La tre utiles de mori

The Three Tools of Death par Gilbert K. Chesterton

Traduida par Krzysztof S

E par carera e par fide, padre Brown ia sabe plu bon ca la plu de nos ce cada om es diniosa cuando el es mor. Ma an el ia esperia un senti de noncoere cuando, a leva de sol, el ia es veliada e informada ce sir Aaron Armstrong es asasinada. On ave alga cosa asurda e nonpropre en viole secreta consernante un tal figur intera divertinte e poplal. Car sir Aaron Armstrong ia es divertinte a un grado comica, e popular en un tal manera ce el ia es cuasi lejendal. Es como oia ce Sunny Jim ia pende se; o ce senior Pickwick ia mori en Hanwell. Car an si sir Aaron ia es un filantropiste e donce trata la lado plu oscur de nos sosia, el ia es orgulosa de trata lo en la stilo la plu briliante cual es posible. Se parlas political e sosial ia es cascades de racontas e “ries forte”; se sania corpal ia es de un spesie esplodente; se etica ia es sola otimiste; e el ia trata la problem de alcol (se tema favoreda) con acel joia nonmortal, an monotonosa, cual es tan frecuente un sinia de la astenor rica.

Both by calling and conviction Father Brown knew better than most of us, that every man is dignified when he is dead. But even he felt a pang of incongruity when he was knocked up at daybreak and told that Sir Aaron Armstrong had been murdered. There was something absurd and unseemly about secret violence in connection with so entirely entertaining and popular a figure. For Sir Aaron Armstrong was entertaining to the point of being comic; and popular in such a manner as to be almost legendary. It was like hearing that Sunny Jim had hanged himself; or that Mr. Pickwick had died in Hanwell. For though Sir Aaron was a philanthropist, and thus dealt with the darker side of our society, he prided himself on dealing with it in the brightest possible style. His political and social speeches were cataracts of anecdotes and “loud laughter”; his bodily health was of a bursting sort; his ethics were all optimism; and he dealt with the Drink problem (his favourite topic) with that immortal or even monotonous gaiety which is so often a mark of the prosperous total abstainer.

La nara instituida de se converti ia es conoseda sur plataformas la plu puritan; como el ia es, cuando mera un xico, traeda a via de teolojia scotes a uisce scotes, e como el ia leva se ultra ambos e deveni (como el ia espresa umil la cosa) lo cual el es. Ma se barba larga e blanca, fas cerubinin, e oculo briliante en la comes e congresas noncontable do los ia apare, ia crea en alga modo un difisilia de crede ce el ia es en la pasada un cosa tan morbosa como un bevor o un calviniste. On ia senti ce el es la plu seria joiosa de tota la fios de omes.

The established story of his conversion was familiar on the more puritanic platforms and pulpits, how he had been, when only a boy, drawn away from Scotch theology to Scotch whisky, and how he had risen out of both and become (as he modestly put it) what he was. Yet his wide white beard, cherubic face, and sparkling spectacles, at the numberless dinners and congresses where they appeared, made it hard to believe, somehow, that he had ever been anything so morbid as either a dram-drinker or a Calvinist. He was, one felt, the most seriously merry of all the sons of men.

El ia abita en la limita campanial de Hampstead en un casa bela, alta ma no larga, un tore moderna e prosin. La plu streta de se lados streta ia estende supra la inclina presipe e verde de un ferovia, e ia es secuteda de trenes pasante. Sir Aaron Armstrong, como el ia esplica ruidosa e enerjiosa, no ia ave un problem de nervos. Ma si la tren ia dona frecuente un xoca a la casa, en acel matina la situa ia es reversada, e la casa ia dona un xoca a la tren.

He had lived on the rural skirt of Hampstead in a handsome house, high but not broad, a modern and prosaic tower. The narrowest of its narrow sides overhung the steep green bank of a railway, and was shaken by passing trains. Sir Aaron Armstrong, as he boisterously explained, had no nerves. But if the train had often given a shock to the house, that morning the tables were turned, and it was the house that gave a shock to the train.

La locomotiva ia lenti e para pico ultra acel punto do un angulo de la casa ia estende sur la inclina agu de erba. La para de cosas plu macinal debe es lenta; ma la causa vivente de esta ia es multe rapida. Un om en vestes intera negra, an (on ia recorda) asta la cualia asustante de gantos negra, ia apare sur la cresta supra la locomotiva, e ia ajita se manos negra como alga molin negra de venta. Esta par se mesma apena ta para an un tren permanente. Ma ia ave sortinte de el un cria, sur cual on ia parla a pos como alga cosa intera nonatural e nova. Lo ia es un de tal crias cual es asustante distinguida an cuando on no pote oia la parolas separada. En esta caso la parola ia es “Omiside!”

The engine slowed down and stopped just beyond that point where an angle of the house impinged upon the sharp slope of turf. The arrest of most mechanical things must be slow; but the living cause of this had been very rapid. A man clad completely in black, even (it was remembered) to the dreadful detail of black gloves, appeared on the ridge above the engine, and waved his black hands like some sable windmill. This in itself would hardly have stopped even a lingering train. But there came out of him a cry which was talked of afterwards as something utterly unnatural and new. It was one of those shouts that are horridly distinct even when we cannot hear what is shouted. The word in this case was “Murder!”

Ma la locomotivor jura, ce tan en la mesma modo el ta es parante an si el ta oia sola la asentua asustante e definida e no la parola.

But the engine-driver swears he would have pulled up just the same if he had heard only the dreadful and definite accent and not the word.

Pos la para de la tren, la regarda intensa la plu surfasal ta pote autonom comprende multe cualias de la trajedia. La om en negra sur la inclina verde ia es Magnus, la servor de sir Aaron Armstrong. Esta par se otimismo ia rie frecuente sur la gantos negra de se atendor sombre; ma en esta momento no person ta es probable a rie sur el.

The train once arrested, the most superficial stare could take in many features of the tragedy. The man in black on the green bank was Sir Aaron Armstrong’s man-servant Magnus. The baronet in his optimism had often laughed at the black gloves of this dismal attendant; but no one was likely to laugh at him just now.

