The Mystery of the Yellow Room, Page 4

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 estate, fifteen

  years before the tragedy with which we are engaged occurred, the

  Chateau du Glandier had for a long time been unoccupied. Another

  old chateau in the neighbourhood, built in the fourteenth century

  by Jean de Belmont, was also abandoned, so that that part of the

  country was very little inhabited. Some small houses on the side

  of the road leading to Corbeil, an inn, called the "Auberge du

  Donjon," which offered passing hospitality to waggoners; these

  were about all to represent civilisation in this out-of-the-way

  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 turn, the 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 two, father and daughter, that they showed

  themselves only at a few official receptions and, at certain times

  in the year, in two or three friendly drawing-rooms, where 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 years, they 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 young, and it seemed that, having found no reason for

  marrying at five-and-thirty, she 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.

  Suddenly, some weeks before the events with which we are occupied,

  a report--to which nobody attached any importance, so incredible

  did it sound--was spread about Paris, that 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 truth, so unlikely did it seem to be well founded.

  One day, however, Monsieur Stangerson, as he was leaving the Academy

  of Science, announced that the marriage of his daughter and Monsieur

  Robert Darzac would be celebrated in the privacy of the Chateau du

  Glandier, as 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 news, when 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 details, known 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 minutes, by the side

  of a long wall bounding the vast property of Monsieur Stangerson and

  had already come within sight of the entrance gate, when our

  attention was drawn to an individual who, half 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 hands, and walked away with rapid strides. Finally he set

  off running, still 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 him, but I knew him well by reputation.

  At that time, before Rouletabille had given proof of his unique

  talent, Larsan was reputed as the most skilful unraveller of the

  most mysterious and complicated crimes. His reputation was

  world-wide, and the police of London, and even of America, often

  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 astonished, then, that the head of the Surete had, at the

  outset of the mystery of The Yellow Room, telegraphed his precious

  subordinate to London, where he had been sent on a big case of

  stolen securities, to return with all haste. Frederic who, at the

  Surete, was 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 watch, the minute hand of which he appeared

  to be noting intently. Then he turned back still running, stopping

  only when he reached the park gate, where he again consulted his

  watch and then put it away in his pocket, shrugging his shoulders

  with a gesture of discouragement. He pushed open the park gate,

  reclosed and locked it, raised his head and, through the bars,

  perceived us. Rouletabille rushed after him, and I followed.

  Frederic Larsan waited for us.

  "Monsieur Fred," said Rouletabille, raising his hat and showing the

  profound respect, based on admiration, which the young reporter felt

  for the celebrated detective, "can 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 Fred, shaking

  hands with my friend, whom 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

  Rouletabille, pointing 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 irony, "you 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 Larsan, shaking his head.

  "Because there were no accomplices!" said Rouletabille.

  "Aha!--you have an idea, then, about this matter?" said Larsan,

  looking at Rouletabille intently, "yet 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

  eloquence, not only of the mouth and eyes, but with all its features,

  that I could not refrain from bursting into laughter. Frederic

  Larsan, no more than myself, could retain his gravity. Meanwhile,

  standing on the other side of the gate, he calmly put the key in

  his pocket. I closely scrutinised him.

  He might be about fifty years of age. He had a fine head, his hair

  turning grey; a colourless complexion, and a firm profile. His

  forehead was prominent, his chin and cheeks clean shaven. His upper

  lip, without moustache, was finely chiselled. His eyes were rather

  small and round, with a look in them that was at once searching and

  disquieting. He was of middle height and well built, with a general

  bearing elegant and gentlemanly. There was nothing about him of

  the vulgar policeman. In his way, he was an artist, and 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 Larsan, "if 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 him, explaining that he was pressed

  for time to catch the next train leaving Epinay for Paris. Then he

  recognised me. While Larsan was unlocking the gate, Monsieur Darzac

  inquired what had brought me to the Glandier at such a tragic moment.

  I noticed that he was frightfully pale, and 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 key, or

  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 chateau, the imposing

  pile of which could be perceived a few hundred yards away.

  Robert Darzac, with knit brow, was beginning to show impatience. I

  presented Rouletabille as a good friend
of mine, but, as soon as he

  learnt that the young man was a journalist, he looked at me very

  reproachfully, excused himself, under the necessity of having to

  reach Epinay in twenty minutes, bowed, and whipped up his horse.

  But Rouletabille had seized the bridle and, to 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 was, he became paler. His eyes

  were fixed on the young man in terror, and he immediately

  descended from the vehicle in an inexpressible state of agitation.

  "Come!--come in!" he stammered.

  Then, suddenly, and with a sort of fury, he repeated:

  "Let us go, monsieur."

  He turned up by the road he had come from the chateau, Rouletabille

  still retaining his hold on the horse's bridle. I addressed a few

  words to Monsieur Darzac, but he made no answer. My looks

  questioned Rouletabille, but his gaze was elsewhere.

  CHAPTER VI

  In the Heart of the Oak Grove

  We reached the chateau, and, as we approached it, saw four

  gendarmes pacing in front of a little door in the ground floor of

  the donjon. We soon learned that in this ground floor, which had

  formerly served as a prison, Monsieur and Madame Bernier, the

  concierges, were confined. Monsieur Robert Darzac led us into the

  modern part of the chateau by a large door, protected 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 furniture, Monsieur 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 understood, what I also understood, that 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 and, referring to me, said:

  "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

  audacity, he 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,

  but, on the contrary, by a visibly violent effort, he calmed himself,

  took off his gloves, and 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 impertinent, insulting, and stupid friend.

  I was angry myself with Rouletabille at that moment, for his

  suspicions, which had led to this scene of the gloves.

  For some twenty minutes I walked about in front of the chateau,