kill Mademoiselle Stangerson's murderer? No, I had not. But let
him only give me the chance! Let me find out whether he is really
a creature of flesh and blood!--Let me see his dead body, since
it cannot be taken alive.
"If I could but make this woman, who does not even look at us,
understand! She is absorbed by her fears and by her father's
distress of mind. And I can do nothing to save her. Yes, I will
go to work once more and accomplish wonders.
"I move towards her. I would speak to her. I would entreat her
to have confidence in me. I would, in a word, make her understand
--she alone--that I know how the murderer escaped from The Yellow
Room--that I have guessed the motives for her secrecy--and that I
pity her with all my heart. But by her gestures she begged us to
leave her alone, expressing weariness and the need for immediate
rest. Monsieur Stangerson asked us to go back to our rooms and
thanked us. Frederic Larsan and I bowed to him and, followed by
Daddy Jacques, we regained the gallery. I heard Larsan murmur:
'Strange! strange!' He made a sign to me to go with him into his
room. On the threshold he turned towards Daddy Jacques.
"'Did you see him distinctly?' he asked.
"'Who?'
"'The man?'
"'Saw him!--why, he had a big red beard and red hair.'
"'That's how he appeared to me,' I said.
"'And to me,' said Larsan.
"The great Fred and I were alone in his chamber, now, to talk over
this thing. We talked for an hour, turning the matter over and
viewing it from every side. From the questions put by him, from
the explanation which he gives me, it is clear to me that--in spite
of all our senses--he is persuaded the man disappeared by some
secret passage in the chateau known to him alone.
"'He knows the chateau,' he said to me; 'he knows it well.'
"'He is a rather tall man--well-built,' I suggested.
"'He is as tall as he wants to be,' murmured Fred.
"'I understand,' I said; 'but how do you account for his red hair
and beard?'
"'Too much beard--too much hair--false,' says Fred.
"'That's easily said. You are always thinking of Robert Darzac.
You can't get rid of that idea? I am certain that he is innocent.'
"'So much the better. I hope so; but everything condemns him. Did
you notice the marks on the carpet?--Come and look at them.'
"'I have seen them; they are the marks of the neat boots, the same
as those we saw on the border of the lake.'
"'Can you deny that they belong to Robert Darzac?'
"'Of course, one may be mistaken.'
"'Have you noticed that those footprints only go in one direction?
--that there are no return marks? When the man came from the
chamber, pursued by all of us, his footsteps left no traces behind
them.'
"'He had, perhaps, been in the chamber for hours. The mud from his
boots had dried, and he moved with such rapidity on the points of
his toes--We saw him running, but we did not hear his steps.'
"I suddenly put an end to this idle chatter--void of any logic, and
made a sign to Larsan to listen.
"'There--below; some one is shutting a door.'
"I rise; Larsan follows me; we descend to the ground-floor of the
chateau. I lead him to the little semi-circular room under the
terrace beneath the window of the 'off-turning' gallery. I point
to the door, now closed, open a short time before, under which a
shaft of light is visible.
"'The forest-keeper!' says Fred.
"'Come on!' I whisper.
"Prepared--I know not why--to believe that the keeper is the
guilty man--I go to the door and rap smartly on it. Some might
think that we were rather late in thinking of the keeper, since our
first business, after having found that the murderer had escaped us
in the gallery, ought to have been to search everywhere else,
--around the chateau,--in the park--
"Had this criticism been made at the time, we could only have
answered that the assassin had disappeared from the gallery in such
a way that we thought he was no longer anywhere! He had eluded us
when we all had our hands stretched out ready to seize him--when
we were almost touching him. We had no longer any ground for hoping
that we could clear up the mystery of that night.
"As soon as I rapped at the door it was opened, and the keeper
asked us quietly what we wanted. He was undressed and preparing
to go to bed. The bed had not yet been disturbed.
"We entered and I affected surprise.
"'Not gone to bed yet?'
"'No,' he replied roughly. 'I have been making a round of the park
and in the woods. I am only just back--and sleepy. Good-night!'
"'Listen,' I said. 'An hour or so ago, there was a ladder close by
your window.'
"'What ladder?--I did not see any ladder. Good-night!'
"And he simply put us out of the room. When we were outside I
looked at Larsan. His face was impenetrable.
"'Well?' I said.
"'Well?' he repeated.
"'Does that open out any new view to you?'
"There was no mistaking Larsan's bad temper. On re-entering the
chateau, I heard him mutter:
"'It would be strange--very strange--if I had deceived myself on
that point!'
"He seemed to be talking to me rather than to himself. He added:
'In any case, we shall soon know what to think. The morning will
bring light with it.'"
