the man who knew too much-第1节

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The　Man　Who　Knew　Too　Much

by　Gilbert　K。　Chesterton





CONTENTS

THE　MAN　WHO　KNEW　TOO　MUCH：
　　I。　THE　FACE　IN　THE　TARGET　
　　II。　THE　VANISHING　PRINCE　
　　III。　THE　SOUL　OF　THE　SCHOOLBOY
　　IV。　THE　BOTTOMLESS　WELL
　　V。　THE　FAD　OF　THE　FISHERMAN　
　　VI。　THE　HOLE　IN　THE　WALL
　　VII。　THE　TEMPLE　OF　　SILENCE
　　VIII。　THE　VENGEANCE　OF　THE　STATUE




THE　MAN　WHO　KNEW　TOO　MUCH

I。　THE　FACE　IN　THE　TARGET

Harold　March；　the　rising　reviewer　and　social　critic；　was　walking　vigorously　across　a　great　tableland　of　moors　and　commons；　the　horizon　of　which　was　fringed　with　the　far…off　woods　of　the　famous　estate　of　Torwood　Park。　He　was　a　good…looking　young　man　in　tweeds；　with　very　pale　curly　hair　and　pale　clear　eyes。　Walking　in　wind　and　sun　in　the　very　landscape　of　liberty；　he　was　still　young　enough　to　remember　his　politics　and　not　merely　try　to　forget　them。　For　his　errand　at　Torwood　Park　was　a　political　one；　it　was　the　place　of　appointment　named　by　no　less　a　person　than　the　Chancellor　of　the　Exchequer；　Sir　Howard　Horne；　then　introducing　his　so…called　Socialist　budget；　and　prepared　to　expound　it　in　an　interview　with　so　promising　a　penman。　Harold　March　was　the　sort　of　man　who　knows　everything　about　politics；　and　nothing　about　politicians。　He　also　knew　a　great　deal　about　art；　letters；　philosophy；　and　general　culture；　about　almost　everything；　indeed；　except　the　world　he　was　living　in。

Abruptly；　in　the　middle　of　those　sunny　and　windy　flats；　he　came　upon　a　sort　of　cleft　almost　narrow　enough　to　be　called　a　crack　in　the　land。　It　was　just　large　enough　to　be　the　water…course　for　a　small　stream　which　vanished　at　intervals　under　green　tunnels　of　undergrowth；　as　if　in　a　dwarfish　forest。　Indeed；　he　had　an　odd　feeling　as　if　he　were　a　giant　looking　over　the　valley　of　the　pygmies。　When　he　dropped　into　the　hollow；　however；　the　impression　was　lost；　the　rocky　banks；　though　hardly　above　the　height　of　a　cottage；　hung　over　and　had　the　profile　of　a　precipice。　As　he　began　to　wander　down　the　course　of　the　stream；　in　idle　but　romantic　curiosity；　and　saw　the　water　shining　in　short　strips　between　the　great　gray　boulders　and　bushes　as　soft　as　great　green　mosses；　he　fell　into　quite　an　opposite　vein　of　fantasy。　It　was　rather　as　if　the　earth　had　opened　and　swallowed　him　into　a　sort　of　underworld　of　dreams。　And　when　he　became　conscious　of　a　human　figure　dark　against　the　silver　stream；　sitting　on　a　large　boulder　and　looking　rather　like　a　large　bird；　it　was　perhaps　with　some　of　the　premonition's　proper　to　a　man　who　meets　the　strangest　friendship　of　his　life。

The　man　was　apparently　fishing；　or　at　least　was　fixed　in　a　fisherman's　attitude　with　more　than　a　fisherman's　immobility。　March　was　able　to　examine　the　man　almost　as　if　he　had　been　a　statue　for　some　minutes　before　the　statue　spoke。　He　was　a　tall；　fair　man；　cadaverous；　and　a　little　lackadaisical；　with　heavy　eyelids　and　a　highbridged　nose。　When　his　face　was　shaded　with　his　wide　white　hat；　his　light　mustache　and　lithe　figure　gave　him　a　look　of　youth。　But　the　Panama　lay　on　the　moss　beside　him；　and　the　spectator　could　see　that　his　brow　was　prematurely　bald；　and　this；　combined　with　a　certain　hollowness　about　the　eyes；　had　an　air　of　headwork　and　even　headache。　But　the　most　curious　thing　about　him；　realized　after　a　short　scrutiny；　was　that；　though　he　looked　like　a　fisherman；　he　was　not　fishing。

