 Chapter 7 In which Ruta Bil sets out on an expedition under the bed. Ruta Bil, having pushed open the door of the yellow room, paused on the threshold, saying with an emotion which I only later understood, ah, the perfume of the Lady in Black! The chamber was dark. Daddy Jacques was about to open the blinds when Ruta Bil stopped him. Did not the tragedy take place in complete darkness? He asked. No, young man, I don't think so. Mamazelle always had a night-light on her table, and I listened every evening before she went to bed. I was a sort of chambermaid, you must understand, when the evening came. The real chambermaid did not come in here much before the morning. Mamazelle worked late, far into the night. Where did the table with the night-light stand, far from the bed? Some way from the bed. Can you light the burner now? The lamp is broken, and the oil that was in it was spilled when the table was upset. All the rest of the things in the room remain, just as they were. I have only to open the blinds, for you to see. Wait! Ruta Bil went back into the laboratory, closed the shutters of the two windows, and the door of the vestibule. When we were in complete darkness, he litterwaxed Vesta, and asked Daddy Jack to move to the middle of the chamber with it, to the place where the night-light was burning that night. Daddy Jack, who was in his stockings, he usually left his sabre in the vestibule, entered the yellow room with his bit of a vestibule. We vaguely distinguished objects overthrown on the floor, a bed in one corner, and, in front of us, to the left, the gleam of a looking-glass hanging on the wall near to the bed. That will do. You may now open the blinds, said Ruta Bil. Don't come any further, Daddy Jack begged. You may mark marks with your boots, and nothing must be deranged. It is an idea of the magistrate, though he has nothing more to do here. And he pushed open the shutter. The pale daylight entered from without, throwing a sinister light on the saffron-coloured walls. The floor, for though the laboratory and the vestibule were tiled, the yellow room had a flooring of wood, was covered with a single yellow mat, which was large enough to cover nearly the whole room, under the bed and under the dressing table, the only piece of furniture that remained upright. The centre-round table, the night table, and two chairs had been overturned. These did not prevent a large stain of blood being visible on the mat, made, as Daddy Jack informed us, by the blood which had flowed from the wound on Manwaz Al-Stangesan's forehead. Besides these stains, drops of blood had fallen in all directions, in line with the visible traces of the footsteps, large and black, of the murderer. Everything led to the presumption that these drops of blood had fallen from the wound of the man who had, for a moment, placed his red hand on the wall. There were other traces of the same hand on the wall, but much less distinct. See, see this blood on the wall? I could not help exclaiming. The man who pressed his hand so heavily upon it in the darkness must certainly have thought that he was pushing it a door. That's why he pressed on it so hard, leaving on the yellow paper the terrible evidence. I don't think there are many hands in the world of that sort. It's big and strong, and the fingers are nearly all one as long as the other. The thumb is wanting, and we only have the mark of the palm. But if we follow the trace of the hand, I continued, we see that, after leaving its imprint in the wall, the touch sought the door, found it, and then felt for the lock. No doubt, interrupted Rootabield chuckling, only there is no blood, either on the lock, or on the bolt. What does that prove? I rejoined, with a good sense of which I was proud. He might have opened the lock with his left hand, which would have been quite natural, his right hand being wounded. He didn't open it at all, Daddy Jack again exclaimed. We are not fools, and there were four of us when we burst open the door. What a queer hand! Look what a queer hand it is, I said. It is a very natural hand, said Rootabield, of which the shape has been deformed by its having slipped on the wall. The man dried his hand on the wall. He must be a man about five foot eight in height. How did he come at that? By the height of the marks on the wall. My friend next occupied himself with the mark of the bullet on the wall. It was a round hole. This ball was fired straight, not from above, and consequently not from below. Rootabield went back to the door and carefully examined the lock and the bolt, satisfying himself that the door had certainly been burst open from the outside, and further that the key had been found in the lock on the inside of the chamber. He finally satisfied himself that with the key and the lock, the door could not possibly be opened from without with another key. Rootabield made sure of all these details he let fall these words. That's better. Then sitting down on the ground, he hastily took off his boots and in his socks went into the room. The first thing he did was to examine minutely the overturned furniture. We watched him in silence. Young fellow, you were giving yourself a great deal of trouble, said Daddy Jack ironically. Rootabield raised his head and said, You have spoken the simple truth, Daddy Jack. Your mistress did not have her hair in bands that evening. I was a donkey to have believed she did. Then with the suppleness of a serpent, he slipped under the bed. Presently we heard him ask, At what time, Mongeur Jack, did Mongeur and Mamazel Stengerson arrive at the laboratory? At six o'clock. The voice of Rootabield continued. Yes, he's been under here, that's certain. In fact there was nowhere else where he could have hidden himself. Here too are the marks of his hobnails. When you entered, all four of you, did you look under the bed? At once. We drew it right out of its place. And between the mattresses there was only one on the bed, and on that Mamazel was placed, and Mongeur Stengerson and the concierge immediately carried it into the laboratory. Under the mattress there was nothing but the metal netting, which could not conceal anything or anybody. Remember, Mongeur, that there were four of us, and we couldn't fail to see everything. The chamber was so small and scantily furnished, and all was locked behind in the pavilion. I ventured in the hypothesis, perhaps he got away with the mattress, in the mattress, anything is possible in the face of such a mystery. In their distress of mind, Mongeur Stengerson and the concierge may not have noticed that they were bearing a double weight, especially if the concierge were an accomplice. I threw out this hypothesis for what it's worth, but it explains many things, and particularly the fact that neither the laboratory nor the vestibule bear any traces of the foot marks found in the room. If, in carrying Mamazel on the mattress from the laboratory of the chateau, they rested for a moment, then there might have been an opportunity for the man and it to escape. And then, asked Routa Bill, deliberately laughing under the bed, I felt rather vexed and replied, I don't know, but anything is possible. The examining magistrate had the same idea, Mongeur, said Daddy Jack, and he carefully examined the mattress. He was obliged to laugh at the idea, Mongeur, as your friend is doing now for whoever heard of a mattress having a double bottom. I was myself obliged to laugh on seeing that what I had said was absurd, but in an affair like this one hardly knows where an absurdity begins or ends. My friend alone seemed able to talk intelligently. He called out from under the bed. The mattress has been moved out of place. Who did it? We did, Mongeur, explained Daddy Jack. When we could not find the assessor, we asked ourselves whether there was not some hole in the floor. There is not, replied Routa Bill. Is there a cellar? No, there's no cellar, but that has not stopped our searching and has not prevented the examining magistrate and his registrar from studying the floor plank by plank as if there had been a cellar under it. The reporter then reappeared. His eyes were sparkling and his nostrils quivered. He remained on his hands and knees. He could not be better likened than to an admirable sporting dog on the scent of some unusual game. And indeed he was, senting the steps of a man, the man whom he has sworn to report to his master, the manager of the apoc. It must not be forgotten that Routa Bill was first and last a journalist. Thus on his hands and knees, he made his way to the four corners of the room, so to speak, sniffing and going around everything, everything that we could see, which was not much, and everything that we could not see, which must have been infinite. The toilet table was a simple table standing on four legs. There was nothing about it by which it could possibly be changed into a temporary hiding place. There was not a closet or cupboard. That was our Stangerson kept her wardrobe at the chateau. Routa Bill literally passed his nose and hands along the walls, constructed of solid brickwork. When he had finished with the walls and passed his agile fingers over every portion of the yellow paper covering them, he reached to the ceiling, which he was able to touch by mounting on a chair placed on the toilet table. And by moving this ingeniously constructed stage from place to place, he examined every foot of it. When he had finished his scrutiny of the ceiling, where he carefully examined the hole made by the second bullet, he approached the window and once more examined the iron bars and blinds, all of which were solid and intact. At last he gave a grunt of satisfaction and declared, now I am at ease. Well, do you believe that the poor dear young lady was shut up when she was being murdered, when she cried out for help, wailed Daddy Jack. Yes, said the young reporter, drying his forehead. The yellow room was as tightly shut as an iron safe. That, I said, is why this mystery is the most surprising I know. Edgar Allan Poe in The Murders in the Room Org invented nothing like it. The place of that crime was sufficiently closed to prevent the escape of a man, but there was that window through which the monkey, the perpetrator of the murder, could slip away. But here there can be no question of an opening of any sort. The door was fastened and through the window-blind, secure as they were, not even a fly could enter or get out. True, true, assented rootability kept on drying his forehead, which seemed to be perspiring less from his recent bodily exertion than from his mental agitation. Indeed, it's great, it's a beautiful and a very curious mystery. The Bette de Bongeur, muttered Daddy Jack, the Bette de Bongeur herself, if she had committed the crime, could not have escaped. Listen! Do you hear it? Hush! Daddy Jack made us a sign to keep quiet and stretching his arm towards the wall nearest the forest, listening to something which we could not hear. It's answering, he said at length, I must kill it, it is