Chapter 12 three instruments of death
Because of his profession and faith, Father Brown knows better than most of us: when everyone dies, he has dignity.But when he learned that Sir Aaron Armstrong had been killed, he still felt shocked and surprised.Such a popular and funny character was secretly killed, which reveals a bit of absurdity and incomprehension.Sir Aaron Armstrong has a great sense of humor, even a little bit of a comical edge.He was popular, almost a legend.The news of his murder was as absurd as the hanging of Sunny Jim, or the death of Mr. Pickwick at Hanwell.Although Sir Aaron is a philanthropist, which means being exposed to the darker sides of our society, he takes pride in approaching them with a sense of optimism.His political and social speeches are always interspersed with many anecdotes, which make people laugh again and again.His physical condition is simply as good as it could be, and he is also positive and optimistic in his dealings with people and things.His insatiable, even somewhat tedious interest in the subject of alcoholism (one of his favorite subjects) made him an outstanding teetotaler.
He kept telling the story of his conversion from Puritan pulpit and pulpit; telling how, as a boy, he broke away from Scotch theology and wallowed in Scotch whiskey, and how he made it out of both (Humility claimed) himself today.But with his bushy white beard, innocent face and sparkling glasses at countless dinners and conventions, it's hard to believe he was ever so sickly, either a slow drinker or a Calvinist .People felt that he was the most serious and at the same time the most cheerful and fun-loving person in the world.
Sir Aaron lived in a handsome house in the Hampstead country, a tall, narrow, drab modern tower house.The narrowest side of the building is above the slope protection of the green railway embankment, and every time a train passes by, the house vibrates for a while.Sir Aaron Armstrong said cheerfully that he didn't care.But if the train had frequently shaken the house, the roles were reversed that morning, and the house shook the train.
The train slows down and stops.The parking spot is just past the corner of the house that juts out into the grassy slope of the roadbed.Most mechanical vehicles had to come to a slow stop, but someone was eager to bring this train to a quick stop.A man appeared on the ridge above the train, completely wrapped in black down to (one remembers) the smallest detail, wearing black gloves and waving his black windmill-like hands.This alone could not stop the slow-moving train, but he shouted something while waving his hands. Afterwards, people talked about it and felt that it was completely impossible and abnormal.Even though we couldn't hear what the man was shouting, one word was very clear, and that was "Murder!"
But the train driver afterwards swore that if he hadn't caught the word, he would have stopped just as well had he heard his clear but terrifying yell.
Once the train has stopped, a brief glance out the window can capture all the information about the tragedy.Standing by the grass slope in black is Aaron Armstrong's valet Magnus.The Baron used to make good-natured jokes about the black glove of the dour waiter, but no one was going to laugh at his black gloves at this moment.
One or two investigators got out of their cars and looked over the misty hedgerows to find the body of an elderly man in a yellow dressing gown with red trim, almost rolling to the bottom of the slope.His legs were bound with a red rope, possibly tangled in a struggle.There were blood stains on his body, but not much.The corpse was bent and twisted, and no one could tell that it was a living corpse.This is Sir Aaron Armstrong.People were at a loss for a while, when a man with a golden beard came out, and some passengers nodded to him. He was Sir Aaron's secretary Patrick Royce.He had a great reputation among the bohemian community and was even known for his bohemian art style.He uttered the same cry of pain as the servant, muffled but sincere.When the third member of the family, Alice Armstrong, the deceased's daughter, staggered and staggered into the garden, the train driver restarted the engine and the train whistled and continued on to the next stop for help.
So Father Brown came at the urgent call of Patrick Royce, the former Bohemian secretary.Born in Ireland, Royce was one of those casual Catholics who only remembered his religion when he got into trouble.But if one of the detectives hadn't been a friend or admirer of Flambeau, Royce's request would not have been answered so quickly, and Flambeau's friends had heard a lot about Father Brown's deeds.So, when the young detective (Merton) leads the diminutive priest across the field to the train tracks, the conversation between the two strangers is intimate, not at all what first-timers seem to display.
