THE INVISIBLE MAN.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XXXIX, Issue 10719, 18 March 1911, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE INVISIBLE MAN.

(By G. K. Chesterton.;

In the cool blue twilight of two steep streets in Camden Town tile :-hop atthe corner, a cojiteitinner's, glowed like the butt of a cigar. One should lather say, perhaps, like- the butt of a firework, tor tii" light was of many colors and some complexity, broken up by many mirrors and dancing on many gilt- and gayly colored cakes and sweetmeats. Against this one liery glass were glu< d tlie noses of many gutter-snipes. i,,r tile chocolate.-; were all wrapped in tho.-e rid and gold and green. metallic colors which are almost better than cliocolate itself; and. the huge white wedding cake in the window was .somehow at once remote and satisfying, just a.s if the whole .North Pole were good to eat. Such rainbow provocations would naturally collect the youth of the neighborhood up to the ages of ten or twelve; but this corner was also attractive to youth at a later stage—and a young man, not less than twenty-four, was staring into the same shop window. To .him, also/ the shop was of fiery charm, ■: but-this attraction' was not wholly to 'be explained by chocdlates —which,' however, 'he was far. from despising. • He was a tall, brtrly red-haired .young man, with a resolute face but a listless maimer. He carried under * his' arm" a flat, gray portfolio of black-and-white .sketche% which lie had sold with more or less success to publishers ever since his uncle—who was an admiral —had disinherited liim for Socialism, because of a lecture which he had delivered against that economic theory. His name was John Turnbilll Angus. Entering .at last,' he walked through the confectioner's shop into the black room, which was 1 sort of pastry-cook restaurant, merely raising his hat to the young lady who was seizing there. She was a dark, elegant, alert girl in black, with a high color and very quick dark - eyes;'and after the Ordinary interval she followed him into the inner room to take his order. His order was evidently a usual one. • "I want, please," he said, with precision, "one halfpenny bun and a small cup of black coffee." An instant be- 1 fore the girl could turn away he added, "Also, 1 want you to marry me." The young lady of the shop stiffened suddenly and said, with a snap -of her eyes: "Those are jokes I don't allow." The red-haired young man lifted gray ' eyes of an unexpected gravity. ( "Really and truly," he said, "it's as serious—as serious as the halfpenny bun. It is expensive, like the bun; one pays for it. It is indigestible, like , the bun. It hurts." . The dark young lady had never taken '] her dark eyes off him, but seemed to j be studying him with almost tragic ex- j aotitude. At the end of her scrutiny ] she had something like the shadow of , a smile and she sat down in a chair. c "Don't you think," observed Angus j absently, "that it's rather cruel to eat s these halfpenny hnns? . They might grow up into penny buns. I shall give j up these brutal sports when we. are £ married." 5 The dark young lady rose from her chair and walked to the window, evi-. f dently in a state of strong but not unsympathetic cogitation. When at last . she. swung round again, with an air of f resolution, she was bewildered to ob- j serve that the young man was carefully laying out on the table various s objects out of the*shop window. They j included a pyramid of highly colored c sweets, several plates of sandwiches, the c two decanters containing that mysteri- £ ous port and sherry which are peculiar { to pastry cooks. In the middle of this neat arrangement he had carefully let £ down the enormous -load of white T sugared cake which had been the huge ornament of the window. s "What- on earth are you doing?" she ■ asked. s "Duty, my dear Laura," he began. ~ "Oh, for the Lord's sake, stop a \ minute," she cried, "and don't talk to me in that way! I mean, what is all v that?" i

"A ceremonial meal. Miss Hope." "And what is that?" she asked impatiently, pointing to the- towering mountain of sugar. "The wedding cake, Mrs Angus," he said.

