Rouletabille and the Mystery of the Yellow Room

by Gaston Leroux

  “But surely, you must know when he came for the first time?”

  “Oh yes, Monsieur! That was nine years ago.”

  “So he was in France nine years ago,” said Rouletabille. “Since that time, as far as you know, how many times has he been at Glandier?”

  “Three times.”

  “When did he come for the last time, as far as you know?”

  “A week before the attack in the Yellow Room.”

  Rouletabille asked another question, this time addressing Madame Bernier:

  “In the groove of the parquet?”

  “Yes. In the groove of the parquet,” she replied.

  “Thank you!” said Rouletabille. “Be prepared for tonight.”

  He spoke the last words with a finger on his lips as if to advise silence and discretion.

  We left the estate and took the road to the Auberge du Donjon.

  “Have you eaten there often?” I asked.

  “Sometimes.”

  “But you also took meals at the Chateau?”

  “Yes,” said Rouletabille. “Larsan and I were sometimes served in our rooms.”

  “Hasn’t Professor Stangerson ever invited you to his table?”

  “No, never.”

  “Does your presence at the Chateau displease him then?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, but if it does, he’s shown no signs of it.”

  “Does he ever question you?”

  “Never. He is in the same frame of mind as he was when he stood outside the Yellow Room when his daughter was being attacked, and after he broke open the door and couldn’t find her attacker. He is convinced that, since he couldn’t find anything that night, we won’t either. But he has felt obliged, since Larsan came up with his theory implicating him, to not oppose our efforts.”

  Rouletabille spent some time absorbed in his own thoughts, then told me of how he had arranged the release of the caretakers.

  “I went to see Professor Stangerson. I had him write the following on a piece of paper: ‘I hereby promise, notwithstanding anything that I might learn, to keep my two loyal servants, Monsieur and Madame Bernier, in my employ.’ I told him that, by signing that document, he would enable me to persuade the Berniers to talk, and that I was certain that they were innocent of any involvement in the crime. That was also his opinion, so he signed. The Investigating Magistrate then showed the document to the Berniers, who did begin to talk. They said, as I was sure they would, that they’d been too afraid of losing their jobs before.

  “They confessed to poaching on the Professor’s estate, and it was while poaching, on the night of the attack, that they found themselves near the pavilion when Mademoiselle Stangerson was being assaulted. They sold the various game, ducks and rabbits, that they caught to the landlord of the Auberge du Donjon, who served them to his customers in the form of much appreciated pâtés and terrines, and sold the rest to the markets in Paris. That was what I had guessed earlier. Do you remember what I said when we walked into the Auberge du Donjon? I’d like some blood pudding—a type of sausage made of pig or cattle blood.

  “You see, I’d heard the same words on the morning when we arrived at Glandier. You probably heard them too, but didn’t attach any importance to them. As you remember, when we reached the main gate, we stopped to look at a man who was running alongside the wall of the estate, constantly checking his watch. That was Larsan who was already at work. Well, not too far from there, the landlord of the Auberge du Donjon was standing on his doorstep, and I heard him say to someone inside: ‘Now, you’ll have to be content with blood pudding.’

  “What did he mean by now? When you’re searching, as I always am, for the hidden meanings of things, you can’t afford to ignore anything you see or hear. You’ve got to understand everything. We were in a backwater part of the country which had just been turned upside down by a ghastly crime. Logic told me that every phrase I might hear would likely reflect it. So I took that ‘now’ to mean, ‘since the crime.’ During my initial investigation, I kept looking for a connection between that harmless-sounding phrase and the attack upon Mademoiselle Stangerson, but I found none. However, when we went to the Auberge du Donjon for lunch, I repeated it and saw, by the surprise and trouble on Père Mathieu’s face, that I had not exaggerated its importance, at least as far as he was concerned.

