"I'm a raven, Eddy. How should I know?"
I set the bottle down on my desk and sat back, staring at it. Perhaps I was forgetting something. My eye fell upon the label.
"You know what you're forgetting, Eddy?" Tap asked as if he had been reading my mind. Sometimes I thought he could do just that, but I ignored him.
"Yes!" I saw what it was. No sooner had I felt the triumph of my discovery than I was overcome by a troubling thought.
"Here's what you're forgetting. If that is such damning evidence as you say, you better be sure it can't be linked to you before you go around babbling about it. After all, it is in your possession now."
The worm squirmed in my gut. I didn't know what made me think of it, but I wished I hadn't.
I flung open a drawer and withdrew a sheet of paper. I dipped my pen and wrote "Laudanum" in a script approximating that on the vial's torn label. My hand was shaking so convulsively, I had to stop after the d and take several deep breaths before I could continue. When I had written the word out entirely, I put my pen down and examined my handwriting closely, comparing it to that on the label.
My capital L had an open loop at the top, a large closed loop at the bottom followed by a short sweeping horizontal leg. My eyes darted to the vial's capital L. Open loop, closed loop, sweeping horizontal—
My heart leapt into my throat.
I snatched up my pen and frantically made a series of additional L's, thinking that I had subconsciously imitated the form of the one on the label. Working as rapidly as I could, I did my best to write in my natural hand.
When I was done, I looked down at my work and found staring back at me half a dozen open loops, closed loops, and sweeping horizontals.
I dipped my pen and tried again with a feeling of great urgency. No matter how many times I tried, my pen could form no other type of L. Open, closed, sweeping; open, closed, sweeping; open, closed, sweeping; openclosedsweeping...
"Ah!" I dropped my pen as if it had suddenly transformed itself into a snake. My chair toppled over backwards as I jumped to my feet. I towered over my sheet full of L's and suddenly felt as though I were gazing directly into the mouth of madness itself. Despair overtook me and I covered my eyes. "What is happening to me?"
"It's just an L, Eddy."
"I killed a man, Tap." I let my hands fall from my face. I could feel the moisture of tears on my fingers. "By God, it was me, Tap! I killed him! There can no longer be any doubt."
"Eddy! Eddy! Get a hold of yourself, man!"
"I will confess it. I must!"
I felt a rustle of wings brush my cheek. I looked up to see Tap alighting in a flurry of black feathers on my desktop. He took a couple of jerky steps to the vial and inspected it closely. Then he turned and cocked his head at the sheet on which I had written "Laudanum".
"Look at the a's, Eddy." He cocked his head from the sheet to the vial and back again. "And the d. No, not the d ... Look at the a, Eddy. And the u."
"What of the d?" I asked. My matching L had given me such a fright that I had not even looked at the other letters. I felt a wellspring of hope burst forth within me. Perhaps they did not match.
"Forget the d. You don't close off the top of your a's, Eddy. But Mr. Laudan does. Look at that. Both of 'em. Closed up tight."
Forgetting the d for a moment, I looked from my a's to the others and saw that it was true. The a's were obviously written by two distinct hands. I wanted to cry with relief.
"And the u, also," I said, feeling better by the moment. "But the d, now. Look at this." I leaned over the desktop to examine the label closely. Presently, Tap joined me and we examined the label side by side, my nose and his beak nearly touching the glass. We compared one d to the other, moving our nose and beak from vial to paper. "See how the vertical is a solid line rather than a loop? Same on both." I could feel my hope slipping away.
Tap straightened angrily. "So what, Eddy? Who doesn't make a d like that? If I could write, that's how I'd make my d's! The a's and the u—those are the letters to look at. As you can see, the two hands are nothing alike. A chance similarity on the L's, and that's it. For cryin' out loud, Eddy! You're ready to confess to murder just because of the way you write an L? My God, man, I'm tempted to go perch on somebody else's bust of Pallas. You're starting to creep me out."
I wasn't sure what it meant to be "creeped out", but I couldn't help but laugh. Tap himself seemed to smile, even though his beak was incapable of it and his black eyes were as expressionless as ever.
