The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Works of Edgar Allan Poe V. 1
Volume 1 of the Raven Edition  #6 in our series by Edgar Allan Poe

The Raven Edition  THE WORKS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE

IN FIVE VOLUMES

VOLUME I  Contents

Edgar Allan Poe, An Appreciation
Life of Poe, by James Russell Lowell
Death of Poe, by N. P. Willis

The Unparalled Adventures of One Hans Pfall
The Gold Bug
Four Beasts in One
The Murders in the Rue Morgue
The Mystery of Marie Rogêt
The Balloon Hoax
MS. Found in a Bottle
The Oval Portrait                          BACK TO MAIN INDEX

 
                     THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid 
himself among women, although puzzling questions, are not beyond 
_all_ conjecture.

                      --_Sir Thomas Browne._

 
The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in 
themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them 
only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they 
are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source 
of the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical 
ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into 
action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which 
_disentangles._ He derives pleasure from even the most trivial 
occupations bringing his talent into play. He is fond of enigmas, of 
conundrums, of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a 
degree of _acumen_ which appears to the ordinary apprehension 
præternatural. His results, brought about by the very soul and 
essence of method, have, in truth, the whole air of intuition.

The faculty of re-solution is possibly much invigorated by 
mathematical study, and especially by that highest branch of it 
which, unjustly, and merely on account of its retrograde operations, 
has been called, as if _par excellence_, analysis. Yet to calculate 
is not in itself to analyse. A chess-player, for example, does the 
one without effort at the other. It follows that the game of chess, 
in its effects upon mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am 
not now writing a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiar 
narrative by observations very much at random; I will, therefore, 
take occasion to assert that the higher powers of the reflective 
intellect are more decidedly and more usefully tasked by the 
unostentatious game of draughts than by a the elaborate frivolity of 
chess. In this latter, where the pieces have different and _bizarre_ 
motions, with various and variable values, what is only complex is 
mistaken (a not unusual error) for what is profound. The _attention_ 
is here called powerfully into play. If it flag for an instant, an 
oversight is committed resulting in injury or defeat. The possible 
moves being not only manifold but involute, the chances of such 
oversights are multiplied; and in nine cases out of ten it is the 
more concentrative rather than the more acute player who conquers. In 
draughts, on the contrary, where the moves are _unique_ and have but 
little variation, the probabilities of inadvertence are diminished, 
and the mere attention being left comparatively unemployed, what 
advantages are obtained by either party are obtained by superior 
_acumen_. To be less abstract - Let us suppose a game of draughts 
where the pieces are reduced to four kings, and where, of course, no 
oversight is to be expected. It is obvious that here the victory can 
be decided (the players being at all equal) only by some _recherché_ 
movement, the result of some strong exertion of the intellect. 
Deprived of ordinary resources, the analyst throws himself into the 
spirit of his opponent, identifies himself therewith, and not 
unfrequently sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods (sometime 
indeed absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into error or 
hurry into miscalculation.

Whist has long been noted for its influence upon what is termed the 
calculating power; and men of the highest order of intellect have 
been known to take an apparently unaccountable delight in it, while 
eschewing chess as frivolous. Beyond doubt there is nothing of a 
similar nature so greatly tasking the faculty of analysis. The best 
chess-player in Christendom _may_ be little more than the best player 
of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity for success in 
all those more important undertakings where mind struggles with mind. 
When I say proficiency, I mean that perfection in the game which 
includes a comprehension of _all_ the sources whence legitimate 
advantage may be derived. These are not only manifold but multiform, 
and lie frequently among recesses of thought altogether inaccessible 
to the ordinary understanding. To observe attentively is to remember 
distinctly; and, so far, the concentrative chess-player will do very 
well at whist; while the rules of Hoyle (themselves based upon the 
mere mechanism of the game) are sufficiently and generally 
comprehensible. Thus to have a retentive memory, and to proceed by 
"the book," are points commonly regarded as the sum total of good 
playing. But it is in matters beyond the limits of mere rule that the 
skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes, in silence, a host of 
observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do his companions; and the 
difference in the extent of the information obtained, lies not so 
much in the validity of the inference as in the quality of the 
observation. The necessary knowledge is that of _what_ to observe. 
Our player confines himself not at all; nor, because the game is the 
object, does he reject deductions from things external to the game. 
He examines the countenance of his partner, comparing it carefully 
with that of each of his opponents. He considers the mode of 
assorting the cards in each hand; often counting trump by trump, and 
honor by honor, through the glances bestowed by their holders upon 
each. He notes every variation of face as the play progresses, 
gathering a fund of thought from the differences in the expression of 
certainty, of surprise, of triumph, or of chagrin. From the manner of 
gathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking it can make 
another in the suit. He recognises what is played through feint, by 
the air with which it is thrown upon the table. A casual or 
inadvertent word; the accidental dropping or turning of a card, with 
the accompanying anxiety or carelessness in regard to its 
concealment; the counting of the tricks, with the order of their 
arrangement; embarrassment, hesitation, eagerness or trepidation - 
all afford, to his apparently intuitive perception, indications of 
the true state of affairs. The first two or three rounds having been 
played, he is in full possession of the contents of each hand, and 
thenceforward puts down his cards with as absolute a precision of 
purpose as if the rest of the party had turned outward the faces of 
their own.

The analytical power should not be confounded with ample ingenuity; 
for while the analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is 
often remarkably incapable of analysis. The constructive or combining 
power, by which ingenuity is usually manifested, and to which the 
phrenologists (I believe erroneously) have assigned a separate organ, 
supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so frequently seen in 
those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy, as to have 
attracted general observation among writers on morals. Between 
ingenuity and the analytic ability there exists a difference far 
greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and the imagination, but 
of a character very strictly analogous. It will be found, in fact, 
that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the _truly_ imaginative 
never otherwise than analytic.

The narrative which follows will appear to the reader somewhat in the 
light of a commentary upon the propositions just advanced.

Residing in Paris during the spring and part of the summer of 18--, I 
there became acquainted with a Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin. This young 
gentleman was of an excellent - indeed of an illustrious family, but, 
by a variety of untoward events, had been reduced to such poverty 
that the energy of his character succumbed beneath it, and he ceased 
to bestir himself in the world, or to care for the retrieval of his 
fortunes. By courtesy of his creditors, there still remained in his 
possession a small remnant of his patrimony; and, upon the income 
arising from this, he managed, by means of a rigorous economy, to 
procure the necessaries of life, without troubling himself about its 
superfluities. Books, indeed, were his sole luxuries, and in Paris 
these are easily obtained.

Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the Rue Montmartre, 
where the accident of our both being in search of the same very rare 
and very remarkable volume, brought us into closer communion. We saw 
each other again and again. I was deeply interested in the little 
family history which he detailed to me with all that candor which a 
Frenchman indulges whenever mere self is his theme. I was astonished, 
too, at the vast extent of his reading; and, above all, I felt my 
soul enkindled within me by the wild fervor, and the vivid freshness 
of his imagination. Seeking in Paris the objects I then sought, I 
felt that the societyof such a man would be to me a treasure beyond 
price; and this feeling I frankly confided to him. It was at length 
arranged that we should live together during my stay in the city; and 
as my worldly circumstances were somewhat less embarrassed than his 
own, I was permitted to be at the expense of renting, and furnishing 
in a style which suited the rather fantastic gloom of our common 
temper, a time-eaten and grotesque mansion, long deserted through 
superstitions into which we did not inquire, and tottering to its 
fall in a retired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.

Had the routine of our life at this place been known to the world, we 
should have been regarded as madmen - although, perhaps, as madmen of 
a harmless nature. Our seclusion was perfect. We admitted no 
visitors. Indeed the locality of our retirement had been carefully 
kept a secret from my own former associates; and it had been many 
years since Dupin had ceased to know or be known in Paris. We existed 
within ourselves alone.