Direta cuando un o du demandores ia vade a via de la ferovia e tra la sepe fumosa, los ia vide la corpo, rolada cuasi asta la basa de la inclina, de un om vea en un roba de bani jala con un fore multe vivin scarlata. Un peso corta de corda pare trapida sur se gama, probable envolveda en un luta. On ia ave ance un o du manxas de sangue, an si multe peti; ma la corpo ia es curvida o rompeda a un posa intera nonposible a algun vivente. Lo ia es sir Aaron Armstrong. Pos un o du momentos confuseda, un om grande e blonde ia apera, ci alga viajores ia pote saluta como la secretor de la mor; acel ia es Patrick Royce, a un ves bon conoseda en la sosia boemian e an famosa en la artes boemian. En un modo plu neblosa, ma an plu convinsente, el ia repete la angusa de la servor. Ante cuando la figur tre de la casa, Alice Armstrong, fia de la mor, ia entra ja bambolante e ondante la jardin, la locomotivor ia sesa ja se para. La sibileta ia sona ja, e la tren ia parti sofletante per oteni aida de la stasion seguente.

So soon as an inquirer or two had stepped off the line and across the smoky hedge, they saw, rolled down almost to the bottom of the bank, the body of an old man in a yellow dressing-gown with a very vivid scarlet lining. A scrap of rope seemed caught about his leg, entangled presumably in a struggle. There was a smear or so of blood, though very little; but the body was bent or broken into a posture impossible to any living thing. It was Sir Aaron Armstrong. A few more bewildered moments brought out a big fair-bearded man, whom some travellers could salute as the dead man’s secretary, Patrick Royce, once well known in Bohemian society and even famous in the Bohemian arts. In a manner more vague, but even more convincing, he echoed the agony of the servant. By the time the third figure of that household, Alice Armstrong, daughter of the dead man, had come already tottering and waving into the garden, the engine-driver had put a stop to his stoppage. The whistle had blown and the train had panted on to get help from the next station.

Donce padre Brown ia es rapida clamada a la demanda de Patrick Royce, la secretor pasada boemian e grande. Royce ia es un eres par nase, e un catolica de acel spesie casual, ci ia recorda nunca se relijio asta el ia es vera en un buco. Ma la demanda de Royce ta es min pronto segueda, si un de la detetores ofisial no ta es un ami e amiror de la Flambeau nonofisial; e ia es nonposible ce on es un ami de Flambeau e no oia naras noncontable sur padre Brown. Donce en cuando la detetor joven (de ci se nom ia es Merton) ia gida la prete peti tra la campas a la ferovia, la se parla ia es plu confidada ca on ta espeta entre du stranjeres intera.

Father Brown had been thus rapidly summoned at the request of Patrick Royce, the big ex-Bohemian 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.

“Seguente la me comprende,” senior Merton ia dise spontan, “esta cosa no ave cualce sensa. On no pote suspeta cualce person. Magnus es un stupida seria e vea; tro stupida per es asasinante. Royce es ja la plu bon ami de la senior en anios; e sin duta la se fia ia adora el. En ajunta, tota es tro asurda. Ci ta mata un om tal felis e vea, como Armstrong ? Ci ta sumerje la manos en la sangue de parlor de pos come? Ta es como mata san Nicolas.”

“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.”

“Si, acel ia es un casa felis,” padre Brown ia acorda. “Lo ia es un casa felis en cuando el ancora ia vive. Esce tu pensa, ce lo va es felis aora cuando el ia es morinte?”

“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 ia para e regarda se acompanior con un oio plu animada. “Aora cuando el ia es morinte?” el ia repete.

Merton started a little and regarded his companion with an enlivened eye. “Now he is dead?” he repeated.

“Si,” la prete ia continua solida, “el ia es felis. Ma esce el ia comunica la se joia a otras? Vera bon, esce algun otra en la casa ia es felis?”

“Yes,” continued the priest stolidly, “he was cheerful. But did he communicate his cheerfulness? Frankly, was anyone else in the house cheerful but he?”

Un fenetra en la mente de Merton ia lasa entra acel lus strana de surprende, en cual nos vide per la prima ves cosas cual nos sabe ja tota la tempo de la comensa. El ia es frecuente en la casa de Armstrong, par cosas peti de polisia de la filantropiste; e aora cuando el ia veni a pensa sur lo, la casa es serta depresante. La cameras ia es multe alta e multe fria; la decora media e provinsal; la coredores esposada a corentes de aira ia es luminada par eletrica plu sombre ca lumina de luna. E an si la fas scarlata e barba arjento de la om vea ia es ardente como un foco de joia en cada camera e coredor en turna, los ia lasa no caldia. Sin duta esta descomforta fantasmin de la loca ia es partal e causada par la viviosia mesma e lusosia de se posesor; el ta dise, ce el no nesesa intera stufas e lampas car el porta la se caldia con el. Ma cuando Merton ia recorda la otra abitores el ia debe confesa, ce los ance es como ombras de se padron. La servor en mal umor con se gantos monstrin e negra ia es cuasi un malsonia; Royce, la secretor, ia es un om sufisinte solida, grande e simil a un bove en tuides, con un barba corta; ma la barba en color de palia ia es salosa de gris como ance la tuid, e la larga fronte salosa de prematur plietas. El ance ia es de bon natur, ma ia es un spesie triste de bon natur, veninte evidente de cor moleda… el ia espresa como si la se vive falta. Consernante a la fia de Armstrong, ia es cuasi noncredable, ce el es la se fia; se color ia es tan pal e la scema tan delicata. El ia es jentil ma un trema ia es en la mesma forma, cual ia es como la linias de un poplo tremante. Merton ia demanda a alga veses esce la fem ia aprende en la pasada par trema a la desastre de la trenes pasante.

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 sort—he 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.

“Tu debe vide tan,” padre Brown ia dise umil giniante, “Me no es intera serta, ce la joia de Armstrong es vera tan felis… per otra persones. Tu ia dise, ce no person pote mata un om vea tan joiosa, ma me no es serta; ne nos inducas in tentationem (“No condui nos a tentia”). Si a un ves me ta asasina algun,” el ia ajunta intera simple, “probable acel ta es un otimiste.”

