And she addressed herself directly to M. and Mme. Darzac. But both of the latter were still under the spell of surprise which Rouletabille had caused them by his remarks--Rouletabille who that very morning, in my presence, had promised to be silent and had sworn us all to silence. Neither the one nor the other had a word to say. M. Rance repeated, nervously: “Why should we conceal anything? Why should we? We must tell everything.” All at once, the reporter seemed to take a sudden resolution. I understood by the expressions which chased themselves over his face in rapid succession that something of considerable moment was passing through his mind. He leaned toward Arthur Rance, whose right hand was resting on a cane, the head of which was carved in ivory, beautifully cut by a famous carver at Dieppe. Rouletabille took the cane in his hand. “May I look at it?” he asked. “I am an amateur ivory carver myself and my friend, Sainclair, here, has told me about this beautiful cane. I had not noticed it before. It is really very beautiful. It is a figure by Lambesse and there is no better workman on the Norman shore.” The young man seemed to be entirely engrossed in studying the cane. As he touched the carving, the stick fell from his hand and rolled toward M. Darzac. I picked it up and returned it immediately to M. Rance. Rouletabille cast a withering look at me, and I read in that glance that, somehow or other, I had shown myself an idiot. Mme. Edith rose to her feet, tapping her little foot impatiently and seemingly very nervous at the tension of the situation--by the carelessness of Rouletabille and the silence of M. and Mme. Darzac. “Dearest,” she said to Mme. Darzac, in the sweetest tones. “You are completely tired out. The experiences of this horrible night have overpowered you. Let me take you into my own room so that you may rest a little.” “Pardon me for asking you to wait a few moments, Madame,” interrupted Rouletabille. “What I have yet to say may be of special interest to you.” “Very well, monsieur, but speak out, please. Don’t drag the recital along so.” She was perfectly justified in her remarks. Did Rouletabille realize it? At all events, he certainly made up for his previous deliberation by the rapidity and clearness with which he retraced the events of the night. In no other words could the problem of the “body too many” have been presented before us with such mysterious horror. Mme. Edith shivered--and if her shudder was counterfeit, I never saw a real one! As for Arthur Rance, he sat with his chin resting on the head of his cane, murmuring with a truly American coolness, but in accents of the strongest conviction: “What a devilish history! The story of the body which could not have gotten into the room is a page from the notebook of Satan himself!”