It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?) 
to be enamored of the Night for her own sake; and into this 
_bizarrerie_, as into all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself 
up to his wild whims with a perfect _abandon_. The sable divinity 
would not herself dwell with us always; but we could counterfeit her 
presence. At the first dawn of the morning we closed all the messy 
shutters of our old building; lighting a couple of tapers which, 
strongly perfumed, threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of 
rays. By the aid of these we then busied our souls in dreams - 
reading, writing, or conversing, until warned by the clock of the 
advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forth into the streets 
arm in arm, continuing the topics of the day, or roaming far and wide 
until a late hour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shadows of the 
populous city, that infinity of mental excitement which quiet 
observation can afford.

At such times I could not help remarking and admiring (although from 
his rich ideality I had been prepared to expect it) a peculiar 
analytic ability in Dupin. He seemed, too, to take an eager delight 
in its exercise - if not exactly in its display - and did not 
hesitate to confess the pleasure thus derived. He boastedto me, with 
a low chuckling laugh, that most men, in respect to himself, wore 
windows in their bosoms, and was wont to follow up such assertions by 
direct and very startling proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own. 
His manner at these moments was frigid and abstract; his eyes were 
vacant in expression; while his voice, usually a rich tenor, rose 
into a treble which would have sounded petulantly but for the 
deliberateness and entire distinctness of the enunciation. Observing 
him in these moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the old 
philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with the fancy of a 
double Dupin - the creative and the resolvent.

Let it not be supposed, from what I have just said, that I am 
detailing any mystery, or penning any romance. What I have described 
in the Frenchman, was merely the result of an excited, or perhaps of 
a diseased intelligence. But of the character of his remarks at the 
periods in question an example will best convey the idea.

We were strolling one night down a long dirty street in the vicinity 
of the Palais Royal. Being both, apparently, occupied with thought, 
neither of us had spoken a syllable for fifteen minutes at least. All 
at once Dupin broke forth with these words:

"He is a very little fellow, that's true, and would do better for the 
_Théâtre des Variétés_."

"There can be no doubt of that," I replied unwittingly, and not at 
first observing (so much had I been absorbed in reflection) the 
extraordinary manner in which the speaker had chimed in with my 
meditations. In an instant afterward I recollected myself, and my 
astonishment was profound.

"Dupin," said I, gravely, "this is beyond my comprehension. I do not 
hesitate to say that I am amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses. 
How was it possible you should know I was thinking of ----- ?" Here I 
paused, to ascertain beyond a doubt whether he really knew of whom I 
thought.

-- "of Chantilly," said he, "why do you pause? You were remarking to 
yourself that his diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy."

This was precisely what had formed the subject of my reflections. 
Chantilly was a _quondam_ cobbler of the Rue St. Denis, who, becoming 
stage-mad, had attempted the _rôle_ of Xerxes, in Crébillon's tragedy 
so called, and been notoriously Pasquinaded for his pains.

"Tell me, for Heaven's sake," I exclaimed, "the method - if method 
there is - by which you have been enabled to fathom my soul in this 
matter." In fact I was even more startled than I would have been 
willing to express.

"It was the fruiterer," replied my friend, "who brought you to the 
conclusion that the mender of soles was not of sufficient height for 
Xerxes _et id genus omne_."

"The fruiterer! - you astonish me - I know no fruiterer whomsoever."

"The man who ran up against you as we entered the street - it may 
have been fifteen minutes ago."

I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer, carrying upon his head a 
large basket of apples, had nearly thrown me down, by accident, as we 
passed from the Rue C ---- into the thoroughfare where we stood; but 
what this had to do with Chantilly I could not possibly understand.

There was not a particle of _charlâtanerie_ about Dupin. "I will 
explain," he said, "and that you may comprehend all clearly, we will 
first retrace the course of your meditations, from the moment in 
which I spoke to you until that of the _rencontre_ with the fruiterer 
in question. The larger links of the chain run thus - Chantilly, 
Orion, Dr. Nichols, Epicurus, Stereotomy, the street stones, the 
fruiterer."

There are few persons who have not, at some period of their lives, 
amused themselves in retracing the steps by which particular 
conclusions of their own minds have been attained. The occupation is 
often full of interest and he who attempts it for the first time is 
astonished by the apparently illimitable distance and incoherence 
between the starting-point and the goal. What, then, must have been 
my amazement when I heard the Frenchman speak what he had just 
spoken, and when I could not help acknowledging that he had spoken 
the truth. He continued:

"We had been talking of horses, if I remember aright, just before 
leaving the Rue C ---- . This was the last subject we discussed. As 
we crossed into this street, a fruiterer, with a large basket upon 
his head, brushing quickly past us, thrust you upon a pile of paving 
stones collected at a spot where the causeway is undergoing repair. 
You stepped upon one of the loose fragments, slipped, slightly 
strained your ankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered a few words, 
turned to look at the pile, and then proceeded in silence. I was not 
particularly attentive to what you did; but observation has become 
with me, of late, a species of necessity.

"You kept your eyes upon the ground - glancing, with a petulant 
expression, at the holes and ruts in the pavement, (so that I saw you 
were still thinking of the stones,) until we reached the little alley 
called Lamartine, which has been paved, by way of experiment, with 
the overlapping and riveted blocks. Here your countenance brightened 
up, and, perceiving your lips move, I could not doubt that you 
murmured the word 'stereotomy,' a term very affectedly applied to 
this species of pavement. I knew that you could not say to yourself 
'stereotomy' without being brought to think of atomies, and thus of 
the theories of Epicurus; and since, when we discussed this subject 
not very long ago, I mentioned to you how singularly, yet with how 
little notice, the vague guesses of that noble Greek had met with 
confirmation in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt that you could not 
avoid casting your eyes upward to the great _nebula_ in Orion, and I 
certainly expected that you would do so. You did look up; and I was 
now assured that I had correctly followed your steps. But in that 
bitter _tirade_ upon Chantilly, which appeared in yesterday's 
'_Musée_,' the satirist, making some disgraceful allusions to the 
cobbler s change of name upon assuming the buskin, quoted a Latin 
line about which we have often conversed. I mean the line

Perdidit antiquum litera sonum.

I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, formerly written 
Urion; and, from certain pungencies connected with this explanation, 
I was aware that you could not have forgotten it. It was clear, 
therefore, that you would not fail to combine the two ideas of Orion 
and Chantilly. That you did combine them I saw by the character of 
the smile which passed over your lips. You thought of the poor 
cobbler's immolation. So far, you had been stooping in your gait; but 
now I saw you draw yourself up to your full height. I was then sure 
that you reflected upon the diminutive figure of Chantilly. At this 
point I interrupted your meditations to remark that as, in fact, be 
was a very little fellow - that Chantilly - he would do better at the 
_Théâtre des Variétés_."

Not long after this, we were looking over an evening edition of the 
"Gazette des Tribunaux," when the following paragraphs arrested our 
attention.

"EXTRAORDINARY MURDERS. - This morning, about three o'clock, the 
inhabitants of the Quartier St. Roch were aroused from sleep by a 
succession of terrific shrieks, issuing, apparently, from the fourth 
story of a house in the Rue Morgue, known to be in the sole occupancy 
of one Madame L'Espanaye, and her daughter Mademoiselle Camille 
L'Espanaye. After some delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to 
procure admission in the usual manner, the gateway was broken in with 
a crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighbors entered accompanied by 
two _gendarmes_. By this time the cries had ceased; but, as the party 
rushed up the first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices in 
angry contention were distinguished and seemed to proceed from the 
upper part of the house. As the second landing was reached, these 
sounds, also, had ceased and everything remained perfectly quiet. The 
party spread themselves and hurried from room to room. Upon arriving 
at a large back chamber in the fourth story, (the door of which, 
being found locked, with the key inside, was forced open,) a 
spectacle presented itself which struck every one present not less 
with horror than with astonishment.

