The Murders in the Rue Morgue

The Murders in the RueMorgue

by Edgar Allan Poe

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THE MURDERS IN THE

RUE MORGUE

What song the Syrens sang, orwhat name Achilles assumedwhen he hid himself amongwomen, although puzzlingquestions, are not beyond allconjecture.

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THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

–Sir Thomas Browne.

THE mental features discoursed of as the an-alytical, are, in themselves, but little sus-

ceptible of analysis. We appreciate them onlyin their effects. We know of them, among otherthings, that they are always to their possessor,when inordinately possessed, a source of theliveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults inhis physical ability, delighting in such exercisesas call his muscles into action, so glories theanalyst in that moral activity which disentan-gles. He derives pleasure from even the mosttrivial occupations bringing his talent into play.He is fond of enigmas, of conundrums, of hi-eroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of eacha degree of acumen which appears to the ordi-nary apprehension præternatural. His results,brought about by the very soul and essence of

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method, have, in truth, the whole air of intu-ition.

The faculty of re-solution is possibly muchinvigorated by mathematical study, and espe-cially by that highest branch of it which, un-justly, and merely on account of its retrogradeoperations, has been called, as if par excellence,analysis. Yet to calculate is not in itself to anal-yse. A chess-player, for example, does the onewithout effort at the other. It follows that thegame of chess, in its effects upon mental char-acter, is greatly misunderstood. I am not nowwriting a treatise, but simply prefacing a some-what peculiar narrative by observations verymuch at random; I will, therefore, take occasionto assert that the higher powers of the reflectiveintellect are more decidedly and more usefullytasked by the unostentatious game of draughts

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than by a the elaborate frivolity of chess. Inthis latter, where the pieces have different andbizarre motions, with various and variable val-ues, what is only complex is mistaken (a notunusual error) for what is profound. The at-tention is here called powerfully into play. Ifit flag for an instant, an oversight is commit-ted resulting in injury or defeat. The possiblemoves being not only manifold but involute,the chances of such oversights are multiplied;and in nine cases out of ten it is the more con-centrative rather than the more acute playerwho conquers. In draughts, on the contrary,where the moves are unique and have but lit-tle variation, the probabilities of inadvertenceare diminished, and the mere attention beingleft comparatively unemployed, what advan-tages are obtained by either party are obtainedby superior acumen. To be less abstract–Let us

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suppose a game of draughts where the piecesare reduced to four kings, and where, of course,no oversight is to be expected. It is obviousthat here the victory can be decided (the play-ers being at all equal) only by some recherchémovement, the result of some strong exertionof the intellect. Deprived of ordinary resources,the analyst throws himself into the spirit ofhis opponent, identifies himself therewith, andnot unfrequently sees thus, at a glance, thesole methods (sometime indeed absurdly sim-ple ones) by which he may seduce into error orhurry into miscalculation.

Whist has long been noted for its influenceupon what is termed the calculating power;and men of the highest order of intellect havebeen known to take an apparently unaccount-able delight in it, while eschewing chess as

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frivolous. Beyond doubt there is nothing ofa similar nature so greatly tasking the facultyof analysis. The best chess-player in Christen-dom may be little more than the best player ofchess; but proficiency in whist implies capac-ity for success in all those more important un-dertakings where mind struggles with mind.When I say proficiency, I mean that perfectionin the game which includes a comprehensionof all the sources whence legitimate advantagemay be derived. These are not only mani-fold but multiform, and lie frequently amongrecesses of thought altogether inaccessible tothe ordinary understanding. To observe atten-tively is to remember distinctly; and, so far, theconcentrative chess-player will do very wellat whist; while the rules of Hoyle (themselvesbased upon the mere mechanism of the game)are sufficiently and generally comprehensible.

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Thus to have a retentive memory, and to pro-ceed by “the book,” are points commonly re-garded as the sum total of good playing. But itis in matters beyond the limits of mere rule thatthe skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes, insilence, a host of observations and inferences.So, perhaps, do his companions; and the differ-ence in the extent of the information obtained,lies not so much in the validity of the inferenceas in the quality of the observation. The neces-sary knowledge is that of what to observe. Ourplayer confines himself not at all; nor, becausethe game is the object, does he reject deductionsfrom things external to the game. He exam-ines the countenance of his partner, comparingit carefully with that of each of his opponents.He considers the mode of assorting the cardsin each hand; often counting trump by trump,and honor by honor, through the glances be-

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stowed by their holders upon each. He notesevery variation of face as the play progresses,gathering a fund of thought from the differ-ences in the expression of certainty, of surprise,of triumph, or of chagrin. From the mannerof gathering up a trick he judges whether theperson taking it can make another in the suit.He recognises what is played through feint, bythe air with which it is thrown upon the ta-ble. A casual or inadvertent word; the acciden-tal dropping or turning of a card, with the ac-companying anxiety or carelessness in regardto its concealment; the counting of the tricks,with the order of their arrangement; embar-rassment, hesitation, eagerness or trepidation–all afford, to his apparently intuitive percep-tion, indications of the true state of affairs. Thefirst two or three rounds having been played,he is in full possession of the contents of each

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hand, and thenceforward puts down his cardswith as absolute a precision of purpose as if therest of the party had turned outward the facesof their own.

The analytical power should not be con-founded with ample ingenuity; for while theanalyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingeniousman is often remarkably incapable of analy-sis. The constructive or combining power, bywhich ingenuity is usually manifested, and towhich the phrenologists (I believe erroneously)have assigned a separate organ, supposing it aprimitive faculty, has been so frequently seen inthose whose intellect bordered otherwise uponidiocy, as to have attracted general observationamong writers on morals. Between ingenuityand the analytic ability there exists a differencefar greater, indeed, than that between the fancy

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and the imagination, but of a character verystrictly analogous. It will be found, in fact, thatthe ingenious are always fanciful, and the trulyimaginative never otherwise than analytic.

The narrative which follows will appear tothe reader somewhat in the light of a commen-tary upon the propositions just advanced.

Residing in Paris during the spring and partof the summer of 18–, I there became ac-quainted with a Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin.This young gentleman was of an excellent–indeed of an illustrious family, but, by a vari-ety of untoward events, had been reduced tosuch poverty that the energy of his charactersuccumbed beneath it, and he ceased to bestirhimself in the world, or to care for the retrievalof his fortunes. By courtesy of his creditors,there still remained in his possession a small

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remnant of his patrimony; and, upon the in-come arising from this, he managed, by meansof a rigorous economy, to procure the neces-saries of life, without troubling himself aboutits superfluities. Books, indeed, were his soleluxuries, and in Paris these are easily obtained.

Our first meeting was at an obscure libraryin the Rue Montmartre, where the accident ofour both being in search of the same very rareand very remarkable volume, brought us intocloser communion. We saw each other againand again. I was deeply interested in the lit-tle family history which he detailed to me withall that candor which a Frenchman indulgeswhenever mere self is his theme. I was as-tonished, too, at the vast extent of his read-ing; and, above all, I felt my soul enkindledwithin me by the wild fervor, and the vivid

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freshness of his imagination. Seeking in Paristhe objects I then sought, I felt that the soci-etyof such a man would be to me a treasurebeyond price; and this feeling I frankly con-fided to him. It was at length arranged that weshould live together during my stay in the city;and as my worldly circumstances were some-what less embarrassed than his own, I was per-mitted to be at the expense of renting, and fur-nishing in a style which suited the rather fan-tastic gloom of our common temper, a time-eaten and grotesque mansion, long desertedthrough superstitions into which we did not in-quire, and tottering to its fall in a retired anddesolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.

Had the routine of our life at this place beenknown to the world, we should have beenregarded as madmen–although, perhaps, as

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madmen of a harmless nature. Our seclusionwas perfect. We admitted no visitors. Indeedthe locality of our retirement had been carefullykept a secret from my own former associates;and it had been many years since Dupin hadceased to know or be known in Paris. We ex-isted within ourselves alone.

