u for
Monsieur Stangerson's forest-keeper--a hatred he pretended was shared
by the concierges led me easily to think of poaching. Now as all the
evidence showed the concierges had not been in bed at the time of the
tragedy, why were they abroad that night? As participants in the crime?
I was not disposed to think so. I had already arrived at the conclusion,
by steps of which I will tell you later--that the assassin had had no
accomplice, and that the tragedy held a mystery between Mademoiselle
Stangerson and the murderer, a mystery with which the concierges had
nothing to do.

"With that theory in my mind, I searched for proof in their lodge,
which, as you know, I entered. I found there under their bed, some
springs and brass wire. 'Ah!' I thought, 'these things explain why
they were out in the park at night!' I was not surprised at the dogged
silence they maintained before the examining magistrate, even under the
accusation so grave as that of being accomplices in the crime. Poaching
would save them from the Assize Court, but it would lose them their
places; and, as they were perfectly sure of their innocence of the crime
they hoped it would soon be established, and then their poaching might
go on as usual. They could always confess later. I, however, hastened
their confession by means of the document Monsieur Stangerson signed.
They gave all the necessary 'proofs,' were set at liberty, and have
now a lively gratitude for me. Why did I not get them released sooner?
Because I was not sure that nothing more than poaching was against them.
I wanted to study the ground. As the days went by, my conviction became
more and more certain. The day after the events of the inexplicable
gallery I had need of help I could rely on, so I resolved to have them
released at once."

That was how Joseph Rouletabille explained himself. Once more I could
not but be astonished at the simplicity of the reasoning which had
brought him to the truth of the matter. Certainly this was no big thing;
but I think, myself, that the young man will, one of these days, explain
with the same simplicity, the fearful tragedy in The Yellow Room as well
as the phenomenon of the inexplicable gallery.

We reached the Donjon Inn and entered it.

This time we did not see the landlord, but were received with a pleasant
smile by the hostess. I have already described the room in which we
found ourselves, and I have given a glimpse of the charming blonde woman
wi