The girl marched to that article, removed it with some clatter and put it buck in the shop window; she then returned and, putting her elegant elbows 011 the table, regarded the young man not unfavorably but- with considerable exasperation. "You don't give me any time to think," she said. 'Tin not such a fool," he answered; •that's my Christian humility." She was still looking at him, but she had grown considerably graver behind tin' smile. "Mr Angus," she said steadily, "before there is a minute more of this nonsense I must tell you something about myself ns shortly as I can." • Delighted!" replied Angus gravely. "Yon might tell me something about myself. too, while you are about it." "Oh. do hold your tongue and listen:" she said. "It's nothing that I'm ashamed of and it isn't even anything that I'm specially sorry about; 'nit what would you say if there were something that is no business of mine and yet is my nightmare?" " l"ii that case." said the man seri"l should suggest that you bring hack the cake." "Well, you must listen to the'story rir-t." said Laura persistently. "To begin with, I must tell you that my lather owned the inn called the ' Red Fish.' at Sudbury, and I used to servo puple ill the bar." I have often-wondered." lie said, ■ -v.hy there was a kind of Christian air about this one confectioner's shop." "S;:uimry is a sleepy, grassy little iiole in the eastern counties and the i.iily kind of people who ever came to the' ' Red Fish' were occasional commercial travellers; and, for the rest, the most nwful people you can see, only voifve never seen them. 1 mean little loiingy men,- who had just enough to hw on and had nothing to do but l'an about ill bar-rooms and bet on horses, in had clothes that were just too good for them. Even these >vr, tched young rotters were not very common at, our house; but there were t>.o of them that were a lot too com111oi;—cemino.n in every sort of way. Tin-v both lived on money of their own, an.! wine wearisomely idle and over-(lies-eil. Yet I was half sorry, for them, because I half believed they slunk into our little empty bar because each < rii in had a slight deformity—the >ort o!' thing that some yokels laugh a r . It wasn't exactly a deformity "iiher: it was more an oddity. One of th-in .\;\s a startlingly small man, : : oi:t>-!'iing like a dwarf, or at least like a jorkev. He was not at all jockeyish '■> look at. though: he had a round Mao!-: head and a well-trimmed black bright eyes like a bird's; lie i.iiLil'il money in his pockets; he ]■''iiiioil :i great gold watcli-chain: and • ii. ver turned up except dressed just too much like a gentleman to be one. lie was no fool, though—though a; inxil idler: lie was curiously clever at :! kirn's el' things that couldn't be of i slightest use: a sort of impromptu "••oiuring—making fifteen matches set siv to each other like a regular firework ; '•r cutting a banana or some such thing •■■'_'■ a dancing doll. His name was Kaiore Smythe. I can see him still, «:i!i his little dark face just coining "o the counter, making a jumping !m>: _aroo out of five cigars. " i'i,e other fellow was more silent nii.ro ordinary; but somehow he ' i ii'ia d me much more than poor little vthe. He was very tall and slight. ;i'id light-haired; his nose had a h;gn ' :dg" and he might almost have been handsome in a spectral sort of way; ■01: he had one of the most appalling flllillls ] have ever seen or heard of. •hen lie huike.l straight at you, yon didn't know where yqu were yourself, ( lot alone what lie was looking at. I i'ln' v this sort of disfigurement omb'lteieil the poor chap a iittlc; for. though Smythe was ready to show off his monkey tricks anywhere, James V, elkin—that was the squinting man's name—never did anything except look in our bar parlor and go for great walks by himself in the flat gray country all round. All the same, I think Smythe, too. was a little sensitive about being so small, though he carried it off more, nnartlv. And so it was that I was really puzzled, as well as startled and vorv sorry, when they both offered to marry me in the same week. "Well, I did what I've since"thought V 'n S , ? or ' ,a P s a s i'b' thing. But, after all, these freaks were my friends in a ft'ay; and I had a horror of their think-

ins I refused them for the real reason, which was' that they were so impossibly ugly. So 1 made up .some gas of another «ort, about never meaning to marry any one who hadn't carved his way in die world. 1 said It was a point ci principle wiili me not to live on money that was just inherited, I'ke t!i■ its. T\.rj days after i iiad talked in this wild, well-meaning sort of- way t];.- whole trouble bewail. The first rh;:::i 1 heard Mas that both of them had ginv oii' to svk iin-ir fortunes, as if r)i"> were in some silly fairy tale. "Wei!. I've never seen either of them i'r. en i hat day to ihis. But I've had two letters from the little man called Smythe; and really they were rather exeil iny;." "Kver heard of the other man f" asked Angus. "No ; iie never wrote," said the girl after an instant's hesitation. "Smythe's

