FLAMBEAU, once the most famous criminal in France and later a very private detective in England, had long retired1 from both professions. Some say a career of crime had left him with too many scruples2 for a career of detection. Anyhow, after a life of romantic escapes and tricks of evasion3, he had ended at what some might consider an appropriate address: in a castle in Spain. The castle, however, was solid though relatively4 small; and the black vineyard and green stripes of kitchen garden covered a respectable square on the brown hillside. For Flambeau, after all his violent adventures, still possessed5 what is possessed by so many Latins, what is absent (for instance) in so many Americans, the energy to retire. It can be seen in many a large hotel-proprietor whose one ambition is to be a small peasant. It can be seen in many a French provincial6 shopkeeper, who pauses at the moment when he might develop into a detestable millionaire and buy a street of shops, to fall back quietly and comfortably on domesticity and dominoes. Flambeau had casually7 and almost abruptly8 fallen in love with a Spanish Lady, married and brought up a large family on a Spanish estate, without displaying any apparent desire to stray again beyond its borders. But on one particular morning he was observed by his family to be unusually restless and excited; and he outran the little boys and descended9 the greater part of the long mountain slope to meet the visitor who was coming across the valley; even when the visitor was still a black dot in the distance.
The black dot gradually increased in size without very much altering in the shape; for it continued, roughly speaking, to be both round and black. The black clothes of clerics were not unknown upon those hills; but these clothes, however clerical, had about them something at once commonplace and yet almost jaunty10 in comparison with the cassock or soutane, and marked the wearer as a man from the northwestern islands, as clearly as if he had been labelled Clapham Junction11. He carried a short thick umbrella with a knob like a club, at the sight of which his Latin friend almost shed tears of sentiment; for it had figured in many adventures that they shared long ago. For this was the Frenchman's English friend. Father Brown, paying a long-desired but long-delayed visit. They had corresponded constantly, but they had not met for years.
Father Brown was soon established in the family circle, which was quite large enough to give the general sense of company or a community. He was introduced to the big wooden images of the Three Kings, of painted and gilded12 wood, who bring the gifts to the children at Christmas; for Spain is a country where the affairs of the children bulk large in the life of the home. He was introduced to the dog and the cat and the live-stock on the farm. But he was also, as it happened, introduced to one neighbour who, like himself, had brought into that valley the garb13 and manners of distant lands.
It was on the third night of the priest's stay at the little chateau14 that he beheld15 a stately stranger who paid his respects to the Spanish household with bows that no Spanish grandee16 could emulate17. He was a tall, thin grey-haired and very handsome gentleman, and his hands, cuffs18 and cuff-links had something overpowering in their polish. But his long face had nothing of that languor19 which is associated with long cuffs and manicuring in the caricatures of our own country. It was rather arrestingly alert and keen; and the eyes had an innocent intensity20 of inquiry21 that does not go often with grey hairs. That alone might have marked the man's nationality, as well the nasal note in his refined voice and his rather too ready assumption of the vast antiquity22 of all the European things around him. This was, indeed, no less a person than Mr. Grandison Chace, of Boston, an American traveller who had halted for a time in his American travels by taking a lease of the adjoining estate; a somewhat similar castle on a somewhat similar hill. He delighted in his old castle, and he regarded his friendly neighbour as a local antiquity of the same type. For Flambeau managed, as we have said, really to look retired in the sense of rooted. He might have grown there with his own vine and fig-tree for ages. He had resumed his real family name of Duroc; for the other title of "The Torch" had only been a title nom de guerre, like that under which such a man will often wage war on society. He was fond of his wife and family; he never went farther afield than was needed for a little shooting; and he seemed, to the American globe-trotter, the embodiment of that cult23 of a sunny respectability and a temperate24 luxury, which the American was wise enough to see and admire in the Mediterranean25 peoples. The rolling stone from the West was glad to rest for a moment on this rock in the South that had gathered so very much moss26. But Mr. Chace had heard of Father Brown, and his tone faintly changed, as towards a celebrity27. The interviewing instinct awoke, tactful but tense. If he did try to draw Father Brown, as if he were a tooth, it was done with the most dexterous28 and painless American dentistry.
They were sitting in a sort of partly unroofed outer court of the house, such as often forms the entrance to Spanish houses. It was dusk turning to dark; and as all that mountain air sharpens suddenly after sunset, a small stove stood on the flagstones, glowing with red eyes like a goblin, and painting a red pattern on the pavement; but scarcely a ray of it reached the lower bricks of the great bare, brown brick wall that went soaring up above them into the deep blue night. Flambeau's big broad-shouldered figure and great moustaches, like sabres, could be traced dimly in the twilight29, as he moved about, drawing dark wine from a great cask and handing it round. In his shadow, the priest looked very shrunken and small, as if huddled30 over the stove; but the American visitor leaned forward elegantly with his elbow on his knee and his fine pointed31 features in the full light; his eyes shone with inquisitive32 intelligence.
"I can assure you, sir," he was saying, "we consider your achievement in the matter of the Moonshine Murder the most remarkable33 triumph in the history of detective science."
