trouble selecting and copying these particular documents."
We went to work immediately. I took one side of the desk. Guided by Duponte, I searched for bent and misaligned corners, smudged ink, slight tears and folds, creases, and other indicators of recent handling among the various assortments and collections of documents and newspaper articles on all subjects, some with dates as much as twenty-five years old. Together we located many mentions of Poe that apparently had been examined by Bonjour in her time in this house, including a wealth of articles on the death of Poe that, if not quite as comprehensive as my own collection, was not unimpressive. Exhilarated and appalled, I found some rather more unique documents, three letters-the handwriting on which I recognized right away-from Edgar Poe to Dr. Snodgrass, dating from several years earlier.
In the first, Poe offered Snodgrass, then editing a magazine called The Notion, the rights to publish the second of the Dupin tales. "Of course I could not afford to make you an absolute present of it," wrote Poe firmly, "but if you are willing to take it, I will say $40." Yet Snodgrass turned him down, and Poe was declined by Graham's, too, before publishing "The Mystery of Marie Roget" elsewhere.
In the second letter from Poe, the writer asked Dr. Snodgrass to place a favorable notice of Poe's work in a magazine then being edited by Neilson Poe, hoping that the latter would oblige him as his cousin. The attempt seems to have failed, and Poe wrote back in disgust. "I felt that N. Poe would not insert the article," he said. "In your private ear, I believe him to be the bitterest enemy I have in the world."
I rushed to share this. "Neilson Poe, monsieur! Edgar Poe calls him his bitterest enemy... Didn't I guess at his position in all this!"
Our time being too short to discuss each item, Duponte directed me to quickly copy into my memorandum book all items about Poe that seemed important to me and, for that matter, he said after thinking it over, items that seemed unimportant to me as well. I duly noted the date of Poe's letter about Neilson: October 7, 1839-exactly ten years to the day before Poe's death!
"He is the more despicable in this," wrote Poe of Neilson, "since he makes loud professions of friendship." And did Neilson not profess the same fables, when I met him? We were not only cousins, but friends, Mr. Clark. Neilson Poe, with his heart beating for his own literary fame, his hand holding a wife who was sister and near copy to Edgar's-had he wanted the life of the very man he so outwardly denigrated?
This was not all I found in letters from Poe to Snodgrass about his Baltimore relatives. Poe had declared Henry Herring (the first Poe relation to arrive at Ryan's) "a man of unprincipled character."
Duponte paused in the midst of opening every possible drawer in the room.
"Survey the streets from the other side of the house, Monsieur Clark. Watch out for Dr. Snodgrass's carriage. When he arrives, we must leave immediately, and ensure the Irish chambermaid says nothing of our visit."
I studied Duponte's face for any hint at how we would accomplish the second objective. I walked to a chamber at the front of the house. Looking from the window, I found that a carriage was passing nearby, but after it seemed to check its speed briefly, the horses continued down High Street. Turning back toward the study, I found myself facing Bonjour, leaning upon the hearth so that her black dress and apron radiated with the flame of the fire.
"All right, mister? Anything that I can help you with while you wait for Master Snodgrass?" she asked, in imitation of the downstairs chambermaid's voice, and loud enough that she might hear. In a quieter tone, she commented, "You see now that your friend is only a vulture on my master's investigation."
"I am quite well here, miss, thank you, only looking out at these dreadful rain clouds," I said in my loud voice, and then quietly: "Auguste Duponte imitates no man. He shall resolve this in a manner deserving of Monsieur Poe. He can help you, too, if you wish, more than that thief, mademoiselle, your so-called husband and master."
Bonjour, forgetting the necessities of her charade, slammed the door closed. "I think not! Duponte is a thief of true measure, Monsieur Clark-he steals people's thoughts, their faults. The Baron is a great man because