Chapter 6 sin of communism

The front of the Mandeville College building looked simple and honest, with a low Tudor-style arch. At this moment, three people came out of the doorway.Summer always seems long, and now it is setting sun, but the sun is still so dazzling and blazing.As soon as they went out they saw something explode in daylight like a bolt of lightning; and it would be no exaggeration to say that this explosion would be the great shock of their lives. At this moment, they are not aware that a disaster has happened, but they clearly feel the contrast in the surrounding environment.But they can feel that there is a strange harmony between themselves and the surrounding environment.The Tudor arches extend to both sides, bypassing the Academy Garden like a cloister, although it was built 400 years ago, just as the Gothic architectural style began to bow its high head, bow its head, and even almost crouched in the humanism and Renaissance. above the halls; and though they themselves wear modern clothes (more ugly than any period in the past 400 years), their temperament is in perfect harmony with a certain spirit of this place.The garden is well-maintained to the extreme that no traces of artificial carving can be seen. The flowers in it seem to be so gorgeous inadvertently, just like nature, and as long as the modern clothes are neat, they will naturally have a lively and unique atmosphere.The first of the three was a tall, slender man with a bald head and a beard. His image of a square crown and robe was a familiar figure in the courtyard of the academy. One side of the robe slipped from his shoulders.The second, broad-shouldered and short and stocky, was grinning happily, his robes slung over his arms, and he was wearing nothing but a plain jacket.The third was even shorter and more shabby in clothes, a black priest's uniform.But their looks all seemed to fit the indefinable atmosphere of Mandeville College, or two of England's oldest and unique universities.They blended into it without showing any mountains or dews, which can be called the most perfect fusion.

The two gentlemen sat upright on a garden bench with a small table next to them, seeming to add a conspicuous stain to the gray-green scene.Most of their clothes are black, but they look sleek from head to toe, whether it's a sleek top hat or spotless boots.People could not help feeling vaguely angry that such a well-dressed person appeared in Mandeville College, which was full of freedom.The only excuse is that they are foreigners.One of them is a rich man in the United States named Heck. His clothes are impeccable, and he belongs to the kind of dazzling gentleman's dress that can only be seen among the rich in New York.The other one is even more excessive, not to mention that he has a shiny mustache, and he even wears a Russian lambskin coat. He is a German count with a lot of wealth, and the shortest part of his name is von Zimmern .However, the mystery of this story is not why they are here.The reason why they appear here is very simple, some irrelevant things happen to come together.A number of financiers and business tycoons from several countries have backed the proposal to create a new professorship of economics at Mandeville College.They also agreed after hearing the news, and came here on a special trip, intending to donate generously for this.They have inspected the College with a scrupulousness and assiduity of investigation which the Americans and Germans have shown no other son of Adam can possibly match.Now, they were taking some time to take a break, gazing at the academy garden with solemn expressions.So far, everything is going well.

The other three had met these two before, and they gave a little greeting as they passed, but one of them, the shortest one in the black priest's robe, stopped in his tracks. "I say," he said, like a frightened rabbit, "I don't like the way those two look." "Hi! Who would like it?" Slender blurted out, he is the dean of Mandeville College. "It's a good thing we still have some rich people who don't dress like that, they're just mannequins for tailors." "That's right," hissed the little priest, "that's what I meant. A tailor's mannequin."

"Ah, what do you mean?" asked the shorter man sharply. "I mean, they're like horrible wax figures," whispered the priest. "I mean, they don't move. Why don't they move?" Suddenly, jerked from his reverie, he rushed across the garden and touched the German Count on the elbow.The German earl fell down together with the chair in a daze, and his legs in trousers rushed straight up like the legs of a chair. Mr. Gideon P. Heck's eyes, as glassy as glass beads, were still gazing upon the College Gardens, and his wax-like posture confirmed this impression. Those eyes indeed seemed to be made of glass, without any vital signs.In front of this doll, dressed in a daze, like a silk puppet on an Italian stage, reflecting the bright sunlight, lying in a colorful garden, it makes people feel inexplicable fright and chills down their spines.This little man in black was Father Brown. He tentatively reached out and touched the millionaire's shoulder. The millionaire rolled over stiffly, and his fallen posture was no different from that of a wood carving.

