related to him all that had taken place in the inexplicable gallery.
He several times expressed his regret at Monsieur Darzac's absence
from the chateau on all these occasions, and thought that Monsieur
Darzac had done cleverly in allying himself with Monsieur Joseph
Rouletabille, who could not fail, sooner or later, to discover the
murderer. He spoke the last sentence with unconcealed irony. Then
he rose, bowed to us, and left the inn.
Rouletabille watched him through the window.
"An odd fish, that!" he said.
"Do you think he'll pass the night at the Glandier?" I asked.
To my amazement the young reporter answered that it was a matter
of entire indifference to him whether he did or not.
As to how we spent our time during the afternoon, all I need say is
that Rouletabille led me to the grotto of Sainte-Genevieve, and, all
the time, talked of every subject but the one in which we were most
interested. Towards evening I was surprised to find Rouletabille
making none of the preparations I had expected him to make. I spoke
to him about it when night had come on, and we were once more in his
room. He replied that all his arrangements had already been made,
and this time the murderer would not get away from him.
I expressed some doubt on this, reminding him of his disappearance
in the gallery, and suggested that the same phenomenon might occur
again. He answered that he hoped it would. He desired nothing more.
I did not insist, knowing by experience how useless that would have
been. He told me that, with the help of the concierges, the chateau
had since early dawn been watched in such a way that nobody could
approach it without his knowing it, and that he had no concern for
those who might have left it and remained without.
It was then six o'clock by his watch. Rising, he made a sign to
me to follow him, and, without in the least tying to conceal his
movements or the sound of his footsteps, he led me through the
gallery. We reached the 'right' gallery and came to the
landing-place which we crossed. We then continued our way in the
gallery of the left wing, passing Professor Stangerson's apartment.
At the far end of the gallery, before coming to the donjon, is the
room occupied by Arthur Rance. We knew that, because we had seen
him at the window looking on to the court. The door of the room
opens on to the end of the gallery, exactly facing the east window,
at the extremity of the 'right' gallery, where Rouletabille had
placed Daddy Jacques, and commands an uninterrupted view of the
gallery from end to end of the chateau.
"That 'off-turning' gallery," said Rouletabille, "I reserve for
myself; when I tell you you'll come and take your place here."
And he made me enter a little dark, triangular closet built in a
bend of the wall, to the left of the door of Arthur Rance's room.
From this recess I could see all that occurred in the gallery as
well as if I had been standing in front of Arthur Rance's door,
and I could watch that door, too. The door of the closet, which
was to be my place of observation, was fitted with panels of
transparent glass. In the gallery, where all the lamps had been
lit, it was quite light. In the closet, however, it was quite
dark. It was a splendid place from which to observe and remain
unobserved.
I was soon to play the part of a spy--a common policeman. I
wonder what my leader at the bar would have said had he known! I
was not altogether pleased with my duties, but I could not refuse
Rouletabille the assistance he had begged me to give him. I took
care not to make him see that I in the least objected, and for
several reasons. I wanted to oblige him; I did not wish him to
think me a coward; I was filled with curiosity; and it was too late
for me to draw back, even had I determined to do so. That I had
not had these scruples sooner was because my curiosity had quite
got the better of me. I might also urge that I was helping to
save the life of a woman, and even a lawyer may do that
conscientiously.
We returned along the gallery. On reaching the door of Mademoiselle
Stangerson's apartment, it opened from a push given by the steward
who was waiting at the dinner-table. (Monsieur Stangerson had, for
the last three days, dined with his daughter in the drawing-room on
the first floor.) As the door remained open, we distinctly saw
Mademoiselle Stangerson, taking advantage of the steward's absence,
and while her father was stooping to pick up something he had let
fall, pour the contents of a phial into Monsieur Stangerson's glass.
CHAPTER XXI
On the Watch
The act, which staggered me, did not appear to affect Rouletabille
much. We returned to his room and, without even referring to what
we had seen, he gave me his final instructions for the night. First
we were to go to dinner; after dinner, I was to take my stand in the
dark closet and wait there as long as it was necessary--to look out
for what might happen.
"If you see anything before I do," he explained, "you must let me
know. If the man gets into the 'right' gallery by any other way
than the 'off-turning' gallery, you will see him before I shall,
because you have a view along the whole length of the 'right'
gallery, while I can only command a view of the 'off-turning'
gallery. All you need do to let me know is to undo the cord holding
the curtain of the 'right' gallery window, nearest to the dark
closet. The curtain will fall of itself and immediately leave a
square of shadow where previously there had been a square of light.
To do this, you need but stretch your hand out of the closet, I
shall understand your signal perfectly."
"And then?"
"Then you will see me coming round the corner of the 'off-turning'
gallery."
"What am I to do then?"
"You will immediately come towards me, behind the man; but I shall
already be upon him, and shall have seen his face."
I attempted a feeble smile.
"Why do you smile? Well, you may smile while you have the chance,
but I swear you'll have no time for that a few hours from now.
"And if the man escapes?"
"So much the better," said Rouletabille, coolly, "I don't want to
capture him. He may take himself off any way he can. I will let
him go--after I have seen his face. That's all I want. I shall
know afterwards what to do so that as far as Mademoiselle Stangerson
is concerned he shall be dead to her even though he continues to
live. If I took him alive, Mademoiselle Stangerson and Robert
Darzac would, perhaps, never forgive me! And I wish to retain their
good-will and respect.
"Seeing, as I have just now seen, Mademoiselle Stangerson pour a
narcotic into her father's glass, so that he might not be awake to
interrupt the conversation she is going to have with her murderer,
you can imagine she would not be grateful to me if I brought the
man of The Yellow Room and the inexplicab
le gallery, bound and gagged,
to her father. I realise now that if I am to save the unhappy lady,
I must silence the man and not capture him. To kill a human being
is no small thing. Besides, that's not my business, unless the
man himself makes it my business. On the other hand, to render him
forever silent without the lady's assent and confidence is to act
on one's own initiative and assumes a knowledge of everything with
nothing for a basis. Fortunately, my friend, I have guessed, no,
I have reasoned it all out. All that I ask of the man who is coming
to-night is to bring me his face, so that it may enter--"
"Into the circle?"
"Exactly! And his face won't surprise me!"
"But I thought you saw his face on the night when you sprang into
the chamber?"
"Only imperfectly. The candle was on the floor; and, his beard--"
"Will he wear his beard this evening?"
"I think I can say for certain that he will. But the gallery is
light and, now, I know--or--at least, my brain knows--and my
eyes will see."
"If we are here only to see him and let him escape, why are we armed?"
"Because, if the man of The Yellow Room and the inexplicable gallery
knows that I know, he is capable of doing anything! We should then
have to defend ourselves."
"And you are sure he will come to-night?"
"As sure as that you are standing there! This morning, at half-past
ten o'clock, Mademoiselle Stangerson, in the cleverest way in the
world, arranged to have no nurses to-night. She gave them leave of
absence for twenty-four hours, under some plausible pretexts, and
did not desire anybody to be with her but her father, while they
are away. Her father, who is to sleep in the boudoir, has gladly
consented to the arrangement. Darzac's departure and what he told
me, as well as the extraordinary precautions Mademoiselle Stangerson
is taking to be alone to-night leaves me no room for doubt. She has
prepared the way for the coming of the man whom Darzac dreads."
"That's awful!"
"It is!"
"And what we saw her do was done to send her father to sleep?"
"Yes."
"Then there are but two of us for to-night's work?"
"Four; the concierge and his wife will watch at all hazards. I
don't set much value on them before--but the concierge may be
useful after--if there's to be any killing!"
"Then you think there may be?"
"If he wishes it."
"Why haven't you brought in Daddy Jacques?--Have you made no use
of him to-day?"
"No," replied Rouletabille sharply.
I kept silence for awhile, then, anxious to know his thoughts, I
asked him point blank:
"Why not tell Arthur Rance?--He may be of great assistance to us?"
"Oh!" said Rouletabille crossly, "then you want to let everybody
into Mademoiselle Stangerson's secrets?--Come, let us go to dinner;
it is time. This evening we dine in Frederic Larsan's room,--at
least, if he is not on the heels of Darzac. He sticks to him like
a leech. But, anyhow, if he is not there now, I am quite sure he
will be, to-night! He's the one I am going to knock over!"
At this moment we heard a noise in the room near us.
"It must be he," said Rouletabille.
"I forgot to ask you," I said, "if we are to make any allusion to
to-night's business when we are with this policeman. I take it we
are not. Is that so?"
"Evidently. We are going to operate alone, on our own personal
account."
"So that all the glory will be ours?"
Rouletabille laughed.
We dined with Frederic Larsan in his room. He told us he had just
come in and invited us to be seated at table. We ate our dinner in
the best of humours, and I had no difficulty in appreciating the
feelings of certainty which both Rouletabille and Larsan felt.
Rouletabille told the great Fred that I had come on a chance visit,
and that he had asked me to stay and help him in the heavy batch of
writing he had to get through for the "Epoque." I was going back
to Paris, he said, by the eleven o'clock train, taking his "copy,"
which took a story form, recounting the principal episodes in the
mysteries of the Glandier. Larsan smiled at the explanation like
a man who was not fooled and politely refrains from making the
slightest remark on matters which did not concern him.
With infinite precautions as to the words they used, and even as to
the tones of their voices, Larsan and Rouletabille discussed, for a
long time, Mr. Arthur Rance's appearance at the chateau, and his
past in America, about which they expressed a desire to know more,
at any rate, so far as his relations with the Stangersons. At one
time, Larsan, who appeared to me to be unwell, said, with an effort:
"I think, Monsieur Rouletabille, that we've not much more to do at
the Glandier, and that we sha'n't sleep here many more nights."
"I think so, too, Monsieur Fred."
"Then you think the conclusion of the matter has been reached?"
"I think, indeed, that we have nothing more to find out," replied
Rouletabille.
"Have you found your criminal?" asked Larsan.
"Have you?"
"Yes."
"So have I," said Rouletabille.
"Can it be the same man?"
"I don't know if you have swerved from your original idea," said
the young reporter. Then he added, with emphasis: "Monsieur Darzac
is an honest man!"
"Are you sure of that?" asked Larsan. "Well, I am sure he is not.
So it's a fight then?"
"Yes, it is a fight. But I shall beat you, Monsieur Frederic Larsan."
"Youth never doubts anything," said the great Fred laughingly, and
held out his hand to me by way of conclusion.
Rouletabille's answer came like an echo:
"Not anything!"
Suddenly Larsan, who had risen to wish us goodnight, pressed both
his hands to his chest and staggered. He was obliged to lean on
Rouletabille for support, and to save himself from falling.
"Oh! Oh!" he cried. "What is the matter with me?--Have I been
poisoned?"
He looked at us with haggard eyes. We questioned him vainly; he
did not answer us. He had sunk into an armchair and we could get
not a word from him. We were extremely distressed, both on his
account and on our own, for we had partaken of all the dishes he had
eaten. He seemed to be out of pain; but his heavy head had fallen
on his shoulder and his eyelids were tightly closed. Rouletabille
bent over him, listening for the beatings of the heart.
My friend's face, however, when he stood up, was as calm as it had
been a moment before agitated.
"He is asleep," he said.
He led me to his chamber, after closing Larsan's room.
"The drug?" I asked. "Does Mademoiselle Stangerson wish to put
everybody to sleep, to-night?"
"Perhaps," replied Rouletabille; but I could see he was thinking of
something else.
"But what about us?" I exclaimed. "How do we know that we have not
been dru
gged?"
"Do you feel indisposed?" Rouletabille asked me coolly.
"Not in the least."
"Do you feel any inclination to go to sleep?"
"None whatever."
"Well, then, my friend, smoke this excellent cigar."
And he handed me a choice Havana, one Monsieur Darzac had given him,
while he lit his briarwood--his eternal briarwood.
We remained in his room until about ten o'clock without a word
passing between us. Buried in an armchair Rouletabille sat and
smoked steadily, his brow in thought and a far-away look in his
eyes. On the stroke of ten he took off his boots and signalled to
me to do the same. As we stood in our socks he said, in so low a
tone that I guessed, rather than heard, the word:
"Revolver."
I drew my revolver from my jacket pocket.
"Cock it!" he said.
I did as he directed.
Then moving towards the door of his room, he opened it with infinite
precaution; it made no sound. We were in the "off-turning" gallery.
Rouletabille made another sign to me which I understood to mean that
I was to take up my post in the dark closet.
When I was some distance from him, he rejoined me and embraced me;
and then I saw him, with the same precaution, return to his room.
Astonished by his embrace, and somewhat disquieted by it, I arrived
at the right gallery without difficulty, crossing the landing-place,
and reaching the dark closet.
Before entering it I examined the curtain-cord of the window and
found that I had only to release it from its fastening with my
fingers for the curtain to fall by its own weight and hide the
square of light from Rouletabille--the signal agreed upon. The
sound of a footstep made me halt before Arthur Rance's door. He
was not yet in bed, then! How was it that, being in the chateau,
he had not dined with Monsieur Stangerson and his daughter? I had
not seen him at table with them, at the moment when we looked in.
I retired into the dark closet. I found myself perfectly situated.
I could see along the whole length of the gallery. Nothing,
absolutely nothing could pass there without my seeing it. But what
was going to pass there? Rouletabille's embrace came back to my
mind. I argued that people don't part from each, other in that way
unless on an important or dangerous occasion. Was I then in danger?
My hand closed on the butt of my revolver and I waited. I am not
a hero; but neither am I a coward.
I waited about an hour, and during all that time I saw nothing
unusual. The rain, which had begun to come down strongly towards
nine o'clock, had now ceased.
My friend had told me that, probably, nothing would occur before
midnight or one o'clock in the morning. It was not more than
half-past eleven, however, when I heard the door of Arthur Rance's
room open very slowly. The door remained open for a minute, which
seemed to me a long time. As it opened into the gallery, that is
to say, outwards, I could not see what was passing in the room
behind the door.
At that moment I noticed a strange sound, three times repeated,
coming from the park. Ordinarily I should not have attached any
more importance to it than I would to the noise of cats on the roof.
But the third time, the mew was so sharp and penetrating that I
remembered what I had heard about the cry of the Bete du bon Dieu.
As the cry had accompanied all the events at the Glandier, I could
not refrain from shuddering at the thought.
Directly afterwards I saw a man appear on the outside of the door,
and close it after him. At first I could not recognise him, for
his back was towards me and he was bending over a rather bulky
package. When he had closed the door and picked up the package,