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Saint Peter could not positively have expected, that at some point in time, the Christian world would become acquainted with a plant not mentioned in the Holy Scripture, and definitely could not have expected that it would have adverse effects, thus no restrictions were imposed by the Church for smoking tobacco.
However, this notion, despite being quite an interesting topic for potential discussion, didn't occupy Father Brown's mind at the moment. Instead, it was fully consumed by a much duller thing – his trusty pipe, which disappeared, almost mysteriously, earlier that day (although Father only supposed so and had no guarantee of this timeframe being correct). He rummaged his memory for every place he'd been at in the last twelve hours (it was five o'clock when he woke up and five o'clock when he discovered the absence of the smoking device) but none of the locations proved to be the one where the vanishing transpired. He went far and even examined the confession booth, although he wouldn't ever commit such a blasphemy as to leave there an object of addiction.
Many called him a detective, which, factually, could be considered true, but without a culprit and a number of innocents involved, his particular investigative skill was impracticable. At least, he hoped that no other person was a part of this specific conundrum.
Eventually, after the excavation performed along every inch of his own trace of that day, he had to come to terms that the incident might've occurred earlier, which brought him on the brink of devastation, since he wasn't quite sure where he was the day before and especially further into the past.
He knew, naturally, that he was at the rectory – his small bedroom and even smaller kitchen; at the church – the sacristy, nave, and confession booth which was mentioned above and searched before just as the other aforesaid locales.
The previous day had also brought him to a park near the current abode of his friend Flambeau, and the thought of combing through the vast greenery almost terrified him. Father was at Flambeau's flat too, which didn't feel as imposing, but still big enough to provide a challenge.
The priest briefly considered abandoning the whole idea of reunion of the pipe and his own person, but he was quite partial to the lost object, since it was a present from Flambeau thus rather dear to him.
Having mused for a moment on the associated question of repentance, the cleric decided to check the confession booth again, to no avail.
Finally, with a heavy sigh of desperate surrender, Brown donned his hat, picked up his umbrella and started on a journey to his friend, inventing, in advance, the words of lament and apology for losing the gift.
There was a good chance that Flambeau, being a detective too – officially and proudly – would be able to help from this angle. No surveillance would be conducted, since, to Father's greatest regret, no man was able to look into the past with his own eyes, and the only suspects would be Brown's own faulty memory and tendency to be distracted by the smallest thing. A thorough interrogation could also trigger the required recollection in his mind, and that was exactly the result Father Brown hoped for.
Such contemplation once again dominated his thoughts again to the stage where he didn't even register his short legs bringing him to Flambeau's threshold. In his distress, he rapped on the door, and only a second later it was flung open, barely missing Father and not knocking him off his feet.
"What an honour to see you, my friend!" Flambeau cried, shaking his hands vigorously.
It was only after this excited salutation did he notice Father's poor state. He removed the cigar he had in his mouth during the hello and inquired, with worry, what happened.
The priest, brought to an even more solemn mood by the sight of an item being smoked, miserably explained his trouble.
"Ah!" the Frenchman exclaimed again. His intonation could be taken as an insult lacking any empathy, since it sounded practically happy, but the cause for this became obvious with his next words.
"I have your pipe right here!" he declared momentarily and procured the small wooden deserter from the pocket of his splendid robe. "I was planning on visiting you for this very reason, and I apologise for my delay."
Father was so rejoiced he managed to miss Flambeau's invitation to come in.
"Come," the host repeated and took his friend by the elbow, urging him inside. "This triumph of providence should be celebrated!"
Needless to say, the celebration in question largely consisted of smoking.