Chapter XV

The Trap

(Extract from the Note-Book of Joseph Rouletabille)

“Last night—the night between the 29th and 30th of October—” wrote

Joseph Rouletabille, “I woke up towards one o’clock in the morning.

Was it sleeplessness, or noise without?—The cry of the Bête du Bon

Dieu rang out with sinister loudness from the end of the park. I rose

and opened the window. Cold wind and rain; opaque darkness; silence.

I reclosed my window. Again the sound of the cat’s weird cry in the

distance. I partly dressed in haste. The weather was too bad for even

a cat to be turned out in it. What did it mean, then—that imitating

of the mewing of Mother Angenoux’ cat so near the château? I seized a

good-sized stick, the only weapon I had, and, without making any noise,

opened my door.

“The gallery into which I went was well lit by a lamp with a reflector.

I felt a keen current of air and, on turning, found the window open, at

the extreme end of the gallery, which I call the ‘off-turning’ gallery,

to distinguish it from the ‘right’ gallery, on to which the apartment

of Mademoiselle Stangerson opened. These two galleries cross each other

at right angles. Who had left that window open? Or, who had come to

open it? I went to the window and leaned out. Five feet below me there

was a sort of terrace over the semi-circular projection of a room on

the ground-floor. One could, if one wanted, jump from the window on to

the terrace, and allow oneself to drop from it into the court of the

château. Whoever had entered by this road had, evidently, not had a

key to the vestibule-door. But why should I be thinking of my previous

night’s attempt with the ladder?—Because of the open window—left open,

perhaps, by the negligence of a servant? I reclosed it, smiling at

the ease with which I built a drama on the mere suggestion of an open

window.

“Again the cry of the Bête du Bon Dieu!—and then silence. The rain

ceased to beat on the window. All in the château slept. I walked

with infinite precaution on the carpet of the gallery. On reaching

the corner of the ‘right’ gallery, I peered round it cautiously.

There was another lamp there with a reflector which quite lit up the

several objects in it,—three chairs and some pictures hanging on the

wall. What was I doing there? Perfect silence reigned throughout.

Everything was sunk in repose. What was the instinct that urged me

towards Mademoiselle Stangerson’s chamber? Why did a voice within me

cry: ‘Go on, to the chamber of Mademoiselle Stangerson!’ I cast my

eyes down upon the carpet on which I was treading and saw that my

steps were being directed towards Mademoiselle Stangerson’s chamber

by the marks of steps that had already been made there. Yes, on the

carpet were traces of footsteps stained with mud leading to the chamber

of Mademoiselle Stangerson. Horror! Horror!—I recognised in those

footprints the impression of the neat boots of the murderer! He had

come, then, from without in this wretched night. If you could descend

from the gallery by way of the window, by means of the terrace, then

you could get into the château by the same means.

“The murderer was still in the château, for here were marks as of

returning footsteps. He had entered by the open window at the extremity

of the ‘off-turning’ gallery; he had passed Frédéric Larsan’s door

and mine, had turned to the right, and had entered Mademoiselle

Stangerson’s room. I am before the door of her ante-room—it is open.

I push it, without making the least noise. Under the door of the

room itself I see a streak of light. I listen—no sound—not even of

breathing! Ah!—if I only knew what was passing in the silence that is

behind that door! I find the door locked and the key turned on the

inner side. And the murderer is there, perhaps. He _must_ be there!

Will he escape this time?—All depends on me!—I must be calm, and above

all, I must make no false steps. I must see into that room. I can enter

it by Mademoiselle Stangerson’s drawing-room; but, to do that I should

have to cross her boudoir; and while I am there, the murderer may

escape by the gallery door—the door in front of which I am now standing.

“I am sure that no other crime is being committed, on this night; for

there is complete silence in the boudoir, where two nurses are taking

care of Mademoiselle Stangerson until she is restored to health.

“As I am almost sure that the murderer is there, why do I not at once

give the alarm? The murderer may, perhaps, escape; but, perhaps, I may

be able to save Mademoiselle Stangerson’s life. Suppose the murderer on

this occasion is not here to murder? The door has been opened to allow

him to enter; by whom?—And it has been refastened—by whom?—Mademoiselle

Stangerson shuts herself up in her apartment with her nurses every

night. Who turned the key of that chamber to allow the murderer to

enter?—The nurses,—two faithful domestics? The old chambermaid,

Sylvia? It is very improbable. Besides, they slept in the boudoir, and

Mademoiselle Stangerson, very nervous and careful, Monsieur Robert

Darzac told me, sees to her own safety since she has been well enough

to move about in her room, which I have not yet seen her leave. This

nervousness and sudden care on her part, which had struck Monsieur

Darzac, had given me, also, food for thought. At the time of the

crime in The Yellow Room, there can be no doubt that she expected the

murderer. Was he expected _this_ night?—Was it she herself who had

opened her door to him? Had she some reason for doing so? was she

_obliged_ to do it?—Was it a meeting for purposes of crime?—Certainly

it was not a lover’s meeting, for I believe Mademoiselle Stangerson

adores Monsieur Darzac.

