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The Mystery of the Yellow Room

G >> Gaston Leroux >> The Mystery of the Yellow Room




"When we were alone together, I told him how I had chanced to
overhear a part of his conversation with Mademoiselle Stangerson in
the garden of the Elysee; and when I repeated to him the words,
'Must I commit a crime, then, to win you?' he was greatly troubled,
though much less so than he had been by hearing me repeat the phrase
about the presbytery. What threw him into a state of real
consternation was to learn from me that the day on which he had
gone to meet Mademoiselle Stangerson at the Elysee, was the very
day on which she had gone to the Post Office for the letter. It
was that letter, perhaps, which ended with the words: 'The presbytery
has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its brightness.' My
surmise was confirmed by my finding, if you remember, in the ashes
of the laboratory, the fragment of paper dated October the 23rd.
The letter had been written and withdrawn from the Post Office on
the same day.

"There can be no doubt that, on returning from the Elysee that night,
Mademoiselle Stangerson had tried to destroy that compromising paper.
It was in vain that Monsieur Darzac denied that that letter had
anything whatever to do with the crime. I told him that in an
affair so filled with mystery as this, he had no right to hide this
letter; that I was persuaded it was of considerable importance; that
the desperate tone in which Mademoiselle Stangerson had pronounced
the prophetic phrase,--that his own tears, and the threat of a
crime which he had professed after the letter was read--all these
facts tended to leave no room for me to doubt. Monsieur Darzac
became more and more agitated, and I determined to take advantage
of the effect I had produced on him. 'You were on the point of
being married, Monsieur,' I said negligently and without looking
at him, 'and suddenly your marriage becomes impossible because of
the writer of that letter; because as soon as his letter was read,
you spoke of the necessity for a crime to win Mademoiselle
Stangerson. Therefore there is someone between you and her someone
who has attempted to kill her, so that she should not be able to
marry!' And I concluded with these words: 'Now, monsieur, you have
only to tell me in confidence the name of the murderer!'--The words
I had uttered must have struck him ominously, for when I turned my
eyes on him, I saw that his face was haggard, the perspiration
standing on his forehead, and terror showing in his eyes.

"'Monsieur,' he said to me, 'I am going to ask of you something
which may appear insane, but in exchange for which I place my life
in your hands. You must not tell the magistrates of what you saw
and heard in the garden of the Elysee,--neither to them nor to
anybody. I swear to you, that I am innocent, and I know, I feel,
that you believe me; but I would rather be taken for the guilty man
than see justice go astray on that phrase, "The presbytery has lost
nothing of its charm, nor the garden its brightness." The judges
must know nothing about that phrase. All this matter is in your
hands. Monsieur, I leave it there; but forget the evening at the
Elysee. A hundred other roads are open to you in your search for
the criminal. I will open them for you myself. I will help you.
Will you take up your quarters here?--You may remain here to do
as you please.--Eat--sleep here--watch my actions--the actions
of all here. You shall be master of the Glandier, Monsieur; but
forget the evening at the Elysee.'"

Rouletabille here paused to take breath. I now understood what had
appeared so unexplainable in the demeanour of Monsieur Robert Darzac
towards my friend, and the facility with which the young reporter
had been able to install himself on the scene of the crime. My
curiosity could not fail to be excited by all I had heard. I asked
Rouletabille to satisfy it still further. What had happened at the
Glandier during the past week?--Had he not told me that there were
surface indications against Monsieur Darzac much more terrible than
that of the cane found by Larsan?

"Everything seems to be pointing against him," replied my friend,
"and the situation is becoming exceedingly grave. Monsieur Darzac
appears not to mind it much; but in that he is wrong. I was
interested only in the health of Mademoiselle Stangerson, which
was daily improving, when something occurred that is even more
mysterious than--than the mystery of The Yellow Room!"

"Impossible!" I cried, "What could be more mysterious than that?"

"Let us first go back to Monsieur Robert Darzac," said Rouletabille,
calming me. "I have said that everything seems to be pointing
against him. The marks of the neat boots found by Frederic Larsan
appear to be really the footprints of Mademoiselle Stangerson's
fiance. The marks made by the bicycle may have been made by his
bicycle. He had usually left it at the chateau; why did he take
it to Paris on that particular occasion? Was it because he was
not going to return again to the chateau? Was it because, owing
to the breaking off of his marriage, his relations with the
Stangersons were to cease? All who are interested in the matter
affirm that those relations were to continue unchanged.

