The prince flashed a sharp look at him to see if the retort had any
personal point; then he laughed also and offered chairs to everyone,
including himself.

"Pleasant little place, this, I think," he said with a detached air.
"Not much to do, I fear; but the fishing is really good."

The priest, who was staring at him with the grave stare of a baby, was
haunted by some fancy that escaped definition. He looked at the grey,
carefully curled hair, yellow white visage, and slim, somewhat foppish
figure. These were not unnatural, though perhaps a shade prononce, like
the outfit of a figure behind the footlights. The nameless interest
lay in something else, in the very framework of the face; Brown was
tormented with a half memory of having seen it somewhere before. The
man looked like some old friend of his dressed up. Then he suddenly
remembered the mirrors, and put his fancy down to some psychological
effect of that multiplication of human masks.

Prince Saradine distributed his social attentions between his guests
with great gaiety and tact. Finding the detective of a sporting turn and
eager to employ his holiday, he guided Flambeau and Flambeau's boat down
to the best fishing spot in the stream, and was back in his own canoe
in twenty minutes to join Father Brown in the library and plunge equally
politely into the priest's more philosophic pleasures. He seemed to know
a great deal both about the fishing and the books, though of these not
the most edifying; he spoke five or six languages, though chiefly the
slang of each. He had evidently lived in varied cities and very motley
societies, for some of his cheerfullest stories were about gambling
hells and opium dens, Australian bushrangers or Italian brigands. Father
Brown knew that the once-celebrated Saradine had spent his last few
years in almost ceaseless travel, but he had not guessed that the
travels were so disreputable or so amusing.

Indeed, with all his dignity of a man of the world, Prince Saradine
radiated to such sensitive observers as the priest, a certain atmosphere
of the restless and even the unreliable. His face was fastidious, but
his eye was wild; he had little nervous tricks, like a man shaken by
drink or drugs, and he neither had, nor professed to have, his hand
on the helm of household affairs. All these were left to the two old
servants, especially to the butler, who was plainly the central pillar
of the house. Mr. Paul, indeed, was not so much a b