Chapter 7 pin meaning

Father Brown always claimed that he solved this difficult problem in his sleep.That's a good thing to say, but the way it's put it doesn't quite match the truth, because it was precisely at the very moment when his normal sleep was disturbed that the inspiration came to him.He woke up early this morning to the sound of clanging hammers coming from a building under construction across from his apartment; much of the sprawling new apartment building was still covered in scaffolding, construction signs It is listed as contractor and owner by Swindon-Sound.The hammering sounds come and go, very regular, and clearly distinguishable.This is because the Swindon-Sound Company exclusively uses the American-style cement floor laying method.Although this new construction method, as it claims in the advertisement, has the advantages of smooth and flat floor, strong and durable, not easy to leak, once and for all, but in the construction process, it is necessary to use heavy tools to fasten specific positions.Father Brown, however, tries to find little solace in the noise, saying it always wakes him up before early mass, similar to church bells as a reminder.For Christians, however, there is something sobering about the sound of hammers and church bells, he added.However, in fact, Father Brown was uneasy about the construction of the building for another reason: the rumored possible labor crisis, that is, the workers' strike that the media insisted, was like a dark cloud, threatening the skyscraper under construction at any time .In fact, if a crisis erupts, it will be a total shutdown situation.But Father Brown's real concern is whether such a thing will happen.The question that remains to be clarified is whether the constant knocking sound or the stoppage that occurs at any time is more disturbing.

"As far as my personal preference and desire," said Father Brown, gazing at the majestic building through owl-like spectacles, "I'd rather it stop working. I wish all the buildings that were being built were built before the scaffolding was removed." Stopped work. It seems a pity that the construction of houses can finally be completed. Those delicate and unique white wooden scaffolding, bathed in bright sunlight, how fresh and bright and hopeful. But people often have to finish work, once the house is built , it becomes a tomb." Father Brown looked away, and as he turned to go, he was nearly bumped into another man who hurried across the road and came towards him.Although the priest had only met him once, he knew exactly who he was. When he saw him at this moment, he immediately thought that the situation was not good.This Mastic, with a short stature and a square head, doesn't look like a European at all, but his gaudy attire seems to be deliberately trying to Europeanize himself.But Father Brown had recently caught him talking to Sander Jr. of the construction company, which made Father Brown less than happy.This Mastic leads a new industrial organisation, the first of its kind on the British industrial political scene, the product of extremes in both camps; its members are not affiliated with any trade unions and are mostly foreign Laborers are dispatched by the organization to work in many companies in batches.Obviously, he is currently planning to send labor to this construction company.In short, he was negotiating with the company, trying to crowd out the unions, flood the company with workers, and disrupt a brewing strike.Father Brown participated in several of their discussions, in the sense that he was invited by both sides.However, the representatives of management declared that he was definitely a Bolshevik, and the real Bolsheviks swore that he was a reactionary clinging to bourgeois ideology. After a lot of reasoning, the result was that both parties did not appreciate it.However, the news that Mustique brought this time is not trivial, and the situation has deteriorated to a level that is far from a normal quarrel.

"They told you to hurry over there," Mustik said in broken English, with a thick accent. "Someone threatened to kill someone." Father Brown didn't say a word, followed behind Mustik, walked up a few steps, and came to the construction platform everywhere.He saw a few familiar faces, and the heads of construction companies gathered here.The former head of the company also appeared among this group of people impressively, but for a time, the head of the company was like a ghost.At least the little crown of nobility on his head covered him like a colorful cloud.In other words, Lord Stanitz entered the House of Lords immediately after retiring from the company, and has since disappeared from public view.His subsequent appearances gave people a feeling of sluggishness and lack of interest, but this time it was quite different. Like Mustik's face, he also had a stern face, which looked a little scary.Lord Stanitz was a thin man with a long face, sunken eyes, and thinning blond hair that was almost bald.He was the smoothest talker the priest had ever met.Among the graduates of Oxford University, he was regarded as an outstanding and invincible genius. When he said the words "you are right without a doubt", he could make people taste different and become " There is no doubt that you think you are right" or "Do you think so?" Such casual words, coming out of his mouth, are mixed with a sour smell, which makes people listen to "You can only It’s okay to think so.” The voice of the voice.But in Father Brown's imagination, the lord was not only bored, but also faintly showing some resentment. As for the root of his resentment, was he forced to interrupt his happy fairy life to settle labor disputes, or was it just because both parties no longer If you follow his orders, you will not know.