  “I had just learned that the caretakers had been arrested. Père Mathieu spoke of them as of dear friends, people for whom he felt sorry. In a wild burst of inspiration, I put two and two together and said to myself that what he had meant was: ‘Now that the caretakers have been arrested, you’ll have to be content with blood pudding.’ No more caretakers, no more game, no more pâtés! The reason I made that connection was because of the hatred Père Mathieu expressed towards Professor Stangerson’s gamekeeper—a hatred which he claimed was also shared by the caretakers! That easily led me to think of poaching. Since all the evidence showed that the caretakers hadn’t been in their bed at the time of the attack, what were they doing outside that night? Were they parties to the crime? I didn’t think so. I had already arrived at the conclusion, for reasons which I will tell you later, that the perpetrator had worked alone, and that the entire tragedy was based on a mysterious connection between Mademoiselle Stangerson and said perpetrator, a mystery which didn’t involve the caretakers.

  “Poaching was the key to explaining everything, at least as far as the caretakers were concerned. With that theory in mind, I searched for some proof in their lodge, which, as you remember, I entered. I found it under their bed: collars and copper wire. ‘Ah-ah!’ I thought, ‘this explains what they were doing outside at night!’ I was no longer surprised by their stubborn silence and their refusal to answer the Investigating Magistrate’s questions, even when they were being accused of complicity in the matter of the attack on Mademoiselle Stangerson. Confessing to poaching would have saved them from the Court of Assize, but would have cost them their jobs. Since they were perfectly certain of their innocence in the matter of the attack, they hoped that the true perpetrator would soon be caught, and that everyone would forget about the poaching. Besides, they could always confess to it later if things turned out badly.

  “I hastened their confession by means of the document signed by Professor Stangerson. They gave all the evidence necessary, were released at once, and now are extremely grateful to me. Why didn’t I get them released sooner? Because I wasn’t sure that poaching was their only crime. I needed to learn more. But, as the days went by, my conviction became a certainty. Then, the day after the events of the unfathomable corridor, I needed help that I could rely on, so I resolved to have them released at once. And there we are!”

  That’s how Rouletabille explained the situation. Once again, I was astonished by the simplicity of the reasoning which had brought him to the truth in the matter of the two caretakers. Certainly, this was a minor side issue, but I couldn’t help thinking that, someday soon, that young man was going to explain the formidable Mystery of the Yellow Room, as well as that of the unfathomable corridor, with the same simplicity.

  While talking, we had reached the Auberge du Donjon and went inside.

  This time, we didn’t see the innkeeper, but were greeted with a pleasant smile by his wife. I have already described the room in which we found ourselves, and I have given a description of the charming blonde woman with the gentle eyes who immediately began to prepare our lunch.

  “How’s Père Mathieu?” inquired Rouletabille.

  “Not much better, Monsieur. He’s still confined to his bed,” replied the woman.

  “His rheumatisms are still tormenting him, then?”

  “Yes. Last night, I had to give him a morphine shot again. That’s the only medicine that gives him any relief.”

  She spoke in a soft voice. Everything about her expressed gentleness. She was, indeed, a beautiful woman, with an air of indolence, great, sorrowful blue eyes—the eyes of a lover. Père Mathieu, when he wasn’t suffering from r
heumatisms, must have been a happy man. But could a woman like her ever be happy with a foul-tempered, rheumatic husband? The domestic dispute which we had witnessed earlier didn’t lead me to believe so. And yet, there was something about her that did not suggest despair or hopelessness.

  She disappeared into the kitchen to prepare our meal, leaving a bottle of excellent cider on the table. Rouletabille filled our mugs, lit his pipe, and quietly explained to me his reason for asking me to come to Glandier with guns.

  “Yes,” he said, contemplatively looking at the clouds of smoke he was puffing out, “yes, my friend, I’m expecting the perpetrator tonight.”

  A brief silence followed, which I took care not to interrupt, and then he went on:

  “Last night, just as I was going to bed, Monsieur Darzac knocked at my door. I let him in and he told me that he had to go to Paris the next day, that is to say, this morning. The reason the journey was necessary was both peremptory and mysterious; peremptory because he absolutely had to go; mysterious because he wouldn’t tell me the reason. ‘I must go,” he said, “and yet, I would give half my life not to leave Mademoiselle Stangerson right now.’ He didn’t try to hide the fact that he believed her to be in danger again. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ he added, ‘if something happens tomorrow night, and yet I must go. I can’t be back at Glandier until the morning of the day after tomorrow.’

