Monsieur de Marquet had spent the night in Paris, assisting in the final rehearsal, at the Scala, of a little play of which he was the unknown author, signing himself simply Castigat Ridendo. Monsieur Marquet was beginning to be a noble old gentleman. Generally he was extremely polite and full of gay humour, and in all his life had had but one passion,that of dramatic art. Throughout his magisterial career he was interested solely in cases capable of furnishing him with something in the nature of a drama. Though he might very well have aspired to the highest judicial positions, he had never really worked for anything but to win a success at the romantic PorteSaintMartin, or at the sombre Odon. Because of the mystery which shrouded it, the case of The Yellow Room was certain to fascinate so theatrical a mind. It interested him enormously, and he threw himself into it, less as a magistrate eager to know the truth, than as an amateur of dramatic embroglios, tending wholly to mystery and intrigue, who dreads nothing so much as the explanatory final act. So that, at the moment of meeting him, I heard Monsieur de Marquet say to the Registrar with a sigh I hope, my dear Monsieur Maleine, this builder with his pickaxe will not destroy so fine a mystery. Have no fear, replied Monsieur Maleine, his pickaxe may demolish the pavilion, perhaps, but it will leave our case intact. I have sounded the walls and examined the ceiling and floor and I know all about it. I am not to be deceived. Having thus reassured his chief, Monsieur Maleine, with a discreet movement of the head, drew Monsieur de Marquets attention to us. The face of that gentleman clouded, and, as he saw Rouletabille approaching, hat in hand, he sprang into one of the empty carriages saying, half aloud to his Registrar, as he did so, Above all, no journalists! Monsieur Maleine replied in the same tone, I understand! and then tried to prevent Rouletabille from entering the same compartment with the examining magistrate. Excuse me, gentlemen,this compartment is reserved. I am a journalist, Monsieur, engaged on the Epoque,  said my young friend with a great show of gesture and politeness, and I have a word or two to say to Monsieur de Marquet. Monsieur is very much engaged with the inquiry he has in hand. Ah! his inquiry, pray believe me, is absolutely a matter of indifference to me. I am no scavenger of odds and ends, he went on, with infinite contempt in his lower lip, I am a theatrical reporter; and this evening I shall have to give a little account of the play at the Scala. Get in, sir, please, said the Registrar. Rouletabille was already in the compartment. I went in after him and seated myself by his side. The Registrar followed and closed the carriagedoor. Monsieur de Marquet looked at him. Ah, sir, Rouletabille began, You must not be angry with Monsieur de Maleine. It is not with Monsieur de Marquet that I desire to have the honour of speaking, but with Monsieur Castigat Ridendo. Permit me to congratulate youpersonally, as well as the writer for the Epoque.  And Rouletabille, having first introduced me, introduced himself. Monsieur de Marquet, with a nervous gesture, caressed his beard into a point, and explained to Rouletabille, in a few words, that he was too modest an author to desire that the veil of his pseudonym should be publicly raised, and that he hoped the enthusiasm of the journalist for the dramatists work would not lead him to tell the public that Monsieur Castigat Ridendo and the examining magistrate of Corbeil were one and the same person. The work of the dramatic author may interfere, he said, after a slight hesitation, with that of the magistrate, especially in a province where ones labours are little more than routine. Oh, you may rely on my discretion! cried Rouletabille. The train was in motion. We have started! said the examining magistrate, surprised at seeing us still in the carriage. Yes, Monsieur,truth has started, said Rouletabille, smiling amiably,on its way to the Chteau du Glandier. A fine case, Monsieur de Marquet,a fine case! An obscureincredible, unfathomable, inexplicable affairand there is only one thing I fear, Monsieur Rouletabille,that the journalists will be trying to explain it. My friend felt this a rap on his knuckles. Yes, he said simply, that is to be feared. They meddle in everything. As for my interest, monsieur, I only referred to it by mere chance,the mere chance of finding myself in the same train with you, and in the same compartment of the same carriage. Where are you going, then? asked Monsieur de Marquet. To the Chteau du Glandier, replied Rouletabille, without turning. You ll not get in, Monsieur Rouletabille! Will you prevent me? said my friend, already prepared to fight. Not I!I like the press and journalists too well to be in any way disagreeable to them; but Monsieur Stangerson has given orders for his door to be closed against everybody, and it is well guarded. Not a journalist was able to pass through the gate of the Glandier yesterday. Monsieur de Marquet compressed his lips and seemed ready to relapse into obstinate silence. He only relaxed a little when Rouletabille no longer left him in ignorance of the fact that we were going to the Glandier for the purpose of shaking hands with an old and intimate friend, Monsieur Robert Darzaca man whom Rouletabille had perhaps seen once in his life. Poor Robert! continued the young reporter, this dreadful affair may be his death,he is so deeply in love with Mademoiselle Stangerson. His sufferings are truly painful to witness, escaped like a regret from the lips of Monsieur de Marquet. But it is to be hoped that Mademoiselle Stangersons life will be saved. Let us hope so. Her father told me yesterday that, if she does not recover, it will not be long before he joins her in the grave. What an incalculable loss to science his death would be! The wound on her temple is serious, is it not? Evidently; but, by a wonderful chance, it has not proved mortal. The blow was given with great force. Then it was not with the revolver she was wounded, said Rouletabille, glancing at me in triumph. Monsieur de Marquet appeared greatly embarrassed. I did nt say anythingI dont want to say anythingI will not say anything, he said. And he turned towards his Registrar as if he no longer knew us. But Rouletabille was not to be so easily shaken off. He moved nearer to the examining magistrate and, drawing a copy of the Matin from his pocket, he showed it to him and said There is one thing, Monsieur, which I may enquire of you without committing an indiscretion. You have, of course, seen the account given in the Matin? It is absurd, is it not? Not in the slightest, Monsieur. What! The Yellow Room has but one barred windowthe bars of which have not been movedand only one door, which had to be broken openand the assassin was not found! That s so, monsieur,that s so. That s how the matter stands. Rouletabille said no more but plunged into thought. A quarter of an hour thus passed. Coming back to himself again he said, addressing the magistrate How did Mademoiselle Stangerson wear her hair on that evening? I dont know, replied Monsieur de Marquet. That s a very important point, said Rouletabille. Her hair was done up in bands, was nt it? I feel sure that on that evening, the evening of the crime, she had her hair arranged in bands. Then you are mistaken, Monsieur Rouletabille, replied the magistrate; Mademoiselle Stangerson that evening had her hair drawn up in a knot on the top of her head,her usual way of arranging ither forehead completely uncovered. I can assure you, for we have carefully examined the wound. There was no blood on the hair, and the arrangement of it has not been disturbed since the crime was committed. You are sure! You are sure that, on the night of the crime, she had not her hair in bands? Quite sure, the magistrate continued, smiling, because I remember the Doctor saying to me, while he was examining the wound, It is a great pity Mademoiselle Stangerson was in the habit of drawing her hair back from her forehead. If she had worn it in bands, the blow she received on the temple would have been weakened. It seems strange to me that you should attach so much importance to this point. Oh! if she had not her hair in bands, I give it up, said Rouletabille, with a despairing gesture. And was the wound on her temple a bad one? he asked presently. Terrible. With what weapon was it made? That is a secret of the investigation. Have you found the weaponwhatever it was? The magistrate did not answer. And the wound in the throat? Here the examining magistrate readily confirmed the decision of the doctor that, if the murderer had pressed her throat a few seconds longer, Mademoiselle Stangerson would have died of strangulation. The affair as reported in the Matin,  said Rouletabille eagerly, seems to me more and more inexplicable. Can you tell me, Monsieur, how many openings there are in the pavilion? I mean doors and windows. There are five, replied Monsieur de Marquet, after having coughed once or twice, but no longer resisting the desire he felt to talk of the whole of the incredible mystery of the affair he was investigating. There are five, of which the door of the vestibule is the only entrance to the pavilion,a door always automatically closed, which cannot be opened, either from the outer or inside, except with the two special keys which are never out of the possession of either Daddy Jacques or Monsieur Stangerson. Mademoiselle Stangerson had no need for one, since Daddy Jacques lodged in the pavilion and because, during the daytime, she never left her father. When they, all four, rushed into The Yellow Room, after breaking open the door of the laboratory, the door in the vestibule remained closed as usual and, of the two keys for opening it, Daddy Jacques had one in his pocket, and Monsieur Stangerson the other. As to the windows of the pavilion, there are four; the one window of The Yellow Room and those of the laboratory looking out on to the country; the window in the vestibule looking into the park. It is by that window that he escaped from the pavilion! cried Rouletabille. How do you know that? demanded Monsieur de Marquet, fixing a strange look on my young friend. We ll see later how he got away from The Yellow Room, replied Rouletabille, but he must have left the pavilion by the vestibule window. Once more,how do you know that? How? Oh, the thing is simple enough! As soon as he found he could not escape by the door of the pavilion his only way out was by the window in the vestibule, unless he could pass through a grated window. The window of The Yellow Room is secured by iron bars, because it looks out upon the open country; the two windows of the laboratory have to be protected in like manner for the same reason. As the murderer got away, I conceive that he found a window that was not barred,that of the vestibule, which opens on to the park,that is to say, into the interior of the estate. There s not much magic in all that. Yes, said Monsieur de Marquet, but what you have not guessed is that this single window in the vestibule, though it has no iron bars, has solid iron blinds. Now these iron blinds have remained fastened by their iron latch; and yet we have proof that the murderer made his escape from the pavilion by that window! Traces of blood on the inside wall and on the blinds as well as on the floor, and footmarks, of which I have taken the measurements, attest the fact that the murderer made his escape that way. But then, how did he do it, seeing that the blinds remained fastened on the inside? He passed through them like a shadow. But what is more bewildering than all is that it is impossible to form any idea as to how the murderer got out of The Yellow Room, or how he got across the laboratory to reach the vestibule! Ah, yes, Monsieur Rouletabille, it is altogether as you said, a fine case, the key to