The Complete Father Brown Mysteries [Annotated, With Introduction, Rare Additional Material] (128 page)

The
old man courteously waved Father Brown to a seat, which he took and sat there
silent, staring blandly at the ceiling. But something made Mulborough feel that
he could deliver his important news more impressively standing up.

‘
I
feel,’ he said, ‘that you ought to be informed, as in some sense the spiritual father
of this community, that one terrible tragedy in its record has taken on a new
significance; possibly even more terrible. You will recall the sad business of
the death of Maltravers; who was adjudged to have been killed with the blow of
a stick, probably wielded by some rustic enemy.’

The
clergyman made a gesture with a wavering hand. ‘God forbid,’ he said, ‘that I should
say anything that might seem to palliate murderous violence in any case. But
when an actor brings his wickedness into this innocent village, he is challenging
the judgement of God.’

‘
Perhaps,’
said the doctor gravely. ‘But anyhow it was not so that the judgement fell. I have
just been commissioned to conduct a post-mortem on the body; and I can assure
you, first, that the blow on the head could not conceivably have caused the
death; and, second, that the body was full of poison, which undoubtedly caused
death.’

Young
Hurrel Horner sent his cigarette flying and was on his feet with the lightness and
swiftness of a cat. His leap landed him within a yard of the reading-desk.

‘
Are
you certain of this?’ he gasped. ‘Are you absolutely certain that that blow could
not cause death?’

‘
Absolutely
certain,’ said the doctor.

‘
Well,’
said Hurrel, ‘I almost wish this one could.’

In
a flash, before anyone could move a finger, he had struck the parson a stunning
crack on the mouth, dashing him backwards like a disjointed black doll against the
door.

‘
What
are you doing?’ cried Mulborough, shaken from head to foot with the shock and mere
sound of the blow. ‘Father Brown, what is this madman doing?’

But
Father Brown had not stirred; he was still staring serenely at the ceiling.

‘
I
was waiting for him to do that,’ said the priest placidly. ‘I rather wonder he hasn’t
done it before.’

‘
Good
God,’ cried the doctor. ‘I know we thought he was wronged in some ways; but to strike
his father; to strike a clergyman and a non-combatant — ’

‘
He
has not struck his father; and he has not struck a clergyman,’ said Father Brown.
‘He has struck a blackmailing blackguard of an actor dressed up as a clergyman,
who has lived on him like a leech for years. Now he knows he is free of the blackmail,
he lets fly; and I can’t say I blame him much. More especially as I have very
strong suspicions that the blackmailer is a poisoner as well. I think,
Mulborough, you had better ring up the police.’

They
passed out of the room uninterrupted by the two others, the one dazed and staggered,
the other still blind and snorting and panting with passions of relief and
rage. But as they passed, Father Brown once turned his face to the young man;
and the young man was one of the very few human beings who have seen that face
implacable.

‘
He
was right there,’ said Father Brown. ‘When an actor brings his wickedness into this
innocent village, he challenges the judgement of God.’

‘
Well,’
said Father Brown, as he and the doctor again settled themselves in a railway carriage
standing in the station of Potter’s Pond. ‘As you say, it’s a strange story;
but I don’t think it’s any longer a mystery story. Anyhow, the story seems to
me to have been roughly this. Maltravers came here, with part of his touring
company; some of them went straight to Dutton-Abbot, where they were all
presenting some melodrama about the early nineteenth century; he himself happened
to be hanging about in his stage dress, the very distinctive dress of a dandy
of that time. Another character was an old-fashioned parson, whose dark dress
was less distinctive and might pass as being merely old-fashioned. This part
was taken by a man who mostly acted old men; had acted Shylock and was afterwards
going to act Polonius.

‘
A
third figure in the drama was our dramatic poet, who was also a dramatic performer,
and quarrelled with Maltravers about how to present Hamlet, but more about
personal things, too. I think it likely that he was in love with Mrs Maltravers
even then; I don’t believe there was anything wrong with them; and I hope it
may now be all right with them. But he may very well have resented Maltravers
in his conjugal capacity; for Maltravers was a bully and likely to raise rows.
In some such row they fought with sticks, and the poet hit Maltravers very hard
on the head, and, in the light of the inquest, had every reason to suppose he
had killed him.

