Darkness full of thunder followed, and after the thunder Father Brown’s voice said out of the dark: “Doctor, this paper is the wrong shape.”
“What do you mean?” asked Doctor Harris, with a frowning stare.
“It isn’t square,” answered Brown. “It has a sort of edge snipped off at the corner. What does it mean?”
“How the deuce should I know?” growled the doctor. “Shall we move this poor chap, do you think? He’s quite dead.”
“No,” answered the priest; “we must leave him as he lies and send for the police.” But he was still scrutinising the paper.
As they went back through the study he stopped by the table and picked up a small pair of nail scissors. “Ah,” he said, with a sort of relief, “this is what he did it with. But yet—” And he knitted his brows.
“Oh, stop fooling with that scrap of paper,” said the doctor emphatically. “It was a fad of his. He had hundreds of them. He cut all his paper like that,” as he pointed to a stack of sermon paper still unused on another and smaller table. Father Brown went up to it and held up a sheet. It was the same irregular shape.
“Quite so,” he said. “And here I see the corners that were snipped off.” And to the indignation of his colleague he began to count them.
“That’s all right,” he said, with an apologetic smile. “Twenty-three sheets cut and twenty-two corners cut off them. And as I see you are impatient we will rejoin the others.”
“Who is to tell his wife?” asked Dr. Harris. “Will you go and tell her now, while I send a servant for the police?”
“As you will,” said Father Brown indifferently. And he went out to the hall door.