too wicked, but it's the Bette de Bongeur and every night it goes to pray on the tomb of Saint Genève and nobody dares to touch her for fear that Martha Agenoux should cast an evil spell on them. How big is the Bette de Bongeur? Nearly as big as a small retriever, a monster, I tell you. I have asked myself more than once whether it was not her that took out our poor man was held by the throat with her claws. But the Bette de Bongeur does not wear hobnailed boots nor fire revolvers, nor has she a hand like that, exclaimed Daddy Jack, again pointing out to us the red mark on the wall. Besides, we should have seen her as well as we would have seen a man. Evidently, I said, before we had seen this yellow room, I had also asked myself whether the cat of Mother Agenoux, you or so, cried Rooter Bill. Didn't you? I asked. Not for a moment. After reading the article on the matter, I knew that a cat had nothing to do with the matter. But I swear now that a frightful tragedy has been enacted here. You say nothing about the basque cap or the handkerchief found here, Daddy Jack. Of course the magistrate has taken them, the old man answered, hesitatingly. I haven't seen either the handkerchief or the cap, yet I can tell you how they are made, the reporter said to him gravely. Oh, you are very clever, said Daddy Jack, coughing and embarrassed. The handkerchief is a large one, blue with red stripes, and the cap is an old basque cap, like the one you're wearing now. You are quite a wizard, said Daddy Jack, trying not to laugh and not quite succeeding. How do you know that the handkerchief is blue with red stripes? Because if it had not been blue with red stripes, it would not have been found at all. Without giving any further attention to Daddy Jack, my friend took a piece of paper from his pocket and, taking out a pair of scissors, bent over the footprints. Placing the paper over one of them, he began to cut. In a short time, he had made a perfect pattern which he handed to me, begging me not to lose it. He then returned to the window and, pointing to the figure of Frédéric Lassat, who had not quitted the side of the lake, asked Daddy Jack whether the detective had, like himself, been working in the Yellow Room. No, replied Robert Darzak, who, since Rutterbill had handed him the piece of scorched paper, had not uttered a word. He pretends that he does not need to examine the Yellow Room. He says that the murderer made his escape from it in quite a natural way, and that he will, this evening, explain how he did it. As he listened to what Mongeur Darzak had to say, Rutterbill turned pale. Has Frédéric Lassat found out the truth which I can only guess at? He murmured. He is very clever, very clever, and I admire him. But what we have to do today is something more than the work of a policeman, something quite different on the teachings of experience. We have to take hold of our reason by the right end. The reporter rushed into the open air, agitated by the thought that the great and famous Fréd might anticipate him in the solution of the problem of the Yellow Room. I managed to reach him on the threshold of the Pavilion. Calm yourself, my dear fellow, I said. Aren't you satisfied? Yes, he confessed to me with a deep sigh. I am quite satisfied. I have discovered many things. Moral or material? Several moral, one material. This, for example. And rapidly he drew from his waistcoat pocket a piece of paper in which he had placed a light-coloured hair from a woman's head. End of chapter seven, Recording by Stuart Bell, Cambridge, UK. Chapter eight of The Mystery of the Yellow Room. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Mystery of the Yellow Room by Gaston Le Roux. Chapter eight, The Examining Magistrate, Questions Mamazelle Stanterson. Two minutes later, the rule to be was bending over the footprints discovered in the park under the window of the vestibule. A man, evidently a servant at the Chateau, came towards us rapidly and called out to Monsieur D'Azac, then coming out of the pavilion. Monsieur Robert, the magistrate, you know is questioning Mamazelle. Monsieur D'Azac added a muttered excuse to us and set off running toward the chateau, the man running after him. If the corpse can speak, I said, it would be interesting to be there. We must know, said my friend, let's go to the chateau, and he drew me with him. But at the chateau, a gendarm placed in the vestibule denied a submission up the staircase of the first floor. We were obliged to wait downstairs. This is what passed in the chamber of the victim while we were waiting below. A family doctor finding that Mamazelle Stanterson was much better, but fearing a relapse which would no longer permit her being questioned, had thought it his duty to inform the examining magistrate of this, who decided to proceed immediately with a brief examination. At this examination, the registrar, Monsieur Stanterson, and the doctor were present. Later I obtained the text of the report of the examination and I give it here in all its legal dryness. Question, are you able Mamazelle without too much fatiguing yourself to give some necessary details of the frightful attack of which you have been the victim? Answer, I feel much better, Monsieur, and I will tell you all I know. When I entered my chamber, I did not notice anything unusual there. Question, excuse me Mamazelle, if you will allow me, I will ask you some questions and you will answer them. That will fatigue you less than making a long recital. Answer, do so Monsieur. Question, what did you do on that day? I want you to be as minute and precise as possible. I wish to know all you did that day if it is not asking too much of you. Answer, I rose late at 10 o'clock for my father and I had returned home late on the night previously, having been to dinner at the reception given by the President of the Republic in honour of the Academy of Science of Philadelphia. When I left my chamber at half past 10, my father was already at work in the laboratory. We worked together till midday. We then took half an hour's walk in the park as we were accustomed to do before breakfasting at the Chateau. After breakfast, we took another walk for half an hour and then returned to the laboratory. There we found my chambermate who had come to set my room in order. I went into the yellow room to give her some slight orders and she directly afterwards left the pavilion and I resumed my work with my father. At five o'clock, we went again for a walk in the park and afterward had tea. Question, before leaving the pavilion at five o'clock, did you go into your chamber? Answer, no, Monsieur. My father went into it at my request to bring my hand. Question, and he found nothing suspicious there? Answer, evidently no, Monsieur. Question, is there almost certain that the murderer was not yet concealed under the bed? When you went out, was the door of the room locked? Answer, no, there was no reason for knocking it. Question, you were absent from the pavilion some length of time, Monsieur Stange, so I knew? Answer, about an hour. Question, it was during that hour, no doubt, that the murderer got into the pavilion. But how, nobody knows. What marks have been found in the park, leading away from the window of the vestibule? But none has been found going towards it. Did you notice whether the vestibule window was open when you went out? Answer, no, Monsieur, I don't remember. Monsieur Stange, it was closed. Question, and when you returned, Monsieur Stange, I did not notice. Monsieur Stange, it was still closed. I remember remarking aloud, that is shark must have opened it, while we're away. Question, strange, do you recollect Monsieur Stange, if during your absence and before going out, he had opened it? You returned to the laboratory at six o'clock and resumed work? Monsieur Stange, yes, Monsieur. Question, and you did not leave the laboratory from that hour, up until the moment when you entered your chamber? Monsieur Stange, neither my daughter nor my Monsieur, we were engaged on work that was pressing and we lost not a moment, neglecting everything else on that account. Question, did you die in the laboratory? Answer, for that reason. Question, are you accustomed to die in the laboratory? Answer, we rarely die in there. Question, could the murderer have known that you would die in there that evening? Monsieur Stange, could heavens, I think not. It was only when we returned to the pavilion at six o'clock that we decided, my daughter and I, to die in there. At that moment I was spoken to and by my gamekeeper, who detained me a moment, to ask me to accompany him on the urgent tour of inspection in a part of the woods, which I had decided at then. I put this off until the next day and begged him, as he was going by the chateau, to tell the steward that we should die in the laboratory. He left me to execute the errand and I rejoined my daughter, who was already at work. Question, at what hour, Mamzelle, did you go to your chamber while your father continued to work there? Answer, at midnight. Question, did Daddy Jacques enter the yellow room in the course of the evening? Answer, to shut the blinds and light the night light. Question, he saw nothing suspicious? Answer, he would have told us if he had seen. Daddy Jacques is an honest man and very attached to me. Question, you affirm, Monsieur Stangeson, that Daddy Jacques remained with you all the time you were in the laboratory? Monsieur Stangeson, I am sure of it. I have no doubt of that. Question, when you entered your chamber, Mamzelle, you immediately shut the door and locked and bolted it. That was taking unusual precautions, knowing that your father and your servant were there. Were you in fear of something then? Answer, my father would be returning to the chateau and Daddy Jacques would be going to his bed. And in fact, I did fear something. Question, you were so much in fear of something that you borrowed Daddy Jacques's revolver without telling him you had done so? Answer, that is true. I did not wish to alarm anybody, the more because my fears might have proved to be foolish. Question, what was it you feared? Answer, I hardly know how to tell you. For several nights I seemed to hear both in the park and out of the park around the pavilion unusual sounds, sometimes footsteps, and other times the cracking of branches. The night before the attack on me, when I did not get to bed before three o'clock in the morning, I no return from the lease I stood for a moment before my window and I felt sure I saw shadows. Question, how many? Answer, two, they moved around the lake, then the moon became clouded and I lost sight of them. At this time of the season, every year, I have generally returned to my apartment at the chateau for the winter. But this year, I said to myself that I would not quit the pavilion before my father had finished the resume of his works on the dissociation of matter for the academy. I did not wish that that important work, which was to have been finished in the course of a few