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CHAPTER I
In Which We Begin Not to Understand
It is not without a certain emotion that I begin to recount here
the extraordinary adventures of Joseph Rouletabille. Down to the
present time he had so firmly opposed my doing it that I had come
to despair of ever publishing the most curious of police stories of
the past fifteen years. I had even imagined that the public would
never know the whole truth of the prodigious case known as that of
The Yellow Room, out of which grew so many mysterious, cruel, and
sensational dramas, with which my friend was so closely mixed up,
if, propos of a recent nomination of the illustrious Stangerson to
the grade of grandcross of the Legion of Honour, an evening
journalâin an article, miserable for its ignorance, or audacious
for its perfidyâhad not resuscitated a terrible adventure of which
Joseph Rouletabille had told me he wished to be for ever
forgotten.
The Yellow Room! Who now remembers this affair which caused so
much ink to flow fifteen years ago? Events are so quickly forgotten
in Paris. Has not the very name of the Nayves trial and the tragic
history of the death of little Menaldo passed out of mind? And yet
the public attention was so deeply interested in the details of the
trial that the occurrence of a ministerial crisis was completely
unnoticed at the time. Now The Yellow Room trial, which, preceded
that of the Nayves by some years, made far more noise. The entire
world hung for months over this obscure problemâthe most obscure,
it seems to me, that has ever challenged the perspicacity of our
police or taxed the conscience of our judges. The solution of the
problem baffled everybody who tried to find it. It was like a
dramatic rebus with which old Europe and new America alike became
fascinated. That is, in truthâI am permitted to say, because there
cannot be any authorâs vanity in all this, since I do nothing more
than transcribe facts on which an exceptional documentation enables
me to throw a new lightâthat is because, in truth, I do not know
that, in the domain of reality or imagination, one can discover or
recall to mind anything comparable, in its mystery, with the
natural mystery of The Yellow Room.
That which nobody could find out, Joseph Rouletabille, aged
eighteen, then a reporter engaged on a leading journal, succeeded
in discovering. But when, at the Assize Court, he brought in the
key to the whole case, he did not tell the whole truth. He only
allowed so much of it to appear as sufficed to ensure the acquittal
of an innocent man. The reasons which he had for his reticence no
longer exist. Better still, the time has come for my friend to
speak out fully. You are going to know all; and, without further
preamble, I am going to place before your eyes the problem of The
Yellow Room as it was placed before the eyes of the entire world on
the day following the enactment of the drama at the Chateau du
Glandier.
On the 25th of October, 1892, the following note appeared in the
latest edition of the "Temps":
"A frightful crime has been committed at the Glandier, on the
border of the forest of SainteâGenevieve, above EpinayâsurâOrge, at
the house of Professor Stangerson. On that night, while the master
was working in his laboratory, an attempt was made to assassinate
Mademoiselle Stangerson, who was sleeping in a chamber adjoining
this laboratory. The doctors do not answer for the life of Mdlle.
Stangerson."
The impression made on Paris by this news may be easily
imagined. Already, at that time, the learned world was deeply
interested in the labours of Professor Stangerson and his daughter.
These laboursâthe first that were attempted in radiographyâserved
to open the way for Monsieur and Madame Curie to the discovery of
radium. It was expected the Professor would shortly read to the
Academy of Sciences a sensational paper on his new theory,âthe
Dissociation of Matter,âa theory destined to overthrow from its
base the whole of official science, which based itself on the
principle of the Conservation of Energy. On the following day, the
newspapers were full of the tragedy. The "Matin," among others,
published the following article, entitled: "A Supernatural
Crime":
"These are the only details," wrote the anonymous writer in the
"Matin"â"we have been able to obtain concerning the crime of the
Chateau du Glandier. The state of despair in which Professor
Stangerson is plunged, and the impossibility of getting any
information from the lips of the victim, have rendered our
investigations and those of justice so difficult that, at present,
we cannot form the least idea of what has passed in The Yellow Room
in which Mdlle. Stangerson, in her nightâdress, was found lying on
the floor in the agonies of death. We have, at least, been able to
interview Daddy Jacquesâas he is called in the countryâa old
servant in the Stangerson family. Daddy Jacques entered The Room at
the same time as the Professor. This chamber adjoins the
laboratory. Laboratory and Yellow Room are in a pavilion at the end
of the park, about three hundred metres (a thousand feet) from the
chateau."
