TEN -- The Salad of Colonel Cray
FATHER BROWN was walking home from Mass on a white weird morning whenthe mists were slowly lifting--one of those mornings when the veryelement of light appears as something mysterious and new. The scatteredtrees outlined themselves more and more out of the vapour, as if theywere first drawn in grey chalk and then in charcoal. At yet more distantintervals appeared the houses upon the broken fringe of the suburb;their outlines became clearer and clearer until he recognized many inwhich he had chance acquaintances, and many more the names of whoseowners he knew. But all the windows and doors were sealed; none of thepeople were of the sort that would be up at such a time, or still lesson such an errand. But as he passed under the shadow of one handsomevilla with verandas and wide ornate gardens, he heard a noise that madehim almost involuntarily stop. It was the unmistakable noise of a pistolor carbine or some light firearm discharged; but it was not this thatpuzzled him most. The first full noise was immediately followed by aseries of fainter noises--as he counted them, about six. He supposedit must be the echo; but the odd thing was that the echo was not in theleast like the original sound. It was not like anything else that hecould think of; the three things nearest to it seemed to be the noisemade by siphons of soda-water, one of the many noises made by an animal,and the noise made by a person attempting to conceal laughter. None ofwhich seemed to make much sense.
Father Brown was made of two men. There was a man of action, who wasas modest as a primrose and as punctual as a clock; who went his smallround of duties and never dreamed of altering it. There was also a manof reflection, who was much simpler but much stronger, who could noteasily be stopped; whose thought was always (in the only intelligentsense of the words) free thought. He could not help, even unconsciously,asking himself all the questions that there were to be asked, andanswering as many of them as he could; all that went on like hisbreathing or circulation. But he never consciously carried his actionsoutside the sphere of his own duty; and in this case the two attitudeswere aptly tested. He was just about to resume his trudge in thetwilight, telling himself it was no affair of his, but instinctivelytwisting and untwisting twenty theories about what the odd noisesmight mean. Then the grey sky-line brightened into silver, and inthe broadening light he realized that he had been to the house whichbelonged to an Anglo-Indian Major named Putnam; and that the Major hada native cook from Malta who was of his communion. He also began toremember that pistol-shots are sometimes serious things; accompaniedwith consequences with which he was legitimately concerned. He turnedback and went in at the garden gate, making for the front door.
Half-way down one side of the house stood out a projection like a verylow shed; it was, as he afterwards discovered, a large dustbin. Roundthe corner of this came a figure, at first a mere shadow in the haze,apparently bending and peering about. Then, coming nearer, it solidifiedinto a figure that was, indeed, rather unusually solid. Major Putnam wasa bald-headed, bull-necked man, short and very broad, with one of thoserather apoplectic faces that are produced by a prolonged attempt tocombine the oriental climate with the occidental luxuries. But the facewas a good-humoured one, and even now, though evidently puzzled andinquisitive, wore a kind of innocent grin. He had a large palm-leafhat on the back of his head (suggesting a halo that was by no meansappropriate to the face), but otherwise he was clad only in a very vividsuit of striped scarlet and yellow pyjamas; which, though glowing enoughto behold, must have been, on a fresh morning, pretty chilly to wear. Hehad evidently come out of his house in a hurry, and the priest was notsurprised when he called out without further ceremony: "Did you hearthat noise?"
"Yes," answered Father Brown; "I thought I had better look in, in caseanything was the matter."
The Major looked at him rather queerly with his good-humoured gooseberryeyes. "What do you think the noise was?" he asked.
"It sounded like a gun or something," replied the other, with somehesitation; "but it seemed to have a singular sort of echo."
The Major was still looking at him quietly, but with protruding eyes,when the front door was flung open, releasing a flood of gaslight on theface of the fading mist; and another figure in pyjamas sprang or tumbledout into the garden. The figure was much longer, leaner, and moreathletic; the pyjamas, though equally tropical, were comparativelytasteful, being of white with a light lemon-yellow stripe. The man washaggard, but handsome, more sunburned than the other; he had an aquilineprofile and rather deep-sunken eyes, and a slight air of oddity arisingfrom the combination of coal-black hair with a much lighter moustache.All this Father Brown absorbed in detail more at leisure. For the momenthe only saw one thing about the man; which was the revolver in his hand.
