The Tell-Tail Heart. The Black Cats

Sissy sighed.“I suppose all the money from ‘The Gold Bug’ is gone.”

“I saved a little back. We are not destitute.”

Sissy knelt and shook Eddy’s shoulder to no effect. “Husband! Wake up!” she cried.

I would not be so delicate. I trotted past Sissy and jumped on my companion’s chest. He did not stir. At this very moment, Mr. Arnold or Mr. Fitzgerald could be turning Midnight to mincemeat. With great vigor, I sharpened my claws on Eddy’s shirtfront, catching, I hoped, a bit of skin in the process. He giggled. Curses.

“There is no waking him, Cattarina,” Sissy said to me. “He is beyond help.” She offered her mother a weak smile. “How is Mrs. West? Still complaining about President Tyler?”

“His Accidency? Yes, ad infinitum.” She removed her bonnet and laid it on the mantle. “Let’s get him ready for sleep,” she said.

I slunk to the hearth to think while Sissy and Muddy removed Eddy’s jacket and shoes. Midnight needed a human’s help, but that human would not be Eddy. Sissy had proved handy during the Glass Eye Killer affair, and she might again, I reasoned. As I watched the dear girl drape Eddy with a crocheted blanket, I settled on a new plan. Once Muddy went to bed, I would lure Sissy outside and to the Arnold home where she would intervene on my behalf. Midnight could stay here for one night and return to Rittenhouse in the morning. I got my wish when the old woman announced, “It’s bedtime, Virginia.”

“I’ll be along, Mother,” she said. She knelt by Eddy and smoothed his hair from his face. “I need another minute.”

“As you wish,” Muddy said. “Turn off the lamp before you come up. And check it twice. That Arnold fire still has me spooked.”

Once Muddy left, Sissy whispered to Eddy,“Edgar, can you hear me? You tried. Iknow you did. Tomorrow will be better, won’t it, my dear? We will make do.” She pulled the covers around his chin then coughed into her hand. “I love you, husband. Good night.” She kissed him on the forehead and rose to light a candle, still coughing all the while. When she extinguished the lamp, I started for her, winding around her skirt to drive her to the door.

“Cattarina? What do you need?” She knelt beside me and held the candle near. Her cheeks burned brightly in the golden flicker.

Keeping my tail high, I trotted into the hallway.

“Do you want out?” She followed me to the door.

Near the threshold, I curved the end of my tail, calling her forward like a fish to a hook. We did not communicate with our upper minds as Eddy and I did. That required a deep bond, deeper even than the one Sissy and I shared. Yet her tail reading showed promise.

“Oh, you clever girl,” she said. “You want me to follow you. Is there trouble like last time? Mother won’t miss me if I’m back in a blink, and why should Eddy be the only one behaving irresponsibly? Two can play at that.” She took her wrap from the coat hook and opened the door. Rain blewinto the entryway, pricking my face. Sissy coughed.“Ready when you are, Constable Claw. Lead the way.”

I thought of Midnight beneath the axe. Then I thought of Margaret and her sneeze and how the wet weather made it worse. No matter how much peril Midnight faced, I couldn’t send Sissy to an early grave. She would expire in this gale and leave Eddy even more anguished than before. I scampered back into the hallway and waited for her to close the door. I wheezed with relief when she did.

“Change your mind?” she asked.

I sat at the foot of the stairs, indicating her next move. She took my advice, and we ascended to her chamber. So she wouldn’t wake Muddy, Sissy tiptoed about the room, preparing for bed. I curled at the foot of her mattress and waited for her to come and sleep, too. Then I would sneak out and do what I could to help Midnight.

All night thunder boomed and lightning cracked, keeping Sissy awake. Every time I tried to leave the bedchamber, she would sit forward, rub the center of her chest, and whisper,“Where are you going, Cattarina?” and “Is there trouble? Should I follow?” I doubted she would go out so late at night, but I could not take the chance. She’d done as much last fall when I least expected it, and after the argument with Eddy, her mental state appeared compromised. I tried to convince myself Midnight had hidden in the attic to escape Mr. Arnold and Mr. Fitzgerald, except I’d witnessed his loyalty to Mrs. Arnold. He would no more desert her than I Eddy. Or Sissy.

When thunder rattled the windowpanes, I wrapped my tail around my nose and prayed for morning. Keeping one friend alive meant dooming another.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_18]

The Search Begins

AT FIRST LIGHT, I awoke at the foot of Sissy’s bed. Between my apprehension and hers, I got very little sleep. My bedmate must’ve nodded off during the night, however, for she slumbered beside me now. I looked across the room at old Muddy. I’d beaten her to the dawn. With my thoughts still on Midnight, I slunk downstairs, unbeknownst to anyone. Eddy snored from the parlor, right where the women had left him last night. Before the family could wake, I unlatched the front door, loosening it with a jump and jab, and fled into the neighborhood.

Water shimmered on the empty cobblestone streets, reflecting the rosy hues of sunrise. The storm had blown over. I noted a few broken tree limbs and flipped umbrellas as I headed north, but otherwise the Spring Garden area appeared normal—save for the carnage at the Arnold house. I began to run and did not stop until I reached the cobblers’ stone walkway. Setting aside thoughts of my own safety, I leapt through the hole I’d made in the window last night and alighted to the kitchen floor. The room stood empty. “Midnight!” I called.

No answer.

“Midnight! Are you here?”

Silence.

I searched the tiny single-story for any sign of the Arnolds, Midnight…even Mr. Fitzgerald. When that failed, I looked in the cellar. Not one person. Not one cat. Not one drop of blood.

***

Mr. Fitzgerald stopped sweeping to watch me enter the courtyard in front of his shop.“Hello, Catterina,” he said. “You’re out early this morning.” I sat nearest the cobbler shop and studied the man next door. At least I had found one of the humans in question. Had he killed Midnight and the Arnolds last night? Or had Abner and Tabitha taken Midnight for a stroll in the Spring Garden market, as Eddy and Sissy had done with me? Since the latter scenario was unlikely, the former scenario, however unfortunate, took root. Nevertheless, I clung to hope. In order to conduct a search for my friend, I needed some measure of it to function.

I examined the area in front of the shoemaker workshop, looking and sniffing for any sign of my pal. The shop’s dark interior, observed through the plate glass window, confounded me. Tabitha Arnold always closed shop on “the Lord’s day,” or at least that’s what Muddy called it. Yet that day had not come. I knew because the eldest member of our house hadn’t laid out hertown dress or her black book last night in preparation.

A man brushed by me as I turned to leave. I recognized the stocky gentleman at once—Mr. Pettigrew. He jiggled the handle to the Arnolds’ shop and scowled. After uttering a few terse words I shall not repeat, he surveyed the courtyard and located Mr. Fitzgerald. “You there!” he bellowed. “Do you know when the shoemaker will arrive? I’ve got a bone to pick with him. Rain seeped in my shoes last night and ruined my stockings.”

“I imagine the store will be closed today,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “The Arnolds are suffering from…maladies. I called on them last night, and they were doing poorly. Come back tomorrow.” He brushed the collected debris into the street and entered his shop.

“Maladies,” Mr. Pettigrew said under his breath. He looked me. “Stay away from here, pussycat. Mr. Arnold doesn’t like your kind.” With a tip of his hat, he left the way he came, the soles of his shoe flapping on the sidewalk.

Though I could not imagine Mr. Fitzgerald cleaving anyone, least of all Midnight, I entered his shop just in case. It presented no new evidence, so I left for Mr. Beal’s house to speak to George and Margaret, cutting through the alley. The Quaker Cats, too, had set out early, and I caught them near the razed Arnold home. The lot had been cleared shortly after the fire. In recent days, bricklayers had built a maze upon the blank earth. I’d watched them at their work, a dull affair second only to Muddy’s scrubbing of the walkway.

“We were coming to find you,” George said. “The Coon Cats are still with Mr. Eakins and won’t be leaving today. Maybe not even tomorrow. Any word on Midnight?”

“No, haven’t seen him. And worse, the Arnold house is empty.”

“Empty?” Margaret said with a sniffle. “Where could they have gone?”

“I intend to find out,” I said. “But I need your help.”

“We are always here to help,” George said. He lowered his head. “Except for last night. Margaret and I are sorry, Cattarina.”

“Truly sorry,” Margaret said. “But Mr. Beale locked all the windows and doors—even the shutters—with the coming storm. We couldn’t leave. And with my cold, it would’ve been too dangerous.” She sneezed, illustrating her point.

“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.” I sighed. “It was my plan.”

“And now Midnight’s dead,” Margaret said forlornly.

“No, we mustn’t think like that,” I said. “Grief will slow our efforts.”

“Don’t worry, Cattarina. We’ll turn over all of Philadelphia if we have to,” George said. “Midnight will surface.”

***

George and Margaret agreed to search the streets while I returned to the Arnolds’ residence to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Since I’d botched things last night, I decided to once again enlist human help. Sissy’s keen eye rivaled my own, and Eddy’s mind worked in ways beyond comprehension. At this point, I would even take Muddy if I could push her from the kitchen. Across the street from Poe House, I caught Eddy and Sissy leaving a cab. From their costume, they had come from a grand affair. Eddy wore his brocade waistcoat he saved for readings, and Sissy had donned her new river dress. Arm in arm, the couple lingered on the sidewalk, in no particular hurry to go home. I watched them for longer than I should have, considering Midnight’s predicament. Perhaps sentimentality had gotten the best of me, but I had never seen Eddy so happy, so far from the melancholies of last autumn. I wanted him to stay that way forever. My one regret? ThatI had not been the one to bring about the change.