It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for whatelse shall I call it?) to be enamored of the Nightfor her own sake; and into this bizarrerie, as intoall his others, I quietly fell; giving myself upto his wild whims with a perfect abandon. Thesable divinity would not herself dwell with usalways; but we could counterfeit her presence.At the first dawn of the morning we closed allthe messy shutters of our old building; lightinga couple of tapers which, strongly perfumed,threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of

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rays. By the aid of these we then busied oursouls in dreams– reading, writing, or convers-ing, until warned by the clock of the advent ofthe true Darkness. Then we sallied forth intothe streets arm in arm, continuing the topics ofthe day, or roaming far and wide until a latehour, seeking, amid the wild lights and shad-ows of the populous city, that infinity of mentalexcitement which quiet observation can afford.

At such times I could not help remarkingand admiring (although from his rich idealityI had been prepared to expect it) a peculiar an-alytic ability in Dupin. He seemed, too, to takean eager delight in its exercise–if not exactly inits display–and did not hesitate to confess thepleasure thus derived. He boastedto me, with alow chuckling laugh, that most men, in respectto himself, wore windows in their bosoms, and

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was wont to follow up such assertions by di-rect and very startling proofs of his intimateknowledge of my own. His manner at thesemoments was frigid and abstract; his eyes werevacant in expression; while his voice, usually arich tenor, rose into a treble which would havesounded petulantly but for the deliberatenessand entire distinctness of the enunciation. Ob-serving him in these moods, I often dwelt med-itatively upon the old philosophy of the Bi-PartSoul, and amused myself with the fancy of adouble Dupin–the creative and the resolvent.

Let it not be supposed, from what I have justsaid, that I am detailing any mystery, or pen-ning any romance. What I have described inthe Frenchman, was merely the result of an ex-cited, or perhaps of a diseased intelligence. Butof the character of his remarks at the periods in

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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 fifteenminutes at least. All at once Dupin broke forthwith these words:

“He is a very little fellow, that’s true, andwould do better for the Théâtre des Variétés.”

“There can be no doubt of that,” I replied un-wittingly, and not at first observing (so muchhad I been absorbed in reflection) the extraordi-nary manner in which the speaker had chimedin with my meditations. In an instant after-ward I recollected myself, and my astonish-ment was profound.

“Dupin,” said I, gravely, “this is beyond mycomprehension. I do not hesitate to say that I

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am amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses.How was it possible you should know I wasthinking of——-?” Here I paused, to ascer-tain beyond a doubt whether he really knew ofwhom I thought.

—“of Chantilly,” said he, “why do youpause? You were remarking to yourself that hisdiminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy.”

This was precisely what had formed the sub-ject of my reflections. Chantilly was a quondamcobbler of the Rue St. Denis, who, becomingstage-mad, had attempted the rôle of Xerxes, inCrébillon’s tragedy so called, and been notori-ously Pasquinaded for his pains.

“Tell me, for Heaven’s sake,” I exclaimed,“the method–if method there is–by which youhave been enabled to fathom my soul in thismatter.” In fact I was even more startled than I

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would have been willing to express.

“It was the fruiterer,” replied my friend,“who brought you to the conclusion that themender of soles was not of sufficient height forXerxes et id genus omne.”

“The fruiterer!–you astonish me–I know nofruiterer whomsoever.”

“The man who ran up against you as we en-tered the street–it may have been fifteen min-utes ago.”

I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer,carrying upon his head a large basket of ap-ples, had nearly thrown me down, by accident,as we passed from the Rue C——into the thor-oughfare where we stood; but what this had todo with Chantilly I could not possibly under-stand.

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There was not a particle of charlâtanerie aboutDupin. “I will explain,” he said, “and that youmay comprehend all clearly, we will first re-trace the course of your meditations, from themoment in which I spoke to you until that ofthe rencontre with the fruiterer in question. Thelarger links of the chain run thus–Chantilly,Orion, Dr. Nichols, Epicurus, Stereotomy, thestreet stones, the fruiterer.”

There are few persons who have not, at someperiod of their lives, amused themselves in re-tracing the steps by which particular conclu-sions of their own minds have been attained.The occupation is often full of interest and hewho attempts it for the first time is astonishedby the apparently illimitable distance and in-coherence between the starting-point and thegoal. What, then, must have been my amaze-

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ment when I heard the Frenchman speak whathe had just spoken, and when I could not helpacknowledging that he had spoken the truth.He continued:

“We had been talking of horses, if I remem-ber aright, just before leaving the Rue C——. This was the last subject we discussed. Aswe crossed into this street, a fruiterer, with alarge basket upon his head, brushing quicklypast us, thrust you upon a pile of paving stonescollected at a spot where the causeway is un-dergoing repair. You stepped upon one of theloose fragments, slipped, slightly strained yourankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered a fewwords, turned to look at the pile, and then pro-ceeded in silence. I was not particularly atten-tive to what you did; but observation has be-come with me, of late, a species of necessity.

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“You kept your eyes upon the ground–glancing, with a petulant expression, at theholes and ruts in the pavement, (so that I sawyou were still thinking of the stones,) untilwe reached the little alley called Lamartine,which has been paved, by way of experiment,with the overlapping and riveted blocks. Hereyour countenance brightened up, and, perceiv-ing your lips move, I could not doubt thatyou murmured the word ‘stereotomy,’ a termvery affectedly applied to this species of pave-ment. I knew that you could not say to yourself‘stereotomy’ without being brought to think ofatomies, and thus of the theories of Epicurus;and since, when we discussed this subject notvery long ago, I mentioned to you how sin-gularly, yet with how little notice, the vagueguesses of that noble Greek had met with con-firmation in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt

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that you could not avoid casting your eyes up-ward to the great nebula in Orion, and I cer-tainly expected that you would do so. Youdid look up; and I was now assured that I hadcorrectly followed your steps. But in that bit-ter tirade upon Chantilly, which appeared inyesterday’s ’Musée,’ the satirist, making somedisgraceful allusions to the cobbler s changeof name upon assuming the buskin, quoteda Latin line about which we have often con-versed. I mean the line

Perdidit antiquum litera sonum.

I had told you that this was in reference toOrion, formerly written Urion; and, from cer-tain pungencies connected with this explana-tion, I was aware that you could not have for-gotten it. It was clear, therefore, that you wouldnot fail to combine the two ideas of Orion and

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Chantilly. That you did combine them I saw bythe character of the smile which passed overyour lips. You thought of the poor cobbler’simmolation. So far, you had been stooping inyour gait; but now I saw you draw yourself upto your full height. I was then sure that youreflected upon the diminutive figure of Chan-tilly. At this point I interrupted your medita-tions to remark that as, in fact, he was a verylittle fellow–that Chantilly–he would do betterat the Théâtre des Variétés.”

Not long after this, we were looking overan evening edition of the “Gazette des Tri-bunaux,” when the following paragraphs ar-rested our attention.

“EXTRAORDINARY MURDERS.–Thismorning, about three o’clock, the inhabitantsof the Quartier St. Roch were aroused from

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sleep by a succession of terrific shrieks, issuing,apparently, from the fourth story of a house inthe Rue Morgue, known to be in the sole oc-cupancy of one Madame L’Espanaye, and herdaughter Mademoiselle Camille L’Espanaye.After some delay, occasioned by a fruitlessattempt to procure admission in the usualmanner, the gateway was broken in with acrowbar, and eight or ten of the neighborsentered accompanied by two gendarmes. Bythis time the cries had ceased; but, as theparty rushed up the first flight of stairs, two ormore rough voices in angry contention weredistinguished and seemed to proceed from theupper part of the house. As the second landingwas reached, these sounds, also, had ceasedand everything remained perfectly quiet. Theparty spread themselves and hurried fromroom to room. Upon arriving at a large back

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chamber in the fourth story, (the door of which,being found locked, with the key inside, wasforced open,) a spectacle presented itself whichstruck every one present not less with horrorthan with astonishment.

“The apartment was in the wildest disorder–the furniture broken and thrown about in alldirections. There was only one bedstead; andfrom this the bed had been removed, andthrown into the middle of the floor. On a chairlay a razor, besmeared with blood. On thehearth were two or three long and thick tressesof grey human hair, also dabbled in blood, andseeming 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.

