Readme.it in English  home page
Readme.it in Italiano  pagina iniziale
readme.it by logo SoftwareHouse.it

Ebook in formato Kindle (mobi) - Kindle File Ebook (mobi)

Formato per Iphone, Ipad e Ebook (epub) - Ipad, Iphone and Ebook reader format (epub)

Versione ebook di Readme.it powered by Softwarehouse.it






The Mystery of the Yellow Room

by Gaston Leroux

CHAPTER I

In Which We Begin Not to Understand

It is not without a certain emotion that I begin to recount here
the extraordinary adventures of Joseph Rouletabille. Down to the
present time he had so firmly opposed my doing it that I had come
to despair of ever publishing the most curious of police stories
of the past fifteen years. I had even imagined that the public
would never know the whole truth of the prodigious case known as
that of The Yellow Roomout of which grew so many mysterious
crueland sensational dramaswith which my friend was so closely
mixed upifpropos of a recent nomination of the illustrious
Stangerson to the grade of grandcross of the Legion of Honouran
evening journal - in an articlemiserable for its ignoranceor
audacious for its perfidy - had not resuscitated a terrible
adventure of which Joseph Rouletabille had told me he wished to be
for ever forgotten.

The Yellow Room! Who now remembers this affair which caused so
much ink to flow fifteen years ago? Events are so quickly
forgotten in Paris. Has not the very name of the Nayves trial and
the tragic history of the death of little Menaldo passed out of
mind? And yet the public attention was so deeply interested in the
details of the trial that the occurrence of a ministerial crisis
was completely unnoticed at the time. Now The Yellow Room trial
whichpreceded that of the Nayves by some yearsmade far more
noise. The entire world hung for months over this obscure problem

-the most obscureit seems to methat has ever challenged the
perspicacity of our police or taxed the conscience of our judges.
The solution of the problem baffled everybody who tried to find it.
It was like a dramatic rebus with which old Europe and new America
alike became fascinated. That isin truth - I am permitted to say
because there cannot be any author's vanity in all thissince I
do nothing more than transcribe facts on which an exceptional
documentation enables me to throw a new light - that is because
in truthI do not know thatin the domain of reality or
imaginationone can discover or recall to mind anything comparable
in its mysterywith the natural mystery of The Yellow Room.
That which nobody could find outJoseph Rouletabilleaged eighteen
then a reporter engaged on a leading journalsucceeded in
discovering. But whenat the Assize Courthe brought in the key
to the whole casehe did not tell the whole truth. He only allowed
so much of it to appear as sufficed to ensure the acquittal of an
innocent man. The reasons which he had for his reticence no longer
exist. Better stillthe time has come for my friend to speak out
fully. You are going to know all; andwithout further preamble
I am going to place before your eyes the problem of The Yellow
Room as it was placed before the eyes of the entire world on the


day following the enactment of the drama at the Chateau du Glandier.

On the 25th of October1892the following note appeared in the
latest edition of the "Temps":

A frightful crime has been committed at the Glandier, on the border
of the forest of Sainte-Genevieve, above Epinay-sur-Orge, at the
house of Professor Stangerson. On that night, while the master was
working in his laboratory, an attempt was made to assassinate
Mademoiselle Stangerson, who was sleeping in a chamber adjoining
this laboratory. The doctors do not answer for the life of Mdlle.
Stangerson.

The impression made on Paris by this news may be easily imagined.
Alreadyat that timethe learned world was deeply interested in
the labours of Professor Stangerson and his daughter. These labours

-the first that were attempted in radiography - served to open
the way for Monsieur and Madame Curie to the discovery of radium.
It was expected the Professor would shortly read to the Academy of
Sciences a sensational paper on his new theory- the Dissociation
of Matter- a theory destined to overthrow from its base the whole
of official sciencewhich based itself on the principle of the
Conservation of Energy. On the following daythe newspapers were
full of the tragedy. The "Matin among others, published the
following article, entitled: A Supernatural Crime":
These are the only details,wrote the anonymous writer in the
Matin- "we have been able to obtain concerning the crime of the
Chateau du Glandier. The state of despair in which Professor
Stangerson is plungedand the impossibility of getting any
information from the lips of the victimhave rendered our
investigations and those of justice so difficult thatat present
we cannot form the least idea of what has passed in The Yellow Room
in which Mdlle. Stangersonin her night-dresswas found lying on
the floor in the agonies of death. We haveat leastbeen able
to interview Daddy Jacques - as he is called in the country - a
old servant in the Stangerson family. Daddy Jacques entered The
Room at the same time as the Professor. This chamber adjoins the
laboratory. Laboratory and Yellow Room are in a pavilion at the
end of the parkabout three hundred metres (a thousand feet) from
the chateau.

'It was half-past twelve at night,' this honest old man told us,
'and I was in the laboratory, where Monsieur Stangerson was still
working, when the thing happened. I had been cleaning and putting
instruments in order all the evening and was waiting for Monsieur
Stangerson to go to bed. Mademoiselle Stangerson had worked with
her father up to midnight; when the twelve strokes of midnight had
sounded by the cuckoo-clock in the laboratory, she rose, kissed
Monsieur Stangerson and bade him good-night. To me she said bon
soirDaddy Jacques" as she passed into The Yellow Room. We heard
her lock the door and shoot the boltso that I could not help
laughingand said to Monsieur: "There's Mademoiselle double-locking
herself in- she must be afraid of the 'Bete du bon Dieu!'"
Monsieur did not even hear mehe was so deeply absorbed in what he
was doing. Just then we heard the distant miawing of a cat. "Is
that going to keep us awake all night?" I said to myself; for I
must tell youMonsieurthatto the end of OctoberI live in an
attic of the pavilion over The Yellow Roomso that Mademoiselle
should not be left alone through the night in the lonely park. It
was the fancy of Mademoiselle to spend the fine weather in the
pavilion; no doubtshe found it more cheerful than the chateau and
for the four years it had been builtshe had never failed to take
up her lodging there in the spring. With the return of winter


Mademoiselle returns to the chateaufor there is no fireplace in
The Yellow Room.

'We were staying in the pavilion, then - Monsieur Stangerson and
me. We made no noise. He was seated at his desk. As for me, I
was sitting on a chair, having finished my work and, looking at him,
I said to myself: What a man! - what intelligence! - what
knowledge!" I attach importance to the fact that we made no noise;
forbecause of thatthe assassin certainly thought that we had
left the place. Andsuddenlywhile the cuckoo was sounding the
half after midnighta desperate clamour broke out in The Yellow
Room. It was the voice of Mademoisellecrying "Murder! - murder!

-help!" Immediately afterwards revolver shots rang out and there
was a great noise of tables and furniture being thrown to the
groundas if in the course of a struggleand again the voice of
Mademoiselle callingMurder! - help! - Papa! - Papa! -
'You may be sure that we quickly sprang up and that Monsieur
Stangerson and I threw ourselves upon the door. But alas! it
was locked, fast locked, on the inside, by the care of Mademoiselle,
as I have told you, with key and bolt. We tried to force it open,
but it remained firm. Monsieur Stangerson was like a madman, and
truly, it was enough to make him one, for we heard Mademoiselle
still calling Help! - help!" Monsieur Stangerson showered
terrible blows on the doorand wept with rage and sobbed with
despair and helplessness.

'It was then that I had an inspiration. The assassin must have
entered by the window!" I cried; - "I will go to the window!" and
I rushed from the pavilion and ran like one out of his mind.

'The inspiration was that the window of The Yellow Room looks out
in such a way that the park wall, which abuts on the pavilion,
prevented my at once reaching the window. To get up to it one has
first to go out of the park. I ran towards the gate and, on my way,
met Bernier and his wife, the gate-keepers, who had been attracted
by the pistol reports and by our cries. In a few words I told them
what had happened, and directed the concierge to join Monsieur
Stangerson with all speed, while his wife came with me to open the
park gate. Five minutes later she and I were before the window of
The Yellow Room.

'The moon was shining brightly and I saw clearly that no one had
touched the window. Not only were the bars that protect it intact
but the blinds inside of them were drawnas I had myself drawn
them early in the eveningas I did every daythough Mademoiselle
knowing that I was tired from the heavy work I had been doinghad
begged me not to trouble myselfbut leave her to do it; and they
were just as I had left themfastened with an iron catch on the
inside. The assassinthereforecould not have passed either in
or out that way; but neither could I get in.

'It was unfortunate, - enough to turn one's brain! The door of
the room locked on the inside and the blinds on the only window
also fastened on the inside; and Mademoiselle still calling for
help! - No! she had ceased to call. She was dead, perhaps. But
I still heard her father, in the pavilion, trying to break down
the door.

'With the concierge I hurried back to the pavilion. The door
in spite of the furious attempts of Monsieur Stangerson and Bernier
to burst it openwas still holding firm; but at lengthit gave
way before our united efforts- and then what a sight met our eyes!


I should tell you thatbehind usthe concierge held the laboratory
lamp - a powerful lampthat lit the whole chamber.

'I must also tell you, monsieur, that The Yellow Room is a very
small room. Mademoiselle had furnished it with a fairly large iron
bedstead, a small table, a night-commode; a dressing-table, and two
chairs. By the light of the big lamp we saw all at a glance.
Mademoiselle, in her night-dress, was lying on the floor in the
midst of the greatest disorder. Tables and chairs had been
overthrown, showing that there had been a violent struggle.
Mademoiselle had certainly been dragged from her bed. She was
covered with blood and had terrible marks of finger-nails on her
throat, - the flesh of her neck having been almost torn by the
nails. From a wound on the right temple a stream of blood had run
down and made a little pool on the floor. When Monsieur Stangerson
saw his daughter in that state, he threw himself on his knees beside
her, uttering a cry of despair. He ascertained that she still
breathed. As to us, we searched for the wretch who had tried to
kill our mistress, and I swear to you, monsieur, that, if we had
found him, it would have gone hard with him!

'But how to explain that he was not therethat he had already
escaped? It passes all imagination! - Nobody under the bednobody
behind the furniture! - All that we discovered were traces
blood-stained marks of a man's large hand on the walls and on the
door; a big handkerchief red with bloodwithout any initialsan
old capand many fresh footmarks of a man on the floor- footmarks
of a man with large feet whose boot-soles had left a sort of sooty
impression. How had this man got away? How had he vanished? Don't
forgetmonsieurthat there is no chimney in The Yellow Room. He
could not have escaped by the doorwhich is narrowand on the
threshold of which the concierge stood with the lampwhile her
husband and I searched for him in every corner of the little room
where it is impossible for anyone to hide himself. The doorwhich
had been forced open against the wallcould not conceal anything
behind itas we assured ourselves. By the windowstill in every
way securedno flight had been possible. What then? - I began
to believe in the Devil.

'But we discovered my revolver on the floor! - Yes, my revolver!
Oh! that brought me back to the reality! The Devil would not have
needed to steal my revolver to kill Mademoiselle. The man who had
been there had first gone up to my attic and taken my revolver from
the drawer where I kept it. We then ascertained, by counting the
cartridges, that the assassin had fired two shots. Ah! it was
fortunate for me that Monsieur Stangerson was in the laboratory
when the affair took place and had seen with his own eyes that I
was there with him; for otherwise, with this business of my revolver,
I don't know where we should have been, - I should now be under lock
and bar. Justice wants no more to send a man to the scaffold!'

The editor of the "Matin" added to this interview the following
lines:

We have, without interrupting him, allowed Daddy Jacques to recount
to us roughly all he knows about the crime of The Yellow Room. We
have reproduced it in his own words, only sparing the reader the
continual lamentations with which he garnished his narrative. It is
quite understood, Daddy Jacques, quite understood, that you are very
fond of your masters; and you want them to know it, and never cease
repeating it - especially since the discovery of your revolver. It
is your right, and we see no harm in it. We should have liked to
put some further questions to Daddy Jacques - Jacques - Louis
Moustier - but the inquiry of the examining magistrate, which is


being carried on at the chateau, makes it impossible for us to gain
admission at the Glandier; and, as to the oak wood, it is guarded
by a wide circle of policemen, who are jealously watching all traces
that can lead to the pavilion, and that may perhaps lead to the
discovery of the assassin. We have also wished to question the
conciergesbut they are invisible. Finallywe have waited in a
roadside innnot far from the gate of the chateaufor the departure
of Monsieur de Marquetthe magistrate of Corbeil. At half-past
five we saw him and his clerk andbefore he was able to enter his
carriagehad an opportunity to ask him the following question:

'Can you, Monsieur de Marquet, give us any information as to this
affair, without inconvenience to the course of your inquiry?'

'It is impossible for us to do it' replied Monsieur de Marquet.
'I can only say that it is the strangest affair I have ever known.
The more we think we know somethingthe further we are from knowing
anything!'

We asked Monsieur de Marquet to be good enough to explain his last
words; and this is what he said, - the importance of which no one
will fail to recognise:

'If nothing is added to the material facts so far establishedI
fear that the mystery which surrounds the abominable crime of which
Mademoiselle Stangerson has been the victim will never be brought to
light; but it is to be hopedfor the sake of our human reasonthat
the examination of the wailsand of the ceiling of The Yellow Room

-an examination which I shall to-morrow intrust to the builder who
constructed the pavilion four years ago - will afford us the proof
that may not discourage us. For the problem is this: we know by
what way the assassin gained admission- he entered by the door and
hid himself under the bedawaiting Mademoiselle Stangerson. But
how did he leave? How did he escape? If no trapno secret door
no hiding placeno opening of any sort is found; if the examination
of the walls - even to the demolition of the pavilion - does not
reveal any passage practicable - not only for a human beingbut for
any being whatsoever - if the ceiling shows no crackif the floor
hides no underground passageone must really believe in the Devil
as Daddy Jacques says!'"
And the anonymous writer in the "Matin" added in this article

-which I have selected as the most interesting of all those that
were published on the subject of this affair - that the examining
magistrate appeared to place a peculiar significance to the last
sentence: "One must really believe in the Devilas Jacques says.
The article concluded with these lines: "We wanted to know what
Daddy Jacques meant by the cry of the Bete Du Bon Dieu." The
landlord of the Donjon Inn explained to us that it is the
particularly sinister cry which is uttered sometimes at night by
the cat of an old woman- Mother Angenouxas she is called in
the country. Mother Angenoux is a sort of saintwho lives in a
hut in the heart of the forestnot far from the grotto of
Sainte-Genevieve.

The Yellow Room, the Bete Du Bon Dieu, Mother Angenoux, the Devil,
Sainte-Genevieve, Daddy Jacques, - here is a well entangled crime
which the stroke of a pickaxe in the wall may disentangle for us
to-morrow. Let us at least hope that, for the sake of our human
reason, as the examining magistrate says. Meanwhile, it is expected
that Mademoiselle Stangerson - who has not ceased to be delirious
and only pronounces one word distinctly, 'Murderer! Murderer!'

-will not live through the night.

In conclusionand at a late hourthe same journal announced that
the Chief of the Surete had telegraphed to the famous detective
Frederic Larsanwho had been sent to London for an affair of
stolen securitiesto return immediately to Paris.

CHAPTER II

In Which Joseph Rouktabille Appears for the First Time

I remember as well as if it had occurred yesterdaythe entry of
young Rouletabille into my bedroom that morning. It was about
eight o'clock and I was still in bed reading the article in the
Matinrelative to the Glandier crime.

Butbefore going furtherit is time that I present my friend
to the reader.

I first knew Joseph Rouletabille when he was a young reporter. At
that time I was a beginner at the Bar and often met him in the
corridors of examining magistrateswhen I had gone to get a "permit
to communicate" for the prison of Mazasor for Saint-Lazare. He
hadas they saya good nut.He seemed to have taken his head

-round as a bullet - out of a box of marblesand it is from that
I thinkthat his comrades of the press - all determined
billiard-players - had given him that nicknamewhich was to stick
to him and be made illustrious by him. He was always as red as a
tomatonow gay as a larknow grave as a judge. Howwhile still
so young - he was only sixteen and a half years old when I saw him
for the first time - had he already won his way on the press? That
was what everybody who came into contact with him might have asked
if they had not known his history. At the time of the affair of
the woman cut in pieces in the Rue Oberskampf - another forgotten
story - he had taken to one of the editors of the "Epoque - a
paper then rivalling the Matin" for information- the left foot
which was missing from the basket in which the gruesome remains were
discovered. For this left foot the police had been vainly searching
for a weekand young Rouletabille had found it in a drain where
nobody had thought of looking for it. To do that he had dressed
himself as an extra sewer-manone of a number engaged by the
administration of the city of Parisowing to an overflow of the
Seine.
When the editor-in-chief was in possession of the precious foot and
informed as to the train of intelligent deductions the boy had been
led to makehe was divided between the admiration he felt for such
detective cunning in a brain of a lad of sixteen yearsand delight
at being able to exhibitin the "morgue window" of his paperthe
left foot of the Rue Oberskampf.

This foot,he criedwill make a great headline.

Thenwhen he had confided the gruesome packet to the medical lawyer
attached to the journalhe asked the ladwho was shortly to become
famous as Rouletabillewhat he would expect to earn as a general
reporter onthe "Epoque"?

Two hundred francs a month,the youngster replied modestlyhardly
able to breathe from surprise at the proposal.


You shall have two hundred and fifty,said the editor-in-chief;
only you must tell everybody that you have been engaged on the paper
for a month. Let it be quite understood that it was not you but the
'Epoque' that discovered the left foot of the Rue Oberskampf. Here
my young friendthe man is nothingthe paper everything."

Having said thishe begged the new reporter to retirebut before
the youth had reached the door he called him back to ask his name.
The other replied:

Joseph Josephine.

That's not a name,said the editor-in-chiefbut since you will
not be required to sign what you write it is of no consequence.

The boy-faced reporter speedily made himself many friendsfor he
was serviceable and gifted with a good humour that enchanted the
most severe-tempered and disarmed the most zealous of his companions.
At the Bar cafewhere the reporters assembled before going to any
of the courtsor to the Prefecturein search of their news of
crimehe began to win a reputation as an unraveller of intricate
and obscure affairs which found its way to the office of the Chief
of the Surete. When a case was worth the trouble and Rouletabille

-he had already been given his nickname - had been started on the
scent by his editor-in-chiefhe often got the better of the most
famous detective.
It was at the Bar cafe that I became intimately acquainted with him.
Criminal lawyers and journalists are not enemiesthe former need
advertisementthe latter information. We chatted togetherand I
soon warmed towards him. His intelligence was so keenand so
original! -and he had a quality of thought such as I have never
found in any other person.

Some time after this I was put in charge of the law news of the "Cri
du Boulevard." My entry into journalism could not but strengthen
the ties which united me to Rouletabille. After a whilemy new
friend being allowed to carry out an idea of a judicial
correspondence columnwhich he was allowed to sign "Business in
the Epoque I was often able to furnish him with the legal
information of which he stood in need.

Nearly two years passed in this way, and the better I knew him, the
more I learned to love him; for, in spite of his careless
extravagance, I had discovered in him what was, considering his age,
an extraordinary seriousness of mind. Accustomed as I was to seeing
him gay and, indeed, often too gay, I would many times find him
plunged in the deepest melancholy. I tried then to question him as
to the cause of this change of humour, but each time he laughed and
made me no answer. One day, having questioned him about his parents,
of whom he never spoke, he left me, pretending not to have heard
what I said.

While things were in this state between us, the famous case of The
Yellow Room took place. It was this case which was to rank him as
the leading newspaper reporter, and to obtain for him the reputation
of being the greatest detective in the world. It should not surprise
us to find in the one man the perfection of two such lines of
activity if we remember that the daily press was already beginning
to transform itself and to become what it is to-day - the gazette
of crime.

Morose-minded people may complain of this; for myself I regard it


a matter for congratulation. We can never have too many arms,
public or private, against the criminal. To this some people may
answer that, by continually publishing the details of crimes, the
press ends by encouraging their commission. But then, with some
people we can never do right. Rouletabille, as I have said, entered
my room that morning of the 26th of October, 1892. He was looking
redder than usual, and his eyes were bulging out of his head, as
the phrase is, and altogether he appeared to be in a state of
extreme excitement. He waved the Matin" with a trembling hand
and cried:

Well, my dear Sainclair, - have you read it?

The Glandier crime?

Yes; The Yellow Room! - What do you think of it?

I think that it must have been the Devil or the Bete du Bon Dieu
that committed the crime.

Be serious!

Well, I don't much believe in murderers* who make their escape
through walls of solid brick. I think Daddy Jacques did wrong to
leave behind him the weapon with which the crime was committed and,
as he occupied the attic immediately above Mademoiselle Stangerson's
room, the builder's job ordered by the examining magistrate will
give us the key of the enigma and it will not be long before we
learn by what natural trap, or by what secret door, the old fellow
was able to slip in and out, and return immediately to the laboratory
to Monsieur Stangerson, without his absence being noticed. That, of
course, is only an hypothesis.

*Although the original English translation often uses the words

murderand "murderer the reader may substitute attack" and

attackersince no murder is actually committed.

Rouletabille sat down in an armchairlit his pipewhich he was
never withoutsmoked for a few minutes in silence - no doubt to
calm the excitement whichvisiblydominated him - and then
replied:

Young man,he saidin a tone the sad irony of which I will not
attempt to renderyoung man, you are a lawyer and I doubt not your
ability to save the guilty from conviction; but if you were a
magistrate on the bench, how easy it would be for you to condemn
innocent persons! - You are really gifted, young man!

He continued to smoke energeticallyand then went on:

No trap will be found, and the mystery of The Yellow Room will
become more and more mysterious. That's why it interests me.
The examining magistrate is right; nothing stranger than this crime
has ever been known.

Have you any idea of the way by which the murderer escaped?I
asked.

None,replied Rouletabille - "nonefor the present. But I have
an idea as to the revolver; the murderer did not use it."


Good Heavens! By whom, then, was it used?

Why - by Mademoiselle Stangerson.

I don't understand, - or rather, I have never understood,I said.

Rouletabille shrugged his shoulders.

Is there nothing in this article in the 'Matin' by which you were
particularly struck?

Nothing, - I have found the whole of the story it tells equally
strange.

Well, but - the locked door - with the key on the inside?

That's the only perfectly natural thing in the whole article.

Really! - And the bolt?

The bolt?

Yes, the bolt - also inside the room - a still further protection
against entry? Mademoiselle Stangerson took quite extraordinary
precautions! It is clear to me that she feared someone. That was
why she took such precautions - even Daddy Jacques's revolver

-without telling him of it. No doubt she didn't wish to alarm
anybody, and least of all, her father. What she dreaded took place,
and she defended herself. There was a struggle, and she used the
revolver skilfully enough to wound the assassin in the hand - which
explains the impression on the wall and on the door of the large,
blood-stained hand of the man who was searching for a means of
exit from the chamber. But she didn't fire soon enough to avoid
the terrible blow on the right temple.
Then the wound on the temple was not done with the revolver?

The paper doesn't say it was, and I don't think it was; because
logically it appears to me that the revolver was used by Mademoiselle
Stangerson against the assassin. Now, what weapon did the murderer
use? The blow on the temple seems to show that the murderer wished
to stun Mademoiselle Stangerson, - after he had unsuccessfully tried
to strangle her. He must have known that the attic was inhabited
by Daddy Jacques, and that was one of the reasons, I think, why he
must have used a quiet weapon, - a life-preserver, or a hammer.

All that doesn't explain how the murderer got out of The Yellow
Room,I observed.

Evidently,replied Rouletabillerisingand that is what has to
be explained. I am going to the Chateau du Glandier, and have come
to see whether you will go with me.

I?


Yes, my boy. I want you. The 'Epoque' has definitely entrusted
this case to me, and I must clear it up as quickly as possible.

But in what way can I be of any use to you?

Monsieur Robert Darzac is at the Chateau du Glandier.

That's true. His despair must be boundless.


I must have a talk with him.

Rouletabille said it in a tone that surprised me.

Is it because - you think there is something to be got out of him?
I asked.

Yes.

That was all he would say. He retired to my sitting-roombegging
me to dress quickly.

I knew Monsieur Robert Darzac from having been of great service to
him in a civil actionwhile I was acting as secretary to Maitre
Barbet Delatour. Monsieur Robert Darzacwho was at that time about
forty years of agewas a professor of physics at the Sorbonne. He
was intimately acquainted with the Stangersonsandafter an
assiduous seven years' courtship of the daughterhad been on the
point of marrying her. In spite of the fact that she has becomeas
the phrase goesa person of a certain age,she was still
remarkably good-looking. While I was dressing I called out to
Rouletabillewho was impatiently moving about my sitting-room:

Have you any idea as to the murderer's station in life?

Yes,he replied; "I think if he isn't a man in societyhe isat
leasta man belonging to the upper class. But thatagainis only
an impression."

What has led you to form it?

Well, - the greasy cap, the common handkerchief, and the marks
of the rough boots on the floor,he replied.

I understand,I said; "murderers don't leave traces behind them
which tell the truth."

We shall make something out of you yet, my dear Sainclair,
concluded Rouletabille

CHAPTER III

A Man Has Passed Like a Shadow Through the Blinds

Half an hour later Rouletabille and I were on the platform of the
Orleans stationawaiting the departure of the train which was to
take us to Epinay-sur-Orge.

On the platform we found Monsieur de Marquet and his Registrarwho
represented the Judicial Court of Corbeil. Monsieur Marquet had
spent the night in Parisattending the final rehearsalat the
Scalaof a little play of which he was the unknown authorsigning
himself simply "Castigat Ridendo."

Monsieur de Marquet was beginning to be a "noble old gentleman."
Generally he was extremely polite and full of gay humourand in
all his life had had but one passion- that of dramatic art.
Throughout his magisterial career he was interested solely in cases
capable of furnishing him with something in the nature of a drama.


Though he might very well have aspired to the highest judicial
positionshe had never really worked for anything but to win a
success at the romantic Porte-Saint-Martinor at the sombre Odeon.

Because of the mystery which shrouded itthe case of The Yellow
Room was certain to fascinate so theatrical a mind. It interested
him enormouslyand he threw himself into itless as a magistrate
eager to know the truththan as an amateur of dramatic embroglios
tending wholly to mystery and intriguewho dreads nothing so much
as the explanatory final act.

So thatat the moment of meeting himI heard Monsieur de Marquet
say to the Registrar with a sigh:

I hope, my dear Monsieur Maleine, this builder with his pickaxe
will not destroy so fine a mystery.

Have no fear,replied Monsieur Maleinehis pickaxe may demolish
the pavilion, perhaps, but it will leave our case intact. I have
sounded the walls and examined the ceiling and floor and I know all
about it. I am not to be deceived.

Having thus reassured his chiefMonsieur Maleinewith a discreet
movement of the headdrew Monsieur de Marquet's attention to us.
The face of that gentleman cloudedandas he saw Rouletabille
approachinghat in handhe sprang into one of the empty carriages
sayinghalf aloud to his Registraras he did soAbove all, no
journalists!

Monsieur Maleine replied in the same toneI understand!and then
tried to prevent Rouletabille from entering the same compartment
with the examining magistrate.

Excuse me, gentlemen, - this compartment is reserved.

I am a journalist, Monsieur, engaged on the 'Epoque,'said my
young friend with a great show of gesture and politenessand I
have a word or two to say to Monsieur de Marquet.

Monsieur is very much engaged with the inquiry he has in hand.

Ah! his inquiry, pray believe me, is absolutely a matter of
indifference to me. I am no scavenger of odds and ends,he went
onwith infinite contempt in his lower lipI am a theatrical
reporter; and this evening I shall have to give a little account
of the play at the Scala.

Get in, sir, please,said the Registrar.

Rouletabille was already in the compartment. I went in after him
and seated myself by his side. The Registrar followed and closed
the carriage door.

Monsieur de Marquet looked at him.

Ah, sir,Rouletabille beganYou must not be angry with Monsieur
de Maleine. It is not with Monsieur de Marquet that I desire to
have the honour of speaking, but with Monsieur 'Castigat Ridendo.'
Permit me to congratulate you - personally, as well as the writer
for the 'Epoque.' And Rouletabille, having first introduced me,
introduced himself.

Monsieur de Marquet, with a nervous gesture, caressed his beard into
a point, and explained to Rouletabille, in a few words, that he was


too modest an author to desire that the veil of his pseudonym should
be publicly raised, and that he hoped the enthusiasm of the
journalist for the dramatist's work would not lead him to tell the
public that Monsieur Castigat Ridendo" and the examining magistrate
of Corbeil were one and the same person.

The work of the dramatic author may interfere,he saidafter a
slight hesitationwith that of the magistrate, especially in a
province where one's labours are little more than routine.

Oh, you may rely on my discretion!cried Rouletabille.

The train was in motion.

We have started!said the examining magistratesurprised at
seeing us still in the carriage.

Yes, Monsieur, - truth has started,said Rouletabilesmiling
amiably- "on its way to the Chateau du Glandier. A fine case
Monsieur de Marquet- a fine case!"

An obscure - incredible, unfathomable, inexplicable affair - and
there is only one thing I fear, Monsieur Rouletabille, - that the
journalists will be trying to explain it.

My friend felt this a rap on his knuckles.

Yes,he said simplythat is to be feared. They meddle in
everything. As for my interest, monsieur, I only referred to it by
mere chance, - the mere chance of finding myself in the same train
with you, and in the same compartment ofthe same carriage.

Where are you going, then?asked Monsieur de Marquet.

To the Chateau du Glandier,replied Rouletabillewithout turnimg.

You'll not get in, Monsieur Rouletabile!

Will you prevent me?said my friendalready prepared to fight.

Not I! - I like the press and journalists too well to be in any
way disagreeable to them; but Monsieur Stangerson has given orders
for his door to be closed against everybody, and it is well guarded.
Not a journalist was able to pass through the gate of the Glandier
yesterday.

Monsieur de Marquet compressed his lips and seemed ready to relapse
into obstinate silence. He only relaxed a little when Rouletabille
no longer left him in ignorance of the fact that we were going to
the Glandier for the purpose of shaking hands with an "old and
intimate friend Monsieur Robert Darzac - a man whom Rouletabille
had perhaps seen once in his life.

Poor Robert!" continued the young reporterthis dreadful affair
may be his death, - he is so deeply in love with Mademoiselle
Stangerson.

His sufferings are truly painful to witness,escaped like a regret
from the lips of Monsieur de Marquet.

But it is to be hoped that Mademoiselle Stangerson's life will be
saved.

Let us hope so. Her father told me yesterday that, if she does not


recover, it will not be long before he joins her in the grave. What
an incalculable loss to science his death would be!

The wound on her temple is serious, is it not?

Evidently; but, by a wonderful chance, it has not proved mortal.
The blow was given with great force.

Then it was not with the revolver she was wounded,said
Rouletabilleglancing at me in triumph.

Monsieur de Marquet appeared greatly embarrassed.

I didn't say anything - I don't want to say anything - I will not
say anything,he said. And he turned towards his Registrar as if
he no longer knew us.

But Rouletabille was not to be so easily shaken off. He moved
nearer to the examining magistrate anddrawing a copy of the
Matinfrom his pockethe showed it to him and said:

There is one thing, Monsieur, which I may enquire of you without
committing an indiscretion. You have, of course, seen the account
given in the 'Matin'? It is absurd, is it not?

Not in the slightest, Monsieur.

What! The Yellow Room has but one barred window - the bars of
which have not been moved - and only one door, which had to be
broken open - and the assassin was not found!

That's so, monsieur, - that's so. That's how the matter stands.

Rouletabille said no more but plunged into thought. A quarter of
an hour thus passed.

Coming back to himself again he saidaddressing the magistrate:

How did Mademoiselle Stangerson wear her hair on that evening?

I don't know,replied Monsieur de Marquet.

That's a very important point,said Rouletabile. "Her hair was
done up in bandswasn't it? I feel sure that on that eveningthe
evening of the crimeshe had her hair arranged in bands."

Then you are mistaken, Monsieur Rouletabile,replied the
magistrate; "Mademoiselle Stangerson that evening had her hair drawn
up in a knot on the top of her head- her usual way of arranging it

-her forehead completely uncovered. I can assure youfor we have
carefully examined the wound. There was no blood on the hairand
the arrangement of it has not been disturbed since the crime was
committed."
You are sure! You are sure that, on the night of the crime, she
had not her hair in bands?

Quite sure,the magistrate continuedsmilingbecause I
remember the Doctor saying to me, while he was examining the wound,
'It is a great pity Mademoiselle Stangerson was in the habit of
drawing her hair back from her forehead. If she had worn it in
bands, the blow she received on the temple would have been weakened.'
It seems strange to me that you should attach so much importance
to this point.


Oh! if she had not her hair in bands, I give it up,said
Rouletabillewith a despairing gesture.

And was the wound on her temple a bad one?he asked presently.

Terrible.

With what weapon was it made?

That is a secret of the investigation.

Have you found the weapon - whatever it was?

The magistrate did not answer.

And the wound in the throat?

Here the examining magistrate readily confirmed the decision of the
doctor thatif the murderer had pressed her throat a few seconds
longerMademoiselle Stangerson would have died of strangulation.

The affair as reported in the 'Matin,' said Rouletabille eagerly
seems to me more and more inexplicable. Can you tell me, Monsieur,
how many openings there are in the pavilion? I mean doors and
windows.

There are five,replied Monsieur de Marquetafter having coughed
once or twicebut no longer resisting the desire he felt to talk
of the whole of the incredible mystery of the affair he was
investigating. "There are fiveof which the door of the vestibule
is the only entrance to the pavilion- a door always automatically
closedwhich cannot be openedeither from the outer or inside
except with the two special keys which are never out of the
possession of either Daddy Jacques or Monsieur Stangerson.
Mademoiselle Stangerson had no need for onesince Daddy Jacques
lodged in the pavilion and becauseduring the daytimeshe never
left her father. When theyall fourrushed into The Yellow Room
after breaking open the door of the laboratorythe door in the
vestibule remained closed as usual andof the two keys for opening
itDaddy Jacques had one in his pocketand Monsieur Stangerson
the other. As to the windows of the pavilionthere are four; the
one window of The Yellow Room and those of the laboratory looking
out on to the country; the window in the vestibule looking into
the park."

It is by that window that he escaped from the pavilion!cried
Rouletabille.

How do you know that?demanded Monsieur de Marquetfixing a
strange look on my young friend.

We'll see later how he got away from The Yellow Room,replied
Rouletabillebut he must have left the pavilion by the vestibule
window.

Once more, - how do you know that?

How? Oh, the thing is simple enough! As soon as he found he could
not escape by the door of the pavilion his only way out was by the
window in the vestibule, unless he could pass through a grated window.
The window of The Yellow Room is secured by iron bars, because it
looks out upon the open country; the two windows of the laboratory
have to be protected in like manner for the same reason. As the


murderer got away, I conceive that he found a window that was not
barred, - that of the vestibule, which opens on to the park, - that
is to say, into the interior of the estate. There's not much magic
in all that.

Yes,said Monsieur de Marquetbut what you have not guessed is
that this single window in the vestibule, though it has no iron bars,
has solid iron blinds. Now these iron blinds have remained fastened
by their iron latch; and yet we have proof that the murderer made
his escape from the, pavilion by that window! Traces of blood on
the inside wall and on the blinds as well as on the floor, and
footmarks, of which I have taken the measurements, attest the fact
that the murderer made his escape that way. But then, how did he
do it, seeing that the blinds remained fastened on the inside? He
passed through them like a shadow. But what is more bewildering
than all is that it is impossible to form any idea as to how the
murderer got out of The Yellow Room, or how he got across the
laboratory to reach the vestibule! Ah, yes, Monsieur Rouletabille,
it is altogether as you said, a fine case, the key to which will
not be discovered for a long time, I hope.

You hope, Monsieur?

Monsieur de Marquet corrected himself.

I do not hope so, - I think so.

Could that window have been closed and refastened after the flight
of the assassin?asked Rouletabille.

That is what occurred to me for a moment; but it would imply an
accomplice or accomplices, - and I don't see -

After a short silence he added:

Ah - if Mademoiselle Stangerson were only well enough to-day to
be questioned!

Rouletabille following up his thoughtasked:

And the attic? - There must be some opening to that?

Yes; there is a window, or rather skylight, in it, which, as it
looks out towards the country, Monsieur Stangerson has had barred,
like the rest of the windows. These bars, as in the other windows,
have remained intact, and the blinds, which naturally open inwards,
have not been unfastened. For the rest, we have not discovered
anything to lead us to suspect that the murderer had passed through
the attic.

It seems clear to you, then, Monsieur, that the murderer escaped

-nobody knows how - by the window in the vestibule?
Everything goes to prove it.

I think so, too,confessed Rouletabille gravely.

After a brief silencehe continued:

If you have not found any traces of the murderer in the attic, such
as the dirty footmarks similar to those on the floor of The Yellow
Room, you must come to the conclusion that it was not he who stole
Daddy Jacques's revolver.


There are no footmarks in the attic other than those of Daddy
Jacques himself,said the magistrate with a significant tum of his
head. Thenafter an apparent decisionhe added: "Daddy Jacques
was with Monsieur Stangerson in the laboratory - and it was lucky
for him he was."

Then what part did his revolver play in the tragedy? - It seems
very clear that this weapon did less harm to Mademoiselle Stangerson
than it did to the murderer.

The magistrate made no reply to this questionwhich doubtless
embarrassed him. "Monsieur Stangerson he said, tells us that the
two bullets have been found in The Yellow Roomone embedded in the
wall stained with the impression of a red hand - a man's large hand

-and the other in the ceiling."
Oh! oh! in the ceiling!muttered Rouletabille. "In the ceiling!
That's very curious! - In the ceiling!"

He puffed awhile in silence at his pipeenveloping himself in the
smoke. When we reached Savigny-sur-OrgeI had to tap him on the
shoulder to arouse him from his dream and come out on to the
platform of the station.

Therethe magistrate and his Registrar bowed to usand by rapidly
getting into a cab that was awaiting themmade us understand that
they had seen enough of us.

How long will it take to walk to the Chateau du Glandier?
Rouletabille asked one of the railway porters.

An hour and a half or an hour and three quarters - easy walking,
the man replied.

Rouletabille looked up at the sky andno doubtfinding its
appearance satisfactorytook my arm and said:

Come on! - I need a walk.

Are things getting less entangled?I asked.

Not a bit of it!he saidmore entangled than ever! It's true,
I have an idea -

What's that?I asked.

I can't tell you what it is just at present - it's an idea
involving the life or death of two persons at least.

Do you think there were accomplices?

I don't think it -

We fell into silence. Presently he went on:

It was a bit of luck, our falling in with that examining magistrate
and his Registrar, eh? What did I tell you about that revolver?
His head was bent downhe had his hands in his pocketsand he was
whistling. After a while I heard him murmur:

Poor woman!

Is it Mademoiselle Stangerson you are pitying?


Yes; she's a noble woman and worthy of being pitied! - a woman of
a great, a very great character - I imagine - I imagine.

You know her then?

Not at all. I have never seen her.

Why, then, do you say that she is a woman of great character?

Because she bravely faced the murderer; because she courageously
defended herself - and, above all, because of the bullet in the
ceiling.

I looked at Rouletabille and inwardly wondered whether he was not
mocking meor whether he had not suddenly gone out of his senses.
But I saw that he had never been less inclined to laughand the
brightness of his keenly intelligent eyes assured me that he
retained all his reason. ThentooI was used to his broken way
of talkingwhich only left me puzzled as to his meaningtill
with a very few clearrapidly uttered wordshe would make the
drift of his ideas clear to meand I saw that what he had
previously saidand which had appeared to me void of meaningwas
so thoroughly logical that I could not understand how it was I had
not understood him sooner.

CHAPTER IV

In the Bosom of Wild Nature'

The Chateau du Glandier is one of the oldest chateaux in the Ile de
France, where so many building remains of the feudal period are
still standing. Built originally in the heart of the forest, in the
reign of Philip le Bel, it now could be seen a few hundred yards
from the road leading from the village of Sainte-Genevieve to
Monthery. A mass of inharmonious structures, it is dominated by a
donjon. When the visitor has mounted the crumbling steps of this
ancient donjon, he reaches a little plateau where, in the seventeenth
century, Georges Philibert de Sequigny, Lord of the Glandier,
Maisons-Neuves and other places, built the existing town in an
abominably rococo style of architecture.

It was in this place, seemingly belonging entirely to the past, that
Professor Stangerson and his daughter installed themselves to lay
the foundations for the science of the future. Its solitude, in
the depths of woods, was what, more than all, had pleased them.
They would have none to witness their labours and intrude on their
hopes, but the aged stones and grand old oaks. The Glandier

-ancient Glandierum - was so called from the quantity of glands
(acorns) which, in all times, had been gathered in that
neighbourhood. This land, of present mournful interest, had fallen
back, owing to the negligence or abandonment of its owners, into
the wild character of primitive nature. The buildings alone, which
were hidden there, had preserved traces of their strange
metamorphoses. Every age had left on them its imprint; a bit of
architecture with which was bound up the remembrance of some terrible
event, some bloody adventure. Such was the chateau in which science
had taken refuge - a place seemingly designed to be the theatre of
mysteries, terror, and death.

Having explained so far, I cannot refrain from making one further
reflection. If I have lingered a little over this description of
the Glandier, it is not because I have reached the right moment for
creating the necessary atmosphere for the unfolding of the tragedy
before the eyes of the reader. Indeed, in all this matter, my
first care will be to be as simple as is possible. I have no
ambition to be an author. An author is always something of a
romancer, and God knows, the mystery of The Yellow Room is quite
full enough of real tragic horror to require no aid from literary
effects. I am, and only desire to be, a faithful reporter." My
duty is to report the event; and I place the event in its frame

-that is all. It is only natural that you should know where the
things happened.
I return to Monsieur Stangerson. When he bought the estatefifteen
years before the tragedy with which we are engaged occurredthe
Chateau du Glandier had for a long time been unoccupied. Another
old chateau in the neighbourhoodbuilt in the fourteenth century
by Jean de Belmontwas also abandonedso that that part of the
country was very little inhabited. Some small houses on the side
of the road leading to Corbeilan inncalled the "Auberge du
Donjon which offered passing hospitality to waggoners; these
were about all to represent civiisation in this out-of-theway part
of the country, but a few leagues from the capital.

But this deserted condition of the place had been the determining
reason for the choice made by Monsieur Stangerson and his daughter.
Monsieur Stangerson was already celebrated. He had returned from
America, where his works had made a great stir. The book which he
had published at Philadelphia, on the Dissociation of Matter by
Electric Action had aroused opposition throughout the whole
scientific world. Monsieur Stangerson was a Frenchman, but of
American origin. Important matters relating to a legacy had kept
him for several years in the United States, where he had continued
the work begun by him in France, whither he had returned in
possession of a large fortune. This fortune was a great boon to
him; for, though he might have made millions of dollars by
exploiting two or three of his chemical discoveries relative to
new processes of dyeing, it was always repugnant to him to use
for his own private gain the wonderful gift of invention he had
received from nature. He considered he owed it to mankind, and
all that his genius brought into the world went, by this
philosophical view of his duty, into the public lap.