On the whole, Father Brown preferred the bourgeois companions in the company, Sir Hubert Sand and his nephew Henry, though he secretly doubted whether they had deep thoughts.Yes, Sir Hubert Sand had become a darling of the press, a man of considerable fame both as a patron of sporting events and as a patriot who successfully navigated several crises during and after the First World War.He had received the Medal of Distinguished Service issued by France, which was extremely rare at his age.Since then, he has successfully solved all kinds of troubles caused by the workers in the military factories, so he is known as the invincible leader of the industry.He's been called 'the strongman'; but that's not what he meant.In fact, he was a hulking, warm and friendly Englishman; a good swimmer; a kind gentleman and an admirable volunteer lieutenant-colonel.Indeed, his whole body was filled with the kind of temperament that only soldiers can have.Although he has begun to gain weight, he still maintains a tall chest and belly.His face was dull and haggard, but his curly hair and beard still had a brown sheen.His nephew is a strong and strong young man, with a reckless manner, dare to fight, and a relatively small head protrudes from his thick neck, which makes people feel that he will always charge with his head; The posture, against the contrast of the pair of glasses clipped on the aggressive lion's nose, added a bit of elegance and childishness.

Father Brown had seen everything here before, and it was roughly the same as usual, but everyone's eyes were focused on a new thing at this moment.I saw a large sheet of paper swaying in the wind nailed to the center of the criss-crossed wooden frame. The words on it were all capitalized, with rough fonts and claws. It seemed that the people who wrote the words were either illiterate, or they pretended to be illiterate to create a sensational effect.I saw the words on the piece of paper: "The Labor Council warns Hubert Sander that if he dares to reduce the wages of workers or let them go out of work, he will bear the consequences. Once the above announcement is posted tomorrow, he will die under the fist of justice of the people!"

Lord Stanitz had just read the contents of the piece of paper and was turning back.His eyes passed through the crowd, and fell on his partner, Father Brown, and said in a strange voice: "They want your life. Obviously, I am not worth their hands." The illusion that Father Brown had experienced several times in the past resurfaced out of thin air at this moment, stimulating his brain aimlessly like an explosion of static electricity.He had a strange idea, feeling that the person who spoke could not be killed, because he had already passed away.The priest himself readily admitted that the idea was absurd indeed.But the priest always felt an indescribable awkwardness when he saw this old aristocratic companion, whether it was his disheartened and detached expression, his pale complexion, or his cold eyes. "This guy," the priest thought, not without malice, "has green eyes, and it looks like his blood is green too."

In any case, Sir Hubert Sand's blood was certainly not green.His blood was red and hot, welling up his weather-beaten and wrinkled cheeks; "In all my life," said Sir Sander, forcefully and trillingly, "I have never seen anyone say anything like that about me, or use anything like that against me. I may have a different opinion—" "None of us can disagree on such matters," interrupted the Sir's nephew impatiently. "I've been trying to be friendly with them, but that's going a little too far." "You don't really think," said Father Brown, joining them, "that your workers—"

"As I said, we had our differences," said old Sander, still trembling. "As God can testify, I've never been in favor of using cheap labor to threaten British workers—" "None of us would like that," said Little Sander, "but, Uncle, if I really knew you, it's almost settled." He paused for a moment, then went on: "I think, as you said, we do have some disagreements on the details, but on substantive policy—" "My dear Henry," said old Sander calmly at this moment, "I hope there is no real difference between us." However, anyone who knows the national conditions of England can infer from the sentence just now that the two There are actually quite a few differences between people.And indeed, the difference between them reflects the inherent difference between the Englishman and the American.Uncle upholds the traditional ideal of the British, regards industry and commerce as something outside his body, and always wants to stay away from industry and commerce under the pretext of being a country gentleman; while his nephew pursues the American ideal of devoting himself to industry and commerce wholeheartedly, like a mechanic who knows the working principles of machines thoroughly. The way the company operates.In fact, he did mingle with many mechanics and was familiar with most of the technological processes and operating skills in his trade.Not only that, but part of what motivated him to do so was that, as an employer, he wanted to push his men to do their job well, while at the same time showing in some veiled way that he was completely equal to them, or at least that he was on his own terms. Proud to be a worker too.This further reflects the style of American behavior and doing things.Because of this, he acted almost like a workers' representative.His achievements in practical technology, and his uncle's outstanding performance in politics and sports, the two outstanding performances in their respective fields can be described as distinct.The image and scene of the young Henry wearing a shirt and going in and out of the workshop, standing on the side of the workers and striving to improve working conditions are vivid, which invisibly strengthens his reaction of standing on the opposite side at this moment.

"Well, they asked for bad luck to take their jobs off this time," cried Henry. "To openly issue such threats, we can only fight with our backs and fight them to the end. We have no choice but to dismiss them all. Immediately! Dismiss them on the spot! Otherwise, we will definitely become the laughing stock of the world." Old Sander frowned, equally indignant, but said calmly, "I'm sure I'll be blamed—" "Reprove!" shrieked Little Sander. "Called for fighting threats of murder! Don't you think you'd be blamed if you gave in to threats? Would you like to see headlines like that in the papers? Big Capitalist Threatened by Terror"— — "Employer Bows to Murder Threats."