“You see,” said Father Brown, blinking modestly, “I’m not sure that the Armstrong cheerfulness is so very cheerful—for 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.”

“Perce?” Merton ia cria divertida. “Esce tu pensa, ce omes no gusta joia?”

“Why?” cried Merton amused. “Do you think people dislike cheerfulness?”

“Omes ama rie comun,” padre Brown ia responde, “ma me no pensa, ce los ama un surie nonvariable. Joia sin umor es un cosa distante disturbante.”

“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.”

Los ia pasea plu bon de distantia par la loca curva erbosa presipe prosima la reles, e justa cuando los ia ariva su la nonprosima estendente ombra de la casa alta de Armstrong, padre Brown ia dise subita, plu como algun dejetante un disturbante pensa ca como algun lo seria esibinte: “Natural, alcol en se mesma es no bon no mal. Ma me no pote no senti, ce omes como Armstrong nesesa de tempo a tempo un vitro de vino, per tristi los.”

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.”

La ofisial superior de Merton, un detetor deveninte gris e capas clamada Gilder, ia sta sur la verde borda espetante la ofisior ci demanda a en la causa de la mori, e parlante con Patrick Royce, de ci larga spalas e barba sedin e capeles ia sta sur el como tore. Esta ia es la plu notable, car Royce ia pasea sempre con un spesie de curbi potiosa, e ia pare segue se debes de scrivor e domada en un stilo pesosa e umil, como un bufalo traente un camion enfantin.

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.

El ia leva se testa con plaser noncomun, vidente la prete, e ia gida el a alga pasos a via. Entretempo, Merton ia adirije serta respetosa la detetor plu vea , ma no sin un nonpasientia serta enfantin.

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.

“Bon, senior Gilder, esce tu ia progresa ja multe sur la misterio?”

“Well, Mr. Gilder, have you got much farther with the mystery?”

“Es no misterio,” Gilder ia responde, regardante de su palpebras romantica a la tores.

“There is no mystery,” replied Gilder, as he looked under dreamy eyelids at the rooks.

“A la min, lo es un per me, en cualce modo” Merton ia dise suriente.

“Well, there is for me, at any rate,” said Merton, smiling.

“Es sufisinte simple, me om juven,” la investigor superior ia nota, caresante la se barba gris e puntida. “La tota cosa ia aveni en la tre minutos pos cuando tu ia parti per clama la prete de senior Royce. Tu conose acel servor de fas de pasta en la gantos negra, ci ia para la tren?”

“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?”

“Me ta reconose el a cualce loca. El ia dona a me un senti de misterio noncomfortosa.”

“I should know him anywhere. Somehow he rather gave me the creeps.”

“Bon,” Gilder ia pronunsia lenta e pesosa, “cuando la tren ia es vadente a via acel om ance ia es a via. Un spesie de criminal osante, esce tu no crede; evade justa con acel tren cual ia vade per la polisia?”

“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?”

“Tu es ja serta, me suposa,” la om joven ia nota, “ce el ia mata vera la se padron?”

“You’re pretty sure, I suppose,” remarked the young man, “that he really did kill his master?”

“Si, me fio, me es serta,” Gilder ia responde sarcasmosa, “par la esplica nonimportante, ce el ia es corente con dudes mil paundes en biletas, los cual ia es en la buro de se padron. No, la sola cosa valuada a la nom de difisilia es, como el ia mata el. La cranio ia es evidente rompeda como par un arma grande, ma on ave no arma cual reclina a sirca, e la asasinor ia ta trova lo es difisil a trae a via, estra si la arma ta es nonnotable peti.”

“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.”

“Posible la arma ia es nonnotable tro grande,” la prete ia dise con un rieta peti e strana.

“Perhaps the weapon was too big to be noticed,” said the priest, with an odd little giggle.

Gilder se ia reversa par esta comenta coler, e alga sever ia demanda a Brown ce el vole dise.

Gilder looked round at this wild remark, and rather sternly asked Brown what he meant.

“Un stilo stupida de presenta la cosa, me sabe,” padre Brown ia dise como si el repenti. “La caso sona como un nara de fe. Ma Armstrong compatable ia es matada con un baston de un jigante, un baston grande e verde, tro grande per es vidable, e cual nos clama la tera. El ia es rompeda contra esta inclina verde sur cual nos sta.”

“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.”

“Ce tu intende dise?” la detetor ia demanda rapida.

“How do you mean?” asked the detective quickly.

Padre Brown ia reversa se fas simil a la lun a supra a la fas streta de la casa e ia ginia sin espera. Seguente oios de el, los ia vide, ce asi, a la alta de acel en ajunta a sin fenetra dorso, ave ia abrida un fenetra de atica.

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.

“Esce tu no vide,” el ia esplica, indicante alga difisil como un enfante, “el ia es lansada de ala?”

“Don’t you see,” he explained, pointing a little awkwardly like a child, “he was thrown down from there?”

Fronsinte se suprasiles Gilder ia regarda la fenetra e alora ia dise: “Bon, lo es serta posible. Ma me no comprende perce tu es tan serta sur lo.”

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 ia abri larga la oios gris. “Per causa ce,” el ia dise, “un corda es sirca la gama de la mor. Esce tu no vide acel otra peso de corda ala a supra a la angulo de la fenetra?”

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?”

A acel altia la cosa ia pare como la particula la plu pico de polvo o de capel, ma la investigor intelijente e vea ia es sasiada. “Tu razona bon, senior,” el ia dise a padre Brown; “acel es serta un punto a tu.”

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.”

Cuasi en cuando el ia parla un tren spesial con un vagon ia veni sirca la curva a sinistra , e parante, ia descarga un otra grupo de polisiores, en media de ci ia apare la fas ru e vergoniosa de Magnus, la servor corente.

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.

“A Jupiter! los ia prende el,” Gilder ia cria, e ia parti fante pasos con un vijilia intera nova.

“By Jove! they’ve got him,” cried Gilder, and stepped forward with quite a new alertness.

