CHAPTER III. "A Man Has Passed Like a Shadow Through the Blinds"
Half an hour later Rouletabille and I were on the platform of theOrleans station, awaiting the departure of the train which was to takeus to Epinay-sur-Orge.
On the platform we found Monsieur de Marquet and his Registrar, whorepresented the Judicial Court of Corbeil. Monsieur Marquet had spentthe night in Paris, attending the final rehearsal, at the Scala, of alittle play of which he was the unknown author, signing himself simply"Castigat Ridendo."
Monsieur de Marquet was beginning to be a "noble old gentleman."Generally he was extremely polite and full of gay humour, and in allhis life had had but one passion,--that of dramatic art. Throughouthis magisterial career he was interested solely in cases capable offurnishing him with something in the nature of a drama. Though he mightvery well have aspired to the highest judicial positions, he hadnever really worked for anything but to win a success at the romanticPorte-Saint-Martin, or at the sombre Odeon.
Because of the mystery which shrouded it, the case of The YellowRoom was certain to fascinate so theatrical a mind. It interested himenormously, and he threw himself into it, less as a magistrate eagerto know the truth, than as an amateur of dramatic embroglios, tendingwholly to mystery and intrigue, who dreads nothing so much as theexplanatory final act.
So that, at the moment of meeting him, I heard Monsieur de Marquet sayto the Registrar with a sigh:
"I hope, my dear Monsieur Maleine, this builder with his pickaxe willnot destroy so fine a mystery."
"Have no fear," replied Monsieur Maleine, "his pickaxe may demolish thepavilion, perhaps, but it will leave our case intact. I have sounded thewalls and examined the ceiling and floor and I know all about it. I amnot to be deceived."
Having thus reassured his chief, Monsieur Maleine, with a discreetmovement of the head, drew Monsieur de Marquet's attention to us. Theface of that gentleman clouded, and, as he saw Rouletabille approaching,hat in hand, he sprang into one of the empty carriages saying, halfaloud to his Registrar, as he did so, "Above all, no journalists!"
Monsieur Maleine replied in the same tone, "I understand!" and thentried to prevent Rouletabille from entering the same compartment withthe examining magistrate.
"Excuse me, gentlemen,--this compartment is reserved."
"I am a journalist, Monsieur, engaged on the 'Epoque,'" said my youngfriend with a great show of gesture and politeness, "and I have a wordor two to say to Monsieur de Marquet."
"Monsieur is very much engaged with the inquiry he has in hand."
"Ah! his inquiry, pray believe me, is absolutely a matter ofindifference to me. I am no scavenger of odds and ends," he went on,with infinite contempt in his lower lip, "I am a theatrical reporter;and this evening I shall have to give a little account of the play atthe Scala."
"Get in, sir, please," said the Registrar.
Rouletabille was already in the compartment. I went in after himand seated myself by his side. The Registrar followed and closed thecarriage door.
Monsieur de Marquet looked at him.
"Ah, sir," Rouletabille began, "You must not be angry with Monsieur deMaleine. It is not with Monsieur de Marquet that I desire to have thehonour of speaking, but with Monsieur 'Castigat Ridendo.' Permit me tocongratulate you--personally, as well as the writer for the 'Epoque.'"And Rouletabille, having first introduced me, introduced himself.
Monsieur de Marquet, with a nervous gesture, caressed his beard into apoint, and explained to Rouletabille, in a few words, that he was toomodest an author to desire that the veil of his pseudonym should bepublicly raised, and that he hoped the enthusiasm of the journalist forthe dramatist's work would not lead him to tell the public that Monsieur"Castigat Ridendo" and the examining magistrate of Corbeil were one andthe same person.
"The work of the dramatic author may interfere," he said, after a slighthesitation, "with that of the magistrate, especially in a province whereone's labours are little more than routine."
"Oh, you may rely on my discretion!" cried Rouletabille.
The train was in motion.
