Read The Mystery of the Yellow Room Page 19

he turned towards the dark closet, and then I saw who he was. He

  was the forest-keeper, the Green Man. He was wearing the same

  costume that he had worn when I first saw him on the road in front

  of the Donjon Inn. There was no doubt about his being the keeper.

  As the cry of the Bete du Bon Dieu came for the third time, he put

  down the package and went to the second window, counting from the

  dark closet. I dared not risk making any movement, fearing I might

  betray my presence.

  Arriving at the window, he peered out on to the park. The night

  was now light, the moon showing at intervals. The Green Man raised

  his arms twice, making signs which I did not understand; then,

  leaving the window, he again took up his package and moved along

  the gallery towards the landing-place.

  Rouletabille had instructed me to undo the curtain-cord when I saw

  anything. Was Rouletabille expecting this? It was not my business

  to question. All I had to do was obey instructions. I unfastened

  the window-cord; my heart beating the while as if it would burst.

  The man reached the landing-place, but, to my utter surprise--I

  had expected to see him continue to pass along the gallery--I saw

  him descend the stairs leading to the vestibule.

  What was I to do? I looked stupidly at the heavy curtain which had

  shut the light from the window. The signal had been given, and I

  did not see Rouletabille appear at the corner of the off-turning

  gallery. Nobody appeared. I was exceedingly perplexed. Half an

  hour passed, an age to me. What was I to do now, even if I saw

  something? The signal once given I could not give it a second time.

  To venture into the gallery might upset all Rouletabille's plans.

  After all, I had nothing to reproach myself for, and if something

  had happened that my friend had not expected he could only blame

  himself. Unable to be of any further assistance to him by means

  of a signal, I left the dark closet and, still in my socks, made

  my way to the "off-turning" gallery.

  There was no one there. I went to the door of Rouletabille's room

  and listened. I could hear nothing. I knocked gently. There was

  no answer. I turned the door-handle and the door opened. I entered.

  Rouletabille lay extended at full length on the floor.

  CHAPTER XXII

  The Incredible Body

  I bent in great anxiety over the body of the reporter and had the

  joy to find that he was deeply sleeping, the same unhealthy sleep

  that I had seen fall upon Frederic Larsan. He had succumbed to the

  influence of the same drug that had been mixed with our food. How

  was it then, that I, also, had not been overcome by it? I reflected

  that the drug must have been put into our wine; because that would

  explain my condition. I never drink when eating. Naturally

  inclined to obesity, I am restricted to a dry diet. I shook

  Rouletabille, but could not succeed in waking him. This, no doubt,

  was the work of Mademoiselle Stangerson.

  She had certainly thought it necessary to guard herself against this

  young man as well as her father. I recalled that the steward, in

  serving us, had recommended an excellent Chablis which, no doubt,

  had come from the professor's table.

  More-than a quarter of an hour passed. I resolved, under the

  pressing circumstances, to resort to extreme measures. I threw a

  pitcher of cold water over Rouletabille's head. He opened his eyes.

  I beat his face, and raised him up. I felt him stiffen in my arms

  and heard him murmur: "Go on, go on; but don't make any noise." I

  pinched him and shook him until he was able to stand up. We were

  saved!

  "They sent me to sleep," he said. "Ah! I passed an awful quarter

  of an hour before giving way. But it is over now. Don't leave me."

  He had no sooner uttered those words than we were thrilled by a

  frightful cry that rang through the chateau,--a veritable death cry.

  "Malheur!" roared Rouletabille; "we shall be too late!"

  He tried to rush to the door, but he was too dazed, and fell against

  the wall. I was already in the gallery, revolver in hand, rushing

  like a madman towards Mademoiselle Stangerson's room. The moment I

  arrived at the intersection of the "off-turning" gallery and the

  "right" gallery, I saw a figure leaving her apartment, which, in a

  few strides had reached the landing-place.

