Chapter 11 Apocalypse of the Broken Sword
The trees of the forest were like a thousand gray arms, and the branches a million silver fingers.In the dark sky like a bluestone slab, the stars flickered like fine ice crystals.The wooded and sparsely populated countryside was bleak in a biting and brittle frost.The black hollows between the trunks seemed unfathomably deep, like dark caves in Scandinavia, a hell beyond measure.Even the square stone tower of the church looks like it came from the wild north, like a barbarian tower standing among the rocks of Iceland.It would be eccentric for anyone to explore a churchyard on a night like this.But, on the other hand, maybe it's really worth checking out there.
The church stood abruptly in the gray waste of the woods, jutting out and rising from the green grass, gray in the starlight.Most of the tombs are on hillsides, and the path to the church slopes upwards like stone steps.At the top of the knoll stands a monument on a flat, conspicuous spot, which has made the place famous.It stands in stark contrast to the bland tombs around it, as it is the work of a leading modern European sculptor.But his reputation was overshadowed by those for whom he erected monuments.In the faint silver starlight, the huge metal statue was vaguely visible as a soldier resting, his powerful hands in a permanent prayer posture, and his huge head resting on a gun.A beard, or beard, as thick as his style, was upon his stately face.Although his military uniform has been simplified in the carving, it can still be seen that it is the attire of modern warfare.On his right is a sword with a broken point, and on his left is a Bible.On hot summer afternoons, there will be four-wheeled carriages full of tourists from the United States or elegant city people to visit the tomb.But even at that time, the cemetery and church stood out in the vast surrounding woodland, and it still looked very remote and desolate.On a freezing midwinter night a man feels that he has only the stars for company.However, in the silent woods, the wooden door creaked, and two vague figures wrapped in black walked up the path leading to the mausoleum.
The stern starlight was so dim that it was impossible to see the appearance of the two of them clearly.All that was known was that they were all dressed in black, that one was very tall and the other (perhaps by comparison) unusually small.They walked to the grave of the historic great warrior and stared at his statue for a few minutes.There is no one in the large area nearby, or there is no living person.Fans of wild fantasies may question whether the two of them are alive.In any case, their conversation began in a very peculiar way.After the first silence, the little man said to his companion:
"Where would a wise man hide a pebble?"
The tall man replied in a low voice: "On the river beach."
The little man nodded, and after a short silence, he said, "Where would a wise man hide the leaves?"
Another replied: "In the woods."
There was another silence, and then the tall man continued, "You mean to say that smart people hide real diamonds among a bunch of fakes?"
"No, that's not what it means," the little man said with a smile. "Let the past be the past."
He stamped his frozen feet, and then said: "I'm not thinking of that question, but of a very curious thing. Will you strike a match?"
The big man fumbled in his pocket, then struck a match.One side of the monument was brightly illuminated by the flames, and the flat surface was inscribed in black letters.The words in it are well known and reverently read by many Americans: "Solemnly commemorate Sir Arthur St. Clair/General, a hero, a martyr, who always conquered his enemies, always spared them, and died at last in The treachery of his enemies. May the God in whom he trusted grant him rest and avenge him."
When the match was about to reach the big man's fingers, it was extinguished and thrown away.He was about to strike another one, but his little fellow stopped him. "Well, Flambeau, old friend. I see what I want to see. Or, I don't see what I don't want to see. Now, all we have to do is walk a mile and a half down the road to Go to the nearest inn, and I will tell you the whole story. God knows that a person dares to tell such a story only when he is accompanied by firelight and fine wine."
They descended the sloping path, refastened the rusted gate, and set off, clattering along the frozen path in the woods.It was a full quarter of a mile before the little man spoke again.He said, "Yes, a wise man hides pebbles on the beach. But what would he do if there were no beach? Do you know about the great St. Clair?"