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The drawers of a bureau, which stood in onecorner were open, and had been, apparently,rifled, although many articles still remained inthem. A small iron safe was discovered underthe bed (not under the bedstead). It was open,with the key still in the door. It had no contentsbeyond a few old letters, and other papers oflittle consequence.

“Of Madame L’Espanaye no traces were hereseen; but an unusual quantity of soot beingobserved in the fire-place, a search was madein the chimney, and (horrible to relate!) thecorpse of the daughter, head downward, wasdragged therefrom; it having been thus forcedup the narrow aperture for a considerable dis-tance. The body was quite warm. Upon exam-ining it, many excoriations were perceived, nodoubt occasioned by the violence with which it

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had been thrust up and disengaged. Upon theface were many severe scratches, and, upon thethroat, dark bruises, and deep indentations offinger nails, as if the deceased had been throt-tled to death.

“After a thorough investigation of every por-tion of the house, without farther discovery, theparty made its way into a small paved yard inthe rear of the building, where lay the corpseof the old lady, with her throat so entirely cutthat, upon an attempt to raise her, the head felloff. The body, as well as the head, was fearfullymutilated–the former so much so as scarcely toretain 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 additionalparticulars.

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”The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue. Many indi-viduals have been examined in relation to thismost extraordinary and frightful affair. [Theword ‘affaire’ has not yet, in France, that lev-ity of import which it conveys with us,] “butnothing whatever has transpired to throw lightupon it. We give below all the material testi-mony elicited.

”Pauline Dubourg, laundress, deposes thatshe has known both the deceased for threeyears, having washed for them during that pe-riod. The old lady and her daughter seemedon good terms–very affectionate towards eachother. They were excellent pay. Could notspeak in regard to their mode or means of liv-ing. Believed that Madame L. told fortunes fora living. Was reputed to have money put by.Never met any persons in the house when she

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called for the clothes or took them home. Wassure that they had no servant in employ. Thereappeared to be no furniture in any part of thebuilding except in the fourth story.

”Pierre Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that hehas been in the habit of selling small quantitiesof tobacco and snuff to Madame L’Espanayefor nearly four years. Was born in the neigh-borhood, and has always resided there. Thedeceased and her daughter had occupied thehouse in which the corpses were found, formore than six years. It was formerly occu-pied by a jeweller, who under-let the upperrooms to various persons. The house was theproperty of Madame L. She became dissatisfiedwith the abuse of the premises by her tenant,and moved into them herself, refusing to letany portion. The old lady was childish. Wit-

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ness had seen the daughter some five or sixtimes during the six years. The two lived anexceedingly retired life–were reputed to havemoney. Had heard it said among the neighborsthat Madame L. told fortunes–did not believeit. Had never seen any person enter the doorexcept the old lady and her daughter, a porteronce or twice, and a physician some eight orten times.

“Many other persons, neighbors, gave evi-dence to the same effect. No one was spokenof as frequenting the house. It was not knownwhether there were any living connexions ofMadame L. and her daughter. The shutters ofthe front windows were seldom opened. Thosein the rear were always closed, with the excep-tion of the large back room, fourth story. Thehouse was a good house–not very old.

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”Isidore Muset, gendarme, deposes that he wascalled to the house about three o’clock in themorning, and found some twenty or thirty per-sons at the gateway, endeavoring to gain ad-mittance. Forced it open, at length, with abayonet–not with a crowbar. Had but little dif-ficulty in getting it open, on account of its be-ing a double or folding gate, and bolted nei-ther at bottom not top. The shrieks were con-tinued until the gate was forced–and then sud-denly ceased. They seemed to be screams ofsome person (or persons) in great agony– wereloud and drawn out, not short and quick. Wit-ness led the way up stairs. Upon reaching thefirst landing, heard two voices in loud and an-gry contention–the one a gruff voice, the othermuch shriller–a very strange voice. Could dis-tinguish some words of the former, which wasthat of a Frenchman. Was positive that it was

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not a woman’s voice. Could distinguish thewords ’sacré’ and ’diable.’ The shrill voice wasthat of a foreigner. Could not be sure whetherit was the voice of a man or of a woman. Couldnot make out what was said, but believed thelanguage to be Spanish. The state of the roomand of the bodies was described by this witnessas we described them yesterday.

”Henri Duval, a neighbor, and by trade asilver-smith, deposes that he was one of theparty who first entered the house. Corrobo-rates the testimony of Musèt in general. Assoon as they forced an entrance, they reclosedthe door, to keep out the crowd, which col-lected very fast, notwithstanding the latenessof the hour. The shrill voice, this witnessthinks, was that of an Italian. Was certain itwas not French. Could not be sure that it was

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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 con-vinced by the intonation that the speaker wasan Italian. Knew Madame L. and her daughter.Had conversed with both frequently. Was surethat the shrill voice was not that of either of thedeceased.

”—Odenheimer, restaurateur. This witnessvolunteered his testimony. Not speakingFrench, was examined through an interpreter.Is a native of Amsterdam. Was passing thehouse at the time of the shrieks. They lastedfor several minutes–probably ten. They werelong and loud–very awful and distressing. Wasone of those who entered the building. Cor-roborated the previous evidence in every re-spect but one. Was sure that the shrill voice

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was that of a man– of a Frenchman. Could notdistinguish the words uttered. They were loudand quick–unequal–spoken apparently in fearas well as in anger. The voice was harsh–not somuch shrill as harsh. Could not call it a shrillvoice. The gruff voice said repeatedly ’sacré,’’diable,’ and once ’mon Dieu.’

”Jules Mignaud, banker, of the firm ofMignaud et Fils, Rue Deloraine. Is the el-der Mignaud. Madame L’Espanaye had someproperty. Had opened an account with hisbanking house in the spring of the year–(eightyears previously). Made frequent deposits insmall sums. Had checked for nothing until thethird day before her death, when she took outin person the sum of 4000 francs. This sum waspaid in gold, and a clerk went home with themoney.

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”Adolphe Le Bon, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, de-poses that on the day in question, about noon,he accompanied Madame L’Espanaye to herresidence with the 4000 francs, put up in twobags. Upon the door being opened, Mademoi-selle L. appeared and took from his hands oneof the bags, while the old lady relieved him ofthe other. He then bowed and departed. Didnot see any person in the street at the time. It isa bye-street–very lonely.

”William Bird, tailor deposes that he was oneof the party who entered the house. Is an En-glishman. Has lived in Paris two years. Wasone of the first to ascend the stairs. Heardthe voices in contention. The gruff voice wasthat of a Frenchman. Could make out severalwords, but cannot now remember all. Hearddistinctly ’sacré’ and ’mon Dieu.’ There was a

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sound at the moment as if of several personsstruggling–a scraping and scuffling sound. Theshrill voice was very loud–louder than thegruff one. Is sure that it was not the voice ofan Englishman. Appeared to be that of a Ger-man. Might have been a woman’s voice. Doesnot understand German.

“Four of the above-named witnesses, beingrecalled, deposed that the door of the cham-ber in which was found the body of Mademoi-selle L. was locked on the inside when the partyreached it. Every thing was perfectly silent–no groans or noises of any kind. Upon forc-ing the door no person was seen. The win-dows, both of the back and front room, weredown and firmly fastened from within. A doorbetween the two rooms was closed, but notlocked. The door leading from the front room

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into the passage was locked, with the key onthe inside. A small room in the front of thehouse, on the fourth story, at the head of thepassage was open, the door being ajar. Thisroom was crowded with old beds, boxes, andso forth. These were carefully removed andsearched. There was not an inch of any portionof 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 naileddown very securely–did not appear to havebeen opened for years. The time elapsing be-tween the hearing of the voices in contentionand the breaking open of the room door, wasvariously stated by the witnesses. Some madeit as short as three minutes–some as long asfive. The door was opened with difficulty.

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”Alfonzo Garcio, undertaker, deposes that heresides 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 wasapprehensive of the consequences of agitation.Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voicewas that of a Frenchman. Could not distin-guish what was said. The shrill voice was thatof an Englishman–is sure of this. Does not un-derstand the English language, but judges bythe intonation.

