Rouletabille and the Mystery of the Yellow Room

by Gaston Leroux

  Meanwhile, the young reporter nimbly jumped over the railing that separated the seated spectators from the ones standing up at the back, elbowed his way though and finally reached his editor, who greeted him cordially. Rouletabille took back his famous letter, pocketed it, and then managed to find his way to the witness box. He was smiling and looked happy; his face was like a ruddy ball illuminated by two large, shiny round eyes. He was dressed exactly as on the day he had left me—but showed much more wear and tear!—even to the ulster over his arm and the cap in his hand.

  Turning to the President of the Court, he said:

  “I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but the steamer was late. I have just returned from America. My name is Joseph Rouletabille!”

  The silence which had followed his stepping into the witness box was suddenly broken by laughter as his words were heard. Everybody seemed relieved and glad that he was here at last. People were literally breathing more easily. They now knew they were certain to hear the truth.

  But the President was still incensed.

  “So you are Joseph Rouletabille,” he said. “Well, young man, I’ll teach you to turn my courtroom into a circus! I’ll review your case later, but in the meantime, I’m holding you in contempt and remanding you in the court’s custody.”

  “But I ask nothing more than to be in this court’s custody, Monsieur,” replied Rouletabille. “I have come here with the specific purpose of assisting this court, and I humbly beg the court’s pardon for the disturbance which I have unwittingly caused. I ask you to believe me, Monsieur, when I say that no one has a greater respect for this court than I, but I had no choice but to rush here as fast as I could. I didn’t even have time to change.”

  He laughed and the courtroom laughed with him.

  “Take him away!” ordered the President.

  Maître Robert intervened at once. He began by apologizing profusely for this young man, who, he said, was moved only by the very best of intentions. He made the President understand that they could hardly ignore the evidence of a witness who had slept at Glandier throughout the entire eventful week, especially that of a witness who had come ready to prove the accused innocent and name the real murderer.

  “You’re going to tell us who the murderer is?” asked the President, somewhat shaken but still skeptical.

  “I have come for that very purpose, Monsieur!” replied Rouletabille.

  An attempt at applause from the crowd was immediately silenced by the ushers.

  “Monsieur Rouletabille,” said Maître Robert, “has not been technically summoned as a witness in this case, but since he is here, and has placed himself freely at the disposition of this court, I hope that the court will allow him to testify.”

  “Very well!” said the President, “we will hear him. But first, he should be sworn in and...”

  The Public Prosecutor rose:

  “May it please the court,” he said, “the State has no objections to dispensing with the usual formalities. It would be, perhaps, better if the young man were to tell us straight away whom he suspects.”

  The President nodded ironically:

  “Very well. If the Public Prosecution attaches so much importance to Monsieur Rouletabille’s testimony, then I see no reason why this witness should not identify the murderer right away.”

  A pin could have dropped and been heard in the courtroom. Rouletabille stood silent, looking sympathetically at Darzac, who, for the first time since the start of the trial, showed some fear and concern.

  “Well,” said the President, “we’re waiting.”

  Rouletabille, pulled out a watch from his waistcoat pocket and, looking at it, said:

  “Monsieur, I’m afraid that I can’t name the murderer before 6:30 p.m.! We still have four hours to go.”

  Loud murmurs of surprise and disappointment filled the room. Some of the lawyers were heard to mutter: “He’s making fun of us!”

  The President looked rather pleased. Maître Robert and his chief secretary, on the other hand, looked embarrassed.

  “This joke has gone far enough” said the President in a curt tone. “Monsieur Rouletabille, you may retire into the witnesses’ room. The other charges against you will remain pending.”

  Rouletabille protested:

  “I swear to you, Monsieur,” he cried in his sharp, clear voice, “that, when I do name the murderer, you will understand why I couldn’t identify him until 6:30 p.m. I swear this on my honor; I give you my sacred word. But I can, however, provide an explanation for the murder of the gamekeeper. Monsieur Larsan, who has seen me at work at Glandier, can tell you with what care I studied this case. Even though I disagreed with him arresting Monsieur Darzac, because I know he’s innocent, Monsieur Larsan knows my good faith and knows that some importance may be attached to my discoveries, which have often corroborated his own.”

