the innocence of father brown-第44章

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t…fire　self…dependence。　　　　　She　certainly　had　a　temper；　of　a　snappy；　practical　sort；　the　gestures　of　her　thin；　elegant　hands　were　abrupt　or　even　destructive。　Once　Flambeau　entered　her　office　on　some　typewriting　business；　and　found　she　had　just　flung　a　pair　of　spectacles　belonging　to　her　sister　into　the　middle　of　the　floor　and　stamped　on　them。　　She　was　already　in　the　rapids　of　an　ethical　tirade　about　the　〃sickly　medical　notions〃　and　the　morbid　admission　of　weakness　implied　in　such　an　apparatus。　　She　dared　her　sister　to　bring　such　artificial；　unhealthy　rubbish　into　the　place　again。　　She　asked　if　she　was　expected　to　wear　wooden　legs　or　false　hair　or　glass　eyes；　and　as　she　spoke　her　eyes　sparkled　like　the　terrible　crystal。　　　　　Flambeau；　quite　bewildered　with　this　fanaticism；　could　not　refrain　from　asking　Miss　Pauline　（with　direct　French　logic）　why　a　pair　of　spectacles　was　a　more　morbid　sign　of　weakness　than　a　lift；　and　why；　if　science　might　help　us　in　the　one　effort；　it　might　not　help　us　in　the　other。　　　　　〃That　is　so　different；〃　said　Pauline　Stacey；　loftily。　〃Batteries　and　motors　and　all　those　things　are　marks　of　the　force　of　manyes；　Mr。　Flambeau；　and　the　force　of　woman；　too！　　We　shall　take　our　turn　at　these　great　engines　that　devour　distance　and　defy　time。　　That　is　high　and　splendidthat　is　really　science。　　But　these　nasty　props　and　plasters　the　doctors　sell　why；　they　are　just　badges　of　poltroonery。　　Doctors　stick　on　legs　and　arms　as　if　we　were　born　cripples　and　sick　slaves。　　But　I　was　free…born；　Mr。　Flambeau！　　People　only　think　they　need　these　things　because　they　have　been　trained　in　fear　instead　of　being　trained　in　power　and　courage；　just　as　the　silly　nurses　tell　children　not　to　stare　at　the　sun；　and　so　they　can't　do　it　without　blinking。　　But　why　among　the　stars　should　there　be　one　star　I　may　not　see？　　The　sun　is　not　my　master；　and　I　will　open　my　eyes　and　stare　at　him　whenever　I　choose。〃　　　　　〃Your　eyes；〃　said　Flambeau；　with　a　foreign　bow；　〃will　dazzle　the　sun。〃　　He　took　pleasure　in　complimenting　this　strange　stiff　beauty；　partly　because　it　threw　her　a　little　off　her　balance。　　But　as　he　went　upstairs　to　his　floor　he　drew　a　deep　breath　and　whistled；　saying　to　himself：　〃So　she　has　got　into　the　hands　of　that　conjurer　upstairs　with　his　golden　eye。〃　　For；　little　as　he　knew　or　cared　about　the　new　religion　of　Kalon；　he　had　heard　of　his　special　notion　about　sun…gazing。　　　　　He　soon　discovered　that　the　spiritual　bond　between　the　floors　above　and　below　him　was　close　and　increasing。　　The　man　who　called　himself　Kalon　was　a　magnificent　creature；　worthy；　in　a　physical　sense；　to　be　the　pontiff　of　Apollo。　　He　was　nearly　as　tall　even　as　Flambeau；　and　very　much　better　looking；　with　a　golden　beard；　strong　blue　eyes；　and　a　mane　flung　back　like　a　lion's。　　In　structure　he　was　the　blonde　beast　of　Nietzsche；　but　all　this　animal　beauty　was　heightened；　brightened　and　softened　by　genuine　intellect　and　spirituality。　　If　he　looked　like　one　of　the　great　Saxon　kings；　he　looked　like　one　of　the　kings　that　were　also　saints。　　And　this　despite　the　cockney　incongruity　of　his　surroundings；　the　fact　that　he　had　an　office　half…way　up　a　building　in　Victoria　Street；　that　the　clerk　（a　commonplace　youth　in　cuffs　and　collars）　sat　in　the　outer　room；　between　him　and　the　corridor；　that　his　name　was　on　a　brass　plate；　and　the　gilt　emblem　of　his　creed　hung　above　his　street；　like　the　advertisement　of　an　oculist。　　All　this　vulgarity　could　not　take　away　from　the　man　called　Kalon　the　vivid　oppression　and　inspiration　that　came　from　his　soul　and　body。　　When　all　was　said；　a　man　in　the　presence　of　this　quack　did　feel　in　the　presence　of　a　great　man。　　Even　in　the　loose　jacket…suit　of　linen　that　he　wore　as　a　workshop　dress　in　his　office　he　was　a　fascinating　and　formidable　figure；　and　when　robed　in　the　white　vestments　and　crowned　with　the　golden　circlet；　in　which　he　daily　saluted　the　sun；　he　really　looked　so　splendid　that　the　laughter　of　the　street　people　sometimes　died　suddenly　on　their　lips。　　