“That,” I said, “is why this mystery is the most surprising I know. Edgar Allan Poe, in the ‘Double Assassination of the Rue Morgue,’ invented nothing like it. The place of that crime was sufficiently closed to prevent the escape of a man; but there was that window through which the monkey, the perpetrator of the murder, could slip away! But here, there can be no question of an opening of any sort. The door was fastened, and through the window blinds, secure as they were, not even a fly could enter or get out.” “True, true,” assented Rouletabille as he kept on drying his forehead, which seemed to be perspiring less from his recent bodily exertion than from his mental agitation. “Indeed, it’s a great, a beautiful, and a very curious mystery.” “The Bête du bon Dieu,” muttered Daddy Jacques, “the Bête du bon Dieu herself, if she had committed the crime, could not have escaped. Listen! Do you hear it? Hush!” Daddy Jacques made us a sign to keep quiet and, stretching his arm towards the wall nearest the forest, listened to something which we could not hear. “It’s answering,” he said at length. “I must kill it. It is too wicked, but it’s the Bête du bon Dieu, and, every night, it goes to pray on the tomb of Sainte-Geneviève and nobody dares to touch her, for fear that Mother Angenoux should cast an evil spell on them.” “How big is the Bête du bon Dieu?” “Nearly as big as a small retriever,—a monster, I tell you. Ah!—I have asked myself more than once whether it was not her that took our poor Mademoiselle by the throat with her claws. But the Bête du bon Dieu does not wear hobnailed boots, nor fire revolvers, nor has she a hand like _that_!” exclaimed Daddy Jacques, again pointing out to us the red mark on the wall. “Besides, we should have seen her as well as we would have seen a man—” “Evidently,” I said. “Before we had seen this Yellow Room, I had also asked myself whether the cat of Mother Angenoux—” “You also!” cried Rouletabille. “Didn’t you?” I asked. “Not for a moment. After reading the article in the ‘Matin,’ I knew that a cat had nothing to do with the matter. But I swear now that a frightful tragedy has been enacted here. You say nothing about the Basque cap, or the handkerchief, found here, Daddy Jacques?” “Of course, the magistrate has taken them,” the old man answered, hesitatingly. “I haven’t seen either the handkerchief or the cap, yet I can tell you how they are made,” the reporter said to him gravely. “Oh, you are very clever,” said Daddy Jacques, coughing and embarrassed. “The handkerchief is a large one, blue with red stripes and the cap is an old Basque cap, like the one you are wearing now.” “You are a wizard!” said Daddy Jacques, trying to laugh and not quite succeeding. “How do you know that the handkerchief is blue with red stripes?” “Because, if it had not been blue with red stripes, it would not have been found at all.”