Poe, Edgar Allen / 2008-06-15 00:00:00
1845
THE PURLOINED LETTER
by Edgar Allan Poe
Nil sapientiae odiosius acumine nimio.
Seneca.
AT Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18--, I
was enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a meerschaum, in
company with my friend C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library,
or book-closet, au troisieme, No. 33, Rue Dunot, Faubourg St. Germain.
For one hour at least we had maintained a profound silence; while
each, to any casual observer, might have seemed intently and
exclusively occupied with the curling eddies of smoke that oppressed
the atmosphere of the chamber. For myself, however, I was mentally
discussing certain topics which had formed matter for conversation
between us at an earlier period of the evening; I mean the affair of
the Rue Morgue, and the mystery attending the murder of Marie Roget. I
looked upon it, therefore, as something of a coincidence, when the
door of our apartment was thrown open and admitted our old
acquaintance, Monsieur G--, the Prefect of the Parisian police.
We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly half as much of
the entertaining as of the contemptible about the man, and we had
not seen him for several years.
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