days, should be delayed by a change in our daily habit. You can well understand that I did not wish to speak of my childish fears to my father, nor did I say anything to Daddy Jacques, who I knew would not have been able to hold his tongue. Knowing that he had a revolver in his room, I took advantage of his absence and borrowed it, placing it on the drawer of my night table. Question, you know of no enemies you have? Answer, none. Question, you understand, Mamzeal, that these precautions are calculated to cause surprise? Monsieur Stangeson. Evidently, my child, such precautions are very surprising. No, because I have told you that I had been uneasy for two nights. Monsieur Stangeson. You would have told me of that, as misfortune would have been avoided. Question, the door of the yellow room locked, did you go to bed? Answer, yes. And being very tired, I at once went to sleep. Question, the night light was still burning? Answer, yes, but it gave a very feeble light. Question, then Mamzeal, tell us what happened? Answer, I do not know whether I had been long asleep, but suddenly I awoke and uttered a loud cry. Monsieur Stangeson, yes, a horrible cry, murder, it still rings in my ears. Question, you uttered a loud cry? Answer, a man was in my chamber. He sprang at me and tried to strangle me. I was nearly stifled when suddenly I was able to reach the drawer of my night table and grasp the revolver which I had placed in it. At that moment, the man had forced me to the foot of my bed and brandished in over my head a sort of mace, but I had fired. He immediately struck a terrible blow at my head. All that must you have passed more rapidly than I can tell it, and I know nothing more. Question, nothing? Have you no idea as to how the assassin could escape from your chamber? Answer, none whatever, I know nothing more. One does not know what is passing around one when one is unconscious. Question, was the man you saw tall or short, little or big? Answer, I only saw a shadow which appeared to me formidable. Question, you cannot give us any indication? Answer, I know nothing more, Mishua, than that a man threw himself upon me and that I fired at him. I know nothing more. Here the interrogation of Mamzell Stangeson concluded. An old to-be waited patiently for Mishua Robert D'Azac, who soon appeared. From a room near the chamber of Mamzell Stangeson, he had heard the interrogatory and now came to recount it to my friends with great exactitude, aided by an excellent memory. His docility still surprised me. Thanks to hasty pencil notes he was able to reproduce, almost texturally, the questions and answers given. It looked as if Mishua D'Azac was being employed as a secretary of my young friend, enacted as if he could refuse him nothing, nay more, as if under compunction to do so. The fact of the closed window struck the reporter, as it had struck the magistrate. Will to-be asked D'Azac to repeat once more Mamzell Stangeson's account of how she and her father had spent the day on the time of the tragedy, and she had stated it to the magistrate. The circumstance of the dinner in the laboratory seemed to interest him in the highest degree, and he had it repeated to him three times. He also wanted to be sure that the forest keeper knew that the professor and his daughter were going to dine in the laboratory, and how he had come to know it. When Mishua D'Azac had finished, I said, The examination has not advanced the problem much. It has put it back, said Mishua D'Azac. It has thrown might upon it, said Ruletubby thoughtfully. End of chapter 8 Chapter 9 of The Mystery of the Yellow Room This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more free audiobooks, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Gloria Zablicki The Mystery of the Yellow Room by Gaston Le Roux Chapter 9 Reporter and Detective The three of us went back towards the pavilion. At some distance from the building, the reporter made us stop and pointing to a small clump of trees to the right of us, said, That's where the murderer came from to get into the pavilion. As there were other patches of trees of the same sort between the Great Oaks, I asked why the murderer had chosen that one, rather than any of the others. Ruletubby answered me by pointing to the path which ran quite close to the thicket, to the door of the pavilion. That path is, as you see, topped with gravel, he said. The man must have passed along it going to the pavilion, since no traces of his steps have been found on the soft ground. The man didn't have wings, he walked. But he walked on the gravel which left no impression of his tread. The gravel has, in fact, been trodden by many other feet, since the path is the most direct way between the pavilion and the chateau. As to the thicket, made of the sort of shrubs that don't flourish in the rough season, laurels and fuchsias, it offered the murderer a sufficient hiding place until it was time for him to make his way to the pavilion. It was while hiding in that clump of trees that he saw Mishua and Mademoiselle Stangerson, and then, Daddy Jacques, leave the pavilion. Gravel has been spread nearly, very nearly, up to the window of the pavilion. The footprints of a man parallel with the wall, marks which we will examine presently, in which I have already seen, prove that he only needed to make one stride to find himself in front of the vestibule window, left open by Daddy Jacques. The man drew himself up by his hands, and entered the vestibule. After all, it is very possible, I said. After all what? After all what? I begged of him not to be angry, but he was too much irritated to listen to me and declared, ironically, that he admired the prudent doubt with which certain people approached the most simple problems, risking nothing by saying, that is so, or that is not so. Their intelligence would have produced about the same result if nature had forgotten to furnish their brain pan with a little gray matter. As I appeared vexed, my young friend took me by the arm, and admitted that he had not meant that for me. He thought more of me than that. If I did not reason as I do in regard to this gravel, he went on, I should have to assume a balloon, my dear fellow. The science of the aerostation of dirigible balloons is not yet developed enough for me to consider it, and suppose that a murderer would drop from the clouds. So don't say a thing is possible when it could not be otherwise. We know now how the man entered by the window, and we also know the moment at which he entered, during the five o'clock walk of the professor and his daughter. The fact of the presence of the chambermaid, who had come to clean up the yellow room in the laboratory, when Micheal Stangeson and his daughter returned from their walk at half past one, permits us to affirm that at half past one, the murderer was not in the chamber under the bed, unless he was in collusion with the chambermaid. What do you say, Micheal Adazak? Micheal Adazak shook his head, and said he was sure of the chambermaid's fidelity, and that she was a thoroughly honest and devoted servant. Besides, he added, at five o'clock, Micheal Stangeson went into the room to fetch his daughter's hat. There is that also, said Rul Tabe. That the man entered by the window at the time you say, I admit, I said, but why did he shut the window? It was an act which would necessarily draw the attention of those who had left it open. It may be the window was not shut at once, replied the young reporter. But if he did shut the window, it was because of the bend in the gravel path, the dozen yards from the pavilion, and on account of the three oaks that are growing at that spot. What do you mean by that? asked Micheal Adazak, who had followed us and listened with almost breathless attention to all that Rul Tabe had said. I'll explain all to you later, Micheal, when I think the moment to be ripe for doing so. But I don't think I have anything of more importance to say on this affair if my hypothesis is justified. And what is your hypothesis? You will never know if it does not turn out to be the truth. It is of much too grave a nature to speak of it, so long as it continues to be only a hypothesis. Have you at least some idea as to who the murderer is? No, Micheal, I don't know who the murderer is, but don't be afraid, Micheal Robert Adazak, I shall know. I could not but observe that Micheal Adazak was deeply moved, and I suspected that Rul Tabe's confident assertion was not pleasing to him. Why, I asked myself, if he was really afraid that the murderer should be discovered, was he helping the reporter to find him? My young friend seemed to have received the same impression, for, he said bluntly, Micheal Adazak, don't you want me to find out who the murderer was? Oh, I should like to kill him with my own hand, cried Mademoiselle Stangerson's fiancée, with the vehemence that amused me. I believe you, said Rul Tabe gravely, but you have not answered my question. We were passing by the thicket of which the young reporter had spoken to us a minute before. I entered it, and pointed out evident traces of a man who had been hidden there. Rul Tabe, once more, was right. Yes, yes, he said, we have to do with a thing of flesh and blood who uses the same means that we do. It will all come out on those lines. Having said this, he asked me for the paper pattern of the footprint which he had given me to take care of, and applied it to a very clear footmark behind the thicket. Aha! he said, rising. I thought he was now going to trace back the track of the murderer's footmarks to the vestibule window, but he led us instead far to the left, saying that it was useless ferreting in the mud, and that he was sure now of the road taken by the murderer. He went along the wall to the hedge and dry ditch over which he jumped. See, just in front of the little path leading to the lake, that was his nearest way to get out. How do you know he went to the lake? Because Frederick Lawson has not quitted the borders of it since this morning. There must be some important marks there. A few minutes later, we reached the lake. It was a little sheet of marshy water surrounded by reeds on which floated some dead water lily leaves. The great Fred may have seen us approaching, but we probably interested him very little for he took hardly any notice of us and continued to be stirring with his cane something which we could not see. Look, said Roulta B., here again are the footmarks of the escaping man. They skirt the lake here and finally disappear just before this path, which leads to the high road to Eponae. The man continued his flight to Paris. What makes you think that, I asked, since these footmarks are not continued on the path? What makes me think that? Why these footprints, which I expected to find, he cried pointing to the sharply outlined imprint of a neat path. See! and he called to Frederick Lawson. Michel Fred, these neat footprints seem to have been made since the discovery of the crime. Yes, young man, yes, they have been carefully