The Tell-tale Corpse: An Edgar Allan Poe Mystery - Hardcover

Schechter, Harold

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0345448421 ISBN 13: 9780345448422

Verlag: Ballantine Books, 2006

Inhaltsangabe

Heading to Massachusetts in search of a cure for his ailing wife, Edgar Allan Poe becomes embroiled in an investigation into a series of brutal murders, joining forces with Louisa May Alcott to bring together the clues in seemingly unrelated cases.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Harold Schechter is a professor of American literature and culture at Queens College, the City University of New York. Renowned for his true-crime writing, he is the author of The Serial Killer Files, Fiend, Bestial, Deviant, Deranged, Depraved, and, with David Everitt, The A to Z Encyclopedia of Serial Killers. He previously featured Edgar Allan Poe in his acclaimed novels The Mask of Red Death, The Hum Bug, and Nevermore. He lives in New York State.

Harold Schechter is a professor of American literature and culture at Queens College, the City University of New York.

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Chapter One

It has often been observed that the smallest, most trivial accident may, on occasion, produce momentous consequences. Who has not heard the story of the falling apple which—landing by chance upon the brow of the scientific genius reposing in the shade—led him to unlock the very secrets of the universe? However apocryphal this tale may be, it possesses a core (so to speak) of profound truth: namely, that matters of the utmost importance have, at times, been the direct result of the merest bits of happenstance.

These remarks may serve as a preface to the following adventures, which occurred in the latter months of 1845.

In New York City, on a gusty October evening, I was making my way through the bustling streets of the great metropolis, toward the rooms I shared with the two beings dearest to my soul. I refer, of course, to those angelic creatures I called by the fond soubriquets of “Sissy” and “Muddy”—i.e., my precious wife, Virginia, to whom I was bound by the double ties of cousin and spouse, and her mother, my darling Aunt Maria Clemm. I was returning from the office of my business partner, Mr. Charles Briggs, publisher of the Broadway Journal, a magazine which—thanks largely to my own editorial innovations—had enjoyed a steep rise in circulation in recent months.

The growing success of our enterprise was due in no small part to a highly popular series of articles I had been contributing to the past several issues. The title of this series was “The Secrets of Word-Mysteries.” Each article was devoted to a different form of linguistic puzzle—acrostics, anagrams, ciphers, and codes of various kinds. After providing a concise history and explanation of each species of riddle, I would present an example devised by myself and challenge the reader to solve it. Those who sent in the correct answer would receive a free subscription to the Broadway Journal. My cryptograms had proven so ingenious, however, that, to date, I had not been obliged to hand out a single prize.

On the afternoon in question, I had applied myself to the composition of the latest article in the series. The subject was the rebus. As always, I had begun by explaining the origins of the term, tracing its etymology to the Latin word for “things” and describing its relationship to such symbolical forms of writing as Egyptian hieroglyphics and ancient Chinese pictographs.

I had then defined the most commonly recognized modern meaning of the term—i.e., a type of riddle which relies on the device of the visual or linguistic pun. In its simplest form, I explained, the rebus employs graphic representations of objects as a substitute for words or syllables. The word “equal,” for example, might be depicted in the following manner:

E +

Because of the amusing ingenuity displayed in such a construction, this elementary form of the rebus was highly popular among children, and it was possible to find entire books of fairy legends and nursery rhymes composed in this charmingly pictorial form. There was also, however, a more complex and sophisticated variety of rebus. This latter type depended not on pictures but solely on letters and words, whose size, relative arrangement, and placement pointed to the answer to the puzzle. A comparatively simple example would be:

momanon

Here, the word “man” appears inside the word “moon.” Thus, the correct answer to this riddle is: “man in the moon.”

After providing several more such examples, I had concluded my article with a rebus of my own invention. It had required several minutes of intensive concentration to contrive a suitably cryptic puzzle, but at length I had constructed a riddle of such sheer—such diabolical—cleverness that it would, I felt certain, prove impossible for my readers to decipher.

By the time I had completed this article, the sun had set. Throwing on my coat, I had departed for home.

No sooner did I find myself out on the street, however, than a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. For many months, I had been living under an almost unendurable emotional strain. Writing had been my only respite and nepenthe. Once freed of the distraction of work, however, my mind instantly reverted to the subject that filled my soul with despair.

As I strolled along Maiden Lane, my attention was suddenly drawn to the warm yellow light issuing from the window of a saloon called Hoffman’s. I had passed by this establishment on many previous occasions as I wended my way home from work, though without ever having ventured inside. Contrary to the malicious rumors spread by my enemies, I had long maintained an unwavering abstemiousness in regard to the consumption of liquor. For many years—apart from those very rare occasions when the dictates of social etiquette required that I partake of small amounts of alcoholic drink—nothing stronger than coffee had passed my lips.

On this fateful autumn evening, however, the awful burden of worry I had been made to endure for so long became more than I could bear. My resolution wavered—my resistance collapsed—and, frantic for release, I succumbed to temptation. With a wild cry of abandonment, I plunged through the swinging doors of the saloon.

An hour later, I emerged once again onto the street, having imbibed several tumblers of brandy toddy. Far from improving my mood, however, the drink had only made me feel worse. In addition to my melancholia, I was now filled with an acute sense of shame, having managed to spend every coin in my purse—a meager enough sum, but far more than I could afford in view of my miserably straitened circumstances.

With a bowed head, I bent my steps (somewhat unsteadily) toward home. Though night had fallen, Broadway still teemed with people, and as I walked—or rather, staggered—along the sidewalk, I kept colliding with other pedestrians, a number of whom responded in the most uncivil way: with cries of “Watch where you go, you fool!”—“Filthy sot!”—and other, even more offensive comments.

Though I bristled at these insults, I could not pretend, even to myself, that they were unjustified. To be sure, I had not consumed an inordinate number of drinks. There could be no doubt, however, that—owing to my acute susceptibility to even small quantities of alcohol—I was thoroughly inebriated. Before long, I had completely lost track of precisely where I was. Pausing beneath a streetlamp, I lifted my head to get my bearings.

At that very instant, something crashed into me with such force that I was thrown onto the pavement. It was a relatively minor mishap of the sort that frequently occurs on the crowded thoroughfare. How could I know that it marked the beginning of an adventure replete with events of the most startling and unprecedented character?

Sprawled on my back, I had the peculiar sensation that I was lying prostrate on the deck of a storm-tossed frigate. At length I opened my eyes. The world was spinning madly. By slow degrees my dizziness subsided, and I became aware that someone was bending over me—a figure who appeared to be garbed in a hooded monk’s habit. His visage being obscured by the shadows of his cowl, I could not, at first, discern his features. When I did, a gasp escaped my lips.

My initial thought was that the liquor had so wrought upon my senses as to derange my vision. How else explain the fellow’s three eyes, two noses, and weirdly bifurcated mouth?

The answer came...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Ballantine Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2006
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0345448421
• ISBN 13: 9780345448422
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 320
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: SC; https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/; ; CL MODESTO LAFUENTE 41; Madrid; Madrid; Spanien