SIX -- The Head of Caesar
THERE is somewhere in Brompton or Kensington an interminable avenue oftall houses, rich but largely empty, that looks like a terrace of tombs.The very steps up to the dark front doors seem as steep as the side ofpyramids; one would hesitate to knock at the door, lest it should beopened by a mummy. But a yet more depressing feature in the grey facadeis its telescopic length and changeless continuity. The pilgrim walkingdown it begins to think he will never come to a break or a corner; butthere is one exception--a very small one, but hailed by the pilgrimalmost with a shout. There is a sort of mews between two of the tallmansions, a mere slit like the crack of a door by comparison withthe street, but just large enough to permit a pigmy ale-house oreating-house, still allowed by the rich to their stable-servants, tostand in the angle. There is something cheery in its very dinginess,and something free and elfin in its very insignificance. At the feet ofthose grey stone giants it looks like a lighted house of dwarfs.
Anyone passing the place during a certain autumn evening, itself almostfairylike, might have seen a hand pull aside the red half-blind which(along with some large white lettering) half hid the interior from thestreet, and a face peer out not unlike a rather innocent goblin's. Itwas, in fact, the face of one with the harmless human name of Brown,formerly priest of Cobhole in Essex, and now working in London. Hisfriend, Flambeau, a semi-official investigator, was sitting oppositehim, making his last notes of a case he had cleared up in theneighbourhood. They were sitting at a small table, close up to thewindow, when the priest pulled the curtain back and looked out. Hewaited till a stranger in the street had passed the window, to let thecurtain fall into its place again. Then his round eyes rolled to thelarge white lettering on the window above his head, and then strayed tothe next table, at which sat only a navvy with beer and cheese, and ayoung girl with red hair and a glass of milk. Then (seeing his friendput away the pocket-book), he said softly:
"If you've got ten minutes, I wish you'd follow that man with the falsenose."
Flambeau looked up in surprise; but the girl with the red hair alsolooked up, and with something that was stronger than astonishment. Shewas simply and even loosely dressed in light brown sacking stuff;but she was a lady, and even, on a second glance, a rather needlesslyhaughty one. "The man with the false nose!" repeated Flambeau. "Who'she?"
"I haven't a notion," answered Father Brown. "I want you to find out;I ask it as a favour. He went down there"--and he jerked his thumb overhis shoulder in one of his undistinguished gestures--"and can't havepassed three lamp-posts yet. I only want to know the direction."
Flambeau gazed at his friend for some time, with an expression betweenperplexity and amusement; and then, rising from the table; squeezed hishuge form out of the little door of the dwarf tavern, and melted intothe twilight.
Father Brown took a small book out of his pocket and began to readsteadily; he betrayed no consciousness of the fact that the red-hairedlady had left her own table and sat down opposite him. At last sheleaned over and said in a low, strong voice: "Why do you say that? Howdo you know it's false?"
He lifted his rather heavy eyelids, which fluttered in considerableembarrassment. Then his dubious eye roamed again to the white letteringon the glass front of the public-house. The young woman's eyes followedhis, and rested there also, but in pure puzzledom.
"No," said Father Brown, answering her thoughts. "It doesn't say 'Sela',like the thing in the Psalms; I read it like that myself when I waswool-gathering just now; it says 'Ales.'"
"Well?" inquired the staring young lady. "What does it matter what itsays?"
His ruminating eye roved to the girl's light canvas sleeve, round thewrist of which ran a very slight thread of artistic pattern, just enoughto distinguish it from a working-dress of a common woman and make itmore like the working-dress of a lady art-student. He seemed to findmuch food for thought in this; but his reply was very slow and hesitant."You see, madam," he said, "from outside the place looks--well, it is aperfectly decent place--but ladies like you don't--don't generally thinkso. They never go into such places from choice, except--"
"Well?" she repeated.
"Except an unfortunate few who don't go in to drink milk."
"You are a most singular person," said the young lady. "What is yourobject in all this?"
"Not to trouble you about it," he replied, very gently. "Only to armmyself with knowledge enough to help you, if ever you freely ask myhelp."
"But why should I need help?"