He was right, though. Only my L seemed to bear a significant similarity to the murderer's hand. The rest, including the d, could have been written by anyone—anyone who wrote similarly to me, granted, but not necessarily me. That was the important point. In the end, the handwriting proved nothing.
Still chuckling, I leaned over and righted my fallen chair. "Well, I guess we've had a little scare today."
Tap flapped back to his rocker. "This is how you pit your intellect against Gessler's? You crack on day one, confessing to a murder you didn't commit? Hoo, boy! Dupin would roll over in his grave!"
"Dupin's not dead."
"Remember this for future detective stories. You can save yourself a lot of writing by just having the inspector confess to every murder he's investigating. No more orangutans. I always thought that was a reach, by the way—"
"Okay, okay, Tap." I felt he was about to launch into some diatribe or other. It was important to nip it before it got rolling. I was amazed at how quickly things could return to normal. A moment ago, I had been standing at the edge of the abyss. Now, I was merely standing at the onset of one of Tap's meandering rants. While both were unpleasant, one, I thought with a smile, was infinitely better than the other.
~ * * * ~
"I'm going to try to do some writing now, Tap, so please be quiet." I sat down and arranged my desk, clearing a space for my unfinished story 'Berenice'. Briggs wanted an original story. Well, I would give him one. It took me some time to get back into the proper frame of mind, and after reviewing what I had written up to the point I had left off, I penned the words:
'I found myself sitting in the library, and again sitting there alone.'
I sat back in thought. The words had the ring of poetry, which I attributed to Tap's influence with his incessant allusions to 'The Raven'. Seldom did we converse for any length of time that he did not refer to it in some manner or other.
Whatever their inspiration, though—and, the more I thought of it, it was more likely Olimpia's kiss than Tap's boasting—the words told me that my mind was inclined to verse. So I decided to write the preface to the story that I had been mulling since I had first conceived of it. 'Misery is manifold', I wrote, focusing on a subject that was only too familiar to me and that was sure to chase the music of language from my mind.
Once I had finished the task, I found myself in a more prosaic mood and I was able to complete the story without the annoying cadences of my opening line. Even though I found the phrase 'they were muddy and clotted with gore' perhaps a little more melodious than the subject matter deserved, I soon found that I was pleased overall with the tale and hoped to show it to Briggs on the morrow.
I concluded by titling the first page. 'Berenice', I wrote, underlining the word.
"Lame!"
Tap's voice. I turned, puzzled.
"Your title," Tap explained. "It has about as much get-up-and-go as a three-legged horse. It's lame. It's as exciting as the title of your epic non-poem 'To Blank-Underline'. Lame as all get-out."
"What would you have me call it, then?"
"How should I know, Eddy? You’re the writer. That's what you keep telling me, anyway—though I have my doubts when I see stuff like this." He considered for a moment. "How about 'The Tell-Tale Teeth'? Nice alliteration there, if you ask me. That's right, I said it: alliteration. See? I've been paying attention to all your poetry talk. I may be a raven, but I'm not stupid. 'Thou art sure no craven'. You said it yourself, Eddy, though
hell if I know what it means."
"'Berenice' is good enough," I said.
"How about the 'Cask of Something'? Is there a cask in this one? Or is it just teeth? 'The Cask of ... Teeth'. Ooh! 'The Cask of Tell-Tale Teeth'! Better yet!"
"'Berenice'," I insisted, setting my pen down.
A shadow fell across my desk. Startled, I looked up and caught a glimpse of a blue-coated arm just as it disappeared past the edge of the window frame. In the next moment, I heard a heavy tread on my front porch. I jumped up and leaned close to the glass, attempting to peer past the edges of the window frame to see who was there. The crest of my sloping front yard blocked my view of the street and I saw no one either in the yard or on the porch. Another shadow crossed Tap's window. I craned my neck in that direction and when I turned back to my own window, I just about fell over backwards when I found Gessler's face pressed against the pane. He was gazing in through cupped hands. When he saw me, he smiled and disappeared from the window, reappearing an instant later at the front door.