He　was　holding；　instead　of　a　rod；　something　that　might　have　been　a　landing…net　which　some　fishermen　use；　but　which　was　much　more　like　the　ordinary　toy　net　which　children　carry；　and　which　they　generally　use　indifferently　for　shrimps　or　butterflies。　He　was　dipping　this　into　the　water　at　intervals；　gravely　regarding　its　harvest　of　weed　or　mud；　and　emptying　it　out　again。

〃No；　I　haven't　caught　anything；〃　he　remarked；　calmly；　as　if　answering　an　unspoken　query。　〃When　I　do　I　have　to　throw　it　back　again；　especially　the　big　fish。　But　some　of　the　little　beasts　interest　me　when　I　get　'em。〃

〃A　scientific　interest；　I　suppose？〃　observed　March。

〃Of　a　rather　amateurish　sort；　I　fear；〃　answered　the　strange　fisherman。　〃I　have　a　sort　of　hobby　about　what　they　call　'phenomena　of　phosphorescence。'　But　it　would　be　rather　awkward　to　go　about　in　society　crying　stinking　fish。〃

〃I　suppose　it　would；〃　said　March；　with　a　smile。

〃Rather　odd　to　enter　a　drawing…room　carrying　a　large　luminous　cod；〃　continued　the　stranger；　in　his　listless　way。　〃How　quaint　it　would；　be　if　one　could　carry　it　about　like　a　lantern；　or　have　little　sprats　for　candles。　Some　of　the　seabeasts　would　really　be　very　pretty　like　lampshades；　the　blue　sea…snail　that　glitters　all　over　like　starlight；　and　some　of　the　red　starfish　really　shine　like　red　stars。　But；　naturally；　I'm　not　looking　for　them　here。〃

March　thought　of　asking　him　what　he　was　looking　for；　but；　feeling　unequal　to　a　technical　discussion　at　least　as　deep　as　the　deep…sea　fishes；　he　returned　to　more　ordinary　topics。

〃Delightful　sort　of　hole　this　is；〃　he　said。　〃This　little　dell　and　river　here。　It's　like　those　places　Stevenson　talks　about；　where　something　ought　to　happen。〃

〃I　know；〃　answered　the　other。　〃I　think　it's　because　the　place　itself；　so　to　speak；　seems　to　happen　and　not　merely　to　exist。　Perhaps　that's　what　old　Picasso　and　some　of　the　Cubists　are　trying　to　express　by　angles　and　jagged　lines。　Look　at　that　wall　like　low　cliffs　that　juts　forward　just　at　right　angles　to　the　slope　of　turf　sweeping　up　to　it。　That's　like　a　silent　collision。　It's　like　a　breaker　and　the　back…wash　of　a　wave。〃

March　looked　at　the　low…browed　crag　overhanging　the　green　slope　and　nodded。　He　was　interested　in　a　man　who　turned　so　easily　from　the　technicalities　of　science　to　those　of　art；　and　asked　him　if　he　admired　the　new　angular　artists。

〃As　I　feel　it；　the　Cubists　are　not　Cubist　enough；〃　replied　the　stranger。　〃I　mean　they're　not　thick　enough。　By　making　things　mathematical　they　make　them　thin。　Take　the　living　lines　out　of　that　landscape；　simplify　it　to　a　right　angle；　and　you　flatten　it　out　to　a　mere　diagram　on　paper。　Diagrams　have　their　own　beauty；　but　it　is　of　just　the　other　sort；　They　stand　for　the　unalterable　things；　the　calm；　eternal；　mathematical　sort　of　truths；　what　somebody　calls　the　'white　radiance　of'〃

