Le mystère de la chambre jaune. English

  CHAPTER XI. In Which Frederic Larsan Explains How the Murderer Was Ableto Get Out of The Yellow Room

  Among the mass of papers, legal documents, memoirs, and extracts fromnewspapers, which I have collected, relating to the mystery of TheYellow Room, there is one very interesting piece; it is a detail of thefamous examination which took place that afternoon, in the laboratory ofProfessor Stangerson, before the Chief of the Surete. This narrative isfrom the pen of Monsieur Maleine, the Registrar, who, like the examiningmagistrate, had spent some of his leisure time in the pursuit ofliterature. The piece was to have made part of a book which, however,has never been published, and which was to have been entitled: "MyExaminations." It was given to me by the Registrar himself, some timeafter the astonishing denouement to this case, and is unique in judicialchronicles.

  Here it is. It is not a mere dry transcription of questions and answers,because the Registrar often intersperses his story with his own personalcomments.

  THE REGISTRAR'S NARRATIVE

  The examining magistrate and I (the writer relates) found ourselves inThe Yellow Room in the company of the builder who had constructed thepavilion after Professor Stangerson's designs. He had a workman withhim. Monsieur de Marquet had had the walls laid entirely bare; that isto say, he had had them stripped of the paper which had decorated them.Blows with a pick, here and there, satisfied us of the absence of anysort of opening. The floor and the ceiling were thoroughly sounded.We found nothing. There was nothing to be found. Monsieur de Marquetappeared to be delighted and never ceased repeating:

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

  Then suddenly, with a radiant face, he called to the officer in chargeof the gendarmes.

  "Go to the chateau," he said, "and request Monsieur Stangerson andMonsieur Robert Darzac to come to me in the laboratory, also DaddyJacques; and let your men bring here the two concierges."

  Five minutes later all were assembled in the laboratory. The Chief ofthe Surete, who had arrived at the Glandier, joined us at that moment.I was seated at Monsieur Stangerson's desk ready for work, when Monsieurde Marquet made us the following little speech--as original as it wasunexpected:

  "With your permission, gentlemen--as examinations lead to nothing--wewill, for once, abandon the old system of interrogation. I will nothave you brought before me one by one, but we will all remain here as weare,--Monsieur Stangerson, Monsieur Robert Darzac, Daddy Jacques and thetwo concierges, the Chief of the Surete, the Registrar, and myself. Weshall all be on the same footing. The concierges may, for the moment,forget that they have been arrested. We are going to confer together. Weare on the spot where the crime was committed. We have nothing else todiscuss but the crime. So let us discuss it freely--intelligently orotherwise, so long as we speak just what is in our minds. There need beno formality or method since this won't help us in any way."

  Then, passing before me, he said in a low voice:

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

  I turned my eyes on Monsieur Stangerson. The hope he had received fromthe doctor's latest reports, which stated that Mademoiselle Stangersonmight recover from her wounds, had not been able to efface from hisnoble features the marks of the great sorrow that was upon him. Hehad believed his daughter to be dead, and he was still broken by thatbelief. His clear, soft, blue eyes expressed infinite sorrow. I had hadoccasion, many times, to see Monsieur Stangerson at public ceremonies,and from the first had been struck by his countenance, which seemed aspure as that of a child--the dreamy gaze with the sublime and mysticalexpression of the inventor and thinker.

  On those occasions his daughter was always to be seen either followinghim or by his side; for they never quitted each other, it was said, andhad shared the same labours for many years. The young lady, who wasthen five and thirty, though she looked no more than thirty, had devotedherself entirely to science. She still won admiration for her imperialbeauty which had remained intact, without a wrinkle, withstanding timeand love. Who would have dreamed that I should one day be seated by herpillow with my papers, and that I should see her, on the point of death,painfully recounting to us the most monstrous and most mysterious crimeI have heard of in my career? Who would have thought that I should be,that afternoon, listening to the despairing father vainly trying toexplain how his daughter's assailant had been able to escape from him?Why bury ourselves with our work in obscure retreats in the depths ofwoods, if it may not protect us against those dangerous threats to lifewhich meet us in the busy cities?

  "Now, Monsieur Stangerson," said Monsieur de Marquet, with somewhatof an important air, "place yourself exactly where you were whenMademoiselle Stangerson left you to go to her chamber."

