What was I doing there? Perfect silence reigned throughout. Everything was sunk in repose. What was the instinct that urged me towards Mademoiselle Stangersons chamber? Why did a voice within me cry Go on, to the chamber of Mademoiselle Stangerson! I cast my eyes down upon the carpet on which I was treading and saw that my steps were being directed towards Mademoiselle Stangersons chamber by the marks of steps that had already been made there. Yes, on the carpet were traces of footsteps stained with mud leading to the chamber of Mademoiselle Stangerson. Horror! Horror!I recognised in those footprints the impression of the neat boots of the murderer! He had come, then, from without in this wretched night. If you could descend from the gallery by way of the window, by means of the terrace, then you could get into the chteau by the same means. The murderer was still in the chteau, for here were marks as of returning footsteps. He had entered by the open window at the extremity of the offturning gallery; he had passed Frdric Larsans door and mine, had turned to the right, and had entered Mademoiselle Stangersons room. I am before the door of her anteroomit is open. I push it, without making the least noise. Under the door of the room itself I see a streak of light. I listenno soundnot even of breathing! Ah!if I only knew what was passing in the silence that is behind that door! I find the door locked and the key turned on the inner side. And the murderer is there, perhaps. He must be there! Will he escape this time?All depends on me!I must be calm, and above all, I must make no false steps. I must see into that room. I can enter it by Mademoiselle Stangersons drawingroom; but, to do that I should have to cross her boudoir; and while I am there, the murderer may escape by the gallery doorthe door in front of which I am now standing. I am sure that no other crime is being committed, on this night; for there is complete silence in the boudoir, where two nurses are taking care of Mademoiselle Stangerson until she is restored to health. As I am almost sure that the murderer is there, why do I not at once give the alarm? The murderer may, perhaps, escape; but, perhaps, I may be able to save Mademoiselle Stangersons life. Suppose the murderer on this occasion is not here to murder? The door has been opened to allow him to enter; by whom?And it has been refastenedby whom?Mademoiselle Stangerson shuts herself up in her apartment with her nurses every night. Who turned the key of that chamber to allow the murderer to enter?The nurses,two faithful domestics? The old chambermaid, Sylvia? It is very improbable. Besides, they slept in the boudoir, and Mademoiselle Stangerson, very nervous and careful, Monsieur Robert Darzac told me, sees to her own safety since she has been well enough to move about in her room, which I have not yet seen her leave. This nervousness and sudden care on her part, which had struck Monsieur Darzac, had given me, also, food for thought. At the time of the crime in The Yellow Room, there can be no doubt that she expected the murderer. Was he expected this night?Was it she herself who had opened her door to him? Had she some reason for doing so? was she obliged to do it?Was it a meeting for purposes of crime?Certainly it was not a lovers meeting, for I believe Mademoiselle Stangerson adores Monsieur Darzac. All these reflections ran through my brain like a flash of lightning. What would I not give to know! It is possible that there was some reason for the awful silence. My intervention might do more harm than good. How could I tell? How could I know I might not any moment cause another crime? If I could only see and know, without breaking that silence! I left the anteroom and descended the central stairs to the vestibule and, as silently as possible, made my way to the little room on the groundfloor where Daddy Jacques had been sleeping since the attack made at the pavilion. I found him dressed, his eyes wide open, almost haggard. He did not seem surprised to see me. He told me that he had got up because he had heard the cry of the Bte du bon Dieu, and because he had heard footsteps in the park, close to his window, out of which he had looked and, just then, had seen a black shadow pass by. I asked him whether he had a firearm of any kind. No, he no longer kept one, since the examining magistrate had taken his revolver from him. We went out together, by a little back door, into the park, and stole along the chteau to the point which is just below Mademoiselle Stangersons window. I placed Daddy Jacques against the wall, ordering him not to stir from the spot, while I, taking advantage of a moment when the moon was hidden by a cloud, moved to the front of the window, out of the patch of light which came from it,for the window was halfopen! If I could only know what was passing in that silent chamber! I returned to Daddy Jacques and whispered the word ladder in his ear. At first I had thought of the tree which, a week ago, served me for an observatory; but I immediately saw that, from the way the window was halfopened, I should not be able to see from that point of view anything that was passing in the room; and I wanted, not only to see, but to hear, andto act. Greatly agitated, almost trembling, Daddy Jacques disappeared for a moment and returned without the ladder, but making signs to me with his arms, as signals to me to come quickly to him. When I got near him he gasped Come! He led me round the chteau, past the donjon. Arrived there, he said  I went to the donjon in search of my ladder, and in the lower part of the donjon which serves me and the gardener for a lumber room, I found the door open and the ladder gone. On coming out, that s what I caught sight of by the light of the moon. And he pointed to the further end of the chteau, where a ladder stood resting against the stone brackets supporting the terrace, under the window which I had found open. The projection of the terrace had prevented my seeing it. Thanks to that ladder, it was quite easy to get into the offturning gallery of the first floor, and I had no doubt of it having been the road taken by the unknown. We ran to the ladder, but at the moment of reaching it, Daddy Jacques drew my attention to the halfopen door of the little semicircular room, situated under the terrace, at the extremity of the right wing of the chteau, having the terrace for its roof. Daddy Jacques pushed the door open a little further and looked in.  He s not there! he whispered.  Who is not there?  The forestkeeper. With his lips once more to my ear, he added  Do you know that he has slept in the upper room of the donjon ever since it was restored? And with the same gesture he pointed to the halfopen door, the ladder, the terrace, and the windows in the offturning gallery which, a little while before, I had reclosed. What were my thoughts then? I had no time to think. I felt more than I thought. Evidently, I felt, if the forestkeeper is up there in the chamber (I say, if, because at this moment, apart from the presence of the ladder and his vacant room, there are no evidences which permit me even to suspect him)if he is there, he has been obliged to pass by the ladder, and the rooms which lie behind his, in his new lodging, are occupied by the family of the steward and by the cook, and by the kitchens, which bar the way by the vestibule to the interior of the chteau. And if he had been there during the evening on any pretext, it would have been easy for him to go into the gallery and see that the window could be simply pushed open from the outside. This question of the unfastened window easily narrowed the field of search for the murderer. He must belong to the house, unless he had an accomplice, which I do not believe he had; unlessunless Mademoiselle Stangerson herself had seen that that window was not fastened from the inside. But, then,what could be the frightful secret which made her under the necessity of doing away with obstacles that separated her from the murderer? I seized hold of the ladder, and we returned to the back of the chteau to see if the window of the chamber was still halfopen. The blind was drawn but did not join and allowed a bright stream of light to escape and fall upon the path at our feet. I planted the ladder under the window. I am almost sure that I made no noise; and while Daddy Jacques remained at the foot of the ladder, I mounted it, very quietly, my stout stick in my hand. I held my breath and lifted my feet with the greatest care. Suddenly a heavy cloud discharged itself at that moment in a fresh downpour of rain. At the same instant the sinister cry of the Bte du bon Dieu arrested me in my ascent. It seemed to me to have come from close by meonly a few yards away. Was the cry a signal?Had some accomplice of the man seen me on the ladder!Would the cry bring the man to the window?Perhaps! Ah, there he was at the window! I felt his head above me. I heard the sound of his breath! I could not look up towards him; the least movement of my head, andI might be lost. Would he see me?Would he peer into the darkness? No; he went away. He had seen nothing. I felt, rather than heard, him moving on tiptoe in the room; and I mounted a few steps higher. My head reached to the level of the windowsill; my forehead rose above it; my eyes looked between the opening in the blindsand I saw A man seated at Mademoiselle Stangersons little desk, writing. His back was turned toward me. A candle was lit before him, and he bent over the flame, the light from it projecting shapeless shadows. I saw nothing but a monstrous, stooping back. Mademoiselle Stangerson herself was not there!Her bed had not been lain on! Where, then, was she sleeping that night? Doubtless in the sideroom with her women. Perhaps this was but a guess. I must content myself with the joy of finding the man alone. I must be calm to prepare my trap. But who, then, is this man writing there before my eyes, seated at the desk, as if he were in his own home? If there had not been that ladder under the window; if there had not been those footprints on the carpet in the gallery; if there had not been that open window, I might have been led to think that this man had a right to be there, and that he was there as a matter of course and for reasons about which as yet I knew nothing. But there was no doubt that this mysterious unknown was the man of The Yellow Room,the man to whose murderous assault Mademoiselle Stangersonwithout denouncing himhad had to submit. If I could but see his face! Surprise and capture him! If I spring into the room at this moment, he will escape by the righthand door opening into the boudoir,or crossing the drawingroom, he will reach the gallery and I shall lose him. I have him now and in five minutes more he ll be safer than if I had him in a cage.What is he doing there, alone in Mademoiselle Stangersons room?What is he writing? I descend and place the ladder on the ground. Daddy Jacques follows me. We reenter the chteau. I send Daddy Jacques to wake Monsieur Stangerson, and instruct him to await my coming in Mademoiselle Stangersons room and to say nothing definite to him before my arrival. I will go and awaken Frdric Larsan. It s a bore to have to do it, for I should have liked to work alone and to have carried off all the honors of this affair myself, right under the very nose of the sleeping detective. But Daddy Jacques and Monsieur Stangerson are old men, and I am not yet fully developed. I might not be strong enough. Larsan is used to wrestling and putting on the handcuffs. He opened his eyes swollen with sleep, ready to send me flying, without in the least believing in my reporters fancies. I had to assure him that the man was there!  That s strange! he said; I thought I left him this afternoon in Paris. He dressed himself in haste and armed himself with a revolver. We stole quietly into the gallery.  