"I don't know anything about British generals, Father Brown," said the big man, laughing, "but a little about British policemen. All I know is that you dragged me a long way. Whoever that man is, We've been to all the places where he's commemorated. One would think he's buried in six separate places. I saw General St. Clair's monument at Westminster Abbey. I saw General St. Clair riding a horse In the street where St. Clair was born and where he lived, I saw his medallion respectively. Now you dragged me to a cemetery in a small village to see his coffin in a dark place. I admire him I'm no longer interested in his personality, and I have no idea who he is. What are you looking for in these places and statues?"
"I'm looking for a word," said Father Brown, "a word that isn't there."
"Well," asked Flambeau, "can you tell me about it?"
"I must tell it in two parts," answered the priest. "First, what everyone knows. Then what only I know. Let me say that what everyone knows is very simple and plain. Of course, it is also completely wrong. .”
"As you say," said the big Flambeau cheerfully, "then start with the wrong side. Start with the wrong things, which everybody knows are wrong."
"It is very one-sided, if not entirely wrong," continued Browne. "In reality, the public only knows the following: Arthur St. Clair was a great and successful British general. His campaigns in India and Africa After the famous Brazilian patriot Olivier issued an ultimatum, St. Clair was ordered to command the war with Brazil. Once, St. Clair attacked Olivier with outnumbered enemies. The strength of the two sides was too great After a heroic resistance, St. Clair was captured and hanged from a nearby tree to the astonishment of the civilized world. After the Brazilians had retreated, he was found hanging there with his broken sword neck."
"Is this widespread story false?" inquired Flambeau.
"No," said his friend quietly, "so far the story is quite true."
"Well, I think the story is over!" said Flambeau, "but if the popular story is true, what's the mystery?"
They passed hundreds of gray and terrible trees before the little priest answered.He bit his finger unconsciously and said: "Oh, this is a psychological puzzle. In other words, this is a puzzle about the psychological activities of two people. In this incident in Brazil, there are many important issues in modern history. Famous two men whose actions were contrary to their characters. Come to think of it, Olivier and St. Clair were both heroes—it's an old saying, but it's true. Like. Now, if you say What do you think of Karius being a coward and Hector being a scumbag?"
"Go on." The big man said impatiently when he saw his companion biting his fingers again.
"Sir Arthur St. Clair was a religious soldier of the old fashion—that sort of thing saved us," Brown went on. "He went to war more to do his duty than to rush. He Not lacking in courage, but definitely a prudent commander, with a deep abhorrence of actions that cause unnecessary casualties to soldiers. However, his performance in the last battle would make even a child suspicious. He behaved recklessly, without discipline, You can see this without thinking deeply, just like seeing a bus coming towards you, you don't need to think about it and know to get out of it. Okay, this is the first puzzle. What's wrong with the British general's mind? Second Mystery is, what's going on in the mind of the Brazilian general? You can say that President Olivier is a dreamer and a troublemaker. But even his enemies will admit that he is a magnanimous and chivalrous man. He once released almost all the prisoners of war and even gave them gifts. People who used to be very hostile to him would be moved by his innocence and cuteness when they left. Why did he take the devilish revenge this time that he had never done in his life? And for a wave of attacks that have no chance of hurting him? Well, you heard it all. The wisest people act like fools for no reason, and the kindest people deal with problems like the devil for no reason. All in all, I leave that question to you, my lad."
"No, don't you," said the other, snorting, "I'll leave it to you. Just tell me what it's all about."
"Well," went on Father Brown, "the public impression of the matter is not quite what I have just said. After that, two more things happened. I can't say that this offers a new explanation either, because Nobody could figure out what was going on. But new questions were offered, questions that pointed in new directions. The first thing was that the family doctor of the St. Clair family had fallen out with the family and he had made a series of vehement statements Article. He said the dead general was a religious fanatic. But from the things he said, the general was a religious man at best."