  Larsan rose and said:

  “I agree. It will be interesting to hear what Monsieur Rouletabille has to offer, especially if it differs from what I’ve said.”

  A murmur of approbation greeted the detective’s speech. He showed himself to be a good sportsman in accepting the challenge. The struggle between the two men promised to be exciting.

  As the President remained silent, Larsan continued:

  “We both agree that the man who killed the gamekeeper was also Mademoiselle Stangerson’s attacker, but we disagree as to how the perpetrator escaped. I’m curious to hear Monsieur Rouletabille’s explanation.”

  “I have no doubt you are,” said my friend.

  General laughter followed this remark. The President angrily repeated that, if such an outburst occurred again, he would have the courtroom cleared.

  “Really,” concluded the President. “I don’t see what there is to laugh about in a case like this.”

  “Neither do I,” agreed Rouletabille with a disarming look of sincerity, which caused some spectators in front of me to chew on their handkerchiefs in order to keep themselves from laughing hysterically.

  “Now, young man,” said the President, “you’ve heard Monsieur Larsan. How did the perpetrator get away from the courtyard?”

  Rouletabille looked at Madame Mathieu, who smiled back at him sadly.

  “Since Madame Mathieu,” he began, “has freely admitted her relationship with the gamekeeper…”

  “She’s a tramp!” shouted Père Mathieu.

  “Remove that man!” ordered the President.

  Père Mathieu was instantly removed from the courtroom. Rouletabille went on:

  “Since she has made this confession, I’m at liberty to tell you that she often met the gamekeeper at night on the first floor of the tower, in the room that was once an oratory. These trysts became more frequent as her husband was laid up by his rheumatism. She gave him morphine to ease his pain and to have more time to spend with her lover. Madame Mathieu went to the Chateau at night, enveloped in a large black shawl, which served as a disguise. She was the ‘dark phantom’ that disturbed Père Jacques so much. She had learned how to imitate the sinister mewing of a cat belonging to Mère Angenoux, an old witch-woman living in the forest of Sainte Genevieve. Madame Mathieu would imitate its cries to inform the gamekeeper of her arrival. Then he would come down from the tower to let his mistress in. Despite the recent renovation of the tower, their meetings continued to take place in the gamekeeper’s old room there, since the new oval room assigned to him at the end of the right wing of the Chateau was only separated from the servants’ rooms by a thin partition wall, rendering it unsuitable for a romantic evening.

  “On the night in question, Madame Mathieu had just left the gamekeeper when the tragedy in the courtyard occurred. As a matter of fact, they had just exited the tower together. I learned this from my examination of the footprints in the courtyard the following morning. I had stationed Monsieur Bernier, the caretaker, behind the tower—as he will explain himself—so he couldn’t see what was happening in the courtyard. He didn’t enter it until he heard the guns
hots, and then he fired. So the gamekeeper and Madame Mathieu were alone in the courtyard in the silent night. They said their good-byes, and then she left, walking towards the open gate, while he returned to the oval room located at the end of the right wing.

  “He had almost reached its door when he heard the gunshots. He turned around anxiously. He walked back to see what was going on. As he reached the corner, a shadow jumped on him and stabbed him through the heart. He died instantly. Within minutes, his body was surrounded by various people who thought they had just shot the murderer, but in reality were only looking at his latest victim!

  “Meanwhile, Madame Mathieu, surprised by the gunshots and by the arrival of the people in the courtyard, crouched in the darkness. The courtyard is large and she, being near the gate and dressed in her black robes, went entirely unnoticed. From her vantage point, she saw a body being carried away. In great distress, she approached the vestibule and there, lying on the stairs, lit up by Père Jacques’ lantern, she recognized her lover’s dead body! She started to flee, but somehow, she had caught Père Jacques’ attention. So he ran after the ‘dark phantom’ which had kept him awake for so many nights.

