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Leroux, Gaston, 1868-1927

"Mystery of the Yellow Room"


"He is asleep," he said.
He led me to his chamber, after closing Larsan's room.
"The drug?" I asked. "Does Mademoiselle Stangerson wish to put
everybody to sleep, to-night?"
"Perhaps," replied Rouletabille; but I could see he was thinking of
something else.
"But what about us?" I exclaimed. "How do we know that we have not
been drugged?"
"Do you feel indisposed?" Rouletabille asked me coolly.
"Not in the least."
"Do you feel any inclination to go to sleep?"
"None whatever."
"Well, then, my friend, smoke this excellent cigar."
And he handed me a choice Havana, one Monsieur Darzac had given him,
while he lit his briarwood--his eternal briarwood.
We remained in his room until about ten o'clock without a word
passing between us. Buried in an armchair Rouletabille sat and
smoked steadily, his brow in thought and a far-away look in his
eyes. On the stroke of ten he took off his boots and signalled to
me to do the same. As we stood in our socks he said, in so low a
tone that I guessed, rather than heard, the word:
"Revolver.


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