which will not be discovered for a long time, I hope. You hope, Monsieur? Monsieur de Marquet corrected himself. I do not hope so,I think so. Could that window have been closed and refastened after the flight of the assassin? asked Rouletabille. That is what occurred to me for a moment; but it would imply an accomplice or accomplices,and I dont see After a short silence he added Ahif Mademoiselle Stangerson were only well enough today to allow of her being questioned! Rouletabille following up his thought, asked And the attic?There must be some opening to that? Yes; there is a window, or rather skylight, in it, which, as it looks out towards the country, Monsieur Stangerson has had barred, like the rest of the windows. These bars, as in the other windows, have remained intact, and the blinds, which naturally open inwards, have not been unfastened. For the rest, we have not discovered anything to lead us to suspect that the murderer had passed through the attic. It seems clear to you, then, Monsieur, that the murderer escapednobody knows howby the window in the vestibule? Everything goes to prove it. I think so, too, confessed Rouletabille gravely. After a brief silence, he continued If you have not found any traces of the murderer in the attic, such as the dirty footmarks similar to those on the floor of The Yellow Room, you must come to the conclusion that it was not he who stole Daddy Jacquess revolver. There are no footmarks in the attic other than those of Daddy Jacques himself, said the magistrate with a significant turn of his head. Then, after an apparent decision, he added Daddy Jacques was with Monsieur Stangerson in the laboratoryand it was lucky for him he was. Then what part did his revolver play in the tragedy?It seems very clear that this weapon did less harm to Mademoiselle Stangerson than it did to the murderer. The magistrate made no reply to this question, which doubtless embarrassed him. Monsieur Stangerson, he said, tells us that the two bullets have been found in The Yellow Room, one embedded in the wall stained with the impression of a red handa mans large handand the other in the ceiling. Oh! oh! in the ceiling! muttered Rouletabille. In the ceiling! That s very curious!In the ceiling! He puffed awhile in silence at his pipe, enveloping himself in the smoke. When we reached SavignysurOrge, I had to tap him on the shoulder to arouse him from his dream and come out on to the platform of the station. There the magistrate and his Registrar bowed to us, and, by rapidly getting into a cab that was awaiting them, made us understand that they had seen enough of us. How long will it take to walk to the Chteau du Glandier? Rouletabille asked one of the railway porters. An hour and a half or an hour and three quarterseasy walking, the man replied. Rouletabille looked up at the sky and, no doubt, finding its appearance satisfactory, took my arm and said Come on!I need a walk. Are things getting less entangled? I asked. Not a bit of it! he said, more entangled than ever! It s true, I have an idea What s that? I asked. I cant tell you what it is just at presentit s an idea involving the life or death of two persons at least. Do you think there were accomplices? I dont think it We fell into silence. Presently he went on It was a bit of luck, our falling in with that examining magistrate and his Registrar, eh? What did I tell you about that revolver? His head was bent down, he had his hands in his pockets, and he was whistling. After a while I heard him murmur Poor woman! Is it Mademoiselle Stangerson you are pitying? Yes; she s a noble woman and worthy of being pitied!a woman of a great, a very great characterI imagineI imagine. You know her then? Not at all. I have never seen her but once. Why, then, do you say that she is a woman of great character? Because she bravely faced the murderer; because she courageously defended herselfand, above all, because of the bullet in the ceiling. I looked at Rouletabille and inwardly wondered whether he was not mocking me, or whether he had not suddenly gone out of his senses. But I saw that he had never been less inclined to laugh, and the brightness of his keenly intelligent eyes assured me that he retained all his reason. Then, too, I was used to his broken way of talking, which only left me puzzled as to his meaning, till, with a very few clear, rapidly uttered words, he would make the drift of his ideas clear to me, and I saw that what he had previously said, and which had appeared to me void of meaning, was so thoroughly logical that I could not understand how it was I had not understood him sooner. Chapter IV. In the Bosom of Wild Nature The Chteau du Glandier is one of the oldest chteaux in the Ile de France, where so many building remains of the feudal period are still standing. Built originally in the heart of the forest, in the reign of Philip le Bel, it now could be seen a few hundred yards from the road leading from the village of SainteGenevive to Monthery. A mass of inharmonious structures, it is dominated by a donjon. When the visitor has mounted the crumbling steps of this ancient donjon, he reaches a little plateau where, in the seventeenth century, Georges Philibert de Sequigny, Lord of the Glandier, MaisonsNeuves and other places, built the existing town in an abominably rococo style of architecture. It was in this place, seemingly belonging entirely to the past, that Professor Stangerson and his daughter installed themselves to lay the foundations for the science of the future. Its solitude, in the depths of woods, was what, more than all, had pleased them. They would have none to witness their labours and intrude on their hopes, but the aged stones and grand old oaks. The Glandierancient Glandierumwas so called from the quantity of glands (acorns) which, in all times, had been gathered in that neighbourhood. This land, of present mournful interest, had fallen back, owing to the negligence or abandonment of its owners, into the wild character of primitive nature. The buildings alone, which were hidden there, had preserved traces of their strange metamorphoses. Every age had left on them its imprint; a bit of architecture with which was bound up the remembrance of some terrible event, some bloody adventure. Such was the chteau in which science had taken refugea place seemingly designed to be the theatre of mysteries, terror, and death. Having explained so far, I cannot refrain from making one further reflexion. If I have lingered a little over this description of the Glandier, it is not because I have reached the right moment for creating the necessary atmosphere for the unfolding of the tragedy before the eyes of the reader. Indeed, in all this matter, my first care will be to be as simple as is possible. I have no ambition to be an author. An author is always something of a romancer, and God knows, the mystery of The Yellow Room is quite full enough of real tragic horror to require no aid from literary effects. I am, and only desire to be, a faithful reporter. My duty is to report the event; and I place the event in its framethat is all. It is only natural that you should know where the things happened. I return to Monsieur Stangerson. When he bought the estate, fifteen years before the tragedy with which we are engaged occurred, the Chteau du Glandier had for a long time been unoccupied. Another old chteau in the neighbourhood, built in the fourteenth century by Jean de Belmont, was also abandoned, so that that part of the country was very little inhabited. Some small houses on the side of the road leading to Corbeil, an inn, called the Auberge du Donjon, which offered passing hospitality to waggoners; these were about all to represent civilisation in this outoftheway part of the country, but a few leagues from the capital. But this deserted condition of the place had been the determining reason for the choice made by Monsieur Stangerson and his daughter. Monsieur Stangerson was already celebrated. He had returned from America, where his works had made a great stir. The book which he had published at Philadelphia, on the Dissociation of Matter by Electric Action, had aroused opposition throughout the whole scientific world. Monsieur Stangerson was a Frenchman, but of American origin. Important matters relating to a legacy had kept him for several years in the United States, where he had continued the work begun by him in France, whither he had returned in possession of a large fortune. This fortune was a great boon to him; for, though he might have made millions of dollars by exploiting two or three of his chemical discoveries relative to new processes of dyeing, it was always repugnant to him to use for his own private gain the wonderful gift of invention he had received from nature. He considered he owed it to mankind, and all that his genius brought into the world went, by this philosophical view of his duty, into the public lap. If he did not try to conceal his satisfaction at coming into possession of this fortune, which enabled him to give himself up to his passion for pure science, he had equally to rejoice, it seemed to him, for another cause. Mademoiselle Stangerson was, at the time when her father returned from America and bought the Glandier estate, twenty years of age. She was exceedingly pretty, having at once the Parisian grace of her mother, who had died in giving her birth, and all the splendour, all the riches of the young American blood of her parental grandfather, William Stangerson. A citizen of Philadelphia, William Stangerson had been obliged to become naturalised in obedience to family exigencies at the time of his marriage with a French lady, she who was to be the mother of the illustrious Stangerson. In that way the professors French nationality is accounted for. Twenty years of age, a charming blonde, with blue eyes, milkwhite complexion, and radiant with divine health, Mathilde Stangerson was one of the most beautiful marriageable girls in either the old or the new world. It was her fathers duty, in spite of the inevitable pain which a separation from her would cause him, to think of her marriage; and he was fully prepared for it. Nevertheless, he buried himself and his child at the Glandier at the moment when his friends were expecting him to bring her out into society. Some of them expressed their astonishment, and to their questions he answered It is my daughters wish. I can refuse her nothing. She has chosen the Glandier. Interrogated in her turn, the young girl replied calmly Where could we work better than in this solitude? For Mademoiselle Stangerson had already begun to collaborate with her father in his work. It could not at the time be imagined that her passion for science would lead her so far as to refuse all the suitors who presented themselves to her for over fifteen years. So secluded was the life led by the two, father and daughter, that they showed themselves only at a few official receptions and, at certain times in the year, in two or three friendly drawingrooms, where the fame of the professor and the beauty of Mathilde made a sensation. The young girls extreme reserve did not at first discourage suitors; but at the end of a few years, they tired of their quest. One alone persisted with tender tenacity and deserved the name of eternal fianc, a name he accepted with melancholy resignation; that was Monsieur Robert Darzac. Mademoiselle Stangerson was now no longer young, and it seemed that, having found no reason for marrying at fiveandthirty, she would never find one. But such an argument evidently found no acceptance with Monsieur Robert Darzac. He continued to pay his courtif the delicate and tender attention with which he ceaselessly surrounded this woman of fiveandthirty could be called courtshipin face of her declared intention never to marry. Suddenly, some weeks before the events with which we are occupied, a reportto which nobody attached