"The apartment was in the wildest disorder - the furniture broken and 
thrown about in all directions. There was only one bedstead; and from 
this the bed had been removed, and thrown into the middle of the 
floor. On a chair lay a razor, besmeared with blood. On the hearth 
were two or three long and thick tresses of grey human hair, also 
dabbled in blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the roots. 
Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, an ear-ring of topaz, three 
large silver spoons, three smaller of_ métal d'Alger_, and two bags, 
containing nearly four thousand francs in gold. The drawers of a 
_bureau_, which stood in one corner were open, and had been, 
apparently, rifled, although many articles still remained in them. A 
small iron safe was discovered under the _bed_ (not under the 
bedstead). It was open, with the key still in the door. It had no 
contents beyond a few old letters, and other papers of little 
consequence.

"Of Madame L'Espanaye no traces were here seen; but an unusual 
quantity of soot being observed in the fire-place, a search was made 
in the chimney, and (horrible to relate!) the; corpse of the 
daughter, head downward, was dragged therefrom; it having been thus 
forced up the narrow aperture for a considerable distance. The body 
was quite warm. Upon examining it, many excoriations were perceived, 
no doubt occasioned by the violence with which it had been thrust up 
and disengaged. Upon the face were many severe scratches, and, upon 
the throat, dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger nails, as 
if the deceased had been throttled to death.

"After a thorough investigation of every portion of the house, 
without farther discovery, the party made its way into a small paved 
yard in the rear of the building, where lay the corpse of the old 
lady, with her throat so entirely cut that, upon an attempt to raise 
her, the head fell off. The body, as well as the head, was fearfully 
mutilated - the former so much so as scarcely to retain any semblance 
of humanity.

"To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we believe, the 
slightest clew."

The next day's paper had these additional particulars.

"_The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue._ Many individuals have been examined 
in relation to this most extraordinary and frightful affair. [The 
word 'affaire' has not yet, in France, that levity of import which it 
conveys with us,] "but nothing whatever has transpired to throw light 
upon it. We give below all the material testimony elicited.

"_Pauline Dubourg_, laundress, deposes that she has known both the 
deceased for three years, having washed for them during that period. 
The old lady and her daughter seemed on good terms - very 
affectionate towards each other. They were excellent pay. Could not 
speak in regard to their mode or means of living. Believed that 
Madame L. told fortunes for a living. Was reputed to have money put 
by. Never met any persons in the house when she called for the 
clothes or took them home. Was sure that they had no servant in 
employ. There appeared to be no furniture in any part of the building 
except in the fourth story.

"_Pierre Moreau_, tobacconist, deposes that he has been in the habit 
of selling small quantities of tobacco and snuff to Madame L'Espanaye 
for nearly four years. Was born in the neighborhood, and has always 
resided there. The deceased and her daughter had occupied the house 
in which the corpses were found, for more than six years. It was 
formerly occupied by a jeweller, who under-let the upper rooms to 
various persons. The house was the property of Madame L. She became 
dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises by her tenant, and moved 
into them herself, refusing to let any portion. The old lady was 
childish. Witness had seen the daughter some five or six times during 
the six years. The two lived an exceedingly retired life - were 
reputed to have money. Had heard it said among the neighbors that 
Madame L. told fortunes - did not believe it. Had never seen any 
person enter the door except the old lady and her daughter, a porter 
once or twice, and a physician some eight or ten times.

"Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to the same effect. No 
one was spoken of as frequenting the house. It was not known whether 
there were any living connexions of Madame L. and her daughter. The 
shutters of the front windows were seldom opened. Those in the rear 
were always closed, with the exception of the large back room, fourth 
story. The house was a good house - not very old.

"_Isidore Muset_, _gendarme_, deposes that he was called to the house 
about three o'clock in the morning, and found some twenty or thirty 
persons at the gateway, endeavoring to gain admittance. Forced it 
open, at length, with a bayonet - not with a crowbar. Had but little 
difficulty in getting it open, on account of its being a double or 
folding gate, and bolted neither at bottom not top. The shrieks were 
continued until the gate was forced - and then suddenly ceased. They 
seemed to be screams of some person (or persons) in great agony - 
were loud and drawn out, not short and quick. Witness led the way up 
stairs. Upon reaching the first landing, heard two voices in loud and 
angry contention - the one a gruff voice, the other much shriller - a 
very strange voice. Could distinguish some words of the former, which 
was that of a Frenchman. Was positive that it was not a woman's 
voice. Could distinguish the words '_sacré_' and '_diable._' The 
shrill voice was that of a foreigner. Could not be sure whether it 
was the voice of a man or of a woman. Could not make out what was 
said, but believed the language to be Spanish. The state of the room 
and of the bodies was described by this witness as we described them 
yesterday.

"_Henri Duval_, a neighbor, and by trade a silver-smith, deposes that 
he was one of the party who first entered the house. Corroborates the 
testimony of Musèt in general. As soon as they forced an entrance, 
they reclosed the door, to keep out the crowd, which collected very 
fast, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The shrill voice, 
this witness thinks, was that of an Italian. Was certain it was not 
French. Could not be sure that it was a man's voice. It might have 
been a woman's. Was not acquainted with the Italian language. Could 
not distinguish the words, but was convinced by the intonation that 
the speaker was an Italian. Knew Madame L. and her daughter. Had 
conversed with both frequently. Was sure that the shrill voice was 
not that of either of the deceased.

"-- _Odenheimer, restaurateur._ This witness volunteered his 
testimony. Not speaking French, was examined through an interpreter. 
Is a native of Amsterdam. Was passing the house at the time of the 
shrieks. They lasted for several minutes - probably ten. They were 
long and loud - very awful and distressing. Was one of those who 
entered the building. Corroborated the previous evidence in every 
respect but one. Was sure that the shrill voice was that of a man - 
of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish the words uttered. They were 
loud and quick - unequal - spoken apparently in fear as well as in 
anger. The voice was harsh - not so much shrill as harsh. Could not 
call it a shrill voice. The gruff voice said repeatedly '_sacré_,' 
'_diable_,' and once '_mon Dieu._'

"_Jules Mignaud_, banker, of the firm of Mignaud et Fils, Rue 
Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud. Madame L'Espanaye had some property. 
Had opened an account with his banking house in the spring of the 
year - (eight years previously). Made frequent deposits in small 
sums. Had checked for nothing until the third day before her death, 
when she took out in person the sum of 4000 francs. This sum was paid 
in gold, and a clerk went home with the money.

"_Adolphe Le Bon_, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, deposes that on the day 
in question, about noon, he accompanied Madame L'Espanaye to her 
residence with the 4000 francs, put up in two bags. Upon the door 
being opened, Mademoiselle L. appeared and took from his hands one of 
the bags, while the old lady relieved him of the other. He then bowed 
and departed. Did not see any person in the street at the time. It is 
a bye-street - very lonely.

"_William Bird_, tailor deposes that he was one of the party who 
entered the house. Is an Englishman. Has lived in Paris two years. 
Was one of the first to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in 
contention. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could make out 
several words, but cannot now remember all. Heard distinctly 
'_sacré_' and '_mon Dieu._' There was a sound at the moment as if of 
several persons struggling - a scraping and scuffling sound. The 
shrill voice was very loud - louder than the gruff one. Is sure that 
it was not the voice of an Englishman. Appeared to be that of a 
German. Might have been a woman's voice. Does not understand German.

