The Mystery of the Yellow Room Read online

daughter did lose the key, and that she did not tell me of it,

  wishing to spare any anxiety, and that she begged whoever had found

  it to write to the poste restante. She evidently feared that, by

  giving our address, inquiries would have resulted that would have

  apprised me of the loss of the key. It was quite logical, quite

  natural for her to have taken that course--for I have been robbed

  once before."

  "Where was that, and when?" asked the Chief of the Surete.

  "Oh! many years ago, in America, in Philadelphia. There were

  stolen from my laboratory the drawings of two inventions that might

  have made the fortune of a man. Not only have I never learnt who

  the thief was, but I have never heard even a word of the object of

  the robbery, doubtless because, in order to defeat the plans of the

  person who had robbed me, I myself brought these two inventions

  before the public, and so rendered the robbery of no avail. From

  that time on I have been very careful to shut myself in when I am

  at work. The bars to these windows, the lonely situation of this

  pavilion, this cabinet, which I had specially constructed, this

  special lock, this unique key, all are precautions against fears

  inspired by a sad experience."

  "Most interesting!" remarked Monsieur Dax.

  Monsieur Rouletabille asked about the reticule. Neither Monsieur

  Stangerson nor Daddy Jacques had seen it for several days, but a few

  hours later we learned from Mademoiselle Stangerson herself that the

  reticule had either been stolen from her, or she had lost it. She

  further corroborated all that had passed just as her father had

  stated. She had gone to the poste restante and, on the 23rd of

  October, had received a letter which, she affirmed, contained nothing

  but a vulgar pleasantry, which she had immediately burned.

  To return to our examination, or rather to our conversation. I must

  state that the Chief of the Surete having inquired of Monsieur

  Stangerson under what conditions his daughter had gone to Paris on

  the 20th of October, we learned that Monsieur Robert Darzac had

  accompanied her, and Darzac had not been again seen at the chateau

  from that time to the day after the crime had been committed. The

  fact that Monsieur Darzac was with her in the Grands Magasins de la

  Louvre when the reticule disappeared could not pass unnoticed, and,

  it must be said, strongly awakened our interest.

  This conversation between magistrates, accused, victim, witnesses

  and journalist, was coming to a close when quite a theatrical

  sensation--an incident of a kind displeasing to Monsieur de

  Marquet--was produced. The officer of the gendarmes came to

  announce that Frederic Larsan requested to be admitted,--a request

  that was at once complied with. He held in his hand a heavy pair

  of muddy boots, which he threw on the pavement of the laboratory.

  "Here," he said, "are the boots worn by the murderer. Do you

  recognise them, Daddy Jacques?"

  Daddy Jacques bent over them and, stupefied, recognised a pair of

  old boots which he had, some time back, thrown into a corner of his

  attic. He was so taken aback that he could not hide his agitation.

  Then pointing to the handkerchief in the old man's hand, Frederic

  Larsan said:

  "That's a handkerchief astonishingly like the one found in The

  Yellow Room."

  "I know," said Daddy Jacques, trembling, "they are almost alike."

  "And then," continued Frederic Larsan, "the old Basque cap also

  found in The Yellow Room might at one time have been worn by Daddy

  Jacques himself. All this, gentlemen, proves, I think, that the

  murderer wished to disguise his real personality. He did it in a

  very clumsy way--or, at least, so it appears to us. Don't be

  alarmed, Daddy Jacques; we are quite sure that you were not the

  murderer; you never left the side of Monsieur Stangerson. But if

  Monsieur Stangerson had not been working that night and had gone

  back to the chateau after parting with his daughter, and Daddy

  Jacques had gone to sleep in his attic, no one would have doubted

  that he was the murderer. He owes his safety, therefore, to the

  tragedy having been enacted too soon,--the murderer, no doubt,

  from the silence in the laboratory, imagined that it was empty, and

  that the moment for action had come. The man who had been able to

  introduce himself here so mysteriously and to leave so many evidences

  against Daddy Jacques, was, there can be no doubt, familiar with the

  house. At what hour exactly he entered, whether in the afternoon or

  in the evening, I cannot say. One familiar with the proceedings and

  persons of this pavilion could choose his own time for entering The

  Yellow Room."

