 Chapter 27 Part A of the Mystery of the Yellow Room. In which Joseph Roltabeille appears in all his glory. The excitement was extreme. Cries from fainting women were to be heard amid the extraordinary bustle and stir. The majesty of the law was utterly forgotten. The president tried in vain to make himself heard. Roltabeille made his way forward with difficulty, but by dents of much elbowing reached his manager and greeted him cordially. The letter was passed to him and, pocketing it, he turned to the witness-box. He was dressed exactly as on the day he left me, even to the Ulster over his arm. Turning to the president, he said, I beg your pardon, Mr. President, but I have only just arrived from America. The steamer was late. My name is Joseph Roltabeille. The silence, which followed his stepping into the witness-box, was broken by laughter when his words were heard. Everybody seemed relieved and glad to find him there, as if in the expectation of hearing the truth at last. But the president was extremely incensed. So you are Joseph Roltabeille, he replied. Well, young man, I'll teach you what comes of making a farce of justice. By virtue of my discretionary power, I hold you at the court's disposition. I ask nothing better, Mr. President. I have come here for that purpose. I humbly beg you the court's pardon for the disturbance of which I have been the innocent cause. I beg you to believe that nobody has a greater respect for the court than I have. I came in as I could. He smiled. Take him away, ordered the president. Maître-Rie Robert intervened. He began by apologizing for the young man, who, he said, was moved only by the best intentions. He made the president understand that the evidence of a witness who had slept at the Grandier during the whole of that eventful week could not be omitted, and that the present witness, moreover, had come to name the real murderer. Are you going to tell us who the murderer was, as the president, somewhat convinced, though still skeptical? I have come for that purpose, Mr. President, replied Roul-Tabille. An attempt at applause was silenced by the usher. Joseph Roul-Tabille, this Maître-Rie Robert, has not been regularly subpoenaed as a witness, but I hope, Mr. President, you will examine him in virtue of your discretionary powers. Very well, said the president. We will question him, but we must proceed in order. The advocate general rose. It will perhaps be better, he said, if the young man were to tell us now whom he suspects. The president nodded ironically. If the advocate general attaches importance to the deposition of Mr. Joseph Roul-Tabille, I see no reason why this witness should not give us the name of the murderer. A pin drop could have been heard. Roul-Tabille stood silent, looking sympathetically at Darzak, who, for the first time since the opening of the trial, showed himself agitated. Well, cried the president, we wait for the name of the murderer. Roul-Tabille, feeling in his waistcoat pocket, drew his watch, and, looking at it, said, Mr. President, I cannot name the murderer before half past six o'clock. Loud murmurs of disappointment filled the room. Some of the lawyers were heard to say, he's making fun of us. The president, in a stern voice, said, This joke has gone far enough. You may retire, Monsieur, into the witness's room. I hold you at our disposition. Roul-Tabille protested. I assure you, Mr. President, he cried in his sharp, clear voice, that, when I do name the murderer, you will understand why I could not speak before half past six. I assert this on my honor. I can, however, give you now some explanation of the murder of the keeper. Mr. Frédéric Larsan, who has seen me at work at the Grandier, can tell you with what care I studied this case. I found myself compelled to differ with him in arresting Mr. Robert Darzak, who is innocent. Mr. Larsan knows of my good faith and knows that some importance may be attached to my discoveries, which have often corroborated his own. Frédéric Larsan said, Mr. President, it will be interesting to hear Mr. Joseph Roul-Tabille, especially as he differs from me. A murmur of approbation greeted the detractive speech. He was a good sportsman, and accepted the challenge. The struggle between the two promised to be exciting. As the President remained silent, Frédéric Larsan continued. We agree that the murderer of the keeper was the assailant of Mademoiselle Stangerson. But as we are not agreed as to how the murderer escaped, I am curious to hear Mr. Roul-Tabille's explanation. I have no doubt you are, replied my friend. General Laughter followed this remark. The President angrily declared that if it was repeated he would have the court cleared. Now, young man, said the President, you have heard Mr. Frédéric Larsan. How did the murderer get away from the court? Roul-Tabille looked at Madame Mathieu, who smiled back at him sadly. Since Madame Mathieu, he said, has freely admitted her intimacy with the keeper. Why, it's the boy, exclaimed Daddy Mathieu. Remove that man, ordered the President. Mathieu was removed from the court. Roul-Tabille went on. Since she has made this confession, I am free to tell you that she often met the keeper at night on the first floor of the donjon, in the room which was once an oratory. These meetings became more frequent when her husband was laid up by his rheumatism. She gave him morphine to ease his pain and to give herself more time for the meetings. Madame Mathieu came to the château that night, enveloped in a large black shawl which served also as a disguise. This was the phantom that disturbed Daddy Jacques. She knew how to imitate the mewing of Mother Agenoux's cat, and she would make the Christ to advise the keeper of her presence. The recent repairs of the donjon did not interfere with their meetings in the keeper's old room, in the donjon, since the new room assigned to him at the end of the right wing was separated from the steward's room by a partition only. Previous to the tragedy in the courtyard, Madame Mathieu and the keeper left the donjon together. I learned these facts from my examination of the footmarks in the court the next morning. Bernier, the concierge, whom I had stationed behind the donjon, as he will explain himself, could not see what passed in the court. He did not reach the court until he heard the revolver shots, and then he fired. When the woman parted from the man, she went towards the open gate of the court, while he returned to his room. He had almost reached the door when the revolvers rang out. He had just reached the corner when the shadow bounced by. Meanwhile, Madame Mathieu, surprised by the revolver shots and by the entrance of people into the court, crouched in the darkness. The court is a large one, and, being near the gate, she might easily have passed out unseen. But she remained and saw the body being carried away. In great agony of mind, she neared vestibule and saw the dead body of her lover on the stairs, lit up by Daddy Jacques' lantern. She then fled, and Daddy Jacques joined her. That same night, before the murder, Daddy Jacques had been awakened by the cat's cry, and looking through his window had seen the black phantom. Haisley dressing himself, he went out and recognized her. He is an old friend of Madame Mathieu, and when she saw him, she had to tell him of her relations with the keeper, and begged his assistance. Daddy Jacques took pity on her, and accompanied her through the oak grove out of the park, past the border of the lake to the road to Epinée. From there, it was but a very short distance to her home. Daddy Jacques returned to the château, and seeing how important it was for Madame Mathieu's presence at the château to remain unknown, he did all he could to hide it. I appeal to Mr. Larsan, who saw me next morning, examine the two sets of footprints. Here, Roul Tabeille turning towards Madame Mathieu, with a bow, said. The footprints of Madame bore a strange resemblance to the neat footprints of the murderer. Madame Mathieu trembled, and looked at him with wide eyes as if in wonder at what he would say next. Madame has a shapely