of a potentate. The foreign visitors,
especially the mining experts, were in the wildest doubt and excitement,
as well as many important Prussian officials, and it soon began to be
clear that the scheme for finding the treasure bulked much bigger in
the business than people had supposed. Experts and officials had been
promised great prizes or international advantages, and some even said
that the Prince's secret apartments and strong military protection were
due less to fear of the populace than to the pursuit of some private
investigation of--"

"Had the flowers got long stalks?" asked Father Brown.

Flambeau stared at him. "What an odd person you are!" he said. "That's
exactly what old Grimm said. He said the ugliest part of it, he
thought--uglier than the blood and bullet--was that the flowers were
quite short, plucked close under the head."

"Of course," said the priest, "when a grown up girl is really picking
flowers, she picks them with plenty of stalk. If she just pulled their
heads off, as a child does, it looks as if--" And he hesitated.

"Well?" inquired the other.

"Well, it looks rather as if she had snatched them nervously, to make an
excuse for being there after--well, after she was there."

"I know what you're driving at," said Flambeau rather gloomily. "But
that and every other suspicion breaks down on the one point--the want
of a weapon. He could have been killed, as you say, with lots of other
things--even with his own military sash; but we have to explain not how
he was killed, but how he was shot. And the fact is we can't. They had
the girl most ruthlessly searched; for, to tell the truth, she was a
little suspect, though the niece and ward of the wicked old Chamberlain,
Paul Arnhold. But she was very romantic, and was suspected of sympathy
with the old revolutionary enthusiasm in her family. All the same,
however romantic you are, you can't imagine a big bullet into a man's
jaw or brain without using a gun or pistol. And there was no pistol,
though there were two pistol shots. I leave it to you, my friend."

"How do you know there were two shots?" asked the little priest.

"There was only one in his head," said his companion, "but there was
another bullet-hole in the sash."

Father Brown's smooth brow became suddenly constricted. "Was the other
bullet found?" he demanded.

Flambeau started a little. "I don't think I remember," he said.

"Hold on! Hold on! Hold on!" cried Brown, frowning m