"The rigor," said Father Brown, "and so fast. But it does make a difference." In order to better understand why the first three joined these two so late (or too late), we first need to know what happened in the building behind the Tudor arch shortly before they came out .They had dined together at the honored tables of the communal refectory, but the two devoted foreign philanthropists, troubled by the unexplored cloisters and staircases of the chapel, had rushed there, promising to join them in the garden , and then take a serious taste of the college's cigars.The rest of the people, out of consideration of respect and conformity, left the dining table as usual, sat down around the narrow and long oak table, began to exchange glasses, and drank the after-dinner red wine.They were well aware that it had been an unwritten rule, ever since Sir John Mandeville founded the college in the Middle Ages, to share anecdotes of their own.The dean with a big blond beard and bald eyebrows sat in the main seat, and at the top sat a dumpy man in an old-fashioned jacket, because this was the financial director or businessman of the college.Next to him on the same side was a strange-looking figure with a crooked face; for his bushy black mustache and black eyebrows stretched in opposite directions in a sort of zigzag, as if half a face Wrinkled or numb.His name was Byers, he was a lecturer in Roman history, and his political views were based on Coriolanus, not to mention Tarquin Superb.His vitriolic Tory is not uncommon among old-fashioned university lecturers, often with ultra-reactionary views on current social issues, but in Byers' case that was simply the result of his vitriol rather than the root cause.More than one keen bystander found that there was something wrong with Byers. He must have some secrets or have suffered major misfortunes, which made him harbor deep hatred. His half-knotted face really made people It feels like a tree that has been damaged by a storm.Next sat Father Brown, and then, as an associate, the professor of chemistry, a heavyset, fair-haired, plain-looking man with sleepy, though perhaps a little sly, eyes.The natural philosopher is best known for his belief that other forms of natural philosophy in the more classical tradition are all old logic.On the other side of the long table, facing Father Brown, was a dark, silent young man with a black goatee, who had been invited because someone insisted that a professor of Persian be present.Opposite the grim Byers sat a kind-faced chaplain, a small man with a round head like an egg.Opposite the chief financial officer, that is, the head of the dean, the chair was still empty, and many people at the scene wished that the chair would remain empty.

"I don't know if Kraken will be there," said the dean, and he couldn't help but glance at the chair nervously, which was quite different from his usual nonchalant expression. "I've always believed in giving people more freedom, but I admit that if he showed up at this moment, I would be very happy; just because there is no sign of him everywhere." "You never know what new tricks he's up to," said the treasurer cheerily, "especially when he's teaching young people." "An outstanding talent, but his temper is a bit hot," the dean suddenly returned to his steady and reserved normal state when he spoke.

"Fireworks are always hot and brilliant," roared old Byers, "but I don't want to be killed by his fireworks in my sleep. Instead, I made Kraken's world famous name and turned him into a real Guy. E Fox." "Do you really think he will join some violent revolutionary organization, if it exists?" the treasurer asked with a smile. "Oh, he thought he would," snapped Byers, "the day he declared in front of all the undergraduates in the communal cafeteria that the class struggle had inevitably turned into a real war, and someone would surely Dead bodies in the streets, but it doesn't matter, as long as the working class wins in the end and communism is achieved."

"Class war," mused the Dean, his distaste for it lessened by the years.For he had known William Morris long ago, and was familiar enough with the more refined and more relaxed socialists. "I've never been able to figure out what class struggle really meant. When I was young, socialism was supposed to mean no classes." "There's just another sense in which socialists have no taste," Byers said triumphantly. "Of course, you must be more disgusted with them than I am," said the Dean thoughtfully, "but I think my idea of ​​socialism is almost as old-fashioned as your conservatism. I'd like to know how our young friend What do you think. What do you think, Baker?" he asked, turning abruptly to the treasurer on his left.

"Oh, I have no idea, as the saying goes," the treasurer laughed. "Remember, I'm a very vulgar person. I'm not a thinker. I'm just a businessman; and as a businessman, I think it's nonsense. You can't make all men equal and pay the same for their labor Even worse. No matter what the banner, being practical is the way to go, because it's the only way to go. If nature has created a mess, it's not our fault." "I agree with you on that," the chemistry professor lisps in a way that makes him look childish for his age. "Communism pretends to be, er, modern; it's not. It's a complete backtracking, a return to superstition and primitive tribalism. A scientific government, if it really takes on the moral responsibility to be worthy of future generations, will always look for A promising and progressive path to move forward; not to overthrow everything and plunge everyone back into the mud. Socialism is a kind of sentimentalism, which is more harmful than the plague, because when the plague breaks out, At least there are still survival of the fittest."

