returning footsteps. He had entered by the open window at the extremity
of the 'off-turning' gallery; he had passed Frederic Larsan's door and
mine, had turned to the right, and had entered Mademoiselle Stangerson's
room. I am before the door of her ante-room--it is open. I push it,
without making the least noise. Under the door of the room itself I see
a streak of light. I listen--no sound--not even of breathing! Ah!--if
I only knew what was passing in the silence that is behind that door!
I find the door locked and the key turned on the inner side. And the
murderer is there, perhaps. He must be there! Will he escape this
time?--All depends on me!--I must be calm, and above all, I must make no
false steps. I must see into that room. I can enter it by Mademoiselle
Stangerson's drawing-room; but, to do that I should have to cross her
boudoir; and while I am there, the murderer may escape by the gallery
door--the door in front of which I am now standing.

"I am sure that no other crime is being committed, on this night; for
there is complete silence in the boudoir, where two nurses are taking
care of Mademoiselle Stangerson until she is restored to health.

"As I am almost sure that the murderer is there, why do I not at once
give the alarm? The murderer may, perhaps, escape; but, perhaps, I may
be able to save Mademoiselle Stangerson's life. Suppose the murderer on
this occasion is not here to murder? The door has been opened to
allow him to enter; by whom?--And it has been refastened--by
whom?--Mademoiselle Stangerson shuts herself up in her apartment with
her nurses every night. Who turned the key of that chamber to allow
the murderer to enter?--The nurses,--two faithful domestics? The old
chambermaid, Sylvia? It is very improbable. Besides, they slept in the
boudoir, and Mademoiselle Stangerson, very nervous and careful, Monsieur
Robert Darzac told me, sees to her own safety since she has been well
enough to move about in her room, which I have not yet seen her leave.
This nervousness and sudden care on her part, which had struck Monsieur
Darzac, had given me, also, food for thought. At the time of the
crime in The Yellow Room, there can be no doubt that she expected the
murderer. Was he expected this night?--Was it she herself who had opened
her door to him? Had she some reason for doing so? Was she obliged to
do it?--Was it a meeting for purposes of crime?--Certainly it was not a
lover's meeting, for I believe Madem