If he did not try to conceal his satisfaction at coming into
possession of this fortune, which enabled him to give himself up to
his passion for pure science, he had equally to rejoice, it seemed
to him, for another cause. Mademoiselle Stangerson was, at the time
when her father returned from America and bought the Glandier estate,
twenty years of age. She was exceedingly pretty, having at once the
Parisian grace of her mother, who had died in giving her birth, and
all the splendour, all the riches of the young American blood of her
parental grandfather, William Stangerson. A citizen of Philadelphia,
William Stangerson had been obliged to become naturalised in
obedience to family exigencies at the time of his marriage with a
French lady, she who was to be the mother of the illustrious
Stangerson. In that way the professor's French nationality is
accounted for.

Twenty years of age, a charming blonde, with blue eyes, milk-white
complexion, and radiant with divine health, Mathilde Stangerson was
one of the most beautiful marriageable girls in either the old or
the new world. It was her father's duty, in spite of the inevitable
pain which a separation from her would cause him, to think of her


marriage; and he was fully prepared for it. Nevertheless, he
buried himself and his child at the Glandier at the moment when his
friends were expecting him to bring her out into society. Some of
them expressed their astonishment, and to their questions he
answered: It is my daughter's wish. I can refuse her nothing.
She has chosen the Glandier."

Interrogated in her turnthe young girl replied calmly: "Where
could we work better than in this solitude?" For Mademoiselle
Stangerson had already begun to collaborate with her father in his
work. It could not at the time be imagined that her passion for
science would lead her so far as to refuse all the suitors who
presented themselves to her for over fifteen years. So secluded was
the life led by the twofather and daughterthat they showed
themselves only at a few official receptions andat certain times
in the yearin two or three friendly drawing-roomswhere the fame
of the professor and the beauty of Mathilde made a sensation. The
young girl's extreme reserve did not at first discourage suitors;
but at the end of a few yearsthey tired of their quest.

One alone persisted with tender tenacity and deserved the name of
eternal fiance,a name he accepted with melancholy resignation;
that was Monsieur Robert Darzac. Mademoiselle Stangerson was now
no longer youngand it seemed thathaving found no reason for
marrying at five-and-thirtyshe would never find one. But such an
argument evidently found no acceptance with Monsieur Robert Darzac.
He continued to pay his court - if the delicate and tender attention
with which he ceaselessly surrounded this woman of five-and-thirty
could be called courtship - in face of her declared intention never
to marry.

Suddenlysome weeks before the events with which we are occupied
a report - to which nobody attached any importanceso incredible
did it sound - was spread about Paristhat Mademoiselle Stangerson
had at last consented to "crown" the inextinguishable flame of
Monsieur Robert Darzac! It needed that Monsieur Robert Darzac
himself should not deny this matrimonial rumour to give it an
appearance of truthso unlikely did it seem to be well founded.
One dayhoweverMonsieur Stangersonas he was leaving the Academy
of Scienceannounced that the marriage of his daughter and Monsieur
Robert Darzac would be celebrated in the privacy of the Chateau du
Glandieras soon as he and his daughter had put the finishing
touches to their report summing up their labours on the "Dissociation
of Matter." The new household would install itself in the Glandier
and the son-in-law would lend his assistance in the work to which
the father and daughter had dedicated their lives.

The scientific world had barely had time to recover from the effect
of this newswhen it learned of the attempted assassination of
Mademoiselle under the extraordinary conditions which we have
detailed and which our visit to the chateau was to enable us to
ascertain with yet greater precision. I have not hesitated to
furnish the reader with all these retrospective detailsknown to
me through my business relations with Monsieur Robert Darzac. On
crossing the threshold of The Yellow Room he was as well posted
as I was.

CHAPTER V

In Which Joseph Rouletabille Makes a Remark to Monsieur Robert


Darzac Which Produces Its Little Effect

Rouletabille and I had been walking for several minutesby the side
of a long wall bounding the vast property of Monsieur Stangerson and
had already come within sight of the entrance gatewhen our
attention was drawn to an individual whohalf bent to the ground
seemed to be so completely absorbed in what he was doing as not to
have seen us coming towards him. At one time he stooped so low as
almost to touch the ground; at another he drew himself up and
attentively examined the wall; then he looked into the palm of one
of his handsand walked away with rapid strides. Finally he set
off runningstill looking into the palm of his hand. Rouletabille
had brought me to a standstill by a gesture.

Hush! Frederic Larsan is at work! Don't let us disturb him!

Rouletabille had a great admiration for the celebrated detective.
I had never before seen himbut I knew him well by reputation.
At that timebefore Rouletabille had given proof of his unique
talentLarsan was reputed as the most skilful unraveller of the
most mysterious and complicated crimes. His reputation was
world-wideand the police of Londonand even of Americaoften
called him in to their aid when their own national inspectors and
detectives found themselves at the end of their wits and resources.

No one was astonishedthenthat the head of the Surete hadat the
outset of the mystery of The Yellow Roomtelegraphed his precious
subordinate to Londonwhere he had been sent on a big case of
stolen securitiesto return with all haste. Frederic whoat the
Suretewas called the "great Frederic had made all speed,
doubtless knowing by experience that, if he was interrupted in what
he was doing, it was because his services were urgently needed in
another direction; so, as Rouletabille said, he was that morning
already at work." We soon found out in what it consisted.

What he was continually looking at in the palm of his right hand
was nothing but his watchthe minute hand of which he appeared
to be noting intently. Then he turned back still runningstopping
only when he reached the park gatewhere he again consulted his
watch and then put it away in his pocketshrugging his shoulders
with a gesture of discouragement. He pushed open the park gate
reclosed and locked itraised his head andthrough the bars
perceived us. Rouletabille rushed after himand I followed.
Frederic Larsan waited for us.

Monsieur Fred,said Rouletabilleraising his hat and showing the
profound respectbased on admirationwhich the young reporter felt
for the celebrated detectivecan you tell me whether Monsieur
Robert Darzac is at the chateau at this moment? Here is one of his
friends, of the Paris Bar, who desires to speak with him.

I really don't know, Monsieur Rouletabille,replied Fredshaking
hands with my friendwhom he had several times met in the course
of his difficult investigations. "I have not seen him."

The concierges will be able to inform us no doubt?said
Rouletabillepointing to the lodge the door and windows of which
were close shut.

The concierges will not be able to give you any information,
Monsieur Rouletabille.

Why not?


Because they were arrested half an hour ago.

Arrested!cried Rouletabille; "then they are the murderers!"

Frederic Larsan shrugged his shoulders.

When you can't arrest the real murderer,he said with an air of
supreme ironyyou can always indulge in the luxury of discovering
accomplices.

Did you have them arrested, Monsieur Fred?

Not I! - I haven't had them arrested. In the first place, I am
pretty sure that they have not had anything to do with the affair,
and then because -

Because of what?asked Rouletabille eagerly.

Because of nothing,said Larsanshaking his head.

Because there were no accomplices!said Rouletabille.

Aha! - you have an idea, then, about this matter?said Larsan
looking at Rouletabille intentlyyet you have seen nothing, young
man - you have not yet gained admission here!

I shall get admission.

I doubt it. The orders are strict.

I shall gain admission, if you let me see Monsieur Robert Darzac.
Do that for me. You know we are old friends. I beg of you,
Monsieur Fred. Do you remember the article I wrote about you on
the gold bar case?

The face of Rouletabille at the moment was really funny to look at.
It showed such an irresistible desire to cross the threshold beyond
which some prodigious mystery had occurred; it appealed with so much
eloquencenot only of the mouth and eyesbut with all its features
that I could not refrain from bursting into laughter. Frederic
Larsanno more than myselfcould retain his gravity. Meanwhile
standing on the other side of the gatehe calmly put the key in
his pocket. I closely scrutinised him.

He might be about fifty years of age. He had a fine headhis hair
turning grey; a colourless complexionand a firm profile. His
forehead was prominenthis chin and cheeks clean shaven. His upper
lipwithout moustachewas finely chiselled. His eyes were rather
small and roundwith a look in them that was at once searching and
disquieting. He was of middle height and well builtwith a general
bearing elegant and gentlemanly. There was nothing about him of
the vulgar policeman. In his wayhe was an artistand one felt
that he had a high opinion of himself. The sceptical tone of his
conversation was that of a man who had been taught by experience.
His strange profession had brought him into contact with so many
crimes and villanies that it would have been remarkable if his
nature had not been a little hardened.

Larsan turned his head at the sound of a vehicle which had come from
the chateau and reached the gate behind him. We recognised the cab
which had conveyed the examining magistrate and his Registrar from
the station at Epinay.


Ah!said Frederic Larsanif you want to speak with Monsieur
Robert Darzac, he is here.

The cab was already at the park gate and Robert Darzac was begging
Frederic Larsan to open it for himexplaining that he was pressed
for time to catch the next train leaving Epinay for Paris. Then he
recognised me. While Larsan was unlocking the gateMonsieur Darzac
inquired what had brought me to the Glandier at such a tragic moment.
I noticed that he was frightfully paleand that his face was lined
as if from the effects of some terrible suffering.

Is Mademoiselle getting better?I immediately asked.

Yes ,he said. "She will be saved perhaps. She must be saved!"

He did not add "or it will be my death"; but I felt that the phrase
trembled on his pale lips.

Rouletabille intervened:

You are in a hurry, Monsieur; but I must speak with you. I have
something of the greatest importance to tell you.

Frederic Larsan interrupted:

May I leave you?he asked of Robert Darzac. "Have you a keyor
do you wish me to give you this one."

Thank you. I have a key and will lock the gate.

Larsan hurried off in the direction of the chateauthe imposing
pile of which could be perceived a few hundred yards away.

Robert Darzacwith knit browwas beginning to show impatience. I
presented Rouletabille as a good friend of minebutas soon as he
learnt that the young man was a journalisthe looked at me very
reproachfullyexcused himselfunder the necessity of having to
reach Epinay in twenty minutesbowedand whipped up his horse.
But Rouletabille had seized the bridle andto my utter astonishment
stopped the carriage with a vigorous hand. Then he gave utterance
to a sentence which was utterly meaningless to me.

The presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its
brightness.

The words had no sooner left the lips of Rouletabille than I saw
Robert Darzac quail. Pale as he washe became paler. His eyes
were fixed on the young man in terrorand he immediately
descended from the vehicle in an inexpressible state of agitation.

Come! - come in!he stammered.

hensuddenlyand with a sort of furyhe repeated:

Let us go, monsieur.

He turned up by the road he had come from the chateauRouletabille
still retaining his hold on the horse's bridle. I addressed a few
words to Monsieur Darzacbut he made no answer. My looks
questioned Rouletabillebut his gaze was elsewhere.


CHAPTER VI

in the Heart of the Oak Grove

We reached the chateauandas we approached itsaw four
gendarmes pacing in front of a little door in the ground floor of
the donjon. We soon learned that in this ground floorwhich had
formerly served as a prisonMonsieur and Madame Bernierthe
conciergeswere confined. Monsieur Robert Darzac led us into the
modern part of the chateau by a large doorprotected by a
projecting awning - a "marquise" as it is called. Rouletabille
who had resigned the horse and the cab to the care of a servant
never took his eyes off Monsieur Darzac. I followed his look and
perceived that it was directed solely towards the gloved hands of
the Sorbonne professor. When we were in a tiny sitting-room
fitted with old furnitureMonsieur Darzac turned to Rouletabille
and said sharply:

What do you want?

The reporter answered in an equally sharp tone:

To shake you by the hand.

Darzac shrank back.

What does that mean?

Evidently he understoodwhat I also understoodthat my friend
suspected him of the abominable attempt on the life of
Mademoiselle Stangerson. The impression of the blood-stained hand
on the walls of The Yellow Room was in his mind. I looked at the
man closely. His haughty face with its expression ordinarily so
straightforward was at this moment strangely troubled. He held out
his right hand andreferring to mesaid:

As you are a friend of Monsieur Sainclair who has rendered me
invaluable services in a just cause, monsieur, I see no reason for
refusing you my hand -

Rouletabille did not take the extended hand. Lying with the utmost
audacityhe said:

Monsieur, I have lived several years in Russia, where I have
acquired the habit of never taking any but an ungloved hand.

I thought that the Sorbonne professor would express his anger openly
buton the contraryby a visibly violent efforthe calmed himself
took off his glovesand showed his hands; they were unmarked by any
cicatrix.

Are you satisfied?

No!replied Rouletabille. "My dear friend he said, turning
to me, I am obliged to ask you to leave us alone for a moment."

I bowed and retired; stupefied by what I had seen and heard. I
could not understand why Monsieur Robert Darzac had not already
shown the door to my impertinentinsultingand stupid friend.
I was angry myself with Rouletabille at that momentfor his
suspicionswhich had led to this scene of the gloves.


For some twenty minutes I walked about in front of the chateau
trying vainly to link together the different events of the day.
What was in Rouletabile's mind? Was it possible that he thought
Monsieur Robert Darzac to be the murderer? How could it be
thought that this manwho was to have married Mademoiselle
Stangerson in the course of a few dayshad introduced himself
into The Yellow Room to assassinate his fiancee? I could find no
explanation as to how the murderer had been able to leave The Yellow
Room; and so long as that mysterywhich appeared to me so
inexplicableremained unexplainedI thought it was the duty of
all of us to refrain from suspecting anybody. Butthenthat
seemingly senseless phrase - "The presbytery has lost nothing of its
charmnor the garden its brightness" - still rang in my ears. What
did it mean? I was eager to rejoin Rouletabille and question him.

At that moment the young man came out of the chateau in the company
of Monsieur Robert Darzacandextraordinary to relateI sawat
a glancethat they were the best of friends. "We are going to The
Yellow Room. Come with us Rouletabille said to me. You know
my dear boyI am going to keep you with me all day. We'll breakfast
together somewhere about here -"

You'll breakfast with me, here, gentlemen -

No, thanks,replied the young man. "We shall breakfast at the
Donjon Inn."

You'll fare very badly there; you'll not find anything -

Do you think so? Well, I hope to find something there,replied
Rouletabille. "After breakfastwe'll set to work again. I'll
write my article and if you'll be so good as to take it to the
office for me -"

Won't you come back with me to Paris?

No; I shall remain here.

I turned towards Rouletabille. He spoke quite seriouslyand
Monsieur Robert Darzac did not appear to be in the least degree
surprised.

We were passing by the donjon and heard wailing voices. Rouletabille
asked:

Why have these people been arrested?

It is a little my fault,said Monsieur Darzac. "I happened to
remark to the examining magistrate yesterday that it was inexplicable
that the concierges had had time to hear the revolver shotsto dress
themselvesand to cover so great a distance as that which lies
between their lodge and the pavilionin the space of two minutes;
for not more than that interval of time had elapsed after the firing
of the shots when they were met by Daddy Jacques."

That was suspicious evidently,acquiesced Rouletabille. "And
were they dressed?"

That is what is so incredible - they were dressed - completely

-not one part of their costume wanting. The woman wore sabots,
but the man had on laced boots. Now they assert that they went to
bed at half-past nine. On arriving this morning, the examining
magistrate brought with him from Paris a revolver of the same calibre

as that found in the room (for he couldn't use the one held for
evidence), and made his Registrar fire two shots in The Yellow Room
while the doors and windows were closed. We were with him in the
lodge of the concierges, and yet we heard nothing, not a sound.
The concierges have lied, of that there can be no doubt. They must
have been already waiting, not far from the pavilion, waiting for
something! Certainly they are not to be accused of being the authors
of the crime, but their complicity is not improbable. That was why
Monsieur de Marquet had them arrested at once.

If they had been accomplices,said Rouletabillethey would not
have been there at all. When people throw themselves into the arms
of justice with the proofs of complicity on them, you can be sure
they are not accomplices. I don't believe there are any accomplices
in this affair.

Then, why were they abroad at midnight? Why don't they say?

They have certainly some reason for their silence. What that
reason is, has to be found out; for, even if they are not
accomplices, it may be of importance. Everything that took place
on such a night is important.

We had crossed an old bridge thrown over the Douve and were entering
the part of the park called the Oak GroveThe oaks here were
centuries old. Autumn had already shrivelled their tawny leaves
and their high branchesblack and contortedlooked like horrid
heads of hairmingled with quaint reptiles such as the ancient
sculptors have made on the head of Medusa. This placewhich
Mademoiselle found cheerful and in which she lived in the summer
seasonappeared to us as sad and funereal now. The soil was black
and muddy from the recent rains and the rotting of the fallen
leaves; the trunks of the trees were black and the sky above us
was nowas if in mourningcharged with greatheavy clouds.

And it was in this sombre and desolate retreat that we saw the
white walls of the pavilion as we approached. A queer-looking
building without a window visible on the side by which we neared
it. A little door alone marked the entrance to it. It might
have passed for a tomba vast mausoleum in the midst of a thick
forest. As we came nearerwe were able to make out its
disposition. The building obtained all the light it needed from
the souththat is to sayfrom the open country. The little door
closed on the park. Monsieur and Mademoiselle Stangerson must
have found it an ideal seclusion for their work and their dreams.

ditch |
________________________________________________ |
enclosing wall || || | |
|| || | |
||___ 1 |d |
||bed| || |i |
PARK ||___|________|| |t |
||:::::| 4 || |c |
||::5::| || 2 |h |
oo oo ||:: ::|___ _|| | |
Traces oo || || | |
of oo oo oo | |
Footsteps|| || | |
|| || | |


|| 3 ||___________| |______________

|| || 6 | ditch

||____ ____||___________|_________________


door enclosing wall

Here is the ground plan of the pavilion. It had a ground-floor
which was reached by a few stepsand above it was an atticwith
which we need not concern ourselves. The plan of the ground-floor
onlysketched roughlyis what I here submit to the reader.

1. The Yellow Roomwith its one window and its one door opening
into the laboratory.
2. Laboratorywith its two largebarred windows and its doors
one serving for the vestibulethe other for The Yellow Room.
3. Vestibulewith its unbarred window and door opening into the
park.
4. Lavatory.
5. Stairs leading to the attic.
6. Large and the only chimney in the pavilionserving for the
experiments of the laboratory.
The plan was drawn by Rouletabilleand I assured myself that there
was not a line in it that was wanting to help to the solution of
the problem then set before the police. With the lines of this
plan and the description of its parts before themmy readers will
know as much as Rouletabille knew when he entered the pavilion for
the first time. With him they may now ask: How did the murderer
escape from The Yellow Room? Before mounting the three steps
leading up to the door of the pavilionRouletabille stopped and
asked Monsieur Darzac point blank:

What was the motive for the crime?

Speaking for myself, Monsieur, there can be no doubt on the
matter,said Mademoiselle Stangerson's fiancegreatly distressed.
The nails of the fingers, the deep scratches on the chest and throat
of Mademoiselle Stangerson show that the wretch who attacked her
attempted to commit a frightful crime. The medical experts who
examined these traces yesterday affirm that they were made by the
same hand as that which left its red imprint on the wall; an enormous
hand, Monsieur, much too large to go into my gloves,he added with
an indefinable smile.

Could not that blood-stained hand,I interruptedhave been the
hand of Mademoiselle Stangerson who, in the moment of falling, had
pressed it against the wail, and, in slipping, enlarged the
impression?

There was not a drop of blood on either of her hands when she was
lifted up,replied Monsieur Darzac.

We are now sure,said Ithat it was Mademoiselle Stangerson
who was armed with Daddy Jacques's revolver, since she wounded the
hand of the murderer. She was in fear, then, of somebody or
something.

Probably.

Do you suspect anybody?

No,replied Monsieur Darzaclooking at Rouletabille. Rouletabille


then said to me:

You must know, my friend, that the inquiry is a little more advanced
than Monsieur de Marquet has chosen to tell us. He not only knows
that Mademoiselle Stangerson defended herself with the revolver,
but he knows what the weapon was that was used to attack her.
Monsieur Darzac tells me it was a mutton-bone. Why is Monsieur de
Marquet surrounding this mutton-bone with so much mystery? No doubt
for the purpose of facilitating the inquiries of the agents of the
Surete? He imagines, perhaps, that the owner of this instrument of
crime, the most terrible invented, is going to be found amongst those
who are well-known in the slums of Paris who use it. But who can
ever say what passes through the brain of an examining magistrate?
Rouletabille added with contemptuous irony.

Has a mutton-bone been found in The Yellow Room?I asked him.

Yes, Monsieur,said Robert Darzacat the foot of the bed; but I
beg of you not to say anything about it.(I made a gesture of
assent.) "It was an enormous mutton-bonethe top of whichor
rather the jointwas still red with the blood of the frightful
wound. It was an old bonewhich mayaccording to appearances
have served in other crimes. That's what Monsieur de Marquet
thinks. He has had it sent to the municipal laboratory at Paris to
be analysed. In facthe thinks he has detected on itnot only
the blood of the last victimbut other stains of dried blood
evidences of previous crimes."

A mutton-bone in the hand of a skilled assassin is a frightful
weapon,said Rouletabillea more certain weapon than a heavy
hammer.

The scoundrel has proved it to be so,said Monsieur Robert
Darzacsadly. "The joint of the bone found exactly fits the
wound inflicted.

My belief is that the wound would have been mortalif the murderer's
blow had not been arrested in the act by Mademoiselle Stangerson's
revolver. Wounded in the handhe dropped the mutton-bone and fled.
Unfortunatelythe blow had been already givenand Mademoiselle was
stunned after having been nearly strangled. If she had succeeded in
wounding the man with the first shot of the revolvershe would
doubtlesshave escaped the blow with the bone. But she had
certainly employed her revolver too late; the first shot deviated and
lodged in the ceiling; it was the second only that took effect."

Having said thisMonsieur Darzac knocked at the door of the pavilion.
I must confess to feeling a strong impatience to reach the spot where
the crime had been committed. It was some time before the door was
pened by a man whom I at once recognised as Daddy Jacques.

He appeared to be well over sixty years of age. He had a long white
beard and white hairon which he wore a flat Basque cap. He was
dressed in a complete suit of chestnut-coloured velveteenworn at
the sides; sabots were on his feet. He had rather a waspish-looking
facethe expression of which lightenedhoweveras soon as he saw
Monsieur Darzac.

Friends,said our guide. "Nobody in the pavilionDaddy Jacques?"

I ought not to allow anybody to enter, Monsieur Robert, but of
course the order does not apply to you. These gentlemen of justice
have seen everything there is to be seen, and made enough drawings,
and drawn up enough reports -


Excuse me, Monsieur Jacques, one question before anything else,
said Rouletabille.

What is it, young man? If I can answer it -

Did your mistress wear her hair in bands, that evening? You know
what I mean - over her forehead?

No, young man. My mistress never wore her hair in the way you
suggest, neither on that day nor on any other. She had her hair
drawn up, as usual, so that her beautiful forehead could be seen,
pure as that of an unborn child!

Rouletabille grunted and set to work examining the doorfinding
that it fastened itself automatically. He satisfied himself that
it could never remain open and needed a key to open it. Then we
entered the vestibulea smallwell-lit room paved with square
red tiles.

Ah! This is the window by which the murderer escaped!said
Rouletabille.

So they keep on saying, monsieur, so they keep on saying! But if
he had gone off that way, we should have been sure to have seen him.
We are not blind, neither Monsieur Stangerson nor me, nor the
concierges who are in prison. Why have they not put me in prison,
too, on account of my revolver?

Rouletabille had already opened the window and was examining the
shutters.

Were these closed at the time of the crime?

And fastened with the iron catch inside,said Daddy Jacquesand
I am quite sure that the murderer did not get out that way.

Are there any blood stains?

Yes, on the stones outside; but blood of what?

Ah!said Rouletabillethere are footmarks visible on the path

-the ground was very moist. I will look into that presently.
Nonsense!interrupted Daddy Jacques; "the murderer did not go
that way."

Which way did he go, then?

How do I know?

Rouletabille looked at everythingsmelled everything. He went down
on his knees and rapidly examined every one of the paving tiles.
Daddy Jacques went on:

Ah! - you can't find anything, monsieur. Nothing has been found.
And now it is all dirty; too many persons have tramped over it.
They wouldn't let me wash it, but on the day of the crime I had
washed the floor thoroughly, and if the murderer had crossed it with
his hobnailed boots, I should not have failed to see where he had
been; he has left marks enough in Mademoiselle's chamber.

Rouletabille rose.


When was the last time you washed these tiles?he askedand he
fixed on Daddy Jacques a most searching look.

Why - as I told you - on the day of the crime, towards half-past
five - while Mademoiselle and her father were taking a little walk
before dinner, here in this room: they had dined in the laboratory.
The next day, the examining magistrate came and saw all the marks
there were on the floor as plainly as if they had been made with
ink on white paper. Well, neither in the laboratory nor in the
vestibule, which were both as clean as a new pin, were there any
traces of a man's footmarks. Since they have been found near this
window outside, he must have made his way through the ceiling of
The Yellow Room into the attic, then cut his way through the roof
and dropped to the ground outside the vestibule window. But

-there's no hole, neither in the ceiling of The Yellow Room nor
in the roof of my attic - that's absolutely certain! So you see
we know nothing - nothing! And nothing will ever be known! It's
a mystery of the Devil's own making.
Rouletabille went down upon his knees again almost in front of a
small lavatory at the back of the vestibule. In that position he
remained for about a minute.

Well?I asked him when he got up.

Oh! nothing very important, - a drop of blood,he replied
turning towards Daddy Jacques as he spoke. "While you were washing
the laboratory and this vestibulewas the vestibule window open?"
he asked.

No, Monsieur, it was closed; but after I had done washing the floor,
I lit some charcoal for Monsieur in the laboratory furnace, and, as
I lit it with old newspapers, it smoked, so I opened both the windows
in the laboratory and this one, to make a current of air; then I shut
those in the laboratory and left this one open when I went out. When
I returned to the pavilion, this window had been closed and Monsieur
and Mademoiselle were already at work in the laboratory.

Monsieur or Mademoiselle Stangerson had, no doubt, shut it?

No doubt.

You did not ask them?

After a close scrutiny of the little lavatory and of the staircase
leading up to the atticRouletabille - to whom we seemed no longer
to exist - entered the laboratory. I followed him. It wasI
confessin a state of great excitement. Robert Darzac lost none
of my friend's movements. As for memy eyes were drawn at once to
the door of The Yellow Room. It was closed andas I immediately
sawpartially shattered and out of commission.

My friendwho went about his work methodicallysilently studied
the room in which we were. It was large and well-lighted. Two
big windows - almost bays - were protected by strong iron bars and
looked out upon a wide extent of country. Through an opening in
the forestthey commanded a wonderful view through the length of
the valley and across the plain to the large town which could be
clearly seen in fair weather. To-dayhowevera mist hung over
the ground - and blood in that room!

The whole of one side of the laboratory was taken up with a large
chimneycruciblesovensand such implements as are needed for
chemical experiments; tablesloaded with phialspapersreports


an electrical machine- an apparatusas Monsieur Darzac informed
meemployed by Professor Stangerson to demonstrate the Dissociation
of Matter under the action of solar light - and other scientific
implements.

Along the walls were cabinetsplain or glass-frontedthrough which
were visible microscopesspecial photographic apparatusand a large
quantity of crystals.

Rouletabillewho was ferreting in the chimneyput his fingers into
one of the crucibles. Suddenly he drew himself upand held up a
piece of half-consumed paper in his hand. He stepped up to where
we were talking by one of the windows.

Keep that for us, Monsieur Darzac,he said.

I bent over the piece of scorched paper which Monsieur Darzac took
from the hand of Rouletabilleand read distinctly the only words
that remained legible:

Presbytery - lost nothing - charm, nor the gar - its brightness.

Twice since the morning these same meaningless words had struck
meandfor the second timeI saw that they produced on the
Sorbonne professor the same paralysing effect. Monsieur Darzac's
first anxiety showed itself when he turned his eyes in the direction
of Daddy Jacques. Butoccupied as he was at another windowhe
had seen nothing. Then tremblingly opening his pocket-book he put
the piece of paper into itsighing: "My God!"

During this timeRouletabille had mounted into the opening of the
fire-grate - that is to sayhe had got upon the bricks of a furnace

-and was attentively examining the chimneywhich grew narrower
towards the topthe outlet from it being closed with sheets of
ironfastened into the brickworkthrough which passed three small
chimneys.
Impossible to get out that way,he saidjumping back into the
laboratory. "Besideseven if he had tried to do ithe would have
brought all that ironwork down to the ground. Nono; it is not
on that side we have to search."

Rouletabille next examined the furniture and opened the doors of the
cabinet. Then he came to the windowsthrough which he declared no
one could possibly have passed. At the second window he found Daddy
Jacques in contemplation.

Well, Daddy Jacques,he saidwhat are you looking at?

That policeman who is always going round and round the lake.
Another of those fellows who think they can see better than anybody
else!

You don't know Frederic Larsan, Daddy Jacques, or you wouldn't
speak of him in that way,said Rouletabille in a melancholy tone.
If there is anyone who will find the murderer, it will be he.
And Rouletabille heaved a deep sigh.

Before they find him, they will have to learn how they lost him,
said Daddy Jacquesstolidly.

At length we reached the door of The Yellow Room itself.

There is the door behind which some terrible scene took place,


said Rouletabillewith a solemnity whichunder any other
circumstanceswould have been comical.

CHAPTER VII

In Which Rouletabille Sets Out on an Expedition Under the Bed

Rouletabille having pushed open the door of The Yellow Room paused
on the threshold sayingwith an emotion which I only later
understoodAh, the perfume of the lady in black!

The chamber was dark. Daddy Jacques was about to open the blinds
when Rouletabille stopped him.

Did not the tragedy take place in complete darkness?he asked.

No, young man, I don't think so. Mademoiselle always had a
nightlight on her table, and I lit it every evening before she went
to bed. I was a sort of chambermaid, you must understand, when the
evening came. The real chambermaid did not come here much before
the morning. Mademoiselle worked late - far into the night.

Where did the table with the night-light stand, - far from the
bed?

Some way from the bed.

Can you light the burner now?

The lamp is broken and the oil that was in it was spilled when the
table was upset. All the rest of the things in the room remain just
as they were. I have only to open the blinds for you to see.

Wait.

Rouletabille went back into the laboratoryclosed the shutters of
the two windows and the door of the vestibule.

When we were in complete darknesshe lit a wax vestaand asked
Daddy Jacques to move to the middle of the chamber with it to the
place where the night-light was burning that night.

Daddy Jacques who was in his stockings - he usually left his sabots
in the vestibule - entered The Yellow Room with his bit of a vesta.
We vaguely distinguished objects overthrown on the floora bed in
one cornerandin front of usto the leftthe gleam of a
looking-glass hanging on the wallnear to the bed.

That will do! - you may now open the blinds,said Rouletabille.

Don't come any further,Daddy Jacques beggedyou may make marks
with your boots, and nothing must be deranged; it's an idea of the
magistrate's - though he has nothing more to do here.

And he pushed open the shutter. The pale daylight entered from
withoutthrowing a sinister light on the saffron-coloured walls.
The floor -for though the laboratory and the vestibule were tiled
The Yellow Room had a flooring of wood - was covered with a single
yellow mat which was large enough to cover nearly the whole room


under the bed and under the dressing-table - the only piece of
furniture that remained upright. The centre round tablethe
night-table and two chairs had been overturned. These did not
prevent a large stain of blood being visible on the matmadeas
Daddy Jacques informed usby the blood which had flowed from the
wound on Mademoiselle Stangerson's forehead. Besides these stains
drops of blood had fallen in all directionsin line with the visible
traces of the footsteps - large and black - of the murderer.
Everything led to the presumption that these drops of blood had
fallen from the wound of the man who hadfor a momentplaced his
red hand on the wall. There were other traces of the same hand on
the wallbut much less distinct.

See! - see this blood on the wall!I could not help exclaiming.
The man who pressed his hand so heavily upon it in the darkness
must certainly have thought that he was pushing at a door! That's
why he pressed on it so hard, leaving on the yellow paper the
terrible evidence. I don't think there are many hands in the world
of that sort. It is big and strong and the fingers are nearly all
one as long as the other! The thumb is wanting and we have only
the mark of the palm; but if we follow the trace of the hand,I
continuedwe see that, after leaving its imprint on the wall, the
touch sought the door, found it, and then felt for the lock -

No doubt,interrupted Rouletabillechuckling- "only there is
no bloodeither on the lock or on the bolt!"

What does that prove?I rejoined with a good sense of which I was
proud; "he might have opened the lock with his left handwhich
would have been quite naturalhis right hand being wounded."

He didn't open it at all!Daddy Jacques again exclaimed. "We are
not fools; and there were four of us when we burst open the door!"

What a queer hand! - Look what a queer hand it is!I said.

It is a very' natural hand,said Rouletabilleof which the shape
has been deformed by its having slipped on the wall. The man dried
his hand on the wall. He must be a man about five feet eight in
height.

How do you come at that?

By the height of the marks on the wall.

My friend next occupied himself with the mark of the bullet in the
wall. It was a round hole.

This ball was fired straight, not from above, and consequently, not
from below.

Rouletabille went back to the door and carefully examined the lock
and the boltsatisfying himself that the door had certainly been
burst open from the outsideandfurtherthat the key had been
found in the lock on the inside of the chamber. He finally
satisfied himself that with the key in the lockthe door could not
possibly be opened from without with another key. Having made sure
of all these detailshe let fall these words: "That's better!"

-Then sitting down on the groundhe hastily took off his boots
andin his sockswent into the room.
The first thing he did was to examine minutely the overturned
furniture. We watched him in silence.


Young fellow, you are giving yourself a great deal of trouble,
said Daddy Jacques ironically.

Rouletabille raised his head and said:

You have spoken the simple truth, Daddy Jacques; your mistress did
not have her hair in bands that evening. I was a donkey to have
believed she did.

Thenwith the suppleness of a serpenthe slipped under the bed.
Presently we heard him ask:

At what time, Monsieur Jacques, did Monsieur and Mademoiselle
Stangerson arrive at the laboratory?

At six o'clock.

The voice of Rouletabille continued:

Yes, - he's been under here, - that's certain; in fact, there was
no where else where he could have hidden himself. Here, too, are
the marks of his hobnails. When you entered - all four of you - did
you look under the bed?

At once, - we drew it right out of its place -

And between the mattresses?

There was only one on the bed, and on that Mademoiselle was placed;
and Monsieur Stangerson and the concierge immediately carried it
into the laboratory. Under the mattress there was nothing but the
metal netting, which could not conceal anything or anybody.
Remember, monsieur, that there were four of us and we couldn't fail
to see everything - the chamber is so small and scantily furnished,
and all was locked behind in the pavilion.

I ventured on a hypothesis:

Perhaps he got away with the mattress - in the mattress! - Anything
is possible, in the face of such a mystery! In their distress of
mind Monsieur Stangerson and the concierge may not have noticed they
were bearing a double weight; especially if the concierge were an
accomplice! I throw out this hypothesis for what it is worth, but
it explains many things, - and particularly the fact that neither
the laboratory nor the vestibule bear any traces of the footmarks
found in the room. If, in carrying Mademoiselle on the mattress
from the laboratory of the chateau, they rested for a moment, there
might have been an opportunity for the man in it to escape.

And then?" asked Rouletabilledeliberately laughing under the bed.

I felt rather vexed and replied:

I don't know, - but anything appears possible


The examining magistrate had the same idea, monsieur,said Daddy
Jacquesand he carefully examined the mattress. He was obliged
to laugh at the idea, monsieur, as your friend is doing now, - for
whoever heard of a mattress having a double bottom?

I was myself obliged to laughon seeing that what I had said was
absurd; but in an affair like this one hardly knows where an
absurdity begins or ends.


My friend alone seemed able to talk intelligently. He called out
from under the bed.

The mat here has been moved out of place, - who did it?

We did, monsieur,explained Daddy Jacques. "When we could not
find the assassinwe asked ourselves whether there was not some
hole in the floor -"

There is not,replied Rouletabille. "Is there a cellar?"

No, there's no cellar. But that has not stopped our searching, and
has not prevented the examining magistrate and his Registrar from
studying the floor plank by plank, as if there had been a cellar
under it.

The reporter then reappeared. His eyes were sparkling and his
nostrils quivered. He remained on his hands and knees. He could
not be better likened than to an admirable sporting dog on the
scent of some unusual game. Andindeedhe was scenting the steps
of a man- the man whom he has sworn to report to his masterthe
manager of the "Epoque." It must not be forgotten that Rouletabille
was first and last a journalist.

Thuson his hands and kneeshe made his way to the four corners
of the roomso to speaksniffing and going round everything

-everything that we could seewhich was not muchand everything
that we could not seewhich must have been infinite.
The toilette table was a simple table standing on four legs; there
was nothing about it by which it could possibly be changed into a
temporary hiding-place. There was not a closet or cupboard.
Mademoiselle Stangerson kept her wardrobe at the chateau.

Rouletabille literally passed his nose and hands along the walls
constructed of solid brickwork. When he had finished with the
wallsand passed his agile fingers over every portion of the
yellow paper covering themhe reached to the ceilingwhich he was
able to touch by mounting on a chair placed on the toilette table
and by moving this ingeniously constructed stage from place to place
he examined every foot of it. When he had finished his scrutiny of
the ceilingwhere he carefully examined the hole made by the second
bullethe approached the windowandonce moreexamined the iron
bars and blindsall of which were solid and intact. At lasthe
gave a grunt of satisfaction and declared "Now I am at ease!"

Well, - do you believe that the poor dear young lady was shut up
when she was being murdered - when she cried out for help?wailed
Daddy Jacques.

Yes,said the young reporterdrying his foreheadThe Yellow
Room was as tightly shut as an iron safe.

That,I saidis why this mystery is the most surprising I know.
Edgar Allan Poe, in 'The Murders in the Rue Morgue,' invented
nothing like it. The place of that crime was sufficiently closed
to prevent the escape of a man; but there was that window through
which the monkey, the perpetrator of the murder, could slip away!
But here, there can be no question of an opening of any sort. The
door was fastened, and through the window blinds, secure as they
were, not even a fly could enter or get out.

True, true,assented Rouletabille as he kept on drying his
foreheadwhich seemed to be perspiring less from his recent bodily


exertion than from his mental agitation. "Indeedit's a greata
beautifuland a very curious mystery."

The Bete du bon Dieu,muttered Daddy Jacquesthe Bete du bon
Dieu herself, if she had committed the crime, could not have escaped.
Listen! Do you hear it? Hush!

Daddy Jacques made us a sign to keep quiet andstretching his arm
towards the wail nearest the forestlistened to something which we
could not hear.

It's answering,he said at length. "I must kill it. It is too
wickedbut it's the Bete du bon Dieuandevery nightit goes to
pray on the tomb of Sainte-Genevieve and nobody dares to touch her
for fear that Mother Angenoux should cast an evil spell on them."

How big is the Bete du bon Dieu?

Nearly as big as a small retriever, - a monster, I tell you. Ah!

-I have asked myself more than once whether it was not her that
took our poor Mademoiselle by the throat with her claws. But the
Bete du bon Dieu does not wear hobnailed boots, nor fire revolvers,
nor has she a hand like that!exclaimed Daddy Jacquesagain
pointing out to us the red mark on the wall. "Besideswe should
have seen her as well as we would have seen a man -"
Evidently,I said. "Before we had seen this Yellow RoomI had
also asked myself whether the cat of Mother Angenoux -"

You also!cried Rouletabille.

Didn't you?I asked.

Not for a moment. After reading the article in the 'Matin,' I knew
that a cat had nothing to do with the matter. But I swear now that
a frightful tragedy has been enacted here. You say nothing about
the Basque cap, or the handkerchief, found here, Daddy Jacques?

Of course, the magistrate has taken them,the old man answered
hesitatingly.

I haven't seen either the handkerchief or the cap, yet I can tell
you how they are made,the reporter said to him gravely.

Oh, you are very clever,said Daddy Jacquescoughing and
embarrassed.

The handkerchief is a large one, blue with red stripes and the cap
is an old Basque cap, like the one you are wearing now.

You are a wizard!said Daddy Jacquestrying to laugh and not
quite succeeding. "How do you know that the handkerchief is blue
with red stripes?"

Because, if it had not been blue with red stripes, it would not
have been found at all.

Without giving any further attention to Daddy Jacquesmy friend
took a piece of paper from his pocketand taking out a pair of
scissorsbent over the footprints. Placing the paper over one
of them he began to cut. In a short time he had made a perfect
pattern which he handed to mebegging me not to lose it.

He then returned to the window andpointing to the figure of


Frederic Larsanwho had not quitted the side of the lakeasked
Daddy Jacques whether the detective hadlike himselfbeen working
in The Yellow Room?

No,replied Robert Darzacwhosince Rouletabille had handed
him the piece of scorched paperhad not uttered a wordHe pretends
that he does not need to examine The Yellow Room. He says that the
murderer made his escape from it in quite a natural way, and that
he will, this evening, explain how he did it.

As he listened to what Monsieur Darzac had to sayRouletabille
turned pale.

Has Frederic Larsan found out the truth, which I can only guess
at?he murmured. "He is very clever - very clever - and I admire
him. But what we have to do to-day is something more than the work
of a policemansomething quite different from the teachings of
experience. We have to take hold of our reason by the right end."

The reporter rushed into the open airagitated by the thought that
the great and famous Fred might anticipate him in the solution of
the problem of The Yellow Room.

I managed to reach him on the threshold of the pavilion. "Calm
yourselfmy dear fellow I said. Aren't you satisfied?"

Yes,he confessed to mewith a deep sigh. "I am quite satisfied.
I have discovered many things."

Moral or material?

Several moral, - one material. This, for example.

And rapidly he drew from his waistcoat pocket a piece of paper in
which he had placed a light-coloured hair from a woman's head.

CHAPTER VIII

The Examining Magistrate Questions Mademoiselle Stangerson

Two minutes lateras Rouletabille was bending over the footprints
discovered in the parkunder the window of the vestibulea man
evidently a servant at the chateaucame towards us rapidly and
called out to Monsieur Darzac then coming out of the pavilion:

Monsieur Robert, the magistrate, you know, is questioning
Mademoiselle.

Monsieur Darzac uttered a muttered excuse to us and set off running
towards the chateauthe man running after him.

If the corpse can speak,I saidit would be interesting to be
there.

We must know,said my friend. "Let's go to the chateau." And he
drew me with him. Butat the chateaua gendarme placed in the
vestibule denied us admission up the staircase of the first floor.
We were obliged to wait down stairs.


This is what passed in the chamber of the victim while we were
waiting below.

The family doctorfinding that Mademoiselle Stangerson was much
betterbut fearing a relapse which would no longer permit of her
being questionedhad thought it his duty to inform the examining
magistrate of thiswho decided to proceed immediately with a brief
examination. At this examinationthe RegistrarMonsieur
Stangersonand the doctor were present. LaterI obtained the text
of the report of the examinationand I give it herein all its
legal dryness:

Question. Are you able, mademoiselle, without too much fatiguing
yourself, to give some necessary details of the frightful attack of
which you have been the victim?

