“Bowery of The Crimson Frock and Flesh”

One story from the soon to be released book, Part One of Two:

"HALLOW II": A Portentous Epoch of Sagacious Redolence and Epiphany

or

(A Significant Era of Perceptive Aroma and Vision)



“Bowery of The Crimson Frock and Flesh”

By



Gregory V. Boulware



“One day men will look back and say, I gave birth to the twentieth century”



~Jack The Ripper~

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Coincidences, seemingly of a marvelous character, there are few persons who have not, on occasion, been startled. It also goes without saying; even the calmest of thinkers have experienced a vague thrilling half-credence in the supernatural genre.

Speaking of certain, albeit, limited, coincidences, understand that we, Mr. ‘Eddie’ Poe and I, the Editor / Publisher, choose to speak of this topic. In my own heart, I cannot speak of his; there dwells no faith in the praetor nature. In past and probably, future conversations, men will debate the issue of the original intentions of God’s Laws. They may dispute that nature and its God are two. The latter creating the former can, at will, control and/or modify it. Would you not agree, my friend? The insanity of logic has, of course, assumed it is not that the Deity cannot modify his laws, the question is of will. Does man insult God with the imagination of a possible necessity for modification? Mr. Poe espouses the origin of these laws were fashioned to embrace all and every contingency which could lie in the future. All that one would need to do is to pay the strictest and closes attention with unwavering indulgences.

This topic is only referred to as coincidences. It was submitted for my review as ‘Bowery of the Crimson Frock and Flesh - The Poe Report.’ 

What we are attempting to convey, should be seen as a situation between fate and an unhappy young lady, known to many as Miss Mary Cecilia Rogers and the coincidental cross reference of a Miss Marie Roget along with the portentous examination of Miss Mary Kelly. Other victims in this narrative include a Mademoiselle L’Espanaye along with her mother, at a certain epoch in their history, therein existed in a paralleled contemplation of exactitude. In proceeding, the display of this sad tale, and in tracing the mystery, which enshrouded the two, it is our design to hint at the extension of this parallel happenstance.

Adopted in Paris, the suggestion of the discovery of an assassin are founded in any similarity could quite possibly, produce a very similar result.

Consider the most trifling variation of facts in this supposition. With respect to the latter branch, the two cases might give rise to the most important miscalculations. Thoroughly diverting the eventful courses, a mathematical error in which its own individuality may be inappreciated by a process resulting enormously at variance with the truth. We must not fail in our understanding the calculus of probability, which forbids any ideas of an extension of the parallel effect. In proportion, this parallel has already been long-drawn and exactly on point. For example, nothing is of sixes having been thrown twice in succession in a game of craps, is a sufficient cause for betting against the odds, that a third pair of sixes could be thrown. This effect suggests usual refection by an intelligent individual at once. It would be impossible to believe that the first two attempts would have any influence over the third throw. The chance that it would happen again would as precisely as it would have been on the first two throws. Yes?

Let us not pretend the philosophical aspect needs no exposure. Would it not be sufficient to say that it forms one of an infinite series of mistakes – the rise in the path of reason through propensity for seeking truth in every detail?

Would you not agree…?

The mentality of the analytical mind is usually in and of itself susceptible to analysis. Some people only appreciate them only for the resulting effectiveness. Among other things, we’ve come to know that they are always, when inordinately possessed by the possessor, the source of great enjoyment. Just like the strongman of a bodybuilder who tends to show off his muscles with feats of strength. Dis-tangling the tangled and puzzling webs of deception delights in exercises of gray cell exertion. To this type of personality, pleasure is derived from the most trivial of occupations that employ their particular talents.

By complete and utter observation, this opportunity allows the portrayal of the higher powers of the reflective intellect. Men and women of the highest order of intellect have been known to take an (apparently) unaccountable delight in their special analytical abilities; which a proficiency implies the capacity for success in all important understanding where mind versus mind.

The analysts depicted within this writing “should not be confounded with simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is often remarkably incapable of analysis.” According to Mr. Poe. I would certainly agree with the observation of the fancy and the imagination, whereas, it would be found, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative are never otherwise than analytic. 

Lord Charles Alexander Duprae lived in Paris, France from May through September during the turn of the 18^th century. This young man was considered to be a gentleman. Indeed, he was of an illustrious family. A variety of events have reduced their financial status to poverty. His creditors allowed him every courtesy. He never showed any energy towards the retrieval of his fortunes. He managed on a meager income from the family estate and a rigorous economy. Duprae was able to procure the necessities of life without too much trouble. His sole luxury was books. In Paris, these were readily obtainable.

Duprae and I met at an obscure library by accident. We were both in search of a very rare and remarkable volume, a one of a kind item. The ‘Rue Montmartre’ was our bowery of chance and close communion. The detailed history of his family and the entire candor that was afforded, found me deeply astonished. At length, I reciprocated the confidentiality. We shared a common temper, although my worldly circumstances were somewhat less embarrassing than his. With permission, the experience of renting, and furnishing in a style, which suited the fantastic gloom, a time-eaten mansion tottering to its fall in a desolate retired portion of ‘Faubourg St. Germain,’ was shared by we two. The old grotesque mansion was long deserted through superstitions we did not ask about. We busied our souls in dreams, conversing, reading, and writing until warned by the clock when darkness came to an end.   

We took a stroll one night down a long dusty and dirty street. It was in the vicinity of the ‘Palais Royal.’ We were both occupied with thought. Suddenly, Duprae broke the silence. He said, “He is a very little fellow, yes?”

I replied unwittingly without observing the extraordinary manner in which he chimed in with my meditations. After I recovered from the realization of Duprae’s ability to know what I was thinking.

“Duprae,” I said, “how do you…how did you know what I was thinking?” I looked at him. I paused, to ascertain without a doubt, if he actually knew what and of whom I was thinking. He looked back at me and said, “Why do you pause? You were remarking to yourself that his diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy.”

He said, “He is a very little fellow, yes?”

I replied unwittingly without observing the extraordinary manner is which chimed in with my meditations. After I recovered from the realization of Duprae’s ability to know what I was thinking.

“Duprae,” I said, "how do you…how did you know what I was thinking?” I looked at him, I paused to ascertain without a doubt, if he actually knew what and of whom I was thinking. He looked back at me and said, “Why so you pause? You were remarking to yourself that his diminutive figure unfitted him for tragedy.”

As memory lends, I do recall a Chantilly. He was a Quandom Cobbler. His shop was in the Rue St. Denis. The cobbler went mad, so they say. He apparently attempted an on stage Portra Yal in the role of ‘Xerxes,’ a character in one of Crebillion’s tragedies.

“Damn it man, tell me the method, if there is such, of how you’ve come to know my soulful thinking on this matter?”

Duprae smiled. “It was the fruitier who brought you to conclude, the shoe repairman was not tall enough to play the role of ‘Xerxes.’”

“I know of no fruitier.” I exclaimed.

“Sure you do…”

“For the life of me man, I do not know of whom or what you speak!” The more I tried to recollect, the more puzzled I became.

“He was the man who bumped into you when we turned the corner to enter the street – just a few minutes ago,” he explained.

“Oh yes – how astute of you – I do remember!” I was astonished at his sagacity while I was not. Yes, he carried a large fruit basket filled with apples. He nearly, by accident, knocked me to the ground. He was in such a hurry.

There aren’t many people who haven’t, at one time or another, experienced amusement with one’s self, in retracing the steps that brought you to draw particular conclusions. I heard the Frenchman speak and I didn’t hear him. The part that I did hear and comprehend was most certainly the truth of it. I was totally astonished at the illuminating coherence between the starting point and the end of mu meditation.

Just before leaving the Rue Montmartre, we were discussing horses. It was the last subject on our minds at that point. I remembered the fruitier. He carried a rather large basket upon his head.

Duprae continued to refresh my memory. “He was the man who very quickly brushed past us, causing you to stumble and fall onto a pile of paving stones at the causeway that was undergoing repair. You strained your ankle a bit. An expression of vexation crossed your brow while you muttered a few curses, turned and looked at the pile of stones, and then proceeded in silence. Observation has become a necessity of practicum with me lately.