The carriage driver snapped the whip and urged the horse down the street. Then a pony cart driven by a freckle-faced girl whizzed past. What traffic! When the road cleared, I joined the pair mid-conversation.“Was the meeting to your liking?” Sissy asked Eddy. She’d curled her hair. Two black locks hung in spirals on either side of her ears. A closed fan dangled from her wrist.

“The Sons of Temperance is a fine organization,” Eddy said. “I should’ve attended a meeting sooner, but I was waiting for the right moment.”

“And it came.”

He patted her hand.“I am sorry, Virginia.”

She gazed at him.“Today we start anew, Edgar.”

It did this cat good to see her companion so full of merriment. But I had a task and could not be deterred. I waited for them to begin walking then introduced myself to their cadence. This step could not be skipped when attempting a feat of this complexity. It was one thing to bring a human from parlor to kitchen; it was quite another to guide them through the neighborhood.

“Good day, Catters,” Eddy said. “I trust you slept well.”

“Oh, she didn’t sleep well at all,” Sissy said, looking me over. “Poor thing wouldn’t stay put last night. Must’ve been the storm.”

I ziggety-zagged in front of them, orchestrating their strides without raising suspicion. They paid me no mind and continued chatting as they passed Poe House.

“It’s odd that Tabitha Arnold wasn’t at the meeting,” she said. “She even urged me to go. Told me she’d meet me there.”

“I didn’t mind,” he said. “It gave me more time with my beloved.”

I pushed them north past the intersection of Green Street.

“An afternoon stroll is an exquisite idea,” Sissy said. She opened her fan and waved herself.

“I thought it was your idea,” Eddy said.

“As long as it wassomeone’s idea.” She laughed and hugged her husband’s arm tighter.

We navigated wicker buggies filled with tots and toddlers wielding horehound sticks. The tiny humans delighted Sissy, for she smiled and pointed at each one, remarking on theircherub cheeks andangelic smiles. I stayed the course, thinking solely of Midnight, and detoured them west toward the Arnolds’ home.

She closed her fan.“Do you ever want children?”

“What has gotten into you, Virginia?”

“On days like this, when you are…” She cast her eyes downward. “…healthy, I think what a wonderful father you would make.”

“We’ve been through this before,” Eddy said. “It would be too taxing for you.”

She bit her lip then said,“Are you sad?”

“I am always sad, my wife. But you and you alone make me better. You are my queen in this kingdom by the sea.” He gave her a wink.

“That’s a lovely sentiment, Edgar. You must think about putting it to verse.” She laid her head on his shoulder and continued in silence.

Ziggety-zag, ziggety-zag, all the way to the cobblers’ home. Exhausting work, but I’d done it. I deposited them in front of Abner Arnold’s house and turned up the walkway. They did not follow. Running out of both patience and time, I yowled. And good.

“I think she means for us to join her,” Sissy said. She pulled Eddy to the door. “Who could live here, I wonder? Do we know anyone on Logan Street? What a gay adventure!”

“I am game for an escapade.” He rapped the door with his knuckles. His enthusiasm vanished when Abner Arnold answered the door.

Frightened, I dashed behind the folds of Sissy’s skirt. We would never gain access to the home, now that the cobbler was home. Midnight could be inside, in need of my help, and I could not give it. I peeked around the volume of silk and watched the exchange.

“What do you want?” Mr. Arnold said. His shirt had come untucked and hung about his waist like a short dressing gown. Even from behind Sissy’s skirt, I caught the scent of rum. He scratched the peeling scabs on his chin and neck.

Sissy regained her composure first.“We are looking for your wife, Tabitha,” she said. “Is she here?”

“No, and you can thank Mr. Fitzgerald for that,” he said. “She ran off with him last night. Can’t trust the Irish, can you?” He swayed, leaning against the doorframe for support. “If he tells you any different, he’s a liar the size of Pennsylvania.” He rubbed his stomach and winced.

“Your wife left you?” Eddy asked.

Mr. Arnold pushed the door open with his foot.“You see her inside? You see her at the shop?” He scowled. “Didn’t think so.”

“Did she give a reason?” Eddy asked. I could not see his face, but his voice held genuine concern.

“Women don’t need a reason, do they?” Mr. Arnold said, casting an eye at Sissy. “Don’t drink, Abner, it’s not good for you,” he said in a high timbre. “Don’t go to Jolley’s tonight, Abner, you’ll put us in the poor house.” He spat on the ground and lowered his pitch to normal. “Bah! Good riddance to her, and good riddance to you.” With that, he slammed the door in our face.

Eddy didn’t move. He looked at his shoes. Mr. Arnold had given him something to think about, though I knew not what.

Sissy took his hand.“Husband? Are you well?”

He lifted his gaze and searched her face, his eyes glassy and wet.“I amvery well today, thank you, Mrs. Poe.”

***

Sissy waited until we’d reached North Seventh before speaking of the cobblers. “Husband, something is wrong. I do not trust Mr. Arnold’s story. Why would Mrs. Arnold run away with Mr. Fitzgerald? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I’ll say. I never pegged ol’ Fitz as a lover.” His mood had brightened since our chat with the cat killer.

“Eddy!” she said. “That is not what I mean! And lower your voice. I don’t want anyone hearing you saythatword in public.”

“What?Fitz?” Eddy said.

“Oh, how you tease.” Sissy slapped him on the arm with her fan.

I trailed several lengths behind them, disheartened by countless failures. If I didn’t find Midnight soon, I’d have start looking for his grave. What had I done? When I thought of George and Margaret, I trotted ahead, in line with my companion. Maybe the Quaker Cats had discovered Midnight this morning, alive and well.

“I think Tabitha Arnold could be in real trouble,” Sissy said. “Mr. Arnold gave me a queer feeling. He had an untamed look about him, like a hungry tiger.”

“A hungry tiger! What wild imaginings!” Eddy chuckled. “May I remind you, Mrs. Poe, that you wrongly suspected Mr. Fitzgerald of killing Pluto. Not everyone can rationalize like my Detective Dupin.” He steered them around a window-shopping couple before resuming their path on the sidewalk. I stepped onto the cobblestones to accommodate the detour. “Mind the street, Catters,” he said to me. “Mr. Arnold may drive his carriage down the street and kill the lot of us.” He waved his hand. “In one pass.”

“Make fun if you will,” Sissy said. Her earlocks bobbed as she spoke. “But Tabitha told me she’d be at the temperance meeting this morning. She would never close shop on a Saturday. And by the by, Mr. Fitzgerald’s not out of the stew pot yet. He and Tabitha have been arguing over that tree for months. What if he did something to her—”

“My dear! I have heard enough! We will speak to Mr. Fitzgerald and get the story from him.”

It didn’t take long to reach the shops of Franklin Street. We discovered Mr. Fitzgerald sitting in the shade of the sassafras tree, his back to the trunk, sipping a cool drink. I wasn’t sure we’d find Midnight here, but my ideas had run their course. After pleasantries about the weather—did they not understand the urgency?—Eddy and Sissy recounted much of what they said on the walk. It did not match word for word but contained many of the same themes, includingTabitha Arnold. This gave me courage, for if we found her, we’d probably find my pal.

“Abner Arnold is a right fibber,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “It’s true. I paid them a visit last night. But I left alone, coming back to the store to tidy up. There’s been a run on buckets since the fire at their house, and I can’t keep the display in order.” He took another sip from the glass. I admired the bony apple bobbing along his neck.

“How lucrative,” Eddy said.

Sissy elbowed her husband.“Did Mrs. Arnold seem well, Mr. Fitzgerald?”

“Not at all. In fact, I think she and Mr. Arnold had been arguing. A real knock-about if you ask me. I’d bet anything the old man had just come from the grog shop.” He winked at me. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Cattarina? You’re a lady.”

I turned to show off my tail.

“Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald. You’ve been most helpful,” Sissy said. She pulled her husband in front of the cobbler shop, and I joined them. “You see!” she whispered. “Mrs. Arnoldis in trouble.”

Eddy frowned.“I think we should call Constable Harkness.”

I swiveled my ears, catching the name. Though I did not hold much stock in Constable Harkness’s rationation skills, hedid serve on the side of justice. A shame he hadn’t been summoned for Snip’s killing. This could have all been avoided.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_19]

The Return of Constable Harkness

CONSTABLE HARKNESS LIVED ON Green Street, but much farther west than I could’ve traveled by paw—nearly half way to the Schuylkill River, by all accounts. For expediency’s sake, Eddy hailed a private car for us, an open carriage meant, I was certain, for bird watching. Iso admired the acrobatics of the purple martin. Presently, the driver parked in front of a brownstone hung with potted ferns. Smoke filled the sky here, blanketing the firmament with the haze of burnt metal. This stench ruined an otherwise handsome neighborhood.

We strode the sidewalk, and Sissy coughed straightaway in the foul air. Eddy touched her shoulder with concern, but she proceeded to the constable’s stoop and rapped on the door. We waited. The constable shuffled inside, moving and shifting things around, as if our arrival had taken him from an important task. “I’ll be right back, Matilda,” he said from the interior. “Never fear.”

