Publisher's Synopsis
There was a brief period during which Father Brown enjoyed, or rather did not enjoy, something like fame. He was a nine days' wonder in the newspapers; he was even acommon topic of controversy in the weekly reviews; his exploits were narrated eagerly andinaccurately in any number of clubs and drawing-rooms, especially in America.Incongruous and indeed incredible as it may seem to any one who knew him, hisadventures as a detective were even made the subject of short stories appearing inmagazines.Strangely enough, this wandering limelight struck him in the most obscure, or at least themost remote, of his many places of residence. He had been sent out to officiate, assomething between a missionary and a parish priest, in one of those sections of thenorthern coast of South America, where strips of country still cling insecurely to Europeanpowers, or are continually threatening to become independent republics, under thegigantic shadow of President Monroe. The population was red and brown with pink spots;that it, it was Spanish-American, and largely Spanish-American-Indian, but there was aconsiderable and increasing infiltration of Americans of the northern sort-Englishmen, Germans and the rest. And the trouble seems to have begun when one of these visitors, very recently landed and very much annoyed at having lost one of his bags, approached thefirst building of which he came in sight-which happened to be the mission-house andchapel attached to it, in front of which ran a long veranda and a long row of stakes, upwhich were trained the black twisted vines, their square leaves red with autumn. Behindthem, also in a row, a number of human beings sat almost as rigid as the stakes, andcoloured in some fashion like the vines. For while their broad-brimmed hats were as blackas their unblinking eyes, the complexions of many of them might have been made out of thedark red timber of those transatlantic forests. Many of them were smoking long, thin blackcigars; and in all that group the smoke was almost the only moving thing. The visitor wouldprobably have described them as natives, though some of them were very proud of Spanishblood. But he was not one to draw any fine distinction between Spaniards and Red Indians, being rather disposed to dismiss people from the scene when once he had convicted themof being native to