”Alberto Montani, confectioner, deposes thathe was among the first to ascend the stairs.Heard the voices in question. The gruff voicewas that of a Frenchman. Distinguished sev-eral words. The speaker appeared to be expos-tulating. Could not make out the words of theshrill voice. Spoke quick and unevenly. Thinks

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it the voice of a Russian. Corroborates the gen-eral testimony. Is an Italian. Never conversedwith a native of Russia.

“Several witnesses, recalled, here testifiedthat the chimneys of all the rooms on the fourthstory were too narrow to admit the passage ofa human being. By ‘sweeps’ were meant cylin-drical sweeping brushes, such as are employedby those who clean chimneys. These brusheswere passed up and down every flue in thehouse. There is no back passage by which anyone could have descended while the party pro-ceeded up stairs. The body of MademoiselleL’Espanaye was so firmly wedged in the chim-ney that it could not be got down until four orfive of the party united their strength.

”Paul Dumas, physician, deposes that he wascalled to view the bodies about day-break.

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They were both then lying on the sacking ofthe bedstead in the chamber where Mademoi-selle L. was found. The corpse of the younglady was much bruised and excoriated. Thefact that it had been thrust up the chimneywould sufficiently account for these appear-ances. The throat was greatly chafed. Therewere several deep scratches just below the chin,together with a series of livid spots which wereevidently the impression of fingers. The facewas fearfully discolored, and the eye-balls pro-truded. The tongue had been partially bit-ten through. A large bruise was discoveredupon the pit of the stomach, produced, appar-ently, by the pressure of a knee. In the opinionof M. Dumas, Mademoiselle L’Espanaye hadbeen throttled to death by some person or per-sons unknown. The corpse of the mother washorribly mutilated. All the bones of the right

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leg and arm were more or less shattered. Theleft tibia much splintered, as well as all the ribsof the left side. Whole body dreadfully bruisedand discolored. It was not possible to say howthe injuries had been inflicted. A heavy clubof wood, or a broad bar of iron–a chair– anylarge, heavy, and obtuse weapon would haveproduced such results, if wielded by the handsof a very powerful man. No woman couldhave inflicted the blows with any weapon. Thehead of the deceased, when seen by witness,was entirely separated from the body, and wasalso greatly shattered. The throat had evidentlybeen cut with some very sharp instrument–probably with a razor.

”Alexandre Etienne, surgeon, was called withM. Dumas to view the bodies. Corroboratedthe testimony, and the opinions of M. Dumas.

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“Nothing farther of importance was elicited,although several other persons were examined.A murder so mysterious, and so perplexing inall its particulars, was never before committedin Paris–if indeed a murder has been commit-ted at all. The police are entirely at fault –an un-usual occurrence in affairs of this nature. Thereis not, however, the shadow of a clew appar-ent.”

The evening edition of the paper stated thatthe greatest excitement still continued in theQuartier St. Roch–that the premises in ques-tion had been carefully re-searched, and freshexaminations of witnesses instituted, but allto no purpose. A postscript, however, men-tioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arrestedand imprisoned– although nothing appearedto criminate him, beyond the facts already de-

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tailed.Dupin seemed singularly interested in the

progress of this affair— at least so I judgedfrom his manner, for he made no comments. Itwas only after the announcement that Le Bonhad been imprisoned, that he asked me myopinion respecting the murders.

I could merely agree with all Paris in con-sidering them an insoluble mystery. I saw nomeans by which it would be possible to tracethe murderer.

“We must not judge of the means,” saidDupin, “by this shell of an examination. TheParisian police, so much extolled for acumen,are cunning, but no more. There is no methodin their proceedings, beyond the method of themoment. They make a vast parade of mea-sures; but, not unfrequently, these are so ill

43


adapted to the objects proposed, as to put usin mind of Monsieur Jourdain’s calling for hisrobe-de-chambre–pour mieux entendre la musique.The results attained by them are not unfre-quently surprising, but, for the most part, arebrought about by simple diligence and activ-ity. When these qualities are unavailing, theirschemes fail. Vidocq, for example, was a goodguesser and a persevering man. But, with-out educated thought, he erred continually bythe very intensity of his investigations. Heimpaired his vision by holding the object tooclose. He might see, perhaps, one or two pointswith unusual clearness, but in so doing he, nec-essarily, lost sight of the matter as a whole.Thus there is such a thing as being too pro-found. Truth is not always in a well. In fact,as regards the more important knowledge, Ido believe that she is invariably superficial.

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The depth lies in the valleys where we seekher, and not upon the mountain-tops whereshe is found. The modes and sources of thiskind of error are well typified in the contem-plation of the heavenly bodies. To look at astar by glances–to view it in a side-long way,by turning toward it the exterior portions ofthe retina (more susceptible of feeble impres-sions of light than the interior), is to behold thestar distinctly–is to have the best appreciationof its lustre–a lustre which grows dim just inproportion as we turn our vision fully upon it.A greater number of rays actually fall upon theeye in the latter case, but, in the former, there isthe more refined capacity for comprehension.By undue profundity we perplex and enfeeblethought; and it is possible to make even Venusherself vanish from the firmanent by a scrutinytoo sustained, too concentrated, or too direct.

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“As for these murders, let us enter into someexaminations for ourselves, before we make upan opinion respecting them. An inquiry willafford us amusement,” [I thought this an oddterm, so applied, but said nothing] “and, be-sides, Le Bon once rendered me a service forwhich I am not ungrateful. We will go and seethe premises with our own eyes. I know G—-, the Prefect of Police, and shall have no diffi-culty in obtaining the necessary permission.”

The permission was obtained, and we pro-ceeded at once to the Rue Morgue. This is oneof those miserable thoroughfares which inter-vene between the Rue Richelieu and the RueSt. Roch. It was late in the afternoon when wereached it; as this quarter is at a great distancefrom that in which we resided. The house wasreadily found; for there were still many persons

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gazing up at the closed shutters, with an ob-jectless curiosity, from the opposite side of theway. It was an ordinary Parisian house, witha gateway, on one side of which was a glazedwatch-box, with a sliding panel in the window,indicating a loge de concierge. Before going inwe walked up the street, turned down an alley,and then, again turning, passed in the rear ofthe building–Dupin, meanwhile examining thewhole neighborhood, as well as the house, witha minuteness of attention for which I could seeno possible object.

Retracing our steps, we came again to thefront of the dwelling, rang, and, having shownour credentials, were admitted by the agents incharge. We went up stairs–into the chamberwhere the body of Mademoiselle L’Espanayehad been found, and where both the deceased

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still lay. The disorders of the room had, asusual, been suffered to exist. I saw nothing be-yond what had been stated in the “Gazette desTribunaux.” Dupin scrutinized every thing–not excepting the bodies of the victims. Wethen went into the other rooms, and into theyard; a gendarme accompanying us throughout.The examination occupied us until dark, whenwe took our departure. On our way home mycompanion stepped in for a moment at the of-fice of one of the daily papers.

I have said that the whims of my friendwere manifold, and that Je les ménagais:–for thisphrase there is no English equivalent. It washis humor, now, to decline all conversation onthe subject of the murder, until about noon thenext day. He then asked me, suddenly, if I hadobserved any thing peculiar at the scene of the

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atrocity.There was something in his manner of em-

phasizing the word “peculiar,” which causedme to shudder, without knowing why.

“No, nothing peculiar,” I said; “nothingmore, at least, than we both saw stated in thepaper.”

