CHAPTER XVI. Strange Phenomenon of the Dissociation of Matter
(EXTRACT FROM THE NOTE-BOOK OF JOSEPH ROULETABILLE, continued)
"I am again at the window-sill," continues Rouletabille, "and oncemore I raise my head above it. Through an opening in the curtains, thearrangement of which has not been changed, I am ready to look, anxiousto note the position in which I am going to find the murderer,--whetherhis back will still be turned towards me!--whether he is still seated atthe desk writing! But perhaps--perhaps--he is no longer there!--Yethow could he have fled?--Was I not in possession of his ladder? I forcemyself to be cool. I raise my head yet higher. I look--he is stillthere. I see his monstrous back, deformed by the shadow thrown by thecandle. He is no longer writing now, and the candle is on the parquet,over which he is bending--a position which serves my purpose.
"I hold my breath. I mount the ladder. I am on the uppermost rung of it,and with my left hand seize hold of the window-sill. In this moment ofapproaching success, I feel my heart beating wildly. I put my revolverbetween my teeth. A quick spring, and I shall be on the window-ledge.But--the ladder! I had been obliged to press on it heavily, and my foothad scarcely left it, when I felt it swaying beneath me. It grated onthe wall and fell. But, already, my knees were touching the window-sill,and, by a movement quick as lightning, I got on to it.
"But the murderer had been even quicker than I had been. He had heardthe grating of the ladder on the wall, and I saw the monstrous back ofthe man raise itself. I saw his head. Did I really see it?--The candleon the parquet lit up his legs only. Above the height of the tablethe chamber was in darkness. I saw a man with long hair, a full beard,wild-looking eyes, a pale face, framed in large whiskers,--as well asI could distinguish, and, as I think--red in colour. I did not know theface. That was, in brief, the chief sensation I received from thatface in the dim half-light in which I saw it. I did not know it--or, atleast, I did not recognise it.
"Now for quick action! It was indeed time for that, for as I was aboutto place my legs through the window, the man had seen me, had boundedto his feet, had sprung--as I foresaw he would--to the door of theante-chamber, had time to open it, and fled. But I was already behindhim, revolver in hand, shouting 'Help!'
"Like an arrow I crossed the room, but noticed a letter on the tableas I rushed. I almost came up with the man in the ante-room, for he hadlost time in opening the door to the gallery. I flew on wings, and inthe gallery was but a few feet behind him. He had taken, as I supposedhe would, the gallery on his right,--that is to say, the road he hadprepared for his flight. 'Help, Jacques!--help, Larsan!' I cried. Hecould not escape us! I raised a shout of joy, of savage victory. The manreached the intersection of the two galleries hardly two seconds beforeme for the meeting which I had prepared--the fatal shock whichmust inevitably take place at that spot! We all rushed to thecrossing-place--Monsieur Stangerson and I coming from one end of theright gallery, Daddy Jacques coming from the other end of the samegallery, and Frederic Larsan coming from the 'off-turning' gallery.
"The man was not there!
"We looked at each other stupidly and with eyes terrified. The man hadvanished like a ghost. 'Where is he--where is he?' we all asked.
"'It is impossible he can have escaped!' I cried, my terror mastered bymy anger.
"'I touched him!' exclaimed Frederic Larsan.
"'I felt his breath on my face!' cried Daddy Jacques.
"'Where is he?'--where is he?' we all cried.
"We raced like madmen along the two galleries; we visited doors andwindows--they were closed, hermetically closed. They had not beenopened. Besides, the opening of a door or window by this man whom wewere hunting, without our having perceived it, would have been moreinexplicable than his disappearance.
"Where is he?--where is he?--He could not have got away by a door ora window, nor by any other way. He could not have passed through ourbodies!
"I confess that, for the moment, I felt 'done for.' For the gallery wasperfectly lighted, and there was neither trap, nor secret door in thewalls, nor any sort of hiding-place. We moved the chairs and lifted thepictures. Nothing!--nothing! We would have looked into a flower-pot, ifthere had been one to look into!"
When this mystery, thanks to Rouletabille, was naturally explained, bythe help alone of his masterful mind, we were able to realise that themurderer had got away neither by a door, a window, nor the stairs--afact which the judges would not admit.