Answer. I feel much bettermonsieurand I will tell you all I
know. When I entered my chamber I did not notice anything unusual
there.

Q. Excuse me, mademoiselle, - if you will allow me, I will ask you
some questions and you will answer them. That will fatigue you less
than making a long recital.

A. Do somonsieur.

Q. What did you do on that day? - I want you to be as minute and
precise as possible. I wish to know all you did that day, if it is
not asking too much of you.

A. I rose lateat ten o'clockfor my father and I had returned
home late on the night previouslyhaving been to dinner at the
reception given by the President of the Republicin honour of the
Academy of Science of Philadelphia. When I left my chamberat
half-past tenmy father was already at work in the laboratory. We
worked together till midday. We then took half-an-hour's walk in
the parkas we were accustomed to dobefore breakfasting at the
chateau. After breakfastwe took another walk for half an hour
and then returned to the laboratory. There we found my chambermaid
who had come to set my room in order. I went into The Yellow Room
to give her some slight orders and she directly afterwards left the
pavilionand I resumed my work with my father. At five o'clock
we again went for a walk in the park and afterward had tea.

Q. Before leaving the pavilion at five o'clock, did you go into your
chamber?

A. Nomonsieurmy father went into itat my request to bring
me my hat.

Q. And he found nothing suspicious there?

A. Evidently nomonsieur.

0. It is, then, almost certain that the murderer was not yet
concealed under the bed. When you went out, was the door of the
room locked?

A. Nothere was no reason for locking it.

Q. You were absent from the pavilion some length of time, Monsieur
Stangerson and you?

A. About an hour.


Q. It was during that hour, no doubt, that the murderer got into
the pavilion. But how? Nobody knows. Footmarks have been found
in the park, leading away from the window of the vestibule, but none
has been found going towards it. Did you notice whether the
vestibule window was open when you went out?

A. I don't remember.

Monsieur Stangerson. It was closed.

Q. And when you returned?

Mademoiselle Stangerson. I did not notice.

M. Stangerson. It was still closed. I remember remarking aloud:
'Daddy Jacques must surely have opened it while we were away.'

Q. Strange! - Do you recollect, Monsieur Stangerson, if during
your absence, and before going out, he had opened it? You returned
to the laboratory at six o'clock and resumed work?

Mademoiselle Stangerson. Yesmonsieur.

Q. And you did not leave the laboratory from that hour up to the
moment when you entered your chamber?

M. Stangerson. Neither my daughter nor Imonsieur. We were
engaged on work that was pressingand we lost not a moment

-neglecting everything else on that account.
Q. Did you dine in the laboratory?

A. For that reason.

Q. Are you accustomed to dine in the laboratory?

A. We rarely dine there.

Q. Could the murderer have known that you would dine there that
evening?

M. Stangerson. Good Heavens! - I think not. It was only when
we returned to the pavilion at six o'clockthat we decidedmy
daughter and Ito dine there. At that moment I was spoken to by
my gamekeeperwho detained me a momentto ask me to accompany
him on an urgent tour of inspection in a part of the woods which I
had decided to thin. I put this off until the next dayand begged
himas he was going by the chateauto tell the steward that we
should dine in the laboratory. He left meto execute the errand
and I rejoined my daughterwho was already at work.

Q. At what hour, mademoiselle, did you go to your chamber while
your father continued to work there?

A. At midnight.

Q. Did Daddy Jacques enter The Yellow Room in the course of
the evening?

A. To shut the blinds and light the night-light.

Q. He saw nothing suspicious?


A. He would have told us if he had seen. Daddy Jacques is an
honest man and very attached to me.

Q. You affirm, Monsieur Stangerson, that Daddy Jacques remained
with you all the time you were in the laboratory?

M. Stangerson. I am sure of it. I have no doubt of that.

Q. When you entered your chamber, mademoiselle, you immediately
shut the door and locked and bolted it? That was taking unusual
precautions, knowing that your father and your servant were there?
Were you in fear of something, then?

A. My father would be returning to the chateau and Daddy Jacques
would be going to his bed. Andin factI did fear something.

Q. You were so much in fear of something that you borrowed Daddy
Jacques's revolver without telling him you had done so?

A. That is true. I did not wish to alarm anybody- the more
because my fears might have proved to have been foolish.

Q. What was it you feared?

A. I hardly know how to tell you. For several nightsI seemed
to hearboth in the park and out of the parkround the pavilion
unusual soundssometimes footstepsat other times the cracking
of branches. The night before the attack on mewhen I did not
get to bed before three o'clock in the morningon our return from
the ElyseeI stood for a moment before my windowand I felt sure
I saw shadows.

Q. How many?

A. Two. They moved round the lake- then the moon became clouded
and I lost sight of them. At this time of the seasonevery yearI
have generally returned to my apartment in the chateau for the
winter; but this year I said to myself that I would not quit the
pavilion before my father had finished the resume of his works on
the 'Dissociation of Matter' for the Academy. I did not wish that
that important workwhich was to have been finished in the course
of a few daysshould be delayed by a change in our daily habit.
You can well understand that I did not wish to speak of my childish
fears to my fathernor did I say anything to Daddy Jacques whoI
knewwould not have been able to hold his tongue. Knowing that he
had a revolver in his roomI took advantage of his absence and
borrowed itplacing it in the drawer of my night-table.

Q. You know of no enemies you have?

A. None.

Q. You understand, mademoiselle, that these precautions are
calculated to cause surprise?

M. Stangerson. Evidentlymy childsuch precautions are very
surprising.

A. No; - because I have told you that I had been uneasy for two
nights.

M. Stangerson. You ought to have told me of that! This misfortune
would have been avoided.


Q. The door of The Yellow Room locked, did you go to bed?
A. Yesandbeing very tiredI at once went to sleep.
Q. The night-light was still burning?
A. Yesbut it gave a very feeble light.
Q. Then, mademoiselle, tell us what happened.
A. I do not know whether I had been long asleepbut suddenly I
awoke - and uttered a loud cry.
M. Stangerson.
in my ears.
Yes - a horrible cry - 'Murder!' - It still ringsQ. You uttered a loud cry?
A. A man was in my chamber. He sprang at me and tried to strangle
me. I was nearly stifled when suddenly I was able to reach the
drawer of my night-table and grasp the revolver which I had
placed in it. At that moment the man had forced me to the foot
of my bed and brandished in over my head a sort of mace. But
I had fired. He immediately struck a terrible blow at my head.
All that, monsieur, passed more rapidly than I can tell it, and
I know nothing more.
Q. Nothing? - Have you no idea as to how the assassin could
escape from your chamber?
A. None whatever - I know nothing more. One does not know what
is passing around one, when one is unconscious.
Q. Was the man you saw tall or shortlittle or big?
A. I only saw a shadow which appeared to me formidable.
Q. You cannot give us any indication?
A. I know nothing more, monsieur, than that a man threw himself
upon me and that I fired at him. I know nothing more.

Here the interrogation of Mademoiselle Stangerson concluded.

Rouletabille waited patiently for Monsieur Robert Darzacwho soon
appeared.

>From a room near the chamber of Mademoiselle Stangersonhe had
heard the interrogatory and now came to recount it to my friend
with great exactitudeaided by an excellent memory. His docility
still surprised me. Thanks to hasty pencil-noteshe was able to
reproducealmost textuallythe questions and the answers given.

It looked as if Monsieur Darzac were being employed as the secretary
of my young friend and acted as if he could refuse him nothing; nay
moreas if under a compulsion to do so.

The fact of the closed window struck the reporter as it had struck
the magistrate. Rouletabille asked Darzac to repeat once more
Mademoiselle Stangerson's account of how she and her father had
spent their time on the day of the tragedyas she had stated it
to the magistrate. The circumstance of the dinner in the laboratory
seemed to interest him in the highest degree; and he had it repeated
to him three times. He also wanted to be sure that the forest-keeper


knew that the professor and his daughter were going to dine in the
laboratoryand how he had come to know it.

When Monsieur Darzac had finishedI said: "The examination has not
advanced the problem much."

It has put it back,said Monsieur Darzac.

It has thrown light upon it,said Rouletabillethoughtfully.

CHAPTER IX

Reporter and Detective

The three of us went back towards the pavilion. At some distance
from the building the reporter made us stop andpointing to a small
clump of trees to the right of ussaid:

That's where the murderer came from to get into the pavilion.

As there were other patches of trees of the same sort between the
great oaksI asked why the murderer had chosen that onerather
than any of the others. Rouletabille answered me by pointing to
the path which ran quite close to the thicket to the door of the
pavilion.

That path is as you see, topped with gravel,he said; "the man
must have passed along it going to the pavilionsince no traces of
his steps have been found on the soft ground. The man didn't have
wings; he walked; but he walked on the gravel which left no
impression of his tread. The gravel hasin factbeen trodden by
many other feetsince the path is the most direct way between the
pavilion and the chateau. As to the thicketmade of the sort of
shrubs that don't flourish in the rough season - laurels and
fuchsias - it offered the murderer a sufficient hiding-place until
it was time for him to make his way to the pavilion. It was while
hiding in that clump of trees that he saw Monsieur and Mademoiselle
Stangersonand then Daddy Jacquesleave the pavilion. Gravel has
been spread nearlyvery nearlyup to the windows of the pavilion.
The footprints of a manparallel with the wall - marks which we
will examine presentlyand which I have already seen - prove that
he only needed to make one stride to find himself in front of the
vestibule windowleft open by Daddy Jacques. The man drew himself
up by his hands and entered the vestibule."

After all it is very possible,I said.

After all what? After all what?cried Rouletabille.

I begged of him not to be angry; but he was too much irritated to
listen to me and declaredironicallythat he admired the prudent
doubt with which certain people approached the most simple problems
risking nothing by saying "that is soor 'that is not so." Their
intelligence would have produced about the same result if nature
had forgotten to furnish their brain-pan with a little grey matter.
As I appeared vexedmy young friend took me by the arm and admitted
that he had not meant that for me; he thought more of me than that.

If I did not reason as I do in regard to this gravel,he went on


I should have to assume a balloon! - My dear fellow, the science
of the aerostation of dirigible balloons is not yet developed enough
for me to consider it and suppose that a murderer would drop from
the clouds! So don't say a thing is possible, when it could not be
otherwise. We know now how the man entered by the window, and we
also know the moment at which he entered, - during the five o'clock
walk of the professor and his daughter. The fact of the presence
of the chambermaid - who had come to clean up The Yellow Room - in
the laboratory, when Monsieur Stangerson and his daughter returned
from their walk, at half-past one, permits us to affirm that at
half-past one the murderer was not in the chamber under the bed,
unless he was in collusion with the chambermaid. What do you say,
Monsieur Darzac?

Monsieur Darzac shook his head and said he was sure of the
chambermaid's fidelity, and that she was a thoroughly honest and
devoted servant.

Besides he added, at five o'clock Monsieur Stangerson went into
the room to fetch his daughter's hat"

There is that also,said Rouletabille.

That the man entered by the window at the time you say, I admit,
I said; "but why did he shut the window? It was an act which would
necessarily draw the attention of those who had left it open"

It may be the window was not shut at once,replied the young
reporter. "But if he did shut the windowit was because of the
bend in the gravel patha dozen yards from the pavilionand on
account of the three oaks that are growing at that spot."

What do you mean by that?asked Monsieur Darzacwho had followed
us and listened with almost breathless attention to all that
Rouletabille had said.

I'll explain all to you later on, Monsieur, when I think the moment
to be ripe for doing so; but I don't think I have anything of more
importance to say on this affair, if my hypothesis is justified

And what is your hypothesis?

You will never know if it does not turn out to be the truth. It
is of much too grave a nature to speak of it, so long as it
continues to be only a hypothesis.

Have you, at least, some idea as to who the murderer is?

No, monsieur, I don't know who the murderer is; but don't be afraid,
Monsieur Robert Darzac - I shall know.

I could not but observe that Monsieur Darzac was deeply moved; and
I suspected that Rouletabille's confident assertion was not pleasing
to him. WhyI asked myselfif he was really afraid that the
murderer should be discoveredwas he helping the reporter to find
him? My young friend seemed to have received the same impression
for he saidbluntly:

Monsieur Darzac, don't you want me to find out who the murderer
was?

Oh! - I should like to kill him with my own hand!cried
Mademoiselle Stangerson's fiancewith a vehemence that amazed me.


I believe you,said Rouletabille gravely; "but you have not
answered my question."

We were passing by the thicketof which the young reporter had
spoken to us a minute before. I entered it and pointed out evident
traces of a man who had been hidden there. Rouletabilleonce more
was right.

Yes, yes!he said. "We have to do with a thing of flesh and blood
who uses the same means that we do. It'll all come out on those
lines."

Having said thishe asked me for the paper pattern of the footprint
which he had given me to take care ofand applied it to a very
clear footmark behind the thicket. "Aha!" he saidrising.

I thought he was now going to trace back the track of the murderer's
footmarks to the vestibule window; but he led us insteadfar to the
leftsaying that it was useless ferreting in the mudand that he
was surenowof the road taken by the murderer.

He went along the wall to the hedge and dry ditch, over which he
jumped. See, just in front of the little path leading to the lake,
that was his nearest way to get out.

How do you know he went to the lake?


Because Frederic Larsan has not quitted the borders of it since
this morning. There must be some important marks there.

A few minutes later we reached the lake.

It was a little sheet of marshy watersurrounded by reedson which
floated some dead water-lily leaves. The great Fred may have seen
us approachingbut we probably interested him very littlefor he
took hardly any notice of us and continued to be stirring with his
cane something which we could not see.

Look!said Rouletabillehere again are the footmarks of the
escaping man; they skirt the lake here and finally disappear just
before this path, which leads to the high road to Epinay. The man
continued his flight to Paris.

What makes you think that?I askedsince these footmarks are
not continued on the path?

What makes me think that? - Why these footprints, which I expected
to find!he criedpointing to the sharply outlined imprint of a
neat boot. "See!" - and he called to Frederic Larsan.

Monsieur Fred, these neat footprints seem to have been made since
the discovery of the crime.

Yes, young man, yes, they have been carefully made,replied Fred
without raising his head. "You seethere are steps that comeand
steps that go back."

And the man had a bicycle!cried the reporter.

Hereafter looking at the marks of the bicyclewhich followed
going and comingthe neat footprintsI thought I might intervene.

The bicycle explains the disappearance of the murderer's big
foot-prints,I said. "The murdererwith his rough bootsmounted


a bicycle. His accomplicethe wearer of the neat bootshad come
to wait for him on the edge of the lake with the bicycle. It might
be supposed that the murderer was working for the other."

No, no!replied Rouletabille with a strange smile. "I have
expected to find these footmarks from the very beginning. These
are not the footmarks of the murderer!"

Then there were two?

No - there was but one, and he had no accomplice.

Very good! - Very good!cried Frederic Larsan.

Look!continued the young reportershowing us the ground where
it had been disturbed by big and heavy heels; "the man seated
himself thereand took off his hobnailed bootswhich he had worn
only for the purpose of misleading detectionand then no doubt
taking them away with himhe stood up in his own bootsand quietly
and slowly regained the high roadholding his bicycle in his hand
for he could not venture to ride it on this rough path. That
accounts for the lightness of the impression made by the wheels
along itin spite of the softness of the ground. If there had been
a man on the bicyclethe wheels would have sunk deeply into the
soil. Nono; there was but one man therethe murderer on foot."

Bravo! - bravo!cried Fred againand coming suddenly towards
us andplanting himself in front of Monsieur Robert Darzache
said to him:

If we had a bicycle here, we might demonstrate the correctness of
the young man's reasoning, Monsieur Robert Darzac. Do you know
whether there is one at the chateau?

No!replied Monsieur Darzac. "There is not. I took minefour
days agoto Paristhe last time I came to the chateau before the
crime."

That's a pity!replied Fredvery coldly. Thenturning to
Rouletabillehe said: "If we go on at this ratewe'll both come
to the same conclusion. Have you any ideaas to how the murderer
got away from The Yellow Room?"

Yes,said my young friend; "I have an idea."

So have I,said Fredand it must be the same as yours. There
are no two ways of reasoning in this affair. I am waiting for the
arrival of my chief before offering any explanation to the examining
magistrate.

Ah! Is the Chief of the Surete coming?

Yes, this afternoon. He is going to summon, before the magistrate,
in the laboratory, all those who have played any part in this
tragedy. It will be very interesting. It is a pity you won't be
able to be present.

I shall be present,said Rouletabille confidently.

Really - you are an extraordinary fellow - for your age!replied
the detective in a tone not wholly free from irony. "You'd make a
wonderful detective - if you had a little more method - if you
didn't follow your instincts and that bump on your forehead. As I
have already several times observedMonsieur Rouletabilleyou


reason too much; you do not allow yourself to be guided by what you
have seen. What do you say to the handkerchief full of bloodand
the red mark of the hand on the wall? You have seen the stain on
the wallbut I have only seen the handkerchief."

Bah!cried Rouletabillethe murderer was wounded in the hand
by Mademoiselle Stangerson's revolver!

Ah! - a simply instinctive observation! Take care! - You are
becoming too strictly logical, Monsieur Rouletabille; logic will
upset you if you use it indiscriminately. You are right, when you
say that Mademoiselle Stangerson fired her revolver, but you are
wrong when you say that she wounded the murderer in the hand.

I am sure of it,cried Rouletabille.

Fredimperturbableinterrupted him:

Defective observation - defective observation! - the examination
of the handkerchief, the numberless little round scarlet stains, the
impression of drops which I found in the tracks of the footprints,
at the moment when they were made on the floor, prove to me that the
murderer was not wounded at all. Monsieur Rouletabille, the murderer
bled at the nose!

The great Fred spoke quite seriously. HoweverI could not refrain
from uttering an exclamation.

The reporter looked gravely at Fredwho looked gravely at him.
And Fred immediately concluded:

The man allowed the blood to flow into his hand and handkerchief,
and dried his hand on the wall. The fact is highly important,he
addedbecause there is no need of his being wounded in the hand
for him to be the murderer.

Rouletabille seemed to be thinking deeply. After a moment he
said:

There is something - a something, Monsieur Frederic Larsan, much
graver than the misuse of logic the disposition of mind in some
detectives which makes them, in perfect good faith, twist logic to
the necessities of their preconceived ideas. You, already, have
your idea about the murderer, Monsieur Fred. Don't deny it; and
your theory demands that the murderer should not have been wounded
in the hand, otherwise it comes to nothing. And you have searched,
and have found something else. It's dangerous, very dangerous,
Monsieur Fred, to go from a preconceived idea to find the proofs to
fit it. That method may lead you far astray Beware of judicial
error, Monsieur Fred, it will trip you up!

And laughing a littlein a slightly bantering tonehis hands in
his pocketsRouletabille fixed his cunning eyes on the great Fred.

Frederic Larsan silently contemplated the young reporter who
pretended to be as wise as himself. Shrugging his shouldershe
bowed to us and moved quickly awayhitting the stones on his path
with his stout cane.

Rouletabille watched his retreatand then turned toward ushis
face joyous and triumphant.

I shall beat him!he cried. "I shall beat the great Fredclever
as he is; I shall beat them all!"


And he danced a double shuffle. Suddenly he stopped. My eyes
followed his gaze; they were fixed on Monsieur Robert Darzacwho
was looking anxiously at the impression left by his feet side by
side with the elegant footmarks. There was not a particle of
difference between them!

We thought he was about to faint. His eyesbulging with terror
avoided uswhile his right handwith a spasmodic movement
twitched at the beard that covered his honestgentleand now
despairing face. At length regaining his self-possessionhe bowed
to usand remarkingin a changed voicethat he was obliged to
return to the chateauleft us.

The deuce!exclaimed Rouletabille.

Healsoappeared to be deeply concerned. From his pocket-book he
took a piece of white paper as I had seen him do beforeand with
his scissorscut out the shape of the neat bootmarks that were on
the ground. Then he fitted the new paper pattern with the one he
had previously made - the two were exactly alike. Rising
Rouletabille exclaimed again: "The deuce!" Presently he added:
Yet I believe Monsieur Robert Darzac to be an honest man.He
then led me on the road to the Donjon Innwhich we could see on
the highwayby the side of a small clump of trees.

CHAPTER X

We Shall Have to Eat Red Meat - Now"

The Donjon Inn was of no imposing appearance; but I like these
buildings with their rafters blackened with age and the smoke of
their hearths - these inns of the coaching-dayscrumbling erections
that will soon exist in the memory only. They belong to the bygone
daysthey are linked with history. They make us think of the Road
of those days when highwaymen rode.

I saw at once that the Donjon Inn was at least two centuries old

-perhaps older. Under its sign-boardover the thresholda man
with a crabbed-looking face was standingseemingly plunged in
unpleasant thoughtif the wrinkles on his forehead and the knitting
of his brows were any indication.
When we were close to himhe deigned to see us and asked usin a
tone anything but engagingwhether we wanted anything. He wasno
doubtthe not very amiable landlord of this charming dwelling-place.
As we expressed a hope that he would be good enough to furnish us
with a breakfasthe assured us that he had no provisionsregarding
usas he said thiswith a look that was unmistakably suspicious.

You may take us in,Rouletabille said to himwe are not
policemen.

I'm not afraid of the police - I'm not afraid of anyone!replied
the man.

I had made my friend understand by a sign that we should do better
not to insist; butbeing determined to enter the innhe slipped
by the man on the doorstep and was in the common room.


Come on,he saidit is very comfortable here.

A good fire was blazing in the chimneyand we held our hands to
the warmth it sent out; it was a morning in which the approach of
winter was unmistakable. The room was a tolerably large one
furnished with two heavy tablessome stoolsa counter decorated
with rows of bottles of syrup and alcohol. Three windows looked
out on to the road. A coloured advertisement lauded the many
merits of a new vermouth. On the mantelpiece was arrayed the
innkeeper's collection of figured earthenware pots and stone jugs.

That's a fine fire for roasting a chicken,said Rouletabille.
We have no chicken - not even a wretched rabbit,said the
landlord.

I know,said my friend slowly; "I know - We shall have to eat red
meat - now."

I confess I did not in the least understand what Rouletabille meant
by what he had said; but the landlordas soon as he heard the words
uttered an oathwhich he at once stifledand placed himself at our
orders as obediently as Monsieur Robert Darzac had donewhen he
heard Rouletabille's prophetic sentence - "The presbytery has lost
nothing of its charmnor the garden its brightness." Certainly my
friend knew how to make people understand him by the use of wholly
incomprehensible phrases. I observed as much to himbut he merely
smiled. I should have proposed that he give me some explanation;
but he put a finger to his lipswhich evidently signified that he
had not only determined not to speakbut also enjoined silence on
my part.

Meantime the man had pushed open a little side door and called to
somebody to bring him half a dozen eggs and a piece of beefsteak.
The commission was quickly executed by a strongly-built young woman
with beautiful blonde hair and largehandsome eyeswho regarded
us with curiosity.

The innkeeper said to her roughly:

Get out! - and if the Green Man comes, don't let me see him.

She disappeared. Rouletabille took the eggswhich had been brought
to him in a bowland the meat which was on a dishplaced all
carefully beside him in the chimneyunhooked a frying-pan and a
gridironand began to beat up our omelette before proceeding to
grill our beefsteak. He then ordered two bottles of ciderand
seemed to take as little notice of our host as our host did of him.
The landlord let us do our own cooking and set our table near one
of the windows.

Suddenly I heard him mutter:

Ah! - there he is.

His face had changedexpressing fierce hatred. He went and glued
himself to one of the windowswatching the road. There was no need
for me to draw Rouletabille's attention; he had already left our
omelette and had joined the landlord at the window. I went with him.

A man dressed entirely in green velvethis head covered with a
huntsman's cap of the same colourwas advancing leisurelylighting
a pipe as he walked. He carried a fowling-piece slung at his back.
His movements displayed an almost aristocratic ease. He wore


eye-glasses and appeared to be about five and forty years of age.
His hair as well as his moustache were salt grey. He was remarkably
handsome. As he passed near the innhe hesitatedas if asking
himself whether or no he should enter it; gave a glance towards us
took a few whiffs at his pipeand then resumed his walk at the same
nonchalant pace.

Rouletabille and I looked at our host. His flashing eyeshis
clenched handshis trembling lipstold us of the tumultuous
feelings by which he was being agitated.

He has done well not to come in here to-day!he hissed.

Who is that man?asked Rouletabillereturning to his omelette.

The Green Man,growled the innkeeper. "Don't you know him? Then
all the better for you. He is not an acquaintance to make. - Well
he is Monsieur Stangerson's forest-keeper."

You don't appear to like him very much?asked the reporter
pouring his omelette into the frying-pan.

Nobody likes him, monsieur. He's an upstart who must once have
had a fortune of his own; and he forgives nobody because, in order
to live, he has been compelled to become a servant. A keeper is as
much a servant as any other, isn't he? Upon my word, one would say
that he is the master of the Glandier, and that all the land and
woods belong to him. He'll not let a poor creature eat a morsel of
bread on the grass his grass!

Does he often come here?

Too often. But I've made him understand that his face doesn't
please me, and, for a month past, he hasn't been here. The Donjon
Inn has never existed for him! - he hasn't had time! - been too
much engaged in paying court to the landlady of the Three Lilies
at Saint-Michel. A bad fellow! - There isn't an honest man who can
bear him. Why, the concierges of the chateau would turn their eyes
away from a picture of him!

The concierges of the chateau are honest people, then?

Yes, they are, as true as my name's Mathieu, monsieur. I believe
them to be honest.

Yet they've been arrested?

What does that prove? - But I don't want to mix myself up in
other people's affairs.

And what do you think of the murder?

Of the murder of poor Mademoiselle Stangerson? - A good girl much
loved everywhere in the country. That's what I think of it - and
many things besides; but that's nobody's business.

Not even mine?insisted Rouletabille.

The innkeeper looked at him sideways and said gruffly:

Not even yours.

The omelette readywe sat down at table and were silently eating
when the door was pushed open and an old womandressed in rags


leaning on a stickher head dodderingher white hair hanging
loosely over her wrinkled foreheadappeared on the threshold.

Ah! - there you are, Mother Angenoux! - It's long since we saw
you last,said our host.

I have been very ill, very nearly dying,said the old woman. "If
ever you should have any scraps for the Bete du Bon Dieu -?"

And she enteredfollowed by a catlarger than any I had ever
believed could exist. The beast looked at us and gave so hopeless
a miau that I shuddered. I had never heard so lugubrious a cry.

As if drawn by the cat's cry a man followed the old woman in. It
was the Green Man. He saluted by raising his hand to his cap and
seated himself at a table near to ours.

A glass of cider, Daddy Mathieu,he said.

As the Green Man enteredDaddy Mathieu had started violently; but
visibly mastering himself he said:

I've no more cider; I served the last bottles to these gentlemen.

Then give me a glass of white wine,said the Green Manwithout
showing the least surprise.

I've no more white wine - no more anything,said Daddy Mathieu
surlily.

How is Madame Mathieu?

Quite well, thank you.

So the young Woman with the largetender eyeswhom we had just
seenwas the wife of this repugnant and brutal rusticwhose
jealousy seemed to emphasise his physical ugliness.

Slamming the door behind himthe innkeeper left the room. Mother
Angenoux was still standingleaning on her stickthe cat at her
feet.

You've been ill, Mother Angenoux? - Is that why we have not seen
you for the last week?asked the Green Man.

Yes, Monsieur keeper. I have been able to get up but three times,
to go to pray to Sainte-Genevieve, our good patroness, and the rest
of the time I have been lying on my bed. There was no one to care
for me but the Bete du bon Dieu!

Did she not leave you?

Neither by day nor by night.

Are you sure of that?

As I am of Paradise.

Then how was it, Madame Angenoux, that all through the night of
the murder nothing but the cry of the Bete du bon Dieu was heard?

Mother Angenoux planted herself in front of the forest-keeper and
struck the floor with her stick.


I don't know anything about it,she said. "But shall I tell you
something? There are no two cats in the world that cry like that.
Wellon the night of the murder I also heard the cry of the Bete
du bon Dieu outside; and yet she was on my kneesand did not mew
onceI swear. I crossed myself when I heard thatas if I had
heard the devil."

I looked at the keeper when he put the last questionand I am much
mistaken if I did not detect an evil smile on his lips. At that
momentthe noise of loud quarrelling reached us. We even thought
we heard a dull sound of blowsas if some one was being beaten.
The Green Man quickly rose and hurried to the door by the side of
the fireplace; but it was opened by the landlord who appearedand
said to the keeper:

Don't alarm yourself, Monsieur - it is my wife; she has the
toothache.And he laughed. "HereMother Angenouxhere are some
scraps for your cat."

He held out a packet to the old womanwho took it eagerly and
went out by the doorclosely followed by her cat.

Then you won't serve me?asked the Green Man.

Daddy Mathieu's face was placid and no longer retained its
expression of hatred.

I've nothing for you - nothing for you. Take yourself off.

The Green Man quietly refilled his pipelit itbowed to usand
went out. No sooner was he over the threshold than Daddy Mathieu
slammed the door after him andturning towards uswith eyes
bloodshotand frothing at the mouthhe hissed to usshaking his
clenched fist at the door he had just shut on the man he evidently
hated:

I don't know who you are who tell me 'We shall have to eat red
meat - now'; but if it will interest you to know it - that man is
the murderer!

With which words Daddy Mathieu immediately left us. Rouletabille
returned towards the fireplace and said:

Now we'll grill our steak. How do you like the cider? - It's a
little tart, but I like it.

We saw no more of Daddy Mathieu that dayand absolute silence
reigned in the inn when we left itafter placing five francs on
the table in payment for our feast.

Rouletabille at once set off on a three mile walk round Professor
Stangerson's estate. He halted for some ten minutes at the corner
of a narrow road black with sootnear to some charcoal-burners'
huts in the forest of Sainte-Genevievewhich touches on the road
from Epinay to Corbeilto tell me that the murderer had certainly
passed that waybefore entering the grounds and concealing himself
in the little clump of trees.

You don't think, then, that the keeper knows anything of it?I
asked.

We shall see that, later,he replied. "For the present I'm not
interested in what the landlord said about the man. The landlord
hates him. I didn't take you to breakfast at the Donjon Inn for


the sake of the Green Man."

Then Rouletabillewith great precaution glidedfollowed by me
towards the little building whichstanding near the park gate
served for the home of the conciergeswho had been arrested that
morning. With the skill of an acrobathe got into the lodge by
an upper window which had been left openand returned ten minutes
later. He said onlyAh!- a word whichin his mouthsignified
many things.

We were about to take the road leading to the chateauwhen a
considerable stir at the park gate attracted our attention. A
carriage had arrived and some people had come from the chateau to
meet it. Rouletabille pointed out to me a gentleman who descended
from it.

That's the Chief of the Suretehe said. "Now we shall see what
Frederic Larsan has up his sleeveand whether he is so much
cleverer than anybody else."

The carriage of the Chief of the Surete was followed by three other
vehicles containing reporterswho were also desirous of entering
the park. But two gendarmes stationed at the gate had evidently
received orders to refuse admission to anybody. The Chief of the
Surete calmed their impatience by undertaking to furnish to the
pressthat eveningall the information he could give that would
not interfere with the judicial inquiry.

CHAPTER XI

In Which Frederic Larsan Explains How the Murderer Was Able to Get
Out of The Yellow Room

Among the mass of paperslegal documentsmemoirsand extracts
from newspaperswhich I have collectedrelating to the mystery
of The Yellow Roomthere is one very interesting piece; it is a
detail of the famous examination which took place that afternoon
in the laboratory of Professor Stangersonbefore the Chief of the
Surete. This narrative is from the pen of Monsieur Maleinethe
Registrarwholike the examining magistratehad spent some of
his leisure time in the pursuit of literature. The piece was to
have made part of a book whichhoweverhas never been published
and which was to have been entitled: "My Examinations." It was
given to me by the Registrar himselfsome time after the
astonishing denouement to this caseand is unique in judicial
chronicles.

Here it is. It is not a mere dry transcription of questions and
answersbecause the Registrar often intersperses his story with
his own personal comments.

THE REGISTRAR'S NARRATIVE

The examining magistrate and I (the writer relates) found ourselves
in The Yellow Room in the company of the builder who had constructed
the pavilion after Professor Stangerson's designs. He had a workman
with him. Monsieur de Marquet had had the walls laid entirely bare;
that is to sayhe had had them stripped of the paper which had


decorated them. Blows with a pickhere and theresatisfied us of
the absence of any sort of opening. The floor and the ceiling were
thoroughly sounded. We found nothing. There was nothing to be
found. Monsieur de Marquet appeared to be delighted and never
ceased repeating:

What a case! What a case! We shall never know, you'll see, how
the murderer was able to get out of this room!

Then suddenlywith a radiant facehe called to the officer in
charge of the gendarmes.

Go to the chateau,he saidand request Monsieur Stangerson and
Monsieur Robert Darzac to come to me in the laboratory, also Daddy
Jacques; and let your men bring here the two concierges.

Five minutes later all were assembled in the laboratory. The Chief
of the Suretewho had arrived at the Glandierjoined us at that
moment. I was seated at Monsieur Stangerson's desk ready for work
when Monsieur de Marquet made us the following little speech - as
original as it was unexpected:

With your permission, gentlemen - as examinations lead to nothing

-we will, for once, abandon the old system of interrogation. I
will not have you brought before me one by one, but we will all
remain here as we are, - Monsieur Stangerson, Monsieur Robert Darzac,
Daddy Jacques and the two concierges, the Chief of the Surete, the
Registrar, and myself. We shall all be on the same footing. The
concierges may, for the moment, forget that they have been arrested.
We are going to confer together. We are on the spot where the crime
was committed. We have nothing else to discuss but the crime. So
let us discuss it freely - intelligently or otherwise, so long as
we speak just what is in our minds. There need be no formality or
method since this won't help us in any way.
Thenpassing before mehe said in a low voice:

What do you think of that, eh? What a scene! Could you have
thought of that? I'll make a little piece out of it for the
Vaudeville.And he rubbed his hands with glee.

I turned my eyes on Monsieur Stangerson. The hope he had received
from the doctor's latest reportswhich stated that Mademoiselle
Stangerson might recover from her woundshad not been able to efface
from his noble features the marks of the great sorrow that was upon
him. He had believed his daughter to be deadand he was still
broken by that belief. His clearsoftblue eyes expressed infinite
sorrow. I had had occasionmany timesto see Monsieur Stangerson
at public ceremoniesand from the first had been struck by his
countenancewhich seemed as pure as that of a child - the dreamy
gaze with the sublime and mystical expression of the inventor and
thinker.

On those occasions his daughter was always to be seen either
following him or by his side; for they never quitted each otherit
was saidand had shared the same labours for many years. The young
ladywho was then five and thirtythough she looked no more than
thirtyhad devoted herself entirely to science. She still won
admiration for her imperial beauty which had remained intactwithout
a wrinklewithstanding time and love. Who would have dreamed that
I should one day be seated by her pillow with my papersand that I
should see heron the point of deathpainfully recounting to us
the most monstrous and most mysterious crime I have heard of in my
career? Who would have thought that I should bethat afternoon


listening to the despairing father vainly trying to explain how his
daughter's assailant had been able to escape from him? Why bury
ourselves with our work in obscure retreats in the depths of woods
if it may not protect us against those dangerous threats to life
which meet us in the busy cities?

Now, Monsieur Stangerson,said Monsieur de Marquetwith somewhat
of an important airplace yourself exactly where you were when
Mademoiselle Stangerson left you to go to her chamber.

Monsieur Stangerson rose andstanding at a certain distance from
the door of The Yellow Roomsaidin an even voice and without the
least trace of emphasis - a voice which I can only describe as a
dead voice:

I was here. About eleven o'clock, after I had made a brief chemical
experiment at the furnaces of the laboratory, needing all the space
behind me, I had my desk moved here by Daddy Jacques, who spent the
evening in cleaning some of my apparatus. My daughter had been
working at the same desk with me. When it was her time to leave
she rose, kissed me, and bade Daddy Jacques goodnight. She had to
pass behind my desk and the door to enter her chamber, and she could
do this only with some difficulty. That is to say, I was very near
the place where the crime occurred later.

And the desk?I askedobeyingin thus mixing myself in the
conversationthe express orders of my chiefas soon as you heard
the cry of 'murder' followed by the revolver shots, what became of
the desk?

Daddy Jacques answered.

We pushed it back against the wall, here - close to where it is at
the present moment-so as to be able to get at the door at once.

I followed up my reasoningto whichhoweverI attached but little
importanceregarding it as only a weak hypothesiswith another
question.

Might not a man in the room, the desk being so near to the door,
by stooping and slipping under the desk, have left it unobserved?

You are forgetting,interrupted Monsieur Stangerson wearilythat
my daughter had locked and bolted her door, that the door had
remained fastened, that we vainly tried to force it open when we
heard the noise, and that we were at the door while the struggle
between the murderer and my poor child was going on - immediately
after we heard her stifled cries as she was being held by the fingers
that have left their red mark upon her throat. Rapid as the attack
was, we were no less rapid in our endeavors to get into the room
where the tragedy was taking place.

I rose from my seat and once more examined the door with the greatest
care. Then I returned to my place with a despairing gesture.

If the lower panel of the door,I saidcould be removed without
the whole door being necessarily opened, the problem would be solved.
But, unfortunately, that last hypothesis is untenable after an
examination of the door - it's of oak, solid and massive. You can
see that quite plainly, in spite of the injury done in the attempt
to burst it open.

Ah!cried Daddy Jacquesit is an old and solid door that was
brought from the chateau - they don't make such doors now. We had


to use this bar of iron to get it open, all four of us - for the
concierge, brave woman she is, helped us. It pains me to find them
both in prison now.

Daddy Jacques had no sooner uttered these words of pity and
protestation than tears and lamentations broke out from the
concierges. I never saw two accused people crying more bitterly.
I was extremely disgusted. Even if they were innocentI could
not understand how they could behave like that in the face of
misfortune. A dignified bearing at such times is better than tears
and groanswhichmost oftenare feigned.

Now then, enough of that sniveling,cried Monsieur de Marquet;
and, in your interest, tell us what you were doing under the windows
of the pavilion at the time your mistress was being attacked; for
you were close to the pavilion when Daddy Jacques met you.

We were coming to help!they whined.

If we could only lay hands on the murderer, he'd never taste bread
again!the woman gurgled between her sobs.

As before we were unable to get two connecting thoughts out of them.
They persisted in their denials and sworeby heaven and all the
saintsthat they were in bed when they heard the sound of the
revolver shot.

It was not one, but two shots that were fired! - You see, you are
lying. If you had heard one, you would have heard the other.

Mon Dieu! Monsieur - it was the second shot we heard. We were
asleep when the first shot was fired.

Two shots were fired,said Daddy Jacques. "I am certain that all
the cartridges were in my revolver. We found afterward that two
had been explodedand we heard two shots behind the door. Was not
that soMonsieur Stangerson?"

Yes,replied the Professorthere were two shots, one dull, and
the other sharp and ringing.

Why do you persist in lying?cried Monsieur de Marquetturning
to the concierges. "Do you think the police are the fools you are?
Everything points to the fact that you were out of doors and near
the pavilion at the time of the tragedy. What were you doing there?
So far as I am concerned he said, turning to Monsieur Stangerson,
I can only explain the escape of the murderer on the assumption of
help from these two accomplices. As soon as the door was forced
openand while youMonsieur Stangersonwere occupied with your
unfortunate childthe concierge and his wife faciitated the flight
of the murdererwhoscreening himself behind themreached the
window in the vestibuleand sprang out of it into the park. The
concierge closed the window after him and fastened the blindswhich
certainly could not have closed and fastened of themselves. That
is the conclusion I have arrived at. If anyone here has any other
idealet hun state it."

Monsieur Stangerson intervened:

What you say was impossible. I do not believe either in the guilt
or in the connivance of my concierges, though I cannot understand
what they were doing in the park at that late hour of the night.
I say it was impossible, because Madame Bernier held the lamp and
did not move from the threshold of the room; because I, as soon as


the door was forced open, threw myself on my knees beside my
daughter, and no one could have left or entered the room by the
door, without passing over her body and forcing his way by me!
Daddy Jacques and the concierge had but to cast a glance round the
chamber and under the bed, as I had done on entering, to see that
there was nobody in it but my daughter lying on the floor.

What do you think, Monsieur Darzac?asked the magistrate.

Monsieur Darzac replied that he had no opinion to express. Monsieur
Daxthe Chief of the Surete whoso farhad been listening and
examining the roomat length deigned to open his lips:

While search is being made for the criminal, we had better try to
find out the motive for the crime; that will advance us a little,
he said. urning towards Monsieur Stangersonhe continuedin the
evenintelligent tone indicative of a strong characterI
understand that Mademoiselle was shortly to have been married?

The professor looked sadly at Monsieur Robert Darzac.

To my friend here, whom I should have been happy to call my son

-to Monsieur Robert Darzac.
Mademoiselle Stangerson is much better and is rapidly recovering
from her wounds. The marriage is simply delayed, is it not,
Monsieur?insisted the Chief of the Surete.

I hope so.

What! Is there any doubt about that?"

Monsieur Stangerson did not answer. Monsieur Robert Darzac seemed
agitated. I saw that his hand trembled as it fingered his
watchchain. Monsieur Dax coughedas did Monsieur de Marquet.
Both were evidently embarrassed.

You understand, Monsieur Stangerson,he saidthat in an affair
so perplexing as this, we cannot neglect anything; we must know all,
even the smallest and seemingly most futile thing concerning the
victim - information apparently the most insignificant. Why do you
doubt that this marriage will take place? You expressed a hope; but
the hope implies a doubt. Why do you doubt?

Monsieur Stangerson made a visible effort to recover himself.

Yes, Monsieur,he said at lengthyou are right. It will be
best that you should know something which, if I concealed it, might
appear to be of importance; Monsieur Darzac agrees with me in this.

Monsieur Darzacwhose pallor at that moment seemed to me to be
altogether abnormalmade a sign of assent. I gathered he was
unable to speak.

I want you to know then,continued Monsieur Stangersonthat my
daughter has sworn never to leave me, and adheres firmly to her
oath, in spite of all my prayers and all that I have argued to induce
her to marry. We have known Monsieur Robert Darzac many years. He
loves my child; and I believed that she loved him; because she only
recently consented to this marriage which I desire with all my heart.
I am an old man, Monsieur, and it was a happy hour to me when I knew
that, after I had gone, she would have at her side, one who loved her
and who would help her in continuing our common labours. I love and
esteem Monsieur Darzac both for his greatness of heart and for his


devotion to science. But, two days before the tragedy, for I know
not what reason, my daughter declared to me that she would never
marry Monsieur Darzac.

A dead silence followed Monsieur Stangerson's words. It was a
moment fraught with suspense.

