at?" cried Dr Hood.

"Rabbits, ribbons, sweetmeats, goldfish, rolls of coloured paper," said
the reverend gentleman with rapidity. "Didn't you see it all when
you found out the faked ropes? It's just the same with the sword.
Mr Todhunter hasn't got a scratch on him, as you say; but he's got a
scratch in him, if you follow me."

"Do you mean inside Mr Todhunter's clothes?" inquired Mrs MacNab
sternly.

"I do not mean inside Mr Todhunter's clothes," said Father Brown. "I
mean inside Mr Todhunter."

"Well, what in the name of Bedlam do you mean?"

"Mr Todhunter," explained Father Brown placidly, "is learning to be a
professional conjurer, as well as juggler, ventriloquist, and expert in
the rope trick. The conjuring explains the hat. It is without traces
of hair, not because it is worn by the prematurely bald Mr Glass, but
because it has never been worn by anybody. The juggling explains the
three glasses, which Todhunter was teaching himself to throw up and
catch in rotation. But, being only at the stage of practice, he smashed
one glass against the ceiling. And the juggling also explains the sword,
which it was Mr Todhunter's professional pride and duty to swallow.
But, again, being at the stage of practice, he very slightly grazed the
inside of his throat with the weapon. Hence he has a wound inside him,
which I am sure (from the expression on his face) is not a serious
one. He was also practising the trick of a release from ropes, like the
Davenport Brothers, and he was just about to free himself when we all
burst into the room. The cards, of course, are for card tricks, and they
are scattered on the floor because he had just been practising one of
those dodges of sending them flying through the air. He merely kept his
trade secret, because he had to keep his tricks secret, like any other
conjurer. But the mere fact of an idler in a top hat having once
looked in at his back window, and been driven away by him with great
indignation, was enough to set us all on a wrong track of romance, and
make us imagine his whole life overshadowed by the silk-hatted spectre
of Mr Glass."

"But What about the two voices?" asked Maggie, staring.

"Have you never heard a ventriloquist?" asked Father Brown. "Don't you
know they speak first in their natural voice, and then answer themselves
in just that shrill, squeaky, unnatural voice that you heard?"

There was a long silence, and Dr Hood regarded the little man who
had spoken