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

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

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

  in the gallery. Since I had seen the murderer seated at the desk

  ten minutes had elapsed. Monsieur Stangerson wished to spring upon

  the assassin at once and kill him. I made him understand that,

  above all, he must not, in his desire to kill him, miss him.

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

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

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

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

  Jacques to place himself before the window at the end of the 'right'

  gallery. (No. 2 on my plan.) I chose that position 'for Daddy

  Jacques because I believed that the murderer, tracked, on leaving

  the room, would run through the gallery towards the window which

  he had left open, and, instantly seeing that it was guarded by

  Larsan, would pursue his course along the 'right' gallery. There

  he would encounter Daddy Jacques, who would prevent his springing

  out of the window into the park. Under that window there was a sort

  of buttress, while all the other windows in the galleries were at

  such a height from the ground that it was almost impossible to jump

  from them without breaking one's neck. All the doors and windows,

  including those of the lumber-room at the end of the 'right' gallery

  --as I had rapidly assured myself--were strongly secured.

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

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

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

  his daughter's ante-room, rather than the boudoir, where the women

  were, and the door of which must have been locked by Mademoiselle

  Stangerson herself if, as I thought, she had taken refuge in the

  boudoir for the purpose of avoiding the murderer who was coming

  to see her. In any case, he must return to the gallery where my

  people were awaiting him at every possible exit.

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

  would turn to the right, towards the 'off-turning' gallery--the way

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

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

  left, Frederic Larsan at the end of the 'off-turning' gallery, and

  in front, Daddy Jacques, at the end of the 'right' gallery. Monsieur

  Stangerson and myself would arrive by way of the back of the chateau.

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

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

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

  had been able to place some one directly behind the door of

  Mademoiselle's boudoir, which opened out of her bedchamber, and,

  in that way, had been in a position to besiege the two doors of the

  room in which the man was. But we could not penetrate the boudoir

  except by way of the drawing-room, the door of which had been

  locked on the inside by Mademoiselle Stangerson. But even if I had

  had the free disposition of the boudoir, I should have held to the

  plan I had formed; because any other plan of attack would have

  separated us at the moment of the struggle with the man, while my

  plan united us all for the attack, at a spot which I had selected

  with almost mathematical precision,--the intersection of the two

  galleries.

  "Having so placed my people, I again left the chateau, hurried to

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  from the conditions under which the strange phenomenon was produced,

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

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

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

  Dissociation of Matter."

  Chapter XVI

  Strange Phenomenon of the Dissociation of Matter

  (EXTRACT FROM THE NOTE-BOOK OF JOSEPH ROULETABILLE, continued)

  "I am again at the window-sill," continues Rouletabille, "and once

  more I raise my head above it. Through an opening in the curtains,

  the arrangement of which has not been changed, I am ready to look,

  anxious to note the position in which I am going to find the murderer,

  --whether his back will still be turned towards me!--whether he is

  still seated at the desk writing! But perhaps--perhaps--he is no

  longer there!--Yet how could he have fled?--Was I not in possession

  of his ladder? I force myself to be cool. I raise my head yet

  higher. I look--he is still there. I see his monstrous back,

  deformed by the shadow thrown by the candle. He is no longer

  writing now, and the candle is on the parquet, over which he is

  bending--a position which serves my purpose.

  "I hold my breath. I mount the ladder. I am on the uppermost rung

  of it, and with my left hand seize hold of the window-sill. In this

  moment of approaching success, I feel my heart beating wildly. I

  put my revolver between my teeth. A quick spring, and I shall be

  on the window-ledge. But--the ladder! I had been obliged to press

  on it heavily, and my foot had scarcely left it, when I felt it

  swaying beneath me. It grated on the wall and fell. But, already,

  my knees were touching the window-sill, and, by a movement quick as

  lightning, I got on to it.

  "But the murderer had been even quicker than I had been. He had

  heard the grating of the ladder on the wall, and I saw the monstrous

  back of the man raise itself. I saw his head. Did I really see it?

  --The candle on the parquet lit up his legs only. Above the height

  of the table the chamber was in darkness. I saw a man with long

  hair, a full beard, wild-looking eyes, a pale face, framed in large

  whiskers,--as well as I could distinguish, and, as I think--red

  in colour. I did not know the face. That was, in brief, the chief

  sensation I received from that face in the dim half-light in which I

  saw it. I did not know it--or, at least, I did not recognise it.

  "Now for quick action! It was indeed time for that, for as I was

  about to place my legs through the window, the man had seen me, had

  bounded to his feet, had sprung-
-as I foresaw he would--to the

  door of the ante-chamber, had time to open it, and fled. But I was

  already behind him, revolver in hand, shouting 'Help!'