  "He could not have entered it if anybody had been in the laboratory,"

  said Monsieur de Marquet.

  "How do we know that?" replied Larsan. "There was the dinner in

  the laboratory, the coming and going of the servants in attendance.

  There was a chemical experiment being carried on between ten and

  eleven o'clock, with Monsieur Stangerson, his daughter, and Daddy

  Jacques engaged at the furnace in a corner of the high chimney.

  Who can say that the murderer--an intimate!--a friend!--did

  not take advantage of that moment to slip into The Yellow Room,

  after having taken off his boots in the lavatory?"

  "It is very improbable," said Monsieur Stangerson.

  "Doubtless--but it is not impossible. I assert nothing. As to

  the escape from the pavilion--that's another thing, the most

  natural thing in the world."

  For a moment Frederic Larsan paused,--a moment that appeared to

  us a very long time. The eagerness with which we awaited what he

  was going to tell us may be imagined.

  "I have not been in The Yellow Room," he continued, "but I take it

  for granted that you have satisfied yourselves that he could have

  left the room only by way of the door; it is by the door, then, that

  the murderer made his way out. At what time? At the moment when it

  was most easy for him to do so; at the moment when it became most

  explainable--so completely explainable that there can be no other

  explanation. Let us go over the moments which followed after the

  crime had been committed. There was the first moment, when Monsieur

  Stangerson and Daddy Jacques were close to the door, ready to bar

  the way. There was the second moment, during which Daddy Jacques

  was absent and Monsieur Stangerson was left alone before the door.

  There was a third moment, when Monsieur Stangerson was joined by

  the concierge. There was a fourth moment, during which Monsieur

  Stangerson, the concierge and his wife and Daddy Jacques were before

  the door. There was a fifth moment, during which the door was burst

  open and The Yellow Room entered. The moment at which the flight is

  explainable is the very moment when there was the least number of

  persons before the door. There was one moment when there was but

  one person,--Monsieur Stangerson. Unless a complicity of silence

  on the part of Daddy Jacques is admit
ted--in which I do not believe

  --the door was opened in the presence of Monsieur Stangerson alone

  and the man escaped.

  "Here we must admit that Monsieur Stangerson had powerful reasons

  for not arresting, or not causing the arrest of the murderer, since

  he allowed him to reach the window in the vestibule and closed it

  after him!--That done, Mademoiselle Stangerson, though horribly

  wounded, had still strength enough, and no doubt in obedience to the

  entreaties of her father, to refasten the door of her chamber, with

  both the bolt and the lock, before sinking on the floor. We do not

  know who committed the crime; we do not know of what wretch Monsieur

  and Mademoiselle Stangerson are the victims, but there is no doubt

  that they both know! The secret must be a terrible one, for the

  father had not hesitated to leave his daughter to die behind a door

  which she had shut upon herself,--terrible for him to have allowed

  the assassin to escape. For there is no other way in the world to

  explain the murderer's flight from The Yellow Room!"

  The silence which followed this dramatic and lucid explanation was

  appalling. We all of us felt grieved for the illustrious professor,

  driven into a corner by the pitiless logic of Frederic Larsan, forced

  to confess the whole truth of his martyrdom or to keep silent, and

  thus make a yet more terrible admission. The man himself, a

  veritable statue of sorrow, raised his hand with a gesture so solemn

  that we bowed our heads to it as before something sacred. He then

  pronounced these words, in a voice so loud that it seemed to exhaust

  him:

  "I swear by the head of my suffering child that I never for an

  instant left the door of her chamber after hearing her cries for

  help; that that door was not opened while I was alone in the

  laboratory; and that, finally, when we entered The Yellow Room, my

  three domestics and I, the murderer was no longer there! I swear

  I do not know the murderer!"