made, replied Fred, without raising his head. You see, there are steps that come and steps that go back. And the man had a bicycle, cried the reporter. Here, after looking at the marks of the bicycle, which followed him, going and coming, the neat footprints, I thought I might intervene. The bicycle explains the disappearance of the murderer's big footprints, I said. The murderer, with his rough boots, mounted a bicycle. His accomplice, the wearer of the neat boots, had come to wait for him on the edge of the lake with the bicycle. It might be supposed that the murderer was working for the other? No, no, replied Ruta B. with a strange smile. I have expected to find these foot marks from the very beginning. These are not the foot marks of the murderer. Then there were two. No, there was but one. And he had no accomplice. Very good, very good, cried Frederick Lawson. Look, continued the young reporter, showing us the ground where it had been disturbed by the big and heavy heels. The man seated himself there and took off his hop-nailed boots, which he had worn only for the purpose of misleading detection, and then, no doubt, taking them away with him, he stood up in his own boots and quietly and slowly regained the high road, holding his bicycle in his hand, for he could not venture to ride it on this rough path. That accounts for the lightness of the impression made by the wheels along it, in spite of the softness of the ground. If there had been a man on the bicycle, the wheels would have sunk deeply into the soil. No, no, there was but one man there, the murderer, on foot. Bravo, bravo! cried Fred again, and coming suddenly towards us and planting himself in front of Monsieur Robert Darzak, he said to him, if we had a bicycle here, we might demonstrate the correctness of the young man's reasoning with Monsieur Robert Darzak. Do you know whether there's one at the chateau? No, replied Monsieur Darzak, there is not. I took mine four days ago to Paris at the chateau before the crime. That's a pity, replied Fred very coldly. And then turning to Roul-Tabbi, he said, if we go on at this rate we'll both come to the same conclusion. Have you any idea as to how the murderer got away from the yellow room? Yes, said my young friend, I have an idea. So have I, said Fred, and it must be the same as yours. There are no two ways of reasoning in this affair. I am waiting for the arrival of my chief before offering any explanation to the examining magistrate. Ah, is the chief of the sortee coming? Yes, this afternoon. He is going to a summon before the magistrate in the laboratory, all those who have played any part in this tragedy. It will be very interesting. It is a pity you won't be able to be present. I shall be present, said Roul-Tabbi confidently. Really, you are an extraordinary fellow for your age, replied the detective in a tone not wholly free from irony. You'd make a wonderful detective if you had a little more method, if you didn't follow your instincts and that bump on your forehead. As I have already several times observed, Mishul Roul-Tabbi, you reason too much. You do not allow yourself to be guided by what you have seen. What do you say to the handkerchief full of blood and the red mark of the hand on the wall? You have seen the stain on the wall, I have only seen the handkerchief. Bah! cried Roul-Tabbi, the murderer was wounded in a hand by Mademoiselle Stangerson's revolver. Ah, a simply instinctive observation. Take care. You are becoming too strictly logical, Mishul Roul-Tabbi. Logic will upset you if you use it indiscriminately. You are right when you say that Mademoiselle Stangerson fired her revolver, but you are wrong when you say that she wounded the murderer in the hand. Bah! cried Roul-Tabbi. Fred, imperturbable, interrupted him. Defective observation, defective observation. The examination of the handkerchief, the numberless little round scarlet stains, the impression of drops which I found in the tracks of the footprints, at the moment when they were made on the floor, proved to me that the murderer was not wounded at all. Mishul Roul-Tabbi, the murderer bled at the nose. The great Fred spoke quite seriously. However, I could not refrain from uttering an exclamation. The reporter looked gravely at Fred, who looked gravely at him, and Fred immediately concluded the man allowed the blood to flow into his hand in handkerchief and dried his hand on the wall. The fact is highly important, he added, because there is no need of his being wounded in the hand for him to be the murderer. Roul-Tabbi seemed to be thinking deeply. After a moment he realized something. A something, Mishul Frederick Lawson, much graver than the misuse of logic, the disposition of mind in some detectives which makes them in perfect good faith twist logic to the necessities of their preconceived ideas. You already have your idea about the murderer, Mishul Fred. Don't deny it. And your theory demands that the murderer should not have been wounded in the hand. Otherwise, it comes to nothing. And you have searched and have found something else. It's dangerous, very dangerous, Mishul Fred, to go from a preconceived idea to find the proofs to fit it. That method may leave you far astray. Beware of judicial error, Mishul Fred. It will trip you up. And laughing a little in a slightly bantering tone, his hands in his pockets, Roul-Tabbi fixed his cunning eyes on the great Fred. Frederick Lawson silently contemplated the young reporter, to be as wise as himself. Shrugging his shoulders, he bowed to us and moved quickly away, hitting the stones on his path with his stout cane. Roul-Tabbi watched his retreat and then turned towards us, his face joyous and triumphant. I shall beat him, he cried. I shall beat the great Fred, clever as he is. I shall beat them all. And he danced a double shuffle. Suddenly he stopped. My eyes followed his gaze. Mishul Robert Dazak, who was looking anxiously at the impression left by his feet side by side with the elegant footmarks, there was not a particle of difference between them. We thought he was about to faint. His eyes bulging with terror avoided us while his right hand with a spasmodic movement twitched at the beard that covered his honest, gentle and now despairing face. At length, regaining his self-possession, he bowed to us walking in a changed voice that he was obliged to return to the chateau and left us. The deuce! exclaimed Roul-Tabbi. He also appeared to be deeply concerned. From his pocket-book he took a piece of white paper as I had seen him do before and with his scissors cut out the shape of the neat bootmarks that were on the ground. Then he fitted the new paper pattern with the one he had previously made. The two were exactly alike. Rising, Roul-Tabbi exclaimed again, THE DEUCE! Presently he added, yet I believe Michel Robert D'Azac to be an honest man. He then led me on the road to the Don John Inn which we could see on the highway by the side of a small clump of trees. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of The Mystery of the Yellow Room This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Gloria Zablicki The Mystery of the Yellow Room by Gaston Le Roux Chapter 10 We Shall Have to Eat Red Meat Now The Don John Inn was of no imposing appearance but I like these buildings with lifters blackened with age and the smoke of their hearths. These ends of the coaching days crumbling erections that will soon exist in the memory only. They belong to the bygone days they are linked with history. They make us think of the road of those days when high women rode. I saw at once that the Don John Inn was at least two centuries old, perhaps older. Under its signboard over the threshold the face was standing seemingly plunged in unpleasant thought if the wrinkles on his forehead and the knitting of his brows were any indication. When we were close to him he deigned to see us and asked us in a tone anything but engaging whether we wanted anything. He was, no doubt, the not very amiable landlord of this charming dwelling place. As we expressed a hope that he would be good enough we had no provisions regarding us, as he said this with a look that was unmistakably suspicious. You may take us in ruled to be said to him we're not policemen I'm not afraid of the police I'm not afraid of anyone replied the man. I had made my friend understand by a sign that we should do better not to insist but being determined to enter the inn he slipped by the man on the doorstep and was in the common room. Come on, he said, it is very comfortable here. A good fire was blazing in the chimney and we held our hands to the warmth it sent out. It was a morning in which the approach of winter was unmistakable. The room was a tolerably large one furnished with two heavy tables some stools a counter decorated with rows of bottles of syrup and alcohol three windows looked out onto the road a colored advertisement lauded the many merits of a new vermouth on the mantelpiece was arrayed the innkeeper's collection of figured earthenware pots and stone jugs that's a fine fire for roasting a chicken said ruled to be we have no chicken not even a wretched rabbit said the landlord I know said my friend slowly I know we shall have to eat red meat now I confess I did not in the least understand what Routabi meant by what he had said but the landlord as soon as he heard the words uttered an oath which he had once stifled and placed himself at our orders as obediently as Mishor Robert Dawzak had done when he heard Routabi's prophetic sentence the presbytery has lost nothing of its charm nor the God in its brightness certainly my friend knew how to make people understand him by the use of wholly incomprehensible phrases I observed as much to him but he merely smiled I should have proposed that he give me some explanation but he put a finger to his lips which evidently signified that he had not only determined not to speak but also enjoined silence on my part meantime the man had pushed open a little side door to somebody to bring him half a dozen eggs and a piece of beef steak the commission was quickly executed by a strongly built young woman with beautiful blonde hair and large handsome eyes who regarded us with curiosity the innkeeper said to her roughly get out and if the green man comes don't let me see him she disappeared Routabi took the eggs which had been brought to him in a bowl the meat which was on a dish placed all carefully beside him in the chimney unhooked a frying pan and a gridiron and began to beat up our omelette before proceeding to grill our beef steak he then ordered two bottles of cider and seemed to take as little notice of our host as our host did of him the landlord let us do our own cooking and set our table near one of the windows suddenly I heard him mutter ah, there he is his face had changed expressing fierce hatred he went and glued himself to one of the windows watching the road there was no need for me to draw Routabi's attention he had already left our omelette and had joined