"Especially," Lord Stanitz began to chime in, with a hint of displeasure in his tone. "Especially the headline of the newspaper has always been "Strongman of Steel Buildings." Old Sander's face was flushed red again, and the voice behind his bushy beard was just as thick. "Of course you're right on that. If these savages think I'm afraid—" At this moment, a thin man walked towards them quickly and interrupted their conversation.At first glance, the biggest feature of the visitor is that he pays too much attention to his own image, and he has become the kind of person that makes everyone feel a little disgusted.He had beautiful, curly black hair and a brocaded moustache, and he spoke like a gentleman, but his tone of voice was deliberately pretentious.Father Brown instantly recognized the man as Sir Hubert's secretary, Rupert Ray.The priest often saw him doing things slowly in the jazz's house, but he had never seen him walking in such a hurry like today, or looking like he was full of lawsuits.

"I am very sorry, sir," said the visitor to his employer, "that there is a man over there who is bothering me, and I cannot get rid of him as much as I can. He has brought a letter, but insists on delivering it himself. you." "You mean he went to my house first?" Sander glanced quickly at his secretary. "I suppose you've been at my house all morning?" "Yes, sir," Rupert Ray replied. After a moment's silence, Sir Hubert gave curt orders that the man be brought; I'm afraid that people in the world, even the most uncritical woman, would not think highly of this person who was brought forward.He has a pair of huge ears, with a toad face, and his two eyes will stare at everything in front of him, which makes people feel creepy.Father Brown attributed the phenomenon to his glass eyeball.In fact, the priest had placed two glass eyeballs on him in his imagination; his eyes were dull, staring blankly at the group of people in front of him.The priests who have read countless people can recognize it with rich experience rather than imagination. There are many reasons for this abnormal look, one of which is alcoholism.He was a small, disheveled man clutching a black-brimmed bowler hat in one hand and a large sealed envelope in the other. Sir Hubert looked at him intently, but when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly low, which did not match his tall stature, and only Sir Hubert said, "Oh—so it was you!" He reached for the letter and made a gesture of opening it, while looking around apologetically.After he had opened and read the letter, he stuffed it into his inner pocket and said hastily and sternly: "Well, I think, as you said, it's all over. Now it's impossible to negotiate. Anyway, we Can't afford the wages they're asking for. But, Henry, I've got to meet and talk with you—to figure out how to get this over with." "Okay," Henry said slightly displeased, as if he would rather settle these matters by himself. "After lunch, I will stay in apartment 188, and I have to check the progress of the work there." The messenger with a fake eye (let's say it's a glass eye) walked away with heavy steps without squinting.Father Brown thoughtfully, his eyes (his eyes were certainly not glass) followed the man as he turned up and down the stairs and disappeared into the street. The next morning Father Brown, for the first time ever, overslept; or at least he awoke with a start from sleep, thinking he was late.This probably had something to do with his recollection of being half-awake at the usual rising hour and falling asleep again, as one vaguely remembers dreaming.For most people, this kind of experience is common, but it happened to Father Brown.In retrospect, the priest had to believe that when his soul temporarily drifted away from the living world and fell into a deep sleep presenting various mysterious situations, he actually found a new one on the little black island in the dreamland where he had been awakened. The truth of the story that was hidden like a treasure. In fact, Father Brown sprang out of bed with extraordinary agility, threw his clothes on, grabbed his large knobby umbrella, and hurried out into the street.At