"I can't tell you how pleased I am to find you up and about, Mr. Poe," Gessler blustered when I let him in. "After last night's ordeal, I am delighted to find you well." He looked past me into the house. "Your doctor, this..." He quickly consulted a piece of paper he was holding in one hand. "This man Coppelius, he is still here?"
I tried to bar his way, but Gessler calmly stepped around me, letting himself in. I found it ominous that he knew Coppelius had been here at all. "The doctor has gone," I said at his back, hoping this news might compel him to leave, but knowing it would not.
He turned to me. "Gone? Ah, that surprises me. I only say that because—s 12 Well, you will forgive me, Mr. Poe, but I couldn't help but overhear you while I was on your porch. I distinctly heard you conversing with someone."
I cast an eye to Tap, but so furtively that Gessler would not have noticed. "My conversations are my own affair, Inspector."
"Indeed," Gessler said. He calmly removed his bowler. Apparently, he meant to stay. "That is why I at first went away without knocking. I heard plainly that you had company. Rather, I should say, I heard you speaking, and quite clearly, I might add. I didn't want to disturb you, you see."
I licked my lips. "Of course."
"But now here I am and I find you quite alone." He brazenly looked into all corners of the house, straining even to see into my bedroom. "I had assumed, of course, that you were engaged with your doctor. This is the reason I didn't knock, not wanting to interrupt what was no doubt a very intimate conversation over very private matters indeed, not intended, certainly, for my ears—"
"I was talking to my bird," I blurted out all at once.
Gessler raised his eyebrows.
"Behind you," I said. He turned and saw Tap perched on the back of my rocking chair.
"Ah! I did not see him there." He took a step towards Tap and Tap cocked his head at him. I bit my lip, wondering if Tap would hold his tongue. Gessler laughed. "He is real!" the inspector exclaimed, looking back at me over his shoulder with a bemused expression. "I had no idea you kept a bird, Mr. Poe. And a raven, no less!"
"Yes, I, uh, sometimes ... talk to him. Read to him, I should say ... when I am laboring over some ... puzzling literary construction. It helps to, uh, solidify ideas, in my own mind. Of course," I added quickly, "the bird offers little help in any other regard—or even much in that one, to be honest." I immediately felt my face redden as I feared I was rambling. Not knowing what to say next, I was actually relieved when Gessler cut me off with a laugh.
"I should hope not, Mr. Poe! But loneliness being what it is, what with you living out here all by yourself, I can see why you would take on a pet. I believe I would myself. And no doubt I would talk to it, too. Now, if it started talking back..." Gessler gave me a broad wink. "That might force me to reconsider my situation!"
I tried to laugh along with him as best I could. I opened my mouth and the laughter I forced out of it was feeble and tremulous. "One would doubt his sanity," I said amiably, as though I were playing along with his jest.
"Indeed he would!" Gessler said, giving a final laugh before stopping cold. "So you have been working, then?"
His question took me by surprise and I stammered, not understanding his meaning. He nodded toward my desk.
"Oh! Yes," I chuckled. "My story, yes, I see. I had just finished when you knocked."
"You have concluded the story I saw yesterday? Oh, lucky me! May I see it? I am dying to know how it ends. I don't mind telling you, the opening of the tale has been in my mind ever since."
"You will have to wait and read it in the Journal, just like everyone else." I snatched my story from the desk and rolled the sheets tightly and stuffed them into my coat pocket. I felt myself beginning to grow angry. "Now, look here, Inspector—"
"You will at least tell me the title, so I will know what to look for?"
"'Berenice'," I said, which brought a sudden "Caw-caw!" from Tap. He strained forward on his perch, his feathers bristling. Gessler laughed uproariously.
"Your raven disapproves, Mr. Poe."
"Oh, no." Even knowing I was about to spew nonsense, I felt obligated to speak, to draw Gessler's attention away from Tap. "He is merely squawking. He does that from time to time. It is no indication of disapproval. Or anything else, that I can tell." My face grew hot.
"Well, since that is all a raven can say, it will have to suffice for disapproval, won't it? Unless, perhaps, you have trained him to say 'Nevermore!'"
