the innocence of father brown-第49章

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he　wall　of　another　wood。　　The　entrance　to　the　farther　forest　looked　small　and　round；　like　the　black　hole　of　a　remote　railway　tunnel。　　But　it　was　within　some　hundred　yards；　and　gaped　like　a　cavern　before　Flambeau　spoke　again。　　　　　〃I've　got　it；〃　he　cried　at　last；　slapping　his　thigh　with　his　great　hand。　　〃Four　minutes'　thinking；　and　I　can　tell　your　whole　story　myself。〃　　　　　〃All　right；〃　assented　his　friend。　　〃You　tell　it。〃　　　　　Flambeau　lifted　his　head；　but　lowered　his　voice。　　〃General　Sir　Arthur　St。　Clare；〃　he　said；　〃came　of　a　family　in　which　madness　was　hereditary；　and　his　whole　aim　was　to　keep　this　from　his　daughter；　and　even；　if　possible；　from　his　future　son…in…law。　　Rightly　or　wrongly；　he　thought　the　final　collapse　was　close；　and　resolved　on　suicide。　　Yet　ordinary　suicide　would　blazon　the　very　idea　he　dreaded。　　As　the　campaign　approached　the　clouds　came　thicker　on　his　brain；　and　at　last　in　a　mad　moment　he　sacrificed　his　public　duty　to　his　private。　　He　rushed　rashly　into　battle；　hoping　to　fall　by　the　first　shot。　　When　he　found　that　he　had　only　attained　capture　and　discredit；　the　sealed　bomb　in　his　brain　burst；　and　he　broke　his　own　sword　and　hanged　himself。〃　　　　　He　stared　firmly　at　the　grey　facade　of　forest　in　front　of　him；　with　the　one　black　gap　in　it；　like　the　mouth　of　the　grave；　into　which　their　path　plunged。　　Perhaps　something　menacing　in　the　road　thus　suddenly　swallowed　reinforced　his　vivid　vision　of　the　tragedy；　for　he　shuddered。　　　　　〃A　horrid　story；〃　he　said。　　　　　〃A　horrid　story；〃　repeated　the　priest　with　bent　head。　　〃But　not　the　real　story。〃　　　　　Then　he　threw　back　his　head　with　a　sort　of　despair　and　cried：　〃Oh；　I　wish　it　had　been。〃　　　　　The　tall　Flambeau　faced　round　and　stared　at　him。　　　　　〃Yours　is　a　clean　story；〃　cried　Father　Brown；　deeply　moved。　〃A　sweet；　pure；　honest　story；　as　open　and　white　as　that　moon。　Madness　and　despair　are　innocent　enough。　　There　are　worse　things；　Flambeau。〃　　　　　Flambeau　looked　up　wildly　at　the　moon　thus　invoked；　and　from　where　he　stood　one　black　tree…bough　curved　across　it　exactly　like　a　devil's　horn。　　　　　〃Fatherfather；〃　cried　Flambeau　with　the　French　gesture　and　stepping　yet　more　rapidly　forward；　〃do　you　mean　it　was　worse　than　that？〃　　　　　〃Worse　than　that；〃　said　Paul　like　a　grave　echo。　　And　they　plunged　into　the　black　cloister　of　the　woodland；　which　ran　by　them　in　a　dim　tapestry　of　trunks；　like　one　of　the　dark　corridors　in　a　dream。　　　　　They　were　soon　in　the　most　secret　entrails　of　the　wood；　and　felt　close　about　them　foliage　that　they　could　not　see；　when　the　priest　said　again：　　　　　〃Where　does　a　wise　man　hide　a　leaf？　　In　the　forest。　　But　what　does　he　do　if　there　is　no　forest？〃　　　　　〃Well；　well；〃　cried　Flambeau　irritably；　〃what　does　he　do？〃　　　　　〃He　grows　a　forest　to　hide　it　in；〃　said　the　priest　in　an　obscure　voice。　　〃A　fearful　sin。〃　　　　　〃Look　here；〃　cried　his　friend　impatiently；　for　the　dark　wood　and　the　dark　saying　got　a　little　on　his　nerves；　will　you　tell　me　this　story　or　not？　　What　other　evidence　is　there　to　go　on？〃　　　　　〃There　are　three　more　bits　of　evidence；〃　said　the　other；　〃that　I　have　dug　up　in　holes　and　corners；　and　I　will　give　them　in　logical　rather　than　chronological　order。　　First　of　all；　of　course；　our　authority　for　the　issue　and　event　of　the　battle　is　in　Olivier's　own　dispatches；　which　are　lucid　enough。　　He　was　entrenched　with　two　or　three　regiments　on　the　heights　that　swept　down　to　the　Black　River；　on　the　other　side　of　which　was　lower　and　more　marshy　ground。　　Beyond　this　again　was　gently　rising　country；　on　which　was　the　first　English　outpost；　supported　by　others　which　lay；　however；　considerably　in　its　rear。　　The　British　forces　as　a　whole　were　greatly　superior　in　numbers；　but　this　particular　regiment　was　just　far　enough　from　its　base　to　make　Olivier　consider　the　project　of　crossing　the　river　to　cut　it　off。　　By　sunset；　however；　he　had　decided　to　retain　his　own　position；　which　was　a　specially　strong　one。　　At　daybreak　next　morning　he　was　thunderstruck　to　see　that　this　stray　handful　of　English；　entirely　unsupported　from　their　rear；　had　flung　themselves　across　the　river；　half　by　a　bridge　to　the　right；　and　the　other　half　by　a　ford　higher　up；　and　were　massed　upon　the　marshy　bank　below　him。　　　　　