But the second point is stronger; I do not grudge it you.  Not only is it true that Pauline loved me, but it is also true that this very morning, before she died, she wrote at that table a will leaving me and my new church half a million.  Come, where are the handcuffs?  Do you suppose I care what foolish things you do with me?  Penal servitude will only be like waiting for her at a wayside station.  The gallows will only be going to her in a headlong car.”

He spoke with the brain-shaking authority of an orator, and Flambeau and Joan Stacey stared at him in amazed admiration.  Father Brown’s face seemed to express nothing but extreme distress; he looked at the ground with one wrinkle of pain across his forehead.  The prophet of the sun leaned easily against the mantelpiece and resumed: 

“In a few words I have put before you the whole case against me—­the only possible case against me.  In fewer words still I will blow it to pieces, so that not a trace of it remains.  As to whether I have committed this crime, the truth is in one sentence:  I could not have committed this crime.  Pauline Stacey fell from this floor to the ground at five minutes past twelve.  A hundred people will go into the witness-box and say that I was standing out upon the balcony of my own rooms above from just before the stroke of noon to a quarter-past—­the usual period of my public prayers.  My clerk (a respectable youth from Clapham, with no sort of connection with me) will swear that he sat in my outer office all the morning, and that no communication passed through.  He will swear that I arrived a full ten minutes before the hour, fifteen minutes before any whisper of the accident, and that I did not leave the office or the balcony all that time.  No one ever had so complete an alibi; I could subpoena half Westminster.  I think you had better put the handcuffs away again.  The case is at an end.

“But last of all, that no breath of this idiotic suspicion remain in the air, I will tell you all you want to know.  I believe I do know how my unhappy friend came by her death.  You can, if you choose, blame me for it, or my faith and philosophy at least; but you certainly cannot lock me up.  It is well known to all students of the higher truths that certain adepts and illuminati have in history attained the power of levitation—­ that is, of being self-sustained upon the empty air.  It is but a part of that general conquest of matter which is the main element in our occult wisdom.  Poor Pauline was of an impulsive and ambitious temper.  I think, to tell the truth, she thought herself somewhat deeper in the mysteries than she was; and she has often said to me, as we went down in the lift together, that if one’s will were strong enough, one could float down as harmlessly as a feather.  I solemnly believe that in some ecstasy of noble thoughts she attempted the miracle.  Her will, or faith, must have failed her at the crucial instant, and the lower law of matter had its horrible revenge.  There is the whole story, gentlemen, very sad and, as you think, very presumptuous and wicked, but certainly not criminal or in any way connected with me.  In the short-hand of the police-courts, you had better call it suicide.  I shall always call it heroic failure for the advance of science and the slow scaling of heaven.”