With petulance, you kept looking at the ground. The attraction seemed to be the holes and pavement ruts. It appeared to me that you still had the stones on your mind; until we reached that little alley the locals call Lamartine. It was paved with overlapping and riveted blocks. Your countenance brightened. I perceived your lips move; I did not doubt you murmuring the word ‘stereometry.’ The word certainly defines this species of pavement. Almost immediately I knew that you could not say that word to yourself without thinking of atomies and the theory of ‘Epicurus.’ Since we did discuss the subject not too long ago, I recall mentioning to you how singularly, yet with little notice, the vague guesses of that noble Greek. With confirmation of the late cosmogony, you could not avoid casting your eyes to the sky, peering at the great ‘Nebula in Orion.’ I knew you would like to do that. I was now convinced that I had correctly followed your steps. However, in the tirade upon the Chantilly which appeared in yesterday’s newspaper, the satirist made disgraceful allusions to the cobbler’s name change. He’d assumed the bushkin quoted a Latin line of which we often conversed, “Perdidit Antiquum Liter Prima Sonum.”

I told you this was in reference to Orion, a.k.a., Urion. There are certain pungencies connected with this explanation, you know. I thought you could not have forgotten it. Could you not fail to combine the two ideas of Orion and Chantilly? The smile that’s passing over your face tells me that you did combine the two ideas. You thought about the cobbler’s immolation when I interrupted your meditation. You were going to remark that he was a little fellow – that Chantilly – he would do better at the theater."

I could only, at that point, nod and agree with Duprae’s correct and near precise analogy.

Not long after this discussion, we found ourselves looking over the evening ‘Gazette Des Tribunaux.’ The headlines grabbed us by the eyeballs and read:

“This Evening, Extra Ordinary Murders Have Been Discovered!”

The newspaper’s report stated inhabitants, at about 3a.m., of the ‘Quarter St. Roch,’ were aroused from their beds by blood-curdling screams and shrieks from the upper floors. On the fourth floor of the Rue Morgue, therein resided Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter, Mademoiselle Camille L’Espanaye. They were the sole occupants of the flat, not mention, the entire building.

The newspaper further mentioned how two Gendarmes and about eight to ten male neighbors felt the need to break into the flat with the intention of providing aid to the lone women. After knocking on the door, to no avail, the door was kicking down. On the outside, one of the neighbors climbed the balcony trestle and peered inside one of the windows. What he saw sent chills up and down his spine. After the group completely destroyed the gate hinges, gaining access to the locked front garden area, most entered the front while another went to the rear. The room appeared to be totally trashed with what also looked like blood splashed across the walls. At that point, the gendarmes and friends gained entrance into the flat. The downed garden gate, front door, and abounding to the fourth floor of the house, with a thunderous roaring boom, down came the locked door of the front room. The death sounding screams had ceased long before their entrance.

Once entry was achieved, the rescuers fanned out in the building. Each and every room was searched. When they arrived at the fourth floor landing, there stood a large door, which was also destroyed by their forced entrance, leading to the inner rooms and the back ones as well. On the way up, several of the men could almost swear they heard voices that ceased upon their arrival. The voices were described as voices of angry contention. They seemed to come from behind the locked door of the furthest room at the rear of the flat. Two rough voices that couldn’t be deciphered, although loudly audible upon the attempt at turning the knob. The antiquities styled black lacquered locked knob would not give way in either direction of this back room.

Once the doors were forced and egress acquired, they were met with a horrifying astonishment. The flat was torn to bits. Broken furniture was thrown everywhere. Only one large bed which originally sat to one side of the room against the right-side wall facing the left side which housed linen and garb closets. The bed was covered in blood. It was virtually destroyed when thrown to the center of the room. A nearby chair sat untouched. It was a large overstuffed sized chair with larger than normal cushions. It was a tannish brown in color. On the left arm was a blood covered straight razor.         

The thick oozing gore dripped from the razor’s blade tip, down to the carpeted floor. The small puddle of crimson colored fluid began to grow into a larger pool, indicating it hasn’t been dripping very long.

Three or four thickly trussed human hair samples were found on the hearth also stained with blood. The hair, long and grey, seemed to have been ripped from their roots. Jewelry and heir-loomed items of metal lay scattered about the bloodstained floor. They were mostly topaz, silver, and gold. Bureau drawers still contained much of its content. They had been pulled out and thrown. Several others were merely rifled. A safe was found open. It was a small portable safe. It was discovered standing on its original spot where it sat under the bed. The bed, in its entirety, was ripped from its foundation and tossed into the middle of the room. It was the only one in the room. A dark imprint on the floor in the right corner of the room, revealed its original spot. The little safe was found standing smack in the middle of the rectangle spot on the floor which was lighter than the rest.

The open safe, with the key firmly in the lock, exposed a few old letters and some other unimportant correspondence. Two leathery pouched sized bags lay in a corner opposite the safe. The bags contained gold coins. They totaled nearly eight-thousand francs. They too were simply tossed to the side. 

Despite the gory presentation, no human bodies were detected. Where are the bodies? The hair samples appeared to be that of an elderly female. Where are the occupants of this flat? Where are Madam L’Espanaye and her daughter, Mademoiselle Camille L’Espanaye? There were no traces of the women.

Duprae, noted Poe, took notice of an unusual amount of soot in the fireplace. This observation took hold after a thorough search of the house. However, Duprae was not satisfied with its result.

The new search of the chimney allowed a horrible and bone-chilling discovery. The bloody corpse was lowered into the fireplace, head first. It had been forced upward into the narrowed orifice. If it were humanly possible, considering the distance upward in the chimney, one would think the body was pulled, feet first, up the hole of the structure; possibly from the outside of the building.

Camille’s body was still warm. If there had been a fire, it would have been singed. This was an unusually violent act. The face had multiple severe cuts and scratches. Marks on the throat, deep dark bruises, and bone-deep indentations of fingernails were also revealed. It would certainly appear, in the advent of this horrific examination, the deceased had been incitefully throttled; beaten to death.     

The second intense search revealed in the back of the building, another bloodied corpse. The old lady’s mangled body laid soaked in a pool of warm and sticky crimson gore. Her throat had been cut just under the jaw-line. The flesh had the familiar fingernail indentations as found on her daughter’s face and body. When they attempted to raise the body, the woman’s head fell off. The investigators weren’t quite prepared for this type of butchery. Several gendarmes turned and vomited all over the paving tiles outside the building’s backyard. A number of the investigation team had never seen a body so viciously and savagely mutilated to the point of doubtful possibilities of indistinguishing it as human.

The mystery of this terrible horrifically murder, has not yet produced one single clue as to ‘who dunnit?’

News media headlines blasted the tragedy of the Rue Morgue across the morning papers. It was there for all to see; the breakfast tables, neighborhood eateries, barber shops, the gentleman’s club, and yes, the palace and the Queen’s chambers.

Multiple interviews have produced no leads as to who the murderous perpetrator might be. Police had interviewed the laundress who washed for the butchered women. She has known the mother and daughter for three years. They maintained a good and solid working relationship. The pay was good. The laundress expressed a loving and mutual affection for each other. The mother and daughter were nearly inseparable. She also espoused an ignorance of how the madam came by her fortune. She once thought the elder woman told fortunes to fill their bellies. The reputation of money set aside was simply that. No persons ever came to meet the women at the house. There was no furniture except on the fourth floor. There was no evidence of any other servants on the premises either. The clothing to be cleaned was taken from the L’Espanaye building to the home of the laundress.

A Rue Morgue tobacconist, who sold quantities of tobacco and snuff to the Madame for more than four years, was also deposed. The man was born in the neighborhood has lived there ever since. The deceased women had occupied the building for more than seven years. The former occupant was a jeweler who sublet rooms in the house to various tenants. Madame L’Espanaye did not like the way her building was utilized. She put a stop to the abuse by moving into the building, she and her daughter.

“There will be no subletting or tenants of any kind from this point on!” That was her stern position as she had mentioned to the tobacconist.

The two women lead a retired life. The elder lady kept her daughter close. They were reputedly wealthy. Once or twice, a porter was seen to enter and leave the building – a physician was seen coming and going – the daughter, five or six times. No other person or persons were ever seen entering or leaving the house containing the corpses – ever.

