"He tried to
scream and was silent. The second
challenge came;
and then a shot that shrieked as it came and then was stilled suddenly
by
impact. Otto of Grossenmark lay very
peacefully among the fairy
trees, and would do no more harm either with gold or steel; only the
silver pencil of the moon would pick out and trace here and there the
intricate
ornament of his uniform, or the old wrinkles on his brow.
May God have mercy on his soul.
"The
sentry who had fired, according to the
strict orders
of the
garrison, naturally ran forward to find some trace of his quarry.
He was a private named Schwartz, since not unknown in his profession,
and what he found was a bald man in uniform, but with his face
so bandaged by a kind of mask made of his own military scarf
that nothing but open, dead eyes could be seen, glittering stonily
in the
moonlight. The
bullet had gone through the gag into the jaw;
that is why there was a shot-hole in the scarf, but only one shot.
Naturally, if not
correctly, young Schwartz tore off the mysterious
silken mask and cast it on the grass; and then he saw whom he had slain.
"We cannot be certain of the next phase. But I
incline to believe
that there was a fairy tale, after all, in that little wood,
horrible as was its occasion. Whether the young lady named Hedwig
had any
previous knowledge of the soldier she saved and
eventually married,
or whether she came
accidentally upon the accident and their intimacy
began that night, we shall probably never know. But we can know,
I fancy, that this Hedwig was a
heroine, and deserved to marry a man
who became something of a hero. She did the bold and the wise thing.
She persuaded the
sentry to go back to his post, in which place
there was nothing to connect him with the
disaster; he was but one of
the most loyal and
orderly of fifty such sentries within call.
She remained by the body and gave the alarm; and there was nothing
to connect her with the
disaster either, since she had not got,
and could not have, any firearms.
"Well," said Father Brown rising
cheerfully "I hope they're happy."
"Where are you going?" asked his friend.
"I'm going to have another look at that
portrait of the Chamberlain,
the Arnhold who betrayed his brethren," answered the priest.
"I wonder what part--I wonder if a man is less a
traitor when he is
twice a
traitor?"
And he ruminated long before the
portrait of a white-haired man
with black eyebrows and a pink, painted sort of smile that seemed
to
contradict the black
warning in his eyes.
End