Father Brown murmured something; some might have imagined that the murmur34 was a little like a moan.
"We are well acquainted," went on the stranger firmly, "with the alleged35 achievements of Dupin and others; and with those of Lecocq, Sherlock Holmes, Nicholas Carter, and other imaginative incarnations of the craft. But we observe there is in many ways, a marked difference between your own method, of approach and that of these other thinkers, whether fictitious36 or actual. Some have spec'lated, sir, as to whether the difference of method may perhaps involve rather the absence of method."
Father Brown was silent; then he started a little, almost as if he had been nodding over the stove, and said: "I beg your pardon. Yes.... Absence of method.... Absence of mind, too, I'm afraid."
"I should say of strictly37 tabulated38 scientific method," went on the inquirer. "Edgar Poe throws off several little essays in a conversational39 form, explaining Dupin's method, with its fine links of logic40. Dr. Watson had to listen to some pretty exact expositions of Holmes's method with its observation of material details. But nobody seems to have got on to any full account of your method. Father Brown, and I was informed you declined the offer to give a series of lectures in the States on the matter."
"Yes," said the priest, frowning at the stove; "I declined."
"Your refusal gave rise to a remarkable lot of interesting talk," remarked Chace. "I may say that some of our people are saying your science can't be expounded41, because it's something more than just natural science. They say your secret's not to be divulged42, as being occult in its character."
"Being what?" asked Father Brown, rather sharply.
"Why, kind of esoteric," replied the other. "I can tell you, people got considerably43 worked up about Gallup's murder, and Stein's murder, and then old man Merton's murder, and now Judge Gwynne's murder, and a double murder by Dalmon, who was well known in the States. And there were you, on the spot every time, slap in the middle of it; telling everybody how it was done and never telling anybody how you knew. So some people got to think you knew without looking, so to speak. And Carlotta Brownson gave a lecture on Thought-Forms with illustrations from these cases of yours. The Second Sight Sisterhood of Indianapolis——"
Father Brown, was still staring at the stove; then he said quite loud yet as if hardly aware that anyone heard him: "Oh, I say. This will never do."
"I don't exactly know how it's to be helped," said Mr. Chace humorously. "The Second Sight Sisterhood want a lot of holding down. The only way I can think of stopping it is for you to tell us the secret after all."
Father Brown groaned44. He put his head on his hands and remained a moment, as if full of a silent convulsion of thought. Then he lifted his head and said in a dull voice:
"Very well. I must tell the secret."
His eyes rolled darkly over the whole darkling scene, from the red eyes of the little stove to the stark45 expanse of the ancient wall, over which were standing46 out, more and more brightly, the strong stars of the south.
"The secret is," he said; and then stopped as if unable to go on. Then he began again and said:
"You see, it was I who killed all those people."
"What?" repeated the other, in a small voice out of a vast silence.
"You see, I had murdered them all myself," explained Father Brown patiently. "So, of course, I knew how it was done."
Grandison Chace had risen to his great height like a man lifted to the ceiling by a sort of slow explosion. Staring down at the other he repeated his incredulous question.
"I had planned out each of the crimes very carefully," went on Father Brown, "I had thought out exactly how a thing like that could be done, and in what style or state of mind a man could really do it. And when I was quite sure that I felt exactly like the murderer myself, of course I knew who he was."
Chace gradually released a sort of broken sigh.
"You frightened me all right," he said. "For the minute I really did think you meant you were the murderer. Just for the minute I kind of saw it splashed over all the papers in the States: 'Saintly Sleuth Exposed as Killer47: Hundred Crimes of Father Brown.' Why, of course, if it's just a figure of speech and means you tried to reconstruct the psychology——"
Father Brown rapped sharply on the stove with the short pipe he was about to fill; one or his very rare spasms48 of annoyance49 contracted his face.
"No, no, no," he said, almost angrily; "I don't mean just a figure of speech. This is what comes of trying to talk about deep things.... What's the good of words?... If you try to talk about a truth that's merely moral, people always think it's merely metaphorical50. A real live man with two legs once said to me: 'I only believe in the Holy Ghost in a spiritual sense.' Naturally, I said: 'In what other sense could you believe it?' And then he thought I meant he needn't believe in anything except evolution, or ethical51 fellowship, or some bilge.... I mean that I really did see myself, and my real self, committing the murders. I didn't actually kill the men by material means; but that's not the point. Any brick or bit of machinery52 might have killed them by material means. I mean that I thought and thought about how a man might come to be like that, until I realized that I really was like that, in everything except actual final consent to the action. It was once suggested to me by a friend of mine, as a sort of religious exercise. I believe he got it from Pope Leo XIII, who was always rather a hero of mine."
