“You are still full of good and pure thoughts,” said the other. “It was worse than that.”
“Well,” said the large man, “my stock of evil imagination is used up.”
The priest seemed really doubtful where to begin, and at last he said again:
“Where would a wise man hide a leaf? In the forest.”
The other did not answer.
“If there were no forest, he would make a forest. And if he wished to hide a dead leaf, he would make a dead forest.”
There was still no reply, and the priest added still more mildly and quietly:
“And if a man had to hide a dead body, he would make a field of dead bodies to hide it in.”
Flambeau began to stamp forward with an intolerance of delay in time or space; but Father Brown went on as if he were continuing the last sentence:
“Sir Arthur St. Clare, as I have already said, was a man who read