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