The door opened.

An older, white-haired gentleman I hadn’t seen since the fall stood before us in a brown suit and blue waistcoat. I hadn’t been the only one to pack on flesh since our move, though Constable Harkness wore it better than I. He held a watering pot that dripped onto the toes of his shoes. “May I help you?” he asked.

Sissy assumed the lead.“We’ve come to—”

“By God, it’s you! It’s really you!” the constable said to her. He smiled at me, teeth hidden by his bushy mustache. “And you’ve brought that cat of yours! Fine specimen, she is. Beautiful tortoiseshell.”

A cough escaped her mouth instead of a greeting.

“Come in! Come in! The air is terrible here.” The older man led us, ratherher down the tapestry hall runner.“You can thank the iron works for the smoke. The factory’s almost next door.” We entered the parlor. On my last visit, I’d stayed outside and eavesdropped from the window. The interior had a brassy, bright feel, more so than I would’ve imagined given the man’s tarnished demeanor. “Howhave you been? Why I haven’t seen you since—”

“Since you came to our house on Coates,” Sissy added.

“Harumph, yes, of course,” he said.

The constable offered us the couch, a tufted affair that poked my hindquarters with buttons. Eddy and Sissy sat on either side of me, and I made a home between their knees. Skulls, a strange brass tube, a raccoon tail, glass orbs in every size, a collection of dead butterflies, and other oddities beckoned me from a large curio cupboard spanning the wall adjacent to the fireplace. While these items intrigued me, they paled when compared to the large ivy sitting atop the cabinetry. A fantastical plant, its numerous tendrils tumbled over the woodwork and cascaded toward the floor, giving one the impression they had entered not a brownstone, but a jungle. I longed to scale the greenery and explore the upper environs. Alas, a diversion was out of the question. Any tomfoolery on my part would unravel the investigation faster than lace tatting between the claws. Muddy had still not forgiven me for shredding her favorite doily.

“So you and Constable Harkness are acquaintances?” Eddy asked his wife. “You spoke only briefly last October.”

Sissy shook her head at Constable Harkness. Eddy did not catch it as I did.

“I am a memorable fellow,” the constable said to him. He set his watering can on a side table.

“And my cat?” Eddy asked.

“Cattarina? Why I barely know her,” he replied.

When the constable called me, I jumped from the couch and rubbed along his pant leg, ingratiating myself to him. I had escaped parrot prison, battled fire, grappled with a killer, survived bodily harm, and yetthis act took the most courage. I am not, nor have I ever been one to grovel. Nevertheless, Constable Harkness had the resources to find Midnight. The older gentleman sidestepped my generous deposit of fur. Odd. Had he not spoken my name? He retreated to a wingback chair near the fireplace and flapped his fingers, discouraging me from further attempts.

“Barely know her. I see,” Eddy said. He turned to Sissy.

Her cheeks flushed more than usual.“We should explain ourselves, Constable Harkness,” she said. “We have much to tell.”

“It’s not a social call?” He glanced at the sprawling plant. “Matilda and I get so few.”

“No, it’s a matter of urgency,” Eddy said. “We fear a woman’s been harmed.”

The constable scowled and clutched the arms of his chair.“Mr. Poe, you should work on your story openings. You might’ve told me this in the first place. Now take the work of Washington Irving—”

Eddy shot to his feet.“Washington Irving is much overrated. And there is nothing wrong with my storytelling.”

“Really, sir, I must object. Washington Irving is a brilliant writer, a visionary—”

“Visionary? I’ll grant you Irving is a pioneer. Butsir, he is no writer.”

Sissy tugged Eddy’s coat sleeve and coaxed him back to the couch of many buttons. “Husband, we are here to discuss Mrs. Arnold, not debate literature.”

I jumped on his lap to keep him seated. Midnight could not afford another delay.

Eddy stroked my back and settled onto the cushions. Once he began the oft-told story, I left him in favor of the curio cabinet. I pawed open the door to inspect the skulls. Some belonged to humans, others belonged to dogs and rabbits, others still belonged to species of unknown origin. I wondered if the gentleman had hunted them himself. If so, my estimation of him had just increased whiskerfold.

“Thoseare suspicious circumstances, Mr. Poe,” he said at the end of Eddy’s tale. “What is your account, Mrs. Poe?”

Eddy crossed his armsand his legs.“Yes, Mrs. Poe, I am awaiting your account as well. Yourfull andtruthful account. Will you give it?”

She laughed gaily, an odd response to what should have been a serious conversation.“You must excuse my husband, Constable. We’ve had an unsettling day. And we owe it to Abner Arnold. He is up to mischief, I know it.” She fixed the older man with a dark stare. “Ifeel it.”

Constable Harkness pursed his lips then said,“I don’t like the sound of that Arnold fellow. I’ll round up the watchmen and question the neighbors, new and old. Don’t worry, Mrs. Poe. We’ll find Tabitha Arnold if she’s alive.” He offered his hand to her, helping her from the couch. “Or even if she’s dead.”

***

“Quiet! Quiet!” Constable Harkness shouted over the voices. A familiar crowd assembled near Mr. Arnold’s house on Logan, evidently at the behest of the watchmen. A pawful of these black-cloaked enforcers lined the sidewalk, spacing themselves like crows on a clothesline. They held their long,pointed poles at an angle, forming a crisscross between each man to keep people from wandering. I did not count Watchman Smythe among their number. A pity. I’d met him during my last adventure and considered him trustworthy.

“Thank you all for coming,” the constable said to the people once they’d settled. “If you are forthcoming, I will be brief. If you are not, you will stand beneath this hellish summer sun until I am satisfied.” He mopped his brow with a handkerchief and tucked it in his waistcoat pocket.

I climbed to Eddy’s shoulder and surveyed the gathering over the top of Sissy’s bonnet: Mr. Eakins, Mr. Cook, Mr. Fitzgerald, Mr. Pettigrew, Mr. Jolley, even the old lady with the parasol whom we’d spoken to near the Arnold’s old home, and of course, Abner Arnold. Anyone with knowledge of the cobblers had been invited. I couldn’t have done a better job if I’d picked them myself. The watchmen must have escorted them here while Eddy, Sissy, and I dined at home with Muddy.

“Can we get on with this nonsense?” Mr. Jolley asked. “I left my cook in charge of the till, and I’ll bet my dying breath he’s filching it.”

“Very well,” Constable Harkness said. “Today, Mr. E. A. Poe and his wife paid me a visit, claiming that a Mrs. Tabitha Arnold, citizen of the Spring Garden District, has gone missing from her home.This home.” He motioned to the shanty behind him.

Abner Arnold leaned against the garden gate, his shirt collar damp with sweat. His perspiration didn’t register as peculiar on a summer day. The sun had dampened my coat, too. But when combined with his vacant stare and yellowing skin, it pronounced health problems for all to see. This illness had affected his reason, for he seemed less concerned with the citizens gathered against him than the object in his pocket, which he fingered beneath the fabric.

“We’ve heard as much from the watchmen,” Mr. Pettigrew shouted. “Tell us why we’re here.”

“There were too many conflicting stories about the woman,” the constable said. “So I brought you here to sort it out. Some believe Abner Arnold is behind her disappearance. Who holds this opinion? Speak now.”

“Oh, me,” Mr. Eakins said. “Anyone who can kill a cat is deranged enough to kill a human.” He scratched his elbow.

“Kill a cat?” Constable Harkness asked.

Kill a cat. Yes,now they were snapping the reins. What had taken me a day to solve had taken these people over a moon. Poe family excluded, most humans exhibited a feebleness of mind I found appalling. For this very reason, cats allowed themselves to be domesticated. Had we not, humans would have gone extinct from sheer stupidity. One had only to witness the use of a chamber pot to agree.

“Yes,” Mr. Eakins said. “I set him up with a black tom named Pluto. A few weeks later, the poor creature was hung from a tree near his shop…with its eye gouged out! Who else could have done it?” He motioned to the cobbler with a gnarled finger. “Out with it, Arnold. Acknowledge the corn.”

The accusation woke Mr. Arnold from his daze, and he took his hand from his pocket, giving full attention to the crowd.

“It’s true,” Mr. Pettigrew said. “Pluto’s ghost visited that same night, burning Mr. Arnold’s house down and leaving a demonic mark as a warning for all to see.”

Eddy touched my tail.“A fine likeness of you, eh, Catters?” he whispered.

I was too busy avoiding Mr. Arnold’s cold stare to reply. The man had noticed my personage atop Eddy’s shoulder and gazed at me with consternation, as if he recognized me but couldn’t sort the particulars.Pardon, but do we frequent the same stationer’s? The same grocer’s? No, no, I burned your house down and drove you insane. Ah! That clears it up! Good day, miss! The few instances we’d met, he’d been inebriated, and I attributed his memory loss to this. For once, I thanked liquor.

The lady with the parasol nodded.“You won’t find a more pickled human being than Abner Arnold. The devil drove him to drink, and the drink drove him to kill. I lived next to him on Green Street.”

“What superstition!” Constable Harkness said. “Who hasevidence of the cat’s killing?”