"Anyway, the story has been forgotten. St. Clair, of course, is known to be an eccentric Puritan. The second incident is more remarkable. The reckless attack on the Black River by that unfortunate and ill-supported regiment. There was a Captain Keene in the party, who was then engaged to St. Clair's daughter, and the two were later married. He too was captured by Olivier, and like everyone else except the General, he was treated with kindness, and soon was released. 20 years later, Keane, who was already a lieutenant colonel, published his autobiography "A British Officer's Notes on Burma and Brazil". Readers eager to solve St. Clair's secrets may find the following sentences: 'Elsewhere in this book, I tell the truth, because I have such an old-fashioned opinion that the glory of England runs long and needs no one else's trouble. The only exception is the defeat of Heihe, and my reasons for doing so, although personal. See, the first is to pay homage, and the second is necessary. In honor of two eminent men, I will justly add a few more words. General St. Clair has been accused of incompetence in this matter. I can at least prove that this This action, if properly understood, was one of the most distinguished and wise of his life. Likewise, President Olivier was accused of barbaric injustice. Out of respect for the enemy, I say, he His performance in this incident went beyond even his inherent goodness. In short, I can assure my countrymen that St. Clair is not stupid, and Olivier is not cruel. I have said what I have to say, and for any reason Don't let me say another word.'"
Between the swaying branches before them, the great icy moon was revealed like a glowing snowball.In the moonlight, the speaker looked at a printed page in his hand, combing his memory of Captain Keene's article.He folded the paper and stuffed it back into his pocket.Flambeau raised his hands in a French gesture.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," he yelled excitedly, "I think I've got a rough guess."
He strode forward panting, his dark head and bull's neck stretched forward like a man about to win a walking race.The little priest, feeling amused and amused, ran after him with difficulty.The trees thinned ahead of them, and the path snaked through a bright, moonlit valley, then burrowed like rabbits into another wood.The entrance to the woods in the distance is small and round, like the opening of a train tunnel in the distance.But the distance is only a few hundred meters, and the entrance of the cave is also open.At last Flambeau spoke again.
"I see," he yelled, slapping his thigh with his hand, "after thinking about it for a few minutes, I can tell you my analysis of this matter."
"Okay," his friend agreed, "tell me."
Flambeau raised his head, but lowered his voice. "General Sir Arthur St. Clair," he said, "comes from a family of hereditary insanity. It is his object to keep it secret from his daughter, and even, if possible, from his future son-in-law. Or not, thinking the final bout of madness was at hand, he resolved to kill himself. Ordinary suicide would reveal what he dreaded. As the battle drew nearer, the clouds in his mind grew thicker, and at last In a moment of insanity, he sacrificed his public duty to selfish desires. He rushed into battle expecting to be killed at the first shot. When he found out that he was only captured and humiliated, in his head The bomb exploded, he broke his sword and hanged himself."
He stared blankly at the gray exterior of the forest in front of him, and there was a black gap in it, like an open tomb.The path under their feet was submerged in it.The feeling that this road might hide a threat that would catch people off guard reinforced his rich imagination of tragedy, and he couldn't help shivering.
"Scary story," he said.
"A horrible story," the priest repeated, bowing his head, "but not a true story."
Then he looked up, and with desperation, exclaimed, "Oh, I'd rather it be true."
Tall Flambeau turned and stared at him.
"Your story is so pure," Father Brown cried, as if deeply moved, "a sweet, innocent, honest story, as frank and white as the moon. Madness and despair are naive thoughts .And there are worse things, Flambeau."
Flambeau looked wildly at the moon as if summoned, and from where he stood a curved black branch protruded from behind it like a devil's horn.
"Father, Father," cried Flambeau, with French gestures, quickening his steps, "do you mean it's worse than that?"
"Worse." The priest's voice echoed from a cemetery.They entered a dark passage among the woodlands, with tree trunks lining them like dim pendants, like dark corridors only dreamed of.