Gessler again laughed uproariously and I joined him.
"Yes, yes, of course. Splendid, Inspector! No, in his world, a squawk would have to suffice for everything, I suppose. In the world of birds, that is—"
"Ha-ha! Who would have thought you'd have a domesticated raven? Very good, Mr. Poe." He wiped a tear of laughter from his eye and glanced at my desk. "Have you been practicing your handwriting, sir?"
He again took me off guard and I stammered for a moment. He nodded gravely at my desktop. I looked and found my sheet of L's staring back at me like an accusation, my madness laid bare. I made to grab it, but Gessler got to it before I could. He lifted the sheet from the desk and scrutinized the page without comment. I snatched it from his fingers. In the next instant, his attention was drawn to the laudanum vial. He reached for it and I snatched that away also.
"Prescribed by your doctor?" he asked. "This Doctor Coppelius of yours?"
It was anger that now reddened my cheeks. I pushed him aside and sat down briskly in my desk chair, turning my back to him.
"Really, Inspector! My affairs are my own!" I flung open the drawer and shoved the offending items inside where they would be out of his sight. "I must ask that you state your business—"
Before I could finish, something inside the drawer caught my eye: a little bit of torn paper. I had never seen it before, though some feeling of familiarity drew my eye to it. With a sidelong glance over my shoulder to ensure that Gessler could not see, I brought it out and, sitting hunched over the open drawer, inspected it closely.
The bit of paper was stiff, as if it had been once wet and then dried, and curled slightly at one edge. It crackled as I unfurled it. When I saw the letters on it, written in a familiar rather plain script, my hand began to tremble. I could scarcely read the printing, but I knew what it said. The letters were: half an n ... a u ... an m ...
"What are you doing there, Mr. Poe? Is everything all right?"
"Just a moment," I called over my shoulder. "I've ... spilled some ink, I'm afraid."
I bit my lips to keep from crying out. I held the torn paper in one hand and took up the vial in the other. Drawing them together carefully, I found that the torn edge of the paper fit perfectly into the torn edge of the vial's label. The two halves of the broken n became a perfectly formed whole. When united, I saw the complete word: Laudanum.
In terror, I jammed the paper and vial into the back of the drawer and slammed it shut. I stood and turned.
"I'm afra
id I must ask you to leave now, Inspector."
"To leave? That is quite impossible, Mr. Poe. There is still the matter of last night's fire to discuss—"
Tap suddenly began cawing, drawing the inspector's attention. At the same time, I heard a clatter from the kitchen. Someone had come in the back, and I saw blue-coated figures moving past the windows in the front. I felt trapped. Surely, the police were going to arrest me for the murder of Burton.
"I regret to inform you, Mr. Poe—" Gessler began in a loud voice, trying to make himself heard over Tap's screeching. Two policemen appeared from the kitchen, one of them the burly Irishman from the boarding house. Amid this chaos there came a knock at the door. I rushed to it, thinking it my salvation. I would barge past whoever was there and escape to freedom, however momentary it might prove to be.
With my heart pounding in my chest and my muscles tensed for flight, I flung open the door and found not policemen with billy clubs and restraints, but Olimpia.
Everything seemed to stop. I could see that even Gessler was caught up short by her beauty. Some instinct caused him to place his bowler over his heart when he saw her.
She grasped me by the sleeve of my coat. "You must come at once, Eddy," she said, her voice edging to panic. "Something has happened to Father."
Chapter 8
"They have come to arrest you," Olimpia said, pulling me by the sleeve. We hurried down the slope of the yard toward the road. "We must move quickly."
I looked back and saw Gessler watching us from the door. Citing the personal nature of her father's business, Olimpia had declined his offer of help, saying she would deliver me back into his hands forthwith. Now I perceived him watching us with growing suspicion as we disappeared from his view under the crest of the slope.
Coppelius was waiting for us at the curb. He was sitting on the driver's seat of his carriage, a black, four-wheeled brougham. When he saw us, he reached down behind him and threw open the door. Olimpia pushed me in. I fell against the far door and, looking out the window, saw two police carriages waiting on the opposite side of the street.
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