"'It was halfâpast twelve at night,' this honest old man told
us, 'and I was in the laboratory, where Monsieur Stangerson was
still working, when the thing happened. I had been cleaning and
putting instruments in order all the evening and was waiting for
Monsieur Stangerson to go to bed. Mademoiselle Stangerson had
worked with her father up to midnight; when the twelve strokes of
midnight had sounded by the cuckooâclock in the laboratory, she
rose, kissed Monsieur Stangerson and bade him goodânight. To me she
said "bon soir, Daddy Jacques" as she passed into The Yellow Room.
We heard her lock the door and shoot the bolt, so that I could not
help laughing, and said to Monsieur: "Thereâs Mademoiselle
doubleâlocking herself in,âshe must be afraid of the 'Bete du bon
Dieu!'" Monsieur did not even hear me, he was so deeply absorbed in
what he was doing. Just then we heard the distant miawing of a cat.
"Is that going to keep us awake all night?" I said to myself; for I
must tell you, Monsieur, that, to the end of October, I live in an
attic of the pavilion over The Yellow Room, so that Mademoiselle
should not be left alone through the night in the lonely park. It
was the fancy of Mademoiselle to spend the fine weather in the
pavilion; no doubt, she found it more cheerful than the chateau
and, for the four years it had been built, she had never failed to
take up her lodging there in the spring. With the return of winter,
Mademoiselle returns to the chateau, for there is no fireplace in
The Yellow Room."
"'We were staying in the pavilion, thenâMonsieur Stangerson and
me. We made no noise. He was seated at his desk. As for me, I was
sitting on a chair, having finished my work and, looking at him, I
said to myself: "What a man!âwhat intelligence!âwhat knowledge!" I
attach importance to the fact that we made no noise; for, because
of that, the assassin certainly thought that we had left the place.
And, suddenly, while the cuckoo was sounding the half after
midnight, a desperate clamour broke out in The Yellow Room. It was
the voice of Mademoiselle, crying "Murder!âmurder!âhelp!"
Immediately afterwards revolver shots rang out and there was a
great noise of tables and furniture being thrown to the ground, as
if in the course of a struggle, and again the voice of Mademoiselle
calling, "Murder!âhelp!âPapa!âPapa!â""
"'You may be sure that we quickly sprang up and that Monsieur
Stangerson and I threw ourselves upon the door. But alas! it was
locked, fast locked, on the inside, by the care of Mademoiselle, as
I have told you, with key and bolt. We tried to force it open, but
it remained firm. Monsieur Stangerson was like a madman, and truly,
it was enough to make him one, for we heard Mademoiselle still
calling "Help!âhelp!" Monsieur Stangerson showered terrible blows
on the door, and wept with rage and sobbed with despair and
helplessness."
"'It was then that I had an inspiration. "The assassin must have
entered by the window!" I cried;â"I will go to the window!" and I
rushed from the pavilion and ran like one out of his mind."
"'The inspiration was that the window of The Yellow Room looks
out in such a way that the park wall, which abuts on the pavilion,
prevented my at once reaching the window. To get up to it one has
first to go out of the park. I ran towards the gate and, on my way,
met Bernier and his wife, the gateâkeepers, who had been attracted
by the pistol reports and by our cries. In a few words I told them
what had happened, and directed the concierge to join Monsieur
Stangerson with all speed, while his wife came with me to open the
park gate. Five minutes later she and I were before the window of
The Yellow Room."
"'The moon was shining brightly and I saw clearly that no one
had touched the window. Not only were the bars that protect it
intact, but the blinds inside of them were drawn, as I had myself
drawn them early in the evening, as I did every day, though
Mademoiselle, knowing that I was tired from the heavy work I had
been doing, had begged me not to trouble myself, but leave her to
do it; and they were just as I had left them, fastened with an iron
catch on the inside. The assassin, therefore, could not have passed
either in or out that way; but neither could I get in."
"'It was unfortunate,âenough to turn oneâs brain! The door of
the room locked on the inside and the blinds on the only window
also fastened on the inside; and Mademoiselle still calling for
help!âNo! she had ceased to call. She was dead, perhaps. But I
still heard her father, in the pavilion, trying to break down the
door."
"'With the concierge I hurried back to the pavilion. The door,
in spite of the furious attempts of Monsieur Stangerson and Bernier
to burst it open, was still holding firm; but at length, it gave
way before our united efforts,âand then what a sight met our eyes!
I should tell you that, behind us, the concierge held the
laboratory lampâa powerful lamp, that lit the whole chamber."