Soon they came to the most secret place in the forest, so dark that not even the leaves could be seen.The priest began again:
"Where would a wise man hide leaves? In the woods. But what would he do if there were no woods?"
"Come, come," cried Flambeau impatiently, "what's he going to do?"
"He'll plant a grove to hide it," said the priest in obscure tones, "a terrible crime."
"Listen," said his friend impatiently, as if a little nervous by the dark woods and the cryptic statement, "are you going to tell me? What other evidence is there?"
"There are three other pieces of evidence," said another, "that I have dug out of the corners of my head. I will present them in logical order, not chronological order. First, our knowledge of the event and of the battle , must be based on the deployment of Olivier's campaign, and this is clearly discernible. He led two or three corps to garrison on the high ground overlooking the Black River, and on the other side of the river was a low-lying swamp. Farther away was In the gently rising wilderness, the outpost of the British army is there, and the large troops are stationed far behind. The British army is absolutely superior in overall numbers. But this army is too far away from the base, which prompts Olivier to plan to spend but at dusk he decided not to strike, and the position he held was very favorable. At dawn the next day he was surprised to see a small detachment of Englishmen, completely detached from their own rear, rushing across the river .Half crossed the bridge, and the other half waded upriver from the ford, and was massing on the bank at his feet."
"It's unbelievable enough for them to launch an attack on the top of the mountain. But Olivier also discovered something even more unusual. This crazy team did not seize a more solid place place, but launched a frenzied charge with their backs to the river bank, and did nothing but get bogged down in the mud like flies stuck in molasses. There is no doubt that the Brazilians beat their ranks to the ground with artillery fire. They scattered, and they fought back heroically with rifles, but did not cause any damage. They did not give up resistance in the end. Olivier ends his brief account by paying tribute to this group of reckless people and admiring their incredible bravery. 'At last we began to advance,' wrote Olivier, 'and drove them into the river. We captured General St. Clair, and several other officers. Both the colonel and the major were killed in action. I cannot help saying , seldom in the history of such an extraordinary team, can have such a performance at the last moment. The wounded officer picks up the rifle of the fallen soldier, the general himself is on horseback, he is not wearing a hat, facing us with a broken sword ’ Olivier was as silent as Captain Keene about what happened to the general afterwards.”
"Well," said Flambeau impatiently, "go on to the next piece of evidence."
"The next piece of evidence," said Father Brown, "took me a long time, but it's easy enough to tell. I found an old soldier in the poorhouse in Fiennes, Lincolnshire. He wasn't just wounded at Black River, the team He knelt by his side when the Colonel in the middle died. That was Colonel Clancy, an Irishman as strong as a bull. He died of a bullet, but he died of anger as well. In any case, he did not Responsible for this absurd raid. The general must have forced him to do it. According to my witnesses, he said on his deathbed, meaningfully: 'That damned old jackass still held his broken sword. I really Hopefully it's his head that's gone.' You see, everyone seems to have noticed the detail of the broken blade. Most, of course, don't agree with Colonel Clancy, and they respect it. Now I'll tell you Your third."
The road under their feet passed through the woods and began to ascend.The speaker paused and took a breath.Then there was no emotion in his tone, and he continued:
"Just a month or two ago a Brazilian official died in England. He had left his country because of a disagreement with Olivier. He was well known here and on the Continent. There was a Spaniard His name is Espador. I know him as a sallow-faced dandy with a hooked nose. For some personal reasons I have been granted permission to look through his files. He is a Catholic and I Of course it was with him until the last moment. There was nothing in the papers that would help solve the mystery of St. Clair, only five or six notebooks, the diary of some British soldier. I think it was the Brazilians on the fallen soldiers. Found it. Anyway, the diary stopped abruptly on the eve of the battle."
