There was a silvery morning light in the sky, and a shimmering green wave was reflected on the sea. From between the two, a ship came and berthed at Harwich Harbor. Passengers rushed out of the cabin like flying insects and scattered in all directions. open.Of these, the one we had to keep a close eye on was by no means conspicuous, and he had no intention of showing off.It seems that there is nothing special about him, except that his holiday clothes don't match his serious expression, that's all.He was wearing a thin light gray jacket, a white vest, and a silver-white straw hat tied with a blue-gray ribbon.Contrary to the tone of his clothes, he has a thin, dark face.Below the face was a short black Spanish beard, reminiscent of the Elizabethan ruff.He was smoking a cigarette, casually showing serious concentration.It is impossible to tell from the outside, that under his jacket he hides a loaded revolver, his white waistcoat hides his police badge, not to mention that the straw hat actually hides the most intelligent man in Europe. one.He was none other than Valentin, the prefect of the Paris police himself, the famous detective.He had come to London from Brussels to carry out one of the most extraordinary arrests of the century.

Flambeau arrived in England.The police of the three countries worked together and finally found clues about this notorious criminal. He traced it from Ghent in Belgium to Brussels, and from Brussels to Hookerhaven in the Netherlands. On the occasion, mingled with the hustle and bustle of strangers.It is likely that he came to London disguised as a lowly clergyman, or a secretary related to it.However, this is conjecture, and Valentin is not entirely sure.No one could keep track of Flambeau's movements. Years ago, the crime lord suddenly stopped doing what he wanted and causing social chaos.As people describe the situation after death, after he disappeared, the earth was surprisingly peaceful.But in Flambeau's best period (of course, I mean his most rampant period), he was as prominent as the Kaiser and famous all over the world.Almost every morning the dailies carried news about him, announcing that he had escaped punishment for one heinous crime and then committed another.Flambeau was a native of Gascony, France, tall and daring.His most inconceivable anecdotes were circulated: how on a whim he lifted an investigating judge upside down and turned him head down "to clear his mind"; A policeman ran across the rue de Rivoli in Paris.To be fair, his superior brute strength is usually reserved for indecent but non-bloody scenes.His real crime consisted mainly of masterfully planned and lavish theft.But he always commits crimes in different ways, each of which is a story in itself.He ran a well-known Tyrolean dairy company in London. This company had no milk factory, no cows, no milk truck, and no milk, but it had thousands of subscribers.The way he provides milk delivery service is very simple, just take the small milk cans in front of other people's houses and put them in front of his own subscribers' doors.It was the same Flambeau who had a trick of maintaining an elusive and rather intimate correspondence with a lady by intercepting all of the young lady's letters, photographing his own replies and displaying them in the smallest possible form. The lettering was printed on microscope slides and mailed to her.However, one characteristic of many of Flambeau's crimes is that the method is extremely simple.It is said that once, in order to lure a tourist into a trap, he actually repainted all the house numbers on the entire street in the middle of the night.One thing that is more specific is that he invented a portable letter box, which was placed in some secluded corners of the suburbs, expecting someone to drop a money order into it.Last but not least, it is rumored that he also possesses magical acrobatic skills.Despite his size, he is surprisingly light-hearted, able to leap like a grasshopper and hide in treetops like a monkey.Therefore, when the great detective Valentin sets out to track down Flambeau, he knows that even if he finds his opponent, his quest is far from over.

But how to find him?At this point, the big detective still has no clue. However, there was a breakthrough, that is, no matter how clever Flambeau's disguise was, it was impossible to conceal his outstanding height.If Valentin's keen eye had caught a tall apple seller, a tall grenadier, or even a duchess of sufficient height, he might have arrested them on the spot.But he hadn't seen anyone in the whole train that Flambeau might have pretended to be, and a giraffe couldn't pretend to be a cat.He had figured it out for those who were on the same boat.Only six people got on at Harwich or halfway.A little railway official was going to be taken to the terminus, three little greengrocers got on the train after two stops, a little widow got on from a little town in Essex, a very little A Roman Catholic priest picks up from a small village in Essex.At the end of the evaluation of this man, Valentin gave up, because he was about to laugh.The little priest had absorbed all the best of the Eastern Plains, and his face was round and rigid, like a Norfolk gnocchi.His eyes were as empty as the surface of the North Sea.He was carrying several brown paper parcels that he could barely hold.There is no doubt that the Eucharist has stirred up a stagnant little place and sucked out such creatures one by one, blind and helpless like moles just dug up and exposed to the light of day.Valentin is a typical extreme skeptic in France. He has no sympathy for the priests, but he still sympathizes with them.And this priest would inspire sympathy in anyone.He has a big battered umbrella that keeps dropping on the floor.He didn't even seem to know the destination of his return ticket.He foolishly explained to everyone in the car that he had to be careful because one of his brown paper parcels contained something made of sterling silver with "blue stones" on it.His manner was eccentric, with a mixture of Essex candor and saintly simplicity, which entertained the Frenchman all the way.At last the priest got out of the car at Tottenham, and after he had taken all the paper parcels off the car, he came back to get his umbrella.While he was fetching the umbrella, Valentine was actually very kind, and reminded him that in order to take good care of the silver, you must not tell everyone.But while he was speaking to the priest, his eyes never rested for a moment, carefully searching for another person, rich or poor, man or woman, as long as he was about 6 feet tall (1 meter 8) people.Because the Flambeau is 6.4 feet tall (4 inches or 10 centimeters taller).

