Father Brown’s reply was quick and almost shrill. ‘Don’t call your village boring. I am sure it’s a very unusual village indeed[53].’

‘I’ve been working with the only unusual thing that ever happened here, I should think,’ noticed Dr Mulborough. ‘And even that happened to somebody from outside. I may tell you they managed the exhumation quietly last night; and I did the autopsy this morning. In plain words we’ve been digging up a body that’s simply full of poison.’

‘A body full of poison,’ repeated Father Brown. ‘Believe me, your village has something much more unusual than that.’

There was sudden silence, and then also a sudden sound of the old bell on the doorstep of the lawyer’s house; and that legal gentleman invited them in, and he presented them to a white-haired, yellow-faced gentleman with a scar, who was the Admiral.

By this time the atmosphere of the village stuck hard in the mindof the little priest; but he knew that the lawyer was indeed the sort of lawyer who gives advice to people like Miss Carstairs-Carew. But though he was an old bird, he looked like something more than that. Perhaps it was becauseof the uniformity of background; but the priest had again the strange feeling that he himself was put back into the early nineteenth century, rather than that the lawyer had survived into the early twentieth[54]. His collar and tie looked almost like a pillar as he put his long chin into them; but they were clean and neat; and there was even something about him of anold dandy. In short, he was what is called well-preserved, even if partly by being like a stone.

The lawyer and the Admiral, and even the doctor, showed some surprise on finding that Father Brown was rather ready to defend the priest’s son[55]against the local complaints on the side of the priest.

‘I found our young friend rather attractive, myself,’ he said. ‘He’s a good talker and a good poet; and Mrs Maltravers, who is serious about that at least, says he’s quite a good actor.’

‘Indeed,’ said the lawyer. ‘Potter’s Pond, outside Mrs Maltravers, is rather more interested if he is a good son.’

‘He is a good son,’ said Father Brown. ‘That’s the strange thing.’

‘Damn it all,’ said the Admiral. ‘Do you mean he really loves his father?’

The priest was uncertain. Then he said, ‘I’m not quite so sure about that. That’s the other strange thing.’

‘What the devil do you mean?’ asked the sailor with a curse.

‘I mean,’ said Father Brown, ‘that the son still speaks of his father in a hard unkind way; but he seems after all to have done more than his duty by him[56]. I had a talk with the bank manager, and as we were looking privately into a serious crime, under authority from the police, he told me the facts. The old clergyman has left thechurch work; indeed, this was never actually his church. The people who go to church at all, go to Dutton-Abbot, not far away from here. The old man has no money of his own, but his son is making good money; and the old man is well looked after. He gave me some port-wineof absolutely first-class quality; I saw manyold bottles of it; and I left him sitting down to a little fine lunch in an old-fashioned style. It must be done on the young man’s money.’

‘Quite a model son,’ said Carver with a sarcasm.

Father Brown agreed, frowning, as if thinking ofa riddle of his own; and then said:‘A model son. But rather an unnatural model.’

At this moment a postman brought in an unstamped letter for the lawyer; a letter which the lawyer opened impatiently after a quick look. As it fell apart, the priest saw a spidery, crazy handwriting and the autograph of ‘Phoenix Fitzgerald’; and made a conclusion which the other supported.