On the stroke of half-past six Joseph Rouletabille was again brought in. It is impossible for me to picture the tense excitement which appeared on every face, as he made his way to the bar. Darzac rose to his feet, frightfully pale. The President, addressing Rouletabille, said gravely:— “I will not ask you to take the oath, because you have not been regularly summoned; but I trust there is no need to urge upon you the gravity of the statement you are about to make.” Rouletabille looked the President quite calmly and steadily in the face, and replied: “Yes, Monsieur.” “At your last appearance here,” said the President, “we had arrived at the point where you were to tell us how the murderer escaped, and also his name. Now, Monsieur Rouletabille, we await your explanation.” “Very well, Monsieur,” began my friend amidst a profound silence. “I had explained how it was impossible for the murderer to get away without being seen. And yet he was there with us in the court.” “And you did not see him? At least that is what the prosecution declares.” “No! we all of us saw him, Monsieur le Président!” cried Rouletabille. “Then why was he not arrested?” “Because no one, besides myself, knew that he was the murderer. It would have spoiled my plans to have had him arrested, and I had then no proof other than my own reasoning. I was convinced we had the murderer before us and that we were actually looking at him. I have now brought what I consider the indisputable proof.” “Speak out, Monsieur! Tell us the murderer’s name.” “You will find it on the list of names present in the court on the night of the tragedy,” replied Rouletabille. The people present in the court-room began showing impatience. Some of them even called for the name, and were silenced by the usher. “The list includes Daddy Jacques, Bernier the concierge, and Mr. Arthur Rance,” said the President. “Do you accuse any of these?” “No, Monsieur!” “Then I do not understand what you are driving at. There was no other person at the end of the court.” “Yes, Monsieur, there was, not at the end, but above the court, who was leaning out of the window.” “Do you mean Frédéric Larsan!” exclaimed the President. “Yes! Frédéric Larsan!” replied Rouletabille in a ringing tone. “Frédéric Larsan is the murderer!” * * * * * The court-room became immediately filled with loud and indignant protests. So astonished was he that the President did not attempt to quiet it. The quick silence which followed was broken by the distinctly whispered words from the lips of Robert Darzac: “It’s impossible! He’s mad!” “You dare to accuse Frédéric Larsan, Monsieur?” asked the President. “If you are not mad, what are your proofs?” “Proofs, Monsieur?—Do you want proofs? Well, here is one,” cried Rouletabille shrilly. “Let Frédéric Larsan be called!” “Usher, call Frédéric Larsan.”