The Man Who Was Poe

by Avi

  “Edmund,” Dupin pleaded, “what does it matter?”

  “But … what shall I call you?”

  “I am … the man who was Poe. Now I am Dupin. And I must have a drink. It eases the pain.”

  “What pain?”

  “The pain of living when those you love have died.”

  “Mr. Poe …”

  “Don’t call me that!” Dupin cried out in horror.

  “Mr. Dupin, if I take you to the saloon will you tell me what you know about the woman you saw?”

  “Yes.”

  Edmund led the way to the small saloon near his room. The air there, heavy with rum, seemed oppressively hot. They took a table as far as possible from the corner stove.

  The bearded counter man watched them suspiciously. Edmund looked for the night watchman but couldn’t find him.

  “You must be hungry,” Dupin said. “Is this where you got the meat pie last night? Do you wish one?” He offered Edmund some coins. “You can get me a rum.”

  Edmund, depressed at the thought of Dupin drinking again, shook his head. “The woman,” he said. “You promised.”

  Dupin put a hand over his eyes. “Edmund, I am trying to finish the story.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I am a writer,” Dupin said. “A great one.”

  “You are a drunkard,” Edmund returned, feeling only disgust. “And you were not telling the truth about seeing a woman, were you?”

  Dupin shook his head. “You don’t understand. Lies have their own truth.”

  “Then tell me!”

  “A drink …”

  Edmund took the money and requested the rum. It was given him in a filthy glass. Dupin took it greedily.

  Unable to watch, Edmund moved away. As he tried to quell the feeling of anger and contempt churning inside, he examined the wall of bills and posters. It was then that he noticed one bill in particular.

  “Mr. Dupin!” he cried.

  When Dupin paid no attention Edmund yanked the bill off the wall and thrust it into his hand, then stood behind the man while he read:

  REWARD

  Persons providing information leading to the finding of one Mrs. G. Rachett, of London, England, but believed to be a recent resident of Providence, Rhode Island, shall be entitled to a bonded reward. Please contact Mr. Poley, Providence Bank, South Main, at earliest convenience.

  Oct. 15, 1848

  “That’s my mother,” Edmund said, pointing to the name. “Mrs. G. Rachett.”

  “This must have been your aunt’s bill,” Dupin murmured as he read. Then suddenly he cried, “Good Lord!” And Edmund heard him whisper. “Mr. Poley!”

  “Who?”

  “The man at the bank.”

  “What bank?” Edmund asked, moving around the table. As he watched, a transformation took place. Mr. Dupin’s eyes lightened. His face cleared. Suddenly, he reached out, and catching Edmund by surprise, took tight hold of his shoulders. “You said you did not know what your stepfather, Mr. Rachett, looked like. Are you absolutely certain of that?”

  “I didn’t know,” Edmund said, “but this afternoon when you went to Mrs. Whitman, I followed you and …”

  “Followed me? Why?”

  “I didn’t think you were telling me the truth.”

  Dupin glowered, then said, “Go on with what you were saying.”

  “Just after you went to the cemetery, Mrs. Whitman’s maid rushed out of the house. It made me wonder — she had acted angry with me, and even Mrs. Whitman seemed fearful of her — so I followed. She went to a hotel.”

  “Which one?”

  “Hotel American House.”

  “What happened next?” Dupin cried excitedly.

  “She returned with a man to the house.”

  “And the man …?”

  “The one you said was Mr. Rachett.”

  “Describe him!”

  Edmund did.

  For a moment Dupin just stared at the boy. Then he said, “Edmund, did I not tell you when this began that you held the answers which would resolve this matter? Did I not?”

  “Yes …”

  “In Providence, Edmund, that man you saw goes by the name of Mr. William Arnold.”

  “Mr. Dupin,” Edmund cried, “there was a Mr. Arnold in Mrs. Whitman’s house this morning.”

  “Explain!”

  “When I went to deliver your message this morning I got lost in the house and came up against a door. I heard people talking on the other side. I didn’t know it then because I didn’t know your true name, but they must have been talking about you.”

  “What were they saying?”

