My Clockwork Muse (27 page)

"That is precisely what has brought me back
here," Gessler said.

It was not lost on me that Gessler did not
confide to Mr. Landor just how calculated the crime had been. Just
as the 'Rue Morgue' murderer had carefully selected his victims
based upon my description of their abode, the same fiend had chosen
to victimize the Landors due solely to the misfortune of the lady's
shared named with that of my story and the close proximity of her
residence to my cottage. It was a fact that all of their fates had
been sealed by my pen. It was hard from me to regard Mr. Landor
knowing this horrible truth.

The poor man's grief was plain to see. Out of
sympathy, I told him that my own wife had passed away from the same
damnable disease. "Despite Dr. Coppelius' best efforts," I found
myself adding vaguely.

Landor's eyes lit up in recognition.
"Coppelius? Why, he also tended my Berenice."

Gessler cocked his head. "Coppelius was your
wife's doctor?"

"Indeed," Landor said. "An eccentric man, to
be sure, but a capable physician."

"Yes," I agreed, noting the dark look Gessler
shot me.

An idea seemed to occur to him. "I would like
to speak to the maid again, if you don't mind, Mr. Landor."

"Maggie. Why, yes, of course, Inspector. I
will fetch her for you."

"Coppelius was the doctor," Gessler said as
soon as Landor had gone. He paced the room lost in thought,
stroking his moustache. "What sort of foul game might he have been
playing here?"

"It is beyond coincidence," said I. "And
yet..."

Gessler stopped pacing and looked at me. "And
yet what?"

"And yet I can see no possible connection
between Coppelius and the dead lady's teeth."

Gessler began stroking his moustache again.
"Nor can I." He went to the window and looked out on the garden.
"The maid, Maggie, saw the culprit here in the garden. I believe we
should inquire about a big man, agile, athletic. Don't you
agree?"

"Burton," I said.

"He alone knew of your story, Mr. Poe.
Besides you, that is."

We heard a feeble throat-clearing and turned
to see the maid standing in the doorway.

"Ah, Maggie." Gessler smiled, striding past
me towards the young woman. "I hope you don't mind if I ask you
just a few more questions?"

"Of course not, sar," she said, with a hint
of an Irish accent —her 'sir' sounding a little like 'sar'. "It is
nice to see you again, Inspector. And you, sar—" She looked to me
and the words seemed to catch in her throat. I thought I noticed a
look of recognition in her eyes—possibly even fear—but she averted
her gaze quickly. I was sure Gessler caught the look, but he said
nothing. I felt puzzled.

Gessler had her recount the night in
question, how she had seen a man in the garden and had been too
afraid to raise an alarm. This last caused her some embarrassment,
and she muttered, "It was cowardly of me, I know."

"Quite understandable, Maggie. Was the man
armed?"

"I couldn't rightly say. He was carryin' a
little bag. That's all I could see from my window. It gives me a
chill, sar, knowing now what was in it."

"The lady's teeth," I said, and Maggie
lowered her eyes, nodding.

"You say you saw the man from your window.
You're speaking of your window upstairs."

Maggie nodded. "I was waked up by a noise and
when I looked out my window there he was."

"May we?" Gessler asked, gesturing toward the
parlor door and the staircase beyond. Maggie agreed and led us up
the thickly-carpeted stairs and through dark corridors to her room,
our feet making scarcely a sound as we moved. Gessler immediately
went to the window and, pulling back the curtain, looked down into
the garden. I followed suit and saw a man with a hoe—the gardener,
I supposed—appear from out of the house and saunter bow-legged
among the rows of vegetables and flowers.

"How would you describe this man?" Gessler
asked, turning from the glass.

"Come again, sar..."

"The man in the garden that night. Was he a
big man? Tall, agile, burly...?"

"Oh, no," Maggie said with certainty. "He was
wee man. Slight, I would say. But he was wearin' a hood or a mask
over his face—"

A jolt passed through me as I recalled my Rue
Morgue assailant. "A mask? What kind of mask?"

"Black as the night itself." Maggie had
lowered her voice as if she were surreptitiously peering at the man
still. "At first, I thought I was seein' things, or dreamin'. A
headless man in the garden, I thought."

"You could see nothing of this man's face
through the mask?" Gessler asked.

"No, nothin'. It was black as night, as I
say. No eyeholes nor nothin' like that."

"But he unmasked at some point, did he not?"
Gessler must have learned this from his previous meeting with the
girl.

She nodded. "That he did, Inspector."

"And did you get a look at him then?"

"I saw him clearly—just as I'm lookin' at
you. He was a very pale man. After that mask, his face seemed pale
as death itself in the darkness."

"And what did he look like?"

"Well," Maggie began reluctantly.

"Go on," Gessler urged.

"Well, if you don't mind me sayin', I thought
he looked like him." Maggie pointed at me. She looked fearful at
first, but then uttered a nervous titter. "You give me a fright
downstairs, sar. I thought you were him, you see. When I noticed
your injured eye, I thought perhaps you were the inspector's
prisoner, and not his associate. Crazy the thoughts that go through
your head when there's criminals creepin' about."

"Are you sure about that, Maggie? It was a
dark night and you're seeing the man from a second floor
window—"

"Oh, I'm sure of it, sar. He had a moustache
just like his, pale complexion, but dark around the eyes. Sort of a
large forehead. No offense, sar." Maggie looked down at her
feet.

