and the disappearance of the
rough ones, there was a square hole, freshly made in the moist ground,
where a stone had evidently been removed. Larsan searched for that stone
without finding it, and at once imagined that it had been used by the
murderer with which to sink the boots in the lake. Fred's calculation
was an excellent one, as the success of his search proves. That escaped
me; but my mind was turned in another direction by the large number
of false indications of his track which the murderer left, and by
the measure of the black foot-marks corresponding with that of Daddy
Jacques's boots, which I had established without his suspecting it, on
the floor of The Yellow Room. All which was a proof, in my eyes, that
the murderer had sought to turn suspicion on to the old servant. Up to
that point, Larsan and I are in accord; but no further. It is going to
be a terrible matter; for I tell you he is working on wrong lines, and
I--I, must fight him with nothing!"

I was surprised at the profoundly grave accent with which my young
friend pronounced the last words.

He repeated:

"Yes terrible!--terrible! For it is fighting with nothing, when you have
only an idea to fight with."

At that moment we passed by the back of the chateau. Night had come. A
window on the first floor was partly open. A feeble light came from it
as well as some sounds which drew our attention. We approached until we
had reached the side of a door that was situated just under the window.
Rouletabille, in a low tone, made me understand, that this was the
window of Mademoiselle Stangerson's chamber. The sounds which had
attracted our attention ceased, then were renewed for a moment, and then
we heard stifled sobs. We were only able to catch these words, which
reached us distinctly: "My poor Robert!"--Rouletabille whispered in my
ear:

"If we only knew what was being said in that chamber, my inquiry would
soon be finished."

He looked about him. The darkness of the evening enveloped us; we could
not see much beyond the narrow path bordered by trees, which ran behind
the chateau. The sobs had ceased.

"If we can't hear we may at least try to see," said Rouletabille.

And, making a sign to me to deaden the sound of my steps, he led me
across the path to the trunk of a tall beech tree, the white bole of
which was visible in the darkness. This tree grew exactly in front of
the window in which we were so much interested, its lower branches being