any importance, so incredible did it soundwas spread about Paris, that Mademoiselle Stangerson had at last consented to crown the inextinguishable flame of Monsieur Robert Darzac! It needed that Monsieur Robert Darzac himself should not deny this matrimonial rumour to give it an appearance of truth, so unlikely did it seem to be well founded. One day, however, Monsieur Stangerson, as he was leaving the Academy of Science, announced that the marriage of his daughter and Monsieur Robert Darzac would be celebrated in the privacy of the Chteau du Glandier, as soon as he and his daughter had put the finishing touches to their report summing up their labours on the Dissociation of Matter. The new household would install itself in the Glandier, and the soninlaw would lend his assistance in the work to which the father and daughter had dedicated their lives. The scientific world had barely had time to recover from the effect of this news, when it learned of the attempted assassination of Mademoiselle under the extraordinary conditions which we have detailed and which our visit to the chteau was to enable us to ascertain with yet greater precision. I have not hesitated to furnish the reader with all these retrospective details, known to me through my business relations with Monsieur Robert Darzac. On crossing the threshold of The Yellow Room he was as well posted as I was. Chapter V. In Which Joseph Rouletabille Makes a Remark to Monsieur Robert Darzac Which Produces its Little Effect Rouletabille and I had been walking for several minutes, by the side of a long wall bounding the vast property of Monsieur Stangerson and had already come within sight of the entrance gate, when our attention was drawn to an individual who, half bent to the ground, seemed to be so completely absorbed in what he was doing as not to have seen us coming towards him. At one time he stooped so low as almost to touch the ground; at another he drew himself up and attentively examined the wall; then he looked into the palm of one of his hands, and walked away with rapid strides. Finally he set off running, still looking into the palm of his hand. Rouletabille had brought me to a standstill by a gesture. Hush! Frdric Larsan is at work! Dont let us disturb him! Rouletabille had a great admiration for the celebrated detective. I had never before seen him, but I knew him well by reputation. At that time, before Rouletabille had given proof of his unique talent, Larsan was reputed as the most skilful unraveller of the most mysterious and complicated crimes. His reputation was worldwide, and the police of London, and even of America, often called him in to their aid when their own national inspectors and detectives found themselves at the end of their wits and resources. No one was astonished, then, that the head of the Sret had, at the outset of the mystery of The Yellow Room, telegraphed his precious subordinate to London, where he had been sent on a big case of stolen securities, to return with all haste. Frdric who, at the Sret, was called the great Frdric, had made all speed, doubtless knowing by experience that, if he was interrupted in what he was doing, it was because his services were urgently needed in another direction; so, as Rouletabille said, he was that morning already at work. We soon found out in what it consisted. What he was continually looking at in the palm of his right hand was nothing but his watch, the minute hand of which he appeared to be noting intently. Then he turned back still running, stopping only when he reached the park gate, where he again consulted his watch and then put it away in his pocket, shrugging his shoulders with a gesture of discouragement. He pushed open the park gate, reclosed and locked it, raised his head and, through the bars, perceived us. Rouletabille rushed after him, and I followed. Frdric Larsan waited for us. Monsieur Fred, said Rouletabille, raising his hat and showing the profound respect, based on admiration, which the young reporter felt for the celebrated detective, can you tell me whether Monsieur Robert Darzac is at the chteau at this moment? Here is one of his friends, of the Paris Bar, who desires to speak with him. I really dont know, Monsieur Rouletabille, replied Fred, shaking hands with my friend, whom he had several times met in the course of his difficult investigations. I have not seen him. The concierges will be able to inform us no doubt? said Rouletabille, pointing to the lodge the door and windows of which were close shut. The concierges will not be able to give you any information, Monsieur Rouletabille. Why not? Because they were arrested half an hour ago. Arrested! cried Rouletabille; then they are the murderers! Frdric Larsan shrugged his shoulders. When you cant arrest the real murderer, he said with an air of supreme irony, you can always indulge in the luxury of discovering accomplices. Did you have them arrested, Monsieur Fred? Not I!I have nt had them arrested. In the first place, I am pretty sure that they have not had anything to do with the affair, and then because Because of what? asked Rouletabille eagerly. Because of nothing, said Larsan, shaking his head. Because there were no accomplices! said Rouletabille. Aha!you have an idea, then, about this matter? said Larsan, looking at Rouletabille intently, yet you have seen nothing, young man,you have not yet gained admission here! I shall get admission. I doubt it. The orders are strict. I shall gain admission, if you let me see Monsieur Robert Darzac. Do that for me. You know we are old friends. I beg of you, Monsieur Fred. Do you remember the article I wrote about you on the gold bar case? The face of Rouletabille at the moment was really funny to look at. It showed such an irresistible desire to cross the threshold beyond which some prodigious mystery had occurred; it appealed with so much eloquence, not only of the mouth and eyes, but with all its features, that I could not refrain from bursting into laughter. Frdric Larsan, no more than myself, could retain his gravity. Meanwhile, standing on the other side of the gate, he calmly put the key in his pocket. I closely scrutinised him. He might be about fifty years of age. He had a fine head, his hair turning grey; a colourless complexion, and a firm profile. His forehead was prominent, his chin and cheeks clean shaven. His upper lip, without moustache, was finely chiselled. His eyes were rather small and round, with a look in them that was at once searching and disquieting. He was of middle height and well built, with a general bearing elegant and gentlemanly. There was nothing about him of the vulgar policeman. In his way, he was an artist, and one felt that he had a high opinion of himself. The sceptical tone of his conversation was that of a man who had been taught by experience. His strange profession had brought him into contact with so many crimes and villainies that it would have been remarkable if his nature had not been a little hardened. Larsan turned his head at the sound of a vehicle which had come from the chteau and reached the gate behind him. We recognised the cab which had conveyed the examining magistrate and his Registrar from the station at Epinay. Ah! said Frdric Larsan, if you want to speak with Monsieur Robert Darzac, he is here. The cab was already at the park gate and Robert Darzac was begging Frdric Larsan to open it for him, explaining that he was pressed for time to catch the next train leaving Epinay for Paris. Then he recognised me. While Larsan was unlocking the gate, Monsieur Darzac inquired what had brought me to the Glandier at such a tragic moment. I noticed that he was frightfully pale, and that his face was lined as if from the effects of some terrible suffering. Is Mademoiselle getting better? I immediately asked. Yes, he said. She will be saved perhaps. She must be saved! He did not add or it will be my death; but I felt that the phrase trembled on his pale lips.


Rouletabille intervened You are in a hurry, Monsieur; but I must speak with you. I have something of the greatest importance to tell you. Frdric Larsan interrupted May I leave you? he asked of Robert Darzac. Have you a key, or do you wish me to give you this one. Thank you. I have a key and will lock the gate. Larsan hurried off in the direction of the chteau, the imposing pile of which could be perceived a few hundred yards away. Robert Darzac, with knit brow, was beginning to show impatience. I presented Rouletabille as a good friend of mine, but, as soon as he learnt that the young man was a journalist, he looked at me very reproachfully, excused himself, under the necessity of having to reach Epinay in twenty minutes, bowed, and whipped up his horse. But Rouletabille had seized the bridle and, to my utter astonishment, stopped the carriage with a vigorous hand. Then he gave utterance to a sentence which was utterly meaningless to me. The presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its brightness. The words had hardly left the lips of Rouletabille than I saw Robert Darzac quail. Pale as he was, he became paler. His eyes were fixed on the young man in terror, and he immediately descended from the vehicle in an inexpressible state of agitation. Come!come in! he stammered. Then, suddenly, and with a sort of fury, he repeated Let us go, monsieur. He turned up by the road he had come from the chteau, Rouletabille still retaining his hold on the horses bridle. I addressed a few words to Monsieur Darzac, but he made no answer. My looks questioned Rouletabille, but his gaze was elsewhere. Chapter VI. In the Heart of the Oak Grove We reached the chteau, and, as we approached it, saw four gendarmes pacing in front of a little door in the ground floor of the donjon. We soon learned that in this ground floor, which had formerly served as a prison, Monsieur and Madame Bernier, the concierges, were confined. Monsieur Robert Darzac led us into the modern part of the chteau by a large door, protected by a projecting awninga marquise as it is called. Rouletabille who had resigned the horse and the cab to the care of a servant, never took his eyes off Monsieur Darzac. I followed his look and perceived that it was directed solely towards the gloved hands of the Sorbonne professor. When we were in a tiny sittingroom fitted with old furniture, Monsieur Darzac turned to Rouletabille and said sharply What do you want? The reporter answered in an equally sharp tone To shake you by the hand. Darzac shrank back. What does that mean? Evidently he understood, what I also understood, that my friend suspected him of the abominable attempt on the life of Mademoiselle Stangerson. The impression of the bloodstained hand on the walls of The Yellow Room was in his mind. I looked at the man closely. His haughty face with its expression ordinarily so straightforward was at this moment strangely troubled. He held out his right hand and, referring to me, said As you are a friend of Monsieur Sainclair who has rendered me invaluable services in a just cause, monsieur, I see no reason for refusing you my hand Rouletabille did not take the extended hand. Lying with the utmost audacity, he said Monsieur, I have lived several years in Russia, where I have acquired the habit of never taking any but an ungloved hand. I thought that the Sorbonne professor would express his anger openly, but, on the contrary, by a visibly violent effort, he calmed himself, took off his gloves, and showed his hands; they were unmarked by any cicatrice. Are you satisfied? No! replied Rouletabille. My dear friend, he said, turning to me, I am obliged to ask you to leave us alone for a moment. I bowed and retired, stupefied by what I had seen and heard. I could not understand why Monsieur Robert Darzac had not already shown the door to my impertinent, insulting, and stupid friend. I was angry myself with Rouletabille at that moment, for his suspicions, which had