Chapter XXVII

In Which Joseph Rouletabille 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.

Rouletabille made his way forward with difficulty, but by dint 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, Monsieur President, but I have only just arrived

from America. The steamer was late. My name is Joseph Rouletabille!”

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 Rouletabille,” 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, Monsieur President. I have come here for that

purpose. I humbly beg 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 Henri Robert intervened. He began by apologising 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 Glandier during the whole of that eventful week could not be

omitted, and the present witness, moreover, had come to name the real

murderer.

“Are you going to tell us who the murderer was?” asked the President,

somewhat convinced though still sceptical.

“I have come for that purpose, Monsieur President!” replied

Rouletabille.

An attempt at applause was silenced by the usher.

“Joseph Rouletabille,” said Maître Henri Robert, “has not been

regularly subpoenaed as a witness, but I hope, Monsieur 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 would, 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

Monsieur Joseph Rouletabille, I see no reason why this witness should

not give us the name of the murderer.”

A pin drop could have been heard. Rouletabille stood silent looking

sympathetically at Darzac, 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.”

Rouletabille, feeling in his waistcoat pocket, drew his watch and,

looking at it, said:—

“Monsieur 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

witnesses’ room. I hold you at our disposition.”

Rouletabille protested.

“I assure you, Monsieur 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 honour. I can, however,

give you now some explanation of the murder of the keeper. Monsieur

Frédéric Larsan, who has seen me at work at the Glandier, can tell you

with what care I studied this case. I found myself compelled to differ

with him in arresting Monsieur Robert Darzac, who is innocent. Monsieur

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:—

“Monsieur President, it will be interesting to hear Monsieur Joseph

Rouletabille, especially as he differs from me.”

A murmur of approbation greeted the detective’s 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 Monsieur Rouletabille’s

explanation.”

“I have no doubt you are,” said 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 Monsieur Frédéric

Larsan; how did the murderer get away from the court?”

* * * * *

Rouletabille 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. Rouletabille 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

Angenoux’ cat and she would make the cries 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 court Madame Mathieu and the keeper

left the donjon together. I learnt 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 a shadow bounded 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 the 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. Hastily dressing himself he went out and recognised 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 Epinay. 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

had done all he could to hide it. I appeal to Monsieur Larsan, who saw

me, next morning, examine the two sets of footprints.”

Here Rouletabille turning towards Madame Mathieu, with a bow, said:—

“The footprints of Madame bear 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 murderer’s.”

A movement in the court was repressed by Rouletabille. 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. Monsieur Robert Darzac’s footprints are also

like the murderer’s, and yet he is not the murderer!”

The President turning to Madame Mathieu asked:—

“Is that in accordance with what you know occurred?”

“Yes, Monsieur President,” she replied, “it is as if Monsieur

Rouletabille 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 court and could easily

have seen?”

“I saw nothing of him, Monsieur President. It became quite dark just

then.”

“Then Monsieur Rouletabille,” said the President, “must explain how the

murderer made his escape.”

Rouletabille 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.”

“Monsieur President,” replied Rouletabille, “I cannot answer that

question before half-past six!”

By this time the people in the court-room 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 had made up his mind to

take the young man in the same way. He had certainly been impressed by

Rouletabille’s explanation of Madame Mathieu’s part.

“Well, Monsieur Rouletabille,” he said, “as you say; but don’t let us

see any more of you before half-past six.”

Rouletabille bowed to the President, and made his way to the door of

the witnesses’ room.

* * * * *

I quietly made my way through the crowd and left the court almost at

the same time as Rouletabille. 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 Sainclair, 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 Glandier 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 witnesses’

room, and Rouletabille was immediately surrounded. He showed himself

very friendly to all except Arthur Rance to whom he exhibited a

marked coldness of manner. Frédéric Larsan came in also. Rouletabille

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. Rouletabille

began by telling him some anecdotes of his voyage. They then turned

aside 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 court-room where the public

plainly showed its lack of interest in what was going on in their

impatience for Rouletabille’s return at the appointed time.

