No one was astonished, then, that the head of the Sûreté had, at the outset of the mystery of “The Yellow Room,” telegraphed his precious subordinate to London, where he had been sent on a big case of stolen securities, to return with all haste. Frédéric who, at the Sûreté, was called the “great Frédéric,” had made all speed, doubtless knowing by experience that, if he was interrupted in what he was doing, it was because his services were urgently needed in another direction; so, as Rouletabille said, he was that morning already “at work.” We soon found out in what it consisted. What he was continually looking at in the palm of his right hand was nothing but his watch, the minute hand of which he appeared to be noting intently. Then he turned back still running, stopping only when he reached the park gate, where he again consulted his watch and then put it away in his pocket, shrugging his shoulders with a gesture of discouragement. He pushed open the park gate, reclosed and locked it, raised his head and, through the bars, perceived us. Rouletabille rushed after him, and I followed. Frédéric Larsan waited for us. “Monsieur Fred,” said Rouletabille, raising his hat and showing the profound respect, based on admiration, which the young reporter felt for the celebrated detective, “can you tell me whether Monsieur Robert Darzac is at the château at this moment? Here is one of his friends, of the Paris Bar, who desires to speak with him.” “I really don’t know, Monsieur Rouletabille,” replied Fred, shaking hands with my friend, whom he had several times met in the course of his difficult investigations. “I have not seen him.” “The concierges will be able to inform us no doubt?” said Rouletabille, pointing to the lodge the door and windows of which were close shut. “The concierges will not be able to give you any information, Monsieur Rouletabille.” “Why not?” “Because they were arrested half an hour ago.” “Arrested!” cried Rouletabille; “then they are the murderers!” Frédéric Larsan shrugged his shoulders. “When you can’t arrest the real murderer,” he said with an air of supreme irony, “you can always indulge in the luxury of discovering accomplices.” “Did you have them arrested, Monsieur Fred?” “Not I!—I haven’t had them arrested. In the first place, I am pretty sure that they have not had anything to do with the affair, and then because—” “Because of what?” asked Rouletabille eagerly. “Because of nothing,” said Larsan, shaking his head. “Because there were no accomplices!” said Rouletabille. “Aha!—you have an idea, then, about this matter?” said Larsan, looking at Rouletabille intently, “yet you have seen nothing, young man,—you have not yet gained admission here!” “I shall get admission.” “I doubt it. The orders are strict.”