led to this scene of the gloves. For some twenty minutes I walked about in front of the chteau, trying vainly to link together the different events of the day. What was in Rouletabilles mind? Was it possible that he thought Monsieur Robert Darzac to be the murderer? How could it be thought that this man, who was to have married Mademoiselle Stangerson in the course of a few days, had introduced himself into The Yellow Room to assassinate his fiance? I could find no explanation as to how the murderer had been able to leave The Yellow Room; and so long as that mystery, which appeared to me so inexplicable, remained unexplained, I thought it was the duty of all of us to refrain from suspecting anybody. But, then, that seemingly senseless phraseThe presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its brightnessstill rung in my ears. What did it mean? I was eager to rejoin Rouletabille and question him. At that moment the young man came out of the chteau in the company of Monsieur Robert Darzac, and, extraordinary to relate, I saw, at a glance, that they were the best of friends. We are going to The Yellow Room. Come with us, Rouletabille said to me. You know, my dear boy, I am going to keep you with me all day. We ll breakfast together somewhere about here You ll breakfast with me, here, gentlemen No, thanks, replied the young man. We shall breakfast at the Donjon Inn. You ll fare very badly there; you ll not find anything Do you think so? Well, I hope to find something there, replied Rouletabille. After breakfast, we ll set to work again. I ll write my article and if you ll be so good as to take it to the office for me Wont you come back with me to Paris? No; I shall remain here. I turned towards Rouletabille. He spoke quite seriously, and Monsieur Robert Darzac did not appear to be in the least degree surprised. We were passing by the donjon and heard wailing voices. Rouletabille asked Why have these people been arrested? It is a little my fault, said Monsieur Darzac. I happened to remark to the examining magistrate yesterday that it was inexplicable that the concierges had had time to hear the revolver shots, to dress themselves, and to cover so great a distance as that which lies between their lodge and the pavilion, in the space of two minutes; for not more than that interval of time had elapsed after the firing of the shots when they were met by Daddy Jacques. That was suspicious evidently, acquiesced Rouletabille. And were they dressed? That is what is so incrediblethey were dressedcompletelynot one part of their costume wanting. The woman wore sabots, but the man had on laced boots. Now they assert that they went to bed at halfpast nine. On arriving this morning, the examining magistrate brought with him from Paris a revolver of the same calibre as that found in the room (for he could nt use the one held for evidence), and made his Registrar fire two shots in The Yellow Room while the doors and windows were closed. We were with him in the lodge of the concierges, and yet we heard nothing, not a sound. The concierges have lied, of that there can be no doubt. They must have been already waiting, not far from the pavilion, waiting for something! Certainly they are not to be accused of being the authors of the crime, but their complicity is not improbable. That was why Monsieur de Marquet had them arrested at once. If they had been accomplices, said Rouletabille, they would not have been there at all. When people throw themselves into the arms of justice with the proofs of complicity on them, you can be sure they are not accomplices. I dont believe there are any accomplices in this affair. Then, why were they abroad at midnight? Why dont they say? They have certainly some reason for their silence. What that reason is, has to be found out; for, even if they are not accomplices, it may be of importance. Everything that took place on such a night is important. We had crossed an old bridge thrown over the Douve and were entering the part of the park called the Oak Grove. The oaks here were centuries old. Autumn had already shrivelled their tawny leaves, and their high branches, black and contorted, looked like horrid heads of hair, mingled with quaint reptiles such as the ancient sculptors have made on the head of Medusa. This place, which Mademoiselle found cheerful and in which she lived in the summer season, appeared to us as sad and funereal now. The soil was black and muddy from the recent rains and the rotting of the fallen leaves; the trunks of the trees were black and the sky above us was now, as if in mourning, charged with great, heavy clouds. And it was in this sombre and desolate retreat that we saw the white walls of the pavilion as we approached. A queerlooking building without a window visible on the side by which we neared it. A little door alone marked the entrance to it. It might have passed for a tomb, a vast mausoleum in the midst of a thick forest. As we came nearer, we were able to make out its disposition. The building obtained all the light it needed from the south, that is to say, from the open country. The little door closed on the park. Monsieur and Mademoiselle Stangerson must have found it an ideal seclusion for their work and their dreams. A ground plan of the pavilion, a square building, situated such that its north and east sides connect with a wall that encloses the surrounding park. The building contains four rooms, labeled 1 through 4. The front door is in the southwest corner and leads into room 3. A door in the north side of room 3 leads into room 4, a narrow room by a staircase labeled 5. Room 1 is in the northwest corner and contains a bed in one corner. Room 2 fully occupies the right half of the building. It has doors connecting to rooms 1 and 3, and windows on the north and east walls. Against its south wall is a rectangle labeled 6. There is a trail of footsteps marked on the plan, starting just outside a window in room 3 and leading off into the park. Here is the ground plan of the pavilion. It had a groundfloor which was reached by a few steps, and above it was an attic, with which we need not concern ourselves. The plan of the groundfloor only, sketched roughly, is what I here submit to the reader. 1. The Yellow Room, with its one window and its one door opening into the laboratory. 2. Laboratory, with its two large, barred windows and its doors, one serving for the vestibule, the other for The Yellow Room. 3. Vestibule, with its unbarred window and door opening into the park. 4. Lavatory. 5. Stairs leading to the attic. 6. Large and the only chimney in the pavilion, serving for the experiments of the laboratory. The plan was drawn by Rouletabille, and I assured myself that there was not a line in it that was wanting to help to the solution of the problem then set before the police. With the lines of this plan and the description of its parts before them, my readers will know as much as Rouletabille knew when he entered the pavilion for the first time. With him they may now ask How did the murderer escape from The Yellow Room? Before mounting the three steps leading up to the door of the pavilion, Rouletabille stopped and asked Monsieur Darzac point blank What was the motive for the crime? Speaking for myself, Monsieur, there can be no doubt on the matter, said Mademoiselle Stangersons fianc, greatly distressed. The marks of the fingers, the deep scratches on the chest and throat of Mademoiselle Stangerson show that the wretch who attacked her attempted to commit a frightful crime. The medical experts who examined these traces yesterday affirm that they were made by the same hand as that which left its red imprint on the wall; an enormous hand, Monsieur, much too large to go into my gloves, he added with an indefinable smile. Could not that bloodstained hand, I interrupted, have been the hand of Mademoiselle Stangerson who, in the moment of falling, had pressed it against the wall, and, in slipping, enlarged the impression? There was not a drop of blood on either of her hands when she was lifted up, replied Monsieur Darzac. We are now sure, said I, that it was Mademoiselle Stangerson who was armed with Daddy Jacquess revolver, since she wounded the hand of the murderer. She was in fear, then, of somebody or something. Probably. Do you suspect anybody? No, replied Monsieur Darzac, looking at Rouletabille. Rouletabille then said to me You must know, my friend, that the inquiry is a little more advanced than Monsieur de Marquet has chosen to tell us. He not only knows that Mademoiselle Stangerson defended herself with the revolver, but he knows what the weapon was that was used to attack her. Monsieur Darzac tells me it was a muttonbone. Why is Monsieur de Marquet surrounding this muttonbone with so much mystery? No doubt for the purpose of facilitating the inquiries of the agents of the Sret? He imagines, perhaps, that the owner of this instrument of crime, the most terrible invented, is going to be found amongst those who are wellknown in the slums of Paris who use it. But who can ever say what passes through the brain of an examining magistrate? Rouletabille added with contemptuous irony. Has a muttonbone been found in The Yellow Room? I asked him. Yes, Monsieur, said Robert Darzac, at the foot of the bed; but I beg of you not to say anything about it. (I made a gesture of assent.) It was an enormous muttonbone, the top of which, or rather the joint, was still red with the blood of the frightful wound. It was an old bone, which may, according to appearances, have served in other crimes. That s what Monsieur de Marquet thinks who has had it sent to the municipal laboratory at Paris to be analysed. In fact, he thinks he has detected on it, not only the blood of the last victim, but other stains of dried blood, evidences of previous crimes. A muttonbone in the hand of a skilled assassin is a frightful weapon, said Rouletabille, a more certain weapon than a heavy hammer. The scoundrel has proved it to be so, said Monsieur Robert Darzac, sadly. The joint of the bone found exactly fits the wound inflicted. My belief is that the wound would have been mortal, if the murderers blow had not been arrested in the act by Mademoiselle Stangersons revolver. Wounded in the hand, he dropped the muttonbone and fled. Unfortunately, the blow had been already given, and Mademoiselle was stunned after having been nearly strangled. If she had succeeded in wounding the man with the first shot of the revolver, she would, doubtless, have escaped the blow with the bone. But she had certainly employed her revolver too late; the first shot deviated and lodged in the ceiling; it was the second only that took effect. Having said this, Monsieur Darzac knocked at the door of the pavilion. I must confess to feeling a strong impatience to reach the spot where the crime had been committed. It was some time before the door was opened by a man whom I at once recognised as Daddy Jacques. He appeared to be well over sixty years of age. He had a long white beard and white hair, on which he wore a flat Basque cap. He was dressed in a complete suit of chestnutcoloured velveteen, worn at the sides; sabots were on his feet. He had rather a waspishlooking face, the expression of which lightened, however, as soon as he saw Monsieur Darzac. Friends, said our guide. Nobody in the pavilion, Daddy Jacques? I ought not to allow anybody to enter, Monsieur Robert, but of course the order does not apply to you. These gentlemen of justice have seen everything there is to be seen, and made enough drawings, and drawn up enough reports Excuse me, Monsieur Jacques, one question before anything else, said Rouletabille. What is it, young man? If I can answer it Did your mistress wear her hair in bands, that evening? You know what I meanover her forehead? No, young man. My mistress never wore her hair in the way you suggest, neither on that day nor on any other. She had