secretary。　　Royce　was　an　Irishman　by　birth；　and　that　casual　kind　of　Catholic　that　never　remembers　his　religion　until　he　is　really　in　a　hole。　　But　Royce's　request　might　have　been　less　promptly　complied　with　if　one　of　the　official　detectives　had　not　been　a　friend　and　admirer　of　the　unofficial　Flambeau；　and　it　was　impossible　to　be　a　friend　of　Flambeau　without　hearing　numberless　stories　about　Father　Brown。　Hence；　while　the　young　detective　（whose　name　was　Merton）　led　the　little　priest　across　the　fields　to　the　railway；　their　talk　was　more　confidential　than　could　be　expected　between　two　total　strangers。　　　　　〃As　far　as　I　can　see；〃　said　Mr。　Merton　candidly；　〃there　is　no　sense　to　be　made　of　it　at　all。　　There　is　nobody　one　can　suspect。　Magnus　is　a　solemn　old　fool；　far　too　much　of　a　fool　to　be　an　assassin。　　Royce　has　been　the　baronet's　best　friend　for　years；　and　his　daughter　undoubtedly　adored　him。　　Besides；　it's　all　too　absurd。　Who　would　kill　such　a　cheery　old　chap　as　Armstrong？　　Who　could　dip　his　hands　in　the　gore　of　an　after…dinner　speaker？　　It　would　be　like　killing　Father　Christmas。〃　　　　　〃Yes；　it　was　a　cheery　house；〃　assented　Father　Brown。　　〃It　was　a　cheery　house　while　he　was　alive。　　Do　you　think　it　will　be　cheery　now　he　is　dead？〃　　　　　Merton　started　a　little　and　regarded　his　companion　with　an　enlivened　eye。　　〃Now　he　is　dead？〃　he　repeated。　　　　　〃Yes；〃　continued　the　priest　stolidly；　〃he　was　cheerful。　　But　did　he　communicate　his　cheerfulness？　　Frankly；　was　anyone　else　in　the　house　cheerful　but　he？〃　　　　　A　window　in　Merton's　mind　let　in　that　strange　light　of　surprise　in　which　we　see　for　the　first　time　things　we　have　known　all　along。　He　had　often　been　to　the　Armstrongs'；　on　little　police　jobs　of　the　philanthropist；　and；　now　he　came　to　think　of　it；　it　was　in　itself　a　depressing　house。　　The　rooms　were　very　high　and　very　cold；　the　decoration　mean　and　provincial；　the　draughty　corridors　were　lit　by　electricity　that　was　bleaker　than　moonlight。　　And　though　the　old　man's　scarlet　face　and　silver　beard　had　blazed　like　a　bonfire　in　each　room　or　passage　in　turn；　it　did　not　leave　any　warmth　behind　it。　　Doubtless　this　spectral　discomfort　in　the　place　was　partly　due　to　the　very　vitality　and　exuberance　of　its　owner；　he　needed　no　stoves　or　lamps；　he　would　say；　but　carried　his　own　warmth　with　him。　　But　when　Merton　recalled　the　other　inmates；　he　was　compelled　to　confess　that　they　also　were　as　shadows　of　their　lord。　　The　moody　man…servant；　with　his　monstrous　black　gloves；　was　almost　a　nightmare；　Royce；　the　secretary；　was　solid　enough；　a　big　bull　of　a　man；　in　tweeds；　with　a　short　beard；　but　the　straw…coloured　beard　was　startlingly　salted　with　grey　like　the　tweeds；　and　the　broad　forehead　was　barred　with　premature　wrinkles。　　He　was　good…natured　enough　also；　but　it　was　a　sad　sort　of　good…nature；　almost　a　heart…broken　sorthe　had　the　general　air　of　being　some　sort　of　failure　in　life。　　As　for　Armstrong's　daughter；　it　was　almost　incredible　that　she　was　his　daughter；　she　was　so　pallid　in　colour　and　sensitive　in　outline。　　She　was　graceful；　but　there　was　a　quiver　in　the　very　shape　of　her　that　was　like　the　lines　of　an　aspen。　　