as the other. Found within a few yards
of the other. And sliced by the same weapon which we know he carried
away."

"Yes, yes; I know," replied Father Brown submissively. "Yet, you know, I
doubt whether Brayne could have cut off this head."

"Why not?" inquired Dr. Simon, with a rational stare.

"Well, doctor," said the priest, looking up blinking, "can a man cut off
his own head? I don't know."

O'Brien felt an insane universe crashing about his ears; but the doctor
sprang forward with impetuous practicality and pushed back the wet white
hair.

"Oh, there's no doubt it's Brayne," said the priest quietly. "He had
exactly that chip in the left ear."

The detective, who had been regarding the priest with steady and
glittering eyes, opened his clenched mouth and said sharply: "You seem
to know a lot about him, Father Brown."

"I do," said the little man simply. "I've been about with him for some
weeks. He was thinking of joining our church."

The star of the fanatic sprang into Valentin's eyes; he strode towards
the priest with clenched hands. "And, perhaps," he cried, with a
blasting sneer, "perhaps he was also thinking of leaving all his money
to your church."

"Perhaps he was," said Brown stolidly; "it is possible."

"In that case," cried Valentin, with a dreadful smile, "you may indeed
know a great deal about him. About his life and about his--"

Commandant O'Brien laid a hand on Valentin's arm. "Drop that slanderous
rubbish, Valentin," he said, "or there may be more swords yet."

But Valentin (under the steady, humble gaze of the priest) had already
recovered himself. "Well," he said shortly, "people's private opinions
can wait. You gentlemen are still bound by your promise to stay; you
must enforce it on yourselves--and on each other. Ivan here will tell
you anything more you want to know; I must get to business and write to
the authorities. We can't keep this quiet any longer. I shall be writing
in my study if there is any more news."

"Is there any more news, Ivan?" asked Dr. Simon, as the chief of police
strode out of the room.

"Only one more thing, I think, sir," said Ivan, wrinkling up his grey
old face, "but that's important, too, in its way. There's that old
buffer you found on the lawn," and he pointed without pretence of
reverence at the big black body with the yellow head. "We've found out
who he is, anyhow."

"Indeed!" cried the astonished doctor, "and who is he?"

"His name was Arno