"But the account of the poor fellow's last day is worth reading. I've got it with me. It's too dark here to read it though, so I'll retell it for you. The first part is all jokes, apparently between men making fun of each other It was about someone called 'The Vulture.' This guy didn't look like a fellow soldier, not even British, but he wasn't an enemy either. Like a local middleman or non-combatant, maybe a guide or a reporter. He Was in secret conversation with old Colonel Clancy, but more frequently with the major. In fact, the major looms large in this soldier's account. A lean, dark-haired man named Murray, obviously a Northern Irishman People, Puritans. There are constant jokes about the contrast between the Irish formality and Colonel Clancy's optimism. Others make fun of the brightly colored costumes of the vultures."
"But there are also serious military topics interspersed with these light-hearted and joking accounts. Behind the British camp there is a road, almost parallel to the river, which is one of the most important roads in this area. Going west, the road will be at The front turned to the river and crossed the bridge mentioned before. To the east, the road led out into the fields, and two miles up the road was another British outpost. That night there was a flash and a click from this direction. Click, it was a light cavalry. The keeper of this diary was surprised to recognize that it was the general and his men. He was riding a tall white horse, the kind of horse you usually see in newspaper illustrations and college paintings. Yes. You can be sure they saluted him, not just out of formality. He didn't waste time in the welcoming ceremony, but immediately dismounted, walked among the officers, and began to make a furious and secret speech. What struck our diary-keeper friend was the peculiar manner with which he and Major Murray discussed matters. But there is nothing unnatural about such things, if one is not particularly careful. Both were sympathetic and ' Bible-readers', old-fashioned evangelical officers. But at any rate, when the general mounted his horse again, he was still talking intently to Murray. While his horse ambled on the road to the river, The tall Irishman also followed beside the horse, rather than seriously arguing. The soldiers watched the two until they disappeared behind the bushes at the bend in the road. Seeing the Colonel return to his tent, all returned to their posts. RECORD The person in the diary stood still, dawdled for a while, and finally saw an incredible scene."
"The big white horse that once strolled down the road now galloped towards them as if madly trying to win the race. At first they all thought the horse was frightened and dragging the man, but they soon realized that it was a good horse. The general of the riders was galloping at the moment. Horses and men rushed up to them like a whirlwind, and then the general reined in. Everyone saw that his face was red as if on fire. He called the colonel out loudly, as if waking up the dead horn."
"I can imagine the turbulent series of events brought about by this disaster, churning like logs in people's minds, and our diary-keeper friends are not immune. Not yet awakened from the blinding dream, they Automatically formed a team and accepted the order to launch an immediate attack across the river. It is said that the general and the major found the enemy on the bridge. They must take the initiative to attack immediately, otherwise their lives will be lost. The major has immediately returned along the road and went to the rear to ask for help. Even so, the reinforcements It is doubtful whether they will arrive in time. They must cross the river all night and seize the high ground before dawn. With this hurried and chaotic night march, the diary came to an abrupt end."
Father Brown went ahead.The forest path became narrower, steeper and more winding, and they felt as if they were climbing a spiral staircase.The priest's voice came from the darkness overhead.
"There is one other matter of great importance. The general drew his sword only halfway out of its scabbard as he urged them on to a knightly charge. Then, as if ashamed of the rash action, he thrust it back in. .Look, the sword is mentioned again."
Dim light filtered through the intertwined web of branches above their heads, casting a web of shadows beneath their feet.They walked into the naked night again, into the faint light.Flambeau felt that the facts surrounded him like air, but he could not form a conclusion.He replied dazedly, "So what's the matter with the sword? Officers have swords, don't they?"
"In modern warfare, the sword has not been paid much attention." Another person said calmly, "but in this incident, the blessed sword is always mentioned."
"Well, so what?" said Flambeau gruffly. "It's just a side note. The old man's sword was broken in his last fight. Anybody would bet that the papers would print that sort of thing." thing. All those graves and all that show the sword is broken. I think you dragged me on a polar expedition, and it wasn't just because two good-eyed people saw St. Clair's broken sword."
"No," screamed Father Brown, "but has anyone seen his unbroken sword?"