Merton　had　sometimes　wondered　if　she　had　learnt　to　quail　at　the　crash　of　the　passing　trains。　　　　　〃You　see；〃　said　Father　Brown；　blinking　modestly；　〃I'm　not　sure　that　the　Armstrong　cheerfulness　is　so　very　cheerfulfor　other　people。　　You　say　that　nobody　could　kill　such　a　happy　old　man；　but　I'm　not　sure；　ne　nos　inducas　in　tentationem。　　If　ever　I　murdered　somebody；〃　he　added　quite　simply；　〃I　dare　say　it　might　be　an　Optimist。〃　　　　　〃Why？〃　cried　Merton　amused。　　〃Do　you　think　people　dislike　cheerfulness？〃　　　　　〃People　like　frequent　laughter；〃　answered　Father　Brown；　〃but　I　don't　think　they　like　a　permanent　smile。　　Cheerfulness　without　humour　is　a　very　trying　thing。〃　　　　　They　walked　some　way　in　silence　along　the　windy　grassy　bank　by　the　rail；　and　just　as　they　came　under　the　far…flung　shadow　of　the　tall　Armstrong　house；　Father　Brown　said　suddenly；　like　a　man　throwing　away　a　troublesome　thought　rather　than　offering　it　seriously：　〃Of　course；　drink　is　neither　good　nor　bad　in　itself。　But　I　can't　help　sometimes　feeling　that　men　like　Armstrong　want　an　occasional　glass　of　wine　to　sadden　them。〃　　　　　Merton's　official　superior；　a　grizzled　and　capable　detective　named　Gilder；　was　standing　on　the　green　bank　waiting　for　the　coroner；　talking　to　Patrick　Royce；　whose　big　shoulders　and　bristly　beard　and　hair　towered　above　him。　　This　was　the　more　noticeable　because　Royce　walked　always　with　a　sort　of　powerful　stoop；　and　seemed　to　be　going　about　his　small　clerical　and　domestic　duties　in　a　heavy　and　humbled　style；　like　a　buffalo　drawing　a　go…cart。　　　　　He　raised　his　head　with　unusual　pleasure　at　the　sight　of　the　priest；　and　took　him　a　few　paces　apart。　　Meanwhile　Merton　was　addressing　the　older　detective　respectfully　indeed；　but　not　without　a　certain　boyish　impatience。　　　　　〃Well；　Mr。　Gilder；　have　you　got　much　farther　with　the　mystery？〃　　　　　〃There　is　no　mystery；〃　replied　Gilder；　as　he　looked　under　dreamy　eyelids　at　the　rooks。　　　　　〃Well；　there　is　for　me；　at　any　rate；〃　said　Merton；　smiling。　　　　　〃It　is　simple　enough；　my　boy；〃　observed　the　senior　investigator；　stroking　his　grey；　pointed　beard。　　〃Three　minutes　after　you'd　gone　for　Mr。　Royce's　parson　the　whole　thing　came　out。　　You　know　that　pasty…faced　servant　in　the　black　gloves　who　stopped　the　train？〃　　　　　〃I　should　know　him　anywhere。　　Somehow　he　rather　gave　me　the　creeps。〃　　　　　〃Well；〃　drawled　Gilder；　〃when　the　train　had　gone　on　again；　that　man　had　gone　too。　　Rather　a　cool　criminal；　don't　you　think；　to　escape　by　the　very　train　that　went　off　for　the　police？〃　　　　　〃You're　pretty　sure；　I　suppose；〃　remarked　the　young　man；　〃that　he　really　did　kill　his　master？〃　　　　　〃Yes；　my　son；　I'm　pretty　sure；〃　replied　Gilder　drily；　〃for　the　trifling　reason　that　he　has　gone　off　with　twenty　thousand　pounds　in　papers　that　were　in　his　master's　desk。　　No；　the　only　thing　worth　calling　a　difficulty　is　how　he　killed　him。　　The　skull　seems　broken　as　with　some　big　weapon；　but　there's　no　weapon　at　all　lying　about；　and　the　murderer　would　have　found　it　awkward　to　carry　it　away；　unless　the　weapon　was　too　small　to　be　noticed。