the landlord at the window I went with him a man dressed entirely in green velvet his head covered with a huntsman's cap of the same color was advancing leisurely lighting a pipe as he walked he carried a fouling piece along at his back his movements displayed an almost aristocratic ease he wore eyeglasses and appeared to be about five and forty years of age his hair as well as his mustache were salt gray he was remarkably handsome as he passed near the inn he hesitated as if asking himself whether or no he should enter it gave a glance towards us took a few whiffs at his pipe and walked at the same nonchalant pace Routabi and I looked at our host his flashing eyes his clenched hands his trembling lips told us of the tumultuous feelings by which he was being agitated he has done well not to come in here today he hissed who is that man? asked Routabi returning to his omelette the green man growled the innkeeper don't you know him? you he is not an acquaintance to make well he is Mishua Stongerson's forest keeper you don't like him very much asked the reporter pouring his omelette into the frying pan nobody likes him Mishua he is an upstart who must once have had a fortune of his own and he forgives nobody because in order to live he has been compelled to become a servant a keeper is as much a servant as any other isn't he? the word one would say that he is the master of the glondier and that all the land and woods belong to him he'll not let a poor creature eat a morsel of bread on the grass his grass does he often come here? too often but I've made him understand that his face doesn't please me and for a month passed he hasn't been here the donjonin has never existed for him he hasn't had time been too much engaged in paying court to the landlady of the three lilies he's now a Michelle a bad fellow there isn't an honest man who can bear him why the concierges of the chateau would turn their eyes away from a picture of him the concierges of the chateau are honest people then yes they are as true as my name's Matthew Mishua I believe them to be honest yet they've been arrested what does that prove but I don't want to mix myself up in other people's affairs and what do you think of the murder? of the murder of poor Mademoiselle Stongerson? a good girl much loved everywhere in the country that's what I think of it and many things besides but that's nobody's business not even mine insisted Ruta B the innkeeper looked at him sideways and said gruffly not even yours the omelette ready we sat down at table and were silently eating and an old woman dressed in rags leaning on a stick her head dottering her white hair hanging loosely over her wrinkled forehead appeared on the threshold ah there you are mother Anjanu it's long since we saw you last said our host I have been ill very ill very nearly dying said the old woman if ever you should have any scraps with a bit to bond you and she entered by a cat larger than any I had ever believed could exist the beast looked at us and gave so hopeless a meow that I shuddered I had never heard so lugubrious a cry as if drawn by the cat's cry a man followed the old woman in it was the green man he saluted by raising his hand to his cap and seated himself at a table near to ours a glass of cider daddy Matthew he said as the green man entered daddy Matthew had started violently but visibly mastering himself he said I have no more cider I serve the last bottles to these gentlemen then give me a glass of white wine said the green man without showing the least surprise I have no more white wine no more anything said daddy Matthew surly how is madam Matthew quite well thank you so the young woman with the large tender eyes whom we had just seen was the wife of this repugnant and brutal rustic whose jealousy seemed to emphasize his physical ugliness slamming the door behind him the innkeeper left the room mother Anjanu was still standing leaning on her stick the cat at her feet you've been ill mother Anjanu is that why we have not seen you for the last week asked the green man yes Michelle Keeper I have been able to get up but three times to go to pray to San Jean Vieve a good patroness and the rest of the time I have been lying on my bed there was no one to care for me but the bed de bondue did she not leave you neither by day nor by night are you sure of that as I am of paradise then how was it madam Anjanu that all through the night of the murder nothing but the cry of the bed de bondue was heard mother Anjanu planted herself in front of the forest keeper and struck the floor with her stick I don't know anything about it she said but shall I tell you something there are no two cats in the world that cry like that well on the night of the murder I also heard the cry of the bed de bondue outside she was on my knees and did not mew once I swear I crossed myself when I heard that as if I had heard the devil I looked at the keeper when he put the last question and I am much mistaken if I did not detect an evil smile on his lips at that moment the noise of loud quarreling reached us we even thought we heard a dull sound of blows as if someone was being beaten the green man quickly rose by the side of the fireplace but it was opened by the landlord who appeared and said to the keeper don't alarm yourself mature it is my wife she has the toothache and he laughed here mother Anjanu here are some scraps for your cat he held out a packet to the old woman who took it eagerly and went out by the door closely followed by her cat then you won't serve me ask the green man who retained its expression of hatred I have nothing for you nothing for you take yourself off the green man quietly refilled his pipe lit it bowed to us and went out no sooner was he over the threshold then daddy Matthew slammed the door after him and turning towards us with eyes bloodshot and frothing at the mouth he hissed to us shaking his clenched fist at the door he had just shot on the man he evidently hated I don't know who you are who tell me we shall have to eat red meat now but if it will interest you to know it that man is the murderer with which words daddy Matthew immediately left us Ruta B returned towards the fireplace and said now we'll grill our steak how do you like the cider it's a little tart but I like it we saw no more of daddy Matthew that day an absolute silence reigned in the inn when we left it after placing five francs on the table in payment for our feast Ruta B had once set off on a three mile walk round Professor Stondreson's estate he halted for some ten minutes at the corner of a narrow road, black with soot near to some charcoal burner's huts in the forest of Saint-Jean-Vierve which touches on the road from Epine to Courbet to tell me that the murderer had certainly passed that way before entering the grounds in concealing himself in the little clump of trees you don't think then that the keeper knows anything of it? I asked we shall see that later he replied for the present I'm not interested in what the landlord said about the man the landlord hates him I didn't take you to breakfast at the Don John Inn for the sake of the green man then Ruta B with great precaution glided, followed by me towards the little building standing near the park gate served for the home of the concierges who had been arrested that morning with the skill of an acrobat he got into the lodge by an upper window which had been left open and returned ten minutes later he said only ah a word which in his mouth signified many things we were about to take the road leading to the chateau when a considerable stir at the park gate attracted our attention the carriage had arrived and some people had come out from the chateau to meet it Ruta B pointed out to me a gentleman who descended from it that's the chief of the Suerte he said now we shall see what Frederick Lawson has up his sleeve and whether he is so much cleverer than anybody else the carriage of the chief of the Suerte was followed by three other vehicles containing reporters who were also desirous of entering the park with orders to refuse admission to anybody the chief of the Suerte calmed their impatience by undertaking to furnish to the press that evening all the information he could give that would not interfere with the judicial inquiry End of Chapter 10 Recording by Gloria Zablicki Floral Park, New York or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by J. C. Iguan The Mystery of the Yellow Room by Gaston Leroux Chapter 11 In which Frédéric Larsson explained how the murderer was able to get out of the yellow room Among the mass of papers legal documents, memoirs and extracts from newspapers which I have collected relating to the mystery of the yellow room there is one very interesting piece it is a detail of the famous examination which took place that afternoon in the laboratory of Professor Stangerson before the chief of the Suerte This narrative is from the pen of M. Malin the registrar who, like the examining magistrate had spent some of his leisure time in the pursuit of literature The piece was to have made part of a book which, however has never been published and which was to have been entitled My Examinations It was given to me by the registrar himself sometime after the astonishing denouement to this case and it is unique in judicial chronicles Here it is It is not a mere dry transcription of questions and answers because the registrar often intersperses his story with his own personal comments The Registrar's Narrative The examining magistrate and I the writer relates found ourselves in the yellow room in the company of the builder who had constructed the pavilion after Professor Stangerson's designs He had a workman with him M. de Marquet had had the walls laid entirely bare that is to say had had them stripped of the paper which had decorated them blows with a pick here and there satisfied us of the absence of any sort of opening the floor and the ceiling were thoroughly sounded We found nothing There was nothing to be found M. de Marquet appeared to be delighted and never ceased repeating What a case We shall never know how the murderer was able to get out of this room Then suddenly with a radiant face he called to the officer in charge of the gendarme Go to the château he said and request M. Stangerson and M. Robert D'Arzac to come to me in the laboratory also Daddy Jack and let your men bring here the two concierges Five minutes later all were assembled in the laboratory the chief of the Surtée who had arrived at the glandier joined us that moment I was seated at M. Stangerson's desk ready for work when M. de Marquet made us the following little speech as original as it was unexpected With your permission gentlemen as the examinations lead to nothing we will for once abandon the old system of interrogation I will not have you brought before me one by one but we will all remain here as we are M. Stangerson M. Robert D'Arzac Daddy Jack and the two concierges the chief of the Surtée the registrar and myself we shall all be on the