Chapter 4 flying fish song

Mr. Peregrine Smart was as preoccupied as a fly with a treasure and a joke.That's a mild joke, because he's just asking people if they've seen his goldfish.That, too, was a worthwhile joke; but one wonders if, at the bottom of his heart, he was more attached to that joke than to the treasure.There were several new houses around the old country green, and in chatting with his neighbors who lived there he always lost no time in turning the subject to his own proclivities.In the face of Dr. Bardock, an up-and-coming biologist with a firm jaw and hair slicked like a German, Mr. Smart changed the subject with ease. "You're interested in natural history; have you seen my goldfish?" To an orthodox evolutionist like Dr. Bardock, all nature is undoubtedly one; Not very closely, because he is only an expert in the study of the ancestors of giraffes.Facing Father Brown from the church in the neighboring town, he went from Rome to St. Peter, followed by the fisherman, and then from fish to goldfish, all in one go.Next came Mr. Imlak Smith, the bank manager, tall, thin, sallow, well-dressed, and very personable.In a chat with a bank manager, Smart would veer off to the gold standard, one step away from a goldfish.In the neighbourhood, Count Yvonne de Lara (he was ennobled by France, but had a Russian, if not a Tatar, face), chatting with brilliant oriental travelers and scholars At times, the conversationalist would express a keen interest in the Ganges and the Indian Ocean, and would automatically talk about the possibility that those waters might harbor goldfish.

In the face of Mr. Harry Hartop, a very rich and very shy and reticent young man, recently arrived from London, he was soft-spoken, until at last he understood that the shy lad was not interested in fishing, and so Added: "Speaking of fishing, have you seen my goldfish?" Those goldfish were unique in that they were made of gold, part of an odd and expensive toy.It was said to be the whim of some wealthy Eastern prince, and Mr. Smart came across it in some auction house or antique shop.He frequented those places and hoarded some rare and useless things at home.From the other side of the room, it looks like a huge bowl containing a giant live fish; but on closer inspection, it is a very beautiful and huge Venetian blown glass, the bowl is as thin as a cicada's wing, The material implies a rainbow-like color, and against that hazy color, there are only a few strange goldfish hanging there, and the eyes are huge rubies.It's definitely a treasure of great value; but how much it sells for depends on how crazy the collecting world can get.Mr. Smart's new secretary, a young man named Francis Boyle, though an Irishman not known for his prudence, was astonished at his openness in talking freely about his treasures, talking Subjects are relatively strangers who happen to live nearby, the kind who come and go; collectors are usually very vigilant, sometimes secretive.As the secretarial work unfolded, Boyle found that he was not the only one who felt this way, and other people also had different degrees of doubts, ranging from a little surprise to disagreement.

"It's a wonder he didn't have his throat cut," said Mr. Smart's valet, Harris, not without a hint of hypothetical pleasure, as if he had expressed this from a purely artistic point of view. Feeling very sorry. "It's amazing how he throws things around," said Jameson, Mr. Smart's superintendent, who came from his office to help the new secretary get used to the job. The battered old door is bolted." "Father Brown and the doctor are all right," said Mr. Smart's housekeeper, with a ambiguity characteristic of her opinions, "but it's too risky when foreigners are involved. Not only The Earl alone; the fellow at the bank is too yellow to look very English to me."

"Oh, young Hartop is English enough," said Boyle kindly, "to the point where he's taciturn and doesn't justify himself." "He's thinking too much," said the housekeeper. "He may not be a standard foreigner, but he's not as stupid as he looks. I would say that acting like a foreigner is a foreigner," she said darkly. Her unhappiness might have been heightened if she had heard the conversation that afternoon in the master's sitting room.The topic is mainly goldfish, but the annoying foreigner gradually becomes the central character.It's not that he talks a lot; it's that even if he is silent, he can attract everyone's attention.Sitting all over him on a pile of cushions, his body seemed even larger.In the fading twilight his broad Mongolian face shimmered like a full moon.Perhaps the background behind him created an atmosphere that accentuated his somewhat Asian face and figure, for the room was cluttered with more or less expensive antiques, some of them crooked and shiny. Oriental weapons, oriental smoking sets and utensils, oriental musical instruments and illuminated manuscripts.In any case, as the conversation progressed, it became increasingly apparent to Boyle that the figure sitting on the cushion with its back to the setting sun resembled a gigantic Buddha statue.