"We have started!" said the examining magistrate, surprised at seeing usstill in the carriage.
"Yes, Monsieur,--truth has started," said Rouletabile, smilingamiably,--"on its way to the Chateau du Glandier. A fine case, Monsieurde Marquet,--a fine case!"
"An obscure--incredible, unfathomable, inexplicable affair--and there isonly one thing I fear, Monsieur Rouletabille,--that the journalists willbe trying to explain it."
My friend felt this a rap on his knuckles.
"Yes," he said simply, "that is to be feared. They meddle in everything.As for my interest, monsieur, I only referred to it by mere chance,--themere chance of finding myself in the same train with you, and in thesame compartment of the same carriage."
"Where are you going, then?" asked Monsieur de Marquet.
"To the Chateau du Glandier," replied Rouletabille, without turning.
"You'll not get in, Monsieur Rouletabille!"
"Will you prevent me?" said my friend, already prepared to fight.
"Not I!--I like the press and journalists too well to be in any waydisagreeable to them; but Monsieur Stangerson has given orders forhis door to be closed against everybody, and it is well guarded. Not ajournalist was able to pass through the gate of the Glandier yesterday."
Monsieur de Marquet compressed his lips and seemed ready to relapse intoobstinate silence. He only relaxed a little when Rouletabille no longerleft him in ignorance of the fact that we were going to the Glandier forthe purpose of shaking hands with an "old and intimate friend," MonsieurRobert Darzac--a man whom Rouletabille had perhaps seen once in hislife.
"Poor Robert!" continued the young reporter, "this dreadful affair maybe his death,--he is so deeply in love with Mademoiselle Stangerson."
"His sufferings are truly painful to witness," escaped like a regretfrom the lips of Monsieur de Marquet.
"But it is to be hoped that Mademoiselle Stangerson's life will besaved."
"Let us hope so. Her father told me yesterday that, if she does notrecover, it will not be long before he joins her in the grave. What anincalculable loss to science his death would be!"
"The wound on her temple is serious, is it not?"
"Evidently; but, by a wonderful chance, it has not proved mortal. Theblow was given with great force."
"Then it was not with the revolver she was wounded," said Rouletabille,glancing at me in triumph.
Monsieur de Marquet appeared greatly embarrassed.
"I didn't say anything--I don't want to say anything--I will not sayanything," he said. And he turned towards his Registrar as if he nolonger knew us.
But Rouletabille was not to be so easily shaken off. He moved nearerto the examining magistrate and, drawing a copy of the "Matin" from hispocket, he showed it to him and said:
"There is one thing, Monsieur, which I may enquire of you withoutcommitting an indiscretion. You have, of course, seen the account givenin the 'Matin'? It is absurd, is it not?"
"Not in the slightest, Monsieur."
"What! The Yellow Room has but one barred window--the bars of which havenot been moved--and only one door, which had to be broken open--and theassassin was not found!"
"That's so, monsieur,--that's so. That's how the matter stands."
Rouletabille said no more but plunged into thought. A quarter of an hourthus passed.
Coming back to himself again he said, addressing the magistrate:
"How did Mademoiselle Stangerson wear her hair on that evening?"
"I don't know," replied Monsieur de Marquet.
"That's a very important point," said Rouletabille. "Her hair was doneup in bands, wasn't it? I feel sure that on that evening, the evening ofthe crime, she had her hair arranged in bands."
"Then you are mistaken, Monsieur Rouletabille," replied the magistrate;"Mademoiselle Stangerson that evening had her hair drawn up in a knoton the top of her head,--her usual way of arrangi
ng it--her foreheadcompletely uncovered. I can assure you, for we have carefully examinedthe wound. There was no blood on the hair, and the arrangement of it hasnot been disturbed since the crime was committed."
"You are sure! You are sure that, on the night of the crime, she had nother hair in bands?"