"In my opinion," said Detective Merton bluntly, "there's no point in pursuing it. There's no one to suspect. Magnus is a serious old fool, a fool, and no assassin. Royce was the Baron's friend for many years. There is no doubt that the Sir's daughter adored her father. Besides, this is ridiculous. Who would kill Armstrong, a jovial old man? Who would kill a man who preached from the pulpit in the evening? It's like killing Santa Claus."
"Yes, it was a happy family," agreed Father Brown. "The family was happy while he was alive. Do you think the family will be happy when he's dead?"
Morton was a little surprised, looked at his companion with bright eyes and asked, "Because he died?"
"Yes," the priest went on stolidly, "he is a cheerful old man. But does he make others happy as well? Honestly, is there anyone else in this room besides him? "
A gleam of wonder suddenly shot into Morton's heart, as if seeing something we had known for a long time for the first time, feeling strange and amazed.Because of some charity activities, he often went to Armstrong's house to handle some police affairs.Now, he looked back, it was a depressing house.The room was tall and cold, and the decoration inside the house was simple and old. There were electric lights in the corridor, but the brightness of the light was not as bright as the moonlight.Although the crimson face and silver beard of the old man lit up every room and passage like a bonfire, there was no warmth left.The house has an eerie, haunted feel to it, which is no doubt partly due to the owners.Sir Armstrong is full of enthusiasm and vitality. He will say that he doesn't need a stove or light. He always brings his own warmth, regardless of the warmth of others.When Merton recalled the others in the room, he had to admit that they were also Armstrong's shadow.The moody, ghastly black-gloved footman was nothing short of a nightmare.Secretary Royce, tall and strong, as strong as a bull, wears a tweed suit and has a short beard, but his straw-yellow beard is mixed with a little gray, like tweed.The broad forehead was covered with wrinkles early on.He was kind enough, but with a sad kindness, even a heartrending kindness—he always carried the air of a loser in life.As for Armstrong's daughter, I couldn't believe she was Armstrong's daughter, she was pale, petite, delicate, and graceful, but her body was always quivering like an aspen branch.Merton sometimes wondered if she had developed a fear of being hit by a passing train.
"You see," said Father Brown with a wink, "I'm not sure that Armstrong's gaiety was pleasant to the others. You say no one would kill such a jovial old man, but I'm not sure. Don't lead us into temptation. If I kill someone," he added simply, "I daresay that person is probably an optimist."
"Why?" asked Morton with interest. "You think people don't like fun?"
"People like a little joke now and then," replied Father Brown, "but I don't think people like a constant smile. Joy without a sense of humor is a very hard thing to bear."
They walked along the railroad track in silence for a while, where the wind was cold and the weeds were overgrown. When they came to the towering Armstrong house, Father Brown suddenly spoke, not so much to put forward some serious thoughts, but Said he was anxious to get rid of some tiresome thought.He said: "Of course, alcohol itself is neither good nor bad. But sometimes, I can't help but imagine that a man like Armstrong would want to use alcohol to make himself sad from time to time."
Merton's boss is a grizzled, talented detective named Gilder.At this time, he was standing on the grassy slope, waiting for the coroner and talking with Patrick Royce.Royce's broad shoulders, bushy beard and hair are striking.He walked with a stooped, stout stride, and seemed content to go about his paperwork with a somber humility that made him all the more conspicuous, like a buffalo pulling a plow cart.
Seeing the priest, he raised his head very happily, and stepped over to the priest's side in a few steps.Meanwhile, Merton was talking to the older detective with respectful, boyish eagerness.
"So, Detective Gilder, do you know anything more about this mysterious case?"
"There's nothing mysterious about it," replied Gilder, looking absently at the crows down the hillside.
"However, it seems to me somewhat," Merton said, laughing.
"It couldn't be easier, boy," said the older investigator, stroking his gray pointed beard. "Three minutes after you went to Mr. Royce's parish, the crime happened. Do you know the pale, black-gloved footman who stopped the train?"
