Islands?” asked Fanshaw.
“You thought it was a chart of the Pacific Islands,” answered Brown. “Put a feather with a fossil and a bit of coral and everyone will think it’s a specimen161. Put the same feather with a ribbon and an artificial flower and everyone will think it’s for a lady’s hat. Put the same feather with an ink-bottle, a book and a stack of writing-paper, and most men will swear they’ve seen a quill162 pen. So you saw that map among tropic birds and shells and thought it was a map of Pacific Islands. It was the map of this river.”
“But how do you know?” asked Fanshaw.
“I saw the rock you thought was like a dragon, and the one like Merlin, and—”
“You seem to have noticed a lot as we came in,” cried Fanshaw. “We thought you were rather abstracted.”
“I was sea-sick,” said Father Brown simply. “I felt simply horrible. But feeling horrible has nothing to do with not seeing things.” And he closed his eyes.
“Do you think most men would have seen that?” asked Flambeau. He received no answer: Father Brown was asleep.
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1
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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3
grumbles
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| 抱怨( grumble的第三人称单数 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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4
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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5
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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6
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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8
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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10
winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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11
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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12
fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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13
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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14
laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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15
coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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16
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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17
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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18
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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19
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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20
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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21
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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22
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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23
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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24
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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25
unfamiliarity
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26
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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27
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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28
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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29
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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30
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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31
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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32
funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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33
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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34
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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35
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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36
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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37
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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38
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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39
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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40
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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41
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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42
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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43
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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44
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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45
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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46
renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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47
turrets
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| （六角）转台( turret的名词复数 )； （战舰和坦克等上的）转动炮塔； （摄影机等上的）镜头转台； （旧时攻城用的）塔车 | |
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48
vessels
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| 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 | |
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49
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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50
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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51
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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52
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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53
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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54
irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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55
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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56
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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57
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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58
shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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59
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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60
briskness
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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61
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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62
quainter
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| adj.古色古香的( quaint的比较级 )；少见的，古怪的 | |
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63
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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64
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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65
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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67
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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68
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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69
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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70
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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71
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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72
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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73
extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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74
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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75
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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76
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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77
hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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78
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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79
decompose
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| vi.分解；vt.（使）腐败，（使）腐烂 | |
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80
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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81
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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82
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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83
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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84
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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85
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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86
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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87
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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88
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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89
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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90
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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91
sundered
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| v.隔开，分开( sunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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93
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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94
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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95
idols
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| 偶像( idol的名词复数 )； 受崇拜的人或物； 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物； 神像 | |
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96
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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97
carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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98
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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99
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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100
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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101
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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102
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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103
indented
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| adj.锯齿状的，高低不平的；缩进排版 | |
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104
wriggly
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| adj.蠕动的，回避的；蜿蜒 | |
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105
shipwrecks
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| 海难，船只失事( shipwreck的名词复数 )； 沉船 | |
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106
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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107
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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108
dab
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| v.轻触，轻拍，轻涂；n.(颜料等的)轻涂 | |
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109
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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110
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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111
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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112
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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113
trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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114
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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115
culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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117
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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118
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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119
catastrophes
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| n.灾祸( catastrophe的名词复数 )；灾难；不幸事件；困难 | |
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120
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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121
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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122
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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123
mythologies
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| 神话学( mythology的名词复数 )； 神话（总称）； 虚构的事实； 错误的观点 | |
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124
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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125
atheist
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| n.无神论者 | |
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126
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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127
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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128
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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129
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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130
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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131
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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132
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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133
dawdling
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| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
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134
remonstrating
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的现在分词 )；告诫 | |
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135
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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136
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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137
slinging
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| 抛( sling的现在分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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138
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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139
brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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140
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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141
spouting
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| n.水落管系统v.（指液体）喷出( spout的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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142
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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143
trot
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| 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 | |
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144
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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145
electrified
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| v.使电气化( electrify的过去式和过去分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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146
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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147
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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148
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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149
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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150
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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151
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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152
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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153
redressed
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| v.改正( redress的过去式和过去分词 )；重加权衡；恢复平衡 | |
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154
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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155
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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156
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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157
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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158
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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160
frustrated
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| adj.挫败的，失意的，泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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161
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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162
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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