"Four of the above-named witnesses, being recalled, deposed that the 
door of the chamber in which was found the body of Mademoiselle L. 
was locked on the inside when the party reached it. Every thing was 
perfectly silent - no groans or noises of any kind. Upon forcing the 
door no person was seen. The windows, both of the back and front 
room, were down and firmly fastened from within. A door between the 
two rooms was closed, but not locked. The door leading from the front 
room into the passage was locked, with the key on the inside. A small 
room in the front of the house, on the fourth story, at the head of 
the passage was open, the door being ajar. This room was crowded with 
old beds, boxes, and so forth. These were carefully removed and 
searched. There was not an inch of any portion of the house which was 
not carefully searched. Sweeps were sent up and down the chimneys. 
The house was a four story one, with garrets (_mansardes._) A 
trap-door on the roof was nailed down very securely - did not appear 
to have been opened for years. The time elapsing between the hearing 
of the voices in contention and the breaking open of the room door, 
was variously stated by the witnesses. Some made it as short as three 
minutes - some as long as five. The door was opened with difficulty.

"_Alfonzo Garcio_, undertaker, deposes that he resides in the Rue 
Morgue. Is a native of Spain. Was one of the party who entered the 
house. Did not proceed up stairs. Is nervous, and was apprehensive of 
the consequences of agitation. Heard the voices in contention. The 
gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish what was 
said. The shrill voice was that of an Englishman - is sure of this. 
Does not understand the English language, but judges by the 
intonation.

"_Alberto Montani_, confectioner, deposes that he was among the first 
to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in question. The gruff voice 
was that of a Frenchman. Distinguished several words. The speaker 
appeared to be expostulating. Could not make out the words of the 
shrill voice. Spoke quick and unevenly. Thinks it the voice of a 
Russian. Corroborates the general testimony. Is an Italian. Never 
conversed with a native of Russia.

"Several witnesses, recalled, here testified that the chimneys of all 
the rooms on the fourth story were too narrow to admit the passage of 
a human being. By 'sweeps' were meant cylindrical sweeping brushes, 
such as are employed by those who clean chimneys. These brushes were 
passed up and down every flue in the house. There is no back passage 
by which any one could have descended while the party proceeded up 
stairs. The body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was so firmly wedged in 
the chimney that it could not be got down until four or five of the 
party united their strength.

"_Paul Dumas_, physician, deposes that he was called to view the 
bodies about day-break. They were both then lying on the sacking of 
the bedstead in the chamber where Mademoiselle L. was found. The 
corpse of the young lady was much bruised and excoriated. The fact 
that it had been thrust up the chimney would sufficiently account for 
these appearances. The throat was greatly chafed. There were several 
deep scratches just below the chin, together with a series of livid 
spots which were evidently the impression of fingers. The face was 
fearfully discolored, and the eye-balls protruded. The tongue had 
been partially bitten through. A large bruise was discovered upon the 
pit of the stomach, produced, apparently, by the pressure of a knee. 
In the opinion of M. Dumas, Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been 
throttled to death by some person or persons unknown. The corpse of 
the mother was horribly mutilated. All the bones of the right leg and 
arm were more or less shattered. The left _tibia_ much splintered, as 
well as all the ribs of the left side. Whole body dreadfully bruised 
and discolored. It was not possible to say how the injuries had been 
inflicted. A heavy club of wood, or a broad bar of iron - a chair - 
any large, heavy, and obtuse weapon would have produced such results, 
if wielded by the hands of a very powerful man. No woman could have 
inflicted the blows with any weapon. The head of the deceased, when 
seen by witness, was entirely separated from the body, and was also 
greatly shattered. The throat had evidently been cut with some very 
sharp instrument - probably with a razor.

"_Alexandre Etienne_, surgeon, was called with M. Dumas to view the 
bodies. Corroborated the testimony, and the opinions of M. Dumas.

"Nothing farther of importance was elicited, although several other 
persons were examined. A murder so mysterious, and so perplexing in 
all its particulars, was never before committed in Paris - if indeed 
a murder has been committed at all. The police are entirely at fault 
- an unusual occurrence in affairs of this nature. There is not, 
however, the shadow of a clew apparent."

The evening edition of the paper stated that the greatest excitement 
still continued in the Quartier St. Roch - that the premises in 
question had been carefully re-searched, and fresh examinations of 
witnesses instituted, but all to no purpose. A postscript, however, 
mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arrested and imprisoned - 
although nothing appeared to criminate him, beyond the facts already 
detailed.

Dupin seemed singularly interested in the progress of this affair -- 
at least so I judged from his manner, for he made no comments. It was 
only after the announcement that Le Bon had been imprisoned, that he 
asked me my opinion respecting the murders.

I could merely agree with all Paris in considering them an insoluble 
mystery. I saw no means by which it would be possible to trace the 
murderer.

"We must not judge of the means," said Dupin, "by this shell of an 
examination. The Parisian police, so much extolled for _acumen_, are 
cunning, but no more. There is no method in their proceedings, beyond 
the method of the moment. They make a vast parade of measures; but, 
not unfrequently, these are so ill adapted to the objects proposed, 
as to put us in mind of Monsieur Jourdain's calling for his 
_robe-de-chambre - pour mieux entendre la musique._ The results 
attained by them are not unfrequently surprising, but, for the most 
part, are brought about by simple diligence and activity. When these 
qualities are unavailing, their schemes fail. Vidocq, for example, 
was a good guesser and a persevering man. But, without educated 
thought, he erred continually by the very intensity of his 
investigations. He impaired his vision by holding the object too 
close. He might see, perhaps, one or two points with unusual 
clearness, but in so doing he, necessarily, lost sight of the matter 
as a whole. Thus there is such a thing as being too profound. Truth 
is not always in a well. In fact, as regards the more important 
knowledge, I do believe that she is invariably superficial. The depth 
lies in the valleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-tops 
where she is found. The modes and sources of this kind of error are 
well typified in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies. To look at 
a star by glances - to view it in a side-long way, by turning toward 
it the exterior portions of the _retina_ (more susceptible of feeble 
impressions of light than the interior), is to behold the star 
distinctly - is to have the best appreciation of its lustre - a 
lustre which grows dim just in proportion as we turn our vision 
_fully_ upon it. A greater number of rays actually fall upon the eye 
in the latter case, but, in the former, there is the more refined 
capacity for comprehension. By undue profundity we perplex and 
enfeeble thought; and it is possible to make even Venus herself 
vanish from the firmanent by a scrutiny too sustained, too 
concentrated, or too direct.

"As for these murders, let us enter into some examinations for 
ourselves, before we make up an opinion respecting them. An inquiry 
will afford us amusement," [I thought this an odd term, so applied, 
but said nothing] "and, besides, Le Bon once rendered me a service 
for which I am not ungrateful. We will go and see the premises with 
our own eyes. I know G----, the Prefect of Police, and shall have no 
difficulty in obtaining the necessary permission."

The permission was obtained, and we proceeded at once to the Rue 
Morgue. This is one of those miserable thoroughfares which intervene 
between the Rue Richelieu and the Rue St. Roch. It was late in the 
afternoon when we reached it; as this quarter is at a great distance 
from that in which we resided. The house was readily found; for there 
were still many persons gazing up at the closed shutters, with an 
objectless curiosity, from the opposite side of the way. It was an 
ordinary Parisian house, with a gateway, on one side of which was a 
glazed watch-box, with a sliding panel in the window, indicating a 
_loge de concierge._ Before going in we walked up the street, turned 
down an alley, and then, again turning, passed in the rear of the 
building - Dupin, meanwhile examining the whole neighborhood, as well 
as the house, with a minuteness of attention for which I could see no 
possible object.

Retracing our steps, we came again to the front of the dwelling, 
rang, and, having shown our credentials, were admitted by the agents 
in charge. We went up stairs - into the chamber where the body of 
Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been found, and where both the deceased 
still lay. The disorders of the room had, as usual, been suffered to 
exist. I saw nothing beyond what had been stated in the "Gazette des 
Tribunaux." Dupin scrutinized every thing - not excepting the bodies 
of the victims. We then went into the other rooms, and into the yard; 
a _gendarme_ accompanying us throughout. The examination occupied us 
until dark, when we took our departure. On our way home my companion 
stepped in for a moment at the office of one of the daily papers.