All the people in this small circle were present, and the content of the conversation was also varied.In fact, they hang around so often that the four or five families surrounding the country green have hitherto formed a sort of club.Among these families, Peregrine Smart's house is the oldest, largest and most poetic; it extends to both sides and occupies almost the entire side of the square, leaving only a small In the space of the villa, there lived a retired colonel named Vani, who was said to be physically disabled, but no one had ever seen him step out of the house.There are two or three shops at right angles to these two houses, which can meet the daily needs of the country people.There was also an inn called the Blue Dragon around the corner, where Mr. Hartop, the stranger from London, was staying.On the opposite side stood three houses, one rented by Count Yvonne de Lara, one by Doctor Bardock, and the third still vacant.The fourth side of the green space is where the bank is located, and the manager of the bank lives next door, and there is an open space next to it, which is rented and enclosed in a fence to build a house.It can be said that this is a fairly self-sufficient group, and the surrounding miles of desolation make these people more and more dependent on each other's company.That afternoon, a stranger entered this magical circle: a thin-faced fellow with bushy eyebrows and a bushy beard, who, if he was (as rumor had it) come to do business with old collectors, was in rags. , he must be a millionaire or a duke.But he was called Mr. Hammer, at least that's what everyone called him at the Blue Dragon Inn.

Mr. Smart babbled at him again about the glory of the goldfish, alluding in passing to the criticism of his mismanagement. “People always tell me I should be more careful locking them up,” Mr. Smart said, raising an eyebrow over his shoulder at the clerk standing behind him, who had just brought some papers from the office.Smart was a little old man with a round face and a round body, like a bald parrot. "Jameson and Harris and the others always make me bolt the door like it's a medieval fortress, but this old, rust-covered bolt is so old I dare say it's It won't stop anyone. I'd rather trust luck and the police here."

"The best bolts don't necessarily keep people out," said the Count. "It all depends on who wants to break in. Once there was an old Hindu hermit who lived in a cave of asceticism. He passed through the defenses of the three-way army guarding the Mughal emperor. He took the huge ruby ​​from his turban, and returned unscathed like a shadow. He wanted to warn the big men how insignificant the laws of space and time are." "When we have really studied these insignificant laws of space and time," Dr. Bardock said dryly, "we will be able to see through the details of those tricks. Western science has lifted the veil of a considerable part of Eastern magic. Nothing There is no doubt that hypnosis and suggestion can solve many problems, not to mention the tricks at hand."

"The ruby ​​is not in the emperor's tent," said the count in his dreamy tone, "but he found it in a hundred tents." "Isn't that telepathy?" The doctor asked sharply.The question sounded all the more poignant, for there followed a dead silence, and the distinguished oriental traveler seemed to have fallen asleep with great dignity, regardless of etiquette. "Sorry," he broke the silence suddenly, with a slight smile on his face. "I forgot that we communicate with words. In the East we communicate with thoughts, so we never misunderstand each other. It is strange that you people should worship words so much, and be content with them. What you call mind now What is the difference between inductance and what you used to say it was stupid? If a man climbed a mango tree to the sky, what does calling it a lift and telling a lie make any difference to the truth? If a medieval witch waved her wand, Turn me into a blue baboon, and you'll say that's atavism."

