no means a
smooth game to play with the Roi des Apaches, even after that monarch's
abdication.

Flambeau was about to leap upon his enemy and secure him once more, when
the priest patted him easily on the shoulder.

"Make it up with Mr. Atkinson, my friend," he said. "Beg a mutual pardon
and say 'Good night.' We need not detain him any longer." Then, as
Atkinson rose somewhat doubtfully and gathered his hat and stick and
went towards the garden gate, Father Brown said in a more serious voice:
"Where is that Indian?"

They all three (for the doctor had joined them) turned involuntarily
towards the dim grassy bank amid the tossing trees purple with twilight,
where they had last seen the brown man swaying in his strange prayers.
The Indian was gone.

"Confound him," cried the doctor, stamping furiously. "Now I know that
it was that nigger that did it."

"I thought you didn't believe in magic," said Father Brown quietly.

"No more I did," said the doctor, rolling his eyes. "I only know that
I loathed that yellow devil when I thought he was a sham wizard. And I
shall loathe him more if I come to think he was a real one."

"Well, his having escaped is nothing," said Flambeau. "For we could
have proved nothing and done nothing against him. One hardly goes to
the parish constable with a story of suicide imposed by witchcraft or
auto-suggestion."

Meanwhile Father Brown had made his way into the house, and now went to
break the news to the wife of the dead man.

When he came out again he looked a little pale and tragic, but what
passed between them in that interview was never known, even when all was
known.

Flambeau, who was talking quietly with the doctor, was surprised to see
his friend reappear so soon at his elbow; but Brown took no notice, and
merely drew the doctor apart. "You have sent for the police, haven't
you?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Harris. "They ought to be here in ten minutes."

"Will you do me a favour?" said the priest quietly. "The truth is, I
make a collection of these curious stories, which often contain, as in
the case of our Hindoo friend, elements which can hardly be put into a
police report. Now, I want you to write out a report of this case for
my private use. Yours is a clever trade," he said, looking the doctor
gravely and steadily in the face. "I sometimes think that you know some
details of this matter which you have not thought fit to mention. Mine
is a confidential trade like yo