“More murders by the priest, Johnson,” Webster said with raised eyebrows.
“I heard that, sir,” Johnson replied.
“A dangerous place that St. Augustine’s.”
“A regular hornet’s nest,” agreed Johnson.
“Then you must act,” Miss Loddiges said, as if speaking to someone feeble-minded.
“Oh, we will,” Webster said with a smirk to Johnson.
“Good, then that is settled. Now, I would like my gloves back—they are yellow. Mr. Poe gave them to you as evidence of my abduction. Along with a hummingbird ornament for my hat.”
“Johnson, do we have yellow gloves and a bird ornament? Delivered two weeks ago by Mr. Poe?”
Johnson gazed up at the shelf with thirty pigeonholes mounted on the wall and reached into the space labelled “P”. He pulled out a small parcel of brown paper and unwrapped it in front of Miss Loddiges, revealing the hummingbird nestled on the dainty yellow gloves. “These them?”
“Thank you.” She pulled on the gloves and attached the ornament to her bonnet as if returning a bird to its nest, then fixed her gaze on the two officers. “Shall we go to St. Augustine’s, gentlemen?”
It was not truly a question. Miss Loddiges swept from the building. Lieutenant Webster collected a billy club and got to his feet.
“Let’s get the wagon and go catch us a priest, Johnson,” he said with unconcealed satisfaction.
Johnson stood up, his own billy club in hand. “With pleasure, sir. With pleasure.”
* * *
We went straight to the library without invitation and my eyes were drawn to the words Tolle Lege written on the marble plaque facing the library’s entrance. As if following that order, most seats in the library were filled with students quietly at work. Father Nolan was at his desk, immersed in a book, and I led Webster and Johnson to him. Miss Loddiges trotted after us and Dupin followed behind her.
“This is Father Nolan,” I said.
The priest looked up, startled at hearing my voice, and his eyes widened with surprise at seeing our small band.
“Mr. Nolan, you are accused of the murder of Michael Keane, of the theft and sale of valuable books, of being in collusion with Frederic Renelle, recently arrested, and of being involved in the murder of Jeremiah Mathews at the Lazaretto. It will be my great pleasure to escort you to Moyamensing Prison, where your accomplice is already incarcerated,” Lieutenant Webster announced.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” Father Nolan said, with such a perfectly blank expression I almost believed him.
“Do not compound your crimes with falsehoods. Rise up, sir.” Dupin gestured with his cobra-headed walking stick—the snake seemed almost alive as the light caught its glaring red eyes.
For some unfathomable reason, Father Nolan decided to run. Lieutenant Webster neatly smashed him in the knees with his billy club so that the priest tumbled over, and Dupin pulled his rapier from his walking stick and pinned Nolan to the ground. There was a collective gasp, and I looked behind me to find that all the students were staring at us. Johnson took a short length of rope from his pocket and neatly tied up Father Nolan’s hands. Someone must have fetched Father Moriarty when we arrived, for he suddenly entered the room.
“What is going on here?” he demanded.
“Taking a thief and murderer to prison,” Webster said matter-of-factly.
“Father Nolan has been stealing treasure books from the library and selling them,” I said. “And we believe he had a hand in Father Keane’s murder.”
“Surely this is nonsense,” Father Moriarty said with bewilderment. “Why would he do such things? He is a man of God.”
“Greed and a lust for power,” Dupin said.
“Deadly sins,” Webster smirked.
“We intercepted a note Professor Frederic Renelle sent by carrier pigeon to Father Nolan. It requested that he deliver two more treasure books to the professor for the purpose of selling them,” I explained, telling close to the truth. “We spied on their assignation at the Philosophical Hall and witnessed Father Nolan giving Professor Renelle two treasure books that were undoubtedly from this library.”
Father Moriarty looked stricken. “From this library?” he echoed.
“Let me ask you this, sir. Do you take an inventory of the treasure books kept here?” Dupin inquired.
“No, that is Father Nolan’s job as librarian.”