He continued his dreamy monologue. "You couldn't have come in to seeprotegees, humble friends, that sort of thing, or you'd have gonethrough into the parlour... and you couldn't have come in becauseyou were ill, or you'd have spoken to the woman of the place, who'sobviously respectable... besides, you don't look ill in that way, butonly unhappy.... This street is the only original long lane that hasno turning; and the houses on both sides are shut up.... I could onlysuppose that you'd seen somebody coming whom you didn't want to meet;and found the public-house was the only shelter in this wildernessof stone.... I don't think I went beyond the licence of a strangerin glancing at the only man who passed immediately after.... And as Ithought he looked like the wrong sort... and you looked like the rightsort.... I held myself ready to help if he annoyed you; that is all.As for my friend, he'll be back soon; and he certainly can't find outanything by stumping down a road like this.... I didn't think he could."
"Then why did you send him out?" she cried, leaning forward with yetwarmer curiosity. She had the proud, impetuous face that goes withreddish colouring, and a Roman nose, as it did in Marie Antoinette.
He looked at her steadily for the first time, and said: "Because I hopedyou would speak to me."
She looked back at him for some time with a heated face, in which therehung a red shadow of anger; then, despite her anxieties, humour brokeout of her eyes and the corners of her mouth, and she answered almostgrimly: "Well, if you're so keen on my conversation, perhaps you'llanswer my question." After a pause she added: "I had the honour to askyou why you thought the man's nose was false."
"The wax always spots like that just a little in this weather," answeredFather Brown with entire simplicity.
"But it's such a crooked nose," remonstrated the red-haired girl.
The priest smiled in his turn. "I don't say it's the sort of nose onewould wear out of mere foppery," he admitted. "This man, I think, wearsit because his real nose is so much nicer."
"But why?" she insisted.
"What is the nursery-rhyme?" observed Brown absent-mindedly. "There wasa crooked man and he went a crooked mile.... That man, I fancy, has gonea very crooked road--by following his nose."
"Why, what's he done?" she demanded, rather shakily.
"I don't want to force your confidence by a hair," said Father Brown,very quietly. "But I think you could tell me more about that than I cantell you."
The girl sprang to her feet and stood quite quietly, but with clenchedhands, like one about to stride away; then her hands loosened slowly,and she sat down again. "You are more of a mystery than all the others,"she said desperately, "but I feel there might be a heart in yourmystery."
"What we all dread most," said the priest in a low voice, "is a mazewith no centre. That is why atheism is only a nightmare." "I will tellyou everything," said the red-haired girl doggedly, "except why I amtelling you; and that I don't know."
She picked at the darned table-cloth and went on: "You look as if youknew what isn't snobbery as well as what is; and when I say that oursis a good old family, you'll understand it is a necessary part of thestory; indeed, my chief danger is in my brother's high-and-dry notions,noblesse oblige and all that. Well, my name is Christabel Carstairs; andmy father was that Colonel Carstairs you've probably heard of, who madethe famous Carstairs Collection of Roman coins. I could never describemy father to you; the nearest I can say is that he was very like a Romancoin himself. He was as handsome and as genuine and as valuable and asmetallic and as
out-of-date. He was prouder of his Collection than ofhis coat-of-arms--nobody could say more than that. His extraordinarycharacter came out most in his will. He had two sons and one daughter.He quarrelled with one son, my brother Giles, and sent him to Australiaon a small allowance. He then made a will leaving the CarstairsCollection, actually with a yet smaller allowance, to my brother Arthur.He meant it as a reward, as the highest honour he could offer, inacknowledgement of Arthur's loyalty and rectitude and the distinctionshe had already gained in mathematics and economics at Cambridge. He leftme practically all his pretty large fortune; and I am sure he meant itin contempt.