〃That　they　should　attempt　an　attack　with　such　numbers　against　such　a　position　was　incredible　enough；　but　Olivier　noticed　something　yet　more　extraordinary。　　For　instead　of　attempting　to　seize　more　solid　ground；　this　mad　regiment；　having　put　the　river　in　its　rear　by　one　wild　charge；　did　nothing　more；　but　stuck　there　in　the　mire　like　flies　in　treacle。　　Needless　to　say；　the　Brazilians　blew　great　gaps　in　them　with　artillery；　which　they　could　only　return　with　spirited　but　lessening　rifle　fire。　　Yet　they　never　broke；　and　Olivier's　curt　account　ends　with　a　strong　tribute　of　admiration　for　the　mystic　valour　of　these　imbeciles。　　‘Our　line　then　advanced　finally；'　writes　Olivier；　‘and　drove　them　into　the　river；　we　captured　General　St。　Clare　himself　and　several　other　officers。　　The　colonel　and　the　major　had　both　fallen　in　the　battle。　I　cannot　resist　saying　that　few　finer　sights　can　have　been　seen　in　history　than　the　last　stand　of　this　extraordinary　regiment；　wounded　officers　picking　up　the　rifles　of　dead　soldiers；　and　the　general　himself　facing　us　on　horseback　bareheaded　and　with　a　broken　sword。'　On　what　happened　to　the　general　afterwards　Olivier　is　as　silent　as　Captain　Keith。〃　　　　　〃Well；〃　grunted　Flambeau；　〃get　on　to　the　next　bit　of　evidence。〃　　　　　〃The　next　evidence；〃　said　Father　Brown；　〃took　some　time　to　find；　but　it　will　not　take　long　to　tell。　　I　found　at　last　in　an　almshouse　down　in　the　Lincolnshire　Fens　an　old　soldier　who　not　only　was　wounded　at　the　Black　River；　but　had　actually　knelt　beside　the　colonel　of　the　regiment　when　he　died。　　This　latter　was　a　certain　Colonel　Clancy；　a　big　bull　of　an　Irishman；　and　it　would　seem　that　he　died　almost　as　much　of　rage　as　of　bullets。　　He；　at　any　rate；　was　not　responsible　for　that　ridiculous　raid；　it　must　have　been　imposed　on　him　by　the　general。　　His　last　edifying　words；　according　to　my　informant；　were　these：　‘And　there　goes　the　damned　old　donkey　with　the　end　of　his　sword　knocked　off。　　I　wish　it　was　his　head。'　　You　will　remark　that　everyone　seems　to　have　noticed　this　detail　about　the　broken　sword　blade；　though　most　people　regard　it　somewhat　more　reverently　than　did　the　late　Colonel　Clancy。　　And　now　for　the　third　fragment。〃　　　　　Their　path　through　the　woodland　began　to　go　upward；　and　the　speaker　paused　a　little　for　breath　before　he　went　on。　　Then　he　continued　in　the　same　business…like　tone：　　　　　〃Only　a　month　or　two　ago　a　certain　Brazilian　official　died　in　England；　having　quarrelled　with　Olivier　and　left　his　country。　　He　was　a　well…known　figure　both　here　and　on　the　Continent；　a　Spaniard　named　Espado；　I　knew　him　myself；　a　yellow…faced　old　dandy；　with　a　hooked　nose。　　For　various　private　reasons　I　had　permission　to　see　the　documents　he　had　left；　he　was　a　Catholic；　of　course；　and　I　had　been　with　him　towards　the　end。　　There　was　nothing　of　his　that　lit　up　any　corner　of　the　black　St。　Clare　business；　except　five　or　six　common　exercise　books　filled　with　the　diary　of　some　English　soldier。　　I　can　only　suppose　that　it　was　found　by　the　Brazilians　on　one　of　those　that　fell。　　Anyhow；　it　stopped　abruptly　the　night　before　the　battle。　　　　　〃But　the　account　of　that　last　day　in　the　poor　fellow's　life　was　certainly　worth　reading。　　I　have　it　on　me；　but　it's　too　dark　to　read　it　here；　and　I　will　give　you　a　resume。　　The　first　part　of　that　entry　is　full　of　jokes；　evidently　flung　about　among　the　men；　about　somebody　called　the　Vulture。　　It　does　not　seem　as　if　this　person；　whoever　he　was；　was　one　of　themselves；　nor　even　an　Englishman；　neither　is　he　exactly　spoken　of　as　one　of　the　enemy。　It　sounds　rather　as　if　he　were　some　local　go…between　and　non…combatant；　perhaps　a　guide　or　a　journalist。　　He　has　been　closeted　with　old　Colonel　Clancy；　but　is　more　often　seen　talking　to　the　major。　　Indeed；　the　major　is　somewhat　prominent　in　this　soldier's　narrative；　a　lean；　dark…haired　man；　apparently；　of　the　name　of　Murraya　north　of　Ireland　man　and　a　Puritan。　　There　are　continual　jests　about　the　contrast　between　this　Ulsterman's　austerity　and　the　conviviality　of　Colonel　Clancy。　　There　is　also　some　joke　about　the　Vulture　wearing　bright…