"I cannot imagine," said Muscari, rubbing up his black hair
for once with an unaffected gesture. "You may think you enlighten me,
but you are leading me deeper in the dark. What may be the third
objection to the King of the Thieves?" "The third objection,"
said Father Brown, still in meditation, "is this bank we are sitting on.
Why does our brigand-courier call this his chief fortress and
the Paradise of Thieves? It is certainly a soft spot to fall on
and a sweet spot to look at. It is also quite true, as he says,
that it is invisible from valley and peak, and is therefore a hiding-place.
But it is not a fortress. It never could be a fortress.
I think it would be the worst fortress in the world. For it is actually
commanded from above by the common high-road across the mountains--
the very place where the police would most probably pass.
Why, five shabby short guns held us helpless here about half an hour ago.
The quarter of a company of any kind of soldiers could have blown us
over the precipice. Whatever is the meaning of this odd little nook
of grass and flowers, it is not an entrenched position.
It is something else; it has some other strange sort of importance;
some value that I do not understand. It is more like an accidental theatre
or a natural green-room; it is like the scene for some romantic comedy;
it is like...."

As the little priest's words lengthened and lost themselves
in a dull and dreamy sincerity, Muscari, whose animal senses were alert
and impatient, heard a new noise in the mountains. Even for him
the sound was as yet very small and faint; but he could have sworn
the evening breeze bore with it something like the pulsation of
horses' hoofs and a distant hallooing.