Did Mademoiselle give you any explanation, - did she tell you what
her motive was?asked Monsieur Dax.

She told me she was too old to marry - that she had waited too
long. She said she had given much thought to the matter and while
she had a great esteem, even affection, for Monsieur Darzac, she
felt it would be better if things remained as they were. She would
be happy, she said, to see the relations between ourselves and
Monsieur Darzac become closer, but only on the understanding that
there would be no more talk of marriage.

That is very strange!muttered Monsieur Dax.

Strange!repeated Monsieur de Marquet.

You'll certainly not find the motive there, Monsieur Dax,Monsieur
Stangerson said with a cold smile.

In any case, the motive was not theft!said the Chief impatiently.

Oh! we are quite convinced of that!cried the examining magistrate.

At that moment the door of the laboratory opened and the officer in
charge of the gendarmes entered and handed a card to the examining
magistrate. Monsieur de Marquet read it and uttered a half angry
exclamation:

This is really too much!he cried.

What is it?asked the Chief.

It's the card of a young reporter engaged on the 'Epoque,' a
Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille. It has these words written on it:
One of the motives of the crime was robbery."

The Chief smiled.

Ah, - young Rouletabille - I've heard of him he is considered
rather clever. Let him come in.

Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille was allowed to enter. I had made his
acquaintance in the train that morning on the way to Epinay-sur-Orge.
He had introduced himself almost against my wish into our
compartment. I had better say at once that his mannersand the
arrogance with which he aissumed to know what was incomprehensible
even to usimpressed him unfavourably on my mind. I do not like
journalists. They are a class of writers to be avoided as the pest.
They think that everything is permissible and they respect nothing.
Grant them the least favourallow them even to approach youand
you never can tell what annoyance they may give you. This one
appears to be scarcely twenty years oldand the effrontery with
which he dared to question us and discuss the matter with us made
him particularly obnoxious to me. Besideshe had a way of
expressing himself that left us guessing as to whether he was mocking
us or not. I know quite well that the 'Epoque' is an influential
paper with which it is well to be on good termsbut the paper ought
not to allow itself to be represented by sneaking reporters.


Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille entered the laboratorybowed to us
and waited for Monsieur de Marquet to ask him to explain his
presence.

You pretend, Monsieur, that you know the motive for the crime, and
that that motive - in the face of all the evidence that has been
forthcoming - was robbery?

No, Monsieur, I do not pretend that. I do not say that robbery
was the motive for the crime, and I don't believe it was.

Then, what is the meaning of this card?

It means that robbery was one of the motives for the crime.

What leads you to think that?

If you will be good enough to accompany me, I will show you.

The young man asked us to follow him into the vestibuleand we did.
He led us towards the lavatory and begged Monsieur de Marquet to
kneel beside him. This lavatory is lit by the glass doorandwhen
the door was openthe light which penetrated was sufficient to light
it perfectly. Monsieur de Marquet and Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille
knelt down on the thresholdand the young man pointed to a spot on
the pavement.

The stones of the lavatory have not been washed by Daddy Jacques
for some time,he said; "that can be seen by the layer of dust that
covers them. Nownotice herethe marks of two large footprints
and the black ash they left where they have been. That ash is
nothing else than the charcoal dust that covers the path along which
you must pass through the forestin order to get directly from
Epinay to the Glandier. You know there is a little village of
charcoal-burners at that placewho make large quantities of
charcoal. What the murderer did was to come here at middaywhen
there was nobody at the pavilionand attempt his robbery."

But what robbery? - Where do you see any signs of robbery? What
proves to you that a robbery has been committed?we all cried at
once. "What put me on the trace of it continued the journalist...

Was this?" interrupted Monsieur de Marquetstill on his knees.

Evidently,said Rouletabille.

And Monsieur de Marquet explained that there were on the dust of
the pavement marks of two footstepsas well as the impression
freshly-madeof a heavy rectangular parcelthe marks of the cord
with which it had been fastened being easily distinguished.

You have been here, then, Monsieur Rouletabille? I thought I had
given orders to Daddy Jacques, who Was left in charge of the
pavilion, not to allow anybody to enter.

Don't scold Daddy Jacques, I came here with Monsieur Robert Darzac.

Ah, - Indeed!exclaimed Monsieur de Marquetdisagreeablycasting
a side-glance at Monsieur Darzacwho remained perfectly silent.

When I saw the mark of the parcel by the side of the footprints, I
had no doubt as to the robbery,replied Monsieur Rouletabile. "The
thief had not brought a parcel with him; he had made one here - a


parcel with the stolen objectsno doubt; and he put it in this
corner intending to take it away when the moment came for him to
make his escape. He had also placed his heavy boots beside the
parcel- forsee - there are no marks of steps leading to the
marks left by the bootswhich were placed side by side. That
accounts for the fact that the murderer left no trace of his steps
when he fled from The Yellow Roomnor any in the laboratorynor in
the vestibule. After entering The Yellow Room in his bootshe took
them offfinding them troublesomeor because he wished to make as
little noise as possible. The marks made by him in going through
the vestibule and the laboratory were subsequently washed out by
Daddy Jacques. Havingfor some reason or othertaken off his
bootsthe murderer carried them in his hand and placed them by the
side of the parcel he had made- by that time the robbery had been
accomplished. The man then returned to The Yellow Room and slipped
under the bedwhere the mark of his body is perfectly visible on
the floor and even on the matwhich has been slightly moved from
its place and creased. Fragments of straw alsorecently tornbear
witness to the murderer's movements under the bed."

Yes, yes, - we know all about that,said Monsieur de Marquet.

The robber had another motive for returning to hide under the bed,
continued the astonishing boy-journalist. "You might think that he
was trying to hide himself quickly on seeingthrough the vestibule
windowMonsieur and Mademoiselle Stangerson about to enter the
pavilion. It would have been much easier for him to have climbed
up to the attic and hidden therewaiting for an opportunity to get
awayif his purpose had been only flight. - No! No! - he had to
be in The Yellow Room."

Here the Chief intervened.

That's not at all bad, young man. I compliment you. If we do not
know yet how the murderer succeeded in getting away, we can at any
rate see how he came in and committed the robbery. But what did he
steal?

Something very valuable,replied the young reporter.

At that moment we heard a cry from the laboratory. We rushed in
and found Monsieur Stangersonhis eyes haggardhis limbs
tremblingpointing to a sort of bookcase which he had openedand
whichwe sawwas empty. At the same instant he sank into the
large armchair that was placed before the desk and groanedthe
tears rolling down his cheeksI have been robbed again! For God's
sake, do not say a word of this to my daughter. She would be more
pained than I am.He heaved a deep sigh and addedin a tone I
shall never forget: "After allwhat does it matter- so long as
she lives!"

She will live!said Monsieur Darzacin a voice strangely touching.

And we will find the stolen articles,said Monsieur Dax. "But
what was in the cabinet?"

Twenty years of my life,replied the illustrious professor sadly
or rather of our lives - the lives of myself and my daughter! Yes,
our most precious documents, the records of our secret experiments
and our labours of twenty years were in that cabinet. It is an
rreparable loss to us and, I venture to say, to science. All the
processes by which I had been able to arrive at the precious proof
of the destructibility of matter were there - all. The man who came
wished to take all from me, - my daughter and my work - my heart


and my soul.

And the great scientist wept like a child.

We stood around him in silencedeeply affected by his great
distress. Monsieur Darzac pressed closely to his sideand tried
in vain to restrain his tears - a sight whichfor the moment
almost made me like himin spite of an instinctive repulsion which
his strange demeanour and his inexplicable anxiety had inspired me.

Monsieur Rouletabille alone- as if his precious time and mission
on earth did not permit him to dwell in the contemplation on human
suffering - hadvery calmlystepped up to the empty cabinet and
pointing at itbroke the almost solemn silence. He entered into
explanationsfor which there was no needas to why he had been led
to believe that a robbery had been committedwhich included the
simultaneous discovery he had made in the lavatoryand the empty
precious cabinet in the laboratory. The first thing that had struck
himhe saidwas the unusual form of that piece of furniture. It
was very strongly built of fire-proof ironclearly showing that it
was intended for the keeping of most valuable objects. Then he
noticed that the key had been left in the lock. "One does not
ordinarily have a safe and leave it open!" he had said to himself.
This little keywith its brass head and complicated wardshad
strongly attracted him- its presence had suggested robbery.

Monsieur de Marquet appeared to be greatly perplexedas if he did
not know whether he ought to be glad of the new direction given to
the inquiry by the young reporteror sorry that it had not been
done by himself. In our profession and for the general welfarewe
have to put up with such mortifications and bury selfish feelings.
That was why Monsieur de Marquet controlled himself and joined his
compliments with those of Monsieur Dax. As for Monsieur Rouletabille
he simply shrugged his shoulders and said: "There's nothing at all
in that!" I should have liked to box his earsespecially when he
added: "You will do wellMonsieurto ask Monsieur Stangerson who
usually kept that key?"

My daughter,replied Monsieur Stangersonshe was never without it.

Ah! then that changes the aspect of things which no longer
corresponds with Monsieur Rouletabille's ideas!" cried Monsieur de
Marquet. "If that key never left Mademoiselle Stangersonthe
murderer must have waited for her in her room for the purpose of
stealing it; and the robbery could not have been committed until
after the attack had been made on her. But after the attack four
persons were in the laboratory! I can't make it out!"

The robbery,said the reportercould only have been committed
before the attack upon Mademoiselle Stangerson in her room. When
the murderer entered the pavilion he already possessed the
brass-headed key.

That is impossible,said Monsieur Stangerson in a low voice.

It is quite possible, Monsieur, as this proves.

And the young rascal drew a copy of the "Epoque" from his pocket
dated the 21st of October (I recall the fact that the crime was
committed on the night between the 24th and 25th)and showing us
an advertisementhe read:

'Yesterday a black satin reticule was lost in the Grands Magasins
de la Louvre. It contained, amongst other things, a small key with


a brass head. A handsome reward will be given to the person who
has found it. This person must write, poste restante, bureau 40, to
this address: M. A. T. H. S. N.' Do not these letters suggest
Mademoiselle Stangerson?continued the reporter. "The 'key with
a brass head' - is not this the key? I always read advertisements.
In my businessas in yoursMonsieurone should always read the
personals.' They are often the keys to intriguesthat are not
lways brass-headedbut which are none the less interesting. This
dvertisement interested me specially; the woman of the key surrounded
it with a kind of mystery. Evidently she valued the keysince she
promised a big reward for its restoration! And I thought on these
six letters: M. A. T. H. S. N. The first four at once pointed to
a Christian name; evidently I said Math is Mathilde. But I could
make nothing of the two last letters. So I threw the journal aside
and occupied myself with other matters. Four days laterwhen the
evening paper appeared with enormous head-lines announcing the murder
of Mademoiselle Stangersonthe letters in the advertisement
mechanically recurred to me. I had forgotten the two last letters

S. N. When I saw them again I could not help exclaiming
'Stangerson!' I jumped into a cab and rushed into the bureau No.
40asking: 'Have you a letter addressed to M. A. T. H. S. N.?'
The clerk replied that he had not. I insistedbegged and entreated
him to search. He wanted to know if I were playing a joke on him
and then told me that he had had a letter with the initials
M. A. T. H. S. Nbut he had given it up three days agoto a lady
who came for it. 'You come to-day to claim the letterand the day
before yesterday another gentleman claimed it! I've had enough of
this' he concluded angrily. I tried to question him as to the two
persons who had already claimed the letter; but whether he wished
to entrench himself behind professional secrecy- he may have
thought that he had already said too much- or whether he was
disgusted at the joke that had been played on him - he would not
answer any of my questions."
Rouletabille paused. We all remained silent. Each drew his own
conclusions from the strange story of the poste restante letter.
It seemedindeedthat we now had a thread by means of which we
should be able to follow up this extraordinary mystery.

Then it is almost certain,said Monsieur Stangersonthat my
daughter did lose the key, and that she did not tell me of it,
wishing to spare any anxiety, and that she begged whoever had found
it to write to the poste restante. She evidently feared that, by
giving our address, inquiries would have resulted that would have
apprised me of the loss of the key. It was quite logical, quite
natural for her to have taken that course - for I have been robbed
once before.

Where was that, and when?asked the Chief of the Surete.

Oh! many years ago, in America, in Philadelphia. There were
stolen from my laboratory the drawings of two inventions that might
have made the fortune of a man. Not ouly have I never learnt who
the thief was, but I have never heard even a word of the object of
the robbery, doubtless because, in order to defeat the plans of the
person who had robbed me, I myself brought these two inventions
before the public, and so rendered the robbery of no avail. From
that time on I have been very careful to shut myself in when I am
at work. The bars to these windows, the lonely situation of this
pavilion, this cabinet, which I had specially constructed, this
special lock, this unique key, all are precautions against fears
inspired by a sad experience.

Most interesting!remarked Monsieur Dax.


Monsieur Rouletabille asked about the reticule. Neither Monsieur
Stangerson nor Daddy Jacques had seen it for several daysbut a few
hours later we learned from Mademoiselle Stangerson herself that the
reticule had either been stolen from heror she had lost it. She
further corroborated all that had passed just as her father had
stated. She had gone to the poste restante andon the 23rd of
Octoberhad received a letter whichshe affirmedcontained nothing
but a vulgar pleasantrywhich she had immediately burned.

To return to our examinationor rather to our conversation. I must
state that the Chief of the Surete having inquired of Monsieur
Stangerson under what conditions his daughter had gone to Paris on
the 20th of Octoberwe learned that Monsieur Robert Darzac had
accompanied herand Darzac had not been again seen at the chateau
from that time to the day after the crime had been committed. The
fact that Monsieur Darzac was with her in the Grands Magasins de la
Louvre when the reticule disappeared could not pass unnoticedand
it must be saidstrongly awakened our interest.

This conversation between magistratesaccusedvictimwitnesses
and journalistwas coming to a close when quite a theatrical
sensation - an incident of a kind displeasing to Monsieur de
Marquet - was produced. The officer of the gendarmes came to
announce that Frederic Larsan requested to be admitted- a request
that was at once complied with. He held in his hand a heavy pair
of muddy bootswhich he threw on the pavement of the laboratory.

Here,he saidare the boots worn by the murderer. Do you
recognise them, Daddy Jacques?

Daddy Jacques bent over them andstupefiedrecognised a pair of
old boots which he hadsome time backthrown into a corner of his
attic. He was so taken aback that he could not hide his agitation.

Then pointing to the handkerchief in the old man's handFrederic
Larsan said:

That's a handkerchief astonishingly like the one found in The
Yellow Room.

I know,said Daddy Jacquestremblingthey are almost alike.

And then,continued Frederic Larsanthe old Basque cap also
found in The Yellow Room might at one time have been worn by Daddy
Jacques himself. All this, gentlemen, proves, I think, that the
murderer wished to disguise his real personality. He did it in a
very clumsy way - or, at least, so it appears to us. Don't be
alarmed, Daddy Jacques; we are quite sure that you were not the
murderer; you never left the side of Monsieur Stangerson. But if
Monsieur Stangerson had not been working that night and had gone
back to the chateau after parting with his daughter, and Daddy
Jacques had gone to sleep in his attic, no one would have doubted
that he was the murderer. He owes his safety, therefore, to the
tragedy having been enacted too soon, - the murderer, no doubt,
from the silence in the laboratory, imagined that it was empty, and
that the moment for action had come. The man who had been able to
introduce himself here so mysteriously and to leave so many evidences
against Daddy Jacques, was, there can be no doubt, familiar with the
house. At what hour exactly he entered, whether in the afternoon or
in the evening, I cannot say. One familiar with the proceedings and
persons of this pavilion could choose his own time for entering The
Yellow Room.


He could not have entered it if anybody had been in the laboratory,
said Monsieur de Marquet.

How do we know that?replied Larsan. "There was the dinner in
the laboratorythe coming and going of the servants in attendance.
There was a chemical experiment being carried on between ten and
eleven o'clockwith Monsieur Stangersonhis daughterand Daddy
Jacques engaged at the furnace in a corner of the high chimney.
Who can say that the murderer - an intimate! - a friend! - did
not take advantage of that moment to slip into The Yellow Room
after having taken off his boots in the lavatory?"

It is very improbable,said Monsieur Stangerson.

Doubtless - but it is not impossible. I assert nothing. As to
the escape from the pavilion - that's another thing, the most
natural thing in the world.

For a moment Frederic Larsan paused- a moment that appeared to
us a very long time. The eagerness with which we awaited what he
was going to tell us may be imagined.

I have not been in The Yellow Room,he continuedbut I take it
for granted that you have satisfied yourselves that he could have
left the room only by way of the door; it is by the door, then, that
the murderer made his way out. At what time? At the moment when it
was most easy for him to do so; at the moment when it became most
explainable - so completely explainable that there can be no other
explanation. Let us go over the moments which followed after the
crime had been committed. There was the first moment, when Monsieur
Stangerson and Daddy Jacques were close to the door, ready to bar
the way. There was the second moment, during which Daddy Jacques
was absent and Monsieur Stangerson was left alone before the door.
There was a third moment, when Monsieur Stangerson was joined by
the concierge. There was a fourth moment, during which Monsieur
Stangerson, the concierge and his wife and Daddy Jacques were before
the door. There was a fifth moment, during which the door was burst
open and The Yellow Room entered. The moment at which the flight is
explainable is the very moment when there was the least number of
persons before the door. There was one moment when there was but
one person, - Monsieur Stangerson. Unless a complicity of silence
on the part of Daddy Jacques is admitted - in which I do not believe

-the door was opened in the presence of Monsieur Stangerson alone
and the man escaped.
Here we must admit that Monsieur Stangerson had powerful reasons
for not arrestingor not causing the arrest of the murderersince
he allowed him to reach the window in the vestibule and closed it
after him! - That doneMademoiselle Stangersonthough horribly
woundedhad still strength enoughand no doubt in obedience to the
entreaties of her fatherto refasten the door of her chamberwith
both the bolt and the lockbefore sinking on the floor. We do not
know who committed the crime; we do not know of what wretch Monsieur
and Mademoiselle Stangerson are the victimsbut there is no doubt
that they both know! The secret must be a terrible onefor the
father had not hesitated to leave his daughter to die behind a door
which she had shut upon herself- terrible for him to have allowed
the assassin to escape. For there is no other way in the world to
explain the murderer's flight from The Yellow Room!"

The silence which followed this dramatic and lucid explanation was
appalling. We all of us felt grieved for the illustrious professor
driven into a corner by the pitiless logic of Frederic Larsanforced
to confess the whole truth of his martyrdom or to keep silentand


thus make a yet more terrible admission. The man himselfa
veritable statue of sorrowraised his hand with a gesture so solemn
that we bowed our heads to it as before something sacred. He then
pronounced these wordsin a voice so loud that it seemed to exhaust
him:

I swear by the head of my suffering child that I never for an
instant left the door of her chamber after hearing her cries for
help; that that door was not opened while I was alone in the
laboratory; and that, finally, when we entered The Yellow Room, my
three domestics and I, the murderer was no longer there! I swear
I do not know the murderer!

Must I say it- in spite of the solemnity of Monsieur Stangerson's
wordswe did not believe in his denial. Frederic Larsan had shown
us the truth and it was not so easily given up.

Monsieur de Marquet announced that the conversation was at an end
and as we were about to leave the laboratoryJoseph Rouletabille
approached Monsieur Stangersontook him by the hand with the
greatest respectand Iheard him say:

I believe you, Monsieur.

I here close the citation which I have thought it my duty to make
from Monsieur Maleine's narrative. I need not tell the reader that
all that passed in the laboratory was immediately and faithfully
reported to me by Rouletabille.

CHAPTER XII

Frederic Larsan's Cane

It was not till six o'clock that I left the chateautaking with me
the article hastily written by my friend in the little sitting-room
which Monsieur Robert Darzac had placed at our disposal. The
reporter was to sleep at the chateautaking advantage of the to me
inexplicable hospitality offered him by Monsieur Robert Darzacto
whom Monsieur Stangersonin that sad timeleft the care of all his
domestic affairs. Nevertheless he insisted on accompanying me to
the station at Epinay. In crossing the parkhe said to me:

Frederic is really very clever and has not belied his reputation.
Do you know how he came to find Daddy Jacques's boots? - Near the
spot where we noticed the traces of the neat boots and the
disappearance of the rough ones, there was a square hole, freshly
made in the moist ground, where a stone had evidently been removed.
Larsan searched for that stone without finding it, and at once
imagined that it had been used by the murderer with which to sink
the boots in the lake. Fred's calculation was an excellent one,
as the success of his search proves. That escaped me; but my mind
was turned in another direction by the large number of false
indications of his track which the murderer left, and by the measure
of the black foot-marks corresponding with that of Daddy Jacques's
boots, which I had established without his suspecting it, on the
floor of The Yellow Room. All which was a proof, in my eyes, that
the murderer had sought to turn suspicion on to the old servant. Up
to that point, Larsan and I are in accord; but no further. It is
going to be a terrible matter; for I tell you he is working on wrong


lines, and I - I, must fight him with nothing!

I was surprised at the profoundly grave accent with which my young
friend pronounced the last words.

He repeated:

Yes terrible! - terrible! For it is fighting with nothing, when
you have only an idea to fight with.

At that moment we passed by the back of the chateau. Night had come.
A window on the first floor was partly open. A feeble light came
from it as well as some sounds which drew our attention. We
approached until we had reached the side of a door that was situated
just under the window. Rouletabillein a low tonemade me
understandthat this was the window of Mademoiselle Stangerson's
chamber. The sounds which had attracted our attention ceasedthen
were renewed for a momentand then we heard stifled sobs. We were
only able to catch these wordswhich reached us distinctly: "My
poor Robert!" - Rouletabille whispered in my ear:

If we only knew what was being said in that chamber, my inquiry
would soon be finished.

He looked about him. The darkness of the evening enveloped us; we
could not see much beyond the narrow path bordered by treeswhich
ran behind the chateau. The sobs had ceased.

If we can't hear we may at least try to see,said Rouletabille.

Andmaking a sign to me to deaden the sound of my stepshe led
me across the path to the trunk of a tall beech treethe white
bole of which was visible in the darkness. This tree grew exactly
in front of the window in which we were so much interestedits
lower branches being on a level with the first floor of the chateau.
>From the height of those branches one might certainly see what was
passing in Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber. Evidently that was
what Rouletabille thoughtforenjoining me to remain hiddenhe
clasped the trunk with his vigorous arms and climbed up. I soon
lost sight of him amid the branchesand then followed a deep
silence. In front of methe open window remained lightedand I
saw no shadow move across it. I listenedand presently from above
me these words reached my ears:

After you!

After you, pray!

Somebody was overheadspeaking- exchanging courtesies. What was
my astonishment to see on the slippery column of the tree two human
forms appear and quietly slip down to the ground. Rouletabille had
mounted aloneand had returned with another.

Good evening, Monsieur Sainclair!

It was Frederic Larsan. The detective had already occupied the post
of observation when my young friend had thought to reach it alone.
Neither noticed my astonishment. I explained that to myself by the
fact that they must have been witnesses of some tender and despairing
scene between Mademoiselle Stangersonlying in her bedand Monsieur
Darzac on his knees by her pillow. I guessed that each had drawn
different conclusions from what they had seen. It was easy to see
that the scene had strongly impressed Rouletabille in favour of
Monsieur Robert Darzac; whileto Larsanit showed nothing but


consummate hypocrisyacted with finished art by Mademoiselle
Stangerson's fiance.

As we reached the park gateLarsan stopped us.

My cane!he cried. "I left it near the tree."

He left ussaying he would rejoin us presently.

Have you noticed Frederic Larsan's cane?asked the young reporter
as soon as we were alone. "It is quite a new onewhich I have
never seen him use before. He seems to take great care of it - it
never leaves him. One would think he was afraid it might fall into
the hands of strangers. I never saw it before to-day. Where did he
find it? It isn't natural that a man who had never before used a
walking-stick shouldthe day after the Glandier crimenever move
a step without one. On the day of our arrival at the chateauas
soon as he saw ushe put his watch in his pocket and picked up his
cane from the ground - a proceeding to which I was perhaps wrong not
to attach some importance."

We were now out of the park. Rouletabille had dropped into silence.
His thoughts were certainly still occupied with Frederic Larsan's
new cane. I had proof of that whenas we came near to Epinayhe
said:

Frederic Larsan arrived at the Glandier before me; he began his
inquiry before me; he has had time to find out things about which
I know nothing. Where did he find that cane?Then he added: "It
is probable that his suspicion - more than thathis reasoning

-has led him to lay his hand on something tangible. Has this cane
anything to do with it? Where the deuce could he have found it?"
As I had to wait twenty minutes for the train at Epinaywe entered
a wine shop. Almost immediately the door opened and Frederic Larsan
ade his appearancebrandishing his famous cane.

I found it!he said laughingly.

The three of us seated ourselves at a table. Rouletabille never took
his eyes off the cane; he was so absorbed that he did not notice a
sign Larsan made to a railway employea young man with a chin
decorated by a tiny blond and ill-kept beard. On the sign he rose
paid for his drinkbowedand went out. I should not myself have
attached any importance to the circumstanceif it had not been
recalled to my mindsome months laterby the reappearance of the
man with the beard at one of the most tragic moments of this case.
I then learned that the youth was one of Larsan's assistants and had
been charged by him to watch the going and coming of travellers at
the station of Epinay-sur-Orge. Larsan neglected nothing in any
case on which he was engaged.

I turned my eyes again on Rouletabille.

Ah, - Monsieur Fred!he saidwhen did you begin to use a
walking-stick? I have always seen you walking with your hands in
your pockets!

It is a present,replied the detective.

Recent?insisted Rouletabille.

No, it was given to me in London.


Ah, yes, I remember - you have just come from London. May I look
at it?

Oh! - certainly!

Fred passed the cane to Rouletabille. It was a large yellow bamboo
with a crutch handle and ornamented with a gold ring. Rouletabille
after examining it minutelyreturned it to Larsanwith a bantering
expression on his facesaying:

You were given a French cane in London!

Possibly,said Fredimperturbably.

Read the mark there, in tiny letters: Cassette, 6a, Opera.

Cannot English people buy canes in Paris?

When Rouletabille had seen me into the trainhe said:

You'll remember the address?

Yes, - Cassette, 6a, Opera. Rely on me; you shall have word
tomorrow morning.

That eveningon reaching ParisI saw Monsieur Cassettedealer in
walking-sticks and umbrellasand wrote to my friend:

A man unmistakably answering to the description of Monsieur Robert
Darzac - same height, slightly stooping, putty-coloured overcoat,
bowler hat - purchased a cane similar to the one in which we are
interested, on the evening of the crime, about eight o'clock.
Monsieur Cassette had not sold another such cane during the last two
years. Fred's cane is new. It is quite clear that it's the same
cane. Fred did not buy it, since he was in London. Like you, I
think that he found it somewhere near Monsieur Robert Darzac. But
if, as you suppose, the murderer was in The Yellow Room for five,
or even six hours, and the crime was not committed until towards
midnight, the purchase of this cane proves an incontestable alibi
for Darzac.

CHAPTER XIII

The Presbytery Has Lost Nothing of Its Charm, Nor the Garden
Its Brightness

A week after the occurrence of the events I have just recounted - on
the 2nd of Novemberto be exact - I received at my home in Paris the
following telegraphic message: "Come to the Glandier by the earliest
train. Bring revolvers. Friendly greetings. Rouletabille."

I have already saidI thinkthat at that periodbeing a young
barrister with but few briefsI frequented the Palais de Justice
rather for the purpose of famiiarising myself with my professional
duties than for the defence of the widow and orphan. I could
thereforefeel no surprise at Rouletabille disposing of my time.
Moreoverhe knew how keenly interested I was in his journalistic
adventures in general andabove allin the murder at the Glandier.
I had not heard from him for a weeknor of the progress made with


that mysterious caseexcept by the innumerable paragraphs in the
newspapers and by the very brief notes of Rouletabille in the
Epoque.Those notes had divulged the fact that traces of human
blood had been found on the muttonboneas well as fresh traces of
the blood of Mademoiselle Stangerson - the old stains belonged to
other crimesprobably dating years back.

It may be easily imagined that the crime engaged the attention of
the press throughout the world. No crime known had more absorbed
the minds of people. It appeared to mehoweverthat the judicial
inquiry was making but very little progress; and I should have been
very gladifon the receipt of my friend's invitation to rejoin
him at the Glandierthe despatch had not contained the words
Bring revolvers.

That puzzled me greatly. Rouletabille telegraphing for revolvers
meant that there might be occasion to use them. NowI confess it
without shameI am not a hero. But here was a friendevidently
in dangercalling on me to go to his aid. I did not hesitate long;
and after assuring myself that the only revolver I possessed was
properly loadedI hurried towards the Orleans station. On the way
I remembered that Rouletabille had asked for two revolvers; I
therefore entered a gunsmith's shop and bought an excellent weapon
for my friend.

I had hoped to find him at the station at Epinay; but he was not
there. Howevera cab was waiting for me and I was soon at the
Glandier. Nobody was at the gateand it was only on the threshold
of the chateau that I met the young man. He saluted me with a
friendly gesture and threw his arms about meinquiring warmly as
to the state of my health.

When we were in the little sitting-room of which I have spoken
Rouletabille made me sit down.

It's going badly,he said.

What's going badly?I asked.

Everything.

He came nearer to me and whispered:

Frederic Larsan is working with might and main against Darzac.

This did not astonish me. I had seen the poor show Mademoiselle
Stangerson's fiance had made at the time of the examination of the
footprints. HoweverI immediately asked:

What about that cane?

It is still in the hands of Frederic Larsan. He never lets go
of it.

But doesn't it prove the alibi for Monsieur Darzac?

Not at all. Gently questioned by me, Darzac denied having, on
that evening, or on any other, purchased a cane at Cassette's.
However,said RouletabilleI'll not swear to anything; Monsieur
Darzac has such strange fits of silence that one does not know
exactly what to think of what he says.

To Frederic Larsan this cane must mean a piece of very damaging
evidence. But in what way? The time when it was bought shows it


could not have been in the murderer's possession.

The time doesn't worry Larsan. He is not obliged to adopt my
theory which assumes that the murderer got into The Yellow Room
between five and six o'clock. But there's nothing to prevent him
assuming that the murderer got in between ten and eleven o'clock
at night. At that hour Monsieur and Mademoiselle Stangerson,
assisted by Daddy Jacques, were engaged in making an interesting
chemical experiment in the part of the laboratory taken up by the
furnaces. Larsan says, unlikely as that may seem, that the murderer
may have slipped behind them. He has already got the examining
magistrate to listen to him. When one looks closely into it, the
reasoning is absurd, seeing that the 'intimate' - if there is one

-must have known that the professor would shortly leave the
pavilion, and that the 'friend' had only to put off operating till
after the professor's departure. Why should he have risked crossing
the laboratory while the professor was in it? And then, when he
had got into The Yellow Room?
There are many points to be cleared up before Larsan's theory can
be admitted. I sha'n't waste my time over itfor my theory won't
allow me to occupy myself with mere imagination. Onlyas I am
obliged for the moment to keep silentand Larsan sometimes talks
he may finish by coming out openly against Monsieur Darzac- if
I'm not there added the young reporter proudly. For there are
surface evidences against Darzacmuch more convincing than that
canewhich remains incomprehensible to meall the more so as
Larsan does not in the least hesitate to let Darzac see him with
it! - I understand many things in Larsan's theorybut I can't make
anything of that cane.

Is he still at the chateau?

Yes; he hardly ever leaves it! - He sleeps there, as I do, at the
request of Monsieur Stangerson, who has done for him what Monsieur
Robert Darzac has done for me. In spite of the accusation made by
Larsan that Monsieur Stangerson knows who the murderer is he yet
affords him every facility for arriving at the truth, - just as
Darzac is doing for me.

But you are convinced of Darzac's innocence?

At one time I did believe in the possiblity of his guilt. That
was when we arrived here for the first time. The time has come
for me to tell you what has passed between Monsieur Darzac and
myself.

Here Rouletabille interrupted himself and asked me if I had brought
the revolvers. I showed him them. Having examined bothhe
pronounced them excellentand handed them back to me.

Shall we have any use for them?I asked.

No doubt; this evening. We shall pass the night here - if that
won't tire you?

On the contrary,I said with an expression that made Rouletabille
laugh.

No, no,he saidthis is no time for laughing. You remember the
phrase which was the 'open sesame' of this chateau full of mystery?

Yes,I saidperfectly, - 'The presbytery has lost nothing of its
charm, nor the garden its brightness.' It was the phrase which you


found on the half-burned piece of paper amongst the ashes in the
laboratory.

Yes; at the bottom of the paper, where the flame had not reached,
was this date: 23rd of October. Remember this date, it is highly
important. I am now going to tell you about that curious phrase.
On the evening before the crime, that is to say, on the 23rd,
Monsieur and Mademoiselle Stangerson were at a reception at the
Elysee. I know that, because I was there on duty, having to
interview one of the savants of the Academy of Philadelphia, who
was being feted there. I had never before seen either Monsieur or
Mademoiselle Stangerson. I was seated in the room which precedes
the Salon des Ambassadeurs, and, tired of being jostled by so many
noble personages, I had fallen into a vague reverie, when I scented
near me the perfume of the lady in black.

Do you ask me what is the 'perfume of the lady in black'? It must
suffice for you to know that it is a perfume of which I am very fond
because it was that of a lady who had been very kind to me in my
childhood- a lady whom I had always seen dressed in black. The
lady whothat eveningwas scented with the perfume of the lady in
blackwas dressed in white. She was wonderfully beautiful. I
could not help rising and following her. An old man gave her his
arm andas they passedI heard voices say: 'Professor Stangerson
and his daughter.' It was in that way I learned who it was I was
following.

They met Monsieur Robert Darzac, whom I knew by sight. Professor
Stangerson, accosted by Mr. Arthur William Rance, one of the
American savants, seated himself in the great gallery, and Monsieur
Robert Darzac led Mademoiselle Stangerson into the conservatory. I
followed. The weather was very mild that evening; the garden doors
were open. Mademoiselle Stangerson threw a fichu shawl over her
shoulders and I plainly saw that it was she who was begging Monsieur
Darzac to go with her into the garden. I continued to follow,
interested by the agitation plainly exhibited by the bearing of
Monsieur Darzac. They slowly passed along the wall abutting on the
Avenue Marigny. I took the central alley, walking parallel with
them, and then crossed over for the purpose of getting nearer to
them. The night was dark, and the grass deadened the sound of my
steps. They had stopped under the vacillating light of a gas jet
and appeared to be both bending over a paper held by Mademoiselle
Stangerson, reading something which deeply interested them. I
stopped in the darkness and silence.

Neither of them saw meand I distinctly heard Mademoiselle
Stangerson repeatas she was refolding the paper: 'The presbytery
has lost nothing of its charmnor the garden its brightness!' - It
was said in a tone at once mocking and despairingand was followed
by a burst of such nervous laughter that I think her words will
never cease to sound in my ears. But another phrase was uttered by
Monsieur Robert Darzac: 'Must I commit a crimethento win you?'
He was in an extraordinarily agitated state. He took the hand of
Mademoiselle Stangerson and held it for a long time to his lips
and I thoughtfrom the movement of his shouldersthat he was
crying. Then they went away.

When I returned to the great gallery,continued RouletabilleI
saw no more of Monsieur Robert Darzac, and I was not to see him
again until after the tragedy at the Glandier. Mademoiselle was
near Mr. Rance, who was talking with much animation, his eyes,
during the conversation, glowing with a singular brightness.
Mademoiselle Stangerson, I thought, was not even listening to what
he was saying, her face expressing perfect indifference. His face


was the red face of a drunkard. When Monsieur and Mademoiselle
Stangerson left, he went to the bar and remained there. I joined
him, and rendered him some little service in the midst of the
pressing crowd. He thanked me and told me he was returning to
America three days later, that is to say, on the 26th (the day after
the crime). I talked with him about Philadelphia; he told me he
had lived there for five-and-twenty years, and that it was there he
had met the illustrious Professor Stangerson and his daughter. He
drank a great deal of champagne, and when I left him he was very
nearly drunk.

Such were my experiences on that eveningand I leave you to
imagine what effect the news of the attempted murder of Mademoiselle
Stangerson produced on me- with what force those words pronounced
by Monsieur Robert Darzac'Must I commit a crimethento win you?'
recurred to me. It was not this phrasehoweverthat I repeated to
himwhen we met here at Glandier. The sentence of the presbytery
and the bright garden sufficed to open the gate of the chateau. If
you ask me if I believe now that Monsieur Darzac is the murdererI
must say I do not. I do not think I ever quite thought that. At
the time I could not really think seriously of anything. I had so
little evidence to go on. But I needed to have at once the proof
that he had not been wounded in the hand.

When we were alone together, I told him how I had chanced to
overhear a part of his conversation with Mademoiselle Stangerson in
the garden of the Elysee; and when I repeated to him the words,
'Must I commit a crime, then, to win you?' he was greatly troubled,
though much less so than he had been by hearing me repeat the phrase
about the presbytery. What threw him into a state of real
consternation was to learn from me that the day on which he had
gone to meet Mademoiselle Stangerson at the Elysee, was the very
day on which she had gone to the Post Office for the letter. It
was that letter, perhaps, which ended with the words: 'The presbytery
has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its brightness.' My
surmise was confirmed by my finding, if you remember, in the ashes
of the laboratory, the fragment of paper dated October the 23rd.
The letter had been written and withdrawn from the Post Office on
the same day.

There can be no doubt thaton returning from the Elysee that night
Mademoiselle Stangerson had tried to destroy that compromising paper.
It was in vain that Monsieur Darzac denied that that letter had
anything whatever to do with the crime. I told him that in an
affair so filled with mystery as thishe had no right to hide this
letter; that I was persuaded it was of considerable importance; that
the desperate tone in which Mademoiselle Stangerson had pronounced
the prophetic phrase- that his own tearsand the threat of a
crime which he had professed after the letter was read - all these
facts tended to leave no room for me to doubt. Monsieur Darzac
became more and more agitatedand I determined to take advantage
of the effect I had produced on him. 'You were on the point of
being marriedMonsieur' I said negligently and without looking
at him'and suddenly your marriage becomes impossible because of
the writer of that letter; because as soon as his letter was read
you spoke of the necessity for a crime to win Mademoiselle
Stangerson. Therefore there is someone between you and her someone
who has attempted to kill herso that she should not be able to
marry!' And I concluded with these words: 'Nowmonsieuryou have
only to tell me in confidence the name of the murderer!' - The words
I had uttered must have struck him ominouslyfor when I turned my
eyes on himI saw that his face was haggardthe perspiration
standing on his foreheadand terror showing in his eyes.


'Monsieur,' he said to me, 'I am going to ask of you something
which may appear insane, but in exchange for which I place my life
in your hands. You must not tell the magistrates of what you saw
and heard in the garden of the Elysee, - neither to them nor to
anybody. I swear to you, that I am innocent, and I know, I feel,
that you believe me; but I would rather be taken for the guilty man
than see justice go astray on that phrase, The presbytery has lost
nothing of its charmnor the garden its brightness." The judges
must know nothing about that phrase. All this matter is in your
hands. MonsieurI leave it there; but forget the evening at the
Elysee. A hundred other roads are open to you in your search for
the criminal. I will open them for you myself. I will help you.
Will you take up your quarters here? - You may remain here to do
as you please. - Eat - sleep here - watch my actions - the actions
of all here. You shall be master of the GlandierMonsieur; but
forget the evening at the Elysee.'

Rouletabille here paused to take breath. I now understood what had
appeared so unexplainable in the demeanour of Monsieur Robert Darzac
towards my friendand the facility with which the young reporter
had been able to install himself on the scene of the crime. My
curiosity could not fail to be excited by all I had heard. I asked
Rouletabille to satisfy it still further. What had happened at the
landier during the past week? - Had he not told me that there were
surface indications against Monsieur Darzac much more terrible than
that of the cane found by Larsan?

Everything seems to be pointing against him,replied my friend
and the situation is becoming exceedingly grave. Monsieur Darzac
appears not to mind it much; but in that he is wrong. I was
interested only in the health of Mademoiselle Stangerson, which
was daily improving, when something occurred that is even more
mysterious than - than the mystery of The Yellow Room!

Impossible!I criedWhat could be more mysterious than that?

Let us first go back to Monsieur Robert Darzac,said Rouletabille
calming me. "I have said that everything seems to be pointing
against him. The marks of the neat boots found by Frederic Larsan
appear to be really the footprints of Mademoiselle Stangerson's
fiance. The marks made by the bicycle may have been made by his
bicycle. He had usually left it at the chateau; why did he take
it to Paris on that particular occasion? Was it because he was
not going to return again to the chateau? Was it becauseowing
to the breaking off of his marriagehis relations with the
Stangersons were to cease? All who are interested in the matter
affirm that those relations were to continue unchanged.

Frederic Larsan, however, believes that all relations were at an
end. From the day when Monsieur Darzac accompanied Mademoiselle
Stangerson to the Grands Magasins de la Louvre until the day after
the crime, he had not been at the Glandier. Remember that
Mademoiselle Stangerson lost her reticule containing the key with
the brass head while she was in his company. From that day to the
evening at the Elysee, the Sorbonne professor and Mademoiselle
Stangerson did not see one another; but they may have written to
each other. Mademoiselle Stangerson went to the Post Office to
get a letter, which Larsan says was written by Robert Darzac; for
knowing nothing of what had passed at the Elysee, Larsan believes
that it was Monsieur Darzac himself who stole the reticule with
the key, with the design of forcing her consent, by getting
possession of the precious papers of her father - papers which
he would have restored to him on condition that the marriage
engagement was to be fulfilled.


All that would have been a very doubtful and almost absurd
hypothesisas Larsan admitted to mebut for another and much
graver circumstance. In the first place here is something which I
have not been able to explain - Monsieur Darzac had himselfon the
24thgone to the Post Office to ask for the letter which
Mademoiselle had called for and received on the previous evening.
The description of the man who made application tallies in every
respect with the appearance of Monsieur Darzacwhoin answer to
the questions put to him by the examining magistratedenies that
he went to the Post Office. Now even admitting that the letter was
written by him - which I do not believe - he knew that Mademoiselle
Stangerson had received itsince he had seen it in her hands in
the garden at the Elysee. It could not have been hethenwho
had gone to the Post Officethe day after the 24thto ask for a
letter which he knew was no longer there.