i first letter wa.s simply to say that he ■ had started out walking With Welkin [ to London; but Welkin was such a , good walker, that the.littlo'man dropped out of it arid-took a rest by the road- ; side. He happened to be picked up by some travelling show; and, partly be- ' cause he was nearly a dwarf aiid partly because he was. really a clever little wretch, he got on quite well in. the show- business and was soon sent up to the Aquarium to do some tricks that I forget. That was his first ' letter. His second was much more of a startler and 1 got it only last week." The man caljed Angus emptied his coffee-cup and regarded her with mild .and patient eyes. Her own mouth'took a slight twist of laughter as she resumed: "I suppose you'.ve seen on the hoardings all about ' Smythe's Silent Service'—or you must be the only person who hasn't." Oh, T don't know much about it; it's some clockwork invention for doing all the housework by machinory. You-Know the sort of -thing. ' Press a button —a butler who never drinks.'. ' Turn a ■ lihudle—ten honse,maids who never "flirt.' You must-have seen the advertisements. Well, whatever theje machines are, they arc making pots of money; and they are making .it . ail for that little imp whom I knew down in Sudbury. I can't help feeling pleased the poor little chap has fallen on-his feet; but the plain fact is, I'm in terror of his turning up any minute and telling me he's carved his way- in the world—as he certainly has." "And the other man?!' repeated Angus, with a sort of obstinate quietude. Laura Hope got to -her feet -suddenly. "My friend," she said, "I think you are a witch. Yes; you are quite right. I have not seen a line of the other man's writing and I have no more notion than the dead of what or where he is; but it is by him that I am frightened. It is he who is all about by past. It is he who has driven_ me half mad. Indeed, I think he has driven me mad; for I have felt him where he could not have been and I have heard his voice when he could not have spoken." "Well, my dear," said the young man cheerfully, "if he were Satan himself he is done for now you have told somebody. One goes mad all alone, old girl. But when was it you fancied you felt and heard our squinting friend?" "I heard James Welkin laugh as plainly as I hear you speak," 6aid the girl steadily. "There was nobody there, for I stood just outside the shop at the corner and could see d.own both streets at once. I had forgotten how he laughed, though his laugh was as odd as his squint. I had not thought of him for nearly a year; but it's a solemn truth tbat, a few seconds later, the first- letter came from his rival."

"Did you ever make the spectre speak or squeak, or anything?" asked Angus, with some interest.

Laura suddenly shuddered and then said, with an unshaken voice: "Yes. Just when I had finished reading the second letter from Isidore. Smythe, announcing success —just then—l heard Welkin say, 'He slia'n't have you though!' It was quite plain—as if he were in the room. It is awful. I think I must be mad."

"If you really were mad," said the young man, "you would {liink j'ou must be sVi ne. But ct-rt'a iirty thercr-seems t<r me to be something a little rum about this unseen, gentleman. Two heads are better than one —I spare you allusions to any other organs —and really, if you would allow me, as a sturdy, practical man, to bring back the wedding cake out of the window "

Even as lie spoke, there was a sort of steely shriek in the street outside and a" small motor, driven at devilish speed, shot up to the door of the shop and stuck there. In the same flash of time a small man in a sliiny top liat stood stamping in the outer room. Angus, who had hitherto maintained hilarious ease from motives of mental hvgiene. revealed the strain of Lis soul by striding abruptly out of the inner room and confronting the newcomer. A glance at him was quite sufficient to confirm the savage guesswork of a man in love. This very dapper but dwarfish figure, with the spike of black beard carried insolently forward, the clever, nnrestful eyes, the neat- but very nervous fingers, could be no other than the man just described to him: Isidore Smythe, who made dolls out of bananaskins and match-boxes; Isidore Smythe, who made millions out of undrinkinu; butlers and nnflirting housemaids of metal. For a moment the two men, instinctively understanding each other's air of possession, looked at each other with that curious cold generosity which is the soul of rivalry and goes down to tlie roots of the soul.

