The Mystery of the Yellow Room
In the Heart of the Oak Grove
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?"