To me it appears clear that somebody, strongly resembling him,
stole Mademoiselle Stangerson's reticule and in that letter, had
demanded of her something which she had not sent him. He must have
been surprised at the failure of his demand, hence his application
at the Post Office, to learn whether his letter had been delivered
to the person to whom it had been addressed. Finding that it had
been claimed, he had become furious. What had he demanded? Nobody
but Mademoiselle Stangerson knows. Then, on the day following, it
is reported that she had been attacked during the night, and, the
next day, I discovered that the Professor had, at the same time,
been robbed by means of the key referred to in the poste restante
letter. It would seem, then, that the man who went to the Post
Office to inquire for the letter must have been the murderer. All
these arguments Larsan applies as against Monsieur Darzac. You
may be sure that the examining magistrate, Larsan, and myself, have
done our best to get from the Post Office precise details relative
to the singular personage who applied there on the 24th of October.
But nothing has been learned. We don't know where he came from - or
where he went. Beyond the description which makes him resemble
Monsieur Darzac, we know nothing.

I have announced in the leading journals that a handsome reward
will be given to a driver of any public conveyance who drove a fare
to No. 40Post Officeabout ten o'clock on the morning of the 24th
of October. Information to be addressed to 'M. R.' at the office
of the 'Epoque'; but no answer has resulted. The man may have
walked; butas he was most likely in a hurrythere was a chance
that he might have gone in a cab. WhoI keep asking myself night
and dayis the man who so strongly resembles Monsieur Robert Darzac
and who is also known to have bought the cane which has fallen into
Larsan's hands?

The most serious fact is that Monsieur Darzac was, at the very same
time that his double presented himself at the Post Office, scheduled
for a lecture at the Sorbonne. He had not delivered that lecture,
and one of his friends took his place. When I questioned him as to
how he had employed the time, he told me that he had gone for a
stroll in the Bois de Boulogne. What do you think of a professor
who, instead of giving his lecture, obtains a substitute to go for
a stroll in the Bois de Boulogne? When Frederic Larsan asked him
for information on this point, he quietly replied that it was no
business of his how he spent his time in Paris. On which Fred swore
aloud that he would find out, without anybody's help.

All this seems to fit in with Fred's hypothesisnamelythat
Monsieur Stangerson allowed the murderer to escape in order to avoid
a scandal. The hypothesis is further substantiated by the fact that


Darzac was in The Yellow Room and was permitted to get away. That
hypothesis I believe to be a false one. - Larsan is being misled by
itthough that would not displease medid it not affect an innocent
person. Now does that hypothesis really mislead Frederic Larsan?
That is the question - that is the question."

Perhaps he is right,I criedinterrupting Rouletabille. "Are
you sure that Monsieur Darzac is innocent? - It seems to me that
these are extraordinary coincidences -"

Coincidences,replied my friendare the worst enemies to truth.

What does the examining magistrate think now of the matter?

Monsieur de Marquet hesitates to accuse Monsieur Darzac, in the
absence of absolute proofs. Not only would he have public opinion
wholly against him, to say nothing of the Sorbonne, but Monsieur
and Mademoiselle Stangerson. She adores Monsieur Robert Darzac.
Indistinctly as she saw the murderer, it would be hard to make the
public believe that she could not have recognised him, if Darzac
had been the criminal. No doubt The Yellow Room was very dimly
lit; but a night-light, however small, gives some light. Here, my
boy, is how things stood when, three days, or rather three nights
ago, an extraordinarily strange incident occurred.

CHAPTER XIV

I Expect the Assassin This Evening

I must take you,said Rouletabilleso as to enable you to
understand, to the various scenes. I myself believe that I have
discovered what everybody else is searching for, namely, how the
murderer escaped from The Yellow Room, without any accomplice, and
without Mademoiselle Stangerson having had anything to do with it.
But so long as I am not sure of the real murderer, I cannot state
the theory on which I am working. I can only say that I believe
it to be correct and, in any case, a quite natural and simple one.
As to what happened in this place three nights ago, I must say it
kept me wondering for a whole day and a night. It passes all belief.
The theory I have formed from the incident is so absurd that I would
rather matters remained as yet unexplained.

Saying which the young reporter invited me to go and make the tour
of the chateau with him. The only sound to be heard was the
crunching of the dead leaves beneath our feet. The silence was so
intense that one might have thought the chateau had been abandoned.
The old stonesthe stagnant water of the ditch surrounding the
donjonthe bleak ground strewn with the dead leavesthe dark
skeleton-like outlines of the treesall contributed to give to the
desolate placenow filled with its awful mysterya most funereal
aspect. As we passed round the donjonwe met the Green Manthe
forest-keeperwho did not greet usbut walked by as if we had not
existed. He was looking just as I had formerly seen him through
the window of the Donjon Inn. He had still his fowling-piece slung
at his backhis pipe was in his mouthand his eye-glasses on his
nose.

An odd kind of fish!Rouletabille said to mein a low tone.


Have you spoken to him?I asked.

Yes, but I could get nothing out of him. His only answers are
grunts and shrugs of the shoulders. He generally lives on the
first floor of the donjon, a big room that once served for an
oratory. He lives like a bear, never goes out without his gun,
and is only pleasant with the girls. The women, for twelve miles
round, are all setting their caps for him. For the present, he is
paying attention to Madame Mathieu, whose husband is keeping a
lynx eye upon her in consequence.

After passing the donjonwhich is situated at the extreme end of
the left wingwe went to the back of the chateau. Rouletabille
pointing to a window which I recognised as the only one belonging
to Mademoiselle Stangerson's apartmentsaid to me:

If you had been here, two nights ago, you would have seen your
humble servant at the top of a ladder, about to enter the chateau
by that window.

As I expressed some surprise at this piece of nocturnal gymnastics
he begged me to notice carefully the exterior disposition of the
chateau. We then went back into the building.

I must now show you the first floor of the chateau, where I am
living,said my friend.

To enable the reader the better to understand the disposition of
these parts of the dwellingI annex a plan of the first floor of
the right wingdrawn by Rouletabille the day after the
extraordinary phenomenon occurredthe details of which I am about
to relate.

***

boudoir
___ ____ ___________ _______\___ ________4________ _______ _________ __
| | | | | |
| | Mlle. | | Mlle. |___ ___ ___| Mr.

Lumber |Sangerson's Sangerson's |___ ___ ___| Sangerson's
| Room | Sitting | | Bed Room |___ ___ ___| Room
| | Room | |__ __ _____|stair-case |

| | |bath|anteroom| |
|_____ ______|____ ______|___|____|___ ___| |______ _____
|

2 ------ Right Gallery Right Wing--------- 3 Right Gallery
Left Wing
|_________ _____ _________ ______ _______ __ __ __ _________ _____

|Roulet-| W G |
|tabille's | I A | Right Wing Left Wing
| Room N L of the
|_________ | D L | Chateau

Frederic | I E |
|Larsan's N R
| Room | G Y |

| |
|____ ____ | _1_ |

. 5 .

. 6 .

. .

. . .

***


Rouletabille motioned me to follow him up a magnificent flight of
stairs ending in a landing on the first floor. From this landing
one could pass to the right or left wing of the chateau by a gallery
opening from it. This galleryhigh and wideextended along the
whole length of the building and was lit from the front of the
chateau facing the north. The roomsthe windows of which looked
to the southopened out of the gallery. Professor Stangerson
inhabited the left wing of the building. Mademoiselle Stangerson
had her apartment in the right wing.

We entered the gallery to the right. A narrow carpetlaid on the
waxed oaken floorwhich shone like glassdeadened the sound of our
footsteps. Rouletabille asked mein a low toneto walk carefully
as we were passing the door of Mademoiselle Stangerson's apartment.
This consisted of a bed-rooman ante-rooma small bath-rooma
boudoirand a drawing-room. One could pass from one to another of
these rooms without having to go by way of the gallery. The gallery
continued straight to the western end of the buildingwhere it was
lit by a high window (window 2 on the plan). At about two-thirds of
its length this galleryat a right anglejoined another gallery
following the course of the right wing.

The better to follow this narrativewe shall call the gallery
leading from the stairs to the eastern windowthe "right" gallery
and the gallery quitting it at a right anglethe "off-turning"
gallery (winding gallery in the plan). It was at the meeting point
of the two galleries that Rouletabille had his chamberadjoining
that of Fnederic Larsanthe door of each opening on to the
off-turninggallerywhile the doors of Mademoiselle Stangerson's
apartment opened into the "right" gallery. (See the plan.)

Rouletabille opened the door of his room and after we had passed
incarefully drew the bolt. I had not had time to glance round
the place in which he had been installedwhen he uttered a cry of
surprise and pointed to a pair of eye-glasses on a side-table.

What are these doing here?he asked.

I should have been puzzled to answer him.

I wonder,he saidI wonder if this is what I have been searching
for. I wonder if these are the eye-glasses from the presbytery!

He seized them eagerlyhis fingers caressing the glass. Then
looking at mewith an expression of terror on his facehe murmured
Oh! - Oh!

He repeated the exclamation again and againas if his thoughts had
suddenly turned his brain.

He rose andputting his hand on my shoulderlaughed like one
demented as he said:

Those glasses will drive me silly! Mathematically speaking the
thing is possible; but humanly speaking it is impossible - or
afterwards - or afterwards -

Two light knocks struck the door. Rouletabille opened it. A figure
entered. I recognised the conciergewhom I had seen when she was
being taken to the pavilion for examination. I was surprised
thinking she was still under lock and key. This woman said in a
very low tone:


In the grove of the parquet.

Rouletabille replied: "Thanks." - The woman then left. He again
turned to mehis look haggardafter having carefully refastened
the doormuttering some incomprehensible phrases.

If the thing is mathematically possible, why should it not be humanly!
- And if it is humanly possible, the matter is simply awful.
I interrupted him in his soliloquy:

Have they set the concierges at liberty, then?I asked.

Yes,he repliedI had them liberated, I needed people I could
trust. The woman is thoroughly devoted to me, and her husband would
lay down his life for me.

Oho!I saidwhen will he have occasion to do it?

This evening, - for this evening I expect the murderer.

You expect the murderer this evening? Then you know him?

I shall know him; but I should be mad to affirm, categorically, at
this moment that I do know him. The mathematical idea I have of the
murderer gives results so frightful, so monstrous, that I hope it is
still possible that I am mistaken. I hope so, with all my heart!

Five minutes ago, you did not know the murderer; how can you say
that you expect him this evening?

Because I know that he must come.

Rouletabille very slowly filled his pipe and lit it. That meant an
interesting story. At that moment we heard some one walking in the
gallery and passing before our door. Rouletabille listened. The
sound of the footstep died away in the distance.

Is Frederic Larsan in his room?I askedpointing to the partition.

No,my friend answered. "He went to Paris this morning- still
on the scent of Darzacwho also left for Paris. That matter will
turn out badly. I expect that Monsieur Darzac will be arrested in
the course of the next week. The worst of it is that everything
seems to be in league against him- circumstancesthingspeople.
Not an hour passes without bringing some new evidence against him.
The examining magistrate is overwhelmed by it - and blind."

Frederic Larsan, however, is not a novice,I said.

I thought so,said Rouletabilewith a slightly contemptuous turn
of his lipsI fancied he was a much abler man. I had, indeed, a
great admiration for him, before I got to know his method of working.
It's deplorable. He owes his reputation solely to his ability; but
he lacks reasoning power, - the mathematics of his ideas are very
poor.

I looked closely at Rouletabille and could not help smilingon
hearing this boy of eighteeen talking of a man who had proved to
the world that he was the finest police sleuth in Europe.

You smile,he said? "you are wrong! I swear I will outwit him

-and in a striking way! But I must make haste about itfor he has
an enormous start on me - given him by Monsieur Robert Darzacwho
is this evening going to increase it still more. Think of it!

-every time the murderer comes to the chateauMonsieur Darzacby
a strange fatalityabsents himself and refuses to give any account
of how he employs his time."
Every time the assassin comes to the chateau!I cried. "Has he
returned then -?"

Yes, during that famous night when the strange phenomenon occurred.

I was now going to learn about the astonishing phenomenon to which
Rouletabille had made allusion half an hour earlier without giving
me any explanation of it. But I had learned never to press
Rouletabille in his narratives. He spoke when the fancy took him
and when he judged it to be right. He was less concerned about my
curiosity than he was for making a complete summing up for himself
of any important matter in which he was interested.

At lastin short rapid phraseshe acquainted me with things which
plunged me into a state bordering on complete bewilderment. Indeed
the results of that still unknown science known as hypnotismfor
examplewere not more inexplicable than the disappearance of the
matterof the murderer at the moment when four persons were within
touch of him. I speak of hypnotism as I would of electricityfor
of the nature of both we are ignorant and we know little of their
laws. I cite these examples becauseat the timethe case appeared
to me to be only explicable by the inexplicable- that is to say
by an event outside of known natural laws. And yetif I had had
Rouletabille's brainI shouldlike himhave had a presentiment
of the natural explanation; for the most curious thing about all
the mysteries of the Glandier case was the natural manner in which
he explained them.

I have among the papers that were sent me by the young manafter
the affair was overa note-book of hisin which a complete account
is given of the phenomenon of the disappearance of the "matter" of
the assassinand the thoughts to which it gave rise in the mind of
my young friend. It is preferableI thinkto give the reader this
accountrather than continue to reproduce my conversation with
Rouletabille; for I should be afraidin a history of this nature
to add a word that was not in accordance with the strictest truth.

CHAPTER XV

The Trap

(EXTRACT FROM THE NOTE-BOOK OF JOSEPH ROULETABILLE)

Last night — the night between the 29th and 30th of October — wrote
Joseph RouletabilleI woke up towards one o'clock in the morning.
Was it sleeplessness, or noise without? — The cry of the Bete du
Bon Dieu rang out with sinister loudness from the end of the park.
I rose and opened the window. Cold wind and rain; opaque darkness;
silence. I reclosed my window. Again the sound of the cat's weird
cry in the distance. I partly dressed in haste. The weather was
too bad for even a cat to be turned out in it. What did it mean,
then — that imitating of the mewing of Mother Angenoux' cat so near
the chateau? I seized a good-sized stick, the only weapon I had,
and, without making any noise, opened the door.


The gallery into which I went was well lit by a lamp with a
reflector. I felt a keen current of air andon turningfound the
window openat the extreme end of the gallerywhich I call the
'off-turning' galleryto distinguish it from the 'right' gallery
on to which the apartment of Mademoiselle Stangerson opened. These
two galleries cross each other at right angles. Who had left that
window open? Orwho had come to open it? I went to the window and
leaned out. Five feet below me there was a sort of terrace over the
semi-circular projection of a room on the ground-floor. One could
if one wantedjump from the window on to the terraceand allow
oneself to drop from it into the court of the chateau. Whoever had
entered by this road hadevidentlynot had a key to the vestibule
door. But why should I be thinking of my previous night's attempt
with the ladder? — Because of the open window — left openperhaps
by the negligence of a servant? I reclosed itsmiling at the ease
with which I built a drama on the mere suggestion of an open window.

Again the cry of the Bete du Bon Dieu! — and then silence. The
rain ceased to beat on the window. All in the chateau slept. I
walked with infinite precaution on the carpet of the gallery. On
reaching the corner of the 'right' gallery, I peered round it
cautiously. There was another lamp there with a reflector which
quite lit up the several objects in it, — three chairs and some
pictures hanging on the wall. What was I doing there? Perfect
silence reigned throughout. Everything was sunk in repose. What
was the instinct that urged me towards Mademoiselle Stangerson's
chamber? Why did a voice within me cry: 'Go on, to the chamber of
Mademoiselle Stangerson!' I cast my eyes down upon the carpet on
which I was treading and saw that my steps were being directed
towards Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber by the marks of steps
that had already been made there. Yes, on the carpet were traces
of footsteps stained with mud leading to the chamber of Mademoiselle
Stangerson. Horror! Horror! — I recognised in those footprints
the impression of the neat boots of the murderer! He had come, then,
from without in this wretched night. If you could descend from the
gallery by way of the window, by means of the terrace, then you could
get into the chateau by the same means.

The murderer was still in the chateaufor here were marks as of
returning footsteps. He had entered by the open window at the
extremity of the 'off-turning' gallery; he had passed Frederic
Larsan's door and minehad turned to the rightand had entered
Mademoiselle Stangerson's room. I am before the door of her
ante-room — it is open. I push itwithout making the least noise.
Under the door of the room itself I see a streak of light. I
listen — no sound — not even of breathing! Ah! — if I only knew
what was passing in the silence that is behind that door! I find
the door locked and the key turned on the inner side. And the
murderer is thereperhaps. He must be there! Will he escape this
time? — All depends on me! — I must be calmand above allI must
make no false steps. I must see into that room. I can enter it by
Mademoiselle Stangerson's drawing-room; butto do that I should
have to cross her boudoir; and while I am therethe murderer may
escape by the gallery door — the door in front of which I am now
standing.

I am sure that no other crime is being committed, on this night;
for there is complete silence in the boudoir, where two nurses are
taking care of Mademoiselle Stangerson until she is restored to
health.

As I am almost sure that the murderer is therewhy do I not at
once give the alarm? The murderer mayperhapsescape; but
perhapsI may be able to save Mademoiselle Stangerson's life.


Suppose the murderer on this occasion is not here to murder? The
door has been opened to allow him to enter; by whom? — And it has
been refastened — by whom? — Mademoiselle Stangerson shuts herself
up in her apartment with her nurses every night. Who turned the
key of that chamber to allow the murderer to enter? — The nurses

— two faithful domestics? The old chambermaidSylvia? It is very
improbable. Besidesthey slept in the boudoirand Mademoiselle
Stangersonvery nervous and carefulMonsieur Robert Darzac told
mesees to her own safety since she has been well enough to move
about in her roomwhich I have not yet seen her leave. This
nervousness and sudden care on her partwhich had struck Monsieur
Darzachad given mealsofood for thought. At the time of the
crime in The Yellow Roomthere can be no doubt that she expected
the murderer. Was he expected this night? — Was it she herself
who had opened her door to him? Had she some reason for doing so?
Was she obliged to do it? — Was it a meeting for purposes of crime?
— Certainly it was not a lover's meetingfor I believe Mademoiselle
Stangerson adores Monsieur Darzac.
All these reflections ran through my brain like a flash of
lightning. What would I not give to know!

It is possible that there was some reason for the awful silence.
My intervention might do more harm than good. How could I tell?
How could I know I might not any moment cause another crime? If
I could only see and knowwithout breaking that silence!

I left the ante-room and descended the central stairs to the
vestibule and, as silently as possible, made my way to the little
room on the ground-floor where Daddy Jacques had been sleeping since
the attack made at the pavilion.

I found him dressedhis eyes wide openalmost haggard. He did
not seem surprised to see me. He told me that he had got up because
he had heard the cry of the Bete du bon Dieuand because he had
heard footsteps in the parkclose to his windowout of which he
had looked andjust thenhad seen a black shadow pass by. I asked
him whether he had a firearm of any kind. Nohe no longer kept
onesince the examining magistrate had taken his revolver from him.
We went out togetherby a little back doorinto the parkand
stole along the chateau to the point which is just below Mademoiselle
Stangerson's window.

I placed Daddy Jacques against the wall, ordering him not to stir
from the spot, while I, taking advantage of a moment when the moon
was hidden by a cloud, moved to the front of the window, out of the
patch of light which came from it, — for the window was half-open!
If I could only know what was passing in that silent chamber! I
returned to Daddy Jacques and whispered the word 'ladder' in his ear.
At first I had thought of the tree which, a week ago, served me for
an observatory; but I immediately saw that, from the way the window
was half-opened, I should not be able to see from that point of view
anything that was passing in the room; and I wanted, not only to see,
but to hear, and — to act.

Greatly agitatedalmost tremblingPaddy Jacques disappeared for
a moment and returned without the ladderbut making signs to me
with his armsas signals to me to come quickly to him. When I got
near him he gasped: 'Come!'

'I went to the donjon in search of my ladder, and in the lower part
of the donjon which serves me and the gardener for a lumber room, I
found the door open and the ladder gone. On coming out, that's what
I caught sight of by the light of the moon.


And he pointed to the further end of the chateauwhere a ladder
stood resting against the stone brackets supporting the terrace
under the window which I had found open. The projection of the
terrace had prevented my seeing it. Thanks to that ladderit was
quite easy to get into the 'off-turning' gallery of the first floor
and I had no doubt of it having been the road taken by the unknown.

We ran to the ladder, but at the moment of reaching it, Daddy
Jacques drew my attention to the half-open door of the little
semi-circular room, situated under the terrace, at the extremity of
the right wing of the chateau, having the terrace for its roof.
Daddy Jacques pushed the door open a little further and looked in.

'He's not there!" he whispered.

Who is not there?

The forest—keeper.

With his lips once more to my earhe added:

'Do you know that he has slept in the upper room of the donjon ever
since it was restored?' And with the same gesture he pointed to the
half-open door, the ladder, the terrace, and the windows in the
'off-turning' gallery which, a little while before, I had re-closed.

What were my thoughts then? I had no time to think. I felt more
than I thought.

Evidently, I felt, if the forest-keeper is up there in the chamber
(I say, if, because at this moment, apart from the presence of the
ladder and his vacant room, there are no evidences which permit me
even to suspect him) — if he is there, he has been obliged to pass
by the ladder, and the rooms which lie behind his, in his new
lodging, are occupied by the family of the steward and by the cook,
and by the kitchens, which bar the way by the vestibule to the
interior of the chateau. And if he had been there during the evening
on any pretext, it would have been easy for him to go into the
gallery and see that the window could be simply pushed open from
the outside. This question of the unfastened window easily narrowed
the field of search for the murderer. He must belong to the house,
unless he had an accomplice, which I do not believe he had; unless

— unless Mademoiselle Stangerson herself had seen that that window
was not fastened from the inside. But, then, — what could be the
frightful secret which put her under the necessity of doing away
with obstacles that separated her from the murderer?
I seized hold of the ladderand we returned to the back of the
chateau to see if the window of the chamber was still half-open.
The blind was drawn but did not join and allowed a bright stream
of light to escape and fall upon the path at our feet. I planted
the ladder under the window. I am almost sure that I made no noise;
and while Daddy Jacques remained at the foot of the ladderI
mounted itvery quietlymy stout stick in my hand. I held my
breath and lifted my feet with the greatest care. Suddenly a heavy
cloud discharged itself at that moment in a fresh downpour of rain.

At the same instant the sinister cry of the Bete du bon Dieu
arrested me in my ascent. It seemed to me to have come from close
by me — only a few yards away. Was the cry a signal? — Had some
accomplice of the man seen me on the ladder! — Would the cry bring
the man to the window? — Perhaps! Ah, there he was at the window!
I felt his head above me. I heard the sound of his breath! I could


not look up towards him; the least movement of my head, and — I
might be lost. Would he see me? — Would he peer into the darkness?
No; he went away. He had seen nothing. I felt, rather than heard,
him moving on tip-toe in the room; and I mounted a few steps higher.
My head reached to the level of the window-sill; my forehead rose
above it; my eyes looked between the opening in the blinds — and I
saw — A man seated at Mademoiselle Stangerson's little desk
writing. His back was turned toward me. A candle was lit before
himand he bent over the flamethe light from it projecting
shapeless shadows. I saw nothing but a monstrousstooping back.

Mademoiselle Stangerson herself was not there! — Her bed had not
been lain on! Where, then, was she sleeping that night? Doubtless
in the side-room with her women. Perhaps this was but a guess.
must content myself with the joy of finding the man alone. I must
be calm to prepare my trap.

But whothenis this man writing there before my eyesseated at
the deskas if he were in his own home? If there had not been that
ladder under the window; if there had not been those footprints on
the carpet in the gallery; if there had not been that open window
I might have been led to think that this man had a right to be there
and that he was there as a matter of course and for reasons about
which as yet I knew nothing. But there was no doubt that this
mysterious unknown was the man of The Yellow Room— the man to
whose murderous assault Mademoiselle Stangerson — without denouncing
him — had had to submit. If I could but see his face! Surprise
and capture him!

If I spring into the room at this moment, he will escape by the
right-hand door opening into the boudoir, — or crossing the
drawing-room, he will reach the gallery and I shall lose him. I
have him now and in five minutes more he'll be safer than if I had
him in a cage. — What is he doing there, alone in Mademoiselle
Stangerson's room? — What is he writing? I descend and place the
ladder on the ground. Daddy Jacques follows me. We re-enter the
chateau. I send Daddy Jacques to wake Monsieur Stangerson, and
instruct him to await my coming in Mademoiselle Stangerson's room
and to say nothing definite to him before my arrival. I will go
and awaken Frederic Larsan. It's a bore to have to do it, for I
should have liked to work alone and to have carried off all the
honors of this affair myself, right under the very nose of the
sleeping detective. But Daddy Jacques and Monsieur Stangerson are
old men, and I am not yet fully developed. I might not be strong
enough. Larsan is used to wrestling and putting on the handcuffs.
He opened his eyes swollen with sleep, ready to send me flying,
without in the least believing in my reporter's fancies. I had to
assure him that the man was there!

'That's strange!' he said; 'I thought I left him this afternoon
in Paris.'

He dressed himself in haste and armed himself with a revolver. We
stole quietly into the gallery.

'Where is he?' Larsan asked.

'In Mademoiselle Stangerson's room.

'And — Mademoiselle Stangerson?'

'She is not in there.'

'Let's go in.'


'Don't go there! On the least alarm the man will escape. He has
four ways by which to do it — the doorthe windowthe boudoiror
the room in which the women are sleeping.'

'I'll draw him from below.'

'And if you fail? — If you only succeed in wounding him — he'll
escape againwithout reckoning that he is certainly armed. No
let me direct the expeditionand I'll answer for everything.'

'As you like,' he replied, with fairly good grace.

Thenafter satisfying myself that all the windows of the two
galleries were thoroughly secureI placed Frederic Larsan at the
end of the 'off-turning' gallerybefore the window which I had
found open and had reclosed.

'Under no consideration,' I said to him, 'must you stir from this
post till I call you. The chances are even that the man, when he
is pursued, will return to this window and try to save himself that
way; for it is by that way he came in and made a way ready for his
flight. You have a dangerous post.'

'What will be yours?' asked Fred.

'I shall spring into the room and knock him over for you.'

'Take my revolver' said Fred'and I'll take your stick.'

'Thanks' I said; 'You are a brave man.'

I accepted his offer. I was going to be alone with the man in the
room writing and was really thankful to have the weapon.

I left Fredhaving posted him at the window (No. 5 on the plan)
andwith the greatest precautionwent towards Monsieur Stangerson's
apartment in the left wing of the chateau. I found him with Daddy
Jacqueswho had faithfully obeyed my directionsconfining himself
to asking his master to dress as quickly as possible. In a few
words I explained to Monsieur Stangerson what was passing. He armed
himself with a revolverfollowed meand we were all three speedily
in the gallery. Since I had seen the murderer seated at the desk
ten minutes had elapsed. Monsieur Stangerson wished to spring upon
the assassin at once and kill him. I made him understand that
above allhe must notin his desire to kill himmiss him.

When I had sworn to him that his daughter was not in the room,
and in no danger, he conquered his impatience and left me to direct
the operations. I told them that they must come to me the moment
I called to them, or when I fired my revolver. I then sent Daddy
Jacques to place himself before the window at the end of the 'right'
gallery. (No. 2 on my plan.) I chose that position 'for Daddy
Jacques because I believed that the murderer, tracked, on leaving
the room, would run through the gallery towards the window which
he had left open, and, instantly seeing that it was guarded by
Larsan, would pursue his course along the 'right' gallery. There
he would encounter Daddy Jacques, who would prevent his springing
out of the window into the park. Under that window there was a sort
of buttress, while all the other windows in the galleries were at
such a height from the ground that it was almost impossible to jump
from them without breaking one's neck. All the doors and windows,
including those of the lumber-room at the end of the 'right' gallery

-as I had rapidly assured myself - were strongly secured.

Having indicated to Daddy Jacques the post he was to occupyand
having seen him take up his positionI placed Monsieur Stangerson
on the landing at the head of the stairs not far from the door of
his daughter's ante-roomrather than the boudoirwhere the women
wereand the door of which must have been locked by Mademoiselle
Stangerson herself ifas I thoughtshe had taken refuge in the
boudoir for the purpose of avoiding the murderer who was coming
to see her. In any casehe must return to the gallery where my
people were awaiting him at every possible exit.

On coming there, he would see on his left, Monsieur Stangerson; he
would turn to the right, towards the 'off-turning' gallery - the way
he had pre-arranged for flight, where, at the intersection of the
two galleries, he would see at once, as I have explained, on his
left, Frederic Larsan at the end of the 'off-turning' gallery, and
in front, Daddy Jacques, at the end of the 'right' gallery. Monsieur
Stangerson and myself would arrive by way of the back of the chateau.

-He is ours! - He can no longer escape us! I was sure of that.
The plan I had formed seemed to me the bestthe surestand the
most simple. It wouldno doubthave been simpler stillif we
had been able to place some one directly behind the door of
Mademoiselle's boudoirwhich opened out of her bedchamberand
in that wayhad been in a position to besiege the two doors of the
room in which the man was. But we could not penetrate the boudoir
except by way of the drawing-roomthe door of which had been
locked on the inside by Mademoiselle Stangerson. But even if I had
had the free disposition of the boudoirI should have held to the
plan I had formed; because any other plan of attack would have
separated us at the moment of the struggle with the manwhile my
plan united us all for the attackat a spot which I had selected
with almost mathematical precision- the intersection of the two
galleries.

Having so placed my people, I again left the chateau, hurried to
my ladder, and, replacing it, climbed up, revolver in hand.

If there be any inclined to smile at my taking so many precautionary
measuresI refer them to the mystery of The Yellow Roomand to all
the proofs we have of the weird cunning of the murderer. Furtherif
there be some who think my observations needlessly minute at a moment
when they ought to be completely held by rapidity of movement and
decision of actionI reply that I have wished to report hereat
length and completelyall the details of a plan of attack conceived
so rapidly that it is only the slowness of my pen that gives an
appearance of slowness to the execution. I have wishedby this
slowness and precisionto be certain that nothing should be omitted
from the conditions under which the strange phenomenon was produced
whichuntil some natural explanation of it is forthcomingseems to
me to proveeven better than the theories of Professor Stangerson
the Dissociation of Matter - I will even saythe instantaneous
Dissociation of Matter."

Chapter XVI

Strange Phenomenon of the Dissociation of Matter

(EXTRACT FROM THE NOTE-BOOK OF JOSEPH ROULETABILLEcontinued)


I am again at the window-sill,continues Rouletabilleand once
more I raise my head above it. Through an opening in the curtains,
the arrangement of which has not been changed, I am ready to look,
anxious to note the position in which I am going to find the murderer,

-whether his back will still be turned towards me! - whether he is
still seated at the desk writing! But perhaps - perhaps - he is no
longer there! - Yet how could he have fled? - Was I not in possession
of his ladder? I force myself to be cool. I raise my head yet
higher. I look - he is still there. I see his monstrous back,
deformed by the shadow thrown by the candle. He is no longer
writing now, and the candle is on the parquet, over which he is
bending - a position which serves my purpose.
I hold my breath. I mount the ladder. I am on the uppermost rung
of itand with my left hand seize hold of the window-sill. In this
moment of approaching successI feel my heart beating wildly. I
put my revolver between my teeth. A quick springand I shall be
on the window-ledge. But - the ladder! I had been obliged to press
on it heavilyand my foot had scarcely left itwhen I felt it
swaying beneath me. It grated on the wall and fell. Butalready
my knees were touching the window-sillandby a movement quick as
lightningI got on to it.

But the murderer had been even quicker than I had been. He had
heard the grating of the ladder on the wall, and I saw the monstrous
back of the man raise itself. I saw his head. Did I really see it?

-The candle on the parquet lit up his legs only. Above the height
of the table the chamber was in darkness. I saw a man with long
hair, a full beard, wild-looking eyes, a pale face, framed in large
whiskers, - as well as I could distinguish, and, as I think - red
in colour. I did not know the face. That was, in brief, the chief
sensation I received from that face in the dim half-light in which I
saw it. I did not know it - or, at least, I did not recognise it.
Now for quick action! It was indeed time for thatfor as I was
about to place my legs through the windowthe man had seen mehad
bounded to his feethad sprung - as I foresaw he would - to the
door of the ante-chamberhad time to open itand fled. But I was
already behind himrevolver in handshouting 'Help!'

Like an arrow I crossed the room, but noticed a letter on the table
as I rushed. I almost came up with the man in the ante-room, for he
had lost time in opening the door to the gallery. I flew on wings,
and in the gallery was but a few feet behind him. He had taken, as
I supposed he would, the gallery on his right, - that is to say, the
road he had prepared for his flight. 'Help, Jacques! - help, Larsan!'
I cried. He could not escape us! I raised a shout of joy, of
savage victory. The man reached the intersection of the two
galleries hardly two seconds before me for the meeting which I had
prepared - the fatal shock which must inevitably take place at that
spot! We all rushed to the crossing-place - Monsieur Stangerson
and I coming from one end of the right gallery, Daddy Jacques coming
from the other end of the same gallery, and Frederic Larsan coming
from the 'off-turning' gallery.

The man was not there!

We looked at each other stupidly and with eyes terrified. The man
had vanished like a ghost. 'Where is he - where is he?' we all
asked.

'It is impossible he can have escaped!' I cried, my terror mastered
by my anger.


'I touched him!' exclaimed Frederic Larsan.

'I felt his breath on my face!' cried Daddy Jacques.

'Where is he?' - where is he?' we all cried.

We raced like madmen along the two galleries; we visited doors and
windows - they were closed, hermetically closed. They had not been
opened. Besides, the opening of a door or window by this man whom
we were hunting, without our having perceived it, would have been
more inexplicable than his disappearance.

Where is he? - where is he? - He could not have got away by a
door or a windownor by any other way. He could not have passed
through our bodies!

I confess that, for the moment, I felt 'done for.' For the gallery
was perfectly lighted, and there was neither trap, nor secret door
in the walls, nor any sort of hiding-place. We moved the chairs and
lifted the pictures. Nothing! - nothing! We would have looked into
a flower-pot, if there had been one to look into!

When this mysterythanks to Rouletabillewas naturally explained
by the help alone of his masterful mindwe were able to realise
that the murderer had got away neither by a doora windownor the
stairs — a fact which the judges would not admit.

CHAPTER XVII

The Inexplicable Gallery

Mademoiselle Stangerson appeared at the door of her ante-room,
continues Rouletabille's note-book. "We were near her door in the
gallery where this incredible phenomenon had taken place. There
are moments when one feels as if one's brain were about to burst.
A bullet in the heada fracture of the skullthe seat of reason
shattered — with only these can I compare the sensation which
exhausted and left me void of sense.

Happily, Mademoiselle Stangerson appeared on the threshold of her
ante-room. I saw her, and that helped to relieve my chaotic state
of mind. I breathed her — I inhaled the perfume of the lady in black,
whom I should never see again. I would have given ten years of my
life — half my life — to see once more the lady in black! Alas!
I no more meet her but from time to time, — and yet! — and yet!
how the memory of that perfume — felt by me alone — carries me back
to the days of my childhood.* It was this sharp reminder from my
beloved perfume, of the lady in black, which made me go to her

— dressed wholly in white and so pale — so pale and so beautiful!
— on the threshold of the inexplicable gallery. Her beautiful
golden hair, gathered into a knot on the back of her neck, left
visible the red star on her temple which had so nearly been the
cause of her death. When I first got on the right track of the
mystery of this case I had imagined that, on the night of the
tragedy in The Yellow Room, Mademoiselle Stangerson had worn her
hair in bands. But then, how could I have imagined otherwise when
I had not been in The Yellow Room!

*When I wrote these lines, Joseph Rouletabille was eighteen years of
age,—and he spoke of his youth." I have kept the text of my friend
but I inform the reader here that the episode of the mystery of The
Yellow Room has no connection with that of the perfume of the lady
in black. It is not my fault ifin the document which I have cited
Rouletabille thought fit to refer to his childhood.

But now, since the occurrence of the inexplicable gallery, I did
not reason at all. I stood there, stupid, before the apparition

-so pale and so beautiful - of Mademoiselle Stangerson. She was
clad in a dressing-gown of dreamy white. One might have taken her
to be a ghost - a lovely phantom. Her father took her in his arms
and kissed her passionately, as if he had recovered her after being
long lost to him. I dared not question her. He drew her into the
room and we followed them, - for we had to know! - The door of the
boudoir was open. The terrified faces of the two nurses craned
towards us. Mademoiselle Stangerson inquired the meaning of all
the disturbance. That she was not in her own room was quite easily
explained - quite easily. She had a fancy not to sleep that night
in her chamber, but in the boudoir with her nurses, locking the door
on them. Since the night of the crime she had experienced feelings
of terror, and fears came over her that are easily to be
comprehended.
But who could imagine that on that particular night when he was
to comeshe wouldby a mere chancedetermine to shut herself in
with her women? Who would think that she would act contrary to her
father's wish to sleep in the drawing-room? Who could believe that
the letter which had so recently been on the table in her room would
no longer be there? He who could understand all thiswould have to
assume that Mademoiselle Stangerson knew that the murderer was coming

-she could not prevent his coming again - unknown to her father
unknown to all but to Monsieur Robert Darzac. For he must know it
now - perhaps he had known it before! Did he remember that phrase
in the Elysee garden: 'Must I commit a crimethento win you?'
Against whom the crimeif not against the obstacleagainst the
murderer? 'AhI would kill him with my own hand!' And I replied
'You have not answered my question.' That was the very truth. In
truthin truthMonsieur Darzac knew the murderer so well that
-while wishing to kill him himself - he was afraid I should find
him. There could be but two reasons why he had assisted me in my
investigation. Firstbecause I forced him to do it; andsecond
because she would be the better protected.
I am in the chamber - her room. I look at her, also at the place
where the letter had just now been. She has possessed herself of
it; it was evidently intended for her - evidently. How she trembles!

-Trembles at the strange story her father is telling her, of the
presence of the murderer in her chamber, and of the pursuit. But
it is plainly to be seen that she is not wholly satisfied by the
assurance given her until she had been told that the murderer, by
some incomprehensible means, had been able to elude us.
Then follows a silence. What a silence! We are all there - looking
at her - her fatherLarsanDaddy Jacques and I. What were we all
thinking of in the silence? After the events of that nightof the
mystery of the inexplicable galleryof the prodigious fact of the
presence of the murderer in her roomit seemed to me that all our
thoughts might have been translated into the words which were
addressed to her. 'You who know of this mysteryexplain it to us
and we shall perhaps be able to save you. How I longed to save her

-for herselfandfrom the other! - It brought the tears to my eyes.

She is there, shedding about her the perfume of the lady in black.
At last, I see her, in the silence of her chamber. Since the fatal
hour of the mystery of The Yellow Room, we have hung about this
invisible and silent woman to learn what she knows. Our desires,
our wish to know must be a torment to her. Who can tell that, should
we learn the secret of her mystery, it would not precipitate a
ragedy more terrible than that which had already been enacted here?
Who can tell if it might not mean her death? Yet it had brought her
close to death, - and we still knew nothing. Or, rather, there are
some of us who know nothing. But I - if I knew who, I should know
all. Who? - Who? - Not knowing who, I must remain silent, out of
pity for her. For there is no doubt that she knows how he escaped
from The Yellow Room, and yet she keeps the secret. When I know
who, I will speak to him - to him!

She looked at us now - with a far-away look in her eyes - as if we
were not in the chamber. Monsieur Stangerson broke the silence.
He declared that, henceforth, he would no more absent himself from
his daughter's apartments. She tried to oppose him in vain. He
adhered firmly to his purpose. He would install himself there this
very night, he said. Solely concerned for the health of his
daughter, he reproached her for having left her bed. Then he
suddenly began talking to her as if she were a little child. He
smiled at her and seemed not to know either what he said or what he
did. The illustrious professor had lost his head. Mademoiselle
Stangerson in a tone of tender distress said: 'Father! - father!'
Daddy Jacques blows his nose, and Frederic Larsan himself is obliged
to turn away to hide his emotion. For myself, I am able neither to
think or feel. I felt an infinite contempt for myself.

It was the first time that Frederic Larsanlike myselffound
himself face to face with Mademoiselle Stangerson since the attack
in The Yellow Room. Like mehe had insisted on being allowed to
question the unhappy lady; but he had notany more than had Ibeen
permitted. To himas to methe same answer had always been given:
Mademoiselle Stangerson was too weak to receive us. The questionings
of the examining magistrate had over-fatigued her. It was evidently
intended not to give us any assistance in our researches. I was not
surprised; but Frederic Larsan had always resented this conduct. It
is true that he and I had a totally different theory of the crime.

I still catch myself repeating from the depths of my heart: 'Save
her! - save her without his speaking!' Who is he - the murderer?
Take him and shut his mouth. But Monsieur Darzac made it clear that
in order to shut his mouth he must be killed. Have I the right to
kill Mademoiselle Stangerson's murderer? No, I had not. But let
him only give me the chance! Let me find out whether he is really
a creature of flesh and blood! - Let me see his dead body, since
it cannot be taken alive.

If I could but make this womanwho does not even look at us
understand! She is absorbed by her fears and by her father's
distress of mind. And I can do nothing to save her. YesI will
go to work once more and accomplish wonders.

I move towards her. I would speak to her. I would entreat her
to have confidence in me. I would, in a word, make her understand

-she alone - that I know how the murderer escaped from The Yellow
Room - that I have guessed the motives for her secrecy - and that I
pity her with all my heart. But by her gestures she begged us to
leave her alone, expressing weariness and the need for immediate
rest. Monsieur Stangerson asked us to go back to our rooms and
thanked us. Frederic Larsan and I bowed to him and, followed by

Daddy Jacques, we regained the gallery. I heard Larsan murmur:
'Strange! strange!' He made a sign to me to go with him into his
room. On the threshold he turned towards Daddy Jacques.

'Did you see him distinctly?' he asked.

'Who?'

'The man?'

'Saw him! - why, he had a big red beard and red hair.'

'That's how he appeared to me' I said.

'And to me,' said Larsan.

The great Fred and I were alone in his chambernowto talk over
this thing. We talked for an hourturning the matter over and
viewing it from every side. From the questions put by himfrom
the explanation which he gives meit is clear to me that - in spite
of all our senses - he is persuaded the man disappeared by some
secret passage in the chateau known to him alone.

'He knows the chateau,' he said to me; 'he knows it well.'

'He is a rather tall man - well-built' I suggested.

'He is as tall as he wants to be,' murmured Fred.

'I understand' I said; 'but how do you account for his red hair
and beard?'

'Too much beard - too much hair - false,' says Fred.

'That's easily said. You are always thinking of Robert Darzac.
You can't get rid of that idea? I am certain that he is innocent.'

'So much the better. I hope so; but everything condemns him. Did
you notice the marks on the carpet? - Come and look at them.'

'I have seen them; they are the marks of the neat bootsthe same
as those we saw on the border of the lake.'

'Can you deny that they belong to Robert Darzac?'

'Of courseone may be mistaken.'

'Have you noticed that those footprints only go in one direction?

-that there are no return marks? When the man came from the
chamber, pursued by all of us, his footsteps left no traces behind
them.'
'He hadperhapsbeen in the chamber for hours. The mud from his
boots had driedand he moved with such rapidity on the points of
his toes - We saw him runningbut we did not hear his steps.'