"Frederic Larsan, however, believes that all relations were at an
end. From the day when Monsieur Darzac accompanied Mademoiselle
Stangerson to the Grands Magasins de la Louvre until the day after
the crime, he had not been at the Glandier. Remember that
Mademoiselle Stangerson lost her reticule containing the key with
the brass head while she was in his company. From that day to the
evening at the Elysee, the Sorbonne professor and Mademoiselle
Stangerson did not see one another; but they may have written to
each other. Mademoiselle Stangerson went to the Post Office to
get a letter, which Larsan says was written by Robert Darzac; for
knowing nothing of what had passed at the Elysee, Larsan believes
that it was Monsieur Darzac himself who stole the reticule with
the key, with the design of forcing her consent, by getting
possession of the precious papers of her father--papers which
he would have restored to him on condition that the marriage
engagement was to be fulfilled.

"All that would have been a very doubtful and almost absurd
hypothesis, as Larsan admitted to me, but for another and much
graver circumstance. In the first place here is something which I
have not been able to explain--Monsieur Darzac had himself, on the
24th, gone to the Post Office to ask for the letter which
Mademoiselle had called for and received on the previous evening.
The description of the man who made application tallies in every
respect with the appearance of Monsieur Darzac, who, in answer to
the questions put to him by the examining magistrate, denies that
he went to the Post Office. Now even admitting that the letter was
written by him--which I do not believe--he knew that Mademoiselle
Stangerson had received it, since he had seen it in her hands in
the garden at the Elysee. It could not have been he, then, who
had gone to the Post Office, the day after the 24th, to ask for a
letter which he knew was no longer there.

"To me it appears clear that somebody, strongly resembling him,
stole Mademoiselle Stangerson's reticule and in that letter, had
demanded of her something which she had not sent him. He must have
been surprised at the failure of his demand, hence his application
at the Post Office, to learn whether his letter had been delivered
to the person to whom it had been addressed. Finding that it had
been claimed, he had become furious. What had he demanded? Nobody
but Mademoiselle Stangerson knows. Then, on the day following, it
is reported that she had been attacked during the night, and, the
next day, I discovered that the Professor had, at the same time,
been robbed by means of the key referred to in the poste restante
letter. It would seem, then, that the man who went to the Post
Office to inquire for the letter must have been the murderer. All
these arguments Larsan applies as against Monsieur Darzac. You
may be sure that the examining magistrate, Larsan, and myself, have
done our best to get from the Post Office precise details relative
to the singular personage who applied there on the 24th of October.
But nothing has been learned. We don't know where he came from--or
where he went. Beyond the description which makes him resemble
Monsieur Darzac, we know nothing.

"I have announced in the leading journals that a handsome reward
will be given to a driver of any public conveyance who drove a fare
to No. 40, Post Office, about ten o'clock on the morning of the 24th
of October. Information to be addressed to 'M. R.,' at the office
of the 'Epoque'; but no answer has resulted. The man may have
walked; but, as he was most likely in a hurry, there was a chance
that he might have gone in a cab. Who, I keep asking myself night
and day, is the man who so strongly resembles Monsieur Robert Darzac,
and who is also known to have bought the cane which has fallen into
Larsan's hands?

"The most serious fact is that Monsieur Darzac was, at the very same
time that his double presented himself at the Post Office, scheduled
for a lecture at the Sorbonne. He had not delivered that lecture,
and one of his friends took his place. When I questioned him as to
how he had employed the time, he told me that he had gone for a
stroll in the Bois de Boulogne. What do you think of a professor
who, instead of giving his lecture, obtains a substitute to go for
a stroll in the Bois de Boulogne? When Frederic Larsan asked him
for information on this point, he quietly replied that it was no
business of his how he spent his time in Paris. On which Fred swore
aloud that he would find out, without anybody's help.

"All this seems to fit in with Fred's hypothesis, namely, that
Monsieur Stangerson allowed the murderer to escape in order to avoid
a scandal. The hypothesis is further substantiated by the fact that
Darzac was in The Yellow Room and was permitted to get away. That
hypothesis I believe to be a false one.--Larsan is being misled by
it, though that would not displease me, did it not affect an innocent
person. Now does that hypothesis really mislead Frederic Larsan?
That is the question--that is the question."