I have said that the whims of my friend were manifold, and that _Je 
les ménagais_: - for this phrase there is no English equivalent. It 
was his humor, now, to decline all conversation on the subject of the 
murder, until about noon the next day. He then asked me, suddenly, if 
I had observed any thing _peculiar_ at the scene of the atrocity.

There was something in his manner of emphasizing the word "peculiar," 
which caused me to shudder, without knowing why.

"No, nothing _peculiar_," I said; "nothing more, at least, than we 
both saw stated in the paper."

"The 'Gazette,' " he replied, "has not entered, I fear, into the 
unusual horror of the thing. But dismiss the idle opinions of this 
print. It appears to me that this mystery is considered insoluble, 
for the very reason which should cause it to be regarded as easy of 
solution - I mean for the _outré_ character of its features. The 
police are confounded by the seeming absence of motive - not for the 
murder itself - but for the atrocity of the murder. They are puzzled, 
too, by the seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices heard in 
contention, with the facts that no one was discovered up stairs but 
the assassinated Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and that there were no 
means of egress without the notice of the party ascending. The wild 
disorder of the room; the corpse thrust, with the head downward, up 
the chimney; the frightful mutilation of the body of the old lady; 
these considerations, with those just mentioned, and others which I 
need not mention, have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by putting 
completely at fault the boasted _acumen_, of the government agents. 
They have fallen into the gross but common error of confounding the 
unusual with the abstruse. But it is by these deviations from the 
plane of the ordinary, that reason feels its way, if at all, in its 
search for the true. In investigations such as we are now pursuing, 
it should not be so much asked 'what has occurred,' as 'what has 
occurred that has never occurred before.' In fact, the facility with 
which I shall arrive, or have arrived, at the solution of this 
mystery, is in the direct ratio of its apparent insolubility in the 
eyes of the police."

I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.

"I am now awaiting," continued he, looking toward the door of our 
apartment - "I am now awaiting a person who, although perhaps not the 
perpetrator of these butcheries, must have been in some measure 
implicated in their perpetration. Of the worst portion of the crimes 
committed, it is probable that he is innocent. I hope that I am right 
in this supposition; for upon it I build my expectation of reading 
the entire riddle. I look for the man here - in this room - every 
moment. It is true that he may not arrive; but the probability is 
that he will. Should he come, it will be necessary to detain him. 
Here are pistols; and we both know how to use them when occasion 
demands their use."

I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, or believing what I 
heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if in a soliloquy. I have 
already spoken of his abstract manner at such times. His discourse 
was addressed to myself; but his voice, although by no means loud, 
had that intonation which is commonly employed in speaking to some 
one at a great distance. His eyes, vacant in expression, regarded 
only the wall.

"That the voices heard in contention," he said, "by the party upon 
the stairs, were not the voices of the women themselves, was fully 
proved by the evidence. This relieves us of all doubt upon the 
question whether the old lady could have first destroyed the daughter 
and afterward have committed suicide. I speak of this point chiefly 
for the sake of method; for the strength of Madame L'Espanaye would 
have been utterly unequal to the task of thrusting her daughter's 
corpse up the chimney as it was found; and the nature of the wounds 
upon her own person entirely preclude the idea of self-destruction. 
Murder, then, has been committed by some third party; and the voices 
of this third party were those heard in contention. Let me now advert 
- not to the whole testimony respecting these voices - but to what 
was _peculiar_ in that testimony. Did you observe any thing peculiar 
about it?"

I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in supposing the 
gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there was much disagreement in 
regard to the shrill, or, as one individual termed it, the harsh 
voice.

"That was the evidence itself," said Dupin, "but it was not the 
peculiarity of the evidence. You have observed nothing distinctive. 
Yet there _was_ something to be observed. The witnesses, as you 
remark, agreed about the gruff voice; they were here unanimous. But 
in regard to the shrill voice, the peculiarity is - not that they 
disagreed - but that, while an Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a 
Hollander, and a Frenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke 
of it as that _of a foreigner_. Each is sure that it was not the 
voice of one of his own countrymen. Each likens it - not to the voice 
of an individual of any nation with whose language he is conversant - 
but the converse. The Frenchman supposes it the voice of a Spaniard, 
and 'might have distinguished some words _had he been acquainted with 
the Spanish._' The Dutchman maintains it to have been that of a 
Frenchman; but we find it stated that '_not understanding French this 
witness was examined through an interpreter._' The Englishman thinks 
it the voice of a German, and '_does not understand German._' The 
Spaniard 'is sure' that it was that of an Englishman, but 'judges by 
the intonation' altogether, '_as he has no knowledge of the 
English._' The Italian believes it the voice of a Russian, but '_has 
never conversed with a native of Russia._' A second Frenchman 
differs, moreover, with the first, and is positive that the voice was 
that of an Italian; but, _not being cognizant of that tongue_, is, 
like the Spaniard, 'convinced by the intonation.' Now, how strangely 
unusual must that voice have really been, about which such testimony 
as this _could_ have been elicited! - in whose _tones_, even, 
denizens of the five great divisions of Europe could recognise 
nothing familiar! You will say that it might have been the voice of 
an Asiatic - of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans abound in 
Paris; but, without denying the inference, I will now merely call 
your attention to three points. The voice is termed by one witness 
'harsh rather than shrill.' It is represented by two others to have 
been 'quick and _unequal._' No words - no sounds resembling words - 
were by any witness mentioned as distinguishable.

"I know not," continued Dupin, "what impression I may have made, so 
far, upon your own understanding; but I do not hesitate to say that 
legitimate deductions even from this portion of the testimony - the 
portion respecting the gruff and shrill voices - are in themselves 
sufficient to engender a suspicion which should give direction to all 
farther progress in the investigation of the mystery. I said 
'legitimate deductions;' but my meaning is not thus fully expressed. 
I designed to imply that the deductions are the _sole_ proper ones, 
and that the suspicion arises _inevitably_ from them as the single 
result. What the suspicion is, however, I will not say just yet. I 
merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself, it was 
sufficiently forcible to give a definite form - a certain tendency - 
to my inquiries in the chamber.

"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this chamber. What 
shall we first seek here? The means of egress employed by the 
murderers. It is not too much to say that neither of us believe in 
præternatural events. Madame and Mademoiselle L'Espanaye were not 
destroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were material, and 
escaped materially. Then how? Fortunately, there is but one mode of 
reasoning upon the point, and that mode _must_ lead us to a definite 
decision. - Let us examine, each by each, the possible means of 
egress. It is clear that the assassins were in the room where 
Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was found, or at least in the room adjoining, 
when the party ascended the stairs. It is then only from these two 
apartments that we have to seek issues. The police have laid bare the 
floors, the ceilings, and the masonry of the walls, in every 
direction. No _secret_ issues could have escaped their vigilance. 
But, not trusting to _their_ eyes, I examined with my own. There 
were, then, no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms into 
the passage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn 
to the chimneys. These, although of ordinary width for some eight or 
ten feet above the hearths, will not admit, throughout their extent, 
the body of a large cat. The impossibility of egress, by means 
already stated, being thus absolute, we are reduced to the windows. 
Through those of the front room no one could have escaped without 
notice from the crowd in the street. The murderers _must_ have 
passed, then, through those of the back room. Now, brought to this 
conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not our part, 
as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. It 
is only left for us to prove that these apparent 'impossibilities' 
are, in reality, not such.

"There are two windows in the chamber. One of them is unobstructed by 
furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower portion of the other is 
hidden from view by the head of the unwieldy bedstead which is thrust 
close up against it. The former was found securely fastened from 
within. It resisted the utmost force of those who endeavored to raise 
it. A large gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to the left, 
and a very stout nail was found fitted therein, nearly to the head. 
Upon examining the other window, a similar nail was seen similarly 
fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt to raise this sash, failed also. 
The police were now entirely satisfied that egress had not been in 
these directions. And, _therefore_, it was thought a matter of 
supererogation to withdraw the nails and open the windows.