foot, long and rather large for a woman. The imprint, with its pointed toe, is very like that of the murderers. A movement in the court was repressed by Roul Tabeille. He held their attention at once. I hasten to add, he went on, that I attach no importance to this. Outward signs like these are often liable to lead us into error, if we do not reason rightly. Mr. Robert Darzak's footprints are also like the murderers, and yet he is not the murderer. The President, turning to Madame Mathieu, asked, Is that in accordance with what you know occurred? Yes, Mr. President, she replied, it is as if Mr. Roul Tabeille had been behind us. Did you see the murderer running towards the end of the right wing? Yes, as clearly as I saw them afterwards carrying the keeper's body. What became of the murderer? You were in the courtyard, and could easily have seen. I saw nothing of him, Mr. President. It became quite dark just then. Then Roul Tabeille, said the President, must explain how the murderer made his escape. Roul Tabeille continued. It was impossible for the murderer to escape by the way he had entered the court without our seeing him. Or if we couldn't see him, we must certainly have felt him, since the court is a very narrow one enclosed in high-iron railings. Then, if the man was hemmed in that narrow square, how is it you did not find him? I have been asking you that for the last half hour. Mr. President, replied Roul Tabeille, I cannot answer that question before half past six. By this time the people in the courtroom were beginning to believe in this new witness. They were amused by his melodramatic action in thus fixing the hour. But they seemed to have confidence in the outcome. As for the President, it looked as if he also made up his mind to take the young man in the same way. He had certainly been impressed by Roul Tabeille's explanation of Madame Mathieu's part. Well, Mr. Roul Tabeille, he said, as you say, but don't let us see any more of you before half past six. Roul Tabeille bowed to the President, and made his way to the door of the witness's room. I quietly made my way through the crowd and left the court almost at the same time as Roul Tabeille. He greeted me heartily, and looked happy. I'll not ask you, my dear fellow, I said smiling, what you've been doing in America, because I've no doubt you'll say you can't tell me until after half past six. No, my dear Sinclair, I'll tell you right now why I went to America. I went in search of the name of the other half of the murderer. The name of the other half? Exactly. When we last left the Grandier, I knew there were two halves to the murderer, and the name of only one of them. I went to America, for the name of the other half. I was too puzzled to answer. Just then we entered the witness's room, and Roul Tabeille was immediately surrounded. He showed himself very friendly to all except Arthur Rand's, to whom he exhibited a marked coldness of manner. But Eric Larsan came in also. Roul Tabeille went up, and shook him heartily by the hand. His manner toward the detective showed that he had got the better of the policeman. Larsan smiled, and asked him what he had been doing in America. Roul Tabeille began by telling him some anecdotes of his voyage. They then turned the side together, apparently with the object of speaking confidentially. I therefore discreetly left them, and, being curious to hear the evidence, returned to my seat in the courtroom, where the public plainly showed its lack of interest in what was going on in their impatience for Roul Tabeille's return at the appointed time. On the stroke of half-past-six, Joseph Roul Tabeille was again brought in. It is impossible for me to picture the tense excitement which appeared on every face as he made his way to the bar. Darzak rose to his feet, frightfully pale. The President, addressing Roul Tabeille, said gravely, �I will not ask you to take the oath, because you have not been regularly summoned. But I trust there is no need to urge upon you the gravity of this statement you are about to make.� Roul Tabeille looked at the President quite calmly and steadily in the face, and replied, �Yes, Monsieur.� �At your last appearance here,� said the President, �we have arrived at the point where you were to tell us how the murderer escaped, and also his name.� �Now, Monsieur Roul Tabeille, we await your explanation.� �Very well, Monsieur� began my friend amidst a profound silence. I had explained how it was impossible for the murderer to get away without being seen. And yet he was there with us in the courtyard. And you did not see him? At least that is what the prosecution declares. �No, we all of us saw him, Monsieur le Président,� cried Roul Tabeille. Then why was he not arrested? Because no one, besides myself, knew that he was the murderer. It would have spoiled my plans to have had him arrested, and I had then no proof other than my own reasoning. I was convinced we had the murderer before us, and that we were actually looking at him. I have now brought what I consider the indisputable proof. �Speak out, Monsieur, tell us the murderer's name.� �You will find it on the list of names present in the court on the night of the tragedy,� replied Roul Tabeille. The people present in the courtroom began showing in patience. Some of them even called for the name, and were silenced by the Usher. The list includes Daddy Jacques, Bernier de Concierge, and Mr. Arthur Rance, said the President. Do you accuse any of these? �No, Monsieur. Then I do not understand what you are driving at. There was no other person at the end of the court.� �Yes, Monsieur. There was, not at the end, but above the court, who was leaning out of the window.� �You mean Frédéric Larsan,� exclaimed the President. �Yes, Frédéric Larsan,� replied Roul Tabeille in a ringing tone. �Fédéric Larsan is the murderer.� The courtroom became immediately filled with loud and indignant protests. So astonished was he that the President did not attempt to quiet it. The quick silence which followed was broken by the distinctly whispered words from the lips of Robert D'Arzac. �It's impossible. He's mad.� �You dare to accuse Frédéric Larsan, Monsieur?� asked the President. �If you are not mad, what are your proofs? �Proofs, Monsieur? Do you want proofs? �Well, here is one,� cried Roul Tabeille shrilly. �Let Frédéric Larsan be called.� �Ocher,� called Frédéric Larsan. The usher hurried to the side door, opened it, and disappeared. The door remained open, while all eyes turned expectantly towards it. The clerk reappeared, and stepping forward said, �Monsieur Président, Frédéric Larsan is not here. He left at about four o'clock, and has not been seen since. �That is my proof,� cried Roul Tabeille triumphantly. �Explain yourself?� demanded the President. �My proof is Larsan's flight,� said the young reporter. �He will not come back. You will see no more,� Frédéric Larsan. �Unless you are playing with the court, Monsieur, why did you not accuse him when he was present?� he would then have answered you. He could give no other answer than the one he has now given by his flight. �We cannot believe that Larsan has fled. There was no reason for his doing so. Did he know you'd make this charge?� he did. I told him I would. �Do you mean to say that knowing Larsan was the murderer, you gave him the opportunity to escape?� �Yes, Monsieur President, I did� replied Roul Tabeille proudly. �I am not a policeman. I am a journalist. And my business is not to arrest people. My business is in the service of truth. And it's not that, I'm an executioner. If you are just, Monsieur, you will see that I am right. You can now understand why I refrained until this hour to devote the name. I gave Larsan time to catch the 417 train for Paris, where he would know where to hide himself and leave no traces. You will not find Frédéric Larsan� declared Roul Tabeille, fixing his eyes on Monsieur Robert Arzac. He is too cunning. He is a man who has always escaped you, and whom you have long searched for in vain. If he did not succeed in outwitting me, he can yet easily outwit any police. This man, who four years ago introduced himself to the sûreté, and became celebrated as Frédéric Larsan, is not terrious under another name, a name well known to crime. Frédéric Larsan, Monsieur President, is Balmayer. �Balmayer!