"I know him everywhere. Somehow, seeing him always gives me goosebumps."
"So," said Gildra in a long tone, "when the train started to leave again, the man disappeared. What a cold-blooded animal, don't you think? To escape on the train looking for the police."
"I suppose you are quite sure," replied the young detective, "that he really killed his master?"
"Yes, boy, I'm quite sure." Gilder replied coldly. "The reason was simply that he fled with the £20,000 note that was on the master's desk. No, the only difficulty with the case was how he killed Armstrong. The deceased's skull appeared to have been crushed by some large object, but there was no Any murder weapon was found, and the assailant would have found it very inconvenient if he had absconded with the weapon, unless the weapon was of such a small size that it would not be easily noticed."
"It's also possible that the murder weapon is too big for people to pay attention to." The priest said with a strange smirk.
Gilder looked around at this wild guess, and asked Brown, somewhat sternly, what he meant.
"I know it's a silly thing to say," said Father Brown apologetically. "Sounds like a fairy tale. But poor Armstrong was killed with a huge club, a big green club, so big that you wouldn't even notice it. The big stick The stick is what we call the earth. He was hit to death by the green slope we are standing on now."
"How do you say it?" the detective asked impatiently.
Father Brown looked up towards the narrower side of the house, blinking gradually upwards.People followed his gaze and found that the attic skylight on the top was open on the back of the house, which was not easily seen.
"See," he explained, pointing like a child, "that's where Armstrong got pushed."
Gilder looked at the skylight carefully, frowning, and then said, "Yes, it's quite possible. But I don't see why you're so sure."
Brown's brown eyes widened. "Oh," he said, "there's a piece of rope around the dead man's foot. Don't you see a piece of rope hanging from the corner of the window?"
Looking up from the bottom, the high end of the rope looked like a handful of fine dust or hair. After seeing it, the shrewd old inspector said to Father Brown with satisfaction: "You are so right, Sir. No wonder you are so sure."
While he was speaking, a one-car train passed by them on the left and came to a slow stop. A group of police officers got off the train, and among them was that sneaky-faced Magnus, that A servant who absconded with money.
"Very well, they've got him," cried Gilder, who stepped forward warily.
"Did you find the money?" he called to the policeman walking ahead.
The officer looked at him curiously and said, "No," before adding, "At least not here."
"Which one is the Inspector Inspector?" asked the man named Magnus.
As soon as he spoke, everyone understood at once how his voice had brought the train to a halt.He looked dull and dull, with black crew cut, pale face, slender eyes and narrow thin lips, which made him look like an oriental man.He had worked as a waiter in a London restaurant, or (some say) something more menial until Sir Aaron had recruited him as a valet, but his parentage and name remain a mystery to this day.But his voice, like his face, is terrifying and unforgettable.Whether it is because of the clear pronunciation of foreigners, or out of respect for the master (the master is a little deaf), Magnus's voice is particularly crisp, loud and penetrating.When he spoke, everyone was taken aback.
"I knew it would be," he said aloud indifferently. "My poor elderly master always laughed at me for being in black, but I always said I should be ready for his funeral."
As he spoke, his black-gloved hands moved for a moment.
"Officer," cried Inspector Gilder, staring angrily at the black hands, "won't you handcuff this fellow? He looks very dangerous."
"Oh, Inspector," replied the inspector questioningly, "I didn't know we could do that."
"What do you mean?" Gilder asked sharply. "Didn't you arrest him?"
There was a sneer on the mouth that seemed to be torn apart. A train was coming, and the whistle seemed to subtly echo his sarcasm.
"We arrested him," replied the Inspector solemnly, "as he walked out of Highgate Police Station, where he left all his master's money in the custody of Inspector Robinson."
Gilder looked at the manservant in surprise. "Why on earth did you do that?" he asked Magnus.
"Of course it is to ensure the safety of the owner's money, so as not to be obtained by criminals." Magnus said calmly.
"Indeed," said Gilder, "so that Sir Aaron's property can be safely bequeathed to the Aaron family."