“Esce tu ave la mone?” el ia cria a la polisior prima.

“Have you got the money!” he cried to the first policeman

La om ia regarda se fas con un espresa alga strana e ia dise: “No.” Alora el ia ajunta, “A la min no asi.”

The man looked him in the face with a rather curious expression and said: “No.” Then he added: “At least, not here.”

“Cual es la inspetor, per favore?” la om nomida Magnus ia demanda.

“Which is the inspector, please?” asked the man called Magnus,

Cuando el ia parla, cadun ia comprende direta como esta vose ia para un tren. El ia es un om de regarda noiante con capeles plata e negra, e un fas sin color, e le craces orizontal, de oculos e de boca, ia sujesta cuieta la este. La se sangue e nom ia resta vera dutada, de cuando sir Aaron “ia salva” el de un servi en un restorante de London e (como on dise) de cosas an plu malfamosa. Ma la se vose ia es tan animada como se fas ia es mor. Esce par esatia en un lingua stranjer, esce par respeta a se padron (ci ia es alga sorda), la tonos de Magnus ia ave un cualia strana sonante e perforante, e la grupo intera ia salta cuando el ia parla.

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.

“Me sempre ia sabe, ce esta va aveni,” el ia dise con blandia calma. “Me padron compatable ia burla me car me usa vestes negra, ma me sempre ia dise, ce me va es preparada entera el.”

“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.”

E el ia fa un move momental con se du manos en gantos negra.

And he made a momentary movement with his two dark-gloved hands.

“Sarjento,” inspetor Gilder ia dise, regardante la manos negra con coleria, “esce tu no va pone brasaleta sur acel om; el pare bastante perilosa.”

“Sergeant,” said Inspector Gilder, eyeing the black hands with wrath, “aren’t you putting the bracelets on this fellow; he looks pretty dangerous.”

“Bon, senior,” la sarjento ia dise con la mesma regarda strana de stona, “Me no es serta, ce nos pote.”

“Well, sir,” said the sergeant, with the same odd look of wonder, “I don’t know that we can.”

“Ce tu vole dise?” la otra ia demanda agu. “Esce tu no ia aresta el ancora?”

“What do you mean?” asked the other sharply. “Haven’t you arrested him?”

Un despeta estrema ia largi la boca ranurin, e la sibileta de un tren prosiminte ia pare un strana eco de la burla.

A faint scorn widened the slit-like mouth, and the whistle of an approaching train seemed oddly to echo the mockery

“Nos ia aresta el,” ia responde la sarjento seria, “justa cuando el ia es veninte de la ofisia de polisia a Highgate, como el ia depone la tota de la mone de se padron a la cura de inspetor Robinson.”

“We arrested him,” replied the sergeant gravely, “just as he was coming out of the police station at Highgate, where he had deposited all his master’s money in the care of Inspector Robinson.”

Gilder ia regarda la servor en stona. “Perce, sur la tera, tu ia fa lo?” el ia demanda a Magnus.

Gilder looked at the man-servant in utter amazement. “Why on earth did you do that?” he asked of Magnus.

“Per salva lo contra la criminal, natural,” ia responde acel person en modo pasosa.

“To keep it safe from the criminal, of course,” replied that person placidly.

“Esce,” ia dise Gilder, “on no ta pote lasa secur la mone de sir Aaron a se familia.”

“Surely,” said Gilder, “Sir Aaron’s money might have been safely left with Sir Aaron’s family.”

La coda de se frase ia es afocada en la ruji de la tren en cuando lo ia vade osilante e clicante; ma sur la tota de acel enferno de ruido, cual ia sufri de tempo a tempo acel casa nonfelis, los ia pote oia la silabas de la responde de Magnus, con tota se claria campanin; “Me ave no causa per fida la familia de sir Aaron Armstrong.”

The tail of his sentence was drowned in the roar of the train as it went rocking and clanking; but through all the hell of noises to which that unhappy house was periodically subject, they could hear the syllables of Magnus’s answer, in all their bell-like distinctness: “I have no reason to feel confidence in Sir Aaron’s family.”

Tota acel omes nonmovente ia esperia la senti fantasmin, ce alga person nova es presente; e Merton ia es surprendeda apena cuando el regarda a alta e ia vide la fas pal de la fia de Armstrong sur la spala de padre Brown. La fem ia es ancora joven e bela en un modo arjento, ma se capeles ia es en tal manera polvosa e un brun sin tinje, ce en alga luses ia pare, ce lo es ja intera gris.

All the motionless men had the ghostly sensation of the presence of some new person; and Merton was scarcely surprised when he looked up and saw the pale face of Armstrong’s daughter over Father Brown’s shoulder. She was still young and beautiful in a silvery style, but her hair was of so dusty and hueless a brown that in some shadows it seemed to have turned totally grey.

“Es cauta sur lo cual tu va dise,” Royce ia dise roncin, “o tu va teme, senioreta Armstrong.”

“Be careful what you say,” said Royce gruffly, “you’ll frighten Miss Armstrong.”

“Me espera, ce si,” la om ia dise con la vose clar.

“I hope so,” said the man with the clear voice.

En cuando la fem ia salteta e cada ia demanda se, el ia continua; “Me pico es usada a la tremas de senioreta Armstrong. Me ia vide ja el en cuando anios a trema. E alga ia dise, ce el secute par fria, e alga ce el secute par trema, ma me sabe, ce el ia secute par odia e coleria mexada… viles, los cual ia ave serta se banceta a esta matina. Ja el ta es a via con se amada e la mone estra par me. Serta de cuando me padron compatable ia averti a el sposi acel ebra vil…”

As the woman winced and everyone else wondered, he went on: “I am somewhat used to Miss Armstrong’s tremors. I have seen her trembling off and on for years. And some said she was shaking with cold and some she was shaking with fear, but I know she was shaking with hate and wicked anger - fiends that have had their feast this morning. She would have been away by now with her lover and all the money but for me. Ever since my poor old master prevented her from marrying that tipsy blackguard - “

“Para,” Gilder ia dise multe sever. “Tu fantasias e suspetas no es la nos cosa. Estra si tu ave atesta real, tu opinas mera…”

“Stop,” said Gilder very sternly. “We have nothing to do with your family fancies or suspicions. Unless you have some practical evidence, your mere opinions - “

“O, me va dona a tu atesta real,” Magnus ia talia con se asentua axinte. “Tu va debe clama me en corte, senior inspetor, e me va debe dise la veria. E asi la veria: un momento pos ce la om vea ia es lansada sanguinte de la fenetra, me ia core en la atico e ia trova la fia desmaiante sur la tera con un daga roja ancora en se mano. Permente a me comunica lo ance a la autorias propre.” El ia prene de se pox a pos un cotel longa con manico de corno e con un manxa roja sur lo, e ia comunica lo a la sarjento en modo cortes. Alora el ia retira se denova, e la craces de se oios cuasi ia desapare de sur se fas par un grima grande e xines.

