Matthew Pearl - The Poe Shadow

I ran for the fields that sloped down from the road. Beyond that was open country.

Then my captor was out of the coach and starting toward me, terribly fast for so bulky a man. I felt a quick, decisive blow to my head.

My hands were stiff behind my back. I was looking around-or should I say up. Upon waking, I found myself in a wide trench indented some twenty feet into the earth. Above that were towering walls; they were nothing like the petite rows of buildings and homes on every Paris street. It was as though I had been brought to another world, and a monstrous silence stretched around us as in the widest desert.

"Where am I? I demand to know!" I shouted, though I could see no one to shout to.

I heard a voice mutter something in French. I craned my head but could not move enough to see behind me. Only a shadow fell over me, and I believed it was that of my captor.

"Where are we, you blackguard?" I demanded. He made no indication of hearing. He just stood, waiting. Only when the villain in question came from the other side did I realize that this shadow belonged to someone else.

Finally, the shadow moved and he came around to face me. But it was no man.

Here she was, wearing a fresh white bonnet and a plain dress, she who could have been in one of the Parisian gardens. She stopped in front of my chair and leaned over me with what seemed to be caring protectiveness, looking at me with deep-set eyes-in fact, eyes so deep they seemed to reach to the back of her head. She seemed no older than a girl.

"Stop squeaking."

"Who are you?" I whispered, hoarse from hollering.

"Bonjour," said the girl, who then turned her back and walked away.

I returned the greeting, though thinking any attempt at cordialness odd under the circumstances.

"You fool," admonished my first captor, seeming to wish she not hear, as though he would be blamed for my error. "That is her name. Bonjour!"

"Bonjour?" I repeated. Then I realized I had seen her before, another time I was in jeopardy. "At Café Belge! I saw you there, holding a basket! Why were you there?"

"Here we are!" a new voice boomed in English, tinged with a French accent but otherwise perfectly fluent. "Is it very necessary to have our welcomed guest from the great United States so restrained?"

The answer was demure enough to identify the latest arrival as the leader. My captor moved closer to him and spoke confidentially, as though I had suddenly lost the power to hear. "He swooned at Versailles, and then he ran from the coach, leaping out the door like a madman. He nearly killed himself-"

"No matter. Here we are all safe. Bonjour, please?" The girl agilely untied the ropes and released my wrists.

I had not up to this point been able to see this new arrival, only glimpses of a long white cloak and light pantaloons. With my hands free, I stood and faced him.

"My apologies for going to such lengths, Monsieur Clark," he said, waving his bejeweled hand at our surroundings as though the whole thing was an accident. "But I am afraid these unfortunate fortresses are among the few places within the environs of Paris where I can still travel with some tranquillity. Most importantly-"

I interrupted. "Now see here! Your rogue has ill-treated me and now-But in the first place, I would like to know where exactly you have had me taken and why…!" I choked on my words, staring at him through a spark of sudden recognition.

"Most importantly, as I say," he continued warmly, a grin pressing out the olive skin of his face, "we finally meet in person."

He took my hand, which fell limp when the truth struck me.

"Dupin!" I cried out in disbelief.

YOU WILL RECALLthat there were five or six other men that I seriously examined as potential inspirations for the Dupin character before eliminating them in favor of Duponte.

A Baron Claude Dupin was one of these-a French attorney who, it was said, had never lost a single case, and who boasted distant royal lineage, wherein derived the dubious title of "Baron." He had been among the most prominent jurists of Paris for many years, thought of as a hero for successfully advocating in favor of many accused but sympathetic wrongdoers. He was even a candidate for advocate-general at one time, and almost sent to the chamber of representatives by his district during one of the upheavals in French government. He was alleged by some to employ unsavory tactics and, soon, relinquished his work altogether in favor of biding his time with other enterprises in London. While there, he was sworn in as a special constable during a period of fear of an uprising, and acted bravely enough in that capacity to continue with that title in an honorary capacity.

All of this information had been collected piecemeal during my careful searches of French periodicals. There was a time before I went to Paris when I was quite certain that Claude Dupin was the basis for C. Auguste Dupin, and I had sent several letters to Baron Dupin inquiring into further details of his history and describing the pressing situation at hand in Baltimore. Soon enough, however, I had stumbled upon the articles concerning Auguste Duponte and altered my theory. When Claude Dupin had replied to me, I had mailed him an apologetic letter explaining my mistake.

One of the French periodicals I had seen included an illustrated portrait of Baron Dupin, which I had studied closely. Thus, I knew the man who was pressing my hand as though we were old friends. That's when I yelled in alarm and astonishment: "Dupin!…You're Claude Dupin!"

"Please," said he magnanimously, "call me Baron!"

I yanked my hand away. I looked for my best chance at immediate escape. The carriage that had brought me there was now waiting in a temporary passage in the masonry, but I had no thought of being able to commandeer it, as my first captor had returned to the vehicle and was waiting there.

The trench around Paris was part of the impenetrable fortification built to provide against future assaults on the city. A continuous enclosure surrounded the outskirts of Paris, with embankments for artillery, surrounded by ditches and trenches.

In these daunting surroundings, Dupin now assured me of my complete safety and began explaining that his colleague Hartwick-that was the name of my captor, who'd nabbed me at Versailles and put me in his carriage-had merely wished to ensure my safe presence for this interview.

"Hartwick can outswear Satan, and he has almost bitten a man's arm clean off once, but taken together he's not badly made up. Do forgive him."

"Forgive? Forgive this assault? I'm afraid, Dupin, I shall not do that!" I cried.

"You see, it is already a great relief to know you," said Claude Dupin. "After so much time living in London, I'm afraid it's been a while since a soul has pronounced my name correctly, like a Frenchman!"

"Listen, monsieur," I reprimanded, though I liked the rare compliment to my French. "Do not butter me up. If you wished to speak with me, why not choose some civilized place in the city?"

"It would have been my pleasure to share a demi-tasse of coffee, Monsieur Clark, I assure you. But shall I call you Quentin?" He had a dashing way of talking that conveyed a high degree of ardor.

"No!"

"Be easy, be easy. Let me explain myself more, good Quentin. You see, there are two types of friends in this world: friends and enemies. In Paris, I possess both. I am afraid one of those groups would like to see me a head shorter. I may have been involved with the wrong sort some years ago, and promised certain amounts of money that, at the end of a thorough and unforgiving mathematical evaluation, I failed to possess. I was as poor as Job's turkey. Fortunately, though I was in a bad box, I have enough protection in London to prevent too much worry when I am there. You see where I am reduced to meeting when I wish to visit Paris," he added, waving his hand around at the fortifications. "You have luck enough to have some fortune of your own, I believe, Brother Quentin. Business? Or born with a silver spoon? No matter, I guess."