"Cray!" exclaimed the Major, staring at him; "did you fire that shot?"
"Yes, I did," retorted the black-haired gentleman hotly; "and so wouldyou in my place. If you were chased everywhere by devils and nearly--"
The Major seemed to intervene rather hurriedly. "This is my friendFather Brown," he said. And then to Brown: "I don't know whether you'vemet Colonel Cray of the Royal Artillery."
"I have heard of him, of course," said the priest innocently. "Didyou--did you hit anything?"
"I thought so," answered Cray with gravity.
"Did he--" asked Major Putnam in a lowered voice, "did he fall or cryout, or anything?"
Colonel Cray was regarding his host with a strange and steady stare."I'll tell you exactly what he did," he said. "He sneezed."
Father Brown's hand went half-way to his head, with the gesture of a manremembering somebody's name. He knew now what it was that was neithersoda-water nor the snorting of a dog.
"Well," ejaculated the staring Major, "I never heard before that aservice revolver was a thing to be sneezed at."
"Nor I," said Father Brown faintly. "It's lucky you didn't turn yourartillery on him or you might have given him quite a bad cold." Then,after a bewildered pause, he said: "Was it a burglar?"
"Let us go inside," said Major Putnam, rather sharply, and led the wayinto his house.
The interior exhibited a paradox often to be marked in such morninghours: that the rooms seemed brighter than the sky outside; even afterthe Major had turned out the one gaslight in the front hall. FatherBrown was surprised to see the whole dining-table set out as for afestive meal, with napkins in their rings, and wine-glasses of some sixunnecessary shapes set beside every plate. It was common enough, at thattime of the morning, to find the remains of a banquet over-night; but tofind it freshly spread so early was unusual.
While he stood wavering in the hall Major Putnam rushed past him andsent a raging eye over the whole oblong of the tablecloth. At last hespoke, spluttering: "All the silver gone!" he gasped. "Fish-knives andforks gone. Old cruet-stand gone. Even the old silver cream-jug gone.And now, Father Brown, I am ready to answer your question of whether itwas a burglar."
"They're simply a blind," said Cray stubbornly. "I know better than youwhy people persecute this house; I know better than you why--"
The Major patted him on the shoulder with a gesture almost peculiar tothe soothing of a sick child, and said: "It was a burglar. Obviously itwas a burglar."
"A burglar with a bad cold," observed Father Brown, "that might assistyou to trace him in the neighbourhood."
The Major shook his head in a sombre manner. "He must be far beyondtrace now, I fear," he said.
Then, as the restless man with the revolver turned again towards thedoor in the garden, he added in a husky, confidential voice: "I doubtwhether I should send for the police, for fear my friend here has been alittle too free with his bullets, and got on the wrong side of the law.He's lived in very wild places; and, to be frank with you, I think hesometimes fancies things."
"I think you once told me," said Brown, "that he believes some Indiansecret society is pursuing him."
Major Putnam nodded, but at the same time shrugged his shoulders. "Isuppose we'd better follow him outside," he said. "I don't want anymore--shall we say, sneezi
ng?"
They passed out into the morning light, which was now even tingedwith sunshine, and saw Colonel Cray's tall figure bent almost double,minutely examining the condition of gravel and grass. While the Majorstrolled unobtrusively towards him, the priest took an equally indolentturn, which took him round the next corner of the house to within a yardor two of the projecting dustbin.
He stood regarding this dismal object for some minute and a half--, thenhe stepped towards it, lifted the lid and put his head inside. Dust andother discolouring matter shook upwards as he did so; but FatherBrown never observed his own appearance, whatever else he observed. Heremained thus for a measurable period, as if engaged in some mysteriousprayers. Then he came out again, with some ashes on his hair, and walkedunconcernedly away.
