III
THE ORACLE OF THE DOG
"Yes," said Father Brown, "I always like a dog, so long as he isn't spelt backwards."
Those who are quick in talking are not always quick in listening. Sometimes even their brilliancy produces a sort of stupidity. Father Brown's friend and companion was a young man with a stream of ideas and stories, an enthusiastic young man named Fiennes, with eager blue eyes and blond hair that seemed to be brushed back, not merely with a hair-brush but with the wind of the world as he rushed through it. But he stopped in the torrent of his talk in a momentary bewilderment before he saw the priest's very simple meaning.
"You mean that people make too much of them?" he said. "Well, I don't know. They're marvellous creatures. Sometimes I think they know a lot more than we do."
Father Brown said nothing; but continued to stroke the head of the big retriever in a half-abstracted but apparently soothing fashion.
"Why," said Fiennes, warming again to his monologue, "there was a dog in the case I've come
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