Where is he? Larsan asked.  In Mademoiselle Stangersons room.  AndMademoiselle Stangerson?  She is not in there.  Let s go in.  Dont go there! On the least alarm the man will escape. He has four ways by which to do itthe door, the window, the boudoir, or the room in which the women are sleeping.  I ll draw him from below.  And if you fail?If you only succeed in wounding himhe ll escape again, without reckoning that he is certainly armed. No, let me direct the expedition, and I ll answer for everything.  As you like, he replied, with fairly good grace. Then, after satisfying myself that all the windows of the two galleries were thoroughly secure, I placed Frdric Larsan at the end of the offturning gallery, before the window which I had found open and had reclosed.  Under no consideration, I said to him, must you stir from this post till I call you. The chances are even that the man, when he is pursued, will return to this window and try to save himself that way; for it is by that way he came in and made a way ready for his flight. You have a dangerous post.  What will be yours? asked Fred.  I shall spring into the room and knock him over for you.  Take my revolver, said Fred, and I ll take your stick.  Thanks, I said; You are a brave man. I accepted his offer. I was going to be alone with the man in the room writing and was really thankful to have the weapon. I left Fred, having posted him at the window (No. 5 on the plan), and, with the greatest precaution, went towards Monsieur Stangersons apartment in the left wing of the chteau. I found him with Daddy Jacques, who had faithfully obeyed my directions, confining himself to asking his master to dress as quickly as possible. In a few words I explained to Monsieur Stangerson what was passing. He armed himself with a revolver, followed me, and we were all three speedily in the gallery. Since I had seen the murderer seated at the desk ten minutes had elapsed. Monsieur Stangerson wished to spring upon the assassin at once and kill him. I made him understand that, above all, he must not, in his desire to kill him, miss him. When I had sworn to him that his daughter was not in the room, and in no danger, he conquered his impatience and left me to direct the operations. I told them that they must come to me the moment I called to them, or when I fired my revolver. I then sent Daddy Jacques to place himself before the window at the end of the right gallery. (No. 2 on my plan.) I chose that position for Daddy Jacques because I believed that the murderer, tracked, on leaving the room, would run through the gallery towards the window which he had left open, and, instantly seeing that it was guarded by Larsan, would pursue his course along the right gallery. There he would encounter Daddy Jacques, who would prevent his springing out of the window into the park. Under that window there was a sort of buttress, while all the other windows in the galleries were at such a height from the ground that it was almost impossible to jump from them without breaking ones neck. All the doors and windows, including those of the lumberroom at the end of the right galleryas I had rapidly assured myselfwere strongly secured. Having indicated to Daddy Jacques the post he was to occupy, and having seen him take up his position, I placed Monsieur Stangerson on the landing at the head of the stairs not far from the door of his daughters anteroom. Everything led me to suppose that when I surprised the murderer in the room, he would run by way of the anteroom, rather than the boudoir, where the women were, and of which the door must have been locked by Mademoiselle Stangerson herself if, as I thought, she had taken refuge in the boudoir for the purpose of avoiding the murderer who was coming to see her. In any case, he must return to the gallery where my people were awaiting him at every possible issue. On coming there, he would see on his left, Monsieur Stangerson; he would turn to the right, towards the offturning gallerythe way he had prearranged for flight, where, at the intersection of the two galleries, he would see at once, as I have explained, on his left, Frdric Larsan at the end of the offturning gallery, and in front, Daddy Jacques, at the end of the right gallery. Monsieur Stangerson and myself would arrive by way of the back of the chteau.He is ours!He can no longer escape us! I was sure of that. The plan I had formed seemed to me the best, the surest, and the most simple. It would, no doubt, have been simpler still, if we had been able to place some one directly behind the door of Mademoiselles boudoir, which opened out of her bedchamber, and, in that way, had been in a position to besiege the two doors of the room in which the man was. But we could not penetrate the boudoir except by way of the drawingroom, the door of which had been locked on the inside by Mademoiselle Stangerson. But even if I had had the free disposition of the boudoir, I should have held to the plan I had formed; because any other plan of attack would have separated us at the moment of the struggle with the man, while my plan united us all for the attack, at a spot which I had selected with almost mathematical precision,the intersection of the two galleries. Having so placed my people, I again left the chteau, hurried to my ladder, and, replacing it, climbed up, revolver in hand. If there be any inclined to smile at my taking so many precautionary measures, I refer them to the mystery of The Yellow Room, and to all the proofs we have of the weird cunning of the murderer. Further, if there be some who think my observations needlessly minute at a moment when they ought to be completely held by rapidity of movement and decision of action, I reply that I have wished to report here, at length and completely, all the details of a plan of attack conceived so rapidly that it is only the slowness of my pen that gives an appearance of slowness to the execution. I have wished, by this slowness and precision, to be certain that nothing should be omitted from the conditions under which the strange phenomenon was produced, which, until some natural explanation of it is forthcoming, seems to me to prove, even better than the theories of Professor Stangerson, the Dissociation of MatterI will even say, the instantaneous Dissociation of Matter. Chapter XVI. Strange Phenomenon of the Dissociation of Matter (Extract from the NoteBook of Joseph Rouletabille, continued) I am again at the windowsill, continues Rouletabille, and once more I raise my head above it. Through an opening in the curtains, the arrangement of which has not been changed, I am ready to look, anxious to note the position in which I am going to find the murderer,whether his back will still be turned towards me!whether he is still seated at the desk writing! But perhapsperhapshe is no longer there!Yet how could he have fled?Was I not in possession of his ladder? I force myself to be cool. I raise my head yet higher. I lookhe is still there. I see his monstrous back, deformed by the shadow thrown by the candle. He is no longer writing now, and the candle is on the parquet, over which he is bendinga position which serves my purpose. I hold my breath. I mount the ladder. I am on the uppermost rung of it, and with my left hand seize hold of the windowsill. In this moment of approaching success, I feel my heart beating wildly. I put my revolver between my teeth. A quick spring, and I shall be on the windowledge. Butthe ladder! I had been obliged to press on it heavily, and my foot had scarcely left it, when I felt it swaying beneath me. It grated on the wall and fell. But, already, my knees were touching the windowsill, and, by a movement quick as lightning, I got on to it. But the murderer had been even quicker than I had been. He had heard the grating of the ladder on the wall, and I saw the monstrous back of the man raise itself. I saw his head. Did I really see it?The candle on the parquet lit up his legs only. Above the height of the table the chamber was in darkness. I saw a man with long hair, a full beard, wildlooking eyes, a pale face, framed in large whiskers,as well as I could distinguish, and, as I thinkred in colour. I did not know the face. That was, in brief, the chief sensation I received from that face in the dim halflight in which I saw it. I did not know itor, at least, I did not recognise it. Now for quick action! It was indeed time for that, for as I was about to place my legs through the window, the man had seen me, had bounded to his feet, had sprungas I foresaw he wouldto the door of the antechamber, had time to open it, and fled. But I was already behind him, revolver in hand, shouting Help! Like an arrow I crossed the room, but noticed a letter on the table as I rushed. I almost came up with the man in the anteroom, for he had lost time in opening the door to the gallery. I flew on wings, and in the gallery was but a few feet behind him. He had taken, as I supposed he would, the gallery on his right,that is to say, the road he had prepared for his flight. Help, Jacques!help, Larsan! I cried. He could not escape us! I raised a shout of joy, of savage victory. The man reached the intersection of the two galleries hardly two seconds before me for the meeting which I had preparedthe fatal shock which must inevitably take place at that spot! We all rushed to the crossingplaceMonsieur Stangerson and I coming from one end of the right gallery, Daddy Jacques coming from the other end of the same gallery, and Frdric Larsan coming from the offturning gallery. The man was not there! We looked at each other stupidly and with eyes terrified. The man had vanished like a ghost. Where is hewhere is he? we all asked.  It is impossible he can have escaped! I cried, my terror mastered by my anger.  I touched him! exclaimed Frdric Larsan.  I felt his breath on my face! cried Daddy Jacques.  Where is he?where is he? we all cried. We raced like madmen along the two galleries; we visited doors and windowsthey were closed, hermetically closed. They had not been opened. Besides, the opening of a door or window by this man whom we were hunting, without our having perceived it, would have been more inexplicable than his disappearance? Where is he?where is he?He could not have got away by a door or a window, nor by any other way. He could not have passed through our bodies! I confess that, for the moment, I felt done for. For the gallery was perfectly lighted, and there was neither trap, nor secret door in the walls, nor any sort of hidingplace. We moved the chairs and lifted the pictures. Nothing!nothing! We would have looked into a flowerpot, if there had been one to look into! When this mystery, thanks to Rouletabille, was naturally explained, by the help alone of his masterful mind, we were able to realise that the murderer had got away neither by a door, a window, nor the stairsa fact which the judges would not admit. Chapter XVII. The Inexplicable Gallery (Extract from the NoteBook of Joseph Rouletabille, continued) Mademoiselle Stangerson appeared at the door of her anteroom, continues Rouletabilles notebook. We were near her door in the gallery where this incredible phenomenon had taken place. There are moments when one feels as if ones brain were about to burst. A bullet in the head, a fracture of the skull, the seat of reason shatteredwith only these can I compare the sensation which exhausted and left me void of sense. Happily, Mademoiselle Stangerson appeared on the threshold of her anteroom. I saw her, and that helped to relieve my chaotic state of mind. I breathed herI inhaled the perfume of the lady in black, whom I should never see again. I would have given ten years of my lifehalf my lifeto see once more the lady in black! Alas! I no more meet her but from time to time,and yet!and yet! how the memory of that perfumefelt by me alonecarries me back to the days of my childhood. It