  “First a woman spoke,” Edmund said. “I think it was a Mrs. Powers. She was telling this man, Mr. Arnold, how bad you were, and that they must stop Mrs. Whitman from being with you. She wanted Mr. Arnold to marry her.”

  “Motive, Edmund, motive!” Dupin cried with glee. “Continue.”

  “And the man agreed. But I didn’t understand any of it,” Edmund said.

  “But I do!” Dupin cried. Grabbing the bill, he leaped up from the table and rushed to the counter. “Do you know Mr. Throck?” he demanded of the man.

  Startled, the counter man looked up. “Throck?” he echoed.

  “Yes! Throck. Of the night watch.”

  The man grew cautious. “What makes you ask?”

  “Does he take private cases?”

  “He may or may not …”

  Dupin slammed his fist down on the counter. “Tell me!”

  The counter man jumped. “I suppose he does.”

  Dupin thrust the bill at him. “This one?”

  “Well, yes, that one …”

  “Of course he took his one!” cried Dupin. “Once I promise to find a thing I see it through!” Dupin whirled about to face Edmund. “The man at the wharf — the man who threatened you — what did you say you noticed about him?”

  “His hair.”

  “What about it?”

  “It was white.”

  “White. Yes, of course!” he cried out. “Of course! To your room, Edmund,” he called. “Hurry!”

  Edmund, galvanized by Dupin’s burst of energy, led the way out onto the dark street.

  As they rushed forward, thunder and lightning crashed above them and a freezing rain began. More than once Dupin stumbled on the slippery pavement.

  Edmund reached the alleyway leading to his door first. He stopped and looked back. Dupin was some twenty paces behind. Concerned that Dupin would miss the turning in the dark, the boy waited and watched. And as he did, he saw a large man step swiftly out from beneath the shadow of an archway, lift an arm, and extend it toward Dupin. A bolt of lightning lit the sky. In the flash Edmund saw the man was holding a pistol.

  “Mr. Dupin!” Edmund shouted, at the same time flinging himself at the man. The man whirled, struck at Edmund with the pistol, and sent him crashing to the ground. Again the man turned toward Dupin. Dupin, however, was now only a few feet away, and charging. His greatcoat was off, and the next moment he swung it toward the man as though it were a net. Taken by surprise, the man was forced to back up a step.

  Edmund attempted to snatch at the man’s legs. Trying to avoid both Dupin and Edmund, the man lurched to one side and jerked up his hand. Dupin dove to the muddy ground. A shot exploded.

  “Mr. Dupin!” Edmund screamed. As he pulled himself up, lightning flashed again, shedding just enough light for him to see Mr. Rachett running down the street.

  Dupin struggled to a sitting position. “Did you see who it was?” he called.

  “The man you said was Rachett,” said Edmund, trying to get his breath back.

  Dupin grunted. “I should have anticipated him.”

  “Did he hit you?”

  “I managed to throw his aim off. Where are we?” he asked. “Give me a hand.”

  “My room is just here,” Edmund said, helping Dupin to his feet and gesturing to the alley.

  “Continue!”

/>   As if even further excited by his brush with death, Dupin moved quickly to Edmund’s room. Once there he demanded a candle. Edmund found one, then lit it. And Dupin began a frantic search.

  “What are you looking for?” Edmund asked wearily. He had caught sight of Dupin’s eyes, which seemed to have grown unnaturally brilliant.

  Dupin looked around. “That meat pie was wrapped in newspaper. Edmund, if you wish this story to have an end help me find it!”

  “It’s not a story,” Edmund objected, beginning to wonder if the man had been made unstable by the attack. But when Dupin commenced to search again he joined him — and found the crumpled newspaper in a corner. “Is this what you want?” he asked in a truculent voice.

  Dupin snatched the paper from Edmund’s hand, glanced at it, and gave it back. “Read those notices,” he insisted, pointing to several advertisements.

  Edmund eyed Dupin, then began to read:

  “NOTICE EXTRAORDINARY

  As this is the season when Game —”

  “The last one!” Dupin snapped.

