Darzac was hurried out of the room and held in the vestibule, waiting for the vehicle that Larsan had gone to fetch. We were all overcome by emotion and even Monsieur de Marquet had tears in his eyes. Rouletabille took advantage of the opportunity to say to Monsieur Darzac:
“Are you going to say anything in your defense?”
“No!” replied the prisoner.
“Very well, then I will, Monsieur.”
“You can’t do it,” said the unhappy man with a faint smile. “You can’t succeed at what Mademoiselle Stangerson and I failed to achieve.”
“Not only I can, but I will.” Rouletabille’s voice was strong and strangely confident. “I will succeed, Monsieur Darzac, because I know much more than you do!”
“Come on!” murmured Darzac, almost angrily.
“But fear not! I shall know only what will enable me to save you.”
“If you want me to be grateful, you must seek to know nothing, young man.”
Rouletabille shook his head, and walked very close to Darzac.
“Listen to what I am about to say,” he said in a low tone, “and hopefully, it’ll give you some confidence in me. You only know the name of the perpetrator. That’s half of the secret. Mademoiselle Stangerson knows the other half. But I… I now know the two halves! I know the whole man!”
Robert Darzac opened his eyes wide, with a look that showed he had not understood a word of what Rouletabille had said to him.
At that moment, the conveyance arrived, driven by Larsan. Darzac and the gendarme entered it, Larsan remaining on the driver’s seat. The prisoner was then taken to Corbeil.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rouletabille Goes on a Journey
That same evening, Rouletabille and I left Glandier. We were very glad to get away, and there was no longer any reason for us to stay there. I declared my intention to give up trying to solve the whole matter. Rouletabille, with a friendly tap on my shoulder, told me that he had nothing more to learn at Glandier because the Chateau had told him everything there was to know.
We reached Paris at about 8 p.m., had dinner together, then, tired, we separated, agreeing to meet the next morning at my apartment.
The next day, Rouletabille arrived at the appointed time. He was dressed in a suit of English tweed, with an ulster on his arm, a cap on his head and a suitcase in his hand. Evidently, he had prepared himself for a journey.
“How long shall you be gone?” I asked.
“A month or two,” he said. “It all depends.”
I didn’t dare ask him any more questions.
“Do you know,” he asked, “what the word was that Mademoiselle Stangerson tried to say while looking at Monsieur Darzac before she fainted?”
“No. Nobody heard it.”
“I did!” replied Rouletabille. “She said ‘Speak!’ ”
“Do you think Darzac will speak?”
“No. He never will.”
I was about to make some further observations, but he shook my hand warmly and wished me good health. I only had time to ask him one more question before he left:
“Aren’t you concerned that other attempts on Mademoiselle Stangerson’s life may be made while you’re gone?”
“No,” he replied. “I fear nothing of the kind now that Monsieur Darzac is in prison.”
With this strange remark, he left. I was not to see him again until the day of Darzac’s trial at the Court of Assize, when he finally showed up to explain the unexplainable.
Chapter Twenty-Six
In Which Joseph Rouletabille
Is Eagerly Expected
On January 15, that is to say, two and a half months after the tragic events which I have narrated, L’Epoque printed the following sensational article on its front page:
The jury of the Seine-et-Oise district has been summoned today to render its verdict in one of the most mysterious affairs in the annals of crime. Never before has a criminal trial been filled with so many obscure, incomprehensible, and unexplainable mysteries. And yet, the Public Prosecutor has not hesitated to drag into the dock and charge with attempted murder a man who is respected, esteemed, and loved by all who know him, a young scientist, the hope of French Science, whose entire life has been devoted to knowledge and truth.
When Paris heard of Monsieur Robert Darzac’s arrest, a unanimous cry of protest arose from all sides. The University of the Sorbonne, its collective honor besmirched by this unprecedented action by an Investigating Magistrate, has asserted its belief in Mademoiselle Stangerson’s fiancé’s innocence. Professor Stangerson himself has been vociferous in his denunciations of this miscarriage of justice. There is no doubt in the mind of anybody that if the victim herself could speak to the 12 jurors of Seine-et-Oise, she would beg them to acquit the man whom she wishes to marry, but whom the prosecution would send to the scaffold.