“The ‘Gazette,’ ” he replied, “has not en-tered, I fear, into the unusual horror of thething. But dismiss the idle opinions of thisprint. It appears to me that this mysteryis considered insoluble, for the very reasonwhich should cause it to be regarded as easyof solution–I mean for the outré character ofits features. The police are confounded by theseeming absence of motive–not for the mur-der itself–but for the atrocity of the murder.They are puzzled, too, by the seeming impos-

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sibility of reconciling the voices heard in con-tention, with the facts that no one was discov-ered up stairs but the assassinated Mademoi-selle L’Espanaye, and that there were no meansof egress without the notice of the party as-cending. The wild disorder of the room; thecorpse thrust, with the head downward, up thechimney; the frightful mutilation of the body ofthe old lady; these considerations, with thosejust mentioned, and others which I need notmention, have sufficed to paralyze the pow-ers, by putting completely at fault the boastedacumen, of the government agents. They havefallen into the gross but common error of con-founding the unusual with the abstruse. Butit is by these deviations from the plane of theordinary, that reason feels its way, if at all, inits search for the true. In investigations suchas we are now pursuing, it should not be so

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much asked ‘what has occurred,’ as ‘what hasoccurred that has never occurred before.’ Infact, the facility with which I shall arrive, orhave arrived, at the solution of this mystery, isin the direct ratio of its apparent insolubility inthe eyes of the police.”

I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.

“I am now awaiting,” continued he, lookingtoward the door of our apartment–“I am nowawaiting a person who, although perhaps notthe perpetrator of these butcheries, must havebeen in some measure implicated in their per-petration. Of the worst portion of the crimescommitted, it is probable that he is innocent.I hope that I am right in this supposition; forupon it I build my expectation of reading theentire riddle. I look for the man here–in thisroom–every moment. It is true that he may

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not arrive; but the probability is that he will.Should he come, it will be necessary to detainhim. Here are pistols; and we both know howto use them when occasion demands their use.”

I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what Idid, or believing what I heard, while Dupinwent on, very much as if in a soliloquy. I havealready spoken of his abstract manner at suchtimes. His discourse was addressed to myself;but his voice, although by no means loud, hadthat intonation which is commonly employedin speaking to some one at a great distance. Hiseyes, vacant in expression, regarded only thewall.

“That the voices heard in contention,” hesaid, “by the party upon the stairs, were notthe voices of the women themselves, was fullyproved by the evidence. This relieves us of all

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doubt upon the question whether the old ladycould have first destroyed the daughter and af-terward have committed suicide. I speak of thispoint chiefly for the sake of method; for thestrength of Madame L’Espanaye would havebeen utterly unequal to the task of thrustingher daughter’s corpse up the chimney as it wasfound; and the nature of the wounds upon herown person entirely preclude the idea of self-destruction. Murder, then, has been commit-ted by some third party; and the voices of thisthird party were those heard in contention. Letme now advert –not to the whole testimony re-specting these voices–but to what was peculiarin that testimony. Did you observe any thingpeculiar about it?”

I remarked that, while all the witnessesagreed in supposing the gruff voice to be that

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of a Frenchman, there was much disagreementin regard to the shrill, or, as one individualtermed 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. Yetthere was something to be observed. The wit-nesses, as you remark, agreed about the gruffvoice; they were here unanimous. But in re-gard to the shrill voice, the peculiarity is–notthat they disagreed–but that, while an Italian,an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Hollander, anda Frenchman attempted to describe it, each onespoke of it as that of a foreigner. Each is sure thatit was not the voice of one of his own country-men. Each likens it–not to the voice of an indi-vidual of any nation with whose language heis conversant– but the converse. The French-

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man supposes it the voice of a Spaniard, and‘might have distinguished some words had hebeen acquainted with the Spanish.’ The Dutch-man maintains it to have been that of a French-man; but we find it stated that ’not understand-ing French this witness was examined through aninterpreter.’ The Englishman thinks it the voiceof a German, and ’does not understand German.’The Spaniard ‘is sure’ that it was that of an En-glishman, but ‘judges by the intonation’ alto-gether, ’as he has no knowledge of the English.’ TheItalian believes it the voice of a Russian, but’has never conversed with a native of Russia.’ Asecond Frenchman differs, moreover, with thefirst, and is positive that the voice was that ofan Italian; but, not being cognizant of that tongue,is, like the Spaniard, ‘convinced by the into-nation.’ Now, how strangely unusual mustthat voice have really been, about which such

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testimony as this could have been elicited!–inwhose tones, even, denizens of the five greatdivisions of Europe could recognise nothing fa-miliar! You will say that it might have been thevoice of an Asiatic–of an African. Neither Asi-atics nor Africans abound in Paris; but, with-out denying the inference, I will now merelycall your attention to three points. The voiceis termed by one witness ‘harsh rather thanshrill.’ It is represented by two others to havebeen ‘quick and unequal.’ No words–no soundsresembling words– were by any witness men-tioned as distinguishable.

“I know not,” continued Dupin, “what im-pression I may have made, so far, upon yourown understanding; but I do not hesitate tosay that legitimate deductions even from thisportion of the testimony–the portion respect-

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ing the gruff and shrill voices–are in them-selves sufficient to engender a suspicion whichshould give direction to all farther progress inthe investigation of the mystery. I said ‘legiti-mate deductions;’ but my meaning is not thusfully expressed. I designed to imply that thedeductions are the sole proper ones, and thatthe suspicion arises inevitably from them as thesingle result. What the suspicion is, however,I will not say just yet. I merely wish you tobear in mind that, with myself, it was suffi-ciently forcible to give a definite form–a certaintendency– to my inquiries in the chamber.

“Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, tothis chamber. What shall we first seek here?The means of egress employed by the murder-ers. It is not too much to say that neither of usbelieve in præternatural events. Madame and

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Mademoiselle L’Espanaye were not destroyedby spirits. The doers of the deed were mate-rial, and escaped materially. Then how? Fortu-nately, there is but one mode of reasoning uponthe point, and that mode must lead us to a defi-nite decision.–Let us examine, each by each, thepossible means of egress. It is clear that the as-sassins were in the room where MademoiselleL’Espanaye was found, or at least in the roomadjoining, when the party ascended the stairs.It is then only from these two apartments thatwe have to seek issues. The police have laidbare the floors, the ceilings, and the masonryof the walls, in every direction. No secret is-sues could have escaped their vigilance. But,not trusting to their eyes, I examined with myown. There were, then, no secret issues. Bothdoors leading from the rooms into the passagewere securely locked, with the keys inside. Let

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us turn to the chimneys. These, although of or-dinary width for some eight or ten feet abovethe hearths, will not admit, throughout theirextent, the body of a large cat. The impossi-bility of egress, by means already stated, beingthus absolute, we are reduced to the windows.Through those of the front room no one couldhave escaped without notice from the crowd inthe street. The murderers must have passed,then, through those of the back room. Now,brought to this conclusion in so unequivocala manner as we are, it is not our part, as rea-soners, to reject it on account of apparent im-possibilities. It is only left for us to prove thatthese apparent ‘impossibilities’ are, in reality,not such.

“There are two windows in the chamber.One of them is unobstructed by furniture, and

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is wholly visible. The lower portion of theother is hidden from view by the head of theunwieldy bedstead which is thrust close upagainst it. The former was found securely fas-tened from within. It resisted the utmost forceof those who endeavored to raise it. A largegimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame tothe left, and a very stout nail was found fittedtherein, nearly to the head. Upon examiningthe other window, a similar nail was seen simi-larly fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt to raisethis sash, failed also. The police were now en-tirely satisfied that egress had not been in thesedirections. And, therefore, it was thought a mat-ter of supererogation to withdraw the nails andopen the windows.

“My own examination was somewhat moreparticular, and was so for the reason I have just

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given–because here it was, I knew, that all ap-parent impossibilities must be proved to be notsuch in reality.

“I proceeded to think thus–à posteriori. Themurderers did escape from one of these win-dows. This being so, they could not have re-fastened the sashes from the inside, as theywere found fastened;– the consideration whichput a stop, through its obviousness, to thescrutiny of the police in this quarter. Yet thesashes were fastened. They must, then, havethe power of fastening themselves. There wasno escape from this conclusion. I stepped tothe unobstructed casement, withdrew the nailwith some difficulty and attempted to raisethe sash. It resisted all my efforts, as I hadanticipated. A concealed spring must, I nowknow, exist; and this corroboration of my idea

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convinced me that my premises at least, werecorrect, however mysterious still appeared thecircumstances attending the nails. A carefulsearch 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 itattentively. A person passing out throughthis window might have reclosed it, and thespring would have caught–but the nail couldnot have been replaced. The conclusion wasplain, and again narrowed in the field of my in-vestigations. The assassins must have escapedthrough the other window. Supposing, then,the springs upon each sash to be the same,as was probable, there must be found a differ-ence between the nails, or at least between themodes of their fixture. Getting upon the sack-

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ing of the bedstead, I looked over the head-board minutely at the second casement. Pass-ing my hand down behind the board, I readilydiscovered and pressed the spring, which was,as I had supposed, identical in character withits neighbor. I now looked at the nail. It was asstout as the other, and apparently fitted in thesame manner–driven in nearly up to the head.

