No había otros pasos. Era siempre una casa muy silenciosa, pues los pocos huéspedes habituales se iban de inmediato a sus propios aposentos, y a los bien adiestrados camareros se les pedía que fueran casi invisibles hasta que se les necesitara. Uno no podía concebir ningún lugar donde hubiera menos motivos para temer algo irregular. Pero estos pasos eran tan extraños que uno no podía decidir si llamarlos regulares o irregulares. El padre Brown los seguía con el dedo en el borde de la mesa, como un hombre que intenta aprender una melodía en el piano.
First, there came a long rush of rapid little steps, such as a light man might make in winning a walking race. At a certain point they stopped and changed to a sort of slow, swinging stamp, numbering not a quarter of the steps, but occupying about the same time. The moment the last echoing stamp had died away would come again the run or ripple of light, hurrying feet, and then again the thud of the heavier walking. It was certainly the same pair of boots, partly because (as has been said) there were no other boots about, and partly because they had a small but unmistakable creak in them. Father Brown had the kind of head that cannot help asking questions; and on this apparently trivial question his head almost split. * He had seen men run in order to jump. * He had seen men run in order to slide. But why on earth should a man run in order to walk? Or, again, why should he walk in order to run? Yet no other description would cover the antics of this invisible pair of legs. The man was either walking very fast down one-half of the corridor in order to walk very slow down