give it a second time. To venture into the gallery might
upset all Rouletabille's plans. After all, I had nothing to reproach
myself for, and if something had happened that my friend had not
expected he could only blame himself. Unable to be of any further
assistance to him by means of a signal, I left the dark closet and,
still in my socks, made my way to the "off-turning" gallery.

There was no one there. I went to the door of Rouletabille's room and
listened. I could hear nothing. I knocked gently. There was no answer. I
turned the door-handle and the door opened. I entered. Rouletabille lay
extended at full length on the floor.

CHAPTER XXII. The Incredible Body

I bent in great anxiety over the body of the reporter and had the joy
to find that he was deeply sleeping, the same unhealthy sleep that I had
seen fall upon Frederic Larsan. He had succumbed to the influence of the
same drug that had been mixed with our food. How was it then, that I,
also, had not been overcome by it? I reflected that the drug must have
been put into our wine; because that would explain my condition. I never
drink when eating. Naturally inclined to obesity, I am restricted to
a dry diet. I shook Rouletabille, but could not succeed in waking him.
This, no doubt, was the work of Mademoiselle Stangerson.

She had certainly thought it necessary to guard herself against this
young man as well as her father. I recalled that the steward, in serving
us, had recommended an excellent Chablis which, no doubt, had come from
the professor's table.

More-than a quarter of an hour passed. I resolved, under the pressing
circumstances, to resort to extreme measures. I threw a pitcher of cold
water over Rouletabille's head. He opened his eyes. I beat his face, and
raised him up. I felt him stiffen in my arms and heard him murmur: "Go
on, go on; but don't make any noise." I pinched him and shook him until
he was able to stand up. We were saved!

"They sent me to sleep," he said. "Ah! I passed an awful quarter of an
hour before giving way. But it is over now. Don't leave me."

He had no sooner uttered those words than we were thrilled by a
frightful cry that rang through the chateau,--a veritable death cry.

"Malheur!" roared Rouletabille; "we shall be too late!"

He tried to rush to the door, but he was too dazed, and fell against
the wall. I was already in the gallery, revolver in hand, rushing like
a madman towards Mademoiselle Stangerson