"Quite sure," the magistrate continued, smiling, "because I remember theDoctor saying to me, while he was examining the wound, 'It is a greatpity Mademoiselle Stangerson was in the habit of drawing her hair backfrom her forehead. If she had worn it in bands, the blow she receivedon the temple would have been weakened.' It seems strange to me that youshould attach so much importance to this point."
"Oh! if she had not her hair in bands, I give it up," said Rouletabille,with a despairing gesture.
"And was the wound on her temple a bad one?" he asked presently.
"Terrible."
"With what weapon was it made?"
"That is a secret of the investigation."
"Have you found the weapon--whatever it was?"
The magistrate did not answer.
"And the wound in the throat?"
Here the examining magistrate readily confirmed the decision of thedoctor that, if the murderer had pressed her throat a few secondslonger, Mademoiselle Stangerson would have died of strangulation.
"The affair as reported in the 'Matin,'" said Rouletabille eagerly,"seems to me more and more inexplicable. Can you tell me, Monsieur, howmany openings there are in the pavilion? I mean doors and windows."
"There are five," replied Monsieur de Marquet, after having coughedonce or twice, but no longer resisting the desire he felt to talk ofthe whole of the incredible mystery of the affair he was investigating."There are five, of which the door of the vestibule is the only entranceto the pavilion,--a door always automatically closed, which cannot beopened, either from the outer or inside, except with the two specialkeys which are never out of the possession of either Daddy Jacques orMonsieur Stangerson. Mademoiselle Stangerson had no need for one, sinceDaddy Jacques lodged in the pavilion and because, during the daytime,she never left her father. When they, all four, rushed into The YellowRoom, after breaking open the door of the laboratory, the door in thevestibule remained closed as usual and, of the two keys for opening it,Daddy Jacques had one in his pocket, and Monsieur Stangerson the other.As to the windows of the pavilion, there are four; the one window of TheYellow Room and those of the laboratory looking out on to the country;the window in the vestibule looking into the park."
"It is by that window that he escaped from the pavilion!" criedRouletabille.
"How do you know that?" demanded Monsieur de Marquet, fixing a strangelook on my young friend.
"We'll see later how he got away from The Yellow Room," repliedRouletabille, "but he must have left the pavilion by the vestibulewindow."
"Once more,--how do you know that?"
"How? Oh, the thing is simple enough! As soon as he found he could notescape by the door of the pavilion his only way out was by the window inthe vestibule, unless he could pass through a grated window. The windowof The Yellow Room is secured by iron bars, because it looks out uponthe open country; the two windows of the laboratory have to be protectedin like manner for the same reason. As the murderer got away, I conceivethat he found a window that was not barred,--that of the vestibule,which opens on to the park,--that is to say, into the interior of theestate. There's not much magic in all that."
"Yes," said Monsieur de Marquet, "but what you have not guessed is thatthis single window in the vestibule, though it has no iron bars, hassolid iron blinds. Now these iron blinds have remained fastened by theiriron latch; and yet we have proof that the murderer made his escape fromthe pavilion by that window! Traces of blood on the inside wall and onthe blinds as well as on the floor, and footmarks, of which I have takenthe measurements, attest the fact that the murderer made his escapethat way. But then, how did he do it, seeing that the blinds remainedfastened on the inside? He passed through them like a shadow. But whatis more bewildering than all is that it is impossible to form any ideaas to how the murderer got out of The Yellow Room, or how he got acrossthe laboratory to reach the vestibule! Ah, yes, Monsieur Rouletabille,it is altogether as you said, a fine case, the key to which will not bediscovered for a long time, I hope."
"You hope, Monsieur?"
Monsieur de Marquet corrected himself.
"I do not hope so,--I think so."
"Could that window have been closed and refastened after the flight ofthe assassin?" asked Rouletabille.
"That is what occurred to me for a moment; but it would imply anaccomplice or accomplices,--and I don't see--"
After a short silence he added:
"Ah--if Mademoiselle Stangerson were only well enough to-day to bequestioned!"
