The Innocence of Father Brown | Page 9

and shut in by shadows that when they came out
unexpectedly into the void common and vast sky they were startled to find the evening
still so light and clear. A perfect dome of peacock-green sank into gold amid the
blackening trees and the dark violet distances. The glowing green tint was just deep
enough to pick out in points of crystal one or two stars. All that was left of the daylight
lay in a golden glitter across the edge of Hampstead and that popular hollow which is
called the Vale of Health. The holiday makers who roam this region had not wholly
dispersed; a few couples sat shapelessly on benches; and here and there a distant girl still
shrieked in one of the swings. The glory of heaven deepened and darkened around the
sublime vulgarity of man; and standing on the slope and looking across the valley,
Valentin beheld the thing which he sought.
Among the black and breaking groups in that distance was one especially black which did
not break--a group of two figures clerically clad. Though they seemed as small as insects,
Valentin could see that one of them was much smaller than the other. Though the other
had a student's stoop and an inconspicuous manner, he could see that the man was well
over six feet high. He shut his teeth and went forward, whirling his stick impatiently. By
the time he had substantially diminished the distance and magnified the two black figures
as in a vast microscope, he had perceived something else; something which startled him,
and yet which he had somehow expected. Whoever was the tall priest, there could be no
doubt about the identity of the short one. It was his friend of the Harwich train, the
stumpy little cure of Essex whom he had warned about his brown paper parcels.
Now, so far as this went, everything fitted in finally and rationally enough. Valentin had
learned by his inquiries that morning that a Father Brown from Essex was bringing up a
silver cross with sapphires, a relic of considerable value, to show some of the foreign
priests at the congress. This undoubtedly was the "silver with blue stones"; and Father
Brown undoubtedly was the little greenhorn in the train. Now there was nothing
wonderful about the fact that what Valentin had found out Flambeau had also found out;
Flambeau found out everything. Also there was nothing wonderful in the fact that when
Flambeau heard of a sapphire cross he should try to steal it; that was the most natural
thing in all natural history. And most certainly there was nothing wonderful about the fact
that Flambeau should have it all his own way with such a silly sheep as the man with the
umbrella and the parcels. He was the sort of man whom anybody could lead on a string to
the North Pole; it was not surprising that an actor like Flambeau, dressed as another priest,
could lead him to Hampstead Heath. So far the crime seemed clear enough; and while the
detective pitied the priest for his helplessness, he almost despised Flambeau for
condescending to so gullible a victim. But when Valentin thought of all that had
happened in between, of all that had led him to his triumph, he racked his brains for the

smallest rhyme or reason in it. What had the stealing of a blue-and-silver cross from a
priest from Essex to do with chucking soup at wall paper? What had it to do with calling
nuts oranges, or with paying for windows first and breaking them afterwards? He had
come to the end of his chase; yet somehow he had missed the middle of it. When he
failed (which was seldom), he had usually grasped the clue, but nevertheless missed the
criminal. Here he had grasped the criminal, but still he could not grasp the clue.
The two figures that they followed were crawling like black flies across the huge green
contour of a hill. They were evidently sunk in conversation, and perhaps did not notice
where they were going; but they were certainly going to the wilder and more silent
heights of the Heath. As their pursuers gained on them, the latter had to use the
undignified attitudes of the deer-stalker, to crouch behind clumps of trees and even to
crawl prostrate in deep grass. By these ungainly ingenuities the hunters even came close
enough to the quarry to hear the murmur of the discussion, but no word could be
distinguished except the word "reason" recurring frequently in a high and almost childish
voice. Once over an abrupt dip of land and a dense tangle of thickets, the detectives
actually lost the two figures they were following. They did not find the trail again for