"Now I know," replied the priest, "the profession of Mr Todhunter."

He shuffled about the room, looking at one object after another
with what seemed to be a vacant stare, and then invariably bursting
into an equally vacant laugh, a highly irritating process for those
who had to watch it. He laughed very much over the hat,
still more uproariously over the broken glass, but the blood on
the sword point sent him into mortal convulsions of amusement.
Then he turned to the fuming specialist.

"Dr Hood," he cried enthusiastically, "you are a great poet!
You have called an uncreated being out of the void. How much more godlike
that is than if you had only ferreted out the mere facts!
Indeed, the mere facts are rather commonplace and comic by comparison."

"I have no notion what you are talking about," said Dr Hood
rather haughtily; "my facts are all inevitable, though necessarily incomplete.
A place may be permitted to intuition, perhaps (or poetry if you
prefer the term), but only because the corresponding details cannot
as yet be ascertained. In the absence of Mr Glass--"

"That's it, that's it," said the little priest, nodding quite eagerly,
"that's the first idea to get fixed; the absence of Mr Glass.
He is so extremely absent. I suppose," he added reflectively,
"that there was never anybody so absent as Mr Glass."

"Do you mean he is absent from the town?" demanded the doctor.

"I mean he is absent from everywhere," answered Father Brown;