The Complete Father Brown Mysteries [Annotated, With Introduction, Rare Additional Material] by G.K. Chesterton Page A

which hung the colonel’s sword, the process was completed and the
company, including the saturnine Crook, presented to Sir Leopold Fischer. That
venerable financier, however, still seemed struggling with portions of his well-lined
attire, and at length produced from a very interior tail-coat pocket, a black
oval case which he radiantly explained to be his Christmas present for his
god-daughter. With an unaffected vain-glory that had something disarming about
it he held out the case before them all; it flew open at a touch and
half-blinded them. It was just as if a crystal fountain had spurted in their
eyes. In a nest of orange velvet lay like three eggs, three white and vivid
diamonds that seemed to set the very air on fire all round them. Fischer stood
beaming benevolently and drinking deep of the astonishment and ecstasy of the
girl, the grim admiration and gruff thanks of the colonel, the wonder of the
whole group.
    “ I’ll
put ’em back now, my dear,” said Fischer, returning the case to the tails of his
coat. “I had to be careful of ’em coming down. They’re the three great African
diamonds called ‘The Flying Stars,’ because they’ve been stolen so often. All
the big criminals are on the track; but even the rough men about in the streets
and hotels could hardly have kept their hands off them. I might have lost them
on the road here. It was quite possible.”
    “ Quite
natural, I should say,” growled the man in the red tie. “I shouldn’t blame ’em if
they had taken ’em. When they ask for bread, and you don’t even give them a stone,
I think they might take the stone for themselves.”
    “ I
won’t have you talking like that,” cried the girl, who was in a curious glow. “You’ve
only talked like that since you became a horrid what’s-his-name. You know what
I mean. What do you call a man who wants to embrace the chimney-sweep?”
    “ A
saint,” said Father Brown.
    “ I
think,” said Sir Leopold, with a supercilious smile, “that Ruby means a Socialist.”
    “ A
radical does not mean a man who lives on radishes,” remarked Crook, with some impatience;
and a Conservative does not mean a man who preserves jam. Neither, I assure
you, does a Socialist mean a man who desires a social evening with the chimney-sweep.
A Socialist means a man who wants all the chimneys swept and all the
chimney-sweeps paid for it.”
    “ But
who won’t allow you,” put in the priest in a low voice, “to own your own soot.”
    Crook
looked at him with an eye of interest and even respect. “Does one want to own soot?”
he asked.
    “ One
might,” answered Brown, with speculation in his eye. “I’ve heard that gardeners
use it. And I once made six children happy at Christmas when the conjuror didn’t
come, entirely with soot — applied externally.”
    “ Oh,
splendid,” cried Ruby. “Oh, I wish you’d do it to this company.”
    The
boisterous Canadian, Mr. Blount, was lifting his loud voice in applause, and the
astonished financier his (in some considerable deprecation), when a knock sounded
at the double front doors. The priest opened them, and they showed again the
front garden of evergreens, monkey-tree and all, now gathering gloom against a
gorgeous violet sunset. The scene thus framed was so coloured and quaint, like
a back scene in a play, that they forgot a moment the insignificant figure
standing in the door. He was dusty-looking and in a frayed coat, evidently a
common messenger. “Any of you gentlemen Mr. Blount?” he asked, and held forward
a letter doubtfully. Mr. Blount started, and stopped in his shout of assent.
Ripping up the envelope with evident astonishment he read it; his face clouded
a little, and then cleared, and he turned to his brother-in-law and host.
    “ I’m
sick at being such a nuisance, colonel,” he said, with the cheery colonial conventions;
“but would it upset you if an old acquaintance called on me here tonight on
business? In point of fact it’s Florian,