Valentin, however, got off the train in Liverpool Street, confident that Flambeau had not escaped him so far.He went to Scotland Yard to legalize his activities here and make arrangements for the assistance needed.Then he lit another cigarette and wandered the streets of London, far away.As he passed Victoria Station and came to the street and square on the other side of the station, he stopped suddenly and stood where he was.In front of you is a small, quiet square, very typical of London, full of unexpected silence.The tall apartment houses around seem to be prosperous, but few people live there.In the middle of the square is a bush, which seems to have been neglected for a long time, like a desolate green island in the Pacific Ocean.Looking around the square, one side is much higher like a podium; the natural and smooth lines of this side are also broken by the often stunning and abrupt works in London—a restaurant, as if floating away from I fell here by mistake.It's very different and an eyesore: dwarf plants in pots, long shutters, streaked with lemon yellow and white.It is obviously higher than the street level, and a flight of steps goes straight up to the front door from the street level, as if a fire escape leads directly to the window on the second floor, which is very in line with the usual patchwork style in London.Valentine stood before the yellow and white shutters, smoking a cigarette, and thinking for a long time.

The most incredible thing about miracles is that they actually happen.A few white clouds will gather in the sky to form a gazing human eye.During the journey with an unknown path ahead, there will always be a big tree leaping into view, and the shape of the whole tree is an out-and-out question mark.Over the past few days, I have witnessed both phenomena.Die at the moment of victory, indeed; a man named Williams happens to murder a man named Williamson in what feels like infanticide.In short, there is an element of magical serendipity in life, and those who believe only seeing is believing will always miss it.As that paradox states: "Wisdom depends on the unexpected."

Aristide Valentin was a typical Frenchman, inscrutable, with an intellect peculiar and unique to a Frenchman.He's not a "thinking machine," because that's the phrase that brainless modern fatalism and materialism love to use.A machine is a machine because it cannot think.But he was as much a thinker as a man.All his feats, which seem to be aided by magic, are in fact the result of dry logical reasoning, the fruit of clear and ordinary French thinking.The French shake the world not by introducing paradoxes, but by practicing self-evident truths.They can go a long way when they practice the truisms—as they did in the French Revolution.But precisely because Valentin understands reason, he knows the limits of reason.Only people who know nothing about cars can talk about driving without gasoline.Only someone who knows nothing about rationality can talk about rational thinking in the absence of strong, indisputable fundamentals.And Valentine now has no strong, indisputable rationale.Flambeau had disappeared at Harwich, and if he had been in London he might have been a tall bum in Wimbledon Park or a tall hostess at the Metropolitan.Faced with this apparent ignorance, Valentin had his own way of seeing and coping.

In this case, he relies on the unexpected.In this case, if he cannot follow rational trains of thought, he is to follow irrational trains of thought calmly and cautiously.Instead of going to the expected places - banks, police stations, social places - methodically show up in the unexpected places: knocking on the door of every empty house, walking down every dead-end street, walking through every garbage-strewn street. alleys, walking around each crescent-shaped block.He has his own set of logical defense methods for this almost crazy thinking.He said that if a person is traced, that is the worst situation; but if there is no trace at all, it is the best, because the strangeness that attracts the attention of the pursuer may also attract the attention of the pursuer. Attention the pursuers.One always begins somewhere, preferably where the other rests.There was something in the stairway leading up to the store, in the quiet, quaint dining room, which aroused all the romantic fancies of the detective, and made him act decisively and randomly.He went up the steps, sat down at a table by the window, and ordered a cup of black coffee.

It was halfway through the morning, and he still hadn't eaten breakfast.The breakfast left by others on the table aroused his hunger.So he ordered another boiled egg.All the time he was adding sugar to his coffee he was brooding, and his mind was full of Flambeau.He recalled how Flambeau had escaped each time: once by nail clippers, once by a burning house; once by having to pay for an unstamped letter, and once by having A telescope looks at a comet that is about to destroy the Earth.Valentin considered his intelligence as a detective to be as good as that of a criminal, which was not bad.But he knew full well that the odds were against him. "The criminal is a creative artist, and the detective is a critic." He smiled sourly as he spoke to himself, and slowly raised his coffee cup to his lips, then put it down—the words he had just added It is salt.