The doctor glared at him, as if to say that there was not much difference between him and a baboon.But before he could think of any harsh words to deal with, the man named Hamer interrupted in a low voice: "Those Indian wizards can indeed do incredible things, but I found that most of them are confined to India. Maybe a group of people are colluding, or maybe it's just a manifestation of group psychology. I don't think those tricks will work in a small village in England. Makes sense, and I'm sure our friend's goldfish will be pretty safe." "Let me tell you a story," de Lara said quietly, "that it didn't happen in India, but outside a British barracks in the most modern part of Cairo. There was a sentry standing inside the iron gate , Looking at the street outside through the fence. A beggar suddenly appeared outside the door. He was barefoot and dressed in rags, but he looked like a local. The beggar asked in English for a certain document kept in the building. He said The English is clear and fluent, and the pronunciation is elegant. It is surprising. Of course, the soldier told him not to enter; but the man smiled and replied: "What is inside and what is outside?" The soldier looked at the beggar disdainfully through the fence, But he was vaguely aware that although he and the door did not move, he stood on the street and looked into the barracks, and the beggar also did not move half a step, but was standing inside smiling. Then, when the beggar approached As he was walking towards the building, the guard suddenly regained his sanity, and shouted at the soldiers inside, telling them to catch the criminal. "Anyway, you can't get out of it," he said bitterly. The beggar responded with his melodious voice. "What is outside, what is inside?" Then, the soldiers standing on the street looking into the barracks suddenly found themselves back inside the fence gate, while the beggar stood on the street with a smile on his face as if nothing had happened, holding a with a document."

Mr. Imlak Smith, the slippery black-haired bank manager who had been gazing down at the carpet, opened Chrysostom for the first time. "What happened to that document?" he asked. "You are indeed a banker," said the Count with sullen kindness. "That's a pretty important financial document. The ramifications of it are international." "I hope that doesn't happen so often," said young Hartop despondently. "I'm not talking about politics," said the count calmly, "but about philosophy. That reflects how wise men can go behind the back of time and space, and move the levers of time and space, so that the whole world turns around before our eyes." .is it that hard to just convince you people that spiritual power is stronger than physical power?"

"Oh," said old Smart cheerfully, "I dare not claim to be an authority on psychic powers. What do you think, Father Brown?" "The only thing that impresses me," replied the little priest, "is that all the supernatural acts we've heard so far seem to involve theft. I feel that theft is theft, whether by spiritual or material means. It's one thing." "Father Brown is a layman, too," said Smith, smiling. "I relate to that type of people," Father Brown said. "A layman is just someone who knows what it is but doesn't know why." "It's all too esoteric for me," Hartop lamented heartily. "Perhaps," said Father Brown, smiling, "you don't want to communicate with words, as the Earl suggested. He obliquely expresses it, and you respond by being silent." "Maybe with the help of music," murmured the Count to himself in a trance. "That would be worth a thousand words." "Yes, maybe I understand the meaning of the music better," the young man whispered. Boyle had been listening intently and curiously to their chatter, for several behaved in a manner that struck him as meaningful, even eccentric.When the conversation turned to music, a subject of interest to the well-dressed bank manager (he was an amateur musician of some renown), the young secretary, suddenly reminded of his duties, hurried to remind his employer that the patient butler still Standing there with papers in