“No!” replied the prisoner. “Very well, then I will, Monsieur.” “You cannot do it,” said the unhappy man with a faint smile. “I can—and I will.” Rouletabille’s voice had in it a strange strength and confidence. “I can do it, Monsieur Robert Darzac, because I know more than you do!” “Come! Come!” murmured Darzac, almost angrily. “Have no fear! I shall know only what will benefit you.” “You must know _nothing_, young man, if you want me to be grateful.” Rouletabille shook his head, going close up to Darzac. “Listen to what I am about to say,” he said in a low tone, “and let it give you confidence. You do not know the name of the murderer. Mademoiselle Stangerson knows it; but only half of it; but _I_ know his two halves; _I_ know the whole man!” Robert Darzac opened his eyes, with a look that showed he had not understood a word of what Rouletabille had said to him. At that moment the conveyance arrived, driven by Frédéric Larsan. Darzac and the gendarme entered it, Larsan remaining on the driver’s seat. The prisoner was taken to Corbeil. Chapter XXV Rouletabille Goes on a Journey That same evening Rouletabille and I left the Glandier. We were very glad to get away and there was nothing more to keep us there. I declared my intention to give up the whole matter. It had been too much for me. Rouletabille, with a friendly tap on my shoulder, confessed that he had nothing more to learn at the Glandier; he had learned there all it had to tell him. We reached Paris about eight o’clock, dined, and then, tired out, we separated, agreeing to meet the next morning at my rooms. Rouletabille arrived next day at the hour agreed on. He was dressed in a suit of English tweed, with an ulster on his arm, and a valise in his hand. Evidently he had prepared himself for a journey. “How long shall you be away?” I asked. “A month or two,” he said. “It all depends.” I asked him no more questions. “Do you know,” he asked, “what the word was that Mademoiselle Stangerson tried to say before she fainted?” “No—nobody heard it.” “_I_ heard it!” replied Rouletabille. “She said ‘Speak!’” “Do you think Darzac will speak?” “Never.” I was about to make some further observations, but he wrung my hand warmly and wished me good-bye. I had only time to ask him one question before he left. “Are you not afraid that other attempts may be made while you’re away?” “No! Not now that Darzac is in prison,” he answered. With this strange remark he left. I was not to see him again until the day of Darzac’s trial at the court when he appeared to explain the inexplicable. Chapter XXVI In Which Joseph Rouletabille is Awaited with Impatience On the 15th of January, that is to say, two months and a half after the tragic events I have narrated, the “Epoque” printed, as the first column of the front page, the following sensational article:—