“You will say that I was puzzled; but, if youthink so, you must have misunderstood the na-ture of the inductions. To use a sporting phrase,I had not been once ‘at fault.’ The scent hadnever for an instant been lost. There was noflaw in any link of the chain. I had tracedthe secret to its ultimate result,–and that resultwas the nail. It had, I say, in every respect, theappearance of its fellow in the other window;but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclu-

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sive us it might seem to be) when comparedwith the consideration that here, at this point,terminated the clew. ‘There must be somethingwrong,’ I said, ‘about the nail.’ I touched it; andthe head, with about a quarter of an inch of theshank, came off in my fingers. The rest of theshank was in the gimlet-hole where it had beenbroken off. The fracture was an old one (for itsedges were incrusted with rust), and had ap-parently been accomplished by the blow of ahammer, which had partially imbedded, in thetop of the bottom sash, the head portion of thenail. I now carefully replaced this head portionin the indentation whence I had taken it, andthe resemblance to a perfect nail was complete–the fissure was invisible. Pressing the spring, Igently raised the sash for a few inches; the headwent up with it, remaining firm in its bed. Iclosed the window, and the semblance of the

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whole nail was again perfect.

“The riddle, so far, was now unriddled.The assassin had escaped through the win-dow which looked upon the bed. Dropping ofits own accord upon his exit (or perhaps pur-posely closed), it had become fastened by thespring; and it was the retention of this springwhich had been mistaken by the police for thatof the nail,–farther inquiry being thus consid-ered unnecessary.

“The next question is that of the mode of de-scent. Upon this point I had been satisfied inmy walk with you around the building. Aboutfive feet and a half from the casement in ques-tion there runs a lightning-rod. From this rodit would have been impossible for any one toreach the window itself, to say nothing of en-tering it. I observed, however, that the shutters

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of the fourth story were of the peculiar kindcalled by Parisian carpenters ferrades–a kindrarely employed at the present day, but fre-quently seen upon very old mansions at Lyonsand Bourdeaux. They are in the form of an or-dinary door, (a single, not a folding door) ex-cept that the lower half is latticed or workedin open trellis–thus affording an excellent holdfor the hands. In the present instance theseshutters 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 my-self, examined the back of the tenement; but,if so, in looking at these ferrades in the line oftheir breadth (as they must have done), theydid not perceive this great breadth itself, or, atall events, failed to take it into due considera-

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tion. In fact, having once satisfied themselvesthat no egress could have been made in thisquarter, they would naturally bestow here avery cursory examination. It was clear to me,however, that the shutter belonging to the win-dow at the head of the bed, would, if swungfully back to the wall, reach to within two feetof the lightning-rod. It was also evident that,by exertion of a very unusual degree of activ-ity and courage, an entrance into the window,from the rod, might have been thus effected.–By reaching to the distance of two feet and ahalf (we now suppose the shutter open to itswhole extent) a robber might have taken a firmgrasp upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then,his hold upon the rod, placing his feet securelyagainst the wall, and springing boldly from it,he might have swung the shutter so as to closeit, and, if we imagine the window open at the

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time, might even have swung himself into theroom.

“I wish you to bear especially in mind thatI have spoken of a very unusual degree of ac-tivity as requisite to success in so hazardousand so difficult a feat. It is my design to showyou, first, that the thing might possibly havebeen accomplished:–but, secondly and chiefly,I wish to impress upon your understandingthe very extraordinary–the almost præternaturalcharacter of that agility which could have ac-complished it.

“You will say, no doubt, using the languageof the law, that ‘to make out my case,’ I shouldrather undervalue, than insist upon a full esti-mation of the activity required in this matter.This may be the practice in law, but it is notthe usage of reason. My ultimate object is only

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the truth. My immediate purpose is to leadyou to place in juxta-position, that very unusualactivity of which I have just spoken with thatvery peculiar shrill (or harsh) and unequal voice,about whose nationality no two persons couldbe found to agree, and in whose utterance nosyllabification could be detected.”

At these words a vague and half-formedconception of the meaning of Dupin flittedover my mind. I seemed to be upon theverge of comprehension without power tocomprehend–men, at times, find themselvesupon the brink of remembrance without beingable, in the end, to remember. My friend wenton with his discourse.

“You will see,” he said, “that I have shiftedthe question from the mode of egress to that ofingress. It was my design to convey the idea

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that both were effected in the same manner, atthe same point. Let us now revert to the in-terior of the room. Let us survey the appear-ances here. The drawers of the bureau, it issaid, had been rifled, although many articles ofapparel still remained within them. The con-clusion here is absurd. It is a mere guess–a verysilly one –and no more. How are we to knowthat the articles found in the drawers werenot all these drawers had originally contained?Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter livedan exceedingly retired life–saw no company–seldom went out–had little use for numerouschanges of habiliment. Those found were atleast of as good quality as any likely to be pos-sessed by these ladies. If a thief had taken any,why did he not take the best–why did he nottake all? In a word, why did he abandon fourthousand francs in gold to encumber himself

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with a bundle of linen? The gold was aban-doned. Nearly the whole sum mentioned byMonsieur Mignaud, the banker, was discov-ered, in bags, upon the floor. I wish you, there-fore, to discard from your thoughts the blun-dering idea of motive, engendered in the brainsof the police by that portion of the evidencewhich speaks of money delivered at the doorof the house. Coincidences ten times as re-markable as this (the delivery of the money,and murder committed within three days uponthe party receiving it), happen to all of us everyhour of our lives, without attracting even mo-mentary notice. Coincidences, in general, aregreat stumbling-blocks in the way of that classof thinkers who have been educated to knownothing of the theory of probabilities–that the-ory to which the most glorious objects of hu-man research are indebted for the most glo-

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rious of illustration. In the present instance,had the gold been gone, the fact of its deliverythree days before would have formed some-thing more than a coincidence. It would havebeen corroborative of this idea of motive. But,under the real circumstances of the case, if weare to suppose gold the motive of this outrage,we must also imagine the perpetrator so vacil-lating an idiot as to have abandoned his goldand his motive together.

“Keeping now steadily in mind the pointsto which I have drawn your attention–thatpeculiar voice, that unusual agility, and thatstartling absence of motive in a murder so sin-gularly atrocious as this–let us glance at thebutchery itself. Here is a woman strangledto death by manual strength, and thrust up achimney, head downward. Ordinary assassins

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employ no such modes of murder as this. Leastof all, do they thus dispose of the murdered.In the manner of thrusting the corpse up thechimney, you will admit that there was some-thing excessively outré–something altogether ir-reconcilable with our common notions of hu-man action, even when we suppose the actorsthe most depraved of men. Think, too, howgreat must have been that strength which couldhave thrust the body up such an aperture soforcibly that the united vigor of several personswas found barely sufficient to drag it down!

“Turn, now, to other indications of the em-ployment of a vigor most marvellous. On thehearth were thick tresses–very thick tresses–of grey human hair. These had been torn outby the roots. You are aware of the great forcenecessary in tearing thus from the head even

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twenty or thirty hairs together. You saw thelocks in question as well as myself. Theirroots (a hideous sight!) were clotted with frag-ments of the flesh of the scalp–sure token ofthe prodigious power which had been exertedin uprooting perhaps half a million of hairs ata time. The throat of the old lady was notmerely cut, but the head absolutely severedfrom the body: the instrument was a mere ra-zor. I wish you also to look at the brutal fe-rocity of these deeds. Of the bruises upon thebody of Madame L’Espanaye I do not speak.Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy coadjutorMonsieur Etienne, have pronounced that theywere inflicted by some obtuse instrument; andso far these gentlemen are very correct. Theobtuse instrument was clearly the stone pave-ment in the yard, upon which the victim hadfallen from the window which looked in upon

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the bed. This idea, however simple it may nowseem, escaped the police for the same reasonthat the breadth of the shutters escaped them–because, by the affair of the nails, their percep-tions had been hermetically sealed against thepossibility of the windows having ever beenopened at all.

