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lock burst at the same instant, and he went out into the empty path behind,
carrying the great garden door with him, as Samson carried the gates of Gaza.
Then he flung the garden door over the garden wall, just as a third shot
picked up a spurt of snow and dust behind his heel. Without ceremony he
snatched up the little priest, slung him astraddle on his shoulders, and went
racing towards Seawood as fast as his long legs could carry him. It was not
until nearly two miles farther on that he set his small companion down. It had
hardly been a dignified escape, in spite of the classic model of Anchises, but
Father Brown s face only wore a broad grin.
Well, said Flambeau, after an impatient silence, as they resumed their more
conventional tramp through the streets on the edge of the town, where no
outrage need be feared, I don t know what all this means, but I take it I may
trust my own eyes that you never met the man you have so accurately
described.
I did meet him in a way, Brown said, biting his finger rather nervously I
did really. And it was too dark to see him properly, because it was under that
bandstand affair. But I m afraid I didn t describe him so very accurately
after all, for his pince-nez was broken under him, and the long gold pin
wasn t stuck through his purple scarf but through his heart.
And I suppose, said the other in a lower voice, that glass-eyed guy had
something to do with it.
I had hoped he had only a little, answered Brown in a rather troubled
voice, and I may have been wrong in what I did. I acted on impulse. But I
fear this business has deep roots and dark.
They walked on through some streets in silence. The yellow lamps were
beginning to be lit in the cold blue twilight, and they were evidently
approaching the more central parts of the town. Highly colored bills
announcing the glove-fight between Nigger Ned and Malvoli were slapped about
the walls.
Well, said Flambeau, I never murdered anyone, even in my criminal days,
but I can almost sympathize with anyone doing it in such a dreary place. Of
all God-forsaken dustbins of Nature, I think the most heart-breaking are
places like that bandstand, that were meant to be festive and are forlorn. I
can fancy a morbid man feeling he must kill his rival in the solitude and
irony of such a scene. I remember once taking a tramp in your glorious Surrey
hills, thinking of nothing but gorse and skylarks, when I came out on a vast
circle of land, and over me lifted a vast, voiceless structure, tier above
tier of seats, as huge as a Roman amphitheatre and as empty as a new
letter-rack. A bird sailed in heaven over it. It was the Grand Stand at Epsom.
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And I felt that no one would ever be happy there again.
It s odd you should mention Epsom, said the priest. Do you remember what
was called the Sutton Mystery, because two suspected men ice-cream men, I
think happened to live at Sutton? They were eventually released. A man was
found strangled, it was said, on the Downs round that part. As a fact, I know
(from an Irish policeman who is a friend of mine) that he was found close up
to the Epsom Grand Stand in fact, only hidden by one of the lower doors being
pushed back.
That is queer, assented Flambeau. But it rather confirms my view that such
pleasure places look awfully lonely out of season, or the man wouldn t have
been murdered there.
I m not so sure he began Brown, and stopped.
Not so sure he was murdered? queried his companion.
Not so sure he was murdered out of the season, answered the little priest,
with simplicity. Don t you think there s something rather tricky about this
solitude, Flambeau? Do you feel sure a wise murderer would always want the
spot to be lonely? It s very, very seldom a man is quite alone. And, short of
that, the more alone he is, the more certain he is to be seen. No; I think
there must be some other Why, here we are at the Pavilion or Palace, or
whatever they call it.
They had emerged on a small square, brilliantly lighted, of which the
principal building was gay with gilding, gaudy with posters, and flanked with
two giant photographs of Malvoli and Nigger Ned.
Hallo! cried Flambeau in great surprise, as his clerical friend stumped
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