"'I must also tell you, monsieur, that The Yellow Room is a very
small room. Mademoiselle had furnished it with a fairly large iron
bedstead, a small table, a nightâcommode; a dressingâtable, and two
chairs. By the light of the big lamp we saw all at a glance.
Mademoiselle, in her nightâdress, was lying on the floor in the
midst of the greatest disorder. Tables and chairs had been
overthrown, showing that there had been a violent struggle.
Mademoiselle had certainly been dragged from her bed. She was
covered with blood and had terrible marks of fingerânails on her
throat,âthe flesh of her neck having been almost torn by the nails.
From a wound on the right temple a stream of blood had run down and
made a little pool on the floor. When Monsieur Stangerson saw his
daughter in that state, he threw himself on his knees beside her,
uttering a cry of despair. He ascertained that she still breathed.
As to us, we searched for the wretch who had tried to kill our
mistress, and I swear to you, monsieur, that, if we had found him,
it would have gone hard with him!"
"'But how to explain that he was not there, that he had already
escaped? It passes all imagination!âNobody under the bed, nobody
behind the furniture!âAll that we discovered were traces,
bloodâstained marks of a manâs large hand on the walls and on the
door; a big handkerchief red with blood, without any initials, an
old cap, and many fresh footmarks of a man on the floor,âfootmarks
of a man with large feet whose bootâsoles had left a sort of sooty
impression. How had this man got away? How had he vanished? Donât
forget, monsieur, that there is no chimney in The Yellow Room. He
could not have escaped by the door, which is narrow, and on the
threshold of which the concierge stood with the lamp, while her
husband and I searched for him in every corner of the little room,
where it is impossible for anyone to hide himself. The door, which
had been forced open against the wall, could not conceal anything
behind it, as we assured ourselves. By the window, still in every
way secured, no flight had been possible. What then?âI began to
believe in the Devil."
"'But we discovered my revolver on the floor!âYes, my revolver!
Oh! that brought me back to the reality! The Devil would not have
needed to steal my revolver to kill Mademoiselle. The man who had
been there had first gone up to my attic and taken my revolver from
the drawer where I kept it. We then ascertained, by counting the
cartridges, that the assassin had fired two shots. Ah! it was
fortunate for me that Monsieur Stangerson was in the laboratory
when the affair took place and had seen with his own eyes that I
was there with him; for otherwise, with this business of my
revolver, I donât know where we should have been,âI should now be
under lock and bar. Justice wants no more to send a man to the
scaffold!'"
The editor of the "Matin" added to this interview the following
lines:
"We have, without interrupting him, allowed Daddy Jacques to
recount to us roughly all he knows about the crime of The Yellow
Room. We have reproduced it in his own words, only sparing the
reader the continual lamentations with which he garnished his
narrative. It is quite understood, Daddy Jacques, quite understood,
that you are very fond of your masters; and you want them to know
it, and never cease repeating itâespecially since the discovery of
your revolver. It is your right, and we see no harm in it. We
should have liked to put some further questions to Daddy
JacquesâJacquesâLouis Moustierâbut the inquiry of the examining
magistrate, which is being carried on at the chateau, makes it
impossible for us to gain admission at the Glandier; and, as to the
oak wood, it is guarded by a wide circle of policemen, who are
jealously watching all traces that can lead to the pavilion, and
that may perhaps lead to the discovery of the assassin. "We have
also wished to question the concierges, but they are invisible.
Finally, we have waited in a roadside inn, not far from the gate of
the chateau, for the departure of Monsieur de Marquet, the
magistrate of Corbeil. At halfâpast five we saw him and his clerk
and, before he was able to enter his carriage, had an opportunity
to ask him the following question:""
"'Can you, Monsieur de Marquet, give us any information as to
this affair, without inconvenience to the course of your
inquiry?'"
"'It is impossible for us to do it,' replied Monsieur de
Marquet. 'I can only say that it is the strangest affair I have
ever known. The more we think we know something, the further we are
from knowing anything!'"
"We asked Monsieur de Marquet to be good enough to explain his
last words; and this is what he said,âthe importance of which no
one will fail to recognise:"
"'If nothing is added to the material facts so far established,
I fear that the mystery which surrounds the abominable crime of
which Mademoiselle Stangerson has been the victim will never be
brought to light; but it is to be hoped, for the sake of our human
reason, that the examination of the walls, and of the ceiling of
The Yellow Roomâan examination which I shall toâmorrow intrust to
the builder who constructed the pavilion four years agoâwill afford
us the proof that may not discourage us. For the problem is this:
we know by what way the assassin gained admission,âhe entered by
the door and hid himself under the bed, awaiting Mademoiselle
Stangerson. But how did he leave? How did he escape? If no trap, no
secret door, no hiding place, no opening of any sort is found; if
the examination of the wallsâeven to the demolition of the
pavilionâdoes not reveal any passage practicableânot only for a
human being, but for any being whatsoeverâif the ceiling shows no
crack, if the floor hides no underground passage, one must really
believe in the Devil, as Daddy Jacques says!'"
And the anonymous writer in the "Matin" added in this
articleâwhich I have selected as the most interesting of all those
that were published on the subject of this affairâthat the
examining magistrate appeared to place a peculiar significance to
the last sentence: "One must really believe in the Devil, as
Jacques says."
The article concluded with these lines: "We wanted to know what
Daddy Jacques meant by the cry of the Bete Du Bon Dieu." The
landlord of the Donjon Inn explained to us that it is the
particularly sinister cry which is uttered sometimes at night by
the cat of an old woman,âMother Angenoux, as she is called in the
country. Mother Angenoux is a sort of saint, who lives in a hut in
the heart of the forest, not far from the grotto of
SainteâGenevieve.
"The Yellow Room, the Bete Du Bon Dieu, Mother Angenoux, the
Devil, SainteâGenevieve, Daddy Jacques,âhere is a well entangled
crime which the stroke of a pickaxe in the wall may disentangle for
us toâmorrow. Let us at least hope that, for the sake of our human
reason, as the examining magistrate says. Meanwhile, it is expected
that Mademoiselle Stangersonâwho has not ceased to be delirious and
only pronounces one word distinctly, 'Murderer! Murderer!'âwill not
live through the night."
In conclusion, and at a late hour, the same journal announced
that the Chief of the Surete had telegraphed to the famous
detective, Frederic Larsan, who had been sent to London for an
affair of stolen securities, to return immediately to Paris.
CHAPTER II
In Which Joseph Roultabille Appears for the First Time
I remember as well as if it had occurred yesterday, the entry of young Rouletabille into my bedroom that morning. It was about eight oâclock and I was still in bed reading the article in the "Matin" relative to the Glandier crime.
But, before going further, it is time that I present my friend to the reader.
I first knew Joseph Rouletabille when he was a young reporter. At that time I was a beginner at the Bar and often met him in the corridors of examining magistrates, when I had gone to get a "permit to communicate" for the prison of Mazas, or for SaintâLazare. He had, as they say, "a good nut." He seemed to have taken his headâround as a bulletâout of a box of marbles, and it is from that, I think, that his comrades of the pressâall determined billiardâplayersâhad given him that nickname, which was to stick to him and be made illustrious by him. He was always as red as a tomato, now gay as a lark, now grave as a judge. How, while still so youngâhe was only sixteen and a half years old when I saw him for the first timeâhad he already won his way on the press? That was what everybody who came into contact with him might have asked, if they had not known his history. At the time of the affair of the woman cut in pieces in the Rue Oberskampfâanother forgotten storyâhe had taken to one of the editors of the "Epoque,"âa paper then rivalling the "Matin" for information,âthe left foot, which was missing from the basket in which the gruesome remains were discovered. For this left foot the police had been vainly searching for a week, and young Rouletabille had found it in a drain where nobody had thought of looking for it. To do that he had dressed himself as an extra sewerâman, one of a number engaged by the administration of the city of Paris, owing to an overflow of the Seine.
When the editorâinâchief was in possession of the precious foot and informed as to the train of intelligent deductions the boy had been led to make, he was divided between the admiration he felt for such detective cunning in a brain of a lad of sixteen years, and delight at being able to exhibit, in the "morgue window" of his paper, the left foot of the Rue Oberskampf.
"This foot," he cried, "will make a great headline."
Then, when he had confided the gruesome packet to the medical lawyer attached to the journal, he asked the lad, who was shortly to become famous as Rouletabille, what he would expect to earn as a general reporter on the "Epoque"?
"Two hundred francs a month," the youngster replied modestly, hardly able to breathe from surprise at the proposal.
"You shall have two hundred and fifty," said the editorâinâchief; "only you must tell everybody that you have been engaged on the paper for a month. Let it be quite understood that it was not you but the 'Epoque' that discovered the left foot of the Rue Oberskampf. Here, my young friend, the man is nothing, the paper everything."
Having said this, he begged the new reporter to retire, but before the youth had reached the door he called him back to...