Mr Smytlie, however, made 110 allu sion to the ultimate ground of tlieii antagonism, but said simply and explo sively: "Has Miss Hope seen that thin< on the window?" "On the window?" repeated the star ing Angus. . "There's no "time to explain otnei tilings," said the small millionain shortly. "There's some tomfoolery go ing on here that has to be investi >ate.d." He pointed his polished walking-sticl it the window recently depleted by tli< iridal preparations of Mr Angus; anc ;hat gentleman was astonished to see ilong the front of the >glass, a long .trip of paper pasted, which had cer ;ainly not been on the window whei le had looked through it some time lefore. Following the energetic Smytli< mtside into the street, he found thai ;omo yard and a half of stamp-papei lad been carefully gummed along th< rlaas outside, and on this was writter 11 struggly characters: "If you marrj Smvthe, he will die." "Laura," said Angus, putting his big •ed head into the shop, "you're nol nad." "It's the writing of that fellow \> elan," said Smytlie gruffly. "I haven'l :een liim for years, but he's alwayf lothering me. "Five times in the lasi ortnight lie's had threatening letter: eft at my flat; and I can't even find >ut who leaves them, let alone if i 1 s "Welkin himself. The porter of the lats swears that no suspicious cliaraccrs have been r seen; and here he hip lasted up a sort of dado on a public hop-window, while the people in the hop— : —" "Quito so," said Angus modestly—'while the people in the shop were laving tea. Well, sir, I can .assure •on I appreciate your common-sense ir loaling so directly with the matter. Wc ran talk about other things afterward riie fellow cannot be very far off yet or I swear there was no paper there rlien I went last to the window, ter >r fifteen minutes ago. On the othei land, he's too far off to be chased, as re don't even know the direction. II .•ou'll take my advice, Mr Smytlie •ou'll put this at once in the hands >f some energetic inquiry man, private •atlier than public. I know an ex :remely clever fellow who has set u{ n" business five minutes from here ir :our car. His name is Flambeau and >lumgli his yontli was a bit stormy, lie': i strictly honest man now and his braiiii ire worth money. He lives in Luck low Mansions, Hampstead." "That is'odd,".said the little man irehing his black eyebrows. "I live nyself, in Himylaya Mansions, rounc ;he corner. Perhaps you might can ;o come with me. I can go to' m; •ooms and sort out these queer Welkii locuments while you run round an< ret your friend the detective." "You are very good," said Angu: jolitely. "The sooner we act the bet :er -" .... Both men. with a queer kind of impromptu fairness, took the same sort if formal farewell of the lady, and both jumped into the brisk little ear. •\s Smytlie took the handles and they

turned the great corner of the street, Angus was amused to see a gigantesgue poster of "'Smythe's Silent Service," with a picture of a. huge headless iron doll carrying a saucepan, with the legend, "A cook who is never cross." "1 use. them in my own flat," said the little black-bearded man, laughing, "partly for advertisement and partly

for real convenience. Honestly, and all above-board, those big clockwork dolls of mine do bring you coals or claret or a timetable quicker than any live servants I've ever known —if you know which knob to press. But I'll never deny, between ourselves, that such .servants have their disadvantages too." "Indeed?" said Angus. "Is there something they can't do?" "Yes," said Smythe coolly: "they can't tell me. who left those threatening letters at my flat."

