I saw at once that the Donjon Inn was at least two centuries oldperhaps older. Under its signboard, over the threshold, a man with a crabbedlooking face was standing, seemingly plunged in unpleasant thought, if the wrinkles on his forehead and the knitting of his brows were any indication. When we were close to him, he deigned to see us and asked us, in a tone anything but engaging, whether we wanted anything. He was, no doubt, the not very amiable landlord of this charming dwellingplace. As we expressed a hope that he would be good enough to furnish us with a breakfast, he assured us that he had no provisions, regarding us, as he said this, with a look that was unmistakably suspicious. You may take us in, Rouletabille said to him, we are not policemen. I m not afraid of the policeI 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; but, being determined to enter the inn, he slipped by the man on the doorstep and was in the common room. Come on, he said, it is very comfortable here. A good fire was blazing in the chimney, and 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 tables, some stools, a 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 innkeepers collection of figured earthenware pots and stone jugs. That s a fine fire for roasting a chicken, said Rouletabille. We have no chickennot even a wretched rabbit, said the landlord. I know, said my friend slowly; I knowWe shall have to eat red meatnow. I confess I did not in the least understand what Rouletabille meant by what he had said; but the landlord, as soon as he heard the words, uttered an oath, which he at once stifled, and placed himself at our orders as obediently as Monsieur Robert Darzac had done, when he heard Rouletabilles prophetic sentenceThe presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor 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 him, but he merely smiled. I should have proposed that he give me some explanation; but he put a finger to his lips, which evidently signified that he had not only determined not to speak, but 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 stronglybuilt young woman with beautiful blonde hair and large, handsome eyes, who regarded us with curiosity. The innkeeper said to her roughly Get out!and if the Green Man comes, dont let me see him. She disappeared. Rouletabille took the eggs, which had been brought to him in a bowl, and the meat which was on a dish, placed all carefully beside him in the chimney, unhooked a fryingpan and a gridiron, and began to beat up our omelette before proceeding to grill our beefsteak. He then ordered two bottles of cider, and 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 changed, expressing fierce hatred. He went and glued himself to one of the windows, watching the road. There was no need for me to draw Rouletabilles 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 velvet, his head covered with a huntsmans cap of the same colour, was advancing leisurely, lighting a pipe as he walked. He carried a fowlingpiece slung at his back. His movements displayed an almost aristocratic ease. He wore eyeglasses 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 inn, he hesitated, as if asking himself whether or no he should enter it; gave a glance towards us, took a few whiffs at his pipe, and then resumed his walk at the same nonchalant pace. Rouletabille and I looked at our host. His flashing eyes, his clenched hands, his trembling lips, told us of the tumultuous feelings by which he was being agitated. He has done well not to come in here today! he hissed. Who is that man? asked Rouletabille, returning to his omelette. The Green Man, growled the innkeeper. Dont you know him? Then all the better for you. He is not an acquaintance to make.Well, he is Monsieur Stangersons forestkeeper. You dont appear to like him very much? asked the reporter, pouring his omelette into the fryingpan. 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, is nt 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 grasshis grass! Does he often come here? Too often. But I ve made him understand that his face does nt please me, and, for a month past, he has nt been here. The Donjon Inn has never existed for him!he has nt had time!been too much engaged in paying court to the landlady of the Three Lilies at SaintMichel. A bad fellow!There is nt an honest man who can bear him. Why, the concierges of the chteau would turn their eyes away from a picture of him! The concierges of the chteau are honest people, then? Yes, they are, as true as my names Mathieu, monsieur. I believe them to be honest. Yet they ve been arrested? What does that prove?But I dont want to mix myself up in other peoples 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 itand many things besides; but that s nobodys business. Not even mine? insisted Rouletabille. The innkeeper looked at him sideways and said gruffly Not even yours. The omelette ready, we sat down at table and were silently eating, when the door was pushed open and an old woman, dressed in rags, leaning on a stick, her head doddering, her white hair hanging loosely over her wrinkled forehead, appeared 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 Bte du Bon Dieu? And she entered, followed by a cat, larger 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 cats 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 entered, Daddy 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 Man, without showing the least surprise. I ve no more white wineno more anything, said Daddy Mathieu, surlily. How is Madame Mathieu? Quite well, thank you. So the young woman with the large, tender eyes, whom we had just seen, was the wife of this repugnant and brutal rustic, whose jealousy seemed to emphasise his physical ugliness. Slamming the door behind him, the innkeeper left the room. Mother Angenoux was still standing, leaning on her stick, the 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 SainteGenevive, 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 Bte 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 Bte du bon Dieu was heard? Mother Angenoux planted herself in front of the