When he had finished he looked at his immense silver watch and said:
“You may see, ladies and gentlemen, that the coating of paint which covers my circle is neither more nor less thick than that which covers the circle of M. Darzac. It is almost the same thing—the same tint.”
“Undoubtedly,” rejoined M. Darzac. “But what does all this signify?”
“Wait!” replied the reporter. “It is understood, then, that it is you who have made this plan and this painting?”
“I was certainly in enough of an ill humor when I found the state it was in that time I went with you into Old Bob’s cabinet when we came out of the Square Tower. Old Bob had ruined my drawing by letting his skull roll over it.”
“We are there!” spoke up Rouletabille, quick as a flash. And he lifted from the bureau the “oldest skull of the human race.” He turned it over and showed the crimsoned jaws to M. Darzac. Then he inquired:
“Is it your opinion that the red which we see upon that under jaw is no different from the red which would be taken off by any object coming in contact with your plan?”
“I don’t see how there could be any doubt of it! The skull was upside down on my drawing when we entered the workshop.”
“Let us continue then to remain of the same opinion!” said the reporter.
Then he arose, holding the skull in the crook of his arm, and went into the alcove in the wall, lighted by a large window and crossed by bars, which had been a loophole for cannon in the ancient times, and which M. Darzac had used as a dressing room. There he struck a match and lighted a lamp filled with spirits of wine which stood upon a little table. Upon this lamp he set a little pot which he had previously filled with water. The skull still lay in the crook of his arm.