hand, waiting. "Oh, put that aside, Jameson," Smart said hastily. "That's just something about my bank account; I'll talk to Smith later. You were talking about the cello, Mr. Smith—" But the cold business atmosphere dilutes the atmosphere of talking about supernatural power, which makes everyone very disappointed.The guests began to say their farewells one by one, and at last only Mr. Imrak Smith, the bank manager and the musician, remained; The house is a slender two-story building.The second floor is mainly the master bedroom suite, connected to a protruding enclosed balcony.The suite contains the owner's bedroom and dressing room, and a back room behind the bedroom.The balcony, like the unlatched door downstairs, disturbed the housekeeper, the steward, and others, who worried about the collector's carelessness; and the shrewd old gentleman was not so careless as he seemed.He professed to distrust the ancient latches of old houses, and the housekeeper was naturally distressed to see the rusted latches of long disuse, but he was more strategic.He always took his precious goldfish upstairs at night, put them in a secret room, and slept outside to guard the entrance. It is said that there was a gun under his pillow.Boyle and Jameson waited outside for a long time before the door opened and their employer reappeared, holding the large glass bowl reverently as if it were a relic. Outdoors, the afterglow of the setting sun still lingers in a corner of the green square; and the indoor lights have also been lit; under the interplay of sunlight and lights, the multicolored ball-shaped giant bowl shines like a strange jewel, and the strange outline of the goldfish It adds a kind of amulet-like mystery to it, just like the doomsday spectacle seen by the seer in the crystal ball.Imlak Smith followed it with eyes over the old man's shoulder, a mysterious expression on his sallow face. "I'm going to London tonight, Mr. Boyle," said old Smart, with a weight rarely seen in his words. "Mr. Smith and I have a train at 6.45. I want you, Jameson, to sleep upstairs in my room tonight; it will be safe if you keep it in the back room as usual. I Not worried about what might happen." "There is nothing impossible in this world," said Mr. Smith, smiling. "I suppose you usually go to bed with a gun. Maybe this time you should leave the gun." Peregrine Smart did not answer, and he and the banker walked out of the house and onto the road that circled the country green. The steward and secretary followed instructions and slept in the employer's bedroom that night.Jameson, the steward, slept, to be precise, on a bed in the dressing-room, but the door to the bedroom was left open, so that the two rooms juxtaposed along the front of the house were really one.The difference is that there is a long floor-to-ceiling window in front of the bedroom leading to the balcony, and the back is the entrance to the secret room where the goldfish is stored.Boyle pulled the bed across to block the entrance, put the gun under the pillow, and undressed for bed, feeling that everything was in place to guard against any unlikely eventuality.Nor did he feel that there was any danger of ordinary theft; as for the mind-thefts in the stories told by the traveler Count de Lara, if he kept thinking about them when he was about to fall asleep, they could only be understood as the kind that should have appeared in dreams. nothing more.They quickly turned into dreams, sometimes accompanied by dreamless slumbers.The steward looked slightly disturbed, as usual; but after a fussy babble, repeating his usual regrets and warnings, he too undressed and went to bed.The bright moonlight gradually dimmed, and the green square and the gray-white houses under the moon were silent, and there was no one around; just when the dawn dawned on the gray sky, something happened. Because of his youth, Boyle was naturally healthier and slept more deeply.Although he was alive and kicking when he woke up, the process of waking up was always difficult.Besides, the kind of dream he had was like the gray tentacles of an octopus entwining his half-awake