forestkeeper and struck the floor with her stick. I dont know anything about it, she said. But shall I tell you something? There are no two cats in the world that cry like that. Well, on the night of the murder I also heard the cry of the Bte du bon Dieu outside; and yet she was on my knees, and did not mew once, I swear. I crossed myself when I heard that, as if I had heard the devil. I looked at the keeper when he put the last question, and I am much mistaken if I did not detect an evil smile on his lips. At that moment, the noise of loud quarrelling reached us. We even thought we heard a dull sound of blows, as 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 appeared, and said to the keeper Dont alarm yourself, Monsieurit is my wife; she has the toothache. And he laughed. Here, Mother Angenoux, here are some scraps for your cat. He held out a packet to the old woman, who took it eagerly and went out by the door, closely followed by her cat. Then you wont serve me? asked the Green Man. Daddy Mathieus face was placid and no longer retained its expression of hatred. I ve nothing for younothing for you. Take yourself off. The Green Man quietly refilled his pipe, lit it, bowed to us, and went out. No sooner was he over the threshold than Daddy Mathieu slammed the door after him and, turning towards us, with eyes bloodshot, and frothing at the mouth, he hissed to us, shaking his clenched fist at the door he had just shut on the man he evidently hated I dont know who you are who tell me We shall have to eat red meatnow; but if it will interest you to know itthat 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 day, and absolute silence reigned in the inn when we left it, after placing five francs on the table in payment for our feast. Rouletabille at once set off on a three mile walk round Professor Stangersons estate. He halted for some ten minutes at the corner of a narrow road black with soot, near to some charcoalburners huts in the forest of SainteGenevive, which touches on the road from Epinay to Corbeil, to tell me that the murderer had certainly passed that way, before entering the grounds and concealing himself in the little clump of trees. You dont 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 did nt take you to breakfast at the Donjon Inn for the sake of the Green Man. Then Rouletabille, with great precaution glided, followed by me, towards the little building which, standing near the park gate, served for the home of the concierges, who had been arrested that morning. With the skill of an acrobat, he got into the lodge by an upper window which had been left open, and returned ten minutes later. He said only, Ah!a word which, in his mouth, signified many things. We were about to take the road leading to the chteau, when a considerable stir at the park gate attracted our attention. A carriage had arrived and some people had come from the chteau to meet it. Rouletabille pointed out to me a gentleman who descended from it. That s the Chief of the Sret, he said. Now we shall see what Frdric Larsan has up his sleeve, and whether he is so much cleverer than anybody else. The carriage of the Chief of the Sret was followed by three other vehicles containing reporters, who 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 Sret calmed their impatience by undertaking to furnish to the press, that evening, all the information he could give that would not interfere with the judicial inquiry. Chapter XI. In Which Frdric Larsan Explains How the Murderer Was Able to Get out of The Yellow Room Among the mass of papers, legal documents, memoirs, and extracts from newspapers, which I have collected, relating to the mystery of The Yellow Room, there is one very interesting piece; it is a detail of the famous examination which took place that afternoon, in the laboratory of Professor Stangerson, before the Chief of the Sret. This narrative is from the pen of Monsieur Maleine, the Registrar, who, like the examining magistrate, had spent some of his leisure time in the pursuit of literature. The piece was to have made part of a book which, however, has never been published, and which was to have been entitled My Examinations. It was given to me by the Registrar himself, some time after the astonishing dnouement to this case, and is unique in judicial chronicles. Here it is. It is not a mere dry transcription of questions and answers, because the Registrar often intersperses his story with his own personal comments. The Registrars 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 Stangersons designs. He had a workman with him. Monsieur de Marquet had had the walls laid entirely bare; that is to say, he had had them stripped of the paper which had decorated them. Blows with a pick, here and there, satisfied us of the nonexistence 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 suddenly, with a radiant face, he called to the officer in charge of the gendarmes. Go to the chteau, he said, and 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 Sret, who had arrived at the Glandier, joined us at that moment. I was seated at Monsieur Stangersons desk ready for work, when Monsieur de Marquet made us the following little speechas original as it was unexpected With your permission, gentlemenas examinations lead to nothingwe 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 Sret, 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 freelyintelligently or otherwise, so long as we speak just what is in our minds. There need be no formality or method since this wont 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 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 doctors latest reports, who had stated that Mademoiselle Stangerson might recover from her wounds, had 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 dead, and he was still broken by that belief. His clear, soft, blue eyes expressed infinite sorrow. I had had occasion, many times, to see Monsieur Stangerson at public ceremonies, and from the first had been struck by his countenance, which seemed as pure as that of a childthe 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 other, it was