  “POSITION WANTED

  The advertiser, R. Peterson, a good copyist and accountant, thoroughly discreet, being at leisure from 6 to 9 P.M. Would like any re …”

  Edmund turned to Dupin.

  “Re-mun-er-a-tive,” Dupin said. “Means paying.”

  “… munerative employment three or four evenings a week. Apply at Providence Bank office for particulars.”

  “Now the one before that,” Dupin said.

  Again Edmund read.

  “NOTICE

  Mr. William Arnold is resident in the Hotel American House on Congdon Street, and is ready to conduct business with interested parties. Principals only.”

  “There, you see!” Dupin said. “I was right.”

  “Mr. Dupin …”

  “What?”

  “After I heard that conversation in Mrs. Whitman’s house, I went through the door and found some writing on the floor. I think one of the people must have dropped it. But I didn’t know what it meant.”

  “What did you do with it?”

  Edmund thought, took up his sister’s book, and pulled out the paper with the odd symbols on it.

  Dupin examined it. As he did his face went absolutely pale. “Good God!” he whispered.

  “What is it?”

  “I wrote that!” Dupin exclaimed.

  Edmund, convinced Mr. Dupin had gone mad, looked at him with dismay.

  “‘The Gold Bug,’” Dupin said.

  “The what?”

  “Edmund, I am the most famous writer in America. One of the tales I wrote is called ‘The Gold Bug.’ The story contains a code, and this message is written in that code.”

  “What does it say?”

  Dupin held up the note and read slowly:

  “Meet me at the hotel. I have moved girl and gold. Must leave. Sunrise at six A.M.”

  Edmund’s heart skipped a beat. “Does he mean my sister?” he cried.

  Dupin held up his hand. “Give me ten minutes.”

  “But …”

  “Ten minutes!” Dupin insisted.

  With a cry of frustration Edmund retreated to the bed, sat down with his back against the wall, and stared angrily at Dupin. The time dragged interminably. Now and again Edmund dabbed at his wet clothing or hair with the blanket. Dupin continued to stand where he was, eyes aflame. At last he said, “Yes, I understand it all.”

  “ARE YOU GOING to tell me?” Edmund asked.

  Instead of answering, Dupin sat at the table. From his pocket he removed a string and set it before him. Next to that he placed a card, as well as the message Edmund had found. Finally, he laid out the two white buttons. In the light of the candle they glowed like pearls.

  “Edmund,” he said, “you must listen with the utmost care. As I link detail to detail I shall be speaking as much to myself as to you. No detail is too small. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “Then do not interrupt me!” Dupin took a deep breath. “A while ago,” he began in a voice trembling with excitement, “your mother is abandoned by your stepfather, Rachett. Not just abandoned. He steals her money. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were not the only one he so abused.

  “Rachett has used your mother’s money to insinuate himself into the regard of one Mrs. Powers, a woman well placed in the city of Providence. Both vicious and cautious, he has taken on the name of William Arnold. Arnold is an old, respected family name in this city.

  “In time your mother discovers that he has come here, to Providence. Seeking a return of her money as well as a divorce — not obtainable in England — she sails in search of him, leaving you in the charge of her twin sister, your aunt Pru.

  “After not hearing from your mother for a year, your aunt suddenly receives a message from her. A message — as opposed to a letter — brought moreover by a stranger — tells me that your mother is under restraint, perhaps even held captive by Rachett.

  “The urgency of your mother’s message, the very means of delivery, causes your aunt to come immediately to Providence, bringing you and your sister with her. Once here she commences her search. Do I make sense so far?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Not long after your arrival,” Dupin raced on, “your aunt asks the Providence Bank to help her in her search by offering a reward. The notice posted in the saloon proves she spoke to Mr. Poley.

  “Throck — you remember him —”

  Edmund nodded.

  “— sees that notice and engages with your aunt to find your mother. The man in the saloon confirms this. Throck himself told me as much himself this morning. Thinking I was after the reward, he even tried to warn me off. ‘Meddle at your peril!’ he informed me. A distraction.