* * * * *

On the stroke of half-past six Joseph Rouletabille 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. Darzac rose to

his feet, frightfully pale.

The President, addressing Rouletabille, 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 the statement you are about to make.”

Rouletabille looked the President quite calmly and steadily in the

face, and replied:

“Yes, Monsieur.”

“At your last appearance here,” said the President, “we had arrived at

the point where you were to tell us how the murderer escaped, and also

his name. Now, Monsieur Rouletabille, 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 court.”

“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 Rouletabille.

“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 Rouletabille.

The people present in the court-room began showing impatience. Some of

them even called for the name, and were silenced by the usher.

“The list includes Daddy Jacques, Bernier the 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.”

“Do you mean Frédéric Larsan!” exclaimed the President.

“Yes! Frédéric Larsan!” replied Rouletabille in a ringing tone.

“Frédéric Larsan is the murderer!”

* * * * *

The court-room 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 Darzac:

“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

Rouletabille shrilly. “Let Frédéric Larsan be called!”

“Usher, call 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 re-appeared and, stepping forward, said:

“Monsieur President, Frédéric Larsan is not here. He left at about four

o’clock and has not been seen since.”

“That is my proof!” cried Rouletabille, 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 of 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 Rouletabille, 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 is not that of 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 divulge the

name. I gave Larsan time to catch the 4-17 train for Paris, where

he would know where to hide himself, and leave no traces. You will

not find Frédéric Larsan,” declared Rouletabille, fixing his eyes

on Monsieur Robert Darzac. “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 notorious under another name—a

name well known to crime. Frédéric Larsan, Monsieur President, is

Ballmeyer!”

“Ballmeyer!” cried the President.

“Ballmeyer!” exclaimed Robert Darzac, springing to his feet.

“Ballmeyer!—It was true, then!”

“Ah! Monsieur Darzac; you don’t think I am mad, now!” cried

Rouletabille.

Ballmeyer! Ballmeyer! No other word could be heard in the court-room.

The President adjourned the hearing.

* * * * *

Those of my readers who may not have heard of Ballmeyer 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.

Ballmeyer was the best specimen of the high-class “gentleman swindler.”

He was an 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-bone. 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

hunt after him by the most expert of detectives, he had sat that same

evening at a first performance in the Théâtre Français, without the

slightest disguise.

He left France, later, to “work” America. The police there succeeded in

once capturing him, 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 Rouletabille 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 Stangerson and

rid Darzac 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?

Rouletabille was immediately called to the bar and his examination

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 Ballmeyer’s strength all that was mere child’s play.

And here, Monsieur, is the proof of what I say.”

Rouletabille drew from his pocket a small packet, from which he

produced a strong iron peg.

“This, Monsieur,” he said, “is a spike which perfectly fits a hole

still to be seen in the cornice 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 fall on him for my condition. Had I not been thus

overpowered, Larsan would never have entered Mademoiselle Stangerson’s

chamber that night, and the attack on her would not have taken place.”

A groan came from Darzac, who appeared to be unable to control his

suffering.

“You can understand,” added Rouletabille, “that Larsan would 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

Stangerson. He waited till I was asleep, and my friend Sainclair was

busy trying to rouse 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 required 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 were in it? There was, first,

the murderer. Then there were Daddy Jacques, 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 the same time, Monsieur Stangerson and the murderer, Daddy Jacques

and the murderer, myself and the murderer; so that the murderer, then,

could not be either Monsieur Stangerson, Daddy Jacques, 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; for,

as I have noted in my papers, he arrived two seconds before Monsieur

Stangerson, Daddy Jacques, 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.

“That revelation staggered me. I tried to regain my balance by going

over the evidences previously traced, but which had diverted my mind

and led me away from Frédéric Larsan. What were these evidences?

“1st. I had seen the unknown in Mademoiselle Stangerson’s chamber. On

going to Frédéric Larsan’s room, I had found Larsan sound asleep.