"Arthur, you may say, might well complain of this; but Arthur is myfather over again. Though he had some differences with my father inearly youth, no sooner had he taken over the Collection than he becamelike a pagan priest dedicated to a temple. He mixed up these Romanhalfpence with the honour of the Carstairs family in the same stiff,idolatrous way as his father before him. He acted as if Roman moneymust be guarded by all the Roman virtues. He took no pleasures; he spentnothing on himself; he lived for the Collection. Often he would nottrouble to dress for his simple meals; but pattered about among thecorded brown-paper parcels (which no one else was allowed to touch) inan old brown dressing-gown. With its rope and tassel and his pale, thin,refined face, it made him look like an old ascetic monk. Every nowand then, though, he would appear dressed like a decidedly fashionablegentleman; but that was only when he went up to the London sales orshops to make an addition to the Carstairs Collection.
"Now, if you've known any young people, you won't be shocked if I saythat I got into rather a low frame of mind with all this; the frame ofmind in which one begins to say that the Ancient Romans were all verywell in their way. I'm not like my brother Arthur; I can't help enjoyingenjoyment. I got a lot of romance and rubbish where I got my red hair,from the other side of the family. Poor Giles was the same; and I thinkthe atmosphere of coins might count in excuse for him; though he reallydid wrong and nearly went to prison. But he didn't behave any worse thanI did; as you shall hear.
"I come now to the silly part of the story. I think a man as clever asyou can guess the sort of thing that would begin to relieve the monotonyfor an unruly girl of seventeen placed in such a position. But I am sorattled with more dreadful things that I can hardly read my own feeling;and don't know whether I despise it now as a flirtation or bear it as abroken heart. We lived then at a little seaside watering-place in SouthWales, and a retired sea-captain living a few doors off had a son aboutfive years older than myself, who had been a friend of Giles before hewent to the Colonies. His name does not affect my tale; but I tell youit was Philip Hawker, because I am telling you everything. We used togo shrimping together, and said and thought we were in love with eachother; at least he certainly said he was, and I certainly thought I was.If I tell you he had bronzed curly hair and a falconish sort of face,bronzed by the sea also, it's not for his sake, I assure you, but forthe story; for it was the cause of a very curious coincidence.
"One summer afternoon, when I had promised to go shrimping alongthe sands with Philip, I was waiting rather impatiently in the frontdrawing-room, watching Arthur handle some packets of coins he had justpurchased and slowly shunt them, one or two at a time, into his own darkstudy and museum which was at the back of the house. As soon as I heardthe heavy door close on him finally, I made a bolt for my shrimping-netand tam-o'-shanter and was just going to slip out, when I saw that mybrother had left behind him one coin that lay gleaming on the long benchby the window. It was a bronze coin, and the colour, combined with theexact curve of the Roman nose and something in the very lift of thelong, wiry neck, made the head of Caesar on it the almost preciseportrait of Philip Hawker. Then I suddenly remembered Giles tellingPhilip of a coin that was like him, and Philip wishing he had it.Perhaps you can fancy the wild, foolish thoughts with which my head wentround; I felt as if I had had a gift from the fairies. It seemed to methat if I could only run away with this, and give it to Philip like awild sort of wedding-ring, it would be a bond between us for ever; Ifelt a thousand such things at once. Then there yawned under me, likethe pit, the enormous, awful notion of what I was doing; above all, theunbearable thought, which was like touching hot iron, of what Arthurwould think of it. A Carstairs a thief; and a thief of the Carstairstreasure! I believe my brother could see me burned like a witch for sucha thing, But then, the very thought of such fanatical cruelty heightenedmy old hatred of his dingy old antiquarian fussiness and my longing forthe youth and liberty that called to me from the sea. Outside was strongsunlight with a wind; and a yellow head of some broom or gorse in thegarden rapped against the glass of the window. I thought of that livingand growing gold calling to me from all the heaths of the world--andthen of that dead, dull gold and bronze and brass of my brother'sgrowing dustier and dustier as life went by. Nature and the CarstairsCollection had come to grips at last.
