"It's answering," he said at length. "I must kill it. It is too
wicked, but it's the Bete du bon Dieu, and, every night, it goes to
pray on the tomb of Sainte-Genevieve and nobody dares to touch her,
for fear that Mother Angenoux should cast an evil spell on them."
"How big is the Bete 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
Bete 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.
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