this time, the whitening morning light fell like shattered icicles around the black building opposite him.The priest was surprised to find that the street, gleaming with the cool morning light, was empty; this sight told him that the time to get up was not as late as he had feared.Suddenly, a gray limousine broke the silence of the surrounding area, drove like lightning, and stopped abruptly in front of the empty building.Then I saw Lord Stanitz get out of the car, dragging two large boxes tiredly towards the building door.At the same time, the door of the building opened, but the person inside did not come out, but retreated instead.Lord Stanitz yelled at the man twice before he finally went out to the front steps.After a brief exchange between the two, the lord dragged his case up the stairs, and the man who came out stepped out into the bright street, showing his broad shoulders and head thrust forward.Father Brown saw at last that it was young Henry Sand. For this rather weird meeting, Father Brown has never taken it seriously.Until two days later, the young man drove to find the priest and begged him to get in the car. "A terrible thing has happened," he said, "and I'd rather talk to you about it than Stanitz. You know Stanitz was here two days ago Just finished the apartment building for a while. I went there early that morning to open the door for him. But we'll talk about that later. I want you to go to my uncle's right away." "Is your uncle ill?" asked the priest eagerly. "I think he's dead," the nephew replied. "You think he's dead, what's going on?" the priest asked bluntly. "Have you called a doctor yet?" "No," replied the other. "Let's not call any doctor, even the patients are gone... What's the use of calling a doctor; even the body is gone. However, I probably know where it went...Actually, we have kept it a secret It's been two days, but he really disappeared." "Let me see it this way," said the priest mildly. "Can you tell me from the beginning to the end?" "I know," replied Henry, "that it's disrespectful to speak so impolitely of my uncle, but a man can't keep his mouth shut when he's flustered. I can't keep things in my head. I'll make a long story short—well, now I can't start from the beginning. It's like what people say about making wild assumptions and guessing. In short, my poor uncle killed himself." At this time, the car they were riding in was leaving the edge of the city, driving into the outskirts of the city's forests and further parks.About half a mile from the entrance to Sir Hubert's estate, it was necessary to pass through thick beech woods.There is mainly a small garden and an ornamental garden in this small manor. It is elegant and gorgeous, and it is trimmed into steps and extends layer by layer along the slope until the edge of a large river flowing through the place.As soon as they reached the Sir's quarters, Henry dragged Father Brown hurriedly through the Georgian rooms to the back of the house, and then walked down the slope without a word.The slope here is quite steep, and there are occasional ridges full of flowers, and the gray-white river can also be seen.There was a huge antique urn at the bend in the path, topped with a garland of geraniums in an inconsistent style, and Father Brown suddenly noticed a movement in the sparse woods and bushes at the bottom of the slope, like a frightened child. Like a bird flying away. In the sparse bushes by the river, two figures quickly separated, one of them quickly disappeared into the shadow of the trees, and the other walked towards them.The two of them stopped involuntarily, and fell into an indescribable silence for a moment.Henry then introduced with his characteristic heavy tone: "I think you know Father Brown... Mrs. Sander." In fact, Father Brown knew her, but he hardly recognized her now.Her face was pale and her expression was extremely painful, as if she was wearing a tragic mask.She was much younger than her husband, but she looked older than everything in the old house and garden.Father Brown suddenly remembered subconsciously that she was indeed the inheritance of the ancient family, and she was the true owner