The Mystery of the Yellow Room 27 – Leroux · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Mystery of the Yellow Room 27In Which Joseph Rouletabille Appears in All His Glory
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The Mystery of the Yellow Room 27
In Which Joseph Rouletabille Appears in All His Glory
LerouxEnglish
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.”
