"Г.К.Честертон. The Scandal of Father Brown " - читать интересную книгу автора

is where the madman is like the martyr - sort of beyond this world. A real
fanatic can always kill anybody he likes.'
Before the priest could reply, a joyous band of bagmen rolled into the
room like a shoal of porpoises; and the magnificent bellow of a big, beaming
man, with an equally big and beaming tie - pin, brought the eager and
obsequious manager running like a dog to the whistle, with a rapidity which
the police in plain clothes had failed to inspire.
'I'm sure I'm very sorry, Mr Jukes,' said the manager, who wore a
rather agitated smile and a wave or curl of very varnished hair across his
forehead. 'We're rather understaffed at present; and I had to attend to
something in the hotel, Mr Jukes.'
Mr Jukes was magnanimous, but in a noisy way; and ordered drinks all
round, conceding one even to the almost cringing manager. Mr Jukes was a
traveller for a very famous and fashionable wine and spirits firm; and may
have conceived himself as lawfully the leader in such a place. Anyhow, he
began a boisterous monologue, rather tending to tell the manager how to
manage his hotel; and the others seemed to accept him as an authority. The
policeman and the priest had retired to a low bench and small table in the
background, from which they watched events, up to that rather remarkable
moment when the policeman had very decisively to intervene.
For the next thing that happened, as already narrated, was the
astonishing apparition of a brown Asiatic in a green turban, accompanied by
the (if possible) more astonishing apparition of a Noncomformist minister;
omens such as appear before a doom. In this case there was no doubt about
evidence for the portent. A taciturn but observant boy cleaning the steps
for the last hour (being a leisurely worker), the dark, fat, bulky bar -
attendant, even the diplomatic but distracted manager, all bore witness to
the miracle.
The apparitions, as the sceptics say, were due to perfectly natural
causes. The man with the mane of yellow hair and the semi - clerical clothes
was not only familiar as a preacher on the sands, but as a propagandist
throughout the modern world. He was no less a person than the Rev. David
Pryce - Jones, whose far - resounding slogan was Prohibition and
Purification for Our Land and the Britains Overseas. He as an excellent
public speaker and organizer; and an idea had occurred to him that ought to
have occurred to Prohibitionists long ago. It was the simple idea that, if
Prohibition is right, some honour is due to the Prophet who was perhaps the
first Prohibitionist. He had corresponded with the leaders of Mahommedan
religious thought, and had finally induced a distinguished Moslem (one of
whose names was Akbar and the rest an untranslatable ululation of Allah with
attributes) to come and lecture in England on the ancient Moslem veto on
wine. Neither of them certainly had been in a public - house bar before; but
they had come there by the process already described; driven from the
genteel tea - rooms, shepherded into the newly - decorated saloon. Probably
all would have been well, if the great Prohibitionist, in his innocence, had
not advanced to the counter and asked for a glass of milk.
The commercial travellers, though a kindly race, emitted involuntary
noises of pain; a murmur of suppressed jests was heard, as 'Shun the bowl,'
or 'Better bring out the cow'. But the magnificent Mr Jukes, feeling it due
to his wealth and tie - pin to produce more refined humour, fanned himself