dark dream-land, a place of fog and mud, and had been driven right to me in the clear of day. After my meetings with Neilson Poe and Henry Herring, I was now with the third of the four mourners. Only the fourth remained, Z. Collins Lee-a classmate of Poe's from college who, as I'd recently heard, had been appointed a United States district attorney.
I stepped to the side of the coach. But the man had now wriggled to the other side, shouting out at the driver and fidgeting with the handle to open the door. I was about to speak, to call his attention through the window. Then his door opened.
"Isn't it Dr. Snodgrass!" a voice bellowed.
I wheeled away from the window and hid myself near the horses.
It was the Baron Dupin's voice.
"You again," Snodgrass said contemptuously, stepping down. "What are you doing here?"
"Nothing at all," the Baron said innocently. "You?"
"Sir, I beg your leave. I have another appointment. And this rascal driver-"
Leaning over, I could see the Baron's light-skinned slave Newman on the driver's seat and I understood. The Baron had not been idling across the street; he had been waiting for this very man to be delivered to him. No doubt he had stationed Newman in a place where he had known Snodgrass would look for a hackney coach. The first time I had eavesdropped on Snodgrass with the Baron I had seen Snodgrass's face only obliquely. Now the Baron removed the Walker note from his coat; the few sentences written by Walker the day Poe was found, recorded above. He showed it to Snodgrass.
Snodgrass was astonished. "Who are you?" he asked.
"You were involved that day," said the Baron, "in tending to Mr. Poe's well-being. If I chose, this note could be printed in the papers as proof that you were responsible for him. Some people, not knowing better, will assume you were hiding something both by not coming forward honestly with more details and, worse, by sending Mr. Poe alone to the hospital."
"Balderdash! Why would they assume that?" Snodgrass asked.
The Baron laughed good-naturedly. "Because I shall tell the newspapers just that."
Snodgrass hesitated, wavering between compliance and anger. "Did you enter my house, sir? If you stole this, sir..."
Bonjour now joined the Baron's side.
"You! Tess!" This had been Bonjour's assumed name at the Snodgrass home. "My chambermaid?" Now Snodgrass could not help choosing anger. "I shall call for the police this moment!"
"There may be evidence of a small theft you can present them with. But there is also evidence...well, should I mention?" the Baron said, putting a finger to his lips in restraint. "Yes, should I mention there were other private papers of yours we have happened upon...? Oh, the public and all of your blessed committees and societies and so forth would be most interested if we were to kick up a dust...!Do you not think so...Tess, my dear?"
"Blackmail!" Snodgrass stopped himself again, outraged but also hesitant.
"Unpleasant business, I agree." The Baron waved it away. "Back to Poe. You see, that is what really interests us. If the public knows your story-if they believe you tried to save his life...that would be different. But we must have your story first."
Baron Dupin had a sly talent for shifting effortlessly from badgering to dandling. He had performed the same dance with Dr. Moran, at the hospital where Poe died.
"Come now. Back into the carriage, Doctor-let us visit Ryan's!"
At least that is what I imagined the Baron said next as the defeated Snodgrass contemplated a reply, for I had already started away to find an unobtrusive place to wait at the tavern, knowing that was where they would be headed.
***
"Once I received that letter from Mr. Walker, I repaired to this drinking-saloon-tavern is too dignified a name-and, sure enough," Snodgrass continued as he escorted the Baron inside, "there he was."
I sat at a table in a sunless corner of the room, obscured and further darkened by the shadow of the stairwell that led up to the rooms available for hire, which were often taken by those customers not sober enough to find their way home.
"Poe!" interjected the Baron.
Snodgrass stopped at a dingy armchair. "Yes, he was sitting over here with his head dropped forward. He was in a condition that had been but too faithfully depicted by Mr. Walker's note-which, by the bye, you have had no business to read."
The Baron only grinned at the reproof. Snodgrass continued dejectedly.
"He was so altered from the neatly dressed, vivacious gentleman I knew,