The man's motor wa.s small and swift like himself; in fact, like his domestic service, it wa.s of his own invention. If lie was an advertising quack he was one who believed in his own wares. The«sense of something tiny and flying was accentuated as tiiey swept up long white curves of road in the dead but open daylight of evening. Soon the white curves came sharper and dizzier; they were, upon ascending spirals, as they say in the- modern religions. For, indeed, they were cresting a. corner of London'which is almost as precipitous as Edinburgh, if not quite so picturesque. Terrace rose above-ter-race, and the special tower of r flats they sought rose above them all to almost Egyptian height, gilt by'the level sunset. " The change, as they turned the corner and entered the crescent known as Himylaya Mansions, w,as as abrupt. its the opening of a : window; for they found that pile of flats sitting above London as above a green sea of slate. Opposite to the Mansions, on tile other 1 side of the gravel crescent, was a bushy inclosure, more like a steep hedge or dyke than a garden, and some way below that ran a'strip of artificial water a sort of canal, like the moat of that embowered fortress. As the car swept round the crescent it passed,, at one corner, the stray stall of a man selling chestnuts; -and right away, at the other end of the curve, | Angus could see a dim blue policeman walking .slowly. These were the only human shapes in that high' suburban solitude, but lie had an irrational, sense that they expressed the speechless poetry of London. He felt as if - they ; were figures in a story. The little car shot up to'the right house like a bullet and like a bombshell' shot out its owner, who was immedi- ■ ately. inquiring'of a tall commissionnaire : in shining braid, and a short porter in •; shirt sleeves, whether anybody pr any- - thing had been seeking his apartments'. . He. was assured that nobody and .no- ; thing had passed these officials since his last inquiries; whereupon he and the slightly bewildered Angus were shot up in the lift like a rocket till they reached the top floor. "Just come in for a minute," said the breathless Smythe. "I want to show you those Welkin letters. Then you might run round the corner and fetch your friend." He pressed a/ button concealed in the wall and the door opened of itself. It opened on a long, commodious ante-room, of which the only arresting features, ordinarily speaking, were the rows of tall, lialf-liuman mechanical figures that stood up on both sides like tailors' dummies. Like tailors' dum-f mies they were headless; and like tailors' dummies they had a handsome unnecessary liumpiness in the shoulders and a pigeon-breasted protuberance of chest, but, barring this, they were not much more like a human figure than any automatic machine at a station that is about the human height. They had two great hooks like arms, for carrying trays, and they were painted pea-green or vermilion or black for convenience of distinction; in every other way they were only automatic machines, and nobody would" have looked twice at them. On this occasion, at least, nobody did. For between the two rows of these domestic dummies lay something more interesting than most of the mechanics of. the world. It was a white, tattered scrap of paper scrawled with red - ink, and the* agile - * inventor • had snatched it up almost as soon as the door flew open. He handed it to Angus without a word. The red ink on it actually was not dry and the message ran: "If you have been to see her today I shall kill you."

There was a .short silence, and then Isidore Smythe said quietly: "Would you like a little whisky? I rather feel as if I should." "Thank you; I should like a little Flambeau," said Angus gloomily. "This business seems to me to be getting rather grave. I'm going round at once to fetch him." "Right you are," said the other, with admirable cheerfulness. "Bring him round her© as quick as you can." As Angus closed the front door behind him he saw Smythe push back a button; -and' one of the clockwork iirages glided from its place and slid along a groove in the floor carrying a tray with a siplion and decanter. There did seem something a trifle weird about leaving the little man alone among those dead servants, who were coming to life as the door closed.

