as if they knew he wasn't a wronged man but simply a wrong 'un.
I don't mean they behaved well; I mean they behaved as if they were sure.
I can't describe these things; I know what I mean."

"I wish I did," said his friend. "And what has it to do
with old Hirsch?"

"Suppose a person in a position of trust," went on the priest,
"began to give the enemy information because it was false information.
Suppose he even thought he was saving his country by misleading the foreigner.
Suppose this brought him into spy circles, and little loans were made to him,
and little ties tied on to him. Suppose he kept up his contradictory
position in a confused way by never telling the foreign spies the truth,
but letting it more and more be guessed. The better part of him
(what was left of it) would still say: `I have not helped the enemy;
I said it was the left drawer.' The meaner part of him would already
be saying: `But they may have the sense to see that means the right.'
I think it is psychologically possible--in an enlightened age, you know."

"It may be psychologically possible," answered Flambeau,
"and it certainly would explain Dreyfus being certain he was wronged
and his judges being sure he was guilty. But it won't wash historically,
because Dreyfus's document (if it was his document) was literally correct."

"I wasn't thinking of Dreyfus," said Father Brown.

Silence had sunk around them with the emptying of the tables;
it was already late, though the sunlight still clung to everything,
as if accidentally entangled in the trees. In the stillness Flambeau
shifted his seat sharply--making an isolated and echoing noise--