The dean said with a wry smile: "You should know that I and you will never feel the same about disagreement. Didn't someone here say that, he mentioned that when he was walking by the river with a friend, he said, 'There is not much between us. Disagreement, except differences of opinion.' Shouldn't that be the motto of a university? Controversy, but never obstinacy. People come together because of who they are, not what they think. People come here The world is what it is, not what it thinks it is. Maybe I'm an 18th century relic, but I tend to subscribe to that old sad heresy, 'Let the wild lunatics believe fight in the form of a man; his beliefs are right as long as his way of life is right.' What do you think of that, Father Brown?"

With a taste of mischief, he glanced at the priest, but at the same time he was secretly taken aback.For the priest had always struck him as jovial, amiable, and accessible; and his round face was always smiling.But for some reason, at this moment, the priest frowned and his face was full of clouds, which was the first time I saw him like this; at that moment, Father Brown's originally calm face appeared more sinister than Byers' thin face. more terrible.After a while, the cloud seemed to dissipate, but Father Brown's tone was still so solemn and unquestionable. "I don't believe that, anyway," he said abruptly. "If his whole outlook on life is wrong, how can his life be right? That's just the confusion of modern people, because people don't understand how different outlooks on life exist. Both Baptists and Methodists Knowing that their moral views are the same, it's because their beliefs or philosophies are not very different. But there is a world of difference from Baptist to Anabaptist, or from Spiritualist to Hindu. Heresy does affect morality, if it is evil enough. I conjecture that it is possible for a man to sincerely believe that there is nothing wrong with stealing. But what good is it to be pious if his belief itself is fraud?" "That's right," Byers said, his facial features were horribly distorted, and many people believed that he actually wanted to show a friendly smile. "That's why I object to the creation of a professor of theft in this college." "It appears that none of you have the slightest sympathy for Communism, which is no surprise," the Dean sighed. "But do you think there's really that much objectionable stuff about it? Has the heresy you're talking about really grown to a dangerous level?" "I think they've grown so big," said Father Brown solemnly, "that in some circles they've become taken for granted. They don't really realize the magnitude of the problem, or have a conscience." "Its end," Byers echoed, "is the destruction of the country." "It's going to end much worse," Father Brown responded. A shadow quickly flashed across the opposite wall with a decorative panel, and the owner of the shadow immediately appeared tall and hunchbacked, resembling a bird of prey.And it appeared suddenly, like a frightened bird flying out of the bushes, and moved quickly, which further deepened people's impression.This person has slender limbs, straight shoulders, and a long mustache that droops at both ends. He is a familiar figure to everyone present.However, the interplay of twilight and candlelight, together with the shadowy scene, gave the priest a strange feeling, subconsciously associated with all kinds of words about omens, which could be regarded in any case as a kind of omen. It is completely in line with the prophecy in the sense of ancient Rome, because the augurs of ancient Rome made predictions based on the flight conditions of birds.Perhaps Mr. Byers should give a lecture on ancient Roman divination, with a special mention of the ominous bird. The tall man flitted along the wall like his shadow, until he sat down on the chair beneath the dean, then glanced