said, and had shared the same labours for many years. The young lady, who was then five and thirty, though she looked no more than thirty, had devoted herself entirely to science. She still won admiration for her imperial beauty which had remained intact, without a wrinkle, withstanding time and love. Who would have dreamed that I should one day be seated by her pillow with my papers, and that I should see her, on the point of death, painfully recounting to us the most monstrous and most mysterious crime I have heard of in my career? Who would have thought that I should be, that afternoon, listening to the despairing father vainly trying to explain how his daughters 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 chances to life and death which meet us in the busy cities? Now, Monsieur Stangerson, said Monsieur de Marquet, with somewhat of an important air, place yourself exactly where you were when Mademoiselle Stangerson left you to go to her chamber. Monsieur Stangerson rose and, standing at a certain distance from the door of The Yellow Room, said, in an even voice and without the least trace of emphasisa voice which I can only describe as a dead voice I was here. About eleven oclock, 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 asked, obeying, in thus mixing myself in the conversation, the express orders of my chief, as 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, hereclose to where it is at the present momentso as to be able to get at the door at once. I followed up my reasoning, to which, however, I attached but little importance, regarding it as only a weak hypothesis, with 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 wearily, that 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 while 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 endeavours 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 said, could 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 doorit 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 Jacques, it is an old and solid door that was brought from the chteauthey dont make such doors now. We had to use this bar of iron to get it open, all four of usfor the concierge, brave woman she ishelped 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 innocent, I 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 groans, which, most often, are feigned. Now then, enough of that snivelling, 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 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! Monsieurit 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 exploded, 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 the other sharp and ringing. Why do you persist in lying? cried Monsieur de Marquet, turning 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 open, and while you, Monsieur Stangerson, were occupied with your unfortunate child, the concierge and his wife facilitated the flight of the murderer, who, screening himself behind them, reached the window in the vestibule, and sprang out of it into the park. The concierge closed the window after him and fastened the blinds, which certainly could not have closed and fastened of themselves. That is the conclusion I have arrived at. If anyone 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 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 Dax, the Chief of the Sret, who, so far, had been listening and examining the room, at 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. Turning towards Monsieur Stangerson, he continued, in the even, intelligent tone indicative of a strong character, I understand that Mademoiselle was shortly to have been married? The professor looked sadly at Monsieur Robert Darzac. With my friend here, whom I should have been happy to call my sonwith 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 Sret. 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 coughed, as did Monsieur de Marquet. Both were evidently embarrassed. You understand, Monsieur Stangerson, he said, that 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 victiminformation 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 length. You 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 Darzac, whose pallor at that moment seemed to me to be altogether abnormal, made a sign of assent. I gathered he was unable to speak. I want you to know then, continued Monsieur Stangerson, that 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 Stangersons 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 marrythat 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 nearer to us, 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 RouletabilleI ve heard of himhe 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 EpinaysurOrge. He had introduced himself almost against my wish into our compartment. I had better say at once that his manners, and the arrogance with which he assumed to know what was incomprehensible even to us, impressed 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 favour, allow them even to approach you, and you never can tell what annoyance they may give you. This one appears to be scarcely twenty years old, and the effrontery with which he dared to question us and discuss the matter with us made him particularly obnoxious to me. Besides, he 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 terms, but the paper ought not to allow itself to be represented by sneaking reporters. Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille entered the laboratory, bowed 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 motivein the face of all the evidence that has been forthcomingwas robbery? No, Monsieur, I do not pretend that. I do not say that robbery was the motive for the crime, and I dont 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 kneel beside him. This lavatory is lit by the glass door, and, when the door was open, the light which penetrated was sufficient to light it perfectly. Monsieur de Marquet and Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille knelt down on the threshold, and 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. Now, notice here, the 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 forest, in order to get directly from Epinay to the Glandier. You know there is a little village of charcoalburners at that place, who make large quantities of charcoal. What the murderer did was to come here at midday, when there was nobody at the pavilion, and 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 Marquet, still on his knees. Evidently, said Rouletabille. And Monsieur de Marquet explained that there were on the dust of the pavement marks of two footsteps, as well as the impression, freshlymade, of a heavy rectangular parcel, the 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. Dont scold Daddy Jacques, I came here with Monsieur Robert Darzac. Ah!Indeed! exclaimed Monsieur de Marquet, disagreeably, casting a sideglance at Monsieur Darzac, who 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 Rouletabille. The thief had not brought a parcel with him; he had made one herea parcel with the stolen objects, no 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,for, seethere are no marks of steps leading to the marks left by the boots, which 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 Room, nor any in the laboratory, nor in the vestibule. After entering The Yellow Room in his boots, he took them off, finding them troublesome, or 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. Having, for some reason or other, taken off his boots, the 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 bed, where the mark of his body is perfectly visible on the floor and even on the mat, which has been slightly moved from its place and creased. Fragments of straw also, recently torn, bear witness to the murderers 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 boyjournalist. You might think that he was trying to hide himself quickly on seeing, through the vestibule window, Monsieur 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 there, waiting for an opportunity to get away, if 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 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 was placed before the desk and groaned, the tears rolling down his cheeks, I have been robbed again! For Gods 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 added, in a tone I shall never forget After all, what does it matter,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 was in the cabinet? Twenty years of my life, replied the illustrious professor sadly, or rather of our livesthe 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 irreparable 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 thereall. The man who came wished to take all from me,my daughter and my workmy 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 to restrain his tearsa sight which, for the moment, almost made me like him, in 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 sufferinghad, very calmly, stepped up to the empty cabinet and, pointing at it, broke the almost solemn silence. He entered into explanations, for which there was no need, as to why he had been led to believe that a robbery had been committed, which included the simultaneous discovery he had made in the lavatory, and the empty precious cabinet in the laboratory. The first thing that had struck him, he said, was the unusual form of that piece of furniture. It was very strongly built of fireproof iron, clearly 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 key, with its brass head and complicated wards, had strongly attracted him,its presence had suggested robbery. Monsieur de Marquet appeared to be greatly perplexed, as if he did not know whether he ought to be glad of the new direction given to the inquiry by the young reporter, or sorry that it had not been done by himself. In our profession and for the general welfare, we 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 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 corresponds with Monsieur Rouletabilles ideas! cried Monsieur de Marquet. If that key never left Mademoiselle Stangerson, the 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 cant make it out! The robbery, said the reporter, could only have been committed before the attack upon Mademoiselle Stangerson in her room. When the murderer entered the pavilion he already possessed the brassheaded 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 advertisement, he 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 headis not this the key? I always read advertisements. In my business, as in yours, Monsieur, one should always read the personals. They are often the keys to intrigues, that are not always brassheaded, but which are none the less interesting. This advertisement interested me specially; the woman of the key surrounded it with a kind of mystery. Evidently she valued the key, since 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 later, when the evening paper appeared with enormous headlines announcing the murder of Mademoiselle Stangerson, the 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. 40, asking Have you a letter addressed to M. A. T. H. S. N.? The clerk replied that he had not. I insisted, begged 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. N., but he had given it up three days ago, to a lady who came for it. You come today to claim the letter, and 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 himhe 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 seemed, indeed, that 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 Stangerson, that 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 coursefor I have been robbed once before. Where was that, and when? asked the Chief of the Sret. 