And, indeed, he was scenting the steps of a man,--the man whom he has sworn to report to his master, the manager of the "Epoque." It must not be forgotten that Rouletabille was first and last a journalist.
Thus, on his hands and knees, he made his way to the four corners of the room, so to speak, sniffing and going round everything--everything that we could see, which was not much, and everything that we could not see, which must have been infinite.
The toilette table was a simple table standing on four legs; there was nothing about it by which it could possibly be changed into a temporary hiding-place.

There was not a closet or cupboard.

Mademoiselle Stangerson kept her wardrobe at the chateau.
Rouletabille literally passed his nose and hands along the walls, constructed of solid brickwork.

When he had finished with the walls, and passed his agile fingers over every portion of the yellow paper covering them, he reached to the ceiling, which he was able to touch by mounting on a chair placed on the toilette table, and by moving this ingeniously constructed stage from place to place he examined every foot of it.

When he had finished his scrutiny of the ceiling, where he carefully examined the hole made by the second bullet, he approached the window, and, once more, examined the iron bars and blinds, all of which were solid and intact.