All of the other bowery neighbors concurred in their evidentiary statements of fact. No one knew of relatives to the women. The shutters on the front windows and the rear were seldom opened. Only the large window on the fourth floor could be seen open. The house was not a very old one. It was very well designed and constructed. The first official respondent, a gendarme, testified at the inquiry. He stated he’d been called to the residence at about three in the morning. He witnessed screams, shrieks, and blood curdling shrills from the voices within.

When he arrived, there were about forty to fifty people standing about the house. The hand held open flamed torches lit the blackened night sky. The cop could clearly see several men and women kicking and shaking on the front gate at the front garden of the house. The aroma of alarm, anger, fear, drunkenness, and torch smoke permeated the flame-lit darkness. It was all very thick indeed…

The screaming voices ceased its slicing of the fairly quiet night, after the loud snap. The gendarme forced the gate with his bayonet. The added shaking and kicking upon the gate did snap the locked latch. It popped with a loud and piercing metallic sounding snap. The officer only took action after he heard the loud angry voices concerting with horrific and terrifying cries of death.

When the leading policeman and company reached the first floor landing, two voices; maybe one or two more, angrily bantered back and forth. One or two shrilling voices while the other, a gruff sounding one, was distinguishable by the group. One of the softer, shriller voices sounded different. It was strange. It was foreign. It could not be told, at the moment, to be male or female. A couple of words containing “diable’ and “sacre`” were clear enough for all to hear. Someone in the charging albeit paused, team shouted, “Spanish, the language is Spanish!”

Another man; a silversmith and neighbor of the deceased ladies, said, “No…I do believe the voice was Italian. It was not French. Nor was it the voices of either of the dead women. I’ve conversed with them both on numerous occasions” He added concurring testimony to the gendarme regarding the description of the scene as found. He also said that he aided the police n restraining the large crowd that was growing fast. They closed all the doors to the rooms, leaving the things untouched. The crowd of people was forced from the building and property in an attempt to preserve what undamaged evidence they could.

A German restaurateur who was passing the house at the time of the screams, a banker from Rue De Loraine who managed the Madame’s accounts and a delivery clerk left the bags of gold at the house 30 days before the deaths; an English tailor who was part of the entering group, heard the gruff voices as male and French while the shrill voice could have been German and female; all cohesively concurred the report of the officiating gendarme.

Five of the witnesses testified that the door of Mademoiselle’s chamber was locked from the inside. They broke the door frame and locks in order to gain entry. That is where they found her mangled body. No one, other than the victim, was seen. All of the windows, front and back were locked fast. The door between the two rooms was closed but not locked. The main entry door of the rooms, leading from the corridor, was locked with the key still in the inside key hole. The time between screams and the forced entrance by the saviors was described as short as two minutes and as long as five. It was with great difficulty accessing entry via that particular door.

Another witness spoke of his residency in Spain. He also entered the house but did not go upstairs. He said that he was nervous and apprehensive of agitation consequences. He spoke of persons arguing. The rough or gruff voice was one of a Frenchman. He could not make out what the man was saying. The voice with the shrill was that of an Englishwoman. He was certain of that description.

A confectioner from the bowery volunteered his role. He was among the first to climb the stairs of the house. He heard the voices too. He couldn’t understand the words of the shrilled voice, but concluded the gruff voice to be French. He came back to second guess the shrilled voice as Russian.

“It could’ve been Italian – I’ve never conversed with a Russian before!”

 All of the witnesses chimed in on testimony as to their belief of the impossibility of stuffing a body into the narrow chimneys’ throughout the house, especially those of the fourth floor. It took the combined strength of four or five able bodied men to un-wedge the tightly squeezed corpse of Mademoiselle L’Espanaye.

The doctor, Paul Dumas, reported that he was summoned sometime after day break. He was called to examine the bodies and to determine the cause of death.

Needless to say, the mademoiselle’s body was badly damaged beyond reproach. It was much bruised, scraped, cut, and broken. The thought of stuffing a human body up through a hole the size of a three foot wide sewer pipe is unimaginable, even to the staunchest gore-seasoned detective in France.

Duprae and Poe noticed everything. They noticed her throat was greatly bruised and scraped, the impression of large finger marks. They’ve produced several deep scratches and lacerations just below her chin. The bruises, scrapes, and a series of livid spots were evident of such.

…Camille’s face was fearfully distorted, discolored, and her eyeballs protruded – nearly popped from their sockets. Her tongue was bitten through. It hung in place by a simple single bloody thread. In the pit of her stomach was a large bruise. The examining detective assumed it was a pressure mark from a knee.

It has also been surmised that Ms. L’Espanaye had been throttled to death by a person or persons unknown, according to one examiner on the scene. Poe and Dumas looked at one another and smiled.

All the bones of the mother’s right leg and arm were pulverized. Her corpse was terribly mutilated. Her right tibia was shattered and splintered along with all the ribs of the left side. It wasn’t quite possible to say how the injuries had been delivered while her entire body was dreadfully bruised and discolored. It appeared obvious that some form of weapon was used. It could have possibly have been a heavy club of wood, an iron bar, a chair leg, or any large and heavy obtuse object would have done the trick if or when wielded by the hands of a very strong and powerful man – not a woman.

According to the witnesses, the head of the mother was entirely separated from the body, and was shattered greatly. Her throat damage was indicative of being cut with a very sharp instrument. It would more than likely be a single edged straight razor.

A surgeon and Dr. Dumas were called to view the bodies and to corroborate testimony and opinions. Never before have they encountered a murder so perplexing and mysterious – never before in Paris.

The investigators saw no possible way to trace this vicious murderer. Duprae leaned over to Poe and asked for his opinion regarding the murders. He seemed very interested in knowing more about a certain ‘Adolphe Le Bon.’ The evening newspaper reported with robust zeal on fresh witness examinations, all for naught. However, one postscript mentioned Le bon being arrested and questioned. There was no incriminating evidence to support the inquiry.

Duprae felt the police had no method in their proceedings. They merely focused on the moment.

‘My friend, we must not be fooled by all this. They are pretending to know what it is they are doing. The results attained are not surprising nor are they unique – they are mostly simple diligent activity.” He went on to explain as he analyzed the police investigators. “One gendarme, for example, was pretty good at guessing. He appeared to be a persevering fellow. But, he lacked as educated thought. He screwed up royally by his investigative intensity. His vision was impaired when he constantly held objects too closely. He lost sight of the evidentiary matter with this faulty practice. He would probably see things more clearly if he simply took his time and gave the case more thought. Contemplation is the key. He is too profound - by undue profundity, men perplex themselves and enfeeble the thought process; it is possible to make even the Goddess Venus disappear from a firm scrutiny too sustained, too concentrated, and/or too direct.”

I was, as always amazed at Duprae’s systematic logical way of factoring an analytical, albeit assumptive determination of a given situation.

“As for these murders, let us launch our own official examination of this case. We need to do this before we make a respectful conclusion to this mysterious circumstance. Besides, this inquiry will give us a bit of amusement.”

I thought the statement of ‘amusement’ a bit weird. But ‘Chaunea’s,’ the name his family addresses him by, mind was always one that thrived on puzzles, perplexities, and mystery busting.

“We will go and re-examine the premises with fresh eyes. And, besides, Le Bon once rendered me a service for which I am not ungrateful. We will have no problem getting the necessary permission – I know the police prefect.”

It was late in the afternoon when permission was given. We at once proceeded to the Rue Morgue. It was a great distance from where we lived. The thoroughfares to the Rue Morgue were miserable between the Rue Richelieu and the Rue St. Roch. The house was easily found; for there were still people gazing up at the closed window shutters.

It was a Parisian styled house of ordinary design with a gateway on one side which was a glazed watch-box. It had a sliding panel in the window, indicative of a Loge de Concierge. We walked up the street before going into the house. Duprae and I turned down the alley, and then turning again, passing the rear of the building, examining the entire neighborhood, including the house, with a minuteness of attention. Duprae gave it an attention for which I could see no need to object.

With the retracing of our steps, we came back to the front of the house. Having shown our credentials, we were admitted into the building by the agents attending security. Going upstairs into the chamber where the body of mademoiselle L’Espanaye had been found. Both of the deceased females remained therein. We saw nothing that would contradict what had been stated in the “Gazette des Tribunaux.”

