The

The Welcome back, everyone to one thousand one classic short stories and tales.

This is your host, John Hagadorn.

Our story today, the honor of Israel Gowl, a Father Brown mystery, by G. K. Chesterton.

And now our story.

A stormy evening of olive and silver was closing in as Father Brown wrapped in a gray scotch plaid,

came to the end of a gray Scotch valley,

and beheld the strange castle of Glengile. It stopped one end of the glen or hollow like a blind alley,

and it looked like the end of the world, rising in steep roofs and spires of sea-green slate

in the manner of the old French Scotch Chateau. It reminded an

Englishman of the sinister steeple hats of witches and fairy tales, and the pine woods that rocked round

the green turrets looked, by comparison, as black as numberless flocks of ravens. This note of a dreamy,

almost a sleepy devilry, was no mere fancy from the landscape,

for there did rest on the place one of those clouds of pride and madness and mysterious sorrow

which lie more heavily on the noble houses of Scotland than on any other of the children of men.

For Scotland has a double dose of the poison called heredity,

the sense of blood in the aristocrat,

and the sense of doom in the Calvinist.

The priest had snatched the day from his business at Glasgow

to meet his friend Flambeau, the amateur detective,

who was at Glengile Castle with another more formal officer

investigating the life and death of the late

...