“If now, in addition to all these things, youhave properly reflected upon the odd disor-der of the chamber, we have gone so far asto combine the ideas of an agility astound-ing, a strength superhuman, a ferocity brutal, abutchery without motive, a grotesquerie in hor-ror absolutely alien from humanity, and a voiceforeign in tone to the ears of men of manynations, and devoid of all distinct or intelligi-ble syllabification. What result, then, has en-sued? What impression have I made upon your

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fancy?”I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked

me the question. “A madman,” I said, “hasdone this deed–some raving maniac, escapedfrom a neighboring Maison de Santé.”

“In some respects,” he replied, “your idea isnot irrelevant. But the voices of madmen, evenin their wildest paroxysms, are never found totally with that peculiar voice heard upon thestairs. Madmen are of some nation, and theirlanguage, however incoherent in its words, hasalways the coherence of syllabification. Be-sides, the hair of a madman is not such as I nowhold in my hand. I disentangled this little tuftfrom the rigidly clutched fingers of MadameL’Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it.”

“Dupin!” I said, completely unnerved; “thishair is most unusual– this is no human hair.”

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“I have not asserted that it is,” said he; “but,before we decide this point, I wish you toglance at the little sketch I have here tracedupon this paper. It is a fac-simile drawingof what has been described in one portion ofthe testimony as ‘dark bruises, and deep in-dentations of finger nails,’ upon the throat ofMademoiselle L’Espanaye, and in another, (byMessrs. Dumas and Etienne,) as a ‘series oflivid spots, evidently the impression of fin-gers.’

“You will perceive,” continued my friend,spreading out the paper upon the table beforeus, “that this drawing gives the idea of a firmand fixed hold. There is no slipping appar-ent. Each finger has retained–possibly until thedeath of the victim–the fearful grasp by whichit originally imbedded itself. Attempt, now, to

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place all your fingers, at the same time, in therespective impressions as you see them.”

I made the attempt in vain.

“We are possibly not giving this matter a fairtrial,” he said. “The paper is spread out upona plane surface; but the human throat is cylin-drical. Here is a billet of wood, the circumfer-ence of which is about that of the throat. Wrapthe drawing around it, and try the experimentagain.”

I did so; but the difficulty was even more ob-vious than before. “This,” I said, “is the markof no human hand.”

“Read now,” replied Dupin, “this passagefrom Cuvier.”

It was a minute anatomical and generally de-scriptive account of the large fulvous Ourang-

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Outang of the East Indian Islands. The gigan-tic stature, the prodigious strength and activity,the wild ferocity, and the imitative propensitiesof these mammalia are sufficiently well knownto all. I understood the full horrors of the mur-der at once.

“The description of the digits,” said I, as Imade an end of reading, “is in exact accordancewith this drawing. I see that no animal butan Ourang-Outang, of the species here men-tioned, could have impressed the indentationsas you have traced them. This tuft of tawnyhair, too, is identical in character with that ofthe beast of Cuvier. But I cannot possibly com-prehend the particulars of this frightful mys-tery. Besides, there were two voices heard incontention, and one of them was unquestion-ably the voice of a Frenchman.”

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“True; and you will remember an expres-sion attributed almost unanimously, by the evi-dence, to this voice,–the expression, ’mon Dieu!’This, under the circumstances, has been justlycharacterized by one of the witnesses (Mon-tani, the confectioner,) as an expression of re-monstrance or expostulation. Upon these twowords, therefore, I have mainly built my hopesof a full solution of the riddle. A Frenchmanwas cognizant of the murder. It is possible–indeed it is far more than probable–that hewas innocent of all participation in the bloodytransactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have escaped from him. Hemay have traced it to the chamber; but, un-der the agitating circumstances which ensued,he could never have re-captured it. It is stillat large. I will not pursue these guesses –forI have no right to call them more–since the

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shades of reflection upon which they are basedare scarcely of sufficient depth to be apprecia-ble by my own intellect, and since I could notpretend to make them intelligible to the under-standing of another. We will call them guessesthen, and speak of them as such. If the French-man in question is indeed, as I suppose, inno-cent of this atrocity, this advertisement whichI left last night, upon our return home, at theoffice of ‘Le Monde,’ (a paper devoted to theshipping 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, earlyin the morning of the– inst., (themorning of the murder,) a very

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large, tawny Ourang-Outang of theBornese species. The owner, (whois ascertained to be a sailor, be-longing to a Maltese vessel,) mayhave the animal again, upon iden-tifying it satisfactorily, and payinga few charges arising from its cap-ture and keeping.Call at No.——, Rue—–,Faubourg St. Germain–autroisiême.

“How was it possible,” I asked, “that youshould know the man to be a sailor, and be-longing to a Maltese vessel?”

“I do not know it,” said Dupin. “I am notsure of it. Here, however, is a small piece of rib-bon, which from its form, and from its greasy

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appearance, has evidently been used in tyingthe hair in one of those long queues of whichsailors are so fond. Moreover, this knot is onewhich few besides sailors can tie, and is pe-culiar to the Maltese. I picked the ribbon upat the foot of the lightning-rod. It could nothave belonged to either of the deceased. Nowif, after all, I am wrong in my induction fromthis ribbon, that the Frenchman was a sailorbelonging to a Maltese vessel, still I can havedone no harm in saying what I did in the ad-vertisement. If I am in error, he will merelysuppose that I have been misled by some cir-cumstance into which he will not take the trou-ble to inquire. But if I am right, a great pointis gained. Cognizant although innocent of themurder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitateabout replying to the advertisement–about de-manding the Ourang-Outang. He will reason

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thus:–‘I am innocent; I am poor; my Ourang-Outang is of great value–to one in my circum-stances a fortune of itself–why should I lose itthrough idle apprehensions of danger? Here itis, within my grasp. It was found in the Boisde Boulogne–at a vast distance from the sceneof that butchery. How can it ever be suspectedthat a brute beast should have done the deed?The police are at fault–they have failed to pro-cure the slightest clew. Should they even tracethe animal, it would be impossible to prove mecognizant of the murder, or to implicate me inguilt on account of that cognizance. Above all,I am known. The advertiser designates me asthe possessor of the beast. I am not sure towhat limit his knowledge may extend. ShouldI avoid claiming a property of so great value,which it is known that I possess, I will renderthe animal at least, liable to suspicion. It is not

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my policy to attract attention either to myselfor to the beast. I will answer the advertisement,get the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close untilthis matter has blown over.’ ”

At this moment we heard a step upon thestairs.

“Be ready,” said Dupin, “with your pistols,but neither use them nor show them until at asignal from myself.”

The front door of the house had been leftopen, and the visiter had entered, without ring-ing, and advanced several steps upon the stair-case. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate.Presently we heard him descending. Dupinwas moving quickly to the door, when weagain heard him coming up. He did not turnback a second time, but stepped up with deci-sion, and rapped at the door of our chamber.

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“Come in,” said Dupin, in a cheerful andhearty tone.

A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently,–a tall, stout, and muscular-looking person,with a certain dare-devil expression of coun-tenance, not altogether unprepossessing. Hisface, greatly sunburnt, was more than halfhidden by whisker and mustachio. He hadwith him a huge oaken cudgel, but appearedto be otherwise unarmed. He bowed awk-wardly, and bade us “good evening,” inFrench accents, which, although somewhatNeufchatelish, were still sufficiently indicativeof a Parisian origin.

“Sit down, my freind,” said Dupin. “Isuppose you have called about the Ourang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost envy you thepossession of him; a remarkably fine, and no

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doubt a very valuable animal. How old do yousuppose him to be?”

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

“I have no way of telling–but he can’t bemore than four or five years old. Have you gothim here?”