was this sharp reminder from my beloved perfume, of the lady in black, which made me go to herdressed wholly in white and so paleso pale and so beautiful!on the threshold of the inexplicable gallery. Her beautiful golden hair, gathered into a knot on the back of her neck, left visible the red star on her temple which had so nearly been the cause of her death. When I first got on the right track of the mystery of this case I had imagined that, on the night of the tragedy in The Yellow Room, Mademoiselle Stangerson had worn her hair in bands. But then, how could I have imagined otherwise when I had not been in The Yellow Room! But now, since the occurrence of the inexplicable gallery, I did not reason at all. I stood there, stupid, before the apparitionso pale and so beautifulof Mademoiselle Stangerson. She was clad in a dressinggown of dreamy white. One might have taken her to be a ghosta lovely phantom. Her father took her in his arms and kissed her passionately, as if he had recovered her after being long lost to him. I dared not question her. He drew her into the room and we followed them,for we had to know!The door of the boudoir was open. The terrified faces of the two nurses craned towards us. Mademoiselle Stangerson inquired the meaning of all the disturbance. That she was not in her own room was quite easily explainedquite easily. She had a fancy not to sleep that night in her chamber, but in the boudoir with her nurses, locking the door on them. Since the night of the crime she had experienced feelings of terror, and fears came over her that are easily to be comprehended. But who could imagine that on that particular night when he was to come, she would, by a mere chance, determine to shut herself in with her women? Who would think that she would act contrary to her fathers wish to sleep in the drawingroom? Who could believe that the letter which had so recently been on the table in her room would no longer be there? He who could understand all this, would have to assume that Mademoiselle Stangerson knew that the murderer was comingshe could not prevent his coming againunknown to her father, unknown to all but to Monsieur Robert Darzac. For he must know it nowperhaps he had known it before! Did he remember that phrase in the lyse garden Must I commit a crime, then, to win you? Against whom the crime, if not against the obstacle, against the murderer? Ah, I would kill him with my own hand!And I replied, You have not answered my question. That was the very truth. In truth, in truth, Monsieur Darzac knew the murderer so well thatwhile wishing to kill him himselfhe was afraid I should find him. There could be but two reasons why he had assisted me in my investigation. First, because I have forced him to do it; and, second, because she would be the better protected. I am in the chamberher room. I look at her, also at the place where the letter had just now been. She has possessed herself of it; it was evidently intended for herevidently. How she trembles!Trembles at the strange story her father is telling her, of the presence of the murderer in her chamber, and of the pursuit. But it is plainly to be seen that she is not wholly satisfied by the assurance given her until she had been told that the murderer, by some incomprehensible means, had been able to elude us. Then follows a silence. What a silence! We are all therelooking at her,her father, Larsan, Daddy Jacques and I. What were we all thinking of in the silence? After the events of that night, of the mystery of the inexplicable gallery, of the prodigious fact of the presence of the murderer in her room, it seemed to me that all our thoughts might have been translated into the words which were addressed to her. You who know of this mystery, explain it to us, and we shall perhaps be able to save you. How I longed to save herfrom herself, and, from the other!It brought the tears to my eyes. She is there, shedding about her the perfume of the lady in black. At last, I see her, in the silence of her chamber. Since the fatal hour of the mystery of The Yellow Room, we have hung about this invisible and silent woman to learn what she knows. Our desires, our wish to know must be a torment to her. Who can tell that, should we learn the secret of her mystery, it would not precipitate a tragedy more terrible than that which had already been enacted here? Who can tell if it might not mean her death? Yet it had brought her close to death,and we still knew nothing. Or, rather, there are some of us who know nothing. But Iif I knew who, I should know all. Who?Who?Not knowing who, I must remain silent, out of pity for her. For there is no doubt that she knows how he escaped from The Yellow Room, and yet she keeps the secret. When I know who, I will speak to himto him! She looked at us nowwith a faraway look in her eyesas if we were not in the chamber. Monsieur Stangerson broke the silence. He declared that, henceforth, he would no more absent himself from his daughters apartments. She tried to oppose him in vain. He adhered firmly to his purpose. He would install himself there this very night, he said. Solely concerned for the health of his daughter, he reproached her for having left her bed. Then he suddenly began talking to her as if she were a little child. He smiled at her and seemed not to know either what he said or what he did. The illustrious professor had lost his head. Mademoiselle Stangerson in a tone of tender distress said Father!father! Daddy Jacques blows his nose, and Frdric Larsan himself is obliged to turn away to hide his emotion. For myself, I am able neither to think or feel. I felt an infinite contempt for myself. It was the first time that Frdric Larsan, like myself, found himself face to face with Mademoiselle Stangerson since the attack in The Yellow Room. Like me, he had insisted on being allowed to question the unhappy lady; but he had not, any more than had I, been permitted. To him, as to me, the same answer had always been given Mademoiselle Stangerson was too weak to receive us. The questionings of the examining magistrate had overfatigued her. It was evidently intended not to give us any assistance in our researches. I was not surprised; but Frdric Larsan had always resented this conduct. It is true that he and I had a totally different theory of the crime. I still catch myself repeating from the depths of my heart Save her!save her without his speaking! Who is hethe murderer? Take him and shut his mouth. But Monsieur Darzac made it clear that in order to shut his mouth he must be killed. Have I the right to kill Mademoiselle Stangersons murderer? No, I had not. But let him only give me the chance! Let me find out whether he is really a creature of flesh and blood!Let me see his dead body, since it cannot be taken alive. If I could but make this woman, who does not even look at us, understand! She is absorbed by her fears and by her fathers distress of mind. And I can do nothing to save her. Yes, I will go to work once more and accomplish wonders. I move towards her. I would speak to her. I would entreat her to have confidence in me. I would, in a word, make her understandshe alonethat I know how the murderer escaped from The Yellow Roomthat I have guessed the motives for her secrecyand that I pity her with all my heart. But by her gestures she begged us to leave her alone, expressing weariness and the need for immediate rest. Monsieur Stangerson asked us to go back to our rooms and thanked us. Frdric Larsan and I bowed to him and, followed by Daddy Jacques, we regained the gallery. I heard Larsan murmur Strange! strange! He made a sign to me to go with him into his room. On the threshold he turned towards Daddy Jacques.  Did you see him distinctly? he asked.  Who?  The man?  Saw him!why, he had a big red beard and red hair.  That s how he appeared to me, I said.  And to me, said Larsan. The great Fred and I were alone in his chamber, now, to talk over this thing.


We talked for an hour, turning the matter over and viewing it from every side. From the questions put by him, from the explanation which he gives me, it is clear to me thatin spite of all our senses he is persuaded the man disappeared by some secret passage in the chteau known to him alone.  He knows the chteau, he said to me; he knows it well.  He is a rather tall manwellbuilt, I suggested.  He is as tall as he wants to be, murmured Fred.  I understand, I said; but how do you account for his red hair and beard?  Too much beardtoo much hairfalse, says Fred.  That s easily said. You are always thinking of Robert Darzac. You cant get rid of that idea? I am certain that he is innocent.  So much the better. I hope so; but everything condemns him. Did you notice the marks on the carpet?Come and look at them.  I have seen them; they are the marks of the neat boots, the same as those we saw on the border of the lake.  Can you deny that they belong to Robert Darzac?  Of course, one may be mistaken.  Have you noticed that those footprints only go in one direction?that there are no return marks? When the man came from the chamber, pursued by all of us, his footsteps left no traces behind them.  He had, perhaps, been in the chamber for hours. The mud from his boots had dried, and he moved with such rapidity on the points of his toesWe saw him running, but we did not hear his steps. I suddenly put an end to this idle chattervoid of any logic, and made a sign to Larsan to listen.  Therebelow; some one is shutting a door. I rise; Larsan follows me; we descend to the groundfloor of the chteau. I lead him to the little semicircular room under the terrace beneath the window of the offturning gallery. I point to the door, now closed, open a short time before, under which a shaft of light is visible.  The forestkeeper! says Fred.  Come on! I whisper. PreparedI know not whyto believe that the keeper is the guilty manI go to the door and rap smartly on it. Some might think that we were rather late in thinking of the keeper, since our first business, after having found that the murderer had escaped us in the gallery, ought to have been to search everywhere else,around the chteau,in the park Had this criticism been made at the time, we could only have answered that the assassin had disappeared from the gallery in such a way that we thought he was no longer anywhere! He had eluded us when we all had our hands stretched out ready to seize himwhen we were almost touching him. We had no longer any ground for hoping that we could clear up the mystery of that night. As soon as I rapped at the door it was opened, and the keeper asked us quietly what we wanted. He was undressed and preparing to go to bed. The bed had not yet been disturbed. We entered and I affected surprise.  Not gone to bed yet?  No, he replied roughly. I have been making a round of the park and in the woods. I am only just backand sleepy. Goodnight!  Listen, I said. An hour or so ago, there was a ladder close by your window.  What ladder?I did not see any ladder. Goodnight! And he simply put us out of the room. When we were outside I looked at Larsan. His face was impenetrable.  Well? I said.  Well? he repeated.  Does that open out any new view to you? There was no mistaking Larsans bad temper. On reentering the chteau, I heard him mutter  It would be strangevery strangeif I had deceived myself on that point! He seemed to be talking to me rather than to himself. He added  In any case, we shall soon know what to think. The morning will bring light with it.   When I wrote these lines, Joseph Rouletabille was eighteen years of age,and he spoke of his youth. I have kept the text of my friend, but I inform the reader here that the episode of the mystery of The Yellow Room has no connection with that of the perfume of the lady in black. It is not my fault if, in the document which I have cited, Rouletabille thought fit to refer to his childhood.  