Le mystère de la chambre jaune. English

  CHAPTER XIX. Rouletabille Invites Me to Breakfast at the Donjon Inn

  It was not until later that Rouletabille sent me the note-book in whichhe had written at length the story of the phenomenon of the inexplicablegallery. On the day I arrived at the Glandier and joined him in hisroom, he recounted to me, with the greatest detail, all that I have nowrelated, telling me also how he had spent several hours in Paris wherehe had learned nothing that could be of any help to him.

  The event of the inexplicable gallery had occurred on the night betweenthe 29th and 30th of October, that is to say, three days before myreturn to the chateau. It was on the 2nd of November, then, that I wentback to the Glandier, summoned there by my friend's telegram, and takingthe 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 rubbingthe glass of the eyeglasses he had found on the side table. From theevident pleasure he was taking in handling them I felt they must be oneof those sensible evidences destined to enter what he had called thecircle of the right end of his reason. That strange and unique way ofhis, to express himself in terms wonderfully adequate for his thoughts,no longer surprised me. It was often necessary to know his thought tounderstand the terms he used; and it was not easy to penetrate intoRouletabille's thinking.

  This lad's brain was one of the most curious things I have everobserved. Rouletabille went on the even tenor of his way withoutsuspecting the astonishment and even bewilderment he roused in others. Iam sure he was not himself in the least conscious of the originality ofhis 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. Ireplied that I was much puzzled by his question. Then he begged me totry, 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 ofmy reason would be this--there can be no doubt that the murderer youpursued was in the gallery." I paused.

  "After making so good a start, you ought not to stop so soon," heexclaimed. "Come, make another effort."

  "I'll try. Since he disappeared from the gallery without passing throughany door or window, he must have escaped by some other opening."

  Rouletabille looked at me pityingly, smiled carelessly, and remarkedthat I was reasoning like a postman, or--like Frederic Larsan.

  Rouletabille had alternate fits of admiration and disdain for the greatFred. It all depended as to whether Larsan's discoveries tallied withRouletabille's reasoning or not. When they did he would exclaim: "Heis really great!" When they did not he would grunt and mutter, "What anass!" 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 andwere making towards the gate, the sound of blinds thrown back againstthe wall made us turn our heads, and we saw, at a window on the firstfloor of the chateau, the ruddy and clean shaven face of a person I didnot recognise.

  "Hullo!" muttered Rouletabille. "Arthur Rance!"--He lowered his head,quickened his pace, and I heard him ask himself between his teeth: "Washe in the chateau that night? What is he doing here?"

  We had gone some distance from the chateau when I asked him who thisArthur Rance was, and how he had come to know him. He referred to hisstory of that morning and I remembered that Mr. Arthur W. Rance was theAmerican from Philadelphia with whom he had had so many drinks at theElysee 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 notonly in France, but above all, at the Glandier. He did not arrive thismorning; and he did not get here last night. He must have got herebefore dinner, then. Why didn't the concierges tell me?"

  I reminded my friend, apropos of the concierges, that he had not yettold 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 noill-feeling because of their detention. My young friend asked them atwhat hour Mr. Arthur Rance had arrived. They answered that they did notknow he was at the chateau. He must have come during the evening of theprevious 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 sentto meet him, he was accustomed to get off at the little hamlet ofSaint-Michel, from which he came to the chateau by way of the forest. Hereached the park by the grotto of Sainte-Genevieve, over the little gateof which, giving on to the park, he climbed.

  As the concierges spoke, I saw Rouletabille's face cloud over andexhibit disappointment--a disappointment, no doubt, with himself.Evidently he was a little vexed, after having worked so much on thespot, 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 thechateau.

  "You say that Monsieur Arthur Rance is accustomed to come to thechateau. When did he come here last?"

  "We can't tell you exactly," replied Madame Bernier--that was thename of the concierge--"we couldn't know while they were keeping us inprison. Besides, as the gentleman comes to the chateau without passingthrough 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 theGlandier?"

  "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 himselfparticularly 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 commandsilence 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 inhis way."

  "Doesn't he question you?"

  "Never. He is in the same state of mind as he was in at the door of TheYellow Room when his daughter was being murdered, and when he broke openthe door and did not find the murderer. He is persuaded, since hecould discover nothing, that there's no reason why we should be ableto discover more than he did. But he has made it his duty, since Larsanexpressed his theory, not to oppose us."

