somersaults　like　acrobats；　turning　their　backs　to　everybody　like　very　rude　persons。
  Father　Brown　seemed　quite　unconscious　of　this　cloud　of　witnesses；　but　followed　Parkinson　with　an　idly　attentive　eye　till　he　took　himself　and　his　absurd　spear　into　the　farther　room　of　Bruno。　　Then　he　abandoned　himself　to　such　abstract　meditations　as　always　amused　him　calculating　the　angles　of　the　mirrors；　the　angles　of　each　refraction；　the　angle　at　which　each　must　fit　into　the　wall。。。when　he　heard　a　strong　but　strangled　cry。
  He　sprang　to　his　feet　and　stood　rigidly　listening。　　At　the　same　instant　Sir　Wilson　Seymour　burst　back　into　the　room；　white　as　ivory。　　〃Who's　that　man　in　the　passage？〃　he　cried。　　〃Where's　that　dagger　of　mine？〃
  Before　Father　Brown　could　turn　in　his　heavy　boots　Seymour　was　plunging　about　the　room　looking　for　the　weapon。　　And　before　he　could　possibly　find　that　weapon　or　any　other；　a　brisk　running　of　feet　broke　upon　the　pavement　outside；　and　the　square　face　of　Cutler　was　thrust　into　the　same　doorway。　　He　was　still　grotesquely　grasping　a　bunch　of　lilies…of…the…valley。　　〃What's　this？〃　he　cried。　　〃What's　that　creature　down　the　passage？　　Is　this　some　of　your　tricks？〃
  〃My　tricks！〃　hissed　his　pale　rival；　and　made　a　stride　towards　him。
  In　the　instant　of　time　in　which　all　this　happened　Father　Brown　stepped　out　into　the　top　of　the　passage；　looked　down　it；　and　at　once　walked　briskly　towards　what　he　saw。
  At　this　the　other　two　men　dropped　their　quarrel　and　darted　after　him；　Cutler　calling　out：　　〃What　are　you　doing？　　Who　are　you？〃
  〃My　name　is　Brown；〃　said　the　priest　sadly；　as　he　bent　over　something　and　straightened　himself　again。　　〃Miss　Rome　sent　for　me；　and　I　came　as　quickly　as　I　could。　　I　have　come　too　late。〃
  The　three　men　looked　down；　and　in　one　of　them　at　least　the　life　died　in　that　late　light　of　afternoon。　　It　ran　along　the　passage　like　a　path　of　gold；　and　in　the　midst　of　it　Aurora　Rome　lay　lustrous　in　her　robes　of　green　and　gold；　with　her　dead　face　turned　upwards。　　Her　dress　was　torn　away　as　in　a　struggle；　leaving　the　right　shoulder　bare；　but　the　wound　from　which　the　blood　was　welling　was　on　the　other　side。　　The　brass　dagger　lay　flat　and　gleaming　a　yard　or　so　away。
  There　was　a　blank　stillness　for　a　measurable　time；　so　that　they　could　hear　far　off　a　flower…girl's　laugh　outside　Charing　Cross；　and　someone　whistling　furiously　for　a　taxicab　in　one　of　the　streets　off　the　Strand。　　Then　the　Captain；　with　a　movement　so　sudden　that　it　might　have　been　passion　or　play…acting；　took　Sir　Wilson　Seymour　by　the　throat。
  Seymour　looked　at　him　steadily　without　either　fight　or　fear。　　〃You　need　not　kill　me；〃　he　said　in　a　voice　quite　cold；　〃I　shall　do　that　on　my　own　account。〃
  The　Captain's　hand　hesitated　and　dropped；　and　the　other　added　with　the　same　icy　candour：　　〃If　I　find　I　haven't　the　nerve　to　do　it　with　that　dagger　I　can　do　it　in　a　month　with　drink。〃
  〃Drink　isn't　good　enough　for　me；〃　replied　Cutler；　〃but　I'll　have　blood　for　this　before　I　die。　　Not　yoursbut　I　think　I　know　whose。〃
  And　before　the　others　could　appreciate　his　intention　he　snatched　up　the　dagger；　sprang　at　the　other　door　at　the　lower　end　of　the　passage；　burst　it　open；　bolt　and　all；　and　confronted　Bruno　in　his　dressing…room。　　As　he　did　so；　old　Parkinson　tottered　in　his　wavering　way　out　of　the　door　and　caught　sight　of　the　corpse　lying　in　the　passage。　　He　moved　shakily　towards　it；　looked　at　it　weakly　with　a　working　face；　then　moved　shakily　back　into　the　dressing…room　again；　and　sat　down　suddenly　on　one　of　the　richly　cushioned　chairs。　　Father　Brown　instantly　ran　across　to　him；　taking　no　notice　of　Cutler　and　the　colossal　actor；　though　the　room　already　rang　with　their　blows　and　they　began　to　struggle　for　the　dagger。　　Seymour；　who　retained　some　practical　sense；　was　whistling　for　the　police　at　the　end　of　the　passage。
  When　the　police　arrived　it　was　to　tear　the　two　men　from　an　almost　ape…like　grapple；　and；　after　a　few　formal　inquiries；　to　arrest　Isidore　Bruno　upon　a　charge　of　murder；　brought　against　him　by　his　furious　opponent。　　The　idea　that　the　great　national　hero　of　the　hour　had　arrested　a　wrongdoer　with　his　own　hand　doubtless　had　its　weight　with　the　police；　who　are　not　without　elements　of　the　journalist。　　They　treated　Cutler　with　a　certain　solemn　attention；　and　pointed　out　that　he　had　got　a　slight　slash　on　the　hand。　　Even　as　Cutler　bore　him　back　across　tilted　chair　and　table；　Bruno　had　twisted　the　dagger　out　of　his　grasp　and　disabled　him　just　below　the　wrist。　　The　injury　was　really　slight；　but　till　he　was　removed　from　the　room　the　half…savage　prisoner　stared　at　the　running　blood　with　a　steady　smile。
  〃Looks　a　cannibal　sort　of　chap；　don't　he？〃　said　the　constable　confidentially　to　Cutler。
  Cutler　made　no　answer；　but　said　sharply　a　moment　after：　〃We　must　attend　to　the。。。the　death。。。〃　and　his　voice　escaped　from　articulation。
  〃The　two　deaths；〃　came　in　the　voice　of　the　priest　from　the　farther　side　of　the　room。　　〃This　poor　fellow　was　gone　when　I　got　across　to　him。〃　And　he　stood　looking　down　at　old　Parkinson；　who　sat　in　a　black　huddle　on　the　gorgeous　chair。　　He　also　had　paid　his　tribute；　not　without　eloquence；　to　the　woman　who　had　died。
  The　silence　was　first　broken　by　Cutler；　who　seemed　not　untouched　by　a　rough　tenderness。　　〃I　wish　I　was　him；〃　he　said　huskily。　　〃I　remember　he　used　to　watch　her　wherever　she　walked　more　thananybody。　　She　was　his　air；　and　he's　dried　up。　　He's　just　dead。〃
  〃We　are　all　dead；〃　said　Seymour　in　a　strange　voice；　looking　down　the　road。
  They　took　leave　of　Father　Brown　at　the　corner　of　the　road；　with　some　random　apologies　for　any　rudeness　they　might　have　shown。　　Both　their　faces　were　tragic；　but　also　cryptic。
  The　mind　of　the　little　priest　was　always　a　rabbit…warren　of　wild　thoughts　that　jumped　too　quickly　for　him　to　catch　them。　　Like　the　white　tail　of　a　rabbit　he　had　the　vanishing　thought　that　he　was　certain　of　their　grief；　but　not　so　certain　of　their　innocence。
  〃We　had　better　all　be　going；〃　said　Seymour　heavily；　〃we　have　done　all　we　can　to　help。〃
  〃Will　you　understand　my　motives；〃　asked　Father　Brown　quietly；　〃if　I　say　you　have　done　all　you　can　to　hurt？〃
  They　both　started　as　if　guiltily；　and　Cutler　said　sharply：　　〃To　hurt　whom？〃
  〃To　hurt　yourselves；〃　answered　the　priest。　　〃I　would　not　add　to　your　troubles　if　it　weren't　common　justice　to　warn　you。　　You've　done　nearly　everything　you　could　do　to　hang　yourselves；　if　this　actor　should　be　acquitted。　　They'll　be　sure　to　subpoena　me；　I　shall　be　bound　to　say　that　after　the　cry　was　heard　each　of　you　rushed　into　the　room　in　a　wild　state　and　began　quarrelling　about　a　dagger。　　As　far　as　my　words　on　oath　can　go；　you　might　either　of　you　have　done　it。　　You　hurt　yourselves　with　that；　and　then　Captain　Cutler　must　have　hurt　himself　with　the　dagger。〃
  〃Hurt　myself！〃　exclaimed　the　Captain；　with　contempt。　　〃A　silly　little　scratch。〃
  〃Which　drew　blood；〃　replied　the　priest；　nodding。　　〃We　know　there's　blood　on　the　brass　now。　　And　so　we　shall　never　know　whether　there　was　blood　on　it　before。〃
  There　was　a　silence；　and　then　Seymour　said；　with　an　emphasis　quite　alien　to　his　daily　accent：　　〃But　I　saw　a　man　in　the　passage。〃
  〃I　know　you　did；〃　answered　the　cleric　Brown　with　a　face　of　wood；　〃so　did　Captain　Cutler。　　That's　what　seems　so　improbable。〃
  Before　either　could　make　sufficient　sense　of　it　even　to　answer；　Father　Brown　had　politely　excused　himself　and　gone　stumping　up　the　road　with　his　stumpy　old　umbrella。
  As　modern　newspapers　are　conducted；　the　most　honest　and　most　important　news　is　the　police　news。　　If　it　be　true　that　in　the　twentieth　century　more　space　is　given　to　murder　than　to　politics；　it　is　for　the　excellent　reason　that　murder　is　a　more　serious　subject。　　But　even　this　would　hardly　explain　the　enormous　omnipresence　and　widely　distributed　detail　of　〃The　Bruno　Case；〃　or　〃The　Passage　Mystery；〃　in　the　Press　of　London　and　the　provinces。　　So　vast　was　the　excitement　that　for　some　weeks　the　Press　really　told　the　truth；　and　the　reports　of　examination　and　cross…examination；　if　interminable；　even　if　intolerable　are　at　least　reliable。　　The　true　reason；　of　course；　was　the　coincidence　of　persons。　　The　victim　was　a　popular　actress；　the　accused　was　a　popular　actor；　and　the　accused　had　been　caught　red…handed；　as　it　were；　by　the　most　popular　soldier　of　the　patriotic　season。　　In　those　extraordinary　circumstances　the　Press　was　paralysed　into　probity　and　accuracy；　and　the　rest　of　this　somewhat　singular　business　can　practically　be　recorded　from　reports　of　Bruno's　trial。
  The　trial　was　presided　over　by　Mr　Justice　Monkhouse；　one　of　those　who　are　jeered　at　as　humorous　judges；　but　who　are　generally　much　more　serious　than　the　serious　judges；　for　their　levity　comes　from　a　living　impatience　of　professional　solemnity；　while　the　serious　judge　is　really　filled　with　frivolity；　because　he　is　filled　with　vanity。　　All　the　chief　actors　being　of　a　worldly　importance；　the　barristers　were　well　balanced；　the　prosecutor　for　the　Crown　was　Sir　Walter　Cowdray；　a　heavy；　but　weighty　advocate　of　the　sort　that　knows　how　to　seem　English　and　trustworthy；　and　how　to　be　rhetori