The end of Gilder's words was drowned out by the roar of the roaring train.The dreary house had grown used to the periodic roar of the train.Amidst the din, one could still hear Magnus's single-word answer, as clear and loud as a bell: "I never trusted Sir Aaron's family."
All stood still, their ghostly sixth sense aware of the presence of another human being.Merton was not surprised when he looked over Father Brown's shoulder to the pale face of Armstrong's daughter.She was still young and pretty, with silver on her body, but her brown hair was dusty and dull, and seemed gray in the shadows.
"Talk carefully," said Royce gruffly, "you'll frighten Miss Armstrong."
"I hope so," said the footman, clear and crisp.
Miss Armstrong flinched away, and everyone was puzzled by the manservant's words. He continued: "I'm almost used to Miss Armstrong's trembling. I have watched her tremble intermittently for many years. Some say she shivered with cold, some said she shivered with fear, but I know she shivered with disgust and rage—these demons had a feast this morning. If it hadn't been for me, she would have been with her lover by now. money eloped. Since my poor old master stopped her from marrying that drunken rascal—”
"Shut up!" said Gilder sternly. "The conjectures and suspicions within your family have nothing to do with us, unless you have conclusive evidence, but only based on your personal opinion—"
"Oh, I'll give you solid evidence," Magnus interrupted Gilder sharply, "but you must summon me, Mr. Inspector, and I'll tell you the truth. The truth is: in the Shortly after being stabbed and pushed out the window, I ran into the attic and saw her daughter passed out with a bloody dagger in her hand. Again, allow me to hand it over to the appropriate Law enforcement agencies." As he spoke, he took out a long dagger with a horn handle from the pocket of his tuxedo, with a little blood on it.He respectfully handed the dagger to the officer.Afterwards, he returned to the original place, with a sneer on his face, and his already small eyes narrowed into a slit, as if he was about to lose sight.
Merton, disgusted at the sight of him, whispered to Gilder, "Surely you believe Miss Armstrong's and not his?"
Father Brown suddenly raised his head and raised his face, looking full of energy, as if he had just washed his face. "Yes," he said, innocently, "but does Miss Armstrong contradict what he said?"
The young lady let out an exclamation, and the people looked at her.Her whole body became rigid and rigid as if paralyzed.Only the face wrapped in the light brown hair was slightly angry with surprise and fear.She stood there dumbfounded, as if she had been strangled.
"This man," said Mr. Gilder gravely, "said that after the murder you were found lying on the ground with a dagger in your hand, unconscious."
"He's telling the truth," Alice replied.
The next thing they noticed was Patrick Royce striding into the group of them with his head down, saying something like: "Well, if I have to go, I'll have some fun before then."
With a shrug, he slammed an iron fist into Magnus's expressionless, Mongol-like face, knocking him down, flat on the grass like a starfish.Two or three police officers immediately stopped Royce, but for the others, it seemed that all rationality disappeared, and the whole scene became a brainless burlesque.
"Don't do that, Mr. Royce," said Gilder sternly. "I can arrest you for assault."
"No, you won't," replied Secretary Royce, in a voice as loud as a gong. "You'll arrest me for murder."
Gilder cast a wary glance at the knocked-out man.The aggrieved man was sitting up now, wiping blood from his face, which looked almost intact.He asked curtly, "What do you mean?"
"This guy is quite right," Royce explained. "Miss Armstrong fainted with a dagger in her hand. But she didn't stab her father with the dagger, but to protect him."
"Go and protect him," Gilder repeated gravely. "Who's going to kill him?"
"Me," replied the secretary.
Alice looked at him with a confused and incomprehensible expression, and said in a low voice, "After all, I'm glad you came forward bravely."
"Come upstairs," said Patrick Royce heavily, "and I'll show you the whole damn thing."
The attic was the private quarters of Royce's secretary (nothing more than a tiny single room for such a tall hermit), but it was the scene of the violence.On the floor near the center of the garret was a large revolver, which seemed to have been thrown on the ground; on the ground to the left was a whiskey bottle, its mouth open, and the remains of the liquor still in it.The tablecloth was dragged and trampled to the ground, and a piece of string, just like the one found on the corpse, was frantically tied to the window sill.Two vases were smashed on the mantelpiece, and another fell on the rug.
