“Second: Professor Stangerson is not Larsan because he was on his way from Dijon to Lyons while Larsan was at Bourg. As a fact, reaching Lyons one minute before him, M. and Mme. Darzac saw him alight from the train.” “But all the others, if it is necessary to prove that they were not at Bourg at that moment, might be Larsan, for all of them might have been at Bourg. “First M. Darzac was there. Arthur Rance was away from home during the two days which preceded the arrival of the Professor and of M. Darzac. He arrived at Mentone just in time to receive them (Mme. Edith herself informed me in reply to a few careless questions of mine that her husband had been absent those two days on business). Old Bob made his journey to Paris. Prince Galitch was not seen at the grottoes nor outside the Gardens of Babylon. “First, let us take M. Darzac.” “Rouletabille!” I cried. “That is a sacrilege.” “I know it.” “And it is a piece of the grossest stupidity.” “I know that, too. But why?” “Because,” I exclaimed, almost beside myself, “Larsan is a genius, we are aware; he might be able to deceive a detective, a journalist, a reporter, and even a Rouletabille--he might even deceive a friend, under some circumstances, I admit. But he could never deceive a daughter so far that she would take him for her father. That ought to reassure you as to M. Stangerson. Nor would he deceive a woman to the point of taking him for her betrothed. And, my friend, Mathilde Stangerson knew M. Darzac and threw herself into his arms at the railway station.” “And she knew Larsan, too!” added Rouletabille coldly. “Well, my dear fellow, your reasons are powerful but as I do not know at present what form the genius of my father has assumed as a disguise, I prefer rather to bestow, for the sake of supposition, a personality on M. Robert Darzac which I have never expected to fasten upon him, in order to base my argument against the possibility a little more solidly: If Robert Darzac were Larsan, Larsan would not have appeared on several occasions to Mathilde Stangerson, for it is the apparition of Larsan that has created a gulf between Mathilde Stangerson and Robert Darzac.” “Pshaw!” I cried. “Of what use are such vain reasonings when one has only to open his eyes--open them, Rouletabille!” He opened them. “Upon whom?” he asked with a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Upon Prince Galitch?” “Why not? Do you like him, this prince from the Black Lands who sings Lithuanian folk songs?” “No,” replied Rouletabille. “But he entertains Mme. Edith.” And he smiled. I pressed his hand. He acted as though he had not felt the touch, but I knew that he did. “Prince Galitch is a Nihilist and I am not troubled over him in the least degree,” he said, tranquilly. “Are you sure of it? Who told you?”