mind.The dream scene was varied, including the last glimpse of him standing on the balcony, looking towards the four gray roads and the green square.But it was all distorted and changing, making him dizzy, and at the same time he heard a low, piercing noise like an underground river, or just old Jameson snoring in the locker room.But in his drowsiness, he felt that these noises and movements reminded him of what Count de Lara said: There is a kind of wisdom that moves the levers of time and space and makes the world go round.He also seemed to dream of a gigantic machine humming beneath the world, moving landscapes, bringing the end of the world to a man's front garden, or banishing his own front garden across the ocean. The first complete impression that remained in his mind was the lyrics of a song, accompanied by an ethereal metal accompaniment; the singer had a foreign accent, and it sounded strange but familiar.He couldn't be sure if it was a poem he composed himself in a dream. Struggling to his feet, he found his companion already up; Jameson was peering out the French window onto the balcony, screaming at someone in the street below. "Who are you?" he snapped. "What are you going to do?" He turned restlessly to Boyle and said, "There are people loitering in front of the house. I know it's not safe. I'll go down and bar the door, no matter what they say." He ran downstairs in such a panic that Boyle could hear the bolt clang against the door; but Boyle himself stepped out onto the balcony and looked out at the long gray road leading to the house, and It feels like a dream. On the long gray road across the moor and through the English village, a figure appeared, as if it had suddenly sprung from a jungle in an earl's fantasy, or from a fair.When the eastern light diffuses, the desolate gray morning mist gradually reveals everything but paints them into one color, and it is slowly lifting the gray veil at this moment, revealing the man in strange clothes.A weird sea-blue scarf, wide and oversized, wrapped around the head like a turban, and then wrapped around the chin, giving the overall appearance of a hood; mask.For the cloths which were wrapped round the head and chin, respectively, were drawn close together, covering the face like a mask; the head was bowed towards strangely shaped silver or steel instruments, shaped like misshapen or twisted violins.The man was playing the lute with what looked like a silver comb, and the sound was surprisingly weak and shrill.Before Boyle could open his mouth, the exotic accent that had been echoing in his mind came from the shadow of the woolen cloak, and the lyrics were like a dream: "You have no right to be here," Boyle yelled angrily, barely knowing what he was talking about. "I have a right to goldfish," the stranger said with authority, sounding more like King Solomon than a barefoot Bedouin in a tattered blue cloak. "They will come back to me. Come on!" He suddenly raised his voice to utter the last word, and at the same time he played the strange piano violently.A soul-piercing piercing zither sound came, followed by another faint sound from the dark room where the goldfish bowl was kept, vibrating like a whisper, as if responding to the zither sound. Boyle turned to look; for a moment, the echo in the chamber became a long ringing like an electric bell, and then a low crackling sound.From when he scolded strangers on the balcony to now, the whole process lasted only a few seconds; but at this moment, the supervisor had already returned to the top of the stairs. After all, he was old and out of breath after coming down angry. "I've bolted the door, anyway," he said. "The stable door," Boyle said in the dark closet. Jameson followed him into the room and found him looking down at the shattered stained glass, like shards of a rainbow curved. "What do you mean by stable doors?" Jameson asked. "I mean the horse was stolen," Boyle replied. "A group of flying horses. Those flying fish, the Arab friend outside just whistled like a dog in a show, and called those flying fish away." "But how could he?" burst out the old