Gilbert Chesterton: The Secret of Father Brown

Father Brown made a gesture as of deprecation; and Grandison Chace at last let out a long breath like a whistle.

“I have told you the exact truth,” said Flambeau; “and it is open to you to hand me over to the police.”

There was an instant of profound stillness, in which could be faintly heard the belated laughter of Flambeau’s children in the high, dark house above them, and the crunching and snorting of the great, grey pigs in the twilight. And then it was cloven by a high voice, vibrant and with a touch of offence, almost surprising for those who do not understand the sensitive American spirit, and how near, in spite of commonplace contrasts, it can sometimes come to the chivalry of Spain.

“Monsieur Duroc,” he said rather stiffly. “We have been friends, I hope, for some considerable period; and I should be pretty much pained to suppose you thought me capable of playing you such a trick while I was enjoying your hospitality and the society of your family, merely because you chose to tell me a little of your own autobiography of your own free will. And when you spoke merely in defence of your friend – no, sir, I can’t imagine any gentleman double-crossing another under such circumstances; it would be a damned sight better to be a dirty informer and sell men’s blood for money. But in a case like this -! Could you conceive any man being such a Judas?”

“I could try.” said Father Brown.