  Rouletabille buried himself in thought again for some time. He arousedhimself 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 ofpaper on which was written: 'I promise, whatever others may say, tokeep in my service my two faithful servants, Bernier and his wife.' Iexplained to him that, by signing that document, he would enable me tocompel those two people to speak out; and I declared my own assurance oftheir innocence of any part in the crime. That was also his opinion. Theexamining magistrate, after it was signed, presented the document to theBerniers, who then did speak. They said, what I was certain they wouldsay, as soon as they were sure they would not lose their place.

  "They confessed to poaching on Monsieur Stangerson's estates, and itwas while they were poaching, on the night of the crime, that they werefound not far from the pavilion at the moment when the outrage was beingcommitted. Some rabbits they caught in that way were sold by them to thelandlord of the Donjon Inn, who ser
ved them to his customers, or sentthem to Paris. That was the truth, as I had guessed from the first. Doyou remember what I said, on entering the Donjon Inn?--'We shall haveto eat red meat--now!' I had heard the words on the same morning whenwe arrived at the park gate. You heard them also, but you did not attachany importance to them. You recollect, when we reached the park gate,that we stopped to look at a man who was running by the side of thewall, looking every minute at his watch. That was Larsan. Well, behindus the landlord of the Donjon Inn, standing on his doorstep, said tosomeone inside: 'We shall have to eat red meat--now.'

  "Why that 'now'? When you are, as I am, in search of some hidden secret,you can't afford to have anything escape you. You've got to know themeaning of everything. We had come into a rather out-of-the-way part ofthe country which had been turned topsy-turvey by a crime, and my reasonled me to suspect every phrase that could bear upon the event of theday. 'Now,' I took to mean, 'since the outrage.' In the course of myinquiry, therefore, I sought to find a relation between that phrase andthe tragedy. We went to the Donjon Inn for breakfast; I repeated thephrase and saw, by the surprise and trouble on Daddy Mathieu's face,that I had not exaggerated its importance, so far as he was concerned.

  "I had just learned that the concierges had been arrested. Daddy Mathieuspoke of them as of dear friends--people for whom one is sorry. Thatwas a reckless conjunction of ideas, I said to myself. 'Now,' thatthe concierges are arrested, 'we shall have to eat red meat.' No moreconcierges, no more game! The hatred expressed by Daddy Mathieu forMonsieur Stangerson's forest-keeper--a hatred he pretended was sharedby the concierges led me easily to think of poaching. Now as all theevidence showed the concierges had not been in bed at the time of thetragedy, why were they abroad that night? As participants in the crime?I was not disposed to think so. I had already arrived at the conclusion,by steps of which I will tell you later--that the assassin had had noaccomplice, and that the tragedy held a mystery between MademoiselleStangerson and the murderer, a mystery with which the concierges hadnothing to do.

  "With that theory in my mind, I searched for proof in their lodge,which, as you know, I entered. I found there under their bed, somesprings and brass wire. 'Ah!' I thought, 'these things explain whythey were out in the park at night!' I was not surprised at the doggedsilence they maintained before the examining magistrate, even under theaccusation so grave as that of being accomplices in the crime. Poachingwould save them from the Assize Court, but it would lose them theirplaces; and, as they were perfectly sure of their innocence of the crimethey hoped it would soon be established, and then their poaching mightgo on as usual. They could always confess later. I, however, hastenedtheir confession by means of the document Monsieur Stangerson signed.They gave all the necessary 'proofs,' were set at liberty, and havenow a lively gratitude for me. Why did I not get them released sooner?Because I was not sure that nothing more than poaching was against them.I wanted to study the ground. As the days went by, my conviction becamemore and more certain. The day after the events of the inexplicablegallery I had need of help I could rely on, so I resolved to have themreleased at once."

  That was how Joseph Rouletabille explained himself. Once more I couldnot but be astonished at the simplicity of the reasoning which hadbrought him to the truth of the matter. Certainly this was no big thing;but I think, myself, that the young man will, one of these days, explainwith the same simplicity, the fearful tragedy in The Yellow Room as wellas the phenomenon of the inexplicable gallery.

  We reached the Donjon Inn and entered it.

  This time we did not see the landlord, but were received with a pleasantsmile by the hostess. I have already described the room in which wefound ourselves, and I have given a glimpse of the charming blonde womanwith the gentle eyes who now immediately began to prepare our breakfast.

