It was fortunate
that even in such fevered moments his eye was cool and quick. Something in a
shop-front went by him like a mere flash; yet he went back to look at it. The
shop was a popular greengrocer and fruiterer's. In the two most prominent
compartments were two heaps, of oranges and of nuts respectively. On the heap
of nuts lay a scrap of cardboard, on which was written in bold, blue chalk,
"Best tangerine oranges, two a penny." On the oranges was the equally
clear and exact description, "Finest Brazil nuts, 4d. a lb." M.
Valentin looked at these two placards and imagined he had met this highly
subtle form of humour before, and that somewhat recently. He drew the attention
of the red-faced fruiterer, who was looking rather angrily up and down the
street, to this inaccuracy in his advertisements. The fruiterer said nothing,
but sharply put each card into its proper place. The detective, leaning
elegantly on his walking-cane, continued to scrutinise the shop. At last he
said, "Pray excuse my apparent irrelevance, my good sir, but I should like
to ask you a question in experimental psychology and the association of
ideas."
The red-faced
shopman regarded him with an eye of menace; but he continued gaily, swinging
his cane, "Why," he pursued, "why are two tickets wrongly placed
in a greengrocer's shop like a shovel hat that has come to London for a
holiday? Or, in case I do not make myself clear, what is the mystical
association which connects the idea of nuts marked as oranges with the idea of
two clergymen, one tall and the other short?"
Chesterton in 1909 |
The eyes of the
tradesman stood out of his head like a snail's; he really seemed for an instant
likely to throw himself upon the stranger. At last he stammered angrily:
"I don't know what you 'ave to do with it, but if you're one of their
friends, you can tell 'em from me that I'll knock their silly 'eads off,
parsons or no parsons, if they upset my apples again."
"Indeed?"
asked the detective, with great sympathy. "Did they upset your
apples?"
"One of 'em
did," said the heated shopman; "rolled 'em all over the street. I'd
'ave caught the fool but for havin' to pick 'em up."
"Which way
did these parsons go?" asked Valentin.
"Up that
second road on the left-hand side, and then across the square," said the
other promptly.
"Thanks,"
replied Valentin, and vanished like a fairy. On the other side of the second
square he found a policeman, and said: "This is urgent, constable; have
you seen two clergymen in shovel hats?"
The policeman
began to laugh heavily. "I
'ave, sir; and if you arst me, one of 'em was drunk. He stood in the middle of
the road that bewildered that—"
"Which way
did they go?" snapped Valentin.
"They took one
of them yellow buses over there," answered the man; "them that go to
Hampstead."
Valentin
produced his official card and said very rapidly: "Call up two of your men
to come with me in pursuit," and crossed the road with such contagious
energy that the heavy policeman was moved to almost agile obedience. In a
minute and a half the French detective was joined on the opposite pavement by
an inspector and a man in plain clothes.
"Well,
sir," began the former, with smiling importance, "and what
may—?"
Valentin pointed
suddenly with his cane. "I'll tell you on the top of that omnibus,"
he said, and was moving and evading across the tangle of the traffic. When all
three sank panting on the top seats of the yellow vehicle, the inspector said:
"We could go four times as quick in a taxi."
"Quite
true," replied their leader placidly, "if we only had an idea of
where we were going."
"Well,
where are you going?" asked the other, staring.
Valentin smoked
frowningly for a few seconds; then, removing his cigarette, he said: "If
you know what a man's doing, get in front of him; but if you want to guess what
he's doing, keep behind him. Stray
when he strays; stop when he stops; travel as slowly as he. Then you may see
what he saw and may act as he acted. All we can do is to keep our eyes sensitive
for a surprising thing."
"What sort
of surprising thing do you mean?" asked the inspector.
"Any sort
of surprising thing," answered Valentin, and relapsed into obstinate
silence.
The yellow
omnibus crawled up the northern roads for what seemed like hours on end; the
great detective would not explain further, and perhaps his assistants felt a silent
and growing doubt of his errand. Perhaps, also, they felt a silent and growing
desire for lunch, for the hours crept long past the normal luncheon hour, and
the long roads of the North London suburbs seemed to shoot out into length
after length like an infernal telescope. It was one of those journeys on which
a man perpetually feels that now at last he must have come to the end of the
universe, and then finds he has only come to the beginning of Tufnell Park.
London died away in dirty taverns and boring garments, and then was
unaccountably born again in burning high streets and unconcealed hotels. It was
like passing through thirteen separate vulgar cities all just touching each
other. But though the winter twilight was already threatening the road ahead of
them, the Parisian detective still sat silent and watchful, eyeing the frontage
of the streets that slid by on either side. By the time they had left Camden
Town behind, the policemen were nearly asleep; at least, they gave something
like a jump as Valentin leapt erect, struck a hand on each man's shoulder, and
shouted to the driver to stop.
Vocabulary
Shovel hat: A
stiff, broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat, turned up at the sides and projecting in
front, worn by some English clergymen.
Stray: get lost
De
la web
Mark Williams,
star of Father Brown drama, talks to BBC Worldwide Showcase 2013:
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario
Deja aquí tus mensajes, comentarios o críticas. Serán bienvenidos