Morose-minded people may complain of this; for myself I regard it a matter for congratulation. We can never have too many arms, public or private, against the criminal. To this some people may answer that, by continually publishing the details of crimes, the press ends by encouraging their commission. But then, with some people we can never do right. Rouletabille, as I have said, entered my room that morning of the 26th of October, 1892. He was looking redder than usual, and his eyes were bulging out of his head, as the phrase is, and altogether he appeared to be in a state of extreme excitement. He waved the Matin with a trembling hand, and cried:
Well, my dear Sainclair,have you read it?
The Glandier crime?
Yes; The Yellow Room!What do you think of it?
I think that it must have been the Devil or the Bete du Bon Dieu that committed the crime.
Be serious!
Well, I dont much believe in murderers1 who make their escape through walls of solid brick. I think Daddy Jacques did wrong to leave behind him the weapon with which the crime was committed and, as he occupied the attic immediately above Mademoiselle Stangersons room, the builders job ordered by the examining magistrate will give us the key of the enigma and it will not be long before we learn by what natural trap, or by what secret door, the old fellow was able to slip in and out, and return immediately to the laboratory to Monsieur Stangerson, without his absence being noticed. That, of course, is only an hypothesis.
Rouletabille sat down in an armchair, lit his pipe, which he was never without, smoked for a few minutes in silenceno doubt to calm the excitement which, visibly, dominated himand then replied:
Young man, he said, in a tone the sad irony of which I will not attempt to render, young man, you are a lawyer and I doubt not your ability to save the guilty from conviction; but if you were a magistrate on the bench, how easy it would be for you to condemn innocent persons!You are really gifted, young man!
He continued to smoke energetically, and then went on:
No trap will be found, and the mystery of The Yellow Room will become more and more mysterious. Thats why it interests me. The examining magistrate is right; nothing stranger than this crime has ever been known.
Have you any idea of the way by which the murderer escaped? I asked.
None, replied Rouletabillenone, for the present. But I have an idea as to the revolver; the murderer did not use it.
Good Heavens! By whom, then, was it used?
Whyby Mademoiselle Stangerson.
I dont understand,or rather, I have never understood, I said.
Rouletabille shrugged his shoulders.
Is there nothing in this article in the Matin by which you were particularly struck?
Nothing,I have found the whole of the story it tells equally strange.
Well, butthe locked doorwith the key on the inside?
Thats the only perfectly natural thing in the whole article.
Really!And the bolt?
The bolt?
Yes, the boltalso inside the rooma still further protection against entry? Mademoiselle Stangerson took quite extraordinary precautions! It is clear to me that she feared someone. That was why she took such precautionseven Daddy Jacquess revolverwithout telling him of it. No doubt she didnt wish to alarm anybody, and least of all, her father. What she dreaded took place, and she defended herself. There was a struggle, and she used the revolver skilfully enough to wound the assassin in the handwhich explains the impression on the wall and on the door of the large, blood-stained hand of the man who was searching for a means of exit from the chamber. But she didnt fire soon enough to avoid the terrible blow on the right temple.
Then the wound on the temple was not done with the revolver?
The paper doesnt say it was, and I dont think it was; because logically it appears to me that the revolver was used by Mademoiselle Stangerson against the assassin. Now, what weapon did the murderer use? The blow on the temple seems to show that the murderer wished to stun Mademoiselle Stangerson,after he had unsuccessfully tried to strangle her. He must have known that the attic was inhabited by Daddy Jacques, and that was one of the reasons, I think, why he must have used a quiet weapon,a life-preserver, or a hammer.
All that doesnt explain how the murderer got out of The Yellow Room, I observed.
Evidently, replied Rouletabille, rising, and that is what has to be explained. I am going to the Chateau du Glandier, and have come to see whether you will go with me.
I?
Yes, my boy. I want you. The Epoque has definitely entrusted this case to me, and I must clear it up as quickly as possible.
But in what way can I be of any use to you?
Monsieur Robert Darzac is at the Chateau du Glandier.
Thats true. His despair must be boundless.
I must have a talk with him.
Rouletabille said it in a tone that surprised me.
Is it becauseyou think there is something to be got out of him? I asked.
Yes.
That was all he would say. He retired to my sitting-room, begging me to dress quickly.
I knew Monsieur Robert Darzac from having been of great service to him in a civil action, while I was acting as secretary to Maitre Barbet Delatour. Monsieur Robert Darzac, who was at that time about forty years of age, was a professor of physics at the Sorbonne. He was intimately acquainted with the Stangersons, and, after an assiduous seven years courtship of the daughter, had been on the point of marrying her. In spite of the fact that she has become, as the phrase goes, a person of a certain age, she was still remarkably good-looking. While I was dressing I called out to Rouletabille, who was impatiently moving about my sitting-room:
Have you any idea as to the murderers station in life?
Yes, he replied; I think if he isnt a man in society, he is, at least, a man belonging to the upper class. But that, again, is only an impression.
What has led you to form it?
Well,the greasy cap, the common handkerchief, and the marks of the rough boots on the floor, he replied.
I understand, I said; murderers dont leave traces behind them which tell the truth.
We shall make something out of you yet, my dear Sainclair, concluded Rouletabille.
CHAPTER III. A Man Has Passed Like a Shadow Through the Blinds
Half an hour later Rouletabille and I were on the platform of the Orleans station, awaiting the departure of the train which was to take us to Epinay-sur-Orge.
On the platform we found Monsieur de Marquet and his Registrar, who represented the Judicial Court of Corbeil. Monsieur Marquet had spent the night in Paris, attending the final rehearsal, at the Scala, of a little play of which he was the unknown author, signing himself simply Castigat Ridendo.
Monsieur de Marquet was beginning to be a noble old gentleman. Generally he was extremely polite and full of gay humour, and in all his life had had but one passion,that of dramatic art. Throughout his magisterial career he was interested solely in cases capable of furnishing him with something in the nature of a drama. Though he might very well have aspired to the highest judicial positions, he had never really worked for anything but to win a success at the romantic Porte-Saint-Martin, or at the sombre Odeon.