"I was drunk at the time," Royce said, bluntly and sincerely, which made him, who had previously attacked the valet, look like a young boy with a painful and regretful face when he made a mistake for the first time.
"You all know me," he continued, his voice hoarse. "You all know how my story started, and it will end like it started. I was told I was a wise man and had the potential to be a happy man. Armstrong saved me from the tavern, whatever It freed me both mentally and physically. He treated me well in his own way and has always been good to me. Poor man! But he just won't let me marry Alice here, it seems he is That's right. Next, you can guess yourselves. I don't need to elaborate. The half bottle of whiskey in the corner is mine, and on the carpet is my revolver, which has no bullets in it. The rope you found on the body is In my box, the body was also thrown from my window. You don't need to let detectives dig up my tragic end. I'm just a common weed in this world. I sent myself to the gallows .Oh, Lord, that's enough!"
With a very subtle gesture, the police gathered around the tall man and prepared to take him away calmly, but they were startled by Father Brown's unusual posture.He was kneeling on the door rug, with his hands on the floor, as if lost in some undignified prayer.He didn't care that he was in the way of the group, and he continued to maintain that position, but he looked up at the group with his round lively face, which looked like a man with a funny brain. quadrupeds.
"I said," he said kindly, "you know what, it's not right at all. At first you said we couldn't find any murder weapons, but now we've found too many murder weapons. Stabbing daggers, suffocating The string, and the pistol that shot the dead man, and finally, the dead man fell out of the window and broke his neck! This is not right, this is not neat." He shook his head facing the floor, like a horse grazing like that.
Inspector Gilder had a serious expression on his face. Just as he was about to speak, the strange man on the ground preempted him. The priest continued eloquently:
"Now there are three things that don't quite make sense. The first is the hole in the carpet that was pierced by six bullets. Why on earth would anyone shoot a carpet? Wear the thing that mocked him. He's not going to fight with his feet, or besiege his slippers. Then there's the string—" After speaking of the rug, the priest raised his hands and put them in his pockets, but still nothing. Kneeling there indifferently. "How drunk do you think a man has to be to try to tie a rope around someone's neck and end up with it around his leg? Royce, by all accounts, isn't that drunk. Otherwise , he will now be fast asleep like a log. Finally, and most obviously, the whiskey bottle rolled in the corner. You imply that the junkie snatched his bottle, and he won, but it Throwing it in a corner, spilling half the bottle, leaving half. That's the last thing an alcoholic would do."
He stood up awkwardly, and said to the self-proclaimed murderer in a tone of contrition, "I'm so sorry, my dear sir, but your story is a pile of rubbish."
"Sir," Alice Armstrong whispered to the priest, "may I speak to you alone?"
The sudden request forced the talkative priest out of the room.In the next room, before the priest could speak, the young lady began to talk directly to the priest in a completely unfamiliar tone.
"You're a smart man," she said, "and I know you're trying to save Patrick. But it's no use. There's a dark side to it all, and the more you find out, the more that poor man I love will suffer." More sins."
"Why?" asked Father Brown, looking at her calmly.
"Because," she replied with equal deliberation, "I have seen him commit crimes."
"Ah!" said the priest, standing still, "what did you see him do?"
"I was in this room next to them," she explained, "and both doors were shut, when I suddenly heard an angry voice, the likes of which I had never heard in the world, that man The voice yelled 'Go to hell, go to hell, go to hell.' over and over, and then one shot and both doors shook. Then three more shots and I opened both doors. The door found the room filled with smoke. The revolver was in the hands of my poor mad Patrick, smoking from the muzzle. I saw him fire the last few brutal shots. Then he rushed To my father, who was clutching the window sill in terror, wrestling with my father, trying to strangle him with the string. He threw the string over my father's head, and it slid over my father's struggling body. shoulder, over his foot. The rope was tied tightly to one of my father's feet, and Patrick dragged my father to the ground like a madman. I grabbed a dagger from the cushion and rushed between them, trying to Cut the rope, and then I passed out."
