the wisdom of father brown-第36章

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n　six　slender　pillars　of　painted　wood；　the　whole　being　raised　about　five　feet　above　the　parade　on　a　round　wooden　platform　like　a　drum。　　But　there　was　something　fantastic　about　the　snow　combined　with　something　artificial　about　the　gold　that　haunted　Flambeau　as　well　as　his　friend　with　some　association　he　could　not　capture；　but　which　he　knew　was　at　once　artistic　and　alien。

　　　　　〃I've　got　it；〃　he　said　at　last。　　〃It's　Japanese。　　It's　like　those　fanciful　Japanese　prints；　where　the　snow　on　the　mountain　looks　like　sugar；　and　the　gilt　on　the　pagodas　is　like　gilt　on　gingerbread。　　It　looks　just　like　a　little　pagan　temple。〃

　　　　　〃Yes；〃　said　Father　Brown。　　〃Let's　have　a　look　at　the　god。〃　And　with　an　agility　hardly　to　be　expected　of　him；　he　hopped　up　on　to　the　raised　platform。

　　　　　〃Oh；　very　well；〃　said　Flambeau；　laughing；　and　the　next　instant　his　own　towering　figure　was　visible　on　that　quaint　elevation。

　　　　　Slight　as　was　the　difference　of　height；　it　gave　in　those　level　wastes　a　sense　of　seeing　yet　farther　and　farther　across　land　and　sea。　　Inland　the　little　wintry　gardens　faded　into　a　confused　grey　copse；　beyond　that；　in　the　distance；　were　long　low　barns　of　a　lonely　farmhouse；　and　beyond　that　nothing　but　the　long　East　Anglian　plains。　　Seawards　there　was　no　sail　or　sign　of　life　save　a　few　seagulls：　　and　even　they　looked　like　the　last　snowflakes；　and　seemed　to　float　rather　than　fly。

　　　　　Flambeau　turned　abruptly　at　an　exclamation　behind　him。　　It　seemed　to　come　from　lower　down　than　might　have　been　expected；　and　to　be　addressed　to　his　heels　rather　than　his　head。　　He　instantly　held　out　his　hand；　but　he　could　hardly　help　laughing　at　what　he　saw。　　For　some　reason　or　other　the　platform　had　given　way　under　Father　Brown；　and　the　unfortunate　little　man　had　dropped　through　to　the　level　of　the　parade。　　He　was　just　tall　enough；　or　short　enough；　for　his　head　alone　to　stick　out　of　the　hole　in　the　broken　wood；　looking　like　St　John　the　Baptist's　head　on　a　charger。　　The　face　wore　a　disconcerted　expression；　as　did；　perhaps；　that　of　St　John　the　Baptist。

　　　　　In　a　moment　he　began　to　laugh　a　little。　　〃This　wood　must　be　rotten；〃　said　Flambeau。　　〃Though　it　seems　odd　it　should　bear　me；　and　you　go　through　the　weak　place。　　Let　me　help　you　out。〃

　　　　　But　the　little　priest　was　looking　rather　curiously　at　the　corners　and　edges　of　the　wood　alleged　to　be　rotten；　and　there　was　a　sort　of　trouble　on　his　brow。

　　　　　〃Come　along；〃　cried　Flambeau　impatiently；　still　with　his　big　brown　hand　extended。　　〃Don't　you　want　to　get　out？〃

　　　　　The　priest　was　holding　a　splinter　of　the　broken　wood　between　his　finger　and　thumb；　and　did　not　immediately　reply。　　At　last　he　said　thoughtfully：　　〃Want　to　get　out？　　Why；　no。　　I　rather　think　I　want　to　get　in。〃　And　he　dived　into　the　darkness　under　the　wooden　floor　so　abruptly　as　to　knock　off　his　big　curved　clerical　hat　and　leave　it　lying　on　the　boards　above；　without　any　clerical　head　in　it。

　　　　　Flambeau　looked　once　more　inland　and　out　to　sea；　and　once　more　could　see　nothing　but　seas　as　wintry　as　the　snow；　and　snows　as　level　as　the　sea。

　　　　　There　came　a　scurrying　noise　behind　him；　and　the　little　priest　came　scrambling　out　of　the　hole　faster　than　he　had　fallen　in。　　His　face　was　no　longer　disconcerted；　but　rather　resolute；　and；　perhaps　only　through　the　reflections　of　the　snow；　a　trifle　paler　than　usual。


　　　　　〃Well？〃　asked　his　tall　friend。　　〃Have　you　found　the　god　of　the　temple？〃

　　　　　〃No；〃　answered　Father　Brown。　　〃I　have　found　what　was　sometimes　more　important。　　The　Sacrifice。〃

　　　　　〃What　the　devil　do　you　mean？〃　cried　Flambeau；　quite　alarmed。

　　　　　Father　Brown　did　not　answer。　　He　was　staring；　with　a　knot　in　his　forehead；　at　the　landscape；　and　he　suddenly　pointed　at　it。　　〃What's　that　house　over　there？〃　he　asked。

　　　　　Following　his　finger；　Flambeau　saw　for　the　first　time　the　corners　of　a　building　nearer　than　the　farmhouse；　but　screened　for　the　most　part　with　a　fringe　of　trees。　　It　was　not　a　large　building；　and　stood　well　back　from　the　shore；　but　a　glint　of　ornament　on　it　suggested　that　it　was　part　of　the　same　watering…place　scheme　of　decoration　as　the　bandstand；　the　little　gardens　and　the　curly…backed　iron　seats。