  “I asked him to explain himself, but that’s all he would tell me. His fear of a new threat had come to him solely from observing the coincidence that his fiancée had been attacked twice, at both times when he had been absent. On the night of the incident of the unfathomable corridor, he had been obliged to be away from Glandier. On the night of the tragedy in the Yellow Room, he had also not been able to be at the Chateau, at least according to his own statements. For a man with such a clear understanding of a threat, to still be compelled to leave meant that he was being forced to obey a will stronger than his own. That was how I reasoned, and I told him so. He replied: ‘Perhaps.’ I asked him if the will was that of Mademoiselle Stangerson. He said that it was not, and that his decision to go to Paris had been taken without any consultation with her. In short, he repeated that his belief in the possibility of a new attack was based entirely on that extraordinary coincidence which he had observed—and upon which the Investigating Magistrate had also commented.

  “ ‘If anything happens to Mademoiselle Stangerson,’ he said to me, ‘it will be terrible for us both. For her, because her life will be in danger again; for me, because I shan’t be able to defend her, nor tell anyone where I’ve spent the night. I’m perfectly aware of the suspicions that weigh on me. The Investigating Magistrate and Monsieur Larsan both believe me guilty. Larsan tailed me the last time I went to Paris, and I had all the trouble in the world of getting rid of him.’

  “ ‘Why don’t you tell me the name of the perpetrator now, if you know it?’ I exclaimed.

  “Darzac appeared extremely troubled by my question, and replied in a hesitating tone:

  “ ‘I? You think I know the name of the murderer? But how could I know his name?’

  “I replied at once:

  “ ‘Because Mademoiselle Stangerson told it to you.’

  “He became so pale that I thought he was about to faint. I saw that I had hit the nail right on the head. Mademoiselle Stangerson and he knew the perpetrator’s name!

  “When he recovered himself, he said to me:

  “ ‘I am going to leave you, Monsieur Rouletabille. Since you’ve been here, I’ve learned to appreciate your exceptional intelligence and your unequalled ingenuity. I would now like to ask this service of you. Perhaps I’m wrong to fear another attack tomorrow night, but I must plan for that possibility and I would like to count on you to thwart any attempts that may be made on Mademoiselle Stangerson’s life. Take every step required to protect her. Keep a very careful eye on her room and make sure no one goes inside. Be her watchdog. Don’t go to sleep, don’t allow yourself one moment of repose. The man we fear is remarkably cunning, with unequalled craftiness. That very cunning might save her if you keep watch, because our man will know that you’re watching, and because of his cunning, he won’t try anything.’

  “ ‘Have you told all this to Professor Stangerson?’

  “ ‘No.’

  “ ‘Why not?’

  “ ‘Because I don’t wish him to ask me the same thing that you did just now, the name of the perpetrator. If you were surprised by what I told you, imagine what the Professor might say! He might question the fact that my prediction of the perpetrator’s return in my absence is based on a series of coincidences that he, too, might find rather questionable… If I tell you all this, Monsieur Rouletabille, it’s because I have great, very great, confidence in you. I know that you do not suspect me.’

  “The poor man spoke in hiccups, as if he could hardly breathe. It was obvious that he was in pain. I felt sorry for him, the more so because I felt certain that he would prefer to be killed himself rather than to tell me who the perpetrator was, just as Mademoiselle Stangerson would rather die than reveal the identity of the man of the Yellow Room and the unfathomable corridor. That man must have been controlling her, or both of them, through some terrible secret, and it was clear that they lived in fear that the Professor would learn that his daughter was being manipulated by her assailant. I told Monsieur Darzac that he had said enough, since he couldn’t tell me anything. I further promised him I would stay awake and keep watch all night. He insisted that I should establish a truly impenetrable barrier around Mademoiselle Stangerson’s bedroom, her boudoir where the two nurses slept, and her sitting room where, since the affair of the unfathomable corridor, the Professor had been spending his nights. In short, I was to cordon off the whole apartment.

