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g to bed either in the tower or the house。
〃I think the lawn wants weeding；〃 said he dreamily。 〃If I could find a spud or something I'd do it myself。〃
They followed him； laughing and half remonstrating； but he replied with the utmost solemnity； explaining to them； in a maddening little sermon； that one can always find some small occupation that is helpful to others。 He did not find a spud； but he found an old broom made of twigs； with which he began energetically to brush the fallen leaves off the grass。
〃Always some little thing to be done；〃 he said with idiotic cheerfulness； 〃as George Herbert says： ‘Who sweeps an Admiral's garden in Cornwall as for Thy laws makes that and the action fine。' And now；〃 he added； suddenly slinging the broom away； 〃Let's go and water the flowers。〃
With the same mixed emotions they watched him uncoil some considerable lengths of the large garden hose； saying with an air of wistful discrimination： 〃The red tulips before the yellow； I think。 Look a bit dry； don't you think？〃
He turned the little tap on the instrument； and the water shot out straight and solid as a long rod of steel。
〃Look out； Samson；〃 cried Flambeau； 〃why； you've cut off the tulip's head。〃
Father Brown stood ruefully contemplating the decapitated plant。
〃Mine does seem to be a rather kill or cure sort of watering；〃 he admitted； scratching his head。 〃I suppose it's a pity I didn't find the spud。 You should have seen me with the spud！ Talking of tools； you've got that swordstick； Flambeau； you always carry？ That's right； and Sir Cecil could have that sword the Admiral threw away by the fence here。 How grey everything looks！〃
〃The mist's rising from the river；〃 said the staring Flambeau。
Almost as he spoke the huge figure of the hairy gardener appeared on a higher ridge of the trenched and terraced lawn； hailing them with a brandished rake and a horribly bellowing voice。 〃Put down that hose；〃 he shouted； 〃put down that hose and go to your〃
〃I am fearfully clumsy；〃 replied the reverend gentleman weakly； 〃do you know； I upset some wine at dinner。〃 He made a wavering half…turn of apology towards the gardener； with the hose still spouting in his hand。 The gardener caught the cold crash of the water full in his face like the crash of a cannon…ball； staggered； slipped and went sprawling with his boots in the air。
〃How very dreadful！〃 said Father Brown； looking round in a sort of wonder。 〃Why； I've hit a man！〃
He stood with his head forward for a moment as if looking or listening； and then set off at a trot towards the tower； still trailing the hose behind him。 The tower was quite close； but its outline was curiously dim。
〃Your river mist；〃 he said； 〃has a rum smell。〃
〃By the Lord it has；〃 cried Fanshaw； who was very white。 〃But you can't mean〃
〃I mean；〃 said Father Brown； 〃that one of the Admiral's scientific predictions is coming true tonight。 This story is going to end in smoke。〃
As he spoke a most beautiful rose…red light seemed to burst into blossom like a gigantic rose； but accompanied with a crackling and rattling noise that was like the laughter of devils。
〃My God！ what is this？〃 cried Sir Cecil Fanshaw。
〃The sign of the flaming tower；〃 said Father Brown； and sent the driving water from his hose into the heart of the red patch。
〃Lucky we hadn't gone to bed！〃 ejaculated Fanshaw。 〃I suppose it can't spread to the house。〃
〃You may remember；〃 said the priest quietly； 〃that the wooden fence that might have carried it was cut away。〃
Flambeau turned electrified eyes upon his friend； but Fanshaw only said rather absently： 〃Well； nobody can be killed； anyhow。〃
〃This is rather a curious kind of tower；〃 observed Father Brown； 〃when it takes to killing people； it always kills people who are somewhere else。〃
At the same instant the monstrous figure of the gardener with the streaming beard stood again on the green ridge against the sky； waving others to come on； but now waving not a rake but a cutlass。 Behind him came the two negroes； also with the old crooked cutlasses out of the trophy。 But in the blood…red glare； with their black faces and yellow figures； they looked like devils carrying instruments of torture。 In the dim garden behind them a distant voice was heard calling out brief directions。 When the priest heard the voice； a terrible change came over his countenance。
But he remained composed； and never took his eye off the patch of flame which had begun by spreading； but now seemed to shrink a little as it hissed under the torch of the long silver spear of water。 He kept his finger along the nozzle of the pipe to ensure the aim； and attended to no other business； knowing only by the noise and that semi…conscious corner of the eye； the exciting incidents that began to tumble themselves about the island garden。 He gave two brief directions to his friends。 One was： 〃Knock these fellows down somehow and tie them up； whoever they are； there's rope down by those faggots。 They want to take away my nice hose。〃 The other was： 〃As soon as you get a chance； call out to that canoeing girl； she's over on the bank with the gipsies。 Ask her if they could get some buckets across and fill them from the river。〃 Then he closed his mouth and continued to water the new red flower as ruthlessly as he had watered the red tulip。
He never turned his head to look at the strange fight that followed between the foes and friends of the mysterious fire。 He almost felt the island shake when Flambeau collided with the huge gardener； he merely imagined how it would whirl round them as they wrestled。 He heard the crashing fall； and his friend's gasp of triumph as he dashed on to the first negro； and the cries of both the blacks as Flambeau and Fanshaw bound them。 Flambeau's enormous strength more than redressed the odds in the fight； especially as the fourth man still hovered near the house； only a shadow and a voice。 He heard also the water broken by the paddles of a canoe； the girl's voice giving orders； the voices of gipsies answering and coming nearer； the plumping and sucking noise of empty buckets plunged into a full stream； and finally the sound of many feet around the fire。 But all this was less to him than the fact that the red rent； which had lately once more increased； had once more slightly diminished。
Then came a cry that very nearly made him turn his head。 Flambeau and Fanshaw； now reinforced by some of the gipsies； had rushed after the mysterious man by the house； and he heard from the other end of the garden the Frenchman's cry of horror and astonishment。 It was echoed by a howl not to be called human； as the being broke from their hold and ran along the garden。 Three times at least it raced round the whole island； in a way that was as horrible as the chase of a lunatic； both in the cries of the pursued and the ropes carried by the pursuers； but was more horrible still； because it somehow suggested one of the chasing games of children in a garden。 Then； finding them closing in on every side； the figure sprang