  “That same night, before the murder occurred, Père Jacques had been awakened by the phony cat’s cry, and, looking through his window, he had seen the ‘dark phantom’ go by. He had hastily dressed himself and gone out, which is why he was already fully dressed when we asked him to help us carry the gamekeeper’s body to the vestibule. This time, he was keen to identify the ‘dark phantom’ once and for all. So he gave chase and, by a stroke of luck, managed to recognize Madame Mathieu. Now, Père Jacques is an old friend of the Mathieus. When she saw she’d been identified, Madame Mathieu had no choice but to confess the truth to Père Jacques, telling him of her liaison with the gamekeeper and begging for his help. Having just seen the body of her dead lover, she must have been nearly hysterical. Père Jacques, who is a good man, took pity on her and accompanied her through the oak grove, out of the estate, past the pond and onto the road to Epinay. From there, it was but a short distance to her home.

  “Père Jacques then returned to the Chateau, but realizing how important it might be for Madame Mathieu’s presence in the courtyard that night to remain secret, he did the best he could to try to hide the incident, the latest in a series of already dramatic events. I need not ask Père Jacques and Madame Mathieu to corroborate my story, because I know this is exactly what happened. I shall only appeal to Monsieur Larsan, who understands how I came to learn all this, because he saw me, the next morning, examine the two sets of footprints paralleling each other, which turned out to be those of Madame Mathieu and Père Jacques.”

  Here, Rouletabille turned towards Madame Mathieu, who was still in the witness box, and with a gallant bow, added:

  “Your footprints, Madame, bear an uncanny resemblance to the expensive boots worn by the murderer.”

  Madame Mathieu trembled and looked at the young reporter with frightened awe. What had he meant by that? What would he say next?

  “Madame Mathieu,” continued Rouletabille, “has a shapely foot, long and perhaps a trifle large for a woman. Its imprint is very much like that of the murderer’s boots, except for its tip.”

  There was some agitation in the courtroom, which Rouletabille calmed with a simple gesture. It now truly looked as if it was he, and not the President, who was in full control of the trial.

  “I rush to add,” he went on, “that this fact means very little. Any detective who would arrest someone based purely on such clues, without a general theory explaining the nature of the crime, would commit a terrible judicial mistake. After all, Monsieur Darzac’s footprints are also like the perpetrator’s, and yet he is not the perpetrator!”

  There was more agitation in the courtroom. The President, turning to Madame Mathieu, asked:

  “Is what Monsieur Rouletabille just told us what truly happened that night, Madame?”

  “Yes, Monsieur,” she replied. “It is just as if Monsieur Rouletabille had been behind us all the time.”

  “Did you see the perpetrator running towards the end of the right wing of the Chateau?”

  “Yes, just as clearly as I saw the other people afterward carrying away the gamekeeper’s body.”

  “What became of the perpetrator then? You were alone in the courtyard. You should have been able to see what he did next. He wasn’t aware of your presence. You could easily have seen how he escaped.”

  “But I saw nothing, Monsieur,” replied Madame Mathieu, whining. “It was too dark, too confusing...”

  “Then Monsieur Rouletabille,” said the President, “must still explain how the perpetrator managed to escape.”

  “Naturally!” replied Rouletabille, with such winning confidence that even the President couldn’t repress a thin smile.

  “It was impossible for the perpetrator to escape the way he had come without our seeing him,” continued the young reporter, “and even if we couldn’t see him, we certainly would have felt him, since that section of the courtyard is very narrow and enclosed between the ditches on one side and high iron railings on the other. In order to leave, the perpetrator would have had to step on us, or us on him. This small square of ground was as hermetically closed as the Yellow Room itself, and we were the locks!”

  “Then, if the man was trapped in that narrow square,” said the President in frustration, “please tell us why didn’t you catch him? I’ve been asking you that question for the last half-hour!”