　　　　　Father　Brown　jumped　off　the　bandstand；　his　friend　following；　and　as　they　walked　in　the　direction　indicated　the　trees　fell　away　to　right　and　left；　and　they　saw　a　small；　rather　flashy　hotel；　such　as　is　common　in　resortsthe　hotel　of　the　Saloon　Bar　rather　than　the　Bar　Parlour。　　Almost　the　whole　frontage　was　of　gilt　plaster　and　figured　glass；　and　between　that　grey　seascape　and　the　grey；　witch…like　trees；　its　gimcrack　quality　had　something　spectral　in　its　melancholy。　　They　both　felt　vaguely　that　if　any　food　or　drink　were　offered　at　such　a　hostelry；　it　would　be　the　paste…board　ham　and　empty　mug　of　the　pantomime。

　　　　　In　this；　however；　they　were　not　altogether　confirmed。　　As　they　drew　nearer　and　nearer　to　the　place　they　saw　in　front　of　the　buffet；　which　was　apparently　closed；　one　of　the　iron　garden…seats　with　curly　backs　that　had　adorned　the　gardens；　but　much　longer；　running　almost　the　whole　length　of　the　frontage。　　Presumably；　it　was　placed　so　that　visitors　might　sit　there　and　look　at　the　sea；　but　one　hardly　expected　to　find　anyone　doing　it　in　such　weather。

　　　　　Nevertheless；　just　in　front　of　the　extreme　end　of　the　iron　seat　stood　a　small　round　restaurant　table；　and　on　this　stood　a　small　bottle　of　Chablis　and　a　plate　of　almonds　and　raisins。　　Behind　the　table　and　on　the　seat　sat　a　dark…haired　young　man；　bareheaded；　and　gazing　at　the　sea　in　a　state　of　almost　astonishing　immobility。

　　　　　But　though　he　might　have　been　a　waxwork　when　they　were　within　four　yards　of　him；　he　jumped　up　like　a　jack…in…the…box　when　they　came　within　three；　and　said　in　a　deferential；　though　not　undignified；　manner：　　〃Will　you　step　inside；　gentlemen？　　I　have　no　staff　at　present；　but　I　can　get　you　anything　simple　myself。〃

　　　　　〃Much　obliged；〃　said　Flambeau。　　〃So　you　are　the　proprietor？〃

　　　　　〃Yes；〃　said　the　dark　man；　dropping　back　a　little　into　his　motionless　manner。　　〃My　waiters　are　all　Italians；　you　see；　and　I　thought　it　only　fair　they　should　see　their　countryman　beat　the　black；　if　he　really　can　do　it。　　You　know　the　great　fight　between　Malvoli　and　Nigger　Ned　is　coming　off　after　all？〃

　　　　　〃I'm　afraid　we　can't　wait　to　trouble　your　hospitality　seriously；〃　said　Father　Brown。　　〃But　my　friend　would　be　glad　of　a　glass　of　sherry；　I'm　sure；　to　keep　out　the　cold　and　drink　success　to　the　Latin　champion。〃

　　　　　Flambeau　did　not　understand　the　sherry；　but　he　did　not　object　to　it　in　the　least。　　He　could　only　say　amiably：　　〃Oh；　thank　you　very　much。〃

　　　　　〃Sherry；　sircertainly；〃　said　their　host；　turning　to　his　hostel。　　〃Excuse　me　if　I　detain　you　a　few　minutes。　　As　I　told　you；　I　have　no　staff〃　And　he　went　towards　the　black　windows　of　his　shuttered　and　unlighted　inn。

　　　　　〃Oh；　it　doesn't　really　matter；〃　began　Flambeau；　but　the　man　turned　to　reassure　him。

　　　　　〃I　have　the　keys；〃　he　said。　　〃I　could　find　my　way　in　the　dark。〃

　　　　　〃I　didn't　mean〃　began　Father　Brown。

　　　　　He　was　interrupted　by　a　bellowing　human　voice　that　came　out　of　the　bowels　of　the　uninhabited　hotel。　　It　thundered　some　foreign　name　loudly　but　inaudibly；　and　the　hotel　proprietor　moved　more　sharply　towards　it　than　he　had　done　for　Flambeau's　sherry。　　As　instant　evidence　proved；　the　proprietor　had　told；　then　and　after；　nothing　but　the　literal　truth。　　But　both　Flambeau　and　Father　Brown　have　often　confessed　that；　in　all　their　（often　outrageous）　adventures；　nothing　had　so　chilled　their　blood　as　that　voice　of　an　ogre；　sounding　suddenly　out　of　a　silent　and　empty　inn。

　　　　　〃My　cook！〃　cried　the　proprietor　hastily。　　〃I　had　forgotten　my　cook。　　He　will　be　starting　presently。　　Sherry；　sir？〃

　　　　　And；　sure　enough；　there　appeared　in　the　doorway　a　big　white　bulk　with　white　cap　and　white　apron；　as　befits　a　cook；　but　with　the　needless　emphasis　of　a　black　face。　　Flambeau　had　often　heard　that　negroes　made　good　cooks。　　But　somehow　something　in　the　contrast　of　colour　and　caste　increased　his　surprise　that　the　hotel　proprietor　should　answer　the　call　of　the　cook；　and　not　the　cook　the　call　of　the　proprietor。　　But　he　reflected　that　head　cooks　are　proverbially　arrogant；　and；