clerk, as if such things were unseemly. "Oh, they're gone," Boyle said curtly. "Here is the broken bowl. It takes a long time to open it, but a second to break it. The fish is gone, God knows how, but I think I should ask our friend. " "We're wasting our time," Jameson said distractedly. "We should go after it immediately." "Better call the police immediately," Boyle replied. "They should have caught up with him in no time with the police car and the phone call, much quicker than if we ran across the village in our pajamas. But I'm afraid there are some things that the police car and the phone can't match." While Jameson was restlessly briefing the police on the phone, Boyle ran out to the balcony again for a hasty glance at the gray streetscape of dawn.There was not even a single person outside, and the man in the turban had long since disappeared. He could only vaguely detect a slight movement in the Blue Dragon Inn, but he had to be sharp-eyed.For the first time, Boyle seemed to have sharp eyes, a clear awareness of a situation that had been lurking in his consciousness all along.It's like a fact that's submerged in consciousness, struggling to make sense of itself.The simple truth was that the gray scene was not completely gray, but laced with a golden light, a light in a house on the other side of the country green—something irrational in his head Tell him that the light was on all night and only dimmed with dawn.He figured out whose house it was, and it seemed that it matched something, but he didn't know what it was.In any case, it was evidently the house of Comte Yvonne de Lara. Inspector Pinner led a few policemen to come and did a few things quickly and decisively. He realized that because the expensive collection was so special, it was likely to become a theft reported by various newspapers.He inspected everything, measured everything, took everyone's statements, took everyone's fingerprints, and pissed everyone off, only to find himself facing a situation that he couldn't even believe. fact.An Arab from the desert came across the public road and stopped at the door of Mr. Peregrine Smart, whose closet kept an artificial goldfish bowl; he then began to sing or recite a little poem, and so The bowl exploded like a bomb, and the goldfish was gone.A foreign earl told him in a cat-meowing voice that the realm of human cognition had since been expanded, but that did not comfort him in the slightest. In fact, the attitude of each member of that small circle was highly individual.Peregrine Smart himself heard about his loss when he returned from London the next morning.Naturally he was shocked, but then he began to actively seek instead of mourning in vain, which is the typical characteristic of this lively little old man, which also makes his strutting little frame always look like a pugnacious animal. male sparrow.That Hamer had come here specially to buy goldfish, so he was understandably annoyed when he learned that the purchase was hopeless.But in fact, the resentment revealed from his thick beard and bushy eyebrows seemed to mean something else, not pure disappointment. His eyes were shining and he scanned everyone vigilantly, which could be regarded as an expression of suspicion.The sallow-faced bank manager had also come back from London, only on a later train, and he was like a magnet for the piercing gaze of Hammer's ever-rolling eyeballs.As for the two remaining members of the original circle, Father Brown was largely silent unless someone approached him, and the bewildered Hartop was often silent when approached. But the Earl would not let anything that clearly proved his point be in vain.He smiled at his rational opponent, the doctor, with an expression that knew how to flatter and please people. "You have to admit, Doctor," he said, "that at least some of the things you thought were impossible yesterday are real today. A ragged fellow, just like the one I've described, was standing outside saying something can break solid containers in the house, and that is perhaps a typical example of what I mean by mental power against material barriers." "That