“2nd. The ladder.

“3rd. 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 château, 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 château; especially as Larsan had accused Darzac and Darzac

was not in the château 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

château to find Monsieur Stangerson and Daddy Jacques, 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 then a very strong reason for returning to his room. As for

myself, when I sent Daddy Jacques to the end of the ‘right gallery,’

I naturally thought that Larsan was still at his post. Daddy Jacques,

in 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 to 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 Madame Bernier who

was accustomed to clean the room to look, and she found a pair of

eye-glasses—this pair, Monsieur President!”

And Rouletabille drew the eye-glasses, of which we know, from his

pocket.

“When I saw these eye-glasses,” he continued, “I was utterly

nonplussed. I had never seen Larsan wear eye-glasses. What did they

mean? Suddenly I exclaimed to myself: ‘I wonder if he is long-sighted?’

I had never seen Larsan write. He might, then, be _long-sighted_. They

would certainly know at the Sûreté, and also know if the glasses were

his. Such evidence would be damning. That explained Larsan’s return.

I know now that Larsan, or Ballmeyer, is long-sighted and that these

glasses belonged 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

Stangerson’s room, at all? Why should he twice attempt to murder her?”

“Because he loves her, Monsieur 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 Stangerson 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

shadow, and that he kept his head bent down. He was looking for the

lost eye-glasses. Mademoiselle Stangerson knew Larsan under another

name.”

“Monsieur Darzac,” asked the President, “did Mademoiselle Stangerson

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 Stangerson told me nothing,” replied Monsieur Darzac.

“Does what this young man say appear probable to you?” the President

asked.

“Mademoiselle Stangerson 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 Rouletabille, “the murderer brought

back the papers stolen from Monsieur Stangerson?—How do you explain

how the murderer gained entrance into Mademoiselle Stangerson’s locked

room?”

“The last question is easily answered. A man like Larsan, or Ballmeyer,

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 Monsieur

Robert Darzac, he one day followed her and Monsieur into the Grands

Magasins 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 newspapers 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 Monsieur Darzac, and, having

decided to go to any lengths to gain Mademoiselle Stangerson, he had

planned that, whatever might happen, Monsieur Darzac, his hated rival,

should be the man to be suspected.

“I do not think that Larsan had as yet thought of murdering

Mademoiselle Stangerson; but whatever he might do, he made sure that

Monsieur Darzac should suffer for it. He was very nearly of the same

height as Monsieur Darzac and had almost the same sized feet. It

would not be difficult, to take an impression of Monsieur Darzac’s

footprints, and have similar boots made for himself. Such tricks were

mere child’s play for Larsan, or Ballmeyer.

“Receiving no reply to his letter, he determined, since Mademoiselle

Stangerson 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

château and the pavilion. So that, one afternoon, while Monsieur and

Mademoiselle Stangerson were out for a walk, and while Daddy Jacques

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 a safe, had a very small key-hole. 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 a thought of blackmail occurred to him as a useful

possibility in helping him in his designs on Mademoiselle Stangerson.

He quickly made a parcel of the papers and took it to the lavatory

in the vestibule. Between the time of his first examination of the

pavilion and the night of the murder of the keeper, Larsan 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 château. Perhaps he hoped that, by returning the papers he might

obtain some gratitude from Mademoiselle Stangerson. But whatever may

have been his reasons, he took the papers back and so rid himself of an

encumbrance.”

Rouletabille 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 Larsan’s true motive. The explanation he had given had evidently

been unsatisfactory. Rouletabille 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, Monsieur Rouletabille, is wholly explained by your hypothesis.

Frédéric Larsan is the explanation. We have merely to substitute him

for Monsieur Robert Darzac. Evidently the door of The Yellow Room was

open at the time Monsieur Stangerson 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, Monsieur President,” protested the young man. “You forget that,

stunned by the attack made on her, Mademoiselle Stangerson 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 Monsieur

Stangerson 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, Monsieur President, is where we have taken hold of the wrong

end. From the time Mademoiselle Stangerson shut herself in her 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 magistrate on the journey from Paris

to Epinay-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 Stangerson had gone into her chamber at

midnight.