at the treasurer and the others with sunken eyes.His drooping hair and mustache were bright blond, but his eyes were set so deep they looked dark.Everyone knows well, or can guess who the newcomer is, but an accident that happened immediately after that is enough to put a strong touch on the delicate scene.The professor of Roman history got up abruptly and strode out, making no secret of his disgust for the professor of theft, in other words, the communist Mr. Kraken, to the point of not wanting to sit at the same table with him . The dean of Mandeville College smoothed things over with grace and desperation, smiling and saying, "I am defending you, or some of your views, although you will find that my defense is not tenable. After all, I can't forget the old socialist friends I made in my youth, who had very good ideals, fraternity and camaraderie. In the words of William Morris, 'Comrade is heaven , without camaraderie is hell.'” "As a college teacher for a Democrat, I sort of get it," Mr. Kraken said rather unhappily. "So is Tough Heck going to honor William Morris with a business professorship?" "Well," said the Dean, trying to remain amiable, "I wish we could say that in some sense all our positions are tinged with camaraderie." "Yeah, that's the academic version of Morris's maxim," Kraken growled. "'There is heaven with professorships, and hell without professorships.'" "Don't keep complaining, Kraken," the Treasurer interrupted suddenly. "Have some port. Tenby, pass the port to Mr. Kraken." "Oh, well, I have to ask for a wine glass," the communism professor softened slightly. "I was going to smoke a cigarette in the garden. Instead I glanced at the window and found your two precious millionaires puffing in the garden. Two buds just emerging. Anyway, maybe I should teach them both a lesson." The dean made a last effort to put on his usual smile before leaving the table, and he could finally breathe a sigh of relief and let the treasurer deal with the barbarian.Seeing this, the others got up one after another and gradually dispersed.The Treasurer and Mr. Kraken sat alone at the top of the long table.Father Brown was still sitting there, his eyes blurred, staring forward, with a rather confused expression. "Well, as for that," said the treasurer, "I hate them, too, to tell you the truth; I've spent the better part of the day wrangling facts and figures and everything that has to do with this professorship. situation. But look, Kraken," he said softly emphatically, leaning across the table, "you really don't have to be so mean about this new professorship. It doesn't get in the way of your subject. You're Mander Weir's only professor of political economy, and although I beg to differ with your views, you are well known on the Continent. We are now speaking of a specialized discipline known as 'applied economics'. Good Well, even today, as I just told you, I've had my fill of applied economics. In other words, I've had to talk to those two businessmen about business. Don't you want to Is that kind of thing? Would you envy it? Could you bear it? Wouldn't that justify a separate subject, a separate post?" "Lord," Kraken exclaimed, with the vehement prayerful tone of an atheist. "Do you really think I don't want to apply economics? Except, when we apply it, you call it red plague and anarchy; for exploitation. If only you people could apply economics so people could get something to eat. We're practical people, that's why you're afraid of us. That's why you try to make both A fat-headed capitalist pays for a professorship; because I inadvertently shake a secret out of a bag." "You've shaken it off," said the treasurer, smiling. "It's a pretty amazing secret, isn't it?" "And then you put it in a gold bag again, right?" Kraken shot back. "Well, I guess we can't agree on these things," the other said helplessly. "Those