  “Meanwhile,” Dupin continued, “at the bank, Mr. Poley talks about your aunt and her affairs. The workers in his office overheard. One of these is Mr. Randolf Peterson.”

  “Who’s he?” Edmund asked.

  “The accountant who published that advertisement in the newspaper.” Dupin pointed to the card that lay before him.

  Edmund got up off the bed to read it.

  MR. RANDOLF PETERSON

  Hotel American House

  “Rachett,” Dupin continued, “must have seen that notice too and thus learned of your aunt’s arrival. Wishing to see if she knows his false name he places his advertisement in the paper. Naturally, he checks the paper to see that it is there. In so doing he sees Peterson’s advertisement which appears the same day.

  “Rachett, deciding he must do something about your aunt, approaches Peterson. What could be easier? They live in the same place. Peterson not only tells Rachett about your aunt’s dealings at the bank, he mentions the California gold.”

  “At the bank?” Edmund said.

  “Exactly. Rachett is deeply interested in both pieces of news,” Dupin intoned, as if he were in a trance. “Remember, he has met Mrs. Powers and through her, Mrs. Whitman, whom he has determined to marry. To do so he needs two things. He must rid himself of his legal wife, your mother. Divorcing her will not do. Mrs. Powers will not condone it. He also needs money to appear a worthy prospect.

  “The coming of your aunt with the two of you, in conjunction with the arrival of the California gold, and the willingness of Peterson to involve himself in a robbery, work together in Rachett’s mind. He constructs a monstrous plot. To begin with, Peterson becomes his partner.”

  Dupin stood and for a moment began to pace. Edmund watched him intensely.

  “It is easy,” Dupin at last continued, “for Peterson to learn from Mr. Poley where your aunt has taken a room. The first thing Rachett does is engage a room opposite you.” Dupin pointed out the window.

  “Then he schemes to get hold of your aunt. You told me that just before she disappeared, she was to meet a man. Correct?”

  Edmund nodded.

  “Rachett or Peterson. They lure your aunt away, with the promise of informa
tion about your mother.

  “Now Rachett holds both your mother and your aunt. And he determines to murder your mother. Why not destroy the aunt too? Rachett, a cautious man, does nothing in excess. Do what must be done. No more. Indeed, I’d wager that it is Peterson, not Rachett, who actually does the deed.

  “In any case, it is my belief that your mother and aunt discover the plot. To thwart such a despicable plan, to protect you children, the sisters — identical twins — exchange places and thus confound the murderers. For indeed one of the sisters is killed and thrown into the bay.

  “Rachett and Peterson believe they have killed your mother. In fact, your aunt has sacrificed herself for motherhood.

  “But on the night of the robbery, while Rachett and Peterson are otherwise occupied, the surviving sister escapes. Ever since, she has been trying to find your sister, and, no doubt, you. Terrified, grief-stricken, hardly knowing where to go, she wanders the city in search of her children. Poor woman, she is all but mad.

  “No, don’t say a word!” Dupin cried. “I now return to Rachett and Peterson. Why did they desire to secure your aunt? Because with her gone you and your sister will be left alone.

  “With the patience of Satan, the two men wait in that room opposite yours for one of you to leave. Ah! But from later events — the breaking into the room — we know they have a key. Why not use it then? Because the window is the fastest way to secure the child. After all, who knows when the one who leaves will return? Secrecy, mystification, speed, all essential!

  “In any case it is you, Edmund, who at last goes out for food. Now then, did you not say you were detained on the street that night?”

  “Yes.”

  “By whom?”

  “An old man.”

  “How did you know he was old?”

  “He acted old and …”

  Dupin slammed his hand on the table, making Edmund jump. “He had white hair! In fact, it is young Mr. Peterson who detains you so that Rachett can steal your sister!”

  “Why?”

  “The bank, Edmund! The bank! To get the gold in the Providence Bank. There is an air shaft in that bank vault where the shipment has been placed. It leads to the roof. The roof abuts the hill behind it. There is an alley alongside. Drive a carriage into the alley and it is a small matter to climb upon the roof and reach the opening.