One hopes that Mademoiselle Stangerson will soon recover her sanity, which was severely shaken by the horrible attack she suffered at Glandier. How could anyone wish for her to lose her precious senses again when she finds out that the man whom she loves has perished on the scaffold? That is a question for the jury, to whom we have decided to appeal directly through this article.
For we are determined to not let 12 worthy, decent men commit an abominable miscarriage of justice. We freely admit that there have been terrible coincidences, accusatory evidence, the unfathomable silence on the part of the accused, refusing to account for his time, as well as his absence of an alibi, in short, there have been more than enough reasons for the prosecution, which has tried fruitlessly to find the truth elsewhere, to finally arrest Monsieur Darzac.
The evidence against him appears so overwhelming that one understands how even a detective as experienced, intelligent, and usually successful as Monsieur Frederic Larsan, could have been misled. Until now, everything the investigation has uncovered has pointed a finger at Monsieur Darzac. Today, however, we shall defend him before the jury, and we shall bring such a light to the court that it will illuminate the entire mystery of Glandier. For we know the truth!
If we have not spoken sooner, it is because the very interests of the parties we are trying to protect demanded it. Our readers may remember the articles we published in the past on the affair of the “Left Foot of the Rue Oberkampf,” the Crédit Universel robbery, and the famous case of the theft of the gold bullion from the Hôtel de la Monnaie. In all those instances, we were able to discover the truth long before even the excellent ingenuity of detective Frederic Larsan. Those articles were written by our youngest reporter, 18-year-old Joseph Rouletabille, whose name, we predict, will soon become a household word.
When the Glandier case first made the headlines, our intrepid young reporter was first on the spot; he overcame all obstacles and succeeded in staying at the Chateau when every other member of the press was denied admission. He worked side by side with Frederic Larsan, searching for the truth. He was terrified by the grave mistake the celebrated detective was about to make, and tried to pull him back from the false leads he was following; but “Frederic the Great” refused to take instructions from a young journalist. We know now what his stubbornness has done to Monsieur Darzac.
But now, France—the whole world—must know that, on the very evening of Monsieur Darzac’s arrest, Joseph Rouletabille entered our editorial office and informed us that he was about to leave on a journey.
“How long I shall be away,” he told our editor-in-chief, “I cannot say; perhaps a month, perhaps two, perhaps three, perhaps I may never return. But here is a letter. If I am not back on the day when Monsieur Darzac appears before the judges in the Court of Assize, have this letter opened and read to the court, after all the witnesses have been heard. Arrange it with Monsieur Darzac’s lawyer. Monsieur Darzac is innocent. This letter contains the name of the perpetrator, and I won’t say the proof of his guilt, since that’s exactly what I’m leaving to get, but the irrefutable explanation of what truly happened at Glandier.”
&n
bsp; Our reporter then left. We were without news from him for a long time; but, a week ago, a stranger called our editor-in-chief and said: “Act in accordance with Rouletabille’s instructions, if it becomes necessary to do so. The truth is inside that letter.” The gentleman who delivered that message would not give his name.
Today, January 15, is the day when Monsieur Darzac’s trial starts. Joseph Rouletabille has not returned. It may be that we shall never see him again. The press also counts its heroes, its martyrs to duty, the most important of all duties: freedom of the press. It may be that Joseph Rouletabille is no longer living. We shall then know how to avenge him. Our editor-in-chief will be, this afternoon, at the Court of Assize in Versailles, with Rouletabille’s letter—the letter containing the name of the perpetrator!
The article was illustrated with a large photo of Rouletabille.