  Rouletabille again pulled out his watch and checked the time.

  “I’m truly very sorry, Monsieur,” he replied, “but I can’t answer that question until 6:30 p.m.!”

  This time, the whispers in the courtroom were neither hostile nor disappointed. People were beginning to trust Rouletabille. They had faith in him. And they were amused by his pretention in setting up a time with the President just as if he was setting up an appointment with a friend.

  As for the President, after asking himself if he should be angry at the young man, it looked as if he, too, had made up his mind to accept Rouletabille’s peculiarities. The reporter’s charm was contagious and there was no doubt that it had begun to mollify even the learned judge. Further, Rouletabille had explained Madame Mathieu’s role in the case so well that Monsieur de Rocoux now felt almost obliged to take him more seriously.

  “Very well, Monsieur Rouletabille,” he sighed. “As you wish. But don’t let me see any more of you before 6:30 p.m.”

  Rouletabille bowed to the President and made his way to the witnesses’ room.

  I could see that he was looking for me, but couldn’t find me. So I quietly made my own way through the crowd and left the courtroom at almost the same time. When we finally connected, he greeted me heartily, shaking my hands repeatedly, looking very glad indeed to see me.

  “I’m not going to ask you, my dear fellow,” I said, smiling, “what you’ve been doing in America, because I’ve no doubt you’ll say you can’t tell me until 6:30 p.m.”

  “Not at all, my dear Sainclair!” he replied. “I’ll tell you right now why I went to America, because you’re my friend. I went looking for the name of the perpetrator’s other half!”

  “His other half?”

  “Precisely! When we left Glandier, I knew there were two halves to the perpetrator, and I knew the name of only one. So I went to America to find the name of the other half.”

  Just then, we entered the witnesses’ room. Rouletabille was immediately surrounded. He was very friendly toward all, except Arthur Rance to whom he showed a marked coldness. Frederic Larsan also arrived. Rouletabille went up and shook his hand with one of his patented handshakes that left you with bruised fingers. His manner toward the detective showed that he must have felt that he had now gained the upper hand in their battle. Larsan smiled, very sure of himself, and asked my friend what he had been doing in America. Rouletabille, very amicably, took him by the arm and began telling him anecdotes about hi
s trip. Then, they walked to a corner, presumably to discuss more serious and confidential matters, and I felt it more proper to leave them alone. In any event, I was eager to return to the courtroom to hear the evidence being given by the other witnesses. I returned to my seat and noticed right away that the public was only mildly interested in what was happening, because of their impatience for Rouletabille’s return at the appointed time.

  On the stroke of 6:30 p.m., Rouletabille was again brought in. It is impossible for me to describe the powerful emotions that ran through the crowd, which followed him with hungry eyes. The young man made his way to the witness box. Darzac rose to his feet. He was deathly pale.

  The President, addressing Rouletabille, said gravely:

  “I will not ask you to take the usual oath, Monsieur, because you have not been properly summoned; but I trust that I don’t need to emphasize the gravity of the statement you are about to make, and the importance of being truthful…” And he added, threateningly: “…For your sake as well as others’.”

  Rouletabille, showing no visible emotions, replied:

  “Of course, Monsieur.”

  “Then, let us continue where we left off,” said the President. “We had reached the point where we were discussing that narrow section of the courtyard where the perpetrator had been trapped, and from which he had nevertheless managed to escape. And you had stated that, at 6:30 p.m., you would tell us not only how had the perpetrator escaped, but also his name. It is 6:35 p.m. now. Monsieur Rouletabille, we await your explanations.”

  “Very well, Monsieur,” began my friend amidst such a profound silence that I don’t recall having ever felt one like it before. “I told you how that section of the courtyard was virtually closed off and how impossible it was for the perpetrator to get away without being seen by those chasing him. That’s the God-given truth. If so, then the only logical answer is: when we stood in that narrow courtyard, the perpetrator was still with us.”