Six steps down from Smytlie's landinig the man in sliirt-sleevs was doing something witli a pail. Angus stopped to exact a promise, fortified with u prospective bribe, that lie would remain in' that, place until his return with the detective, and keep count of any kind of stranger coming up those stairs. Dashing down to the front hall lie then laid similar charges of vigilance on the commissionaire at the front door, from whom he learned the simplifying circumstance that there was 110 back door. Not content with this, he captured the floating policeman and induced him to stand opposite the entrance and watch it; and finally lie paused an instant for a pennyworth of chestnuts and an inquiry as to the probable length , of the merchant's stay in the neighborhood. The chestnut seller, turning up ;the collar of his coat, told him he should probably be moving shortly, as lie thought it was going to snow;. Indeed, the evening was growing grey and bitter; but Angus, with all his eloquence, proceeded to nail the chestnut man to his post. "Keep yourself warm on your own chestnuts," he said earnestly. Eat up your whole stock; I'll make it worth your while. I'll giy° y° u a sovereign if you'll wait here till I come back and then tell me whether any man, woman, or child Has gone into.that house where the commissionaire is standing. He then walked away smartly, with a last look at the besieged tower. 'l've'made a ring round that room anvhow," he said. "They' can t all four of them be Mr Welkin s accomplices." Lucknow Mansions were, so -to speak, on a lower platform of that hill 01 houses of which Himylaya Mansions might be called the peak. Mr Flambeau's semi-official flat was on the ground floor and presented, in every i way, a marked contrast to the American machinery and cold hotel-lika luxury of the 'flat of the silent service. Flambeau, who was a friend of Angus, received him in a rococo artistic den behind liis office of which the ornaments were sabres, harquebuses, Eastern curiosities; flasks of Italian -wine,. savage cooking pots, a plumy Persian cat and. a small dusty-looking Rontan Catholic priest, who looked particularly out ot PlS "This is my friend, Father Brown," said Flambeau. "I've often wanted you to' meet him. Splendid weartner, this— a little cold for Southerners like "''''Yes; I think it will keep clear," said Angus, sitting down on a violetstriped Eastern ottoman. "No,"- said; the 'priest quietly; it has begun to snow.' ■ : And,, indeed, as he spoke, the. first few flakes foreseen by the man of chestnuts bqgan to . drift across the darkening windowpane. ' ', "Well," said Angus heavily, I m afraid I've come on business—and rather jumpy business at that. The fact is, Flambeau, within a stone s chuck of your house is a fellow wlio badly wants your help; he's perpetually being haunted-and threatened by an invisible enemy—a scoundrel whom nobody has ever seen." As Angus proceeded to tell the wholo tale of Smytlie and Welkin, beginning with Laura's story and going on with his own, the supernatural laugh at tlio corner of two empty streets, the strange, distinct words spoken in an empty room. Flambeau grew more and more vividly concerned and tlio little priest seemed to be left out of it. like a piece of furni-

ture. When it came to the scribbled stamp-paper pasted oil the window Flambeau rose, seeming to fill the room with his huge shoulders. "If you don't mind," he said, "I think you had better tell me the rest on the nearest road to this man's house.' It strikes me, somehow, that there .is no time to be lost."

"Delighted!" said Angus, rising also; "though he's safe enough for the present, tor I've set four men to watch the only hole to his burrow." They turned out into the street, she small priest trundling after, them with the docility of a small dog. He merely said, in a dull, cheerful way, like one making conversation:. "How quickly the snow gets thick on the ground!" As they threaded the steep side streets, already powdered with silver, Angus finished the story; and by the time they turned into the crescent with

the towering flats he had leisure to turn his attention to the four sentinels. The chestnut seller, both before" and after receiving a sovereign, swore stubbornly that he had watched the door and seen no visitor enter. The policeman was even more emphatic. He said he.'Jiad had experience of crooks' of all kinds, in top hats and in rags; he wasn't so green as -to expect suspicious characters to look suspicious; he looked out for anybody—and, so help him,-there had been nobody. And when aIL three men gathered round the I gilded commissionaire, -who still stood smiling «*|stride of the porch, the "verdict was'more final still.

"I've got a right to ask any man, duke orrSdustman,; what he - wants in these flafe," said the genial and goldV laced giant, "and I'll swear* there's been , nobody to, ask since this gentlemen went away." '. . !. The. unimportant Father Brown, who,stood back, looking modestly .at the pavement, here ventured to say meekly : "Has nobody been up and downstairs, then, since jtlie snow. began to fall? It began, while we were all round at Flambeau's." ".Nobody's been in here, sir—you can take it from me," said the official, with beaming'authority. y.,. I "Then. I- wonder what that is?" said the priestj and he stared at the ground blankly, like a fish. ■ ... The others all looked down also; and Flambeau' used a' fierce eixclamatioii and a French' gesture. For it -was unquestionably itpue that down the middle of •the entrance guarded by the man in 'gold lace, actually between the arrogant, stfttched-. legs of that' colossus, ran a stringy pattern of grey.'footprints' stamped upon the white snow. "The invisible man!?' cried Angus in-' j voluntarily to~ his companions. v Without another word he turned and .dashed up the stairs, with Flambeau following; but Father Brown still stood ' looking abput . him in the snow-clad street as if he had lost interest in his query. ;

Flambeau' was clearly in the mood to break down the door with his big shoulder; hut the Scotchman, with more reasdn if less intuition, fumbled about on the frame of the door till he found the invisible button; and the door swung slowly open. It showed substantially the same serried interior; the hall , had growfi darker, though it was still struck here and- there with the last crimson- shafts of sunset, and one or two of the headless machines had been moved from their places _ for this or that purpose and- stood ;liere and there about the twilight plSce. The green and red of their coats were all darkened in the dusk and. their likeness to human shapes slightly increased by their very shapelessness. But in the middle of them all, exactly fwhere the paper with the red ink had' lain, there lay something that looked.;very like the red ink spilt put of its bottle. But it was not red ink. '\y

With a French combination of reason and violence, Flambeau simply said, "Murder!" and, plunging'into the flat, had explored every corner and cupboard of it in five minutes. If he expected to find a corpse he found none. Isidore Smythe -simply was not in the place, either dead or alive. After the most tearing search the two men each other in the outer hall, with streaming.faces and staring eyes. "My friend," saitf Flambeau, talking French in his excitement, "not only is your murderer invisible, but he makes invisible also the murdered man."

Angus looked round the dim room, full of dummies, and in sonie Celtic corner of liis .Scotch soul a shudder started. One of the life-size. do6ls stood immediately overshadowing the bloodstain —summoned, perhaps, by the slaiu man an instant before he fell. One of the high-shouldered hooks that served the thing for arms was a little lifted 1 and Angus had suddenly the horrid fancy that poor Smythe's own iron child had struck liim down. Matter had rebelled and these machines had killed their master. But, even so, what had they done with him? "Eaten him!" said the nightmare at his ear; and he sickened for an instant at the idea of rent human remains absorbed and crushed into all that acephalous clockwork. He recovered his mental health by a volcanic effort and said to Flambeau:

"Well, there it is. The poor fellowhas evaporated like a cloud and. left a red streak on the floor. The tale does not beloong to this world." "There is only one thing to be done, said Flambeau, "whether it belonogs. to this world or the other. I must- go down and talk to my friend." They descended, passing the man with the pail, who asseverated that ho had let no intruder pass, down to the commissionaire and the hovering chestnut man, who. rigidly reasserted thenown watchfulness. But when Angus looked round for his fourth- confirmation he could not see it; and he called out with some nervousness: "Where is the policeman?" "I bog your pardon," said Father Brown; "that is my fault. I just sent him down the road to investigate something—that I just thought worth investigating." ■ _ "Well, we want him back pretty soon," said Angus abruptly, "for the wretched man upstairs has not only been murdered but wiped out." "How?" asked the'priest. "Father," said Flambeau after a pause, "upon my soul I believe it is more in your department than mine. No friend'or foe has entered the house, but Smvthe is gone, as if stolen by the. fairies.*. If that is not supernatural As he spoke they were all .checked b3' an unusual sight : the big blue policeman came round tb? corner of the crescent, running. He came straight up to Brown. ± j "You're right, sir," he panted; "they've just found popr Mr Smythe s body in the canal down below. < . Angus put his hand wildly to Ins head. "Did he run down and drown himself?" he asked. ■ _ „ "He never came down, 111 swear, said the constable; "and he wasn t drowned. either, for lie died of a great stab over the heart." , - 4 'And yet you saw no one enter r said Flambeau in a grave voice. _ '■ " "Let us walk down the road a little, said the priest. ; , - As they reached the otheF end or. the crescent he observed; abruptly: "Stupid of me! I forgot to ask the. policeman something. I wonder if they found a light brown sack." I .."Why a light brown sack?" asked Angus,»astonished. . ' , r "Because if it was any other colored sack tlic case must, begin over again, said Father Brown; "but if it was a liglit brown sack —-why, the; case is •finished;" - .. . "I am pleased to hear it, said Angus, with hearty ;irony. "It hnsn t begun, so far as lam concerned." . "You must tell tis all about it, said Flambeau, with a strange, heavy simplicity/like a child. Unconsciously they-were walking with quickening steps down the long sweep of road on the other side of the high crescent, Father Brown leading briskly, though in silence. At last he said, with an almost touching vagueness: "Well, I'm afraid you'll think it is prosy. \\ e always begin at the abstract end of things ancl you can't begin this story anywhere else. ... "Have you ever noticed this- —that people never answer what you say? They answer what you mean —or what they think you mean. Suppose one lady savs to another in a country house. 'ls anybody staying with you?'—the lady doesn't answer, 'Yes; the butler, the three footmen, the parlormaid, and so on,' though the parlormaid may be in the room or the butler behind her chair. She says, 'There is nobody staying with us'-—meaning nobody of the sort you mean. But suppose a doctor,

