incongruity　enough　to　comment　on　it　humorously。　　John　Boulnois　was　a　big；　slow…moving　man　with　a　massive　head；　partly　grey　and　partly　bald；　and　blunt；　burly　features。　　He　was　in　shabby　and　very　old…fashioned　evening…dress；　with　a　narrow　triangular　opening　of　shirt…front：　　he　had　assumed　it　that　evening　in　his　original　purpose　of　going　to　see　his　wife　act　Juliet。
  〃I　won't　keep　you　long　from　‘The　Bloody　Thumb'　or　any　other　catastrophic　affairs；〃　said　Father　Brown；　smiling。　　〃I　only　came　to　ask　you　about　the　crime　you　committed　this　evening。〃
  Boulnois　looked　at　him　steadily；　but　a　red　bar　began　to　show　across　his　broad　brow；　and　he　seemed　like　one　discovering　embarrassment　for　the　first　time。
  〃I　know　it　was　a　strange　crime；〃　assented　Brown　in　a　low　voice。　　〃Stranger　than　murder　perhapsto　you。　　The　little　sins　are　sometimes　harder　to　confess　than　the　big　onesbut　that's　why　it's　so　important　to　confess　them。　　Your　crime　is　committed　by　every　fashionable　hostess　six　times　a　week：　　and　yet　you　find　it　sticks　to　your　tongue　like　a　nameless　atrocity。〃
  〃It　makes　one　feel；〃　said　the　philosopher　slowly；　〃such　a　damned　fool。〃
  〃I　know；〃　assented　the　other；　〃but　one　often　has　to　choose　between　feeling　a　damned　fool　and　being　one。〃
  〃I　can't　analyse　myself　well；〃　went　on　Boulnois；　〃but　sitting　in　that　chair　with　that　story　I　was　as　happy　as　a　schoolboy　on　a　half…holiday。　　It　was　security；　eternityI　can't　convey　it。。。　the　cigars　were　within　reach。。。the　matches　were　within　reach。。。　the　Thumb　had　four　more　appearances　to。。。it　was　not　only　a　peace；　but　a　plenitude。　　Then　that　bell　rang；　and　I　thought　for　one　long；　mortal　minute　that　I　couldn't　get　out　of　that　chairliterally；　physically；　muscularly　couldn't。　　Then　I　did　it　like　a　man　lifting　the　world；　because　I　knew　all　the　servants　were　out。　　I　opened　the　front　door；　and　there　was　a　little　man　with　his　mouth　open　to　speak　and　his　notebook　open　to　write　in。　　I　remembered　the　Yankee　interviewer　I　had　forgotten。　　His　hair　was　parted　in　the　middle；　and　I　tell　you　that　murder〃
  〃I　understand；〃　said　Father　Brown。　　〃I've　seen　him。〃
  〃I　didn't　commit　murder；〃　continued　the　Catastrophist　mildly；　〃but　only　perjury。　　I　said　I　had　gone　across　to　Pendragon　Park　and　shut　the　door　in　his　face。　　That　is　my　crime；　Father　Brown；　and　I　don't　know　what　penance　you　would　inflict　for　it。〃
  〃I　shan't　inflict　any　penance；〃　said　the　clerical　gentleman；　collecting　his　heavy　hat　and　umbrella　with　an　air　of　some　amusement；　〃quite　the　contrary。　　I　came　here　specially　to　let　you　off　the　little　penance　which　would　otherwise　have　followed　your　little　offence。〃
  〃And　what；〃　asked　Boulnois；　smiling；　〃is　the　little　penance　I　have　so　luckily　been　let　off？〃
  〃Being　hanged；〃　said　Father　Brown。
  TWELVE
  The　Fairy　Tale　of　Father　Brown