〃　　　　　〃Perhaps　the　weapon　was　too　big　to　be　noticed；〃　said　the　priest；　with　an　odd　little　giggle。　　　　　Gilder　looked　round　at　this　wild　remark；　and　rather　sternly　asked　Brown　what　he　meant。　　　　　〃Silly　way　of　putting　it；　I　know；〃　said　Father　Brown　apologetically。　　〃Sounds　like　a　fairy　tale。　　But　poor　Armstrong　was　killed　with　a　giant's　club；　a　great　green　club；　too　big　to　be　seen；　and　which　we　call　the　earth。　　He　was　broken　against　this　green　bank　we　are　standing　on。〃　　　　　〃How　do　you　mean？〃　asked　the　detective　quickly。　　　　　Father　Brown　turned　his　moon　face　up　to　the　narrow　facade　of　the　house　and　blinked　hopelessly　up。　　Following　his　eyes；　they　saw　that　right　at　the　top　of　this　otherwise　blind　back　quarter　of　the　building；　an　attic　window　stood　open。　　　　　〃Don't　you　see；〃　he　explained；　pointing　a　little　awkwardly　like　a　child；　〃he　was　thrown　down　from　there？〃　　　　　Gilder　frowningly　scrutinised　the　window；　and　then　said：　〃Well；　it　is　certainly　possible。　　But　I　don't　see　why　you　are　so　sure　about　it。〃　　　　　Brown　opened　his　grey　eyes　wide。　　〃Why；〃　he　said；　〃there's　a　bit　of　rope　round　the　dead　man's　leg。　　Don't　you　see　that　other　bit　of　rope　up　there　caught　at　the　corner　of　the　window？〃　　　　　At　that　height　the　thing　looked　like　the　faintest　particle　of　dust　or　hair；　but　the　shrewd　old　investigator　was　satisfied。　〃You're　quite　right；　sir；〃　he　said　to　Father　Brown；　〃that　is　certainly　one　to　you。〃　　　　　Almost　as　he　spoke　a　special　train　with　one　carriage　took　the　curve　of　the　line　on　their　left；　and；　stopping；　disgorged　another　group　of　policemen；　in　whose　midst　was　the　hangdog　visage　of　Magnus；　the　absconded　servant。　　　　　〃By　Jove！　they've　got　him；〃　cried　Gilder；　and　stepped　forward　with　quite　a　new　alertness。　　　　　〃Have　you　got　the　money！〃　he　cried　to　the　first　policeman。　　　　　The　man　looked　him　in　the　face　with　a　rather　curious　expression　and　said：　〃No。〃　　Then　he　added：　〃At　least；　not　here。〃　　　　　〃Which　is　the　inspector；　please？〃　asked　the　man　called　Magnus。　　　　　When　he　spoke　everyone　instantly　understood　how　this　voice　had　stopped　a　train。　　He　was　a　dull…looking　man　with　flat　black　hair；　a　colourless　face；　and　a　faint　suggestion　of　the　East　in　the　level　slits　in　his　eyes　and　mouth。　　His　blood　and　name；　indeed；　had　remained　dubious；　ever　since　Sir　Aaron　had　〃rescued〃　him　from　a　waitership　in　a　London　restaurant；　and　（as　some　said）　from　more　infamous　things。　　But　his　voice　was　as　vivid　as　his　face　was　dead。　Whether　through　exactitude　in　a　foreign　language；　or　in　deference　to　his　master　（who　had　been　somewhat　deaf）；　Magnus's　tones　had　a　peculiarly　ringing　and　piercing　quality；　and　the　whole　group　quite　jumped　when　he　spoke。　　　　　〃I　always　knew　this　would　happen；〃　he　said　aloud　with　brazen　blandness。　　〃My　poor　old　master　made　game　of　me　for　wearing　black；　but　I　always　said　I　should　be　ready　for　his　funeral。〃　　　　　And　he　made　a　momentary　movement　with　his　two　dark…gloved　hands。　　　　　〃Sergeant；〃　said　Inspector　Gilder；　eyeing　the　black　hands　with　wrath；　〃aren't　you　putting　the　bracelets　on　this　fellow；　he　looks　pretty　dangerous。〃　　　　　〃Well；　sir；〃　said　the　sergeant；　with　the　same　odd　look　of　won