By the time he came round to the garden door again he found a groupthere which seemed to roll away morbidities as the sunlight had alreadyrolled away the mists. It was in no way rationally reassuring; it wassimply broadly comic, like a cluster of Dickens's characters. MajorPutnam had managed to slip inside and plunge into a proper shirt andtrousers, with a crimson cummerbund, and a light square jacket overall; thus normally set off, his red festive face seemed bursting with acommonplace cordiality. He was indeed emphatic, but then he was talkingto his cook--the swarthy son of Malta, whose lean, yellow and rathercareworn face contrasted quaintly with his snow-white cap and costume.The cook might well be careworn, for cookery was the Major's hobby. Hewas one of those amateurs who always know more than the professional.The only other person he even admitted to be a judge of an omelette washis friend Cray--and as Brown remembered this, he turned to look for theother officer. In the new presence of daylight and people clothed andin their right mind, the sight of him was rather a shock. The taller andmore elegant man was still in his night-garb, with tousled black hair,and now crawling about the garden on his hands and knees, still lookingfor traces of the burglar; and now and again, to all appearance,striking the ground with his hand in anger at not finding him. Seeinghim thus quadrupedal in the grass, the priest raised his eyebrows rathersadly; and for the first time guessed that "fancies things" might be aneuphemism.
The third item in the group of the cook and the epicure was also knownto Father Brown; it was Audrey Watson, the Major's ward and housekeeper;and at this moment, to judge by her apron, tucked-up sleeves andresolute manner, much more the housekeeper than the ward.
"It serves you right," she was saying: "I always told you not to havethat old-fashioned cruet-stand."
"I prefer it," said Putnam, placably. "I'm old-fashioned myself; and thethings keep together."
"And vanish together, as you see," she retorted. "Well, if you are notgoing to bother about the burglar, I shouldn't bother about the lunch.It's Sunday, and we can't send for vinegar and all that in the town; andyou Indian gentlemen can't enjoy what you call a dinner without a lotof hot things. I wish to goodness now you hadn't asked Cousin Oliver totake me to the musical service. It isn't over till half-past twelve,and the Colonel has to leave by then. I don't believe you men can managealone."
"Oh yes, we can, my dear," said the Major, looking at her very amiably."Marco has all the sauces, and we've often done ourselves well in veryrough places, as you might know by now. And it's time you had a treat,Audrey; you mustn't be a housekeeper every hour of the day; and I knowyou want to hear the music."
"I want to go to church," she said, with rather severe eyes.
She was one of those handsome women who will always be handsome, becausethe beauty is not in an air or a tint, but in the very structure of thehead and features. But though she was not yet middle-aged and her auburnhair was of a Titianesque fullness in form and colour, there was alook in her mouth and around her eyes which suggested that some sorrowswasted her, as winds waste at last the edges of a Greek temple. Forindeed the little domestic difficulty of which she was now speaking sodecisively was rather comic than tragic. Father Brown gathered, from thecourse of the conversation, that Cray, the other gourmet, had to leavebefore the usual lunch-time; but that Putnam, his host, not to be doneout of a final feast with an old crony, had arranged for a specialdejeuner to be set out and consumed in the course of the morning, whileAudrey and other graver persons were at morning service. She was goingthere under the escort of a relative and old friend of hers, Dr OliverOman, who, though a scientific man of a somewhat bitter type, wasenthusiastic for music, and would go even to church to get it. There wasnothing in all this that could conceivably concern the tragedy in MissWatson's face; and by a half conscious instinct, Father Brown turnedagain to the seeming lunatic grubbing about in the grass.
When he strolled across to him, the black, unbrushed head was liftedabruptly, as if in some surprise at his continued presence. And indeed,Father Brown, for reasons best known to himself, had lingered muchlonger than politeness required; or even, in the ordinary sense,permitted.
"Well!" cried Cray, with wild eyes. "I suppose you think I'm mad, likethe rest?"
"I have considered the thesis," answered the little man, composedly."And I incline to think you are not."
"What do you mean?" snapped Cray quite savagely.
"Real madmen," explained Father Brown, "always encourage their ownmorbidity. They never strive against it. But you are trying to findtraces of the burglar; even when there aren't any. You are strugglingagainst it. You want what no madman ever wants."
"And what is that?"
"You want to be proved wrong," said Brown.