might count as what I say," said the doctor sharply, "that a little scientific knowledge will suffice to reveal a typical example of those tricks." "Do you really think, Doctor," said Smart, a little excitedly, "that you can explain this mysterious phenomenon scientifically?" "I can explain the count's so-called mystery," said the doctor, "because it's not mysterious at all. The part he said couldn't be more clear. Glass, certain vibrations can shatter glass. The man was not standing on the road thinking what he was thinking, which the count said was the ideal way for Orientals to communicate, but singing what was in his heart aloud, while still A sharp note pops out of the instrument. It's similar to many experiments with breaking glass of a particular texture." "Like this," said the Count lightly, "like the experiment in which pieces of gold suddenly disappear." "Here comes Inspector Pinner," Boyle said. "Privately, I think he would find the doctor's scientific explanations as cryptic as the Earl's supernatural explanations. Mr. Pinner is very cerebral and very suspicious, especially of me. I think I'm under suspicion." "I think we are all suspected," said the Count. It was precisely because Boyle felt he had aroused suspicion that he approached Father Brown for help.Just hours after the incident, they were walking together around the country green, the priest listening and frowning thoughtfully, when suddenly he stopped. "Did you find out?" he asked. "Someone's washed the sidewalk here, just this little stretch outside Colonel Varney's house. I wonder if it was washed yesterday." Father Brown examined the house rather carefully. It was tall and narrow, with rows of striped shades in bright but faded colors.Glimpses of dim interiors were glimpsed through chinks or apertures; indeed, the interior was almost dark compared with the golden exterior bathed in the rising sun. "That's Colonel Varney's house, isn't it?" he asked. "He's from the East, too, I think. What kind of man is he?" "I've never met him," Boyle replied. "I don't think anyone has seen him except Dr. Bardock, and I think the doctor only goes when called." "Oh, I'll go in and meet him," said Father Brown. The huge front door swung open, swallowing the diminutive priest inside, and his friend stood there wide-eyed, dazed and distraught, as if wondering if the door would ever open again.A few minutes later, the door opened, and Father Brown came out, still smiling, and continued walking slowly and contently around the square.Sometimes he even forgets the current situation completely, because he will make a few random comments on historical and social issues, or the development prospects of the area.He talked about the mud used for the road that had just begun to be built by the bank; he looked out at the old country green with a mysterious expression. "Public land. I suppose one would put pigs and geese and whatnot on it, if there were pigs or geese; as a matter of fact, there's nothing on it but nettles and thistles. What would have been a great pasture It's a pity that it's turned into a little wasteland. Opposite is Dr. Bardock's house, isn't it?" "Yes," Boyle replied, nearly jumping at the sudden change in subject. "Very well," said Father Brown, "in that case we shall go back to the house again." As they opened the Smart's front door and walked up the stairs, Boyle recounted many details of the dawn drama. "I suppose you didn't fall asleep again?" asked Father Brown. "That way someone could climb up the balcony while Jameson ran down to get in the door." "No," replied Boyle, "I'm sure of it. I woke up and heard Jameson shouting at strangers on the balcony; Just stepped onto the balcony." "Besides, is there any possibility that he could have slipped in from another place when you two weren't looking? Is there any other entrance besides the front door?" "Apparently not," Boyle said gravely. "I'd better make sure, don't you think?" asked Father Brown apologetically, and hurried down the stairs again, briskly.Boyle remained in the front bedroom, staring suspiciously after him.After a while, the round, rather