Chereads / THE MYSTERY OF THE YELLOW ROOM / Chapter 5 - CHAPTER 5. Robert Darzac Which Produce It Little Effect

Chapter 5 - CHAPTER 5. Robert Darzac Which Produce It Little Effect

Rouletabille and I had been walking for several minutes, by the side of a long

wall bounding the vast property of Monsieur Stangerson and had already

come within sight of the entrance gate, when our attention was drawn to an

individual who, half bent to the ground, seemed to be so completely

absorbed in what he was doing as not to have seen us coming towards him.

At one time he stooped so low as almost to touch the ground; at another he

drew himself up and attentively examined the wall; then he looked into the

palm of one of his hands, and walked away with rapid strides. Finally he set

off running, still looking into the palm of his hand. Rouletabille had brought

me to a standstill by a gesture.

"Hush! Frederic Larsan is at work! Don't let us disturb him!"

Rouletabille had a great admiration for the celebrated detective. I had never

before seen him, but I knew him well by reputation. At that time, before

Rouletabille had given proof of his unique talent, Larsan was reputed as the

most skilful unraveller of the most mysterious and complicated crimes. His

reputation was world-wide, and the police of London, and even of America,

often called him in to their aid when their own national inspectors and

detectives found themselves at the end of their wits and resources.

No one was astonished, then, that the head of the Surete had, at the outset

of the mystery of The Yellow Room, telegraphed his precious subordinate to

London, where he had been sent on a big case of stolen securities, to return

with all haste. Frederic who, at the Surete, was called the "great Frederic,"

had made all speed, doubtless knowing by experience that, if he was

interrupted in what he was doing, it was because his services were urgently

needed in another direction; so, as Rouletabille said, he was that morning

already "at work." We soon found out in what it consisted.What he was continually looking at in the palm of his right hand was nothing

but his watch, the minute hand of which he appeared to be noting intently.

Then he turned back still running, stopping only when he reached the park

gate, where he again consulted his watch and then put it away in his pocket,

shrugging his shoulders with a gesture of discouragement. He pushed open

the park gate, reclosed and locked it, raised his head and, through the bars,

perceived us. Rouletabille rushed after him, and I followed. Frederic Larsan

waited for us.

"Monsieur Fred," said Rouletabille, raising his hat and showing the profound

respect, based on admiration, which the young reporter felt for the

celebrated detective, "can you tell me whether Monsieur Robert Darzac is at

the chateau at this moment? Here is one of his friends, of the Paris Bar, who

desires to speak with him."

"I really don't know, Monsieur Rouletabille," replied Fred, shaking hands

with my friend, whom he had several times met in the course of his difficult

investigations. "I have not seen him."

"The concierges will be able to inform us no doubt?" said Rouletabille,

pointing to the lodge the door and windows of which were close shut.

"The concierges will not be able to give you any information, Monsieur

Rouletabille."

"Why not?"

"Because they were arrested half an hour ago."

"Arrested!" cried Rouletabille; "then they are the murderers!"

Frederic Larsan shrugged his shoulders.

"When you can't arrest the real murderer," he said with an air of supreme

irony, "you can always indulge in the luxury of discovering accomplices."

"Did you have them arrested, Monsieur Fred?"

"Not I!—I haven't had them arrested. In the first place, I am pretty sure that

they have not had anything to do with the affair, and then because—""Because of what?" asked Rouletabille eagerly.

"Because of nothing," said Larsan, shaking his head.

"Because there were no accomplices!" said Rouletabille.

"Aha!—you have an idea, then, about this matter?" said Larsan, looking at

Rouletabille intently, "yet you have seen nothing, young man—you have not

yet gained admission here!"

"I shall get admission."

"I doubt it. The orders are strict."

"I shall gain admission, if you let me see Monsieur Robert Darzac. Do that for

me. You know we are old friends. I beg of you, Monsieur Fred. Do you

remember the article I wrote about you on the gold bar case?"

The face of Rouletabille at the moment was really funny to look at. It

showed such an irresistible desire to cross the threshold beyond which

some prodigious mystery had occurred; it appealed with so much

eloquence, not only of the mouth and eyes, but with all its features, that I

could not refrain from bursting into laughter. Frederic Larsan, no more than

myself, could retain his gravity. Meanwhile, standing on the other side of the

gate, he calmly put the key in his pocket. I closely scrutinised him.

He might be about fifty years of age. He had a fine head, his hair turning

grey; a colourless complexion, and a firm profile. His forehead was

prominent, his chin and cheeks clean shaven. His upper lip, without

moustache, was finely chiselled. His eyes were rather small and round, with

a look in them that was at once searching and disquieting. He was of middle

height and well built, with a general bearing elegant and gentlemanly. There

was nothing about him of the vulgar policeman. In his way, he was an artist,

and one felt that he had a high opinion of himself. The sceptical tone of his

conversation was that of a man who had been taught by experience. His

strange profession had brought him into contact with so many crimes and

villanies that it would have been remarkable if his nature had not been a

little hardened.Larsan turned his head at the sound of a vehicle which had come from the

chateau and reached the gate behind him. We recognised the cab which had

conveyed the examining magistrate and his Registrar from the station at

Epinay.

"Ah!" said Frederic Larsan, "if you want to speak with Monsieur Robert

Darzac, he is here."

The cab was already at the park gate and Robert Darzac was begging

Frederic Larsan to open it for him, explaining that he was pressed for time

to catch the next train leaving Epinay for Paris. Then he recognised me.

While Larsan was unlocking the gate, Monsieur Darzac inquired what had

brought me to the Glandier at such a tragic moment. I noticed that he was

frightfully pale, and that his face was lined as if from the effects of some

terrible suffering.

"Is Mademoiselle getting better?" I immediately asked.

"Yes," he said. "She will be saved perhaps. She must be saved!"

He did not add "or it will be my death"; but I felt that the phrase trembled

on his pale lips.

Rouletabille intervened:

"You are in a hurry, Monsieur; but I must speak with you. I have something

of the greatest importance to tell you."

Frederic Larsan interrupted:

"May I leave you?" he asked of Robert Darzac. "Have you a key, or do you

wish me to give you this one."

"Thank you. I have a key and will lock the gate."

Larsan hurried off in the direction of the chateau, the imposing pile of which

could be perceived a few hundred yards away.

Robert Darzac, with knit brow, was beginning to show impatience. I

presented Rouletabille as a good friend of mine, but, as soon as he learnt

that the young man was a journalist, he looked at me very reproachfully,excused himself, under the necessity of having to reach Epinay in twenty

minutes, bowed, and whipped up his horse. But Rouletabille had seized the

bridle and, to my utter astonishment, stopped the carriage with a vigorous

hand. Then he gave utterance to a sentence which was utterly meaningless

to me.

"The presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its

brightness."

The words had no sooner left the lips of Rouletabille than I saw Robert

Darzac quail. Pale as he was, he became paler. His eyes were fixed on the

young man in terror, and he immediately descended from the vehicle in an

inexpressible state of agitation.

"Come!—come in!" he stammered.

Then, suddenly, and with a sort of fury, he repeated:

"Let us go, monsieur."

He turned up by the road he had come from the chateau, Rouletabille still

retaining his hold on the horse's bridle. I addressed a few words to Monsieur

Darzac, but he made no answer. My looks questioned Rouletabille, but his

gaze was elsewhere.We reached the chateau, and, as we approached it, saw four gendarmes

pacing in front of a little door in the ground floor of the donjon. We soon

learned that in this ground floor, which had formerly served as a prison,

Monsieur and Madame Bernier, the concierges, were confined. Monsieur

Robert Darzac led us into the modern part of the chateau by a large door,

protected by a projecting awning—a "marquise" as it is called. Rouletabille,

who had resigned the horse and the cab to the care of a servant, never took

his eyes off Monsieur Darzac. I followed his look and perceived that it was

directed solely towards the gloved hands of the Sorbonne professor. When

we were in a tiny sitting-room fitted with old furniture, Monsieur Darzac

turned to Rouletabille and said sharply:

"What do you want?"

The reporter answered in an equally sharp tone:

"To shake you by the hand."

Darzac shrank back.

"What does that mean?"

Evidently he understood, what I also understood, that my friend suspected

him of the abominable attempt on the life of Mademoiselle Stangerson. The

impression of the blood-stained hand on the walls of The Yellow Room was

in his mind. I looked at the man closely. His haughty face with its expression

ordinarily so straightforward was at this moment strangely troubled. He

held out his right hand and, referring to me, said:

"As you are a friend of Monsieur Sainclair who has rendered me invaluable

services in a just cause, monsieur, I see no reason for refusing you my

hand—"

Rouletabille did not take the extended hand. Lying with the utmost

audacity, he said:"Monsieur, I have lived several years in Russia, where I have acquired the

habit of never taking any but an ungloved hand."

I thought that the Sorbonne professor would express his anger openly, but,

on the contrary, by a visibly violent effort, he calmed himself, took off his

gloves, and showed his hands; they were unmarked by any cicatrix.

"Are you satisfied?"

"No!" replied Rouletabille. "My dear friend," he said, turning to me, "I am

obliged to ask you to leave us alone for a moment."

I bowed and retired; stupefied by what I had seen and heard. I could not

understand why Monsieur Robert Darzac had not already shown the door to

my impertinent, insulting, and stupid friend. I was angry myself with

Rouletabille at that moment, for his suspicions, which had led to this scene

of the gloves.

For some twenty minutes I walked about in front of the chateau, trying

vainly to link together the different events of the day. What was in

Rouletabille's mind? Was it possible that he thought Monsieur Robert

Darzac to be the murderer? How could it be thought that this man, who was

to have married Mademoiselle Stangerson in the course of a few days, had

introduced himself into The Yellow Room to assassinate his fiancee? I could

find no explanation as to how the murderer had been able to leave The

Yellow Room; and so long as that mystery, which appeared to me so

inexplicable, remained unexplained, I thought it was the duty of all of us to

refrain from suspecting anybody. But, then, that seemingly senseless

phrase—"The presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its

brightness"—still rang in my ears. What did it mean? I was eager to rejoin

Rouletabille and question him.

At that moment the young man came out of the chateau in the company of

Monsieur Robert Darzac, and, extraordinary to relate, I saw, at a glance, that

they were the best of friends. "We are going to The Yellow Room. Come

with us," Rouletabille said to me. "You know, my dear boy, I am going to

keep you with me all day. We'll breakfast together somewhere about here—"You'll breakfast with me, here, gentlemen—"

"No, thanks," replied the young man. "We shall breakfast at the Donjon

Inn."

"You'll fare very badly there; you'll not find anything—"

"Do you think so? Well, I hope to find something there," replied Rouletabille.

"After breakfast, we'll set to work again. I'll write my article and if you'll be

so good as to take it to the office for me—"

"Won't you come back with me to Paris?"

"No; I shall remain here."

I turned towards Rouletabille. He spoke quite seriously, and Monsieur

Robert Darzac did not appear to be in the least degree surprised.

We were passing by the donjon and heard wailing voices. Rouletabille asked:

"Why have these people been arrested?"

"It is a little my fault," said Monsieur Darzac. "I happened to remark to the

examining magistrate yesterday that it was inexplicable that the concierges

had had time to hear the revolver shots, to dress themselves, and to cover

so great a distance as that which lies between their lodge and the pavilion,

in the space of two minutes; for not more than that interval of time had

elapsed after the firing of the shots when they were met by Daddy

Jacques."

"That was suspicious evidently," acquiesced Rouletabille. "And were they

dressed?"

"That is what is so incredible—they were dressed—completely—not one

part of their costume wanting. The woman wore sabots, but the man had on

laced boots. Now they assert that they went to bed at half-past nine. On

arriving this morning, the examining magistrate brought with him from Paris

a revolver of the same calibre as that found in the room (for he couldn't use

the one held for evidence), and made his Registrar fire two shots in The

Yellow Room while the doors and windows were closed. We were with him

in the lodge of the concierges, and yet we heard nothing, not a sound. Theconcierges have lied, of that there can be no doubt. They must have been

already waiting, not far from the pavilion, waiting for something! Certainly

they are not to be accused of being the authors of the crime, but their

complicity is not improbable. That was why Monsieur de Marquet had them

arrested at once."

"If they had been accomplices," said Rouletabille, "they would not have

been there at all. When people throw themselves into the arms of justice

with the proofs of complicity on them, you can be sure they are not

accomplices. I don't believe there are any accomplices in this affair."

"Then, why were they abroad at midnight? Why don't they say?"

"They have certainly some reason for their silence. What that reason is, has

to be found out; for, even if they are not accomplices, it may be of

importance. Everything that took place on such a night is important."

We had crossed an old bridge thrown over the Douve and were entering the

part of the park called the Oak Grove, The oaks here were centuries old.

Autumn had already shrivelled their tawny leaves, and their high branches,

black and contorted, looked like horrid heads of hair, mingled with quaint

reptiles such as the ancient sculptors have made on the head of Medusa.

This place, which Mademoiselle found cheerful and in which she lived in the

summer season, appeared to us as sad and funereal now. The soil was black

and muddy from the recent rains and the rotting of the fallen leaves; the

trunks of the trees were black and the sky above us was now, as if in

mourning, charged with great, heavy clouds.

And it was in this sombre and desolate retreat that we saw the white walls

of the pavilion as we approached. A queer-looking building without a

window visible on the side by which we neared it. A little door alone marked

the entrance to it. It might have passed for a tomb, a vast mausoleum in the

midst of a thick forest. As we came nearer, we were able to make out its

disposition. The building obtained all the light it needed from the south, that

is to say, from the open country. The little door closed on the park.

Monsieur and Mademoiselle Stangerson must have found it an ideal

seclusion for their work and their dreams.ditch |

________________________________________________ |

enclosing wall || || | |

|| || | |

||___ 1 |d |

||bed| || |i |

PARK ||___|________|| |t |

||:::::| 4 || |c |

||::5::| || 2 |h |

oo oo ||::::|___ _|| | |

Traces oo || || | |

of oo oo oo | |

Footsteps|| || | |

|| || | |

|| 3 ||___________| |______________

|| || 6 | ditch

||____ ____||___________|_________________

door enclosing wall

Here is the ground plan of the pavilion. It had a ground-floor which was

reached by a few steps, and above it was an attic, with which we need not

concern ourselves. The plan of the ground-floor only, sketched roughly, is

what I here submit to the reader.

1. The Yellow Room, with its one window and its one door opening