“Oh, for the Lord’s sake,” cried the police detective laughing, “don’t let’s begin with such long words.”
“Don’t you know what psychology means?” asked Flambeau with friendly surprise. “Psychology means being off your chump.”
“Still I hardly follow,” replied the official.
“Well,” said Flambeau, with decision, “I mean that we’ve only found out one thing about Lord Glengyle. He was a maniac.”
The black silhouette of Gow with his top hat and spade passed the window, dimly outlined against the darkening sky. Father Brown stared passively at it and answered:
“I can understand there must have been something odd about the man, or he wouldn’t have buried himself alive—nor been in such a hurry to bury himself dead. But what makes you think it was lunacy?”
“Well,” said Flambeau, “you just listen to the list of things Mr. Craven has found in the house.”
“We must get a candle,” said Craven, suddenly. “A storm is getting up, and it’s too dark to read.”
“Have you found any candles,” asked Brown smiling, “among your oddities?”
Flambeau raised a grave face, and fixed his dark eyes on his friend.