style="font-size:15px;"> “What do we have in the dry rest?[6] The peculiar voice, an unusual agility, a startling absence of motive in a singularly atrocious murder. Let us glance at the butchery itself. A girl is strangled to death by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney, head downward. Ordinary assassins do not do that. Other indications of a great strength the murderer must had have are very thick tresses of grey human hair on the hearth. They were torn out by the roots. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutely severed from the body: the instrument was a mere razor. Something here does not fit our ideas of human actions, even when we think of men of the most terrible kind. Who would commit the murder in such brutal way without a reason? Who could have such incredible strength?”
“A madman!” I exclaimed, “Some raving maniac!”
“In some ways,” he replied, “your idea is not irrelevant. But madmen are of some nation. Their cries may be terrible, but they are made of words, and some of the words can be understood. Besides, look at the hair I hold in my hand. I took it from rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L’Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it.”
“Dupin!” I said, completely amazed; “this hair is most unusual-this is no human hair.”
“Before we decide this matter, I want you to look at the little sketch I made. It is a picture of the marks on the daughter’s neck.”
My friend spread out the paper upon the table before us. “You see”, continued he, “there is no slipping apparent. The victim was killed by a firm and fixed hold. Now try to place all your fingers, at the same time, in the respective impressions as you see them.”
I tried and failed.
“Maybe we are not doing this in the right way?” said Dupin. “The paper is spread out on the table; but the human throat is cylindrical. Here is a piece of wood as big as a neck. Try to wrap your hand around it.”
I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than before. “This,” I said, “is the mark of no human hand.”
“Read now,” replied Dupin, “this passage from Cuvier.”
It was a detailed anatomical description of the large fulvous orangutan of the East Indian Islands. Goosebumps ran down my spine. The great size, the strength, the wildness of these animals are well known[7]. Suddenly, all hit me at once: the color of the hair… the size of the hand… the terrible strength… the wildness of the killings… a mysterious voice that spoke a language no one could understand…
“But, Dupin!” I said, “There were two voices! If one was of an orangutan, the other was unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman.”
“True; and you will remember that, by the evidence, the voice said “My God!” in French. I built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle upon these two words.
“The witnesses described the way in which these words were said as an expression of horror. This means that a Frenchman knew about these murders. I am sure he did not participate in the bloody killing itself. The orangutan probably run from him. He traced it to the chamber but failed to recapture it. These are my guesses and I have no right to call them more. But if the Frenchman is indeed, as I suppose, innocent, he will come here tonight. Read this. I have put this advertisement in the newspaper.”
He handed me a paper, and I read thus:
CAUGHT – Early in the morning of the – (the morning of the murder): a very large orangutan. The owner, who is known to be a sailor, may have the animal again if he can prove it is his.
“How do you know he is a sailor?” I asked.
“I do not know and I’m not sure of it. I found a small piece of ribbon at the foot of the lightning rod. Look at this knot. Only few besides sailors can tie this knot.”
“But why do you think he would reply to your advertisement?”
“Because he would want to avoid extra attention for he, which follows from the paper, is known as an owner of the orangutan. He would think: ‘I will answer the advertisement, get the orangutan, and keep it close until it’s over.’”
At this moment, we heard a step on the stairs.
“Be ready,” said Dupin, “with your pistols, but neither use them nor show them until at a signal from myself.”
Dupin left the front door of the house open. The visitor entered the house and made several steps up the stairs. Then he stopped.
“Come in,” said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone.
A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently, – a tall, stout, and muscular-looking person. He had a huge cudgel with him. He bowed awkwardly, and bade us “good evening,” in French accents.
“Sit down, my friend,” said Dupin. “I suppose you’re here for the orangutan. A very fine animal. How old do you suppose it to be?”
“I have no way of telling how old it is, but it can’t be more than four or five years old. Have you got it here?”
“Oh no, we could not keep him here. He is at a live. Are you prepared to identify the property?”
“To be sure I am, sir.”
“I wish I could keep it.”
“Of course I will pay you for finding and keeping the animal. Anything within reason.”
“Well,” replied my friend, “that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me think! – what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these murders in the Rue Morgue.”
Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly. Just as quietly, too, he walked toward the door. He locked it and put the key in his pocket. Then he drew a pistol from his bosom and placed it on the table.
The sailor’s face flushed up as if he were struggling with suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel, but the next moment he fell back into his seat. He spoke not a word. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart[8].
“My friend,” said Dupin, in a kind tone, “We mean you no harm whatever. I perfectly well know that you are innocent of the killings in the Rue Morgue. But it is true that you know something about the killer. It is a matter of honor for you to tell all you know.”
“So help me God!” said he, after a brief pause, “I will tell you all I know about this affair. But I do not expect you to believe half of it.”
The story was this. Lately he and some other sailors made a voyage to the Indian Archipelago. They landed at Borneo[9]. He and his friend went to a forest on an excursion of pleasure. There they captured the orangutan. Soon after his friend died and the animal fell into his own exclusive possession. He took it with him in Paris. The animal caused a lot of trouble but he managed to keep it secretly in his apartments for the time being[10]. His ultimate goal was to sell it.
In the morning of the murder, he found
What do we have in the dry rest? – Что мы имеем в сухом остатке?
well known – хорошо известны
from the bottom of my heart – от всей души
Borneo – Борнео, третий по величине остров в мире; находится в центре Малайского архипелага в юго-восточной Азии
for the time being – до поры до времени