same footing the concierge may for the moment forget that they have been arrested we are going to confer together we are on the spot where the crime was committed we have nothing else to discuss but the crime so let us discuss it freely intelligently or otherwise so long as we speak just what is in our minds there need be no formality or message since this won't help us in any way then passing before me he said in a low voice what you think of that eh what a scene could you have thought of that I'll make a little piece out of it and he rubbed his hands with gulley I turned my eyes on M. Stangerson the hope he had received from the doctor's latest reports which stated that one was as Stangerson might recover from her wounds had not been able to efface from his noble features the marks of the great sorrow that was upon him he had believed his daughter to be dead and he was still broken by that belief his clear soft blue eyes expressed infinite sorrow I had had occasion many times to see M. Stangerson at public ceremonies and from the first had been struck by his countenance which seemed as pure as that of a child the dreamy gaze with the sublime and mystical expression of the inventor and thinker on those occasions his daughter was always to be seen either following him or not for they never quitted each other it was said and had shared the same labours for many years the young lady who was then five and thirty though she looked no more than thirty had devoted herself entirely to science she still won admiration from her imperial beauty which had remained intact without a wrinkle withstanding time and love who would have dreamed that I should one day be seated by her pillow with my papers and that I should see her on the point of death painfully recounting to us the most monstrous and most mysterious crime I have heard of in my career who would have thought that I should be that afternoon listening to the despairing father vainly trying to explain how his daughter's assailant had been able to escape from him with our work in obscure retreats in the depths of woods if it may not protect us against those dangerous threats to life which meet us in the busy cities now, Mr. Stangerson said Mr. de Marquet with somewhat of an important air place yourself exactly where you were when man was as dangerous and left you to go to her chamber Mr. Stangerson rose and standing at a certain distance from the door of the yellow room said in an even voice and without the least trace of emphasis a voice which I can only describe as a dead voice I was here about eleven o'clock after I had made a brief chemical experiment at the furnaces of the laboratory needing all the space behind me I had my desk moved here by Daddy Jacques who spent the evening in cleaning some of my apparatus my daughter had been working at the same desk with me when it was her time to leave she rose, kissed me and made Daddy Jacques good night she had to pass behind my desk and the door to enter her chamber and she could do this only with some difficulty that is to say I was very near the place where the crime occurred later and the desk was playing and thus mixing myself in the conversation the express orders of my chief as soon as you heard the cry of murder followed by the revolvered shots what became of the desk Daddy Jacques answered we pushed it back against the wall here close to where it is at the present moment so as to be able to get at the door at once I followed up my reasoning to which however I attached but little importance regarding it as only a weak hypothesis with another question might not see man in the room the desk being so near to the door by stooping and slipping under the desk have left it unobserved you are forgetting interrupted Monsieur Stanger's and Wiryly that my daughter had locked and bolted her door that the door had remained fastened that we vainly tried to force it open when we heard the noise and that we were at the door while the struggle between the murderer and my poor child was going on immediately after we heard her stifled cries as she was being held by the fingers that have left their red mark upon her throat rapid as the attack was we were no less rapid in our endeavours to get into the room where the tragedy was taking place I rose from my seat and once more examined the door with the greatest care then I returned to my place with a despairing gesture if the lower panel of the door I said could be removed without the whole door being necessarily opened the problem would be solved but unfortunately that last hypothesis is untenable after an examination of the door it's of oak solid and massive you can see that quite plainly in spite of the injury done in the attempt to burst it open ah, cried Daddy Jacques it is an old and solid door that was brought from the château they don't make such doors now we had to use this bar of iron to get it open all four of us for the concierge brave woman she is helped us it pains me to find them both in prison now Daddy Jacques had no sooner uttered these words of pity and protestation than tears and lamentations broke out from the concierge I never saw two accused people crying more bitterly I was extremely disgusted even if they were innocent I could not understand how they could behave like that in the face of misfortune a dignified bearing at such times is better than tears and groans which most often are feigned now then enough of that snivelling cried Monsieur de Marquet and in your interest tell us what you were doing under the windows of the pavilion at the time your mistress was being attacked for you were close to the pavilion when Daddy Jacques met you we were coming to help they whined if we could only lay hands on the murderer he'd never taste bread again the woman gurgled between her swabs as before we were unable to get two connecting thoughts out of them they persisted in their denials and swore by heaven and all the saints that they were in bed when they heard the sound of the revolver shot it was not one but two shots that were fired you see you're lying if you had heard one you would have heard the other mon dieu monsieur it was the second shot we heard we were asleep when the first shot was fired two shots were fired said Daddy Jacques I am certain that all the cartridges were in my revolver we found afterward that two had been exploded and we had two shots behind the door was not that so Mrs. Dangerson yes replied the professor there were two shots and the other sharp and ringing why do you persist in lying cried Monsieur de Marquet turning to the concierge do you think the police are the fools you are everything points to the fact that you were out of doors and near the pavilion at the time of the tragedy what were you doing there so far as I am concerned he said turning to Mrs. Dangerson I can only explain the escape of the murderer on the assumption of help from these two accomplices as soon as the door was forced open and while you Mrs. Dangerson were occupied with your unfortunate child the concierge and his wife facilitated the flight of the murderer who screening himself behind them reached the window in the vestibule and sprang out of it into the park the concierge closed the window after him and fastened the blinds which certainly could not have closed of themselves that is the conclusion I have arrived at if anyone here has any other idea let him state it Mrs. Dangerson intervened what you say was impossible I do not believe either in the guilt or in the connivance of my concierge though I cannot understand what they were doing in the park at that late hour of the night I say it was impossible because Madame Bernier held the lamp and did not move from the threshold of the room because I, as soon as the door was forced open, threw myself on my knees beside my daughter and no one could have left or entered the room by the door without passing over her body and forcing his way by me Daddy Jacques and the concierge had but to cast the glance round the chamber and under the bed there was no one on entering to say that there was nobody in it but my daughter lying on the floor what do you think Mr. Derzac asked the magistrate Mr. Derzac replied that he had no opinion to express Mr. Dax the chief of the sûreté who so far had been listening and examining the room at length then to open his lips while search is being made for the criminal we had better try to find out the motive of the crime that will advance us a little he said turning towards Mr. Stangeson he continued in the even, intelligent tone indicative of a strong character I understand that mademoiselle was shortly to have been married the professor looked sadly at Mr. Derzac to my friend here whom I should have been happy to call my son to Mr. Robert Derzac mademoiselle Stangeson is much better and is rapidly recovering from her wounds the marriage is simply delayed is it not, monsieur insisted the chief of the sûreté I hope so what? is there any doubt about that? Mr. Stangeson did not answer Mr. Robert Derzac seemed agitated I saw that his hand trembled as it fingered his watch chain Mr. Dex coughed as did Mr. De Marquet both were evidently embarrassed you understand Mr. Stangeson he said that in an affair so perplexing as this we cannot neglect anything we must know all even the smallest and seemingly most futile thing concerning the victim information apparently the most insignificant why do you doubt that this marriage will take place you express their hope but the hope implies a doubt why do you doubt Mr. Stangeson made a visible effort to recover himself yes, monsieur he said atlant you are right it will be best you should know something which if I concealed it might appear to be of importance Mr. Derzac agrees with me in this Mr. Derzac whose pallor at that moment seemed to me to be altogether abnormal made a sign of ascent I gathered he was unable to speak I want you to know then continued Mr. Stangeson that my daughter has sworn never to leave me disfirmly to her oath in spite of all my prayers and all that I have argued to induce her to marry we have known Mr. Derzac many years he loves my child and I believed that she loved him because she only recently consented to this marriage which I desire with all my heart I am an old man, monsieur and it was a happy hour to me when I knew that after I had gone she would have at her side one who loved her and who would help her in continuing our common labours I love and esteem Mr. Derzac both for his greatness of heart and for his devotion to science but two days before the tragedy for I know not what reason my daughter declared to me that she would never marry Mr. Derzac a dead silence followed Mr. Stangeson's words it was a moment fraught with suspense did Mama Zeig give you any explanation did she tell you what her motive was asked Mr. Derzac she told me she was too old to marry that she had waited too long she said she had given much thought to the matter and while she had a great esteem even affection for Mr. Derzac she felt it