her hair drawn up, as usual, so that her beautiful forehead could be seen, pure as that of an unborn child! Rouletabille grunted and set to work examining the door, finding that it fastened itself automatically. He satisfied himself that it could never remain open and needed a key to open it. Then we entered the vestibule, a small, welllit room paved with square red tiles. Ah! This is the window by which the murderer escaped! said Rouletabille. So they keep on saying, monsieur, so they keep on saying! But if he had gone off that way, we should have been sure to have seen him. We are not blind, neither Monsieur Stangerson nor me, nor the concierges who are in prison. Why have they not put me in prison, too, on account of my revolver? Rouletabille had already opened the window and was examining the shutters. Were these closed at the time of the crime? And fastened with the iron catch inside, said Daddy Jacques, and I am quite sure that the murderer did not get out that way. Are there any blood stains? Yes, on the stones outside; but blood of what? Ah! said Rouletabille, there are footmarks visible on the paththe ground was very moist. I will look into that presently. Nonsense! interrupted Daddy Jacques; the murderer did not go that way. Which way did he go, then? How do I know? Rouletabille looked at everything, smelled everything. He went down on his knees and rapidly examined every one of the paving tiles. Daddy Jacques went on Ah!you cant find anything, monsieur. Nothing has been found. And now it is all dirty; too many persons have tramped over it. They would nt let me wash it, but on the day of the crime I had washed the floor thoroughly, and if the murderer had crossed it with his hobnailed boots, I should not have failed to see where he had been; he has left marks enough in Mademoiselles chamber. Rouletabille rose. When was the last time you washed these tiles? he asked, and he fixed on Daddy Jacques a most searching look. Whyas I told youon the day of the crime, towards halfpast fivewhile Mademoiselle and her father were taking a little walk before dinner, here in this room; they had dined in the laboratory. The next day, the examining magistrate came and saw all the marks there were on the floor as plainly as if they had been made with ink on white paper. Well, neither in the laboratory nor in the vestibule, which were both as clean as a new pin, were there any traces of a mans footmarks. Since they have been found near this window outside, he must have made his way through the ceiling of The Yellow Room into the attic, then cut his way through the roof and dropped to the ground outside the vestibule window. Butthere s no hole, neither in the ceiling of The Yellow Room nor in the roof of my atticthat s absolutely certain! So you see we know nothingnothing! And nothing will ever be known! It s a mystery of the devils own making. Rouletabille went down upon his knees again almost in front of a small lavatory at the back of the vestibule. In that position he remained for about a minute. Well? I asked him when he got up. Oh! nothing very important,a drop of blood, he replied, turning towards Daddy Jacques as he spoke. While you were washing the laboratory and this vestibule, was the vestibule window open? he asked. No, Monsieur, it was closed; but after I had done washing the floor, I lit some charcoal for Monsieur in the laboratory furnace, and, as I lit it with old newspapers, it smoked, so I opened both the windows in the laboratory and this one, to make a current of air; then I shut those in the laboratory and left this one open when I went out. When I returned to the pavilion, this window had been closed and Monsieur and Mademoiselle were already at work in the laboratory. Monsieur or Mademoiselle Stangerson had, no doubt, shut it? No doubt. You did not ask them? No. After a close scrutiny of the little lavatory and of the staircase leading up to the attic, Rouletabilleto whom we seemed no longer to existentered the laboratory. I followed him. It was, I confess, in a state of great excitement. Robert Darzac lost none of my friends movements. As for me, my eyes were drawn at once to the door of The Yellow Room. It was closed and, as I immediately saw, partially shattered and out of commission. My friend, who went about his work methodically, silently studied the room in which we were. It was large and welllighted. Two big windowsalmost bayswere protected by strong iron bars and looked out upon a wide extent of country. Through an opening in the forest, they commanded a wonderful view through the length of the valley and across the plain to the large town which could be clearly seen in fair weather. Today, however, a mist hung over the groundand blood in that room! The whole of one side of the laboratory was taken up with a large chimney, crucibles, ovens, and such implements as are needed for chemical experiments; tables, loaded with phials, papers, reports, an electrical machine,an apparatus, as Monsieur Darzac informed me, employed by Professor Stangerson to demonstrate the Dissociation of Matter under the action of solar lightand other scientific implements. Along the walls were cabinets, plain or glassfronted, through which were visible microscopes, special photographic apparatus, and a large quantity of crystals. Rouletabille, who was ferreting in the chimney, put his fingers into one of the crucibles. Suddenly he drew himself up, and held up a piece of halfconsumed paper in his hand. He stepped up to where we were talking by one of the windows. Keep that for us, Monsieur Darzac, he said. I bent over the piece of scorched paper which Monsieur Darzac took from the hand of Rouletabille, and read distinctly the only words that remained legible Presbyterylost nothingcharm, nor the garits brightness. Twice since the morning these same meaningless words had struck me, and, for the second time, I saw that they produced on the Sorbonne professor the same paralysing effect. Monsieur Darzacs first anxiety showed itself when he turned his eyes in the direction of Daddy Jacques. But, occupied as he was at another window, he had seen nothing. Then tremblingly opening his pocketbook he put the piece of paper into it, sighing My God! During this time, Rouletabille had mounted into the opening of the firegratethat is to say, he had got upon the bricks of a furnaceand was attentively examining the chimney, which grew narrower towards the top, the outlet from it being closed with sheets of iron, fastened into the brickwork, through which passed three small chimneys. Impossible to get out that way, he said, jumping back into the laboratory. Besides, even if he had tried to do it, he would have brought all that ironwork down to the ground. No, no; it is not on that side we have to search. Rouletabille next examined the furniture and opened the doors of the cabinet. Then he came to the windows, through which he declared no one could possibly have passed. At the second window he found Daddy Jacques in contemplation. Well, Daddy Jacques, he said, what are you looking at? That policeman who is always going round and round the lake. Another of those fellows who think they can see better than anybody else! You dont know Frdric Larsan, Daddy Jacques, or you would nt speak of him in that way, said Rouletabille in a melancholy tone. If there is anyone who will find the murderer, it will be he. And Rouletabille heaved a deep sigh. Before they find him, they will have to learn how they lost him, said Daddy Jacques, stolidly. At length we reached the door of The Yellow Room itself. There is the door behind which some terrible scene took place, said Rouletabille, with a solemnity which, under any other circumstances, would have been comical. Chapter VII. In Which Rouletabille Sets out on an Expedition under the Bed Rouletabille having pushed open the door of The Yellow Room paused on the threshold saying, with an emotion which I only later understood, Ah, the perfume of the lady in black! The chamber was dark. Daddy Jacques was about to open the blinds when Rouletabille stopped him. Did not the tragedy take place in complete darkness? he asked. No, young man, I dont think so. Mademoiselle always had a nightlight on her table, and I lit it every evening before she went to bed. I was a sort of chambermaid, you must understand, when the evening came. The real chambermaid did not come here much before the morning. Mademoiselle worked latefar into the night. Where did the table with the nightlight stand,far from the bed? Some way from the bed. Can you light the burner now? The lamp is broken and the oil that was in it was spilled when the table was upset. All the rest of the things in the room remain just as they were. I have only to open the blinds for you to see. Wait. Rouletabille went back into the laboratory, closed the shutters of the two windows and the door of the vestibule. When we were in complete darkness, he lit a wax vesta, and asked Daddy Jacques to move to the middle of the chamber with it to the place where the nightlight was burning that night. Daddy Jacques who was in his stockingshe usually left his sabots in the vestibuleentered The Yellow Room with his bit of a vesta. We vaguely distinguished objects overthrown on the floor, a bed in one corner, and, in front of us, to the left, the gleam of a lookingglass hanging on the wall, near to the bed. That will do!you may now open the blinds, said Rouletabille. Dont come any further, Daddy Jacques begged, you may make marks with your boots, and nothing must be deranged; it s an idea of the magistratesthough he has nothing more to do here. And he pushed open the shutter. The pale daylight entered from without, throwing a sinister light on the saffroncoloured walls. The floorfor though the laboratory and the vestibule were tiled, The Yellow Room had a flooring of woodwas covered with a single yellow mat which was large enough to cover nearly the whole room, under the bed and under the dressingtablethe only piece of furniture that remained upright. The centre round table, the nighttable and two chairs had been overturned. These did not prevent a large stain of blood being visible on the mat, made, as Daddy Jacques informed us, by the blood which had flowed from the wound on Mademoiselle Stangersons forehead. Besides these stains, drops of blood had fallen in all directions, in line with the visible traces of the footstepslarge and blackof the murderer. Everything led to the presumption that these drops of blood had fallen from the wound of the man who had, for a moment, placed his red hand on the wall. There were other traces of the same hand on the wall, but much less distinct. See!see this blood on the wall! I could not help exclaiming. The man who pressed his hand so heavily upon it in the darkness must certainly have thought that he was pushing at a door! That s why he pressed on it so hard, leaving on the yellow paper the terrible evidence. I dont think there are many hands in the world of that sort. It is big and strong and the fingers are nearly all one as long as the other! The thumb is wanting and we have only the mark of the palm; but if we follow the trace of the hand, I continued, we see that, after leaving its imprint on the wall, the touch sought the door, found it, and then felt for the lock No doubt, interrupted Rouletabille, chuckling,only there is no blood, either on the lock or on the bolt! What does that prove? I rejoined with a good sense of which I was proud; he might have opened the lock with his left hand, which would have been quite natural, his right hand being wounded. He did nt open it at all! Daddy Jacques again exclaimed. We are not fools; and there were four of us when we burst open the door! What a queer hand!Look what a queer hand it is! I said. It is a very natural hand, said Rouletabille, of which the shape has been deformed by its having slipped on the wall. The man dried his hand on the