"What the hell are you trying to say?" another yelled.He stood motionless under the starlight.They were just coming out of the gray exit of the woods.
"I mean, has anyone seen his unbroken sword?" Father Brown repeated stubbornly. "Anyway, the diary writer didn't see it, and the general put it back in its sheath in time."
Flambeau looked at him in the moonlight as a blind man looks at the sun.His friend, showing some eagerness for the first time, went on:
"Flumbo," he exclaimed, "even after seeing all these tombs, I can't prove it. But I'm sure it's true. Let me add one more detail, which will turn the whole thing upside down. Strange as it is, But the colonel was among the first to be shot. He was hit long before the troops had come into contact with the enemy. But he saw St. Clair's sword break. Why did it break? How did it break? It was broken, my friend, before the war."
"Oh!" said his friend, with a comical look of despair, "please tell me where the piece fell off?"
"I can tell you," said the priest at once, "that there is a Protestant cathedral in Belfast, just to the northeast of the churchyard."
"Really?" another inquired. "Have you ever looked?"
"I can't find it," Brown replied, making no secret of his regret, "and there is a great marble monument on it. It commemorates the heroism of Major Murray, who fought honorably at the famous Battle of Black River." die."
Flambeau seemed to have been jolted awake suddenly. "You mean," he cried hoarsely, "General St. Clair hated Murray and murdered him on the field because—"
"You're still full of good and pure thoughts," said another. "The truth is worse than that."
"Well," said the big man, "I can't imagine anything more sinister than that."
The priest didn't seem to know where to start, and finally he spoke:
"Where do wise men hide leaves? In the woods."
The other didn't answer.
"If there is no wood, he will make a wood. If he wants to hide a dead leaf, he will make a dead wood."
Still no answer.The priest added more mildly:
"If a man had to hide a dead body, he would make a field of dead bodies to hide it in."
Flambeau began to stride forward, as if he could afford no delay.But Father Brown went on to say:
"Sir Arthur St. Clair, as I said, was a man who read the Bible. That was his problem. It is no good for a man to read the Bible the way he reads it; We can only interpret it the way we do. When will people understand this truth? Printers read the "Bible" to find out typographical errors. Read the "Bible" to find reasons for polygamy. Read the "Bible" to explain our Hands and feet don't exist. St. Clair was a Protestant soldier living in India for a long time. Think what that means. For God's sake, don't be afraid to speak up. It means living a hard life alone In Eastern society under the tropical sun, while he himself immersed himself undiscriminatively and unguided in the immersion of Eastern culture. Of course, he read not the New Testament. Of course, he read in the Old Testament He found everything he could want in the book - lust, tyranny, infidelity. Oh, I dare say he's honest, as you say. But what's the point if a man believes in fraud with all his heart? "
"In every hot and mysterious country he has been to, he will build a harem, torture confessions, and accumulate ill-gotten wealth. But he can say with firm eyes that he is for the glory of God. In order to fully demonstrate My religious stance, I can't help but ask, which Lord is he referring to? In short, such evil deeds have opened one door after another to hell, and it will become more and more difficult to find a place to stay .I would say the real indictment of the crime, that one does not grow wilder, but meaner. St. Clair was soon worn down by extortion and extortion, and he needed more and more Money. By the time of the Battle of the Black River, he had fallen from layer to layer of worlds, to the bottom of the universe described by Dante."
"What do you mean?" asked his friend again.
"I mean," replied the priest, pointing suddenly to a frozen pool, the surface of which glistened in the moonlight, "do you remember who Dante put in the last ring of ice? "
"A traitor," said Flambeau tremblingly.He looked around at the horrific sight of the surrounding woods, whose silhouettes were full of what could be called indecent mockery.He almost imagined himself as Dante, and the priest with a voice like flowing water seemed to lead him through the land of eternal sin.
