A mutton-bone in the hand of a skilled assassin is a frightful weapon, said Rouletabille, a more certain weapon than a heavy hammer.
The scoundrel has proved it to be so, said Monsieur Robert Darzac, sadly. The joint of the bone found exactly fits the wound inflicted.
My belief is that the wound would have been mortal, if the murderers blow had not been arrested in the act by Mademoiselle Stangersons revolver. Wounded in the hand, he dropped the mutton-bone and fled. Unfortunately, the blow had been already given, and Mademoiselle was stunned after having been nearly strangled. If she had succeeded in wounding the man with the first shot of the revolver, she would, doubtless, have escaped the blow with the bone. But she had certainly employeed her revolver too late; the first shot deviated and lodged in the ceiling; it was the second only that took effect.
Having said this, Monsieur Darzac knocked at the door of the pavilion. I must confess to feeling a strong impatience to reach the spot where the crime had been committed. It was some time before the door was opened by a man whom I at once recognised as Daddy Jacques.
He appeared to be well over sixty years of age. He had a long white beard and white hair, on which he wore a flat Basque cap. He was dressed in a complete suit of chestnut-coloured velveteen, worn at the sides; sabots were on his feet. He had rather a waspish-looking face, the expression of which lightened, however, as soon as he saw Monsieur Darzac.
Friends, said our guide. Nobody in the pavilion, Daddy Jacques?
I ought not to allow anybody to enter, Monsieur Robert, but of course the order does not apply to you. These gentlemen of justice have seen everything there is to be seen, and made enough drawings, and drawn up enough reports
Excuse me, Monsieur Jacques, one question before anything else, said Rouletabille.
What is it, young man? If I can answer it
Did your mistress wear her hair in bands, that evening? You know what I meanover her forehead?
No, young man. My mistress never wore her hair in the way you suggest, neither on that day nor on any other. She had her hair drawn up, as usual, so that her beautiful forehead could be seen, pure as that of an unborn child!
Rouletabille grunted and set to work examining the door, finding that it fastened itself automatically. He satisfied himself that it could never remain open and needed a key to open it. Then we entered the vestibule, a small, well-lit room paved with square red tiles.
Ah! This is the window by which the murderer escaped! said Rouletabille.
So they keep on saying, monsieur, so they keep on saying! But if he had gone off that way, we should have been sure to have seen him. We are not blind, neither Monsieur Stangerson nor me, nor the concierges who are in prison. Why have they not put me in prison, too, on account of my revolver?
Rouletabille had already opened the window and was examining the shutters.
Were these closed at the time of the crime?
And fastened with the iron catch inside, said Daddy Jacques, and I am quite sure that the murderer did not get out that way.
Are there any blood stains?
Yes, on the stones outside; but blood of what?
Ah! said Rouletabille, there are footmarks visible on the paththe ground was very moist. I will look into that presently.
Nonsense! interrupted Daddy Jacques; the murderer did not go that way.
Which way did he go, then?
How do I know?
Rouletabille looked at everything, smelled everything. He went down on his knees and rapidly examined every one of the paving tiles. Daddy Jacques went on:
Ah!you cant find anything, monsieur. Nothing has been found. And now it is all dirty; too many persons have tramped over it. They wouldnt let me wash it, but on the day of the crime I had washed the floor thoroughly, and if the murderer had crossed it with his hobnailed boots, I should not have failed to see where he had been; he has left marks enough in Mademoiselles chamber.
Rouletabille rose.
When was the last time you washed these tiles? he asked, and he fixed on Daddy Jacques a most searching look.
Whyas I told youon the day of the crime, towards half-past fivewhile Mademoiselle and her father were taking a little walk before dinner, here in this room: they had dined in the laboratory. The next day, the examining magistrate came and saw all the marks there were on the floor as plainly as if they had been made with ink on white paper. Well, neither in the laboratory nor in the vestibule, which were both as clean as a new pin, were there any traces of a mans footmarks. Since they have been found near this window outside, he must have made his way through the ceiling of The Yellow Room into the attic, then cut his way through the roof and dropped to the ground outside the vestibule window. Buttheres no hole, neither in the ceiling of The Yellow Room nor in the roof of my atticthats absolutely certain! So you see we know nothingnothing! And nothing will ever be known! Its a mystery of the Devils own making.
Rouletabille went down upon his knees again almost in front of a small lavatory at the back of the vestibule. In that position he remained for about a minute.
Well? I asked him when he got up.
Oh! nothing very important,a drop of blood, he replied, turning towards Daddy Jacques as he spoke. While you were washing the laboratory and this vestibule, was the vestibule window open? he asked.
No, Monsieur, it was closed; but after I had done washing the floor, I lit some charcoal for Monsieur in the laboratory furnace, and, as I lit it with old newspapers, it smoked, so I opened both the windows in the laboratory and this one, to make a current of air; then I shut those in the laboratory and left this one open when I went out. When I returned to the pavilion, this window had been closed and Monsieur and Mademoiselle were already at work in the laboratory.
Monsieur or Mademoiselle Stangerson had, no doubt, shut it?
No doubt.
You did not ask them?
After a close scrutiny of the little lavatory and of the staircase leading up to the attic, Rouletabilleto whom we seemed no longer to existentered the laboratory. I followed him. It was, I confess, in a state of great excitement. Robert Darzac lost none of my friends movements. As for me, my eyes were drawn at once to the door of The Yellow Room. It was closed and, as I immediately saw, partially shattered and out of commission.
My friend, who went about his work methodically, silently studied the room in which we were. It was large and well-lighted. Two big windowsalmost bayswere protected by strong iron bars and looked out upon a wide extent of country. Through an opening in the forest, they commanded a wonderful view through the length of the valley and across the plain to the large town which could be clearly seen in fair weather. To-day, however, a mist hung over the groundand blood in that room!
The whole of one side of the laboratory was taken up with a large chimney, crucibles, ovens, and such implements as are needed for chemical experiments; tables, loaded with phials, papers, reports, an electrical machine,an apparatus, as Monsieur Darzac informed me, employeed by Professor Stangerson to demonstrate the Dissociation of Matter under the action of solar lightand other scientific implements.
Along the walls were cabinets, plain or glass-fronted, through which were visible microscopes, special photographic apparatus, and a large quantity of crystals.
Rouletabille, who was ferreting in the chimney, put his fingers into one of the crucibles. Suddenly he drew himself up, and held up a piece of half-consumed paper in his hand. He stepped up to where we were talking by one of the windows.
Keep that for us, Monsieur Darzac, he said.
I bent over the piece of scorched paper which Monsieur Darzac took from the hand of Rouletabille, and read distinctly the only words that remained legible:
Presbyterylost nothingcharm, nor the garits brightness.
Twice since the morning these same meaningless words had struck me, and, for the second time, I saw that they produced on the Sorbonne professor the same paralysing effect. Monsieur Darzacs first anxiety showed itself when he turned his eyes in the direction of Daddy Jacques. But, occupied as he was at another window, he had seen nothing. Then tremblingly opening his pocket-book he put the piece of paper into it, sighing: My God!
During this time, Rouletabille had mounted into the opening of the fire-gratethat is to say, he had got upon the bricks of a furnaceand was attentively examining the chimney, which grew narrower towards the top, the outlet from it being closed with sheets of iron, fastened into the brickwork, through which passed three small chimneys.
Impossible to get out that way, he said, jumping back into the laboratory. Besides, even if he had tried to do it, he would have brought all that ironwork down to the ground. No, no; it is not on that side we have to search.
Rouletabille next examined the furniture and opened the doors of the cabinet. Then he came to the windows, through which he declared no one could possibly have passed. At the second window he found Daddy Jacques in contemplation.
Well, Daddy Jacques, he said, what are you looking at?
That policeman who is always going round and round the lake. Another of those fellows who think they can see better than anybody else!
You dont know Frederic Larsan, Daddy Jacques, or you wouldnt speak of him in that way, said Rouletabille in a melancholy tone. If there is anyone who will find the murderer, it will be he. And Rouletabille heaved a deep sigh.
Before they find him, they will have to learn how they lost him, said Daddy Jacques, stolidly.
At length we reached the door of The Yellow Room itself.
There is the door behind which some terrible scene took place, said Rouletabille, with a solemnity which, under any other circumstances, would have been comical.
CHAPTER VII. In Which Rouletabille Sets Out on an Expedition Under the Bed
Rouletabille having pushed open the door of The Yellow Room paused on the threshold saying, with an emotion which I only later understood, Ah, the perfume of the lady in black!
The chamber was dark. Daddy Jacques was about to open the blinds when Rouletabille stopped him.
Did not the tragedy take place in complete darkness? he asked.
No, young man, I dont think so. Mademoiselle always had a nightlight on her table, and I lit it every evening before she went to bed. I was a sort of chambermaid, you must understand, when the evening came. The real chambermaid did not come here much before the morning. Mademoiselle worked latefar into the night.
Where did the table with the night-light stand,far from the bed?
Some way from the bed.
Can you light the burner now?
The lamp is broken and the oil that was in it was spilled when the table was upset. All the rest of the things in the room remain just as they were. I have only to open the blinds for you to see.
Wait.
Rouletabille went back into the laboratory, closed the shutters of the two windows and the door of the vestibule.
When we were in complete darkness, he lit a wax vesta, and asked Daddy Jacques to move to the middle of the chamber with it to the place where the night-light was burning that night.
Daddy Jacques who was in his stockingshe usually left his sabots in the vestibuleentered The Yellow Room with his bit of a vesta. We vaguely distinguished objects overthrown on the floor, a bed in one corner, and, in front of us, to the left, the gleam of a looking-glass hanging on the wall, near to the bed.
That will do!you may now open the blinds, said Rouletabille.
Dont come any further, Daddy Jacques begged, you may make marks with your boots, and nothing must be deranged; its an idea of the magistratesthough he has nothing more to do here.
And he pushed open the shutter. The pale daylight entered from without, throwing a sinister light on the saffron-coloured walls. The floorfor though the laboratory and the vestibule were tiled, The Yellow Room had a flooring of woodwas covered with a single yellow mat which was large enough to cover nearly the whole room, under the bed and under the dressing-tablethe only piece of furniture that remained upright. The centre round table, the night-table and two chairs had been overturned. These did not prevent a large stain of blood being visible on the mat, made, as Daddy Jacques informed us, by the blood which had flowed from the wound on Mademoiselle Stangersons forehead. Besides these stains, drops of blood had fallen in all directions, in line with the visible traces of the footstepslarge and blackof the murderer. Everything led to the presumption that these drops of blood had fallen from the wound of the man who had, for a moment, placed his red hand on the wall. There were other traces of the same hand on the wall, but much less distinct.
See!see this blood on the wall! I could not help exclaiming. The man who pressed his hand so heavily upon it in the darkness must certainly have thought that he was pushing at a door! Thats why he pressed on it so hard, leaving on the yellow paper the terrible evidence. I dont think there are many hands in the world of that sort. It is big and strong and the fingers are nearly all one as long as the other! The thumb is wanting and we have only the mark of the palm; but if we follow the trace of the hand, I continued, we see that, after leaving its imprint on the wall, the touch sought the door, found it, and then felt for the lock
No doubt, interrupted Rouletabille, chuckling,only there is no blood, either on the lock or on the bolt!
What does that prove? I rejoined with a good sense of which I was proud; he might have opened the lock with his left hand, which would have been quite natural, his right hand being wounded.
He didnt open it at all! Daddy Jacques again exclaimed. We are not fools; and there were four of us when we burst open the door!
What a queer hand!Look what a queer hand it is! I said.
It is a very natural hand, said Rouletabille, of which the shape has been deformed by its having slipped on the wall. The man dried his hand on the wall. He must be a man about five feet eight in height.
How do you come at that?
By the height of the marks on the wall.
My friend next occupied himself with the mark of the bullet in the wall. It was a round hole.
This ball was fired straight, not from above, and consequently, not from below.
Rouletabille went back to the door and carefully examined the lock and the bolt, satisfying himself that the door had certainly been burst open from the outside, and, further, that the key had been found in the lock on the inside of the chamber. He finally satisfied himself that with the key in the lock, the door could not possibly be opened from without with another key. Having made sure of all these details, he let fall these words: Thats better!Then sitting down on the ground, he hastily took off his boots and, in his socks, went into the room.