� cried the President. �Balmayer!� exclaimed Robert Arzac, springing to his feet. �Balmayer! It was true then! �Ah, Monsieur Arzac, you don�t think I am mad now?� cried Roul Tabeille. �Balmayer! Balmayer! No other word could be heard in the courtroom.� The President adjourned the hearing. Those of my readers who may not have heard of Balmayer will wonder at the excitement the name caused. And yet the doings of this remarkable criminal form the subject matter of the most dramatic narratives of the newspapers and criminal records of the past twenty years. It had been reported that he was dead, and thus had eluded the police as he had eluded them throughout the whole of his career. Balmayer was the best specimen of the high-class gentleman Swendler. He was adept at sleight of hand tricks, and no bolder or more ruthless crook ever lived. He was received in the best society and was a member of some of the most exclusive clubs. On many of his depredatory expeditions he had not hesitated to use the knife and the mutton-burn. No difficulty stopped him, and no operation was too dangerous. He had been caught, but escaped on the very morning of his trial, by throwing pepper into the eyes of the guards who were conducting him to court. It was known later that in spite of the keen hunts after him by the most experts of detectives, he had sat that same evening at a first performance in the Seat Francais without the slightest disguise. He left France later to work, America. The police there succeeded in capturing him once, but the extraordinary man escaped the next day. It would need a volume to recount the adventures of this master criminal, and yet this was the man Holtabey had allowed to get away. Knowing all about him and who he was, he afforded the criminal an opportunity for another laugh at the society he had defied. I could not help admiring the bold stroke of the young journalist, because I felt certain his motive had been to protect both Mademoiselle Stangeressen and Red Derzak of an enemy at the same time. The crowd had barely recovered from the effect of the astonishing revelation when the hearing was resumed. The question in everybody's mind was, admitting that Larsan was the murderer, how did he get out of the yellow room? Holtabey was immediately called to the bar, and his explanation continued. "'You have told us,' said the President, that it was impossible to escape from the end of the court. Since Larsan was leaning out of his window, he had left the court. How did he do that?' He escaped, by a most unusual way. He climbed the wall, sprang onto the terrace, and while we were engaged with the Keeper's body reached the gallery by the window. He then had little else to do than to open the window, get in, and call out to us as if he had just come from his own room. To a man of Belmere's strength, all that was a mere child's play. And here, monsieur, is the proof of what I say. Holtabey drew from his pocket a small packet from which he produced a strong iron peg. This, monsieur, is a spike which perfectly fits a hole still to be seen on the carnage supporting the terrace. Larsan, who thought and prepared for everything in case of any emergency, had fixed this spike into the cornice. All he had to do to make his escape good was to plant one foot on a stone which is placed at the corner of the château, another on this support, one hand on the cornice of the Keeper's door, and the other on the terrace, and Larsan was clear of the ground. The rest was easy. His acting after dinner, as if he had been drugged, was make believe. He was not drugged, but he did drug me. Of course, he had to make it appear as if he also had been drugged so that no suspicion should fell on him for my condition. Had I not been thus overpowered, Larsan would never have entered Mademoiselle's dangerousened chamber that night, and the attack on her would not have taken place. A groan came from Dersak, who appeared to be unable to control his suffering. You can understand, added Roldabé, that Larsan could feel himself hampered from the fact that my room was so close to his, and from a suspicion that I would be on the watch that night. Naturally, he could not for a moment believe that I suspected him, but I might see him leaving his room when he was about to go to Mademoiselle's dangerousened. I waited till I was asleep, and my friends and Claire was busy trying to razz me. Ten minutes after that Mademoiselle was calling out murder. How did you come to suspect Larsan, asked the President. My pure reason pointed to him. That was why I watched him. But I did not foresee the drugging. He is very cunning. Yes, my pure reason pointed to him, but I require tangible proof so that my eyes could see him as my pure reason saw him. What do you mean by your pure reason? That power of one's mind which admits of no disturbing elements to a conclusion. The day following the incident of the inexplicable gallery I felt myself losing control of it. I had allowed myself to be diverted by fallacious evidence, but I recovered and again took hold of the right end. I satisfied myself that the murderer could not have left the gallery, either naturally or supernaturally. I narrowed the field of consideration to that small circle, so to speak. The murderer could not be outside that circle. Now who was in it? There was first the murderer. Then there were Daddy Jack, Monsieur Stangerson, Frédéric Larsan, and myself. Five persons in all, counting in the murderer. And yet in the gallery there were but four. Now, since it had been demonstrated to me that the fifth could not have escaped, it was evident that one of the four present in the gallery must be a double. He must be himself and the murderer also. Why had I not seen this before? Simply because the phenomenon of the double personality had not occurred before in this inquiry. Now, who of the four persons in the gallery was both that person and the assassin? I went over in my mind what I had seen. I had seen at one and at the same time Monsieur Stangerson and the murderer, Daddy Jack and the murderer, myself and the murderer, so that the murderer then could not be either Monsieur Stangerson, Daddy Jack, or myself. Had I seen Frédéric Larsan and the murderer at the same time? No. Two seconds had passed during which I lost sight of the murderer. Four, as I have noted in my papers, he arrived two seconds before Monsieur Stangerson, Daddy Jack, and myself at the meeting point of the two galleries. That would have given Larsan time to go through the off-turning gallery, snatch off his false beard, return, and hurry with us, as if like us, in pursuit of the murderer. I was sure now I had got hold of the right end in my reasoning. With Frédéric Larsan was now always associated in my mind the personality of the unknown of whom I was in pursuit, the murderer in other words. End of Chapter 27, Part A. Chapter 27, Part B. 