“Well, I think he’s innocent myself,” said the little priest in a colourless voice. “But, of course, I may be wrong.”
“Why do you think he is innocent?”
“Because he entered the garden in an irregular fashion,” answered the cleric. “You see, I entered it in a regular fashion myself. But I seem to be almost the only person who did. All the best people seem to get over garden walls nowadays.”
“What do you mean by a regular fashion?” asked the detective.
“Well,” said Father Brown, looking at him with limpid gravity, “I came in by the front door. I often come into houses that way.”
“Excuse me,” said Bagshaw, “but does it matter very much how you came in, unless you propose to confess to the murder?”
“Yes, I think it does,” said the priest mildly. “The truth is, that when I came in at the