“All these reflections ran through my brain like a flash of lightning.

What would I not give to _know_!

“It is possible that there was some reason for the awful silence. My

intervention might do more harm than good. How could I tell? How could

I know I might not any moment cause another crime? If I could only see

and know, without breaking that silence!

“I left the ante-room and descended the central stairs to the vestibule

and, as silently as possible, made my way to the little room on the

ground-floor where Daddy Jacques had been sleeping since the attack

made at the pavilion.

“I found him dressed, his eyes wide open, almost haggard. He did not

seem surprised to see me. He told me that he had got up because he

had heard the cry of the Bête du bon Dieu, and because he had heard

footsteps in the park, close to his window, out of which he had looked

and, just then, had seen a black shadow pass by. I asked him whether

he had a firearm of any kind. No, he no longer kept one, since the

examining magistrate had taken his revolver from him. We went out

together, by a little back door, into the park, and stole along the

château to the point which is just below Mademoiselle Stangerson’s

window.

“I placed Daddy Jacques against the wall, ordering him not to stir

from the spot, while I, taking advantage of a moment when the moon was

hidden by a cloud, moved to the front of the window, out of the patch

of light which came from it,—for the window was half-open! If I could

only know what was passing in that silent chamber! I returned to Daddy

Jacques and whispered the word ‘ladder’ in his ear. At first I had

thought of the tree which, a week ago, served me for an observatory;

but I immediately saw that, from the way the window was half-opened,

I should not be able to see from that point of view anything that was

passing in the room; and I wanted, not only to see, but to hear, and—to

act.

“Greatly agitated, almost trembling, Daddy Jacques disappeared for a

moment and returned without the ladder, but making signs to me with his

arms, as signals to me to come quickly to him. When I got near him he

gasped: ‘Come!’

“He led me round the château, past the donjon. Arrived there, he said:

“‘I went to the donjon in search of my ladder, and in the lower part of

the donjon which serves me and the gardener for a lumber room, I found

the door open and the ladder gone. On coming out, that’s what I caught

sight of by the light of the moon.’

“And he pointed to the further end of the château, where a ladder

stood resting against the stone brackets supporting the terrace, under

the window which I had found open. The projection of the terrace had

prevented my seeing it. Thanks to that ladder, it was quite easy to get

into the ‘off-turning’ gallery of the first floor, and I had no doubt

of it having been the road taken by the unknown.

“We ran to the ladder, but at the moment of reaching it, Daddy Jacques

drew my attention to the half-open door of the little semi-circular

room, situated under the terrace, at the extremity of the right wing of

the château, having the terrace for its roof. Daddy Jacques pushed the

door open a little further and looked in.

“‘He’s not there!’ he whispered.

“‘Who is not there?’

“‘The forest-keeper.’

“With his lips once more to my ear, he added:

“‘Do you know that he has slept in the upper room of the donjon ever

since it was restored?’ And with the same gesture he pointed to the

half-open door, the ladder, the terrace, and the windows in the

‘off-turning’ gallery which, a little while before, I had re-closed.

“What were my thoughts then? I had no time to think. I _felt_ more than

I thought.

“Evidently, I felt, if the forest-keeper is up there in the chamber

(I say, _if_, because at this moment, apart from the presence of the

ladder and his vacant room, there are no evidences which permit me

even to suspect him)—if he is there, he has been obliged to pass by

the ladder, and the rooms which lie behind his, in his new lodging,

are occupied by the family of the steward and by the cook, and by the

kitchens, which bar the way by the vestibule to the interior of the

château. And if he had been there during the evening on any pretext,

it would have been easy for him to go into the gallery and see that

the window could be simply pushed open from the outside. This question

of the unfastened window easily narrowed the field of search for the

murderer. He must belong to the house, unless he had an accomplice,

which I do not believe he had; unless—unless Mademoiselle Stangerson

herself had seen that that window was not fastened from the inside.

But, then,—what could be the frightful secret which made her under the

necessity of doing away with obstacles that separated her from the

murderer?

“I seized hold of the ladder, and we returned to the back of the

château to see if the window of the chamber was still half-open. The

blind was drawn but did not join and allowed a bright stream of light

to escape and fall upon the path at our feet. I planted the ladder

under the window. I am almost sure that I made no noise; and while

Daddy Jacques remained at the foot of the ladder, I mounted it, very

quietly, my stout stick in my hand. I held my breath and lifted my feet

with the greatest care. Suddenly a heavy cloud discharged itself at

that moment in a fresh downpour of rain.

“At the same instant the sinister cry of the Bête du bon Dieu arrested

me in my ascent. It seemed to me to have come from close by me—only

a few yards away. Was the cry a signal?—Had some accomplice of

the man seen me on the ladder!—Would the cry bring the man to the

window?—Perhaps! Ah, there he was at the window! I felt his head above

me. I heard the sound of his breath! I could not look up towards him;

the least movement of my head, and—I might be lost. Would he see

me?—Would he peer into the darkness? No; he went away. He had seen

nothing. I felt, rather than heard, him moving on tip-toe in the room;

and I mounted a few steps higher. My head reached to the level of the

window-sill; my forehead rose above it; my eyes looked between the

opening in the blinds—and I saw—

“A man seated at Mademoiselle Stangerson’s little desk, writing. His

back was turned toward me. A candle was lit before him, and he bent

over the flame, the light from it projecting shapeless shadows. I saw

nothing but a monstrous, stooping back.

“Mademoiselle Stangerson herself was not there!—Her bed had not been

lain on! Where, then, was she sleeping that night? Doubtless in the

side-room with her women. Perhaps this was but a guess. I must content

myself with the joy of finding the man alone. I must be calm to prepare

my trap.

“But who, then, is this man writing there before my eyes, seated at

the desk, as if he were in his own home? If there had not been that

ladder under the window; if there had not been those footprints on the

carpet in the gallery; if there had not been that open window, I might

have been led to think that this man had a right to be there, and that

he was there as a matter of course and for reasons about which as yet

I knew nothing. But there was no doubt that this mysterious unknown

was the man of The Yellow Room,—the man to whose murderous assault

Mademoiselle Stangerson—without denouncing him—had had to submit. If I

could but see his face! Surprise and capture him!

“If I spring into the room at this moment, he will escape by the

right-hand door opening into the boudoir,—or crossing the drawing-room,

he will reach the gallery and I shall lose him. I have him now and in

five minutes more he’ll be safer than if I had him in a cage.—What

is he doing there, alone in Mademoiselle Stangerson’s room?—What

is he writing? I descend and place the ladder on the ground. Daddy

Jacques follows me. We re-enter the château. I send Daddy Jacques

to wake Monsieur Stangerson, and instruct him to await my coming in

Mademoiselle Stangerson’s room and to say nothing definite to him

before my arrival. I will go and awaken Frédéric Larsan. It’s a bore

to have to do it, for I should have liked to work alone and to have

carried off all the honors of this affair myself, right under the

very nose of the sleeping detective. But Daddy Jacques and Monsieur

Stangerson are old men, and I am not yet fully developed. I might

not be strong enough. Larsan is used to wrestling and putting on the

handcuffs. He opened his eyes swollen with sleep, ready to send me

flying, without in the least believing in my reporter’s fancies. I had

to assure him that _the man_ was there!

“‘That’s strange!’ he said; ‘I thought I left him this afternoon in

Paris.’

“He dressed himself in haste and armed himself with a revolver. We

stole quietly into the gallery.

“‘Where is he?’ Larsan asked.

“‘In Mademoiselle Stangerson’s room.’

“‘And—Mademoiselle Stangerson?’

“‘She is not in there.’

“‘Let’s go in.’

“‘Don’t go there! On the least alarm the man will escape. He has four

ways by which to do it—the door, the window, the boudoir, or the room

in which the women are sleeping.’

“‘I’ll draw him from below.’

“‘And if you fail?—If you only succeed in wounding him—he’ll escape

again, without reckoning that he is certainly armed. No, let me direct

the expedition, and I’ll answer for everything.’

“‘As you like,’ he replied, with fairly good grace.

“Then, after satisfying myself that all the windows of the two

galleries were thoroughly secure, I placed Frédéric Larsan at the end

of the ‘off-turning’ gallery, before the window which I had found open

and had reclosed.

“‘Under no consideration,’ I said to him, ‘must you stir from this post

till I call you. The chances are even that the man, when he is pursued,

will return to this window and try to save himself that way; for it is

by that way he came in and made a way ready for his flight. You have a

dangerous post.’