The voice came again: "Olivier is a man, as you know, and he will not tolerate spies or spies. Like many other things, that kind of business is behind his back. The official responsible for the matter It's my old friend Espador. He is a good-looking young man with a hooked nose, nicknamed Vulture. He is a philanthropist on the surface, but he secretly seeks a way in the British army, and finally his hand reaches out to A corrupt man—God forgive me!—was at the head of the line. St. Clair desperately needed money, and it was not a small sum. Untrustworthy family doctors were threatening to expose the extraordinary He did it, but was quickly stopped. What he wanted to expose was some cruel and primitive incidents that took place at the General's home on Pike Street. It was done by an English evangelical. It is said that Matters related to human sacrifice and keeping slaves. His daughter's dowry also needed money. And he himself valued the reputation of being rich as much as the wealth itself. He seized this last chance to secretly pass information to Brazil, and Wealth flowed in from the enemies of England. But another man had dealings with Espador the vulture too. Somehow the dark and grim young Major of Northern Ireland guessed the ugly truth. As they strolled down the road to the bridge , Murray asked the general to resign immediately, or send him to a court-martial and be shot. The general delayed him all the way to the tropical trees beside the bridge. Accompanied by the gurgling river and the palm trees in the sun (I can even see that image), the general drew his saber and stabbed the major in the body."
The frozen path turned to a frosty ridge where the bushes and bushes were dark and strangely shaped.But Flambeau vaguely saw that there was a faint light on the edge of the ridge, not starlight or moonlight, but a fire lit by men.The story was almost over as he watched the light.
"St. Clair is a hellhound, but he is not a mad dog without reason. I can swear that poor Murray was more lucid and composed than he had ever been when he became a cold corpse at his feet." Captain Keene said Yes, he performed better in that despised defeat than in any previous victory. He calmly wiped the blood from the weapon. He found that, stabbing the victim between the shoulders The tip of the body was already broken in the body. He calmly foresees what will happen, as if looking at the scenery through the window of the club. He knows that someone else will find this inexplicable body and take out this piece. The tip of the undefeatable sword must have noticed the unjustifiable broken sword—or noticed the disappearance of the saber. He killed people, but he couldn't cover it up. But he had a quick wit and thought that there was still a way to Go. He can make a corpse no longer indefensible. He can create piles of corpses to cover this one up. In less than twenty minutes, 800 British soldiers started the march to death."
The warm light from behind the dark winter trees was growing stronger and brighter.Flambeau strode across.Father Brown quickened his pace too, but he seemed lost in his story.
"Thousands of English warriors were so valiant, and their commanders so wise, that if they had attacked the hills directly, they might have had good luck with their mad march. But the man who played with them The evil spirits have other plans. They have to stay in the mud next to the bridge until the bodies of the British soldiers are littered. And then there is a wonderful scene where the silver-haired soldier-keeper surrenders his broken sword to quell further carnage. Oh, what a well-planned improvisation. But I think (I can't prove it), I think it's when they got stuck in the blood-stained swamp that someone got suspicious — even guessed."
