“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 Château 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.”