The Incredulity of Father Brown
"You'll be saying I'm the mystagogue now," said Father Brown, somewhat abashed, but with a broad smile, "but it was really quite accidental. Drage didn't commit the crime—I mean this crime. His only crime was blackmailing somebody, and he hung about here to do it; but he wasn't likely to want the secret to be public property or the whole business to be cut short by death. We can talk about him afterwards. Just at the moment, I only want him cleared out of the way."
"Out of the way of what?" asked the other.
"Out of the way of the truth," replied the priest, looking at him tranquilly, with level eyelids.
"Do you mean," faltered the other, "that you know the truth?"
"I rather think so," said Father Brown, modestly.
There was an abrupt silence, after which Crake cried out suddenly and irrelevantly in a rasping voice.
"Why, where is that secretary fellow? Wilton! He ought to be here."
"I am in communication with Mr. Wilton," said Father Brown gravely; "in fact, I asked him to ring me up here in a few minutes from now. I may say that we've worked the thing out together, in a manner of speaking."
"If you're working together, I suppose it's all right," grumbled Crake. "I know he was always a sort of bloodhound on the trail of this vanishing
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