the road towards
them as if it were mad to win a race. At first they thought it had run
away with the man on its back; but they soon saw that the general, a
fine rider, was himself urging it to full speed. Horse and man swept up
to them like a whirlwind; and then, reining up the reeling charger, the
general turned on them a face like flame, and called for the colonel
like the trumpet that wakes the dead.

"I conceive that all the earthquake events of that catastrophe tumbled
on top of each other rather like lumber in the minds of men such as our
friend with the diary. With the dazed excitement of a dream, they found
themselves falling--literally falling--into their ranks, and learned
that an attack was to be led at once across the river. The general and
the major, it was said, had found out something at the bridge, and there
was only just time to strike for life. The major had gone back at once
to call up the reserve along the road behind; it was doubtful if even
with that prompt appeal help could reach them in time. But they must
pass the stream that night, and seize the heights by morning. It is with
the very stir and throb of that romantic nocturnal march that the diary
suddenly ends."

Father Brown had mounted ahead; for the woodland path grew smaller,
steeper, and more twisted, till they felt as if they were ascending
a winding staircase. The priest's voice came from above out of the
darkness.

"There was one other little and enormous thing. When the general urged
them to their chivalric charge he half drew his sword from the scabbard;
and then, as if ashamed of such melodrama, thrust it back again. The
sword again, you see."

A half-light broke through the network of boughs above them, flinging
the ghost of a net about their feet; for they were mounting again to the
faint luminosity of the naked night. Flambeau felt truth all round him
as an atmosphere, but not as an idea. He answered with bewildered brain:
"Well, what's the matter with the sword? Officers generally have swords,
don't they?"

"They are not often mentioned in modern war," said the other
dispassionately; "but in this affair one falls over the blessed sword
everywhere."

"Well, what is there in that?" growled Flambeau; "it was a twopence
coloured sort of incident; the old man's blade breaking in his last
battle. Anyone might bet the papers would get hold of it, as they have.
On all these tombs and things it's shown broken at the point. I hop