the wisdom of father brown-第24部分

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　for　the　political　policy　of　the　paper。

　　　　　A　letter　from　one　of　these　lay　immediately　before　him；　and　rapid　and　resolute　as　he　was；　he　seemed　almost　to　hesitate　before　opening　it。　　He　took　up　a　strip　of　proof　instead；　ran　down　it　with　a　blue　eye；　and　a　blue　pencil；　altered　the　word　〃adultery〃　to　the　word　〃impropriety；〃　and　the　word　〃Jew〃　to　the　word　〃Alien；〃　rang　a　bell　and　sent　it　flying　upstairs。

　　　　　Then；　with　a　more　thoughtful　eye；　he　ripped　open　the　letter　from　his　more　distinguished　contributor；　which　bore　a　postmark　of　Devonshire；　and　read　as　follows：

　　　　　DEAR　NUTT；As　I　see　you're　working　Spooks　and　Dooks　at　the　same　time；　what　about　an　article　on　that　rum　business　of　the　Eyres　of　Exmoor；　or　as　the　old　women　call　it　down　here；　the　Devil's　Ear　of　Eyre？　　The　head　of　the　family；　you　know；　is　the　Duke　of　Exmoor；　he　is　one　of　the　few　really　stiff　old　Tory　aristocrats　left；　a　sound　old　crusted　tyrant　it　is　quite　in　our　line　to　make　trouble　about。　　And　I　think　I'm　on　the　track　of　a　story　that　will　make　trouble。

　　　　　Of　course　I　don't　believe　in　the　old　legend　about　James　I；　and　as　for　you；　you　don't　believe　in　anything；　not　even　in　journalism。　　The　legend；　you'll　probably　remember；　was　about　the　blackest　business　in　English　historythe　poisoning　of　Overbury　by　that　witch's　cat　Frances　Howard；　and　the　quite　mysterious　terror　which　forced　the　King　to　pardon　the　murderers。　　There　was　a　lot　of　alleged　witchcraft　mixed　up　with　it；　and　the　story　goes　that　a　man…servant　listening　at　the　keyhole　heard　the　truth　in　a　talk　between　the　King　and　Carr；　and　the　bodily　ear　with　which　he　heard　grew　large　and　monstrous　as　by　magic；　so　awful　was　the　secret。　　And　though　he　had　to　be　loaded　with　lands　and　gold　and　made　an　ancestor　of　dukes；　the　elf…shaped　ear　is　still　recurrent　in　the　family。　　Well；　you　don't　believe　in　black　magic；　and　if　you　did；　you　couldn't　use　it　for　copy。　　If　a　miracle　happened　in　your　office；　you'd　have　to　hush　it　up；　now　so　many　bishops　are　agnostics。　　But　that　is　not　the　point　The　point　is　that　there　really　is　something　queer　about　Exmoor　and　his　family；　something　quite　natural；　I　dare　say；　but　quite　abnormal。　　And　the　Ear　is　in　it　somehow；　I　fancy；　either　a　symbol　or　a　delusion　or　disease　or　something。　　Another　tradition　says　that　Cavaliers　just　after　James　I　began　to　wear　their　hair　long　only　to　cover　the　ear　of　the　first　Lord　Exmoor。　　This　also　is　no　doubt　fanciful。

　　　　　The　reason　I　point　it　out　to　you　is　this：　　It　seems　to　me　that　we　make　a　mistake　in　attacking　aristocracy　entirely　for　its　champagne　and　diamonds。　　Most　men　rather　admire　the　nobs　for　having　a　good　time；　but　I　think　we　surrender　too　much　when　we　admit　that　aristocracy　has　made　even　the　aristocrats　happy。　　I　suggest　a　series　of　articles　pointing　out　how　dreary；　how　inhuman；　how　downright　diabolist；　is　the　very　smell　and　atmosphere　of　some　of　these　great　houses。　　There　are　plenty　of　instances；　but　you　couldn't　begin　with　a　better　one　than　the　Ear　of　the　Eyres。　　By　the　end　of　the　week　I　think　I　can　get　you　the　truth　about　it。Yours　ever；　FRANCIS　FINN。