Dupin looked triumphant and Father Nolan’s expression of outrage shifted to quiet fury. “Just as I thought. If you review the inventory list of treasure books, you will find that a number are missing,” Dupin said.
Including, I thought, the exquisite copy of La Langue des Oiseaux that my friend had reclaimed.
“Father Nolan?” Father Moriarty stared at the priest, who remained belligerently silent.
“Based on my observations, it is my belief that Father Nolan stole treasure books to finance certain activities. He is a man who prefers violence to reasoned discussion,” Dupin said rather cryptically.
I wondered what my friend was up to. When disentangling a mystery, Dupin had a tendency to make a host of observations and inferences in silence and then to abruptly present his conclusions. It was in this way he had earned a reputation in Paris for having miraculous powers, a notion he did little to discourage.
“Where might we find Fathers Carroll and Heaney?” Dupin continued. “It is urgent, for they are Father Nolan’s accomplices.”
“Dealing with a delivery of flour, I believe. I saw them in the gardens on my way here,” Father Moriarty said.
“Near the pigeon houses?” Dupin asked.
“Yes. They were in the outbuildings where we store food, gardening implements and the like,” Father Moriarty said. “Why?”
“I will show you in due course. Bring Father Nolan.” And Dupin strode from the library, down the hall and through the door into the garden with the rest of us at his heels.
The two priests we were searching for were hard at work carrying large sacks of flour from a wagon into a storeroom built into the wall near the kitchen.
“Father Carroll, Father Healey, join us, please,” Father Moriarty commanded.
The two men stopped in their tracks, each holding a sack. Their eyes darted from Father Moriarty to the trussed-up Nolan and then Officers Webster and Johnson, who made their identities clear enough by lazily tapping their billy clubs against their palms. As we formed a semi-circle round them, both priests quickly ascertained that running was futile and lowered their sacks of flour to the ground.
“These men spent time at your mission in Cuzco last autumn, correct?” Dupin asked Father Moriarty.
He frowned slightly. “We sent some volunteers—Father Nolan organized it—to spread the faith.”
Dupin nodded, the picture of confidence. “These are the men who murdered Jeremiah Mathews last October at the Lazaretto,” he told Lieutenant Webster. “Under the order of Father Nolan.”
Of course we had no proof of this at all, but Dupin often said that most men were as transparent as window glass, their desires were that obvious, and he used this to find ways to seduce an opponent into error. Only by provoking a confession could we be sure that these villains would be sent to prison and remain there, and since Nolan was refusing to speak, Dupin must have sensed that his accomplices would quickly spill the truth if threatened.
Father Moriarty stared at Healey and Carroll with an intensity that made it clear why he commanded the position he did. “Is this true?” he asked, in a voice made all the more fearsome by its low tone.
“No!” Father Carroll protested.
“We did not kill him,” Father Healey said.
“You must tell the entire truth,” Dupin demanded. “For surely you understand that Father Nolan seeks to put all blame on you by remaining silent about his crimes?”
“We only did as he told us,” Father Healey said.
“Let us start from the beginning then,” Dupin said. �
��Father Nolan struck up an alliance with Professor Renelle when he came to the library seeking ancient texts on Peru, knowing that the Augustinians have had a presence in the country since the sixteenth century. They both read a volume that claimed a king’s tomb full of treasure, including an enormous emerald, was hidden in the Peruvian mountains. Renelle hoped to find it.”
I watched Father Nolan carefully as Dupin recounted his perception of all that had occurred and the priest’s expression shifted from self-righteous anger to disquietude.
“Renelle failed to find the treasure during his 1841 expedition, so with Father Nolan’s help, a second expedition was organized last autumn,” Dupin continued. “Father Nolan decided that this time he needed his own men on the expedition to keep an eye on Professor Renelle, for while the two were in league, Nolan did not trust him. He sent you both under the pretense of taking supplies, or some such thing, to your missionaries in Cuzco, but your true assignment was to go on the expedition with Professor Renelle and Jeremiah Mathews. Renelle believed young Mathews had a map showing the location of the jewel and the king’s tomb. Am I correct?” Dupin demanded.