For　three　times　in　the　day　the　new　sun…worshipper　went　out　on　his　little　balcony；　in　the　face　of　all　Westminster；　to　say　some　litany　to　his　shining　lord：　once　at　daybreak；　once　at　sunset；　and　once　at　the　shock　of　noon。　　And　it　was　while　the　shock　of　noon　still　shook　faintly　from　the　towers　of　Parliament　and　parish　church　that　Father　Brown；　the　friend　of　Flambeau；　first　looked　up　and　saw　the　white　priest　of　Apollo。　　　　　Flambeau　had　seen　quite　enough　of　these　daily　salutations　of　Phoebus；　and　plunged　into　the　porch　of　the　tall　building　without　even　looking　for　his　clerical　friend　to　follow。　　But　Father　Brown；　whether　from　a　professional　interest　in　ritual　or　a　strong　individual　interest　in　tomfoolery；　stopped　and　stared　up　at　the　balcony　of　the　sun…worshipper；　just　as　he　might　have　stopped　and　stared　up　at　a　Punch　and　Judy。　　Kalon　the　Prophet　was　already　erect；　with　argent　garments　and　uplifted　hands；　and　the　sound　of　his　strangely　penetrating　voice　could　be　heard　all　the　way　down　the　busy　street　uttering　his　solar　litany。　　He　was　already　in　the　middle　of　it；　his　eyes　were　fixed　upon　the　flaming　disc。　　It　is　doubtful　if　he　saw　anything　or　anyone　on　this　earth；　it　is　substantially　certain　that　he　did　not　see　a　stunted；　round…faced　priest　who；　in　the　crowd　below；　looked　up　at　him　with　blinking　eyes。　　That　was　perhaps　the　most　startling　difference　between　even　these　two　far　divided　men。　　Father　Brown　could　not　look　at　anything　without　blinking；　but　the　priest　of　Apollo　could　look　on　the　blaze　at　noon　without　a　quiver　of　the　eyelid。　　　　　〃O　sun；〃　cried　the　prophet；　〃O　star　that　art　too　great　to　be　allowed　among　the　stars！　　O　fountain　that　flowest　quietly　in　that　secret　spot　that　is　called　space。　　White　Father　of　all　white　unwearied　things；　white　flames　and　white　flowers　and　white　peaks。　Father；　who　art　more　innocent　than　all　thy　most　innocent　and　quiet　children；　primal　purity；　into　the　peace　of　which〃　　　　　A　rush　and　crash　like　the　reversed　rush　of　a　rocket　was　cloven　with　a　strident　and　incessant　yelling。　　Five　people　rushed　into　the　gate　of　the　mansions　as　three　people　rushed　out；　and　for　an　instant　they　all　deafened　each　other。　　The　sense　of　some　utterly　abrupt　horror　seemed　for　a　moment　to　fill　half　the　street　with　bad　newsbad　news　that　was　all　the　worse　because　no　one　knew　what　it　was。　　Two　figures　remained　still　after　the　crash　of　commotion：　the　fair　priest　of　Apollo　on　the　balcony　above；　and　the　ugly　priest　of　Christ　below　him。　　　　　At　last　the　tall　figure　and　titanic　energy　of　Flambeau　appeared　in　the　doorway　of　the　mansions　and　dominated　the　little　mob。　　Talking　at　the　top　of　his　voice　like　a　fog…horn；　he　told　somebody　or　anybody　to　go　for　a　surgeon；　and　as　he　turned　back　into　the　dark　and　thronged　entrance　his　friend　Father　Brown　dipped　in　insignificantly　after　him。　　Even　as　he　ducked　and　dived　through　the　crowd　he　could　still　hear　the　magnificent　melody　and　monotony　of　the　solar　priest　still　calling　on　the　happy　god　who　is　the　friend　of　fountains　and　flowers。　　　　　Father　Brown　found　Flambeau　and　some　six　other　people　standing　round　the　enclosed　space　into　which　the　lift　commonly　descended。　But　the　lift　had　not　descended。　　Something　else　had　descended；　something　that　ought　to　have　come　by　a　lift。　　　　　For　the　last　four　minutes　Flambeau　had　looked　down　on　it；　had　seen　the　brained　and　bleeding　figure　of　that　beautiful　woman　who　denied　the　existence　of　tragedy。　　He　had　never　had　the　slightest　doubt　that　it　was　Pauline　Stacey；　and；　though　he　had　sent　for　a　doctor；　he　had　not　the　slightest　doubt　that　she　was　dead。　　　　　He　could　not　remember　for　certain　whether　he　had　liked　her　or　disliked　her；　there　was　so　much　both　to　like　and　dislike。　　But　she　had　been　a　person　to　him；　and　the　unbearable　pathos　of　details　and　habit　stabbed　him　with　all　the　small　daggers　of　bereavement。　　He　remembered　her　pretty　face　and　priggish　speeches　with　a　sudden　secret　vividness　which　is　all　the　bitterness　of　death。　　In　an　instant　like　a　bolt　from　the　blue；　like　a　thunderbolt　from　nowhere；　that　beautiful　and　defiant　body　had　been　dashed　down　the　open　well　of　the　lift　to　death　at　the　bottom。　　Was　it　suicide？　　With　so　insolent　an　optimist　it　seemed　impossible。　　Was　it　murder？　　But　who　was　there　in　those　hardly　inhabited　flats　to　murder　anybody？