“By no stretch of fancy can
the human mind connect together snuff and diamonds and wax and loose
clockwork.”
“I think I see the
connection,” said the priest. “This Glengyle was mad against the French
Revolution. He was an enthusiast for the ancien regime, and was trying
to re-enact literally the family life of the last Bourbons. He had snuff
because it was the eighteenth century luxury; wax candles, because they were
the eighteenth century lighting; the mechanical bits of iron represent the
locksmith hobby of Louis XVI; the diamonds are for the Diamond Necklace of
Marie Antoinette.”
Both the other men were
staring at him with round eyes. “What a perfectly extraordinary notion!” cried
Flambeau. “Do you really think that is the truth?”
“I am perfectly sure it
isn’t,” answered Father Brown, “only you said that nobody could connect snuff
and diamonds and clockwork and candles. I give you that connection off-hand.
The real truth, I am very sure, lies deeper.”
He paused a moment and
listened to the wailing of the wind in the turrets. Then he said, “The late
Earl of Glengyle was a thief. He lived a second and darker life as a desperate
housebreaker. He did not have any candlesticks because he only used these candles
cut short in the little lantern he carried. The snuff he employed as the
fiercest French criminals have used pepper: to fling it suddenly in dense
masses in the face of a captor or pursuer. But the final proof is in the
curious coincidence of the diamonds and the small steel wheels. Surely that
makes everything plain to you? Diamonds and small steel wheels are the only two
instruments with which you can cut out a pane of glass.”
The bough of a broken pine
tree lashed heavily in the blast against the windowpane behind them, as if in
parody of a burglar, but they did not turn round. Their eyes were fastened on
Father Brown.
“Diamonds and small wheels,”
repeated Craven ruminating. “Is that all that makes you think it the true
explanation?”
“I don’t think it the true
explanation,” replied the priest placidly; “but you said that nobody could
connect the four things. The true tale, of course, is something much more
humdrum. Glengyle had found, or thought he had found, precious stones on his estate.
Somebody had bamboozled him with those loose brilliants, saying they were found
in the castle caverns. The little wheels are some diamond-cutting affair. He
had to do the thing very roughly and in a small way, with the help of a few
shepherds or rude fellows on these hills. Snuff is the one great luxury of such
Scotch shepherds; it’s the one thing with which you can bribe them. They didn’t
have candlesticks because they didn’t want them; they held the candles in their
hands when they explored the caves.”
“Is that all?” asked
Flambeau after a long pause. “Have we got to the dull truth at last?”
“Oh, no,” said Father Brown.
As the wind died in the most
distant pine woods with a long hoot as of mockery Father Brown, with an utterly
impassive face, went on:
“I only suggested that
because you said one could not plausibly connect snuff with clockwork or
candles with bright stones. Ten false philosophies will fit the universe; ten
false theories will fit Glengyle Castle. But we want the real explanation of
the castle and the universe. But are there no other exhibits?” - The Honor of Israel Gow, G. K. Chesterton
Meditating on my previous post reminded me of this little paperback I used to have, and in which I first read The Honor of Israel Gow. I know Chesterton is not a scientist or a formal philosopher, but he makes a lot of good points in entertaining ways.
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