　　　　　Mr　Nutt　reflected　a　moment；　staring　at　his　left　boot；　then　he　called　out　in　a　strong；　loud　and　entirely　lifeless　voice；　in　which　every　syllable　sounded　alike：　　〃Miss　Barlow；　take　down　a　letter　to　Mr　Finn；　please。〃

　　　　　DEAR　FINN；I　think　it　would　do；　copy　should　reach　us　second　post　Saturday。Yours；　E。　NUTT。

　　　　　This　elaborate　epistle　he　articulated　as　if　it　were　all　one　word；　and　Miss　Barlow　rattled　it　down　as　if　it　were　all　one　word。　　Then　he　took　up　another　strip　of　proof　and　a　blue　pencil；　and　altered　the　word　〃supernatural〃　to　the　word　〃marvellous〃；　and　the　expression　〃shoot　down〃　to　the　expression　〃repress〃。

　　　　　In　such　happy；　healthful　activities　did　Mr　Nutt　disport　himself；　until　the　ensuing　Saturday　found　him　at　the　same　desk；　dictating　to　the　same　typist；　and　using　the　same　blue　pencil　on　the　first　instalment　of　Mr　Finn's　revelations。　　The　opening　was　a　sound　piece　of　slashing　invective　about　the　evil　secrets　of　princes；　and　despair　in　the　high　places　of　the　earth。　　Though　written　violently；　it　was　in　excellent　English；　but　the　editor；　as　usual；　had　given　to　somebody　else　the　task　of　breaking　it　up　into　sub…headings；　which　were　of　a　spicier　sort；　as　〃Peeress　and　Poisons〃；　and　〃The　Eerie　Ear〃；　〃The　Eyres　in　their　Eyrie〃；　and　so　on　through　a　hundred　happy　changes。　　Then　followed　the　legend　of　the　Ear；　amplified　from　Finn's　first　letter；　and　then　the　substance　of　his　later　discoveries；　as　follows：


　　　　　I　know　it　is　the　practice　of　journalists　to　put　the　end　of　the　story　at　the　beginning　and　call　it　a　headline。　　I　know　that　journalism　largely　consists　in　saying　〃Lord　Jones　Dead〃　to　people　who　never　knew　that　Lord　Jones　was　alive。　　Your　present　correspondent　thinks　that　this；　like　many　other　journalistic　customs；　is　bad　journalism；　and　that　the　Daily　Reformer　has　to　set　a　better　example　in　such　things。　　He　proposes　to　tell　his　story　as　it　occurred；　step　by　step。　　He　will　use　the　real　names　of　the　parties；　who　in　most　cases　are　ready　to　confirm　his　testimony。　　　As　for　the　headlines；　the　sensational　proclamationsthey　will　come　at　the　end。

　　　　　I　was　walking　along　a　public　path　that　threads　through　a　private　Devonshire　orchard　and　seems　to　point　towards　Devonshire　cider；　when　I　came　suddenly　upon　just　such　a　place　as　the　path　suggested。　　It　was　a　long；　low　inn；　consisting　really　of　a　cottage　and　two　barns；　thatched　all　over　with　the　thatch　that　looks　like　brown　and　grey　hair　grown　before　history。　　But　outside　the　door　was　a　sign　which　called　it　the　Blue　Dragon；　and　under　the　sign　was　one　of　those　long　rustic　tables　that　used　to　stand　outside　most　of　the　free　English　inns；　before　teetotallers　and　brewers　between　them　destroyed　freedom。　　And　at　this　table　sat　three　gentlemen；　who　might　have　lived　a　hundred　years　ago。