"I see." Father Brown said politely, "Thank you."
The young lady collapsed from the memory, and the priest went back stiffly into the next room, where only Gilder and Merton were left guarding Patrick Royce, who was sitting in handcuffs in a chair.The priest said humbly to the inspector:
"Can I say a word to this criminal in your presence? Will he be able to take off this ridiculous handcuff even for a minute?"
"He's a strong man," Merton whispered. "Why do you want to take the cuffs off?"
"Oh, I thought," replied the priest modestly, "that it might be possible for me to have the honor of shaking his hand."
Both detectives stared at him in amazement, and Father Brown said again: "Aren't you going to tell them, sir?"
The person sitting on the chair shook his head, his hair was fluffy and messy, but the priest became anxious and anxious.
"Then I will," he said. "Private life is always more important than public reputation. I want to save the living, and let the dead go."
He walked to the window that killed the man, blinked and looked out of the window and continued.
"I told you that there were too many murderous instruments in this case, but only one death. I tell you now that none of them were murderous instruments, and they were not the cause of death. All these terrible instruments, lassoes, with The bloody dagger, the bursting pistol are instruments of mercy. They were not used to kill Ser Aaron, but to save him."
"Go and save him!" Gilder repeated, "from whom?"
"From himself," said Father Brown. "He's a suicidal lunatic."
"What?" Merton exclaimed in disbelief. "Then his happy faith—"
"That's a cruel belief," said Father Brown, looking out of the window. "Why didn't they let him cry for a while like his father did? His plans were formed, his views hardened. Beneath that cheerful mask was the hollow heart of an atheist. In the end, to keep his With a cheerful and comical public image, he resumed the drinking habit he had given up for many years. But for a sincere teetotaler, alcohol is a very scary thing. He warns others to be careful of spiritual hell, but he imagines and does not Looking forward to it. Poor Armstrong was in mental hell early. He sat there this morning screaming that he was in hell so madly that her daughter couldn't figure out what it meant. All he wanted was Suing death, the whole person went crazy, like a naughty child playing tricks, throwing various instruments of death around him-a noose, a friend's revolver and a dagger. Royce walked in by accident , moving swiftly. He threw the knife on the cushion behind him, picked up the revolver, and, having no time to unload the bullet, had to fire it into the floor, one after another. The suicide suddenly saw the first fatal Four ways, rushing to the window. The rescuer did the only thing he could do—run behind him with a rope, trying to tie his hands and feet. Just then the lady came in and misunderstood the situation. Fighting, trying to cut the rope on her father. At first, she only cut Royce's finger, which is why there was blood on the knife. But, you must have also noticed that when he swung his fist at the manservant , he had blood on his face, but no wounds. She did cut the rope loose on her father before the lady passed out, and he jumped out of the window and fell into the eternal world."
There was a long silence, which was finally broken by a metallic noise as Gilder uncuffed Patrick Royce.He said to Royce: "I think you should tell us the truth, sir. Both you and the young lady are more important than Armstrong's obituary notice."
"Blur out Armstrong's obituary notice," Royce yelled rudely. "Don't you know it's because Alice can't know?"
"Can't know what?" Merton asked.
"Can't know she killed her father, idiot!" Royce yelled at Merton. "If it hadn't been for her, her father would still be alive. She would be mad if she found out."
"No, I don't think she's going mad," said Father Brown, taking up his hat. "I think I ought to tell her. Even the most horrific manslaughter doesn't ravage life like sin. Anyway, I think you're both happier than ever. I've got to go back to school for the deaf."
The priest was out of the house, walking on the windy grass, when an acquaintance of Highgate stopped him and said:
"The coroner has arrived. The inquest will begin shortly."
"I have to go back to the school for the deaf," said the priest. "Sorry, I can't stay and assist with the investigation."
Notes:
Notes: