THE STRANGE JUSTICE.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XXXIX, Issue 10760, 6 May 1911, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE STRANGE JUSTICE.

(By G. K. Chesterton.)

i atorniv evening of olive silver uaa s'in- in "as Father Brown, wrapped [•■' "a Itray Scotch plaid came to the ',l ~r a grav Scotch valU y and beheld ♦lie strange Castle ot (jiengyle. U stopped one end or the glen, or hoilow. Lite a blind alloy, and it looked lin.e "he end of the wprld. Rising in steep n-r,fs and spires of seagreen slau- 111 lLimanner of the old French-Scotusn chateau, it reminded an hnglishman „f the sinister steeple-haw ot witches i„ fairv tales; and the pmewoods that recked" round the green turrets looked l,v -omparison as black as numberless p kKs of ravens. This note of a dreamy, vi'most a sleepv, deviltry was 110 mere ZT r , v from the"landscape: for there did -».'t"on the place one of those clouds V pride and madness and mysterious '' i r . iv that lie more heavily on the noble houses of Scotland than on any other of the children of men. for Scotland has a double dose of M e poison called heredity—the sense of bi'oud in the aristocrat and the sense or ( -o„m in the Calvinist. The priest had snatched a day fro™ business at Glasgow to meet his friend Flambeau, the amateur detective who was at Glengyle Castle with another more formal officer, investigating the enigmas of the life and death ( 'f t he late Earl of Glengyle. That mv.itfrious person was the last representative of a race whose valor, insanity and violent cunning had made bugbears even among the sinister nobility of their nation in the sixteenth century. None was deeper m that labyrinthine ambition, in chamber within chamber of that palace of lies that was built up around Mary Queen of Srots. . The rhyme in the countryside attested the "motive and the result of their machinations candidly:

"As green sap to the simmer trees Is red gold to the Ogilvics- "

for many centuries there had never been a decent lord in Glengyle Castle: and with the Victorian era one would have thought that all ecfcentricities were exhausted. The last Glengyle, however, satisfied his tribal tradition bv doing the only thing that was left for him to do: he disappeared. I do not mean that he went abroad. By all accounts he was still in the castle if he was anywhere; bnt, though his name sas in the church register and the big red Peerage, nobody ever saw him

under the sun. Ir anv one saw him it was a solitary manservant, something between a groom and a gardener. He was so deaf that more businesslike assumed him to bo dumb, though the more penetrating I'.vl.trod him to be half-witted. A -itint. red-haired laborer, with a dogged .md chin, but quite blank blue tves. he went by the name of Israel i .V"/ and was the" one silent servant on that deserted estate. The energy with ivhi< h he dug potatoes, the regularity frith which he disappeared into the ki'.clr. n. gave people an impression that ho was providing for the meals of a sureriur and that the strange earl was still concealed in the castle. If society needed any further proof that he was there the servant persistently asserted test he was not at home. _ One morning provost and the minister —for the i;kni;vles were Presbyterian—were sumzoned to the castle. There they found -.hit the gardener, groom and cook had lidttl to his many professions that of nr. undertaker anil had nailed up his n bio master in a coffin. With how ;ch or how little further inquiry this ! fact was passed did not as yet very thinly appear; for the thing had never Vn legally investigated till Flambeau hid gone north two or three days be:':re. By then the body of Lord Glen--dt—it it was the body—had lain for ,'xe time in the little churchyard on hill.

As Father Brown passed through the :r. trarden and came under the kl<>w of the chateau the clouds were jk and the whole air damp and iiidery. Against the last string of :e isreen-gold sunset he saw a black una silhouette—a man in a chimney-

- hat. with a big spade over his : i! ler. The combination was - queerly stive of a sexton, but when Brown embercd the deaf servant who dug

■-.zincs he thought it natural enough. sr.on- something of the Scotch peasr.; ho knew the respectability that ::.ht well feel it necessary to wear Mirks" for an official inquiry; he :.iT also the economy that would not san hour's digging for that. Even : man's start as the priest went by 1 enough with the vigilraid jealousy of such a type. The irreat door was opened by Flam--II! 11l mself, win- had with him a lean i!ii. with iron-gray hair and papers in 5 hand—lnspector Craven, from Scot- ■"'! Vard. The entrance hall was

~<«!v stripped and empty, but the pale wring fares of one or two of the *:cfcprl Ogilvies looked down out of siVk periwigs anci blackening canvas. FuHuivinji them into an inner room, tither liriiwn found that the allies had "e r ;n seated at a long oak table, of *p'h their end was covered with scribVd papers, flanked with whisky and usars. Through the whole of its re--aining length it was occupied by deached object's arranged at intervals—-;sj-c;s about as inexplicable as any objwts could be. One looked like a small :eip of flittering broken glass. -\n- ' looked like a high heap of brown 'i't. A third appeared to be a plain SlCit of

"\oii seem to have a sort of geoloseal museum here," he said as he sat :^ r n. jerking his head briefly in the •wrtion of the brown dust and the 7=t:i!line fragments. r "-Not .1 geological museum," replied f 1-irr.lieaii: "say a psychological niuwim."

."Oh. come now!" cried the police 'itsctive. laughing. "Don't let's bewith such long words." "Don't you know what psychology wans?" asked Flambeau, with friend.■"surprise. "Psychology means being x jDiir rhump." "Still. 1 hardlv follow," replied tht •Sfia!.

"Well." said Flambeau, "I mean that only found out one thing aboutLcrt! (ilnngyle. He was a maniac." Tht? hlaek silhouette of Gow, with his "p hat .ind spade, passed the window, "r.ilv outlined against the darkening '*>'■ Father Brown stared passively it '• ar.'! answered. "I ran understand that there miist-

:r.v h. en something odd about the he said, "or'nc wouldn't have himself alive or been in such a nrrv to bury himself But what Eike.j you think it was lunacy?" Weil." said Flambeau, "you just 'ten to the list of things Mr Craven in the house." W, n-.'ist get a candle," said Craven "A storm is getting up and : ton dark to read."

"Have you found any candies.'" asked ffr.. -ir.iling. among vour oddities?" ■ F! . :1 raised a grave Face and " iSv i his <!nrk eyes ou his friend. That is curious too." he said. candles and not a trace of 4 '''"'-"-tick." I" t!,f rapidly darkening room and ~'pi'iiv rising wind Brown went along to where a bundle ol .wax ~ lay among the other exhibitsV 1- oirf so he bent accidentally over !. • in o; red-brown dust and a sharp ' i racked the silence. H- ! n|,p said: "Snuff!" U.' one of the candles, lit it "Trrnily. came back and stuck it in the i.; the whisky bottle. Tile unresln.lir air blowing through the crazy ? ; n i .. i, aved the long flame like ■* r '3r.r>r; and on every side «>f the castle 'v'" v iou!r| hear the miles and miles '' r "M'k pinewood sething like a black '•'a :ir..llti'l a rock.

I lii rend the inventory," began - ' r ' gravelv, picking up one of the t [ u . " inventory of what we nnd unexplained in the cos- : V Vmi :i r ,> to understand that the ~ r a I i y was dismantled and neg'"i . but t.iie or two rooms had plainf Wr; inhabited in a simple hut not - * by somebody—somebody *"n no t the servant Gow. The list 3 f''illiiws : . first item. A very considerable rr irri nf precious stones, nearly'all diaand all of them loose, without * r, v whatever. Of course, it is that the Ogilvies should have I?mi!v irwels. but those are exactly i'-wojs that are almost always set Particular articles of ornament. The , would seem to have kept theirs ' in their pockets, like copuers. . "Sai-oi:'l item. Heaps and heaps of >unlF. not kept in a horn or even 1 but lying in heaps on the ®?Gtelpieee, on the sideboard, on the"

piano—anywhere. It looks as if the old irentleman would not take the trouble to look in a noeket or lift a lid. "Third item. Here and there about

the house curious little heaps of minute [,!.'<es of metal, some like steel springs and some in the form of microscopic iron whe^'l.- —an it they had fitted -<iir.-." mechanical t"v.

•"Fourth item. "The wax candles—which have to be stuck in bottle-necks j because there is nothing else to stick then: in. -Vow I wish you to note how very much queerer all this is than anything we anticipated. For the centra! riddle we are prepared : we have all seen at a glance that theie was .something wrong about the last earl. We have come here to find out whether he really lived here, whether he really died here, whether that red-haired scarecrow who did his burying had anything to do with his dying. But suppose the worst in all this, the most lurid or melodramatic solution you like. Suppose tlio servant really killed the master; or suppose the master isn't really dead; or suppose the master is dressed up as the servant or suppose the servant is buried for the master. Invent what Wilkie Collins tragedy you like —and you still have not explained a candle without a candlestick, or why' an elderly gentleman of good family shrould habitually spill snuff on the piano. Tlio coro of the tale wo could imagine; it is tho fringes that aro mysterious. By no stretch of fancy can the human mind connect snuff and diamonds and wax and looso clockwork."

"I think I sec the connection," said the priest. "This Glengyle was mad against the French Revolution. He was an enthusiast for tho ancient regime and was trying to re-enact literally the family life of the last Bourbons. He had snuff because it was tlio eiglitcentlicentury luxury; wax candles because they were the eighteenth-century lighting; the mechanical bits of iron represent the locksmith hobby of Louis XV'I; the diamonds are for the Diamond Necklace of Mario Antionette."

Both the other men were staring at him with round eyes. "What a perfectly extraordinary notion!" cried flambeau. "Do you really think that is the truth?"

"I am perfectly sure it isn't," answered Father Brown; "only you said that nobody could connect snuff and diamonds and candles. I give you that connection offhand. The real truth, I am very sure, lies deeper." He paused a moment and listened to the wailing of the wind in the turrets. Then he said: "The late Earl of Glengyle was a thief. He lived a second and darker life_ as a desperate housebreaker. He did not have any candlesticks because he only used these candles, cut short, in the little lantern ho carried. The snuff he employed as the fiercest French criminals have used pepper —to fling it suddenly in dense masses in the face of a captor or pursuer. But the final proof is in the curious coincidence of the diamonds and

the small steel wheels. Surely that makes everything plain to you? Diamonds and small steel wheels are the only two instruments with which you can cut out a pane of glass." The bough of a broken pine tree lashed heavily in the blast against the windowpane behind them, as if in parody of a burglar; but they did not turn round. Their eyes wero fastened on Father Brown.

''Diamonds and small wheels," repeated Craven, ruminating. "Is that really all that makes you think it the true explanation?" "I don't think it the true explanation," replied the priest placidly; "but you said that nobody could connect the four things. The true tale, of course, is something much more humdrum. Glengyle had found, or thought he had found, precious stones on his estate. Somebody had bamboozled him with those loose brilliants, saying they were found in the castle caverns. The little wheels are some diamond-cutting affair. He liad to do the thing very roughly and in a small way, with the help of a few shepherds or rude fellows on theso hills. Snuff is the one great luxury of such Scotch shepherds; it's the one thing with which you can bribo them. They didn't have candlesticks because they didn't want them; they held tho candles in their hands when they explored tho caves." ■'ls that all?" asked Flambeau after a long pause. "Have we got to the dull truth at last?" "Oh. no," said Father Brown. As the wind died in the most distant pine woods with a long hoot, as of mockery, Father Brown, with an utterly impassive face, went on: "I only suggested that because you snid one "could not plausibly conn'ePt mi 11 if with clockwork or candles with bright stones. Ten false philosophies will fit the universe: ten false theories will fit (Jlengyle Castle. But we want the real explanation of the castle and the universe. Are there no other ex-

hibits?" Craven laughed and Flambeau, smiling, rose to his feet and strolled down tho long tabic. ''ltems five, six, seven, and so on," lie said; "and certainlv more varied than instinctive. A curious collection, not of lead-pencils but- of the lead out of leadpencils. A senseless stick of bamboo, with the top rather splintered. It might be the instrument of the crime—only there isn't any crime. The only other things are a few old missals and little religions pictures, which the Ogilvies kept, I suppose, from the Middle Ages—their family pride being stronger than their Puritanism. We only put them in tho museum because they seem curiously cut about and defaced.

The beady tempest without drove a. dreadful wrack of clouds across Glengyle and threw the long room into darkness as Father Brown picked up the little illuminated pages to examine them. He spoke before the drift of darkness bad passed;, but it was the voice of an utterly new man. •'Mr Craven," said he, talking like a man ten years younger, "you have got a legal warrant, haven't you. to go up and examine that grave? The sooner we do it the better —and get to the bottom of this horrible affair. If I were vou I should start now."

"Now!" repeated the astonished detective. "And why now?" "Because this is serious," answered Brown. "This is not spilt snuff or loose pebbles, that might be there for a hundred reasons. There is only one reason I know of for this being done; and the reason goes down to the roots of the world. These religious pictures are not just dirtied or torn or scrawled over, which might he done in idleness or bigotrv. These have been treated very carefully—and very queerly. In every place where the great ornamented name of God comes in the old illuminations it has been elaborately taken out. The onlv other thing that has been removed is the halo round the head of the Child Jesus. Therefore, I say, let us get our warrant and our spade and our hatchet, and go up and break open that coffin on the hill."

"What do von mean?" the London offirer demanded curiously. •'I mean," answered the little priest —and liis voice seemed to rise slightly in the roar of the gale—"l mean that the great devil of the universe may be sitting on the top tower of this castle at this moment, as big as a hundred elephants and roaring like' the apocalypse. There is black magic somewhere at the bottom of this." "Black magic!" repeated Flambeau in a low voice, for he was too educated a man not to know of such tnings. "But what can these other things mean?" "Oh, something. I suppose, replied Brown impatiently. "How should I know? How can I guess all their mazes down below ? Perhaps you can make a torture out of snuff and bamboo. Perhaps certain lunatics lust after was and steel filings. Perhaps there is a maddening drug made of lead pencils! Our shortest cut to the mystery is up the hill to the grave." His comrades hardly knew that they had obeved and followed him till a blast of the night wind nearly flung -them' on their faces in the garden; for Craven found a hatchet in his hand and the warrant in his pocket: Flambeau was carrving the heavy spade of the strange gardener; father Brown was carrying the little gflt book from which had been torn the name of God. The path up the hill to the churchyard was crooked, but short; only under that stress of wind it seemed laborious and long. Far as the eye could sec, farther and farther as they mounted the slope, were seas beyond seas of pines, now all aslope one way under the wind. And that universal gesture seemed as vain as it was vast, as vain as it that wind were whistling about some unpeopled and purposeless planet. Through

all that infinite growth of gray-blue forests sank shrill and high that ancient sorrow that is in tlie heart of all heathen ihings. One could fancy that the voices from the underworld of unfathomable foliage were cries of the lost and wandering pagan gods—gods who had gone roaming in that irrational for, .st and who will never find their way back to Heaven.

""Vou sec," .said Father Brown, in a low but easy tone, '"Scotch people before Scotland existed were a curious lot: in fact, they're a curious lot still. But in tho prehistoric times I fancy they really worshipped demons. That." he added genially, ,; is why they jumped at the Puritan theology."

"My friend," said Flambeau, turning in a kind of fury, "what does all that snuff mean?"

"My friend," replied Brown, with equal seriousness, "there ix 0110 mark of all genuine religions materialism. Now devil-worship is a perfectly genuine religion." They had come up on the grassy scalp of the hill, one of the few bald; spots that stood clear of the crashing and roaring pine forest. A mean enclosure, partly timber and partly wire, rattled in the tempest to tell them the border of the graveyard. By the time Inspector Craven had come to the corner of the grave, and Flambeau had planted his spade-point downward and leaned on it, they were both almost as shaken as the shaky wood and wire. At the foot of the grave grew great tall thistles, gray and silver in their decay. Once, or twice when a ball of thistledown broke under the breeze and flew past him. Craven jumped slightly, as if it had been an arrow. Flambeau drove the blade of his spade through the whistling grass into the wet clay below. Then he seemed to stop arid lean oil it, as on a staff. "Go on," said the priest. "We are only trying to find the truth. What arc vou afraid of?" "I am afraid of finding it," said Flambeau. • The London detective spoke suddenly m a high crowing voice that was meant to be conversational and cheery: "I wonder why he really did hide himself like that. Something nasty, I suppose. I Was he a.leper?" . "Something worse than that," said Flambeau. "And what do you imagine," asked the other, "would bo worse than a leper?" "I don't imagine it," said Flambeau. J He dug for some minutes in silence, and then he said in a choked voice: "I'm afraid of his not being the right shape." . "Nor was that piece of paper, you ! know," said Father Brown quietly; "and we survived even that piece of paper." Flambeau dug on with blind energy; but the tempest had shouldered away the choking grey clouds that clung to the hills like smoke, and revealed grey fields of faint starlight, before he cleared the shape of a rude timber coffin and somehow tipped it tip upon the turf. Craven stepped forward with his axe; a thistletop touched him and he flinched. Then he took a firmer stride and hacked and wrenched, with an energy like Flambeau's, till the *kl was torn off and' all that was there lay glimmering in the grey starlight. "Bones!" said Craven; and then lie added: "But it is a man!" —as if that were something unexpected. "Is he," asked Flambeau in a voice that went up and down —"Is he nil right "Seems so," said the officer huskily, bending over the obscure and decaying skeleton in the box. "Wait a minute. A vast heave went over Flambeau s huge figure. "And, now I come to think of it," he cried, "why in the name of madness should he be all right. What is it gets hold of a man on these cursed cold mountains? 1 think it s the black, brainless repetition—all these forests and over all an ancient h® r ~ ror of unconsciousness. It's like the dream of an atheist. Pine trees and more pine trees and millions more pme trees " , ~,, . . "But he hasn't got a head! cried the man by the coffin. . . Though the others stood rigid the priest for the first time showed startled concern. , . , , iXT "No head!" he exclaimed. iNo head?" — as if he had almost expected some other deficiency. , Half-witted visions of a headless baby born to Glengyle, of a headless youth hiding himself in the castle, of a headless man pacing those ancient halls or that gorgeous garden, passed in panorama through their minds. But even in that stiffened instant the tale took no root in tliem and seemed to have no reason in it. They stood listening to the loud woods and the shrieking sky quite foolishly, like exhausted animals. Thought seemed to be something enormous that had slipped out of their

grasp. ~ • j "There are three headless men, said Father Brown, "standing Touml this open grave." The pale detective from London opened his mouth to speak and left it open, while a long scream of wind tore tne sky; then he looked at the axe in his hands as if it did not belong to him and dropped it. . . "Father," said Flamheau m that infantile and heavy voice he used very seldom, "what are we to do? His friend's reply came with the pent promptitude of a gun going off. "Sleep!" cried lather Brown. "Sleep! Wo have come to the end 01 the ways. Do you know what sleep is. Do you know that every man who sleeps believes in God? It is a sacrament; for it is au act of faith and it is a food. \nd we need a sacrament, if only a natural one. Something has fallen on us that falls very seldom on men—perhaps the worst thing than can fall on parted lips came together to say: "What do you mean? The priest had turned his face to the castle as he answered: "We have found the truth —and the truth makes no sense." , • He went down the path in front ot them with a plunging and reckless step very rare with him; and when tUey reached the castle again he .threw himself upon sleep with the simplicity of a Despite his mystic praise of slumber, Father Brown was up earlier than anyone else except the sdent gardener iand was found smoking a big pipe and watching that expert at his speechless labors in the kitchen garden. Toward davbreak the rocking storm had ended in roaring rains and the day came with a curious freshness. The gardener seemed even to have been conversing, but at the sight of the detectives he planted his spade sullenly in a bed and, shifting along the lines of cabbages, shut himself in at the kitchen door. . "He's a valuable man, that, said' Father Brown. "He does the potatoes amazingly—still," he added with a dispassionate charity, 'he has liis fan Its which of us hasn't? He doesn t dif, this bank quite regularly, ihere, tor instance"—and he stamprd mi one spot P °"And why?" asked Craven, amused with the little man's new hobby. "I'm doubtful about it," said the other, "because old Gow was doubtrul about it himself. He put his spade m methodically in every place but this. There must be a mighty fine potato pulled up the spade and j impetuously drove it into the place. He turned up, under a load of soil, something that did not look like a potato, but rather like a monstrous overdomed mushroom. But it struck the spade with a cold click; it rolled over and irrinned "up at them. _ "The Earl of Glengvle, said Brown sadlv, and looked down at the skull. Then after a momentary meditation he plucked the spade from Flambeau and, saying "We must hide it again, clamped it down in the earth once more. Then lie leaned his little body and huge head on the great handle of the spade that stood up stiffly in the earth; and ' his eves were empty and his forehead full of wrinkles. "If one could only conceive," he muttered, "the meaning of this last monstrosity! Leaning on 1 the large spade-handle, lie buried his : brows in his hands as men do in church- : Well, I give it all up! sa id Flambeau at last, boisterously. and this world don t fit each other ' and there's an end of it ' spoilt prayer-books and the insides ' musical boxes —what— ' i, Brown threw up hi* bothered brow > and rapped on the spade handle with • an intolerance quite unusual with him. ■ •'Oil. tut. tut. tut, tut! lie said. All ; that is as plain as n pikestaff. I U!lder- : Mood the snuff and clockwork and so •1 on when I first opened my eves thi* 1 morning. Since then Ive had it- out.

with old Gow, the gardener, who is neither so deaf nor so stupid <S&»he protends. There's nothing amiss about the loose items. I was wrong about the torn mass-book too ; there's no harm in that. But it's this last business; desecrating graves and stealing dead men's heads —surely there s harm in that! That doesn't fit into the quite simple story of the snuff and the cand-Ic-.s And, striding about again, he smoked moodily. -Jlv friend," said I'lainlieau with, grim humor. "'.vou must be careful with me and remember I was onco a criminal. The great advantage of that estate was that I always made up the story myself niui acted it- sis quickly as I chose. ibis detective business of waiting about is too much for my French impatience. All mv life, for good or evil, 1 always have done things at the instant: I always fought duels the next morning; 1 always paid bills on the nail; I never even put off a visit to the dentist Fattier Brown's pipe fell out of his uiouth and broke into three pieces on the gravel path. He stood rolling his eyes, the exact picture of an idiot. "What a turnip I am!" lie kept saying. "What a turnip!" Then, in a somewhat groggy kind of way, he began to laugh. ' f ' "The dentist!" he repeated. 'Six hours in the spiritual abyss—and .all because I never thought of the dentist. Such a simple, such , a. beautiful and peaceful thought! Friends, we have passed a night; but now the sun. is risen, the birds are; singing-and- the radiant* form of the dentist embraces and consoles the world." "I will get some sense out of this, cried Flambeau, striding forward, if I use the tortures of the Inquisition. Father Brown spun round once, then faced them with gravity. _ "This is not a story of crime, 'lie said. "Rather is it the story of a strange and crooked-honesty. >Ve ar6 dealing with the one man on earth, perhaps, who has taken no more than his due. It is a study in savage livinglogic that has been the religion of this r£l old local rhyme about the house of Glengyle—

" 'As green sap to the simmer trees Is red gold to the Ogilvies'—

was literal as well as. metaphorical. It did not merely mean that the Wengyles sought for wealth; it was also true that they literally gathered gold; they had a huge collection of ornaments ana. utensils in that metal. They were, in fact, misers, whose mania took that turn. In the light of that fact, run through all the things we found m.the castle: Diamonds —without their 8°!" rings. Candles—without their gold candlesticks. Snuff—without. the gold snuffboxes. Pencil-leads—without the gold pencil-cases. A walking-stick—without its gold top. Clockwork—without the gold clocks—or, rather, watches. And, mad as it sounds, because the burnished halos and the gilt name of God m. the old missals were of real gold beaten thin —these also were taken away. "Were taken away," continued Father Brown; "were taken away, but not stolen. Thieves would never have left this mystery. Thieves would have taken the gold snuff-boxes, snuff and all; the gold pencil-cases, lead and all. We have to deal with a man with a peculiar conscience, but certainly a conscience. I found that mad moralist this morning in the kitchen garden and I heard the whole story- . , "The late Archibald Ogilvie was the nearest approach to a good man ever born at Glengyle. But this bitter virtue took the turn of the misanthrope, he moped over the dishonesty of his ancestors, from which somehow he generalised a dishonesty of ail menMore especially he distrusted philanthropy or free giving, regarding it as a cover for free taking; and he swore if he could find one man who took Ills exact rights he should have all the gold of Glengyle. Having delivered this defiance to humanity he shut himself up, without the smallest- expectation of its being answered. One daj, however, a deaf and seemingly senseless lad from a distant village brought lnm a belated telegram, and Glengyle, in his acid pleasantry, gavolum a new farthing. At least, he thought he had done so; but when he turned over his change he found the new, farthing still there and a sovereign gone. The accident offered him vistas of sneering speculation. Either way tlie boy would show the greed of the species. Either he would vanish, a thief, stealinc a coin; or he would sneak back with it virtuously, a snob, seekmga reward. In the middle of that night Lord Glengyle was knocked up out or his bed—for he livedatone—amlforced to open the door to the deaf idiot. The idiot brought with him not sovereign, but exactly nineteen shillings and elevenpence three farthings m Cll ' l 'Then the mad exactitude of this action took bold on the mad lord> brain like fire. Ho swore he was Diogenes, that had long sought an honest man and at last had found one. He made a new will, which I have seen I He took the literal youth into his huge neglected house and trained him up as his solitary servant and —after an odd manner —liis heir. And whatever that queer creature understands, he understood absolutely his lord's, two fixed ideas: first, that the letter of. right is everything, and second, that he himself was to have the gold of Glengyle. So far, that is all and that is simple. He lias stopped the house of gold and taken not a grain- that was not goM—m't so much fs a grain of snuff. He.lifted the gold leaf off an old illumination, fully satisfied that he left the rest unspoiled. All that I understood, but I could not understand this skull business. I was rcallv uneasy about that human head buried among the potatoes. It distressed me till Flambeau said the right word—till the lovelv word dentist rang out like the laughter of the Limes. right. He will put the skull back in the grave when he has taken the gold out of the tooth. And indeed, when Flambeau crossedthe hill that morning lie saw that strange being, the just miser, digging at the desecrated grave —the plaid around his throat thraslnng out in the mountain wind; the sober top hat on his head.