The Slender Poe Anthology (18 page)

“The two houses adjoining!” I exclaimed; “you must have had a great deal
of trouble.”

“We had; but the reward offered is prodigious!”

“You include the
grounds
about the houses?”

“All the grounds are paved with brick. They gave us comparatively
little trouble. We examined the moss between the bricks, and found it
undisturbed.”

“You looked among D
—
's papers, of course, and into the books of the
library?”

“Certainly; we opened every package and parcel; we not only opened
every book, but we turned over every leaf in each volume, not contenting
ourselves with a mere shake, according to the fashion of some of our
police officers. We also measured the thickness of every book-
cover
,
with the most accurate admeasurement, and applied to each the most
jealous scrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bindings been
recently meddled with, it would have been utterly impossible that the
fact should have escaped observation. Some five or six volumes, just
from the hands of the binder, we carefully probed, longitudinally, with
the needles.”

“You explored the floors beneath the carpets?”

“Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and examined the boards with the
microscope.”

“And the paper on the walls?”

“Yes.”

“You looked into the cellars?”

“We did.”

“Then,” I said, “you have been making a miscalculation, and the letter
is
not
upon the premises, as you suppose.”

“I fear you are right there,” said the Prefect. “And now, Dupin, what
would you advise me to do?”

“To make a thorough re-search of the premises.”

“That is absolutely needless,” replied G
—
. “I am not more sure that I
breathe than I am that the letter is not at the Hotel.”

“I have no better advice to give you,” said Dupin. “You have, of course,
an accurate description of the letter?”

“Oh yes!”
—
And here the Prefect, producing a memorandum-book proceeded
to read aloud a minute account of the internal, and especially of the
external appearance of the missing document. Soon after finishing
the perusal of this description, he took his departure, more entirely
depressed in spirits than I had ever known the good gentleman before. In
about a month afterwards he paid us another visit, and found us occupied
very nearly as before. He took a pipe and a chair and entered into some
ordinary conversation. At length I said,
—

“Well, but G
—
, what of the purloined letter? I presume you have at
last made up your mind that there is no such thing as overreaching the
Minister?”

“Confound him, say I
—
yes; I made the re-examination, however, as Dupin
suggested
—
but it was all labor lost, as I knew it would be.”

“How much was the reward offered, did you say?” asked Dupin.

“Why, a very great deal
—
a
very
liberal reward
—
I don't like to say how
much, precisely; but one thing I
will
say, that I wouldn't mind giving
my individual check for fifty thousand francs to any one who could
obtain me that letter. The fact is, it is becoming of more and more
importance every day; and the reward has been lately doubled. If it were
trebled, however, I could do no more than I have done.”

“Why, yes,” said Dupin, drawlingly, between the whiffs of his
meerschaum, “I really
—
think, G
—
, you have not exerted yourself
—
to the
utmost in this matter. You might
—
do a little more, I think, eh?”

“How?
—
in what way?”

“Why
—
puff, puff
—
you might
—
puff, puff
—
employ counsel in the
matter, eh?
—
puff, puff, puff. Do you remember the story they tell of
Abernethy?”

“No; hang Abernethy!”

“To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once upon a time, a certain rich
miser conceived the design of spunging upon this Abernethy for a medical
opinion. Getting up, for this purpose, an ordinary conversation in a
private company, he insinuated his case to the physician, as that of an
imaginary individual.

“‘We will suppose,' said the miser, ‘that his symptoms are such and
such; now, doctor, what would
you
have directed him to take?'

“‘Take!' said Abernethy, ‘why, take
advice
, to be sure.'”

“But,” said the Prefect, a little discomposed, “I am
perfectly
willing
to take advice, and to pay for it. I would
really
give fifty thousand
francs to any one who would aid me in the matter.”

“In that case,” replied Dupin, opening a drawer, and producing
a check-book, “you may as well fill me up a check for the amount
mentioned. When you have signed it, I will hand you the letter.”

I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely thunder-stricken.
For some minutes he remained speechless and motionless, looking
incredulously at my friend with open mouth, and eyes that seemed
starting from their sockets; then, apparently recovering himself in some
measure, he seized a pen, and after several pauses and vacant stares,
finally filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs, and
handed it across the table to Dupin. The latter examined it carefully
and deposited it in his pocket-book; then, unlocking an
escritoire
, took
thence a letter and gave it to the Prefect. This functionary grasped it
in a perfect agony of joy, opened it with a trembling hand, cast a rapid
glance at its contents, and then, scrambling and struggling to the
door, rushed at length unceremoniously from the room and from the house,
without having uttered a syllable since Dupin had requested him to fill
up the check.

When he had gone, my friend entered into some explanations.

“The Parisian police,” he said, “are exceedingly able in their way.
They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, and thoroughly versed in the
knowledge which their duties seem chiefly to demand. Thus, when G
—
detailed to us his mode of searching the premises at the Hotel D
—
,
I felt entire confidence in his having made a satisfactory
investigation
—
so far as his labors extended.”

“So far as his labors extended?” said I.

“Yes,” said Dupin. “The measures adopted were not only the best of
their kind, but carried out to absolute perfection. Had the letter been
deposited within the range of their search, these fellows would, beyond
a question, have found it.”