He looked at the container containing the white powder, of course it was a sugar bowl, just like the champagne bottle contained champagne.He wondered why they put salt in it.He checked them one by one to see if there were any other condiment jars worthy of the name.Yes, there are two salt shakers, full of them.Maybe there's something special about the seasoning in the salt shaker.He tasted it, and it was white sugar.At this point, his novelty about the restaurant returned to him, and he looked around to see if this unique art style of sugar and salt transposition was also reflected elsewhere.Aside from a strange splatter of black liquid on one of the white-papered walls, the place looked clean, bright and unremarkable.He rang the bell for the waiter.

The waiter hurried forward, it was already this time, his hair was still disheveled, and his eyes were sleepy.Inspector Valentine, who was not without a sense of humour, asked the waiter to taste the sugar, to see if it suited the reputation of the restaurant.As a result, the waiter suddenly yawned and woke up. "Do you play this subtle joke with your customers every morning?" Valentine asked him. "Have you never been bored with the joke of using salt for sugar?" The waiter finally realized that it was a sarcasm, and then stammered assure him that there was absolutely no such meaning, that there must be some inexplicable mistake.He picked up the sugar bowl and looked at it, then picked up the salt shaker, his expression becoming more and more puzzled.Finally, he quit abruptly and hurried away.A few seconds later, he turned back with his boss.The boss looked into the sugar bowl, then the salt shaker.He was also confused.

Suddenly, the waiter couldn't speak quickly, perhaps because he had too much to say. "I think," he faltered in his haste to confess, "I think those two priests must have done it." "Which two priests?" "That's the two," said the waiter, "the priest who threw the soup on the wall." "Throwing soup on the wall?" repeated Valentin, feeling that it must be some strange Italian metaphor. "Yes, yes." The waiter said excitedly, pointing to the blackened area on the white wallpaper, "Splash on the wall over there." Valentin looked at the boss with doubts, and the boss hurriedly made a relief and began to tell the ins and outs of the matter. "That's true, sir," said he, "it's true, but I don't think it has anything to do with the sugar and the salt. Two priests came here early this morning to drink Tom. They were a taciturn, respectable sort of people. One paid his bill and went out; It's just that at the moment when he was about to leave, he deliberately poured his half-drinked soup on the wall. I was in the back room, and the waiter was there. After I rushed out, I saw that the soup had been splashed on the wall The store is empty. It's nothing serious, but the person who did this is so shameless. I tried to go to the street and catch the man, but they had gone far away, and I only saw them turning around. Turned the corner into Carstairs Street." The detective stood up, put on his hat, and took up his cane.He had already made up his mind, while his mind was still a mess, this strange thing pointed him in the direction like a finger, and he could only go in that direction, this was the first sign, weird enough signs.He paid the bill, rushed out the glass door, and turned quickly into another street. Fortunately, even in this head-spinning moment of excitement, his eyes remained calm and sharp.As he walked past a shop, he felt something flash by, fleeting, and he decided to turn around to see what happened.This is an ordinary small fruit and vegetable shop. Fruits and vegetables are neatly placed in the open space in front of the door, with names and prices clearly marked on them.Two piles stood out, oranges and nuts.On the pile of nuts, there is a piece of cardboard with large characters traced in blue chalk: "Superior oranges, two for a penny." On the pile of oranges, there is an equally striking sign: "Premium