Duprae scrutinized everything. He and I went through every room. We were accompanied by one of the assigned gendarme security men. The examination was intense. It took us into the late hours of darkness. When Duprae decided that this was all for now. On the way home, we stopped in at the office of one of the daily newspapers. Duprae had a habit of not discussing or declining all conversation on the subject of murder. It was his way of being humorous.

It was noon the next day when he suddenly asked me about my thoughts on the case. He particularly wanted to know if I had noticed anything peculiar at the scene of the atrocity.   

There was something…I don’t know, I shuddered at the way the question was phrased; something in his demeanor caused me to feel unnerved. I didn’t know why.

I answered him, “No, I didn’t see anything that we haven’t already seen, Chaunea. Why did you…?”

“The police are confounding with the fact, there seems to be no motive. They deem this to be an invisible case with no easy solution. The newspaper, which printed what it believed to be factual, did not enter into the equation. There idle printed opinions are of no consequence. The police have determined this case to be impossible to solve. They cannot reconstruct the voices that were supposedly heard in contention with what is perceived to be factual. We know that no one was discovered upstairs other than the two victims, yes?”

I nodded in agreement.

“There was no way the assailant could exit without being noticed by the interviewed witnesses. The room was in such disarray with the body of the young woman being thrust downward in the chimney, the mutilated body of the old woman; these are simply some of the reasons the police are paralyzed. They have all fallen into common error of blending and confusing the obvious with abstruse. But it’s okay! It is with this faux pas that the ordinary is changed and sliced through to what is sought; the true and correct answers to this hideous mystery. In an investigation such as this, the question should not have been ‘what has occurred,’ as to ‘what has occurred that has occurred has never occurred before.’ The solution to this dilemma is in direct deliverability to the insolubility in the eyes of the examining authorities.”

I stopped to stare at Duprae. I was in complete awe; astonished; amazed.

“In this supposition, I await a person who, perhaps not the perpetrator of these butcheries, was probably implicated by some measure. In this crime; the worst part of this summary is that he could also be innocent.

I do hope that my supposition is correct. I do expect to draw a conclusion to this abominable deed.”

Duprae, out of nowhere, exposed two pistols, one of which he handed to me!

I took the pistol in hand and placed it in the deep pocket of the right side of my outer coat. If I were to aim and shoot the thing, I’d want it in my right hand. If in my left, I would not be as confident. Duprae spoke but I didn’t hear. My mind was focused on what my friend was alluding. He espoused the belief that the man, the perpetrator would soon be arriving. I didn’t know what to do – how to react, should he show up here. Duprae said when he arrives we would need to detain him. Duprae’s voice sounded again. He spoke as if in a soliloquy. He gazed at the wall. His eyes regarded only the wall. He addressed me, of course, in his aforementioned abstract voice, albeit by no means shouted. He entertained a vacant expression.

“The voices that were heard in contention by the party on the stairs were not the voices of the women. That was proven by the evidence at hand. With the doubt removed, that the old woman could have harmed her daughter, and committed suicide. Besides, she would not have had the strength to shove a corpse up a chimney, especially in the shape that it was in, not to mention the wounds on her body.

Their murder definitely had to have been a third, and possibly a fourth party involved.

Now, allow me address not the entire testimony, but that of the peculiar in the submitted testimony.

Eddie, let me ask you again, did you not notice anything of the unusual – anything peculiar?”

I looked around and about. I looked at Duprae who stood stupidly silent. I responded with the observance of witness testimonial discord.

“Precisely,” replied Duprae.

It always amazes me to hear him speak. He sometimes carries a French accent while the majority of his verbiage is without; he spoke clear and perfect English.

We agreed there was much disagreement with regard to the shrill sound while agreeing on the gruff voice of a Frenchman.

“That is exactly the evidence in this case, Mon’Ami. All of the witnesses proved to be reliable and responsible citizens who all heard something different. All of the witnesses held different backgrounds and spoke in different tongues, yes? Each of them, an Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Frenchman, and a German have all described what they heard spoken in the others language; while none have ever conquered of are cognizant of the Russian tongue. All of them said it was definitely a foreigner. The denizens of the five great European divisions could not describe the harsh rather than shrill voices of anything but foreign. They have not mentioned the possibility of an Asiatic or African voice because they are not familiar, while people of these backgrounds also reside in Paris. There was no distinguishable words or sounds mentioned by the witnessing either.

I don’t know what impression I have made so far, but I do not hesitate to say that legitimate deductions from this point are sufficient to suspension. However, the suspicion points in several directions in our inquiries, Mr. Poe,” explained Duprae.

I asked, “Several directions?”

“What shall we examine first?” Duprae thought aloud as he walked about the main sitting room on the second floor of the killing flat.

“What was the means of egress employed by the assailants? Neither of us believes in praeternatural events. The women were not destroyed by spectres or haints. The doers of the dastardly deed were indeed carbon based mortals who happened to escape unnoticed, but how? Fortunately for us, there is but one mode of reasoning upon the point, and that point of reasoning must lead to a definite conclusion.

Let us take another look, point by point, the possible means of egress. Is it clear, Poe, that the assassins were in the room where mademoiselle L’Espanaye was found? Well, at least in the adjoining room where the party ascended the stairs, yes? We need merely to focus on issues within these two apartments. The floors were left bare by the gendarmes during their investigation. There were no secret issues escaping their intent vigilance. Even the walls and ceilings were laid naked to the human eye, Oui?” asked Duprae.  

Duprae continued to ascertain the issues surrounding the killers’ exiting venue. Both doors were locked securely. The keys were inside.

“Poe, let’s look at the chimneys. Their widths were ordinary. They were wide enough to allow the close and tight fit of a large tabby. They were also some eight of ten feet above the hearths. This determination took the two investigators to the windows. No one could have escaped notice from the crowds on the street below. They were located in the front room of the second floor apartment. Poe and Duprae proceeded into the back room. This room held two windows like the ones in the front. One of them was unobstructed by debris or furnishings. The other was blocked by a large and un-yielding bedstead that was positioned close up against it.

The front window was fastened securely from inside. The sash firmly resisted the utmost force of anyone who endeavored to thrust it upward. Upon further investigation, the widows were found to have very large and stout nails driven into their frames. The police were entirely satisfied that egress did not occur here. Of course the cops pondered over the idea of removing the nails and opening the windows.

“After personal examination, I have found that all apparent impossibilities must be proven to be not so in reality.” Duprae whispered to Poe.

“My dear Eddie, the murderers did escape from one of these windows. My friend, they could not have re-fastened the window sashes from inside as we know, they were found to be fastened securely. Through its’ obvious points, they do not have the power to do this trick, but the police are completely satisfied with their investigative results. I, on the other hand, am not.

Eddie, consider this, there is no escaping my well thought out conclusion. 1^st, I stepped over to the window casement, which was unobstructed. I then pulled out the nail that was holding it tight and tried to raise the sash. I could not raise it. I then wondered if this window was held tight by something else. Then I realized the sash must have some sort of mechanized fastening. Like a spring maybe? My premise was correct, although the mystery concerning the nail remained to haunt me. Carefully, I searched from hidden grooves that would reveal a spring mechanism. I succeeded in finding it. Upon pressing, I was quite satisfied when it rose almost effortlessly – quite easily to my amazement.

My attention remained with the nail fastener. Someone who went through this window would have had to replace the nail, yes? Of course that would be a great impossibility. The murderer or murderers must have made their escape by another window. I was again correct in assuming all the windows would be the same, having spring locks embedded within the sash.

My friend, I was at my wits end. I was completely puzzled. All of the nails holding the windows tight were identical to one another. The window, the second one, over top of the bedstead; the nail, like the others, was driven into the sill nearly up to the head.

Eddie, you must see it by now? That particular nail was keeping my attention. There must be something wrong with it because it calls to me. I then went back to it, I touched it and the head fell off.

The shaft of the nail remained embedded within the wood of the sill. The rust on and around the nail gave evidence of being old. I raised the window sash. Upon making note of the fact that a small fissure, a cut, a groove if you will, was gouged from the bottom portion of the window sash. Fitting the head of the nail into it, submitted a perfect fit.

Lowering the sash, ever so gently, the nail appeared to be whole again.