  THE　picturesque　city　and　state　of　Heiligwaldenstein　was　one　of　those　toy　kingdoms　of　which　certain　parts　of　the　German　Empire　still　consist。　　It　had　come　under　the　Prussian　hegemony　quite　late　in　history　hardly　fifty　years　before　the　fine　summer　day　when　Flambeau　and　Father　Brown　found　themselves　sitting　in　its　gardens　and　drinking　its　beer。　　There　had　been　not　a　little　of　war　and　wild　justice　there　within　living　memory；　as　soon　will　be　shown。　　But　in　merely　looking　at　it　one　could　not　dismiss　that　impression　of　childishness　which　is　the　most　charming　side　of　Germanythose　little　pantomime；　paternal　monarchies　in　which　a　king　seems　as　domestic　as　a　cook。　　The　German　soldiers　by　the　innumerable　sentry…boxes　looked　strangely　like　German　toys；　and　the　clean…cut　battlements　of　the　castle；　gilded　by　the　sunshine；　looked　the　more　like　the　gilt　gingerbread。　　For　it　was　brilliant　weather。　　The　sky　was　as　Prussian　a　blue　as　Potsdam　itself　could　require；　but　it　was　yet　more　like　that　lavish　and　glowing　use　of　the　colour　which　a　child　extracts　from　a　shilling　paint…box。　　Even　the　grey…ribbed　trees　looked　young；　for　the　pointed　buds　on　them　were　still　pink；　and　in　a　pattern　against　the　strong　blue　looked　like　innumerable　childish　figures。
  Despite　his　prosaic　appearance　and　generally　practical　walk　of　life；　Father　Brown　was　not　without　a　certain　streak　of　romance　in　his　composition；　though　he　generally　kept　his　daydreams　to　himself；　as　many　children　do。　　Amid　the　brisk；　bright　colours　of　such　a　day；　and　in　the　heraldic　framework　of　such　a　town；　he　did　feel　rather　as　if　he　had　entered　a　fairy　tale。　　He　took　a　childish　pleasure；　as　a　younger　brother　might；　in　the　formidable　sword…stick　which　Flambeau　always　flung　as　he　walked；　and　which　now　stood　upright　beside　his　tall　mug　of　Munich。　　Nay；　in　his　sleepy　irresponsibility；　he　even　found　himself　eyeing　the　knobbed　and　clumsy　head　of　his　own　shabby　umbrella；　with　some　faint　memories　of　the　ogre's　club　in　a　coloured　toy…book。　　But　he　never　composed　anything　in　the　form　of　fiction；　unless　it　be　the　tale　that　follows：
  〃I　wonder；〃　he　said；　〃whether　one　would　have　real　adventures　in　a　place　like　this；　if　one　put　oneself　in　the　way？　　It's　a　splendid　back…scene　for　them；　but　I　always　have　a　kind　of　feeling　that　they　would　fight　you　with　pasteboard　sabres　more　than　real；　horrible　swords。〃
  〃You　are　mistaken；〃　said　his　friend。　　〃In　this　place　they　not　only　fight　with　swords；　but　kill　without　swords。　　And　there's　worse　than　that。〃
  〃Why；　what　do　you　mean？〃　asked　Father　Brown。
  〃Why；〃　replied　the　other；　〃I　should　say　this　was　the　only　place　in　Europe　where　a　man　was　ever　shot　without　firearms。〃
  〃Do　you　mean　a　bow　and　arrow？〃　asked　Brown　in　some　wonder。
  〃I　mean　a　bullet　in　the　brain；〃　replied　Flambeau。　　〃Don't　you　know　the　story　of　the　late　Prince　of　this　place？　　It　was　one　of　the　great　police　mysteries　about　twenty　years　ago。　　You　remember；　of　course；　that　this　place　was　forcibly　annexed　at　the　time　of　Bismarck's　very　earliest　schemes　of　consolidation　forcibly；　that　is；　but　not　at　all　easily。　　The　empire　（or　what　wanted　to　be　one）　sent　Prince　Otto　of　Grossenmark　to　rule　the　place　in　the　Imperial　interests。　　We　saw　his　portrait　in　the　gallery　there　a　handsome　old　gentleman　if　he'd　had　any　hair　or　eyebrows；　and　hadn't　been　wrinkled　all　over　like　a　vulture；　but　he　had　things　to　harass　him；　as　I'll　explain　in　a　minute。　　He　was　a　soldier　of　distinguished　skill　and　success；　but　he　didn't　have　altogether　an　easy　job　with　this　little　place。　　He　was　defeated　in　several　battles　by　the　celebrated　Arnhold　brothersthe　three　guerrilla　patriots　to　whom　Swinburne　wrote　a　poem；　you　remember：