"Nature is older than the Carstairs Collection. As I ran down thestreets to the sea, the coin clenched tight in my fist, I felt all theRoman Empire on my back as well as the Carstairs pedigree. It was notonly the old lion argent that was roaring in my ear, but all the eaglesof the Caesars seemed flapping and screaming in pursuit of me. And yetmy heart rose higher and higher like a child's kite, until I came overthe loose, dry sand-hills and to the flat, wet sands, where Philip stoodalready up to his ankles in the shallow shining water, some hundredyards out to sea. There was a great red sunset; and the long stretch oflow water, hardly rising over the ankle for half a mile, was like a lakeof ruby flame. It was not till I had torn off my shoes and stockings andwaded to where he stood, which was well away from the dry land, that Iturned and looked round. We were quite alone in a circle of sea-waterand wet sand, and I gave him the head of Caesar.
"At the very instant I had a shock of fancy: that a man far away onthe sand-hills was looking at me intently. I must have felt immediatelyafter that it was a mere leap of unreasonable nerves; for the man wasonly a dark dot in the distance, and I could only just see that he wasstanding quite still and gazing, with his head a little on one side.There was no earthly logical evidence that he was looking at me; hemight have been looking at a ship, or the sunset, or the sea-gulls,or at any of the people who still strayed here and there on the shorebetween us. Nevertheless, whatever my start sprang from was prophetic;for, as I gazed, he started walking briskly in a bee-line towards usacross the wide wet sands. As he drew nearer and nearer I saw thathe was dark and bearded, and that his eyes were marked with darkspectacles. He was dressed poorly but respectably in black, from the oldblack top hat on his head to the solid black boots on his feet. In spiteof these he walked straight into the sea without a flash of hesitation,and came on at me with the steadiness of a travelling bullet.
"I can't tell you the sense of monstrosity and miracle I had when hethus silently burst the barrier between land and water. It was as if hehad walked straight off a cliff and still marched steadily in mid-air.It was as if a house had flown up into the sky or a man's head hadfallen off. He was only wetting his boots; but he seemed to be a demondisregarding a law of Nature. If he had hesitated an instant at thewater's edge it would have been nothing. As it was, he seemed to look somuch at me alone as not to notice the ocean. Philip was some yards awaywith his back to me, bending over his net. The stranger came on tillhe stood within two yards of me, the water washing half-way up tohis knees. Then he said, with a clearly modulated and rather mincingarticulation: 'Would it discommode you to contribute elsewhere a coinwith a somewhat different superscription?'
"With one exception there was nothing definably abnormal about him. Histinted glasses were not really opaque, but of a blue kind common enough,nor were the eyes behind them shifty, but regarded me steadily. His darkbeard was not really long or wild--, but he looked rather hairy, becausethe beard began very high up in his face, just under the cheek-bones.His complexion was neither sallow nor livid, but on the contrary ratherclear and youthful; yet this gave a pink-and-white wax
look whichsomehow (I don't know why) rather increased the horror. The only oddityone could fix was that his nose, which was otherwise of a good shape,was just slightly turned sideways at the tip; as if, when it was soft,it had been tapped on one side with a toy hammer. The thing was hardlya deformity; yet I cannot tell you what a living nightmare it was tome. As he stood there in the sunset-stained water he affected me as somehellish sea-monster just risen roaring out of a sea like blood. I don'tknow why a touch on the nose should affect my imagination so much. Ithink it seemed as if he could move his nose like a finger. And as if hehad just that moment moved it.
"'Any little assistance,' he continued with the same queer, priggishaccent, 'that may obviate the necessity of my communicating with thefamily.'
"Then it rushed over me that I was being blackmailed for the theft ofthe bronze piece; and all my merely superstitious fears and doubts wereswallowed up in one overpowering, practical question. How could hehave found out? I had stolen the thing suddenly and on impulse; I wascertainly alone; for I always made sure of being unobserved when Islipped out to see Philip in this way. I had not, to all appearance,been followed in the street; and if I had, they could not 'X-ray' thecoin in my closed hand. The man standing on the sand-hills could no morehave seen what I gave Philip than shoot a fly in one eye, like the manin the fairy-tale.
"'Philip,' I cried helplessly, 'ask this man what he wants.'