The mystery was beginning to unfold. The murderer escaped through this window atop the bed. It became vividly obvious that the sash was purposely or incidentally lowered, resulting in the appearance of the nail being whole and untouched. This action also allowed the retention spring’s engagement, thus giving the police no reason to question this window as a route of egress.

Now, friend Eddie, what would you suppose, to be a mode of descent? I was taken aback. Yes, I was a bit puzzled…at first. Take notice. Not for an instant was the scent lost. Am I beginning to sound like Poirot, Morse, Holmes, Creek, Chan, Weinthropp, or Jane Tennison? I have examined this over and over again. There is no flaw, no missing link in this chain of events. I have traced the secret to the ultimate result. Do you know what the secret is Eddie…no? I think that I shall tell you what the ultimate secret is… The ultimate result is the nail!

In every respect, the appearance of its brother, embedded within the other window, were identical. But, for human-like reasons, I felt the need to touch it. The head of the nail along with one quarter of its shank fell off in my hand. The remainder of the nail was embedded within the sill. The groove that was cut into the bottom sash accepted the head of the nail readily. When I raised the window, the nail head went with it and upon lowering it, the nail fitted perfectly into the rust crusted hole and bottom portion of the nail. Immediately I knew that butcher had escaped through this window over top the bed’s headboard.

When the window dropped…probably purposely lowered, the locking retainer spring locked the window in place, which is probably the reasons the gendarme missed the clue of escape.”

“Duprae, you cannot be serious! You don’t mean to imply that a man, even a small man, would have the ability to climb up and down on the lightning rod attached to the building outside?”

The pair went back outside to the back of the building.

The casement in question was about five and a half feet from the lightning rod. This rod couldn’t possibly support the weight of anyone let alone being able to climb down on it. Upon further observation, Poe began to see what Duprae was seeing. The shutters of the fourth floor were of a particularly peculiar make. They were called, by Parisian carpenters, ‘Ferrades’ – a kind rarely used in present day, but frequently seen upon very old mansions at Lyons and Bordeaux. They are in the form of an ordinary single door, except the upper half is latticed or in open trellis – thus allowing an excellent hand-hold. At present, these shutters are a full three and a half feet wide. While continuing their examination at the rear of the house, the stalwart detectives also noted the shutters were half way open.

Just like the police in the initial examination, missed the fact that it was not possible to accept the probability that egress has occurred here. The slats would have been fully pressed backward against the wall. But the possibility of such an action cannot be ruled out completely.

The police investigators returned to the scene, inquiring into Duprae and Poe’s activities.

“Under rule of law, gentlemen, the activity concerning this matter evades the practice as it were. The ultimate object is to only arrive at the truth, yes? This very unusual activity, along with the difficulty in determining voice identification, i.e., unequal voice or the peculiar shrilling sound, as described by your witness; the nationality of no two persons could be found to agree.”

My friend portrayed a mental, though a bit vague and half formed conception that began to take form…a comprehension without the ability to comprehend.     

“You see my friends; I have shifted the question from the mode of egress to that of ingress. My mental design suggests that both were affected in the same manner, at the same point.”

Duprae continued his rant while moving from the outside rear of the building to the inside rear, slowly walking toward the front of the building. The odious stench of mildew and wood rot singed the nostrils of the men upon entering the aging structure.

“Let us now revert to the interior of the room while surveying the appearances therein. According to the reports, drawers of the bureau had been rifled, oui? Many of the apparel articles remained within. Something here is not right gentlemen, my dear Poe. To draw any conclusions at this point would be totally absurd. To guess would be very silly indeed. How are we to know that the intact articles are not all that was within the bureau drawers? Madame L’Espanaye and her once beautiful daughter lived a life exceedingly secluded and private. They entertained not and welcomed no company – seldom ventured out in the day – accepted and had very little use for numerous changes of habiliments. The ones found within the drawers were at least as good a quality as any that is likely to be possessed by the two women. Should a thief make off with them, why would he not take the best of the lot? Why did he not take them all? The bags of gold which lay upon the floor were unmolested as well.

My friends, I wish for you to discard the thoughts and blundering ideas of motive, engendered in your brains by that portion of evidence which speaks of money delivered at the door of this house. Coincidences such as these, as remarkable as they may seem, happen to all of us every day of our lives.

The delivery of the money and murder committed within three days’ time upon its receipt – without a single momentary notice. In general, coincidences are stumbling blocks in the way of that class of thinkers who have been educated to know nothing of the theory of possibilities – that theory to which the most glorious objects of human research are indebted for the most glorious of illustration.”

Duprae continued his gleeful repose on light of the factual demonstrative display of the obvious. He especially took delight in knowing he held superiority over the weak and doubtful conclusions of the police, save one inspector – ‘Frederick Abberline.’ This inspector said much of nothing. Unlike his braggart compatriots, his qualities reflected a bit of analytic observations. He took copious notes and entertained a keen eye of portentous vista. He was a dreamer. Duprae had the opportunity to have met with Abberline only once or twice. The case of the ripper was in question, and a lone survivor, known only to him and his assistant. Her name…? - Miss/Mademoiselle Mary Kelly. Several colloquial interludes have abounded them an amount of mutual respect and admiration. There was no mention of the mind altering psychological realms of realization. Poe took note of him, this attentive and astute erudite.

“Keeping everything in the present instance, gentlemen, had the gold been gone, the fact of its delivery three days before would have been corroborative of this idea of motive. But, under the real circumstances involved within this case, if we are to suppose the gold is the motive of this outrage, we must also imagine the perspective so vacillating, an idiot as to have abandoned his gold and his motive together.”

Duprae paced back and forth. He then walked in dizzying circles around and about the room. Our eyeball focusing abilities tarried with the strain of keeping up with his movements.

“I would gather this colloquial addendum of focus in keeping now steadily in mind the points to which I have drawn your attention – that particular voice, that unusual agility, and that startling absence of motive in a murder so singularly an atrocity as this.”

Chaunea had masterfully succeeded in acquiring our full attention as he laid forth, the plotting assertions.

“Gentlemen, let us glance at the butchery itself. Here is a woman strangled to death by manual strength. She…the body was thrust up a chimney feet first. The common assassins do not employ such time consuming and useless tactics as a mode for murder. They would not, to say the least, engage in the time it would take to dispose of a corpse in such a manner. With the very idea of thrusting a body up a chimney, one must admit there was something of an outburst of excessive outrage or complete and vile madness. It had to be something of an irreconcilable circumstance with our common notions of human action…even when we suppose the perpetrators are the most depraved of mankind. Ponder upon this too, was it not feasible to conclude the killer was endowed with inhuman strength which could indeed, thrust the body up such an aperture so forcibly that the unified indulgence of several strong and vigorous persons found it difficult in dragging it out of the un-smoked enclosure?

Other indications indict the employment of a most ferocious and maddening intent to hide the corpse. On the hearth were very thick tresses of grey human hair. The hair had been ripped out from the roots. You are all, no doubt, aware of the great force necessary in tearing hair, thick ad healthy hair, from the head – most likely thirty to fifty hairs together would cause and present a hideous sight to behold, good gentlemen. You’ve seen the locks in question as well as me and Eddie, the roots clotted with flesh from the scalp of the tormented soul. The sight of such indicates a sure token of the prodigious power which had to have been exerted in uprooting, probably a half million hairs per snatch. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but her head was only left attached to the body by the slither of spinal cord. The weapon of choice was a mere straight razor of the facial shaving variety.”

A pin could drop upon this floor and it would be heard by all in the vicinity. The room filled by this time with twelve men; was deathly silent. Duprae continued on with his recital of perception.

“Now, look at the brutal ferocity of these evil deeds. I’m not speaking of the bruises upon the body of Madame L’Espanaye, Monsieur Dumas.”

He and his coadjutor Monsieur Etienne were the pronouncers of the wound inflicting instruments. They concurred in a colloquial manner, that an obtuse tool, such as a saw or machete was the cutting tool as opposed to the razor. They’ve also alluded to the possibility of the obtuse instrument being the stone pavement in the yard. The explanation highlighted the victim, possibly, falling from the window which was above the yard and her bed. The idea however simple it may seem, escaping the police for the same reason the breath of the shutters escaped them. The affair involving the nails, their compounded perceptions had been hermetically sealed against the possibility of the windows having ever been opened at all.