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 only 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 days, but a few hours later we learned from Mademoiselle Stangerson herself that the reticule had either been stolen from her, or she had lost it. She further corroborated all that had passed just as her father had stated. She had gone to the poste restante and, on the 23rd of October, had received a letter which, she affirmed, contained nothing but a vulgar pleasantry, which she had immediately burned. To return to our examination, or rather to our conversation. I must state that the Chief of the Sret, having inquired of Monsieur Stangerson under what conditions his daughter had gone to Paris on the 20th of October, we learned that Monsieur Robert Darzac had accompanied her, and Darzac had not been again seen at the chteau 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 unnoticed, and, it must be said, strongly awakened our interest. This conversation between magistrates, accused, victim, witnesses and journalist, was coming to a close when quite a theatrical sensationan incident of a kind displeasing to Monsieur de Marquetwas produced. The officer of the gendarmes came to announce that Frdric Larsan requested to be admitted,a request that was at once complied with. He held in his hand a heavy pair of muddy boots, which he threw on the pavement of the laboratory. Here, he said, are the boots worn by the murderer. Do you recognise them, Daddy Jacques? Daddy Jacques bent over them and, stupefied, recognised a pair of old boots 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 mans hand, Frdric Larsan said That s a handkerchief astonishingly like the one found in The Yellow Room. I know, said Daddy Jacques, trembling, they are almost alike. And then, continued Frdric Larsan, the 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 wayor, at least, so it appears to us. Dont 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 chteau 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 laboratory, the coming and going of the servants in attendance. There was a chemical experiment being carried on between ten and eleven oclock, with Monsieur Stangerson, his daughter, and Daddy Jacques engaged at the furnace in a corner of the high chimney. Who can say that the murdereran 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. Doubtlessbut it is not impossible. I assert nothing. As to the escape from the pavilionthat s another thing, the most natural thing in the world. For a moment Frdric 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 continued, but 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 explainableso 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 admittedin which I do not believethe 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 arresting, or not causing the arrest of the murderer, since he allowed him to reach the window in the vestibule and closed it after him!That done, Mademoiselle Stangerson, though horribly wounded, had still strength enough, and no doubt in obedience to the entreaties of her father, to refasten the door of her chamber, with both the bolt and the lock, before 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 victims, but there is no doubt that they both know! The secret must be a terrible one, for the father had not hesitated to leave his daughter to die behind the 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 murderers 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, so driven into a corner by the pitiless logic of Frdric Larsan, so forced to confess the whole truth of his martyrdom or to keep silent, and thus make a yet more terrible admission. The man himself, a veritable statue of sorrow, raised his hand with a gesture so solemn that we bowed our heads 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 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 Stangersons words, we did not believe in his denial? Frdric 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 laboratory, Joseph Rouletabille approached Monsieur Stangerson, took him by the hand with the greatest respect, and I heard him say I believe you, Monsieur. I here close the citation which I have thought it my duty to make from Monsieur Maleines 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. Frdric Larsans Cane It was not till six oclock that I left the chteau, taking with me the article hastily written by my friend in the little sittingroom which Monsieur Robert Darzac had placed at our disposal. The reporter was to sleep at the chteau, taking advantage of the to me inexplicable hospitality offered him by Monsieur Robert Darzac, to whom Monsieur Stangerson, in that sad time, left the care of all his domestic affairs. Nevertheless he insisted on accompanying me to the station at Epinay. In crossing the park, he said to me Frdric is really very clever and has not belied his reputation. Do you know how he came to find Daddy Jacquess 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. Freds 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 footmarks corresponding with that of Daddy Jacquess 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 II, must fight him with nothing! I was surprised at the profoundly grave accent with which my young friend pronounced the last words. He repeated Yesterrible!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 chteau. 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. Rouletabille, in a low tone, made me understand, that this was the window of Mademoiselle Stangersons chamber. The sounds which had attracted our attention ceased, then were renewed for a moment, and then we heard stifled sobs. We were only able to catch these words, which 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 trees, which ran behind the chteau. The sobs had ceased. If we cant 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 me across the path to the trunk of a tall beech tree, the white bole of which was visible in the darkness. This tree grew exactly in front of the window in which we were so much interested, its lower branches being on a level with the first floor of the chteau. From the height of those branches one might certainly see what was passing in Mademoiselle Stangersons chamber. Evidently that was what Rouletabille thought, for, enjoining me to remain hidden, he clasped the trunk with his vigorous arms and climbed up. I soon lost sight of him amid the branches, and then followed a deep silence. In front of me, the open window remained lighted, and I saw no shadow move across it. I listened, and presently from above me these words reached my ears After you! After you, pray! Somebody was overhead, speaking,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 alone, and had returned with another. Good evening, Monsieur Sainclair! It was Frdric 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 Stangerson, lying in her bed, and 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; while, to Larsan, it showed nothing but consummate hypocrisy, acted with finished art by Mademoiselle Stangersons fianc. 