"When Philip lifted his head at last from mending his net he lookedrather red, as if sulky or ashamed; but it may have been only theexertion of stooping and the red evening light; I may have only hadanother of the morbid fancies that seemed to be dancing about me. Hemerely said gruffly to the man: 'You clear out of this.' And, motioningme to follow, set off wading shoreward without paying further attentionto him. He stepped on to a stone breakwater that ran out from among theroots of the sand-hills, and so struck homeward, perhaps thinking ourincubus would find it less easy to walk on such rough stones, green andslippery with seaweed, than we, who were young and used to it. But mypersecutor walked as daintily as he talked; and he still followedme, picking his way and picking his phrases. I heard his delicate,detestable voice appealing to me over my shoulder, until at last, whenwe had crested the sand-hills, Philip's patience (which was by no meansso conspicuous on most occasions) seemed to snap. He turned suddenly,saying, 'Go back. I can't talk to you now.' And as the man hovered andopened his mouth, Philip struck him a buffet on it that sent him flyingfrom the top of the tallest sand-hill to the bottom. I saw him crawlingout below, covered with sand.
"This stroke comforted me somehow, though it might well increase myperil; but Philip showed none of his usual elation at his own prowess.Though as affectionate as ever, he still seemed cast down; and beforeI could ask him anything fully, he parted with me at his own gate,with two remarks that struck me as strange. He said that, all thingsconsidered, I ought to put the coin back in the Collection; but thathe himself would keep it 'for the present'. And then he added quitesuddenly and irrelevantly: 'You know Giles is back from Australia?'"
The door of the tavern opened and the gigantic shadow of theinvestigator Flambeau fell across the table. Father Brown presented himto the lady in his own slight, persuasive style of speech, mentioninghis knowledge and sympathy in such cases; and almost without knowing,the girl was soon reiterating her story to two listeners. But Flambeau,as he bowed and sat down, handed the priest a small slip of paper. Brownaccepted it with some surprise and read on it: "Cab to Wagga Wagga, 379,Mafeking Avenue, Putney." The girl was going on with her story.
"I went up the steep street to my own house with my head in a whirl; ithad not begun to clear when I came to the doorstep, on which I found amilk-can--and the man with the twisted nose. The milk-can told me theservants were all out; for, of course, Arthur, browsing about in hisbrown dressing-gown in a brown study, would not hear or answer a bell.Thus there was no one to help me in the house, except my brother, whosehelp must be my ruin. In desperation I thrust two shillings into thehorrid thing's hand, and told him to call again in a few days, when Ihad thought it out. He went off sulking, but more sheepishly than I hadexpected--perhaps he had been shaken by his fall--and I watched thestar of sand splashed on his back receding down the road with a horridvindictive pleasure. He turned a corner some six houses down.
"Then I let myself in, made myself some tea, and tried to think it out.I sat at the drawing-room window looking on to the garden, which stillglowed with the last full evening light. But I was too distracted anddreamy to look at the lawns and flower-pots and flower-beds with anyconcentration. So I took the shock the more sharply because I'd seen itso slowly.
"The man or monster I'd sent away was standing quite still in the middleof the garden. Oh, we've all read a lot about pale-faced phantoms in thedark; but this was more dreadful than anything of that kind could everbe. Because, though he cast a long evening shadow, he still stood inwarm sunlight. And because his face was not pale, but had that waxenbloom still upon it that belongs to a barber's dummy. He stood quitestill, with his face towards me; and I can't tell you how horridhe looked among the tulips and all those tall, gaudy, almosthothouse-looking flowers. It looked as if we'd stuck up a waxworkinstead of a statue in the centre of our garden.
"Yet almost the instant he saw me move in the window he turned and ranout of the garden by the back gate, which stood open and by which he hadundoubtedly entered. This renewed timidity on his part was so differentfrom the impudence with which he had walked into the sea, that I feltvaguely comforted. I fancied, perhaps, that he feared confronting Arthurmore than I knew. Anyhow, I settled down at last, and had a quietdinner alone (for it was against the rules to disturb Arthur when he wasrearranging the museum), and, my thoughts, a little released, fled toPhilip and lost themselves, I suppose. Anyhow, I was looking blankly,but rather pleasantly than otherwise, at another window, uncurtained,but by this time black as a slate with the final night-fall. It seemedto me that something like a snail was on the outside of the window-pane.But when I stared harder, it was more like a man's thumb pressed on thepane; it had that curled look that a thumb has. With my fear and couragere-awakened together, I rushed at the window and then recoiled with astrangled scream that any man but Arthur must have heard.