Chapter XVIII. Rouletabille Has Drawn a Circle between the Two Bumps on His Forehead (Extract from the NoteBook of Joseph Rouletabille, continued) We separated on the thresholds of our rooms, with a melancholy shake of the hands. I was glad to have aroused in him a suspicion of error. His was an original brain, very intelligent butwithout method. I did not go to bed. I awaited the coming of daylight and then went down to the front of the chteau, and made a detour, examining every trace of footsteps coming towards it or going from it. These, however, were so mixed and confusing that I could make nothing of them. Here I may make a remark,I am not accustomed to attach an exaggerated importance to exterior signs left in the track of a crime. The method which traces the criminal by means of the tracks of his footsteps is altogether primitive. So many footprints are identical. However, in the disturbed state of my mind, I did go into the deserted court and did look at all the footprints I could find there, seeking for some indication, as a basis for reasoning. If I could but find a right startingpoint! In despair I seated myself on a stone. For over an hour I busied myself with the common, ordinary work of a policeman. Like the least intelligent of detectives I went on blindly over the traces of footprints which told me just no more than they could. I came to the conclusion that I was a fool, lower in the scale of intelligence than even the police of the modern romancer. Novelists build mountains of stupidity out of a footprint on the sand, or from an impression of a hand on the wall. That s the way innocent men are brought to prison. It might convince an examining magistrate or the head of a detective department, but it s not proof. You writers forget that what the senses furnish is not proof. If I am taking cognisance of what is offered me by my senses I do so but to bring the results within the circle of my reason. That circle may be the most circumscribed, but if it is, it has this advantageit holds nothing but the truth! Yes, I swear that I have never used the evidence of the senses but as servants to my reason. I have never permitted them to become my master. They have not made of me that monstrous thing,worse than a blind man,a man who sees falsely. And that is why I can triumph over your error and your merely animal intelligence, Frdric Larsan. Be of good courage, then, friend Rouletabille; it is impossible that the incident of the inexplicable gallery should be outside the circle of your reason. You know that! Then have faith and take thought with yourself and forget not that you took hold of the right end when you drew that circle in your brain within which to unravel this mysterious play of circumstance. To it, once again! Go back to the gallery. Take your stand on your reason and rest there as Frdric Larsan rests on his cane. You will then soon prove that the great Fred is nothing but a fool.30th October. Noon. Joseph Rouletabille. I acted as I planned. With head on fire, I retraced my way to the gallery, and without having found anything more than I had seen on the previous night, the right hold I had taken of my reason drew me to something so important that I was obliged to cling to it to save myself from falling. Now for the strength and patience to find sensible traces to fit in with my thinkingand these must come within the circle I have drawn between the two bumps on my forehead!30th of October. Midnight. Joseph Rouletabille. Chapter XIX. Rouletabille Invites Me to Breakfast at the Donjon Inn It was not until later that Rouletabille sent me the NoteBook in which he had written at length the story of the phenomenon of the inexplicable gallery. On the day I arrived at the Glandier and joined him in his room, he recounted to me, with the greatest detail, all that I have now related, telling me also how he had spent several hours in Paris where he had learned nothing that could be of any help to him. The event of the inexplicable gallery had occurred on the night between the 29th and 30th of October, that is to say, three days before my return to the chteau. It was on the 2nd of November, then, that I went back to the Glandier, summoned there by my friends telegram, and taking the revolvers with me. I am now in Rouletabilles room and he has finished his recital. While he had been telling me the story I noticed him continually rubbing the glass of the eyeglasses he had found on the side table. From the evident pleasure he was taking in handling them I felt they must be one of those sensible evidences destined to enter, what he had called, the circle of the right end of his reason. That strange and unique way of his, to express himself in terms wonderfully adequate for his thought, no longer surprised me. It was often necessary to know his thought to understand the terms he used; and it was not easy to penetrate into Rouletabilles thinking. This lads brain was one of the most curious things I have ever observed. Rouletabille went on the even tenor of his way without suspecting the astonishment and even bewilderment he roused in others. I am sure he was not himself in the least conscious of the originality of his genius. He was himself and at ease wherever he happened to be. When he had finished his recital he asked me what I thought of it. I replied that I was much puzzled by his question. Then he begged me to try, in my turn, to take my reason in hand by the right end. Very well, I said. It seems to me that the point of departure of my reason would be thisthere can be no doubt that the murderer you pursued was in the gallery. I paused. After making so good a start, you ought not to stop so soon, he exclaimed. Come, make another effort. I ll try. Since he disappeared from the gallery without passing through any door or window, he must have escaped by some other opening. Rouletabille looked at me pityingly, smiled carelessly, and remarked that I was reasoning like a postman, orlike Frdric Larsan. Rouletabille had alternate fits of admiration and disdain for the great Fred. It all depended as to whether Larsans discoveries tallied with Rouletabilles reasoning or not. When they did he would exclaim He is really great! When they did not he would grunt and mutter, What an ass! It was a petty side of the noble character of this strange youth. We had risen, and he led me into the park. When we reached the court and were making towards the gate, the sound of blinds thrown back against the wall made us turn our heads, and we saw, at a window on the first floor of the chteau, the ruddy and clean shaven face of a person I did not recognise. Hullo! muttered Rouletabille. Arthur Rance!He lowered his head, quickened his pace, and I heard him ask himself between his teeth Was he in the chteau that night? What is he doing here? We had gone some distance from the chteau when I asked him who this Arthur Rance was, and how he had come to know him. He referred to his story of that morning and I remembered that Mr. Arthur W. Rance was the American from Philadelphia with whom he had had so many drinks at the lyse reception. But was he not to have left France almost immediately? I asked. No doubt; that s why I am surprised to find him here still, and not only in France, but above all, at the Glandier. He did not arrive this morning; and he did not get here last night. He must have got here before dinner, then. Why did nt the concierges tell me? I reminded my friend, apropos of the concierges, that he had not yet told me what had led him to get them set at liberty. We were close to their lodge. Monsieur and Madame Bernier saw us coming. A frank smile lit up their happy faces. They seemed to harbour no illfeeling because of their detention. My young friend asked them at what hour Mr. Arthur Rance had arrived. They answered that they did not know he was at the chteau. He must have come during the evening of the previous night, but they had not had to open the gate for him, because, being a great walker, and not wishing that a carriage should be sent to meet him, he was accustomed to get off at the little hamlet of SaintMichel, from which he came to the chteau by way of the forest. He reached the park by the grotto of SainteGenevive, over the little gate of which, giving on to the park, he climbed. As the concierges spoke, I saw Rouletabilles face cloud over and exhibit disappointmenta disappointment, no doubt, with himself. Evidently he was a little vexed, after having worked so much on the spot, with so minute a study of the people and events at the Glandier, that he had to learn now that Arthur Rance was accustomed to visit the chteau. You say that Monsieur Arthur Rance is accustomed to come to the chteau. When did he come here last? We cant tell you exactly, replied Madame Bernierthat was the name of the conciergewe could nt know while they were keeping us in prison. Besides, as the gentleman comes to the chteau without passing through our gate he goes away by the way he comes. Do you know when he came the first time? Oh yes, Monsieur!nine years ago. He was in France nine years ago, then, said Rouletabille, and, since that time, as far as you know, how many times has he been at the Glandier? Three times. When did he come the last time, as far as you know? A week before the attempt in The Yellow Room. Rouletabille put another questionthis time addressing himself particularly to the woman In the grove of the parquet? In the grove of the parquet, she replied. Thanks! said Rouletabille. Be ready for me this evening. He spoke the last words with a finger on his lips as if to command silence and discretion. We left the park and took the way to the Donjon Inn. Do you often eat here? Sometimes. But you also take your meals at the chteau? Yes, Larsan and I are sometimes served in one of our rooms. Has nt Monsieur Stangerson ever invited you to his own table? Never. Does your presence at the chteau displease him? I dont know; but, in any case, he does not make us feel that we are in his way. Does nt he question you? Never. He is in the same state of mind as he was in at the door of The Yellow Room when his daughter was being murdered, and when he broke open the door and did not find the murderer. He is persuaded, since he could discover nothing, that there s no reason why we should be able to discover more than he did. But he has made it his duty, since Larsan expressed his theory, not to oppose us. Rouletabille buried himself in thought again for some time. He aroused himself later to tell me of how he came to set the two concierges free. I went lately to see Monsieur Stangerson, and took with me a piece of paper on which was written I promise, whatever others may say, to keep in my service my two faithful servants, Bernier and his wife. I explained to him that, by signing that document, he would enable me to compel those two people to speak out; and I declared my own assurance of their innocence of any part in the crime. That was also his opinion. The examining magistrate, after it was signed, presented the document to the Berniers, who then did speak. They said, what I was certain they would say, as soon as they were sure they would not lose their place. They confessed to poaching on Monsieur Stangersons estates, and it was while they were poaching, on the night of the crime, that they were found not far from the pavilion at the moment when the outrage was being committed. Some rabbits they caught in that way were sold by them to the landlord of the Donjon Inn, who served them to his customers, or sent them to Paris. That was the truth, as I had guessed from the first. Do you remember what I said, on entering the Donjon Inn?We shall have to eat red meatnow! I had heard the words on the same morning when we arrived at the park gate. You heard them also, but you did not attach any importance to them. You recollect, when we reached the park gate, that we stopped to look at a man who was