‘
A
third person was present or privy to the incident, the man acting the old parson;
and he proceeded to blackmail the alleged murderer, forcing from him the cost
of his upkeep in some luxury as a retired clergyman. It was the obvious
masquerade for such a man in such a place, simply to go on wearing his stage
clothes as a retired clergyman. But he had his own reason for being a very
retired clergyman. For the true story of Maltravers’ death was that he rolled
into a deep undergrowth of bracken, gradually recovered, tried to walk towards
a house, and was eventually overcome, not by the blow, but by the fact that the
benevolent clergyman had given him poison an hour before, probably in a glass
of port. I was beginning to think so, when I drank a glass of the parson’s
port. It made me a little nervous. The police are working on that theory now;
but whether they will be able to prove that part of the story, I don’t know.
They will have to find the exact motive; but it’s obvious that this bunch of
actors was buzzing with quarrels and Maltravers was very much hated.’

‘
The
police may prove something now they have got the suspicion,’ said Dr Mulborough.
‘What I don’t understand is why you ever began to suspect. Why in the world
should you suspect that very blameless black-coated gentleman?’

Father
Brown smiled faintly. ‘I suppose in one sense,’ he said, ‘it was a matter of special
knowledge; almost a professional matter, but in a peculiar sense. You know our
controversialists often complain that there is a great deal of ignorance about
what our religion is really like. But it is really more curious than that. It
is true, and it is not at all unnatural, that England does not know much about
the Church of Rome. But England does not know much about the Church of England.
Not even as much as I do. You would be astonished at how little the average
public grasps about the Anglican controversies; lots of them don’t really know
what is meant by a High Churchman or a Low Churchman, even on the particular
points of practice, let alone the two theories of history and philosophy behind
them. You can see this ignorance in any newspaper; in any merely popular novel
or play.

‘
Now
the first thing that struck me was that this venerable cleric had got the whole
thing incredibly mixed up. No Anglican parson could be so wrong about every Anglican
problem. He was supposed to be an old Tory High Churchman; and then he boasted
of being a Puritan. A man like that might personally be rather Puritanical; but
he would never call it being a Puritan. He professed a horror of the stage; he
didn’t know that High Churchmen generally don’t have that special horror,
though Low Churchmen do. He talked like a Puritan about the Sabbath; and then
he had a crucifix in his room. He evidently had no notion of what a very pious
parson ought to be, except that he ought to be very solemn and venerable and
frown upon the pleasures of the world.

‘
All
this time there was a subconscious notion running in my head; something I couldn’t
fix in my memory; and then it came to me suddenly. This is a Stage Parson. That
is exactly the vague venerable old fool who would be the nearest notion a
popular playwright or play-actor of the old school had of anything so odd as a
religious man.’

‘
To
say nothing of a physician of the old school,’ said Mulborough good-humouredly,
‘who does not set up to know much about being a religious man.’

‘
As
a matter of fact,’ went on Father Brown, ‘there was a plainer and more glaring cause
for suspicion. It concerned the Dark Lady of the Grange, who was supposed to be
the Vampire of the Village.

I
very early formed the impression that this black blot was rather the bright spot
of the village. She was treated as a mystery; but there was really nothing mysterious
about her. She had come down here quite recently, quite openly, under her own
name, to help the new inquiries to be made about her own husband. He hadn’t
treated her too well; but she had principles, suggesting that something was due
to her married name and to common justice. For the same reason, she went to
live in the house outside which her husband had been found dead. The other
innocent and straightforward case, besides the Vampire of the Village, was the
Scandal of the Village, the parson’s profligate son. He also made no disguise
of his profession or past connection with the acting world. That’s why I didn’t
suspect him as I did the parson. But you’ll already have guessed a real and
relevant reason for suspecting the parson.’

‘
Yes,
I think I see,’ said the doctor, ‘that’s why you bring in the name of the actress.’

‘
Yes,
I mean his fanatical fixity about not seeing the actress,’ remarked the priest.
‘But he didn’t really object to seeing her. He objected to her seeing him.’

‘
Yes,
I see that,’ assented the other. ‘If she had seen the Rev. Samuel Horner, she would
instantly have recognized the very unreverend actor Hankin, disguised as a sham
parson with a pretty bad character behind the disguise. Well, that is the whole
of this simple village idyll, I think. But you will admit I kept my promise; I
have shown you something in the village considerably more creepy than a corpse;
even a corpse stuffed with poison. The black coat of a parson stuffed with a
blackmailer is at least worth noticing and my live man is much deadlier than
your dead one.’

‘
Yes,’
said the doctor, settling himself back comfortably in the cushions. ‘If it comes
to a little cosy company on a railway journey, I should prefer the corpse.’

END