  Monsieur Stangerson rose and, standing at a certain distance from thedoor of The Yellow Room, said, in an even voice and without the leasttrace 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 chemicalexperiment at the furnaces of the laboratory, needing all the spacebehind me, I had my desk moved here by Daddy Jacques, who spent theevening in cleaning some of my apparatus. My daughter had been workingat the same desk with me. When it was her time to leave she rose, kissedme, and bade Daddy Jacques goodnight. She had to pass behind my deskand the door to enter her chamber, and she could do this only with somedifficulty. That is to say, I was very near the place where the crimeoccurred later."

  "And the desk?" I asked, obeying, in thus mixing myself in theconversation, the express orders of my chief, "as soon as you heardthe cry of 'murder' followed by the revolver shots, what became of thedesk?"

  Daddy Jacques answered.

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

  I followed up my reasoning, to which, however, I attached but littleimportance, regarding it as only a weak hypothesis, with anotherquestion.

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

  "You are forgetting," interrupted Monsieur Stangerson wearily, "thatmy daughter had locked and bolted her door, that the door had remainedfastened, 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 andmy poor child was going on--immediately after we heard her stifled criesas she was being held by the fingers that have left their red markupon her throat. Rapid as the attack was, we were no less rapid in ourendeavors to get into the room where the tragedy was taking place."

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

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

  "Ah!" cried Daddy Jacques, "it is an old and solid door that was broughtfrom the chateau--they don't make such doors now. We had to use this barof iron to get it open, all four of us--for the concierge, brave womanshe is, helped us. It pains me to find them both in prison now."

  Daddy Jacques had no sooner uttered these words of pity and protestationthan tears and lamentations broke out from the concierges. I never sawtwo accused people crying more bitterly. I was extremely disgusted. Evenif they were innocent, I could not understand how they could behave likethat in the face of misfortune. A dignified bearing at such times isbetter than tears and groans, which, most often, are 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 thepavilion at the time your mistress was being attacked; for you wereclose 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 breadagain!" 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 swore, by heaven and all the saints,that 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 asleepwhen the first shot was fired."

  "Two shots were fired," said Daddy Jacques. "I am certain that all thecartridges were in my revolver. We found afterward that two had beenexploded, and we heard two shots behind the door. Was not that so,Monsieur Stangerson?"

  "Yes," replied the Professor, "there were two shots, one dull, and theother sharp and ringing."

  "Why do you persist in lying?" cried Monsieur de Marquet, turning to theconcierges. "Do you think the police are the fools you are? Everythingpoints to the fact that you were out of doors and near the pavilionat the time of the tragedy. What were you doing there? So far as I amconcerned," he said, turning to Monsieur Stangerson, "I can only explainthe escape of the murderer on the assumption of help from these twoaccomplices. As soon as the door was forced open, and while you,Monsieur Stangerson, were occupied with your unfortunate child, theconcierge and his wife facilitated the flight of the murderer, who,screening himself behind them, reached the window in the vestibule, andsprang out of it into the park. The concierge closed the window afterhim and fastened the blinds, which certainly could not have closed andfastened of themselves. That is the conclusion I have arrived at. Ifanyone here has any other idea, let him state it."

  Monsieur Stangerson intervened:

  "What you say was impossible. I do not believe either in the guilt orin the connivance of my concierges, though I cannot understand whatthey were doing in the park at that late hour of the night. I say it wasimpossible, because Madame Bernier held the lamp and did not move fromthe threshold of the room; because I, as soon as the door was forcedopen, threw myself on my knees beside my daughter, and no one could haveleft or entered the room by the door, without passing over her body andforcing his way by me! Daddy Jacques and the concierge had but to casta 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 Dax,the Chief of the Surete who, so far, had been listening and examiningthe room, at length deigned to open his lips:

  "While search is being made for the criminal, we had better try to findout the motive for the crime; that will advance us a little," hesaid. Turning towards Monsieur Stangerson, he continued, in the even,intelligent tone indicative of a strong character, "I understand thatMademoiselle 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--toMonsieur Robert Darzac."

  "Mademoiselle Stangerson is much better and is rapidly recoveringfrom 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 seemedagitated. I saw that his hand trembled as it fingered his watchchain.Monsieur Dax coughed, as did Monsieur de Marquet. Both were evidentlyembarrassed.

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

  Monsieur Stangerson made a visible effort to recover himself.

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

  Monsieur Darzac, whose pallor at that moment seemed to me to bealtogether abnormal, made a sign of assent. I gathered he was unable tospeak.

  "I want you to know then," continued Monsieur Stangerson, "that mydaughter 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 herto marry. We have known Monsieur Robert Darzac many years. He lovesmy child; and I believed that she loved him; because she only recentlyconsented to this marriage which I desire with all my heart. I am an oldman, Monsieur, and it was a happy hour to me when I knew that, after Ihad gone, she would have at her side, one who loved her and who wouldhelp her in continuing our common labours. I love and esteem MonsieurDarzac both for his greatness of heart and for his devotion to science.But, two days before the tragedy, for I know not what reason, mydaughter declared to me that she would never marry Monsieur Darzac."

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

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

  "She told me she was too old to marry--that she had waited too long. Shesaid she had given much thought to the matter and while she had a greatesteem, even affection, for Monsieur Darzac, she felt it would be betterif things remained as they were. She would be happy, she said, to seethe relations between ourselves and Monsieur Darzac become closer, butonly 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," MonsieurStangerson 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 incharge of the gendarmes entered and handed a card to the examiningmagistrate. Monsieur de Marquet read it and uttered a half angryexclamation:

  "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 MonsieurJoseph Rouletabille. It has these words written on it: 'One of themotives of the crime was robbery.'"

  The Chief smiled.

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

  Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille was allowed to enter. I had made hisacquaintance in the train that morning on the way to Epinay-sur-Orge.He had introduced himself almost against my wish into our compartment. Ihad better say at once that his manners, and the arrogance with whichhe assumed to know what was incomprehensible even to us, impressed himunfavourably on my mind. I do not like journalists. They are a classof writers to be avoided as the pest. They think that everything ispermissible and they respect nothing. Grant them the least favour, allowthem even to approach you, and you never can tell what annoyance theymay give you. This one appears to be scarcely twenty years old, and theeffrontery with which he dared to question us and discuss the matterwith us made him particularly obnoxious to me. Besides, he had a way ofexpressing himself that left us guessing as to whether he was mocking usor not. I know quite well that the 'Epoque' is an influential paper withwhich it is well to be on good terms, but the paper ought not to allowitself to be represented by sneaking reporters.

  Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille entered the laboratory, bowed to us, andwaited for Monsieur de Marquet to ask him to explain his presence.

  "You
pretend, Monsieur, that you know the motive for the crime, andthat that motive--in the face of all the evidence that has beenforthcoming--was robbery?"

  "No, Monsieur, I do not pretend that. I do not say that robbery was themotive 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 vestibule, and we did.He led us towards the lavatory and begged Monsieur de Marquet to kneelbeside him. This lavatory is lit by the glass door, and, when thedoor was open, the light which penetrated was sufficient to light itperfectly. Monsieur de Marquet and Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille kneltdown on the threshold, and the young man pointed to a spot on thepavement.

  "The stones of the lavatory have not been washed by Daddy Jacques forsome time," he said; "that can be seen by the layer of dust that coversthem. Now, notice here, the marks of two large footprints and the blackash they left where they have been. That ash is nothing else than thecharcoal dust that covers the path along which you must pass through theforest, in order to get directly from Epinay to the Glandier. You knowthere is a little village of charcoal-burners at that place, who makelarge quantities of charcoal. What the murderer did was to come here atmidday, when there was nobody at the pavilion, and attempt his robbery."

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

  "Was this?" interrupted Monsieur de Marquet, still on his knees.

  "Evidently," said Rouletabille.

  And Monsieur de Marquet explained that there were on the dust ofthe pavement marks of two footsteps, as well as the impression,freshly-made, of a heavy rectangular parcel, the marks of the cord withwhich it had been fastened being easily distinguished.

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

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

  "Ah,--Indeed!" exclaimed Monsieur de Marquet, disagreeably, casting aside-glance at Monsieur Darzac, who remained perfectly silent.

  "When I saw the mark of the parcel by the side of the footprints, I hadno doubt as to the robbery," replied Monsieur Rouletabille. "The thiefhad not brought a parcel with him; he had made one here--a parcel withthe stolen objects, no doubt; and he put it in this corner intendingto take it away when the moment came for him to make his escape. He hadalso placed his heavy boots beside the parcel,--for, see--there are nomarks of steps leading to the marks left by the boots, which were placedside by side. That accounts for the fact that the murderer left notrace of his steps when he fled from The Yellow Room, nor any in thelaboratory, nor in the vestibule. After entering The Yellow Room in hisboots, he took them off, finding them troublesome, or because he wishedto make as little noise as possible. The marks made by him in goingthrough the vestibule and the laboratory were subsequently washed outby Daddy Jacques. Having, for some reason or other, taken off his boots,the murderer carried them in his hand and placed them by the side of theparcel he had made,--by that time the robbery had been accomplished. Theman then returned to The Yellow Room and slipped under the bed, wherethe mark of his body is perfectly visible on the floor and even on themat, which has been slightly moved from its place and creased. Fragmentsof straw also, recently torn, bear witness to the murderer's movementsunder 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 wastrying to hide himself quickly on seeing, through the vestibule window,Monsieur and Mademoiselle Stangerson about to enter the pavilion. Itwould have been much easier for him to have climbed up to the attic andhidden there, waiting for an opportunity to get away, if his purpose hadbeen 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 knowyet how the murderer succeeded in getting away, we can at any rate seehow 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 andfound Monsieur Stangerson, his eyes haggard, his limbs trembling,pointing to a sort of bookcase which he had opened, and which, we saw,was empty. At the same instant he sank into the large armchair that wasplaced before the desk and groaned, the tears rolling down his cheeks,"I have been robbed again! For God's sake, do not say a word of this tomy daughter. She would be more pained than I am." He heaved a deep sighand added, in a tone I shall never forget: "After all, what does itmatter,--so long as she lives!"

  "She will live!" said Monsieur Darzac, in a voice strangely touching.

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

  "Twenty years of my life," replied the illustrious professor sadly, "orrather of our lives--the lives of myself and my daughter! Yes, ourmost precious documents, the records of our secret experiments and ourlabours of twenty years were in that cabinet. It is an irreparable lossto us and, I venture to say, to science. All the processes by which Ihad been able to arrive at the precious proof of the destructibility ofmatter were there--all. The man who came wished to take all from me,--mydaughter and my work--my heart and my soul."

  And the great scientist wept like a child.

  We stood around him in silence, deeply affected by his great distress.Monsieur Darzac pressed closely to his side, and tried in vain torestrain his tears--a sight which, for the moment, almost made me likehim, in spite of an instinctive repulsion which his strange demeanourand his inexplicable anxiety had inspired me.

  Monsieur Rouletabille alone,--as if his precious time and missionon earth did not permit him to dwell in the contemplation on humansuffering--had, very calmly, stepped up to the empty cabinet and,pointing at it, broke the almost solemn silence. He entered intoexplanations, for which there was no need, as to why he had been ledto believe that a robbery had been committed, which included thesimultaneous discovery he had made in the lavatory, and the emptyprecious cabinet in the laboratory. The first thing that had struck him,he said, was the unusual form of that piece of furniture. It was verystrongly built of fire-proof iron, clearly showing that it was intendedfor the keeping of most valuable objects. Then he noticed that the keyhad been left in the lock. "One does not ordinarily have a safe andleave it open!" he had said to himself. This little key, with its brasshead and complicated wards, had strongly attracted him,--its presencehad suggested robbery.

  Monsieur de Marquet appeared to be greatly perplexed, as if he didnot know whether he ought to be glad of the new direction given to theinquiry by the young reporter, or sorry that it had not been done byhimself. In our profession and for the general welfare, we have to putup with such mortifications and bury selfish feelings. That was whyMonsieur de Marquet controlled himself and joined his compliments withthose of Monsieur Dax. As for Monsieur Rouletabille, he simply shruggedhis shoulders and said: "There's nothing at all in that!" I should haveliked to box his ears, especially when he added: "You will do well,Monsieur, to ask Monsieur Stangerson who usually kept that key?"

  "My daughter," replied Monsieur Stangerson, "she was never without it.

  "Ah! then that changes the aspect of things which no longer correspondswith Monsieur Rouletabille's ideas!" cried Monsieur de Marquet. "If thatkey never left Mademoiselle Stangerson, the murderer must have waitedfor her in her room for the purpose of stealing it; and the robberycould not have been committed until after the attack had been made onher. But after the attack fo
ur persons were in the laboratory! I can'tmake it out!"