“I do,” Sissy said. She opened her white tasseled wrist bag—she’d secured the carryall after our luncheon—and produced the page I’d torn from Mr. Eakins’s Book of Cats. “This proves Mr. Eakins gave Mr. Arnold the black cat. It contains the Arnolds’ old address and a drawing of thecreature.” She ignored Eddy’s sharp inhale and offered the clue to the constable. “And many witnessed Pluto hanging from the tree. The courts aren’t interested in animal cruelty, I know. But this proves he’s capable of dreadful things.”

Mr. Eakins gave a little hop and clap.“Hee! That came from my book all right. But I don’t know howyou got it, Mrs. Poe.”

“I-I found it in the street,” she said. She glanced at me, then back to the crowd. “Mr. Fitzgerald, tell everyone about the rope Abner Arnold bought from your shop.”

Eddy gave Sissy a wry smile and whispered,“This isyour affair, not the constable’s, is it not? Superb orchestration, my dear. Detective Dupin may yet have a rival.”

Sissy put her finger to her lips.

“That’s right, Mrs. Poe,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. With his near-emaciated frame, he was the only one among us not sweating. “He bought the rope from me in May. I’ve long suspected Abner of the cat’s hanging. And just last night, I witnessed the couple arguing.”

Abner Arnold forgot about me. He shook his head as a dog might after a good rain shower then took a series of slow, labored steps toward Mr. Fitzgerald. Had he been this feeble last night, Midnight might’ve escaped unharmed. I wondered what had caused the stark change in his personality.

“This is all very interesting,” Constable Harkness said, “but I fail to see how the killing of a cat—”

“Forget the cat,” Mr. Arnold said with a rasp in his throat. “Fitzgerald took Tabitha from me. Then he killed her!”

Whispers rose from the crowd, the loudest of which came from Mr. Pettigrew,“Pshaw, that Irishman couldn’t scare a crow from a cornfield.”

The watchmen knocked their poles together, quieting the crowd.

Mr. Arnold screwed himself up to his full height, still a tail-length shorter than Mr. Fitzgerald.“Fitzgerald! Tell everyone how you came to my house last night with an axe.” He wiped his mouth with his jacket sleeve.

Mr. Fitzgerald laid his hands alongside his cheeks.“I’m afraid it’s true.”

“You turned up last night to threaten me. Said if I didn’t let you leave with my wife, you’d give me the blade.” He made a chopping motion against his scarred neck. “You gave it to her instead.”

The lady with the parasol gasped.

“No!” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “You’re lying!”

I yawned. Talk, talk, talk. We needed claws on the ground and tails in the air. And why had no one thought to search the home? I hopped to the ground and wove my way to the garden gate, avoiding the many feet. Something about this morning’s exploration bothered me, though I could not say what. I thought back to my investigation, going over each room in my mind. I remembered nothing of importance. I’d found the house in perfect order and the cellar empty.

The dispute continued behind me.

“Constable Harkness!” It was Mr. Cook’s turn. “I saw the shopkeepers arguing a few weeks back, something about a tree. Mrs. Arnold wanted to chop it down, and Mr. Fitzgerald didn’t. They came at each other, hammer and tongs, I tell you. Then he finished the fight by saying he’d make herpay if she touched the tree again.”

Mr. Fitzgerald pinched the bridge of his nose.

Mr. Pettigrew spoke next.“Mr. Fitzgerald had plenty of answers when I visited him this morning. He knew Mrs. Arnold wouldn’t be around to open her store. It was all very mysterioussss.” He drew out the last word.

“Whose side are you on, Pettigrew?” Constable Harkness said.

“Fitz is no murderer,” Eddy announced to the crowd. I so admired his speaking voice. He saved it for recitation since it commanded full attention—as it did now. All listeners turned to him. “Mrs. Poe and I are united in our support.”

“I could not agree with my husband more,” Sissy said.

“Thank you,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “I am gladsomeone will vouch for me.”

I sat on the walkway and swiveled my ears. Mr. Arnold had shut the front door, but I had other means of entry. I reached the kitchen window to discover a rag stuffed in the broken windowpane. Drat. I could not enter here. I retraced my steps to catch Mr. Fitzgerald and Mr. Arnold on the brink of physical confrontation. They faced each other, hands balled into fists.

“You killed her, Arnold,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “And are looking to blame me.”

“Not true! Not true!” Mr. Arnold shouted to the listeners. “Mr. Fitzgerald did it. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, you can’t trust the Irish.”

Mr. Fitzgerald charged Mr. Arnold and knocked him to the ground. The meaning ofIrisheluded me, but it held power. The two men grappled on the sidewalk, punching and flailing and kicking. One of the watchmen inserted his pole between the men and pried them apart. This did not please the shopkeepers, and the men rejoined to finish the battle. At Constable Harkness’s signal, the full complement of watchmen intervened. I marveled at the writhing pile of humans. Extinction indeed.

On my second sweep, I detected an indistinct yelp, so faint I could not divine its direction. Then I heard it again. It could’ve been my imagination. Or the wind. Nonetheless, I trotted around the house to investigate, pausing before the cellar doors. I had examined the earthen room this morning and found it empty. Empty? Had I not seen the bag of cement and the tower of bricks? No, they’d been missing. I’d found another clue! As before, I squeezed through the warped opening and descended the street staircase into darkness. A respite from the sun, the damp stone floor welcomed my paws. The sharp odor of quicklime permeated the air, along with a weaker but no less nauseating smell. I sneezed.

“Help me,” someone said.

I froze near the kitchen staircase, frightened by the request.

“Oh, won’t somebody help me.” The weak but familiar plea arose from the wall to my right. My tail switched side to side. Someone had placed bricks over the recess near the stairs, entombing my pal between the layers. Damnation. The new masonry resembled the old, and in my haste this morning, I’d failed to notice the damp mortar.

“Don’t worry, Midnight!” I yowled. “I have found you!”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_20]

Midnight’s Tale

“I WILL FREE YOU,” I said to Midnight. “But for kitty’s sake, how did you become trapped behind this wall? Masonry is not the swiftest of endeavors.”

“I had no choice,” he said.

I moved closer to hear him and caught another whiff of the stench. At least it was not Midnight’s rotting flesh I smelled. “Speak louder,” I told him.

Midnight raised his voice.“When you left last night, Mr. Arnold became enraged. He took the anger he had for you and turned it on Tabitha. He tossed dishes, turned over chairs. And then…and then he grabbed Tabitha by the neck again. I was convinced he would kill her on the spot. Then someone knocked on the door and interrupted him.”

“Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Please continue.”

“Mr. Arnold blew like the north wind when Mr. Fitzgerald arrived. As soon as he spied the axe the other man had brought, though, he put on a good face and invited him into the parlor. I couldn’t believe the civility! They talked abouttrees andgrudgesandburying the hatchet. You’d have taken them for a couple of nannies strolling through Rittenhouse Square! At the end of everything, Mr. Fitzgerald saidI’m sorry and handed the axe to Mr. Arnold. I’m sure you can guess this sealed our fate. Once the tall, bony gent left, Mr. Arnold turned to his wife with a look I never want to see on another human being as long as I live, a look of gleeful hatred. She fled through the kitchen and into the cellar, and I, of course, followed. The lock did not catch in time. I still don’t know why she chose to hide instead escaping to the street.”

“Humans do not think when they are afraid,” I offered.

“Mr. Arnold crashed through the door and down the steps. With a cruel laugh, he swung the axe, catching Tabitha in the head.”

“Goodness gracious. Another murder. This one should land him in the penitentiary.”

“Mr. Arnold must have been planning it all the while.”

“Indeed,” I said. “I found his masonry supplies at the start of our adventure, but I could not have guessed their purpose.”

“The fiend shoved her body in the alcove, and when he turned his back to prepare the mortar, I crept in behind Tabitha. There I hid for the duration.”

“Whatever for?”

“She is my companion!” he wailed. “Would you leave your Eddy?”

“No. Not even in death,” I said. “I will save you, Midnight. Let me return to my humans, and—”

“Don’t abandon me again, Cattarina!” he cried. “It’s very dark in here. And my perch is…uncertain.”

My heart beat a little faster.“Do not be frightened,” I said. “Take comfort in the words of Meowl?iere. ‘The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it’.”

“Do not quote at a time like this!” he screeched.

“Sorry,” I said. “The burden of verbosity is heavy. There are moments when—”

“Cattarina Poe!”

“Yes, yes, of course.” I took a deep breath and let out a scathing caterwaul that echoed throughout the chamber. I gave another and another until the doors at the street opened.

A shaft of sunlight filled the cellar. I dashed to the opening, expecting to find Eddy. The misshapen face of Abner Arnold loomed above me.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_21]

The Specter of Memory

ABNER ARNOLD REACHED FOR me and missed. I longed to slip through the portal and into the crowd above, but he blocked the entrance. So I repeated Mrs. Arnold’s mistake and looked for a hiding place in the interior. Poor woman, had she been a cat, she might’ve evaded her husband, for I found one straight away. I bounded up the kitchen staircase, careened off the top step, and sprang to a wooden beam, coming to rest in the space above the floor reserved for bats. Mr. Arnold had just entered the cellar when Eddy charged down the street entrance steps, followed by Sissy, Muddy, the constable, Mr. Fitzgerald, and the cadre of watchmen. The remainder must have taken their leave in the interim, for they did not appear next.

