"It really does look like some vast vampire that has swooped down like a bird."
"How else could he have come?" came a voice from the doorway, and Father Brown looked up to see Aylmer once more standing there.
"Couldn't he have walked?" replied Father Brown evasively.
Aylmer stretched out his arm and swept the white landscape with a gesture.
"Look at the snow," he said in a deep voice that had a sort of roll and thrill in it. "Is not the snow unspotted-pure as the white magic you yourself called it? Is there a speck on it for miles, save that one foul black blot that has fallen there? There are no footprints, but a few of yours and mine; there are none approaching the house from anywhere."
Then he looked at the little priest for a moment with a concentrated and curious expression, and said:
"I will tell you something else. That cloak he flies with is too long to walk with. He was not a very tall man, and it would trail behind him like a royal train. Stretch it out over his body, if you like, and see."
"What happened to you both?" asked Father Brown abruptly.
"It was too swift to describe," answered Aylmer. "I had looked out of the door and was turning back
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