“We did take the bibles to Cuzco,” Father Carroll said fearfully to Father Moriarty. “It was not a lie.”
Father Moriarty stared at the two priests as if they were strangers.
“You were instructed to stay with Jeremiah Mathews and, if he found the jewel, to confiscate it,” Dupin went on. “It was you who gave Professor Renelle tainted water so he was forced to stay in Cuzco, leaving you free to follow Mathews to the lost city without him. You were fortunate that the man did not die of dysentery, for that would have been murder,” he added.
“Father Nolan told us to do it,” Healey cried out. “He said it would make him ill, not that it might kill him.”
“That’s true,” Carroll agreed, looking to Father Moriarty as if in search of absolution.
Dupin raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly as if pained, but I knew he was pleased that his strategy was working. “You kept an eye on Jeremiah Mathews, as Nolan instructed, and he collected birds and plants for his employer, which he recorded in the journal he always kept with him. On the journey back, he acted suspiciously and would not let anyone in his cabin. Renelle had made no secret of his search for treasure and rumor spread amongst the crew that Jeremiah Mathews was hiding something, perhaps the jewel Renelle had talked about. When he sent the Schuylkill rangers to raid Jeremiah Mathews’s cabin, you forcibly removed him when he tried to defend the bird that was actually hidden there and pushed him overboard when he struggled.”
“That is not true!” Father Carroll protested. “The rangers did it. The boy was stupid to fight them.”
“But you did not help him,” Miss Loddiges snapped. “Why didn’t you dive in after him or throw him a rope or something?”
“We . . . could not,” Healey muttered to his feet, unable to face her.
“Without being drowned yourself?” I asked and Healey nodded.
“Coward,” Miss Loddiges said with vehemence. “But why? Why would you do any of this?” Father Moriarty asked.
“Father Nolan said it was all to save the Church,” Father Carroll said.
The pastor turned his gaze to Father Nolan, who remained silent and scowling. “Is this true?”
“I will show you,” Dupin said matter-of-factly. He briefly cast his eyes around the storehouse. “Open this,” he directed at Healey and Carroll, pointing to a door near where the wagon was tethered.
The two priests looked at one another and hesitated.
“Do as he says!” Father Moriarty thundered, causing us all to flinch.
Carroll, pale-faced and trembling, dug into his robes and pulled out a set of keys. He unlocked the door and stepped aside as Dupin entered the storeroom within, where I could see a number of large wooden crates. He removed the lid from one and looked inside. “As I suspected,” he said with unmistakable satisfaction. He lifted out a musket and showed it to our shocked assembly. “Crates of munitions bought with a portion of the money from the treasure books to defend St. Augustine’s against the Nativists. While it is undeniable that there has been violence against Catholics in the city of Philadelphia, it was not a Nativist who murdered Father Keane or pinned the inflammatory broadsheet to his chest,” Dupin said. “This was merely a scenario constructed by Father Nolan to hide the fact that he killed him. Am I correct?” Dupin asked Fathers Healey and Carroll, who were struck dumb with terror.
“He will blame you for his crimes and let you rot in prison without a second thought,” I told them. “You must speak the truth.”
“Yes,” Carroll muttered, and Healey nodded. “He said Father Keane would tell Father Moriarty, who would have us locked up, and all we had done to save St. Augustine’s would be undone.”
“I ask you again, is that the truth?” Father Moriarty demanded, but Nolan remained stony-faced and would not speak a word.
“I believe the night of the fourteenth of March went something like this,” Dupin said, staring at Father Nolan. “Renelle brought the cache of muskets, which Fathers Healey and Carroll transferred to the storehouse, while you talked with Professor Renelle about Jeremiah Mathews’s journal, which he was determined to get at any cost. You had seen Father Keane examining a journal in the library and knew it was the one he sought. You promised to send Renelle a message with a pigeon as soon as you took it from Father Keane.” Dupin paused so that his words might be absorbed by all.