running by the side of the wall, looking every minute at his watch. That was Larsan. Well, behind us the landlord of the Donjon Inn, standing on his doorstep, said to someone inside We shall have to eat red meatnow. Why that now? When you are, as I am, in search of some hidden secret, you cant afford to have anything escape you. You ve got to know the meaning of everything. We had come into a rather outoftheway part of the country which had been turned topsyturvey by a crime, and my reason led me to suspect every phrase that could bear upon the event of the day. Now, I took to mean, since the outrage. In the course of my inquiry, therefore, I sought to find a relation between that phrase and the tragedy. We went to the Donjon Inn for breakfast; I repeated the phrase and saw, by the surprise and trouble on Daddy Mathieus face, that I had not exaggerated its importance, so far as he was concerned. I had just learned that the concierges had been arrested. Daddy Mathieu spoke of them as of dear friendspeople for whom one is sorry. That was a reckless conjunction of ideas, I said to myself. Now, that the concierges are arrested, we shall have to eat red meat. No more concierges, no more game! The hatred expressed by Daddy Mathieu for Monsieur Stangersons forestkeepera hatred he pretended was shared by the conciergesled me easily to think of poaching. Now as all the evidence showed the concierges had not been in bed at the time of the tragedy, why were they abroad that night? As participants in the crime? I was not disposed to think so. I had already arrived at the conclusion, by steps of which I will tell you laterthat the assassin had had no accomplice, and that the tragedy held a mystery between Mademoiselle Stangerson and the murderer, a mystery with which the concierges had nothing to do. With that theory in my mind, I searched for proof in their lodge, which, as you know, I entered. I found there under their bed, some springs and brass wire. Ah! I thought, these things explain why they were out in the park at night! I was not surprised at the dogged silence they maintained before the examining magistrate, even under the accusation so grave as that of being accomplices in the crime. Poaching would save them from the Assize Court, but it would lose them their places; and, as they were perfectly sure of their innocence of the crime, they hoped it would soon be established, and then their poaching might go on as usual. They could always confess later. I, however, hastened their confession by means of the document Monsieur Stangerson signed. They gave all the necessary proofs, were set at liberty, and have now a lively gratitude for me. Why did I not get them released sooner? Because I was not sure that nothing more than poaching was against them. I wanted to study the ground. As the days went by, my conviction became more and more certain. The day after the events of the inexplicable gallery I had need of help I could rely on, so I resolved to have them released at once. That was how Joseph Rouletabille explained himself. Once more I could not but be astonished at the simplicity of the reasoning which had brought him to the truth of the matter. Certainly this was no big thing; but I think, myself, that the young man will, one of these days, explain with the same simplicity, the fearful tragedy in The Yellow Room as well as the phenomenon of the inexplicable gallery. We reached the Donjon Inn and entered it. This time we did not see the landlord, but were received with a pleasant smile by the hostess. I have already described the room in which we found ourselves, and I have given a glimpse of the charming blonde woman with the gentle eyes who now immediately began to prepare our breakfast. How s Daddy Mathieu? asked Rouletabille. Not much betternot much better; he is still confined to his bed. His rheumatism still sticks to him, then? Yes. Last night I was again obliged to give him morphinethe only drug that gives him any relief. She spoke in a soft voice. Everything about her expressed gentleness. She was, indeed, a beautiful woman; somewhat with an air of indolence, with great eyes seemingly black and blueamorous eyes. Was she happy with her crabbed, rheumatic husband? The scene at which we had once been present did not lead us to believe that she was; yet there was something in her bearing that was not suggestive of despair. She disappeared into the kitchen to prepare our repast, leaving on the table a bottle of excellent cider. Rouletabille filled our earthenware mugs, loaded his pipe, and quietly explained to me his reason for asking me to come to the Glandier with revolvers. Yes, he said, contemplatively looking at the clouds of smoke he was puffing out, yes, my dear boy, I expect the assassin tonight. A brief silence followed, which I took care not to interrupt, and then he went on Last night, just as I was going to bed, Monsieur Robert Darzac knocked at my room. When he came in he confided to me that he was compelled to go to Paris the next day, that is, this morning. The reason which made this journey necessary was at once peremptory and mysterious; it was not possible for him to explain its object to me. I go, and yet, he added, I would give my life not to leave Mademoiselle Stangerson at this moment. He did not try to hide that he believed her to be once more in danger. It will not greatly astonish me if something happens tomorrow night, he avowed, and yet I must be absent. I cannot be back at the Glandier before the morning of the day after tomorrow. I asked him to explain himself, and this is all he would tell me. His anticipation of coming danger had come to him solely from the coincidence that Mademoiselle Stangerson had been twice attacked, and both times when he had been absent. On the night of the incident of the inexplicable gallery he had been obliged to be away from the Glandier. On the night of the tragedy in The Yellow Room he had also not been able to be at the Glandier, though this was the first time he had declared himself on the matter. Now a man so moved who should still go away must be acting under compulsionmust be obeying a will stronger than his own. That was how I reasoned, and I told him so. He replied Perhaps.I asked him if Mademoiselle Stangerson was compelling him. He protested that she was not. His determination to go to Paris had been taken without any conference with Mademoiselle Stangerson. To cut the story short, he repeated that his belief in the possibility of a fresh attack was founded entirely on the extraordinary coincidence. If anything happens to Mademoiselle Stangerson, he said, it would be terrible for both of us. For her, because her life would be in danger; for me because I could neither defend her from the attack nor tell of where I had been. I am perfectly aware of the suspicions cast on me. The examining magistrate and Monsieur Larsan are both on the point of believing in my guilt. Larsan tracked me the last time I went to Paris, and I had all the trouble in the world to get rid of him.  Why do you not tell me the name of the murderer now, if you know it? I cried. Monsieur Darzac appeared extremely troubled by my question, and replied to me in a hesitating tone  I?I know the name of the murderer? Why, how could I know his name? I at once replied From Mademoiselle Stangerson. He grew so pale that I thought he was about to faint, and I saw that I had hit the right nail on the head. Mademoiselle and he knew the name of the murderer! When he recovered himself, he said to me I am going to leave you. Since you have been here I have appreciated your exceptional intelligence and your unequalled ingenuity. But I ask this service of you. Perhaps I am wrong to fear an attack during the coming night; but, as I must act with foresight, I count on you to frustrate any attempt that may be made. Take every step needful to protect Mademoiselle Stangerson. Keep a most careful watch of her room. Dont go to sleep, nor allow yourself one moment of repose. The man we dread is remarkably cunningwith a cunning that has never been equalled. If you keep watch his very cunning may save her; because it s impossible that he should not know that you are watching; and knowing it, he may not venture.  Have you spoken of all this to Monsieur Stangerson?  No. I do not wish him to ask me, as you just now did, for the name of the murderer. I tell you all this, Monsieur Rouletabille, because I have great, very great, confidence in you. I know that you do not suspect me. The poor man spoke in jerks. He was evidently suffering. I pitied him, the more because I felt sure that he would rather allow himself to be killed than tell me who the murderer was. As for Mademoiselle Stangerson, I felt that she would rather allow herself to be murdered than denounce the man of The Yellow Room and of the inexplicable gallery. The man must be dominating her, or both, by some inscrutable power. They were dreading nothing so much as the chance of Monsieur Stangerson knowing that his daughter was held by her assailant. I made Monsieur Darzac understand that he had explained himself sufficiently, and that he might refrain from telling me any more than he had already told me. I promised him to watch through the night. He insisted that I should establish an absolutely impassable barrier about Mademoiselle Stangersons chamber, around the boudoir where the nurses were sleeping, and around the drawingroom where, since the affair of the inexplicable gallery, Monsieur Stangerson had slept. In short, I was to put a cordon round the whole apartment. From his insistence I gathered that Monsieur Darzac intended not only to make it impossible for the expected man to reach the chamber of Mademoiselle Stangerson, but to make that impossibility so visibly clear that, seeing himself expected, he would at once go away. That was how I interpreted his final words when we parted You may mention your suspicions of the expected attack to Monsieur Stangerson, to Daddy Jacques, to Frdric Larsan, and to anybody in the chteau. The poor fellow left me hardly knowing what he was saying. My silence and my eyes told him that I had guessed a large part of his secret. And, indeed, he must have been at his wits end, to have come to me at such a time, and to abandon Mademoiselle Stangerson in spite of his fixed idea as to the coincidence. When he was gone, I began to think that I should have to use even a greater cunning than his so that if the man should come that night, he might not for a moment suspect that his coming had been expected. Certainly! I would allow him to get in far enough, so that, dead or alive, I might see his face clearly! He must be got rid of. Mademoiselle Stangerson must be freed from this continual impending danger. Yes, my boy, said Rouletabille, after placing his pipe on the table, and emptying his mug of cider, I must see his face distinctly, so as to make sure to impress it on that part of my brain where I have drawn my circle of reasoning. The landlady reappeared at that moment, bringing in the traditional bacon omelette. Rouletabille chaffed her a little, and she took the chaff with the most charming good humour. She is much jollier when Daddy Mathieu is in bed with his rheumatism, Rouletabille said to me. But I had eyes neither for Rouletabille nor for the landladys smiles. I was entirely absorbed over the last words of my young friend and in thinking over Monsieur Robert Darzacs strange behaviour. When he had finished his omelette and we were again alone, Rouletabille continued the tale of his confidences. When I sent you my telegram this morning, he said, I had only the word of Monsieur Darzac, that perhaps the assassin would come tonight. I can now say that he will certainly come. I expect him. What has made you feel this certainty? I have been sure since halfpast ten oclock this morning that he would come. I knew that before we saw Arthur Rance at