CHAPTER XVIII
Rouletabille Has Drawn a Circle Between the Two Bumps on His Forehead
(EXTRACT FROM THE NOTE-BOOK OF JOSEPH ROULETABILLE, continued)
"We separated on the thresholds of our rooms, with a melancholy
shake of the hands. I was glad to have aroused in him a suspicion
of error. His was an original brain, very intelligent but--without
method. I did not go to bed. I awaited the coming of daylight and
then went down to the front of the chateau, and made a detour,
examining every trace of footsteps coming towards it or going from
it. These, however, were so mixed and confusing that I could make
nothing of them. Here I may make a remark,--I am not accustomed
to attach an exaggerated importance to exterior signs left in the
track of a crime.
"The method which traces the criminal by means of the tracks of his
footsteps is altogether primitive. So many footprints are identical.
However, in the disturbed state of my mind, I did go into the
deserted court and did look at all the footprints I could find there,
seeking for some indication, as a basis for reasoning.
"If I could but find a right starting-point! In despair I seated
myself on a stone. For over an hour I busied myself with the common,
ordinary work of a policeman. Like the least intelligent of
detectives I went on blindly over the traces of footprints which
told me just no more than they could.
"I came to the conclusion that I was a fool, lower in the scale of
intelligence than even the police of the modern romancer. Novelists
build mountains of stupidity out of
a footprint on the sand, or from
an impression of a hand on the wall. That's the way innocent men
are brought to prison. It might convince an examining magistrate or
the head of a detective department, but it's not proof. You writers
forget that what the senses furnish is not proof. If I am taking
cognisance of what is offered me by my senses I do so but to bring
the results within the circle of my reason. That circle may be the
most circumscribed, but if it is, it has this advantage--it holds
nothing but the truth! Yes, I swear that I have never used the
evidence of the senses but as servants to my reason. I have never
permitted them to become my master. They have not made of me that
monstrous thing,--worse than a blind man,--a man who sees falsely.
And that is why I can triumph over your error and your merely animal
intelligence, Frederic Larsan.
"Be of good courage, then, friend Rouletabille; it is impossible
that the incident of the inexplicable gallery should be outside the
circle of your reason. You know that! Then have faith and take
thought with yourself and forget not that you took hold of the right
end when you drew that circle in your brain within which to unravel
this mysterious play of circumstance.
"To it, once again! Go--back to the gallery. Take your stand on
your reason and rest there as Frederic Larsan rests on his cane.
You will then soon prove that the great Fred is nothing but a fool.
--30th October. Noon.
JOSEPH ROULETABILLE."
"I acted as I planned. With head on fire, I retraced my way to the
gallery, and without having found anything more than I had seen on
the previous night, the right hold I had taken of my reason drew me
to something so important that I was obliged to cling to it to save
myself from falling.
"Now for the strength and patience to find sensible traces to fit
in with my thinking--and these must come within the circle I have
drawn between the two bumps on my forehead!
--30th of October. Midnight."
"JOSEPH ROULETABILLE."
CHAPTER XIX
Rouletabille Invites Me to Breakfast at the Donjon Inn
It was not until later that Rouletabille sent me the note-book in
which he had written at length the story of the phenomenon of the
inexplicable gallery. On the day I arrived at the Glandier and
joined him in his room, he recounted to me, with the greatest
detail, all that I have now related, telling me also how he had
spent several hours in Paris where he had learned nothing that could
be of any help to him.
The event of the inexplicable gallery had occurred on the night
between the 29th and 30th of October, that is to say, three days
before my return to the chateau. It was on the 2nd of November,
then, that I went back to the Glandier, summoned there by my
friend's telegram, and taking the revolvers with me.
I am now in Rouletabille's room and he has finished his recital.
While he had been telling me the story I noticed him continually
rubbing the glass of the eyeglasses he had found on the side table.
From the evident pleasure he was taking in handling them I felt
they must be one of those sensible evidences destined to enter what
he had called the circle of the right end of his reason. That
strange and unique way of his, to express himself in terms
wonderfully adequate for his thoughts, no longer surprised me.
It was often necessary to know his thought to understand the terms
he used; and it was not easy to penetrate into Rouletabille's
thinking.
This lad's brain was one of the most curious things I have ever
observed. Rouletabille went on the even tenor of his way without
suspecting the astonishment and even bewilderment he roused in
others. I am sure he was not himself in the least conscious of
the originality of his genius. He was himself and at ease wherever
he happened to be.
When he had finished his recital he asked me what I thought of it.
I replied that I was much puzzled by his question. Then he begged
me to try, in my turn, to take my reason in hand "by the right end."
"Very well," I said. "It seems to me that the point of departure
of my reason would be this--there can be no doubt that the murderer
you pursued was in the gallery." I paused.
"After making so good a start, you ought not to stop so soon," he
exclaimed. "Come, make another effort."
"I'll try. Since he disappeared from the gallery without passing
through any door or window, he must have escaped by some other
opening."
Rouletabille looked at me pityingly, smiled carelessly, and remarked
that I was reasoning like a postman, or--like Frederic Larsan.
