unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice, - the expression, '_mon
Dieu!_' This, under the circumstances, has been justly characterized
by one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner,) as an expression
of remonstrance or expostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I
have mainly built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A
Frenchman was cognizant of the murder. It is possible - indeed it is
far more than probable - that he was innocent of all participation in
the bloody transactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have
escaped from him. He may have traced it to the chamber; but, under
the agitating circumstances which ensued, he could never have
re-captured it. It is still at large. I will not pursue these guesses
- for I have no right to call them more - since the shades of
reflection upon which they are based are scarcely of sufficient depth
to be appreciable by my own intellect, and since I could not pretend
to make them intelligible to the understanding of another. We will
call them guesses then, and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman
in question is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this
advertisement which I left last night, upon our return home, at the
office of 'Le Monde,' (a paper devoted to the shipping interest, and
much sought by sailors,) will bring him to our residence."
He handed me a paper, and I read thus:
CAUGHT - _In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the -
inst.,_ (the morning of the murder,) _a very large, tawny
Ourang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owner, (who is ascertained
to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel,) may have the animal
again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few charges
arising from its capture and keeping. Call at No. ---- , Rue ----,
Faubourg St. Germain - au troisiΩme._
"How was it possible," I asked, "that you should know the man to be a
sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?"
"I do _not_ know it," said Dupin. "I am not _sure_ of it. Here,
however, is a small piece of ribbon, which from its form, and from
its greasy appearance, has evidently been used in tying the hair in
one of those long _queues_ of which sailors are so fond. Moreover,
this knot is one which few besides sailors can tie, and is peculiar
to the Maltese. I picked the ribbon up at the foot of the
lightning-rod. It could not have belonged to either of the deceased.
Now if, after all, I am wrong in my induction from this ribbon, that
the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to a Maltese vessel, still I can
have done no harm in saying what I did in the advertisement. If I am
in error, he will merely suppose that I have been misled by some
circumstance into which he will not take the trouble to inquire. But
if I am right, a great point is gained. Cognizant although innocent
of the murder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitate about replying
to the advertisement - about demanding the Ourang-Outang. He will
reason thus: - 'I am innocent; I am poor; my Ourang-Outang is of
great value - to one in my circumstances a fortune of itself - why
should I lose it through idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is,
within my grasp. It was found in the Bois de Boulogne - at a vast
distance from the scene of that butchery. How can it ever be
suspected that a brute beast should have done the deed? The police
are at fault - they have failed to procure the slightest clew. Should
they even trace the animal, it would be impossible to prove me
cognizant of the murder, or to implicate me in guilt on account of
that cognizance. Above all, _I am known._ The advertiser designates
me as the possessor of the beast. I am not sure to what limit his
knowledge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property of so great
value, which it is known that I possess, I will render the animal at
least, liable to suspicion. It is not my policy to attract attention
either to myself or to the beast. I will answer the advertisement,
get the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until this matter has blown
over.' "
At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.
"Be ready," said Dupin, "with your pistols, but neither use them nor
show them until at a signal from myself."
The front door of the house had been left open, and the visiter had
entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the
staircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard
him descending. Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when we again
heard him coming up. He did not turn back a second time, but stepped
up with decision, and rapped at the door of our chamber.
"Come in," said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone.
A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently, - a tall, stout, and
muscular-looking person, with a certain dare-devil expression of
countenance, not altogether unprepossessing. His face, greatly
sunburnt, was more than half hidden by whisker and _mustachio._ He
had with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise
unarmed. He bowed awkwardly, and bade us "good evening," in French
accents, which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still
sufficiently indicative of a Parisian origin.
"Sit down, my freind," said Dupin. "I suppose you have called about
the Ourang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost envy you the possession of
him; a remarkably fine, and no doubt a very valuable animal. How old
do you suppose him to be?"
The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a man relieved of some
intolerable burden, and then replied, in an assured tone:
"I have no way of telling - but he can't be more than four or five
years old. Have you got him here?"
"Oh no, we had no conveniences for keeping him here. He is at a
livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You can get him in the
morning. Of course you are prepared to identify the property?"
"To be sure I am, sir."
"I shall be sorry to part with him," said Dupin.
"I don't mean that you should be at all this trouble for nothing,
sir," said the man. "Couldn't expect it. Am very willing to pay a
reward for the finding of the animal - that is to say, any thing in
reason."
"Well," replied my friend, "that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me
think! - what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be
this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these
murders in the Rue Morgue."
Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly. Just
as quietly, too, he walked toward the door, locked it and put the key
in his pocket. He then drew a pistol from his bosom and placed it,
without the least flurry, upon the table.
The sailor's face flushed up as if he were struggling with
suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel, but the
next moment he fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with
the countenance of death itself. He spoke not a word. I pitied him
from the bottom of my heart.
"My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you are alarmi
ng yourself
unnecessarily - you are indeed. We mean you no harm whatever. I
pledge you the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we
intend you no injury. I perfectly well know that you are innocent of
the atrocities in the Rue Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny
that you are in some measure implicated in them. From what I have
already said, you must know that I have had means of information
about this matter - means of which you could never have dreamed. Now
the thing stands thus. You have done nothing which you could have
avoided - nothing, certainly, which renders you culpable. You were
not even guilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with impunity.