"My own examination was somewhat more particular, and was so for the 
reason I have just given - because here it was, I knew, that all 
apparent impossibilities _must_ be proved to be not such in reality.

"I proceeded to think thus - _à posteriori_. The murderers did escape 
from one of these windows. This being so, they could not have 
refastened the sashes from the inside, as they were found fastened; - 
the consideration which put a stop, through its obviousness, to the 
scrutiny of the police in this quarter. Yet the sashes _were_ 
fastened. They _must_, then, have the power of fastening themselves. 
There was no escape from this conclusion. I stepped to the 
unobstructed casement, withdrew the nail with some difficulty and 
attempted to raise the sash. It resisted all my efforts, as I had 
anticipated. A concealed spring must, I now know, exist; and this 
corroboration of my idea convinced me that my premises at least, were 
correct, however mysterious still appeared the circumstances 
attending the nails. A careful search soon brought to light the 
hidden spring. I pressed it, and, satisfied with the discovery, 
forbore to upraise the sash.

"I now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively. A person 
passing out through this window might have reclosed it, and the 
spring would have caught - but the nail could not have been replaced. 
The conclusion was plain, and again narrowed in the field of my 
investigations. The assassins _must_ have escaped through the other 
window. Supposing, then, the springs upon each sash to be the same, 
as was probable, there _must_ be found a difference between the 
nails, or at least between the modes of their fixture. Getting upon 
the sacking of the bedstead, I looked over the head-board minutely at 
the second casement. Passing my hand down behind the board, I readily 
discovered and pressed the spring, which was, as I had supposed, 
identical in character with its neighbor. I now looked at the nail. 
It was as stout as the other, and apparently fitted in the same 
manner - driven in nearly up to the head.

"You will say that I was puzzled; but, if you think so, you must have 
misunderstood the nature of the inductions. To use a sporting phrase, 
I had not been once 'at fault.' The scent had never for an instant 
been lost. There was no flaw in any link of the chain. I had traced 
the secret to its ultimate result, - and that result was _the nail._ 
It had, I say, in every respect, the appearance of its fellow in the 
other window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive us it 
might seem to be) when compared with the consideration that here, at 
this point, terminated the clew. 'There _must_ be something wrong,' I 
said, 'about the nail.' I touched it; and the head, with about a 
quarter of an inch of the shank, came off in my fingers. The rest of 
the shank was in the gimlet-hole where it had been broken off. The 
fracture was an old one (for its edges were incrusted with rust), and 
had apparently been accomplished by the blow of a hammer, which had 
partially imbedded, in the top of the bottom sash, the head portion 
of the nail. I now carefully replaced this head portion in the 
indentation whence I had taken it, and the resemblance to a perfect 
nail was complete - the fissure was invisible. Pressing the spring, I 
gently raised the sash for a few inches; the head went up with it, 
remaining firm in its bed. I closed the window, and the semblance of 
the whole nail was again perfect.

"The riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The assassin had escaped 
through the window which looked upon the bed. Dropping of its own 
accord upon his exit (or perhaps purposely closed), it had become 
fastened by the spring; and it was the retention of this spring which 
had been mistaken by the police for that of the nail, - farther 
inquiry being thus considered unnecessary.

"The next question is that of the mode of descent. Upon this point I 
had been satisfied in my walk with you around the building. About 
five feet and a half from the casement in question there runs a 
lightning-rod. From this rod it would have been impossible for any 
one to reach the window itself, to say nothing of entering it. I 
observed, however, that the shutters of the fourth story were of the 
peculiar kind called by Parisian carpenters _ferrades_ - a kind 
rarely employed at the present day, but frequently seen upon very old 
mansions at Lyons and Bourdeaux. They are in the form of an ordinary 
door, (a single, not a folding door) except that the lower half is 
latticed or worked in open trellis - thus affording an excellent hold 
for the hands. In the present instance these shutters are fully three 
feet and a half broad. When we saw them from the rear of the house, 
they were both about half open - that is to say, they stood off at 
right angles from the wall. It is probable that the police, as well 
as myself, examined the back of the tenement; but, if so, in looking 
at these _ferrades_ in the line of their breadth (as they must have 
done), they did not perceive this great breadth itself, or, at all 
events, failed to take it into due consideration. In fact, having 
once satisfied themselves that no egress could have been made in this 
quarter, they would naturally bestow here a very cursory examination. 
It was clear to me, however, that the shutter belonging to the window 
at the head of the bed, would, if swung fully back to the wall, reach 
to within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was also evident that, by 
exertion of a very unusual degree of activity and courage, an 
entrance into the window, from the rod, might have been thus 
effected. - By reaching to the distance of two feet and a half (we 
now suppose the shutter open to its whole extent) a robber might have 
taken a firm grasp upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold 
upon the rod, placing his feet securely against the wall, and 
springing boldly from it, he might have swung the shutter so as to 
close it, and, if we imagine the window open at the time, might even 
have swung himself into the room.

"I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have spoken of a _very_ 
unusual degree of activity as requisite to success in so hazardous 
and so difficult a feat. It is my design to show you, first, that the 
thing might possibly have been accomplished: - but, secondly and 
_chiefly_, I wish to impress upon your understanding the _very 
extraordinary_ - the almost præternatural character of that agility 
which could have accomplished it.

"You will say, no doubt, using the language of the law, that 'to make 
out my case,' I should rather undervalue, than insist upon a full 
estimation of the activity required in this matter. This may be the 
practice in law, but it is not the usage of reason. My ultimate 
object is only the truth. My immediate purpose is to lead you to 
place in juxta-position, that _very unusual_ activity of which I have 
just spoken with that _very peculiar_ shrill (or harsh) and _unequal_ 
voice, about whose nationality no two persons could be found to 
agree, and in whose utterance no syllabification could be detected."

At these words a vague and half-formed conception of the meaning of 
Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed to be upon the verge of 
comprehension without power to comprehend - men, at times, find 
themselves upon the brink of remembrance without being able, in the 
end, to remember. My friend went on with his discourse.

"You will see," he said, "that I have shifted the question from the 
mode of egress to that of ingress. It was my design to convey the 
idea that both were effected in the same manner, at the same point. 
Let us now revert to the interior of the room. Let us survey the 
appearances here. The drawers of the bureau, it is said, had been 
rifled, although many articles of apparel still remained within them. 
The conclusion here is absurd. It is a mere guess - a very silly one 
- and no more. How are we to know that the articles found in the 
drawers were not all these drawers had originally contained? Madame 
L'Espanaye and her daughter lived an exceedingly retired life - saw 
no company - seldom went out - had little use for numerous changes of 
habiliment. Those found were at least of as good quality as any 
likely to be possessed by these ladies. If a thief had taken any, why 
did he not take the best - why did he not take all? In a word, why 
did he abandon four thousand francs in gold to encumber himself with 
a bundle of linen? The gold _was _abandoned. Nearly the whole sum 
mentioned by Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was discovered, in bags, 
upon the floor. I wish you, therefore, to discard from your thoughts 
the blundering idea of _motive_, engendered in the brains of the 
police by that portion of the evidence which speaks of money 
delivered at the door of the house. Coincidences ten times as 
remarkable as this (the delivery of the money, and murder committed 
within three days upon the party receiving it), happen to all of us 
every hour of our lives, without attracting even momentary notice. 
Coincidences, in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the way of 
that class of thinkers who have been educated to know nothing of the 
theory of probabilities - that theory to which the most glorious 
objects of human research are indebted for the most glorious of 
illustration. In the present instance, had the gold been gone, the 
fact of its delivery three days before would have formed something 
more than a coincidence. It would have been corroborative of this 
idea of motive. But, under the real circumstances of the case, if we 
are to suppose gold the motive of this outrage, we must also imagine 
the perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as to have abandoned his gold 
and his motive together.