"Perhaps he is right," I cried, interrupting Rouletabille. "Are
you sure that Monsieur Darzac is innocent?--It seems to me that
these are extraordinary coincidences--"

"Coincidences," replied my friend, "are the worst enemies to truth."

"What does the examining magistrate think now of the matter?"

"Monsieur de Marquet hesitates to accuse Monsieur Darzac, in the
absence of absolute proofs. Not only would he have public opinion
wholly against him, to say nothing of the Sorbonne, but Monsieur
and Mademoiselle Stangerson. She adores Monsieur Robert Darzac.
Indistinctly as she saw the murderer, it would be hard to make the
public believe that she could not have recognised him, if Darzac
had been the criminal. No doubt The Yellow Room was very dimly
lit; but a night-light, however small, gives some light. Here, my
boy, is how things stood when, three days, or rather three nights
ago, an extraordinarily strange incident occurred."





CHAPTER XIV

"I Expect the Assassin This Evening"


"I must take you," said Rouletabille, "so as to enable you to
understand, to the various scenes. I myself believe that I have
discovered what everybody else is searching for, namely, how the
murderer escaped from The Yellow Room, without any accomplice, and
without Mademoiselle Stangerson having had anything to do with it.
But so long as I am not sure of the real murderer, I cannot state
the theory on which I am working. I can only say that I believe
it to be correct and, in any case, a quite natural and simple one.
As to what happened in this place three nights ago, I must say it
kept me wondering for a whole day and a night. It passes all belief.
The theory I have formed from the incident is so absurd that I would
rather matters remained as yet unexplained."

Saying which the young reporter invited me to go and make the tour
of the chateau with him. The only sound to be heard was the
crunching of the dead leaves beneath our feet. The silence was so
intense that one might have thought the chateau had been abandoned.
The old stones, the stagnant water of the ditch surrounding the
donjon, the bleak ground strewn with the dead leaves, the dark,
skeleton-like outlines of the trees, all contributed to give to the
desolate place, now filled with its awful mystery, a most funereal
aspect. As we passed round the donjon, we met the Green Man, the
forest-keeper, who did not greet us, but walked by as if we had not
existed. He was looking just as I had formerly seen him through
the window of the Donjon Inn. He had still his fowling-piece slung
at his back, his pipe was in his mouth, and his eye-glasses on his
nose.

"An odd kind of fish!" Rouletabille said to me, in a low tone.

"Have you spoken to him?" I asked.

"Yes, but I could get nothing out of him. His only answers are
grunts and shrugs of the shoulders. He generally lives on the
first floor of the donjon, a big room that once served for an
oratory. He lives like a bear, never goes out without his gun,
and is only pleasant with the girls. The women, for twelve miles
round, are all setting their caps for him. For the present, he is
paying attention to Madame Mathieu, whose husband is keeping a
lynx eye upon her in consequence."

After passing the donjon, which is situated at the extreme end of
the left wing, we went to the back of the chateau. Rouletabille,
pointing to a window which I recognised as the only one belonging
to Mademoiselle Stangerson's apartment, said to me:

"If you had been here, two nights ago, you would have seen your
humble servant at the top of a ladder, about to enter the chateau
by that window."

As I expressed some surprise at this piece of nocturnal gymnastics,
he begged me to notice carefully the exterior disposition of the
chateau. We then went back into the building.

"I must now show you the first floor of the chateau, where I am
living," said my friend.

To enable the reader the better to understand the disposition of
these parts of the dwelling, I annex a plan of the first floor of
the right wing, drawn by Rouletabille the day after the
extraordinary phenomenon occurred, the details of which I am about
to relate.

***

boudoir
___ ____ ___________ _______\___ ________4________ _______ _________ __
| | | | | |
| | Mlle. | | Mlle. |___ ___ ___| Mr.
Lumber |Sangerson's Sangerson's |___ ___ ___| Sangerson's
| Room | Sitting | | Bed Room |___ ___ ___| Room
| | Room | |__ __ _____|stair-case |
| | |bath|anteroom| |
|_____ ______|____ ______|___|____|___ ___| |______ _____
|
2 ------ Right Gallery Right Wing--------- 3 Right Gallery
Left Wing
|_________ _____ _________ ______ _______ __ __ __ _________ _____

|Roulet- | W G |
|tabille's | I A | Right Wing Left Wing
| Room N L of the
|_________ | D L | Chateau
Frederic | I E |
|Larsan's N R
| Room | G Y |
| |
|____ ____ | _1_ |
. 5 .
. 6 .
. .
. . .