During the last words Cray had sprung or staggered to his feet and wasregarding the cleric with agitated eyes. "By hell, but that is a trueword!" he cried. "They are all at me here that the fellow was only afterthe silver--as if I shouldn't be only too pleased to think so! She'sbeen at me," and he tossed his tousled black head towards Audrey, butthe other had no need of the direction, "she's been at me today abouthow cruel I was to shoot a poor harmless house-breaker, and how I havethe devil in me against poor harmless natives. But I was a good-naturedman once--as good-natured as Putnam."
After a pause he said: "Look here, I've never seen you before; but youshall judge of the whole story. Old Putnam and I were friends in thesame mess; but, owing to some accidents on the Afghan border, I got mycommand much sooner than most men; only we were both invalided homefor a bit. I was engaged to Audrey out there; and we all travelled backtogether. But on the journey back things happened. Curious things. Theresult of them was that Putnam wants it broken off, and even Audreykeeps it hanging on--and I know what they mean. I know what they think Iam. So do you.
"Well, these are the facts. The last day we were in an Indian city Iasked Putnam if I could get some Trichinopoli cigars, he directed me toa little place opposite his lodgings. I have since found he was quiteright; but 'opposite' is a dangerous word when one decent house standsopposite five or six squalid ones; and I must have mistaken the door. Itopened with difficulty, and then only on darkness; but as I turned back,the door behind me sank back and settled into its place with a noise asof innumerable bolts. There was nothing to do but to walk forward; whichI did through passage after passage, pitch-dark. Then I came to a flightof steps, and then to a blind door, secured by a latch of elaborateEastern ironwork, which I could only trace by touch, but which Iloosened at last. I came out again upon gloom, which was half turnedinto a greenish twilight by a multitude of small but steady lampsbelow. They showed merely the feet or fringes of some huge and emptyarchitecture. Just in front of me was something that looked like amountain. I confess I nearly fell on the great stone platform on whichI had emerged, to realize that it was an idol. And worst of all, an idolwith its back to me.
"It was hardly half human, I guessed; to judge by the small squat head,and still more by a thing like a tail or extra limb turned up behind andpointing, like a loathsome large finger, at some symbol graven in thecentre of the vast stone back. I had begun, in the dim light, to guessat the hieroglyphic, not without horror, when a more horrible thinghappened. A door opened silently in the temple wal
l behind me and a mancame out, with a brown face and a black coat. He had a carved smile onhis face, of copper flesh and ivory teeth; but I think the most hatefulthing about him was that he was in European dress. I was prepared, Ithink, for shrouded priests or naked fakirs. But this seemed to say thatthe devilry was over all the earth. As indeed I found it to be.
"'If you had only seen the Monkey's Feet,' he said, smiling steadily,and without other preface, 'we should have been very gentle--you wouldonly be tortured and die. If you had seen the Monkey's Face, still weshould be very moderate, very tolerant--you would only be tortured andlive. But as you have seen the Monkey's Tail, we must pronounce theworst sentence, which is--Go Free.'
"When he said the words I heard the elaborate iron latch with which Ihad struggled, automatically unlock itself: and then, far down the darkpassages I had passed, I heard the heavy street-door shifting its ownbolts backwards.
"'It is vain to ask for mercy; you must go free,' said the smiling man.'Henceforth a hair shall slay you like a sword, and a breath shall biteyou like an adder; weapons shall come against you out of nowhere; andyou shall die many times.' And with that he was swallowed once more inthe wall behind; and I went out into the street."
Cray paused; and Father Brown unaffectedly sat down on the lawn andbegan to pick daisies.
Then the soldier continued: "Putnam, of course, with his jolly commonsense, pooh-poohed all my fears; and from that time dates his doubt ofmy mental balance. Well, I'll simply tell you, in the fewest words, thethree things that have happened since; and you shall judge which of usis right.
"The first happened in an Indian village on the edge of the jungle,but hundreds of miles from the temple, or town, or type of tribes andcustoms where the curse had been put on me. I woke in black midnight,and lay thinking of nothing in particular, when I felt a faint ticklingthing, like a thread or a hair, trailed across my throat. I shrank backout of its way, and could not help thinking of the words in the temple.But when I got up and sought lights and a mirror, the line across myneck was a line of blood.