Duprae was teaching and scolding, all at the same time with a voice that ascended and descended.

“Now, in addition to all these things, I would assume that you have properly reflected upon the odd disorder of the bed chamber. We have gone so far as to combine the ideas of an agility that astounds of superhuman strength, brutal ferocity, butchery without motive; an alien form of absolute grotesque horror, and foreign voices in tones to the ears of men from many nations – devoid of any and all distinct of intelligible syllabification. What results have ensued? Have I made an impression that suits your fancy, gentlemen?

The detective turned with a wry smile, piercing but stern eyes fell upon his friend, Eddie Poe. The report stated how his flesh creeped when Duprae made an eerie statement, quite out of the ordinary. He asked a question that was directed at each of the examining detectives and gendarmes.

“A mad man had done this deed – some raving lunatic, a maniac escaped from neighboring ‘Maison De Sante?’”

“In some respects,” replied Monsieur Dumas, “your idea is not irrelevant.”

“But the voices of the Madame and the Mademoiselle, Duprae pointed, “even in their wildest paranoia or paroxysms, are never found to tally with that peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of some nation, and their language, however incoherent in its words had always the coherence of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a madman is not such as I now hold in my hand. I’ve untangled this little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L’Espanaye. Please, tell me what you can make of it?”

The inspectors, each of them, and the two uniformed gendarmes, inspected the tuft of hair. They all looked at one another with vivid and duped astonishment. Fred Abberline shot a sharp glance into the smiling eyes of Duprae.

“Charles!” said the unnerved Poe, “this hair is highly unusual.”

“How do you mean, Eddie?”

“My friend, it’s not human hair!”

“Okay, remain aware that I never said that it was. Take a look at this bit of sketching that I have doodled from a tracing. This little facsimile could be described in one portion of the collective testimony. Beginning with the dark bruises and deep indentations of finger nails on the throat of Camille. The body of her mother, Elizabeth, held finger impressions too.” Duprae continued, “Gentlemen, you will understand that this drawing gives the idea of a firm and fixed grip. It appears that each finger on the bodies has retained this grip – this death grip with such pressure, it left clearly visible marks upon the throats of the victims.”

Duprae reached into his pocket and produced a sheet of folded paper. First he asked us all, in turn, to place our open hand, placing all of our fingers into the sketched image of the large hand print. Amazement is to mild a description to mention. The attempts were all made in vain.

“So you see, gentlemen,” said Duprae. “this is the mark of no normal human being!” Duprae’s eyes flashed and blinked furiously. He snatched the paper from the hand of het lase examining gendarme. The master detective motioned to all of us to remain as we are. He swiftly walked outside. From the garden, he retrieved a chunk of wood. It was a dried tree limb, the size and roundness equaling in size to that of an average female throat. He then wrapped the paper around the wood. Duprae handed the paper wrapped wood to the first examining detective.

“You didn’t seem too convinced with the first test – so try this one. Grab the paper and wood, wrap your entire hand and fingers around it and squeeze as if it were a throat.”

They all followed suit in tandem. It then came to me. I also took the test and handed it back to my friend. It was totally obvious that Duprae was on target with his analogy. The aghast faces of these colloquial participants did not surprise Duprae. He continued to ascertain while describing the circumstances endeavoring a conclusion.

Duprae walked around us and out the front door. We all waited to see what it is he’d do next. Chaunea walked out to the roadway just as a horse and carriage rolled and clanked by. He fussed and cursed the fresh pungent droppings of the steel black stallion trotting ahead of the eloquently painted purple and black transport.

The irate detective glanced about. He looked to the right and then left. Waving with a left handed flurry, summoning the boy hawking the Cuvier newspaper. Obtaining the paper, he turned and rushed back into the house where were all standing. Duprae unfolding and re-folded it along the way.

“Gentlemen, now read this…read this passage right here!”

Duprae pointed to a minute anatomical and generally descriptive account concerning a large animal. Right beneath the article of ‘Georges Curvier,’ the renowned naturalist and zoologist’s essay, ‘The Theory of The Earth – 1796,’ establishing the basic principles of biostraightigraphy; was the story of an escaped Ourang-Outang. The beast in the photograph was a gigantic creature with a wild ferocity, prodigious strength, and imitative abilities that are very well known to the average zoological attendee.

Suddenly, it hit us all like a bolt of lightning – it all became brilliantly clear… The size of the digits in the print, the coarse, yet smooth and long tuft of tawny to orange-reddish hair, and the description of voices being somewhat French; rang all sorts of alarms, bells, and whistles. In contention, there were two voices. One of them was unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman.

Duprae began again, to speak.

“Ah yes, you will all remember an expression attributed almost unanimously in evidence, to the voice – the expression, “Mon Dieu!” The confectioner expostulated the quote characterization justly, oui? I have mainly staked my trust in the full and complete solution to this riddle.”

My friend maintained a stern albeit, stoic look as he paced to and fro.

“Poe, continue reading the passage on the next page, mon ami.”

We all, including inspector Abberline, looked at each other. Our faces depicted astonishment, were even more impressed with the printed news. I began to read the advertisement aloud.

“Caught – in the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning, same morning of the murders,” I added. “It’s described as a very large, tawny Ourang-Outang of a Bornes species; as described in Curvier’s zoological account, may be retrieved immediately by the owner. The owner, may have the animal again, upon satisfactory identification, and a nominal fee for its capture and keeping. You may call upon notifier at the Bois de Boulogne Station of Gendarme.”

I looked at Duprae and asked, “How did you know the owner was a sailor and to what vessel he belonged?

He replied, “I am not sure. In fact, I don’t really know.”

The master detective picked up a piece of ribbon from the floor in the crevice of the building. They were standing once again in the backyard garden of the house. At the foot of the lightning rod, lay the ribbon. Duprae examined the interesting find.

“The ribbon is the belonging of a sailor, Eddie.” Poe took the item from his friend and began to examine it closely.

“This small piece of ribbon my friend, is the greasy tie of a sailor’s hair. It is evident due to the knot and the few dark strands embedded within the material. Moreover, this type of knot is only known to and utilized by men of the sea. They are quite found of the long queues they wear. So you see, this ribbon could not possibly belong to either of the deceased women.”

The other investigators took turns examining the ribbon as well. They all glared at Duprae in complete and utter awe.

“Now gentlemen, if I am wrong In my induction of this piece of evidence and the deduction as to its owner being a French sailor belonging to the vessel ‘Maltese,’ then I have done no harm in what I have said in my posted advertisement. Should I be in error, the reader will suppose that circumstances surrounding the situation will simply be ignored. However, I shall be correct in my supposition that this advertisement will bring him to claim his property, his per, or perhaps his friend.”

The attending gendarmes smiled and grinned in disbelief of this man’s arrogance. How dare he presume to assume this conjured sailor would show to claim something of a ridiculous prize - a monkey, an ape, why not a gorilla? They all laughed.

Inspector Abberline did not laugh. He made it very clear that this particular master detective has, thus far, not been proven to be in error nor incorrect about any of the theories or facts put forth. He also brought to the forefront, that they; no one offered valid alternatives or close to reasonable suppositions. The room fell silent.

The murders occurred a vast distance from the Bois de Boulogne. Questions were raised regarding the distance the suspected brute would have had to travel. The seaman decided to answer the advertisement in response to and defense of the threat of charges being levied against him of his primate beast.

At that moment, while the gendarmes were divulging in a heated argument regarding the ribbon, they heard a step upon the stairs.

“Okay men,” said the ranking inspector. “Be ready lads!” They all drew their pistols and stood at the ready. All but Inspector Abberline; he stood in a darkened corner intending to do absolutely nothing. His intention was to be quite invisible.

Duprae gave instructions not to shot or show themselves or their guns until he gave the signal.

The front door of the house was left open. Duprae had been expecting this particular visitor. He would be the one who will claim the Ourang-Outang. The sound of footsteps ascending, were clearly audible. Then the sound changed to those of descending and back again. He was unsure of what to expect with his intended claim. His decision was now firm and confirmed with his steadied direction.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in.” said Duprae in a welcoming and cheerful sounding tone of voice.