would be better if things remained as they were she would be happy, she said to see the relations between ourselves and Mr. Derzac become closer but only on the understanding that there will be no more talk of marriage that is very strange mutted Mr. Derzac strange repeated Mr. de Marquet you'll certainly not find the motive there Mr. Derzac Mr. Stangeson said with a cold smile in any case the motive was not theft said the chief impatiently oh we are quite convinced of that cried the examining magistrate at that moment the door of the laboratory opened and the officer in charge of the gendarm entered and handed a card to the examining magistrate Mr. de Marquet read it and uttered a half angry exclamation this is really too much he cried what is it, asked the chief it is a card of a young reporter engaged on the epoch and Mr. Joseph Roltaby it has these words written on it one of the motives of the crime was robbery the chief smiled ah young Roltaby I've heard of him, he is considered red clever let him come in Mr. Roltaby was allowed to enter I had made his acquaintance in the train that morning on the way to Epinez-sur-Horge he had introduced himself almost against my wish into our compartment I had better say at once that his manners and the arrogance with which he assumed to know what was incomprehensible even to us impressed him unfavorably on my mind I do not like journalists there are a class of writers to be avoided as the pests they think that everything is permissible and they respect nothing grant them the least favor allow them even to approach you and you never can tell what annoyance they might give you this one appears to be scarcely twenty years old and the effrontery with which he dared to question us and discuss the matter with us made him particularly obnoxious to me besides he had a way of expressing himself that left us guessing as to whether he was mocking us or not I know quite well that the epoch is an influential paper with which it is well to be on good terms but the paper ought not to allow itself to be represented by sneaking reporters Mr. Joseph Roldaby entered the laboratory bow to us for Monsieur de Marquet to ask him to explain his presence you pretend Monsieur that you know the motive of the crime and that's that motive in the face of all the evidence that has been forthcoming was robbery no Monsieur I do not pretend that I do not say that robbery was the motive for the crime and I don't believe it was then what is the meaning of this card it means that robbery was one of the motives for the crime what leads you to think that if you will be good enough to accompany me I will show you the young man asked us to follow him into the vestibule and we did he led us towards the laboratory and begged Monsieur de Marquet to kneel beside him this laboratory is lit by the glass door and when the door was open the light which penetrated was sufficient to lit it perfectly Monsieur de Marquet and Monsieur Joseph Roldaby knelt down on the threshold and the young man pointed to a spot on the pavement the stones of the laboratory have not been washed by Daddy Jacques for some time he said that can be seen by the layer of dust that covers them now notice here the marks of two large footprints and the black ash they left where they have been that ash is nothing else than the charcoal dust that covers the path along which you must pass through the forest in order to get directly from Epine to the Glendier you know there is a little village of charcoal burners at that place who make large quantities of charcoal what the murderer did was to come here at midday when there was nobody at the pavilion and attempt his robbery but what robbery where do you see any signs of robbery what proves to you that robbery has been committed we all cried at once what's put me on the trace of it continued the journalist was this interrupted Monsieur de Marquet still on his knees evidently and Monsieur de Marquet explained that there were on the dust of the pavement marks of two footsteps as well as the impression freshly made of a heavy rectangular parcel the marks of the cord with which it had been fastened being easily distinguished you have been here then Monsieur de Marquet I thought I had given orders to Daddy Jacques who was left in charge of the pavilion not to allow anybody to enter don't scourge Daddy Jacques I came here with Monsieur Robert d'Arzac ah indeed exclaimed Monsieur de Marquet disagreeably casting his sidelands at Monsieur d'Arzac who remained perfectly silent when I saw the mark of the parcel by the side of the footprints I had no doubt as to the robbery replied Monsieur Oltaville the thief had not brought a parcel with him he had made one here a parcel with a stolen object no doubt and he put it in this corner intending to take it away when the moment came for him to make his escape he had also placed his heavy boots beside the parcel for see there are no marks of steps leading to the marks left by the boot which replaced side by side that accounts for the fact that the murderer left no trace of his steps when he fled from the yellow room nor any in the laboratory nor in the vestibule after entering the yellow room in his boots he took them off finding them troublesome or because he wished to make as little noise as possible the marks made by him and going through the vestibule and the laboratory was quickly washed out by Daddy Jacques having for some reason or other taking off his boot the murderer carried them in his hand and placed them by the side of the parcel he had made by that time the robbery had been accomplished the man then returned to the yellow room and slipped under the bed where the mark of his body is perfectly visible on the floor and even on the mat slightly moved from its place and creased fragments of straw also recently torn bear witness to the murderous movements under the bed yes, yes, we know all about that said Monsieur de Marquet the robber had another motive for returning to hide under the bed continued the astonishing boy journalist you might think that he was trying to hide himself quickly on seeing through the vestibule window Monsieur and one was as dangerous and about to enter the pavilion it would have been much easier for him to have climbed up to the attic and hidden there waiting for an opportunity to get away if his purpose had been only flight no, no he had to be in the yellow room here the chief intervened that's not at all bad young man I compliment you if we do not know yet how the murderer succeeded in getting away we can at any rate see how he came in and committed the robbery but what did he steal? something very valuable replied the young reporter at that moment we heard a cry from the laboratory we rushed in and found Mr. Stangerson his eyes haggard his limbs trembling pointing to a sort of bookies which he had opened and which we saw was empty at the same instinct he sank into the large armchair that was placed before the desk and groaned the tears rolling down his cheeks I have been robbed again for God's sake do not say a word of this to my daughter she would be more pain than I am he heaved a deep sigh and added in a tone I shall never forget after all what does it matter so long as she lives she will live said Mr. Darzak in a voice strangely touching and we will find the stolen articles said Mr. Mdax but what was in the cabinet? twenty years of my life replied the illustrious professor sadly or rather of our lives the lives of myself and my daughter yes our most precious documents the records of our secret experiments and our labors of twenty years were in that cabinet it is an irreparable loss to us and I venture to say to science all the processes by which we were able to arrive at the precious proof of the destructibility of matter were there all the man who came wished to take all from me my daughter and my work my heart and my soul and the great scientist wept like a child we stood around him in silence deeply affected by his great distress and he took me to his side and tried in vain to restrain his tears a sight which for the moment almost made me like him in spite of an instinctive repulsion which a strange demeanour and his inexplicable anxiety had inspired me as if his precious time and mission on earth did not permit him to dwell in the contemplation on human suffering had very calmly ended up to the empty cabinet and pointing at it broke the almost solemn silence he entered into explanations for which there was no need as to why he had been led to believe that a robbery had been committed which included the simultaneous discovery he had made in the laboratory and the empty precious cabinet in the laboratory the first thing that had struck him he said was the unusual form of that piece of furniture it was very strongly built of fireproof iron clearly showing that it was intended for the keeping of most valuable objects then he noticed that the key had been left in the lock one does not ordinary have a safe and leave it open he had said to himself this little key with its brass head and complicated words had strongly attracted him its presence had suggested robbery Mr. de Marquet appeared to be greatly perplexed as if he did not know whether he ought to be glad of the new direction given to the inquiry by the young reporter or sorry that it had not been done by himself in our profession and for the general welfare we have to put up with such mortifications and very selfish feelings that was why Mr. de Marquet controlled himself and joined his compliments to those of Mr. d'Axe as for Mr. Roul Tabeille he simply shrugged his shoulders and said there's nothing at all in that I should have liked to box his ears especially when he added you will do well Mr to ask Mr. Stangerson who usually kept the key my daughter replied Mr. Stangerson she was never without it ah then that changes the aspect of things which no longer corresponds with Mr. Roul Tabeille's ideas cried Mr. de Marquet if that key never left man was in Stangerson the murderer must have waited for her in her room for the purpose of stealing it and the robbery could not have been committed until after the attack had been made on her but after the attack four persons were in the laboratory let's make it out the robbery said the reporter could only have been committed before the attack upon man was in Stangerson in her room when the murderer entered the pavilion he already possessed the brass-headed key that is impossible said Mr. Stangerson in a low voice it is quite possible Mr. as this proves as the young rascal drew a copy of the epoch from his pocket dated the 21st of October I recall the fact that the crime was committed on the nights between the 24th and the 25th and showing us an advertisement he read yesterday a black satin reticule was lost in the Grand Magasin de la Louvre it contained amongst other things a small key with a brass head a handsome reward will be given to the person who has found it this person must write post-restaurant to this address