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 Frdric Larsans cane? asked the young reporter, as soon as we were alone. It is quite a new one, which I have never seen him use before. He seems to take great care of itit never leaves him. One would think he was afraid it might fall into the hands of strangers. I never saw it before today. Where did he find it? It is nt natural that a man who had never before used a walkingstick should, the day after the Glandier crime, never move a step without one. On the day of our arrival at the chteau, as soon as he saw us, he put his watch in his pocket and picked up his cane from the grounda 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 Frdric Larsans new cane. I had proof of that when, as we came near to Epinay, he said Frdric 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 suspicionmore than that, his reasoninghas 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 Epinay, we entered a cabaret. Almost immediately the door opened and Frdric Larsan made his appearance, brandishing 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 employ, a young man with a chin decorated by a tiny blond and illkept beard. On the sign he rose, paid for his drink, bowed, and went out. I should not myself have attached any importance to the circumstance, if it had not been recalled to my mind, some months later, by 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 Larsans assistants and had been charged by him to watch the going and coming of travellers at the station of EpinaysurOrge. Larsan neglected nothing 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 a walkingstick? 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 rememberyou 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 minutely, returned it to Larsan, with a bantering expression 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 tomorrow morning. That evening, on reaching Paris, I saw Monsieur Cassette, dealer in walkingsticks and umbrellas, and wrote to my friend A man unmistakably answering to the description of Monsieur Robert Darzacsame height, slightly stooping, puttycoloured overcoat, bowler hatpurchased a cane similar to the one in which we are interested, on the evening of the crime, about eight oclock. Monsieur Cassette had not sold another such cane during the last two years. Freds 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 recountedon the 2nd of November, to be exactI 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 muttonbone, as well as fresh traces of the blood of Mademoiselle Stangersonthe 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 friends 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 gunsmiths 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 chteau 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 sittingroom 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 Frdric Larsan is working with might and main against Darzac. This did not astonish me. I had seen the poor show Mademoiselle Stangersons fianc 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 Frdric Larsan. He never lets go of it. But does nt 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 Cassettes. 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 Frdric 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 murderers possession. The time does nt worry Larsan. He is not obliged to adopt my theory which assumes that the murderer got into The Yellow Room between five and six oclock. But there s nothing to prevent him assuming that the murderer got in between ten and eleven oclock 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 intimateif there is onemust have known that the professor would shortly leave the pavilion, and that the friend had only to put off operating till after the professors 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 Larsans theory can be admitted. I shant waste my time over it, for my theory wont 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 the 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 Larsans theory, but I cant make anything of that cane. Is he still at the chteau? Yes; he hardly ever quits 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 Darzacs 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 hereif that wont 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 chteau 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 halfburned 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 lyse. I know that, because I was there on duty, having to interview one of the savants of the Academy of Philadelphia, who was being fted 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 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 fiveandtwenty 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 chteau. 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 lyse; 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 lyse, 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 lyse 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 readall 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 hersomeone who is preventing your marriage with hersomeone 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 lyse,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 lyse. 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.Eatsleep herewatch my actionsthe actions of all here. You shall be master of the Glandier, Monsieur; but forget the evening at the lyse.  