the window in the court. Ah! I said, But, againwhat made you so sure? And why since halfpast ten this morning? Because, at halfpast ten, I had proof that Mademoiselle Stangerson was making as many efforts to permit of the murderers entrance as Monsieur Robert Darzac had taken precautions against it. Is that possible! I cried. Have nt you told me that Mademoiselle Stangerson loves Monsieur Robert Darzac? I told you so because it is the truth. Then do you see nothing strange Everything in this business is strange, my friend; but take my word for it, the strangeness you now feel is nothing to the strangeness that s to come! It must be admitted, then, I said, that Mademoiselle Stangerson and her murderer are in communicationat any rate in writing? Admit it, my friend, admit it! You dont risk anything! I told you about the letter left on her table, on the night of the inexplicable gallery affair,the letter that disappearedinto the pocket of Mademoiselle Stangerson. Why should it not have been a summons to a meeting? Might he not, as soon as he was sure of Darzacs absence, appoint the meeting for the coming night? And my friend laughed silently. There are moments when I ask myself if he is not laughing at me. The door of the inn opened. Rouletabille was on his feet so suddenly that one might have thought he had received an electric shock. Mr. Arthur Rance! he cried. Mr. Arthur Rance stood before us calmly bowing. Chapter XX. An Act of Mademoiselle Stangerson You remember me, Monsieur? asked Rouletabille. Perfectly! replied Arthur Rance. I recognise you as the lad at the bar. [The face of Rouletabille crimsoned at being called a lad.] I want to shake hands with you. You are a bright little fellow. The American extended his hand and Rouletabille, relaxing his frown, shook it and introduced Mr. Arthur Rance to me. He invited him to share our meal. No thanks. I breakfasted with Monsieur Stangerson. Arthur Rance spoke French perfectly,almost without an accent. I did not expect to have the pleasure of seeing you again, Monsieur. I thought you were to have left France the day after the reception at the lyse. Rouletabille and I, outwardly indifferent, listened most intently for every word the American would say. The mans purplish red face, his heavy eyelids, the nervous twitchings, all spoke of his addiction to drink. How come it that so sorry a specimen of a man should be so intimate with Monsieur Stangerson? Some days later, I learned from Frdric Larsanwho, like ourselves, was surprised and mystified by his appearance and reception at the chteauthat Mr. Rance had been an inebriate for about fifteen years only; that is to say, since the professor and his daughter left Philadelphia. During the time the Stangersons lived in America they were very intimate with Arthur Rance, who was one of the most distinguished phrenologists of the new world. Owing to new experiments, he had made enormous strides beyond the science of Gall and Lavater. The friendliness with which he was received at the Glandier may be explained by the fact that he had rendered Mademoiselle Stangerson a great service by stopping, at the peril of his own life, the runaway horses of her carriage. The immediate result of that could, however, have been no more than a mere friendly association with the Stangersons; certainly, not a love affair. Frdric Larsan did not tell me where he had picked up this information; but he appeared to be quite sure of what he said. Had we known these facts at the time Arthur Rance met us at the Donjon Inn, his presence at the chteau might not have puzzled us, but they could not have failed to increase our interest in the man himself. The American must have been at least fortyfive years old. He spoke in a perfectly natural tone in reply to Rouletabilles question. I put off my return to America when I heard of the attack on Mademoiselle Stangerson. I wanted to be certain the lady had not been killed, and I shall not go away until she is perfectly recovered.


Arthur Rance then took the lead in talk, paying no heed to some of Rouletabilles questions. He gave us, without our inviting him, his personal views on the subject of the tragedy,views which, as well as I could make out, were not far from those held by Frdric Larsan. The American also thought that Robert Darzac had something to do with the matter. He did not mention him by name, but there was no room to doubt whom he meant. He told us he was aware of the efforts young Rouletabille was making to unravel the tangled skein of The Yellow Room mystery. He explained that Monsieur Stangerson had related to him all that had taken place in the inexplicable gallery. He several times expressed his regret at Monsieur Darzacs absence from the chteau on all these occasions, and thought that Monsieur Darzac had done cleverly in allying himself with Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille, who could not fail, sooner or later, to discover the murderer. He spoke the last sentence with unconcealed irony. Then he rose, bowed to us, and left the inn. Rouletabille watched him through the window. An odd fish, that! he said. Do you think he ll pass the night at the Glandier? I asked. To my amazement the young reporter answered that it was a matter of entire indifference to him whether he did or not. As to how we spent our time during the afternoon, all I need say is that Rouletabille led me to the grotto of SainteGenevive, and, all the time, talked of every subject but the one with which we were most interested. Towards evening I was surprised to find Rouletabille making none of the preparations I had expected him to make. I spoke to him about it when night had come on, and we were once more in his room. He replied that all his arrangements had already been made, and this time the murderer would not get away from him. I expressed some doubt on this, reminding him of his disappearance in the gallery, and suggested that the same phenomenon might occur again. He answered that he hoped it would. He desired nothing more. I did not insist, knowing by experience how useless that would have been. He told me that, with the help of the concierges, the chteau had since early dawn, been watched in such a way that nobody could approach it without his knowing it, and that he had no concern for those who might have left it and remained without. It was then six oclock by his watch. Rising, he made a sign to me to follow him, and, without in the least trying to conceal his movements or the sound of his footsteps, he led me through the gallery. We reached the right gallery and came to the landingplace which we crossed. We then continued our way in the gallery of the left wing, passing Professor Stangersons apartment. At the far end of the gallery, before coming to the donjon, is the room occupied by Arthur Rance. We knew that, because we had seen him at the window looking on to the court. The door of the room opens on to the end of the gallery, exactly facing the east window, at the extremity of the right gallery, where Rouletabille had placed Daddy Jacques, and commands an uninterrupted view of the gallery from end to end of the chteau. That offturning gallery, said Rouletabille, I reserve for myself; when I tell you you ll come and take your place here. And he made me enter a little dark, triangular closet built in a bend of the wall, to the left of the door of Arthur Rances room. From this recess I could see all that occurred in the gallery as well as if I had been standing in front of Arthur Rances door, and I could watch that door, too. The door of the closet, which was to be my place of observation, was fitted with panels of transparent glass. In the gallery, where all the lamps had been lit, it was quite light. In the closet, however, it was quite dark. It was a splendid place from which to observe and remain unobserved. I was soon to play the part of a spya common policeman. I wonder what my leader at the bar would have said had he known! I was not altogether pleased with my duties, but I could not refuse Rouletabille the assistance he had begged me to give him. I took care not to make him see that I in the least objected, and for several reasons. I wanted to oblige him; I did not wish him to think me a coward; I was filled with curiosity; and it was too late for me to draw back, even had I determined to do so. That I had not had these scruples sooner was because my curiosity had quite got the better of me. I might also urge that I was helping to save the life of a woman, and even a lawyer may do that conscientiously. We returned along the gallery. On reaching the door of Mademoiselle Stangersons apartment, it opened from a push given by the steward who was waiting at the dinnertable. (Monsieur Stangerson had, for the last three days, dined with his daughter in the drawingroom on the first floor.) As the door remained open, we distinctly saw Mademoiselle Stangerson, taking advantage of the stewards absence, and while her father was stooping to pick up something he had let fall, pour the contents of a phial into Monsieur Stangersons glass. Chapter XXI. On the Watch The act, which staggered me, did not appear to affect Rouletabille much. We returned to his room and, without even referring to what we had seen, he gave me his final instructions for the night. First we were to go to dinner; after dinner, I was to take my stand in the dark closet and wait there as long as it was necessaryto look out for what might happen. If you see anything before I do, he explained, you must let me know. If the man gets into the right gallery by any other way than the offturning gallery, you will see him before I shall, because you have a view along the whole length of the right gallery, while I can only command a view of the offturning gallery. All you need do to let me know is to undo the cord holding the curtain of the right gallery window, nearest to the dark closet. The curtain will fall of itself and immediately leave a square of shadow where previously there had been a square of light. To do this, you need but stretch your hand out of the closet, I shall understand your signal perfectly. And then? Then you will see me coming round the corner of the offturning gallery. What am I to do then? You will immediately come towards me, behind the man; but I shall already be upon him, and shall have seen his face. I attempted a feeble smile. Why do you smile? Well, you may smile while you have the chance, but I swear you ll have no time for that a few hours from now. And if the man escapes? So much the better, said Rouletabille, coolly, I dont want to capture him. He may take himself off any way he can. I will let him goafter I have seen his face. That s all I want. I shall know afterwards what to do so that as far as Mademoiselle Stangerson is concerned he shall be dead to her even though he continues to live. If I took him alive, Mademoiselle Stangerson and Robert Darzac would, perhaps, never forgive me! And I wish to retain their goodwill and respect. Seeing, as I have just now seen, Mademoiselle Stangerson pour a narcotic into her fathers glass, so that he might not be awake to interrupt the conversation she is going to have with her murderer, you can imagine she would not be grateful to me if I brought the man of The Yellow Room and the inexplicable gallery, bound and gagged, to her father. I realise now that if I am to save the unhappy lady, I must silence the man and not capture him. To kill a human being is no small thing. Besides, that s not my business, unless the man himself makes it my business. On the other hand, to render him forever silent without the ladys assent and confidence is to act on ones own initiative and assumes a knowledge of everything with nothing for a basis. Fortunately, my friend, I have guessed, no, I have reasoned it all out. All that I ask of the man who is coming tonight is to bring me his face, so that it may enter