You have nothing to conceal. You have no reason for concealment. On
the other hand, you are bound by every principle of honor to confess
all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned, charged with that
crime of which you can point out the perpetrator."
The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure,
while Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing
was all gone.
"So help me God," said he, after a brief pause, "I will tell you all
I know about this affair; - but I do not expect you to believe one
half I say - I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent,
and I will make a clean breast if I die for it."
What he stated was, in substance, this. He had lately made a voyage
to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of which he formed one, landed at
Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure.
Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang- Outang. This
companion dying, the animal fell into his own exclusive possession.
After great trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his
captive during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging it
safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract toward
himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it
carefully secluded, until such time as it should recover from a wound
in the foot, received from a splinter on board ship. His ultimate
design was to sell it.
Returning home from some sailors' frolic the night, or rather in the
morning of the murder, he found the beast occupying his own bed-room,
into which it had broken from a closet adjoining, where it had been,
as was thought, securely confined. Razor in hand, and fully lathered,
it was sitting before a looking-glass, attempting the operation of
shaving, in which it had no doubt previously watched its master
through the key-hole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so
dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious, and
so well able to use it, the man, for some moments, was at a loss what
to do. He had been accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even
in its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip, and to this he now
resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ourang-Outang sprang at once through
the door of the chamber, down the stairs, and thence, through a
window, unfortunately open, into the street.
The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor still in hand,
occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate at its pursuer,
until the latter had nearly come up with it. It then again made off.
In this manner the chase continued for a long time. The streets were
profoundly quiet, as it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. In
passing down an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive's
attention was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window of
Madame L'Espanaye's chamber, in the fourth story of her house.
Rushing to the building, it perceived the lightning rod, clambered up
with inconceivable agility, grasped the shutter, which was thrown
fully back against the wall, and, by its means, swung itself directly
upon the headboard of the bed. The whole feat did not occupy a
minute. The shutter was kicked open again by the Ourang-Outang as it
entered the room.
The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and perplexed. He had
strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as it could scarcely
escape from the trap into which it had ventured, except by the rod,
where it might be intercepted as it came down. On the other hand,
there was much cause for anxiety as to what it might do in the house.
This latter reflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A
lightning rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor;
but, when he had arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his
left, his career was stopped; the most that he could accomplish was
to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of the interior of the room.
At this glimpse he nearly fell from his hold through excess of
horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks arose upon the night,
which had startled from slumber the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame
L'Espanaye and her daughter, habited in their night clothes, had
apparently been occupied in arranging some papers in the iron chest
already mentioned, which had been wheeled into the middle of the
room. It was open, and its contents lay beside it on the floor. The
victims must have been sitting with their backs toward the window;
and, from the time elapsing between the ingress of the beast and the
screams, it seems probable that it was not immediately perceived. The
flapping-to of the shutter would naturally have been attributed to
the wind.
As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seized Madame
L'Espanaye by the hair, (which was loose, as she had been combing
it,) and was flourishing the razor about her face, in imitation of
the motions of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate and motionless;
she had swooned. The screams and struggles of the old lady (during
which the hair was torn from her head) had the effect of changing the
probably pacific purposes of the Ourang-Outang into those of wrath.
With one determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearly severed her
head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed its anger into
phrenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from its eyes, it flew
upon the body of the girl, and imbedded its fearful talons in her
throat, retaining its grasp until she expired. Its wandering and wild
glances fell at this moment upon the head of the bed, over which the
face of its master, rigid with horror, was just discernible. The fury
of the beast, who no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, was
instantly converted into fear. Conscious of having deserved
punishment, it seemed desirous of concealing its bloody deeds, and
skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervous agitation; throwing
down and breaking the furniture as it moved, and dragging the bed
from the bedstead. In conclusion, it seized first the corpse of the
daughter, and thrust it up the chimney, as it was found; then that of
the old lady, which it immediately hurled through the window
headlong.
As the ape approached the casement with its mutilated burden, the
sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather gliding
than clambering
down it, hurried at once home - dreading the consequences of the
butchery, and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude about
the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard by the party upon the
staircase were the Frenchman's exclamations of horror and affright,
commingled with the fiendish jabberings of the brute.
I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-Outang must have escaped
from the chamber, by the rod, just before the break of the door. It
must have closed the window as it passed through it. It was
subsequently caught by the owner himself, who obtained for it a very
large sum at the _Jardin des Plantes._ Le Don was instantly released,
upon our narration of the circumstances (with some comments from
Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary,
however well disposed to my friend, could not altogether conceal his
chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and was fain to indulge
in a sarcasm or two, about the propriety of every person minding his
own business.
"Let him talk," said Dupin,, who had not thought it necessary to
reply. "Let him discourse; it will ease his conscience, I am
satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle. Nevertheless,
that he failed in the solution of this mystery, is by no means that
matter for wonder which he supposes it; for, in truth, our friend the
Prefect is somewhat too cunning to be profound. In his wisdom is no
_stamen._ It is all head and no body, like the pictures of the
Goddess Laverna, -- or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a
codfish. But he is a good creature after all. I like him especially
for one master stroke of cant, by which he has attained his
reputation for ingenuity. I mean the way he has '_de nier ce qui est,
et d'expliquer ce qui n'est pas._' " *
* Rousseau - Nouvelle Heloise.
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Poe, Edgar Allen - The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe Page 22