  Must I say it,--in spite of the solemnity of Monsieur Stangerson's

  words, we did not believe in his denial. Frederic Larsan had shown

  us the truth and it was not so easily given up.

  Monsieur de Marquet announced that the conversation was at an end,

  and as we were about to leave the laboratory, Joseph Rouletabille

  approached Monsieur Stangerson, took him by the hand with the

  greatest respect, and I heard him say:

  "I believe you, Monsieur."

  I here close the citation which I have thought it my duty to make

  from Monsieur Maleine's narrative. I need not tell the reader that

  all that passed in the laboratory was immediately and faithfully

  reported to me by Rouletabille.

  CHAPTER XII

  Frederic Larsan's Cane

  It was not till six o'clock that I left the chateau, taking with me

  the article hastily written by my friend in the little sitting-room

  which Monsieur Robert Darzac had placed at our disposal. The

  reporter was to sleep at the chateau, taking advantage of the to me

  inexplicable hospitality offered him by Monsieur Robert Darzac, to

  whom Monsieur Stangerson, in that sad time, left the care of all his

  domestic affairs. Nevertheless he insisted on accompanying me to

  the station at Epinay. In crossing the park, he said to me:

  "Frederic is really very clever and has not belied his reputation.

  Do you know how he came to find Daddy Jacques's boots?--Near the

  spot where we noticed the traces of the neat boots and the

  disappearance of the rough ones, there was a square hole, freshly

  made in the moist ground, where a stone had evidently been removed.

  Larsan searched for that stone without finding it, and at once

  imagined that it had been used by the murderer with which to sink

  the boots in the lake. Fred's calculation was an excellent one,

  as the success of his search proves. That escaped me; but my mind

  was turned in another direction by the large number of false

  indications of his track which the murderer left, and by the measure

  of the black foot-marks corresponding with that of Daddy Jacques's

  boots, which I had established without his suspecting it, on the

  floor of The Yellow Room. All which was a proof, in my eyes, that

  the murderer had sought to turn suspicion on to the old servant. Up

  to that point, Larsan and I are in accord; but no further. It is

  going to be a terrible matter; for I tell you he is working on wrong

  lines, and I--I, must fight him with nothing!"

  I was surprised at the profoundly grave accent with which my young

  friend pronounced the last words.

  He repeated:

  "Yes terrible!--terrible! For it is fighting with nothing, when

  you have only an idea to fight with."

  At that moment we passed by the back of the chateau. Night had come.

  A window on the first floor was partly open. A feeble light came

  from it as well as some sounds which drew our attention. We

  approached until we had reached the side of a door that was situated

  just under the window. Rouletabille, in a low tone, made me

  understand, that this was the window of Mademoiselle Stangerson's

  chamber. The sounds which had attracted our attention ceased, then

  were renewed for a moment, and then we heard stifled sobs. We were

  only able to catch these words, which reached us distinctly: "My

  poor Robert!"--Rouletabille whispered in my ear:

  "If we only knew what was being said in that chamber, my inquiry

  would soon be finished."

  He looked about him. The darkness of the evening enveloped us; we

  could not see much beyond the narrow path bordered by trees, which

  ran behind the chateau. The sobs had ceased.

  "If we can't hear we may at least try to see," said Rouletabille.

  And, making a sign to me to deaden the sound of my steps, he led

  me across the path to the trunk of a tall beech tree, the white

  bole of which was visible in the darkness. This tree grew exactly

  in front of the window in which we were so much interested, its

  lower branches being on a level with the first floor of the chateau.

  From the height of those branches one might certainly see what was

  passing in Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber. Evidently that was

  what Rouletabille thought, for, enjoining me to remain hidden, he

  clasped the trunk with his vigorous arms and climbed up. I soon

  lost sight of him amid the branches, and then followed a deep

  silence. In front of me, the open window remained lighted, and I

  saw no shadow move across it. I listened, and presently from above

  me these words reached my ears:

  "After you!"

