way　the　will　she　had　promised　him。　　He　called　out　to　her　cheerily　that　he　had　the　lift　ready　for　her；　and　she　was　to　come　out　when　she　was　ready。　Then　he　pressed　a　button　and　shot　soundlessly　up　to　his　own　floor；　walked　through　his　own　office；　out　on　to　his　own　balcony；　and　was　safely　praying　before　the　crowded　street　when　the　poor　girl；　having　finished　her　work；　ran　gaily　out　to　where　lover　and　lift　were　to　receive　her；　and　stepped〃　　　　　〃Don't！〃　cried　Flambeau。　　　　　〃He　ought　to　have　got　half　a　million　by　pressing　that　button；〃　continued　the　little　father；　in　the　colourless　voice　in　which　he　talked　of　such　horrors。　　〃But　that　went　smash。　　It　went　smash　because　there　happened　to　be　another　person　who　also　wanted　the　money；　and　who　also　knew　the　secret　about　poor　Pauline's　sight。　There　was　one　thing　about　that　will　that　I　think　nobody　noticed：　although　it　was　unfinished　and　without　signature；　the　other　Miss　Stacey　and　some　servant　of　hers　had　already　signed　it　as　witnesses。　Joan　had　signed　first；　saying　Pauline　could　finish　it　later；　with　a　typical　feminine　contempt　for　legal　forms。　　Therefore；　Joan　wanted　her　sister　to　sign　the　will　without　real　witnesses。　　Why？　I　thought　of　the　blindness；　and　felt　sure　she　had　wanted　Pauline　to　sign　in　solitude　because　she　had　wanted　her　not　to　sign　at　all。　　　　　〃People　like　the　Staceys　always　use　fountain　pens；　but　this　was　specially　natural　to　Pauline。　　By　habit　and　her　strong　will　and　memory　she　could　still　write　almost　as　well　as　if　she　saw；　but　she　could　not　tell　when　her　pen　needed　dipping。　　Therefore；　her　fountain　pens　were　carefully　filled　by　her　sisterall　except　this　fountain　pen。　　This　was　carefully　not　filled　by　her　sister；　the　remains　of　the　ink　held　out　for　a　few　lines　and　then　failed　altogether。　　And　the　prophet　lost　five　hundred　thousand　pounds　and　committed　one　of　the　most　brutal　and　brilliant　murders　in　human　history　for　nothing。〃　　　　　Flambeau　went　to　the　open　door　and　heard　the　official　police　ascending　the　stairs。　　He　turned　and　said：　〃You　must　have　followed　everything　devilish　close　to　have　traced　the　crime　to　Kalon　in　ten　minutes。〃　　　　　Father　Brown　gave　a　sort　of　start。　　　　　〃Oh！　to　him；〃　he　said。　　〃No；　I　had　to　follow　rather　close　to　find　out　about　Miss　Joan　and　the　fountain　pen。　　But　I　knew　Kalon　was　the　criminal　before　I　came　into　the　front　door。〃　　　　　〃You　must　be　joking！〃　cried　Flambeau。　　　　　〃I'm　quite　serious；〃　answered　the　priest。　　〃I　tell　you　I　knew　he　had　done　it；　even　before　I　knew　what　he　had　done。〃　　　　　〃But　why？〃　　　　　〃These　pagan　stoics；〃　said　Brown　reflectively；　〃always　fail　by　their　strength。　　There　came　a　crash　and　a　scream　down　the　street；　and　the　priest　of　Apollo　did　not　start　or　look　round。　　I　did　not　know　what　it　was。　　But　I　knew　that　he　was　expecting　it。〃
  The　Sign　of　the　Broken　Sword