He entered the room. He was tall, barreled, dark, muscular, and a sailor. He held an expression of countenance; a seafarer with the expression of a ‘Daredevil.’ He wore a cudgel made of oak. It was kept under his belt. That appeared to be his only weapon. His sunburnt face bore a mustache and full beard of black. He bowed in a respectful manner and greeting. He then said, “Good evening.” It was spoken with a French accent.

“Have a seat, mon ami.” Duprae said. “You have come to claim the ape, oui?”

He replied, “Oui monsieur.”

“Tell me, my friend, how old do you suppose the primate is? I envy you that ownership. I think he is a marvelous and remarkable animal. He is without a doubt very valuable, oui?”

The sailor looked at Duprae and sighed with a burden or relief. He then replied, “Oui.” He continued. “I’m not quite sure of his age – I think he is somewhere around four or five years of age. You have him here, yes?”

“No…we have no accommodations for an animal of that size. He is being kept at a livery stable not far from here. You are of course, prepared to identify the property?”

“Yes sir, with absolution sir…with deep appreciative absolution.”

“I will be saddened with his departure monsieur. You can retrieve the property in the morning. There will be a nominal fee for his care and housing that need to be met as well.”

“I am willing to pay a small reward in return for his keeping and feeding costs, Monsieur Officer – meaning that I am not a rich man, but only a poor sailor with meager savings kept in secret.”

“Very well my friend. To be sure, this is all very good. Now, let me think for a moment – what shall I claim as a reward for our efforts? Oh, I am not an officer. But, these gentlemen are.” The two plain clothes gendarmes and the three in uniform stepped out from the shadows. The sailor knew there were others in the room. He just didn’t know who they were until now.

“I will tell you that my reward shall be for you to tell me all that you know about the ‘murders in the Rue Morgue.” Duprae got up from his chair, walked over to the door, and locked it.

“As I’ve stated, monsieur, I am not an officer. I am special investigating detective, Sir Charles Alexander Duprae. I am on personal and special assistance to the ‘Crown’ and the police during this inquiry, and you monsieur are a prime suspect.”

Duprae spoke those words in a calming, low, quiet, and controlling tone with stern authority.

The sailor was set aback with the powerful revelation. Duprae looked over his shoulder at Poe. Then he glanced over to the darkened corner occupied by Chief Inspector Frederick Abberline. He did not step forward as did the others. Poe looked over as well. The two men looked back again at each other with bewilderment expressions.

The sailor’s face flushed vividly. He appeared as if he suddenly could not breathe; as though he were suffocating. He then jumped to his feet grabbing with his right hand, the wooden cudgel.

Duprae drew a rather large and formidable looking revolver from the rear waistband of his trousers.

The sailor sat back down and removed his threatening hand from the oaken wood. He fell back into his seat, violently trembling with fear. Poe looked upon the man with concern and pity.

Duprae spoke to the man in a calm and understanding tone. He then placed the pistol down on the table. He made sure it was out of the sailor’s reach.

“Mon ami, you are alarming yourself without clear cause. We mean you no harm. I make this pledge on my honor as a gentleman and a Noble Frenchman. I am well aware of your innocence of the horrors and atrocity which took place in the Rue Morgue. But, you cannot deny to me that you are innocent of some amount of implication in the horrific events. You should realize that I have information by means of which you cannot dream. Your culpability is limited. You are not guilty of robbery, least of all, murder; albeit, you could have been. You have no reason to conceal anything because there is nothing for you to hide. On the other hand, you are bound by honor; being an honorable man, you will tell us all that you know. Currently, an innocent man is imprisoned and charged with a crime that you know the guilty party.”

The sailor spoke after regaining his composure. His original demeanor and expression of countenance had vanished.

Duprae pressed close to the ruffled sailor. “You know who the guilty party is – you can and will point to the perpetrator, oui?”

“So help me God, good Sir, I will tell you all that I know concerning this affair and the party who made contact with me. The man was a gentleman of average stature while I do not expect you to believe me when I unveil to you that I do not know his name – only his face is one that I will never forget.

Right then, at that point, the chief inspector did not step out from behind the shadow of the corner. Poe took notice. Duprae noticed the non-movement as well.

“Monsieur Duprae, I am innocent, and I will make a clean abreast regarding this situation or die for it.”  

“There is no need to die, Mon ami, just tell us the simple truth.”

The sailor began to explain the voyage to the Indian Archipelago. The two-party crew landed at Borneo, and passed into the interior, intent on pleasure hunting. They did indeed capture an Ourang-Outang during this quest. The sailor’s companion died on the journey home. He was now sole owner of the secreted primate. The beast was not an easy secret to keep. The new sole owner was forced to deal with the occasional period of intractable ferocity during the return voyage. The sailor succeeded, with a great deal of trouble, in housing the creature safely in his cabin and while at home in Paris. He went to great lengths in distracting the unpleasant curiosity of noisy neighbors. He was careful in keeping the animal in seclusion until such a time allowed for the recovery of an injury to its foot. The wound was inflicted while on board ship from a splinter. The paramount plan was to sell the ape to the highest bidder.

Upon returning home, or rather on the morning of the murders, the sailor found the beast in his bedroom. While he was out on a night filled with frolic and gaiety, the beast had broken out from the adjoining closet, where it had been kept. It was thought to be secured and safe.

The sailor could see the straight razor in its hand. Fully lathered around its jaws, the Ourang-Outang was sitting before the full length mirror, attempting to shave itself. The lather was all over its face, mimicking the way men prepared to shave themselves for shaving. There was no doubt the beast had witnessed this type of operation in the past.

The sight of this animal holding a razor instantly terrified the pet’s owner. He was at a loss of what to do next. He had been successful in calming the animal with a small whip and a soft, but firm and even voice. But now, the animal held a weapon. Upon seeing the whip in the sailor’s hand, the ape bolted. He almost flew through the doorway of the bed chamber and down the stairs from the second floor, and out into the street he went. The ape had seen doors open and close. His memory did not fail him when he turned the knob of the unlocked door.

The ape with razor in hand was quickly followed by the desperate sailor. The beast frolicked up and down the street. It was taken with its newly found freedom on the profoundly quiet streets of the city. It was after all, three a.m. The free spirited beast ran past an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue. It happened to notice the light gleaming from the open fourth floor window of Madame L‘Espanaye’s bed chamber. “I noticed it as well,” explained the remorseful sailor.

“There was loud talking to the point of screams,” the sailor continued. “The Ourang-Outang rushed to the building’s lightning rod and grabbed hold of it. The beast made a few defiant gestures at me and with the greatest agility, alighted the pole. It grasped the shutter, which was fully opened, and flung itself into the opened window of the second floor flat. The loud voices from the fourth floor did not cease. It seemed they were unaware or the chase and noise commotion emanating from the back yard.

The lightning rod, of which the ape ascended, was no obstacle for a seasoned sailor. He was quite capable of maintaining pursuit of his escaped prize.

While climbing the well secured rod, the man could hear shrieks of terror and agony. He nearly fell backward from his perch after viewing the excessively horrible sight. It was at that moment, the hideous shrieks that arose in the night, the noises traveled to awaken and startle many of the slumbering inmates in and about the Rue Morgue.

Upon peering through the opened window, he could see the carnage which had taken place. The crimson colored gore was splashed all about the place. It was on the walls, the ceiling, the floors and furniture, and the bed. The egressed door had just closed upon the sailor’s absorbing sight. There were no more voices or screams. All that was there was the ourang-outang and the dead body of Madame L’Espanaye and the ape that was holding her by the hair in one of its hands. In the other was the un-bloodied straight razor.

“The gigantic ape tossed the woman’s body around like that of a ragged doll. It may well be that Madame L’Espanaye may have been combing or brushing her hair at the time of intrusion. The intruder could have been the accented man or the ape. This observation serves as the reason her hair was loose and untied.

The beast brandished the razor in its other hand. There appeared to be no trace of blood on it. The ape began to swing the about her face as though he were imitating a barber. The young Mademoiselle L’Espanaye lay prostrate and unmoving upon the floor. I was not sure if she was dead or alive,” explained the sailor.

