THE HEAD OF CÆSAR
heated face, in which there hung a red shadow of anger; then, despite her anxieties, humour broke out of her eyes and the corners of her mouth, and she answered almost grimly: "Well; if you're so keen on my conversation, perhaps you'll answer my question." After a pause she added, "I had the honour to ask you why you thought the man's nose was false."
"The wax always spots like that just a little in this weather," answered Father Brown with entire simplicity.
But it's such a crooked nose," remonstrated the red-haired girl.
The priest smiled in his turn. "I don't say it's the sort of nose one would wear out of mere foppery," he admitted. "This man, I think, wears it because his real nose is so much nicer."
"But why?" she insisted.
"What is the nursery-rhyme?" observed Brown absent-mindedly. "There was a crooked man and he went a crooked mile. . . . That man, I fancy, has gone a very crooked road—by following his nose."
"Why, what's he done?" she demanded, rather shakily.
"I don't want to force your confidence by a hair," said Father Brown, very quietly. "But I think you could tell me more about that than I can tell you."
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