“Unhand my Cattarina, sir! Do not touch a single whisker!” Eddy said to Mr. Arnold. “Or you will feel my fists upon your head!”

Fear prevented me from leaping into Eddy’s arms. If I did, would the cobbler turn his fury on my companion, as he had on his own wife? Midnight’s cautionary tale chilled me, and I did not wish a similar version to play out here and now. Myhaunting performance had rendered Mr. Arnold insane. If the memory fog lifted and he recognized me as the same apparition from before, unpleasant would not begin to describe the outcome.

I walked along the joist and sat above the group. I convinced myself the situation called for strategy and patience, two things a huntress like me had in great supply. Moreover, now that Eddy and Sissy—two of the most capable humans in existence—had arrived, the wall puzzle would soon be solved, Midnight would be freed, and Constable Harkness would apprehend Mr. Arnold. I likened these machinations to the guts of Muddy’s mantle clock, and they must not be disturbed. Or eaten. I wondered sometimes how the old woman tolerated me. Slowly, very slowly, I lifted my tail and withdrew it from sight, laying it next to me on the wooden beam.

“Your cat?” Mr. Arnold said. “She’s Satan’s cat. And she’s here somewhere. I’ll find her yet.”

Eddy grabbed the man’s lapels, but Mr. Fitzgerald intervened, wresting my companion away. “Let the law handle him, Poe,” he said. “He’s finished.”

Sissy coughed into her handkerchief.“What is that smell?”

“It’s quicklime,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “I’d know it anywhere. Mr. Arnold bought a bag from me a week ago.”

“More lies,” Mr. Arnold said. He wiped sweat from the back of his enflamed neck.

A large cloth sack wedged between the joists by the stairs drew my attention. With perfect balance, I walked toward the item along the narrow beam. The bag contained the dry, gritty material I’d seen the masons mix at the new home site on Green Street. I glanced at Mr. Arnold’s head below. The tufts of burned hair formed a forest of stumps on his scalp.

“Enough talk,” Constable Harkness said. “Abner Arnold, now that we are in your house, do I have your permission to search it?”

“Go right ahead,” he said. The cobbler ascended the steps and flung open the kitchen door. “You will find nothing.” I shifted into shadow, certain he’d see me from this height. To my relief, he resumed his spot without incident.

Constable Harkness dispatched all but a single watchman to the ground floor of the cottage, commanding the enforcers toinspect every room for Mrs. Arnold. Human olfactory senses did not rival a cat’s or everyone in the room would have realized the woman lay beyond the brickwork and not upstairs. The constable posted his remaining man, a fellow he called Johnson, at the staircase near the street and stayed to converse in topics of which I had no interest.

Dust settled through the cracks, sifting us with debris as the Watchmen pounded above. Mr. Arnold withdrew and sat on the stairs, his head between his hands. Meanwhile, Eddy searched for me in the damp, dark corners, calling,“Catters…here, Catters.” As I expected, he paused at the newly bricked recess and studied the mortar. He tugged the top of his hair, lost in thought. I settled onto my perch and tried to influence him from a distance. Eddy did his best thinking under my gaze.

Sissy wiped the sediment from her hair and clothes.“Cattarina!” she said. “Are you here? You can come out now. It’s quite safe, I assure you.”

“She will turn up, Mrs. Poe,” Mr. Fitzgerald assured her. “Cats are rather genius.”

“Mr. Fitzgerald,” Sissy said, “what is quicklime used for? Mother useslime to preserve her eggs, but is that different—”

A watchman leaned through the kitchen door and said,“We’ve searched the entire house, what little there is. Mrs. Arnold isn’t here.”

“Gather the men and leave for my house,” Constable Harkness said. “Johnson and I will be along shortly.” He glanced at his pocket watch and buttoned his coat, indicating a departure.

The cobbler jumped to his feet, his ailment forgotten.“Go! That’s it! Go! I told you I was innocent.” He laughed and danced a little jig.

The constable ignored him and approached Sissy and Mr. Fitzgerald.“Sir, you have my leave. For now,” he said. “But I may have questions for you later.”

Mr. Fitzgerald hopped to it. He waved to the Poes as he made for the street.“Goodbye all! Goodbye!” He slapped Johnson’s shoulder on his way out. “Have a good afternoon!”

I stood and switched my tail. Eddy and Sissy had not solved the wall puzzle in time. Fiddlesticks. If Constable Harkness left, Mr. Arnold would never pay for his crimes. I contemplated which head I should pounce upon, Mr. Arnold’s or Constable Harkness’s. I settled on the constable’s. In the interest of solving the bigger crime, he would likely reserve punishment for my much smaller one. Besides which, Mr. Arnold scared me furless.

“You can’t,” Sissy said to the constable. She clasped her hands together. “Please. We haven’t found our cat yet.”

Eddy returned to his wife and held her close.“With or without Mr. Arnold’s blessing, we will stay and look for Cattarina. Do not fret, my dear.”

I crouched, calculating my angle.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Poe, but I must depart for home. Matilda is waiting. If you wish, I can leave Johnson,” he said. The man eyed a large crack in the brickwork near his feet. “I’m surprised the hovel didn’t collapse during our visit.”

I wiggled my rear, preparing for the jump.

“Hovel?” Mr. Arnold said. “I’ll have you know, this is a very well-constructed house.” He rapped against the brick wall with his knuckles.

“Meeeeoooowwwrrrrrr!”

Surprised by the howl—it had not come from me—I almost slipped from the beam. The room fell silent. The blood drained from Mr. Arnold’s face, turning him chalky.

“Meeeeoooowwwrrrrrr!” Midnight said again. The blow upon the bricks must have stirred him.

“That sound, it’s…it’s inhuman,” Eddy said, “and it’s coming from behind the wall! I knew the masonry looked recent.”

“Quicklime,” Sissy said under her breath. “Of course.”

“Johnson! Come here!” Constable Harkness clapped his hands. “Tear it down!”

“No!” Mr. Arnold protested.

Yes! Demolish the wall and reveal the evil deed! I leapt to another joist for a better view.

Eddy grabbed the cobbler by the shoulder and held him back while Johnson broke through the bricks with the watchman’s pole. As the mortar had not set, the structure fell with ease, revealing the body of Tabitha Arnold. She lay crumpled against the alcove’s interior and stared back at us with eyes much farther apart than nature intended. She had her husband to thank for this new look, as he’d split her skull nearly in half. The axe cleave ran from the top of her pate, along the bridge of her nose, and down to her chin, parting the hemispheres of her head. Perched on top of the woman’s corpse was Midnight. Infection had swollen his eye shut, giving him a rather hellish appearance. His tail bristled,and he spit fire at the man who’d killed his companion.

Sissy swooned. Constable Harkness caught her in time.“Poe,” he said, “you’ve got a murderer in your hands. Hold him tight.” He helped Sissy to her feet and lent her his arm.

“It’s Pluto, b-back from the dead.” Mr. Arnold strained to reach Midnight. “I walled the monster up within the tomb!” Eddy struggled to keep him still while Watchman Johnson looked on, dazed by Tabitha Arnold’s bloody corpse.

“Johnson! Drop your pole and help Mr. Poe,” the constable said. “Place Mr. Arnold under arrest.”

Watchman Johnson blinked.

“Never! I will not go to jail for something I didn’t do!” Mr. Arnold said. He twisted from Eddy’s grasp and pulled a knife from his pocket—the same pocketknife I’d seen at his house on Green Street. Before Watchman Johnson or Constable Harkness could stop him, Mr. Arnold unlocked the blade and dove for Eddy.

I unlocked my own and sprang from the joist.

I did not believe in hell, but if it existed, Abner and I would go together. I landed, claws first, and opened his scalp like a mouse belly. He dropped his knife and tried to swat me from his head, but I persisted. Unable to see with my back claws digging into his face, he staggered toward Eddy, and Eddy tripped him. The cobbler stumbled to the floor and stayed there. At last I had felled my quarry! I jumped to safety, settling near my companion’s feet without so much as a bent whisker.

“Don’t forget, Mr. Arnold,” Eddy said to him. “You can’t trust the Irish. Or their cats.”

Mr. Arnold stared at me, his eyes round and unblinking.“Release me from your power, you demon!” he shrieked. His eyes flickered with recognition. His memory had returned. “You are the cat in the fire!” he said to me. “You are the cat that haunts me! You are the c-cat…” He rolled to his side and drew up his knees. “It is coming back to me! It’s all coming back! The drink addled my brain. I have blacked out before, but never…never…” He slapped the flagstone floor in anger. “No, no, no!”

“What is coming back?” Sissy asked.

“Speak, man,” Eddy said.

“I killed Tabitha! I am the villain!”

***

Eddy wanted nothing more to do with Abner Arnold or his dreadful cellar. Despite his wishes to the contrary, Sissy demanded to stay andminister to the sick. This involved feeding Midnight a saucer of milk and wiping his ruined eye with a damp cloth. She completed these tasks in the Arnold’s kitchen after giving her husband a kiss on the cheek and a promise to return homesoonest. At their parting, I divined that Eddy knew Sissy had secrets, and Sissy knew Eddy had secrets, and they each resolved to let the other keep them. My intuition aided more than just the hunt.

Sissy set Midnight on the kitchen table and examined him all over.“You poor thing,” she said to him. “A hot meal and a warm bed are what you need. I know just the home for you.”