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 J. C. Guarn. THE MYSTERY OF THE YELLOW ROOM by Gaston Leroux. Chapter 27, Part B. That revelation staggered me. I tried to regain my balance by going over the evidence previously traced. But which had diverted my mind and led me away from Frédéric Larsan. What were these evidences? First, I had seen the unknown in Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber. Ungoing to Frédéric Larsan's room, I had found Frédéric's sound asleep. Second, the ladder. Third, I had placed Frédéric Larsan at the end of the off-turning gallery and had told him that I would rush into Mademoiselle Stangerson's room to try to capture the murderer. Then I returned to Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber where I had seen the unknown. The first evidence did not disturb me much. It is likely that when I descended from my ladder, after having seen the unknown in Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber, Larsan had already finished what he was doing there. Then, while I was re-entering the chateau, Larsan went back to his own room and, undressing himself, went to sleep. Nor did the second evidence trouble me. If Larsan were the murderer, he could have no use for a ladder. But the ladder might have been placed there to give an appearance to the murderer's entrance from without the chateau, especially as Larsan had accused Dersak and Dersak was not in the chateau that night. Further, the ladder might have been placed there to facilitate Larsan's flight in case of absolute necessity. But the third evidence puzzled me altogether. Having placed Larsan at the end of the off-turning gallery, I could not explain how he had taken advantage of the moment when I had gone to the left wing of the chateau to find M. Stangerson and Dersak, to return to Mademoiselle Stangerson's room. It was a very dangerous thing to do. He risked being captured and he knew it and he was very nearly captured. He had not had time to regain his post as he had certainly hoped to do. He had done a very strong reason for returning to his room. As for myself, when I sent Dersak to the end of the right gallery, I naturally thought that Larsan was still at his post. Dersak going to his post had not looked when he passed to see whether Larsan was at his post or not. What then was the urgent reason which had compelled Larsan to go to the room a second time? I guessed it would be some evidence of his presence there. He had left something very important in that room. What was it? And had he recovered it? I begged M. Bernier, who was accustomed to clean the room to look, and she found a pair of eyeglasses. This pair, M. Président. And Hultabé drew the eyeglasses, of which we know from his pocket. When I saw these eyeglasses, he continued, I was utterly non-plussed. I had never seen Larsan wear eyeglasses. What did they mean? Suddenly, I exclaimed to myself, I wonder if he is long-sighted. I had never seen Larsan right. He might then be long-sighted. They would certainly know what to surter, and also know if the glasses were his. Such evidence would be damning. That explained Larsan's return. I know now that Larsan, or Balmayer, is long-sighted, and that these glasses belong to him. I now made one mistake. I was not satisfied with the evidence I had obtained. I wished to see the man's face. Had I refrained from this, the second terrible attack would not have occurred. But, asked the president, why should Larsan go to Mademoiselle's dangerous room at all? Why should he twice attempt to murder her? Because he loves her, Mr. President. That is certainly a reason, but it is the only reason. He was madly in love, and because of that, and other things, he was capable of committing any crime. Did Mademoiselle's dangerous know this? Yes, Monsieur. But she was ignorant of the fact that the man who was pursuing her was Frédéric Larsan. Otherwise, of course, he would not have been allowed to be at the château. I noticed, when he was in her room after the incident in the gallery, that he kept himself in the château, and that he kept his head burnt down. He was looking for the lost eyeglasses. Mademoiselle's dangerous knew Larsan under another name. Mr. Derzac, asked the president, did Mademoiselle's dangerous in any way confide in you on this matter? How is it that she has never spoken about it to anyone? If you are innocent, she would have wished to spare you the pain of being accused. Mademoiselle's dangerous told me nothing, replied Mr. Derzac. Does what this young man says appear probable to you? The president asked. Mademoiselle's dangerous has told me nothing. He replied stolidly. How do you explain that on the night of the murder of the keeper? The president asked, turning to Rotabey. The murderer brought back the papers stolen from Mr. Stangerson. How do you explain how the murderer gained entrance into Mademoiselle's dangerous locked room? The last question is easily answered. A man like Larsan, or a bold mayor, could have had made duplicate keys. As to the documents, I think Larsan had not intended to steal them at first. Closely watching Mademoiselle with the purpose of preventing her marriage with Mr. Robert Derzac, he one day followed her and Mr. into the Grand Magasin de la Louvre. There he got possession of the reticule which she lost or left behind. In that reticule was a key with a brass head. He did not know there was any value attached to the key till the advertisement in the papers revealed it. He then wrote to Mademoiselle as the advertisement requested. No doubt he asked for a meeting, making known to her that he was also the person who had for some time pursued her with his love. He received no answer. He went to the post office and ascertained that his letter was no longer there. He had already taken complete stock of Mr. Derzac and having decided to go to any lands to gain Mademoiselle's dangerous son, he had planned that whatever might happen, Mr. Derzac, his hated rival should be the man to be suspected. I do not think that Larsan had as yet thought of murdering Mademoiselle's dangerous son. But whatever he might do, he made sure that Mr. Derzac should suffer for it. He was very nearly of the same height as Mr. Derzac and had almost the same sized feet. It would not be difficult to take an impression of Mr. Derzac's footprints and have similar boots made for himself. Such tricks were mere charts play for Larsan or a ballmaier. Receiving no reply to his letter, he determined since Mademoiselle's dangerous son would not come to him that he would go to her. His plan had long been formed. He had made himself master of the plans of the Chateau and the Pavilion so that one afternoon while Mr. Mademoiselle's dangerous son were out for a walk and while Derzac was away, he entered the latter by the vestibule window. He was alone and being in no hurry, he began examining the furniture. One of the pieces resembling his safe had a very small keyhole that interested him. He had with him the little key with the brass head and associating one with the other, he tried the key in the lock. The door opened. He saw nothing but papers. They must be very valuable to have been put away in a safe and the key to which to be of so much importance. Perhaps the thought of blackmail occurred to him as a useful possibility in helping him in his designs on Mademoiselle's dangerous son. He quickly made a parcel of the papers and took it to the laboratory in the vestibule. Between the time of his first examination of the Pavilion and the night of the murder of the keeper, Lasson had had time to find out what those papers contained. He could do nothing with them and they were rather compromising. That night he took them back to the Chateau. Perhaps he hoped that by returning the papers he might obtain some gratitude from Mademoiselle's dangerous son. But whatever may have been his reasons, he took the papers back and so rid himself of an incumbrance. Rolta B. coughed. It was evident to me that he was embarrassed. He had arrived at a point where he had to keep back his knowledge of Lasson's true motive. The explanation he had given had evidently been unsatisfactory. Rolta B. was quick enough to note the bad impression he had made. For turning to the President, he said, and now we come to the explanation of the mystery of the Yellow Room. A movement of chairs in the court with a rustling of dresses and an energetic whispering of hush showed the curiosity that had been aroused. It seems to me, said the President, that the mystery of the Yellow Room, Mr. Rolta B., is wholly explained by your hypothesis. Frédéric Lasson is the explanation. We have merely to substitute him for Mr. Robert D'Arzac. Evidently, the door of the Yellow Room was open at the time Mr. Stanger's son was alone, and that he allowed the man who was coming out of his daughter's chamber to pass without arresting him, perhaps at her entreaty to avoid all scandal. No, Mr. President, protested the young man. You forget that, stunned by the attack made on her, Mademoiselle Stanger's son was not in a condition to have made such an appeal, nor could she have locked and bolted herself