Into the circle? Exactly! And his face wont surprise me! But I thought you saw his face on the night when you sprang into the chamber? Only imperfectly. The candle was on the floor; and, his beard Will he wear his beard this evening? I think I can say for certain that he will. But the gallery is light and, now, I knoworat least, my brain knowsand my eyes will see. If we are here only to see him and let him escape, why are we armed? Because, if the man of The Yellow Room and the inexplicable gallery knows that I know, he is capable of doing anything! We should then have to defend ourselves. And you are sure he will come tonight? As sure as that you are standing there! This morning, at halfpast ten oclock, Mademoiselle Stangerson, in the cleverest way in the world, arranged to have no nurses tonight. She gave them leave of absence for twentyfour hours, under some plausible pretexts, and did not desire anybody to be with her but her father, while they are away. Her father, who is to sleep in the boudoir, has gladly consented to the arrangement. Darzacs departure and what he told me, as well as the extraordinary precautions Mademoiselle Stangerson is taking to be alone tonight leaves me no room for doubt. She has prepared the way for the coming of the man whom Darzac dreads. That s awful! It is! And what we saw her do was done to send her father to sleep? Yes. Then there are but two of us for tonights work? Four; the concierge and his wife will watch at all hazards. I dont set much value on them beforebut the concierge may be useful afterif there s to be any killing! Then you think there may be? If he wishes it. Why have nt you brought in Daddy Jacques?Have you made no use of him today? No, replied Rouletabille sharply. I kept silence for awhile, then, anxious to know his thoughts, I asked him point blank Why not tell Arthur Rance?He may be of great assistance to us? Oh! said Rouletabille crossly, then you want to let everybody into Mademoiselle Stangersons secrets?Come, let us go to dinner; it is time. This evening we dine in Frdric Larsans room,at least, if he is not on the heels of Darzac. He sticks to him like a leech. But, anyhow, if he is not there now, I am quite sure he will be, tonight! He s the one I am going to knock over! At this moment we heard a noise in the room near us. It must be he, said Rouletabille. I forgot to ask you, I said, if we are to make any allusion to tonights business when we are with this policeman. I take it we are not. Is that so? Evidently. We are going to operate alone, on our own personal account. So that all the glory will be ours? Rouletabille laughed. We dined with Frdric Larsan in his room. He told us he had just come in and invited us to be seated at table. We ate our dinner in the best of humours, and I had no difficulty in appreciating the feelings of certainty which both Rouletabille and Larsan felt. Rouletabille told the great Fred that I had come on a chance visit, and that he had asked me to stay and help him in the heavy batch of writing he had to get through for the Epoque. I was going back to Paris, he said, by the eleven oclock train, taking his copy, which took a story form, recounting the principal episodes in the mysteries of the Glandier. Larsan smiled at the explanation like a man who was not fooled and politely refrains from making the slightest remark on matters which did not concern him. With infinite precautions as to the words they used, and even as to the tones of their voices, Larsan and Rouletabille discussed, for a long time, Mr. Arthur Rances appearance at the chteau, and his past in America, about which they expressed a desire to know more, at any rate, so far as his relations with the Stangersons. At one time, Larsan, who appeared to me to be unwell, said, with an effort I think, Monsieur Rouletabille, that we ve not much more to do at the Glandier, and that we sha nt sleep here many more nights. I think so, too, Monsieur Fred. Then you think the conclusion of the matter has been reached? I think, indeed, that we have nothing more to find out, replied Rouletabille. Have you found your criminal? asked Larsan. Have you? Yes. So have I, said Rouletabille. Can it be the same man? I dont know if you have swerved from your original idea, said the young reporter. Then he added, with emphasis Monsieur Darzac is an honest man! Are you sure of that? asked Larsan. Well, I am sure he is not. So it s a fight then? Yes, it is a fight. But I shall beat you, Monsieur Frdric Larsan. Youth never doubts anything, said the great Fred laughingly, and held out his hand to me by way of conclusion. Rouletabilles answer came like an echo Not anything! Suddenly Larsan, who had risen to wish us goodnight, pressed both his hands to his chest and staggered. He was obliged to lean on Rouletabille for support, and to save himself from falling. Oh! Oh! he cried. What is the matter with me?Have I been poisoned? He looked at us with haggard eyes. We questioned him vainly; he did not answer us. He had sunk into an armchair and we could get not a word from him. We were extremely distressed, both on his account and on our own, for we had partaken of all the dishes he had eaten. He seemed to be out of pain; but his heavy head had fallen on his shoulder and his eyelids were tightly closed. Rouletabille bent over him, listening for the beatings of the heart. My friends face, however, when he stood up, was as calm as it had been a moment before agitated. He is asleep, he said. He led me to his chamber, after closing Larsans room. The drug? I asked. Does Mademoiselle Stangerson wish to put everybody to sleep, tonight? Perhaps, replied Rouletabille; but I could see he was thinking of something else. But what about us? I exclaimed. How do we know that we have not been drugged? Do you feel indisposed? Rouletabille asked me coolly. Not in the least. Do you feel any inclination to go to sleep? None whatever. Well, then, my friend, smoke this excellent cigar. And he handed me a choice Havana, one Monsieur Darzac had given him, while he lit his briarwoodhis eternal briarwood. We remained in his room until about ten oclock without a word passing between us. Buried in an armchair Rouletabille sat and smoked steadily, his brow in thought and a faraway look in his eyes. On the stroke of ten he took off his boots and signed to me to do the same. Standing in our socks he said, in so low a tone that I guessed, rather than heard, the word Revolver. I drew my revolver from my jacket pocket. Cock it! he said. I did as he directed. Then moving towards the door of his room, he opened it with infinite precaution; it made no sound. We were in the offturning gallery. Rouletabille made another sign to me which I understood to mean that I was to take up my post in the dark closet. When I was some distance from him, he rejoined me and embraced me; and then I saw him, with the same precaution, return to his room. Astonished by his embrace, and somewhat disquieted by it, I arrived at the right gallery without difficulty, crossing the landingplace, and reaching the dark closet. Before entering it I examined the curtaincord of the window and found that I had only to release it from its fastening with my fingers for the curtain to fall by its own weight and hide the square of light from Rouletabillethe signal agreed upon. The sound of a footstep made me halt before Arthur Rances door. He was not yet in bed, then! How was it that, being in the chteau, he had not dined with Monsieur Stangerson and his daughter? I had not seen him at table with them, at the moment when we looked in. I retired into the dark closet. I found myself perfectly situated. I could see along the whole length of the gallery. Nothing, absolutely nothing could pass there without my seeing it. But what was going to pass there? Rouletabilles embrace came back to my mind. I argued that people dont part from each other in that way unless on an important or dangerous occasion. Was I then in danger? My hand closed on the butt of my revolver and I waited. I am not a hero; but neither am I a coward. I waited about an hour, and during all that time I saw nothing unusual. The rain, which had begun to come down strongly towards nine oclock, had now ceased. My friend had told me that, probably, nothing would occur before midnight or one oclock in the morning. It was not more than halfpast eleven, however, when I heard the door of Arthur Rances room open very slowly. The door remained open for a minute which seemed to me a long time. As it opened into the gallery, that is to say, outwards, I could not see what was passing in the room behind the door. At that moment I noticed a strange sound, three times repeated, coming from the park. Ordinarily I should not have attached any more importance to it than I would to the noise of cats on the roof. But the third time, the mew was so sharp and penetrating that I remembered what I had heard about the cry of the Bte du bon Dieu. As the cry had accompanied all the events at the Glandier, I could not refrain from shuddering at the thought. Directly afterwards I saw a man appear on the outside of the door, and close it after him. At first I could not recognise him, for his back was towards me and he was bending over a rather bulky package. When he had closed the door and picked up the package, he turned towards the dark closet, and then I saw who he was. He was the forestkeeper, the Green Man. He was wearing the same costume that he had worn when I first saw him on the road in front of the Donjon Inn. There was no doubt about his being the keeper. As the cry of the Bte du Bon Dieu came for the third time, he put down the package and went to the second window, counting from the dark closet. I dared not risk making any movement, fearing I might betray my presence. Arrived at the window, he peered out on to the park. The night was now light, the moon showing at intervals. The Green Man raised his arms twice, making signs which I did not understand; then, leaving the window, he again took up his package and moved along the gallery towards the landingplace. Rouletabille had instructed me to undo the curtaincord when I saw anything. Was Rouletabille expecting this? It was not my business to question. All I had to do was obey instructions. I unfastened the windowcord; my heart beating the while as if it would burst. The man reached the landingplace, but, to my utter surpriseI had expected to see him continue to pass along the galleryI saw him descend the stairs leading to the vestibule. What was I to do? I looked stupidly at the heavy curtain which had shut the light from the window. The signal had been given, and I did not see Rouletabille appear at the corner of the offturning gallery. Nobody appeared. I was exceedingly perplexed. Half an hour passed, an age to me. What was I to do now, even if I saw something? The signal once given I could not give it a second time. To venture into the gallery might upset all Rouletabilles plans. After all, I had nothing to reproach myself with, and if something had happened that my friend had not expected he could only blame himself. Unable to be of any further assistance to him by means of a signal, I left the dark closet and, still in my socks, picked my steps and made my way to the offturning gallery. There was no one there. I went to the door of Rouletabilles room and listened. I could hear nothing. I knocked gently. There was no answer. I turned the doorhandle and the door opened. I entered. Rouletabille lay extended at full length on the floor. Chapter XXII. The Incredible Body I bent in great anxiety over the body of the reporter and had the joy to find that he was deeply sleeping, the same unhealthy sleep that I had seen fall upon Frdric Larsan. He had succumbed to the influence of the same drug that had been mixed with our food. How was it then, that I, also, had not been overcome by it? I reflected that the