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 instal 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 thanthan 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 Frdric Larsan appear to be really the footprints of Mademoiselle Stangersons fianc. The marks made by the bicycle may have been made by his bicycle. He had usually left it at the chteau; why did he take it to Paris on that particular occasion? Was it because he was not going to return again to the chteau? Was it because, owing to the breaking off of his marriage, his relations with the Stangersons were to cease? All who are interested in the matter affirm that those relations were to continue unchanged. Frdric Larsan, however, believes that all intercourse was 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 lyse, 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 lyse, 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 fatherpapers 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 hypothesis, as Larsan admitted to me, but for another and much graver circumstance. In the first place here is something which I have not been able to explainMonsieur Darzac had himself, on the 24th, gone 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 Darzac, who, in answer to the questions put to him by the examining magistrate, denies that he went to the Post Office. Now even admitting that the letter was written by himwhich I do not believehe knew that Mademoiselle Stangerson had received it, since he had seen it in her hands in the garden at the lyse. It could not have been he, then, who had gone to the Post Office, the day after the 24th, to ask for a letter which he knew was no longer there. To me it appears clear that somebody, strongly resembling him, stole Mademoiselle Stangersons 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 murdered 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 dont know where he came fromor 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. 40, Post Office, about ten oclock 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; but, as he was most likely in a hurry, there was a chance that he might have gone in a cab. Who, I keep asking myself night and day, is the man who so strongly resembles Monsieur Robert Darzac, and who is also known to have bought the cane which has fallen into Larsans hands. The most serious fact is that Monsieur Darzac was, at the very same time that his double presented himself at the Post Office, down 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 Frdric 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 anybodys help. All this seems to fit in with Freds hypothesis, namely, that 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 it, though that would not displease me, did it not affect an innocent person. Now does that hypothesis really mislead Frdric Larsan? That is the questionthat is the question. Perhaps he is right, I cried, interrupting Rouletabille. Are you sure that Monsieur Darzac is innocent?It seems to me that these are extraordinary coincidences Coincidences, replied my friend, are 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 nightlight, 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 Rouletabille, so 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 chteau 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 chteau had been abandoned. The old stones, the stagnant water of the ditch surrounding the donjon, the bleak ground strewn with the dead leaves, the dark, skeletonlike outlines of the trees, all contributed to give to the desolate place, now filled with its awful mystery, an aspect the most funereal. As we passed round the donjon, we met the Green Man, the forestkeeper, who did not greet us, but 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 fowlingpiece slung at his back, his pipe was in his mouth, and his eyeglasses on his nose. An odd kind of fish! Rouletabille said to me, in 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 at 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 donjon, which is situated at the extreme end of the left wing, we went to the back of the chteau. Rouletabille, pointing to a window which I recognised as the only one belonging to Mademoiselle Stangersons apartment, said 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 chteau 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 chteau. We then went back into the building. I must now show you the first floor of the chteau, where I am living, said my friend. To enable the reader the better to understand the disposition of these parts of the dwelling, I annex a plan of the first floor of the right wing, drawn by Rouletabille the day after the extraordinary phenomenon occurred, the details of which I am about to relate. A plan of the upper floor of the chteau, showing the right wing. A large hallway, labelled Right Gallery, runs eastwest through the wing, and has doors to the lumber room and Mademoiselle Stangersons rooms. Branching off south from the right gallery is a hallway labelled Winding Gallery, which has doors to Rouletabilles room and Frdric Larsans room. A dot at the southern end of the winding gallery is labelled 1. The right gallery has a dot labelled 2 on the west end, and a dot labelled 3 where the right wing meets the stairs to the ground floor. There is a dot labelled 4 just outside of a window of Mademoiselle Stangersons bedroom. The window at the south end of the winding gallery is labelled 5. Just outside this window is a semicircular area labelled 6. 1. Position where Rouletabille placed Frdric Larsan. 2. Position where Rouletabille placed Daddy Jacques. 3. Position where Rouletabille placed Monsieur Stangerson. 4. Window by which Rouletabille entered. 5. Window found open by Rouletabille when he left the room. He reclosed it. All the other doors and windows were shut. 6. Terrace surmounting a projecting room on the groundfloor. 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 chteau by a gallery opening from it. This gallery, high and wide, extended along the whole length of the building and was lit from the front of the chteau facing the north. The rooms, the windows of which looked to the south, opened 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 carpet, laid on the waxed oaken floor, which shone like glass, deadened the sound of our footsteps. Rouletabille asked me, in a low tone, to walk carefully, as we were passing the door of Mademoiselle Stangersons apartment. This consisted of a bedroom, an anteroom, a small bathroom, a boudoir, and a drawingroom. 