  The　thousand　arms　of　the　forest　were　grey；　and　its　million　fingers　silver。　　In　a　sky　of　dark　green…blue…like　slate　the　stars　were　bleak　and　brilliant　like　splintered　ice。　　All　that　thickly　wooded　and　sparsely　tenanted　countryside　was　stiff　with　a　bitter　and　brittle　frost。　　The　black　hollows　between　the　trunks　of　the　trees　looked　like　bottomless；　black　caverns　of　that　Scandinavian　hell；　a　hell　of　incalculable　cold。　　Even　the　square　stone　tower　of　the　church　looked　northern　to　the　point　of　heathenry；　as　if　it　were　some　barbaric　tower　among　the　sea　rocks　of　Iceland。　　It　was　a　queer　night　for　anyone　to　explore　a　churchyard。　　But；　on　the　other　hand；　perhaps　it　was　worth　exploring。　　　　　It　rose　abruptly　out　of　the　ashen　wastes　of　forest　in　a　sort　of　hump　or　shoulder　of　green　turf　that　looked　grey　in　the　starlight。　　Most　of　the　graves　were　on　a　slant；　and　the　path　leading　up　to　the　church　was　as　steep　as　a　staircase。　　On　the　top　of　the　hill；　in　the　one　flat　and　prominent　place；　was　the　monument　for　which　the　place　was　famous。　　It　contrasted　strangely　with　the　featureless　graves　all　round；　for　it　was　the　work　of　one　of　the　greatest　sculptors　of　modern　Europe；　and　yet　his　fame　was　at　once　forgotten　in　the　fame　of　the　man　whose　image　he　had　made。　　It　showed；　by　touches　of　the　small　silver　pencil　of　starlight；　the　massive　metal　figure　of　a　soldier　recumbent；　the　strong　hands　sealed　in　an　everlasting　worship；　the　great　head　pillowed　upon　a　gun。　　The　venerable　face　was　bearded；　or　rather　whiskered；　in　the　old；　heavy　Colonel　Newcome　fashion。　　The　uniform；　though　suggested　with　the　few　strokes　of　simplicity；　was　that　of　modern　war。　　By　his　right　side　lay　a　sword；　of　which　the　tip　was　broken　off；　on　the　left　side　lay　a　Bible。　　On　glowing　summer　afternoons　wagonettes　came　full　of　Americans　and　cultured　suburbans　to　see　the　sepulchre；　but　even　then　they　felt　the　vast　forest　land　with　its　one　dumpy　dome　of　churchyard　and　church　as　a　place　oddly　dumb　and　neglected。　　In　this　freezing　darkness　of　mid…winter　one　would　think　he　might　be　left　alone　with　the　stars。　　Nevertheless；　in　the　stillness　of　those　stiff　woods　a　wooden　gate　creaked；　and　two　dim　figures　dressed　in　black　climbed　up　the　little　path　to　the　tomb。　　　　　So　faint　was　that　frigid　starlight　that　nothing　could　have　been　traced　about　them　except　that　while　they　both　wore　black；　one　man　was　enormously　big；　and　the　other　（perhaps　by　contrast）　almost　startlingly　small。　　They　went　up　to　the　great　graven　tomb　of　the　historic　warrior；　and　stood　for　a　few　minutes　staring　at　it。　There　was　no　human；　perhaps　no　living；　thing　for　a　wide　circle；　and　a　morbid　fancy　might　well　have　wondered　if　they　were　human　themselves。　　In　any　case；　the　beginning　of　their　conversation　might　have　seemed　strange。　　After　the　first　silence　the　small　man　said　to　the　other：　　　　　〃Where　does　a　wise　man　hide　a　pebble？〃　　　　　And　the　tall　man　answered　in　a　low　voice：　〃On　the　beach。〃　　　　　The　small　man　nodded；　and　after　a　short　silence　said：　〃Where　does　a　wise　man　hide　a　leaf？〃　　　　　And　the　other　answered：　〃In　the　forest。〃　　　　　There　was　another　stillness；　and　then　the　tall　man　resumed：　〃Do　you　mean　that　when　a　wise　man　has　to　hide　a　real　diamond　he　has　been　known　to　hide　it　among　sham　ones？〃　　　　　〃No；　no；〃　said　the　little　man　with　a　laugh；　〃we　will　let　bygones　be　bygones。