Those Parisians who flocked to the Court of Assize in Versailles that day in order to attend the trial of what was now called “The Mystery of the Yellow Room” certainly remember the terrible crush at Saint-Lazare station. The regular trains were so full that special ones had to be chartered. The article from L’Epoque had provoked so much discussion, excited so many passions, stirred up so many emotions, that even blows were exchanged. The partisans of Rouletabille fought with the supporters of Frederic Larsan. Curiously enough, all that excitement was due less to the fact that an innocent man might be wrongly convicted than to the interest taken by the readers in their own theories of the Mystery of the Yellow Room. Everyone had their own explanation for it, which they all thought was the only one that was valid. Those who agreed with Frederic Larsan’s theory refused to entertain any challenge to the perspicacity of the popular detective. Others, who had arrived at a different solution, naturally insisted that this must be Rouletabille’s explanation, although they obviously didn’t know as yet what that was.
With the day’s copy of L’Epoque in their hands, the pro-Larsans and the pro-Rouletabilles fought and shoved each other on the steps of the Palais de Justice, right into the courtroom itself. An extraordinary display of police had been arranged by the city of Versailles to calm everyone’s spirits. Those who couldn’t get inside the courtroom remained in the neighborhood until the evening and were, with great difficulty, kept back by the police. They became hungry for news, welcoming the most absurd rumors. At one point, the rumor spread that Professor Stangerson himself had been arrested, having confessed to being the perpetrator. This was pure madness. Nervous excitation reached a fevered pitch. Rouletabille was still expected. Some claimed to have seen him or recognized him. When a young man with a “pass” crossed the open space which separated the crowd from the Court House, a scuffle took place. Cries were heard of “Rouletabille! There’s Rouletabille!” Other people who vaguely resembled the photograph published by L’Epoque were similarly greeted. The arrival of the editor-in-chief of the newspaper was the signal for a great demonstration. Some applauded, others hissed. There were many women in the crowd.
Inside the courtroom, the trial was presided over by Monsieur de Rocoux, a judge imbued with the prejudices of his class, but an honest man at heart. The witnesses had been summoned. I was there, of course, as were all who had, in any way, been involved in the mysteries of Glandier: Professor Stangerson, looking ten years older and almost unrecognizable, Frederic Larsan, Arthur Rance, with his face as ruddy as ever, Père Jacques, Père Mathieu, who was brought into court handcuffed between two gendarmes, Madame Mathieu, in tears, the two Berniers, the two nurses, the butler, all the servants of the Chateau, the employee of the Poste Restante of Bureau 40 of the Paris Post Office, the railway employee from Epinay, some friends of the Stangersons, and all of Monsieur Darzac’s character witnesses. I was lucky enough to be called early in the trial, so I was then able to watch and be present during the entire proceedings.
The courtroom was so crowded that many lawyers were compelled to sit on the steps. Representatives from other local benches had come to take their honorific positions behind the main bench where the three judges in their solemn red robes sat. Monsieur Darzac stood in the prisoner’s dock between two gendarmes, tall, handsome, and calm. A murmur of admiration rather than compassion greeted his appearance. He leaned forward toward his lawyer, Maître Henri Robert, who, assisted by his chief secretary, Maître Andre Hesse, was busily doing a last review of his brief.
Many expected that Professor Stangerson was going to go over to Monsieur Darzac and publicly shake hands with him; but the witnesses were called out and they left the courtroom without that sensational gesture taking place. After the jurors were seated, someone observed that they appeared to be deeply interested in a conversation that Maître Henri Robert was having with the editor-in-chief of L’Epoque. The editor then went to sit in the front row of the public seats. Some were surprised that he wasn’t asked to go with the other witnesses in the room that had been reserved for them.
The reading of the indictment went, as it always does, without any incident. I shall not here report the long examination to which Monsieur Darzac was subjected. He answered all the questions with a natural ease, and yet with an aura of mystery. Everything he revealed seemed entirely natural; but everything he refused to divulge seemed to hurt his cause dreadfully, even in the eyes of those who believed him to be innocent. His silence on the important points which we already know worked against him, and it seemed that his reticence to tell the truth might prove fatal. He resisted the exhortations of the Public Prosecutor, and the Judges’ entreaties, even when told that his silence might mean death.