"For it was not a thumb, any more than it was a snail. It was the tipof a crooked nose, crushed against the glass; it looked white withthe pressure; and the staring face and eyes behind it were at firstinvisible and afterwards grey like a ghost. I slammed the shutterstogether somehow, rushed up to my room and locked myself in. But, evenas I passed, I could swear I saw a second black window with something onit that was like a snail.
"It might be best to go to Arthur after all. If the thing was crawlingclose all around the house like a cat, it might have purposes worse eventhan blackmail. My brother might cast me out and curse me for ever, buthe was a gentleman, and would defend me on the spot. After ten minutes'curious thinking, I went down, knocked on the door and then went in: tosee the last and worst sight.
"My brother's chair was empty, and he was obviously out. But the manwith the crooked nose was sitting waiting for his return, with his hatstill insolently on his head, and actually reading one of my brother'sbooks under my brother's lamp. His face was composed and occupied, buthis nose-tip still had the air of being the most mobile part of hisface, as if it had just turned from left to right like an elephant'sproboscis. I had thought him poisonous enough while he was pursuing andwatching me; but I think his unconsciousness of my presence was morefrightful still.
"I think I screamed loud and long; but that doesn't matter. What I didnext does matter: I gave him all the money I had, including a good dealin paper which, though it was mine, I dare say I had no right to touch.He went off at last, with hateful, tactful regrets all in long words;and I sat down, feeling ruined in every sense. And yet I was saved thatvery night by a pure accident. Arthur had gone off suddenly to London,as he so often did, for bargains; and returned, late but radiant, havingnearly secured a
treasure that was an added splendour even to thefamily Collection. He was so resplendent that I was almost emboldened toconfess the abstraction of the lesser gem--, but he bore down all othertopics with his over-powering projects. Because the bargain might stillmisfire any moment, he insisted on my packing at once and going upwith him to lodgings he had already taken in Fulham, to be near thecurio-shop in question. Thus in spite of myself, I fled from my foealmost in the dead of night--but from Philip also.... My brother wasoften at the South Kensington Museum, and, in order to make some sort ofsecondary life for myself, I paid for a few lessons at the Art Schools.I was coming back from them this evening, when I saw the abomination ofdesolation walking alive down the long straight street and the rest isas this gentleman has said.
"I've got only one thing to say. I don't deserve to be helped; and Idon't question or complain of my punishment; it is just, it ought tohave happened. But I still question, with bursting brains, how it canhave happened. Am I punished by miracle? or how can anyone but Philipand myself know I gave him a tiny coin in the middle of the sea?"
"It is an extraordinary problem," admitted Flambeau.
"Not so extraordinary as the answer," remarked Father Brown rathergloomily. "Miss Carstairs, will you be at home if we call at your Fulhamplace in an hour and a half hence?"
The girl looked at him, and then rose and put her gloves on. "Yes," shesaid, "I'll be there"; and almost instantly left the place.
That night the detective and the priest were still talking of the matteras they drew near the Fulham house, a tenement strangely mean even for atemporary residence of the Carstairs family.
"Of course the superficial, on reflection," said Flambeau, "would thinkfirst of this Australian brother who's been in trouble before,who's come back so suddenly and who's just the man to have shabbyconfederates. But I can't see how he can come into the thing by anyprocess of thought, unless..."
"Well?" asked his companion patiently.
Flambeau lowered his voice. "Unless the girl's lover comes in, too,and he would be the blacker villain. The Australian chap did know thatHawker wanted the coin. But I can't see how on earth he could know thatHawker had got it, unless Hawker signalled to him or his representativeacross the shore."
"That is true," assented the priest, with respect.
"Have you noted another thing?" went on Flambeau eagerly, "this Hawkerhears his love insulted, but doesn't strike till he's got to the softsand-hills, where he can be victor in a mere sham-fight. If he'd struckamid rocks and sea, he might have hurt his ally."