drug must have been put into our wine; because that would explain my condition. I never drink when eating. Naturally inclined to obesity, I am restricted to a dry diet. I shook Rouletabille, but could not succeed in waking him. This, no doubt, was the work of Mademoiselle Stangerson. She had certainly thought it necessary to guard herself against this young man as well as her father. I recalled that the steward, in serving us, had recommended an excellent Chablis which, no doubt, had come from the professors table. More than a quarter of an hour passed. I resolved, under the pressing circumstances, to resort to extreme measures. I threw a pitcher of cold water over Rouletabilles head. He opened his eyes. I beat his face, and raised him up. I felt him stiffen in my arms and heard him murmur Go on, go on; but dont make any noise. I pinched him and shook him until he was able to stand up. We were saved! They sent me to sleep, he said. Ah! I passed an awful quarter of an hour before giving way. But it is over now. Dont leave me. He had no sooner uttered those words than we were thrilled by a frightful cry that rang through the chteau,a veritable death cry. Malheur! roared Rouletabille; we shall be too late! He tried to rush to the door, but he was too dazed, and fell against the wall. I was already in the gallery, revolver in hand, rushing like a madman towards Mademoiselle Stangersons room. The moment I arrived at the intersection of the offturning gallery and the right gallery, I saw a figure leaving her apartment, which, in a few strides had reached the landingplace. I was not master of myself. I fired. The report from the revolver made a deafening noise; but the man continued his flight down the stairs. I ran behind him, shouting Stop!stop! or I will kill you! As I rushed after him down the stairs, I came face to face with Arthur Rance coming from the left wing of the chteau, yelling What is it? What is it? We arrived almost at the same time at the foot of the staircase. The window of the vestibule was open. We distinctly saw the form of a man running away. Instinctively we fired our revolvers in his direction. He was not more than ten paces in front of us; he staggered and we thought he was going to fall. We had sprung out of the window, but the man dashed off with renewed vigour. I was in my socks, and the American was barefooted. There being no hope of overtaking him, we fired our last cartridges at him. But he still kept on running, going along the right side of the court towards the end of the right wing of the chteau, which had no other outlet than the door of the little chamber occupied by the forestkeeper. The man, though he was evidently wounded by our bullets, was now twenty yards ahead of us. Suddenly, behind us, and above our heads, a window in the gallery opened and we heard the voice of Rouletabille crying out desperately Fire, Bernier!Fire! At that moment the clear moonlight night was further lit by a broad flash. By its light we saw Daddy Bernier with his gun on the threshold of the donjon door. He had taken good aim. The shadow fell. But as it had reached the end of the right wing of the chteau, it fell on the other side of the angle of the building; that is to say, we saw it about to fall, but not the actual sinking to the ground. Bernier, Arthur Rance and myself reached the other side twenty seconds later. The shadow was lying dead at our feet. Aroused from his lethargy by the cries and reports, Larsan opened the window of his chamber and called out to us. Rouletabille, quite awake now, joined us at the same moment, and I cried out to him He is dead!is dead! So much the better, he said. Take him into the vestibule of the chteau. Then as if on second thought, he said No!no! Let us put him in his own room. Rouletabille knocked at the door. Nobody answered. Naturally, this did not surprise me. He is evidently not there, otherwise he would have come out, said the reporter. Let us carry him to the vestibule then. Since reaching the dead shadow, a thick cloud had covered the moon and darkened the night, so that we were unable to make out the features. Daddy Jacques, who had now joined us, helped us to carry the body into the vestibule, where we laid it down on the lower step of the stairs. On the way, I had felt my hands wet from the warm blood flowing from the wounds. Daddy Jacques flew to the kitchen and returned with a lantern. He held it close to the face of the dead shadow, and we recognised the keeper, the man called by the landlord of the Donjon Inn the Green Man, whom, an hour earlier, I had seen come out of Arthur Rances chamber carrying a parcel. But what I had seen I could only tell Rouletabille later, when we were alone. Rouletabille and Frdric Larsan experienced a cruel disappointment at the result of the nights adventure. They could only look in consternation and stupefaction at the body of the Green Man. Daddy Jacques showed a stupidly sorrowful face and with silly lamentations kept repeating that we were mistakenthe keeper could not be the assailant. We were obliged to compel him to be quiet. He could not have shown greater grief had the body been that of his own son. I noticed, while all the rest of us were more or less undressed and barefooted, that he was fully clothed. Rouletabille had not left the body. Kneeling on the flagstones by the light of Daddy Jacquess lantern he removed the clothes from the body and laid bare its breast. Then snatching the lantern from Daddy Jacques, he held it over the corpse and saw a gaping wound. Rising suddenly he exclaimed in a voice filled with savage irony The man you believe to have been shot was killed by the stab of a knife in his heart! I thought Rouletabille had gone mad; but, bending over the body, I quickly satisfied myself that Rouletabille was right. Not a sign of a bullet anywherethe wound, evidently made by a sharp blade, had penetrated the heart. Chapter XXIII. The Double Scent I had hardly recovered from the surprise into which this new discovery had plunged me, when Rouletabille touched me on the shoulder and asked me to follow him into his room. What are we going to do there? To think the matter over. I confess I was in no condition for doing much thinking, nor could I understand how Rouletabille could so control himself as to be able calmly to sit down for reflection when he must have known that Mademoiselle Stangerson was at that moment almost on the point of death. But his selfcontrol was more than I could explain. Closing the door of his room, he motioned me to a chair and, seating himself before me, took out his pipe. We sat there for some time in silence and then I fell asleep. When I awoke it was daylight. It was eight oclock by my watch. Rouletabille was no longer in the room. I rose to go out when the door opened and my friend reentered. He had evidently lost no time. How about Mademoiselle Stangerson? I asked him. Her condition, though very alarming, is not desperate. When did you leave this room? Towards dawn. I guess you have been hard at work? Rather! Have you found out anything? Two sets of footprints! Do they explain anything? Yes. Have they anything to do with the mystery of the keepers body? Yes; the mystery is no longer a mystery. This morning, walking round the chteau, I found two distinct sets of footprints, made at the same time, last night. They were made by two persons walking side by side. I followed them from the court towards the oak grove. Larsan joined me. They were the same kind of footprints as were made at the time of the assault in The Yellow Roomone set was from clumsy boots and the other was made by neat ones, except that the big toe of one of the sets was of a different size from the one measured in The Yellow Room incident. I compared the marks with the paper patterns I had previously made. Still following the tracks of the prints, Larsan and I passed out of the oak grove and reached the border of the lake. There they turned off to a little path leading to the high road to Epinay where we lost the traces in the newly macadamised highway. We went back to the chteau and parted at the courtyard. We met again, however, in Daddy Jacquess room to which our separate trains of thinking had led us both. We found the old servant in bed. His clothes on the chair were wet through and his boots very muddy. He certainly did not get into that state in helping us to carry the body of the keeper. It was not raining then. Then his face showed extreme fatigue and he looked at us out of terrorstricken eyes. On our first questioning him he told us that he had gone to bed immediately after the doctor had arrived. On pressing him, however, for it was evident to us he was not speaking the truth, he confessed that he had been away from the chteau. He explained his absence by saying that he had a headache and went out into the fresh air, but had gone no further than the oak grove. When we then described to him the whole route he had followed, he sat up in bed trembling.  And you were not alone! cried Larsan.  Did you see it then? gasped Daddy Jacques.  What? I asked.  The phantomthe black phantom! Then he told us that for several nights he had seen what he kept calling the black phantom. It came into the park at the stroke of midnight and glided stealthily through the trees; it appeared to him to pass through the trunks of the trees. Twice he had seen it from his window, by the light of the moon, and had risen and followed the strange apparition. The night before last he had almost overtaken it; but it had vanished at the corner of the donjon. Last night, however, he had not left the chteau, his mind being disturbed by a presentiment that some new crime would be attempted. Suddenly he saw the black phantom rush out from somewhere in the middle of the court. He followed it to the lake and to the high road to Epinay, where the phantom suddenly disappeared.  Did you see his face? demanded Larsan.  No!I saw nothing but black veils.  Did you go out after what passed on the gallery?  I could not!I was terrified.  Daddy Jacques, I said, in a threatening voice, you did not follow it; you and the phantom walked to Epinay togetherarm in arm!  No! he cried, turning his eyes away, I did not. It came on to pour, andI turned back. I dont know what became of the black phantom. We left him, and when we were outside I turned to Larsan, looking him full in the face, and put my question suddenly to take him off his guard  An accomplice?  How can I tell? he replied, shrugging his shoulders. You cant be sure of anything in a case like this. Twentyfour hours ago I would have sworn that there was no accomplice! He left me saying he was off to Epinay. Well, what do you make of it? I asked Rouletabille, after he had ended his recital. Personally I am utterly in the dark. I cant make anything out of it. What do you gather? Everything! Everything! he exclaimed. But, he said abruptly, let s find out further about Mademoiselle Stangerson. Chapter XXIV. Rouletabille Knows the Two Halves of the Murderer Mademoiselle Stangerson had been for the second time almost murdered. Unfortunately, she was in too weak a state to bear the severer injuries of this second attack as well as she had those of the first. She had received three wounds in the breast from the murderers knife, and she lay long between life and death. Her strong physique, however, saved her; but though she recovered physically it was found that her mind had been affected. The slightest allusion to the terrible incident sent her into delirium, and the arrest of Robert Darzac which followed on the day following the tragic death of the keeper seemed to sink her fine intelligence into complete melancholia. Robert Darzac arrived at the chteau towards halfpast nine. I saw him hurrying through the park, his hair and clothes in disorder and his face a deadly white. Rouletabille and I were looking out of a window in the gallery.