“Impossible to get out that way,” he said, jumping back into the laboratory. “Besides, even if he _had_ tried to do it, he would have brought all that ironwork down to the ground. No, no; it is not on that side we have to search.” Rouletabille next examined the furniture and opened the doors of the cabinet. Then he came to the windows, through which he declared no one could possibly have passed. At the second window he found Daddy Jacques in contemplation. “Well, Daddy Jacques,” he said, “what are you looking at?” “That policeman who is always going round and round the lake. Another of those fellows who think they can see better than anybody else!” “You don’t know Frédéric Larsan, Daddy Jacques, or you wouldn’t speak of him in that way,” said Rouletabille in a melancholy tone. “If there is anyone who will find the murderer, it will be he.” And Rouletabille heaved a deep sigh. “Before they find him, they will have to learn how they lost him,” said Daddy Jacques, stolidly. At length we reached the door of The Yellow Room itself. “There is the door behind which some terrible scene took place,” said Rouletabille, with a solemnity which, under any other circumstances, would have been comical. Chapter VII In Which Rouletabille Sets out on an Expedition under the Bed Rouletabille having pushed open the door of The Yellow Room paused on the threshold saying, with an emotion which I only later understood, “Ah, the perfume of the lady in black!” The chamber was dark. Daddy Jacques was about to open the blinds when Rouletabille stopped him. “Did not the tragedy take place in complete darkness?” he asked. “No, young man, I don’t think so. Mademoiselle always had a night-light on her table, and I lit it every evening before she went to bed. I was a sort of chambermaid, you must understand, when the evening came. The real chambermaid did not come here much before the morning. Mademoiselle worked late—far into the night.” “Where did the table with the night-light stand,—far from the bed?” “Some way from the bed.” “Can you light the burner now?” “The lamp is broken and the oil that was in it was spilled when the table was upset. All the rest of the things in the room remain just as they were. I have only to open the blinds for you to see.” “Wait.” Rouletabille went back into the laboratory, closed the shutters of the two windows and the door of the vestibule. When we were in complete darkness, he lit a wax vesta, and asked Daddy Jacques to move to the middle of the chamber with it to the place where the night-light was burning that night. Daddy Jacques who was in his stockings—he usually left his sabots in the vestibule—entered The Yellow Room with his bit of a vesta. We vaguely distinguished objects overthrown on the floor, a bed in one corner, and, in front of us, to the left, the gleam of a looking-glass hanging on the wall, near to the bed. “That will do!—you may now open the blinds,” said Rouletabille.