GOTHIC CRIME MYSTERIES: The Phantom of the Opera, The Secret of the Night, The Mystery of the Yellow Room,The Man with the Black Feather & Balaoo. Gaston Leroux

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      “Is Monsieur Stangerson within?” asked the magistrate.

      “Yes, Monsieur.”

      “Tell him that I wish to speak with him.”

      Stangerson came out. His appearance was wretched in the extreme.

      “What do you want?” he demanded of the magistrate. “May I not be left in peace, Monsieur?”

      “Monsieur,” said the magistrate, “it is absolutely necessary that I should see Monsieur Darzac at once. If you cannot induce him to come, I shall be compelled to use the help of the law.”

      The professor made no reply. He looked at us all like a man being led to execution, and then went back into the room.

      Almost immediately after Monsieur Robert Darzac came out. He was very pale. He looked at us and, his eyes falling on the railway servant, his features stiffened and he could hardly repress a groan.

      We were all much moved by the appearance of the man. We felt that what was about to happen would decide the fate of Monsieur Robert Darzac. Frederic Larsan’s face alone was radiant, showing a joy as of a dog that had at last got its prey.

      Pointing to the railway servant, Monsieur de Marquet said to Monsieur Darzac:

      “Do you recognise this man, Monsieur?”

      “I do,” said Monsieur Darzac, in a tone which he vainly tried to make firm. “He is an employe at the station at Epinay-sur-Orge.”

      “This young man,” went on Monsieur de Marquet, “affirms that he saw you get off the train at Epinay-sur-Orge—”

      “That night,” said Monsieur Darzac, interrupting, “at half-past ten—it is quite true.”

      An interval of silence followed.

      “Monsieur Darzac,” the magistrate went on in a tone of deep emotion, “Monsieur Darzac, what were you doing that night, at Epinay-sur-Orge—at that time?”

      Monsieur Darzac remained silent, simply closing his eyes.

      “Monsieur Darzac,” insisted Monsieur de Marquet, “can you tell me how you employed your time, that night?”

      Monsieur Darzac opened his eyes. He seemed to have recovered his self-control.

      “No, Monsieur.”

      “Think, Monsieur! For, if you persist in your strange refusal, I shall be under the painful necessity of keeping you at my disposition.”

      “I refuse.”

      “Monsieur Darzac!—in the name of the law, I arrest you!”

      The magistrate had no sooner pronounced the words than I saw Rouletabille move quickly towards Monsieur Darzac. He would certainly have spoken to him, but Darzac, by a gesture, held him off. As the gendarme approached his prisoner, a despairing cry rang through the room:

      “Robert!—Robert!”

      We recognised the voice of Mademoiselle Stangerson. We all shuddered. Larsan himself turned pale. Monsieur Darzac, in response to the cry, had flown back into the room.

      The magistrate, the gendarme, and Larsan followed closely after. Rouletabille and I remained on the threshold. It was a heart-breaking sight that met our eyes. Mademoiselle Stangerson, with a face of deathly pallor, had risen on her bed, in spite of the restraining efforts of two doctors and her father. She was holding out her trembling arms towards Robert Darzac, on whom Larsan and the gendarme had laid hands. Her distended eyes saw—she understood—her lips seemed to form a word, but nobody made it out; and she fell back insensible.

      Monsieur Darzac was hurried out of the room and placed in the vestibule to wait for the vehicle 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 put in any defense?”

      “No!” replied the prisoner.

      “Very well, then I will, Monsieur.”

      “You cannot do it,” said the unhappy man with a faint smile.

      “I can—and I will.”

      Rouletabille’s voice had in it a strange strength and confidence.

      “I can do it, Monsieur Robert Darzac, because I know more than you do!”

      “Come! Come!” murmured Darzac, almost angrily.

      “Have no fear! I shall know only what will benefit you.”

      “You must know nothing, young man, if you want me to be grateful.”

      Rouletabille shook his head, going close up to Darzac.

      “Listen to what I am about to say,” he said in a low tone, “and let it give you confidence. You do not know the name of the murderer. Mademoiselle Stangerson knows it; but only half of it; but I know his two halves; I know the whole man!”

      Robert Darzac opened his eyes, 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 Frederic Larsan. Darzac and the gendarme entered it, Larsan remaining on the driver’s seat. The prisoner was taken to Corbeil.

      Chapter 25. Rouletabille Goes on a Journey

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      That same evening Rouletabille and I left the Glandier. We were very glad to get away and there was nothing more to keep us there. I declared my intention to give up the whole matter. It had been too much for me. Rouletabille, with a friendly tap on my shoulder, confessed that he had nothing more to learn at the Glandier; he had learned there all it had to tell him. We reached Paris about eight o’clock, dined, and then, tired out, we separated, agreeing to meet the next morning at my rooms.

      Rouletabille arrived next day at the hour agreed on. He was dressed in a suit of English tweed, with an ulster on his arm, and a valise in his hand. Evidently he had prepared himself for a journey.

      “How long shall you be away?” I asked.

      “A month or two,” he said. “It all depends.”

      I asked him no more questions.

      “Do you know,” he asked, “what the word was that Mademoiselle Stangerson tried to say before she fainted?”

      “No—nobody heard it.”

      “I heard it!” replied Rouletabille. “She said ‘Speak!’”

      “Do you think Darzac will speak?”

      “Never.”

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