ank 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?"

"No!" replied Rouletabille. "My dear friend," he said, turning to me, "I
am obliged to ask you to leave us alone for a moment."

I bowed and retired; stupefied by what I had seen and heard. I could not
understand why Monsieur Robert Darzac had not already shown the door to
my impertinent, insulting, and stupid friend. I was angry myself with
Rouletabille at that moment, for his suspicions, which had led to this
scene of the gloves.

For some twenty minutes I walked about in front of the chateau, trying
vainly to link together the different events of the day. What was in
Rouletabille's mind? Was it possible that he thought Monsieur Robert
Darzac to be the murderer? How could it be thought that this man, who
was to have married Mademoiselle Stangerson in the course of a few days,
had introduced himself into The Yellow Room to assassinate his fiancee?
I could find no explanation as to how the murderer had been able to
leave The Yellow Room; and so long as that mystery, which appeared to me
so inexplicable, remained unexplained, I thought it was the duty of
all of us to refrain from suspecting anybody. But, then, that seemingly
senseless phrase--"The presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor the
garden its brightness"--still rang in my ears. What did it mean? I was
eager to rejoin Rouletabille and question him.

At that moment the young man came out of th