Le mystère de la chambre jaune. English

  CHAPTER XII. Frederic Larsan's Cane

  It was not till six o'clock that I left the chateau, taking with me thearticle hastily written by my friend in the little sitting-room whichMonsieur Robert Darzac had placed at our disposal. The reporter wasto sleep at the chateau, taking advantage of the to me inexplicablehospitality offered him by Monsieur Robert Darzac, to whom MonsieurStangerson, in that sad time, left the care of all his domestic affairs.Nevertheless he insisted on accompanying me to the station at Epinay. Incrossing the park, he said to me:

  "Frederic is really very clever and has not belied his reputation. Doyou know how he came to find Daddy Jacques's boots?--Near the spot wherewe noticed the traces of the neat boots and the disappearance of therough ones, there was a square hole, freshly made in the moist ground,where a stone had evidently been removed. Larsan searched for that stonewithout finding it, and at once imagined that it had been used by themurderer with which to sink the boots in the lake. Fred's calculationwas an excellent one, as the success of his search proves. That escapedme; but my mind was turned in another direction by the large numberof false indications of his track which the murderer left, and bythe measure of the black foot-marks corresponding with that of DaddyJacques's boots, which I had established without his suspecting it, onthe floor of The Yellow Room. All which was a proof, in my eyes, thatthe murderer had sought to turn suspicion on to the old servant. Up tothat point, Larsan and I are in accord; but no further. It is going tobe a terrible matter; for I tell you he is working on wrong lines, andI--I, must fight him with nothing!"

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

  He repeated:

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

  At that moment we passed by the back of the chateau. Night had come. Awindow on the first floor was partly open. A feeble light came from itas well as some sounds which drew our attention. We approached until wehad reached the side of a door that was situated just under the window.Rouletabille, in a low tone, made me understand, that this was thewindow of Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber. The sounds which hadattracted our attention ceased, then were renewed for a moment, and thenwe heard stifled sobs. We were only able to catch these words, whichreached us distinctly: "My poor Robert!"--Rouletabille whispered in myear:

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

  He looked about him. The darkness of the evening enveloped us; we couldnot see much beyond the narrow path bordered by trees, which ran behindthe chateau. The sobs had ceased.

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

  And, making a sign to me to deaden the sound of my steps, he led meacross the path to the trunk of a tall beech tree, the white bole ofwhich was visible in the darkness. This tree grew exactly in front ofthe window in which we were so much interested, its lower branches beingon a level with the first floor of the chateau. From the height ofthose branches one might certainly see what was passing in MademoiselleStangerson's chamber. Evidently that was what Rouletabille thought, for,enjoining me to remain hidden, he clasped the trunk with his vigorousarms and climbed up. I soon lost sight of him amid the branches, andthen followed a deep silence. In front of me, the open window remainedlighted, and I saw no shadow move across it. I listened, and presentlyfrom above me these words reached my ears:

  "After you!"

  "After you, pray!"

  Somebody was overhead, speaking,--exchanging courtesies. What was myastonishment to see on the slippery column of the tree two human formsappear and quietly slip down to the ground. Rouletabille had mountedalone, and had returned with another.

  "Good evening, Monsieur Sainclair!"

  It was Frederic Larsan. The detective had already occupied the post ofobservation when my young friend had thought to reach it alone. Neithernoticed my astonishment. I explained that to myself by the fact thatthey must have been witnesses of some tender and despairing scenebetween Mademoiselle Stangerson, lying in her bed, and Monsieur Darzacon his knees by her pillow. I guessed that each had drawn differentconclusions from what they had seen. It was easy to see that the scenehad strongly impressed Rouletabille in favour of Monsieur Robert Darzac;while, to Larsan, it showed nothing but consummate hypocrisy, acted withfinished art by Mademoiselle Stangerson's fiance.

  As we reached the park gate, Larsan stopped us.

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

  He left us, saying he would rejoin us presently.

  "Have you noticed Frederic Larsan's cane?" asked the young reporter, assoon as we were alone. "It is quite a new one, which I have never seenhim 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 naturalthat a man who had never before used a walking-stick should, the dayafter the Glandier crime, never move a step without one. On the day ofour arrival at the chateau, as soon as he saw us, he put his watch inhis pocket and picked up his cane from the ground--a proceeding to whichI was perhaps wrong not to attach some importance."

  We were now out of the park. Rouletabille had dropped into silence. Histhoughts were certainly still occupied with Frederic Larsan's new cane.I had proof of that when, as we came near to Epinay, he said:

  "Frederic Larsan arrived at the Glandier before me; he began hisinquiry before me; he has had time to find out things about which I knownothing. Where did he find that cane?" Then he added: "It is probablethat his suspicion--more than that, his reasoning--has led him to layhis 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 Epinay, we entered awine shop. Almost immediately the door opened and Frederic Larsan madehis appearance, brandishing his famous cane.

  "I found it!" he said laughingly.

  The three of us seated ourselves at a table. Rouletabille never tookhis eyes off the cane; he was so absorbed that he did not notice a signLarsan made to a railway employeee, a young man with a chin decorated by atiny blond and ill-kept beard. On the sign he rose, paid for his drink,bowed, and went out. I should not myself have attached any importanceto the circumstance, if it had not been recalled to my mind, some monthslater, by the reappearance of the man with the beard at one of the mosttragic moments of this case. I then learned that the youth was one ofLarsan's assistants and had been charged by him to watch the going andcoming of travellers at the station of Epinay-sur-Orge. Larsan neglectednothing in any case on which he was engaged.

  I turned my eyes again on Rouletabille.

  "Ah,--Monsieur Fred!" he said, "when did you begin to use awalking-stick? I have always seen you walking with your hands in yourpockets!"

  "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 witha crutch handle and ornamented with a gold ring. Rouletabille,after examining it minutely, returned it to Larsan, with a banteringexpression on his face, saying:

  "You were given a French cane in London!"

  "Possibly," said Fred, imperturbably.

  "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 tomorrowmorning."

  That evening, on reaching Paris, I saw Monsieur Cassette, dealer inwalking-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, bowlerhat--purchased a cane similar to the one in which we are interested, onthe evening of the crime, about eight o'clock. Monsieur Cassette had notsold 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, sincehe was in London. Like you, I think that he found it somewhere nearMonsieur Robert Darzac. But if, as you suppose, the murderer was in TheYellow Room for five, or even six hours, and the crime was notcommitted until towards midnight, the purchase of this cane proves anincontestable alibi for Darzac."