simple face reappeared at the top of the stairs, looking like a grinning turnip lamp. "No; I think the entrance problem is figured out," said the Turnip Lamp cheerfully. "Now, I thought, now that all the facts come together, let's sort out what's going on here. There's something odd about this." "Do you think," asked Boyle, "that the Earl, the Colonel, or any of these Eastern travelers have anything to do with it? Do you think it's—supernatural?" "I can assure you of one thing," said the priest gravely, "that if the count, the colonel, or any of your neighbors, disguised as an Arab, climbed into this house in the dark—it would be supernatural." "What do you mean? Why?" "Because the Arab left no footprints," replied Father Brown. "The colonel and the banker, who live on either side of you, are your nearest neighbors. If you walk barefoot on that patch of red dirt between you and the bank, there will be footprints on it, as if printed on a plaster cast, and it will It's going to get red marks all over the place. I bite the bullet and go to the grumpy Colonel, and I'm able to confirm that the sidewalk in front of his house was washed yesterday, not today; Wet footprints are left all along the way. And if the visitor is the earl or the doctor in the opposite room, he may, of course, have to cross the public ground. But he must find bare feet extremely uncomfortable, because, as I just said , and it's full of brambles and thistles and piercing nettles. He's bound to prick himself, and maybe leave a track. Unless, as you say, he's a supernatural being." Boyle stared intently at his friend's grave, bewildered face. "You mean he's really supernatural?" he asked at last. "There is a general truth to bear in mind," said Father Brown, after a pause. “有时候一个东西离得太近反而不容易看见，譬如说，人就看不见自己。曾经有一个人透过望远镜往外看时，视线中有一个苍蝇，于是他就发现月亮上有一条相当不可思议的巨龙。还有人对我说，如果一个人听到自己的原声录音，会感觉那是陌生人的声音。同样，如果有种东西天天出现在我们眼皮底下，我们就会视而不见，如果哪天我们真的见到它了，没准会认为那很怪异。如果一件近景中的东西某天出现在中景，我们或许会认为它来自远景。咱们再去一下屋外。我要给你示范一下，从另外一个角度看会有什么不同。” 说话之间他已经站起来了，他们下楼梯时，神父的嘴也不停，好像是想到哪就直接说到哪。 “伯爵的故事和神秘的亚洲氛围全都起了作用，那是因为，在这种事例中，凡事都取决于一个人的思想准备。人可以进入到某种状态，会想当然地认为掉到他头上的一块砖是块镌刻着楔形文字的古巴比伦砖，是从巴比伦空中花园掉落的，因此他甚至都不看一眼那块砖，其实他要仔细看一眼，就会发现那跟他自家房上的砖一模一样。所以，你的情况——” “这是怎么回事？”博伊尔打断他，两眼直勾勾地盯着入口处，并用手指着。“这到底是怎么回事？门又被闩上了。” 他盯着那个前门，他们可是刚从那里进来的啊，正如他说过的，当初闩住马厩门时为时已晚，而现在那巨大的锈铁闩再次闩住了门。那古老的门闩似乎隐含着某种阴暗、无声的讽刺，好像有意等他们进了门就自动合上、把他们关在屋内一样。 “哦，那个啊！”布朗神父不以为然地说。“那是我闩上的，就是刚才。你没听见吗？” “没有，”博伊尔答道，他还在盯着看。“我什么都没听见。” “哦，我想你也听不见，”对方平静地说。“楼上的人确实未必能听见上门闩的声音。那就是个挂钩，能轻易插进一种钩眼而已。要是你离得非常近，能听见一声沉闷的咔哒声；但也仅此而已。想让楼上的人能听见，唯一的做法是这样。” 他把门闩从插口取出来，让它自然下落，便会哐当一声撞倒门上。 “你打开门闩时的确会有声音，”布朗神父表情凝重地说，“即便你非常非常小心。” "what do you mean--" “我的意思是，”布朗神父说，“你在楼上听见的是詹姆森开门的声音，并非关门的声音。现在我们打开门，去外边吧。” 待到他们站在阳台下面的街道上，那个矮小的神父继续之前的解释，他表现的如此冷静沉着，好像在给人上一堂化学课。 “我刚才说过，一个人或许只会存心去远处寻找，而没有意识到要找的东西就在附近，就在他身边，或许还跟他本人很像。你从上面看这条路的时候，看到的是一个奇怪的、身着异国服装的人。我在想你压根就没考虑过，他往阳台上看的时候见到了什么。” 博伊尔正注视着阳台，没有作答，神父补充道： “你觉得一个阿拉伯人赤脚走过文明的英格兰实在太神奇、太疯狂了。但你却不记得那时候你自己也光着脚。” 博伊尔终于找到词儿了，却还是以前说过的话。 “詹姆森打开了门，”他机械地说。 “是的，”他的朋友附和道。“詹姆森打开了门，穿着睡衣来到了路上，那时你也正好去了阳台。他随手抓起两件你见过不下100次的东西：一截用来包头的蓝色旧窗帘，他还有那件东方乐器，你在那堆东方古玩中一定见过不少次。余下的就是营造氛围和表演了，非常高明的表演，因为他在犯罪方面是个非常高明的艺术家。” “詹姆森！”博伊尔大叫起来，简直不能相信。“他是那么乏味的一个老东西，我甚至都没注意过他。” “正是，”神父说，“他是个艺术家。如果他能扮演六分钟巫师或者游吟诗人，你觉得他就不能扮演六周办事员吗？” “我还是不太清楚他的目的，”博伊尔说。 “他的目的已经实现了，”布朗神父说，“或者说差点就实现了。他已经拿走了金鱼，当然，他有很多次机会那么做。但是如果他只是拿走那些金鱼，所有人都会意识到他有很多次机会那么做。他扮成来自天边的神秘魔术师，就能把每个人的思绪引到遥远的阿拉伯和印度，以至于连你自己都不相信整件事就发生在家门口。它离得太近，你反而看不见了。” “假如这是真的，”博伊尔说，“那可是相当冒险啊，他必须精确地算好时间。詹姆森在阳台上对着下面讲话的时候，我的确没听见街上那人回过一句话，所以我想那都是假的。并且，我想在我彻底醒过来、走到阳台之前他的确有时间走到外边去。” “任何罪案得以成功实施的前提是，总有人不能及时识破它，”布朗神父答道：“从任何意义上说，我们大部分人都醒悟太晚。我就是醒悟太晚的一个。因为我想他早就逃掉了，就在他们取下他指纹前后。” “不管怎么说，你比其他任何人醒悟得都早，”博伊尔说，“而我永远都不会有那种醒悟。詹姆森行事如此中规中矩，人又那么不起眼，以至于我都把他忘得干干净净了。” “当心那个被你忘记的男人，”他的朋友答道：“他会是那个彻底陷你于不利境地的人。不过我也没有怀疑到他，直到你告诉我你是如何听见他把门闩上为止。” “总之，我们多亏了你，”博伊尔由衷地说。 “你们多亏了鲁滨逊太太，”布朗神父微笑着说。 “鲁滨逊太太？”秘书惊讶地问道。“你说的不会是女管家吧？” “当心被你忘记的女人，甚至要加倍小心，”对方答道。“此人是个一流罪犯；他曾是个出色的演员，也因此是位杰出的心理学家。一个像伯爵那样的人除了自己的声音之外听不进任何别的声音；但这个人在你们所有人都忘记他的存在时却非常善于倾听，为他的冒险故事搜集恰当的素材，还明确知道奏响何种音符可以把你们大家引上歧途。但是他却犯了一个严重的错误，没能把握住女管家鲁滨逊太太的心理。” “我不明白，”博伊尔答道，“她跟这事能有什么关系？” “詹姆森没想到门会被闩上，”布朗神父说。“他知道有很多男人，尤其是像你和你的雇主那样马虎的男人，会一连唠叨好多天，空谈该做什么事，或者最好去做什么事。但是，要是你跟一个女人说该办什么事，总会有一种可怕的危险，她不定什么时候就把它办了。”