  “From his insistence, I understood that Monsieur Darzac intended not only to make it impossible for the perpetrator to reach Mademoiselle Stangerson’s bedroom, but also to make such a goal so obviously impossible that, realizing that he was being expected, he wouldn’t even try. At least, that’s how I interpreted his final words when we parted: ‘After I’m gone, you may share my suspicions with Professor Stangerson, Père Jacques, Monsieur Larsan, and everyone else at the Chateau, but make it look like the idea or organizing such insurmountable defense, at least until I return, was entirely yours.’

  “The poor fellow left me, hardly knowing what he was saying. My silence and my eyes told him that I had guessed three quarters of his secret. And, indeed, he must have been at his wits’ end to have come to me at such a time, and to abandon Mademoiselle Stangerson despite his dreadful fear of another coincidental attack.

  “After he’d gone, I began to think hard. I knew that I had to outsmart our foe’s own smartness, so that if the perpetrator were to return that night, he shouldn’t for a moment suspect that he was being expected. I had to bar his way, under pain of death, and yet let him in far enough so that, dead or alive, I might see his face clearly! I had to put an end to this! Mademoiselle Stangerson had to be freed from this murder in installments.

  “Yes, my friend,” concluded Rouletabille, after placing his pipe on the table, and emptying his mug of cider, “I must see his face distinctly, in order to make sure that it can fit inside that circle which I’ve drawn inside my head with the right end of logic.”

  The landlady reappeared at that moment, bringing in the traditional bacon omelette. Rouletabille flirted a little with her, and she took it in stride with a most charming smile.

  “She is much nicer when Père Mathieu is in bed with his rheumatisms,” Rouletabille observed.

  However, I wasn’t thinking about Rouletabille or the landlady’s smiles. I was entirely absorbed by my friend’s last words and Monsieur Darzac’s strange behavior.

  When he had finished his omelette, and we were again alone, Rouletabille continued his tale:

  “When I sent you my telegram this morning,” he said, “I had only the word of Monsieur Darzac that, perhaps, the
perpetrator might return tonight. I can now say that he will certainly come. In fact, I’m planning for it.”

  “What made you feel so certain? Could it be…?”

  “Quiet!” interrupted Rouletabille, smiling. “Please. You’re going to say something stupid. I’ve been sure that the perpetrator would return tonight since 10:30 a.m. I knew it before we saw Arthur Rance at the window in the courtyard.”

  “Ah!” I said. “Really? But then… I don’t understand… What made you so sure? And why at 10:30 a.m.?”

  “Because, at 10:30 a.m., I had proof that Mademoiselle Stangerson was making as much of an effort to allow the perpetrator in as Monsieur Darzac had made to stop him.”

  “How can that be?” I cried. Then, in a sotto voice, I added: “Didn’t you tell me that Mademoiselle Stangerson is in love with Monsieur Darzac?”

  “I told you that because it’s true.”

  “Then don’t you think it’s strange that…”

  “Everything in this business is strange, my friend; but take my word for it, the strangeness you’ve seen until now is nothing compared to the strangeness that’s coming!”

  “Then,” I said, hesitantly, “we should assume that Mademoiselle Stangerson and her attacker are talking to each other, or at least corresponding…”

  “Assume away, my friend! Where’s the problem? I told you about the letter left on Mademoiselle Stangerson’s desk on the night of the unfathomable corridor, a letter which later disappeared into her pocket... Who could say if, in it, the perpetrator wasn’t asking Mademoiselle Stangerson for another rendezvous? A rendezvous that might take place as soon as Monsieur Darzac left the Chateau? The night following his departure, for example?”

  My friend laughed silently. There were moments when I asked myself if he wasn’t having fun at my expense.

  Suddenly, the door of the inn opened. Rouletabille was on his feet so suddenly that one might have thought he had received an electric shock.