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 building, where it was lit by a high window (window 2 on the plan). At about twothirds of its length this gallery, at a right angle, joined another gallery following the course of the right wing. The better to follow this narrative, we shall call the gallery leading from the stairs to the eastern window, the right gallery and the gallery quitting it at a right angle, the offturning gallery (winding gallery in the plan). It was at the meeting point of the two galleries that Rouletabille had his chamber, adjoining that of Frdric Larsan, the door of each opening on to the offturning gallery, while the doors of Mademoiselle Stangersons apartment opened into the right gallery. (See the Plan.) Rouletabille opened the door of his room and after we had passed in, carefully drew the bolt. I had not had time to glance round the place in which he had been installed, when he uttered a cry of surprise and pointed to a pair of eyeglasses on a sidetable. What are these doing here? he asked. I should have been puzzled to answer him. I wonder, he said, I wonder if this is what I have been searching for. I wonder if these are the eyeglasses from the presbytery! He seized them eagerly, his fingers caressing the glass. Then looking at me, with an expression of terror on his face, he murmured, Oh!Oh! He repeated the exclamation again and again, as if his thoughts had suddenly turned his brain. He rose and, putting his hand on my shoulder, laughed like one demented as he said Those glasses will drive me silly! Mathematically speaking the thing is possible; but humanly speaking it is impossibleor afterwardsor afterwards Two light knocks struck the door. Rouletabille opened it. A figure entered. I recognised the concierge, whom 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 me, his look haggard, after having carefully refastened the door, muttering 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 replied, I 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 said, when 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 Frdric Larsan in his room? I asked, pointing to the partition. No, my friend answered. He went to Paris this morning,still on the scent of Darzac, who 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,circumstances, things, people. Not an hour passes without bringing some new evidence against him. The examining magistrate is overwhelmed by itand blind. Frdric Larsan, however, is not a novice, I said. I thought so, said Rouletabille, with a slightly contemptuous turn of his lips, I 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 smiling, on hearing this boy of eighteen talking of a man who had proved to the world that he was the finest police sleuthhound in Europe. You smile, he said; you are wrong! I swear I will outwit himand in a striking way! But I must make haste about it, for he has an enormous start of megiven him by Monsieur Robert Darzac, who is this evening going to increase it still more. Think of it!every time the murderer comes to the chteau, Monsieur Darzac, by a strange fatality, absents himself and refuses to give any account of how he employs his time. Every time the assassin comes to the chteau! 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 last, in short rapid phrases, he acquainted me with things which plunged me into a state bordering on complete bewilderment. Indeed, the results of that still unknown science known as hypnotism, for example, were not more inexplicable than the disappearance of the matter of the murderer at the moment when four persons were within touch of him. I speak of hypnotism as I would of electricity, for of the nature of both we are ignorant and we know little of their laws. I cite these examples because, at the time, the case appeared to me to be only explicable by the inexplicable,that is to say, by an event outside of known natural laws. And yet, if I had had Rouletabilles brain, I should, like him, have 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 man, after the affair was over, a notebook of his, in which a complete account is given of the phenomenon of the disappearance of the matter of the assassin, and the thoughts to which it gave rise in the mind of my young friend. It is preferable, I think, to give the reader this account, rather than continue to reproduce my conversation with Rouletabille; for I should be afraid, in 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 NoteBook of Joseph Rouletabille) Last nightthe night between the 29th and 30th of October wrote Joseph Rouletabille, I woke up towards one oclock in the morning. Was it sleeplessness, or noise without?The cry of the Bte 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 cats 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, thenthat imitating of the mewing of Mother Angenoux cat so near the chteau? I seized a goodsized stick, the only weapon I had, and, without making any noise, opened my door. The gallery into which I went was well lit by a lamp with a reflector. I felt a keen current of air and, on turning, found the window open, at the extreme end of the gallery, which I call the offturning gallery, to 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? Or, who 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 semicircular projection of a room on the groundfloor. One could, if one wanted, jump from the window on to the terrace, and allow oneself to drop from it into the court of the chteau. Whoever had entered by this road had, evidently, not had a key to the vestibuledoor. But why should I be thinking of my previous nights attempt with the ladder?Because of the open windowleft open, perhaps, by the negligence of a servant? I reclosed it, smiling at the ease with which I built a drama on the mere suggestion of an open window. Again the cry of the Bte du Bon Dieu!and then silence. The rain ceased to beat on the window. All in the chteau 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.