He　stopped；　and　before　the　next　word　came　something　had　happened　almost　too　quickly　and　completely　to　be　realized。　From　behind　the　overhanging　rock　came　a　noise　and　rush　like　that　of　a　railway　train；　and　a　great　motor　car　appeared。　It　topped　the　crest　of　cliff；　black　against　the　sun；　like　a　battle…chariot　rushing　to　destruction　in　some　wild　epic。　March　automatically　put　out　his　hand　in　one　futile　gesture；　as　if　to　catch　a　falling　tea…cup　in　a　drawing…room。

For　the　fraction　of　a　flash　it　seemed　to　leave　the　ledge　of　rock　like　a　flying　ship；　then　the　very　sky　seemed　to　turn　over　like　a　wheel；　and　it　lay　a　ruin　amid　the　tall　grasses　below；　a　line　of　gray　smoke　going　up　slowly　from　it　into　the　silent　air。　A　little　lower　the　figure　of　a　man　with　gray　hair　lay　tumbled　down　the　steep　green　slope；　his　limbs　lying　all　at　random；　and　his　face　turned　away。

The　eccentric　fisherman　dropped　his　net　and　walked　swiftly　toward　the　spot；　his　new　acquaintance　following　him。　As　they　drew　near　there　seemed　a　sort　of　monstrous　irony　in　the　fact　that　the　dead　machine　was　still　throbbing　and　thundering　as　busily　as　a　factory；　while　the　man　lay　so　still。

He　was　unquestionably　dead。　The　blood　flowed　in　the　grass　from　a　hopelessly　fatal　fracture　at　the　back　of　the　skull；　but　the　face；　which　was　turned　to　the　sun；　was　uninjured　and　strangely　arresting　in　itself。　It　was　one　of　those　cases　of　a　strange　face　so　unmistakable　as　to　feel　familiar。　We　feel；　somehow；　that　we　ought　to　recognize　it；　even　though　we　do　not。　It　was　of　the　broad；　square　sort　with　great　jaws；　almost　like　that　of　a　highly　intellectual　ape；　the　wide　mouth　shut　so　tight　as　to　be　traced　by　a　mere　line；　the　nose　short　with　the　sort　of　nostrils　that　seem　to　gape　with　an　appetite　for　the　air。　The　oddest　thing　about　the　face　was　that　one　of　the　eyebrows　was　cocked　up　at　a　much　sharper　angle　than　the　other。　March　thought　he　had　never　seen　a　face　so　naturally　alive　as　that　dead　one。　And　its　ugly　energy　seemed　all　the　stranger　for　its　halo　of　hoary　hair。　Some　papers　lay　half　fallen　out　of　the　pocket；　and　from　among　them　March　extracted　a　card…case。　He　read　the　name　on　the　card　aloud。

〃Sir　Humphrey　Turnbull。　I'm　sure　I've　heard　that　name　somewhere。〃

His　companion　only　gave　a　sort　of　a　little　sigh　and　was　silent　for　a　moment；　as　if　ruminating；　then　he　merely　said；　〃The　poor　fellow　is　quite　gone；〃　and　added　some　scientific　terms　in　which　his　auditor　once　more　found　himself　out　of　his　depth。

〃As　things　are；〃　continued　the　same　curiously　well…informed　person；　〃it　will　be　more　legal　for　us　to　leave　the　body　as　it　is　until　the　police　are　informed。　In　fact；　I　think　it　will　be　well　if　nobody　except　the　police　is　informed。　Don't　be　surprised　if　I　seem　to　be　keeping　it　dark　from　some　of　our　neighbors　round　here。〃　Then；　as　if　prompted　to　regularize　his　rather　abrupt　confidence；　he　said：　〃I've　come　down　to　see　my　cousin　at　Torwood；　my　name　is　Horne　Fisher。　Might　be　a　pun　on　my　pottering　about　here；　mightn't　it？〃

〃Is　Sir　Howard　Horne　your　cousin？〃　asked　March。　〃I'm　going　to　Torwo