Brazilian Nuts, 4p a pound." Mr Valentin looked at the two signs, and imagined a scene he had encountered before, also embodying this kind of dark humor, and not so long ago.He pointed it out to the red-cheeked greengrocer that the sign was in the wrong place.The greengrocer was looking sullenly up and down the street.Without saying a word, he quickly changed the sign and returned it to its original place.The great detective continued to observe the small shop with an elegant posture leaning on his cane.Finally, he said: "Excuse me, sir, for my presumptuousness, but I would like to ask you a question about experimental psychology and conceptual association." The red-faced shopkeeper looked at him menacingly, but he kept on swinging his cane with undiminished interest. "Why," he went on, "why would a priest on holiday in London switch the two price tags in the fruit and vegetable shop? If I didn't make it clear enough, put it another way: put the oranges on the nuts. What is the mysterious connection between this incident and the two priests, one tall and one short?" The merchant's eyes were wide, almost bulging; for a moment he seemed about to fall on the stranger.At last he stammered, smoldering: "I don't know what it has to do with you. If you're with them, you can tell them it's me, and if they do it again Mess with my apples, I don't care if they are priests or not, I will knock their heads off." "Really?" asked the detective very sympathetically. "They messed with your apples?" "One of them did it," said the angry shopkeeper. "The apples are rolling all over the street. If I hadn't been so busy picking apples, I'd have rushed up and caught that bastard." "Where are the priests?" asked Valentine. The other party replied immediately: "Take the second road on the left, and then cross the square." "Thank you." Valentine said and disappeared like an elf.On the opposite side of the second square, he found a policeman and said to him: "Policeman, it's urgent. Have you seen two priests wearing shovel hats?" The policeman laughed loudly: "I saw it, sir. If you ask me, one of them was standing in the middle of the road after drinking too much, dazed—" "Which way did they go?" interrupted Valentine hastily. "There they got on a yellow bus," replied the policeman, "bound for Hampstead." Valentin showed him his official papers, and said hastily: "Tell two of your men to go after me." He crossed the street with such vigor that the unresponsive policeman was caught His infection also acted immediately.After a minute and a half, an inspector and a plainclothes rushed to meet the French detective on the opposite sidewalk. "Oh, sir," said the first comer, smiling but not without arrogance, "what's the matter?—" Valentine suddenly pointed with his cane. "I'll tell you when I get on this bus," he said, dodging traffic.After the three finally sat down on the top floor of the yellow bus out of breath, the inspector said, "Taxi is many times faster than this." "That's right," said their leader quietly, "but we don't even know where to go now." "So, where are you going?" asked the other, staring. Valentine smoked sullenly, and after a while he said: "If you know what a man is doing, get ahead of him. But if you want to guess what he's doing, you have to follow him. He hangs around you." Hang around too, and when he stops you stop, as slowly as he walks. That way you can see what he sees and be able to move with him when he makes a move. All we have to do is keep our eyes open and close Watch for any anomalies." "What anomaly are you referring to?" asked the policeman. "Anomalies of any kind," replied Valentine, and obstinately fell silent. The yellow bus seemed to have been crawling for hours on the north road.The big detective didn't explain anything anymore, maybe his assistants felt that his errand was getting more and more suspicious, and they just didn't want to say it.Also, maybe they're thinking that it's time for lunch, because it's already past lunchtime before they know