English

THE PURLOINED LETTER

by Edgar Allan Poe

(1845)

Nil sapientiae odiosius acumine nimio.

Seneca.

AT Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18--, I was

enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a meerschaum, in company with my

friend C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library, or book-closet, au

troisieme, No. 33, Rue Dunot, Faubourg St. Germain. For one hour at least we had

maintained a profound silence; while each, to any casual observer, might have

seemed intently and exclusively occupied with the curling eddies of smoke that

oppressed the atmosphere of the chamber. For myself, however, I was mentally

discussing certain topics which had formed matter for conversation between us at

an earlier period of the evening; I mean the affair of the Rue Morgue, and the

mystery attending the murder of Marie Roget. I looked upon it, therefore, as

something of a coincidence, when the door of our apartment was thrown open and

admitted our old acquaintance, Monsieur G--, the Prefect of the Parisian police.

We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly half as much of the

entertaining as of the contemptible about the man, and we had not seen him for

several years. We had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin now arose for the

purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down again, without doing so, upon G.'s

saying that he had called to consult us, or rather to ask the opinion of my

friend, about some official business which had occasioned a great deal of

trouble.

"If it is any point requiring reflection," observed Dupin, as he forbore to

enkindle the wick, "we shall examine it to better purpose in the dark."

"That is another of your odd notions," said the Prefect, who had a fashion of

calling every thing "odd" that was beyond his comprehension, and thus lived amid

an absolute legion of "oddities."

"Very true," said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor with a pipe, and rolled

towards him a comfortable chair....