  "The robbery," said the reporter, "could only have been committed beforethe attack upon Mademoiselle Stangerson in her room. When the murdererentered 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, datedthe 21st of October (I recall the fact that the crime was committed onthe night between the 24th and 25th), and showing us an advertisement,he read:

  "'Yesterday a black satin reticule was lost in the Grands Magasins dela Louvre. It contained, amongst other things, a small key with a brasshead. 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 thisthe key? I always read advertisements. In my business, as in yours,Monsieur, one should always read the personals.' They are often the keysto intrigues, that are not always brass-headed, but which are none theless interesting. This advertisement interested me specially; the womanof the key surrounded it with a kind of mystery. Evidently she valuedthe key, since she promised a big reward for its restoration! And Ithought on these six letters: M. A. T. H. S. N. The first four at oncepointed to a Christian name; evidently I said Math is Mathilde. But Icould make nothing of the two last letters. So I threw the journalaside and occupied myself with other matters. Four days later, when theevening paper appeared with enormous head-lines announcing the murder ofMademoiselle Stangerson, the letters in the advertisement mechanicallyrecurred to me. I had forgotten the two last letters, S. N. When I sawthem again I could not help exclaiming, 'Stangerson!' I jumped intoa cab and rushed into the bureau No. 40, asking: 'Have you a letteraddressed to M. A. T. H. S. N.?' The clerk replied that he had not. Iinsisted, begged and entreated him to search. He wanted to know if Iwere playing a joke on him, and then told me that he had had a letterwith the initials M. A. T. H. S. N, but he had given it up three daysago, to a lady who came for it. 'You come to-day to claim the letter,and the day before yesterday another gentleman claimed it! I've hadenough of this,' he concluded angrily. I tried to question him as to thetwo persons who had already claimed the letter; but whether he wished toentrench himself behind professional secrecy,--he may have thought thathe had already said too much,--or whether he was disgusted at the jokethat had been played on him--he would not answer any of my questions."

  Rouletabille paused. We all remained silent. Each drew his ownconclusions from the strange story of the poste restante letter. Itseemed, indeed, that we now had a thread by means of which we should beable to follow up this extraordinary mystery.

  "Then it is almost certain," said Monsieur Stangerson, "that my daughterdid lose the key, and that she did not tell me of it, wishing to spareany anxiety, and that she begged whoever had found it to write tothe poste restante. She evidently feared that, by giving our address,inquiries would have resulted that would have apprised me of the loss ofthe key. It was quite logical, quite natural for her to have taken thatcourse--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 frommy laboratory the drawings of two inventions that might have made thefortune of a man. Not only have I never learnt who the thief was, butI have never heard even a word of the object of the robbery, doubtlessbecause, in order to defeat the plans of the person who had robbed me,I myself brought these two inventions before the public, and so renderedthe robbery of no avail. From that time on I have been very careful toshut myself in when I am at work. The bars to these windows, thelonely situation of this pavilion, this cabinet, which I had speciallyconstructed, this special lock, this unique key, all are precautionsagainst fears inspired by a sad experience."

  "Most interesting!" remarked Monsieur Dax.

  Monsieur Rouletabille asked about the reticule. Neither MonsieurStangerson nor Daddy Jacques had seen it for several days, but a fewhours later we learned from Mademoiselle Stangerson herself that thereticule had either been stolen from her, or she had lost it. Shefurther corroborated all that had passed just as her father had stated.She had gone to the poste restante and, on the 23rd of October, hadreceived a letter which, she affirmed, contained nothing but a vulgarpleasantry, which she had immediately burned.

  To return to our examination, or rather to our conversation. Imust state that the Chief of the Surete having inquired of MonsieurStangerson under what conditions his daughter had gone to Paris on the20th of October, we learned that Monsieur Robert Darzac had accompaniedher, and Darzac had not been again seen at the chateau from that timeto the day after the crime had been committed. The fact that MonsieurDarzac was with her in the Grands Magasins de la Louvre when thereticule disappeared could not pass unnoticed, and, it must be said,strongly awakened our interest.

  This conversation between magistrates, accused, victim, witnesses andjournalist, was coming to a close when quite a theatrical sensation--anincident of a kind displeasing to Monsieur de Marquet--was produced. Theofficer of the gendarmes came to announce that Frederic Larsan requestedto be admitted,--a request that was at once complied with. He held inhis hand a heavy pair of muddy boots, which he threw on the pavement ofthe laboratory.

  "Here," he said, "are the boots worn by the murderer. Do you recognisethem, Daddy Jacques?"

  Daddy Jacques bent over them and, stupefied, recognised a pair of oldboots which he had, some time back, thrown 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 hand, Frederic Larsansaid:

  "That's a handkerchief astonishingly like the one found in The YellowRoom."