  "Like an arrow I crossed the room, but noticed a letter on the table

  as I rushed. I almost came up with the man in the ante-room, for he

  had lost time in opening the door to the gallery. I flew on wings,

  and in the gallery was but a few feet behind him. He had taken, as

  I supposed he would, the gallery on his right,--that is to say, the

  road he had prepared for his flight. 'Help, Jacques!--help, Larsan!'

  I cried. He could not escape us! I raised a shout of joy, of

  savage victory. The man reached the intersection of the two

  galleries hardly two seconds before me for the meeting which I had

  prepared--the fatal shock which must inevitably take place at that

  spot! We all rushed to the crossing-place--Monsieur Stangerson

  and I coming from one end of the right gallery, Daddy Jacques coming

  from the other end of the same gallery, and Frederic Larsan coming

  from the 'off-turning' gallery.

  "The man was not there!

  "We looked at each other stupidly and with eyes terrified. The man

  had vanished like a ghost. 'Where is he--where is he?' we all

  asked.

  "'It is impossible he can have escaped!' I cried, my terror mastered

  by my anger.

  "'I touched him!' exclaimed Frederic Larsan.

  "'I felt his breath on my face!' cried Daddy Jacques.

  "'Where is he?'--where is he?' we all cried.

  "We raced like madmen along the two galleries; we visited doors and

  windows--they were closed, hermetically closed. They had not been

  opened. Besides, the opening of a door or window by this man whom

  we were hunting, without our having perceived it, would have been

  more inexplicable than his disappearance.

  "Where is he?--where is he?--He could not have got away by a

  door or a window, nor by any other way. He could not have passed

  through our bodies!

  "I confess that, for the moment, I felt 'done for.' For the gallery

  was perfectly lighted, and there was neither trap, nor secret door

  in the walls, nor any sort of hiding-place. We moved the chairs and

  lifted the pictures. Nothing!--nothing! We would have looked into

  a flower-pot, if there had been one to look into!"

  When this mystery, thanks to Rouletabille, was naturally explained,

  by the help alone of his masterful mind, we were able to realise

  that the murderer had got away neither by a door, a window, nor the

  stairs--a fact which the judges would not admit.

  CHAPTER XVII

  The Inexplicable Gallery

  "Mademoiselle Stangerson appeared at the door of her ante-room,"

  continues Rouletabille's note-book. "We were near her door in the

  gallery where this incredible phenomenon had taken place. There

  are moments when one feels as if one's brain were about to burst.

  A bullet in the head, a fracture of the skull, the seat of reason

  shattered--with only these can I compare the sensation which

  exhausted and left me void of sense.

  "Happily, Mademoiselle Stangerson appeared on the threshold of her

  ante-room. I saw her, and that helped to relieve my chaotic state

  of mind. I breathed her--I inhaled the perfume of the lady in black,

  whom I should never see again. I would have given ten years of my

  life--half my life--to see once more the lady in black! Alas!

  I no more meet her but from time to time,--and yet!--and yet!

  how the memory of that perfume--felt by me alone--carries me back

  to the days of my childhood.* It was this sharp reminder from my

  beloved perfume, of the lady in black, which made me go to her

  --dressed wholly in white and so pale--so pale and so beautiful!

  --on the threshold of the inexplicable gallery. Her beautiful

  golden hair, gathered into a knot on the back of her neck, left

  visible the red star on her temple which had so nearly been the

  cause of her death. When I first got on the right track of the

  mystery of this case I had imagined that, on the night of the

  tragedy in The Yellow Room, Mademoiselle Stangerson had worn her

  hair in bands. But then, how could I have imagined otherwise when

  I had not been in The Yellow Room!

  _____________________________________________________________________

  *When I wrote these lines, Joseph Rouletabille was eighteen years of

  age,--and he spoke of his "youth." I have kept the text of my friend,

  but I inform the reader here that the episode of the mystery of The

  Yellow Room has no connection with that of the perfume of the lady

  in black. It is not my fault if, in the document which I have cited,

  Rouletabille thought fit to refer to his childhood.

  _____________________________________________________________________

  "But now, since the occurrence of the inexplicable gallery, I did

  not reason at all. I stood there, stupid, before the apparition

  --so pale and so beautiful--of Mademoiselle Stangerson. She was

  clad in a dressing-gown of dreamy white. One might have taken her

  to be a ghost--a lovely phantom. Her father took her in his arms

  and kissed her passionately, as if he had recovered her after being

  long lost to him. I dared not question her. He drew her into the

  room and we followed them,--for we had to know!--The door of the

  boudoir was open. The terrified faces of the two nurses craned

  towards us. Mademoiselle Stangerson inquired the meaning of all

  the disturbance. That she was not in her own room was quite easily

  explained--quite easily. She had a fancy not to sleep that night

  in her chamber, but in the boudoir with her nurses, locking the door

  on them. Since the night of the crime she had experienced feelings

  of terror, and fears came over her that are easily to be

  comprehended.