　　　　　Now　that　I　know　them　all　better；　there　is　no　difficulty　about　disentangling　the　impressions；　but　just　then　they　looked　like　three　very　solid　ghosts。　　The　dominant　figure；　both　because　he　was　bigger　in　all　three　dimensions；　and　because　he　sat　centrally　in　the　length　of　the　table；　facing　me；　was　a　tall；　fat　man　dressed　completely　in　black；　with　a　rubicund；　even　apoplectic　visage；　but　a　rather　bald　and　rather　bothered　brow。　　Looking　at　him　again；　more　strictly；　I　could　not　exactly　say　what　it　was　that　gave　me　the　sense　of　antiquity；　except　the　antique　cut　of　his　white　clerical　necktie　and　the　barred　wrinkles　across　his　brow。

　　　　　It　was　even　less　easy　to　fix　the　impression　in　the　case　of　the　man　at　the　right　end　of　the　table；　who；　to　say　truth；　was　as　commonplace　a　person　as　could　be　seen　anywhere；　with　a　round；　brown…haired　head　and　a　round　snub　nose；　but　also　clad　in　clerical　black；　of　a　stricter　cut。　　It　was　only　when　I　saw　his　broad　curved　hat　lying　on　the　table　beside　him　that　I　realized　why　I　connected　him　with　anything　ancient。　　He　was　a　Roman　Catholic　priest。

　　　　　Perhaps　the　third　man；　at　the　other　end　of　the　table；　had　really　more　to　do　with　it　than　the　rest；　though　he　was　both　slighter　in　physical　presence　and　more　inconsiderate　in　his　dress。　　His　lank　limbs　were　clad；　I　might　also　say　clutched；　in　very　tight　grey　sleeves　and　pantaloons；　he　had　a　long；　sallow；　aquiline　face　which　seemed　somehow　all　the　more　saturnine　because　his　lantern　jaws　were　imprisoned　in　his　collar　and　neck…cloth　more　in　the　style　of　the　old　stock；　and　his　hair　（which　ought　to　have　been　dark　brown）　was　of　an　odd　dim；　russet　colour　which；　in　conjunction　with　his　yellow　face；　looked　rather　purple　than　red。　　The　unobtrusive　yet　unusual　colour　was　all　the　more　notable　because　his　hair　was　almost　unnaturally　healthy　and　curling；　and　he　wore　it　full。　　But；　after　all　analysis；　I　incline　to　think　that　what　gave　me　my　first　old…fashioned　impression　was　simply　a　set　of　tall；　old…fashioned　wine…glasses；　one　or　two　lemons　and　two　churchwarden　pipes。　　And　also；　perhaps；　the　old…world　errand　on　which　I　had　come。

　　　　　Being　a　hardened　reporter；　and　it　being　apparently　a　public　inn；　I　did　not　need　to　summon　much　of　my　impudence　to　sit　down　at　the　long　table　and　order　some　cider。　　The　big　man　in　black　seemed　very　learned；　especially　about　local　antiquities；　the　small　man　in　black；　though　he　talked　much　less；　surprised　me　with　a　yet　wider　culture。　　So　we　got　on　very　well　together；　but　the　third　man；　the　old　gentleman　in　the　tight　pantaloons；　seemed　rather　distant　and　haughty；　until　I　slid　into　the　subject　of　the　Duke　of　Exmoor　and　his　ancestry。

　　　　　I　thought　the　subject　seemed　to　embarrass　the　other　two　a　little；　but　it　broke　the　spell　of　the　third　man's　silence　most　successfully。　　Speaking　with　restraint　and　with　the　accent　of　a　highly　educated　gentleman；　and　puffing　at　intervals　at　his　long　churchwarden　pipe；　he　proceeded　to　tell　me　some　of　the　most　horrible　stories　I　have　ever　heard　in　my　life：　　how　one　of　the　Eyres　in　the　former　ages　had　hanged　his　own　father；　and　another　had　his　wife　scourged　at　the　cart　tail　through　the　village；　and　another　had　set　fire　to　a　church　full　of　children；　and　so　on。

　　　　　Some　of　the　tales；　indeed；　are　not　fit　for　public　print；　such　as　the　story　of　the　Scarlet　Nuns；　the　abominable　story　of　the　Spotted　Dog；　or　the　thing　that　was　done　in　the　quarry