“Speaking for myself, Monsieur, there can be no doubt on the matter,” said Mademoiselle Stangerson’s fiancé, greatly distressed. “The marks of the fingers, the deep scratches on the chest and throat of Mademoiselle Stangerson show that the wretch who attacked her attempted to commit a frightful crime. The medical experts who examined these traces yesterday affirm that they were made by the same hand as that which left its red imprint on the wall; an enormous hand, Monsieur, much too large to go into my gloves,” he added with an indefinable smile. “Could not that blood-stained hand,” I interrupted, “have been the hand of Mademoiselle Stangerson who, in the moment of falling, had pressed it against the wall, and, in slipping, enlarged the impression?” “There was not a drop of blood on either of her hands when she was lifted up,” replied Monsieur Darzac. “We are now sure,” said I, “that it was Mademoiselle Stangerson who was armed with Daddy Jacques’s revolver, since she wounded the hand of the murderer. She was in fear, then, of somebody or something.” “Probably.” “Do you suspect anybody?” “No,” replied Monsieur Darzac, looking at Rouletabille. Rouletabille then said to me:— “You must know, my friend, that the inquiry is a little more advanced than Monsieur de Marquet has chosen to tell us. He not only knows that Mademoiselle Stangerson defended herself with the revolver, but he knows what the weapon was that was used to attack her. Monsieur Darzac tells me it was a mutton-bone. Why is Monsieur de Marquet surrounding this mutton-bone with so much mystery? No doubt for the purpose of facilitating the inquiries of the agents of the Sûreté? He imagines, perhaps, that the owner of this instrument of crime, the most terrible invented, is going to be found amongst those who are well-known in the slums of Paris who use it. But who can ever say what passes through the brain of an examining magistrate?” Rouletabille added with contemptuous irony. “Has a mutton-bone been found in The Yellow Room?” I asked him. “Yes, Monsieur,” said Robert Darzac, “at the foot of the bed; but I beg of you not to say anything about it.” (I made a gesture of assent.) “It was an enormous mutton-bone, the top of which, or rather the joint, was still red with the blood of the frightful wound. It was an old bone, which may, according to appearances, have served in other crimes. That’s what Monsieur de Marquet thinks who has had it sent to the municipal laboratory at Paris to be analysed. In fact, he thinks he has detected on it, not only the blood of the last victim, but other stains of dried blood, evidences of previous crimes.” “A mutton-bone in the hand of a _skilled_ assassin is a frightful weapon,” said Rouletabille, “a more certain weapon than a heavy hammer.”