Rouletabille had alternate fits of admiration and disdain for the
great Fred. It all depended as to whether Larsan's discoveries
tallied with Rouletabille's reasoning or not. When they did he
would exclaim: "He is really great!" When they did not he would
grunt and mutter, "What an ass!" It was a petty side of the noble
character of this strange youth.
We had risen, and he led me into the park. When we reached the
court and were making towards the gate, the sound of blinds thrown
back against the wall made us turn our heads, and we saw, at a
window on the first floor of the chateau, the ruddy and clean shaven
face of a person I did not recognise.
"Hullo!" muttered Rouletabille. "Arthur Rance!"--He lowered his
head, quickened his pace, and I heard him ask himself between his
teeth: "Was he in the chateau that night? What is he doing here?"
We had gone some distance from the chateau when I asked him who
this Arthur Rance was, and how he had come to know him. He referred
to his story of that morning and I remembered that Mr. Arthur W.
Rance was the American from Philadelphia with whom he had had so
many drinks at the Elysee reception.
"But was he not to have left France almost immediately?" I asked.
"No doubt; that's why I am surprised to find him here still, and
not only in France, but above all, at the Glandier. He did not
arrive this morning; and he did not get here last night. He must
have got here before dinner, then. Why didn't the concierges
tell me?"
I reminded my friend, apropos of the concierges, that he had not
yet told me what had led him to get them set at liberty.
We were close to their lodge. Monsieur and Madame Bernier saw us
coming. A frank smile lit up their happy faces. They seemed to
harbour no ill-feeling because of their detention. My young
friend asked them at what hour Mr. Arthur Rance had arrived. They
answered that they did not know he was at the chateau. He must have
come during the evening of the previous night, but they had not had
to open the gate for him, because, being a great walker, and not
wishing that a carriage should be sent to meet him, he was accustomed
to get off at the little hamlet of Saint-Miche
l, from which he came
to the chateau by way of the forest. He reached the park by the
grotto of Sainte-Genevieve, over the little gate of which, giving
on to the park, he climbed.
As the concierges spoke, I saw Rouletabille's face cloud over and
exhibit disappointment--a disappointment, no doubt, with himself.
Evidently he was a little vexed, after having worked so much on the
spot, with so minute a study of the people and events at the Glandier,
that he had to learn now that Arthur Rance was accustomed to visit
the chateau.
"You say that Monsieur Arthur Rance is accustomed to come to the
chateau. When did he come here last?"
"We can't tell you exactly," replied Madame Bernier--that was the
name of the concierge--"we couldn't know while they were keeping
us in prison. Besides, as the gentleman comes to the chateau
without passing through our gate he goes away by the way he comes."
"Do you know when he came the first time?"
"Oh yes, Monsieur!--nine years ago."
"He was in France nine years ago, then," said Rouletabille, "and,
since that time, as far as you know, how many times has he been at
the Glandier?"
"Three times."
"When did he come the last time, as far as you know?"
"A week before the attempt in The Yellow Room."
Rouletabille put another question--this time addressing himself
particularly to the woman:
"In the grove of the parquet?"
"In the grove of the parquet," she replied.
"Thanks!" said Rouletabille. "Be ready for me this evening."
He spoke the last words with a finger on his lips as if to command
silence and discretion.
We left the park and took the way to the Donjon Inn.
"Do you often eat here?"
"Sometimes."
"But you also take your meals at the chateau?"
"Yes, Larsan and I are sometimes served in one of our rooms."
"Hasn't Monsieur Stangerson ever invited you to his own table?"
"Never."
"Does your presence at the chateau displease him?"
"I don't know; but, in any case, he does not make us feel that we
are in his way."
"Doesn't he question you?"
"Never. He is in the same state of mind as he was in at the door
of The Yellow Room when his daughter was being murdered, and when
he broke open the door and did not find the murderer. He is
persuaded, since he could discover nothing, that there's no reason
why we should be able to discover more than he did. But he has made
it his duty, since Larsan expressed his theory, not to oppose us."
Rouletabille buried himself in thought again for some time. He
aroused himself later to tell me of how he came to set the two
concierges free.
"I went recently to see Monsieur Stangerson, and took with me a
piece of paper on which was written: 'I promise, whatever others
may say, to keep in my service my two faithful servants, Bernier
and his wife.' I explained to him that, by signing that document,
he would enable me to compel those two people to speak out; and I
declared my own assurance of their innocence of any part in the
crime. That was also his opinion. The examining magistrate, after
it was signed, presented the document to the Berniers, who then did
speak. They said, what I was certain they would say, as soon as
they were sure they would not lose their place.
"They confessed to poaching on Monsieur Stangerson's estates, and
it was while they were poaching, on the night of the crime, that
they were found not far from the pavilion at the moment when the
outrage was being committed. Some rabbits they caught in that way