"That is true again," said Father Brown, nodding.
"And now, take it from the start. It lies between few people, but atleast three. You want one person for suicide; two people for murder; butat least three people for blackmail"
"Why?" asked the priest softly.
"Well, obviously," cried his friend, "there must be one to be exposed;one to threaten exposure; and one at least whom exposure would horrify."
After a long ruminant pause, the priest said: "You miss a logical step.Three persons are needed as ideas. Only two are needed as agents."
"What can you mean?" asked the other.
"Why shouldn't a blackmailer," asked Brown, in a low voice, "threatenhis victim with himself? Suppose a wife became a rigid teetotaller inorder to frighten her husband into concealing his pub-frequenting, andthen wrote him blackmailing letters in another hand, threatening totell his wife! Why shouldn't it work? Suppose a father forbade a son togamble and then, following him in a good disguise, threatened the boywith his own sham paternal strictness! Suppose--but, here we are, myfriend."
"My God!" cried Flambeau; "you don't mean--"
An active figure ran down the steps of the house and showed under thegolden lamplight the unmistakable head that resembled the Roman coin."Miss Carstairs," said Hawker without ceremony, "wouldn't go in till youcame."
"Well," observed Brown confidently, "don't you think it's the bestthing she can do to stop outside--with you to look after her? You see, Irather guess you have guessed it all yourself."
"Yes," said the young man, in an undertone, "I guessed on the sands andnow I know; that was why I let him fall soft."
Taking a latchkey from the girl and the coin from Hawker, Flambeau lethimself and his friend into the empty house and passed into the outerparlour. It was empty of all occupants but one. The man whom FatherBrown had seen pass the tavern was standing against the wall as ifat bay; unchanged, save that he had taken off his black coat and waswearing a brown dressing-gown.
"We have come," said Father Brown politely, "to give back this coin toits owner." And he handed it to the man with the nose.
Flambeau's eyes rolled. "Is this man a coin-collector?" he asked.
"This man is Mr Arthur Carstairs," said the priest positively, "and heis a coin-collector of a somewhat singular kind."
The man changed colour so horribly that the crooked nose stood out onhis face like a separate and comic thing. He spoke, nevertheless, with asort of despairing dignity. "You shall see, then," he said, "that I havenot lost all the family qualities." And he turned suddenly and strodeinto an inner room, slamming the door.
"Stop him!" shouted Father Brown, bounding and half falling over achair; and, after a wrench or two, Flambeau had the door open. But itwas too late. In dead silence Flambeau strode across and telephoned fordoctor and police.
An empty medicine bottle lay on the floor. Across the table the bodyof the man in the brown dressing-gown lay amid his burst and gapingbrown-paper parcels; out of which poured and rolled, not Roman, but verymodern English coins.
The priest held up the bronze head of Caesar. "This," he said, "was allthat was left of the Carstairs Collection."
After a silence he went on, with more than common gentleness: "It wasa cruel will his wicked father made, and you see he did resent it alittle. He hated the Roman money he had, and grew fonder of the realmoney denied him. He not only sold the Collection bit by bit, but sankbit by bit to the basest ways of making money--even to blackmailing hisown family in a disguise. He blackmailed his brother from Australia forhis little forgotten crime (that is why he took the cab to Wagga Waggain Putney), he blackmailed his sister for the theft he alone could havenoticed. And that, by the way, is why she had that supernatural guesswhen he was away on the sand-dunes. Mere figure and gait, howeverdistant, are more likely to remind us of somebody than a well-made-upface quite close."
There was another silence. "Well," growled the detective, "and so thisgreat numismatist and coin-collector was nothing but a vulgar miser."
"Is there so great a difference?" asked Father Brown, in the samestrange, indulgent tone. "What is there wrong about a miser that is notoften as wrong about a collector? What is wrong, except... thou shaltnot make to thyself any graven image; thou shalt not bow down to themnor serve them, for I...but we must go and see how the poor young peopleare getting on."
"I think," said Flambeau, "that in spite of everything, they areprobably getting on very well."
The Wisdom of Father Brown Page 7