“What Nolan did not realize,” Dupin said, shifting his gaze to Father Moriarty, “was that Father Keane had been disturbed by the noise outside and had witnessed all that occurred. So he hid the journal and the treasure book in the church and wrote a note warning Mr. Poe, which he put in an envelope with a key to the treasure book cabinet. In that cabinet Father Keane had hidden clues that would lead Mr. Poe to the books and would warn him about Father Nolan. They were clues that Nolan himself would think nothing of if he came across them. Correct, sir?”
The priest remained resolutely silent, but he could not keep the anger from his face. Dupin continued, fixing Father Nolan with his stare.
“You found Father Keane when he was still in the library and quickly realized that he had overheard something that revealed you to be a thief. Frightened as he was, Father Keane could not believe you would stoop to murder, for he was convinced you were a good man at heart. Sadly he was wrong,” Dupin said. “You killed him in cold blood and pinned the Nativist broadsheet to his cassock to insinuate outsiders were responsible for your crime. You found the warning letter he had written and destroyed it, but gave the envelope with the key to Poe so he would lead you to the treasure book and journal,” Dupin concluded.
All were silent for a time, then Father Moriarty said, “This is how you would lead St. Augustine Church? Through theft and murder?”
I was surprised at how quickly he had come to presume Nolan’s guilt, but sensed there was a history of conflict between the two men. Nolan stared at Father Moriarty, cold-blooded as a snake, and his apparent disregard for my friend’s life made me angrier than anything that had been said.
“Father Keane was your friend,” I said passionately. “You spent hours discussing the books you read, talking about all he observed on his walks, sharing a joke. He admired you greatly and thought you to be a man of principle and wisdom, as did I. And yet you murdered your friend, a man who thought of you as a brother.”
Father Nolan turned his gaze to me and chose, at last, to speak. “Father Keane was my friend. And I believe he would have understood, in time, what we needed to do to protect St. Augustine’s. But you decided his fate, Mr. Poe. You brought those dead birds and poppets to his office and got him reading about the Chachapoyas and asking questions. And then you brought the journal here so that he was prying into things he never would have looked at twice before.” Father Nolan’s eyes narrowed. “Do not be so self-righteous, Mr. Poe. If you had kept away from our library, my friend Michael Ke
ane would still be alive.” His intent was to twist a knife in my heart and he fully succeeded.
Father Moriarty pointed to the door in the wall that surrounded St. Augustine’s and said to Lieutenant Webster, “Take them away. They have no place here.”
Healey and Carroll gave wails of anguish but offered no resistance as Johnson tied up their hands and led them out.
“Let’s go, priest,” Lieutenant Webster said to Father Nolan. “Your chariot awaits thee outside.” He chuckled at his own joke and led Nolan away from the sanctuary of St. Augustine Church.
46
The sun fell through the glass, splitting into hard, bright fragments that warmed the air to that of a summer’s day. We were a peculiar assembly, the amiable Colonel Carr doing his best to modify a transportation case to suit the white spatuletail hummingbird, while Miss Loddiges, Sissy, Mrs. Carr, Dupin and I looked on. Of course we had no guarantee that Colibrí would arrive with the magical hummingbird, but Miss Loddiges was confident that he would; the Carrs were desperately keen to view the creature once they had heard Miss Loddiges’s tale and had offered to assist with the costs of Colibrí’s passage back to Peru. All they wished for in return was the opportunity to sketch the ghostly hummingbird and to take their own daguerrotypes with the camera they had set up in the glasshouse.
The hummingbird transportation box was a large, modified Wardian case with one wire mesh wall covered by a drape. Its three glass pane walls were coated with white paint.
“It will allow in sufficient light,” Colonel Carr explained, “while obscuring the outside world, which is bound to frighten the bird. We would not wish it to injure itself by flying into the glass.” A wooden perch was suspended across the enclosure and a mound of fine straw covered the bottom of the cage. Colonel Carr attached a bottle of sugar water to the mesh wall with a spout that the hummingbird might sip from. “This will enable your friend to easily feed the bird and the curtain will protect the bird from drafts and visual disturbances. The cage should be sufficiently warm if kept in his cabin.”
Edgar Allan Poe and the Jewel of Peru Page 30