“Very well,” he said; “I will submit to it; but I am innocent.”
With the splendid oratory skill which has made him famous, Maître Robert took advantage of the incident to try to show his client’s noble character, arguing that only true heroes could remain silent for moral reasons in face of such a peril. The eminent attorney, however, succeeded in persuading only those who already believed in Darzac’s innocence; the others remained unconvinced. There was an adjournment, then the witnesses began to be heard. Meanwhile, Rouletabille had not yet arrived. Every time a door opened, all eyes turned towards it, then back to the editor of L’Epoque, who sat impassive in his seat. At one point, he was seen feeling in his pocket and pulling out an envelope. A loud murmur of expectation followed. Surely, that was Rouletabille’s letter!
It isn’t, however, my intention to report in detail the course of the trial. My readers are sufficiently acquainted with the mysteries surrounding the Glandier case to enable me to go on to the truly dramatic denouement of this ever-memorable day.
It took place when Maître Robert was questioning Père Mathieu who, on the witness stand, between two gendarmes, was denying any part in the death of the “Green Man,” the gamekeeper. His wife was brought in to confront her husband. She burst into tears and confessed that she had been the gamekeeper’s mistress, and that her husband had indeed suspected it. However, she swore again that he had nothing to do with her lover’s murder. Maître Robert thereupon asked the court to hear Frederic Larsan on this point.
“In a short conversation which I have had with Monsieur Larsan during the adjournment,” declared the lawyer, “he hinted that the gamekeeper’s death might have been caused by someone other than Monsieur Mathieu. I would be interested to hear Monsieur Larsan’s theory at this stage.”
The Judges agreed. Larsan was brought in. His explanation was quite clear.
“I see no reason,” he said, “to bring Père Mathieu into this. I said so to Monsieur de Marquet, but the innkeeper’s repeated threats against the gamekeeper had already, understandably, prejudiced the Investigating Magistrate against him. To me, the attempted murder of Mademoiselle Stangerson and the death of the gamekeeper are the work of one and the same person. Several shots were fired at Mademoiselle Stangerson’s murderer when he was fleeing through the courtyard. All the shooters believed they had hit him, perhaps even killed him. In truth, he only stumbled just he vanished behind the
corner of the right wing of the Chateau. There, he came across the gamekeeper who, undoubtedly, tried to capture him. The murderer already had in his hand the knife with which he had stabbed Mademoiselle Stangerson. With it, he killed the gamekeeper.”
This simple explanation appeared even more plausible because many people following the Glandier case had already made the same reasoning. A murmur of approbation was heard.
“And the murderer? What became of him?” asked the President of the Court.
“He obviously hid in a dark corner at the end of the courtyard. After the witnesses had left the courtyard carrying the body of the gamekeeper with them, the murderer quietly made his escape.”
At that moment, a youthful voice arose from the back of the courtroom and shouted:
“I agree with Frederic Larsan as to the death of the gamekeeper; but I don’t agree with him as to the way the murderer escaped!”
Everybody turned round, astonished. The ushers rushed towards the man who had just spoken, calling out silence. The President angrily asked who had dared raise his voice and ordered the intruder’s immediate expulsion.
The same clear voice, however, was again heard to respond:
“It is I, Monsieur. I, Joseph Rouletabille!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In Which Joseph Rouletabille
Appears In All His Glory
The crowd suddenly got very excited. Women fainted; shouts were heard; there was a great deal of hustle and bustle. The “majesty of the law” was totally forgotten. Everyone tried to catch a sight of Rouletabille. The President kept shouting that he was going to have the courtroom cleared, but no one paid any attention to him.
Rouletabille and the Mystery of the Yellow Room Page 21