I suddenly put an end to this idle chatter - void of any logic, and
made a sign to Larsan to listen.

'There - below; some one is shutting a door.'

I rise; Larsan follows me; we descend to the ground-floor of the
chateau. I lead him to the little semi-circular room under the
terrace beneath the window of the 'off-turning' gallery. I point


to the door, now closed, open a short time before, under which a
shaft of light is visible.

'The forest-keeper!' says Fred.

'Come on!' I whisper.

Prepared - I know not why - to believe that the keeper is the
guilty man - I go to the door and rap smartly on it. "Some might
think that we were rather late in thinking of the keepersince our
first businessafter having found that the murderer had escaped us
in the galleryought to have been to search everywhere else
- around the chateau- in the park


Had this criticism been made at the time, we could only have
answered that the assassin had disappeared from the gallery in such
a way that we thought he was no longer anywhere! He had eluded us
when we all had our hands stretched out ready to seize him - when
we were almost touching him. We had no longer any ground for hoping
that we could clear up the mystery of that night.

As soon as I rapped at the door it was openedand the keeper
asked us quietly what we wanted. He was undressed and preparing
to go to bed. The bed had not yet been disturbed.

We entered and I affected surprise.

'Not gone to bed yet?'

'No,' he replied roughly. 'I have been making a round of the park
and in the woods. I am only just back - and sleepy. Good-night!'

'Listen' I said. 'An hour or so agothere was a ladder close by
your window.'

'What ladder? - I did not see any ladder. Good-night!'

And he simply put us out of the room. When we were outside I
looked at Larsan. His face was impenetrable.

'Well?' I said.

'Well?' he repeated.

'Does that open out any new view to you?'

There was no mistaking Larsan's bad temper. On re-entering the
chateau, I heard him mutter:

'It would be strange - very strange - if I had deceived myself on
that point!'

He seemed to be talking to me rather than to himself. He added:
'In any casewe shall soon know what to think. The morning will
bring light with it.'"

CHAPTER XVIII

Rouletabille Has Drawn a Circle Between the Two Bumps on His Forehead


(EXTRACT FROM THE NOTE-BOOK OF JOSEPH ROULETABILLEcontinued)

We separated on the thresholds of our rooms, with a melancholy
shake of the hands. I was glad to have aroused in him a suspicion
of error. His was an original brain, very intelligent but - without
method. I did not go to bed. I awaited the coming of daylight and
then went down to the front of the chateau, and made a detour,
examining every trace of footsteps coming towards it or going from
it. These, however, were so mixed and confusing that I could make
nothing of them. Here I may make a remark, - I am not accustomed
to attach an exaggerated importance to exterior signs left in the
track of a crime.

The method which traces the criminal by means of the tracks of his
footsteps is altogether primitive. So many footprints are identical.
Howeverin the disturbed state of my mindI did go into the
deserted court and did look at all the footprints I could find there
seeking for some indicationas a basis for reasoning.

If I could but find a right starting-point! In despair I seated
myself on a stone. For over an hour I busied myself with the common,
ordinary work of a policeman. Like the least intelligent of
detectives I went on blindly over the traces of footprints which
told me just no more than they could.

I came to the conclusion that I was a foollower in the scale of
intelligence than even the police of the modern romancer. Novelists
build mountains of stupidity out of a footprint on the sandor from
an impression of a hand on the wall. That's the way innocent men
are brought to prison. It might convince an examining magistrate or
the head of a detective departmentbut it's not proof. You writers
forget that what the senses furnish is not proof. If I am taking
cognisance of what is offered me by my senses I do so but to bring
the results within the circle of my reason. That circle may be the
most circumscribedbut if it isit has this advantage - it holds
nothing but the truth! YesI swear that I have never used the
evidence of the senses but as servants to my reason. I have never
permitted them to become my master. They have not made of me that
monstrous thing- worse than a blind man- a man who sees falsely.
And that is why I can triumph over your error and your merely animal
intelligenceFrederic Larsan.

Be of good courage, then, friend Rouletabille; it is impossible
that the incident of the inexplicable gallery should be outside the
circle of your reason. You know that! Then have faith and take
thought with yourself and forget not that you took hold of the right
end when you drew that circle in your brain within which to unravel
this mysterious play of circumstance.

To itonce again! Go - back to the gallery. Take your stand on
your reason and rest there as Frederic Larsan rests on his cane.
You will then soon prove that the great Fred is nothing but a fool.

-30th October. Noon.
JOSEPH ROULETABILLE."
I acted as I planned. With head on fire, I retraced my way to the
gallery, and without having found anything more than I had seen on
the previous night, the right hold I had taken of my reason drew me
to something so important that I was obliged to cling to it to save
myself from falling.

Now for the strength and patience to find sensible traces to fit


in with my thinking - and these must come within the circle I have
drawn between the two bumps on my forehead!

-30th of October. Midnight."
JOSEPH ROULETABILLE.
CHAPTER XIX

Rouletabille Invites Me to Breakfast at the Donjon Inn

It was not until later that Rouletabille sent me the note-book in
which he had written at length the story of the phenomenon of the
inexplicable gallery. On the day I arrived at the Glandier and
joined him in his roomhe recounted to mewith the greatest
detailall that I have now relatedtelling me also how he had
spent several hours in Paris where he had learned nothing that could
be of any help to him.

The event of the inexplicable gallery had occurred on the night
etween the 29th and 30th of Octoberthat is to saythree days
before my return to the chateau. It was on the 2nd of November
thenthat I went back to the Glandiersummoned there by my
friend's telegramand taking the revolvers with me.

I am now in Rouletabille's room and he has finished his recital.

While he had been telling me the story I noticed him continually
rubbing the glass of the eyeglasses he had found on the side table.
>From the evident pleasure he was taking in handling them I felt
they must be one of those sensible evidences destined to enter what
he had called the circle of the right end of his reason. That
strange and unique way of histo express himself in terms
wonderfully adequate for his thoughtsno longer surprised me.
It was often necessary to know his thought to understand the terms
he used; and it was not easy to penetrate into Rouletabille's
thinking.

This lad's brain was one of the most curious things I have ever
observed. Rouletabille went on the even tenor of his way without
suspecting the astonishment and even bewilderment he roused in
others. I am sure he was not himself in the least conscious of
the originality of his genius. He was himself and at ease wherever
he happened to be.

When he had finished his recital he asked me what I thought of it.
I replied that I was much puzzled by his question. Then he begged
me to tryin my turnto take my reason in hand "by the right end."

Very well,I said. "It seems to me that the point of departure
of my reason would be this - there can be no doubt that the murderer
you pursued was in the gallery." I paused.

After making so good a start, you ought not to stop so soon,he
exclaimed. "Comemake another effort."

I'll try. Since he disappeared from the gallery without passing
through any door or window, he must have escaped by some other
opening.

Rouletabille looked at me pityinglysmiled carelesslyand remarked


that I was reasoning like a postmanor - like Frederic Larsan.

Rouletabille had alternate fits of admiration and disdain for the
great Fred. It all depended as to whether Larsan's discoveries
tallied with Rouletabille's reasoning or not. When they did he
would exclaim: "He is really great!" When they did not he would
grunt and mutterWhat an ass!It was a petty side of the noble
character of this strange youth.

We had risenand he led me into the park. When we reached the
court and were making towards the gatethe sound of blinds thrown
back against the wall made us turn our headsand we sawat a
window on the first floor of the chateauthe ruddy and clean shaven
face of a person I did not recognise.

Hullo!muttered Rouletabille. "Arthur Rance!" - He lowered his
headquickened his paceand I heard him ask himself between his
eeth: "Was he in the chateau that night? What is hedoing here?"

We had gone some distance from the chateau when I asked him who
this Arthur Rance wasand how he had come to know him. He referred
to his story of that morning and I remembered that Mr. Arthur W.
Rance was the American from Philadelphia with whom he had had so
many drinks at the Elysee reception.

But was he not to have left France almost immediately?I asked.

No doubt; that's why I am surprised to find him here still, and
not only in France, but above all, at the Glandier. He did not
arrive this morning; and he did not get here last night. He must
have got here before dinner, then. Why didn't the concierges
tell me?

I reminded my friendapropos of the conciergesthat he had not
yet told me what had led him to get them set at liberty.

We were close to their lodge. Monsieur and Madame Bemier saw us
coming. A frank smile lit up their happy faces. They seemed to
harbour no ill-feeling because of their detention. My young
friend asked them at what hour Mr. Arthur Rance had arrived. They
answered that they did not know he was at the chateau. He must have
come during the evening of the previous nightbut they had not had
to open the gate for himbecausebeing a great walkerand not
wishing that a carriage should be sent to meet himhe was accustomed
to get off at the little hamlet of Saint-Michelfrom which he came
to the chateau by way of the forest. He reached the park by the
grotto of Sainte-Genevieveover the little gate of whichgiving
on to the parkhe climbed.

As the concierges spokeI saw Rouletabille's face cloud over and
exhibit disappointment - a disappointmentno doubtwith himself.
Evidently he was a little vexedafter having worked so much on the
spotwith so minute a study of the people and events at the Glandier
that he had to learn now that Arthur Rance was accustomed to visit
the chateau.

You say that Monsieur Arthur Rance is accustomed to come to the
chateau. When did he come here last?

We can't tell you exactly,replied Madame Bemier - that was the
name of the concierge - "we couldn't know while they were keeping
us in prison. Besidesas the gentleman comes to the chateau
without passing through our gate he goes away by the way he comes."


Do you know when he came the first time?

Oh yes, Monsieur! - nine years ago.

He was in France nine years ago, then,said Rouletabilleand,
since that time, as far as you know, how many times has he been at
the Glandier?

Three times.

When did he come the last time, as far as you know?

A week before the attempt in The Yellow Room.

Rouletabille put another question - this time addressing himself
particularly to the woman:

In the grove of the parquet?

In the grove of the parquet,she replied.

Thanks!said Rouletabille. "Be ready for me this evening."

He spoke the last words with a finger on his lips as if to command
silence and discretion.

We left the park and took the way to the Donjon Inn.

Do you often eat here?

Sometimes.

But you also take your meals at the chateau?

Yes, Larsan and I are sometimes served in one of our rooms.

Hasn't Monsieur Stangerson ever invited you to his own table?

Never.

Does your presence at the chateau displease him?

I don't know; but, in any case, he does not make us feel that we
are in his way.

Doesn't he question you?

Never. He is in the same state of mind as he was in at the door
of The Yellow Room when his daughter was being murdered, and when
he broke open the door and did not find the murderer. He is
persuaded, since he could discover nothing, that there's no reason
why we should be able to discover more than he did. But he has made
it his duty, since Larsan expressed his theory, not to oppose us.

Rouletabille buried himself in thought again for some time. He
aroused himself later to tell me of how he came to set the two
concierges free.

I went recently to see Monsieur Stangersonand took with me a
piece of paper on which was written: 'I promisewhatever others
may sayto keep in my service my two faithful servantsBernier
and his wife.' I explained to him thatby signing that document
he would enable me to compel those two people to speak out; and I
declared my own assurance of their innocence of any part in the


crime. That was also his opinion. The examining magistrateafter
it was signedpresented the document to the Bernierswho then did
speak. They saidwhat I was certain they would sayas soon as
they were sure they would not lose their place.

They confessed to poaching on Monsieur Stangerson's estates, and
it was while they were poaching, on the night of the crime, that
they were found not far from the pavilion at the moment when the
outrage was being committed. Some rabbits they caught in that way
were sold by them to the landlord of the Donjon Inn, who served them
to his customers, or sent them to Paris. That was the truth, as I
had guessed from the first. Do you remember what I said, on
entering the Donjon Inn? - 'We shall have to eat red meat - now!'
I had heard the words on the same morning when we arrived at the
park gate. You heard them also, but you did not attach any
importance to them. You recollect, when we reached the park gate,
that we stopped to look at a man who was running by the side of the
wall, looking every minute at his watch. That was Larsan. Well,
behind us the landlord of the Donjon Inn, standing on his doorstep,
said to someone inside: 'We shall have to eat red meat - now.'

Why that 'now'? When you areas I amin search of some hidden
secretyou can't afford to have anything escape you. You've got
to know the meaning of everything. We had come into a rather
out-of-the-way part of the country which had been turned topsy-turvey
by a crimeand my reason led me to suspect every phrase that could
bear upon the event of the day. 'Now' I took to mean'since the
outrage.' In the course of my inquirythereforeI sought to find
a relation between that phrase and the tragedy. We went to the
Donjon Inn for breakfast; I repeated the phrase and sawby the
surprise and trouble on Daddy Mathieu's facethat I had not
exaggerated its importanceso far as he was concerned.

I had just learned that the concierges had been arrested. Daddy
Mathieu spoke of them as of dear friends - people for whom one is
sorry. That was a reckless conjunction of ideas, I said tomyself.
'Now,' that the concierges are arrested, 'we shall have to eat red
meat.' No more concierges, no more game! The hatred expressed by
Daddy Mathieu for Monsieur Stangerson's forest-keeper - a hatred he
pretended was shared by the concierges led me easily to think of
poaching. Now as all the evidence showed the concierges had not
been in bed at the time of the tragedy, why were they abroad that
night? As participants in the crime? I was not disposed to think
so. I had already arrived at the conclusion, by steps of which I
will tell you later - that the assassin had had no accomplice, and
that the tragedy held a mystery between Mademoiselle Stangerson and
the murderer, a mystery with which the concierges had nothing to do.

With that theory in my mindI searched for proof in their lodge
whichas you knowI entered. I found there under their bedsome
springs and brass wire. 'Ah!' I thought'these things explain why
they were out in the park at night!' I was not surprised at the
dogged silence they maintained before the examining magistrateeven
under the accusation so grave as that of being accomplices in the
crime. Poaching would save them from the Assize Courtbut it would
lose them their places; andas they were perfectly sure of their
innocence of the crime they hoped it would soon be establishedand
then their poaching might go on as usual. They could always confess
later. Ihoweverhastened their confession by means of the
document Monsieur Stangerson signed. They gave all the necessary
'proofs' were set at libertyand have now a lively gratitude for me.
Why did I not get them released sooner? Because I was not sure that
nothing more than poaching was against them. I wanted to study the
ground. As the days went bymy conviction became more and more


certain. The day after the events of the inexplicable gallery I had
need of help I could rely onso I resolved to have them released
at once."

That was how Joseph Rouletabille explained himself. Once more I
could not but be astonished at the simplicity of the reasoning which
had brought him to the truth of the matter. Certainly this was no
big thing; but I thinkmyselfthat the young man willone of
these daysexplain with the same simplicitythe fearful tragedy
in The Yellow Room as well as the phenomenon of the inexplicable
gallery.

We reached the Donjon Inn and entered it.

This time we did not see the landlordbut were received with a
pleasant smile by the hostess. I have already described the room
in which we found ourselvesand I have given a glimpse of the
charming blonde woman with the gentle eyes who now immediately began
to prepare our breakfast.

How's Daddy Mathieu?asked Rouletabille.

Not much better - not much better; he is still confined to his bed.

His rheumatism still sticks to him, then?

Yes. Last night I was again obliged to give him morphine - the
only drug that gives him any relief.

She spoke in a soft voice. Everything about her expressed
gentleness. She wasindeeda beautiful woman; somewhat with an
air of indolencewith great eyes seemingly black and blue - amorous
eyes. Was she happy with her crabbedrheumatic husband? The scene
at which we had once been present did not lead us to believe that
she was; yet there was something in her bearing that was not
suggestive of despair. She disappeared into the kitchen to prepare
our repastleaving on the table a bottle of excellent cider.
Rouletabille filled our earthenware mugsloaded his pipeand
quietly explained to me his reason for asking me to come to the
Glandier with revolvers.

Yes,he saidcontemplatively looking at the clouds of smoke he
was puffing outyes, my dear boy, I expect the assassin to-night.
A brief silence followedwhich I took care not to interruptand
then he went on:

Last night, just as I was going to bed, Monsieur Robert Darzac
knocked at my room. When he came in he confided to me that he was
compelled to go to Paris the next day, that is, this morning. The
reason which made this journey necessary was at once peremptory and
mysterious; it was not possible for him to explain its object to me.
'I go, and yet,' he added, 'I would give my life not to leave
Mademoiselle Stangerson at this moment.' He did not try to hide
that he believed her to be once more in danger. 'It will not
greatly astonish me if something happens to-morrow night,' he avowed,
'and yet I must be absent. I cannot be back at the Glandier before
the morning of the day after to-morrow.'

I asked him to explain himselfand this is all he would tell me.
His anticipation of coming danger had come to him solely from the
coincidence that Mademoiselle Stangerson had been twice attacked
and both times when he had been absent. On the night of the incident
of the inexplicable gallery he had been obliged to be away from the
Glandier. On the night of the tragedy in The Yellow Room he had


also not been able to be at the Glandierthough this was the first
time he had declared himself on the matter. Now a man so moved who
would still go away must be acting under compulsion - must be obeying
a will stronger than his own. That was how I reasonedand I told
him so. He replied 'Perhaps.' - I asked him if Mademoiselle
Stangerson was compelling him. He protested that she was not. His
determination to go to Paris had been taken without any conference
with Mademoiselle Stangerson.

To cut the story short, he repeated that his belief in the
possibility of a fresh attack was founded entirely on the
extraordinary coincidence. 'If anything happens to Mademoiselle
Stangerson,' he said, 'it would be terrible for both of us. For her,
because her life would be in danger; for me because I could neither
defend her from the attack nor tell of where I had been. I am
perfectly aware of the suspicions cast on me. The examining
magistrate and Monsieur Larsan are both on the point of believing
in my guilt. Larsan tracked me the last time I went to Paris, and
I had all the trouble in the world to get rid of him.'

'Why do you not tell me the name of the murderer nowif you know
it?' I cried.

Monsieur Darzac appeared extremely troubled by my question, and
replied to me in a hesitating tone:

'I? - I know the name of the murderer? Whyhow could I know
his name?'

I at once replied: 'From Mademoiselle Stangerson.'

He grew so pale that I thought he was about to faintand I saw
that I had hit the nail right on the head. Mademoiselle and he
knew the name of the murderer! When he recovered himselfhe said
to me: 'I am going to leave you. Since you have been here I have
appreciated your exceptional intelligence and your unequalled
ingenuity. But I ask this service of you. Perhaps I am wrong to
fear an attack during the coming night; butas I must act with
foresightI count on you to frustrate any attempt that may be made.
Take every step needful to protect Mademoiselle Stangerson. Keep a
most careful watch of her room. Don't go to sleepnor allow
yourself one moment of repose. The man we dread is remarkably
cunning - with a cunning that has never been equalled. If you keep
watch his very cunning may save her; because it's impossible that
he should not know that you are watching; and knowing ithe may
not venture.'

'Have you spoken of all this to Monsieur Stangerson?'

'No. I do not wish him to ask meas you just now didfor the
name of the murderer. I tell you all thisMonsieur Rouletabille
because I have greatvery greatconfidence in you. I know that
you do not suspect me.'

The poor man spoke in jerks. He was evidently suffering. I pitied
him, the more because I felt sure that he would rather allow himself
to be killed than tell me who the murderer was. As for Mademoiselle
Stangerson, I felt that she would rather allow herself to be murdered
than denounce the man of The Yellow Room and of the inexplicable
gallery. The man must be dominating her, or both, by some
inscrutable power. They were dreading nothing so much as the chance
of Monsieur Stangerson knowing that his daughter was 'held' by her
assailant. I made Monsieur Darzac understand that he had explained
himself sufficiently, and that he might refrain from telling me any


more than he had already told me. I promised him to watch through
the night. He insisted that I should establish an absolutely
impassable barrier around Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber, around
the boudoir where the nurses were sleeping, and around the
drawing-room where, since the affair of the inexplicable gallery,
Monsieur Stangerson had slept. In short, I was to put a cordon
round the whole apartment.

From his insistence I gathered that Monsieur Darzac intended not
only to make it impossible for the expected man to reach the chamber
of Mademoiselle Stangersonbut to make that impossibility so
visibly clear thatseeing himself expectedhe would at once go
away. That was how I interpreted his final words when we parted:
'You may mention your suspicions of the expected attack to Monsieur
Stangersonto Daddy Jacquesto Frederic Larsanand to anybody in
the chateau.'

The poor fellow left me hardly knowing what he was saying. My
silence and my eyes told him that I had guessed a large part of his
secret. And, indeed, he must have been at his wits' end, to have
come to me at such a time, and to abandon Mademoiselle Stangerson
in spite of his fixed idea as to the consequence.

When he was goneI began to think that I should have to use even
a greater cunning than his so that if the man should come that
nighthe might not for a moment suspect that his coming had been
expected. Certainly! I would allow him to get in far enoughso
thatdead or aliveI might see his face clearly! He must be got
rid of. Mademoiselle Stangerson must be freed from this continual
impending danger.

Yes, my boy,said Rouletabilleafter placing his pipe on the
tableand emptying his mug of ciderI must see his face
distinctly, so as to make sure to impress it on that part of my
brain where I have drawn my circle of reasoning.

The landlady re-appeared at that momentbringing in the
traditional bacon omelette. Rouletabille chaffed her a littleand
she took the chaff with the most charming good humour.

She is much jollier when Daddy Mathieu is in bed with his
rheumatism,Rouletabille said to me.

But I had eyes neither for Rouletabille nor for the landlady's
smiles. I was entirely absorbed over the last words of my young
friend and in thinking over Monsieur Robert Darzac's strange
behaviour.

When he had finished his omelette and we were again alone
Rouletabille continued the tale of his confidences.

When I sent you my telegram this morning,he saidI had only
the word of Monsieur Darzac, that 'perhaps' the assassin would
come to-night. I can now say that he will certainly come. I
expect him.

What has made you feel this certainty?

I have been sure since half-past ten o'clock this morning that he
would come. I knew that before we saw Arthur Rance at the window
in the court.

Ah!I saidBut, again - what made you so sure? And why since
half-past ten this morning?


Because, at half-past ten, I had proof that Mademoiselle Stangerson
was making as many efforts to permit of the murderer's entrance as
Monsieur Robert Darzac had taken precautions against it.

Is that possible!I cried. "Haven't you told me that Mademoiselle
Stangerson loves Monsieur Robert Darzac?"

I told you so because it is the truth.

Then do you see nothing strange -

Everything in this business is strange, my friend; but take my word
for it, the strangeness you now feel is nothing to the strangeness
that's to come!

It must be admitted, then,I saidthat Mademoiselle Stangerson
and her murderer are in communication - at any rate in writing?

Admit it, my friend, admit it! You don't risk anything! I told
you about the letter left on her table, on the night of the
inexplicable gallery affair, - the letter that disappeared into
the pocket of Mademoiselle Stangerson. Why should it not have been
a summons to a meeting? Might he not, as soon as he was sure of
Darzac's absence, appoint the meeting for 'the coming night?

And my friend laughed silently. There are moments when I ask
myself if he is not laughing at me.

The door of the inn opened. Rouletabille was on his feet so
suddenly that one might have thought he had received an electric
shock.

Mr. Arthur Rance!he cried.

Mr. Arthur Rance stood before us calmly bowing.

CHAPTER XX

An Act of Mademoiselle Stangerson

You remember me, Monsieur?asked Rouletabile.

Perfectly!replied Arthur Rance. "I recognise you as the lad at
the bar. [The face of Rouletabille crimsoned at being called a
lad.] I want to shake hands with you. You are a bright little
fellow."

The American extended his hand and Rouletabillerelaxing his frown
shook it and introduced Mr. Arthur Rance to me. He invited him to
share our meal.

No thanks. I breakfasted with Monsieur Stangerson.

Arthur Rance spoke French perfectly- almost without an accent.

I did not expect to have the pleasure of seeing you again,
Monsieur. I thought you were to have left France the day after the
reception at the Elysee.


Rouletabille and Ioutwardly indifferentlistened most intently
for every word the American would say.

The man's purplish red facehis heavy eyelidsthe nervous
twitchingsall spoke of his addiction to drink. How came it that
so sorry a specimen of a man should be so intimate with Monsieur
Stangerson?

Some days laterI learned from Frederic Larsan - wholike
ourselveswas surprised and mystified by his appearance and
reception at the chateau - that Mr. Rance had been an inebriate
for only about fifteen years; that is to saysince the professor
and his daughter left Philadelphia. During the time the Stangersons
lived in America they were very intimate with Arthur Rancewho was
one of the most distinguished phrenologists of the new world. Owing
to new experimentshe had made enormous strides beyond the science
of Gall and Lavater. The friendliness with which he was received at
the Glandier may be explained by the fact that he had once rendered
Mademoiselle Stangerson a great service by stoppingat the peril of
his own lifethe runaway horses of her carriage. The immediate
result of that couldhoweverhave been no more than a mere
friendly association with the Stangersons; certainlynot a love
affair.

Frederic Larsan did not tell me where he had picked up this
information; but he appeared to be quite sure of what he said.

Had we known these facts at the time Arthur Rance met us at the
Donjon Innhis presence at the chateau might not have puzzled us
but they could not have failed to increase our interest in the man
himself. The American must have been at least forty-five years old.
He spoke in a perfectly natural tone in reply to Rouletabille's
question.

I put off my return to America when I heard of the attack on
Mademoiselle Stangerson. I wanted to be certain the lady had not
been killed, and I shall not go away until she is perfectly
recovered.

Arthur Rance then took the lead in talkpaying no heed to some of
Rouletabille's questions. He gave uswithout our inviting himhis
personal views on the subject of the tragedy- views whichas well
as I could make outwere not far from those held by Frederic Larzan.
The American also thought that Robert Darzac had something to do
with the matter. He did not mention him by namebut there was no
room to doubt whom he meant. He told us he was aware of the efforts
young Rouletabille was making to unravel the tangled skein of The
Yellow Room mystery. He explained that Monsieur Stangerson had
related to him all that had taken place in the inexplicable gallery.
He several times expressed his regret at Monsieur Darzac's absence
from the chateau on all these occasionsand thought that Monsieur
Darzac had done cleverly in allying himself with Monsieur Joseph
Rouletabillewho could not failsooner or laterto discover the
murderer. He spoke the last sentence with unconcealed irony. Then
he rosebowed to usand left the inn.

Rouletabille watched him through the window.

An odd fish, that!he said.

Do you think he'll pass the night at the Glandier?I asked.

To my amazement the young reporter answered that it was a matter


of entire indifference to him whether he did or not.

As to how we spent our time during the afternoonall I need say is
that Rouletabille led me to the grotto of Sainte-Genevieveandall
the timetalked of every subject but the one in which we were most
interested. Towards evening I was surprised to find Rouletabille
making none of the preparations I had expected him to make. I spoke
to him about it when night had come onand we were once more in his
room. He replied that all his arrangements had already been made
and this time the murderer would not get away from him.

I expressed some doubt on thisreminding him of his disappearance
in the galleryand suggested that the same phenomenon might occur
again. He answered that he hoped it would. He desired nothing more.
I did not insistknowing by experience how useless that would have
been. He told me thatwith the help of the conciergesthe chateau
had since early dawn been watched in such a way that nobody could
approach it without his knowing itand that he had no concern for
those who might have left it and remained without.

It was then six o'clock. by his watch. Risinghe made a sign to
me to follow himandwithout in the least tying to conceal his
movements or the sound of his footstepshe led me through the
gallery. We reached the 'right' gallery and came to the
landing-place which we crossed. We then continued our way in the
gallery of the left wingpassing Professor Stangerson's apartment.

At the far end of the gallerybefore coming to the donjonis the
room occupied by Arthur Rance. We knew thatbecause we had seen
him at the window looking on to the court. The door of the room
opens on to the end of the galleryexactly facing the east window
at the extremity of the 'right' gallerywhere Rouletabille had
placed Daddy Jacquesand commands an uninterrupted view of the
gallery from end to end of the chateau.

That 'off-turning' gallery,said RouletabilleI reserve for
myself; when I tell you you'll come and take your place here.

And he made me enter a little darktriangular closet built in a
bend of the wallto the left of the door of Arthur Rance's room.
>From this recess I could see all that occurred in the gallery as
well as if I had been standing in front of Arthur Rance's door
and I could watch that doortoo. The door of the closetwhich
was to be my place of observationwas fitted with panels of
transparent glass. In the gallerywhere all the lamps had been
litit was quite light. In the closethoweverit was quite
dark. It was a splendid place from which to observe and remain
unobserved.

I was soon to play the part of a spy - a common policeman. I
wonder what my leader at the bar would have said had he known! I
was not altogether pleased with my dutiesbut I could not refuse
Rouletabille the assistance he had begged me to give him. I took
care not to make him see that I in the least objectedand for
several reasons. I wanted to oblige him; I did not wish him to
think me a coward; I was filled with curiosity; and it was too late
for me to draw backeven had I determined to do so. That I had
not had these scruples sooner was because my curiosity had quite
got the better of me. I might also urge that I was helping to
save the life of a womanand even a lawyer may do that
conscientiously.

We returned along the gallery. On reaching the door of Mademoiselle
Stangerson's apartmentit opened from a push given by the steward


who was waiting at the dinner-table. (Monsieur Stangerson hadfor
the last three daysdined with his daughter in the drawing-room on
the first floor.) As the door remained openwe distinctly saw
Mademoiselle Stangersontaking advantage of the steward's absence
and while her father was stooping to pick up something he had let
fallpour the contents of a phial into Monsieur Stangerson's glass.

CHAPTER XXI

On the Watch

The actwhich staggered medid not appear to affect Rouletabille
much. We returned to his room andwithout even referring to what
we had seenhe gave me his final instructions for the night. First
we were to go to dinner; after dinnerI was to take my stand in the
dark closet and wait there as long as it was necessary - to look out
for what might happen.

If you see anything before I do,he explainedyou must let me
know. If the man gets into the 'right' gallery by any other way
than the 'off-tuming' gallery, you will see him before I shall,
because you have a view along the whole length of the 'right'
gallery, while I can only command a view of the 'off-turning'
gallery. All you need do to let me know is to undo the cord holding
the curtain of the 'right' gallery window, nearest to the dark
closet. The curtain will fall of itself and immediately leave a
square of shadow where previously there had been a square of light.
To do this, you need but stretch your hand out of the closet, I
shall understand your signal perfectly.

And then?

Then you will see me coming round the corner of the 'off-turning'
gallery.

What am I to do then?

You will immediately come towards me, behind the man; but I shall
already be upon him, and shall have seen his face.

I attempted a feeble smile.

Why do you smile? Well, you may smile while you have the chance,
but I swear you'll have no time for that a few hours from now.

And if the man escapes?"

So much the better,said RouletabillecoollyI don't want to
capture him. He may take himself off any way he can. I will let
him go - after I have seen his face. That's all I want. I shall
know afterwards what to do so that as far as Mademoiselle Stangerson
is concerned he shall be dead to her even though he continues to
live. If I took him alive, Mademoiselle Stangerson and Robert
Darzac would, perhaps, never forgive me! And I wish to retain their
good-will and respect.

Seeingas I have just now seenMademoiselle Stangerson pour a
narcotic into her father's glassso that he might not be awake to
interrupt the conversation she is going to have with her murderer


you can imagine she &ould not be grateful to me if I brought the
man of The Yellow Room and the inexplicable gallerybound and gagged
to her father. I realise now that if I am to save the unhappy lady
I must silence the man and not capture him. To kill a human being
is no small thing. Besidesthat's not my businessunless the
man himself makes it my business. On the other handto render him
forever silent without the lady's assent and confidence is to act
on one's own initiative and assumes a knowledge of everything with
nothing for a basis. Fortunatelymy friendI have guessedno
I have reasoned it all out. All that I ask of the man who is coming
to-night is to bring me his faceso that it may enter -"

Into the circle?

Exactly! And his face won't surprise me!

But I thought you saw his face on the night when you sprang into
the chamber?

Only imperfectly. The candle was on the floor; and, his beard -

Will he wear his beard this evening?

I think I can say for certain that he will. But the gallery is
light and, now, I know - or - at least, my brain knows - and my
eyes will see.

If we are here only to see him and let him escape, why are we armed?

Because, if the man of The Yellow Room and the inexplicable gallery
knows that I know, he is capable of doing anything! We should then
have to defend ourselves.

And you are sure he will come to-night?

As sure as that you are standing there! This morning, at half-past
ten o'clock, Mademoiselle Stangerson, in the cleverest way in the
world, arranged to have no nurses to-night. She gave them leave of
absence for twenty-four hours, under some plausible pretexts, and
did not desire anybody to be with her but her father, while they
are away. Her father, who is to sleep in the boudoir, has gladly
consented to the arrangement. Darzac's departure and what he told
me, as well as the extraordinary precautions Mademoiselle Stangerson
is taking to be alone to-night leaves me no room for doubt. She has
prepared the way for the coming of the man whom Darzac dreads.

That's awful!

It is!

And what we saw her do was done to send her father to sleep?

Yes.

Then there are but two of us for to-night's work?

Four; the concierge and his wife will watch at all hazards. I
don't set much value on them before - but the concierge may be
useful after - if there's to be any killing!

Then you think there may be?

If he wishes it.


Why haven't you brought in Daddy Jacques? - Have you made no use
of him to-day?

No,replied Rouletabille sharply.

I kept silence for awhilethenanxious to know his thoughtsI
asked him point blank:

Why not tell Arthur Rance? - He may be of great assistance to us?

Oh!said Rouletabille crosslythen you want to let everybody
into Mademoiselle Stangerson's secrets? - Come, let us go to dinner;
it is time. This evening we dine in Frederic Larsan's room, - at
least, if he is not on the heels of Darzac. He sticks to him like
a leech. But, anyhow, if he is not there now, I am quite sure he
will be, to-night! He's the one I am going to knock over!

At this moment we heard a noise in the room near us.

It must be he,said Rouletabille.

I forgot to ask you,I saidif we are to make any allusion to
to-night's business when we are with this policeman. I take it we
are not. Is that so?

Evidently. We are going to operate alone, on our own personal
account.

So that all the glory will be ours?

Rouletabille laughed.

We dined with Frederic Larsan in his room. He told us he had just
come in and invited us to be seated at table. We ate our dinner in
the best of humoursand I had no difficulty in appreciating the
feelings of certainty which both Rouletabille and Larsan felt.
Rouletabille told the great Fred that I had come on a chance visit
and that he had asked me to stay and help him in the heavy batch of
writing he had to get through for the "Epoque." I was going back
to Parishe saidby the eleven o'clock traintaking his "copy
which took a story form, recounting the principal episodes in the
mysteries of the Glandier. Larsan smiled at the explanation like
a man who was not fooled and politely refrains from making the
slightest remark on matters which did not concern him.

With infinite precautions as to the words they used, and even as to
the tones of their voices, Larsan and Rouletabille discussed, for a
long time, Mr. Arthur Rance's appearance at the chateau, and his
past in America, about which they expressed a desire to know more,
at any rate, so far as his relations with the Stangersons. At one
time, Larsan, who appeared to me to be unwell, said, with an effort:

I thinkMonsieur Rouletabillethat we've not much more to do at
the Glandierand that we sha'n't sleep here many more nights."

I think so, too, Monsieur Fred.

Then you think the conclusion of the matter has been reached?

I think, indeed, that we have nothing more to find out,replied
Rouletabille.

Have you found your criminal?asked Larsan.


Have you?

Yes.

So have I,said Rouletabille.

Can it be the same man?

I don't know if you have swerved from your original idea,said
the young reporter. Then he addedwith emphasis: "Monsieur Darzac
is an honest man!"

Are you sure of that?asked Larsan. "WellI am sure he is not.
So it's a fight then?"

Yes, it is a fight. But I shall beat you, Monsieur Frederic Larsan.

Youth never doubts anything,said the great Fred laughinglyand
held out his hand to me by way of conclusion.

Rouletabille's answer came like an echo:

Not anything!

Suddenly Larsanwho had risen to wish us goodnightpressed both
his hands to his chest and staggered. He was obliged to lean on
Rouletabille for supportand to save himself from falling.

Oh! Oh!he cried. "What is the matter with me? - Have I been
poisoned?"

He looked at us with haggard eyes. We questioned him vainly; he
did not answer us. He had sunk into an armchair and we could get
not a word from him. We were extremely distressedboth on his
account and on our ownfor we had partaken of all the dishes he had
eaten. He seemed to be out of pain; but his heavy head had fallen
on his shoulder and his eyelids were tightly closed. Rouletabille
bent over himlistening for the beatings of the heart.

My friend's facehoweverwhen he stood upwas as calm as it had
been a moment before agitated.

He is asleep,he said.

He led me to his chamberafter closing Larsan's room.

The drug?I asked. "Does Mademoiselle Stangerson wish to put
everybody to sleepto-night?"

Perhaps,replied Rouletabille; but I could see he was thinking of
something else.

But what about us?I exclaimed. "How do we know that we have not
been drugged?"

Do you feel indisposed?Rouletabille asked me coolly.

Not in the least.

Do you feel any inclination to go to sleep?

None whatever.

Well, then, my friend, smoke this excellent cigar.


And he handed me a choice Havanaone Monsieur Darzac had givenhim
while he lit his briarwood - his eternal briarwood.

We remained in his room until about ten o'clock without a word
passing between us. Buried in an armchair Rouletabille sat and
smoked steadilyhis brow in thought and a far-away look in his
eyes. On the stroke of ten he took off his boots and signalled to
me to do the same. As we stood in our socks he saidin so low a
tone that I guessedrather than heardthe word:

Revolver.

I drew my revolver from my jacket pocket.

Cock it!he said.

I did as he directed.

Then moving towards the door of his roomhe opened it with infinite
precaution; it made no sound. We were in the "off-turning" gallery.
Rouletabille made another sign to me which I understood to mean that
I was to take up my post in the dark closet.

When I was some distance from himhe rejoined me and embraced me;
and then I saw himwith the same precautionreturn to his room.
Astonished by his embraceand somewhat disquieted by itI arrived
at the right gallery without difficultycrossing the landing-place
and reaching the dark closet.

Before entering it I examined the curtain-cord of the window and
found that I had only to release it from its fastening with my
fingers for the curtain to fall by its own weight and hide the
square of light from Rouletabille - the signal agreed upon. The
sound of a footstep made me halt before Arthur Rance's door. He
was not yet in bedthen! How was it thatbeing in the chateau
he had not dined with Monsieur Stangerson and his daughter? I had
not seen him at table with themat the moment when we looked in.

I retired into the dark closet. I found myself perfectly situated.
I could see along the whole length of the gallery. Nothing
absolutely nothing could pass there without my seeing it. But what
was going to pass there? Rouletabille's embrace came back to my
mind. I argued that people don't part from eachother in that way
unless on an important or dangerous occasion. Was I then in danger?

My hand closed on the butt of my revolver and I waited. I am not
a hero; but neither am I a coward.

I waited about an hourand during all that time I saw nothing
unusual. The rainwhich had begun to come down strongly towards
nine o'clockhad now ceased.

My friend had told me thatprobablynothing would occur before
midnight or one o'clock in the morning. It was not more than
half-past elevenhoweverwhen I heard the door of Arthur Rance's
room open very slowly. The door remained open for a minutewhich
seemed to me a long time. As it opened into the gallerythat is
to sayoutwardsI could not see what was passing in the room
behind the door.

At that moment I noticed a strange soundthree times repeated
coming from the park. Ordinarily I should not have attached any
more importance to it than I would to the noise of cats on the roof.


But the third timethe mew was so sharp and penetrating that I
remembered what I had heard about the cry of the Bete du bon Dieu.
As the cry had accompanied all the events at the GlandierI could
not refrain from shuddering at the thought.

Directly afterwards I saw a man appear on the outside of the door
and close it after him. At first I could not recognise himfor
his back was towards me and he was bending over a rather bulky
package. When he had closed the door and picked up the package
he turned towards the dark closetand then I saw who he was. He
was the forest-keeperthe Green Man. He was wearing the same
costume that he had worn when I first saw him on the road in front
of the Donjon Inn. There was no doubt about his being the keeper.
As the cry of the Bete du Bon Dieu came for the third timehe put
down the package and went to the second windowcounting from the
dark closet. I dared not risk making any movementfearing I might
betray my presence.

Arriving at the windowhe peered out on to the park. The night
was now lightthe moon showing at intervals. The Green Man raised
his arms twicemaking signs which I did not understand; then
leaving the windowhe again took up his package and moved along
the gallery towards the landing-place.

Rouletabille had instructed me to undo the curtain-cord when I saw
anything. Was Rouletabille expecting this? It was not my business
to question. All I had to do was obey instructions. I unfastened
the window-cord; my heart beating the while as if it would burst.
The man reached the landing-placebutto my utter surprise - I
had expected to see him continue to pass along the gallery - I saw
him descend the stairs leading to the vestibule.

What was I to do? I looked stupidly at the heavy curtain which had
shut the light from the window. The signal had been givenand I
did not see Rouletabille appear at the corner of the off-turning
gallery. Nobody appeared. I was exceedingly perplexed. Half an
hour passedan age to me. What was I to do noweven if I saw
something? The signal once given I could not give it a second time.
To venture into the gallery might upset all Rouletabille's plans.
After allI had nothing to reproach myself forand if something
had happened that my friend had not expected he could only blame
himself. Unable to be of any further assistance to him by means
of a signalI left the dark closet andstill in my socksmade
my way to the "off-turning" gallery.

There was no one there. I went to the door of Rouletabille's room
and listened. I could hear nothing. I knocked gently. There was
no answer. I turned the door-handle and the door opened. I entered.
Rouletabille lay extended at full length on the floor.

CHAPTER XXII

The Incredible Body

I bent in great anxiety over the body of the reporter and had the
joy to find that he was deeply sleepingthe same unhealthy sleep
that I had seen fall upon Frederic Larsan. He had succumbed to the
influence of the same drug that had been mixed with our food. How
was it thenthat Ialsohad not been overcome by it? I reflected


that the drug must have been put into our wine; because that would
explain my condition. I never drink when eating. Naturally
inclined to obesityI am restricted to a dry diet. I shook
Rouletabillebut could not succeed in waking him. Thisno doubt
was the work of Mademoiselle Stangerson.

She had certainly thought it necessary to guard herself against this
young man as well as her father. I recalled that the stewardin
serving ushad recommended an excellent Chablis whichno doubt
had come from the professor's table.

More-than a quarter of an hour passed. I resolvedunder the
pressing circumstancesto resort to extreme measures. I threw a
pitcher of cold water over Rouletabille's head. He opened his eyes.
I beat his faceand raised him up. I felt him stiffen in my arms
and heard him murmur: "Go ongo on; but don't make any noise." I
pinched him and shook him until he was able to stand up. We were
saved!

They sent me to sleep,he said. "Ah! I passed an awful quarter
of an hour before giving way. But it is over now. Don't leave me."

He had no sooner uttered those words than we were thrilled by a
frightful cry that rang through the chateau- a veritable death cry.

Malheur!roared Rouletabille; "we shall be too late!"