“‘What will be yours?’ asked Fred.

“‘I shall spring into the room and knock him over for you.’

“‘Take my revolver,’ said Fred, ‘and I’ll take your stick.’

“‘Thanks,’ I said; ‘You are a brave man.’

“I accepted his offer. I was going to be alone with the man in the room

writing and was really thankful to have the weapon.

“I left Fred, having posted him at the window (No. 5 on the plan),

and, with the greatest precaution, went towards Monsieur Stangerson’s

apartment in the left wing of the château. I found him with Daddy

Jacques, who had faithfully obeyed my directions, confining himself

to asking his master to dress as quickly as possible. In a few words

I explained to Monsieur Stangerson what was passing. He armed himself

with a revolver, followed me, and we were all three speedily in the

gallery. Since I had seen the murderer seated at the desk ten minutes

had elapsed. Monsieur Stangerson wished to spring upon the assassin at

once and kill him. I made him understand that, above all, he must not,

in his desire to kill him, miss him.

“When I had sworn to him that his daughter was not in the room, and

in no danger, he conquered his impatience and left me to direct the

operations. I told them that they must come to me the moment I called

to them, or when I fired my revolver. I then sent Daddy Jacques to

place himself before the window at the end of the ‘right’ gallery.

(No. 2 on my plan.) I chose that position for Daddy Jacques because I

believed that the murderer, tracked, on leaving the room, would run

through the gallery towards the window which he had left open, and,

instantly seeing that it was guarded by Larsan, would pursue his course

along the ‘right’ gallery. There he would encounter Daddy Jacques, who

would prevent his springing out of the window into the park. Under that

window there was a sort of buttress, while all the other windows in

the galleries were at such a height from the ground that it was almost

impossible to jump from them without breaking one’s neck. All the doors

and windows, including those of the lumber-room at the end of the

‘right’ gallery—as I had rapidly assured myself—were strongly secured.

“Having indicated to Daddy Jacques the post he was to occupy, and

having seen him take up his position, I placed Monsieur Stangerson

on the landing at the head of the stairs not far from the door of

his daughter’s ante-room. Everything led me to suppose that when

I surprised the murderer in the room, he would run by way of the

ante-room, rather than the boudoir, where the women were, and of which

the door must have been locked by Mademoiselle Stangerson herself if,

as I thought, she had taken refuge in the boudoir for the purpose

of avoiding the murderer who was coming to see her. In any case, he

must return to the gallery where my people were awaiting him at every

possible issue.

“On coming there, he would see on his left, Monsieur Stangerson; he

would turn to the right, towards the ‘off-turning’ gallery—the way he

had pre-arranged for flight, where, at the intersection of the two

galleries, he would see at once, as I have explained, on his left,

Frédéric Larsan at the end of the ‘off-turning’ gallery, and in front,

Daddy Jacques, at the end of the ‘right’ gallery. Monsieur Stangerson

and myself would arrive by way of the back of the château.—He is

ours!—He can no longer escape us! I was sure of that.

“The plan I had formed seemed to me the best, the surest, and the most

simple. It would, no doubt, have been simpler still, if we had been

able to place some one directly behind the door of Mademoiselle’s

boudoir, which opened out of her bedchamber, and, in that way, had

been in a position to besiege the two doors of the room in which the

man was. But we could not penetrate the boudoir except by way of the

drawing-room, the door of which had been locked on the inside by

Mademoiselle Stangerson. But even if I had had the free disposition

of the boudoir, I should have held to the plan I had formed; because

any other plan of attack would have separated us at the moment of the

struggle with the man, while my plan united us all for the attack, at

a spot which I had selected with almost mathematical precision,—the

intersection of the two galleries.

“Having so placed my people, I again left the château, hurried to my

ladder, and, replacing it, climbed up, revolver in hand.

“If there be any inclined to smile at my taking so many precautionary

measures, I refer them to the mystery of The Yellow Room, and to all

the proofs we have of the weird cunning of the murderer. Further, if

there be some who think my observations needlessly minute at a moment

when they ought to be completely held by rapidity of movement and

decision of action, I reply that I have wished to report here, at

length and completely, all the details of a plan of attack conceived

so rapidly that it is only the slowness of my pen that gives an

appearance of slowness to the execution. I have wished, _by_ this

slowness and precision, to be certain that nothing should be omitted

from the conditions under which the strange phenomenon was produced,

which, until some natural explanation of it is forthcoming, seems to me

to prove, even better than the theories of Professor Stangerson, the

Dissociation of Matter—I will even say, the instantaneous Dissociation

of Matter.”