"Keeping now steadily in mind the points to which I have drawn your 
attention - that peculiar voice, that unusual agility, and that 
startling absence of motive in a murder so singularly atrocious as 
this - let us glance at the butchery itself. Here is a woman 
strangled to death by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney, head 
downward. Ordinary assassins employ no such modes of murder as this. 
Least of all, do they thus dispose of the murdered. In the manner of 
thrusting the corpse up the chimney, you will admit that there was 
something _excessively outré_ - something altogether irreconcilable 
with our common notions of human action, even when we suppose the 
actors the most depraved of men. Think, too, how great must have been 
that strength which could have thrust the body _up_ such an aperture 
so forcibly that the united vigor of several persons was found barely 
sufficient to drag it _down!_

"Turn, now, to other indications of the employment of a vigor most 
marvellous. On the hearth were thick tresses - very thick tresses - 
of grey human hair. These had been torn out by the roots. You are 
aware of the great force necessary in tearing thus from the head even 
twenty or thirty hairs together. You saw the locks in question as 
well as myself. Their roots (a hideous sight!) were clotted with 
fragments of the flesh of the scalp - sure token of the prodigious 
power which had been exerted in uprooting perhaps half a million of 
hairs at a time. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but 
the head absolutely severed from the body: the instrument was a mere 
razor. I wish you also to look at the _brutal_ ferocity of these 
deeds. Of the bruises upon the body of Madame L'Espanaye I do not 
speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy coadjutor Monsieur Etienne, 
have pronounced that they were inflicted by some obtuse instrument; 
and so far these gentlemen are very correct. The obtuse instrument 
was clearly the stone pavement in the yard, upon which the victim had 
fallen from the window which looked in upon the bed. This idea, 
however simple it may now seem, escaped the police for the same 
reason that the breadth of the shutters escaped them - because, by 
the affair of the nails, their perceptions had been hermetically 
sealed against the possibility of the windows having ever been opened 
at all.

"If now, in addition to all these things, you have properly reflected 
upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we have gone so far as to 
combine the ideas of an agility astounding, a strength superhuman, a 
ferocity brutal, a butchery without motive, a _grotesquerie_ in 
horror absolutely alien from humanity, and a voice foreign in tone to 
the ears of men of many nations, and devoid of all distinct or 
intelligible syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? What 
impression have I made upon your fancy?"

I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me the question. "A 
madman," I said, "has done this deed - some raving maniac, escaped 
from a neighboring _Maison de Santé._"

"In some respects," he replied, "your idea is not irrelevant. But the 
voices of madmen, even in their wildest paroxysms, are never found to 
tally with that peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of 
some nation, and their language, however incoherent in its words, has 
always the coherence of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a 
madman is not such as I now hold in my hand. I disentangled this 
little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L'Espanaye. 
Tell me what you can make of it."

"Dupin!" I said, completely unnerved; "this hair is most unusual - 
this is no _human_ hair."

"I have not asserted that it is," said he; "but, before we decide 
this point, I wish you to glance at the little sketch I have here 
traced upon this paper. It is a _fac-simile_ drawing of what has been 
described in one portion of the testimony as 'dark bruises, and deep 
indentations of finger nails,' upon the throat of Mademoiselle 
L'Espanaye, and in another, (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne,) as a 
'series of livid spots, evidently the impression of fingers.'

"You will perceive," continued my friend, spreading out the paper 
upon the table before us, "that this drawing gives the idea of a firm 
and fixed hold. There is no _slipping_ apparent. Each finger has 
retained - possibly until the death of the victim - the fearful grasp 
by which it originally imbedded itself. Attempt, now, to place all 
your fingers, at the same time, in the respective impressions as you 
see them."

I made the attempt in vain.

"We are possibly not giving this matter a fair trial," he said. "The 
paper is spread out upon a plane surface; but the human throat is 
cylindrical. Here is a billet of wood, the circumference of which is 
about that of the throat. Wrap the drawing around it, and try the 
experiment again."

I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than before. 
"This," I said, "is the mark of no human hand."

"Read now," replied Dupin, "this passage from Cuvier."

It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive account of the 
large fulvous Ourang-Outang of the East Indian Islands. The gigantic 
stature, the prodigious strength and activity, the wild ferocity, and 
the imitative propensities of these mammalia are sufficiently well 
known to all. I understood the full horrors of the murder at once.

"The description of the digits," said I, as I made an end of reading, 
"is in exact accordance with this drawing. I see that no animal but 
an Ourang-Outang, of the species here mentioned, could have impressed 
the indentations as you have traced them. This tuft of tawny hair, 
too, is identical in character with that of the beast of Cuvier. But 
I cannot possibly comprehend the particulars of this frightful 
mystery. Besides, there were _two_ voices heard in contention, and 
one of them was unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman."

"True; and you will remember an expression attributed almost 
unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice, - the expression, '_mon 
Dieu!_' This, under the circumstances, has been justly characterized 
by one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner,) as an expression 
of remonstrance or expostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I 
have mainly built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A 
Frenchman was cognizant of the murder. It is possible - indeed it is 
far more than probable - that he was innocent of all participation in 
the bloody transactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have 
escaped from him. He may have traced it to the chamber; but, under 
the agitating circumstances which ensued, he could never have 
re-captured it. It is still at large. I will not pursue these guesses 
- for I have no right to call them more - since the shades of 
reflection upon which they are based are scarcely of sufficient depth 
to be appreciable by my own intellect, and since I could not pretend 
to make them intelligible to the understanding of another. We will 
call them guesses then, and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman 
in question is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this 
advertisement which I left last night, upon our return home, at the 
office of 'Le Monde,' (a paper devoted to the shipping interest, and 
much sought by sailors,) will bring him to our residence."

He handed me a paper, and I read thus:

CAUGHT - _In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the - 
inst.,_ (the morning of the murder,) _a very large, tawny 
Ourang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owner, (who is ascertained 
to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel,) may have the animal 
again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few charges 
arising from its capture and keeping. Call at No. ---- , Rue ----, 
Faubourg St. Germain - au troisiême._

"How was it possible," I asked, "that you should know the man to be a 
sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?"

"I do _not_ know it," said Dupin. "I am not _sure_ of it. Here, 
however, is a small piece of ribbon, which from its form, and from 
its greasy appearance, has evidently been used in tying the hair in 
one of those long _queues_ of which sailors are so fond. Moreover, 
this knot is one which few besides sailors can tie, and is peculiar 
to the Maltese. I picked the ribbon up at the foot of the 
lightning-rod. It could not have belonged to either of the deceased. 
Now if, after all, I am wrong in my induction from this ribbon, that 
the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to a Maltese vessel, still I can 
have done no harm in saying what I did in the advertisement. If I am 
in error, he will merely suppose that I have been misled by some 
circumstance into which he will not take the trouble to inquire. But 
if I am right, a great point is gained. Cognizant although innocent 
of the murder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitate about replying 
to the advertisement - about demanding the Ourang-Outang. He will 
reason thus: - 'I am innocent; I am poor; my Ourang-Outang is of 
great value - to one in my circumstances a fortune of itself - why 
should I lose it through idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is, 
within my grasp. It was found in the Bois de Boulogne - at a vast 
distance from the scene of that butchery. How can it ever be 
suspected that a brute beast should have done the deed? The police 
are at fault - they have failed to procure the slightest clew. Should 
they even trace the animal, it would be impossible to prove me 
cognizant of the murder, or to implicate me in guilt on account of 
that cognizance. Above all, _I am known._ The advertiser designates 
me as the possessor of the beast. I am not sure to what limit his 
knowledge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property of so great 
value, which it is known that I possess, I will render the animal at 
least, liable to suspicion. It is not my policy to attract attention 
either to myself or to the beast. I will answer the advertisement, 
get the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until this matter has blown 
over.' "

At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.

"Be ready," said Dupin, "with your pistols, but neither use them nor 
show them until at a signal from myself."