"The second happened in a lodging in Port Said, later, on our journeyhome together. It was a jumble of tavern and curiosity-shop; and thoughthere was nothing there remotely suggesting the cult of the Monkey, itis, of course, possible that some of its images or talismans were insuch a place. Its curse was there, anyhow. I woke again in the dark witha sensation that could not be put in colder or more literal words thanthat a breath bit like an adder. Existence was an agony of extinction;I dashed my head against walls until I dashed it against a window; andfell rather than jumped into the garden below. Putnam, poor fellow, whohad called the other thing a chance scratch, was bound to take seriouslythe fact of finding me half insensible on the grass at dawn. But I fearit was my mental state he took seriously; and not my story.
"The third happened in Malta. We were in a fortress there; and as ithappened our bedrooms overlooked the open sea, which almost came up toour window-sills, save for a flat white outer wall as bare as the sea.I woke up again; but it was not dark. There was a full moon, as I walkedto the window; I could have seen a bird on the bare battlement, ora sail on the horizon. What I did see was a sort of stick or branchcircling, self-supported, in the empty sky. It flew straight in at mywindow and smashed the lamp beside the pillow I had just quitted. It wasone of those queer-shaped war-clubs some Eastern tribes use. But it hadcome from no human hand."
Father Brown threw away a daisy-chain he was making, and rose with awistful look. "Has Major Putnam," he asked, "got any Eastern curios,idols, weapons and so on, from which one might get a hint?"
"Plenty of those, though not much use, I fear," replied Cray; "but byall means come into his study."
As they entered they passed Miss Watson buttoning her gloves for church,and heard the voice of Putnam downstairs still giving a lecture oncookery to the cook. In the Major's study and den of curios they camesuddenly on a third party, silk-hatted and dressed for the street,who was poring over an open book on the smoking-table--a book which hedropped rather guiltily, and turned.
Cray introduced him civilly enough, as Dr Oman, but he showed suchdisfavour in his very face that Brown guessed the two men, whetherAudrey knew it or not, were rivals. Nor was the priest whollyunsympathetic with the prejudice. Dr Oman was a very well-dressedgentleman indeed; well-featured, though almost dark enough for anAsiatic. But Father Brown had to tell himself sharply that one should bein charity even with those who wax their pointed beards, who have smallgloved hands, and who speak with perfectly modulated voices.
Cray seemed to find something specially irritating in the smallprayer-book in Oman's dark-gloved hand. "I didn't know that was in yourline," he said rather rudely.
Oman laughed mildly, but without offence. "This is more so, I know," hesaid, laying his hand on the big book he had dropped, "a dictionary ofdrugs and such things. But it's rather too large to take to church."Then he closed the larger book, and there seemed again the faintesttouch of hurry and embarrassment.
"I suppose," said the priest, who seemed anxious to change the subject,"all these spears and things are from India?"
"From everywhere," answered the doctor. "Putnam is an old soldier, andhas been in Mexico and Australia, and the Cannibal Islands for all Iknow."
"I hope it was not in the Cannibal Islands," said Brown, "that he learntthe art of cookery." And he ran his eyes over the stew-pots or otherstrange utensils on the wall.
At this moment the jolly subject of their conversation thrust hislaughing, lobsterish face into the room. "Come along, Cray," he cried."Your lunch is just coming in. And the bells are ringing for those whowant to go to church."
Cray slipped upstairs to change; Dr Oman and Miss Watson betookthemselves solemnly down the street, with a string of other churchgoers;but Father Brown noticed that the doctor twice looked back andscrutinized the house; and even came back to the corner of the street tolook at it again.
The priest looked puzzled. "He can't have been at the dustbin," hemuttered. "Not in those clothes. Or was he there earlier today?"
Father Brown, touching other people, was as sensitive as a barometer;but today he seemed about as sensitive as a rhinoceros. By no sociallaw, rigid or implied, could he be supposed to linger round the lunchof the Anglo-Indian friends; but he lingered, covering his position withtorrents of amusing but quite needless conversation. He was the morepuzzling because he did not seem to want any lunch. As one after anotherof the most exquisitely balanced kedgerees of curries, accompanied withtheir appropriate vintages, were laid before the other two, he onlyrepeated that it was one of his fast-days, and munched a piece of breadand sipped and then left untasted a tumbler of cold water. His talk,however, was exuberant.