wall. He must be a man about five feet eight in height. How do you come at that? By the height of the marks on the wall. My friend next occupied himself with the mark of the bullet in the wall. It was a round hole. This ball was fired straight, not from above, and consequently, not from below. Rouletabille went back to the door and carefully examined the lock and the bolt, satisfying himself that the door had certainly been burst open from the outside, and, further, that the key had been found in the lock on the inside of the chamber. He finally satisfied himself that with the key in the lock, the door could not possibly be opened from without with another key. Having made sure of all these details, he let fall these words That s better!Then sitting down on the ground, he hastily took off his boots and, in his socks, went into the room. The first thing he did was to examine minutely the overturned furniture. We watched him in silence. Young fellow, you are giving yourself a great deal of trouble, said Daddy Jacques ironically. Rouletabille raised his head and said You have spoken the simple truth, Daddy Jacques; your mistress did not have her hair in bands that evening. I was a donkey to have believed she did. Then, with the suppleness of a serpent, he slipped under the bed. Presently we heard him ask At what time, Monsieur Jacques, did Monsieur and Mademoiselle Stangerson arrive at the laboratory? At six oclock. The voice of Rouletabille continued Yes,hes been under here,thats certain; in fact, there was no where else where he could have hidden himself. Here, too, are the marks of his hobnails. When you enteredall four of youdid you look under the bed? At once,we drew it right out of its place And between the mattresses? There was only one on the bed, and on that Mademoiselle was placed; and Monsieur Stangerson and the concierge immediately carried it into the laboratory. Under the mattress there was nothing but the metal netting, which could not conceal anything or anybody. Remember, monsieur, that there were four of us and we could nt fail to see everythingthe chamber is so small and scantily furnished, and all was locked behind in the pavilion. I ventured on a hypothesis Perhaps he got away with the mattressin the mattress!Anything is possible, in the face of such a mystery! In their distress of mind Monsieur Stangerson and the concierge may not have noticed they were bearing a double weight; especially if the concierge were an accomplice! I throw out this hypothesis for what it is worth, but it explains many things,and particularly the fact that neither the laboratory nor the vestibule bear any traces of the footmarks found in the room. If, in carrying Mademoiselle on the mattress from the laboratory of the chteau, they rested for a moment, there might have been an opportunity for the man in it to escape. And then? asked Rouletabille, deliberately laughing under the bed. I felt rather vexed and replied I dont know,but anything appears possible The examining magistrate had the same idea, monsieur, said Daddy Jacques, and he carefully examined the mattress. He was obliged to laugh at the idea, monsieur, as your friend is doing now,for whoever heard of a mattress having a double bottom? I was myself obliged to laugh, on seeing that what I had said was absurd; but in an affair like this one hardly knows where an absurdity begins or ends. My friend alone seemed able to talk intelligently. He called out from under the bed. The mat here has been moved out of place,who did it? We did, monsieur, explained Daddy Jacques. When we could not find the assassin, we asked ourselves whether there was not some hole in the floor There is not, replied Rouletabille. Is there a cellar? No, there s no cellar. But that has not stopped our searching, and has not prevented the examining magistrate and his Registrar from studying the floor plank by plank, as if there had been a cellar under it. The reporter then reappeared. His eyes were sparkling and his nostrils quivered.


He remained on his hands and knees. He could not be better likened than to an admirable sporting dog on the scent of some unusual game. And, indeed, he was scenting the steps of a man,the man whom he has sworn to report to his master, the manager of the Epoque. It must not be forgotten that Rouletabille was first and last a journalist. Thus, on his hands and knees, he made his way to the four corners of the room, so to speak, sniffing and going round everythingeverything that we could see, which was not much, and everything that we could not see, which must have been infinite. The toilette table was a simple table standing on four legs; there was nothing about it by which it could possibly be changed into a temporary hidingplace. There was not a closet or cupboard. Mademoiselle Stangerson kept her wardrobe at the chteau. Rouletabille literally passed his nose and hands along the walls, constructed of solid brickwork. When he had finished with the walls, and passed his agile fingers over every portion of the yellow paper covering them, he reached to the ceiling, which he was able to touch by mounting on a chair placed on the toilette table, and by moving this ingeniously constructed stage from place to place he examined every foot of it. When he had finished his scrutiny of the ceiling, where he carefully examined the hole made by the second bullet, he approached the window, and, once more, examined the iron bars and blinds, all of which were solid and intact. At last, he gave a grunt of satisfaction and declared Now I am at ease! Well,do you believe that the poor dear young lady was shut up when she was being murderedwhen she cried out for help? wailed Daddy Jacques. Yes, said the young reporter, drying his forehead, The Yellow Room was as tightly shut as an iron safe. That, I said, is why this mystery is the most surprising I know. Edgar Allan Poe, in the Double Assassination of the Rue Morgue, invented nothing like it. The place of that crime was sufficiently closed to prevent the escape of a man; but there was that window through which the monkey, the perpetrator of the murder, could slip away! But here, there can be no question of an opening of any sort. The door was fastened, and through the window blinds, secure as they were, not even a fly could enter or get out. True, true, assented Rouletabille as he kept on drying his forehead, which seemed to be perspiring less from his recent bodily exertion than from his mental agitation. Indeed, it s a great, a beautiful, and a very curious mystery. The Bte du bon Dieu, muttered Daddy Jacques, the Bte du bon Dieu herself, if she had committed the crime, could not have escaped. Listen! Do you hear it? Hush! Daddy Jacques made us a sign to keep quiet and, stretching his arm towards the wall nearest the forest, listened to something which we could not hear. It s answering, he said at length. I must kill it. It is too wicked, but it s the Bte du bon Dieu, and, every night, it goes to pray on the tomb of SainteGenevive and nobody dares to touch her, for fear that Mother Angenoux should cast an evil spell on them. How big is the Bte du bon Dieu? Nearly as big as a small retriever,a monster, I tell you. Ah!I have asked myself more than once whether it was not her that took our poor Mademoiselle by the throat with her claws. But the Bte du bon Dieu does not wear hobnailed boots, nor fire revolvers, nor has she a hand like that! exclaimed Daddy Jacques, again pointing out to us the red mark on the wall. Besides, we should have seen her as well as we would have seen a man Evidently, I said. Before we had seen this Yellow Room, I had also asked myself whether the cat of Mother Angenoux You also! cried Rouletabille. Did nt you? I asked. Not for a moment. After reading the article in the Matin, I knew that a cat had nothing to do with the matter. But I swear now that a frightful tragedy has been enacted here. You say nothing about the Basque cap, or the handkerchief, found here, Daddy Jacques? Of course, the magistrate has taken them, the old man answered, hesitatingly. I have nt seen either the handkerchief or the cap, yet I can tell you how they are made, the reporter said to him gravely. Oh, you are very clever, said Daddy Jacques, coughing and embarrassed. The handkerchief is a large one, blue with red stripes and the cap is an old Basque cap, like the one you are wearing now. You are a wizard! said Daddy Jacques, trying to laugh and not quite succeeding. How do you know that the handkerchief is blue with red stripes? Because, if it had not been blue with red stripes, it would not have been found at all. Without giving any further attention to Daddy Jacques, my friend took a piece of paper from his pocket, and taking out a pair of scissors, bent over the footprints. Placing the paper over one of them he began to cut. In a short time he had made a perfect pattern which he handed to me, begging me not to lose it. He then returned to the window and, pointing to the figure of Frdric Larsan, who had not quitted the side of the lake, asked Daddy Jacques whether the detective had, like himself, been working in The Yellow Room? No, replied Robert Darzac, who, since Rouletabille had handed him the piece of scorched paper, had not uttered a word, He pretends that he does not need to examine The Yellow Room. He says that the murderer made his escape from it in quite a natural way, and that he will, this evening, explain how he did it. As he listened to what Monsieur Darzac had to say, Rouletabille turned pale. Has Frdric Larsan found out the truth, which I can only guess at? he murmured. He is very cleververy cleverand I admire him. But what we have to do today is something more than the work of a policeman,something quite different from the teachings of experience. We have to take hold of our reason by the right end. The reporter rushed into the open air, agitated by the thought that the great and famous Fred might anticipate him in the solution of the problem of The Yellow Room. I managed to reach him on the threshold of the pavilion. Calm yourself, my dear fellow, I said. Are nt you satisfied? Yes, he confessed to me, with a deep sigh. I am quite satisfied. I have discovered many things. Moral or material? Several moral,one material. This, for example. And rapidly he drew from his waistcoat pocket a piece of paper in which he had placed a light coloured hair from a womans head. Chapter VIII. The Examining Magistrate Questions Mademoiselle Stangerson Two minutes later, as Rouletabille was bending over the footprints discovered in the park, under the window of the vestibule, a man, evidently a servant at the chteau, came towards us rapidly and called out to Monsieur Darzac then coming out of the pavilion Monsieur Robert, the magistrate, you know, is questioning Mademoiselle. Monsieur Darzac uttered a muttered excuse to us and set off running towards the chteau, the man running after him. If the corpse can speak, I said, it would be interesting to be there. We must know, said my friend. Let s go to the chteau. And he drew me with him. But, at the chteau, a gendarme placed in the vestibule denied us admission up the staircase of the first floor. We were obliged to wait down stairs. This is what passed in the chamber of the victim while we were waiting below. The family doctor, finding that Mademoiselle Stangerson was much better, but fearing a relapse which would no longer permit of her being questioned, had thought it his duty to inform the examining magistrate of this, who decided to proceed immediately with a brief examination. At this examination, the Registrar, Monsieur Stangerson, and the doctor were present. Later, I obtained the text of the report of the examination, and I give it here, in all its legal dryness Question. Are you able, mademoiselle, without too much fatiguing yourself, to give some necessary details of the frightful attack of which you have been the victim? Answer. I