“Oh! I’ll give you practical evidence,” cut in Magnus, in his hacking accent. “You’ll have to subpoena me, Mr. Inspector, and I shall have to tell the truth. And the truth is this: An instant after the old man was pitched bleeding out of the window, I ran into the attic, and found his daughter swooning on the floor with a red dagger still in her hand. Allow me to hand that also to the proper authorities.” He took from his tail-pocket a long horn-hilted knife with a red smear on it, and handed it politely to the sergeant. Then he stood back again, and his slits of eyes almost faded from his face in one fat Chinese sneer.

Merton ia senti par el un maladia cuasi corpal; e ia murmura a Gilder, “Esensal tu ta crede la parolas de senioreta Armstrong contra la se, esce no?”

Merton felt an almost bodily sickness at the sight of him; and he muttered to Gilder: “Surely you would take Miss Armstrong’s word against his?

Padre Brown ia leva subita un fas en tal manera asurda fresca, ce lo ia pare, como si el ia lava justa lo. “Si,” el ia dise, radiante nonculpablia, “ma esce la parolas de senioreta Armstrong sta contra la se?”

Father Brown suddenly lifted a face so absurdly fresh that it looked somehow as if he had just washed it. “Yes,” he said, radiating innocence, “but is Miss Armstrong’s word against his?”

La xica ia vosi un cria asustate e strana; cada ia regarda el. Se corpo ia es rijida como si paraliseda; sola se fas en se strutur de capeles brun ia es animada par un surprende ofendente. El ia sta como algun subita prendeda con laso e sofocada.

The girl uttered a startled, singular little cry; everyone looked at her. Her figure was rigid as if paralysed; only her face within its frame of faint brown hair was alive with an appalling surprise. She stood like one of a sudden lassooed and throttled.

“Esta om,” senior Gilder ia dise seria, “dise, ce tu ia es vera trovada teninte un cotel, nonconosente, pos la omiside.”

“This man,” said Mr. Gilder gravely, “actually says that you were found grasping a knife, insensible, after the murder.”

“El dise vera,” Alice ia responde.

“He says the truth,” answered Alice.

La fato seguente cual los ia es consensa ia es, ce Patrick Royce ia pasea con se spalas grande e inclinante en la se anelo, e ia dise la singular frase; “Bon, si me debe vade, ante cuando me va estrae a alga pasos de plaser.”

The next fact of which they were conscious was that Patrick Royce strode with his great stooping head into their ring and uttered the singular words: “Well, if I’ve got to go, I’ll have a bit of pleasure first.”

La se spala enorme ia leva se e el ia envia un punio ferin cracinte en la fas blanda e mongol de Magnus, ponente el sur la erba plata como un stela de mar. Direta du tre polisiores ia pone se manos sur Royce; ma a la otras ia pare, ce tota razona cade e la universo es turnante a un paliasia stupida.

His huge shoulder heaved and he sent an iron fist smash into Magnus’s bland Mongolian visage, laying him on the lawn as flat as a starfish. Two or three of the police instantly put their hands on Royce; but to the rest it seemed as if all reason had broken up and the universe were turning into a brainless harlequinade.

“Zero tan, senior Royce,” Gilder ia cria sever. “Me va aresta tu par ataca.”

“None of that, Mr. Royce,” Gilder had called out authoritatively. “I shall arrest you for assault.”

“No, no par lo,” la secretor ia responde con un vose como un gongo ferosa, “tu va aresta me par omiside.”

“No, you won’t,” answered the secretary in a voice like an iron gong, “you will arrest me for murder.”

Gilder ia lansa un regarda temosa e intensa a la colpada; ma donce ce acel person colerida ia senta ja secinte un plu bon de sangue de un fas cuasi nonferida, el sola ia dise corta, “Ce tu vole dise?”

Gilder threw an alarmed glance at the man knocked down; but since that outraged person was already sitting up and wiping a little blood off a substantially uninjured face, he only said shortly: “What do you mean?”

“Es intera vera, como dise acel,” Royce ia esplica , “ce senioreta Armstrong ia desmaia con un cotel en se mano. Ma el no ia saisi la cotel per ataca se padre, ma per defende el.”

“It is quite true, as this fellow says,” explained Royce, “that Miss Armstrong fainted with a knife in her hand. But she had not snatched the knife to attack her father, but to defend him.”

“Per defende el,” Gilder ia repete seria, “Contra ci?”

“To defend him,” repeated Gilder gravely. “Against whom?”

“Contra me,” la secretor ia responde.

“Against me,” answered the secretary.

Alice ia regarda el con un fas complicada e confondeda; alora la xica ia dise con un vose basa; “Pos tota, me es ancora contente ce tu es corajosa.”

Alice looked at him with a complex and baffling face; then she said in a low voice: “After it all, I am still glad you are brave.”

“Veni a supra,” Patrick Royce ia dise grave, “e me va presenta a tu la tota cosa maldiseda.”

“Come upstairs,” said Patrick Royce heavily, “and I will show you the whole cursed thing.”

La atico, cual ia es la privata loca de la secretor (e un selula posible apena bastante vasta per tal eremita) ia porta vera tota vestijios de un drama violente. Prosima la media de la tera ia reclina un revolver grande como si ia dejetada; plu a sinistra un botela de uisce, abrida ma no intera vacua, ia es rolada. La tela de la peti table ia reclina traeda e craseda con pede, e plu bon de corda, simil a acel sur la trovada corpo mor, ia es savaje lansada tra la table de fenetra. Du vasos ia es rompeda sur la ximineria, e un sur la tapeto.

The attic, which was the secretary’s private place (and rather a small cell for so large a hermit), had indeed all the vestiges of a violent drama. Near the centre of the floor lay a large revolver as if flung away; nearer to the left was rolled a whisky bottle, open but not quite empty. The cloth of the little table lay dragged and trampled, and a length of cord, like that found on the corpse, was cast wildly across the windowsill. Two vases were smashed on the mantelpiece and one on the carpet.

“Me ia es ebra,” Royce ia dise; e esta simplia, en la om prematur sufrinte, ia ave plu bon de la pasion de la peca prima de un bebe.

“I was drunk,” said Royce; and this simplicity in the prematurely battered man somehow had the pathos of the first sin of a baby.

“Tu tota sabe sur me,” el ia continua roncin; “cadun sabe como ia comensa la me carera, e tan ance lo pote bon fini. On clama me a un ves un om intelijente, e posible me ta pote es un om felis; Armstrong ia salva la restas de un serebro e corpo de la tavernas, e sempre ia presenta se amabla a me par se modo propre, el compatable. Ma el no ia vole permete a me sposi Alice; e va es sempre diseda ce el ia razona bastante bon. Bon, tu pote serta fa tu concluis propre e tu no va vole ce me trata cualias. Asi en la angulo la me botela mediavacuida de uisce; asi sur la tapeto me revolver intera vacuida. Ia ave corda de me caxa sur la corpo mor, la corpo mor ia es lansada de me fenetra. No es nesesada, ce tu causa ce detetores desentera me trajedia; lo trata sur malerba bastante comun en esta mundo… . Me dona me a la pendador; e a Dio, lo es bastante!”

“You all know about me,” he continued huskily; “everybody knows how my story began, and it may as well end like that too. I was called a clever man once, and might have been a happy one; Armstrong saved the remains of a brain and body from the taverns, and was always kind to me in his own way, poor fellow! Only he wouldn’t let me marry Alice here; and it will always be said that he was right enough. Well, you can form your own conclusions, and you won’t want me to go into details. That is my whisky bottle half emptied in the corner; that is my revolver quite emptied on the carpet. It was the rope from my box that was found on the corpse, and it was from my window the corpse was thrown. You need not set detectives to grub up my tragedy; it is a common enough weed in this world. I give myself to the gallows; and, by God, that is enough!”

Par un sinia bastante delicata la polisiores asembla sirca la grande om per gida el a via; ma se separadia ia es alga bambolada de la mervelia notable de padre Brown, ci ia es sur la manos e jenos en la arco de porte, como si segue alga preas sin dinia. Esente un person intera no delicata sur como aspeta sosial el presenta, el ia resta en esta posa ma ia reversa a supra un fas briliante e ronda a la compania, e dona la apare de un cuatropedal con un testa umana multe comical.

At a sufficiently delicate sign, the police gathered round the large man to lead him away; but their unobtrusiveness was somewhat staggered by the remarkable appearance of Father Brown, who was on his hands and knees on the carpet in the doorway, as if engaged in some kind of undignified prayers. Being a person utterly insensible to the social figure he cut, he remained in this posture, but turned a bright round face up at the company, presenting the appearance of a quadruped with a very comic human head.

“Me dise,” el ia dise bon, “lo esta intera no es bon, tu sabe. En la comensa tu ia dise, ce nos ia trova no util. Ma aora nos ia trova multe; asi la cotel per colpa, e la corda per sofoca, e la pistol per fusili; e a fini en cualce modo el ia rompe la colo cadente de un fenetra. No razona bon. No es economial.” E el ia secute la testa sur la tera como un cavalo comente a pasto fa.

“I say,” he said good-naturedly, “this really won’t do at all, you know. At the beginning you said we’d found no weapon. But now we’re finding too many; there’s the knife to stab, and the rope to strangle, and the pistol to shoot; and after all he broke his neck by falling out of a window! It won’t do. It’s not economical.” And he shook his head at the ground as a horse does grazing.

Inspetor Gilder ia abri la boca con seria intendes ma ante cuando el ia pote parla, la asustante figur sur la tera ia continua intera con rola.

Inspector Gilder had opened his mouth with serious intentions, but before he could speak the grotesque figure on the floor had gone on quite volubly.

“E aora tre cosas intera nonposible. Prima, la bucos en la tapeto, do ses baletas ia entra. Perce cualce tan algun fusili a la tapeto? Un om ebra permete vola a la testa de se enemi, le cosa cual surie a el. El no eleje un disputa con la pedes, o pone aseja a la pantoflas. E asi en ajunta a la corda”… e fininte sur la tapeto la parlor ia leva se manos e ia pone los en la poxes, ma ia continua sin afeta sur se jenos… “en cual consetable ebri algun ta proba pone un corda sirca colo de un om e a fini ta pone lo sirca la gama? Royce a la min no ia es tan multe ebra, o el ja ta dormi como un tronco. E de tota la plu clar, la botela de uisce. Tu dise vera, ce un person bevinte alcol sin controla ia batalia per la botela de uisce, e ja vinsente, ia rola lo a via en un angulo, malversante un dui e lasante la otra. Acel ta es vera ata masima nonprobable a un person bevinte alcol sin controla.”

“And now three quite impossible things. First, these holes in the carpet, where the six bullets have gone in. Why on earth should anybody fire at the carpet? A drunken man lets fly at his enemy’s head, the thing that’s grinning at him. He doesn’t pick a quarrel with his feet, or lay siege to his slippers. And then there’s the rope” — and having done with the carpet the speaker lifted his hands and put them in his pocket, but continued unaffectedly on his knees — “in what conceivable intoxication would anybody try to put a rope round a man’s neck and finally put it round his leg? Royce, anyhow, was not so drunk as that, or he would be sleeping like a log by now. And, plainest of all, the whisky bottle. You suggest a dipsomaniac fought for the whisky bottle, and then having won, rolled it away in a corner, spilling one half and leaving the other. That is the very last thing a dipsomaniac would do.”

El ia trepa difisil, e ia dise a se asasinante acusante se en tonos de repenti blanda; “Me asustante regrete, me senior cara, ma lo ce tu dise es serta nopuria.”

He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, and said to the self-accused murderer in tones of limpid penitence: “I’m awfully sorry, my dear sir, but your tale is really rubbish.”

“Senior,” Alice Armstrong ia dise con un vose basa a la prete, “esce es posible, ce me parla con tu sola per un momento?”

“Sir,” said Alice Armstrong in a low tone to the priest, “can I speak to you alone for a moment?”

Esta demanda ia forsa la comunicante prete de la pasaje, e ante cuando el ia pote parla en la seguente camera, la xica ia es parlante con modo strana e amarga.

This request forced the communicative cleric out of the gangway, and before he could speak in the next room, the girl was talking with strange incisiveness.

“Tu es intelijente,” la xica ia dise, “e tu proba salva Patrick, me sabe. Ma lo no es usosa. La cor de lo esta intera es negra, e la plu de cosas cual tu va trova la plu monton va mostra contra la misera om, ci me ama.”

“You are a clever man,” she said, “and you are trying to save Patrick, I know. But it’s no use. The core of all this is black, and the more things you find out the more there will be against the miserable man I love.”

“Perce?” Brown ia demanda, regardante el en modo constante.

“Why?” asked Brown, looking at her steadily.

“Car,” la xica ia responde egal constante, “me mesma ia vide el fa la omiside.”

“Because,” she answered equally steadily, “I saw him commit the crime myself.”

“A,” Brown ia dise sin move, “e ce el ia fa?”

“Ah!” said the unmoved Brown, “and what did he do?”

“Me ia es en la camera prosima los,” la xica ia esplica; “du portes ia es cluida ma subita me ia oia un vose, cual me ia oia nunca, rujinte, ‘Enferno, enferno, enferno,’ denova e denova, e alora du portes ia secute con la esplode prima de la revolver. Tre veses denova lo ia craci ante cuando me ia abri la portes e ia trova la camera plen de fuma; ma la pistol ancora ia fuma en la mano de me Patrick compatable e coler; e me ia vide ce el dona la fusili ultima e omisidosa, con me oios propre. Alora el ia lansa se a me padre, ci ia es adorente par teror a la table de fenetra, e en combate ia proba sofoca el con la corda, cual el ia lansa sirca se testa, ma lo ia lisca sirca la spalas lutante a se pedes. Alora lo ia streti sirca un gama e Patrick ia tira el como un manica. Me ia saisi un cotel de sur la tapeto, e fretante entre los ia pote coteli la corda ante cuando me ia desmaia.”

“I was in this room next to them,” she explained; “both doors were closed, but I suddenly heard a voice, such as I had never heard on earth, roaring ‘Hell, hell, hell,’ again and again, and then the two doors shook with the first explosion of the revolver. Thrice again the thing banged before I got the two doors open and found the room full of smoke; but the pistol was smoking in my poor, mad Patrick’s hand; and I saw him fire the last murderous volley with my own eyes. Then he leapt on my father, who was clinging in terror to the window-sill, and, grappling, tried to strangle him with the rope, which he threw over his head, but which slipped over his struggling shoulders to his feet. Then it tightened round one leg and Patrick dragged him along like a maniac. I snatched a knife from the mat, and, rushing between them, managed to cut the rope before I fainted.”

“Me comprende,” padre Brown ia dise con la mesma cortesia de lenio. “Grasias.”

“I see,” said Father Brown, with the same wooden civility. “Thank you.”

En cuando la xica ia colasa su se memorias, la prete ia pasea rijida en la seguente camera, como el ia trova Gilder e Merton sola con Patrick Royce, ci ia senta en un seja con securipolso. Asi el ia dise sedente a la inspetor:

As the girl collapsed under her memories, the priest passed stiffly into the next room, where he found Gilder and Merton alone with Patrick Royce, who sat in a chair, handcuffed. There he said to the Inspector submissively:

“Esce me pote dise un parola a la prendeda en tu presentia; e esce el ta despone acel polsos comical en cuando un minuto?”

“Might I say a word to the prisoner in your presence; and might he take off those funny cuffs for a minute?”

“El es un om multe forte,” Merton ia dise in un subtono, “perce tu vole despone los?”

“He is a very powerful man,” said Merton in an undertone. “Why do you want them taken off?”

“Bon tan, me ia crede,” ia responde umil la prete, “ce posible me va ave la onora presa la manos con el.”

“Why, I thought,” replied the priest humbly, “that perhaps I might have the very great honour of shaking hands with him.”

Du detetores ia regarda intensa, e padre Brown ia ajunta; “Per ce tu no dise sur a los, senior?”

Both detectives stared, and Father Brown added: “Won’t you tell them about it, sir?”

La om en la seja no ia secute la testa desordinate, e la prete ia reversa se con nonpasientia.

The man on the chair shook his tousled head, and the priest turned impatiently.

“Me mesma tan va fa lo,” el ia dise. “Vives privata es plu importante ca reputas publica. Me intende salva la viventes e lasa la mores entera se mores.”

“Then I will,” he said. “Private lives are more important than public reputations. I am going to save the living, and let the dead bury their dead.”

El ia vade a la matante fenetra e ia ginia de lo en cuando el ia continua parla.

He went to the fatal window, and blinked out of it as he went on talking.

“Me ia dise a tu, ce en esta cosa es tro multe utiles e sola un mori. Me dise a tu, ce aceles no ia es utiles, e no es ia usada per causa mori. Tota acel utiles temente, la laso, la cotel sanguosa, la pistol esplodente, ia es la utiles de un pardona curiosa. Aceles ia es usada no per mata sir Aaron Armstrong ma per salva el.”

“I told you that in this case there were too many weapons and only one death. I tell you now that they were not weapons, and were not used to cause death. All those grisly tools, the noose, the bloody knife, the exploding pistol, were instruments of a curious mercy. They were not used to kill Sir Aaron, but to save him.”

“Per salva el!” Gilder ia dise. “Contra ce?”

“To save him!” repeated Gilder. “And from what?”

“Contra el mesma,” padre Brown ia dise. “El ia es un manica suisidal.”

“From himself,” said Father Brown. “He was a suicidal maniac.”

“Ce?” Merton ia cria con un tono noncredente. “E la Relijio de Joia…”

“What?” cried Merton in an incredulous tone. “And the Religion of Cheerfulness — “

“Acel es un relijio cruel,” la prete ia dise regardante estra la fenetra. “Perce los no ia pote lasa el plora, como se padres ia plora ante el? Se projetas ia rijidi, se opinas ia es fria; pos acel felis masca ia ave la mente vacua de ateiste. A fini per suporta se ilario publica nivel, el ia revade a acel bevida de uisce cual el ia lasa ja ante longa. Ma on ave justa esta teror sur alcolomania a un astenior sinsere, ce el pituri e espeta acel enferno psicolojial contra cual el es ia avertinte ja otras. Prematur lo ia prende Armstrong compatable, e a esta matina el ia es ja en tal stato, ce el ia senta asi esta e ia cria, ce el es en enferno, con un vose en tal manera coler ce la se fia lo no ia reconose. El ia es coler per mori, e par la artifisias simia de coleres el ia sperde sirca mori su multe formas… un laso, la revolver de se ami, e un cotel. Royce ia entra acaso e ia ata rapida como un lus. El ia dejeta a retro la cotel sur la tapeto, ia saisi la revolver, e no trovante tempo bastante per descarga lo, ia vacui intera lo fusili pos fusili sirca a la tera. La suisidor ia vide la mori su un forma cuatro, e comensa core a la fenetra. La salvor ia fa la sola ata posible… ia core pos el con corda e ia proba tia la mano e pede. Alora la xica nonfelis ia core a en e, malcomprendente la luta, el ia proba libri se padre con coteli. Prima la xica sola ia feri la nocas de Royce compatable, de la cosa cual es ia veninte la sangue intera peti en esta cosa. Natural tan tu ia nota, ce el ia lasa sangue ma no feri sur la fas de acel servor? Ma ante cuando la xica compatable ia desmaia, ia axi laxente se padre en tal manera ce el ia cade crasente de acel fenetra en eternia.”

“It is a cruel religion,” said the priest, looking out of the window. “Why couldn’t they let him weep a little, like his fathers before him? His plans stiffened, his views grew cold; behind that merry mask was the empty mind of the atheist. At last, to keep up his hilarious public level, he fell back on that dram-drinking he had abandoned long ago. But there is this horror about alcoholism in a sincere teetotaler: that he pictures and expects that psychological inferno from which he has warned others. It leapt upon poor Armstrong prematurely, and by this morning he was in such a case that he sat here and cried he was in hell, in so crazy a voice that his daughter did not know it. He was mad for death, and with the monkey tricks of the mad he had scattered round him death in many shapes — a running noose and his friend’s revolver and a knife. Royce entered accidentally and acted in a flash. He flung the knife on the mat behind him, snatched up the revolver, and having no time to unload it, emptied it shot after shot all over the floor. The suicide saw a fourth shape of death, and made a dash for the window. The rescuer did the only thing he could — ran after him with the rope and tried to tie him hand and foot. Then it was that the unlucky girl ran in, and misunderstanding the struggle, strove to slash her father free. At first she only slashed poor Royce’s knuckles, from which has come all the little blood in this affair. But, of course, you noticed that he left blood, but no wound, on that servant’s face? Only before the poor woman swooned, she did hack her father loose, so that he went crashing through that window into eternity.”

Ia es un calmia longa, lenta rompeda de la ruidos metal de Gilder desclavente la securipolsos de Patrick Royce, a ci el ia dise; “Me pensa, ce tu ta debe es disente la veria, senior. Tu e la fem joven es valua plu multe ca la anunsias de moria sur Armstrong.”

There was a long stillness slowly broken by the metallic noises of Gilder unlocking the handcuffs of Patrick Royce, to whom he said: “I think I should have told the truth, sir. You and the young lady are worth more than Armstrong’s obituary notices.”

“La anunsias de moria sur Armstrong ta es malediseda,” Royce ia cria ru. “Esce tu no comprende tan, ce ia es per ce la xica no sabe?”

“Confound Armstrong’s notices,” cried Royce roughly. “Don’t you see it was because she mustn’t know?”

“No sabe ce?” Merton ia demanda.

“Mustn’t know what?” asked Merton.

“Stupida vos; ce la xica ia mata se padre,” la otra ia ruji . “El ancora ta vive, estra par la fem. Sape lo fa posible coler el.”

“Why, that she killed her father, you fool!” roared the other. “He’d have been alive now but for her. It might craze her to know that.”

“No, me pensa, ce no,” padre Brown ia nota, en cuando el ia prende se xapo. “Plu bon me pensa, ce me ta dise a el. Ancora eras la plu omisidosa no veneni la vive como pecas; an tal me pensa, ce aora posible vos du va es la plu joiosa. Me debe revade a la Scola de Sordas.”

“No, I don’t think it would,” remarked Father Brown, as he picked up his hat. “I rather think I should tell her. Even the most murderous blunders don’t poison life like sins; anyhow, I think you may both be the happier now. I’ve got to go back to the Deaf School.”

En cuando el ia veni sur la soflante erba un conoseda de Highgate ia para el e ia dise:

As he went out on to the gusty grass an acquaintance from Highgate stopped him and said:

“La ofisior ci demanda a en la causa de la mori ia arivante ja. La sonda a un ves va comensa.”

“The Coroner has arrived. The inquiry is just going to begin.”

“Me debe revade a la Scola de Sordas,” padre Brown ia dise. “Me regrete, ce me no pote resta per la sonda.”

“I’ve got to get back to the Deaf School,” said Father Brown. “I’m sorry I can’t stop for the inquiry.”