"If he is," replied the general, "I don't see why you should come to me about it. I ought to tell you I'm a strong Protestant."
"I'm very fond of strong Protestants," said Father Brown. "I came to you because I was sure you would tell the truth. I hope it is not uncharitable to feel less sure of Sir John Cockspur."
The brown eyes twinkled again, but the general said nothing.
"General," said Father Brown, "suppose Cockspur or his sort were going to make the world ring with tales against your country and your flag. Suppose he said your regiment ran away in battle, or your staff were in the pay of the enemy. Would you let anything stand between you and the facts that would refute him? Wouldn't you get on the track of the truth at all costs to anybody? Well, I have a regiment, and I belong to an army. It is being discredited by what I am certain is a fictitious story; but I don't know the true story. Can you blame me for trying to find it out?"
The soldier was silent, and the priest continued:
"I have heard the story Mallow was told yesterday, about Marne retiring with a broken heart through the death of his more than brother. I am sure there was more in it than that. I came to ask you if you know any more."
"No," said the general shortly; "I cannot tell you any more."
"General," said Father Brown with a broad grin, "you would have called me a Jesuit if I had used that equivocation."
The soldier laughed gruffly, and then growled with much greater hostility.
"Well, I won't tell you, then," he said. "What do you say to that?"