“Oh no, we had no conveniences for keep-ing him here. He is at a livery stable in the RueDubourg, just by. You can get him in the morn-ing. Of course you are prepared to identify theproperty?”

“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

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this trouble for nothing, sir,” said the man.“Couldn’t expect it. Am very willing to pay areward for the finding of the animal–that is tosay, any thing in reason.”

“Well,” replied my friend, “that is all veryfair, to be sure. Let me think!–what should Ihave? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shallbe this. You shall give me all the informationin your power about these murders in the RueMorgue.”

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

The sailor’s face flushed up as if he werestruggling with suffocation. He started to his

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feet and grasped his cudgel, but the next mo-ment he fell back into his seat, trembling vio-lently, and with the countenance of death itself.He spoke not a word. I pitied him from the bot-tom of my heart.

“My friend,” said Dupin, in a kind tone,“you are alarming yourself unnecessarily–youare indeed. We mean you no harm whatever. Ipledge you the honor of a gentleman, and of aFrenchman, that we intend you no injury. I per-fectly well know that you are innocent of theatrocities in the Rue Morgue. It will not do,however, to deny that you are in some mea-sure implicated in them. From what I havealready said, you must know that I have hadmeans of information about this matter–meansof which you could never have dreamed. Nowthe thing stands thus. You have done nothing

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which you could have avoided–nothing, cer-tainly, which renders you culpable. You werenot even guilty of robbery, when you mighthave robbed with impunity. You have noth-ing to conceal. You have no reason for conceal-ment. On the other hand, you are bound by ev-ery principle of honor to confess all you know.An innocent man is now imprisoned, chargedwith that crime of which you can point out theperpetrator.”

The sailor had recovered his presence ofmind, in a great measure, while Dupin utteredthese words; but his original boldness of bear-ing was all gone.

“So help me God,” said he, after a briefpause, “I will tell you all I know about thisaffair;–but I do not expect you to believe onehalf I say–I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still,

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I am innocent, and I will make a clean breast ifI die for it.”

What he stated was, in substance, this.He had lately made a voyage to the IndianArchipelago. A party, of which he formed one,landed at Borneo, and passed into the interioron an excursion of pleasure. Himself and acompanion had captured the Ourang–Outang.This companion dying, the animal fell into hisown exclusive possession. After great trou-ble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of hiscaptive during the home voyage, he at lengthsucceeded in lodging it safely at his own res-idence in Paris, where, not to attract towardhimself the unpleasant curiosity of his neigh-bors, he kept it carefully secluded, until suchtime as it should recover from a wound in thefoot, received from a splinter on board ship.

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His ultimate design was to sell it.

Returning home from some sailors’ frolic thenight, or rather in the morning of the murder,he found the beast occupying his own bed-room, into which it had broken from a closetadjoining, where it had been, as was thought,securely confined. Razor in hand, and fullylathered, it was sitting before a looking-glass,attempting the operation of shaving, in whichit had no doubt previously watched its mas-ter through the key-hole of the closet. Terri-fied at the sight of so dangerous a weapon inthe possession of an animal so ferocious, and sowell able to use it, the man, for some moments,was at a loss what to do. He had been ac-customed, however, to quiet the creature, evenin its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip,and to this he now resorted. Upon sight of

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it, the Ourang-Outang sprang at once throughthe door of the chamber, down the stairs, andthence, through a window, unfortunately open,into the street.

The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape,razor still in hand, occasionally stopping tolook back and gesticulate at its pursuer, untilthe latter had nearly come up with it. It thenagain made off. In this manner the chase con-tinued for a long time. The streets were pro-foundly quiet, as it was nearly three o’clock inthe morning. In passing down an alley in therear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive’s atten-tion was arrested by a light gleaming from theopen window of Madame L’Espanaye’s cham-ber, in the fourth story of her house. Rush-ing to the building, it perceived the lightningrod, clambered up with inconceivable agility,

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grasped the shutter, which was thrown fullyback against the wall, and, by its means, swungitself directly upon the headboard of the bed.The whole feat did not occupy a minute. Theshutter was kicked open again by the Ourang-Outang as it entered the room.

The sailor, in the meantime, was both re-joiced and perplexed. He had strong hopes ofnow recapturing the brute, as it could scarcelyescape from the trap into which it had ven-tured, except by the rod, where it might be in-tercepted as it came down. On the other hand,there was much cause for anxiety as to whatit might do in the house. This latter reflectionurged the man still to follow the fugitive. Alightning rod is ascended without difficulty, es-pecially by a sailor; but, when he had arrivedas high as the window, which lay far to his

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left, his career was stopped; the most that hecould accomplish was to reach over so as toobtain a glimpse of the interior of the room.At this glimpse he nearly fell from his holdthrough excess of horror. Now it was that thosehideous shrieks arose upon the night, whichhad startled from slumber the inmates of theRue Morgue. Madame L’Espanaye and herdaughter, habited in their night clothes, hadapparently been occupied in arranging somepapers in the iron chest already mentioned,which had been wheeled into the middle of theroom. It was open, and its contents lay beside iton the floor. The victims must have been sittingwith their backs toward the window; and, fromthe time elapsing between the ingress of thebeast and the screams, it seems probable that itwas not immediately perceived. The flapping-to of the shutter would naturally have been at-

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tributed to the wind.

As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animalhad 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. Thedaughter lay prostrate and motionless; she hadswooned. The screams and struggles of theold lady (during which the hair was torn fromher head) had the effect of changing the proba-bly pacific purposes of the Ourang-Outang intothose of wrath. With one determined sweepof its muscular arm it nearly severed her headfrom her body. The sight of blood inflamedits anger into phrenzy. Gnashing its teeth, andflashing fire from its eyes, it flew upon the bodyof the girl, and imbedded its fearful talons inher throat, retaining its grasp until she expired.

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Its wandering and wild glances fell at this mo-ment upon the head of the bed, over whichthe face of its master, rigid with horror, wasjust discernible. The fury of the beast, who nodoubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, wasinstantly converted into fear. Conscious of hav-ing deserved punishment, it seemed desirousof concealing its bloody deeds, and skippedabout the chamber in an agony of nervous ag-itation; throwing down and breaking the fur-niture as it moved, and dragging the bed fromthe bedstead. In conclusion, it seized first thecorpse of the daughter, and thrust it up thechimney, as it was found; then that of the oldlady, which it immediately hurled through thewindow headlong.

As the ape approached the casement withits mutilated burden, the sailor shrank aghast

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to the rod, and, rather gliding than clamber-ing down it, hurried at once home–dreadingthe consequences of the butchery, and gladlyabandoning, in his terror, all solicitude aboutthe fate of the Ourang-Outang. The wordsheard by the party upon the staircase werethe Frenchman’s exclamations of horror and af-fright, commingled with the fiendish jabber-ings of the brute.

I have scarcely anything to add. TheOurang-Outang must have escaped from thechamber, by the rod, just before the break ofthe door. It must have closed the window as itpassed through it. It was subsequently caughtby the owner himself, who obtained for it avery large sum at the Jardin des Plantes. Le Donwas instantly released, upon our narration ofthe circumstances (with some comments from

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Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police.This functionary, however well disposed to myfriend, could not altogether conceal his cha-grin at the turn which affairs had taken, andwas fain to indulge in a sarcasm or two, aboutthe propriety of every person minding his ownbusiness.

“Let him talk,” said Dupin, who had notthought it necessary to reply. “Let him dis-course; it will ease his conscience, I am satis-fied with having defeated him in his own cas-tle. Nevertheless, that he failed in the solutionof this mystery, is by no means that matter forwonder which he supposes it; for, in truth, ourfriend the Prefect is somewhat too cunning tobe profound. In his wisdom is no stamen. It isall head and no body, like the pictures of theGoddess Laverna,—-or, at best, all head and

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shoulders, like a codfish. But he is a good crea-ture after all. I like him especially for one mas-ter stroke of cant, by which he has attained hisreputation for ingenuity. I mean the way he has’de nier ce qui est, et d’expliquer ce qui n’est pas.”’1

THE END

1Rousseau–Nouvelle Heloise.

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The Murders in the Rue Morgue

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