“At the time I was much puzzled. Mademoiselle Stangerson 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 Stangerson 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 Stangerson? 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 Stangerson could have concealed them by a collarette, or

any similar article of apparel. I had to suppose this the moment I was

compelled to reconstruct the occurrence by two phases. Mademoiselle

Stangerson had, no doubt, her own reasons 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 her 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 Stangerson had hidden the wound by arranging her hair in

bands on her forehead.

“As to the mark of the hand 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 Basque 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

Stangerson—who desired that nothing should be known—had not yet had

time 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 Jacques

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 Jacques would go into her

room and had begged him not to trouble himself. All this was set forth

in the article in the ‘Matin.’ Daddy Jacques did go, however, and, in

the dim light of the room, saw nothing.

“Mademoiselle Stangerson must have lived some anxious moments while

Daddy Jacques 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 Stangerson 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 magistrate was to the effect

that only one shot had been heard. Monsieur Stangerson 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-defence, 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 wound 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.”

Rouletabille 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, Monsieur President,” he said, “is a hair—a blond 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 had still 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 re-enter 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

re-enter 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 Jacques’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 Jacques sleeping in the attic. So he shut the vestibule window.

That explains why neither Monsieur 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. What passed must have taken place very quickly. Mademoiselle tried

to call for help; but the man had seized her by the throat. Her hand

had sought 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 Larsan or 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—imprinting 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.

The danger past, 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 Monsieur Stangerson returned, he found the door of The Yellow Room

closed, and his daughter in the laboratory, bending over her desk, at

work!”

Turning towards Monsieur Darzac, Rouletabille cried:—

“You know the truth! Tell us, then, if that is not how things happened.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” replied Monsieur Darzac.

“I admire you for your silence,” said Rouletabille, “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!”

Monsieur Darzac made no movement, nor uttered a word. He looked at

Rouletabille sadly.

“However,” said the young reporter, “since Mademoiselle is not here,

I must do it myself. But, believe me, Monsieur Darzac, 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, Monsieur, I do not know,” said Rouletabille. “It is no business

of mine.”

The President turning to Monsieur Darzac endeavoured to induce him to

tell what he knew.

“Do you still refuse, Monsieur, to tell us how you employed your time

during the attempts on the life of Mademoiselle Stangerson?”

“I cannot tell you anything, Monsieur.”

The President turned to Rouletabille as if appealing for an explanation.

“We must assume, Monsieur President, that Monsieur Robert Darzac’s

absensions are closely connected with Mademoiselle Stangerson’s secret,

and that Monsieur Darzac feels himself in honour bound to remain

silent. It may be that Larsan, who, since his three attempts, has had

everything in training to cast suspicion on Monsieur Darzac, had fixed

on just those occasions for a meeting with Monsieur Darzac 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 this secret of Mademoiselle Stangerson?”

“That I cannot tell you,” said Rouletabille. “I think, however, you

know enough now to acquit Monsieur Robert Darzac! 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 Monsieur Robert Darzac,

but why should he throw suspicion on Daddy Jacques also?”

“There came in the professional detective, Monsieur, who proves himself

an unraveller of mysteries, by annihilating the very proofs he had

accumulated. He’s a very cunning man, and a 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, Monsieur,

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 long been

engaged on 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 Sûreté’

and Monsieur 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 Jacques had not

recognised him. And yet Larsan had found the opportunity to rob the old

man of a pair of old boots and 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 Epinay. When the crime was

discovered, Daddy Jacques had immediately recognised 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 ‘Crédit Universel,’ and in that of the ‘Gold Ingots of the

Mint.’ Both these cases should be revised. Since Ballmeyer or Larsan

has been in the Sûreté a number of innocent persons have been sent to

prison.”