‘Well,’ said Father Brown patiently, ‘I rather thought my bedroom might be wanted.’
‘Wanted by whom?’
‘As a matter of fact, Mrs Potter wanted another room,’ explained Father Brown with limpid clearness. ‘I gave her mine, because I could open the window. Go and see, if you like.’
‘I’ll see to something else first,’ said Rock grinding his teeth. ‘You can play your monkey tricks in this Spanish monkey-house, but I’m still in touch with civilization.’ He strode into the telephone-booth and rang up his paper; pouring out the whole tale of the wicked priest who helped the wicked poet. Then he ran upstairs into the priest’s room, in which the priest had just lit a short candle, showing the windows beyond wide open.
He was just in time to see a sort of rude ladder unhooked from the window-sill