fellows have left the chapel and gone into the garden, though; if you're going to smoke there, you'd better go now." He watched his companion grope all over with complacency before taking a pack from his pocket. He picked up his pipe, and stared at it absently for a while.Kraken stood up, but as he stood up, he began to grope his body again.Mr. Baker, the treasurer, laughed happily, and ended the debate. "You're a practical man who wants to blow up a city with dynamite, but probably forgot to bring it with you. I bet you forgot your tobacco. Never mind, use my tobacco. Need a match?" He threw a pipe and various smoking objects from across the table, and was caught firmly by Mr. Cracken with a quickness that would have amazed a cricketer, notwithstanding the usual opinion he accepted. Not so aboveboard.The two got up and left the table together, but Baker couldn't help adding another sentence: "Are you really the only group of people who are practical? Remember, you can't just bring a pipe, you have to bring a pouch. Applied economics is still Makes sense, doesn't it?" Kraken stared at him with fire in his eyes. He slowly drank the wine in his glass and finally said, "Let's say there is another practicality. Needless to say, I do forget the details, etc. Wait. What I want you to understand is this"—he handed back the pipe, but his eyes were dark and still blazing, and it was scary to watch—"because there is an inner change in our understanding, because we There is a whole new appreciation of justice, and therefore, we ask for things that in your opinion are all wrong. And those things will be very practical." "That's right," Father Brown suddenly woke up from the illusion, and said, "That's exactly what I said." He stared blankly at Kraken, showed a rather ugly smile, and said, "I agree with Mr. Kraken completely." "Well," Baker said, "Kraken's going out to have a puff with the plutocrats, but I'm not sure they're smoking peace pipes." After finishing speaking, he turned around suddenly and greeted the old waiter standing aside.Of the colleges, Mandeville was one of the last to preserve the old tradition; even Kraken was one of the first communists, predating the present-day Bolsheviks. "That reminds me," said the treasurer, "that you don't pass the peace pipe among the crowd, we must pass some cigars to our honored guests. If they are smokers, they must be dying to take a puff; because From mealtime till now, they have been busy looking around the chapel." Kraken let out a piercing maniacal laugh. "Ha, then I'll bring them their cigars," he said. "I'm just a proletarian." Baker and Brown and the waiter watched the communist go off in a huff and into the garden to wrestle with the plutocrats, seeing or hearing nothing else, until Father Brown, as said, found them dead. in their chairs. It was unanimously agreed that the dean and the priest stayed at the scene of the tragedy, and that the treasurer, because he was young and quicker, should call the doctor and the police as soon as possible.As Father Brown approached the table, one of the cigars had so far spontaneously ignited that only an inch or two remained; the other, flung from his hand, fell onto the garden path, and nearly extinguished with sparks splashing about it.The dean found a chair as far away from the scene as possible, sat down trembling, and covered his forehead with his hands.After a while he first looked up tiredly, then a surprised expression appeared on his face, and a word came out of his mouth. It was like an explosion breaking the tranquility in the garden, which made people tremble with fear. There is something about Father Brown that can be creepy at times.He's always thinking about what he's doing, never wondering if his actions are appropriate.Like a surgeon, he would do something disgusting, scary, or dirty.In his naïve