in her room. You must also remember that Mr. Stanger's son has sworn that the door was not open. That, however, is the only way in which it can be explained. The Yellow Room was as closely shut as an iron safe. To use your own expression, it was impossible for the murderer to make his escape either naturally or supernaturally. When the room was broken into, he was not there. He must therefore have escaped. That does not follow. What do you mean? There was no need for him to escape if he was not there. Not there? Evidently not. He could not have been there if he were not found there. But what about the evidences of his presence? Asked the President. That, Mr. President, is where we have taken hold of the wrong end. From the time Mademoiselle Stanger's son shut herself in the room to the time her door was burst open, it was impossible for the murderer to escape. He was not found because he was not there during that time. But the evidences, they have led us astray. In reasoning on this mystery, we must not take them to mean what they apparently mean. Why do we conclude the murderer was there? Because he left his tracks in the room? Good. But may he not have been there before the room was locked? Nay, he must have been there before. Let us look into the matter of these traces and see if they do not point to my conclusion. After the publication of the article in the matin, and my conversation with the examining magistrates on the journey from Paris to Epinae-sur-Orge, I was certain that the yellow room had been hermetically sealed, so to speak, and that consequently the murderer had escaped before Mademoiselle Stanger's son had gone into her chamber at midnight. At the time I was much puzzled. Mademoiselle Stanger's son could not have been her own murderer since the evidences pointed to some other person. The assassin then had come before. If that were so, how was it that Mademoiselle had been attacked after, or rather that she appeared to have been attacked after? It was necessary for me to reconstruct the occurrence and make of it two phases, each separated from the other in time by the space of several hours. One phase in which Mademoiselle Stanger's son had really been attacked, the other phase in which those who heard her cries thought she was being attacked. I had not then examined the yellow room. What were the marks on Mademoiselle Stanger's son? There were marks of strangulation and the wound from a hard blow on the temple. The marks of strangulation did not interest me much. They might have been made before, and Mademoiselle could have concealed them by a colaret or any similar article of apparel. I had to suppose this the moment I was compelled to reconstruct the occurrence by two phases. Mademoiselle Stanger's son had no doubt her own reason for so doing, since she had told her father nothing of it, and had made it understood to the examining magistrate that the attack had taken place in the night during the second phase. She was forced to say that otherwise her father would have questioned her as to the reason for having said nothing about it. But I could not explain the blow on the temple. I understood it even less when I learned that the mutton-bone had been found in her room. She could not hide the fact that she had been struck on the head, and yet that wound appeared evidently to have been inflicted during the first phase, since it required the presence of the murderer. I thought Mademoiselle Stanger's son had hidden the wound by arranging her hair in bands on her forehead. As to the mark of the hands on the wall, that had evidently been made during the first phase, when the murderer was really there. All the traces of his presence had naturally been left during the first phase. The mutton-bone, the black footprints, the basket cap, the handkerchief, the blood on the wall, on the door, and on the floor. If those traces were still all there, they showed that Mademoiselle Stanger's son, who desired that nothing should be known, had not had time yet to clear them away. This led me to the conclusion that the two phases had taken place one shortly after the other. She had not had the opportunity, after leaving her room and going back to the laboratory to her father, to get back again to her room and put it in order. Her father was all the time with her, working. So that after the first phase she did not re-enter her chamber till midnight. Daddy Jack was there at ten o'clock, as he was every night. But he went in merely to close the blinds and light the night-light. Owing to her disturbed state of mind, she had forgotten that Daddy Jack would go into her room and had begged him not to trouble himself. All this was at fourth in the article in the matin. Daddy Jack did go, however, and in the dim light of the room saw nothing. Mademoiselle Stanger's son must have lived some anxious moments while Daddy Jack was absent. But I think she was not aware that so many evidences had been left. After she had been attacked, she had only time to hide the traces of the man's fingers on her neck and to hurry to the laboratory. Had she known of the bone, the cap, and the handkerchief, she would have made away with them after she had gone back to her chamber at midnight. She did not see them, and undressed by the uncertain glimmer of the night-light. She went to bed, worn out by anxiety and fear, a fear that had made her remain in the laboratory as late as possible. My reasoning had thus brought me to the second phase of the tragedy, when Mademoiselle Stanger's son was alone in the room. I had now to explain the revolver shots fired during the second phase. Cries of help, murder, had been heard. How to explain these? As to the cries, I was in no difficulty. Since she was alone in her room, these could result from nightmare only. My explanation of the struggle and noise that were heard is simply that in her nightmare she was haunted by the terrible experience she had passed through in the afternoon. In her dream, she sees the murderer about to spring upon her, and she cries help, murder. Her hand wildly seeks the revolver she had placed within her reach on the night-table by the side of her bed, but her hand, striking the table, overturns it, and the revolver falling to the floor discharges itself, the bullet lodging in the ceiling. I knew from the first that the bullet in the ceiling must have resulted from an accident. Its very position suggested an accident to my mind, and so fell in with my theory of a nightmare. I no longer doubted that the attack had taken place before Mademoiselle had retired for the night. After wakening from her frightful dream and crying aloud for help, she had fainted. My theory, based on the evidence of the shots that were heard at midnight, demanded two shots, one which wounded the murderer at the time of his attack, and one fired at the time of the nightmare. The evidence given by the Berniers, before the examining magistrates, was to the effect that only one shot had been heard. Mrs. Dangerson testified to hearing a dull sound first, followed by a sharp ringing sound. The dull sound I explained by the falling of the marble-topped table. The ringing sound was the shot from the revolver. I was now convinced I was right. The shot that had wounded the hand of the murderer, and had caused it to bleed so that he left the bloody imprint on the wall was fired by Mademoiselle in self-defense before the second phase, when she had been really attacked. The shot in the ceiling, which the Berniers heard, was the accidental shot during the nightmare. I had now to explain the wood on the temple. It was not severe enough to have been made by means of the mutton bone, and Mademoiselle had not attempted to hide it. It must have been made during the second phase. It was to find this out, that I went to the yellow room, and I obtained my answer there. Roul-tabe drew a piece of white-folded paper from his pocket, and drew out of it an almost invisible object which he held between his thumb and forefinger. This, Mr. President, he said, is a hair, a blonde hair stained with blood. It is a hair from the head of Mademoiselle