‘I feel,’ he said, ‘that you should know, as in some sense the spiritual father of this village[65], that one terrible tragedy has taken on a new significance; possibly even more terrible. You must remember the sad case of the death of Maltravers, who was supposed to have been killed with the hit of a club, probably by some enemy among the villagers.’

The clergyman moved hishand. ‘God forbid,’ he said, ‘that I should say anything good about that case. But when an actor brings his evil into this quiet village, he goes against the judgement of God.’

‘Perhaps,’ said the doctor seriously. ‘But anyhow it was not so that the judgement fell. I have just been asked to make an autopsy on the body; and I can tell you, first, that the hit on the head could not have caused the death; and, second, that the body was full of poison, which caused death without any doubt.’

Young Hurrel Horner threw his cigarette away and was on his feet as quick as a cat. He jumped towards the reading-desk.

‘Are you certain of this?’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you absolutely certain that that hit could not cause death?’

‘Absolutely certain,’ said the doctor.

‘Well,’ said Hurrel, ‘I almost wish this one could.’

In a moment, before anyone could move a finger, he had hit the priest on the mouth, throwinghim backwards like a black doll against the door.

‘What are you doing?’ shouted Mulborough, shaken from head to foot with the shock and mere sound of the hit. ‘Father Brown, what is this madman doing?’