  "How's Daddy Mathieu?" asked Rouletabille.

  "Not much better--not much better; he is still confined to his bed."

  "His rheumatism still sticks to him, then?"

  "Yes. Last night I was again obliged to give him morphine--the only drugthat gives him any relief."

  She spoke in a soft voice. Everything about her expressed gentleness.She was, indeed, a beautiful woman; somewhat with an air of indolence,with great eyes seemingly black and blue--amorous eyes. Was she happywith her crabbed, rheumatic husband? The scene at which we had once beenpresent did not lead us to believe that she was; yet there was somethingin her bearing that was not suggestive of despair. She disappeared intothe kitchen to prepare our repast, leaving on the table a bottle ofexcellent cider. Rouletabille filled our earthenware mugs, loaded hispipe, and quietly explained to me his reason for asking me to come tothe Glandier with revolvers.

  "Yes," he said, contemplatively looking at the clouds of smoke he waspuffing out, "yes, my dear boy, I expect the assassin to-night." A briefsilence followed, which I took care not to interrupt, and then he wenton:

  "Last night, just as I was going to bed, Monsieur Robert Darzac knockedat my room. When he came in he confided to me that he was compelled togo to Paris the next day, that is, this morning. The reason which madethis journey necessary was at once peremptory and mysterious; it was notpossible for him to explain its object to me. 'I go, and yet,' he added,'I would give my life not to leave Mademoiselle Stangerson at thismoment.' He did not try to hide that he believed her to be once more indanger. 'It will not greatly astonish me if something happens to-morrownight,' he avowed, 'and yet I must be absent. I cannot be back at theGlandier before the morning of the day after to-morrow.'

  "I asked him to explain himself, and this is all he would tell me.His anticipation of coming danger had come to him solely from thecoincidence that Mademoiselle Stangerson had been twice attacked, andboth times when he had been absent. On the night of the incident of theinexplicable gallery he had been obliged to be away from the Glandier.On the night of the tragedy in The Yellow Room he had also not been ableto be at the Glandier, though this was the first time he had declaredhimself on the matter. Now a man so moved who would still go away mustbe acting under compulsion--must be obeying a will stronger thanhis own. That was how I reasoned, and I told him so. He replied'Perhaps.'--I asked him if Mademoiselle Stangerson was compelling him.He protested that she was not. His determination to go to Paris had beentaken without any conference with Mademoiselle Stangerson.

  "To cut the story short, he repeated that his belief in the possibilityof a fresh attack was founded entirely on the extraordinary coincidence.'If anything happens to Mademoiselle Stangerson,' he said, 'it would beterrible for both of us. For her, because her life would be in danger;for me because I could neither defend her from the attack nor tell ofwhere I had been. I am perfectly aware of the suspicions cast on me.The examining magistrate and Monsieur Larsan are both on the point ofbelieving in my guilt. Larsan tracked me the last time I went to Paris,and I had all the trouble in the world to get rid of him.'

  "'Why do you not tell me the name of the murderer now, if you know it?'I cried.

  "Monsieur Darzac appeared extremely troubled by my question, and repliedto me in a hesitating tone:

  "'I?--I know the name of the murderer? Why, how could I know his name?'

  "I at once replied: 'From Mademoiselle Stangerson.'

  "He grew so pale that I thought he was about to faint, and I saw that Ihad hit the nail right on the head. Mademoiselle and he knew the name ofthe murderer! When he recovered himself, he said to me: 'I am going toleave you. Since you have been here I have appreciated your exceptionalintelligence and your unequalled ingenuity. But I ask this service ofyou. Perhaps I am wrong to fear an attack during the coming night; but,as I must act with foresight, I count on you to frustrate any attemptthat may be made. Take every step needful to protect MademoiselleStangerson. Keep a most careful watch of her room. Don't go to sleep,nor allow yourself one moment of repose. The man we dread is remarkablycunning--with a cunning that has never been equalled. If you keep watchhis very cunning may save her; because it's impossible that he
shouldnot know that you are watching; and knowing it, he may not venture.'

  "'Have you spoken of all this to Monsieur Stangerson?'

  "'No. I do not wish him to ask me, as you just now did, for the name ofthe murderer. I tell you all this, Monsieur Rouletabille, because I havegreat, very great, confidence in you. I know that you do not suspectme.'