it.The roads of the north suburbs of London stretch endlessly, section by section, like a hideous telescope.It was like that kind of travel where one always feels that one is now at last at the end of the world, only to soon discover that one has only reached Taftnell Park in North London.London gradually disappeared, leaving only a few taverns and drab bushes by the side of the road, but it was inadvertently reborn, and the bustling avenues and dazzling hotels reappeared before our eyes.It's like walking through 13 ordinary cities that exist independently but are close together.But even though the winter twilight had begun to cover the road in front of him, the great detective of Paris sat silently, staring warily ahead, watching the sideways of the street that gradually slipped behind the car.By the time they had left the town of Camden behind, the two policemen were almost asleep.Valentine jumped up suddenly, patted the two on the shoulders, and called the driver to stop.Fortunately, the two of them didn't fall asleep, and they knew how to jump up. They stumbled out of the car and didn't understand why they got out of the car until they stood on the road.They looked here and there to see what was going on, when they saw Valentine pointing triumphantly at a window on the left side of the road.The window was large, and stood on the street side of a small, resplendent hotel; it was a place reserved for dinner, marked "Restaurant."This window is the same as the row of windows on the front of the small hotel, inlaid with frosted and patterned glass, but there is a large black star-shaped crack in the center of the glass, extending from the center to the periphery, like a glass embedded in ice. Star. "We have found a clue at last," cried Valentine, shaking his cane, "where the glass window was broken." "What window? What clue?" asked his first assistant. "Is there any evidence that this has anything to do with them?" Valentin was so enraged at this remark that he nearly broke his bamboo cane. "Evidence!" he yelled. "My God! This man is looking for evidence! Yeah, sure, there's a one-in-twentieth chance this has something to do with them. But what else can we do? Don't you see, we can't do more than Yes, either follow up on any hopeless leads, or go home and sleep?" He thumped into the dining room, his partner at his heels.They were quickly seated at a small table for a belated lunch.From the inside they looked at the stars on the broken glass, but they found nothing new. "I see your windows are broken," said Valentine to the waiter as they paid the bill. "Yes, sir," replied the waiter, bowing his head and busy counting the change, which Valentin silently tipped him generously.The waiter straightened up, his expression mild, but obviously excited. "Ah, yes, sir," he said. "That's a weird thing, sir." "Really? Let's hear it." The detective asked casually and curiously. "Well, two men in black come in," said the waiter. "It's the priests from abroad that you can see everywhere now. They had a simple lunch quietly, and one of them paid the bill and went out. When the other one was about to go out, I looked at my hand again. I found out that he was tipping me three times the normal amount. I said 'hi' to the guy who was almost out the door and said 'you gave too much.' He said 'oh yeah?' Calmly. I said 'yes,' and showed him the bill. Well, it's the devil." "What do you mean?" asked the detective. "I could swear to God, I wrote 4 shillings on the bill. But now, I see it clearly says 14 shillings." "Huh?" Valentine couldn't help but screamed, his movements were slow, but his eyes were full of desire, "And then?" "The priest standing at the door said very calmly: 'I'm sorry to trouble you, but the money should be enough to pay for the windowpane.' 'What windowpane?' I said. 