feel much better, monsieur, and I will tell you all I know. When I entered my chamber I did not notice anything unusual there. Q. Excuse me, mademoiselle,if you will allow me, I will ask you some questions and you will answer them. That will fatigue you less than making a long recital. A. Do so, monsieur. Q. What did you do on that day?I want you to be as minute and precise as possible. I wish to know all you did that day, if it is not asking too much of you. A. I rose late, at ten oclock, for my father and I had returned home late on the night previously, having been to dinner at the reception given by the President of the Republic, in honour of the Academy of Science of Philadelphia. When I left my chamber, at halfpast ten, my father was already at work in the laboratory. We worked together till midday. We then took halfanhours walk in the park, as we were accustomed to do, before breakfasting at the chteau. After breakfast, we took another walk for half an hour, and then returned to the laboratory. There we found my chambermaid, who had come to set my room in order. I went into The Yellow Room to give her some slight orders and she directly afterwards left the pavilion, and I resumed my work with my father. At five oclock, we again went for a walk in the park and afterward had tea. Q. Before leaving the pavilion at five oclock, did you go into your chamber? A. No, monsieur, my father went into it, at my request to bring me my hat. Q. And he found nothing suspicious there? A. Evidently no, monsieur. Q. It is, then, almost certain that the murderer was not yet concealed under the bed. When you went out, was the door of the room locked? A. No, there was no reason for locking it. Q. You were absent from the pavilion some length of time, Monsieur Stangerson and you? A. About an hour. Q. It was during that hour, no doubt, that the murderer got into the pavilion. But how? Nobody knows. Footmarks have been found in the park, leading away from the window of the vestibule, but none has been found going towards it. Did you notice whether the vestibule window was open when you went out? A. I dont remember. Monsieur Stangerson. It was closed. Q. And when you returned? Mademoiselle Stangerson. I did not notice. M. Stangerson. It was still closed. I remember remarking aloud Daddy Jacques must surely have opened it while we were away. Q. Strange!Do you recollect, Monsieur Stangerson, if during your absence, and before going out, he had opened it? You returned to the laboratory at six oclock and resumed work? Mademoiselle Stangerson. Yes, monsieur. Q. And you did not leave the laboratory from that hour up to the moment when you entered your chamber? M. Stangerson. Neither my daughter nor I, monsieur. We were engaged on work that was pressing, and we lost not a moment,neglecting everything else on that account. Q. Did you dine in the laboratory? A. For that reason. Q. Are you accustomed to dine in the laboratory? A. We rarely dine there. Q. Could the murderer have known that you would dine there that evening? M. Stangerson. Good Heavens!I think not. It was only when we returned to the pavilion at six oclock, that we decided, my daughter and I, to dine there. At that moment I was spoken to by my gamekeeper, who detained me a moment, to ask me to accompany him on an urgent tour of inspection in a part of the woods which I had decided to thin. I put this off until the next day, and begged him, as he was going by the chteau, to tell the steward that we should dine in the laboratory. He left me, to execute the errand and I rejoined my daughter, who was already at work. Q. At what hour, mademoiselle, did you go to your chamber while your father continued to work there? A. At midnight. Q. Did Daddy Jacques enter The Yellow Room in the course of the evening? A. To shut the blinds and light the nightlight. Q. He saw nothing suspicious? A. He would have told us if he had seen. Daddy Jacques is an honest man and very attached to me. Q. You affirm, Monsieur Stangerson, that Daddy Jacques remained with you all the time you were in the laboratory? M. Stangerson. I am sure of it. I have no doubt of that. Q. When you entered your chamber, mademoiselle, you immediately shut the door and locked and bolted it? That was taking unusual precautions, knowing that your father and your servant were there? Were you in fear of something, then? A. My father would be returning to the chteau and Daddy Jacques would be going to his bed. And, in fact, I did fear something. Q. You were so much in fear of something that you borrowed Daddy Jacquess revolver without telling him you had done so? A. That is true. I did not wish to alarm anybody,the more, because my fears might have proved to have been foolish. Q. What was it you feared? A. I hardly know how to tell you. For several nights, I seemed to hear, both in the park and out of the park, round the pavilion, unusual sounds, sometimes footsteps, at other times the cracking of branches. The night before the attack on me, when I did not get to bed before three oclock in the morning, on our return from the lyse, I stood for a moment before my window, and I felt sure I saw shadows. Q. How many? A. Two. They moved round the lake,then the moon became clouded and I lost sight of them. At this time of the season, every year, I have generally returned to my apartment in the chteau for the winter; but this year I said to myself that I would not quit the pavilion before my father had finished the rsum of his works on the Dissociation of Matter for the Academy. I did not wish that that important work, which was to have been finished in the course of a few days, should be delayed by a change in our daily habit. You can well understand that I did not wish to speak of my childish fears to my father, nor did I say anything to Daddy Jacques who, I knew, would not have been able to hold his tongue. Knowing that he had a revolver in his room, I took advantage of his absence and borrowed it, placing it in the drawer of my nighttable. Q. You know of no enemies you have? A. None. Q. You understand, mademoiselle, that these precautions are calculated to cause surprise? M. Stangerson. Evidently, my child, such precautions are very surprising. A. No;because I have told you that I had been uneasy for two nights. M. Stangerson. You ought to have told me of that! This misfortune would have been avoided. Q. The door of The Yellow Room locked, did you go to bed? A. Yes, and, being very tired, I at once went to sleep. Q. The nightlight was still burning? A. Yes, but it gave a very feeble light. Q. Then, mademoiselle, tell us what happened. A. I do not know whether I had been long asleep, but suddenly I awokeand uttered a loud cry. M. Stangerson. Yesa horrible cryMurder!It still rings in my ears. Q. You uttered a loud cry? A. A man was in my chamber. He sprang at me and tried to strangle me. I was nearly stifled when suddenly I was able to reach the drawer of my nighttable and grasp the revolver which I had placed in it. At that moment the man had forced me to the foot of my bed and brandished over my head a sort of mace. But I had fired. He immediately struck a terrible blow at my head. All that, monsieur, passed more rapidly than I can tell it, and I know nothing more. Q. Nothing?Have you no idea as to how the assassin could escape from your chamber? A. None whateverI know nothing more. One does not know what is passing around one, when one is unconscious. Q. Was the man you saw tall or short, little or big? A. I only saw a shadow which appeared to me formidable. Q. You cannot give us any indication? A. I know nothing more, monsieur, than that a man threw himself upon me and that I fired at him. I know nothing more. Here the interrogation of Mademoiselle Stangerson concluded. Rouletabille waited patiently for Monsieur Robert Darzac, who soon appeared. From a room near the chamber of Mademoiselle Stangerson, he had heard the interrogatory and now came to recount it to my friend with great exactitude, aided by an excellent memory. His docility still surprised me. Thanks to hasty pencilnotes, he was able to reproduce, almost textually, the questions and the answers given. It looked as if Monsieur Darzac were being employed as the secretary of my young friend and acted as if he could refuse him nothing; nay, more, as if under a compulsion to do so. The fact of the closed window struck the reporter as it had struck the magistrate. Rouletabille asked Darzac to repeat once more Mademoiselle Stangersons account of how she and her father had spent their time on the day of the tragedy, as she had stated it to the magistrate. The circumstance of the dinner in the laboratory seemed to interest him in the highest degree; and he had it repeated to him three times. He also wanted to be sure that the forestkeeper knew that the professor and his daughter were going to dine in the laboratory, and how he had come to know it. When Monsieur Darzac had finished, I said The examination has not advanced the problem much. It has put it back, said Monsieur Darzac. It has thrown light upon it, said Rouletabille, thoughtfully. Chapter IX. Reporter and Detective The three of us went back towards the pavilion. At some distance from the building the reporter made us stop and, pointing to a small clump of trees to the right of us, said That s where the murderer came from to get into the pavilion. As there were other patches of trees of the same sort between the great oaks, I asked why the murderer had chosen that one, rather than any of the others. Rouletabille answered me by pointing to the path which ran quite close to the thicket to the door of the pavilion. That path is, as you see, topped with gravel, he said; the man must have passed along it going to the pavilion, since no traces of his steps have been found on the soft ground. The man did nt have wings; he walked; but he walked on the gravel which left no impression of his tread. The gravel has, in fact, been trodden by many other feet, since the path is the most direct way between the pavilion and the chteau. As to the thicket, made of the sort of shrubs that dont flourish in the rough seasonlaurels and fuchsiasit offered the murderer a sufficient hidingplace until it was time for him to make his way to the pavilion. It was while hiding in that clump of trees that he saw Monsieur and Mademoiselle Stangerson, and then Daddy Jacques, leave the pavilion. Gravel has been spread nearly, very nearly, up to the windows of the pavilion. The footprints of a man, parallel with the wallmarks which we will examine presently, and which I have already seenprove that he only needed to make one stride to find himself in front of the vestibule window, left open by Daddy Jacques. The man drew himself up by his hands and entered the vestibule. After all it is very possible, I said. After all what? After all what? cried Rouletabille. I begged of him not to be angry; but he was too much irritated to listen to me and declared, ironically, that he admired the prudent doubt with which certain people approached the most simple problems, risking nothing by saying that is so, or that is not so. Their intelligence would have produced about the same result if nature had forgotten to furnish their brainpan with a little grey matter. As I appeared vexed, my young friend took me by the arm and admitted that he had not meant that for me; he thought more of me than that. If I did not reason as I do in regard to this gravel, he went on, I should have to assume a balloon!My dear fellow, the science of the aerostation of dirigible balloons is not yet developed enough for me to consider it and suppose that a murderer would drop from the clouds! So dont say a thing is possible, when it could not be otherwise. We know now how the man entered by the window, and we also know the moment at which he entered,during the five oclock walk of the professor and his daughter. The fact of the presence