Rouletabille locked and bolted the door and said to us, himself greatly affected, while we listened with stupefaction: “Sit down, if you please, ladies and gentlemen.” Some chairs were arranged around the table and in these we seated ourselves, a prey to the most disquieting fancies--I might almost say to an agony of suspense. A secret presentiment warned us that all the familiar appurtenances of drawing which were displayed before us might hide, under their apparent commonplace tranquility, the terrible causes which helped to bring about this most fearful of dramas. And as we looked upon it, the skull seemed to smile like Old Bob. “You will acknowledge,” began Rouletabille, “that there is here, around this table one chair too many, and, in consequence, one person too few--to particularize, M. Arthur Rance, for whom we cannot wait much longer.” “Perhaps at this very moment my husband possesses the proofs of Old Bob’s innocence!” observed Mme. Edith, whom all these preparations had disturbed more than anyone else. “I entreat Mme. Darzac to join me in imploring these gentlemen to do nothing until Arthur’s return.” The Lady in Black had no opportunity to intervene, for before Mme. Edith finished speaking, we heard a loud noise outside the door of the corridor. A knock came at the door and we heard the voice of Arthur Rance begging us to open immediately. He cried: “_I have brought the pin with the ruby head!_” Rouletabille opened the door. “Arthur Rance, you are come then at last!” he exclaimed. Edith’s husband seemed plunged in the deepest melancholy. “What have you to tell me? What has happened? Some new misfortune? Ah, I feared so--feared that I had arrived too late when I saw the iron gate closed and heard the prayers for the dead chanted in the tower. Yes--I knew that you had _executed_ Old Bob!” Rouletabille, who had closed and bolted the door behind Arthur Rance turned to the American and said: “Old Bob is alive and Pere Bernier is dead. Be seated, Monsieur.” Arthur Rance stared at the speaker in amazement; then looked in consternation at the drawing board, the dish of paint and the bloody skull and demanded: “Who killed him?” Then, condescending to notice that his wife was there, he pressed her hand, but his eyes were fixed upon the Lady in Black. “Before his death, Bernier accused Frederic Larsan,” answered M. Darzac. “Do you mean to say by that that he accused Old Bob?” interrupted M. Rance indignantly. “I will not suffer that. I, too, had some doubts in regard to the personality of our beloved uncle, but I tell you that I have the ruby-headed pin!”