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The Innocence of Father Brown

The Sins of Prince Saradine
When Flambeau took his month's holiday from his office in Westminster he took it in a
small sailing-boat, so small that it passed much of its time as a rowing-boat. He took it,
moreover, in little rivers in the Eastern counties, rivers so small that the boat looked like a
magic boat, sailing on land through meadows and cornfields. The vessel was just
comfortable for two people; there was room only for necessities, and Flambeau had
stocked it with such things as his special philosophy considered necessary. They reduced
themselves, apparently, to four essentials: tins of salmon, if he should want to eat; loaded
revolvers, if he should want to fight; a bottle of brandy, presumably in case he should
faint; and a priest, presumably in case he should die. With this light luggage he crawled
down the little Norfolk rivers, intending to reach the Broads at last, but meanwhile
delighting in the overhanging gardens and meadows, the mirrored mansions or villages,
lingering to fish in the pools and corners, and in some sense hugging the shore.
Like a true philosopher, Flambeau had no aim in his holiday; but, like a true philosopher,
he had an excuse. He had a sort of half purpose, which he took just so seriously that its
success would crown the holiday, but just so lightly that its failure would not spoil it.
Years ago, when he had been a king of thieves and the most famous figure in Paris, he
had often received wild communications of approval, denunciation, or even love; but one
had, somehow, stuck in his memory. It consisted simply of a visiting-card, in an envelope
with an English postmark. On the back of the card was written in French and in green
ink: "If you ever retire and become respectable, come and see me. I want to meet you, for
I have met all the other great men of my time. That trick of yours of getting one detective
to arrest the other was the most splendid scene in French history." On the front of the
card was engraved in the formal fashion, "Prince Saradine, Reed House, Reed Island,
Norfolk."
He had not troubled much about the prince then, beyond ascertaining that he had been a
brilliant and fashionable figure in southern Italy. In his youth, it was said, he had eloped
with a married woman of high rank; the escapade was scarcely startling in his social
world, but it had clung to men's minds because of an additional tragedy: the alleged
suicide of the insulted husband, who appeared to have flung himself over a precipice in
Sicily. The prince then lived in Vienna for a time, but his more recent years seemed to
have been passed in perpetual and restless travel. But when Flambeau, like the prince
himself, had left European celebrity and settled in England, it occurred to him that he
might pay a surprise visit to this eminent exile in the Norfolk Broads. Whether he should
find the place he had no idea; and, indeed, it was sufficiently small and forgotten. But, as
things fell out, he found it much sooner than he expected.
They had moored their boat one night under a bank veiled in high grasses and short
pollarded trees. Sleep, after heavy sculling, had come to them early, and by a
corresponding accident they awoke before it was light. To speak more strictly, they
awoke before it was daylight; for a large lemon moon was only just setting in the forest
of high grass above their heads, and the sky was of a vivid violet-blue, nocturnal but
 
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