During the screams and struggles, a patch of the old ladies hair was torn from her head. Her screams and struggle may have been misinterpreted by the Ourang-outang. What may have been docile or pacific by the ape, was surely changed to that of wrath. With a single swoop of its muscular arm, it nearly tore the old woman’s head from her body. The sight of the spouting blood brought the rampaging beast into frenzy. Dropping the bloodied body, its eyes were inflamed with anger. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from its eyes, the animal flew rage filled upon the body of the young girl. It embedded its formidable talons and fangs into her pretty throat. The animal maintained its deadly grip on the girl until she expired.

Wandering about the room, wild glances fell upon the head over the headboard of the bed. It was the face of its master, rigid with horror. The beast stopped dead in its track. It somehow knew…it realized what it had done. It knew what it had done deserved punishment. It was thinking of the whip. The actions it next took indicated that is wished to conceal the bloody misdeeds. The beast cried and skipped about the chamber in agony and nervous agitation. It began to throw things such as the furniture. It broke the stuff as it passed. It dragged the bed from the bedstead. Then it seized first the corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up the chimney just the way it was found; then that of the old woman which he immediately hurled head first through the window down onto the backyard pavement. It then dropped the razor and began an advance toward its pursuing master in the window. Upon its approach, the sailor shrank backward, nearly falling off the rod. Gliding down the pole, I at once rushed for home. I was dreading the consequences of the bloodied butchery, and gladly ridding myself of the horrid gory scene.

In my solitude, the fate of the Ourang-outang in all its horror was gladly abandoned.

What I scarcely have remaining in my minds black memory are the voices heard. I heard the Frenchman as well as the men on the stairway. I heard those men, along with the fiendish jabbering of the crazed and currently timid ape commingling. The lone Frenchman’s voice was no more.”

The sailor spoke now with some ease of conscience. “The Ourang-outang must have escaped from the house via the lightning rod, unknowingly closing the window in its escape.

Subsequently, I was able to re-capture the animal. I cleaned him up and sold him for a very large sum at the Jardin de Plantes.”

Adolphe Le Bon was immediately released from custody while the sailor was placed in irons, packed up and made ready for the trip to the Bastille.

The functionary, however deposed by my friend, publisher, and editor could not altogether conceal his chagrin at the turn of events which had taken place. He did see fit to indulge in a bit of sarcasm or two, regarding the propriety of every person minding his or her own business.

The friend’s disposition mirrored that of several investigating gendarmes involved in or discussing the case.

“Let them talk,” said Duprae. He didn’t think it necessary to reply or indulge. He and Poe had submitted their reports. Duprae submitted his findings to the headmaster of police investigations while Poe submitted to his newspaper/magazine company. The royal administrator who contacted and requested Duprae’s assistance was also informed and brought up to date on his fact finding assignment.

The first respondent detectives indulged in post discussion, the first claiming sovereignty as being the lead detective until the arrival of the Chief Inspector. This individual held great disdain for Duprae’s investigative success. He resented the fact that he had elitist connections and that he was a ‘Blue-Blood’ involved himself in the business of the average citizen and its police.

“Let him discourse, Eddie; it will ease his conscience. I am satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle. Nevertheless, that he failed in the solutions of this mystery is by no means a matter for wonder which he supposes it; for in truth, our friend the prefect is somewhat too cunning to be profound. In his wisdom is no ‘stamen.’ It is all head and no body, like the pictures of the Goddess Laverna, or at best, all head and shoulders, like a codfish – to deny what exists, and to explain what doesn’t is a master stroke for his reputation for ingenuity, and integrity,” said Duprae.

“Chaunea,” Poe asked in bewilderment? “What about the Chief Inspector…Inspector Abberline? He has not given his opinion. I would have liked to hear what he has to say about this case. I would have liked to get his opinion.”

“My friend, he was indeed different if not a strange sort of fellow. Although he struck me as a shrewd, patient, thinking, analytical, and very intelligent individual; he seemed to have something extra on his mind. I do know that he has been on the trail of the ‘Ripper.’”

“Chaunea, I think I remember something about a secreted royal wedding, kidnapping, and illegitimate child - a son born to Prince Edward of England.”

“Oui, mon ami, he did indeed disappear from the shadows of the L’Espanaye household after we had determined the end result of this case. He came to me and shook my hand in a congratulatory manner while we were at the house of the police. He asked me if I believed in the devil and what I thought of him. I asked him if he’d located his Mary Kelly. He responded with a queer sort of look and said he had to go to America.

He said the missing Frenchman was going to America in search of his prize. Eddie, I think we can provide him, the chief inspector with some assistance. He suggested that the Ripper was there in the house with the two women when the Ourang-outang disrupted their business affair. Should he request our input or assistance, we will help him – we will go to New York. He said the ripper is not dead. The man they caught afterwards was a retired surgeon who blamed ladies of the night with his affliction – syphilis.”

“The other thing that worries me Eddie is from what I remember of the kidnapping, murder, and the incarceration of the mother of the so-called illegitimate child. The smaller newspapers reported the marriage was legitimate in the eyes of the church. It is the Queen who does not wish it to be so. Mary Kelly is in grave danger…the other ladies of the night have been eliminated while the hunt is on for this woman, she will find no peace. Indeed we will go to America and provide the support and assistance to the Chief Inspector. He will need it”

“Chaunea, I’ve also noticed the chief inspector was gone before the full moon appeared. There were reports of the howling of a wolf. The townsfolk say they have not had wolves in the area for more than thirty years. They say several of their livestock have gone missing”

“We shall look into this matter, mon ami. Now let us go and refresh ourselves with a lager and breakfast.”

~

“There are ideal series of events which run parallel with the real ones. The rarely coincide. Men and circumstances generally modify the ideal train of events, so that it seems imperfect, and its consequences are equally imperfect. Thus with the reformation; instead or Protestantism came Lutheranism.”

~Novalis, Morale Ansichten~

End of Part One

*/

‘Nocturnal Excursions – It’s A Real Good Day’

There are ideal series or events which run parallel with the real ones. They rarely coincide. Men and circumstances generally modify the ideal train of events, so that it seems imperfect, and its consequences are equally imperfect. Thus with the reformation; instead of Protestantism came Lutheranism.

~

Protestantism / Protestantem, meaning "one who publicly declares/protests", which refers to the protest against some beliefs and practices of the early 16th century Roman Catholic Church. The word "protest" being derived from the Latin prōtestārī, which literally means to testify, or give a public witness.

~

The name Lutheran originated as a derogatory term used against Martin Luther by German Scholastic theologian Dr. Johann Maier von Eck during the Leipzig Debate in July 1519. Eck and other Roman Catholics followed the traditional practice of naming a heresy after its leader, thus labeling all who identified with the theology of Martin Luther as Lutherans. Martin Luther always disliked the term, preferring instead to describe the reform movement with the term "Evangelical", which was derived from Euangelion, a Greek word meaning "good news", i.e. "Gospel." The followers of John Calvin also began to use that term. To distinguish the two evangelical groups, others began to call them "Evangelical Lutheran" and "Evangelical Reformed." In time the word "Evangelical" came to be dropped. Eventually Lutherans themselves began to use the term in the middle of the 16th century in order to distinguish themselves from other groups, such as Philippists and Calvinists. In 1597, theologians in Wittenberg defined the title "Lutheran" as referring to the true church.

~

Part Two: “The Wedding Party”

“We knew we were all doomed…all of us who knew.”

Abberline recalled the statement from one of several interviews with the six whores of ‘Cleveland Street’ in the ‘White Chapel District.’ The funeral of Martha Taibron brought them all to collusion. They needed to join forces for their very survival. They were constantly pursued by McQueen, the pimp of Nickel Street. He extorted money and sexual favors from the street walkers – ladies of the night.

http://parttwotheweddingparty.blogspot.com/

http://www.amazon.com/Gregory-V.-Boulware/e/B00OI16PDI/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Til Next Time…

 */ 

Acknowledgements:

Mr. ‘Eddie’ Poe (Edgar Allan Poe) and I, the 3^rd Party Voice of the Editor/Publisher, Gregory V. Boulware

This story is based on and greatly inspired in whole or in part by Edgar Allen Poe, Master of the Macabre, ‘Murders In The Rue Morgue’ and The Mystery of Marie Roget.

The Complete Stories and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe

ISBN 9780385074070 and notes from Bookrags.com, “He has ruined the old sound with the first letter” http://www.bookrags.com/notes/poe/part17.html  

“From Hell,” ~Jack the Ripper~

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