THE MYSTERY OF THE YELLOW ROOM
Room, said, in an even voice and without the least trace of emphasis—a voice which I can only describe as a dead voice:—
"I was here. About eleven o'clock, after I had made a brief chemical experiment at the furnaces of the laboratory, needing all the space behind me, I had my desk moved here by Daddy Jacques, who spent the evening in cleaning some of my apparatus. My daughter had been working at the same desk with me. When it was her time to leave she rose, kissed me, and bade Daddy Jacques goodnight. She had to pass behind my desk and the door to enter her chamber, and she could do this only with some difficulty. That is to say, I was very near the place where the crime occurred later."
"And the desk?" I asked, obeying, in thus mixing myself in the conversation, the express orders of my chief, "as soon as you heard the cry of 'murder' followed by the revolver shots, what became of the desk?"
Daddy Jacques answered.
"We pushed it back against the wall, here—close to where it is at the present moment—so as to be able to get at the door at once."
I followed up my reasoning, to which, however, I attached but little importance, regarding it as only a weak hypothesis, with another question.
"Might not a man in the room, the desk being so near to the door, by stooping and slipping under the desk, have left it unobserved?"
"You are forgetting," interrupted Monsieur Stangerson wearily, "that my daughter had locked and bolted her door, that the door had remained
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