I supervised from the floor. The murmured voices of the watchmen floated up from the cellar through the planks. They’d been with Mrs. Arnold for the duration and would probably remain with her long after Sissy, Midnight, and I left. As for Mr. Arnold, Constable Harkness put him in a wagon that I hoped was bound for Eastern State Penitentiary.

“Your mistress is kind,” Midnight said to me. “I like her.”

“She is not my mistress,” I said. “That implies inequality. However, we can agree on her kindness. You will not find a more caring human, besides my Eddy, of course.”

Sissy left us to wash her hands in the basin.

Midnight looked at me with his one good eye.“We did it, Cattarina. We avenged Snip. Though at the cost of a woman’s life.”

“Your companion’s life.”

“Yes. That pains me. Deeply.” He settled into a kitty loaf and tucked his front paws under his chest. “Now that I know true companionship, Cattarina, I can’t go back to Sarah.”

“Dear me, that is a problem. I will think on it.” I joined him on the tabletop and groomed his ears. We purred together, harmony and melody.

“Mrs. Arnold may have a salve I can use on your eye,” Sissy said to Midnight. “It can’t hurt to look.” She began a search of the kitchen cupboards, opening and closing the drawers to the jingle of flatware. She unfastened the cabinet at eye level to reveal rows and rows of canning jars filled with brown shavings. “Hello, what’s this?” She took down a container and unlatched the metal catch, releasing a spicy sweet smell that filled the room.

My tongue paused, mid-lick.

“Sassafras bark,” Sissy whispered. “And so much of it.”

The odor drifted through my thoughts, a long forgotten ghost that haunted my memory. I traveled to the edge of the table and studied the jar in her hand. Mrs. Arnold’s tea, of course. The woman had served so many pots of it to her husband—watering him as Constable Harkness did Matilda—that the scent had etched itself into the story, the black cat’s story.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_22]

Strong Medicine

“DOCTOR LEABOURNE,” SISSY ASKED, “what do you think of Sassafras tea?”

In the days following the discovery of Mrs. Arnold’s body, Eddy invited Dr. Leabourne to Poe House. The physician visited often, and though he could not cure Sissy, his presence always seemed to give the family hope—in my estimation, the strongest medicine. Late this afternoon, he and I sat on the edge of Sissy’s bed, examining our patient, who reclined against her pillows.

“Sassafras tea?” he asked. Robust of frame and nature, Dr. Leabourne was the catch of the litter. I had never seen a more angular jaw, a fuller head of wheat-colored hair. But he was no Eddy. “Do you mean taken as a tonic?” He took her wrist and placed his fingers over her veins. I did not know what covering them would do but noted it anyway.

“Yes, do you have any faith in it? I thought it might help my ailment.”

“Sassafras is a blood tonic.” He released her wrist and felt her forehead, a more familiar procedure. “It will do nothing for consumption, I’m afraid.” He withdrew his touch and reached for his black bag. “If you like the taste, you may have it as a refresher. But I caution you. It has poisonous effects.”

Sissy sat forward.“Poisonous? How so?”

“It’s very damaging to the organs, especially if they’re weak to start. If taken for too long a period, it causes sweating, nausea, even hallucination.”

“Can it kill a person?”

Dr. Leabourne snapped his bag closed.“In large doses? Most certainly.” He rose from the bed. “You are as well as can be expected, considering the fright you had. Get plenty of good food, plenty of fresh air, and stay—”

“I know, stay home and rest.” She flopped back against the pillows. “That may comfort the body, but it positively shrivels the mind.”

“Feel better, Mrs. Poe. Feel better.” Then he left, as he usually did, to speak Muddy and Eddy in the parlor and give them hisdiagnosis. In truth, I had already made my assessment. But I much preferred the doctor’s optimism.

Sissy pulled me onto her lap.“Cattarina? Did you hear the doctor? He said sassafras causes hallucinations. Even death.”

Death. Her glee did not match the topic. Perhaps the doctor had left too soon.

“Do you know what this means? Tabitha Arnold didn’t want to fell the sassafras tree. She wanted its bark for tea. Don’t you see?” She held me up and looked into my eyes. “Mrs. Arnold wanted to kill Mr. Arnold, and who could blame her? The debt, the drinking, the violence. Liquor had already weakened his liver, and the sassafras doomed it.” Her eyes twinkled. “This must have caused the delusions that led to his murderous actions, not the trips to the tavern. Oh, I am so astute!” She hugged me tight. “We make a grand team, don’t we, girl?”

When I wiggled, she released me and left the bed to tidy her hair in the mirror over the dresser.“I give this secret to you and you alone, Cattarina. We must never,ever tell Eddy that any means other than the bottle moved Mr. Arnold to violence.” She slid another pin into her bun. “I have my reasons. And besides, it won’t make a bit of difference to Mr. Arnold since he will live out the remainder of his days in an asylum. And I do mean days.” She finished by giving the back of her head a partial look in the glass.

We arrived downstairs to find Dr. Leabourne at the door. Eddy tried to press a few coins into his hand, but the good doctor refused and took a handshake instead. Once we were alone, Muddy revived us with a suggestion.“Who would like an early supper? If you don’t expect fixins, you can have it now.”

Supper? Yes, I would take piece of chicken skin, dear Muddy. I’d already smelled it from upstairs.

“For once, I have an appetite,” Sissy said. “Let’s eat.”

“That is no wonder,” Eddy said, guiding his wife by the small of her back. “Dr. Leabourne says you are in good health.” He ushered her into the kitchen, along with the rest of us, and sat her at the table. “And to celebrate, I’d like to present my story, ‘The Black Cat.’”

“You finished it?” Sissy asked.

“I will leave that to your conclusion, wife.” He produced a scroll from inside his coat. “You broke my heart after the first draft. See if this one is to your liking.” He handed the curled page to her.

The story had taken but an instant to finish after the horror in the Arnolds’ cellar. That very night, once Sissy and Muddy had been put to bed, he and I worked at shaping the letters, staying up until dawn to finish them. My crime solving had yet again inspired him to write. As his muse, this thrilled me since I had begun to feel my importance slipping as of late, at least with regard to his work. The document stayed on his desk another day while he considered it. I likened it to a pie on a windowsill. He must have thought it cool enough to bring down this morning.

Muddy stoked the cook stove with a piece of kindling.“Read the story aloud, Virginia.”

Once Eddy took his seat, Sissy unrolled the paper, her fingers shaking, and recited his words:“‘One night as I sat, half stupefied, in a den of more than infamy, my attention was suddenly drawn to some black object, reposing upon the head of one of the immense hogsheads of Gin, or of Rum, which constituted the chief furniture of the apartment. I had been looking steadily at the top of this hogshead for some minutes, and what now caused me surprise was the fact that I had not sooner perceived the object thereupon. I approached it, and touched it with my hand. It was a black cat—a very large one—fully as large as Pluto, and closely resembling him in every respect but one. Pluto had not a white hair upon any portion of his body; but this cat had a large, although indefinite splotch of white, covering nearly the whole region of the breast.’”

Muddy floured and fried the chicken while her daughter read, nodding at parts of the story. When the old woman turned her back, Eddy took down a tin of jerky from the pantry and fed me a piece. And then another. I came back again, but he waved me away. So I settled next to his feet and contented myself with the sound of Sissy’s voice. I realized now that Eddy could not live without either one of us. To thrive, a writer must have a muse to bring the story and an audience to appreciate it. Sissy and I were not exactly a team. But to quote Ariscatle, “Our whole was greater than the sum of our parts.” Constable Harkness would have to agree. We’d helped him, too.

“Oh, Eddy,” Sissy said at the end, “this is a marvelous eulogy.” She handed the scroll back to him, and he replaced it in his jacket.

“So you like it?” Eddy asked.

“How could I not?” she said.

“I liked it, too,” Muddy said. “Even if it parts from the truth here and there.”

“Some of the circumstances have been changed to protect the innocent,” he said. He reached down and patted the top of my head.

“Mother? Can you give us a minute?” Sissy asked. “I need to talk to Eddy, alone.”

“Watch the stove,” Muddy said before leaving. “I don’t want it to get too hot.”

After a quiet period, Sissy spoke.“Your writing had more depth than usual.”

“It did?” Eddy’s shoes shifted beneath the table. The elation in his voice heartened me. “I simply paid the black cat the kindness he deserved—”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “Mother may not have heard it between the lines, but I did. How the main character’s drunkenness led to the ruination of his sanity? And took away his wife?”

Eddy did not answer.

“I will always be with you, Edgar, in life and in death. Do not fear. But our kingdom by the sea needs a strong ruler. Will you try again? For me?”

“Yes, Virginia, of course.”

A light scratch at the kitchen door stirred me. I hopped on the sideboard and peeked through the window. Midnight sat at the backdoor, waiting for it to open. I looked to Eddy and Sissy, still in the midst of their talk. Though from her smile, it had turned to lighter subjects.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you for weeks, Sissy, but we’ve been so busy,” Eddy said. “I heard from William again about the collection.The Prose Romances of Edgar Allan Poe will soon be for sale. I am the luckiest man alive!”

When they embraced, I jumped down to visit with my pal, causing the tom to leap with fright.“I only meant to startle you, not set your heart afire,” I said to him.