Stangerson. I found it sticking to one of the corners of the overturned table. The corner of the table was itself stained with blood, a tiny stain, hardly visible. But it told me that on rising from her bed, Mademoiselle Stangerson had fallen heavily, and had struck her head on the corner of its marble top. I still had to learn, in addition to the name of the assassin, which I did later, the time of the original attack. I learned this from the examination of Mademoiselle Stangerson and her father, though the answers given by the former were well calculated to deceive the examining magistrate. Mademoiselle Stangerson had stated very minutely how she had spent the whole of her time that day. We established the fact that the murderer had introduced himself into the pavilion between five and six o'clock. At a quarter past six, the professor and his daughter had resumed their work. At five, the professor had been with his daughter, and, since the attack took place in the professor's absence from his daughter, I had to find out just when he left her. The professor had stated that at the time when he and his daughter were about to reenter the laboratory, he was met by the keeper, and held in conversation about the cutting of some wood and the poachers. Mademoiselle Stangerson was not with him then, since the professor said, I left the keeper and rejoined my daughter who was at work in the laboratory. It was during that short interval of time that the tragedy took place. That is certain. In my mind's eye, I saw Mademoiselle Stangerson reenter the pavilion, go to her room to take off her hat, and find herself faced by the murderer. He had been in the pavilion for some time waiting for her. He had arranged to pass the whole night there. He had taken off Daddy Jack's boots. He had removed the papers from the cabinet, and had then slipped under the bed. Finding the time long, he had risen, gone again into the laboratory, then into the vestibule, looked into the garden, and had seen coming towards the pavilion Mademoiselle Stangerson alone. He would never have dared to attack her at that hour if he had not found her alone. His mind was made up. He would be more at ease alone with Mademoiselle Stangerson in the pavilion than he would have been in the middle of the night with Daddy Jack sleeping in the attic. So he shut the vestibule window. That explains why neither Mademoiselle Stangerson nor the keeper, who were at some distance from the pavilion, had heard the revolver shot. Then he went back to the yellow room. Mademoiselle Stangerson came in. But past must have taken place very quickly. Mademoiselle tried to call for help, but the man had seized her by the throat. Her hand had stout and grasped the revolver which she had been keeping in the drawer of her night-table, since she had come to fear the threats of her pursuer. The murderer was about to strike her on the head with the mutton-bone, a terrible weapon in the hands of a larcen or a ballmeyer, but she fired in time, and the shot wounded the hand that held the weapon. The bone fell to the floor, covered with the blood of the murderer, who staggered, clutched at the wall for support. In printing on it the red marks, and fearing another bullet, fled. She saw him pass through the laboratory, and listened. He was long at the window. At length he jumped from it. She flew to it and shut it. After the danger passed, all her thoughts were of her father. Had he either seen or heard? At any cost to herself, she must keep this from him. Thus, when Mr. Stangerson returned, he found the door of the yellow room closed, his daughter in the laboratory, bending over her desk, at work. Turning towards Mr. Darzak, Rolta B cried, You know the truth, tell us then, if that is not how things happened. I don't know anything about it, replied Mr. Darzak. I admire you for your silence, said Rolta B, but if Mademoiselle Stangerson knew of your danger, she would release you from your oath. She would beg of you to tell all she has confided to you. She would be here to defend you. Mr. Darzak made no movement, nor uttered a word. He looked at Rolta B sadly. However, said the young reporter, since Mademoiselle Stangerson is not here, I must do it myself. But believe me, Mr. Darzak, the only means to save Mademoiselle Stangerson and restore her to her reason is to secure your acquittal. What is this secret motive that compels Mademoiselle Stangerson to hide her knowledge from her father? asked the president. That, Mr., I do not know, said Rolta B. It is no business of mine. The president, turning to Mr. Darzak, endeavored to induce him to tell what he knew. Do you still refuse, Mr., to tell us how you employed your time during the attempts on the life of Mademoiselle Stangerson? I cannot tell you anything, Mr. The president turned to Rolta B as if appealing for an explanation. We must assume, Mr. President, that Mr. Robert Darzak's absences are closely connected with Mademoiselle Stangerson's secret, and that Mr. Darzak feels himself in honor bound to remain silent. It may be that Larsan, who since his three attempts, has had everything in training to cast suspicion on Mr. Darzak, had fixed on just those occasions for a meeting with Mr. Darzak at a spot most compromising. Larsan is cunning enough to have done that. The president seemed partly convinced, but still curious. He asked, but what is the secret of Mademoiselle Stangerson? That, I cannot tell you, said Rolta B. I think, however, you know enough now to acquit Mr. Robert Darzak, unless Larsan should return, and I don't think he will, he added with a laugh. One question more, said the president, admitting your explanation, we know that Larsan wished to turn suspicion on Mr. Robert Darzak, but why should he throw suspicion on Daddy Jack also? There came in the professional detective, Mr., who proves himself an unraveler of mysteries, by annihilating the very proofs he had accumulated. He's a very cunning man, and his similar trick had often enabled him to turn suspicion from himself. He proved the innocence of one before accusing the other. You can easily believe, Mr., that so complicated a scheme as this must have been long and carefully thought out in advance by Larsan. I can tell you that he had been long engaged in its elaboration. If you care to learn how he had gathered information, you will find that he had, on one occasion, disguised himself as the commissionaire between the laboratory of the Surtée and Mr. Stangerson, of whom experiments were demanded. In this way, he had been able before the crime, on two occasions, to take stock of the pavilion. He had made up so that Daddy Jack had not recognized him, and yet Larsan had found the opportunity to rob the old man of a pair of old boots in a cast-off, basque cap, which the servant had tied up in a handkerchief, with the intention of carrying them to a friend, a charcoal burner on the road to Epenet. When the crime was discovered, Daddy Jack had immediately recognized these objects as his. They were extremely compromising, which explains his distress at the time when we spoke to him about them. Larsan confessed it all to me. He is an artist at the game. He did a similar thing in the affair of the Crédu universelle, and in that of the gold ingots of the Mint. Both these cases should be revised, since Balmayer or Larsan has been in the Surtée a number of innocent persons have been sent to prison. End of Chapter 27, Part B. Chapter 28 of the Mystery of the Yellow Room This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more free audiobooks, all to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Stuart Bell. The Mystery of the Yellow Room by Gaston LaRue, Chapter 28, in which it is proved that one does not always think of everything. Great excitement prevailed when Router Behal had finished. The courtroom became agitated with the murmurings of suppressed applause. Métre-Angry-Rabère called for an adjournment of the trial, and was supported in his motion by the public prosecutor himself. The case was adjourned. The next day, Mongeur Robert Darzak was released on bail, while Daddy Jacques