***

Rouletabille motioned me to follow him up a magnificent flight of
stairs ending in a landing on the first floor. From this landing
one could pass to the right or left wing of the chateau by a gallery
opening from it. This gallery, high and wide, extended along the
whole length of the building and was lit from the front of the
chateau facing the north. The rooms, the windows of which looked
to the south, opened out of the gallery. Professor Stangerson
inhabited the left wing of the building. Mademoiselle Stangerson
had her apartment in the right wing.

We entered the gallery to the right. A narrow carpet, laid on the
waxed oaken floor, which shone like glass, deadened the sound of our
footsteps. Rouletabille asked me, in a low tone, to walk carefully,
as we were passing the door of Mademoiselle Stangerson's apartment.
This consisted of a bed-room, an ante-room, a small bath-room, a
boudoir, and a drawing-room. One could pass from one to another of
these rooms without having to go by way of the gallery. The gallery
continued straight to the western end of the building, where it was
lit by a high window (window 2 on the plan). At about two-thirds of
its length this gallery, at a right angle, joined another gallery
following the course of the right wing.

The better to follow this narrative, we shall call the gallery
leading from the stairs to the eastern window, the "right" gallery
and the gallery quitting it at a right angle, the "off-turning"
gallery (winding gallery in the plan). It was at the meeting point
of the two galleries that Rouletabille had his chamber, adjoining
that of Fnederic Larsan, the door of each opening on to the
"off-turning" gallery, while the doors of Mademoiselle Stangerson's
apartment opened into the "right" gallery. (See the plan.)

Rouletabille opened the door of his room and after we had passed
in, carefully drew the bolt. I had not had time to glance round
the place in which he had been installed, when he uttered a cry of
surprise and pointed to a pair of eye-glasses on a side-table.

"What are these doing here?" he asked.

I should have been puzzled to answer him.

"I wonder," he said, "I wonder if this is what I have been searching
for. I wonder if these are the eye-glasses from the presbytery!"

He seized them eagerly, his fingers caressing the glass. Then
looking at me, with an expression of terror on his face, he murmured,
"Oh!--Oh!"

He repeated the exclamation again and again, as if his thoughts had
suddenly turned his brain.

He rose and, putting his hand on my shoulder, laughed like one
demented as he said:

"Those glasses will drive me silly! Mathematically speaking the
thing is possible; but humanly speaking it is impossible--or
afterwards--or afterwards--"

Two light knocks struck the door. Rouletabille opened it. A figure
entered. I recognised the concierge, whom I had seen when she was
being taken to the pavilion for examination. I was surprised,
thinking she was still under lock and key. This woman said in a
very low tone:

"In the grove of the parquet."

Rouletabille replied: "Thanks."--The woman then left. He again
turned to me, his look haggard, after having carefully refastened
the door, muttering some incomprehensible phrases.

"If the thing is mathematically possible, why should it not be hu-
manly!--And if it is humanly possible, the matter is simply awful."
I interrupted him in his soliloquy:

"Have they set the concierges at liberty, then?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, "I had them liberated, I needed people I could
trust. The woman is thoroughly devoted to me, and her husband would
lay down his life for me."

"Oho!" I said, "when will he have occasion to do it?"

"This evening,--for this evening I expect the murderer."

"You expect the murderer this evening? Then you know him?"

"I shall know him; but I should be mad to affirm, categorically, at
this moment that I do know him. The mathematical idea I have of the
murderer gives results so frightful, so monstrous, that I hope it is
still possible that I am mistaken. I hope so, with all my heart!"

"Five minutes ago, you did not know the murderer; how can you say
that you expect him this evening?"

"Because I know that he must come."

Rouletabille very slowly filled his pipe and lit it. That meant an
interesting story. At that moment we heard some one walking in the
gallery and passing before our door. Rouletabille listened. The
sound of the footstep died away in the distance.

"Is Frederic Larsan in his room?" I asked, pointing to the partition.

"No," my friend answered. "He went to Paris this morning,--still
on the scent of Darzac, who also left for Paris. That matter will
turn out badly. I expect that Monsieur Darzac will be arrested in
the course of the next week. The worst of it is that everything
seems to be in league against him,--circumstances, things, people.
Not an hour passes without bringing some new evidence against him.
The examining magistrate is overwhelmed by it--and blind."

"Frederic Larsan, however, is not a novice," I said.

"I thought so," said Rouletabile, with a slightly contemptuous turn
of his lips, "I fancied he was a much abler man. I had, indeed, a
great admiration for him, before I got to know his method of working.
It's deplorable. He owes his reputation solely to his ability; but
he lacks reasoning power,--the mathematics of his ideas are very
poor."

I looked closely at Rouletabille and could not help smiling, on
hearing this boy of eighteen talking of a man who had proved to
the world that he was the finest police sleuth in Europe.

"You smile," he said? "you are wrong! I swear I will outwit him
--and in a striking way! But I must make haste about it, for he has
an enormous start on me--given him by Monsieur Robert Darzac, who
is this evening going to increase it still more. Think of it!
--every time the murderer comes to the chateau, Monsieur Darzac, by
a strange fatality, absents himself and refuses to give any account
of how he employs his time."

"Every time the assassin comes to the chateau!" I cried. "Has he
returned then--?"

"Yes, during that famous night when the strange phenomenon occurred."

I was now going to learn about the astonishing phenomenon to which
Rouletabille had made allusion half an hour earlier without giving
me any explanation of it. But I had learned never to press
Rouletabille in his narratives. He spoke when the fancy took him
and when he judged it to be right. He was less concerned about my
curiosity than he was for making a complete summing up for himself
of any important matter in which he was interested.

At last, in short rapid phrases, he acquainted me with things which
plunged me into a state bordering on complete bewilderment. Indeed,
the results of that still unknown science known as hypnotism, for
example, were not more inexplicable than the disappearance of the
"matter" of the murderer at the moment when four persons were within
touch of him. I speak of hypnotism as I would of electricity, for
of the nature of both we are ignorant and we know little of their
laws. I cite these examples because, at the time, the case appeared
to me to be only explicable by the inexplicable,--that is to say,
by an event outside of known natural laws. And yet, if I had had
Rouletabille's brain, I should, like him, have had a presentiment
of the natural explanation; for the most curious thing about all
the mysteries of the Glandier case was the natural manner in which
he explained them.

I have among the papers that were sent me by the young man, after
the affair was over, a note-book of his, in which a complete account
is given of the phenomenon of the disappearance of the "matter" of
the assassin, and the thoughts to which it gave rise in the mind of
my young friend. It is preferable, I think, to give the reader this
account, rather than continue to reproduce my conversation with
Rouletabille; for I should be afraid, in a history of this nature,
to add a word that was not in accordance with the strictest truth.





CHAPTER XV

The Trap


(EXTRACT FROM THE NOTE-BOOK OF JOSEPH ROULETABILLE)

"Last night--the night between the 29th and 30th of October--"wrote
Joseph Rouletabille, "I woke up towards one o'clock in the morning.
Was it sleeplessness, or noise without?--The cry of the Bete du
Bon Dieu rang out with sinister loudness from the end of the park.
I rose and opened the window. Cold wind and rain; opaque darkness;
silence. I reclosed my window. Again the sound of the cat's weird
cry in the distance. I partly dressed in haste. The weather was
too bad for even a cat to be turned out in it. What did it mean,
then--that imitating of the mewing of Mother Angenoux' cat so near
the chateau? I seized a good-sized stick, the only weapon I had,
and, without making any noise, opened the door.

"The gallery into which I went was well lit by a lamp with a
reflector. I felt a keen current of air and, on turning, found the
window open, at the extreme end of the gallery, which I call the
'off-turning' gallery, to distinguish it from the 'right' gallery,
on to which the apartment of Mademoiselle Stangerson opened. These
two galleries cross each other at right angles. Who had left that
window open? Or, who had come to open it? I went to the window and
leaned out. Five feet below me there was a sort of terrace over the
semi-circular projection of a room on the ground-floor. One could,
if one wanted, jump from the window on to the terrace, and allow
oneself to drop from it into the court of the chateau. Whoever had
entered by this road had, evidently, not had a key to the vestibule
door. But why should I be thinking of my previous night's attempt
with the ladder?--Because of the open window--left open, perhaps,
by the negligence of a servant? I reclosed it, smiling at the ease
with which I built a drama on the mere suggestion of an open window.

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