'The one I'm going to break,' As he spoke, he poked through that unfortunate piece of glass with his umbrella." The three snoopers exclaimed at the same time; the inspector whispered: "Are we hunting for a madman who escaped from a mental institution?" "I was just dumbfounded, and for a moment, didn't know what to do. The guy strode out and overtook his friend who was waiting for him on the corner. Then, I ran out of the fence to give chase, but they were going too fast. In a blink of an eye it was Brock Street." "Bloch Street," said the detective, racing down the street as fast as the two men he was chasing. For the rest of the journey, they walked on exposed brick roads, but it felt like they were in a tunnel; the streets were sparsely lit, and there were not even a few windows; the streets seemed to be between two rows of back-to-back buildings reserved channel.The twilight was deepening, and it was difficult even for the London policeman to guess in which direction they were going.The Inspector, however, said with considerable certainty that they would end up somewhere in Hampstead Heath Park.Suddenly, a family's gas lamps beamed light from a protruding window, piercing the dark blue twilight like bull's-eye lamps.Valentine stopped in front of a garishly decorated candy shop, hesitated, and went in.He stood solemnly among the colorful candies and carefully selected thirteen chocolate cigars.His motion indicated that he was going to take one apart, but he didn't really need to. There was a thin, old-looking young woman in the store who had been scrutinizing his elegant appearance suspiciously until she saw the inspector in blue uniform standing in the doorway behind him. "Oh," she said, "if you're here for that package, I've sent it." "Package?" repeated Valentin, and this time it was his turn to be suspicious. "I mean the parcel that gentleman left here, Mr. Father." "My God," said Valentine, leaning forward for the first time with an expression of real eager anticipation. "For heaven's sake, tell us what happened." "Oh," the woman said suspiciously. "About half an hour ago, two priests came in and bought some mints, said a few words, and then headed towards the park. Then one of them came running back and said, 'I left a package behind. !' I searched everywhere but couldn't find it. He said 'forget it, but if you ever see it, send it to this address.' He left an address and gave me 1 shilling as an excuse to trouble me Compensation. I searched again in the store, unexpectedly, I found the brown paper package, and then I sent it to the address he said. I can't remember the address now, it must be nearby. That thing So important, it occurred to me that maybe the police are here for it." "Exactly," said Valentin briefly. "Is Hampstead Heath Park nearby?" "Go straight ahead and walk for fifteen minutes," said the woman, "and then you'll see the park." Valentine rushed out of the shop and galloped forward, and the other two reluctantly trotted to keep up. The street they passed was so narrow and so shadowy that when a large open field and a vast sky unexpectedly appeared before them, they were surprised to find that the night was still light and the sight was still clear.A perfect dome of malachite green was draped in gold against the darkening woods and deep purple vistas.A vibrant green with just enough shades to set off a crystalline star or two.The golden afterglow passed through the fringes of Hampstead and fell over the empty lowlands known as the "Healthy Valley".People on vacation are still enjoying themselves and haven't completely dispersed; several couples cuddle up to each other and sit on a park bench; girls on swings in the distance laugh from time to time, one after another.The glory of the kingdom of heaven deepened and dimmed gradually, and gradually covered the extreme vulgarity of mankind; Valentine stood on the slope, looked over the valley, and he saw: the thing he was looking for. The dark crowd in the distance began to disperse, but two people seemed to be particularly dark, and they did not separate-the two people seemed to be wearing priest's clothes.Although they were as small as insects, Valentin could tell that one was much shorter than the