mind, there was a certain blank area that was supposed to be associated with everything involving superstition or sentimentality.He sat down in the chair from which the body had rolled, picked up the cigar the deceased had smoked, carefully removed the ashes, examined the butt, put it in his mouth and lit it.In the eyes of others, this is simply an absurd obscenity, which is tantamount to mocking the dead.But in his opinion, this is just extremely common sense.A thick puff of smoke rose up, like the blue smoke of some savages at sacrifices and idolatry, but to Father Brown there was no choice but to smoke the cigar himself if he wanted to know what it tasted like. It couldn't be more clear.His old friend, the dean of Mandeville College, vaguely felt that this might be Father Brown risking his life to explore the possibilities of the case, but even so, it could not alleviate his inner panic at all. "No; I think that's all right," said the priest, putting down the cigar. "Good cigars. I mean your cigars, not American or German. I don't think there's anything wrong with the cigars themselves; but be careful with the ashes. These two were poisoned by something that can Rapidly zombifying corpses...by the way, the man who came over knows more about this than we do." The abbot shuddered uncomfortably, and sat up straight; for he did see a great black shadow running across the pavement, and the man who appeared after him walked as silently as a shadow in spite of his stature. No interest.Professor Wadham, an eminent professor of chemistry, deft in his movements despite his bulk, always silent.His walk in the garden itself is nothing to be surprised about, but it feels so out of character that he happens to show up at the very moment chemistry is mentioned. Professor Wadham prided himself on his lightness of manner, and some would say that he just didn't know it.He looked very calm, with his light yellow hair combed neatly and unruffled, and he stood looking down at the dead man with something that looked like indifference on his big frog face.Only when he saw the soot carefully put away by the priest, he stretched out a finger to touch it, and then did nothing else, standing still as if frozen; but his eyes seemed to be spinning like his microscope In an instant, he came out from the shadow of his face.He must have realized or recognized something, but he said nothing. "I don't know how to proceed with this matter," said the dean. "I should begin," said Father Brown, "to inquire where these two unfortunate souls have been for most of the day." "They've been in my lab for a long time," Wadham said for the first time. "Baker used to come over for a little chat, and this time he brought two patrons to look at my department. However, I think they didn't pass any corners, and they were real tourists. I know they went to the chapel, Even into the tunnels under the basement where you have to light candles; instead of eating like normal people. It seems that Baker took them everywhere." "Did they show any particular interest in anything when they visited your department?" asked the priest. "What were you doing then?" The chemistry professor mumbled a molecular formula that started with "sulfate" and ended with what sounded like "selenium," but neither of the other two heard it.Then he walked away listlessly, sat down on a chair under the sun in the distance, closed his eyes, but turned his big face up, looking preoccupied. At that moment, a dexterous figure, his exact opposite, was galloping across the lawn and shot straight at him like a bullet. Father Brown, in his neat black suit and his dog-like face Recognized by his face, this person was the forensic doctor he had seen in the poor district before.He was the first official person to arrive on the scene. "Hey, listen to me," the abbot said to the priest before the medical examiner came close and could not hear their conversation. "I must know something. You said that Communism is a real danger and leads to crime. Do you really mean it?" "Yes," replied Father Brown, with a terrible smile, "I have indeed noticed some spread of communism in its ways and influence; and, in a sense, it is a crime of communism." "Thank you," said the dean. "In this case, I must leave here immediately to do business. Tell the police that I will be back in 10 minutes." No sooner had the Abbot disappeared into one of the Tudor arches than the coroner came to the table, and he seemed delighted to recognize the priest.When the priest suggested that they should sit at the table at the scene of the tragedy, Dr. Black cast suspicious eyes on the chemist who occupied a seat a little further away. .The priest briefed the doctor on the chemist and on some of the evidence gathered from him.The doctor listened in silence while the preliminary autopsy began.Naturally, he seemed to be paying more attention to the body than to the anecdotal evidence, but when the priest mentioned a detail, his attention was entirely diverted. "What did the professor say he was doing?" he pressed. Father Brown patiently repeated chemical formulas that even he himself did not understand. "What?" asked Dr. Blake sharply, and it sounded like a shot. "My God! This is horrible!" "Because it's poison?" asked Father Brown, puzzled. "Because it's bullshit," replied Dr. Black. "It's just nonsense. The professor is quite a famous chemist. Why would such a famous chemist talk nonsense on purpose?" "Oh, I think I know the answer," replied Father Brown mildly. "The reason he's talking nonsense is that he's lying. He's hiding something, especially from these two men and their representatives." The doctor looked away from the two men, and looked at the great chemist who sat unnaturally in the distance.He seemed to have fallen asleep; a butterfly in the garden landed on him and seemed to transform his motionless figure into a stone idol.The strips of flesh on the frog's face reminded the doctor of thick rhinoceros hide. "Yes," said Father Brown in a low voice. "He's evil." "Damn it!" The doctor was suddenly stimulated and couldn't help shouting, "You mean such a great scientist would commit such a thing as murder?" "Criticists might complain about his involvement in the murder," said the priest flatly. "I'm not saying I like people who murder in this way. But I do want to emphasize - I'm sure these two poor fellows belong in the category of people who find fault with him." "You mean they found out his secret, so he killed him?" Blake said, frowning. "But what secret does he have? How could he kill people in such a place?" "I have told you his secret," said the priest. "It's the secret of the soul. He's a bad guy. Don't think I say this because I'm on the opposite side of him, in a very different tradition. I have a whole bunch of scientist friends, and most of them are extremely impartial, even if Is the one who doubts everything. All I can say is that they display a rather irrational disinterestedness. But every once in a while you run into a materialist with an animal face. I repeat, he's a bad guy. Worse than—" Brown The priest seemed to be unable to find a suitable word to describe it. "You mean worse than the communists?" the doctor reminded. "No; I mean worse than a murderer," said Father Brown. He stood up casually, unaware that his companion was staring at him in surprise. "But didn't you say," Blake asked at last, "that this Wadham is a murderer?" "Oh, no," said Father Brown, feeling better. "The murderer is more sympathetic and easier to understand. He is at least desperate, and he kills because of a sudden loss of control and a deep sense of desperation, which is quite understandable." "What do you say," cried the doctor, "do you mean the Communists?" It was at this juncture that the police officers duly arrived on the scene, and the information they brought seemed to close the case in a way that was unquestionable and satisfactory to all parties.The reason for their delay in coming to the scene of the crime was simply that they had caught the criminal.In fact, they caught him right in front of the police station.The police had long suspected that the communist Kraken was involved in the various riots in the city; when they heard the sad news, they decided that his arrest should be no problem.It turned out they had the right guy.库克督察站在曼德维尔学院花园的草坪上，满脸红光，得意洋洋地向大学教师和医生解释说，他们刚开始对这个臭名昭著的共产分子搜身就发现了他随身携带着一盒毒火柴。 当布朗神父听到“火柴”的字眼时，他从座位上跳了起来，就好像他屁股底下有根划着了的火柴。 “啊，”他大叫一声，似乎浑身散发出普照世界的光芒，“这下都清楚了。” “你这个都清楚了是什么意思？”院长不解地问道。他刚赶过来并摆出十足的官架子来迎接同样是官气十足的警官们，他们就像战胜的军队占领了这所学院。“难道你指的是你确信对克拉肯的指控已经清楚明了啦？” “我指的是可以清楚地证明克拉肯无罪，”布朗神父坚定地说，“对克拉肯的指控不成立。你真的相信克拉肯是用火柴毒杀他人的那种人吗？” “这下太好了，”院长困惑地回应道。自从事发之后，他脸上就一直带着迷惑的表情。“可是你亲口说过秉持错误原则的极端分子有可能干出邪恶的事。就此而言，你还亲口说过共产主义正在四处滋长，共产主义者的习惯也在大肆蔓延。” 布朗神父有些肆无忌惮地大笑。 “至于最后一点，”他说，“我想我该向你们大家道歉。我好像总是因为开个小玩笑就把事情弄得一团糟。” “玩笑！”院长重复着，气呼呼地瞪着眼睛。 “是这样，”神父揉着脑袋解释道。“我在谈到共产主义者的习惯在蔓延时，我不过是想说就在今天我恰好有两三次注意到了一种习惯。那是一种共产主义者的习惯，但又不仅限于共产主义者。那是很多人，尤其是英国人所有的特殊习惯，就是忘了把借来的火柴还给别人，放进自己的口袋。当然，说这些零七八碎的琐事显得很愚蠢。但这恰好就是谋杀案得以发生的方式。” “这简直太疯狂了，”医生说道。 “好吧，如果说有谁会忘记把火柴还给别人的话，那你尽管打赌，克拉肯绝对是那个人。所以说，下毒者备好火柴后，把它交到克拉肯手里最简单的方式就是借给他，而且不用担心他能记着还回来。这种推卸责任的方式非常让人佩服，因为克拉肯自己根本就想不出他从哪里拿到的那盒火柴。但当他在不知情的情况下，用火柴替我们两位访客点雪茄时，他就掉进了一个明显的陷阱；是那种太显而易见的陷阱。这个胆大妄为、坏透了的革命者杀害了两位百万富翁。” “哦，还能有谁会想杀害他们？”医生吼道。 “对啊，还能有谁呢？”神父回应道；他的语调变得更加凝重。“这就要说说我告诉过你们的另一件事，那件事，我告诉你，可不是笑话。我告诉过你们，异端邪说和假教义已经泛滥，达到了人们张口就来的程度。每个人都习以为常了，因而也就置若罔闻了。你们真以为我是冲着共产主义说的这些话吗？哎呀，其实我是另有所指。一提到共产主义你们就紧张得不行；你们就像防着狼一样盯住克拉肯。当然啦，共产主义是一种邪说；但它并不是你们这些人认为理所当然的邪说。你们认为理所当然的是资本主义，或者说是资本主义的恶习披上了已经消亡的达尔文主义那张皮。你们还记得在休息室里都说过什么吗，什么生活本来就是一团混乱，自然界本就要求适者生存，还有穷苦人是否得到公平的报酬并不重要之类的那些说法？好吧，那就是你们，我的朋友们，已经习以为常的邪说；它与共产主义半斤八两，都是分毫不差的邪说。那都是反基督精神的道德或者是不道德，可你们却坦然相对。正是那种不道德才让一个人在今天变成了凶手。” “什么人？”院长突然感到有些心虚，哑着嗓子问道。 “就让我换个角度说说，”神父平静地回应道。“你们全都在说克拉肯好像是逃走了，其实他没有。当这两位倒下的时候，他跑到街上，仅仅隔着窗户大喊，叫医生过来，他很快又跑到警察局，想以同样的方式叫警察。就这样他被逮捕了。但诸位难道就没想过，现在可以想想，为什么财务主管贝克先生花了那么长时间去叫警察呢？” “那他正在干什么呢？”院长厉声问。 “我能想象得到他正在销毁文件；或者正在这俩人的房间里到处乱翻，看看他们是否给我们写过信。或许它还跟我们的朋友沃德姆有关。他在其中扮演了什么角色呢？那其实很简单，而且也像是一种笑话。沃德姆先生正在为下一次战争研制毒药，那种毒药的特点是仅靠一点儿火焰就能让一个人全身僵化而死。当然，他跟这俩人被杀无关，但他确实隐瞒了他开发的化学品的秘密，理由也很简单。其中一位是清教徒美国佬，另一位是世界主义的犹太人，而这两类人都常常是狂热的和平主义者。他们会将这种研发工作视为策划杀人，并很可能拒绝资助这个学院。但贝克是沃德姆的朋友，对他来说把火柴在新材料中浸一下轻而易举。” 小个子神父还有一项神奇的特点，他的头脑整个浑然一体，根本意识不到思路之间是否搭界；他本来是在泛泛而谈并无所指，但会突然转向，让他的话题极具针对性，而且不会为此感到丝毫窘迫。此时此刻，他本来是面向10个人发议论，却在不经意间开始挑出一个人说事，这让他面前的众人大多深感迷惑，目瞪口呆，而他说的那些话只有他针对的那个人才心知肚明，但神父对此却相当不以为然。 “很抱歉，医生，刚才提到人的罪恶时，我唠唠叨叨地说了些形而上学的题外话，因此误导了你，”他带着歉意说道。“它跟谋杀当然没什么关系；但事实上我在那一刻全然忘了谋杀这事。我差不多忘了周围的一切，你明白吧，只记得那个人出现在某种幻景里，从中看到他那张没人味的大脸，像头石器时代的瞎眼恶兽蹲伏在花丛中。当时我就想，有些人非常可恶，简直就是石头人；但这毫不相干。内在邪恶与外在作恶几乎没什么直接关联。最恶毒的罪犯没犯下任何罪行。值得重视的一点是，为什么讲究实际的罪犯会犯下这种罪行。为什么财务主管贝克要杀这两个人呢？那才是我们大家眼下要关注的问题。它的答案就是我问过两次的那个问题的答案。除了查看小礼拜堂或者实验室，他们俩大多数时间去了哪里？财务主管亲口说过，他和那俩人谈了大半天生意上的事。 “好啦，我对死者满怀敬意，但我不会拜服这两位金融家的智商。他们在经济学和伦理道德上的观点是野蛮和残忍的。他们对和平的认识也不足挂齿。他们对波特酒的认识更是可悲可叹。但他们明白一件事；那就是生意上的事。他们没费多大功夫就发现掌管这个学院资金的那个生意人是个大骗子。或者说，他信奉适者生存，为了生活可无所不用其极，是这种教义的真正追随者。” “你的意思是，他们要揭露他，但在还没有开口之前就被他杀害了，”医生皱着眉说。“这里有太多我不明白的细节了。” “有些细节连我自己都不能确定，”神父坦然承认。“进入那个需要点蜡烛的地下室这事就很可疑，我觉得可能是为了拿走富豪们自己身上的火柴，或者为了确认他们身上没有火柴。但我确信那个重要举动的含意，也就是贝克看似无心又很高兴地把火柴抛给粗心大意的克拉肯那个举动。那是带着谋杀意味的一击。” “有件事我不明白，”督察说道，“贝克怎么会那么肯定，并不知情的克拉肯自己不会当场划火柴点烟并中毒身亡呢？” 布朗神父的脸色变得相当难看，表情中写满了责备，他说话时语气中有种惋惜，但又暗含宽宏大量，令人感到一些温暖。 “唉，岂有此理，”他说，“他只是个无神论者。” “恐怕我听不懂你的意思，”督察彬彬有礼地说。 “他只想废弃天主，”布朗神父克制着自己，尽量温和地解释道。“他只想毁掉'十诫'，想要连根拔起塑造了他的所有宗教信仰和文明，清除掉一切有关物权和诚实的常识，然后让来自天边的野蛮人荡平他生于其间的文化和他的国家。那是他唯一想要的。你可以指控他，但也仅限于这一点。岂有此理，每个人都会划出自己的一条线！而你来到这里，平静地提醒说一个老一代曼德维尔人（因为克拉肯的确属于老一代人，无论他观点怎样）竟会开始吸烟，或者甚至点燃火柴，而与此同时他还在品着'学院波特酒'，且是08年的上品——不，不。他们绝对不会在这种事上如此漠视规章，破坏规矩！我就在现场；我看到他了；他还没喝完酒，而你却问我他为什么没吸烟！在曼德维尔学院还从来没人问过这种无法无天的问题。可笑的地方，曼德维尔学院。可笑的地方，牛津。可笑的地方，英格兰。” “可是你跟牛津并没有什么特别的关系啊？”医生好奇地问道。 “我与英格兰有关，”布朗神父说道。“我出身于那里。最可笑的是，即使你爱它，也属于它，你还是琢磨不透它。”