The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [532]
He described the siege of the hotel; the evil atmosphere; the shabby luxury of the place; the shifty evasions of the priest; above all, that terrible voice crying without, like a wolf prowling round the house. Then, as he wrote, he heard a new sound and sat up suddenly. It was a long repeated whistle, and in his mood he hated it doubly, because it was like the signal of a conspirator and like the love - call of a bird. There followed an utter silence, in which he sat rigid; then he rose abruptly; for he had heard yet another noise. It was a faint swish followed by a sharp rap or rattle; and he was almost certain that somebody was throwing something at the window. He walked stiffly downstairs, to the floor which was now dark and deserted; or nearly deserted. For the little priest was still sitting under the orange shrub, lit by a low lamp; and still reading his book.
'You seem to be sitting up late,' he said harshly.
'Quite a dissipated character,' said Father Brown, looking up with a broad smile, 'reading Economics of Usury at all wild hours of the night.'
'The place is locked up,' said Rock.
'Very thoroughly locked up,' replied the other. 'Your friend with the beard seems to have taken every precaution. By the way, your friend with the beard is a little rattled; I thought he was rather cross at dinner.'
'Natural enough,' growled the other, 'if he thinks savages in this savage place are out to wreck his home life.'
'Wouldn't it be better,' said Father Brown, 'if a man tried to make his home life nice inside, while he was protecting it from the things outside.'
'Oh, I know you will work up all the casuistical excuses,' said the other; 'perhaps he was rather snappy with his wife; but he's got the right on his side. Look here, you seem to me to be rather a deep dog. I believe you know more about this than you say. What the devil is going on in this infernal place? Why are you sitting up all night to see it through?'
'Well,' said Father Brown patiently, 'I rather thought my bedroom might be wanted.'
'Wanted by whom?'
'As a matter of fact, Mrs Potter wanted another room,' explained Father Brown with limpid clearness. 'I gave her mine, because I could open the window. Go and see, if you like.'
'I'll see to something else first,' said Rock grinding his teeth. 'You can play your monkey tricks in this Spanish monkey - house, but I'm still in touch with civilization.' He strode into the telephone - booth and rang up his paper; pouring out the whole tale of the wicked priest who helped the wicked poet. Then he ran upstairs into the priest's room, in which the priest had just lit a short candle, showing the windows beyond wide open.
He was just in time to see a sort of rude - ladder unhooked from the window - sill and rolled up by a laughing gentleman on the lawn below. The laughing gentleman was a tall and swarthy gentleman, and was accompanied by a blonde but equally laughing lady. This time, Mr Rock could not even comfort himself by calling her laughter hysterical. It was too horribly genuine; and rang down the rambling garden - paths as she and her troubadour disappeared into the dark thickets.
Agar Rock turned on his companion a face of final and awful justice; like the Day of Judgement.
'Well, all America is going to hear of this,' he said. 'In plain words, you helped her to bolt with that curly - haired lover.'
'Yes,' said Father Brown, 'I helped her to bolt with that curly - haired lover.'
'You call yourself a minister of Jesus Christ,' cried Rock, 'and you boast of a crime.'
'I have been mixed up with several crimes,' said the priest gently. 'Happily for once this is a story without a crime. This is a simple fire - side idyll; that ends with a glow of domesticity.'
'And ends with a rope - ladder instead of a rope,' said Rock. 'Isn't she a married