other.He could tell that the other man was clearly over six feet tall, though his head was bowed like a student's and his demeanor was unobtrusive.He gritted his teeth and walked on, twirling his cane impatiently.When he obviously approached, the two black shadows magnified a lot, and he made a new discovery. This discovery surprised him, but it was also what he was looking forward to.No matter who the tall priest was, the identity of the short priest was certain.It was a friend Valentine had met on the Harwich train, a pudgy priest from Essex, and he had warned the priest not to tell anyone what was in his brown-paper parcel. Now, everything that happened so far finally fit together and had a reasonable enough explanation.During his inquiry that morning, Valentin learned that Father Brown from Essex was on his way to the Eucharistic Assembly with a sapphire-encrusted sterling silver cross to show some of the foreign priests present this valuable crucifix. antique.This was undoubtedly "silver with blue stones"; and the little, unseen man on the train was undoubtedly Father Brown.Now Flambeau discovered what Valentin had discovered, which was not surprising, for Flambeau knew everything.Nay, when Flambeau heard of the sapphire crucifix, it was no wonder that he should have had the evil idea of ​​stealing it, as is so common and natural throughout the history of nature.It was even more natural that it was no surprise that Flambeau had only to do a little trickery against this stupid little lamb with the umbrella and the bundle, and he would win all the way.Father Brown was one of those men whom anyone could lead to the North Pole on a string; an actor like Flambeau, dressed as a priest, and led Father Brown to Hampstead Heath The park is not surprising.So far the circumstances of the case were sufficiently clear; the detective could not help feeling pity for the priest's helplessness.At the same time, he hated Flambeau for having the heart to attack such a naive victim.However, while Valentine thought about it, trying to sort out all the things that happened during this period and the phenomena that led him to the final victory, he was also racking his brains to find even the most insignificant laws or laws hidden in them. reason.What does stealing a sapphire-encrusted silver cross from an Essex priest have to do with throwing soup on a wall?What is the connection between putting nuts and oranges on top of one another, or paying for a glass and then breaking it, and stealing?He'd managed to track it down, but somehow he'd missed something in between.When he fails (which is rare), he usually catches the clue and misses the culprit for no apparent reason.Here, he caught the criminal, but still couldn't grasp the clues. The two men they were following were crawling like two black flies across a large green field on a hill.They were evidently absorbed in conversation, and probably did not notice where they were going; but they were going to the wilder and more secluded heights of Heath Park.The trackers kept quickening their pace, getting closer and closer, and in order not to be seen, they had to condescend to sneak like deer hunters, crouching behind bushes and even crawling in tall grass.Relying on these inelegant but not lacking ingenious moves, the hunters have come to the position where they are close to their prey and can hear their whispered conversations, but they can only vaguely distinguish the recurring word "rationality". When the word is said, it tends to raise the volume, even a little childishly, but otherwise, it is still difficult to hear what they are saying.After the detectives crawled across a hollow and burrowed through dense undergrowth, they could no longer see the two men.They turned around in a hurry, and after ten minutes of annoyance and anxiety, they figured out where they were going.They tracked and turned to the other side of the round mountain top, as if entering an amphitheatre, and a colorful but a little desolate sunset was displayed in front of them.