of this ancient manor.She was born of the ruined nobles who owned the estate, and made it prosperous again by marrying the businessman Hubert.The woman in front of her can be regarded as a photo of an ancient family, and can even be regarded as the soul of the family.Her pale face, sharply oval in shape, resembled some portraits of Mary Queen of Scots; and there seemed to be something more in her expression than the natural worry at the anomaly of her husband's disappearance and suspected suicide.Father Brown was also subconsciously wondering who it was that she had been with her in the woods just now. "I suppose you have heard the dreadful news," she began, trying to maintain her demeanor. "Poor Hubert must have been unable to bear the persecution of those revolutionaries any longer, and killed himself in a moment of indifference. I don't know what you can do, or if you can help bring to justice the Bolsheviks who cornered him .” "I'm sorry, Mrs Sander," said Father Brown. "At the same time, I must admit I'm a bit confused. You mentioned persecution; do you really think someone could have your husband killed just by sticking a note to the wall?" "I think," replied the madam sadly, "that they must have done something to hurt him besides that note." "It shows how stupid people can be sometimes," said Father Brown sadly. "I never thought that he would be so contrary to common sense and choose to die to escape being killed." "I know," she replied, gazing at the priest sadly. "If I hadn't seen his autographed suicide note, I would never have believed it would be like this." "What?" said Father Brown, hopping, like a rabbit being shot. "Yes," said Mrs Sander quietly. "He wrote the suicide note with his own hand, so I think he must have committed suicide." After saying this, she walked up the slope alone, her awe-inspiring aura as if possessed by the soul of the family. Father Brown turned silently to Henry Sand, and the two looked at each other through the glasses they were wearing.The young gentleman hesitated for a moment before speaking, still looking defiant and rash. "Yes, you see, now it seems clear what he did. He was a good swimmer and used to come here every morning in his pajamas and take a dip in the river. Well, that day he came to the river as usual, Left his pajamas on the shore; there's still there. But he left a last word about swimming one last time and then dying, and stuff like that." "Where are his last words?" asked Father Brown. "He scratched a few random things on a tree trunk hanging over the river, I think that was the last thing he grabbed before he died; just under the place where he dropped his pajamas. Come, I will show you Look." Father Brown ran down the last short slope to the river's edge and examined the tree hanging over the water with its long, thin leaves almost submerged in the water.He really saw the suicide note engraved on the smooth bark, with legible handwriting: "Swim one last time, then drown. Farewell! Hubert Sand" Father Brown's eyes slowly moved up the river bank, and finally fell on the gorgeous red and yellow clothes with golden tassels.He lifted the pajamas, ready to turn them over.At the same moment he became aware of a dark figure flashing across his field of vision; a tall black figure slid from one bush to another, and seemed to be following Mrs Sander.The priest had no doubt that this was the one who had just parted with his wife.Not only that, but he was even more convinced that this was the secretary of the deceased, Mr. Rupert Ray. "Of course, it may be that when he was about to commit suicide, he suddenly remembered that he had to write a last word," Father Brown did not raise his head, and his eyes were still fixed on the red and yellow pajamas when he spoke. "We've all heard of people who carve love letters on trees; it turns out there are people who carve death letters on trees." "Well, I guess he couldn't find anything to write in in his pajama pocket," Henry explained. "If he can't find pen, ink and paper, he will naturally carve his last words on the tree." "It sounds very similar to what the French do," the priest said very disapprovingly of Henry's explanation. "But that's not what I was thinking of." After a moment of silence, when he spoke again, his voice changed: "To tell you the truth, I was thinking that even if a person had a pile of pens, quarts of ink, and reams of white paper in front of him, , is it still possible for him to inscribe on the trunk." Henry suddenly changed color and stared at him blankly, and the glasses on the lion's nose were all shifted. "What do you mean by that," he asked sharply. "Oh," explained Father Brown unhurriedly, "I don't mean that the postman must deliver a letter with a log on his shoulder, or that you put a stamp on a pine tree when you want to write a note to a friend. It must in a certain type of situation—indeed, it has to have a certain type of person who prefers to communicate with trees. But, given that both conditions are present, I'll say again, he still Will choose to engrave on the tree, even if there is a situation like a poem said: if the white paper is as big as this world, the ink is as abundant as the ocean; if the ink is the endless river, the pen and quill are a large forest." The priest's weird imagination obviously made Sander feel a little creepy, I don't know if it was because he couldn't understand the priest's words, or because he was starting to get confused. "You see," the priest said, slowly turning his pajamas over, "it is impossible for a person to write at his highest level when he is carving on a tree. If this person is not that person, I don't know if you understand me It means - oops!" He was examining the red pajamas carefully, and for a moment the red color seemed to get on his fingertips; when their eyes turned to the fingertips, their faces turned pale. "Blood!" cried Father Brown; and at that moment all was dead except for the murmur of the running water. Henry coughed dryly and cleared his nose again, the sound he made was definitely not so pleasant.Then he asked hoarsely, "Whose blood?" "Oh, mine," replied the priest, gravely. After a while he said again: "There's a pin in it, and I accidentally got stuck. But I don't think you'll pay much attention to the meaning... the meaning of the pin. I don't." At the same time, he was like a child. sucking his fingers. "You see," he said after another moment of silence, "this suit is folded and fastened with pins. No one ever opened it—at least not before I was stabbed. Simply put, Huber T Sander never wore the pajamas. He didn't carve his last words on a tree trunk or throw himself into a river." The glasses clamped obliquely on Henry's lion nose fell off with a click, but he remained unmoved, as if unable to move due to fright. "Which brings us back to what we were talking about," continued Father Brown enthusiastically, "that certain people like to leave their personal letters on trees, like Hiawatha and the pictorials he taught people to write. Sander There was plenty of time before he threw himself into the river. Why couldn't he write a note to his wife like a normal person? Or, so to speak...why couldn't 'the guy' write a note to his wife like a normal person ?Because if he wanted to do that he would have to imitate her husband's handwriting. This kind of thing is tricky because the experts these days will come after them. It is very difficult for me to imitate my own handwriting, let alone others. This is not suicide, Mr. Sander. Whatever the mystery may be, it must be murder." Only bracken and weed branches snapped and snapped, and the broad-shouldered young man leaped up like a sea monster, arched his waist, and stretched his thick neck forward. "I'm not a good concealer," he said, "and I've suspected that too—thought it was going to happen, so to speak, for a long time. To tell you the truth, I would never have been involved in it." Come on, what's the polite thing to say to this guy—or both of them." "What on earth are you going to say?" asked the priest, looking directly at him gravely. "What I'm going to say," replied Henry Sand, "is that since you've made it out that it was murder, I think I can make it to you who was the murderer." Father Brown quietly listened to Henry talking upside down. "You mentioned that people sometimes carve love letters into trees. In fact, there were love letters on that tree; where the leaves got in the way, there were two people's engraved love words intertwined—I think you should know, San Mrs. De was the heir to the estate before she got married; and she was involved with that playboy bastard secretary. I guess they once met under this tree and made each other's vows. Later, they seem to have Putting the tree that saw their tryst to another use. Emotional entanglements, no doubt. Or something to do with the economy." "They must be terrible," said Father Brown. "Aren't there still few terrible people in history or crimes?" Henry asked a little excitedly. "Is there not enough men and women in the world to love to hate, and make love more terrible than hate? Haven't you heard the bloody tales of Bothwell and all such lovers?" "Of course I know the legend about Bothwell," answered the priest, "and I know it's a terrible thing. It's true that husbands are sometimes killed like that. By the way, is he Where was it removed? I mean, where did they hide the body?" "I think they drowned him, or threw his body in the river after he died," the young man snorted contemptuously. Father Brown blinked thoughtfully and said, "The river is the perfect place to hide a fictional corpse, but the worst place to hide a real corpse." I mean, it's easy for you to say you're throwing a 'body' in the river, because it's probably gone before the river washes it into the sea. But if you actually throw a body in, It's not going to disappear that easily, but has a close to 100 percent chance of washing up again. I think they must have a better way of disposing of the body—otherwise, people would have found it. Also, if the body had Any sign of violence—" "Hey, why pester them how to dispose of the corpse?" Henry became a little angry, "Isn't the record of their crimes we witnessed on that tree not enough?" "A dead body is the most important piece of evidence in any murder case," countered another. "Nine times out of ten, the key to solving the case is to find out where the body is hidden." A silence followed; Father Brown continued to rummage through the red pajamas, spreading it out on the sunlit riverbank grass.He never looked up.But for a moment, he became aware of a change in the surrounding situation, and a third person appeared in his field of vision; standing there now as motionless as a statue in a garden. "By the way," said the priest in a low voice, "what do you think of that little man with the false eye who delivered your poor uncle's letter yesterday? I think your uncle's face changed when he read it; that's why, listen I wasn't surprised when I heard the news of his suicide, because I thought he did, too. The guy must be a bad private investigator, or I was wrong." "Well," Henry replied, hesitantly, "well, maybe—when such family tragedies happen, husbands sometimes hire private detectives, don't they? I think my uncle has a handle on their infidelity." evidence, so they—” "I shouldn't have spoken so loudly," said Father Brown, "for the detective you speak of is looking for us, just a step away from that bush." They both looked up, and sure enough, the little man with the fake eye was staring at them with unpleasant eyes, and he happened to be among the white flowers blooming everywhere in this classical garden, making him The appearance is more like a weird goblin. Henry hurriedly got up again, because he was a bit overwhelmed by the excessive movements, and he was out of breath.He blurted out angrily and asked what the man was doing here, and at the same time told him to get the hell out of here. "Lord Stanitz," said the garden goblin, "would be very grateful if the priest would come in and have a word with him." 亨利·桑德狂暴地转过身去；布朗神父以为这种暴怒源于他与勋爵彼此之间心存芥蒂，而这也是众所周知的。就在他们走上坡的途中，布朗神父稍停了片刻，似乎是在暗自描摹光滑树干上的那些图案；他先是抬头扫了一眼已经黯淡、掩在深处据说是爱情见证的图画文字，然后又凝视着字体宽大、松散的所谓遗言。 “这些字母让你想起了什么吗？”神父问亨利。当看到脸色阴沉的同伴摇头时，他便补充说：“它们让我想起罢工工人威胁要他命的那张公告上的字迹。” “我一生中还真没碰到过这么诡异、这么难破解的谜，”布朗神父说这话的时候已经是1个月以后的事了。当时他来到刚刚装修完的188号公寓；这套高档公寓是在劳资争吵不休引发停工、工会工人完全撤出前没完工的最后一套。公寓的内部装修很舒适，斯塔尼兹勋爵张罗着用格罗格酒和雪茄款待他，在斯塔尼兹勋爵对面坐着的神父扮着鬼脸说了那句话。勋爵的举止冷淡，也很随意，但却表现得相当友善，这不禁让神父感到诧异。 “我知道，以你的见识还能这样说，可见这事非同寻常，”斯塔尼兹说，“不过，侦探们，包括我们那位令人瞩目的私人侦探似乎都看不到问题的答案。” 布朗神父放下手里的雪茄，一字一顿地说道：“这倒不是他们看不到问题的答案，而是他们看不到问题所在。” “确实如此，”另一位说，“或许我也看不到问题所在。” “这个问题跟其它所有问题完全不同，”神父接着说，“原因是这样，罪犯似乎故意干了两件不同的事，要是分别办了其中任何一件事，都有可能成功，但要是合在一起办，就会出问题。我假设，而且坚信，两件事是同一个杀人犯干的，他以激进分子的口气贴出了索命书，又在一棵树上炮制了一般性自杀的绝命书。你可能会说，那张告示无非是无产者贴出的宣言；劳工中的极端分子确实想干掉他们的雇主，而且真的动手杀了他。即使这些都是真的，那也解释不了为什么事后他们，或者有人又处心积虑地布下一个与事实完全相反、让人以为是自杀的迷魂阵。所以说，肯定不是这样。那些劳工无论心怀多大仇恨也不会做这种事。我太熟悉他们了；我也很了解他们的领导人。像汤姆·布鲁斯或者霍根那种人能在报纸上发动攻击，用数不清的方式损害任何人，假如他们雇凶杀人，稍微有点理智的人都会认为他们的脑子肯定出了问题，如果不是疯了，怎么可能会干出这么愚不可及的事。不；有这样一个人，他并不是义愤填膺的工人，而是先扮演了一名愤怒劳工的角色，然后又装扮成自杀的雇主。可最让人费解的是，他究竟为什么要这样做呢？如果他觉得有把握以自杀的假象蒙混过关，那他为什么在一开始又公开贴出索命书，这不是前功尽弃呢？你可以说自杀的假象是事后编排出来的，因为它至少不像谋杀那么容易引起轰动。可是一旦有了谋杀的说法，这事想不轰动都不行了。他肯定知道他的所作所为已经将我们的思路引向了谋杀，而他真正的意图却是设法让我们不往那方面想。如果这仅仅是事后添加的东西，那一定是个没头脑的人想出来的蠢招。而我有种感觉，这个杀手很有头脑。你明白这是怎么回事了吗？” “不明白；不过，”斯塔尼兹回应道，“我明白你为什么要说我甚至看不到问题所在了。这不仅仅是谁杀了桑德的问题；而是为什么有人先是指控有人杀了桑德，然后又说他是自杀。” 布朗神父的脸扭曲得变了形，紧咬住嘴里的雪茄。烟头上有节奏地一明一暗，就像燃烧的大脑神经发出的脉冲信号。之后，他像是自言自语地开了口： “我们必须要头脑清醒，紧追不放。就像要理清纠缠不清的思路；就是这么回事。谋杀指控和自杀认定自相矛盾，一般情况下，他不会提起谋杀指控。但是他确实这么做了；他之所以这样做，一定另有理由。或许那个理由太重要了，以至于他必须这么做，哪怕会削弱他编造的自杀说法的说服力。换句话说，在当初的谋杀指控中另有隐情。我的意思是他并不想真的指控谁杀了人，并以此将杀人的罪责转移到别人身上。他之所以来这样做有他自己非同寻常的考虑。在他的通盘策划中，一定要有公开声言桑德将被谋杀这部分内容，无论这样做是否会将嫌疑引向他人。不管出于哪种考虑，公开威胁本身是必要的一项。但为什么会这样呢？” 神父吸着雪茄，内心愤懑不已，就这样埋头苦思了几分钟，然后才再次开口：“除了暗示罢工工人是杀人犯之外，扬言杀人还有什么别的作用呢？这样做的目的究竟是什么呢？有一点是显而易见的：它的作用必定适得其反。发出这种威胁的用意，不过是警告桑德别解雇他的工人，而这或许是促使他下决心如此行事的唯一原因。你不能不考虑他的为人和名声。在他被耸人听闻且又愚蠢的报纸称为'强人'，在他被所有杰出的英格兰蠢货亲昵地称他为'体育迷'的情况下，他根本不会因为有人拿枪逼着他而退让半步。假如他选择退缩，便无异于让他头戴一顶插根白羽毛的白礼帽去参加阿斯科特赛马会，也会粉碎他内心自视甚高的美好形象，而那是每个人都看得比生命还重要的东西，除非他是个懦夫。而桑德不是懦夫；他有勇气，也很冲动。它就像魔法一样当即就有了反应：曾经跟工人们打成一片的侄子当场大喊大叫，声称必须坚决、迅速地对抗这种威胁。” “是的，”斯塔尼兹勋爵说道，“我也注意到了他当时的表现。”他俩对视了几秒钟，然后勋爵漫不经心地补充道：“所以你认为罪犯真正想要的是——” “全面停工，”布朗神父大声喊道。“你说它是罢工，或者别的什么都行，反正要的就是全面停工。他就想立刻停工；也许是为了让廉价劳动力立刻进来顶替；但不管为什么，他肯定是想让工会组织的工人立刻走开。那就是他真正要得到的；天知道他为什么这样做。我想他如愿以偿了，而且在实施过程中，都没怎么顾及到要设法嫁祸于人，让人们以为真的存在布尔什维克杀手。可是后来……后来我想，一定是出了什么差错。我仅仅是在胡乱猜想，慢慢摸索而已；不过我唯一能想出的解释就是，出了什么事让大家的注意力转向了这场麻烦的根源；有人开始追问他极力想让建筑工程全面停工的理由，不管是什么。迫于这种情况的出现，他才慌不择路，采取了亡羊补牢的做法，孤注一掷地伪造了河边的自杀现场，不为别的，只有这样才能将他人的视线从施工中的公寓大楼引开。” 布朗神父抬起头，透过圆圆的镜片，细细品味室内摆设和家具的品质；这位沉静的绅士所享用的简约中的奢华。与之形成对比的则是那两只大箱子，就在不久前勋爵带着它们入住了刚完工但还未装修的这套公寓。然后他有些唐突地说：“总之，我想公寓楼发生的事或什么人惊动了杀人犯。顺便问一下，你为什么要在公寓里住下？……还有，年轻的亨利告诉我在你住进大楼那天跟他约定的时间非常早。是真的吗？” “没有的事，”斯塔尼兹答道。“我是头一天夜里从他叔叔那里拿到的钥匙。我也不知道亨利为什么那天早上会来这里。” “啊！”布朗神父恍然大悟，“那么我觉得我猜出他为什么来……我想是你惊动了他，因为你来的时候，他正要离开。” “可是，”斯塔尼兹闪动着灰绿的眼睛，瞥了神父一眼，“你认为我也是个谜。” “我想你身上存在两个谜，”布朗神父说。“首先，你当初为什么选择离开桑德的公司。其次，离开之后你为什么又回到桑德拥有的大楼住下。” 斯塔尼兹一边抽着雪茄烟，一边回想，然后抖掉烟灰，按动他面前桌上的铃。“请原谅，”他说道，“我要请两个人进来。一个是杰克逊，你见过的那个小个子侦探，他听见铃声就会进来；我还叫亨利·桑德稍晚一会儿过来。” 布朗神父站起身，穿过房间，皱着眉低头凝视着壁炉。 “与此同时，”斯塔尼兹接着说道，“我可以回答你提出的两个问题。我离开桑德公司是因为我肯定公司里有人在搞鬼，有人中饱私囊。我现在回来住进这套公寓，是因为我要等着看到老桑德去世的真相——就在现场。” 侦探进屋时，布朗神父转了下头，只见他盯着炉边的地毯，嘴里重复道：“就在现场。” “杰克逊先生会告诉你，”斯塔尼兹说道，“休伯特爵士曾委托他找出谁是公司的蛀虫。就在爵士失踪的前一天，他提交了一份调查报告。” “是的，”布朗神父说道，“现在我知道他去了什么地方。我知道他的尸体被藏在哪里了。” “你的意思是——？”主人急不可耐地问道。 “就在这里，”布朗神父边说边在那块地毯上跺着脚。“就在这里，在这个舒适的房间里铺着的精美波斯地毯下面。” "How did you find out?" “我刚想起来，”布朗神父说道，“我在梦里发现了它。” 他闭上眼睛，似乎在极力回想曾经的梦境，同时梦呓般喃喃自语： “这是一篇凶杀案故事，它引发了'怎样藏尸体'的问题；而我是在梦里解决了这个问题。我总是在早上被这座大楼传出的敲击声吵醒。那天早晨，我被吵得醒了一下，接着又睡过去了，等我再次醒过来的时候就想肯定是睡过头了，但其实并没睡过头。为什么呢？因为那天清晨传出过敲击声，虽然当时工地已经停工了；敲击声短促、急迫，出现在凌晨还没到黎明的时候。正睡着的人一听到这个熟悉的声音自然会有所反应。但他随后倒头又睡，因为这个熟悉的声音没有出现在惯常的时间。现在的问题是，为什么那个罪犯要让整个工程立刻停工，并且只让新工人进场呢？因为如果老工人第二天回到现场，他们就会发现有人连夜赶了工。只有他们才清楚前一天的工作进度；只有他们才会发现这个房间的地板浇注了水泥。干这活的人一定是个内行；肯定跟工人们混得很熟，学到了他们施工的技术。” 布朗神父正在叙述的当口，门被推开了，一个人探头探脑地朝里看。这是一个长在粗脖子上的小脑袋，透过镜片，正冲着屋里的人眨动着两只眼睛。 “亨利·桑德自己说过，”布朗神父仰望着天花板，自顾自地说道，“他这个人不擅于隐藏。但我认为他过分看低了自己。” 亨利·桑德转过身，迅速穿过走廊溜走了。 “他不仅瞒天过海长年窃取公款，”神父显得有些茫然若失地说，“还在他叔叔发现他的偷盗行径后下毒手，并以一种新颖独特的方式掩藏了他的尸体。” 说时迟那时快，斯塔尼兹再次按响了铃，长时间不松手，只听铃声大作，尖利刺耳；那个装着假眼的小个子侦探如同离弦的箭一般飞过走廊追向逃犯，他的动作之快犹如西洋镜里旋转滚动的动画人物。再看这边，布朗神父倚靠在小阳台上，朝窗外望去，只见亨利像子弹一样射出前门；紧接着有五六个人从街上的栏杆和路边花草丛后一跃而出，如同撒开的网或者展开的扇子一样，紧随其后。布朗神父终究看到了案情的全貌；一切都发生在这套公寓里：在这里，亨利掐死了休伯特，把他的尸体藏在了坚实的水泥地板中。为此，他不惜造成全面停工。大头针刺破手指一事，让神父就起了疑心；但当时也仅仅是意识到自己被谎言牵着鼻子走出了很远。大头针的含意就是，它不合情理。 神父觉得他终于理解斯塔尼兹了，而他喜欢和古怪费解的人打交道。他认识到，这个以前被他认定为冷血、倦怠的绅士，只是表面看着冷淡，他的内心其实燃烧着良知和传统尊严的火焰。正因为如此，他先是从这家存在龌龊行为的公司抽身而去，事后又为自己推卸责任的做法感到羞愧不已，便又主动返回，在埋尸的公寓里安顿下来，当了一回让人厌烦、尽心尽力的侦探；而他就在藏尸处私下里打探的行为令凶手惊恐万分，于是，亨利在情急之下，便做出疯狂之举，以睡衣为道具布下了一个受害人投河自尽的迷局。现在一切都真相大白，但是，在布朗神父准备告别星空回家休息之前，他再次仰望着面前这座拔地而起直刺夜空、黑黢黢的庞然大物，不禁联想起古埃及和巴比伦，以及所有那些企望永恒但终成废墟的人工建筑。 “我最初说的很对，”他说道。“它让我想起了科佩提到法老和金字塔的那句诗：本是广厦千百家，石山为穴埋一人。”