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Leroux, Gaston, 1868-1927

"Mystery of the Yellow Room"

Half an
hour passed, an age to me. What was I to do now, even if I saw
something? The signal once given I could not give it a second time.
To venture into the gallery might upset all Rouletabille's plans.
After all, I had nothing to reproach myself for, and if something
had happened that my friend had not expected he could only blame
himself. Unable to be of any further assistance to him by means
of a signal, I left the dark closet and, still in my socks, made
my way to the "off-turning" gallery.
There was no one there. I went to the door of Rouletabille's room
and listened. I could hear nothing. I knocked gently. There was
no answer. I turned the door-handle and the door opened. I entered.
Rouletabille lay extended at full length on the floor.


CHAPTER XXII
The Incredible Body

I bent in great anxiety over the body of the reporter and had the
joy to find that he was deeply sleeping, the same unhealthy sleep
that I had seen fall upon Frederic Larsan. He had succumbed to the
influence of the same drug that had been mixed with our food.


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