  "I know," said Daddy Jacques, trembling, "they are almost alike."

  "And then," continued Frederic Larsan, "the old Basque cap also foundin The Yellow Room might at one time have been worn by Daddy Jacqueshimself. All this, gentlemen, proves, I think, that the murderer wishedto 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 arequite sure that you were not the murderer; you never left the side ofMonsieur Stangerson. But if Monsieur Stangerson had not been workingthat night and had gone back to the chateau after parting with hisdaughter, and Daddy Jacques had gone to sleep in his attic, no one wouldhave doubted that he was the murderer. He owes his safety, therefore, tothe tragedy having been enacted too soon,--the murderer, no doubt, fromthe silence in the laboratory, imagined that it was empty, and thatthe moment for action had come. The man who had been able to introducehimself here so mysteriously and to leave so many evidences againstDaddy Jacques, was, there can be no doubt, familiar with the house.At what hour exactly he entered, whether in the afternoon or in theevening, I cannot say. One familiar with the proceedings and persons ofthis 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 thelaboratory, the coming and going of the servants in attendance. Therewas a chemical experiment being carried on between ten and eleveno'clock, with Monsieur Stangerson, his daughter, and Daddy Jacquesengaged at the furnace in a corner of the high chimney. Who can say thatthe murderer--an intimate!--a friend!--did not take advantage of thatmoment to slip into The Yellow Room, after having taken off his boots inthe lavatory?"

  "It is very improbable," said Monsieur Stangerson.

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

  For a moment Frederic Larsan paused,--a moment that appeared to us avery long time. The eagerness wit
h which we awaited what he was going totell us may be imagined.

  "I have not been in The Yellow Room," he continued, "but I take it forgranted that you have satisfied yourselves that he could have left theroom only by way of the door; it is by the door, then, that the murderermade his way out. At what time? At the moment when it was most easyfor him to do so; at the moment when it became most explainable--socompletely explainable that there can be no other explanation. Let usgo over the moments which followed after the crime had been committed.There was the first moment, when Monsieur Stangerson and Daddy Jacqueswere close to the door, ready to bar the way. There was the secondmoment, during which Daddy Jacques was absent and Monsieur Stangersonwas left alone before the door. There was a third moment, when MonsieurStangerson was joined by the concierge. There was a fourth moment,during which Monsieur Stangerson, the concierge and his wife and DaddyJacques were before the door. There was a fifth moment, during which thedoor was burst open and The Yellow Room entered. The moment at which theflight is explainable is the very moment when there was the least numberof persons before the door. There was one moment when there was but oneperson,--Monsieur Stangerson. Unless a complicity of silence on the partof Daddy Jacques is admitted--in which I do not believe--the door wasopened in the presence of Monsieur Stangerson alone and the man escaped.

  "Here we must admit that Monsieur Stangerson had powerful reasons fornot arresting, or not causing the arrest of the murderer, since heallowed him to reach the window in the vestibule and closed it afterhim!--That done, Mademoiselle Stangerson, though horribly wounded, hadstill strength enough, and no doubt in obedience to the entreaties ofher father, to refasten the door of her chamber, with both the bolt andthe lock, before sinking on the floor. We do not know who committedthe crime; we do not know of what wretch Monsieur and MademoiselleStangerson are the victims, but there is no doubt that they both know!The secret must be a terrible one, for the father had not hesitatedto leave his daughter to die behind a door which she had shut uponherself,--terrible for him to have allowed the assassin to escape. Forthere is no other way in the world to explain the murderer's flight fromThe Yellow Room!"

  The silence which followed this dramatic and lucid explanation wasappalling. We all of us felt grieved for the illustrious professor,driven into a corner by the pitiless logic of Frederic Larsan, forcedto confess the whole truth of his martyrdom or to keep silent, and thusmake a yet more terrible admission. The man himself, a veritable statueof sorrow, raised his hand with a gesture so solemn that we bowed ourheads to it as before something sacred. He then pronounced these words,in a voice so loud that it seemed to exhaust him:

  "I swear by the head of my suffering child that I never for an instantleft the door of her chamber after hearing her cries for help; thatthat 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, themurderer was no longer there! I swear I do not know the murderer!"

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

  Monsieur de Marquet announced that the conversation was at an end, andas we were about to leave the laboratory, Joseph Rouletabille approachedMonsieur Stangerson, took him by the hand with the greatest respect, andI heard him say:

  "I believe you, Monsieur."

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