“It’s just been a few days since my Tabitha’s death, and my nerves are still mending,” he said. He stared back at me with both eyes. “My infection is mending, too. Mr. Eakins applies a cream every morning and every evening. But I can open the lid now.”

“Cats are his business, you know.” I sat near the nail head that once vexed Eddy. Muddy had knocked it flat with a rock and a curse in recent days. “Do you mean to stay with the old man?”

“That’s one of the reasons for my visit.”

“We are the others!” Silas said, skirting the corner with his brother. His fur shook as he trotted. “Greetings, Cattarina! We found a new escape hole in the cellar!”

“You are looking well,” Samuel said to me.

“I am resplendent with victory,” I said. “I trust you heard our haunt was successful?”

“All of Spring Garden has heard!” Silas said.

“Join us?” Midnight asked.

Eddy and Sissy would not miss me if I returned by moonrise. I followed the toms to the now-familiar courtyard on Franklin. Near the base of the sassafras tree, George and Margaret waited next to a coiled snake of sausage links.“Hello, Cattarina!” they said in unison.

“How marvelous!” I said. “Where did the meat come from?”

“You may be the Huntress of Spring Garden,” Midnight said, “but I am the Thief of Rittenhouse.”

And so he was. He would steal part of my heart this night, the part I considered feral and free and utterly feline, and he would never return it. We tore apart the links and ate them by the tree that started it all, honoring Snip with our camaraderie. Mr. Fitzgerald’s shop was closed this time of day, and Mr. Arnold’s shop stood vacant and boarded. Aside from the lamplighter working his way along Franklin, we had our privacy.

When we’d finished our repast, my pals offered their goodbyes, along with assurances of future meetings. While our friendship had just begun, I could not say the same of Midnight. He and I stayed behind, nestled among the roots of the tree. “Thank you for the gift,” I said to him.

“The sausage? It was nothing.”

“No, the gift of memory. I love this tree, and I will be glad to think of pleasanter things when I pass it. There are so few scaling trees left in this part of Philadelphia. It’s all in the bark, you know. If it’s too smooth—”

“Cattarina, I’m leaving.”

Twilight settled into the courtyard, blending with the tree’s shadow until they became one. “Yes, I know,” I said at last. “When Sissy took you to Mr. Eakins’s house, I predicted the outcome. Will you be very far away?”

“I will be with a family on a wagon. From the way it’s packed, I think they mean to travel a great distance. They need a mouser for the journey, you see. I put that much together. Though I still don’t know what aMissouri is.”

“Mizzzzouri. The word that tickles my tongue,” I said. “Are you pleased with your family?”

He stood and arched his back, giving it a stretch, then walked into the open.“Very pleased. My new companions are a young man about Sissy’s age and his wife—Ben and Aggie.”

“Any children?” I followed him and brushed along his side.

“No. But I expect that will change. By then, I will be king mouser and will have earned a good place in their home.” His pupils grew very large. “Think of it, Cattarina, I will have a job. A purpose.”

“All cats should be so fortunate,” I said.

“Come with me?” When I did not answer, he licked my cheek. “Then I’ll visit you one day.”

“Or I will find you.”

We were both terrible liars.

Once he left, I climbed the tree and watched the black cat,my black cat, vanish between the darkened buildings of Green Street. I would miss him, but I could not leave Eddy, for my companion held the other part of my heart, the part that was constant and pure and completely devoted. From here, Poe House was no bigger than Sissy’s red trinket box, so fragile and small. Oh, how I longed to protect that little dwelling and keep its occupants safe and merry, if not for all time, then for as long as possible.

And I did until fall, the season of the raven.

Dear Friend:

Soon after our adventure, the newspaper printed the black cat’seulogy. I surmised as much from the stack of copies Eddy brought home and from the fuss he made over one particular page. Nothing escapes this cat of letters. Speaking of me, and I amalways speaking of me, I considered the papers splendid napping material.

In the meantime, we do hope you purchase one of Eddy’s works. Winter is coming, and we are in need of mutton.

And chicken feathers.

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Yours truly,

Cattarina Poe

“The Black Cat”

by Edgar Allan Poe

Originally published in theUnited States Saturday Post, August 19, 1843

FOR THE MOST WILD, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not — and very surely do I not dream. But tomorrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified — have tortured — have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but Horror — to many they will seem less terrible than barroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the commonplace — some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.

From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of animals, and was indulged by my parents with a great variety of pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, and, in my manhood, I derived from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. To those who have cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification thus derivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.

I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a disposition not uncongenial with my own. Observing my partiality for domestic pets, she lost no opportunity of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. We had birds, gold-fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and a cat.

This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise. Not that she was everserious upon this point — and I mention the matter at all for no better reason than that it happens, just now, to be remembered.

Pluto — this was the cat’s name — was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about the house. It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him from following me through the streets.

Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for several years, during which my general temperament and character — through the instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance — had (I blush to confess it) experienced a radical alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I suffered myself to use intemperate language to my wife. At length, I even offered her personal violence. My pets, of course, were made to feel the change in my disposition. I not only neglected, but illused them. For Pluto, however, I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of maltreating the rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when by accident, or through affection, they came in my way. But my disease grew upon me — for what disease is like Alcohol ! — and at length even Pluto, who was now becoming old, and consequently somewhat peevish — even Pluto began to experience the effects of my ill temper.

One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him; when, in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket a penknife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket ! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.

When reason returned with the morning — when I had slept off the fumes of the night’s debauch — I experienced a sentiment half of horror, half of remorse, for the crime of which I had been guilty; but it was, at best, a feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained untouched. I again plunged into excess, and soon drowned in wine all memory of the deed.

In the meantime the cat slowly recovered. The socket of the lost eye presented, it is true, a frightful appearance, but he no longer appeared to suffer any pain. He went about the house as usual, but, as might be expected, fled in extreme terror at my approach. I had so much of my old heart left, as to be at first grieved by this evident dislike on the part of a creature which had once so loved me. But this feeling soon gave place to irritation. And then came, as if to my final and irrevocable overthrow, the spirit of PERVERSENESS. Of this spirit philosophy takes no account. Yet I am not more sure that my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart — one of the indivisible primary faculties, or sentiments, which give direction to the character of Man. Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a silly action, for no other reason than because he knows he shouldnot? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is Law, merely because we understand it to be such? This spirit of perverseness, I say, came to my final overthrow. It was this unfathomable longing of the soul to vex itself — to offer violence to its own nature — to do wrong for the wrong’s sake only — that urged me to continue and finally to consummate the injury I had inflicted upon the unoffending brute. One morning, in cool blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and hung it to the limb of a tree; — hung it with the tears streaming from my eyes, and with the bitterest remorse at my heart; — hung itbecause I knew that it had loved me, and because I felt it had given me no reason of offence; — hung itbecause I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin — a deadly sin that would so jeopardize my immortal soul as to place it — if such a thing were possible — even beyond the reach of the infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and Most Terrible God.

On the night of the day on which this cruel deed was done, I was aroused from sleep by the cry of fire. The curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole house was blazing. It was with great difficulty that my wife, a servant, and myself, made our escape from the conflagration. The destruction was complete. My entire worldly wealth was swallowed up, and I resigned myself thenceforward to despair.

I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity. But I am detailing a chain of facts — and wish not to leave even a possible link imperfect. On the day succeeding the fire, I visited the ruins. The walls, with one exception, had fallen in. This exception was found in a compartment wall, not very thick, which stood about the middle of the house, and against which had rested the head of my bed. The plastering had here, in great measure, resisted the action of the fire — a fact which I attributed to its having been recently spread. About this wall a dense crowd were collected, and many persons seemed to be examining a particular portion of it with very minute and eager attention. The words “strange!” “singular!” and other similar expressions, excited my curiosity. I approached and saw, as if graven inbas relief upon the white surface, the figure of a giganticcat. The impression was given with an accuracy truly marvellous. There was a rope about the animal’s neck.

When I first beheld this apparition — for I could scarcely regard it as less — my wonder and my terror were extreme. But at length reflection came to my aid. The cat, I remembered, had been hung in a garden adjacent to the house. Upon the alarm of fire, this garden had been immediately filled by the crowd — by some one of whom the animal must have been cut from the tree and thrown, through an open window, into my chamber. This had probably been done with the view of arousing me from sleep. The falling of other walls had compressed the victim of my cruelty into the substance of the freshly-spread plaster; the lime of which, with the flames, and the ammonia from the carcass, had then accomplished the portraiture as I saw it.

Although I thus readily accounted to my reason, if not altogether to my conscience, for the startling fact just detailed, it did not the less fail to make a deep impression upon my fancy. For months I could not rid myself of the phantasm of the cat; and, during this period, there came back into my spirit a half-sentiment that seemed, but was not, remorse. I went so far as to regret the loss of the animal, and to look about me, among the vile haunts which I now habitually frequented, for another pet of the same species, and of somewhat similar appearance, with which to supply its place.

One night as I sat, half stupified, in a den of more than infamy, my attention was suddenly drawn to some black object, reposing upon the head of one of the immense hogsheads of Gin, or of Rum, which constituted the chief furniture of the apartment. I had been looking steadily at the top of this hogshead for some minutes, and what now caused me surprise was the fact that I had not sooner perceived the object thereupon. I approached it, and touched it with my hand. It was a black cat — a very large one — fully as large as Pluto, and closely resembling him in every respect but one. Pluto had not a white hair upon any portion of his body; but this cat had a large, although indefinite splotch of white, covering nearly the whole region of the breast.