他沉默片刻，又接着说：“有个声音告诉我，猜到的那人就是那位情人——将要与老人的孩子成婚的人。”
“那奥利维尔和绞刑又是怎么回事？”弗朗博问。
“奥利维尔，半是出于道义，半是出于策略，他不会让俘虏妨碍他的行军，”叙述者解释道，“他在多数情况下会释放每个人。这一次也不例外。”
“除了将军以外的每个人。”高个子说。
“每个人。”神父说。
弗朗博拧着他黑色的眉毛。“我还是不明白。”他说。
“还有另一个场景，弗朗博，”布朗更为神秘地低声说，“我无法证明，但我可以做得更多——我能看到。清晨，在炎热的荒丘上，巴西人收起了营帐，集结起来，列好队伍，准备出发。奥利维尔身着红衫，一把黑色的长胡子随风轻摆，手里握着他的宽边帽。他在向才被他释放的伟大敌手道别。那位朴质的一头白发的老兵，在代表他的手下向他表示感谢。剩下的英国人都在他身后立正站好。他们身旁是供他们撤退的物资与车辆。鼓声响起，巴西人开拔了，而英国人仍旧塑像般一动不动。他们一直忍耐着，直到敌人的最后一点声音与身影消失在热带的地平线下。然后，他们立马改变了姿势，仿佛死人复活了。50张面孔一齐朝向将军——他们的表情一定令人难忘。”
弗朗博跳了起来。“啊，”他大叫，“难道你是要说——”
“是的，”布朗神父用低沉而动人的声音说，“把绳索套在圣克莱尔的脖子上的，是英国人的手。我相信，也是同一只手，把戒指套在了他女儿的手指上。是英国人亲手把他吊上了耻辱之树。这些人曾经崇拜他，追随着他夺取胜利。这群英国人（愿天主宽恕我们所有人！）在异国的太阳下，看着他在绿色的棕榈绞架上晃动，他们带着憎恨祈祷他会下地狱。”
当两人攀到山顶时，强烈的红色灯光照在他们身上，那是从一间挂着红窗帘的英式小客栈里射出来的。它就立在路旁，似乎在展示它的殷勤好客。三扇敞开的大门在发出邀请。就算站在他们这么远的地方，也能听到哼唱声与笑声，俨然一片欢乐的夜景。
“我再没有可以告诉你的了，”布朗神父说，“他们在荒野中审判并处死了他。之后，为了英国，也为了他女儿的荣誉，他们立下誓约，永远缄口不谈背叛者的钱包以及凶手的剑刃。也许——愿上天帮助他们——他们都试着忘记这事。无论如何，让咱们忘了它吧，我们的客栈到了。”
“我打心里同意。”弗朗博说。他迈步正要走进客栈中明亮、吵闹的酒吧，却倒退一步，差点摔在路边。
“快看，看那个鬼名字！”他大喊。他僵硬地指着悬在路上的方木招牌。上面依稀可见一段剑柄加上一截剑刃，还仿冒古老的字体刻着：“断剑的启示”。
“你感到意外吗？”布朗神父礼貌地问，“他在此地被奉若神明，半数的酒馆、公园和街道都用他或者他的故事命名。”
“我还以为我们不用再和这个灾星扯上关系。”弗朗博一边向街上啐了一口，一边叫嚷道。
“只要你在英国，就永远躲不开他。”神父看着地面说，“除非沧海变桑田，否则，他的大理石像在几个世纪里，都要在天真无邪、充满自豪的孩童心中矗立。因为他的忠诚，他在乡间的陵墓会充满百合花一样的芬芳。无数从不了解他的人，会爱戴他犹如自己的父亲，而极少数真的了解他的人，则视之如粪土。他会成为圣人，而关于他的真相永远不会有人说出去，因为我最终决心保守秘密。揭露秘密有好处，也有坏处，我把自己的行为视为一种考验。所有那些报纸都会消逝，反巴西的声浪也已经过去，奥利维尔更是处处受人尊敬。但我告诉我自己，如果在任何地方，有如同金字塔一样长存的金属或大理石纪念物上，有人胆敢辱没克兰西上校、基恩上尉、奥利维尔总统或是任何无辜者的名声，我就会说出真相。假如只是圣克莱尔得到了不该有的赞誉，我会保持沉默。我说到做到。”
他们走进挂着红窗帘的酒馆，里面不只是舒适，甚至可以说是奢华。一张桌子上立着一尊圣克莱尔陵墓的银像，银制的头是下垂的，银制的剑是折断的。墙上挂满了同一景致的彩色图片，还有一系列载着游人去参观的四轮马车。他们找了张舒服的长椅坐下。
“来吧，这么冷的天，”布朗神父高呼，“咱们喝杯红酒或者啤酒吧。”
“或者是白兰地。”弗朗博说。
Notes:
Notes: