hing had so chilled their blood as
that voice of an ogre, sounding suddenly out of a silent and empty inn.

"My cook!" cried the proprietor hastily. "I had forgotten my cook. He
will be starting presently. Sherry, sir?"

And, sure enough, there appeared in the doorway a big white bulk with
white cap and white apron, as befits a cook, but with the needless
emphasis of a black face. Flambeau had often heard that negroes made
good cooks. But somehow something in the contrast of colour and caste
increased his surprise that the hotel proprietor should answer the
call of the cook, and not the cook the call of the proprietor. But he
reflected that head cooks are proverbially arrogant; and, besides, the
host had come back with the sherry, and that was the great thing.

"I rather wonder," said Father Brown, "that there are so few people
about the beach, when this big fight is coming on after all. We only met
one man for miles."

The hotel proprietor shrugged his shoulders. "They come from the other
end of the town, you see--from the station, three miles from here. They
are only interested in the sport, and will stop in hotels for the night
only. After all, it is hardly weather for basking on the shore."

"Or on the seat," said Flambeau, and pointed to the little table.

"I have to keep a look-out," said the man with the motionless face. He
was a quiet, well-featured fellow, rather sallow; his dark clothes had
nothing distinctive about them, except that his black necktie was worn
rather high, like a stock, and secured by a gold pin with some grotesque
head to it. Nor was there anything notable in the face, except something
that was probably a mere nervous trick--a habit of opening one eye
more narrowly than the other, giving the impression that the other was
larger, or was, perhaps, artificial.

The silence that ensued was broken by their host saying quietly:
"Whereabouts did you meet the one man on your march?"

"Curiously enough," answered the priest, "close by here--just by that
bandstand."

Flambeau, who had sat on the long iron seat to finish his sherry, put it
down and rose to his feet, staring at his friend in amazement. He opened
his mouth to speak, and then shut it again.

"Curious," said the dark-haired man thoughtfully. "What was he like?"

"It was rather dark when I saw him," began Father Brown, "but he was--"

As has been said, the hotel-keeper can be proved to have told the
precise truth. His phrase tha