of the chambermaidwho had come to clean up The Yellow Roomin the laboratory, when Monsieur Stangerson and his daughter returned from their walk, at halfpast one, permits us to affirm that at halfpast one the murderer was not in the chamber under the bed, unless he was in collusion with the chambermaid. What do you say, Monsieur Darzac? Monsieur Darzac shook his head and said he was sure of the chambermaids fidelity, and that she was a thoroughly honest and devoted servant. Besides, he added, at five oclock Monsieur Stangerson went into the room to fetch his daughters hat. There is that also, said Rouletabille. That the man entered by the window at the time you say, I admit, I said; but why did he shut the window? It was an act which would necessarily draw the attention of those who had left it open. It may be the window was not shut at once, replied the young reporter. But if he did shut the window, it was because of the bend in the gravel path, a dozen yards from the pavilion, and on account of the three oaks that are growing at that spot. What do you mean by that? asked Monsieur Darzac, who had followed us and listened with almost breathless attention to all that Rouletabille had said. I ll explain all to you later on, Monsieur, when I think the moment to be ripe for doing so; but I dont think I have anything of more importance to say on this affair, if my hypothesis is justified. And what is your hypothesis? You will never know if it does not turn out to be the truth. It is of much too grave a nature to speak of it, so long as it continues to be only a hypothesis. Have you, at least, some idea as to who the murderer is? No, monsieur, I dont know who the murderer is; but dont be afraid, Monsieur Robert DarzacI shall know. I could not but observe that Monsieur Darzac was deeply moved; and I suspected that Rouletabilles confident assertion was not pleasing to him. Why, I asked myself, if he was really afraid that the murderer should be discovered, was he helping the reporter to find him? My young friend seemed to have received the same impression, for he said, bluntly Monsieur Darzac dont you want me to find out who the murderer was? Oh!I should like to kill him with my own hand! cried Mademoiselle Stangersons fianc, with a vehemence that amazed me. I believe you, said Rouletabille gravely; but you have not answered my question. We were passing by the thicket, of which the young reporter had spoken to us a minute before. I entered it and pointed out evident traces of a man who had been hidden there. Rouletabille, once more, was right. Yes, yes! he said. We have to do with a thing of flesh and blood, who uses the same means that we do. It ll all come out on those lines. Having said this, he asked me for the paper pattern of the footprint which he had given me to take care of, and applied it to a very clear footmark behind the thicket. Aha! he said, rising. I thought he was now going to trace back the track of the murderers footmarks to the vestibule window; but he led us instead, far to the left, saying that it was useless ferreting in the mud, and that he was sure, now, of the road taken by the murderer. He went along the wall to the hedge and dry ditch, over which he jumped. See, just in front of the little path leading to the lake, that was his nearest way to get out. How do you know he went to the lake? Because Frdric Larsan has not quitted the borders of it since this morning. There must be some important marks there. A few minutes later we reached the lake. It was a little sheet of marshy water, surrounded by reeds, on which floated some dead waterlily leaves. The great Fred may have seen us approaching, but we probably interested him very little, for he took hardly any notice of us and continued to be stirring with his cane something which we could not see. Look! said Rouletabille, here again are the footmarks of the escaping man; they skirt the lake here and finally disappear just before this path, which leads to the high road to Epinay. The man continued his flight to Paris. What makes you think that? I asked, since these footmarks are not continued on the path? What makes me think that?Why these footprints, which I expected to find! he cried, pointing to the sharply outlined imprint of a neat boot. See!and he called to Frdric Larsan. Monsieur Fred, these neat footprints seem to have been made since the discovery of the crime. Yes, young man, yes, they have been carefully made, replied Fred without raising his head. You see, there are steps that come, and steps that go back. And the man had a bicycle! cried the reporter. Here, after looking at the marks of the bicycle, which followed, going and coming, the neat footprints, I thought I might intervene. The bicycle explains the disappearance of the murderers big footprints, I said. The murderer, with his rough boots, mounted a bicycle. His accomplice, the wearer of the neat boots, had come to wait for him on the edge of the lake with the bicycle. It might be supposed that the murderer was working for the other. No, no! replied Rouletabille with a strange smile. I have expected to find these footmarks from the very beginning. These are not the footmarks of the murderer! Then there were two? Nothere was but one, and he had no accomplice. Very good!Very good! cried Frdric Larsan. Look! continued the young reporter, showing us the ground where it had been disturbed by big and heavy heels; the man seated himself there, and took off his hobnailed boots, which he had worn only for the purpose of misleading detection, and then no doubt, taking them away with him, he stood up in his own boots, and quietly and slowly regained the high road, holding his bicycle in his hand, for he could not venture to ride it on this rough path. That accounts for the lightness of the impression made by the wheels along it, in spite of the softness of the ground. If there had been a man on the bicycle, the wheels would have sunk deeply into the soil. No, no; there was but one man there, the murderer on foot. Bravo!bravo! cried Fred again, and coming suddenly towards us and, planting himself in front of Monsieur Robert Darzac, he said to him If we had a bicycle here, we might demonstrate the correctness of the young mans reasoning, Monsieur Robert Darzac. Do you know whether there is one at the chteau? No! replied Monsieur Darzac. There is not. I took mine, four days ago, to Paris, the last time I came to the chteau before the crime. That s a pity! replied Fred, very coldly. Then, turning to Rouletabille, he said If we go on at this rate, we ll both come to the same conclusion. Have you any idea, as to how the murderer got away from The Yellow Room? Yes, said my young friend; I have an idea. So have I, said Fred, and it must be the same as yours. There are no two ways of reasoning in this affair. I am waiting for the arrival of my chief before offering any explanation to the examining magistrate. Ah! Is the Chief of the Sret coming? Yes, this afternoon. He is going to summon, before the magistrate, in the laboratory, all those who have played any part in this tragedy. It will be very interesting. It is a pity you wont be able to be present. I shall be present, said Rouletabille confidently. Reallyyou are an extraordinary fellowfor your age! replied the detective in a tone not wholly free from irony. You d make a wonderful detectiveif you had a little more methodif you did nt follow your instincts and that bump on your forehead. As I have already several times observed, Monsieur Rouletabille, you reason too much; you do not allow yourself to be guided by what you have seen. What do you say to the handkerchief full of blood, and the red mark of the hand on the wall? You have seen the stain on the wall, but I have only seen the handkerchief. Bah! cried Rouletabille, the murderer was wounded in the hand by Mademoiselle Stangersons revolver! Ah!a simply instinctive observation! Take care!You are becoming too strictly logical, Monsieur Rouletabille; logic will upset you if you use it indiscriminatively. You are right, when you say that Mademoiselle Stangerson fired her revolver, but you are wrong when you say that she wounded the murderer in the hand. I am sure of it, cried Rouletabille. Fred, imperturbable, interrupted him Defective observationdefective observation!the examination of the handkerchief, the numberless little round scarlet stains, the impression of drops which I found in the tracks of the footprints, at the moment when they were made on the floor, prove to me that the murderer was not wounded at all. Monsieur Rouletabille, the murderer bled at the nose! The great Fred spoke quite seriously. However, I could not refrain from uttering an exclamation. The reporter looked gravely at Fred, who looked gravely at him. And Fred immediately concluded The man allowed the blood to flow into his hand and handkerchief, and dried his hand on the wall. The fact is highly important, he added, because there is no need of his being wounded in the hand for him to be the murderer. Rouletabille seemed to be thinking deeply. After a moment he said There is somethinga something, Monsieur Frdric Larsan, much graver than the misuse of logicthe disposition of mind in some detectives which makes them, in perfect good faith, twist logic to the necessities of their preconceived ideas. You, already, have your idea about the murderer, Monsieur Fred. Dont deny it; and your theory demands that the murderer should not have been wounded in the hand, otherwise it comes to nothing. And you have searched, and have found something else. It s dangerous, very dangerous, Monsieur Fred, to go from a preconceived idea to find the proofs to fit it. That method may lead you far astray. Beware of judicial error, Monsieur Fred, it will trip you up! And laughing a little, in a slightly bantering tone, his hands in his pockets, Rouletabille fixed his cunning eyes on the great Fred. Frdric Larsan silently contemplated the young reporter who pretended to be as wise as himself. Shrugging his shoulders, he bowed to us and moved quickly away, hitting the stones on his path with his stout cane. Rouletabille watched his retreat, and then turned toward us, his face joyous and triumphant. I shall beat him! he cried. I shall beat the great Fred, clever as he is; I shall beat them all! And he danced a double shuffle. Suddenly he stopped. My eyes followed his gaze; they were fixed on Monsieur Robert Darzac, who was looking anxiously at the impression left by his feet side by side with the elegant footmarks. There was not a particle of difference between them! We thought he was about to faint. His eyes, bulging with terror, avoided us, while his right hand, with a spasmodic movement, twitched at the beard that covered his honest, gentle, and now despairing face. At length regaining his selfpossession, he bowed to us, and remarking, in a changed voice, that he was obliged to return to the chteau, left us. The deuce! exclaimed Rouletabille. He, also, appeared to be deeply concerned. From his pocketbook he took a piece of white paper as I had seen him do before, and with his scissors, cut out the shape of the neat bootmarks that were on the ground. Then he fitted the new paper pattern with the one he had previously madethe two were exactly alike. Rising, Rouletabille exclaimed again The deuce! Presently he added Yet I believe Monsieur Robert Darzac to be an honest man. He then led me on the road to the Donjon Inn, which we could see on the highway, by the side of a small clump of trees. Chapter X. We Shall Have to Eat Red MeatNow The Donjon Inn was of no imposing appearance; but I like these buildings with their rafters blackened with age and the smoke of their hearthsthese inns of the coachingdays, crumbling erections that will soon exist in the memory only. They belong to the bygone days, they are linked with history. They make us think of the Road, of those days when highwaymen rode.