  "The poor man spoke in jerks. He was evidently suffering. I pitied him,the more because I felt sure that he would rather allow himself tobe killed than tell me who the murderer was. As for MademoiselleStangerson, I felt that she would rather allow herself to be murderedthan denounce the man of The Yellow Room and of the inexplicablegallery. The man must be dominating her, or both, by some inscrutablepower. They were dreading nothing so much as the chance of MonsieurStangerson knowing that his daughter was 'held' by her assailant. I madeMonsieur Darzac understand that he had explained himself sufficiently,and that he might refrain from telling me any more than he had alreadytold me. I promised him to watch through the night. He insisted that Ishould establish an absolutely impassable barrier around MademoiselleStangerson's chamber, around the boudoir where the nurses were sleeping,and around the drawing-room where, since the affair of the inexplicablegallery, Monsieur Stangerson had slept. In short, I was to put a cordonround the whole apartment.

  "From his insistence I gathered that Monsieur Darzac intended not onlyto make it impossible for the expected man to reach the chamber ofMademoiselle Stangerson, but to make that impossibility so visibly clearthat, seeing himself expected, he would at once go away. That was howI interpreted his final words when we parted: 'You may mention yoursuspicions of the expected attack to Monsieur Stangerson, to DaddyJacques, to Frederic Larsan, and to anybody in the chateau.'

  "The poor fellow left me hardly knowing what he was saying. My silenceand my eyes told him that I had guessed a large part of his secret. And,indeed, he must have been at his wits' end, to have come to me at such atime, and to abandon Mademoiselle Stangerson in spite of his fixed ideaas to the consequence.

  "When he was gone, I began to think that I should have to use even agreater cunning than his so that if the man should come that night,he might not for a moment suspect that his coming had been expected.Certainly! I would allow him to get in far enough, so that, dead oralive, I might see his face clearly! He must be got rid of. MademoiselleStangerson must be freed from this continual impending danger.

  "Yes, my boy," said Rouletabille, after placing his pipe on the table,and emptying his mug of cider, "I must see his face distinctly, so as tomake sure to impress it on that part of my brain where I have drawn mycircle of reasoning."

  The landlady re-appeared at that moment, bringing in the traditionalbacon omelette. Rouletabille chaffed her a little, and she took thechaff with the most charming good humour.

  "She is much jollier when Daddy Mathieu is in bed with his rheumatism,"Rouletabille said to me.

  But I had eyes neither for Rouletabille nor for the landlady's smiles.I was entirely absorbed over the last words of my young friend and inthinking over Monsieur Robert Darzac's strange behaviour.

  When he had finished his omelette and we were again alone, Rouletabillecontinued the tale of his confidences.

  "When I sent you my telegram this morning," he said, "I had onlythe word of Monsieur Darzac, that 'perhaps' the assassin would cometo-night. I can now say that he will certainly come. I expect him."

  "What has made you feel this certainty?"

  "I have been sure since half-past ten o'clock this morning that hewould come. I knew that before we saw Arthur Rance at the window in thecourt."

  "Ah!" I said, "But, again--what made you so sure? And why sincehalf-past ten this morning?"

  "Because, at half-past ten, I had proof that Mademoiselle Stangerson wasmaking as many efforts to permit of the murderer's entrance as MonsieurRobert Darzac had taken precautions against it."

  "Is that possible!" I cried. "Haven't you told me that MademoiselleStangerson loves Monsieur Robert Darzac?"

  "I told you so because it is the truth."

  "Then do you see nothing strange--"

  "Everything in this business is strange, my friend; but take my word forit, the strangeness you now feel is nothing to the strangeness that's tocome!"

  "It must be admitted, then," I said, "that Mademoiselle Stangerson andher murderer are in communication--at any rate in writing?"

  "Admit it, my friend, admit it! You don't risk anything! I told youabout the letter left on her table, on the night of the inexplicablegallery affair,--the letter that disappeared into the pocket ofMademoiselle Stangerson. Why should it not have been a summons to ameeting? Might he not, as soon as he was sure of Darzac's absence,appoint the meeting for 'the coming night?"

  And my friend laughed silently. There are moments when I ask myself ifhe is not laughing at me.

  The door of the inn opened. Rouletabille was on his feet so suddenlythat one might have thought he had received an electric shock.

  "Mr. Arthur Rance!" he cried.

  Mr. Arthur Rance stood before us calmly bowing.