inquiring into an epidemic, asks, 'AYho is staying in the house ?'—then the lady will remember the butler, parlormaid, and the rest. All language is used like that ; you never get a question answered

literally, even when you get it answered truly. When those four quite honest men said that no man'had gone into the Mansions they did not really mean thatno man had gone into them. They meant 110 man whom they could suspectof being your man. A man did go into the house and did come out of it, but they never noticed liim."

"An invisible man? 7 ' inquired Angus, raising his red eyebrows. "A mentally invisible man," said Father Brown. : . A minute or two after he resumed in the same unassuming voice,'like a. man thinking his way: "Of course you can't thing of such a man until you do think of him. That's . where his cleverness conies in. But.T'came to think of him '.through two or three little things in the tale Mr Angus told us. First, there was the fact that this Welkin went for long' walks. And then there was the vast Jot of stamp-paper on the window;, And then, most of all, there were the two things'the young lady said—things that -couldn't be true. -Don't" get . annoyed," lie added hastily, noting a sudden movement of the Scotchman's head ; . "She thought they were true, all right; but they couldn't be true., A person can't be quite alone in a street a second before she receives a letter. She can't be quite alone, in a street when she starts reading a letter slieV just received. There must be somebody pretty near her; he must be mentally invisible." .

"Why. must there be somebody near her?" asked Angus. Because," said Father Brown,, "barring carrier-pigeons, . somebody must have brought her the letter." . "Do you really mean to say," asked Flambeau, with energy, "that Welkin . carried; his-rival's letter to his lady?" 'Yes," said the priest. "Welkin carried liis rival's letters to his lady.' You see, lio had. to." "Oh;-I can't- stand much more of this," exploded.-Flambeau. "Who is this fellow? What does.he look like? What is the usual get-up of a mentally invisible man ?" , "He is dressed rather handsomely in red, blue and gold," replied the priest promptly, with precision; "and in this striking and even showy costume he entered Himylaya Mansions under-six-teen human eyes; he killed" Smythe in cold >blood and came down into the street again, carrying the dead body in his arms—■ —" "Reverend sir," cried Angus, standing still, "are you raving mad, or am I?" , "You are not, man," said Brown — "only a little unobservant. You. have not noticed such a man as this,, for example.-' He took three quick strides forward and put his hand on the shoulder of an ordinary passing postman, who had bustled by them unnoticed under the shades of the trees. "Nobody ever notices postmen, somehow," he said thoughtfully ; "yet they have passions like other men and even carry large bags where a small corpse can be stowed quite easily." The postman, instead of turning naturally, had ducked and tumbled against the garden fence. He was a lean, fairbearded man of very ordinary appearance ; but, as lie turned an alarmed face over his shoulder, all three men were ■fixed with an almost fiendish squint. Flambeau went back to his sabres, purple rugs and Persian cat, having many things to attend to. John Turnbull Angus went back to the lady at the shop, with whom that imprudent young man contrives to be extremely comfortable. But- Father Brown walked those snow-covered hills under the stars, for many hours with a murderer; and what they say to each other will never be known.