  Wolves　with　the　hair　of　the　ermine；　　　　　　　　　　　Crows　that　are　crowned　and　kings　　　　　　　　　These　things　be　many　as　vermin；　　　　　　　　　　　Yet　Three　shall　abide　these　things。
  Or　something　of　that　kind。　　Indeed；　it　is　by　no　means　certain　that　the　occupation　would　ever　have　been　successful　had　not　one　of　the　three　brothers；　Paul；　despicably；　but　very　decisively　declined　to　abide　these　things　any　longer；　and；　by　surrendering　all　the　secrets　of　the　insurrection；　ensured　its　overthrow　and　his　own　ultimate　promotion　to　the　post　of　chamberlain　to　Prince　Otto。　　After　this；　Ludwig；　the　one　genuine　hero　among　Mr　Swinburne's　heroes；　was　killed；　sword　in　hand；　in　the　capture　of　the　city；　and　the　third；　Heinrich；　who；　though　not　a　traitor；　had　always　been　tame　and　even　timid　compared　with　his　active　brothers；　retired　into　something　like　a　hermitage；　became　converted　to　a　Christian　quietism　which　was　almost　Quakerish；　and　never　mixed　with　men　except　to　give　nearly　all　he　had　to　the　poor。　　They　tell　me　that　not　long　ago　he　could　still　be　seen　about　the　neighbourhood　occasionally；　a　man　in　a　black　cloak；　nearly　blind；　with　very　wild；　white　hair；　but　a　face　of　astonishing　softness。〃
  〃I　know；〃　said　Father　Brown。　　〃I　saw　him　once。〃
  His　friend　looked　at　him　in　some　surprise。　　〃I　didn't　know　you'd　been　here　before；〃　he　said。　　〃Perhaps　you　know　as　much　about　it　as　I　do。　　Anyhow；　that's　the　story　of　the　Arnholds；　and　he　was　the　last　survivor　of　them。　　Yes；　and　of　all　the　men　who　played　parts　in　that　drama。〃
  〃You　mean　that　the　Prince；　too；　died　long　before？〃
  〃Died；〃　repeated　Flambeau；　〃and　that's　about　as　much　as　we　can　say。　　You　must　understand　that　towards　the　end　of　his　life　he　began　to　have　those　tricks　of　the　nerves　not　uncommon　with　tyrants。　　He　multiplied　the　ordinary　daily　and　nightly　guard　round　his　castle　till　there　seemed　to　be　more　sentry…boxes　than　houses　in　the　town；　and　doubtful　characters　were　shot　without　mercy。　　He　lived　almost　entirely　in　a　little　room　that　was　in　the　very　centre　of　the　enormous　labyrinth　of　all　the　other　rooms；　and　even　in　this　he　erected　another　sort　of　central　cabin　or　cupboard；　lined　with　steel；　like　a　safe　or　a　battleship。　　Some　say　that　under　the　floor　of　this　again　was　a　secret　hole　in　the　earth；　no　more　than　large　enough　to　hold　him；　so　that；　in　his　anxiety　to　avoid　the　grave；　he　was　willing　to　go　into　a　place　pretty　much　like　it。　　But　he　went　further　yet。　　The　populace　had　been　supposed　to　be　disarmed　ever　since　the　suppression　of　the　revolt；　but　Otto　now　insisted；　as　governments　very　seldom　insist；　on　an　absolute　and　literal　disarmament。　　It　was　carried　out；　with　extrao