received the immediate benefit of a no-cause-for-action. The search was everywhere made for Frédéric Lassin, but in vain. Mongeur Darzak finally escaped the awful calamity which at one time had threatened him. After a visit to Mom was Arstegeson, he was led to hope that she might, by careful nursing, one day recover her reason. Router Behal naturally became the man of the hour. On leaving the Palais de Justice, the crowd bore him aloft in triumph. The press of the whole world published his exploits and his photograph. He who had interviewed so many illustrious personages had himself become illustrious and was interviewed in his turn. I am glad to say that the enormous success in no way turned his head. He left Versailles together after having dined at the dog that smokes. In the train I put a number of questions to him which during our meal had been on the tip of my tongue, but which I had refrained from uttering, knowing that he did not like to talk shop while eating. My friend, I said, that last sound-case is wonderful, it is worthy of you. He begged me to say no more, and humorously pretended an anxiety for me should I give way to silly praise of him because of a personal admiration for his ability. I'll come to the point then, I said, not a little-metalled. I am still in the dark as to your reason for going to America. When you left the Glandier you had found out if I rightly understand all about Frederick Larson, you had discovered the exact way he had attempted the murder. Quite so, and you, he said, turning the conversation, did you suspect nothing? Nothing. It's incredible. I don't see how I could have suspected anything. You took great pains to conceal your thoughts from me. Had you already suspected Larson when you sent for me to bring the revolvers? Yes, I'd come to that conclusion through the incident of the inexplicable gallery. Larson's return to Maoist Stangerson's room, however, had not then been cleared up by the eyeglasses. My suspicions were the outcome of my reasoning only, and the idea of Larson being the murderer seemed so extraordinary that I resolved to wait for actual evidence before venturing to act. Nevertheless, the suspicion worried me, and I sometimes spoke to the detective in a way that all two have opened your eyes. I spoke disparagingly of his methods, but until I found the eyeglasses I could but look upon my suspicion of him in the light of an absurd hypothesis only. You couldn't imagine my elation after I had explained Larson's movements. I remember well rushing into my room like a madman and crying to you, I'll get the better of the Great Fred, I'll get the better of him in a way that will make a sensation. I was then thinking of Larson the murderer. It was that same evening that Dazak begged me to watch over Maoist Stangerson. I made no efforts until we had dined with Larson until ten o'clock. He was right there before me, and I could have thought to wait. You ought to have suspected, because when we were talking of the murderer's arrival I said to you, I am quite sure Larson will be here tonight. But one important point escaped us both. It was one which ought to have opened their eyes to Larson. Do you remember the bamboo cane? I was surprised to find Larson had made no use of that evidence against Robert Dazak. Had he not been purchased by a man whose description tallied exactly with that of Dazak? Well, just before I saw him off at the train, after the recess during the trial, I asked him why he hadn't used the cane evidence. He told me that he had never had any intention of doing so, that our discovery of it in the little inn at Epine had much embarrassed him. If you will remember, he told us then that the cane had been given him in London. Why did we not immediately say to ourselves, Fred is lying. He could not have had this cane in London. He was not in London. He bought it in Paris. Then you found out on an inquiry at Cassettes that the cane had been bought by a person dressed very like Robert Dazak. Though as we learned later from Dazak himself it was not he who had made the purchase. Couple this with the fact that we already know from the letter at the poster a stand, that there was actually a man in Paris who was passing as Robert Dazak, why did we not immediately fix on Fred himself? Of course this position that the surreité was against us, but when we saw the evident eagerness in his part to find convicting evidence against Dazak, and that even the passion he displayed in his pursuit of the man, the lie about the cane should have had a new meaning for us. If you ask why Lhasa bought the cane, if he had no intention of manufacturing evidence against Dazak by means of it, the answer is quite simple. He had been wounded in the hand by man was Arstangerson, so that the cane was useful to enable him to close his hand in carrying it. You remember I noticed that he always carried it. All these details came back to my mind when I had once fixed on Lhasa as the criminal, but they were too late then to be of any use to me. On the evening when he pretended to be drugged, I looked at his hand and saw a thin silk bandage covering the signs of a slight healing wound. Have we taken a quick initiative at the time Lhasa told us that lie about the cane, I am certain he would have gone off to avoid suspicion. All the same, we worried Lhasa and Bormehar without her knowing it. But I interrupted, if Lhasa had no intention of using the cane as evidence against Dazak, why had he made himself up to look like the man when he went in to buy it? He had not specially made up as Dazak to buy the cane. He had come straight to Cassettes immediately after he had attacked man with Arstangerson. His wound was troubling him, and as he was passing along the avenue de l'opera, the idea of the cane came to his mind and he acted on it. It was then eight o'clock, and I, who it hit upon the very hour of the occurrence of the tragedy, almost convinced that Dazak was not the criminal and knowing of the cane, I still never suspected Lhasa. There are times, there are times, I said, when the greatest intellects, Ruta Beal shut my mouth. I still continued to chide him, but finding he did not reply, I saw he was no longer paying any attention to what I was saying. I found he was fast asleep. End of Chapter 28. Recording by Stuart Bell, Cambridge, UK. Chapter 29 The Mystery of the Yellow Room During the days that followed I had several opportunities to question him as to his reason for his voyage to America, but I obtained no more precise answers than he had given me on the evening of the adjournment of the trial when we were on the train for Paris. One day, however, on my still pressing him, he said, Can't you understand that I had to know Larson's true personality? No doubt, I said, but why did you go to America to find that out? He sat smoking his pipe and made no further reply. I began to see that I was touching on the secret that concerned Manmousel Stangerson. Ruta Beal evidently had found it necessary to go to America to find out what the mysterious tie was that bound her to Larson by so strange and terrible a bond. In America he had learned who Larson was and had obtained information which closed his mouth. He had been to Philadelphia. And now what was this mystery which held Manmousel Stangerson and M. Robert Darzak in so inexplicable a silence? After so many years and the publicity given the case by a curious and shameless press, now that M. Stangerson knows all and has forgiven all, all may be told, in every phase of this remarkable story Manmousel Stangerson has always been the sufferer. The beginning dates from the time when, as a young girl, she was living with her father in Philadelphia. A visitor at the house, a Frenchman, had succeeded by his wit, grace, and persistent attention in gaining her affections. He was said to be rich, and had asked her of her father. M. Stangerson, on making inquiries as to M. Jean Roussel, found that the man was a swindler and an adventurer. Jean Roussel was but another of the many names under which the notorious Balmire, a fugitive from France, tried to hide himself. M. Stangerson