covered anything to lead us to
suspect that the murderer had passed through the attic."

"It seems clear to you, then, Monsieur, that the murderer
escaped--nobody knows how--by the window in the vestibule?"

"Everything goes to prove it."

"I think so, too," confessed Rouletabille gravely.

After a brief silence, he continued:

"If you have not found any traces of the murderer in the attic, such as
the dirty footmarks similar to those on the floor of The Yellow Room,
you must come to the conclusion that it was not he who stole Daddy
Jacques's revolver."

"There are no footmarks in the attic other than those of Daddy Jacques
himself," said the magistrate with a significant turn of his head. Then,
after an apparent decision, he added: "Daddy Jacques was with Monsieur
Stangerson in the laboratory--and it was lucky for him he was."

"Then what part did his revolver play in the tragedy?--It seems very
clear that this weapon did less harm to Mademoiselle Stangerson than it
did to the murderer."

The magistrate made no reply to this question, which doubtless
embarrassed him. "Monsieur Stangerson," he said, "tells us that the two
bullets have been found in The Yellow Room, one embedded in the wall
stained with the impression of a red hand--a man's large hand--and the
other in the ceiling."

"Oh! oh! in the ceiling!" muttered Rouletabille. "In the ceiling! That's
very curious!--In the ceiling!"

He puffed awhile in silence at his pipe, enveloping himself in the
smoke. When we reached Savigny-sur-Orge, I had to tap him on the
shoulder to arouse him from his dream and come out on to the platform of
the station.

There, the magistrate and his Registrar bowed to us, and by rapidly
getting into a cab that was awaiting them, made us understand that they
had seen enough of us.

"How long will it take to walk to the Chateau du Glandier?" Rouletabille
asked one of the railway porters.

"An hour and a half or an hour and three quarters--easy walking," the
man replied.

Rouletabille looked up at the sky and, no doubt, finding its appearance
satisfactory, took my arm and said:

"Come on!--I need a walk."

"Are things getting less entangled?" I asked.

"Not a bit of it!" he said, "more entangled than ever! It's true, I have
an idea--"

"What's that?" I asked.

"I can't tell you what it is just at present--it's an idea involving the
life or death of two persons at least."

"Do you think there were accomplices?"