The Mystery of the Yellow Room

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

  "Cannot English people buy canes in Paris?"

  When Rouletabille had seen me into the train, he said:

  "You'll remember the address?"

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

  tomorrow morning."

  That evening, on reaching Paris, I saw Monsieur Cassette, dealer in

  walking-sticks and umbrellas, and 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 November, to 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 said, I think, that at that period, being a young

  barrister with but few briefs, I frequented the Palais de Justice

  rather for the purpose of familiarising myself with my professional

  duties than for the defence of the widow and orphan. I could,

  therefore, feel no surprise at Rouletabille disposing of my time.

  Moreover, he knew how keenly interested I was in his journalistic

  adventures in general and, above all, in the murder at the Glandier.

  I had not heard from him for a week, nor of the progress made with

  that mysterious case, except 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 mutton-bone, as well as fresh traces of

  the blood of Mademoiselle Stangerson--the old stains belonged to

  other crimes, probably 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 me, however, that the judicial

  inquiry was making but very little progress; and I should have been

  very glad, if, on the receipt of my friend's invitation to rejoin

  him at the Glandier, the 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. Now, I confess it

  without shame, I am not a hero. But here was a friend, evidently

  in danger, calling on me to go to his aid. I did not hesitate long;

  and after assuring myself that the only revolver I possessed was

  properly loaded, I 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. However, a cab was waiting for me and I was soon at the

  Glandier. Nobody was at the gate, and 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 me, inquiring 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. However, I 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 Rouletabille, "I'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 it, for my theory won't

  allow me to occupy myself with mere imagination. Only, as I am

  obliged for the moment to keep silent, and 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 Darzac, much more convincing than that

  cane, which remains incomprehensible to me, all 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 theory, but 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

  af
fords 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 possibility 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 both, he

  pronounced them excellent, and 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 said, "this is no time for laughing. You remember the

  phrase which was the 'open sesame' of this chateau full of mystery?"

  "Yes," I said, "perfectly,--'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 who, that evening, was scented with the perfume of the lady in

  black, was dressed in white. She was wonderfully beautiful. I

  could not help rising and following her. An old man gave her his

  arm and, as they passed, I 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 me, and I distinctly heard Mademoiselle

  Stangerson repeat, as she was refolding the paper: 'The presbytery

  has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its brightness!'--It

  was said in a tone at once mocking and despairing, and 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 crime, then, to 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 thought, from the movement of his shoulders, that he was

  crying. Then they went away.

  "When I returned to the great gallery," continued Rouletabille, "I

  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 evening, and 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 crime, then, to win you?'

  recurred to me. It was not this phrase, however, that I repeated to

  him, when 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 murderer, I

  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 that, on 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 this, he 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 tears, and 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 agitated, and I determined to take advantage

  of the effect I had produced on him. 'You were on the point of

  being married, Monsieur,' 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 her, so that she should not be able to

  marry!' And I concluded with these words: 'Now, monsieur, you have

  only to tell me in confidence the name of the murderer!'--The words

  I had uttered must have struck him ominously, for when I turned my

  eyes on him, I saw that his face was haggard, the perspiration

  standing on his forehead, and 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 charm, nor the garden its brightness." The judges

  must know nothing about that phrase. All this matter is in your

  hands. Monsieur, I 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 Glandier, Monsieur; 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 friend, and 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

  Glandier 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 cried, "What 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