did not know of his identity with Balmire. He learned that the man was simply undesirable for his daughter. He not only refused to give his consent to the marriage, but denied him admission into the house. Matilde Stangerson, however, had fallen in love. To her, Jean Roussel was everything that her love painted him. She was indignant at her father's attitude, and did not conceal her feelings. Her father sent her to stay with an aunt in Cincinnati. There she was joined by Jean Roussel, and in spite of the reverence she felt for her father, ran away with him to get married. They went to Louisville and lived there for some time. One morning, however, a knock came at the door of the house in which they were, and the police entered to arrest Jean Roussel. It was then that Matilde Stangerson, or Roussel, learned that her husband was no other than the notorious Balmire. The young woman in her despair tried to commit suicide. She failed in this, and was forced to rejoin her aunt in Cincinnati. The old lady was overjoyed to see her again. She had been anxiously searching for her, and had not dared to tell Mr. Stangerson of her disappearance. Matilde swore her to secrecy, so that her father should not know that she had been away. A month later Mademoiselle Stangerson returned to her father, repentant, her heart dead within her, hoping only one thing, that she would never again see her husband, the horrible Balmire. A report was spread a few weeks later that he was dead, and she now determined to atone for her disobedience by a life of labor and devotion for her father, and she kept her word. All this she had confessed to Robert Darzak, and believing Balmire dead, had given herself to the joy of a union with him. But fate had resuscitated Jean Roussel, the Balmire of her youth. He had taken steps to let her know that he would never allow her to marry Darzak, that he still loved her. Mademoiselle Stangerson never for one moment hesitated to confide and missure Darzak. She showed him the letter in which Jean Roussel asked her to recall the first hours of their union in their beautiful and charming Louisville home. The Presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden of its brightness he had written. The scoundrel pretended to be rich, and claimed the right of taking her back to Louisville. She had told Darzak that if her father should know of her dishonour, she would kill herself. Missure Darzak had sworn to silence her persecutor, even if he had to kill him. He was outwitted and would have succumbed had it not been for the genius of Rue Tabil. Mademoiselle Stangerson was herself helpless in the hands of such a villain. She had tried to kill him when he had first threatened, and then attacked her in the yellow room. She had unfortunately failed, and felt herself condemned to be forever at the mercy of this unscrupulous wretch who was continually demanding her presence at clandestine interviews. When he sent her the letter through the post office, asking her to meet him, she had refused. The result of her refusal was the tragedy of the yellow room. The second time he wrote asking for a meeting, the letter reaching her in her sick chamber, she had avoided him by sleeping with her servants. In that letter the scoundrel had warned her that since she was too ill to come to him he would come to her, and that he would be in her chamber at a particular hour on a particular night. Knowing she had everything to fear from Balmyre, she had left her chamber on that night. It was then that the incident of the inexplicable gallery occurred. The third time she had determined to keep the appointment. He asked for it in the letter he had written in her own room on the night of the incident in the gallery which he left on her desk. In that letter he threatened to burn her father's papers if she did not meet him. It was to rescue these papers that she made up her mind to see him. She did not for one moment doubt that the wretch would carry out his threat if she persisted in avoiding him, and in that case the labours of her father's lifetime would be forever lost. Since the meeting was thus inevitable she resolved to see her husband and appeal to his better nature. It was for this interview that she had prepared herself on the night the keeper was killed. They did meet, and what paths between them may be imagined. He insisted that she renounced Darzak. She on her part affirmed her love for him. He stabbed her in his anger, determined to convict Darzak of the crime. As Larsen he could do it, and had so managed things that Darzak could never explain how he had employed the time of his absence from the chateau. Ballmyre's precautions were most cunningly taken. Larsen threatened Darzak as he had threatened Matilde with the same weapon and the same threats. He wrote Darzak urgent letters, declaring himself ready to deliver up the letters that had passed between him and his wife, and to leave them forever if he would pay him his price. He asked Darzak to meet him for the purpose of arranging the matter, appointing the time when Larsen would be with Mademoiselle Stangerson. When Darzak went to Eponae, expecting to find Ballmyre or Larsen there, he was met by an accomplice of Larsen's, and kept waiting until such time as the Coincidence could be established. It was all done with Machiavelli and Cunning, but Ballmyre had reckoned without Joseph Roulta Bille. Now that the mystery of the Yellow Room has been cleared up, this is now the time to tell of Routabil's adventures in America. Knowing the young reporter as we do, we can understand with what acumen he had traced step by step the story of Matilde Stangerson and Jean Roussel. At Philadelphia he had quickly informed himself as to Arthur William Rance. There he learned of Rance's act of devotion and the reward he thought himself entitled to for it. A rumour of his marriage with Mademoiselle Stangerson had once found its way into the drawing-rooms of Philadelphia. He also learned of Rance's continued attentions to her and his importunities for her hand. He had taken to drink, he had said, to drown his grief at his unrequited love. It can now be understood why Routabil had shown so marked a coolness of demeanor towards Rance when they met in the witness's room on the day of the trial. The strange Roussel Stangerson mystery had now been laid bare. Who was this Jean Roussel? Routabil had traced him from Philadelphia to Cincinnati. In Cincinnati he became acquainted with the old aunt and had found means to open her mouth. The story of Balmyer's arrest threw the right light on the whole story. He visited the Presbytery, a small and pretty dwelling, in the old colonial style, which had indeed lost nothing of its charm. When abandoning his pursuit of traces of Mademoiselle Stangerson he took up those of Balmyer. He followed them from prison to prison, from crime to crime. Finally as he was about leaving for Europe he learned in New York that Balmyer had, five years before, embarked for France, with some valuable papers belonging to a merchant of New Orleans whom he had murdered. And yet the whole of this mystery has not been revealed. Roussel Stangerson had a child by her husband, a son. The infant was born in the old aunt's house. No one knew of it. So well had the aunt managed to conceal the event. What became of that son? That is another story which, so far, I am not permitted to relate. About two months after these events I came upon Routabil sitting on a bench in the Palais de Justice, looking very depressed. What's the matter, old man? I asked. You are looking very downcast. How are your friends getting on? I'll port from you, he said. I have no friends. I hope that Mr. Darzak, no doubt. And Mademoiselle Stangerson, how is she? Better. Much better. Then you ought not to be sad. I am sad, he said. Because I am thinking of the perfume of the Lady in Black. The perfume of the Lady in Black I have heard you often refer to it. Tell me why it troubles you. Perhaps some day. Some day, said Routabil, and he heaved a profound sigh. End of Chapter 29 And of The Mystery of the Yellow Room by Gaston Le Roux