The front door of the house had been left open, and the visiter had 
entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the 
staircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard 
him descending. Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when we again 
heard him coming up. He did not turn back a second time, but stepped 
up with decision, and rapped at the door of our chamber.

"Come in," said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone.

A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently, - a tall, stout, and 
muscular-looking person, with a certain dare-devil expression of 
countenance, not altogether unprepossessing. His face, greatly 
sunburnt, was more than half hidden by whisker and _mustachio._ He 
had with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise 
unarmed. He bowed awkwardly, and bade us "good evening," in French 
accents, which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still 
sufficiently indicative of a Parisian origin.

"Sit down, my freind," said Dupin. "I suppose you have called about 
the Ourang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost envy you the possession of 
him; a remarkably fine, and no doubt a very valuable animal. How old 
do you suppose him to be?"

The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a man relieved of some 
intolerable burden, and then replied, in an assured tone:

"I have no way of telling - but he can't be more than four or five 
years old. Have you got him here?"

"Oh no, we had no conveniences for keeping him here. He is at a 
livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You can get him in the 
morning. Of course you are prepared to identify the property?"

"To be sure I am, sir."

"I shall be sorry to part with him," said Dupin.

"I don't mean that you should be at all this trouble for nothing, 
sir," said the man. "Couldn't expect it. Am very willing to pay a 
reward for the finding of the animal - that is to say, any thing in 
reason."

"Well," replied my friend, "that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me 
think! - what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be 
this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these 
murders in the Rue Morgue."

Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly. Just 
as quietly, too, he walked toward the door, locked it and put the key 
in his pocket. He then drew a pistol from his bosom and placed it, 
without the least flurry, upon the table.

The sailor's face flushed up as if he were struggling with 
suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel, but the 
next moment he fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with 
the countenance of death itself. He spoke not a word. I pitied him 
from the bottom of my heart.

"My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you are alarming yourself 
unnecessarily - you are indeed. We mean you no harm whatever. I 
pledge you the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we 
intend you no injury. I perfectly well know that you are innocent of 
the atrocities in the Rue Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny 
that you are in some measure implicated in them. From what I have 
already said, you must know that I have had means of information 
about this matter - means of which you could never have dreamed. Now 
the thing stands thus. You have done nothing which you could have 
avoided - nothing, certainly, which renders you culpable. You were 
not even guilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with impunity. 
You have nothing to conceal. You have no reason for concealment. On 
the other hand, you are bound by every principle of honor to confess 
all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned, charged with that 
crime of which you can point out the perpetrator."

The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure, 
while Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing 
was all gone.

"So help me God," said he, after a brief pause, "I will tell you all 
I know about this affair; - but I do not expect you to believe one 
half I say - I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent, 
and I will make a clean breast if I die for it."

What he stated was, in substance, this. He had lately made a voyage 
to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of which he formed one, landed at 
Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure. 
Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang- Outang. This 
companion dying, the animal fell into his own exclusive possession. 
After great trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his 
captive during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging it 
safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract toward 
himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it 
carefully secluded, until such time as it should recover from a wound 
in the foot, received from a splinter on board ship. His ultimate 
design was to sell it.

Returning home from some sailors' frolic the night, or rather in the 
morning of the murder, he found the beast occupying his own bed-room, 
into which it had broken from a closet adjoining, where it had been, 
as was thought, securely confined. Razor in hand, and fully lathered, 
it was sitting before a looking-glass, attempting the operation of 
shaving, in which it had no doubt previously watched its master 
through the key-hole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so 
dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious, and 
so well able to use it, the man, for some moments, was at a loss what 
to do. He had been accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even 
in its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip, and to this he now 
resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ourang-Outang sprang at once through 
the door of the chamber, down the stairs, and thence, through a 
window, unfortunately open, into the street.

The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor still in hand, 
occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate at its pursuer, 
until the latter had nearly come up with it. It then again made off. 
In this manner the chase continued for a long time. The streets were 
profoundly quiet, as it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. In 
passing down an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive's 
attention was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window of 
Madame L'Espanaye's chamber, in the fourth story of her house. 
Rushing to the building, it perceived the lightning rod, clambered up 
with inconceivable agility, grasped the shutter, which was thrown 
fully back against the wall, and, by its means, swung itself directly 
upon the headboard of the bed. The whole feat did not occupy a 
minute. The shutter was kicked open again by the Ourang-Outang as it 
entered the room.

The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and perplexed. He had 
strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as it could scarcely 
escape from the trap into which it had ventured, except by the rod, 
where it might be intercepted as it came down. On the other hand, 
there was much cause for anxiety as to what it might do in the house. 
This latter reflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A 
lightning rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor; 
but, when he had arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his 
left, his career was stopped; the most that he could accomplish was 
to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of the interior of the room. 
At this glimpse he nearly fell from his hold through excess of 
horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks arose upon the night, 
which had startled from slumber the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame 
L'Espanaye and her daughter, habited in their night clothes, had 
apparently been occupied in arranging some papers in the iron chest 
already mentioned, which had been wheeled into the middle of the 
room. It was open, and its contents lay beside it on the floor. The 
victims must have been sitting with their backs toward the window; 
and, from the time elapsing between the ingress of the beast and the 
screams, it seems probable that it was not immediately perceived. The 
flapping-to of the shutter would naturally have been attributed to 
the wind.

As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seized Madame 
L'Espanaye by the hair, (which was loose, as she had been combing 
it,) and was flourishing the razor about her face, in imitation of 
the motions of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate and motionless; 
she had swooned. The screams and struggles of the old lady (during 
which the hair was torn from her head) had the effect of changing the 
probably pacific purposes of the Ourang-Outang into those of wrath. 
With one determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearly severed her 
head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed its anger into 
phrenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from its eyes, it flew 
upon the body of the girl, and imbedded its fearful talons in her 
throat, retaining its grasp until she expired. Its wandering and wild 
glances fell at this moment upon the head of the bed, over which the 
face of its master, rigid with horror, was just discernible. The fury 
of the beast, who no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, was 
instantly converted into fear. Conscious of having deserved 
punishment, it seemed desirous of concealing its bloody deeds, and 
skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervous agitation; throwing 
down and breaking the furniture as it moved, and dragging the bed 
from the bedstead. In conclusion, it seized first the corpse of the 
daughter, and thrust it up the chimney, as it was found; then that of 
the old lady, which it immediately hurled through the window 
headlong.

As the ape approached the casement with its mutilated burden, the 
sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather gliding than clambering 
down it, hurried at once home - dreading the consequences of the 
butchery, and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude about 
the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard by the party upon the 
staircase were the Frenchman's exclamations of horror and affright, 
commingled with the fiendish jabberings of the brute.

I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-Outang must have escaped 
from the chamber, by the rod, just before the break of the door. It 
must have closed the window as it passed through it. It was 
subsequently caught by the owner himself, who obtained for it a very 
large sum at the _Jardin des Plantes._ Le Don was instantly released, 
upon our narration of the circumstances (with some comments from 
Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary, 
however well disposed to my friend, could not altogether conceal his 
chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and was fain to indulge 
in a sarcasm or two, about the propriety of every person minding his 
own business.

"Let him talk," said Dupin,, who had not thought it necessary to 
reply. "Let him discourse; it will ease his conscience, I am 
satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle. Nevertheless, 
that he failed in the solution of this mystery, is by no means that 
matter for wonder which he supposes it; for, in truth, our friend the 
Prefect is somewhat too cunning to be profound. In his wisdom is no 
_stamen._ It is all head and no body, like the pictures of the 
Goddess Laverna, -- or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a 
codfish. But he is a good creature after all. I like him especially 
for one master stroke of cant, by which he has attained his 
reputation for ingenuity. I mean the way he has '_de nier ce qui est, 
et d'expliquer ce qui n'est pas._' " *

* Rousseau - Nouvelle Heloise.

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