"I'm afraid," said the American, in tones that were still doubtful, and keeping his eye on the priest rather as if he were a wild animal, "that you'd have to explain a lot to me before I knew what you were talking about. The science of detection——"
Father Brown snapped his fingers with the same animated53 annoyance. "That's it," he cried; "that's just where we part company. Science is a grand thing when you can get it; in its real sense one of the grandest words in the world. But what do these men mean, nine times out often, when they use it nowadays? When they say detection is a science? When they say criminology is a science? They mean getting outside a man and studying him as if he were a gigantic insect: in what they would call a dry impartial54 light, in what I should call a dead and dehumanized light. They mean getting a long way off him, as if he were a distant prehistoric55 monster; staring at the shape of his 'criminal skull56' as if it were a sort of eerie57 growth, like the horn on a rhinoceros's nose. When the scientist talks about a type, he never means himself, but always his neighbour; probably his poorer neighbour. I don't deny the dry light may sometimes do good; though in one sense it's the very reverse of science. So far from being knowledge, it's actually suppression of what we know. It's treating a friend as a stranger, and pretending that something familiar is really remote and mysterious. It's like saying that a man has a proboscis58 between the eyes, or that he falls down in a fit of insensibility once every twenty-four hours. Well, what you call 'the secret' is exactly the opposite. I don't try to get outside the man. I try to get inside the murderer.... Indeed it's much more than that, don't you see? I am inside a man. I am always inside a man, moving his arms and legs; but I wait till I know I am inside a murderer, thinking his thoughts, wrestling with his passions; till I have bent59 myself into the posture60 of his hunched61 and peering hatred62; till I see the world with his bloodshot and squinting63 eyes, looking between the blinkers of his half-witted concentration; looking up the short and sharp perspective of a straight road to a pool of blood. Till I am really a murderer."
"Oh," said Mr. Chace, regarding him with a long, grim face, and added: "And that is what you call a religious exercise."
"Yes," said Father Brown; "that is what I call a religious exercise."
After an instant's silence he resumed: "It's so real a religious exercise that I'd rather not have said anything about it. But I simply couldn't have you going off and telling all your countrymen that I had a secret magic connected with Thought-Forms, could I? I've put it badly, but it's true. No man's really any good till he knows how bad he is, or might be; till he's realized exactly how much right he has to all this snobbery64, and sneering65, and talking about 'criminals,' as if they were apes in a forest ten thousand miles away; till he's got rid of all the dirty self-deception of talking about low types and deficient66 skulls67; till he's squeezed out of his soul the last drop of the oil of the Pharisees; till his only hope is somehow or other to have captured one criminal, and kept him safe and sane68 under his own hat."
Flambeau came forward and filled a great goblet69 with Spanish wine and set it before his friend, as he had already set one before his fellow guest. Then he himself spoke70 for the first time:
"I believe Father Brown has had a new batch71 of mysteries. We were talking about them the other day, I fancy. He has been dealing72 with some queer people since we last met."
"Yes; I know the stories more or less—but not the application," said Chace, lifting his glass thoughtfully. "Can you give me any examples, I wonder.... I mean, did you deal with this last batch in that introspective style?"
Father Brown also lifted his glass, and the glow of the fire turned the red wine transparent73, like the glorious blood-red glass of a martyr's window. The red flame seemed to hold his eyes and absorb his gaze that sank deeper and deeper into it, as if that single cup held a red sea of the blood of all men, and his soul were a diver, ever plunging74 in dark humility75 and inverted76 imagination, lower than its lowest monsters and its most ancient slime. In that cup, as in a red mirror, he saw many things; the doings of his last days moved in crimson77 shadows; the examples that his companions demanded danced in symbolic78 shapes; and there passed before him all the stories that are told here. Now, the luminous79 wine was like a vast red sunset upon dark red sands, where stood dark figures of men; one was fallen and another running towards him. Then the sunset seemed to break up into patches: red lanterns swinging from garden trees and a pond gleaming red with reflection; and then all the colour seemed to cluster again into a great rose of red crystal, a jewel that irradiated the world like a red sun, save for the shadow of a tall figure with a high head-dress as of some prehistoric priest; and then faded again till nothing was left but a flame of wild red beard blowing in the wind upon a wild grey moor80. All these things, which may be seen later from other angles and in other moods than his own, rose up in his memory at the challenge and began to form themselves into anecdotes81 and arguments.
"Yes," he said, as he raised the wine cup slowly to his lips, "I can remember pretty well——"
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1
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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2
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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3
evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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4
relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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5
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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6
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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7
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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8
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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9
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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10
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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11
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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12
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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13
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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14
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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15
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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16
grandee
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| n.贵族；大公 | |
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17
emulate
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| v.努力赶上或超越，与…竞争；效仿 | |
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18
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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19
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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20
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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21
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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22
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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23
cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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24
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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26
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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30
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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38
tabulated
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| 把（数字、事实）列成表( tabulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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40
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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41
expounded
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
divulged
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| v.吐露，泄露( divulge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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44
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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45
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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46
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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47
killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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48
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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49
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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50
metaphorical
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| a.隐喻的，比喻的 | |
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51
ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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52
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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53
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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54
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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55
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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56
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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57
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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58
proboscis
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| n.（象的）长鼻 | |
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59
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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60
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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61
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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62
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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63
squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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64
snobbery
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| n. 充绅士气派, 俗不可耐的性格 | |
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65
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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66
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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67
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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68
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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69
goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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70
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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71
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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72
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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73
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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74
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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75
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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76
inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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78
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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79
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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80
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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81
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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