He tried to rush to the doorbut he was too dazedand fell against
the wall. I was already in the galleryrevolver in handrushing
like a madman towards Mademoiselle Stangerson's room. The moment I
arrived at the intersection of the "offturning" gallery and the
rightgalleryI saw a figure leaving her apartmentwhichin a
few strides had reached the landing-place.

I was not master of myself. I fired. The report from the revolver
made a deafening noise; but the man continued his flight down the
stairs. I ran behind himshouting: "Stop! - stop! or I will kill
you!" As I rushed after him down the stairsI came face to face
with Arthur Rance coming from the left wing of the chateauyelling:
What is it? What is it?We arrived almost at the same time at
the foot of the staircase. The window of the vestibule was open.
We distinctly saw the form of a man running away. Instinctively we
fired our revolvers in his direction. He was not more than ten
paces in front of us; he staggered and we thought he was going to
fall. We had sprung out of the windowbut the man dashed off with
renewed vigour. I was in my socksand the American was barefooted.
There being no hope of overtaking himwe fired our last cartridges
at him. But he still kept on runninggoing along the right side
of the court towards the end of the right wing of the chateauwhich
had no other outlet than the door of the little chamber occupied by
the forest-keeper. The manthough he was evidently wounded by our
bulletswas now twenty yards ahead of us. Suddenlybehind us
and above our headsa window in the gallery opened and we heard
the voice of Rouletabille crying out desperately:

Fire, Bernier! - Fire!

At that moment the clear moonlight night was further lit by a broad
flash. By its light we saw Daddy Bernier with his gun on the
threshold of the donjon door.

He had taken good aim. The shadow fell. But as it had reached the
end of the right wing of the chateauit fell on the other side of
the angle of the building; that is to saywe saw it about to fall


but not the actual sinking to the ground. BernierArthur Rance
and myself reached the other side twenty seconds later. The shadow
was lying dead at our feet.

Aroused from his lethargy by the cries and reportsLarsan opened
the window of his chamber and called out to us. Rouletabillequite
awake nowjoined us at the same momentand I cried out to him:

He is dead! - is dead!

So much the better,he said. "Take him into the vestibule of the
chateau." Then as if on second thoughthe said: "No! - no! Let us
put him in his own room."

Rouletabille knocked at the door. Nobody answered. Naturallythis
did not surprise me.

He is evidently not there, otherwise he would have come out,said
the reporter. "Let us carry him to the vestibule then."

Since reaching the dead shadowa thick cloud had covered the moon
and darkened the nightso that we were unable to make out the
features. Daddy Jacqueswho had now joined ushelped us to carry
the body into the vestibulewhere we laid it down on the lower step
of the stairs. On the wayI had felt my hands wet from the warm
blood flowing from the wounds.

Daddy Jacques flew to the kitchen and returned with a lantern. He
held it close to the face of the dead shadowand we recognised the
keeperthe man called by the landlord of the Donjon Inn the Green
Manwhoman hour earlierI had seen come out of Arthur Rance's
chamber carrying a parcel. But what I had seen I could only tell
Rouletabille laterwhen we were alone.

Rouletabille and Frederic Larsan experienced a cruel disappointment
at the result of the night's adventure. They could only look in
consternation and stupefaction at the body of the Green Man.

Daddy Jacques showed a stupidly sorrowful face and with silly
lamentations kept repeating that we were mistaken - the keeper could
not be the assailant. We were obliged to compel him to be quiet.
He could not have shown greater grief had the body been that of his
own son. I noticedwhile all the rest of us were more or less
undressed and barefootedthat he was fully clothed.

Rouletabille had not left the body. Kneeling on the flagstones by
the light of Daddy Jacques's lantern he removed the clothes from
the body and laid bare its breast. Then snatching the lantern from
Daddy Jacqueshe held it over the corpse and saw a gaping wound.
Rising suddenly he exclaimed in a voice filled with savage irony:

The man you believe to have been shot was killed by the stab of a
knife in his heart!

I thought Rouletabille had gone mad; butbending over the bodyI
quickly satisfied myself that Rouletabille was right. Not a sign
of a bullet anywhere - the woundevidently made by a sharp blade
had penetrated the heart.

CHAPTER XXIII


The Double Scent

I had hardly recovered from the surprise into which this new
discovery had plunged mewhen Rouletabille touched me on the
shoulder and asked me to follow him into his room.

What are we going to do there?

To think the matter over.

I confess I was in no condition for doing much thinkingnor could
I understand how Rouletabille could so control himself as to be
able calmly to sit down for reflection when he must have known that
Mademoiselle Stangerson was at that moment almost on the point of
death. But his self-control was more than I could explain. Closing
the door of his roomhe motioned me to a chair andseating himself
before metook out his pipe. We sat there for some time in silence
and then I fell asleep.

When I awoke it was daylight. It was eight o'clock by my watch.
Rouletabille was no longer in the room. I rose to go out when the
door opened and my friend re-entered. He had evidently lost no time.

How about Mademoiselle Stangerson?I asked him.

Her condition, though very alarming, is not desperate.

When did you leave this room?

Towards dawn.

I guess you have been hard at work?

Rather!

Have you found out anything?

Two sets of footprints!

Do they explain anything?

Yes.

Have they anything to do with the mystery of the keeper's body?

Yes; the mystery is no longer a mystery. This morning, walking
round the chateau, I found two distinct sets of footprints, made at
the same time, last night. They were made by two persons walking
side by side. I followed them from the court towards the oak grove.
Larsan joined me. They were the same kind of footprints as were
made at the time of the assault in The Yellow Room - one set was
from clumsy boots and the other was made by neat ones, except that
the big toe of one of the sets was of a different size from the one
measured in The Yellow Room incident. I compared the marks with
the paper patterns I had previously made.

Still following the tracks of the printsLarsan and I passed out
of the oak grove and reached the border of the lake. There they
turned off to a little path leading to the high road to Epinay where
we lost the traces in the newly macadamised highway.

We went back to the chateau and parted at the courtyard. We met


again, however, in Daddy Jacques's room to which our separate trains
of thinking had led us both. We found the old servant in bed. His
clothes on the chair were wet through and his boots very muddy. He
certainly did not get into that state in helping us to carry the
body of the keeper. It was not raining then. Then his face showed
extreme fatigue and he looked at us out of terror-stricken eyes.

On our first questioning him he told us that he had gone to bed
immediately after the doctor had arrived. On pressing himhowever
for it was evident to us he was not speaking the truthhe confessed
that he had been away from the chateau. He explained his absence
by saying that he had a headache and went out into the fresh air
but had gone no further than the oak grove. When we then described
to him the whole route he had followedhe sat up in bed trembling.

'And you were not alone!' cried Larsan.

'Did you see it then?' gasped Daddy Jacques.

'What?' I asked.

'The phantom - the black phantom!'

Then he told us that for several nights he had seen what he kept
calling the black phantom. It came into the park at the stroke of
midnight and glided stealthily through the trees; it appeared to
him to pass through the trunks of the trees. Twice he had seen
it from his windowby the light of the moon and had risen and
followed the strange apparition. The night before last he had
almost overtaken it; but it had vanished at the corner of the
donjon. Last nighthoweverhe had not left the chateauhis
mind being disturbed by a presentiment that some new crime would
be attempted. Suddenly he saw the black phantom rush out from
somewhere in the middle of the court. He followed it to the lake
and to the high road to Epinaywhere the phantom suddenly
disappeared.

'Did you see his face?' demanded Larsan.

'No! - I saw nothing but black veils.'

'Did you go out after what passed on the gallery?'

'I could not! - I was terrified.'

'Daddy Jacques,' I said, in a threatening voice, 'you did not follow
it; you and the phantom walked to Epinay together - arm in arm!'

'No!' he criedturning his eyes away'I did not. It came on to
pourand - I turned back. I don't know what became of the black
phantom."

We left him, and when we were outside I turned to Larsan, looking
him full in the face, and put my question suddenly to take him off
his guard:

'An accomplice?'

'How can I tell?' he replied, shrugging his shoulders. 'You can't
be sure of anything in a case like this. Twenty-four hours ago I
would have sworn that there was no accomplice!' He left me saying
he was off to Epinay.

Well, what do you make of it?I asked Rouletabilleafter he had


ended his recital. "Personally I am utterly in the dark. I can't
make anything out of it. What do you gather?"

Everything! Everything!he exclaimed. "But he said abruptly,
let's find out more about Mademoiselle Stangerson."

CHAPTER XXIV

Rouletabille Knows the Two Halves of the Murderer

Mademoiselle Stangerson had been almost murdered for the second
time. Unfortunatelyshe was in too weak a state to bear the
severer injuries of this second attack as well as she had those of
the first. She had received three wounds in the breast from the
murderer's knifeand she lay long between life and death. Her
strong physiquehoweversaved her; but though she recovered
physically it was found that her mind had been affected. The
slightest allusion to the terrible incident sent her into delirium
and the arrest of Robert Darzac which followed on the day following
the tragic death of the keeper seemed to sink her fine intelligence
into complete melancholia.

Robert Darzac arrived at the chateau towards half-past nine. I saw
him hurrying through the parkhis hair and clothes in disorder and
his face a deadly white. Rouletabille and I were looking out of a
window in the gallery. He saw usand gave a despairing cry: "I'm
too late!"

Rouletabille answered: "She lives!"

A minute later Darzac had gone into Mademoiselle Stangerson's room
andthrough the doorwe could hear his heart-rending sobs.

There's a fate about this place!groaned Rouletabille. "Some
infernal gods must be watching over the misfortunes of this family!

-If I had not been druggedI should have saved Mademoiselle
Stangerson. I should have silenced him forever. And the keeper
would not have been killed!"
Monsieur Darzac came in to speak with us. His distress was terrible.
Rouletabille told him everything: his preparations for Mademoiselle
Stangerson's safety; his plans for either capturing or for disposing
of the assailant for ever; and how he would have succeeded had it
not been for the drugging.

If only you had trusted me!said the young manin a low tone.
If you had but begged Mademoiselle Stangerson to confide in me!

-But, then, everybody here distrusts everybody else, the daughter
distrusts her father, and even her lover. While you ask me to
protect her she is doing all she can to frustrate me. That was why
I came on the scene too late!
At Monsieur Robert Darzac's request Rouletabille described the
whole scene. Leaning on the wallto prevent himself from falling
he had made his way to Mademoiselle Stangerson's roomwhile we were
running after the supposed murderer. The ante-room door was open
and when he entered he found Mademoiselle Stangerson lying partly
thrown over the desk. Her dressing-gown was dyed with the blood
flowing from her bosom. Still under the influence of the drughe


felt he was walking in a horrible nightmare.

He went back to the gallery automaticallyopened a windowshouted
his order to fireand then returned to the room. He crossed the
deserted boudoirentered the drawing-roomand tried to rouse
Monsieur Stangerson who was lying on a sofa. Monsieur Stangerson
rose stupidly and let himself be drawn by Rouletabille into the room
whereon seeing his daughter's bodyhe uttered a heart-rending cry.
Both united their feeble strength and carried her to her bed.

On his way to join us Rouletabille passed by the desk. On the floor
near ithe saw a large packet. He knelt down andfinding the
wrapper loosehe examined itand made out an enormous quantity of
papers and photographs. On one of the papers he read: "New
differential electroscopic condenser. Fundamental properties of
substance intermediary between ponderable matter and imponderable
ether." Strange irony of fate that the professor's precious papers
should be restored to him at the very time when an attempt was being
made to deprive him of his daughter's life! What are papers worth
to him now?

The morning following that awful night saw Monsieur de Marquet once
more at the chateauwith his Registrar and gendarmes. Of course
we were all questioned. Rouletabille and I had already agreed on
what to say. I kept back any information as to my being in the
dark closet and said nothing about the drugging. We did not wish
to suggest in any way that Mademoiselle Stangerson had been
expecting her nocturnal visitor. The poor woman mightperhaps
never recoverand it was none of our business to lift the veil of
a secret the preservation of which she had paid for so dearly.

Arthur Rance told everybodyin a manner so natural that it
astonished methat he had last seen the keeper towards eleven
o'clock of that fatal night. He had come for his valisehe said
which he was to take for him early next morning to the Saint-Michel
stationand had been kept out late running after poachers. Arthur
Rance hadindeedintended to leave the chateau andaccording to
his habitto walk to the station.

Monsieur Stangerson confirmed what Rance had saidadding that he
had not asked Rance to dine with him because his friend had taken
his final leave of them both earlier in the evening. Monsieur
Rance had had tea served him in his roombecause he had complained
of a slight indisposition.

Bernier testifiedinstructed by Rouletabillethat the keeper had
ordered him to meet at a spot near the oak grovefor the purpose
of looking out for poachers. Finding that the keeper did not keep
his appointmentheBernierhad gone in search of him. He had
almost arrived at the donjonwhen he saw a figure running swiftly
in a direction opposite to himtowards the right wing of the
chateau. He heard revolver shots from behind the figure and saw
Rouletabille at one of the gallery windows. He heard Rouletabille
call out to him to fireand he had fired. He believed he had
killed the man until he learnedafter Rouletabille had uncovered
the bodythat the man had died from a knife thrust. Who had given
it he could not imagine. "Nobody could have been near the spot
without my seeing him." When the examining magistrate reminded him
that the spot where the body was found was very dark and that he
himself had not been able to recognise the keeper before firing
Daddy Bernier replied that neither had they seen the other body;
nor had they found it. In the narrow court where five people were
standing it would have been strange if the other bodyhad it been
therecould have escaped. The only door that opened into the court


was that of the keeper's roomand that door was closedand the
key of it was found in the keeper's pocket.

However that might bethe examining magistrate did not pursue his
inquiry further in this direction. He was evidently convinced that
we had missed the man we were chasing and we had come upon the
keeper's body in our chase. This matter of the keeper was another
matter entirely. He wanted to satisfy himself about that without
any further delay. Probably it fitted in with the conclusions he
had already arrived at as to the keeper and his intrigues with the
wife of Mathieuthe landlord of the Donjon Inn. This Mathieu
later in the afternoonwas arrested and taken to Corbeil in spite
of his rheumatism. He had been heard to threaten the keeperand
though no evidence against him had been found at his innthe
evidence of carters who had heard the threats was enough to justify
his retention.

The examination had proceeded thus far whento our surprise
Frederic Larsan returned to the chateau. He was accompanied by one
of the employes of the railway. At that moment Rance and I were in
the vestibule discussing Mathieu's guilt or innocencewhile
Rouletabille stood apart buriedapparentlyin thought. The
examining magistrate and his Registrar were in the little green
drawing-roomwhile Darzac was with the doctor and Stangerson in
the lady's chamber. As Frederic Larsan entered the vestibule with
the railway employedRouletabille and I at once recognised him by
the small blond beard. We exchanged meaningful glances. Larsan
had himself announced to the examining magistrate by the gendarme
and entered with the railway servant as Daddy Jacques came out.
Some ten minutes went by during which Rouletabille appeared
extremely impatient. The door of the drawing-room was then opened
and we heard the magistrate calling to the gendarme who entered.
Presently he came outmounted the stairs andcoming back shortly
went in to the magistrate and said:

Monsieur, - Monsieur Robert Darzac will not come!

What! Not come!cried Monsieur de Marquet.

He says he cannot leave Mademoiselle Stangerson in her present
state.

Very well,said Monsieur de Marquet; "then we'll go to him."

Monsieur de Marquet and the gendarme mounted the stairs. He made
a sign to Larsan and the railroad employe to follow. Rouletabille
and I went along too.

On reaching the door of Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamberMonsieur
de Marquet knocked. A chambermaid appeared. It was Sylviawith
her hair all in disorder and consternation showing on her face.

Is Monsieur Stangerson within?asked the magistrate.

Yes, Monsieur.

Tell him that I wish to speak with him.

Stangerson came out. His appearance was wretched in the extreme.

What do you want?he demanded of the magistrate. "May I not be
left in peaceMonsieur?"

Monsieur,said the magistrateit is absolutely necessary that I


should see Monsieur Darzac at once. If you cannot induce him to
come, I shall be compelled to use the help of the law.

The professor made no reply. He looked at us all like a man being
led to executionand then went back into the room.

Almost immediately after Monsieur Robert Darzac came out. He was
very pale. He looked at us andhis eyes falling on the railway
servanthis features stiffened and he could hardly repress a groan.

We were all much moved by the appearance of the man. We felt that
what was about to happen would decide the fate of Monsieur Robert
Darzac. Frederic Larsan's face alone was radiantshowing a joy
as of a dog that had at last got its prey.

Pointing to the railway servantMonsieur de Marquet said to
Monsieur Darzac:

Do you recognise this man, Monsieur?

I do,said Monsieur Darzacin a tone which he vainly tried to
make firm. "He is an employe at the station at Epinay-sur-Orge."

This young man,went on Monsieur de Marquetaffirms that he saw
you get off the train at Epinay-sur-Orge -

That night,said Monsieur Darzacinterruptingat half-past ten

-it is quite true.
An interval of silence followed.

Monsieur Darzac,the magistrate went on in a tone of deep emotion
Monsieur Darzac, what were you doing that night, at Epinay-sur-Orge

-at that time?
Monsieur Darzac remained silentsimply closing his eyes.

Monsieur Darzac,insisted Monsieur de Marquetcan you tell me
how you employed your time, that night?

Monsieur Darzac opened his eyes. He seemed to have recovered his
self-control.

No, Monsieur.

Think, Monsieur! For, if you persist in your strange refusal, I
shall be under the painful necessity of keeping you at my
disposition.

I refuse.

Monsieur Darzac! - in the name of the law, I arrest you!

The magistrate had no sooner pronounced the words than I saw
Rouletabille move quickly towards Monsieur Darzac. He would
certainly have spoken to himbut Darzacby a gestureheld
him off. As the gendarme approached his prisonera despairing
cry rang through the room:

Robert! - Robert!

We recognised the voice of Mademoiselle Stangerson. We all
shuddered. Larsan himself turned pale. Monsieur Darzacin response
to the cryhad flown back into the room.


The magistratethe gendarmeand Larsan followed closely after.
Rouletabille and I remained on the threshold. It was a
heart-breaking sight that met our eyes. Mademoiselle Stangerson
with a face of deathly pallorhad risen on her bedin spite of
the restraining efforts of two doctors and her father. She was
holding out her trembling arms towards Robert Darzacon whom
Larsan and the gendarme had laid hands. Her distended eyes saw

-she understood - her lips seemed to form a wordbut nobody made
it out; and she fell back insensible.
Monsieur Darzac was hurried out of the room and placed in the
vestibule to wait for the vehicle Larsan had gone to fetch. We
were all overcome by emotion and even Monsieur de Marquet had tears
in his eyes. Rouletabille took advantage of the opportunity to
say to Monsieur Darzac:

Are you going to put in any defense?

No!replied the prisoner.

Very well, then I will, Monsieur.

You cannot do it,said the unhappy man with a faint smile.

I can - and I will.

Rouletabille's voice had in it a strange strength and confidence.

I can do it, Monsieur Robert Darzac, because I know more than
you do!

Come! Come!murmured Darzacalmost angrily.

Have no fear! I shall know only what will benefit you.

You must know nothing, young man, if you want me to be grateful.

Rouletabille shook his headgoing close up to Darzac.

Listen to what I am about to say,he said in a low toneand let
it give you confidence. You do not know the name of the murderer.
Mademoiselle Stangerson knows it; but only half of it; but I know
his two halves; I know the whole man!

Robert Darzac opened his eyeswith a look that showed he had not
understood a word of what Rouletabille had said to him. At that
moment the conveyance arriveddriven by Frederic Larsan. Darzac
and the gendarme entered itLarsan remaining on the driver's seat.
The prisoner was taken to Corbeil.

CHAPTER XXV CHAPTER XXVI

Rouletabille Goes on a Journey

That same evening Rouletabille and I left the Glandier. We were
very glad to get away and there was nothing more to keep us there.
I declared my intention to give up the whole matter. It had been
too much for me. Rouletabillewith a friendly tap on my shoulder


confessed that he had nothing more to learn at the Glandier; he had
learned there all it had to tell him. We reached Paris about eight
o'clockdinedand thentired outwe separatedagreeing to meet
the next morning at my rooms.

Rouletabille arrived next day at the hour agreed on. He was dressed
in a suit of English tweedwith an ulster on his armand a valise
in his hand. Evidently he had prepared himself for a journey.

How long shall you be away?I asked.

A month or two,he said. "It all depends."

I asked him no more questions.

Do you know,he askedwhat the word was that Mademoiselle
Stangerson tried to say before she fainted?

No - nobody heard it.

I heard it!replied Rouletabille. "She said 'Speak!'"

Do you think Darzac will speak?

Never.

I was about to make some further observationsbut he wrung my hand
warmly and wished me good-bye. I had only time to ask him one
question before he left.

Are you not afraid that other attempts may be made while you're
away?

No! Not now that Darzac is in prison,he answered.

With this strange remark he left. I was not to see him again until
the day of Darzac's trial at the court when he appeared to explain
the inexplicable.

CHAPTER XXVI

In Which Joseph Rouletabille Is Awaited with Impatience

On the 15th of Januarythat is to saytwo months and a half after
the tragic events I have narratedthe "Epoque" printedas the
first column of the front pagethe following sensational article:
The Seine-et-Oise jury is summoned to-day to give its verdict on
one of the most mysterious affairs in the annals of crime. There
never has been a case with so many obscure, incomprehensible, and
inexplicable points. And yet the prosecution has not hesitated to
put into the prisoner's dock a man who is respected, esteemed, and
loved by all who knew him - a young savant, the hope of French
science, whose whole life has been devoted to knowledge and truth.
When Paris heard of Monsieur Robert Darzac's arrest a unanimous cry
of protest arose from all sides. The whole Sorbonne, disgraced by
this act of the examining magistrate, asserted its belief in the
innocence of Mademoiselle Stangerson's fiance. Monsieur Stangerson
was loud in his denunciation of this miscarriage of justice. There
is no doubt in the mind of anybody that could the victim speak she
would claim from the jurors of Seine-et-Oise the man she wishes to


make her husband and whom the prosecution would send to the scaffold.
It is to be hoped that Mademoiselle Stangerson will shortly recover
her reason, which has been temporarily unhinged by the horrible
mystery at the Glandier. The question before the jury is the one
we propose to deal with this very day.

We have decided not to permit twelve worthy men to commit a
disgraceful miscarriage of justice. We confess that the remarkable
coincidencesthe many convicting evidencesand the inexplicable
silence on the part of the accusedas well as a total absence of
any evidence for an alibiwere enough to warrant the bench of
judges in assuming that in this man alone was centered the truth
of the affair. The evidences arein appearanceso overwhelming
against Monsieur Robert Darzac that a detective so well informed
so intelligentand generally so successfulas Monsieur Frederic
Larsanmay be excused for having been misled by them. Up to now
everything has gone against Monsieur Robert Darzac in the
magisterial inquiry. To-dayhoweverwe are going to defend him
before the juryand we are going to bring to the witness stand a
light that will illumine the whole mystery of the Glandier. For
we possess the truth.

If we have not spoken sooner, it is because the interests of
certain parties in the case demand that we should take that course.
Our readers may remember the unsigned reports we published relating
to the 'Left foot of the Rue Oberkampf,' at the time of the famous
robbery of the Credit Universel, and the famous case of the 'Gold
Ingots of the Mint.' In both those cases we were able to discover
the truth long before even the excellent ingenuity of Frederic
Larsan had been able to unravel it. These reports were written by
our youngest reporter, Joseph Rouletabille, a youth of eighteen,
whose fame to-morrow will be world-wide. When attention was first
drawn to the Glandier case, our youthful reporter was on the spot
and installed in the chateau, when every other representative of
the press had been denied admission. He worked side by side with
Frederic Larsan. He was amazed and terrified at the grave mistake
the celebrated detective was about to make, and tried to divert
him from the false scent he was following; but the great Fred
refused to receive instructions from this young journalist. We
know now where it brought Monsieur Robert Darzac.

But nowFrance must know - the whole world must knowthaton
the very evening on which Monsieur Darzac was arrestedyoung
Rouletabille entered our editorial office and informed us that he
was about to go away on a journey. 'How long I shall be away'
he said'I cannot say; perhaps a month - perhaps two - perhaps
three perhaps I may never return. Here is a letter. If I am not
back on the day on which Monsieur Darzac is to appear before the
Assize Courthave this letter opened and read to the courtafter
all the witnesses have been heard. Arrange it with Monsieur Darzac's
counsel. Monsieur Darzac is innocent. In this letter is written
the name of the murderer; and - that is all I have to say. I am
leaving to get my proofs - for the irrefutable evidence of the
murderer's guilt.' Our reporter departed. For a long time we
were without news from him; buta week agoa stranger called
upon our manager and said: 'Act in accordance with the instructions
of Joseph Rouletabilleif it becomes necessary to do so. The
letter left by him holds the truth.' The gentleman who brought us
this message would not give us his name.

To-day, the 15th of January, is the day of the trial. Joseph
Rouletabille has not returned. It may be we shall never see him
again. The press also counts its heroes, its martyrs to duty. It
may be he is no longer living. We shall know how to avenge him.


Our manager will, this afternoon, be at the Court of Assize at
Versailles, with the letter - the letter containing the name of
the murderer!

Those Parisians who flocked to the Assize Court at Versaillesto
be present at the trial of what was known as the "Mystery of The
Yellow Room will certainly remember the terrible crush at the
Saint-Lazare station. The ordinary trains were so full that special
trains had to be made up. The article in the Epoque" had so
excited the populace that discussion was rife everywhere even to
the verge of blows. Partisans of Rouletabille fought with the
supporters of Frederic Larsan. Curiously enough the excitement
was due less to the fact that an innocent man was in danger of a
wrongful conviction than to the interest taken in their own ideas
as to the Mystery of The Yellow Room. Each had his explanation to
which each held fast. Those who explained the crime on Frederic
Larsan's theory would not admit that there could be any doubt as
to the perspicacity of the popular detective. Others who had
arrived at a different solutionnaturally insisted that this was
Rouletabille's explanationthough they did not as yet know what
that was.

With the day's "Epoque" in their handsthe "Larsans" and the
Rouletabillesfought and shoved each other on the steps of the
Palais de Justiceright into the court itself. Those who could
not get in remained in the neighbourhood until evening and were
with great difficultykept back by the soldiery and the police.
They became hungry for newswelcoming the most absurd rumours.
At one time the rumour spread that Monsieur Stangerson himself had
been arrested in the court and had confessed to being the murderer.
This goes to show to what a pitch of madness nervous excitement
may carry people. Rouletabille was still expected. Some pretended
to know him; and when a young man with a "pass" crossed the open
space which separated the crowd from the Court Housea scuffle
took place. Cries were raised of "Rouletabille! - there's
Rouletabille!" The arrival of the manager of the paper was the
signal for a great demonstration. Some applaudedothers hissed.

The trial itself was presided over by Monsieur de Rocouza judge
filled with the prejudice of his classbut a man honest at heart.
The witnesses had been called. I was thereof courseas were all
who hadin any waybeen in touch with the mysteries of the
Glandier. Monsieur Stangerson - looking many years older and almost
unrecognisable - LarsanArthur Rancewith his face ruddy as ever
Daddy JacquesDaddy Mathieuwho was brought into court handcuffed
between two gendarmesMadame Mathieuin tearsthe two Berniers
he two nursesthe stewardall the domestics of the chateauthe
employe of the Paris Post Officethe railway employe from Epinay
some friends of Monsieur and Mademoiselle Stangersonand all
Monsieur Darzac's witnesses. I was lucky enough to be called early
in the trialso that I was then able to watch and be present at
almost the whole of the proceedings.

The court was so crowded that many lawyers were compelled to find
seats on the steps. Behind the bench of justices were
representatives from other benches. Monsieur Robert Darzac stood
in the prisoner's dock between policementallhandsomeand calm.
A murmur of admiration rather than of compassion greeted his
appearance. He leaned forward towards his counselMaitre Henri
Robertwhoassisted by his chief secretaryMaitre Andre Hesse
was busily turning over the folios of his brief.

Many expected that Monsieur Stangersonafter giving his evidence
would have gone over to the prisoner and shaken hands with him; but


he left the court without another word. It was remarked that the
jurors appeared to be deeply interested in a rapid conversation
which the manager of the "Epoque" was having with Maitre Henri
Robert. The managerlatersat down in the front row of the public
seats. Some were surprised that he was not asked to remain with
the other witnesses in the room reserved for them.

The reading of the indictment was got throughas it always is
without any incident. I shall not here report the long examination
to which Monsieur Darzac was subjected. He answered all the
questions quickly and easily. His silence as to the important
matters of which we know was dead against him. It would seem as if
this reticence would be fatal for him. He resented the President's
reprimands. He was told that his silence might mean death.

Very well,he said; "I will submit to it; but I am innocent."

With that splendid ability which has made his fameMaitre Robert
took advantage of the incidentand tried to show that it brought
out in noble relief his client's character; for only heroic natures
could remain silent for moral reasons in face of such a danger.
The eminent advocate howeveronly succeeded in assuring those who
were already assured of Darzac's innocence. At the adjournment
Rouletabille had not yet arrived. Every time a door openedall
eyes there turned towards it and back to the manager of the "Epoque
who sat impassive in his place. When he once was feeling in his
pocket a loud murmur of expectation followed. The letter!

It is not, however, my intention to report in detail the course of
the trial. My readers are sufficiently acquainted with the
mysteries surrounding the Glandier case to enable me to go on to
the really dramatic denouement of this ever-memorable day.

When the trial was resumed, Maitre Henri Robert questioned Daddy
Mathieu as to his complicity in the death of the keeper. His wife
was also brought in and was confronted by her husband. She burst
into tears and confessed that she had been the keeper's mistress,
and that her husband had suspected it. She again, however,
affirmed that he had had nothing to do with the murder of her lover.
Maitre Henri Robert thereupon asked the court to hear Frederic
Larsan on this point.

In a short conversation which I have had with Frederic Larsan
during the adjournment declared the advocate, he has made me
understand that the death of the keeper may have been brought about
otherwise than by the hand of Mathieu. It will be interesting to
hear Frederic Larsan's theory."

Frederic Larsan was brought in. His explanation was quite clear.

I see no necessity,he saidfor bringing Mathieu in this. I
have told Monsieur de Marquet that the man's threats had biassed
the examining magistrate against him. To me the attempt to murder
Mademoiselle and the death of the keeper are the work of one and
the same person. Mademoiselle Stangerson's murderer, flying
through the court, was fired on; it was thought he was struck,
perhaps killed. As a matter of fact, he only stumbled at the
moment of his disappearance behind the corner of the right wing
of the chateau. There he encountered the keeper who, no doubt,
tried to seize him. The murderer had in his hand the knife with
which he had stabbed Mademoiselle Stangerson and with this he
killed the keeper.

This very simple explanation appeared at once plausible and


satisfying. A murmur of approbation was heard.

And the murderer? What became of him?asked the President.

He was evidently hidden in an obscure corner at the end of the
court. After the people had left the court carrying with them the
body of the keeper, the murderer quietly made his escape.

The words had scarcely left Larsan's mouth when from the back of
the court came a youthful voice:

I agree with Frederic Larsan as to the death of the keeper; but I
do not agree with him as to the way the murderer escaped!

Everybody turned roundastonished. The clerks of the court sprang
towards the speakercalling out silenceand the President angrily
ordered the intruder to be immediately expelled. The same clear
voicehoweverwas again heard:

It is I, Monsieur President - Joseph Rouletabille!

CHAPTER XXVII

In Which Joseph Rouletabille Appears in All His Glory

The excitement was extreme. Cries from fainting women were to be
heard amid the extraordinary bustle and stir. The "majesty of the
law" was utterly forgotten. The President tried in vain to make
himself heard. Rouletabille made his way forward with difficulty
but by dint of much elbowing reached his manager and greeted him
cordially. The letter was passed to him and pocketing it he turned
to the witness-box. He was dressed exactly as on the day he left
me even to the ulster over his arm. Turning to the Presidenthe
said:

I beg your pardon, Monsieur President, but I have only just arrived
from America. The steamer was late. My name is Joseph Rouletabille!

The silence which followed his stepping into the witness-box was
broken by laughter when his words were heard. Everybody seemed
relieved and glad to find him thereas if in the expectation of
hearing the truth at last.

But the President was extremely incensed:

So, you are Joseph Rouletabille,he replied; "wellyoung man
I'll teach you what comes of making a farce of justice. By virtue
of my discretionary powerI hold you at the court's disposition."

I ask nothing better, Monsieur President. I have come here for
that purpose. I humbly beg the court's pardon for the disturbance
of which I have been the innocent cause. I beg you to believe that
nobody has a greater respect for the court than I have. I came in
as I could.He smiled.

Take him away!ordered the President.

Maitre Henri Robert intervened. He began by apologising for the
young manwhohe saidwas moved only by the best intentions.


He made the President understand that the evidence of a witness who
had slept at the Glandier during the whole of that eventful week
could not be omittedand the present witnessmoreoverhad come
to name the real murderer.

Are you going to tell us who the murderer was?asked the President
somewhat convinced though still sceptical.

I have come for that purpose, Monsieur President!replied
Rouletabille.

An attempt at applause was silenced by the usher.

Joseph Rouletabille,said Maitre Henri Roberthas not been
regularly subpoenaed as a witness, but I hope, Monsieur President,
you will examine him in virtue of your discretionary powers.

Very well!said the Presidentwe will question him. But we must
proceed in order.

The Advocate-General rose:

It would, perhaps, be better,he saidif the young man were to
tell us now whom he suspects.

The President nodded ironically:

If the Advocate-General attaches importance to the deposition of
Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille, I see no reason why this witness
should not give us the name of the murderer.

A pin drop could have been heard. Rouletabille stood silent looking
sympathetically at Darzacwhofor the first time since the opening
of the trialshowed himself agitated.

Well,cried the Presidentwe wait for the name of the murderer.
Rouletabillefeeling in his waistcoat pocketdrew his watch and
looking at itsaid:

Monsieur President, I cannot name the murderer before half-past
six o'clock!

Loud murmurs of disappointment filled the room. Some of the lawyers
were heard to say: "He's making fun of us!"

The President in a stern voicesaid:

This joke has gone far enough. You may retire, Monsieur, into the
witnesses' room. I hold you at our disposition.

Rouletabille protested.

I assure you, Monsieur President,he cried in his sharpclear
voicethat when I do name the murderer you will understand why
I could not speak before half-past six. I assert this on my honour.
I can, however, give you now some explanation of the murder of the
keeper. Monsieur Frederic Larsan, who has seen me at work at the
Glandier, can tell you with what care I studied this case. I found
myself compelled to differ with him in arresting Monsieur Robert
Darzac, who is innocent. Monsieur Larsan knows of my good faith
and knows that some importance may be attached to my discoveries,
which have often corroborated his own.

Frederic Larsan said:


Monsieur President, it will be interesting to hear Monsieur Joseph
Rouletabille, especially as he differs from me.

A murmur of approbation greeted the detective's speech. He was a
good sportsman and accepted the challenge. The struggle between
the two promised to be exciting.

As the President remained silentFrederic Larsan continued:

We agree that the murderer of the keeper was the assailant of
Mademoiselle Stangerson; but as we are not agreed as to how the
murderer escaped, I am curious to hear Monsieur Rouletabille's
explanation.

I have no doubt you are,said my friend.

General laughter foliowed this remark. The President angrily
declared that if it was repeatedhe would have the court cleared.

Now, young man,said the Presidentyou have heard Monsieur
Frederic Larsan; how did the murderer get away from the court?

Rouletabille looked at Madame Mathieuwho smiled back at him sadly.

Since Madame Mathieu,he saidhas freely admitted her intimacy
with the keeper -

Why, it's the boy!exclaimed Daddy Mathieu.

Remove that man!ordered the President.

Mathieu was removed from the court. Rouletabille went on:

Since she has made this confession, I am free to tell you that she
often met the keeper at night on the first floor of the donjon, in
the room which was once an oratory. These meetings became more
frequent when her husband was laid up by his rheumatism. She gave
him morphine to ease his pain and to give herself more time for the
meetings. Madame Mathieu came to the chateau that night, enveloped
in a large black shawl which served also as a disguise. This was
the phantom that disturbed Daddy Jacques. She knew how to imitate
the mewing of Mother Angenoux' cat and she would make the cries to
advise the keeper of her presence. The recent repairs of the donjon
did not interfere with their meetings in the keeper's old room, in
the donjon, since the new room assigned to him at the end of the
right wing was separated from the steward's room by a partition only.

Previous to the tragedy in the courtyard Madame Mathieu and the
keeper left the donjon together. I learnt these facts from my
examination of the footmarks in the court the next morning. Bemier
the conciergewhom I had stationed behind the donjon - as he will
explain himself - could not see what passed in the court. He did
not reach the court until he heard the revolver shotsand then he
fired. When the woman parted from the man she went towards the open
gate of the courtwhile he returned to his room.

He had almost reached the door when the revolvers rang out. He
had just reached the corner when a shadow bounded by. Meanwhile,
Madame Mathieu, surprised by the revolver shots and by the entrance
of people into the court, crouched in the darkness. The court is
a large one and, being near the gate, she might easily have passed
out unseen. But she remained and saw the body being carried away.
In great agony of mind she neared the vestibule and saw the dead


body of her lover on the stairs lit up by Daddy Jacques' lantern.
She then fled; and Daddy Jacques joined her.

That same nightbefore the murderDaddy Jacques had been awakened
by the cat's cryandlooking through his windowhad seen the
black phantom. Hastily dressing himself he went out and recognised
her. He is an old friend of Madame Mathieuand when she saw him
she had to tell him of her relations with the keeper and begged his
assistance. Daddy Jacques took pity on her and accompanied her
through the oak grove out of the parkpast the border of the lake
to the road to Epinay. From there it was but a very short distance
to her home.

Daddy Jacques returned to the chateau, and, seeing how important
it was for Madame Mathieu's presence at the chateau to remain
unknown, he did all he could to hide it. I appeal to Monsieur
Larsan, who saw me, next morning, examine the two sets of
footprints.

Here Rouletabille turning towards Madame Mathieuwith a bowsaid:

The footprints of Madame bear a strange resemblance to the neat
footprints of the murderer.

Madame Mathieu trembled and looked at him with wide eyes as if in
wonder at what he would say next.

Madame has a shapely foot, long and rather large for a woman. The
imprint, with its pointed toe, is very like that of the murderer's.

A movement in the court was repressed by Rouletabille. He held
their attention at once.

I hasten to add,he went onthat I attach no importance to this.
Outward signs like these are often liable to lead us into error, if
we do not reason rightly. Monsieur Robert Darzac's footprints are
also like the murderer's, and yet he is not the murderer!

The President turning to Madame Mathieu asked:

Is that in accordance with what you know occurred?

Yes, Monsieur President,she repliedit is as if Monsieur
Rouletabille had been behind us.

Did you see the murderer running towards the end of the right wing?

Yes, as clearly as I saw them afterwards carrying the keeper's
body.

What became of the murderer? - You were in the courtyard and could
easily have seen.

I saw nothing of himMonsieur President. It became quite dark
just then."

Then Monsieur Rouletabille,said the Presidentmust explain
how the murderer made his escape.

Rouletabille continued:

It was impossible for the murderer to escape by the way he had
entered the court without our seeing him; or if we couldn't see him
we must certainly have felt him, since the court is a very narrow


one enclosed in high iron railings.

Then if the man was hemmed in that narrow square, how is it you
did not find him? - I have been asking you that for the last
half hour.

Monsieur President,replied RouletabilleI cannot answer that
question before half-past six!

By this time the people in the court-room were beginning to believe
in this new witness. They were amused by his melodramatic action
in thus fixing the hour; but they seemed to have confidence in the
outcome. As for the Presidentit looked as if he also had made up
his mind to take the young man in the same way. He had certainly
been impressed by Rouletabille's explanation of Madame Mathieu's part.

Well, Monsieur Rouletabille,he saidas you say; but don't let
us see any more of you before half-past six.

Rouletabille bowed to the Presidentand made his way to the door
of the witnesses' room.

I quietly made my way through the crowd and left the court almost
at the same time as Rouletabille. He greeted me heartilyand
looked happy.

I'll not ask you, my dear fellow,I saidsmilingwhat you've
been doing in America; because I've no doubt you'll say you can't
tell me until after half-past six.

No, my dear Sainclair, I'll tell you right now why I went to
America. I went in search of the name of the other half of the
murderer!

The name of the other half?

Exactly. When we last left the Glandier I knew there were two
halves to the murderer and the name of only one of them. I went
to America for the name of the other half.

I was too puzzled to answer. Just then we entered the witnesses'
roomand Rouletabille was immediately surrounded. He showed
himself very friendly to all except Arthur Rance to whom he
exhibited a marked coldness of manner. Frederic Larsan came in
also. Rouletabille went up and shook him heartily by the hand.
His manner toward the detective showed that he had got the better
of the policeman. Larsan smiled and asked him what he had been
doing in AmericaRouletabille began by telling him some anecdotes
of his voyage. They then turned aside together apparently with
the object of speaking confidentially. Ithereforediscreetly
left them andbeing curious to hear the evidencereturned to my
seat in the court-room where the public plainly showed its lack
of interest in what was going on in their impatience for
Rouletabille's return at the appointed time.

On the stroke of half-past six Joseph Rouletabille was again brought
in. It is impossible for me to picture the tense excitement which
appeared on every faceas he made his way to the bar. Darzac rose
to his feetfrightfully pale.

The Presidentaddressing Rouletabillesaid gravely:

I will not ask you to take the oath, because you have not been
regularly summoned; but I trust there is no need to urge upon you


the gravity of the statement you are about to make.

Rouletabille looked the President quite calmly and steadily in the
faceand replied:

Yes, Monsieur.

At your last appearance here,said the Presidentwe had arrived
at the point where you were to tell us how the murderer escaped,
and also his name. Now, Monsieur Rouletabille, we await your
explanation.

Very well, Monsieur,began my friend amidst a profound silence.
I had explained how it was impossible for the murderer to get away
without being seen. And yet he was there with us in the courtyard.

And you did not see him? At least that is what the prosecution
declares.

No! We all of us saw him, Monsieur le President!cried
Rouletabille.

Then why was he not arrested?

Because no one, besides myself, knew that he was the murderer. It
would have spoiled my plans to have had him arrested, and I had then
no proof other than my own reasoning. I was convinced we had the
murderer before us and that we were actually looking at him. I
have now brought what I consider the indisputable proof.

Speak out, Monsieur! Tell us the murderer's name.

You will find it on the list of names present in the court on the
night of the tragedy,replied Rouletabille.

The people present in the court-room began showing impatience.
Some of them even called for the nameand were silenced by the
usher.

The list includes Daddy Jacques, Bemier the concierge, and Mr.
Arthur Rance,said the President. "Do you accuse any of these?"

No, Monsieur!

Then I do not understand what you are driving at. There was no
other person at the end of the court.