M-A-T-H-S-N do not these letters suggest man was at Stangerson continue the reporter the key with a brass head is not this the key I always read advertisements in my business as in yours Mr. one should always read the personals they are often the keys to intrigues that are not always brass headed but which are none the less interesting this advertisement interested me specially the woman of the key surrounded it with a kind of mystery evidently she valued the key since she promised a big reward for its restoration and I thought on these six letters M-A-T-H-S-N the first war at once pointed to a Christian name evidently I said math is Mathilde but I could make nothing of the two last letters so I drew the journal aside and occupied myself with other matters four days later when the evening paper appeared with enormous headlines announcing the murder of man was at Stangerson the letters in the advertisement mechanically recurred to me I had forgotten the two last letters S-N when I saw them again I could not help exclaiming Stangerson I jumped into a cab and rushed into the behold number 40 asking have you a letter addressed to M-A-T-H-S-N the clerk replied that he had not I insisted, begged and then treated him to search he wanted to know if I were playing a joke on him and then told me that he had had a letter with the initials M-A-T-H-S-N but he had given it up three days ago to a lady who came for it you come today to claim the letter and the day before yesterday another gentleman claimed it I've had enough of this he concluded angrily I tried to question him as to the two persons who had already claimed the letter but whether he wished to entrench himself behind professional secrecy he may have thought that he had already said too much or whether he was disgusted at the joke that had been played on him he would not answer any of my questions R-A-T-A-B paused we all remained silent each drew his own conclusions from the strange story of the post-restaurant letter it seemed indeed that we now had the thread by M-A-T-H-S-N that we now had the thread by means of which we should be able to follow up this extraordinary mystery then it is almost certain M-A-T-H-S-N that my daughter did lose the key and that she did not tell me of it wishing to spare any anxiety and that she begs whoever had found it to write to the post-restaurant she evidently feared that by giving our address inquiries who had resulted that would have apprised me of the loss of the key it was quite logical quite natural for her to have taken that course for I have been robbed once before where was that and when? asked the chief of the Surte oh many years ago in America in Philadelphia there were stolen from my laboratory the drawings of two inventions not only have I never learnt who the safe was but I have never heard even a word of the object of the robbery doubtless because in order to defeat the plans of the person who had robbed me I myself brought these two inventions before the public and so rendered the robbering of Noeville from that time on I have been very careful to shut myself in when I am at work the bars to these windows the lonely situation of this pavilion this cabinet which I had specially constructed this special lock this unique key all our precautions against fears inspired by a sad experience most interesting remarked Mr. Dax Mr. Hortabe asked about the reticule neither Mr. Stangerson nor Daddy Jacques had seen it for several days after hours later we learned from Mrs. Stangerson herself that the reticule had either been stolen from her or she had lost it she further corroborated all that had passed just as her father had stated she had gone to the post restant and on the 23rd of October had received a letter which she affirmed contained nothing but a vulgar pleasantry which she had immediately burned to return to our examination or rather to our conversation I must state that the chief of the Surtée having inquired of Mr. Stangerson under what conditions his daughter had gone to Paris on the 20th of October we learned that Mr. Robert Darzac had accompanied her and Darzac had not been again seen at the château from that time to the day after the crime had been committed the fact that Mr. Darzac was with her in the Grand Magasin de la Louvre when the reticule disappeared could not pass unnoticed and it must be said strongly awakened our interest this conversation between magistrates accused, victim, witnesses and journalists was coming to a close when quite a theatrical sensation an incident of a kind displeasing to Mr. de Marquet was produced the officer of the gendarme who announced that Frédéric Larson requested to be admitted a request that was at once complied with he held in his hand a heavy pair of muddy boots which he threw on the pavement of the laboratory here he said, are the boots worn by the murderer? do you recognize them, Darzac? Darzac bent over them and stupefied recognized a pair of old boots which he had sometime back thrown in a corner of his attic he was so taken aback that he could not hide his agitation then pointing to the handkerchief in the old man's hand Frédéric Larson said that a handkerchief astonishing like the one found in the yellow room I know said Darzac trembling they are almost alike and then continued Frédéric Larson the old basque cap also found in the yellow room might at one time have been worn by Darzac himself all this gentleman proves I think that the murderer wished to disguise his real personality he did it in a very clumsy way or at least so it appears to us don't be alarmed Darzac we are quite sure that you were not the murderer you never left the side of Mr. Stangerson but if Mr. Stangerson had not been working that night and had gone back to the chateau after parting with his daughter and Darzac had gone to sleep in his attic no one would have doubted that he was the murderer he owes his safety therefore to the tragedy having been enacted so soon the murderer no doubt from the silence in the laboratory imagined that it was empty and that the moment for action had come the man who had been able to introduce himself here so mysteriously and to leave so many evidences against Darzac was there can be no doubt familiar with the house at what hour exactly he entered whether in the afternoon or in the evening I cannot say one familiar with the proceedings and persons of this pavilion could choose his own time for entering the yellow room he could not have entered it if anybody had been in the laboratory said Mr. de Marquet how do we know that? replied Larson there was the dinner in the laboratory the coming and going of the servants in attendance there was a chemical experiment being carried on between 10 and 11 o'clock with Mr. Stangerson his daughter and Darzac engaged at the furnace in a corner of the high chimney who can say that the murderer an intimate a friend did not take advantage of that moment to slip into the yellow room after having taken off his boots in the laboratory it is very improbable said Mr. Stangerson doubtless but it is not impossible I assert nothing as to the escape from the pavilion that's another thing the most natural thing in the world for a moment Frédéric Larson paused that appeared to us a very long time the eagerness with which we awaited what he was going to tell us may be imagined I have not been in the yellow room he continued but I take it for granted that you have satisfied yourself that he could have left the room only by way of the door it is by the door then that the murderer made his way out at what time? it was most easy for him to do so at the moment when it became most explainable so completely explainable that there can be no other explanation let us go over the moment which followed after the crime had been committed there was the first moment when Mr. Stangerson and Daddy Jacques were close to the door ready to bar the way there was a second moment during which Daddy Jacques was absent and Mr. Stangerson was left alone before the door there was a third moment when Mr. Stangerson was joined by the concierge there was a fourth moment during which Mr. Stangerson the concierge and his wife and Daddy Jacques were before the door there was a fifth moment during which the door was burst open and the yellow room entered the moment at which the flight is explainable is the very moment when there was the least number of persons before the door there was one moment when there was but one person Mr. Stangerson unless a complicity of silence on the part of Daddy Jacques is admitted in which I do not believe the door was opened in the presence of Mr. Stangerson alone and the man escaped here we must admit Mr. Stangerson had powerful reasons for not arresting or not causing the arrest of the murderer since he allowed him to reach the window in the vestibule and closed it after him that's done but Mr. Stangerson though horribly wounded had still strength enough and no doubt in obedience to the entreaties of her father to refasten the door of her chamber with both the bolt and the lock before sinking on the floor we do not know who committed the crime we do not know of what wretch Mr. and Manwazel Stangerson are the victims but there is no doubt that they both know the secret must be a terrible one for the father had not hesitated to leave his daughter to die behind the door which she has shut upon herself terrible for him to have allowed the assassin to escape for there is no other way in the world to explain the mergers flight from the yellow room the silence which followed this dramatic and lucid explanation was appalling we all of us felt grieved for the illustrious professor driven into a corner by the pettiless logic of Frederick Larsan forced to confess the whole truth of his martyrdom or to keep silent and thus make a yet more terrible admission the man himself a veritable statue of sorrow raised his hand with a gesture so solemn that we bowed our heads to it as before something sacred he then pronounced these words in a voice so loud that it seemed to exhaust him I swear by the head of my suffering child that I never for an instant left the door of her chamber after hearing her cries for help that that door was not opened while I was alone in the laboratory and that finally when we entered the yellow room my three domestics and I the murderer was no longer there I swear I do not know the murderer must I say it in spite of the solemnty of Mr. Stangerson's words we did not believe in his denial Frederick Larsan had shown us this truth and it was not so easily given up Mr. de Marquet announced that the conversation was at an end and as we were about to leave the laboratory Joseph Roldabe approached Mr. Stangerson took him by the hand with the greatest respect and I heard him say I believe you, monsieur I hear close the citation which I have thought in my duty to make from Mr. Malin's narrative I need not tell the reader that all that passed in the laboratory was immediately and faithfully reported to me by Roldabe End of chapter 11