"I'll tell you what I'll do for you," he cried--, "I'll mix you a salad!I can't eat it, but I'll mix it like an angel! You've got a lettucethere."
"Unfortunately it's the only thing we have got," answered thegood-humoured Major. "You must remember that mustard, vinegar, oil andso on vanished with the cruet and the burglar."
"I know," replied Brown, rather vaguely. "That's what I've always beenafraid would happen. That's why I always carry a cruet-stand about withme. I'm so fond of salads."
And to the amazement of the two men he took a pepper-pot out of hiswaistcoat pocket and put it on the table.
"I wonder why the burglar wanted mustard, too," he went on, taking amustard-pot from another pocket. "A mustard plaster, I suppose. Andvinegar"--and producing that condiment--"haven't I heard something aboutvinegar and brown paper? As for oil, which I think I put in my left--"
His garrulity was an instant arrested; for lifting his eyes, he saw whatno one else saw--the black figure of Dr Oman standing on the sunlitlawn and looking steadily into the room. Before he could quite recoverhimself Cray had cloven in.
"You're an astounding card," he said, staring. "I shall come and hearyour sermons, if they're as amusing as your manners." His voice changeda little, and he leaned back in his chair.
> "Oh, there are sermons in a cruet-stand, too," said Father Brown, quitegravely. "Have you heard of faith like a grain of mustard-seed; orcharity that anoints with oil? And as for vinegar, can any soldiersforget that solitary soldier, who, when the sun was darkened--"
Colonel Cray leaned forward a little and clutched the tablecloth.
Father Brown, who was making the salad, tipped two spoonfuls of themustard into the tumbler of water beside him; stood up and said in anew, loud and sudden voice--"Drink that!"
At the same moment the motionless doctor in the garden came running, andbursting open a window cried: "Am I wanted? Has he been poisoned?"
"Pretty near," said Brown, with the shadow of a smile; for the emetichad very suddenly taken effect. And Cray lay in a deck-chair, gasping asfor life, but alive.
Major Putnam had sprung up, his purple face mottled. "A crime!" he criedhoarsely. "I will go for the police!"
The priest could hear him dragging down his palm-leaf hat from the pegand tumbling out of the front door; he heard the garden gate slam. Buthe only stood looking at Cray; and after a silence said quietly:
"I shall not talk to you much; but I will tell you what you want toknow. There is no curse on you. The Temple of the Monkey was either acoincidence or a part of the trick; the trick was the trick of a whiteman. There is only one weapon that will bring blood with that merefeathery touch: a razor held by a white man. There is one way of makinga common room full of invisible, overpowering poison: turning on thegas--the crime of a white man. And there is only one kind of club thatcan be thrown out of a window, turn in mid-air and come back to thewindow next to it: the Australian boomerang. You'll see some of them inthe Major's study."
With that he went outside and spoke for a moment to the doctor. Themoment after, Audrey Watson came rushing into the house and fell onher knees beside Cray's chair. He could not hear what they said to eachother; but their faces moved with amazement, not unhappiness. The doctorand the priest walked slowly towards the garden gate.
"I suppose the Major was in love with her, too," he said with a sigh;and when the other nodded, observed: "You were very generous, doctor.You did a fine thing. But what made you suspect?"
"A very small thing," said Oman; "but it kept me restless in church tillI came back to see that all was well. That book on his table was a workon poisons; and was put down open at the place where it stated thata certain Indian poison, though deadly and difficult to trace, wasparticularly easily reversible by the use of the commonest emetics. Isuppose he read that at the last moment--"
"And remembered that there were emetics in the cruet-stand," said FatherBrown. "Exactly. He threw the cruet in the dustbin--where I found it,along with other silver--for the sake of a burglary blind. But if youlook at that pepper-pot I put on the table, you'll see a small hole.That's where Cray's bullet struck, shaking up the pepper and making thecriminal sneeze."
There was a silence. Then Dr Oman said grimly: "The Major is a long timelooking for the police."
"Or the police in looking for the Major?" said the priest. "Well,good-bye."
The Wisdom of Father Brown Page 11