  "After you, pray!"

  Somebody was overhead, speaking,--exchanging courtesies. What was

  my astonishment to see on the slippery column of the tree two human

  forms appear and quietly slip down to the ground. Rouletabille had

  mounted alone, and had returned with another.

  "Good evening, Monsieur Sainclair!"

  It was Frederic Larsan. The detective had already occupied the post

  of observation when my young friend had thought to reach it alone.

  N
either noticed my astonishment. I explained that to myself by the

  fact that they must have been witnesses of some tender and despairing

  scene between Mademoiselle Stangerson, lying in her bed, and Monsieur

  Darzac on his knees by her pillow. I guessed that each had drawn

  different conclusions from what they had seen. It was easy to see

  that the scene had strongly impressed Rouletabille in favour of

  Monsieur Robert Darzac; while, to Larsan, it showed nothing but

  consummate hypocrisy, acted with finished art by Mademoiselle

  Stangerson's fiance.

  As we reached the park gate, Larsan stopped us.

  "My cane!" he cried. "I left it near the tree."

  He left us, saying he would rejoin us presently.

  "Have you noticed Frederic Larsan's cane?" asked the young reporter,

  as soon as we were alone. "It is quite a new one, which I have

  never seen him use before. He seems to take great care of it--it

  never leaves him. One would think he was afraid it might fall into

  the hands of strangers. I never saw it before to-day. Where did he

  find it? It isn't natural that a man who had never before used a

  walking-stick should, the day after the Glandier crime, never move

  a step without one. On the day of our arrival at the chateau, as

  soon as he saw us, he put his watch in his pocket and picked up his

  cane from the ground--a proceeding to which I was perhaps wrong not

  to attach some importance."

  We were now out of the park. Rouletabille had dropped into silence.

  His thoughts were certainly still occupied with Frederic Larsan's

  new cane. I had proof of that when, as we came near to Epinay, he

  said:

  "Frederic Larsan arrived at the Glandier before me; he began his

  inquiry before me; he has had time to find out things about which

  I know nothing. Where did he find that cane?" Then he added: "It

  is probable that his suspicion--more than that, his reasoning

  --has led him to lay his hand on something tangible. Has this cane

  anything to do with it? Where the deuce could he have found it?"

  As I had to wait twenty minutes for the train at Epinay, we entered

  a wine shop. Almost immediately the door opened and Frederic Larsan

  made his appearance, brandishing his famous cane.

  "I found it!" he said laughingly.

  The three of us seated ourselves at a table. Rouletabille never took

  his eyes off the cane; he was so absorbed that he did not notice a

  sign Larsan made to a railway employe, a young man with a chin

  decorated by a tiny blond and ill-kept beard. On the sign he rose,

  paid for his drink, bowed, and went out. I should not myself have

  attached any importance to the circumstance, if it had not been

  recalled to my mind, some months later, by the reappearance of the

  man with the beard at one of the most tragic moments of this case.

  I then learned that the youth was one of Larsan's assistants and had

  been charged by him to watch the going and coming of travellers at

  the station of Epinay-sur-Orge. Larsan neglected nothing in any

  case on which he was engaged.

  I turned my eyes again on Rouletabille.

  "Ah,--Monsieur Fred!" he said, "when did you begin to use a

  walking-stick? I have always seen you walking with your hands in

  your pockets!"

  "It is a present," replied the detective.

  "Recent?" insisted Rouletabille.

  "No, it was given to me in London."

  "Ah, yes, I remember--you have just come from London. May I look

  at it?"

  "Oh!--certainly!"

  Fred passed the cane to Rouletabille. It was a large yellow bamboo

  with a crutch handle and ornamented with a gold ring. Rouletabille,

  after examining it minutely, returned it to Larsan, with a bantering

  expression on his face, saying:

  "You were given a French cane in London!"

  "Possibly," said Fred, imperturbably.