  "But who could imagine that on that particular night when he was

  to come, she would, by a mere chance, determine to shut herself in

  with her women? Who would think that she would act contrary to her

  father's wish to sleep in the drawing-room? Who could believe that

  the letter which had so recently been on the table in her room would

  no longer be there? He who could understand all this, would have to

  assume that Mademoiselle Stangerson knew that the murderer was coming

  --she could not prevent his coming again--unknown to her father,

  unknown to all but to Monsieur Robert Darzac. For he must know it

  now--perhaps he had known it before! Did he remember that phrase

  in the Elysee garden: 'Must I commit a crime, then, to win you?'

  Against whom the crime, if not against the obstacle, against the

  murderer? 'Ah, I would kill him with my own hand!' And I replied,

  'You have not answered my question.' That was the very truth. In

  truth, in truth, Monsieur Darzac knew the murderer so well that

  --while wishing to kill him himself--he was afraid I should find

  him. There could be but two reasons why he had assisted me in my

  investigation. First, because I forced him to do it; and, second,

  because she would be the better protected.

&n
bsp; "I am in the chamber--her room. I look at her, also at the place

  where the letter had just now been. She has possessed herself of

  it; it was evidently intended for her--evidently. How she trembles!

  --Trembles at the strange story her father is telling her, of the

  presence of the murderer in her chamber, and of the pursuit. But

  it is plainly to be seen that she is not wholly satisfied by the

  assurance given her until she had been told that the murderer, by

  some incomprehensible means, had been able to elude us.

  "Then follows a silence. What a silence! We are all there--looking

  at her--her father, Larsan, Daddy Jacques and I. What were we all

  thinking of in the silence? After the events of that night, of the

  mystery of the inexplicable gallery, of the prodigious fact of the

  presence of the murderer in her room, it seemed to me that all our

  thoughts might have been translated into the words which were

  addressed to her. 'You who know of this mystery, explain it to us,

  and we shall perhaps be able to save you. How I longed to save her

  --for herself, and, from the other!--It brought the tears to my eyes.

  "She is there, shedding about her the perfume of the lady in black.

  At last, I see her, in the silence of her chamber. Since the fatal

  hour of the mystery of The Yellow Room, we have hung about this

  invisible and silent woman to learn what she knows. Our desires,

  our wish to know must be a torment to her. Who can tell that, should

  we learn the secret of her mystery, it would not precipitate a

  tragedy more terrible than that which had already been enacted here?

  Who can tell if it might not mean her death? Yet it had brought her

  close to death,--and we still knew nothing. Or, rather, there are

  some of us who know nothing. But I--if I knew who, I should know

  all. Who?--Who?--Not knowing who, I must remain silent, out of

  pity for her. For there is no doubt that she knows how he escaped

  from The Yellow Room, and yet she keeps the secret. When I know

  who, I will speak to him--to him!"

  "She looked at us now--with a far-away look in her eyes--as if we

  were not in the chamber. Monsieur Stangerson broke the silence.

  He declared that, henceforth, he would no more absent himself from

  his daughter's apartments. She tried to oppose him in vain. He

  adhered firmly to his purpose. He would install himself there this

  very night, he said. Solely concerned for the health of his

  daughter, he reproached her for having left her bed. Then he

  suddenly began talking to her as if she were a little child. He

  smiled at her and seemed not to know either what he said or what he

  did. The illustrious professor had lost his head. Mademoiselle

  Stangerson in a tone of tender distress said: 'Father!--father!'

  Daddy Jacques blows his nose, and Frederic Larsan himself is obliged

  to turn away to hide his emotion. For myself, I am able neither to

  think or feel. I felt an infinite contempt for myself.

  "It was the first time that Frederic Larsan, like myself, found

  himself face to face with Mademoiselle Stangerson since the attack

  in The Yellow Room. Like me, he had insisted on being allowed to

  question the unhappy lady; but he had not, any more than had I, been

  permitted. To him, as to me, the same answer had always been given:

  Mademoiselle Stangerson was too weak to receive us. The questionings

  of the examining magistrate had over-fatigued her. It was evidently

  intended not to give us any assistance in our researches. I was not

  surprised; but Frederic Larsan had always resented this conduct. It

  is true that he and I had a totally different theory of the crime.

  "I still catch myself repeating from the depths of my heart: 'Save

  her!--save her without his speaking!' Who is he--the murderer?

  Take him and shut his mouth. But Monsieur Darzac made it clear that

  in order to shut his mouth he must be killed. Have I the right to