Upon my touching him, he immediately arose, purred loudly, rubbed against my hand, and appeared delighted with my notice. This, then, was the very creature of which I was in search. I at once offered to purchase it of the landlord; but this person made no claim to it — knew nothing of it — had never seen it before.

I continued my caresses, and, when I prepared to go home, the animal evinced a disposition to accompany me. I permitted it to do so; occasionally stooping and patting it as I proceeded. When it reached the house it domesticated itself at once, and became immediately a great favorite with my wife.

For my own part, I soon found a dislike to it arising within me. This was just the reverse of what I had anticipated; but — I know not how or why it was — its evident fondness for myself rather disgusted and annoyed. By slow degrees, these feelings of disgust and annoyance rose into the bitterness of hatred. I avoided the creature; a certain sense of shame, and the remembrance of my former deed of cruelty, preventing me from physically abusing it. I did not, for some weeks, strike, or otherwise violently ill use it; but gradually — very gradually — I came to look upon it with unutterable loathing, and to flee silently from its odious presence, as from the breath of a pestilence.

What added, no doubt, to my hatred of the beast, was the discovery, on the morning after I brought it home, that, like Pluto, it also had been deprived of one of its eyes. This circumstance, however, only endeared it to my wife, who, as I have already said, possessed, in a high degree, that humanity of feeling which had once been my distinguishing trait, and the source of many of my simplest and purest pleasures.

With my aversion to this cat, however, its partiality for myself seemed to increase. It followed my footsteps with a pertinacity which it would be difficult to make the reader comprehend. Whenever I sat, it would crouch beneath my chair, or spring upon my knees, covering me with its loathsome caresses. If I arose to walk it would get between my feet and thus nearly throw me down, or, fastening its long and sharp claws in my dress, clamber, in this manner, to my breast. At such times, although I longed to destroy it with a blow, I was yet withheld from so doing, partly by a memory of my former crime, but chiefly — let me confess it at once — by absolutedread of the beast.

This dread was not exactly a dread of physical evil — and yet I should be at a loss how otherwise to define it. I am almost ashamed to own — yes, even in this felon’s cell, I am almost ashamed to own — that the terror and horror with which the animal inspired me, had been heightened by one of the merest chimaeras it would be possible to conceive. My wife had called my attention, more than once, to the character of the mark of white hair, of which I have spoken, and which constituted the sole visible difference between the strange beast and the one I had destroyed. The reader will remember that this mark, although large, had been originally very indefinite; but, by slow degrees — degrees nearly imperceptible, and which for a long time my Reason struggled to reject as fanciful — it had, at length, assumed a rigorous distinctness of outline. It was now the representation of an object that I shudder to name — and for this, above all, I loathed, and dreaded, and would have rid myself of the monster had I dared — it was now, I say, the image of a hideous — of a ghastly thing — of the GALLOWS! — oh, mournful and terrible engine of Horror and of Crime — of Agony and of Death!

And now was I indeed wretched beyond the wretchedness of mere Humanity. Anda brute beast — whose fellow I had contemptuously destroyed —a brute beast to work out for me — for me a man, fashioned in the image of the High God — so much of insufferable wo! Alas! neither by day nor by night knew I the blessing of Rest any more! During the former the creature left me no moment alone; and, in the latter, I started, hourly, from dreams of unutterable fear, to find the hot breath of the thing upon my face, and its vast weight — an incarnate Night-Mare that I had no power to shake off — incumbent eternally upon my heart!

Beneath the pressure of torments such as these, the feeble remnant of the good within me succumbed. Evil thoughts became my sole intimates — the darkest and most evil of thoughts. The moodiness of my usual temper increased to hatred of all things and of all mankind; while, from the sudden, frequent, and ungovernable outbursts of a fury to which I now blindly abandoned myself, my uncomplaining wife, alas! was the most usual and the most patient of sufferers.

One day she accompanied me, upon some household errand, into the cellar of the old building which our poverty compelled us to inhabit. The cat followed me down the steep stairs, and, nearly throwing me headlong, exasperated me to madness. Uplifting an axe, and forgetting, in my wrath, the childish dread which had hitherto stayed my hand, I aimed a blow at the animal which, of course, would have proved instantly fatal had it descended as I wished. But this blow was arrested by the hand of my wife. Goaded, by the interference, into a rage more than demoniacal, I withdrew my arm from her grasp and buried the axe in her brain. She fell dead upon the spot, without a groan.

This hideous murder accomplished, I set myself forthwith, and with entire deliberation, to the task of concealing the body. I knew that I could not remove it from the house, either by day or by night, without the risk of being observed by the neighbors. Many projects entered my mind. At one period I thought of cutting the corpse into minute fragments, and destroying them by fire. At another, I resolved to dig a grave for it in the floor of the cellar. Again, I deliberated about casting it in the well in the yard — about packing it in a box, as if merchandize, with the usual arrangements, and so getting a porter to take it from the house. Finally I hit upon what I considered a far better expedient than either of these. I determined to wall it up in the cellar — as the monks of the middle ages are recorded to have walled up their victims.

For a purpose such as this the cellar was well adapted. Its walls were loosely constructed, and had lately been plastered throughout with a rough plaster, which the dampness of the atmosphere had prevented from hardening. Moreover, in one of the walls was a projection, caused by a false chimney, or fireplace, that had been filled up, and made to resemble the rest of the cellar. I made no doubt that I could readily displace the bricks at this point, insert the corpse, and wall the whole up as before, so that no eye could detect any thing suspicious.

And in this calculation I was not deceived. By means of a crow-bar I easily dislodged the bricks, and, having carefully deposited the body against the inner wall, I propped it in that position, while, with little trouble, I re-laid the whole structure as it originally stood. Having procured mortar, sand, and hair, with every possible precaution, I prepared a plaster which could not be distinguished from the old, and with this I very carefully went over the new brickwork. When I had finished, I felt satisfied that all was right. The wall did not present the slightest appearance of having been disturbed. The rubbish on the floor was picked up with the minutest care. I looked around triumphantly, and said to myself — “Here at least, then, my labor has not been in vain.”

My next step was to look for the beast which had been the cause of so much wretchedness; for I had, at length, firmly resolved to put it to death. Had I been able to meet with it, at the moment, there could have been no doubt of its fate; but it appeared that the crafty animal had been alarmed at the violence of my previous anger, and forebore to present itself in my present mood. It is impossible to describe, or to imagine, the deep, the blissful sense of relief which the absence of the detested creature occasioned in my bosom. It did not make its appearance during the night — and thus for one night at least, since its introduction into the house, I soundly and tranquilly slept; aye, slept even with the burden of murder upon my soul!

The second and the third day passed, and still my tormentor came not. Once again I breathed as a freeman. The monster, in terror, had fled the premises forever! I should behold it no more! My happiness was supreme! The guilt of my dark deed disturbed me but little. Some few inquiries had been made, but these had been readily answered. Even a search had been instituted — but of course nothing was to be discovered. I looked upon my future felicity as secured.

Upon the fourth day of the assassination, a party of the police came, very unexpectedly, into the house, and proceeded again to make rigorous investigation of the premises. Secure, however, in the inscrutability of my place of concealment, I felt no embarrassment whatever. The officers bade me accompany them in their search. They left no nook or corner unexplored. At length, for the third or fourth time, they descended into the cellar. I quivered not in a muscle. My heart beat calmly as that of one who slumbers in innocence. I walked the cellar from end to end. I folded my arms upon my bosom, and roamed easily to and fro. The police were thoroughly satisfied and prepared to depart. The glee at my heart was too strong to be restrained. I burned to say if but one word, by way of triumph, and to render doubly sure their assurance of my guiltlessness.

“Gentlemen,” I said at last, as the party ascended the steps, “I delight to have allayed your suspicions. I wish you all health, and a little more courtesy. By the bye, gentlemen, this — this is a very well constructed house.” (In the rabid desire to say something easily, I scarcely knew what I uttered at all.) — “I may say anexcellently well constructed house. These walls — are you going, gentlemen? — these walls are solidly put together;” and here, through the mere phrenzy of bravado, I rapped heavily, with a cane which I held in my hand, upon that very portion of the brickwork behind which stood the corpse of the wife of my bosom.

But may God shield and deliver me from the fangs of the Arch-Fiend ! No sooner had the reverberation of my blows sunk into silence, than I was answered by a voice from within the tomb! — by a cry, at first muffled and broken, like the sobbing of a child, and then quickly swelling into one long, loud, and continuous scream, utterly anomalous and inhuman — a howl — a wailing shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, such as might have arisen only out of hell, conjointly from the throats of the dammed in their agony and of the demons that exult in the damnation.

Of my own thoughts it is folly to speak. Swooning, I staggered to the opposite wall. For one instant the party upon the stairs remained motionless, through extremity of terror and of awe. In the next, a dozen stout arms were toiling at the wall. It fell bodily. The corpse, already greatly decayed and clotted with gore, stood erect before the eyes of the spectators. Upon its head, with red extended mouth and solitary eye of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced me into murder, and whose informing voice had consigned me to the hangman. I had walled the monster up within the tomb!