〃　　　　　He　stamped　his　cold　feet　for　a　second　or　two；　and　then　said：　〃I'm　not　thinking　of　that　at　all；　but　of　something　else；　something　rather　peculiar。　　Just　strike　a　match；　will　you？〃　　　　　The　big　man　fumbled　in　his　pocket；　and　soon　a　scratch　and　a　flare　painted　gold　the　whole　flat　side　of　the　monument。　　On　it　was　cut　in　black　letters　the　well…known　words　which　so　many　Americans　had　reverently　read：　〃Sacred　to　the　Memory　of　General　Sir　Arthur　St。　Clare；　Hero　and　Martyr；　who　Always　Vanquished　his　Enemies　and　Always　Spared　Them；　and　Was　Treacherously　Slain　by　Them　At　Last。　May　God　in　Whom　he　Trusted　both　Reward　and　Revenge　him。〃　　　　　The　match　burnt　the　big　man's　fingers；　blackened；　and　dropped。　He　was　about　to　strike　another；　but　his　small　companion　stopped　him。　　〃That's　all　right；　Flambeau；　old　man；　I　saw　what　I　wanted。　Or；　rather；　I　didn't　see　what　I　didn't　want。　　And　now　we　must　walk　a　mile　and　a　half　along　the　road　to　the　next　inn；　and　I　will　try　to　tell　you　all　about　it。　　For　Heaven　knows　a　man　should　have　a　fire　and　ale　when　he　dares　tell　such　a　story。〃　　　　　They　descended　the　precipitous　path；　they　relatched　the　rusty　gate；　and　set　off　at　a　stamping；　ringing　walk　down　the　frozen　forest　road。　　They　had　gone　a　full　quarter　of　a　mile　before　the　smaller　man　spoke　again。　　He　said：　〃Yes；　the　wise　man　hides　a　pebble　on　the　beach。　　But　what　does　he　do　if　there　is　no　beach？　Do　you　know　anything　of　that　great　St。　Clare　trouble？〃　　　　　〃I　know　nothing　about　English　generals；　Father　Brown；〃　answered　the　large　man；　laughing；　〃though　a　little　about　English　policemen。　　I　only　know　that　you　have　dragged　me　a　precious　long　dance　to　all　the　shrines　of　this　fellow；　whoever　he　is。　　One　would　think　he　got　buried　in　six　different　places。　　I've　seen　a　memorial　to　General　St。　Clare　in　Westminster　Abbey。　　I've　seen　a　ramping　equestrian　statue　of　General　St。　Clare　on　the　Embankment。　　I've　seen　a　medallion　of　St。　Clare　in　the　street　he　was　born　in；　and　another　in　the　street　he　lived　in；　and　now　you　drag　me　after　dark　to　his　coffin　in　the　village　churchyard。　　I　am　beginning　to　be　a　bit　tired　of　his　magnificent　personality；　especially　as　I　don't　in　the　least　know　who　he　was。　　What　are　you　hunting　for　in　all　these　crypts　and　effigies？〃　　　　　〃I　am　only　looking　for　one　word；〃　said　Father　Brown。　　〃A　word　that　isn't　there。〃　　　　　〃Well；〃　asked　Flambeau；　〃are　you　going　to　tell　me　anything　about　it？〃　　　　　〃I　must　divide　it　into　two　parts；〃　remarked　the　priest。　〃First　there　is　what　everybody　knows；　and　then　there　is　what　I　know。　　Now；　what　everybody　knows　is　short　and　plain　enough。　　It　is　also　entirely　wrong。〃　　　　　〃Right　you　are；〃　said　the　big　man　called　Flambeau　cheerfully。　〃Let's　begin　at　the　wrong　end。　　Let's　begin　with　what　everybody　knows；　which　isn't　true。〃　　　　　〃If　not　wholly　untrue；　it　is　at　least　very　inadequate；〃　continued　Brown；　〃for　in　point　of　fact；　all　that　the　public　knows　amounts　precisely　to　this：　The　public　knows　that　Arthur　St。　Clare　was　a　great　and　successful　English　general。　　It　knows　that　after　splendid　yet　careful　campaigns　both　in　India　and　Africa　he　was　in　command　against　Brazil　when　the　great　Brazilian　patriot　Olivie