  I was not master of myself. I fired. The report from the revolver

  made a deafening noise; but the man continued his flight down the

  stairs. I ran behind him, shouting: "Stop!--stop! or I will kill

  you!" As I rushed after him down the stairs, I came face to face

  with Arthur Rance coming from the left wing of the chateau, yelling:

  "What is it? What is it?" We arrived almost at the same time at

  the foot of the staircase. The window of the vestibule was open.

  We distinctly saw the form of a man running away. Instinctively we

  fired our revolvers in his direction. He was not more than ten

  paces in front of us; he staggered and we thought he was going to

  fall. We had sprung out of the window, but the man dashed off with

  renewed vigour. I was in my socks, and the American was barefooted.

  There being no hope of overtaking him, we fired our last cartridges

  at him. But he still kept on running, going along the right side

  of the court towards the end of the right wing of the chateau, which

  had no other outlet than the door of the little chamber occupied by

  the forest-keeper. The man, though he was evidently wounded by our

  bullets, was now twenty yards ahead of us. Suddenly, behind us,

  and above our heads, a window in the gallery opened and we heard

  the voice of Rouletabille crying out desperately:

  "Fire, Bernier!--Fire!"

  At that moment the clear moonlight night was further lit by a broad

  flash. By its light we saw Daddy Bernier with his gun on the

  threshold of the donjon door.

  He had taken good aim. The shadow fell. But as it had reached the

  end of the right wing of the chateau, it fell on the other side of

  the angle of the building; that is to say, we saw it about to fall,

  but not the actual sinking to the ground. Bernier, Arthur Rance

  and myself reached the other side twenty seconds later. The shadow

  was lying dead at our feet.

  Aroused from his lethargy by the cries and reports, Larsan opened

  the window of his chamber and called out to us. Rouletabille, quite

  awake now, joined us at the same moment, and I cried out to him:

  "He is dead!--is dead!"

  "So much the better," he said. "Take him into the vestibule of the

  chateau." Then as if on second thought, he said: "No!--no! Let us

  put him in his own room."

  Rouletabille knocked at the door. Nobody answered. Naturally, this

  did not surprise me.

  "He is evidently not there, otherwise he would have come out," said

  the reporter. "Let us carry him to the vestibule then."

  Since reaching the dead shadow, a thick cloud had covered the moon

  and darkened the night, so that we were unable to make out the
r />   features. Daddy Jacques, who had now joined us, helped us to carry

  the body into the vestibule, where we laid it down on the lower step

  of the stairs. On the way, I had felt my hands wet from the warm

  blood flowing from the wounds.

  Daddy Jacques flew to the kitchen and returned with a lantern. He

  held it close to the face of the dead shadow, and we recognised the

  keeper, the man called by the landlord of the Donjon Inn the Green

  Man, whom, an hour earlier, I had seen come out of Arthur Rance's

  chamber carrying a parcel. But what I had seen I could only tell

  Rouletabille later, when we were alone.

  Rouletabille and Frederic Larsan experienced a cruel disappointment

  at the result of the night's adventure. They could only look in

  consternation and stupefaction at the body of the Green Man.

  Daddy Jacques showed a stupidly sorrowful face and with silly

  lamentations kept repeating that we were mistaken--the keeper could

  not be the assailant. We were obliged to compel him to be quiet.

  He could not have shown greater grief had the body been that of his

  own son. I noticed, while all the rest of us were more or less

  undressed and barefooted, that he was fully clothed.

  Rouletabille had not left the body. Kneeling on the flagstones by

  the light of Daddy Jacques's lantern he removed the clothes from

  the body and laid bare its breast. Then snatching the lantern from

  Daddy Jacques, he held it over the corpse and saw a gaping wound.

  Rising suddenly he exclaimed in a voice filled with savage irony:

  "The man you believe to have been shot was killed by the stab of a

  knife in his heart!"

  I thought Rouletabille had gone mad; but, bending over the body, I

  quickly satisfied myself that Rouletabille was right. Not a sign

  of a bullet anywhere--the wound, evidently made by a sharp blade,

  had penetrated the heart.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  The Double Scent

  I had hardly recovered from the surprise into which this new

  discovery had plunged me, when Rouletabille touched me on the

  shoulder and asked me to follow him into his room.

  "What are we going to do there?"

  "To think the matter over."

  I confess I was in no condition for doing much thinking, nor could

  I understand how Rouletabille could so control himself as to be

  able calmly to sit down for reflection when he must have known that

  Mademoiselle Stangerson was at that moment almost on the point of

  death. But his self-control was more than I could explain. Closing

  the door of his room, he motioned me to a chair and, seating himself

  before me, took out his pipe. We sat there for some time in silence

  and then I fell asleep.

  When I awoke it was daylight. It was eight o'clock by my watch.

  Rouletabille was no longer in the room. I rose to go out when the

  door opened and my friend re-entered. He had evidently lost no time.

  "How about Mademoiselle Stangerson?" I asked him.

  "Her condition, though very alarming, is not desperate."

  "When did you leave this room?"

  "Towards dawn."

  "I guess you have been hard at work?"

  "Rather!"

  "Have you found out anything?"

  "Two sets of footprints!"

  "Do they explain anything?"

  "Yes."

  "Have they anything to do with the mystery of the keeper's body?"

  "Yes; the mystery is no longer a mystery. This morning, walking

  round the chateau, I found two distinct sets of footprints, made at

  the same time, last night. They were made by two persons walking

  side by side. I followed them from the court towards the oak grove.

  Larsan joined me. They were the same kind of footprints as were

  made at the time of the assault in The Yellow Room--one set was

  from clumsy boots and the other was made by neat ones, except that

  the big toe of one of the sets was of a different size from the one

  measured in The Yellow Room incident. I compared the marks with

  the paper patterns I had previously made.

  "Still following the tracks of the prints, Larsan and I passed out

  of the oak grove and reached the border of the lake. There they

  turned off to a little path leading to the high road to Epinay where

  we lost the traces in the newly macadamised highway.

  "We went back to the chateau and parted at the courtyard. We met

  again, however, in Daddy Jacques's room to which our separate trains

  of thinking had led us both. We found the old servant in bed. His

  clothes on the chair were wet through and his boots very muddy. He

  certainly did not get into that state in helping us to carry the

  body of the keeper. It was not raining then. Then his face showed

  extreme fatigue and he looked at us out of terror-stricken eyes.

  "On our first questioning him he told us that he had gone to bed

  immediately after the doctor had arrived. On pressing him, however,

  for it was evident to us he was not speaking the truth, he confessed

  that he had been away from the chateau. He explained his absence

  by saying that he had a headache and went out into the fresh air,

  but had gone no further than the oak grove. When we then described

  to him the whole route he had followed, he sat up in bed trembling.

  "'And you were not alone!' cried Larsan.

  "'Did you see it then?' gasped Daddy Jacques.

  "'What?' I asked.

  "'The phantom--the black phantom!'

  "Then he told us that for several nights he had seen what he kept

  calling the black phantom. It came into the park at the stroke of

  midnight and glided stealthily through the trees; it appeared to

  him to pass through the trunks of the trees. Twice he had seen

  it from his window, by the light of the moon and had risen and

  followed the strange apparition. The night before last he had

  almost overtaken it; but it had vanished at the corner of the

  donjon. Last night, however, he had not left the chateau, his

  mind being disturbed by a presentiment that some new crime would

  be attempted. Suddenly he saw the black phantom rush out from

  somewhere in the middle of the court. He followed it to the lake

  and to the high road to Epinay, where the phantom suddenly

  disappeared.

  "'Did you see his face?' demanded Larsan.

  "'No!--I saw nothing but black veils.'

  "'Did you go out after what passed on the gallery?'

  "'I could not!--I was terrified.'

  "'Daddy Jacques,' I said, in a threatening voice, 'you did not follow

  it; you and the phantom walked to Epinay together--arm in arm!'

  "'No!' he cried, turning his eyes away, 'I did not. It came on to

  pour, and--I turned back. I don't know what became of the black

  phantom."

  "We left him, and when we were outside I turned to Larsan, looking

  him full in the face, and put my question suddenly to take him off

  his guard:

  "'An accomplice?'

  "'How can I tell?' he replied, shrugging his shoulders. 'You can't

  be sure of anything in a case like this. Twenty-four hours ago I

  would have sworn that there was no accomplice!' He left me saying

&nb
sp; he was off to Epinay."

  "Well, what do you make of it?" I asked Rouletabille, after he had

  ended his recital. "Personally I am utterly in the dark. I can't

  make anything out of it. What do you gather?"

  "Everything! Everything!" he exclaimed. "But," he said abruptly,

  "let's find out more about Mademoiselle Stangerson."

  CHAPTER XXIV

  Rouletabille Knows the Two Halves of the Murderer

  Mademoiselle Stangerson had been almost murdered for the second

  time. Unfortunately, she was in too weak a state to bear the

  severer injuries of this second attack as well as she had those of

  the first. She had received three wounds in the breast from the

  murderer's knife, and she lay long between life and death. Her

  strong physique, however, saved her; but though she recovered

  physically it was found that her mind had been affected. The

  slightest allusion to the terrible incident sent her into delirium,

  and the arrest of Robert Darzac which followed on the day following

  the tragic death of the keeper seemed to sink her fine intelligence

  into complete melancholia.

  Robert Darzac arrived at the chateau towards half-past nine. I saw

  him hurrying through the park, his hair and clothes in disorder and

  his face a deadly white. Rouletabille and I were looking out of a

  window in the gallery. He saw us, and gave a despairing cry: "I'm

  too late!"

  Rouletabille answered: "She lives!"

  A minute later Darzac had gone into Mademoiselle Stangerson's room

  and, through the door, we could hear his heart-rending sobs.

  "There's a fate about this place!" groaned Rouletabille. "Some

  infernal gods must be watching over the misfortunes of this family!

  --If I had not been drugged, I should have saved Mademoiselle

  Stangerson. I should have silenced him forever. And the keeper

  would not have been killed!"

  Monsieur Darzac came in to speak with us. His distress was terrible.

  Rouletabille told him everything: his preparations for Mademoiselle

  Stangerson's safety; his plans for either capturing or for disposing

  of the assailant for ever; and how he would have succeeded had it

  not been for the drugging.

  "If only you had trusted me!" said the young man, in a low tone.

  "If you had but begged Mademoiselle Stangerson to confide in me!

  --But, then, everybody here distrusts everybody else, the daughter

  distrusts her father, and even her lover. While you ask me to

  protect her she is doing all she can to frustrate me. That was why

  I came on the scene too late!"

  At Monsieur Robert Darzac's request Rouletabille described the

  whole scene. Leaning on the wall, to prevent himself from falling,

  he had made his way to Mademoiselle Stangerson's room, while we were

  running after the supposed murderer. The ante-room door was open

  and when he entered he found Mademoiselle Stangerson lying partly

  thrown over the desk. Her dressing-gown was dyed with the blood

  flowing from her bosom. Still under the influence of the drug, he

  felt he was walking in a horrible nightmare.

  He went back to the gallery automatically, opened a window, shouted

  his order to fire, and then returned to the room. He crossed the

  deserted boudoir, entered the drawing-room, and tried to rouse

  Monsieur Stangerson who was lying on a sofa. Monsieur Stangerson

  rose stupidly and let himself be drawn by Rouletabille into the room

  where, on seeing his daughter's body, he uttered a heart-rending cry.

  Both united their feeble strength and carried her to her bed.

  On his way to join us Rouletabille passed by the desk. On the floor,

  near it, he saw a large packet. He knelt down and, finding the