I merely laughed
—
but he seemed quite serious in all that he said.

“The measures, then,” he continued, “were good in their kind, and well
executed; their defect lay in their being inapplicable to the case, and
to the man. A certain set of highly ingenious resources are, with the
Prefect, a sort of Procrustean bed, to which he forcibly adapts his
designs. But he perpetually errs by being too deep or too shallow, for
the matter in hand; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner than he. I
knew one about eight years of age, whose success at guessing in the game
of ‘even and odd' attracted universal admiration. This game is simple,
and is played with marbles. One player holds in his hand a number of
these toys, and demands of another whether that number is even or odd.
If the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, he loses one. The
boy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the school. Of course he
had some principle of guessing; and this lay in mere observation and
admeasurement of the astuteness of his opponents. For example, an arrant
simpleton is his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand, asks, ‘are
they even or odd?' Our schoolboy replies, ‘odd,' and loses; but upon the
second trial he wins, for he then says to himself, ‘the simpleton
had them even upon the first trial, and his amount of cunning is just
sufficient to make him have them odd upon the second; I will therefore
guess odd;'
—
he guesses odd, and wins. Now, with a simpleton a degree
above the first, he would have reasoned thus: ‘This fellow finds that in
the first instance I guessed odd, and, in the second, he will propose to
himself, upon the first impulse, a simple variation from even to odd,
as did the first simpleton; but then a second thought will suggest that
this is too simple a variation, and finally he will decide upon putting
it even as before. I will therefore guess even;'
—
he guesses even, and
wins. Now this mode of reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellows
termed ‘lucky,'
—
what, in its last analysis, is it?”

“It is merely,” I said, “an identification of the reasoner's intellect
with that of his opponent.”

“It is,” said Dupin; “and, upon inquiring of the boy by what means he
effected the
thorough
identification in which his success consisted, I
received answer as follows: ‘When I wish to find out how wise, or how
stupid, or how good, or how wicked is any one, or what are his thoughts
at the moment, I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately as
possible, in accordance with the expression of his, and then wait to see
what thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or heart, as if to match or
correspond with the expression.' This response of the schoolboy lies at
the bottom of all the spurious profundity which has been attributed to
Rochefoucault, to La Bougive, to Machiavelli, and to Campanella.”

“And the identification,” I said, “of the reasoner's intellect with that
of his opponent, depends, if I understand you aright, upon the accuracy
with which the opponent's intellect is admeasured.”

“For its practical value it depends upon this,” replied Dupin; “and the
Prefect and his cohort fail so frequently, first, by default of this
identification, and, secondly, by ill-admeasurement, or rather through
non-admeasurement, of the intellect with which they are engaged. They
consider only their own ideas of ingenuity; and, in searching for
anything hidden, advert only to the modes in which they would have
hidden it. They are right in this much
—
that their own ingenuity is a
faithful representative of that of
the mass;
but when the cunning of the
individual felon is diverse in character from their own, the felon foils
them, of course. This always happens when it is above their own, and
very usually when it is below. They have no variation of principle in
their investigations; at best, when urged by some unusual emergency
—
by
some extraordinary reward
—
they extend or exaggerate their old modes of
practice
, without touching their principles. What, for example, in this
case of D
—
, has been done to vary the principle of action? What is
all this boring, and probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing with the
microscope and dividing the surface of the building into registered
square inches
—
what is it all but an exaggeration
of the application
of
the one principle or set of principles of search, which are based upon
the one set of notions regarding human ingenuity, to which the Prefect,
in the long routine of his duty, has been accustomed? Do you not see he
has taken it for granted that
all
men proceed to conceal a letter,
—
not
exactly in a gimlet hole bored in a chair-leg
—
but, at least, in
some
out-of-the-way hole or corner suggested by the same tenor of thought
which would urge a man to secrete a letter in a gimlet-hole bored in
a chair-leg? And do you not see also, that such
recherchés
nooks for
concealment are adapted only for ordinary occasions, and would be
adopted only by ordinary intellects; for, in all cases of concealment,
a disposal of the article concealed
—
a disposal of it in this
recherché
manner,
—
is, in the very first instance, presumable and presumed; and
thus its discovery depends, not at all upon the acumen, but altogether
upon the mere care, patience, and determination of the seekers; and
where the case is of importance
—
or, what amounts to the same thing in
the policial eyes, when the reward is of magnitude,
—
the qualities in
question have
never
been known to fail. You will now understand what I
meant in suggesting that, had the purloined letter been hidden any where
within the limits of the Prefect's examination
—
in other words, had the
principle of its concealment been comprehended within the principles of
the Prefect
—
its discovery would have been a matter altogether beyond
question. This functionary, however, has been thoroughly mystified;
and the remote source of his defeat lies in the supposition that the
Minister is a fool, because he has acquired renown as a poet. All fools
are poets; this the Prefect
feels;
and he is merely guilty of a
non distributio medii
in thence inferring that all poets are fools.”

“But is this really the poet?” I asked. “There are two brothers, I know;
and both have attained reputation in letters. The Minister I believe has
written learnedly on the Differential Calculus. He is a mathematician,
and no poet.”