Rouletabille following up his thought, asked:
"And the attic?--There must be some opening to that?"
"Yes; there is a window, or rather skylight, in it, which, as it looksout towards the country, Monsieur Stangerson has had barred, like therest of the windows. These bars, as in the other windows, have remainedintact, and the blinds, which naturally open inwards, have not beenunfastened. For the rest, we have not discovered anything to lead us tosuspect that the murderer had passed through the attic."
"It seems clear to you, then, Monsieur, that the murdererescaped--nobody knows how--by the window in the vestibule?"
"Everything goes to prove it."
"I think so, too," confessed Rouletabille gravely.
After a brief silence, he continued:
"If you have not found any traces of the murderer in the attic, such asthe dirty footmarks similar to those on the floor of The Yellow Room,you must come to the conclusion that it was not he who stole DaddyJacques's revolver."
"There are no footmarks in the attic other than those of Daddy Jacqueshimself," said the magistrate with a significant turn of his head. Then,after an apparent decision, he added: "Daddy Jacques was with MonsieurStangerson in the laboratory--and it was lucky for him he was."
"Then what part did his revolver play in the tragedy?--It seems veryclear that this weapon did less harm to Mademoiselle Stangerson than itdid to the murderer."
The magistrate made no reply to this question, which doubtlessembarrassed him. "Monsieur Stangerson," he said, "tells us that the twobullets have been found in The Yellow Room, one embedded in the wallstained with the impression of a red hand--a man's large hand--and theother in the ceiling."
"Oh! oh! in the ceiling!" muttered Rouletabille. "In the ceiling! That'svery curious!--In the ceiling!"
He puffed awhile in silence at his pipe, enveloping himself in thesmoke. When we reached Savigny-sur-Orge, I had to tap him on theshoulder to arouse him from his dream and come out on to the platform ofthe station.
There, the magistrate and his Registrar bowed to us, and by rapidlygetting into a cab that was awaiting them, made us understand that theyhad seen enough of us.
"How long will it take to walk to the Chateau du Glandier?" Rouletabilleasked one of the railway porters.
"An hour and a half or an hour and three quarters--easy walking," theman replied.
Rouletabille looked up at the sky and, no doubt, finding its appearancesatisfactory, took my arm and said:
"Come on!--I need a walk."
"Are things getting less entangled?" I asked.
"Not a bit of it!" he said, "more entangled than ever! It's true, I havean idea--"
"What's that?" I asked.
"I can't tell you what it is just at present--it's an idea involving thelife or death of two persons at least."
"Do you think there were accomplices?"
"I don't think it--"
We fell into silence. Presently he went on:
"It was a bit of luck, our falling in with that examining magistrate andhis Registrar, eh? What did I tell you about that revolver?" His headwas bent down, he had his hands in his pockets, and he was whistling.After a while I heard him murmur:
/> "Poor woman!"
"Is it Mademoiselle Stangerson you are pitying?"
"Yes; she's a noble woman and worthy of being pitied!--a woman of agreat, a very great character--I imagine--I imagine."
"You know her then?"
"Not at all. I have never seen her."
"Why, then, do you say that she is a woman of great character?"
"Because she bravely faced the murderer; because she courageouslydefended herself--and, above all, because of the bullet in the ceiling."
I looked at Rouletabille and inwardly wondered whether he was notmocking me, or whether he had not suddenly gone out of his senses. But Isaw that he had never been less inclined to laugh, and the brightness ofhis keenly intelligent eyes assured me that he retained all his reason.Then, too, I was used to his broken way of talking, which only left mepuzzled as to his meaning, till, with a very few clear, rapidly utteredwords, he would make the drift of his ideas clear to me, and I sawthat what he had previously said, and which had appeared to me void ofmeaning, was so thoroughly logical that I could not understand how itwas I had not understood him sooner.