‘It sounds like a shockingnews, as you put it,’ said the priest seriously.
‘And Mr Maltravers,’ continued his medical friend, ‘was the man who was probably murdered in this very village[23]a year or two ago; supposed to have been hit on the head by one of the simple villagers.’
‘I remember you told me,’ said Father Brown. ‘The doctor, or some doctor, said he had probably died of being hit on the head with a club.’
Dr Mulborough was silent for a moment frowning, and then said sharply:
‘Dog doesn’t eat dog, and doctors don’t bite doctors, not even when they are mad doctors. I wouldn’t cast any reflection on the previous doctor in Potter’s Pond, if I could avoid it[24]; but I know you are really safe for secrets[25]. And, speaking in confidence[26], my predecessor at Potter’s Pond was a great fool; a drunken old idiot and absolutely incompetent. I was asked, originally by the Chief Constable of the County (for I’ve lived a long time in the county, though only lately in the village), to look into the whole case; the evidence and papers of the investigation and so on. And there simply isn’t any question about it[27]. Maltravers may have been hit on the head; he was a traveling actor passing through the place; and Potter’s Pond probably thinks it is all in the natural order that such people should be hit on the head. But whoever hit him on the head did not kill him[28]; it is simply impossible for such injury to do more than knock him out for a few hours. But lately I have managed to turn up some other facts concerning the matter; and the result of it is pretty dark.’
He sat looking at the landscape as it fell past the window, and then said more sharply:‘I am coming down here, and asking your help, because there’s going to be an exhumation. They think that he has been poisoned.’
‘And here we are at the station,’ said Father Brown happily. ‘I suppose your idea is that poisoning the poor man would be among the household tasks of his wife.’
‘Well, there never seems to have been anyone else here[29] who had any connection with him,’ said Mulborough, as they got off the train. ‘At least there is one strange old friendof his, a broken-down actor, hanging around; but the police and the local lawyer seem sure thathe is an unbalanced gossiper; with some obsession on an argument with an actor who was his enemy; but who certainly wasn’t Maltravers. A repeating case, I should say, and certainly nothing to do with the problem of the poison.’
Father Brown had heard the story. But he knew that he never knew a story until he knew the characters in the story[30]. He spent the next two or three days visitingthe main actors of the drama. His first interview with the strange widow was short but bright. He brought away from it at least two facts; one that Mrs Maltravers sometimes talked in a way which the Victorian village would call sarcastic; and, second, that unlike few actresses, she happened to belong to his own church[31].
He was right not to figure out from this alone that she was innocent of the said crime. He knew well that his old church had several notable poisoners. But he easily understood its connection, in this sort of case, with a certain intellectual liberty which these Puritans would call immorality; and which would certainly seem to them to be almost cosmopolitan. Anyhow, he was sure she could count for a great deal, whether for good or evil. Her brown eyes were brave to the point of battle, and her mouth, playful and rather large, suggested that her purposes touching the priest’s poetical son, whatever they might be[32], were of pretty deep nature.
The priest’s poetical son himself, asked during vast village scandal on a bench outside the Blue Lion, gave an impression of low mood. Hurrel Horner, a son of the Rev.[33] Samuel Horner, was a strong young man in a light grey suit with a touch of something extravagant in a light green tie, in other casesmainly notable for his brown hair and a permanent grimace on his face. But Father Brown had a way with him in getting people to explain at length why they didn’t want to say anything. About the general gossiping in the village, the young man began to curse freely. He even added a little gossip of his own. He told with anger about some past relationship between the Puritan Miss Carstairs-Carew and Mr Carver the lawyer. He even accused that legal character of having attempted to force himself[34]to befriend with Mrs Maltravers. But when he came to speak of his own father, whether out of good manners or loyalty, or because his anger was too deep for speech, he said only a few words.
‘Well, there it is. He holds to the opinion that she is anadventuress; a sort of barmaid with golden hair. I tell him she’s not; you’ve met her yourself, and you know she’s not. But he won’t even meet her. He won’t even see her in the street or look at her out of a window. An actress would make his house and even his holy presence dirty. If he is called a Puritan he says he’s proud to be a Puritan.’
‘Your father,’ said Father Brown, ‘is supposed to have his views respected, whatever they are; they are not views I understand very well myself[35]. But I agree he is not supposed to say anything about a lady he has never seen and then refuse even to look at her, to see if he is right. That is illogical.’
‘That’s his strongest point,’ replied the young man. ‘Not even one quick meeting. Of course, he is against my other theatrical tastes as well.’
Father Brown quickly followed up the new opening, and learnt much that he wanted to know. The young man was almost entirely into dramatic poetry. He had written tragedies in verse which had been liked by good judges. He was no fool with fear of stage; indeed he was no fool of any kind. He had some really original ideas about acting Shakespeare; it was easy to understand his having been extremely glad by finding the brilliant lady[36] at the Grange. And even the priest’s intellectual sympathy softenedthe rebelof Potter’s Pond so much that at their parting[37] he actually smiled.
It was that smile which made Father Brown realize that the young man was really unhappy. So long as he frowned, it might well have been only low spirit[38]; but when he smiled it was somehow a more real sign of sadness.
The priest continued to think about that conversation with the poet. An inner feeling told himthat the strong young man was eaten from within by some grief[39]greater even than the ordinary story of ordinary parents being a difficultyto the course of true love. It was all the more so, because there were not any other reasons. The boy already had literary and dramatic success; his books might be said to be very popular. Nor did he drink or spend away his well-earned money[40]. At his well-knownvisits at the Blue Lion he drank only one glass of light ale; and he seemed to be rather careful with his money. Father Brown thought of another possible difficulty in connection with Hurrel’s large earnings and small expenses; and his brow darkened[41].
The conversation of Miss Carstairs-Carew, on whom he called next[42], was made to paint the priest’s son in the darkest colours[43]. But because it was about him having all the vices which Father Brown was quite sure the young man did not have