CHAPTER XVIII
Rouletabille Has Drawn a Circle Between the Two Bumps on His Forehead
(EXTRACT FROM THE NOTE-BOOK OF JOSEPH ROULETABILLE, continued)
"We separated on the thresholds of our rooms, with a melancholy
shake of the hands. I was glad to have aroused in him a suspicion
of error. His was an original brain, very intelligent but--without
method. I did not go to bed. I awaited the coming of daylight and
then went down to the front of the chateau, and made a detour,
examining every trace of footsteps coming towards it or going from
it. These, however, were so mixed and confusing that I could make
nothing of them. Here I may make a remark,--I am not accustomed
to attach an exaggerated importance to exterior signs left in the
track of a crime.
"The method which traces the criminal by means of the tracks of his
footsteps is altogether primitive. So many footprints are identical.
However, in the disturbed state of my mind, I did go into the
deserted court and did look at all the footprints I could find there,
seeking for some indication, as a basis for reasoning.
"If I could but find a right starting-point! In despair I seated
myself on a stone. For over an hour I busied myself with the common,
ordinary work of a policeman. Like the least intelligent of
detectives I went on blindly over the traces of footprints which
told me just no more than they could.
"I came to the conclusion that I was a fool, lower in the scale of
intelligence than even the police of the modern romancer. Novelists
build mountains of stupidity out of a footprint on the sand, or from
an impression of a hand on the wall. That's the way innocent men
are brought to prison. It might convince an examining magistrate or
the head of a detective department, but it's not proof. You writers
forget that what the senses furnish is not proof. If I am taking
cognisance of what is offered me by my senses I do so but to bring
the results within the circle of my reason. That circle may be the
most circumscribed, but if it is, it has this advantage--it holds
nothing but the truth! Yes, I swear that I have never used the
evidence of the senses but as servants to my reason. I have never
permitted them to become my master. They have not made of me that
monstrous thing,--worse than a blind man,--a man who sees falsely.
And that is why I can triumph over your error and your merely animal
intelligence, Frederic Larsan.
"Be of good courage, then, friend Rouletabille; it is impossible
that the incident of the inexplicable gallery should be outside the
circle of your reason. You know that! Then have faith and take
thought with yourself and forget not that you took hold of the right
end when you drew that circle in your brain within which to unravel
this mysterious play of circumstance.
"To it, once again! Go--back to the gallery. Take your stand on
your reason and rest there as Frederic Larsan rests on his cane.
You will then soon prove that the great Fred is nothing but a fool.
--30th October. Noon.
JOSEPH ROULETABILLE."
"I acted as I planned. With head on fire, I retraced my way to the
gallery, and without having found anything more than I had seen on
the previous night, the right hold I had taken of my reason drew me
to something so important that I was obliged to cling to it to save
myself from falling.
"Now for the strength and patience to find sensible traces to fit
in with my thinking--and these must come within the circle I have
drawn between the two bumps on my forehead!
--30th of October. Midnight."
"JOSEPH ROULETABILLE."
