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rel="nofollow" href="#n22" type="note">[22][23],' I says to the chap who was nearly out of the door, 'you've paid too much.' 'Oh,' he says, 'have we?' 'Yes,' I says, and picks up the bill to show him. Well, that was a knock-out.”

      “What do you mean?” asked the detective.

      “Well, I'd have sworn on seven Bibles that I'd put 4s.2 on that bill. But now I saw I'd put 14s.”

      “Well?” cried Valentin, “and then?”

      “ The parson at the door he says quietly, 'Sorry to confuse your accounts, but it'll pay for the window.' 'What window?' I says. 'The one I'm going to break,' he says, and smashed that window with his umbrella.”

      All three men made an exclamation; and the inspector said under his breath[24], “Are we after escaped lunatics[25]?” The waiter went on with his story:

      “I was so knocked silly for a second, I couldn't do anything. The man marched out of the place and joined his friend just round the corner. Then they went so quick up Bullock Street that I couldn't catch them.”

      “Bullock Street,” said the detective, and ran up that thoroughfare as quickly as the strange couple he pursued.

      Their journey now took them through a bare brick district; streets with few lights and even with few windows. Dusk was deepening, and it was not easy even for the London policemen to guess in what exact direction they were going. Abruptly one gas-lit window broke the blue twilight; and Valentin stopped before a little sweetstuff shop. After an instant's hesitation he went in and bought thirteen chocolate cigars. He was clearly preparing an opening; but he did not need one.

      An elderly woman in the shop had regarded his elegant appearance with an automatic inquiry; but when she saw the door behind him blocked with the blue uniform of the inspector, her eyes seemed to wake up.

      “Oh,” she said, “if you've come about that parcel, I've sent it off already.”

      “Parcel?” repeated Valentin; and it was his turn to look inquiring.

      “I mean the parcel the gentleman left – the clergyman gentleman.”

      “For goodness' sake,” said Valentin, leaning forward eagerly, “for Heaven's sake tell us what happened exactly.”

      “Well,” said the woman, “the clergymen came in about half an hour ago and bought some peppermints and talked a bit, and then went off towards the Heath[26]. But a second after, one of them runs back into the shop and says, 'Have I left a parcel!' Well, I looked everywhere and couldn't see one; so he says, 'Never mind; but if it should turn up, please post it to this address,' and he left me the address and a shilling for my trouble. And sure enough, though I thought I'd looked everywhere, I found he'd left a brown paper parcel, so I posted it to the place he said. I can't remember the address now; it was somewhere in Westminster. But as the thing seemed so important, I thought perhaps the police had come about it.”

      “So they have,” said Valentin shortly. “Is Hampstead Heath near here?”

      “Straight on for fifteen minutes,” said the woman, “and you'll come right out on the open.” Valentin sprang out of the shop and began to run. The other detectives followed him reluctantly.

      The street they took was so narrow and shut in by shadows that when they came out unexpectedly into the open space under a vast sky they were startled to find the evening still so light and clear. The holiday makers who roam this region had not wholly dispersed; a few couples sat on benches; and here and there a distant girl still shrieked in one of the swings. Standing on the slope and looking across the beautiful valley, Valentin noticed the thing which he sought.

      Among the black groups in the distance was one especially black – a group of two figures clerically clad. Though they seemed as small as insects, Valentin could see that one of them was much smaller than the other. Though the other had a student's stoop and an unremarkable manner, he could see that the man was well over six feet high. By the time he had substantially cut the distance, he had seen something else; something which surprised him, and yet which he had somehow expected. Whoever was the tall priest, there could be no doubt about the identity of the short one. It was his friend of the Harwich train, the little cure of Essex whom he had warned about his brown paper parcels.

      Now, everything fitted in finally and rationally enough. Valentin had learned by his inquiries that morning that a Father Brown from Essex was bringing up a silver cross with sapphires, a relic of considerable value, to show some of the foreign priests at the congress. This undoubtedly was the “silver with blue stones”; and Father Brown undoubtedly was the little greenhorn in the train. Now there was nothing wonderful about the fact that what Valentin had found out Flambeau had also found out. Also there was nothing wonderful in the fact that when Flambeau heard of a sapphire cross he should try to steal it. And most certainly there was nothing wonderful about the fact that Flambeau should have it all his own way[27] with such a silly sheep as the man with the umbrella and the parcels. He was the sort of man whom anybody could lead on a string[28] to the North Pole; it was not surprising that an actor like Flambeau, dressed as another priest, could lead him to Hampstead Heath. So far the crime seemed clear enough; and while the detective pitied the priest for his helplessness, he almost despised Flambeau for cheating so gullible a victim. But when Valentin thought of all that had happened in between, he racked his brains for the smallest rhyme or reason in it[29]. What had the stealing of a blue-and-silver cross from a priest from Essex to do with throwing soup at wall paper? What had it to do with calling nuts oranges, or with paying for windows first and breaking them afterwards? He had come to the end of his chase; yet somehow he had missed the middle of it.

      The two figures that they followed were crawling like black flies across the huge green contour of a hill. They were evidently engaged in conversation, and perhaps did not notice where they were going; but they were certainly going to the wilder and more silent heights of the Heath. As their pursuers gained on them, the latter had to hide behind clumps of trees and even to crawl in deep grass. The hunters even came close enough to hear the murmur of the discussion, but no word could be heard except the word “reason” said frequently in a high and almost childish voice. Once the detectives actually lost the two figures they were following. They did not find the trail again for an agonizing ten minutes. Under a tree in a neglected spot there was an old wooden seat. On this seat sat the two priests still in serious speech together. The gorgeous green and gold of the scenery looked beautiful on the darkening horizon; and the stars looked like solid jewels. Silently motioning to his followers, Valentin managed to hide behind the big branching tree, and, standing there in deathly silence, heard the words of the strange priests for the first time.

      After he had listened for a minute and a half, he was taken by doubt. Perhaps he had dragged the two English policemen to the heath in vain. For the two priests were talking exactly like priests, piously, about the problems of theology. The little Essex priest spoke more simply, with his round face turned to the stars; the other talked with his head bowed. But so innocent a clerical conversation could have been heard in any Italian cloister or Spanish cathedral.

      Valentin behind his tree was biting his fingernails with silent fury. He seemed almost to hear the sniggers of the English detectives whom he had brought so far only to listen to the metaphysical gossip of two old parsons.

      Father Brown was speaking:

      “Look at those stars. Don't they look as if they were single diamonds and sapphires? Think of forests of adamant with leaves of brilliants. Think the moon is a blue moon, a single sapphire. But don't fancy that all that astronomy would make the smallest difference to the reason and justice of conduct. On plains of opal, under cliffs cut out of pearl, you would still find a notice-board, 'Thou shalt not steal[30].'”

      Valentin was just in the act of rising from his rigid and crouching attitude and creeping

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