the wisdom of father brown-第39节

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hat　he　was　a　brother　journalist。

　　　　　〃Could　you　do　me　the　favour；〃　asked　Kidd；　with　the　courtesy　of　his　nation；　〃of　directing　me　to　the　Grey　Cottage；　where　Mr　Boulnois　lives；　as　I　understand？〃

　　　　　〃It's　a　few　yards　down　the　road；〃　said　the　red…haired　man；　removing　his　cigar；　〃I　shall　be　passing　it　myself　in　a　minute；　but　I'm　going　on　to　Pendragon　Park　to　try　and　see　the　fun。〃

　　　　　〃What　is　Pendragon　Park？〃　asked　Calhoun　Kidd。

　　　　　〃Sir　Claude　Champion's　placehaven't　you　come　down　for　that；　too？〃　asked　the　other　pressman；　looking　up。　　〃You're　a　journalist；　aren't　you？〃

　　　　　〃I　have　come　to　see　Mr　Boulnois；〃　said　Kidd。

　　　　　〃I've　come　to　see　Mrs　Boulnois；〃　replied　the　other。　　〃But　I　shan't　catch　her　at　home。〃　And　he　laughed　rather　unpleasantly。

　　　　　〃Are　you　interested　in　Catastrophism？〃　asked　the　wondering　Yankee。

　　　　　〃I'm　interested　in　catastrophes；　and　there　are　going　to　be　some；〃　replied　his　companion　gloomily。　　〃Mine's　a　filthy　trade；　and　I　never　pretend　it　isn't。〃

　　　　　With　that　he　spat　on　the　floor；　yet　somehow　in　the　very　act　and　instant　one　could　realize　that　the　man　had　been　brought　up　as　a　gentleman。

　　　　　The　American　pressman　considered　him　with　more　attention。　　His　face　was　pale　and　dissipated；　with　the　promise　of　formidable　passions　yet　to　be　loosed；　but　it　was　a　clever　and　sensitive　face；　his　clothes　were　coarse　and　careless；　but　he　had　a　good　seal　ring　on　one　of　his　long；　thin　fingers。　　His　name；　which　came　out　in　the　course　of　talk；　was　James　Dalroy；　he　was　the　son　of　a　bankrupt　Irish　landlord；　and　attached　to　a　pink　paper　which　he　heartily　despised；　called　Smart　Society；　in　the　capacity　of　reporter　and　of　something　painfully　like　a　spy。

　　　　　Smart　Society；　I　regret　to　say；　felt　none　of　that　interest　in　Boulnois　on　Darwin　which　was　such　a　credit　to　the　head　and　hearts　of　the　Western　Sun。　　Dalroy　had　come　down；　it　seemed；　to　snuff　up　the　scent　of　a　scandal　which　might　very　well　end　in　the　Divorce　Court；　but　which　was　at　present　hovering　between　Grey　Cottage　and　Pendragon　Park。

　　　　　Sir　Claude　Champion　was　known　to　the　readers　of　the　Western　Sun　as　well　as　Mr　Boulnois。　　So　were　the　Pope　and　the　Derby　Winner；　but　the　idea　of　their　intimate　acquaintanceship　would　have　struck　Kidd　as　equally　incongruous。　　He　had　heard　of　（and　written　about；　nay；　falsely　pretended　to　know）　Sir　Claude　Champion；　as　〃one　of　the　brightest　and　wealthiest　of　England's　Upper　Ten〃；　as　the　great　sportsman　who　raced　yachts　round　the　world；　as　the　great　traveller　who　wrote　books　about　the　Himalayas；　as　the　politician　who　swept　constituencies　with　a　startling　sort　of　Tory　Democracy；　and　as　the　great　dabbler　in　art；　music；　literature；　and；　above　all；　acting。　　Sir　Claude　was　really　rather　magnificent　in　other　than　American　eyes。　　There　was　something　of　the　Renascence　Prince　about　his　omnivorous　culture　and　restless　publicity；　he　was　not　only　a　great　amateur；　but　an　ardent　one。　　There　was　in　him　none　of　that　antiquarian　frivolity　that　we　convey　by　the　word　〃dilettante〃。

　　　　　That　faultless　falcon　profile　with　purple…black　Italian　eye；　which　had　been　snap…shotted　so　often　both　for　Smart　Society　and　the　Western　Sun；　gave　everyone　the　impression　of　a　man　eaten　by　ambition　as　by　a　fire；　or　even　a　disease。　　But　though　Kidd　knew　a　great　deal　about　Sir　Claudea　great　deal　more；　in　fact；　than　there　was　to　know　it　would　never　have　crossed　his　wildest　dreams　to　connect　so　showy　an　aristocrat　with　the　newly…unearthed　founder　of　Catastrophism；　or　to　guess　that　Sir　Claude　Champion　and　John　Boulnois　could　be　intimate　friends。　　Such；　according　to　Dalroy's　account；　was　nevertheless　the　fact。　　The　two　had　hunted　in　couples　at　school　and　college；　and；　though　their　social　destinies　had　been　very　different　（for　Champion　was　a　great　landlord　and　almost　a　millionaire；　while　Boulnois　was　a　poor　scholar　and；　until　just　lately；　an　unknown　one）；　they　still　kept　in　very　close　touch　with　each　other。　　Indeed；　Boulnois's　cottage　stood　just　outside　the　gates　of　Pendragon　Park。

　　　　　But　whether　the　two　men　could　be　friends　much　longer　was　becoming　a　dark　and　ugly　question。　　A　year　or　two　before；　Boulnois　had　married　a　beautiful　and　not　unsuccessful　actress；　to　whom　he　was　devoted　in　his　own　shy　and　ponderous　style；　and　the　proximity　of　the　household　to　Champion's　had　given　that　flighty　celebrity　opportunities　for　behaving　in　a　way　that　could　not　but　cause　painful　and　rather　base　excitement。　　Sir　Claude　had　carried　the　arts　of　publicity　to　perfection；　and　he　seemed　to　take　a　crazy　pleasure　in　being　equally　ostentatious　in　an　intrigue　that　could　do　him　no　sort　of　honour。　　Footmen　from　Pendragon　were　perpetually　leaving　bouquets　for　Mrs　Boulnois；　carriages　and　motor…cars　were　perpetually　calling　at　the　cottage　for　Mrs　Boulnois；　balls　and　masquerades　perpetually　filled　the　grounds　in　which　the　baronet　paraded　Mrs　Boulnois；　like　the　Queen　of　Love　and　Beauty　at　a　tournament。　　That　very　evening；　marked　by　Mr　Kidd　for　the　exposition　of　Catastrophism；　had　been　marked　by　Sir　Claude　Champion　for　an　open…air　rendering　of　Romeo　and　Juliet；　in　which　he　was　to　play　Romeo　to　a　Juliet　it　was　needless　to　name。

　　　　　〃I　don't　think　it　can　go　on　without　a　smash；〃　said　the　young　man　with　red　hair；　getting　up　and　shaking　himself。　　〃Old　Boulnois　may　be　squaredor　he　may　be　square。　　But　if　he's　square　he's　thick　what　you　might　call　cubic。　　But　I　don't　believe　it's　possible。〃

　　　　　〃He　is　a　man　of　grand　intellectual　powers；〃　said　Calhoun　Kidd　in　a　deep　voice。

　　　　　〃Yes；〃　answered　Dalroy；　〃but　even　a　man　of　grand　intellectual　powers　can't　be　such　a　blighted　fool　as　all　that。　　Must　you　be　going　on？　　I　shall　be　following　myself　in　a　minute　or　two。〃

　　　　　But　Calhoun　Kidd；　having　finished　a　milk　and　soda；　betook　himself　smartly　up　the　road　towards　the　Grey　Cottage；　leaving　his　cynical　informant　to　his　whisky　and　tobacco。　　The　last　of　the　daylight　had　faded；　the　skies　were　of　a　dark；　green…grey；　like　slate；　studded　here　and　there　with　a　star；　but　lighter　on　the　left　side　of　the　sky；　with　the　promise　of　a　rising　moon。

　　　　　The　Grey　Cottage；　which　stood　entrenched；　as　it　were；　in　a　square　of　stiff；　high　thorn…hedges；　was　so　close　under　the　pines　and　palisades　of　the　Park　that　Kidd　at　first　mistook　it　for　the　Park　Lodge。　　Finding　the　name　on　the　narrow　wooden　gate；　however；　and　seeing　by　his　watch　that　the　hour　of　the　〃Thinker's〃　appointment　had　just　struck；　he　went　in　and　knocked　at　the　front　door。　　Inside　the　garden　hedge；　he　could　see　that　the　house；　though　unpretentious　enough；　was　larger　and　more　luxurious　than　it　looked　at　first；　and　was　quite　a　different　kind　of　place　from　a　porter's　lodge。　　A　dog…kennel　and　a　beehive　stood　outside；　like　symbols　of　old　English　country…life；　the　moon　was　rising　behind　a　plantation　of　prosperous　pear　trees；　the　dog　that　came　out　of　the　kennel　was　reverend…looking　and　reluctant　to　bark；　and　the　plain；　elderly　man…servant　who　opened　the　door　was　brief　but　dignified。

　　　　　〃Mr　Boulnois　asked　me　to　offer　his　apologies；　sir；〃　he　said；　〃but　he　has　been　obliged　to　go　out　suddenly。〃

　　　　　〃But　see　here；　I　had　an　appointment；〃　said　the　interviewer；　with　a　rising　voice。　　〃Do　you　know　where　he　went　to？〃

　　　　　〃To　Pendragon　Park；　sir；〃　said　the　servant；　rather　sombrely；　and　began　to　close　the　door。

　　　　　Kidd　started　a　little。

　　　　　〃Did　he　go　with　Mrswith　the　rest　of　the　party？〃　he　asked　rather　vaguely。

　　　　　〃No；　sir；〃　said　the　man　shortly；　〃he　stayed　behind；　and　then　went　out　alone。〃　And　he　shut　the　door；　brutally；　but　with　an　air　of　duty　not　done。

　　　　　The　American；　that　curious　compound　of　impudence　and　sensitiveness；　was　annoyed。　　He　felt　a　strong　desire　to　hustle　them　all　along　a　bit　and　teach　them　business　habits；　the　hoary　old　dog　and　the　grizzled；　heavy…faced　old　butler　with　his　prehistoric　shirt…front；　and　the　drowsy　old　moon；　and　above　all　the　scatter…brained　old　philosopher　who　couldn't　keep　an　appointment。

　　　　　〃If　that's　the　way　he　goes　on　he　deserves　to　lose　his　wife's　purest　devotion；〃　said　Mr　Calhoun　Kidd。　　〃But　perhaps　he's　gone　over　to　make　a　row。　　In　that　case　I　reckon　a　man　from　the　Western　Sun　will　be　on　the　spot。〃

　　　　　And　turning　the　corner　by　the　open　lodge…gates；　he　set　off；　stumping　up　the　long　avenue　of　black　pine…woods　that　pointed　in　abrupt　perspective　towards　the　inner　gardens　of　Pendragon　Park。　　The　trees　were　as　black　and　orderly　as　plumes　upon　a　hearse；　there　were　still　a　few　stars。　　He　was　a　man　with　more　literary　than　direct　natural　associations；　the　word　〃Ravenswood〃　came　into　his　head　repeatedly。　　It　was　partly　the　raven　colour　of　the　pine…woods；　but　partly　also　an　indescribable　atmosphere　almost　described　in　Scott's　great　tragedy；　the　smell　of　something　that　died　in　the　eighteenth　century；　the　smell　of　dank　gardens　and　broken　urns；　of　wrongs　that　will　never　now　be　righted；　of　something　that　is　none　the　less　incurably　sad　because　it　is　strangely　unreal。

　　　　　More　than　once；　as　he　went　up　that　strange；　black　road　of　tragic　artifice；　he　stopped；　startled；　thinking　he　heard　steps　in　front　of　him。　　He　could　see　nothing　in　front　but　the　twin　sombre　walls　of　pine　and　the　wedge　of　starlit　sky　above　them。　　At　first　he　thought　he　must　have　fancied　it　or　been　mocked　by　a　mere　echo　of　his　own