在这个居高临下、鲜有人注意的地方，在一颗大树下，有条破旧的长木椅，上面坐着那两个神父，依旧在高谈阔论。美轮美奂的黄绿色依然涂抹在渐黑的天际，但穹顶正缓缓地由孔雀绿变为孔雀蓝，点点星辰也相应地更加凸显出来，如同一粒粒宝石。瓦朗坦朝他的随从打手势示意，自己设法爬到一颗枝杈繁茂的大树后面，并站了起来，在周边死一般的寂静之中，他头一次听清了两个神父之间的对话。 他听了大概有一分半钟，内心升起一团可怕的疑云。也许他拖着两个英国警察来到夜幕中的荒郊野岭所干的差事，纯属神经不正常的举动，与在刺蓟草里找无花果的行为一样愚蠢透顶。因为他们就像名符其实的神父那样，虔诚、博学，畅谈着玄妙深奥的神学命题。埃塞克斯的矮个神父出言简洁明了，他的圆脸朝着繁星渐现的天空；另一位说话时则低着头，仿佛他不配眼见星辰。无论是在意大利修道院白色的回廊中，还是西班牙黑色的大教堂里，你所听到的神父们纯粹的神学对话，内容也不过如此。 他最初听到的是布朗神父那段话的结尾部分，是这样说的：“——（才是）在中世纪时所称天堂永葆圣洁的真正含义。” 高个神父点点低垂的头说： “噢，是啊，现代这些不信神的人借助理性来说服他人，谁能看着我们身在其中的万千世界而不会觉得，或许在高高在上的宇宙一体中存在的理性根本就不合理？” “不是这样的，”另一位神父说。“理性总是合理的，即使在仅存的地狱之境，即使在失落的万物之疆也是如此。我知道，人们常指责教会降低理性的地位，但事实恰好相反。在世间，唯有教会将理性尊为至高无上；在世间，唯有教会公开申明天主本身就是理性的终极。” 另一名神父面孔冷峻，抬头冲着星光灿烂的天空，说： “可有谁知道在无限的宇宙中是否——？” “只是物理意义上的无限，”矮小的神父说，在凳子上猛地转过身，“而不是指在逃离真理法则意义上的无限。” 藏身树后的瓦朗坦压抑内心燃烧的怒火，暗地里使劲扯着自己的指甲。他似乎听到了两个英国警探的窃笑声，凭着他的胡猜乱想驱使他们一路奔波来到这里，结果就为了聆听这两个上岁数的神父谈天论道。他一时心绪烦乱，便错过了高个神父同样精彩的回复，而当他再次屏息聆听时，他又听到了布朗神父的说话声： “理性和公义紧紧抓着哪怕是最遥远、最孤独的恒星。看看那些星星。难道它们看上去不像是一颗颗钻石和蓝宝石吗？哦，你大可随意想象疯狂的植物学或者地理学。想着枝繁叶茂、密实的森林。想着月亮是个蓝色的月亮，一颗硕大的蓝宝石。但你千万不要幻想着狂乱的天文学会给理性和行为上的正义带来丝毫影响。即使是在蛋白石铺就的平原上，在珍珠裁成的绝壁下，你仍然会看到'不可偷盗'的告示。” 瓦朗坦已蹲伏良久，身体僵硬，他本想站起身，带着此生最愚蠢的失误留下的满腔羞愧，悄无声息地饮恨而去。但是高个神父的沉默让他感觉其中恐有蹊跷，他保持不动，静候他开口。他终于说话了，依然低垂着头，双手放在膝盖上，说的话也很简单： “哦，我认为或许在其它世界存在高于我们的理性。天国的奥秘深不可测，而我也只能俯首称臣。” 然后，他仍是一副低眉顺目的模样，态度或声音丝毫没变，补充了一句： “你就把那个镶蓝宝石的十字架交给我吧，行吗？这里只有我俩，我能像撕稻草娃娃一样把你撕成碎片。” 他说话时的语调和态度一如既往，但说出的内容大相径庭，无形中增添了凛凛杀气。但古董保护人只是略微转了一下头，几乎无法察觉。他似乎僵在那里，傻乎乎地面对着星空。也许他没听懂。或者，也许他听懂了，但被吓傻了，不能动弹。 “对，”高个神父说，声音依然低沉，身形依然未动。“对，我是弗朗博。” 然后，停顿了一下，他说： “得啦，可以把十字架给我了吧？” “不，”另一个说，而且音调有些奇怪。 弗朗博突然抛掉了神职人员的所有矫饰伪装。这个江洋大盗向后靠在椅子上，闷声长笑。 “不，”他大喊着，“你不会把它交给我，你这个骄傲的高级神父。你不会把它交给我，你这个禁欲的小呆子。我该挑明你不会把它交给我的原因吗？因为它在我的手上，就在我胸前口袋里。” 在黄昏中，来自埃塞克斯的小矮个转过脸，似乎很茫然，就像里描写的那样，焦急而又胆怯地问： “你——你确定吗？” 弗朗博高兴得大喊大叫。 “说真的，你太搞笑了，简直是在演滑稽剧。”他大声说。“是的，你这个傻瓜，我当然确定。我有意做了一件那个纸包裹的复制品，现在，我的朋友，你拿着复制品，我拿着宝石。一个偷梁换柱的老戏法，布朗神父——一个非常古老的戏法。” “是啊，”布朗神父说，手捋着头发，仍然是一副奇怪的若有所思的神情。“没错，我以前也有所耳闻。” 江洋大盗似乎突然对这个矮小的神父某种兴趣，他俯身向前。 “你有所耳闻？”他问。“你在哪儿听说的？” “喔，我当然不能告诉你他的名字，”矮个子的回答很简单。“你知道，他是来向我忏悔的。他过了大约二十年富裕日子，靠的只是复制棕色纸包裹。所以呢，你明白吧，在我开始怀疑你的时候，我就立刻想到了这个可怜的家伙做事的手法。” “开始怀疑我？”这个罪犯加重语气重复着。“是因为我把你带到这个荒无人烟的地方才让你有胆怀疑我吗？” “不，不，”布朗带着歉意说。“告诉你吧，初次见面的时候，我就怀疑你了。你袖子上的凸起让我起了疑心，你们这类人通常会在那个位置戴着有镶铆钉的腕带。” “该死的，”弗朗博叫喊着，“你怎么会听说过镶铆钉的腕带？” “哦，每个神父都照看着一小群，你应该知道这个！”布朗神父说，茫然地挑起眉毛。“我在哈特普尔当助理牧师的时候，就有三人戴着这种腕带。所以，实话告诉你吧，从一开始我就怀疑你，我打定主意，要想办法确保十字架的安全。你知道吗，我还暗中留意你的一举一动。就这样，我终于发现你掉了包。然后，我又换了回来。再然后，我就把那个真包落在后面了。” “落在后面了？”弗朗博重复着，此前他一直以胜利者的口吻说话，现在第一次有了不同的腔调。 “嗯，是这么回事，”矮小的牧师以他一贯若无其事的方式说，“我回到那个糖果店去问是否有个包裹丢在了店里，而且给他们留了地址，如果找到了的话。当然，我知道根本没落下东西，可是在我第二次离开那家小店的时候，我真这么做了。这样一来，他们就不会拿着那个宝贵的包裹来追我，而是把它寄给我在威斯敏斯特的一个朋友。”然后他不无悲伤地补充说：“那招也是我从哈特普尔一个可怜的人那里学到的。他以前用在火车站偷的手提包干这事，不过，他现在到一家修道院修行去了。噢，你知道，人总是在学习的，”他的表情依旧满含无可奈何的歉意，挠着头接着说。“有什么办法呢，身为神父，人们总是会向他忏悔他们做过的这类事。” 弗朗博从他内侧衣兜里抽出一个棕色纸包裹，撕成了碎片，结果发现除了纸和里面包着的几根铅棒，什么都没有。他一跃而起，动作幅度很大，叫喊道： “我不相信你说的话。我不相信你这个乡巴佬有这种能耐。我只相信那东西还在你身上，而且如果你胆敢不交出来，想想看，这里只有我们两个人，我就会动手抢过来！” “不，”布朗神父也站了起来，“你不会动手抢。首先，因为我真的没带在身上。其次，因为在场的并非只有我们两个人。” 弗朗博闻听此言，当即收住要迈出的脚步。 “在那颗大树后面，”布朗神父指着那边说，“有两个强壮的警察和当今世上最伟大的侦探。你可能会问，他们怎么会来到这里？不瞒你说，当然是我把他们引来的！我是怎么做到的呢？问的好，你要是想听，我就跟你说说。愿天主保佑你，当我们在罪犯群中工作的时候，总要学会做这种事的20种手法！噢，我开始也不确定你就是个盗贼，不该轻易下定论，诬称我们神职人员中的一份子是盗贼，总不是好事。所以，我就设法试探你，看看是否能让你露出本相。一般来说，一个人发现咖啡里加的是盐而不是糖，多多少少会有所反应；如果他装作若无其事，不事声张，那他一定心里有鬼。我调换了盐和白糖，而你却一声不吭。一个人看到自己的账单上的金额无端高出了三倍，通常来说会大加反对。如果他乖乖照单全收，那他定有不愿声张的缘由。我改了你账单上的数额，而你照样付了款。” 话说到这儿，按说弗朗博该像只猛虎一样暴跳如雷。但他仿佛被施了魔咒，僵立在原地，目瞪口呆。 “好了，”布朗神父慢条斯理地继续讲述，“你自然不会给警察留下任何行踪，像你这样的人不得不如此。在我们去过的所有地方，我都会设法做件事，让它引起轰动，成为大家整天都会谈论的话题。我并没有造成太大损害，不过是泼脏了墙，四处乱滚的苹果，坏了的窗玻璃，但是我保住了十字架，这个十字架总要受到保护。它现在已经到了威斯敏斯特。我倒是有些纳闷，你居然没有用来阻止它。” “用什么？”弗朗博问。 “我很高兴你从来没听说过它，”神父做了个鬼脸说。“这事很龌龊。我确信你这个人太善良了，不可能成了吹哨的。就算我用都没法与它对抗。我的腿功欠佳。” “你究竟在说什么？”另一个问。 “噢，我的确以为你会知道什么是'点杀器'，”布朗神父说，惬意中混杂着惊讶。“噢，你还不至于会错到那种很离谱的地步吧！” “你怎么会知道这些吓人的招数？”弗朗博大声问他。 他对面神父单纯的圆脸上浮现出一丝微笑。 “喔，我想，因为我是个禁欲的傻瓜吧，”他说。“难道你就从来没想过，一个人如果几乎每天都要听大家告解他们真正的罪恶，能不了解人类作恶的各种手段吗？但事实上，我从事的职业另一面也让我确认你不是真神父。” “什么？”盗贼张着大嘴问。 “你攻击理性，”布朗神父说。“这违背神学的基本原理。” 就在他转身收拾自己的随身之物时，三名警察从暮色中树林后现身，走了过来。弗朗博不愧是个艺术家兼运动员，只见他退后一步，面向瓦朗坦大大咧咧地鞠躬。 “别向我鞠躬，我的朋友，”瓦朗坦斩钉截铁地说。“咱们还是一起向大师鞠躬吧。” 两人便脱帽致敬，站了片刻，而那个矮小的埃塞克斯神父眨着眼四处张望，寻找他的那把伞。

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Notes: