Rouletabille and the Mystery of the Yellow Room

by Gaston Leroux

  I again turned my eyes to Rouletabille.

  “Ah, Monsieur Larsan,” he said, “when did you start using a cane? I’ve always seen you walking with your hands in your pockets!”

  “It’s a present,” replied the detective.

  “A recent one?” insisted Rouletabille.

  “No, it was given to me in London.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember, you’ve just returned from London. May I look at it?”

  “Certainly!”

  Larsan handed his cane to Rouletabille. It was a large bamboo cane with a crutch handle decorated with a gold ring. Rouletabille examined it carefully.

  “It seems you were given a French cane in London!” he said in a jovial tone.

  “Possibly,” said Larsan, imperturbably.

  “Read the mark there, in tiny letters: Cassette, 6b, Opera.”

  “There are wealthy Parisians who have their laundry pressed in London. Why couldn’t an Englishman buy his cane in Paris?”

  Rouletabille returned the cane to the detective. Later, when saw me into the train, he said:

  “You remember the address?”

  “Yes, Cassette, 6b, Opera. You can count on me. You’ll get a report tomorrow morning.”

  That evening, in Paris, I visited Monsieur Cassette, dealer in canes, walking-sticks and umbrellas, and wrote to my friend:

  “A man unmistakably answering to the description of Monsieur Darzac—same height, slightly stooping, putty-colored coat, bowler hat—purchased a cane similar to the one in which we are interested, on the evening of the crime, at about 8 p.m. Monsieur Cassette has not sold another such cane during the last two years. Larsan’s cane is new. It is quite clear that it’s the same cane. He did not buy it at Cassette’s, since he was in London. So, like you, I think that he found it, somewhere near Monsieur Darzac. But if, as you suppose, the perpetrator was in the Yellow Room since 5 or 6 p.m., and the attack on Mademoiselle Stangerson didn’t take place until close to midnight, the purchase of this cane provides an indisputable alibi for Monsieur Darzac.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “The Presbytery Has Lost None of Its Charm,

  Nor the Garden Its Glow”

  Eight days after the events I have just recounted—on November 2, to be exact—I received the following telegram at my home in Paris: “Come to Glandier by earliest train. Bring guns. Best. Rouletabille.”

  I have already mentioned, I think, that, at that point in my life, being a young attorney with only a few cases, I frequently visited the Palais de Justice, more for the purpose of familiarizing myself with my professional duties than for defending widows and orphans. I wasn’t surprised, therefore, by Rouletabille taking advantage of me in such a cavalier fashion. Further, he knew how keenly interested I was in his adventures in general, but especially so in the Yellow Room. The only news I’d read about the case during the past week were the various bits of gossip printed at length by some newspapers, and the very brief articles filed by Rouletabille in L’Epoque. The latter had mentioned the existence of the sheep-bone, and reported that traces of human blood had been found on it—the most recent coming from Mademoiselle Stangerson, while the old stains belonged to other crimes, probably dating from several years ago.

  By then, the so-called “Mystery of the Yellow Room” had captured the attention of the world press. No crime had ever fascinated so many people before. However, it seemed to me that the investigation was making little progress. Normally, I would have been very glad to have received my friend’s invitation to return to Glandier, if it hadn’t contained the rather ominous words: “Bring guns.”

  That puzzled me greatly. If Rouletabille was asking me to bring guns, it meant that he foresaw that we might need them, perhaps even have to use them. Now, I confess without shame that I’m no hero. But here was a friend, obviously in danger, who was asking for my help. So I didn’t hesitate. After making sure that the only revolver I owned was properly loaded, I rushed to the Gare d’Orléans. On my way, I remembered that Rouletabille had asked for guns—plural. So I stopped at a gunshop and bought a fine revolver, which I intended to offer to my friend as a gift.

  I had hoped to find Rouletabille waiting for me at the Epinay station, but he wasn’t there. However, a cab was, and soon, I arrived at Glandier. Nobody was at the gate. It was only at the threshold of the Chateau that I met my young friend. He greeted me warmly, hugging me and inquiring about the state of my health.

  Once we were in the small sitting room, which I’ve mentioned before, Rouletabille asked me to sit down.

  “It’s going rather badly,” he said.

  “What’s going rather badly?” I asked.

  “Everything.”

  He came closer to me and whispered in my ear:

  “Frederic Larsan is hell-bent on convicting Monsieur Darzac.”

  This didn’t surprise me. I had seen Mademoiselle Stangerson’s fiancé’s face grow pale when we had discovered his footprints by the pond. However, I asked:

  “What about Larsan’s cane?”

  “It is still in his hands. He never lets go of it.”

  “But doesn’t it provide an alibi for Darzac?”

  “Not at all. I gently questioned him, and he denied having ever bought a cane at Cassette’s, on that evening or any other. However,” added Rouletabille, “I wouldn’t swear to that, because Monsieur Darzac has such strange silences that one never knows exactly what to think of what he says.”

  “That cane must be a significant piece of evidence against Darzac for Larsan,” I said. “But why? The time when it was bought shows that it couldn’t have been in the murderer’s possession.”

  “That doesn’t bother Larsan,” said Rouletabille. “He doesn’t have to follow my timeline, which assumes that the perpetrator got into the Yellow Room sometime between 5 and 6 p.m. There’s nothing to stop him from postulating that it happened between 10 and 11 p.m. At that time, Professor Stangerson, assisted by his daughter and Père Jacques, was conducting a delicate chemical experiment in the furnace by the fireplace. Larsan is going to claim, as unlikely as it seems, that the perpetrator managed to slip past them unnoticed. He’s already said as much to the Investigating Magistrate. When you think about it, his reasoning is absurd. His so-called ‘intimate’—if there is one—would have known that the Professor would shortly leave the pavilion, and that his own safety required that he waited until after the Professor’s departure to proceed with his plans. Why would he have risked crossing the laboratory while the Professor was still there? And when did he get inside the pavilion?

  “There are many points that need to be cleared up before I can accept the products of Larsan’s imagination. I won’t waste my time worrying about them because I’ve got a perfect theory that ignores them altogether. However, for the moment, as I am obliged to remain silent, while Larsan keeps talking, events could go badly for Monsieur Darzac—unless I intervene, of course,” added the young reporter proudly. “There is, in fact, some superficial evidence against him, far more damning than that cane, which remains incomprehensible to me—all the more so since Larsan doesn’t hesitate to let Darzac, who’s supposed to have bought it, see him parading around with it! I understand much of Larsan’s theory, but I can’t make anything of that cane.”

  “Is he still at the Chateau?” I inquired.

  “Yes! He hardly ever leaves it! He sleeps here, as I do, at Professor Stangerson’s request. The Professor has extended him his hospitality, just as Monsieur Robert Darzac has done for me. Accused by Larsan of knowing the perpetrator’s identity and having facilitated his escape, the Professor wishes to afford the detective every facility for arriving at the truth—again, just like Darzac with me.”

  “But I thought you were convinced of Darzac’s innocence?”

  “I am now, but at one time I did believe in the possibility of his guilt. That was after we’d just arrived here... In fact, the time has come for me to tell you what transpired between Monsieur Darzac and me then.
..”

  Here Rouletabille paused and asked me if I had brought the guns. I showed them to him. Having examined both closely, he declared them excellent, and handed them back to me.

  “Will we have to use them?” I asked.

  “Very likely this evening. You’ll spend the night here. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “On the contrary,” I said with an expression that made Rouletabille laugh.

  “Excuse me,” he said, “this is no time for laughing. Do you remember that phrase that became our ‘open sesame’ to this Chateau?”

  “Of course, I do,” I said. “Perfectly. It was ‘The presbytery has lost none of its charm, nor the garden its glow.’ It was the same phrase which you found on the half-burned piece of paper in the ashes of the fireplace in the laboratory.”

  “That’s correct, and at the bottom of that paper was a date: October 23. Remember it! It’s very important. I’m now going to tell you the origins of that curious phrase. On the evening before the crime, that is to say, on October 23, Professor Stangerson and his daughter attended a banquet at the Elysée Palace. They stayed for the reception afterward. I know this because I was there myself, on duty, interviewing some of the scientists from Philadelphia who were being feted that evening. Until that day, I had never met either the Professor or his daughter. I was sitting in the sitting room next to the Salon des Ambassadeurs, tired of being pushed around by so many celebrities, and had fallen into a vague reverie, when I suddenly smelled, close to me, the perfume of the lady in black!

  “You may well ask me what the perfume of the lady in black is… Suffice it to say that it’s a perfume of which I’m very fond, because it was that of a woman, always dressed in black, who was very kind to me when I was a child. The woman who, that evening, wore the perfume of the lady in black was, however, dressed in white. She was wonderfully beautiful. I couldn’t help rising and following her—and her perfume. An old man gave her his arm and, as they walked by, I heard voices say: ‘It’s Professor Stangerson and his daughter.’ That’s how I found out who it was I was following.

  “They met Monsieur Darzac, whom I knew by sight. Professor Stangerson, accosted by Mr. Arthur William Rance, one of the American scientists, sat in the Salon, while Monsieur Darzac took Mademoiselle Stangerson to the gardens. I followed. The weather was very mild that evening. Mademoiselle Stangerson threw a shawl over her shoulders and I could saw that it was she who was begging Monsieur Darzac to go with her into the then-deserted gardens. I continued to follow them, interested by the turmoil plainly displayed on Monsieur Darzac’s face. They slowly walked alongside the wall abutting the Avenue Marigny. I took the central aisle, walking parallel to them, then stepped across the lawn in order to get closer. The night was dark. The grass muffled the sound of my steps. They had stopped under the bright light of a lamp post and appeared to be looking at a paper held by Mademoiselle Stangerson, reading something which interested them both deeply. I stopped as well. I was surrounded by darkness and silence, so neither of them noticed me. Then I distinctly heard Mademoiselle Stangerson say, as she was refolding the paper: ‘The presbytery has lost none of its charm, nor the garden its glow!’

  “It was said in a voice that was at once scornful and desperate, and was followed by a burst of such hysterical laughter that I think these words will never be erased from my memory. Then Monsieur Darzac replied: ‘Must I then commit a crime to win you?’ He was in an extraordinarily agitated state. He took Mademoiselle Stangerson’s hand and held it to his lips for a long time. From the movement of his shoulders, I thought that he might have been crying. After that, they walked away.

  “When I returned to the Salon,” continued Rouletabille, “I saw no more of Monsieur Darzac, whom I didn’t meet again until the day after the attack, but I saw Mademoiselle Stangerson and her father in conversation with the American scientists. Mademoiselle Stangerson was standing near Mr. Rance, who was talking to her animatedly, his eyes glowing with a singular brightness. Mademoiselle Stangerson, I thought, wasn’t even listening to what he was saying, her face was expressing perfect indifference. Mr. Rance’s face was the red face of a drunkard—a man fond of gin, I thought. When the Professor and his daughter left, he went to the bar and remained there.

  “I joined him and helped him order in the midst of the pressing crowd. He thanked me and told me that he would be returning to America three days later, that is to say on October 26, the day after the crime. I mentioned Philadelphia. He told me that he’d lived in that beautiful city for 25 years, and that it was there that he had met the renowned Professor Stangerson and his daughter. He drank a great deal of champagne, so much that I thought he’d never stop. When I left him, he was quite drunk.

  “Such were my experiences on that evening. During the rest of the night, I couldn’t clear my mind of the twin images of Robert Darzac and Mathilde Stangerson. So I leave you to imagine what effect the news of her attempted murder produced on me. How could I not remember Monsieur Darzac’s words, ‘Must I then commit a crime to win you?’ However, it was not that phrase which I said to him when we met him at the gate. It was the one about the presbytery and the garden which he had read on the piece of paper held by his fiancée. And as you recall, it was sufficient for us to gain entrance to this Chateau. Did I believe, then, that Monsieur Darzac was the perpetrator? I don’t think I really did. At the time, I don’t think I really believed anything yet. I had so little evidence to go on… But I needed to make sure that he hadn’t been wounded in the hand.

  “When the two of us were alone, later that morning, I told him how I had chanced to overhear a portion of his conversation with Mademoiselle Stangerson in the gardens of the Elysée. When I repeated to him the words, ‘Must I then commit a crime to win you?’ he became greatly troubled, but much less so than he had been when he’d heard me repeat the phrase about the presbytery. What threw him into a state of great consternation, however, was to learn from me that, earlier that day, Mademoiselle Stangerson had gone to Bureau 40 of the Post Office to claim a letter from the Poste Restante. It was that letter which they had read in the gardens of the Elysée, and which contained the words: ‘The presbytery has lost none of its charm, nor the garden its glow.’

  “My theory about the contents of the letter was later confirmed by my finding its remains in the ashes of the laboratory. It was dated October 23, having been written and picked up from the Post Office the same day. There can be no doubt that, upon returning from the Elysée that night, Mademoiselle Stangerson tried to destroy that compromising letter. Monsieur Darzac pointlessly tried to deny that the letter had anything to do with the crime. I told him that, in such a mysterious affair, he had no right to hide this letter from the police, and further, that I was persuaded of its great importance because of the desperate tone in which Mademoiselle Stangerson had pronounced the fateful phrase, of his own, subsequent tears, and of the threat he had made after reading it. The combination of these facts left no room for doubt.

  “As Monsieur Darzac became increasingly agitated, I determined to take advantage of his distress.

  “ ‘You were about to be married, Monsieur,’ I said nonchalantly and without looking at him, ‘but, suddenly your marriage becomes impossible because of that letter. As soon as you’ve read it, you speak of the necessity of a crime to win Mademoiselle Stangerson’s hand. Therefore, there is someone between you and her, someone who’s forbidden her to marry you, someone who tried to kill her in order to stop her from marrying you!’

  “And I concluded with these words:

  “ ‘Now, Monsieur, you must tell me in confidence the name of the man who attacked your fiancée!’

  “The words I uttered must have had some secret meaning unknown to me, for when I next looked at Monsieur Darzac, his face was haggard, his forehead shiny with perspiration, and his eyes gleamed with fear.

  “ ‘Monsieur Rouletabille,’ he said to me, ‘I’m going to ask you something which may seem insane, but for which I would gladly tra
de my life! You mustn’t tell the Magistrate what you saw and heard in the gardens of the Elysée, nor tell the police or anyone else. I swear to you that I am innocent, and I know, I feel, that you believe me. But I’d rather be taken for guilty than see the Law look into the meaning of the phrase, “The presbytery has lost none of its charm, nor the garden its glow.” The police must never learn of it! My entire case is in your hands, Monsieur, I’m entrusting it to you, but you must forget the evening at the Elysée. For someone like you, I’m sure there will be 100 other avenues that will lead you to the perpetrator. I will open them for you myself. I will help you. Will you agree to stay here? You may do as you please, eat, sleep, watch my actions, everyone else’s actions. You will be the virtual master of Glandier, but please, Monsieur, forget the evening at the Elysée!’ ”

  Rouletabille stopped to catch his breath. I now understood what had seemed so inexplicable in Monsieur Darzac’s behavior towards my friend, and the facility with which the young reporter had been able to install himself at the scene of the crime. My curiosity couldn’t fail to be excited by all I had just heard. I asked Rouletabille to satisfy it further. What had happened at Glandier during the past eight days? Had he not told me that there was some superficial evidence against Monsieur Darzac which was much more incriminating than the cane found by Larsan?

  “Yes, I’m afraid everything seems to accuse him,” replied my friend, “and the situation is becoming exceedingly serious. Monsieur Darzac appears not to mind, but he’s wrong. Nothing seems to interest him other than Mademoiselle Stangerson’s health, which is improving daily. But while you were gone, something strange and extraordinary occurred here that is even more puzzling than the Mystery of the Yellow Room!”