Yes, Monsieur, there was, not at the end, but above the court, who
was leaning out of the window.

Do you mean Frederic Larsan!exclaimed the President.

Yes! Frederic Larsan!replied Rouletabille in a ringing tone.
Frederic Larsan is the murderer!

The court-room became immediately filled with loud and indignant
protests. So astonished was he that the President did not attempt
to quiet it. The quick silence which followed was broken by the
distinctly whispered words from the lips of Robert Darzac:

It's impossible! He's mad!

You dare to accuse Frederic Larsan, Monsieur?asked the President.
If you are not mad, what are your proofs?


Proofs, Monsieur? - Do you want proofs? Well, here is one,cried
Rouletabille shrilly. "Let Frederic Larsan be called!"

Usher, call Frederic Larsan.

The usher hurried to the side dooropened itand disappeared. The
door remained openwhile all eyes turned expectantly towards it.
The clerk re-appeared andstepping forwardsaid:

Monsieur President, Frederic Larsan is not here. He left at about
four o'clock and has not been seen since.

That is my proof!cried Rouletabilletriumphantly.

Explain yourself?demanded the President.

My proof is Larsan's flight,said the young reporter. "He will
not come back. You will see no more of Frederic Larsan."

Unless you are playing with the court, Monsieur, why did you not
accuse him when he was present? He would then have answered you.

He could give no other answer than the one he has now given by his
flight.

We cannot believe that Larsan has fled. There was no reason for
his doing so. Did he know you'd make this charge?

He did. I told him I would.

Do you mean to say that knowing Larsan was the murderer you gave
him the opportunity to escape?

Yes, Monsieur President, I did,replied Rouletabilleproudly.
I am not a policeman, I am a journalist; and my business is not
to arrest people. My business is in the service of truth, and is
not that of an executioner. If you are just, Monsieur, you will
see that I am right. You can now understand why I refrained until
this hour to divulge the name. I gave Larsan time to catch the

4:17 train for Paris, where he would know where to hide himself,
and leave no traces. You will not find Frederic Larsan,declared
Rouletabillefixing his eyes on Monsieur Robert Darzac. "He is
too cunning. He is a man who has always escaped you and whom you
have long searched for in vain. If he did not succeed in
outwitting mehe can yet easily outwit any police. This man who
four years agointroduced himself to the Sureteand became
celebrated as Frederic Larsanis notorious under another name - a
name well known to crime. Frederic LarsanMonsieur President
is Ballmeyer!"
Ballmeyer!cried the President.

Ballmeyer!exclaimed Robert Darzacspringing to his feet.
Ballmeyer! - It was true, then!

Ah! Monsieur Darzac; you don't think I am mad, now!cried
Rouletabille.

Ballmeyer! Ballmeyer! No other word could be heard in the
courtroom. The President adjourned the hearing.

Those of my readers who may not have heard of Ballmeyer will wonder
at the excitement the name caused. And yet the doings of this


remarkable criminal form the subject-matter of the most dramatic
narratives of the newspapers and criminal records of the past twenty
years. It had been reported that he was deadand thus had eluded
the police as he had eluded them throughout the whole of his career.

Ballmeyer was the best specimen of the high-class "gentleman
swindler." He was adept at sleight of hand tricksand no bolder
or more ruthless crook ever lived. He was received in the best
societyand was a member of some of the most exclusive clubs. On
many of his depredatory expeditions he had not hesitated to use
the knife and the mutton-bone. No difficulty stopped him and no
operationwas too dangerous. He had been caughtbut escaped
on the very morning of his trialby throwing pepper into the
eyes of the guards who were conducting him to Court. It was known
later thatin spite of the keen hunt after him by the most expert
of detectiveshe had sat that same evening at a first performance
in the Theatre Francaiswithout the slightest disguise.

He left Francelaterto "work" AmericaThe police there
succeeded in capturing him oncebut the extraordinary man escaped
the next day. It would need a volume to recount the adventures of
this master-criminal. And yet this was the man Rouletabille had
allowed to get away! Knowing all about him and who he washe
afforded the criminal an opportunity for another laugh at the
society he had defied! I could not help admiring the bold stroke
of the young journalistbecause I felt certain his motive had been
to protect both Mademoiselle Stangerson and rid Darzac of an enemy
at the same time.

The crowd had barely recovered from the effect of the astonishing
revelation when the hearing was resumed. The question in everybody's
mind was: Admitting that Larsan was the murdererhow did he get out
of The Yellow Room?

Rouletabille was immediately called to the bar and his examination
continued.

You have told us,said the Presidentthat it was impossible to
escape from the end of the court. Since Larsan was leaning out of
his window, he had left the court. How did he do that?

He escaped by a most unusual way. He climbed the wall, sprang
onto the terrace, and, while we were engaged with the keeper's body,
reached the gallery by the window. He then had little else to do
than to open the window, get in and call out to us, as if he had
just come from his own room. To a man of Ballmeyer's strength all
that was mere child's play. And here, Monsieur, is the proof of
what I say.

Rouletabille drew from his pocket a small packetfrom which he
produced a strong iron peg.

This, Monsieur,he saidis a spike which perfectly fits a hole
still to be seen in the cornice supporting the terrace. Larsan,
who thought and prepared for everything in case of any emergency,
had fixed this spike into the cornice. All he had to do to make
his escape good was to plant one foot on a stone which is placed
at the corner of the chateau, another on this support, one hand
on the cornice of the keeper's door and the other on the terrace,
and Larsan was clear of the ground. The rest was easy. His acting
after dinner as if he had been drugged was make believe. He was
not drugged; but he did drug me. Of course he had to make it
appear as if he also had been drugged so that no suspicion should
fall on him for my condition. Had I not been thus overpowered,


Larsan would never have entered Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber
that night, and the attack on her would not have taken place.

A groan came from Darzacwho appeared to be unable to control
his suffering.

You can understand,added Rouletabilethat Larsan would feel
himself hampered from the fact that my room was so close to his, and
from a suspicion that I would be on the watch that night. Naturally,
he could not for a moment believe that I suspected him! But I might
see him leaving his room when he was about to go to Mademoiselle
Stangerson. He waited till I was asleep, and my friend Sainclair
was busy trying to rouse me. Ten minutes after that Mademoiselle
was calling out, Murder!"

How did you come to suspect Larsan?asked the President.

My pure reason pointed to him. That was why I watched him. But
I did not foresee the drugging. He is very cunning. Yes, my pure
reason pointed to him; but I required tangible proof so that my
eyes could see him as my pure reason saw him.

What do you mean by your pure reason?

That power of one's mind which admits of no disturbing elements
to a conclusion. The day following the incident of 'the
inexplicable gallery,' I felt myself losing control of it. I had
allowed myself to be diverted by fallacious evidence; but I
recovered and again took hold of the right end. I satisfied myself
that the murderer could not have left the gallery, either naturally
or supernaturally. I narrowed the field of consideration to that
small circle, so to speak. The murderer could not be outside that
circle. Now who was in it? There was, first, the murderer. Then
there were Daddy Jacques, Monsieur Stangerson, Frederic Larsan, and
myself. Five persons in all, counting in the murderer. And yet,
in the gallery, there were but four. Now since it had been
demonstrated to me that the fifth could not have escaped, it was
evident that one of the four present in the gallery must be a double

-he must be himself and the murderer also. Why had I not seen
this before? Simply because the phenomenon of the double personality
had not occurred before in this inquiry.
Now who of the four persons in the gallery was both that person
and the assassin? I went over in my mind what I had seen. I had
seen at one and the same timeMonsieur Stangerson and the murderer
Daddy Jacques and the murderermyself and the murderer; so that
the murdererthencould not be either Monsieur StangersonDaddy
Jacquesor myself. Had I seen Frederic Larsan and the murderer
at the same time? - No! - Two seconds had passedduring which I
lost sight of the murderer; foras I have noted in my papershe
arrived two seconds before Monsieur StangersonDaddy Jacquesand
myself at the meeting-point of the two galleries. That would have
given Larsan time to go through the 'off-turning' gallerysnatch
off his false beardreturnand hurry with us as iflike usin
pursuit of the murderer. I was sure now I had got hold of the
right end in my reasoning. With Frederic Larsan was now always
associatedin my mindthe personality of the unknown of whom I
was in pursuit - the murdererin other words.

That revelation staggered me. I tried to regain my balance by
going over the evidences previously traced, but which had diverted
my mind and led me away from Frederic Larsan. What were these
evidences?


1st. I had seen the unknown in Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber.
On going to Frederic Larsan's roomI had found Larsan sound asleep.

2nd. The ladder.

3rd. I had placed Frederic Larsan at the end of the 'off-turning'
gallery and had told him that I would rush into Mademoiselle
Stangerson's room to try to capture the murderer. Then I returned
to Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber where I had seen the unknown.

The first evidence did not disturb me much. It is likely that,
when I descended from my ladder, after having seen the unknown in
Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber, Larsan had already finished what
he was doing there. Then, while I was re-entering the chateau,
Larsan went back to his own room and, undressing himself, went to
sleep.

Nor did the second evidence trouble me. If Larsan were the
murdererhe could have no use for a ladder; but the ladder might
have been placed there to give an appearance to the murderer's
entrance from without the chateau; especially as Larsan had accused
Darzac and Darzac was not in the chateau that night. Furtherthe
ladder might have been placed there to facilitate Larsan's flight
in case of absolute necessity.

But the third evidence puzzled me altogether. Having placed Larsan
at the end of the 'off-turning gallery,' I could not explain how he
had taken advantage of the moment when I had gone to the left wing
of the chateau to find Monsieur Stangerson and Daddy Jacques, to
return to Mademoiselle Stangerson's room. It was a very dangerous
thing to do. He risked being captured, - and he knew it. And he
was very nearly captured. He had not had time to regain his post,
as he had certainly hoped to do. He had then a very strong reason
for returning to his room. As for myself, when I sent Daddy Jacques
to the end of the 'right gallery,' I naturally thought that Larsan
was still at his post. Daddy Jacques, in going to his post, had not
looked, when he passed, to see whether Larsan was at his post or not.

Whatthenwas the urgent reason which had compelled Larsan to
go to the room a second time? I guessed it to be some evidence of
his presence there. He had left something very important in that
room. What was it? And had he recovered it? I begged Madame
Bernier who was accustomed to clean the room to lookand she found
a pair of eye-glasses - this pairMonsieur President!"

And Rouletabille drew the eye-glassesof which we knowfrom his
pocket.

When I saw these eye-glasses,he continuedI was utterly
nonplussed. I had never seen Larsan wear eye-glasses. What did
they mean? Suddenly I exclaimed to myself: 'I wonder if he is
long.sighted?' I had never seen Larsan write. He might, then, be
long-sighted. They would certainly know at the Surete, and also
know if the glasses were his. Such evidence would be damning.
That explained Larsan's return. I know now that Larsan, or
Ballmeyer, is long-sighted and that these glasses belonged to him.

I now made one mistake. I was not satisfied with the evidence I
had obtained. I wished to see the man's face. Had I refrained
from thisthe second terrible attack would not have occurred."

But,asked the Presidentwhy should Larsan go to Mademoiselle
Stangerson's room, at all? Why should he twice attempt to murder
her?


Because he loves her, Monsieur President.

That is certainly a reason, but-

It is the only reason. He was madly in love, and because of that,
nd - other things, he was capable of committing any crime.

Did Mademoiselle Stangerson know this?

Yes, Monsieur; but she was ignorant of the fact that the man who
was pursuing her was Frederic Larsan, otherwise, of course, he
would not have been allowed to be at the chateau. I noticed, when
he was in her room after the incident in the gallery, that he kept
himself in the shadow, and that he kept his head bent down. He was
looking for the lost eye-glasses. Mademoiselle Stangerson knew
Larsan under another name.

Monsieur Darzac,asked the Presidentdid Mademoiselle Stangerson
in any way confide in you on this matter? How is it that she has
never spoken about it to anyone? If you are innocent, she would
have wished to spare you the pain of being accused.

Mademoiselle Stangerson told me nothing,replled Monsieur Darzac.

Does what this young man says appear probable to you?the
President asked.

Mademoiselle Stangerson has told me nothing,he replied stolidly.

How do you explain that, on the night of the murder of the keeper,
the President askedturning to Rouletabillethe murderer brought
back the papers stolen from Monsieur Stangerson? - How do you explain
how the murderer gained entrance into Mademoiselle Stangerson's
locked room?

The last question is easily answered. A man like Larsan, or
Ballmeyer, could have had made duplicate keys. As to the documents,
I think Larsan had not intended to steal them, at first. Closely
watching Mademoiselle with the purpose of preventing her marriage
with Monsieur Robert Darzac, he one day followed her and Monsieur
into the Grands Magasins de Ia Louvre. There he got possession of
the reticule which she lost, or left behind. In that reticule was
a key with a brass head. He did not know there was any value
attached to the key till the advertisement in the newspapers revealed
it. He then wrote to Mademoiselle, as the advertisement requested.
No doubt he asked for a meeting, making known to her that he was
also the person who had for some time pursued her with his love.
He received no answer. He went to the Post Office and ascertained
that his letter was no longer there. He had already taken complete
stock of Monsieur Darzac, and, having decided to go to any lengths
to gain Mademoiselle Stangerson, he had planned that, whatever might
happen, Monsieur Darzac, his hated rival, should be the man to be
suspected.

I do not think that Larsan had as yet thought of murdering
Mademoiselle Stangerson; but whatever he might dohe made sure that
Monsieur Darzac should suffer for it. He was very nearly of the
same height as Monsieur Darzac and had almost the same sized feet.
It would not be difficultto take an impression of Monsieur Darzac's
footprintsand have similar boots made for himself. Such tricks
were mere child's play for Larsanor Ballmeyer.

Receiving no reply to his letter, he determined, since Mademoiselle


Stangerson would not come to him, that he would go to her. His plan
had long been formed. He had made himself master of the plans of
the chateau and the pavilion. So that, one afternoon, while Monsieur
and Mademoiselle Stangerson were out for a walk, and while Daddy
Jacques was away, he entered the latter by the vestibule window. He
was alone, and, being in no hurry, he began examining the furniture.
One of the pieces, resembling a safe, had a very small keyhole.
That interested him! He had with him the little key with the brass
head, and, associating one with the other, he tried the key in the
lock. The door opened. He saw nothing but papers. They must be
very valuable to have been put away in a safe, and the key to which
to be of so much importance. Perhaps a thought of blackmail occurred
to him as a useful possibility in helping him in his designs on
Mademoiselle Stangerson. He quickly made a parcel of the papers and
took it to the lavatory in the vestibule. Between the time of his
first examination of the pavilion and the night of the murder of the
keeper, Larsan had had time to find out what those papers contained.
He could do nothing with them, and they were rather compromising.
That night he took them back to the chateau. Perhaps he hoped that,
by returning the papers he might obtain some gratitude from
Mademoiselle Stangerson. But whatever may have been his reasons,
he took the papers back and so rid himself of an encumbrance.

Rouletabille coughed. It was evident to me that he was embarrassed.
He had arrived at a point where he had to keep back his knowledge of
Larsan's true motive. The explanation he had given had evidently
been unsatisfactory. Rouletabille was quick enough to note the bad
impression he had made, for, turning to the President, he said:
And now we come to the explanation of the Mystery of The Yellow
Room!"

A movement of chairs in the court with a rustling of dresses and an
energetic whispering of "Hush!" showed the curiosity that had been
aroused.

It seems to me,said the Presidentthat the Mystery of The
Yellow Room, Monsieur Rouletabille, is wholly explained by your
hypothesis. Frederic Larsan is the explanation. We have merely
to substitute him for Monsieur Robert Darzac. Evidently the door
of The Yellow Room was open at the time Monsieur Stangerson was
alone, and that he allowed the man who was coming out of his
daughter's chamber to pass without arresting him - perhaps at her
entreaty to avoid all scandal.

No, Monsieur President,protested the young man. "You forget
thatstunned by the attack made on herMademoiselle Stangerson
was not in a condition to have made such an appeal. Nor could she
have locked and bolted herself in her room. You must also remember
that Monsieur Stangerson has sworn that the door was not open."

That, however, is the only way in which it can be explained. The
Yellow Room was as closely shut as an iron safe. To use your own
expression, it was impossible for the murderer to make his escape
either naturally or supernaturally. When the room was broken into
he was not there! He must, therefore, have escaped.

That does not follow.

What do you mean?

There was no need for him to escape - if he was not there!

Not there!


Evidently, not. He could not have been there, if he were not found
there.

But, what about the evidences of his presence?asked the President.

That, Monsieur President, is where we have taken hold of the wrong
end. From the time Mademoiselle Stangerson shut herself in the room
to the time her door was burst open, it was impossible for the
murderer to escape. He was not found because he was not there during
that time.

But the evidences?

They have led us astray. In reasoning on this mystery we must not
take them to mean what they apparently mean. Why do we conclude the
murderer was there? - Because he left his tracks in the room? Good!
But may he not have been there before the room was locked. Nay, he
must have been there before! Let us look into the matter of these
traces and see if they do not point to my conclusion.

After the publication of the article in the 'Matin' and my
conversation with the examining magistrate on the journey from Paris
to Epinaysur-OrgeI was certain that The Yellow Room had been
hermetically sealedso to speakand that consequently the murderer
had escaped before Mademoiselle Stangerson had gone into her chamber
at midnight.

At the time I was much puzzled. Mademoiselle Stangerson could
not have been her own murderer, since the evidences pointed to some
other person. The assassin, then, had come before. If that were so,
how was it that Mademoiselle had been attacked after? or rather,
that she appeared to have been attacked after? It was necessary for
me to reconstruct the occurrence and make of it two phases - each
separated from the other, in time, by the space of several hours.
One phase in which Mademoiselle Stangerson had really been attacked

-the other phase in which those who heard her cries thought she
was being attacked. I had not then examined The Yellow Room. What
were the marks on Mademoiselle Stangerson? There were marks of
strangulation and the wound from a hard blow on the temple. The
marks of strangulation did not interest me much; they might have
been made before, and Mademoiselle Stangerson could have concealed
them by a collarette, or any similar article of apparel. I had to
suppose this the moment I was compelled to reconstruct the occurrence
by two phases. Mademoiselle Stangerson had, no doubt, her own
reasons for so doing, since she had told her father nothing of it,
and had made it understood to the examining magistrate that the
attack had taken place in the night, during the second phase. She
was forced to say that, otherwise her father would have questioned
her as to her reason for having said nothing about it.
But I could not explain the blow on the temple. I understood it
even less when I learned that the mutton-bone had been found in her
room. She could not hide the fact that she had been struck on the
headand yet that wound appeared evidently to have been inflicted
during the first phasesince it required the presence of the
murderer! I thought Mademoiselle Stangerson had hidden the wound
by arranging her hair in bands on her forehead.

As to the mark of the hand on the wall, that had evidently been
made during the first phase - when the murderer was really there.
All the traces of his presence had naturally been left during the
first phase; the mutton-bone, the black footprints, the Basque cap,
the handkerchief, the blood on the wall, on the door, and on the
floor. If those traces were still all there, they showed that


Mademoiselle Stangerson - who desired that nothing should be known

-had not yet had time to clear them away. This led me to the
conclusion that the two phases had taken place one shortly after
the other. She had not had the opportunity, after leaving her room
and going back to the laboratory to her father, to get back again
to her room and put it in order. Her father was all the time with
her, working. So that after the first phase she did not re-enter
her chamber till midnight. Daddy Jacques was there at ten o'clock,
as he was every night; but he went in merely to close the blinds
and light the night-light. Owing to her disturbed state of mind
she had forgotten that Daddy Jacques would go into her room and
had begged him not to trouble himself. All this was set forth in
the article in the 'Matin.' Daddy Jacques did go, however, and, in
the dim light of the room, saw nothing.
Mademoiselle Stangerson must have lived some anxious moments while
Daddy Jacques was absent; but I think she was not aware that so
many evidences had been left. After she had been attacked she had
only time to hide the traces of the man's fingers on her neck and
to hurry to the laboratory. Had she known of the bonethe cap
and the handkerchiefshe would have made away with them after she
had gone back to her chamber at midnight. She did not see themand
undressed by the uncertain glimmer of the night light. She went to
bedworn-out by anxiety and fear - a fear that had made her remain
in the laboratory as late as possible.

My reasoning had thus brought me to the second phase of the tragedy,
when Mademoiselle Stangerson was alone in the room. I had now to
explain the revolver shots fired during the second phase. Cries of
'Help! - Murder!' had been heard. How to explain these? As to the
cries, I was in no difficulty; since she was alone in her room these
could result from nightmare only. My explanation of the struggle and
noise that were heard is simply that in her nightmare she was haunted
by the terrible experience she had passed through in the afternoon.
In her dream she sees the murderer about to spring upon her and she
cries, 'Help! Murder!' Her hand wildly seeks the revolver she had
placed within her reach on the night-table by the side of her bed,
but her hand, striking the table, overturns it, and the revolver,
falling to the floor, discharges itself, the bullet lodging in the
ceiling. I knew from the first that the bullet in the ceiling must
have resulted from an accident. Its very position suggested an
accident to my mind, and so fell in with my theory of a nightmare.
I no longer doubted that the attack had taken place before
Mademoiselle had retired for the night. After wakening from her
rightful dream and crying aloud for help, she had fainted.

My theorybased on the evidence of the shots that were heard at
midnightdemanded two shots - one which wounded the murderer at
the time of his attackand one fired at the time of the nightmare.
The evidence given by the Berniers before the examining magistrate
was to the effect that only one shot had been heard. Monsieur
Stangerson testified to hearing a dull sound first followed by a
sharp ringing sound. The dull sound I explained by the falling of
the marble-topped table; the ringing sound was the shot from the
revolver. I was now convinced I was right. The shot that had
wounded the hand of the murderer and had caused it to bleed so that
he left the bloody imprint on the wall was fired by Mademoiselle in
self-defencebefore the second phasewhen she had been really
attacked. The shot in the ceiling which the Berniers heard was the
accidental shot during the nightmare.

I had now to explain the wound on the temple. It was not severe
enough to have been made by means of the mutton-bone, and
Mademoiselle had not attempted to hide it. It must have been made


during the second phase. It was to find this out that I went to
The Yellow Room, and I obtained my answer there.

Rouletabille drew a piece of white folded paper from his pocketand
drew out of it an almost invisible object which he held between his
thumb and forefinger.

This, Monsieur President,he saidis a hair - a blond hair
stained with blood; - it is a hair from the head of Mademoiselle
Stangerson. I found it sticking to one of the corners of the
overturned table. The corner of the table was itself stained with
blood - a tiny stain - hardly visible; but it told me that, on
rising from her bed, Mademoiselle Stangerson had fallen heavily
and had struck her head on the corner of its marble top.

I still had to learnin addition to the name of the assassin
which I did laterthe time of the original attack. I learned
this from the examination of Mademoiselle Stangerson and her
fatherthough the answers given by the former were well calculated
to deceive the examining magistrate - Mademoiselle Stangerson had
stated very minutely how she had spent the whole of her time that
day. We established the fact that the murderer had introduced
himself into the pavilion between five and six o'clock. At a
quarter past six the professor and his daughter had resumed their
work. At five the professor had been with his daughterand since
the attack took place in the professor's absence from his daughter
I had to find out just when he left her. The professor had stated
that at the time when he and his daughter were about to re-enter
the laboratory he was met by the keeper and held in conversation
about the cutting of some wood and the poachers. Mademoiselle
Stangerson was not with him then since the professor said: 'I left
the keeper and rejoined my daughter who was at work in the
laboratory.'

It was during that short interval of time that the tragedy took
place. That is certain. In my mind's eye I saw Mademoiselle
Stangerson re-enter the pavilion, go to her room to take off her
hat, and find herself faced by the murderer. He had been in the
pavilion for some time waiting for her. He had arranged to pass
the whole night there. He had taken off Daddy Jacques's boots; he
had removed the papers from the cabinet; and had then slipped under
the bed. Finding the time long, he had risen, gone again into the
laboratory, then into the vestibule, looked into the garden, and
had seen, coming towards the pavilion, Mademoiselle Stangerson

-alone. He would never have dared to attack her at that hour, if
he had not found her alone. His mind was made up. He would be
more at ease alone with Mademoiselle Stangerson in the pavilion,
than he would have been in the middle of the night, with Daddy
Jacques sleeping in the attic. So he shut the vestibule window.
That explains why neither Monsieur Stangerson, nor the keeper, who
were at some distance from the pavilion, had heard the revolver shot.
Then he went back to The Yellow Room. Mademoiselle Stangerson came
in. What passed must have taken place very quickly. Mademoiselle
tried to call for help; but the man had seized her by the throat.
Her hand had sought and grasped the revolver which she had been
keeping in the drawer of her night-tablesince she had come to
fear the threats of her pursuer. The murderer was about to strike
her on the head with the mutton-bone - a terrible weapon in the
hands of a Larsan or Ballmeyer; but she fired in timeand the shot
wounded the hand that held the weapon. The bone fell to the floor
covered with the blood of the murdererwho staggeredclutched at
the wall for support - imprinting on it the red marks - andfearing
another bulletfled.


She saw him pass through the laboratory, and listened. He was long
at the window. At length he jumped from it. She flew to it and
shut it. The danger past, all her thoughts were of her father. Had
he either seen or heard? At any cost to herself she must keep this
from him. Thus when Monsieur Stangerson returned, he found the door
of The Yellow Room closed, and his daughter in the laboratory,
bending over her desk, at work!

Turning towards Monsieur DarzacRouletabille cried: "You know the
truth! Tell usthenif that is not how things happened."

I don't know anything about it,replied Monsieur Darzac.

I admire you for your silence,said Rouletabillebut if
Mademoiselle Stangerson knew of your danger, she would release you
from your oath. She would beg of you to tell all she has confided
to you. She would be here to defend you!

Monsieur Darzac made no movementnor uttered a word. He looked
at Rouletabille sadly.

However,said the young reportersince Mademoiselle is not here,
I must do it myself. But, believe me, Monsieur Darzac, the only
means to save Mademoiselle Stangerson and restore her to her reason,
is to secure your acquittal.

What is this secret motive that compels Mademoiselle Stangerson to
hide her knowledge from her father?asked the President.

That, Monsieur, I do not know,said Rouletabile. "It is no
business of mine."

The Presidentturning to Monsieur Darzacendeavoured to induce
him to tell what he knew.

Do you still refuse, Monsieur, to tell us how you employed your
time during the attempts on the life of Mademoiselle Stangerson?

I cannot tell you anything, Monsieur.

The President turned to Rouletabille as if appealing for an
explanation.

We must assume, Monsieur President, that Monsieur Robert Darzac's
absensions are closely connected with Mademoiselle Stangerson's
secret, and that Monsieur Darzac feels himself in honour bound to
remain silent. It may be that Larsan, who, since his three attempts,
has had everything in training to cast suspicion on Monsieur Darzac,
had fixed on just those occasions for a meeting with Monsieur Darzac
at a spot most compromising. Larsan is cunning enough to have done
that.

The President seemed partly convincedbut still curioushe asked:

But what is this secret of Mademoiselle Stangerson?

That I cannot tell you,said Rouletabille. "I thinkhowever
you know enough now to acquit Monsieur Robert Darzac! Unless
Larsan should returnand I don't think he will he added, with
a laugh.

One question more said the President. Admitting your
explanationwe know that Larsan wished to turn suspicion on Monsieur


Robert Darzacbut why should he throw suspicion on Daddy Jacques
also?"

There came in the professional detective, Monsieur, who proves
himself an unraveller of mysteries, by annihilating the very proofs
he had accumulated. He's a very cunning man, and a similar trick
had often enabled him to turn suspicion from himself. He proved
the innocence of one before accusing the other. You can easily
believe, Monsieur, that so complicated a scheme as this must have
been long and carefully thought out in advance by Larsan. I can
tell you that he had long been engaged on its elaboration. If you
care to learn how he had gathered information, you will find that
he had, on one occasion, disguised himself as the commissionaire
between the 'Laboratory of the Surete' and Monsieur Stangerson, of
whom 'experiments' were demanded. In this way he had been able
before the crime, on two occasions to take stock of the pavilion.
He had 'made up' so that Daddy Jacques had not recognised him. And
yet Larsan had found the opportunity to rob the old man of a pair
of old boots and a cast-off Basque cap, which the servant had tied
up in a handkerchief, with the intention of carrying them to a
friend, a charcoal-burner on the road to Epinay. When the crime
was discovered, Daddy Jacques had immediately recognised these
objects as his. They were extremely compromising, which explains
his distress at the time when we spoke to him about them. Larsan
confessed it all to me. He is an artist at the game. He did a
similar thing in the affair of the 'Credit Universel,' and in that
of the 'Gold Ingots of the Mint.' Both these cases should be
revised. Since Ballmeyer or Larsan has been in the Surete a number
of innocent persons have been sent to prison.

CHAPTER XXVIII

In Which It Is Proved That One Does Not Always Think of Everything

Great excitement prevailed when Rouletabille had finished. The
court-room became agitated with the murmurings of suppressed
applause. Maitre Henri Robert called for an adjournment of the
trial and was supported in his motion by the public prosecutor
himself. The case was adjourned. The next day Monsieur Robert
Darzac was released on bailwhile Daddy Jacques received the
immediate benefit of a "no cause for action." Search was
everywhere made for Frederic Larsanbut in vain. Monsieur Darzac
finally escaped the awful calamity whichat one timehad
threatened him. After a visit to Mademoiselle Stangersonhe was
led to hope that she mightby careful nursingone day recover
her reason.

Rouletabillenaturallybecame the "man of the hour." On leaving
the Palais de Justicethe crowd bore him aloft in triumph. The
press of the whole world published his exploits and his photograph.
Hewho had interviewed so many illustrious personageshad himself
become illustrious and was interviewed in his turn. I am glad to
say that the enormous success in no way turned his head.

We left Versailles togetherafter having dined at "The Dog That
Smokes." In the train I put a number of questions to him which
during our mealhad been on the tip of my tonguebut which I had
refrained from utteringknowing he did not like to talk "shop"
while eating.


My friend,I saidthat Larsan case is wonderful. It is worthy
of you.

He begged me to say no more, and humorously pretended an anxiety
for me should I give way to silly praise of him because of a
personal admiration for his ability.

I'll come to the pointthen I said, not a little nettled. I
am still in the dark as to your reason for going to America. When
you left the Glandier you had found outif I rightly understand
all about Frederic Larsan; you had discovered the exact way he had
attempted the murder?"

Quite so. And you,he saidturning the conversationdid you
suspect nothing?

Nothing!

It's incredible!

I don't see how I could have suspected anything. You took great
pains to conceal your thoughts from me. Had you already suspected
Larsan when you sent for me to bring the revolvers?

Yes! I had come to that conclusion through the incident of the
'inexplicable gallery.' Larsan's return to Mademoiselle Stangerson's
room, however, had not then been cleared up by the eye-glasses. My
suspicions were the outcome of my reasoning only; and the idea of
Larsan being the murderer seemed so extraordinary that I resolved to
wait for actual evidence before venturing to act. Nevertheless, the
suspicion worried me, and I sometimes spoke to the detective in a
way that ought to have opened your eyes. I spoke disparagingly of
his methods. But until I found the eye-glasses I could but look
upon my suspicion of him in the light of an absurd hypothesis only.
You can imagine my elation after I had explained Larsan's movements.
I remember well rushing into my room like a mad-man and crying to
you: 'I'll get the better of the great Fred. I'll get the better
of him in a way that will make a sensation!'

I was then thinking of Larsanthe murderer. It was that same
evening that Darzac begged me to watch over Mademoiselle Stangerson.
I made no efforts until after we had dined with Larsanuntil ten
o'clock. He was right there before meand I could afford to wait.
You ought to have suspectedbecause when we were talking of the
murderer's arrivalI said to you: 'I am quite sure Larsan will be
here to-night.'

But one important point escaped us both. It was one which ought
to have opened our eyes to Larsan. Do you remember the bamboo cane?
I was surprised to find Larsan had made no use of that evidence
against Robert Darzac. Had it not been purchased by a man whose
description tallied exactly with that of Darzac? Well, just before
I saw him off at the train, after the recess during the trial, I
asked him why he hadn't used the cane evidence. He told me he had
never had any intention of doing so; that our discovery of it in
the little inn at Epinay had much embarrassed him. If you will
remember, he told us then that the cane had been given him in London.
Why did we not immediately say to ourselves: 'Fred is lying. He
could not have had this cane in London. He was not in London. He
bought it in Paris'? Then you found out, on inquiry at Cassette's,
that the cane had been bought by a person dressed very like Robert
Darzac, though, as we learned later, from Darzac himself, it was
not he who had made the purchase. Couple this with the fact we


already knew, from the letter at the poste restante, that there was
actually a man in Paris who was passing as Robert Darzac, why did
we not immediately fix on Fred himself?

Of coursehis position at the Surete was against us; but when we
saw the evident eagerness on his part to find convicting evidence
against Darzacnayeven the passion he displayed in his pursuit
of the manthe lie about the cane should have had a new meaning
for us. If you ask why Larsan bought the caneif he had no
intention of manufacturing evidence against Darzac by means of it
the answer is quite simple. He had been wounded in the hand by
Mademoiselle Stangersonso that the cane was useful to enable him
to close his hand in carrying it. You remember I noticed that he
always carried it?

All these details came back to my mind when I had once fixed on
Larsan as the criminal. But they were too late then to be of any
use to me. On the evening when he pretended to be drugged I looked
at his hand and saw a thin silk bandage covering the signs of a
slight healing wound. Had we taken a quicker initiative at the
time Larsan told us that lie about the cane, I am certain he would
have gone off, to avoid suspicion. All the same, we worried Larsan
or Ballmeyer without our knowing it.

But,I interruptedif Larsan had no intention of using the cane
as evidence against Darzac, why had he made himself up to look like
the man when he went in to buy it?

He had not specially 'made up' as Darzac to buy the cane; he had
come straight to Cassette's immediately after he had attacked
Mademoiselle Stangerson. His wound was troubling him and, as he
was passing along the Avenue de l'Opera, the idea of the cane came
to his mind and he acted on it. It was then eight o'clock. And
I, who had hit upon the very hour of the occurrence of the tragedy,
almost convinced that Darzac was not the criminal, and knowing of
the cane, I still never suspected Larsan. There are times ...

There are times,I saidwhen the greatest intellects -...
Rouletabille shut my mouth. I still continued to chide himbut
finding he did not replyI saw he was no longer paying any
attention to what I was saying. I found he was fast asleep.

CHAPTER XXIX

The Mystery of Mademoiselle Stangerson

During the days that followed I had several opportunities to question
him as to his reason for his voyage to Americabut I obtained no
more precise answers than he had given me on the evening of the
adjournment of the trialwhen we were on the train for Paris. One
dayhoweveron my still pressing himhe said:

Can't you understand that I had to know Larsan's true personality?

No doubt,I saidbut why did you go to America to find that out?

He sat smoking his pipeand made no further reply. I began to see
that I was touching on the secret that concerned Mademoiselle
Stangerson. Rouletabille evidently had found it necessary to go to


America to find out what the mysterious tie was that bound her to
Larsan by so strange and terrible a bond. In America he had learned
who Larsan was and had obtained information which closed his mouth.
He had been to Philadelphia.

And nowwhat was this mystery which held Mademoiselle Stangerson
and Monsieur Robert Darzac in so inexplicable a silence? After so
many years and the publicity given the case by a curious and
shameless press; now that Monsieur Stangerson knows all and has
forgiven allall may be told. In every phase of this remarkable
story Mademoiselle Stangerson had always been the sufferer.

The beginning dates from the time whenas a young girlshe was
living with her father in Philadelphia. A visitor at the house
a Frenchmanhad succeeded by his witgrace and persistent
attentionin gaining her affections. He was said to be rich and
had asked her of her father. Monsieur Stangersonon making
inquiries as to Monsieur Jean Rousselfound that the man was a
swindler and an adventurer. Jean Roussel was but another of the
many names under which the notorious Ballmeyera fugitive from
Francetried to hide himself. Monsieur Stangerson did not know
of his identity with Ballmeyer; he learned that the man was simply
undesirable for his daughter. He not only refused to give his
consent to the marriage but denied him admission into the house.
Mathilde Stangersonhoweverhad fallen in love. To her Jean
Roussel was everything that her love painted him. She was indignant
at her father's attitudeand did not conceal her feelings. Her
father sent her to stay with an aunt in Cincinnati. There she was
joined by Jean Roussel andin spite of the reverence she felt for
her fatherran away with him to get married.

They went to Louisville and lived there for some time. One morning
howevera knock came at the door of the house in which they were
and the police entered to arrest Jean Roussel. It was then that
Mathilde Stangersonor Roussellearned that her husband was no
other than the notorious Ballmeyer!

The young woman in her despair tried to commit suicide. She failed
in thisand was forced to rejoin her aunt in CincinnatiThe old
lady was overjoyed to see her again. She had been anxiously
searching for her and had not dared to tell Monsieur Stangerson of
her disappearance. Mathilde swore her to secrecyso that her father
should not know she had been away. A month laterMademoiselle
Stangerson returned to her fatherrepentanther heart dead within
herhoping only one thing: that she would never again see her
husbandthe horrible Ballmeyer. A report was spreada few weeks
laterthat he was deadand she now determined to atone for her
disobedience by a life of labour and devotion for her father. And
she kept her word.

All this she had confessed to Robert Darzacandbelieving Ballmeyer
deadhad given herself to the joy of a union with him. But fate had
resuscitated Jean Roussel - the Ballmeyer of her youth. He had taken
steps to let her know that he would never allow her to marry Darzac

-that he still loved her.
Mademoiselle Stangerson never for one moment hesitated to confide
in Monsieur Darzac. She showed him the letter in which Jean Roussel
asked her to recall the first hours of their union in their beautiful
and charming Louisville home. "The presbytery has lost nothing of
its charmnor the garden its brightness he had written. The
scoundrel pretended to be rich and claimed the right of taking her
back to Louisville. She had told Darzac that if her father should
know of her dishonour, she would kill herself. Monsieur Darzac had


sworn to silence her persecutor, even if he had to kill him. He
was outwitted and would have succumbed had it not been for the
genius of Rouletabille.

Mademoiselle Stangerson was herself helpless in the hands of such a
villain. She had tried to kill him when he had first threatened and
then attacked her in The Yellow Room. She had, unfortunately,
failed, and felt herself condemned to be for ever at the mercy of
this unscrupulous wretch who was continually demanding her presence
at clandestine interviews. When he sent her the letter through the
Post Office, asking her to meet him, she had refused. The result
of her refusal was the tragedy of The Yellow Room. The second time
he wrote asking for a meeting, the letter reaching her in her sick
chamber, she had avoided him by sleeping with her servants. In that
letter the scoundrel had warned her that, since she was too ill to
come to him, he would come to her, and that he would be in her
chamber at a particular hour on a particular night. Knowing that
she had everything to fear from Ballmeyer, she had left her chamber
on that night. It was then that the incident of the inexplicable
gallery" occurred.

The third time she had determined to keep the appointment. He
asked for it in the letter he had written in her own roomon the
night of the incident in the gallerywhich he left on her desk.
In that letter he threatened to burn her father's papers if she
did not meet him. It was to rescue these papers that she made up
her mind to see him. She did not for one moment doubt that the
wretch would carry out his threat if she persisted in avoiding him
and in that case the labours of her father's lifetime would be for
ever lost. Since the meeting was thus inevitableshe resolved to
see her husband and appeal to his better nature. It was for this
interview that she had prepared herself on the night the keeper was
killed. They did meetand what passed between them may be imagined.
He insisted that she renounce Darzac. Sheon her partaffirmed
her love for him. He stabbed her in his angerdetermined to convict
Darzac of the crime. As Larsan he could do itand had so managed
things that Darzac could never explain how he had employed the time
of his absence from the chateau. Ballmeyer's precautions were most
cunningly taken.

Larsan had threatened Darzac as he had threatened Mathilde - with
the same weaponand the same threats. He wrote Darzac urgent
lettersdeclaring himself ready to deliver up the letters that had
passed between him and his wifeand to leave them for everif he
would pay him his price. He asked Darzac to meet him for the
purpose of arranging the matterappointing the time when Larsan
would be with Mademoiselle Stangerson. When Darzac went to Epinay
expecting to find Ballmeyer or Larsan therehe was met by an
accomplice of Larsan'sand kept waiting until such time as the
coincidencecould be established.

It was all done with Machiavellian cunning; but Ballmeyer had
reckoned without Joseph Rouletabille.

Now that the Mystery of The Yellow Room has been cleared upthis
is not the time to tell of Rouletabile's adventures in America.
Knowing the young reporter as we dowe can understand with what
acumen he had tracedstep by stepthe story of Mathilde Stangerson
and Jean Roussel. At Philadelphia he had quickly informed himself
as to Arthur William Rance. There he learned of Rance's act of
devotion and the reward he thought himself entitled to for it. A
rumour of his marriage with Mademoiselle Stangerson had once found
its way into the drawing-rooms of Philadelphia. He also learned of
Rance's continued attentions to her and his importunities for her


hand. He had taken to drinkhe had saidto drown his grief at
his unrequited love. It can now be understood why Rouletabille
had shown so marked a coolness of demeanour towards Rance when they
met in the witnesses' roomon the day of the trial.

The strange Roussel-Stangerson mystery had now been laid bare. Who
was this Jean Roussel? Rouletabille had traced him from Philadelphia
to Cincinnati. In Cincinnati he became acquainted with the old aunt
and had found means to open her mouth. The story of Ballmeyer's
arrest threw the right light on the whole story. He visited the
presbytery- a small and pretty dwelling in the old colonial style

-which hadindeedlost nothing of its charm.Thenabandoning
his pursuit of traces of Mademoiselle Stangersonhe took up those
of Ballmeyer. He followed them from prison to prisonfrom crime
to crime. Finallyas he was about leaving for Europehe learned
in New York that Ballmeyer hadfive years beforeembarked for
France with some valuable papers belonging to a merchant of New
Orleans whom he had murdered.
And yet the whole of this mystery has not been revealed.
Mademoiselle Stangerson had a childby her husband- a son. The
infant was born in the old aunt's house. No one knew of itso
well had the aunt managed to conceal the event.

What became of that son? - That is another story whichso farI
am not permitted to relate.

About two months after these eventsI came upon Rouletabille sitting
on a bench in the Palais de Justicelooking very depressed.

What's the matter, old man?I asked. "You are looking very down.
cast. How are your friends getting on?"

Apart from you,he saidI have no friends.

I hope that Monsieur Darzac -

No doubt.

And Mademoiselle Stangerson - How is she?

Better - much better.

Then you ought not to be sad.

I am sad,he saidbecause I am thinking of the perfume of the
lady in black -

The perfume of the lady in black! - I have heard you often refer
to it. Tell me why it troubles you.

Perhaps - some day; some day,said Rouletabille.

And he heaved a profound sigh.