Gessler said nothing, but went to the window
and again looked down on the garden. I joined him. He tapped on the
glass and the gardener looked up over his shoulder. Seeing us, he
waved cheerfully. From where we stood, we could make out his
features clearly. I knew that was what Gessler wanted to see. The
window was not so high, nor so far as to preclude a reliable
identification of a man in the garden.

Gessler let the curtain fall. "Thank you,
Maggie. Might my associate and I have a moment alone?"

"Cartainly, sar."

As she closed the door behind her, I could
contain myself no longer.

"I was attacked by a masked man at the site
of the Rue Morgue murder," I exclaimed, trying to keep my voice
down. I expected Gessler to jump at the news, but he made no
reaction.

"So I've heard," he said gravely.

He obviously did not comprehend the
importance of the maid's testimony. But it excited me to my core.
"This was him! This was the man at the Rue Morgue. He was just as
Maggie described. A slight man in a black mask. Again, this can be
no coincidence."

"You will forgive me, Mr. Poe, but—" Before I
knew what was happening, Gessler had reached into the pocket of my
frock coat and withdrew my revolver. He pointed it at the level of
my gut. "—I must ask that you explain what you were doing in the
garden on that night."

"You can't be serious!"

"
And
at the scene of the Amontillado
murder," he added. "We have the testimony of the cook."

~ * * * ~

"I am being framed! You know this to be true,
Inspector. They are trying to drive me mad—to make the world
believe that I
am
mad—and, failing that, to kill me
outright."

"That's a lot
they
are trying to
accomplish, Mr. Poe. Just who is this extraordinarily enterprising
they
, sir."

I could not believe my ears. Tap warned me of
Gessler's deceitful nature. To think that he could have witnessed
what we had both seen with our own eyes just that morning and still
suspect me was beyond the powers of my reason to grasp.

"Why, Coppelius, of course," I said,
dumbfounded. "In league with Billy Burton. You saw it yourself. The
vial that was found at the Amontillado scene matches the concoction
from Coppelius' lab."

"You refer, of course, to the vial that
you
found at the Amontillado scene. And the vial that
you
found in the lab. The lab of
your
doctor, I might
add. The very doctor who rescued you from me when I had come to
arrest you."

I could find no words to answer him. I felt I
was trapped in a nightmare.

When I failed to respond, Gessler continued.
"That was not Burton down in that garden. That was you. And that
was you at the boarding house that night. You left your vial—and
your trowel!—and you returned to retrieve them. Oh, yes, I know
about the trowel. I let it remain on purpose to see if you would
return for it. And you did."

"Ah! But there were
two
men dragging
Burton down that hallway, Inspector. I questioned the cook
myself."

"I am aware of that, Monsieur Dupin," Gessler
said sadly.

"But if I was one, then who was the
other?"

"I believe I should ask
you
that
question."

I felt my face redden with anger. "Then ask
who attacked me down in that basement! Ask me that, and I will tell
you that it was Burton, by God!"

Gessler shook his head sadly. "I have heard
from many of your acquaintances, Mr. Poe, that you are your own
worst enemy. I am beginning to believe it. Tell me: what other
manifestations do you see during your spells of somnambulism?"

"You have spoken to Coppelius." I did not
bother asking, but stated the fact dryly, for it did not surprise
me. But I was suddenly consumed by the idea that Gessler and
Coppelius were in league against me. If that were so, then I feared
Olimpia was in great danger.

"I know of your condition, of course. When I
came to arrest you that day at your cottage, I listened at your
door for some time and heard you engaged in quite a lively
discussion. Arguing, it seemed. When you let me in, however—sad to
say—I found you there quite alone, Mr. Poe."

He had not found me alone, but with Tap. I
wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, but anything I said now
would only further condemn me. I decided it would be best to hold
my tongue.

Gessler went on, "Now, you will accompany me
down to the Landor family crypt so we can have a look at your
handiwork and you can describe to me the details of the crime." He
waved my pistol towards the door. "Perhaps you will lead the
way—since you undoubtedly know it well."

I turned and began walking, knowing only that
the crypt was in the cellar. I would not give Gessler the
satisfaction of further pleading my case. I was a fool to have
trusted him. I could feel the broad nose of my own pepperbox
revolver poking me in the back.

"I hope that you won't make it necessary for
me to hold this gun on you the entire way," Gessler said.

"Only a madman would commit a crime that so
clearly implicates himself."

"Indeed. Now, lead me to the crypt."

~ * * * ~

"You're making a mistake, Gessler," I told
him as we made our way across the cellar floor.

"Let me worry about that."

I laughed. "Perhaps in my next detective
story, I'll include an incompetent inspector. A recurring
character, a fool to act as a foil to Dupin—though only a hack
would ever think to employ such a recurring artifice."

"You'll be writing it from a prison cell, if
what I believe proves out. Now, just keep walking."

Narrow windows set high in the walls allowed
just enough sunlight to filter into the cellar for us to see. The
air smelled of mold. Dust floated lazily through the beams of
slanting sunlight. I had surmised the way to the crypt from our
conversation with Mr. Landor. The crypt door, he had said, was next
to a woodpile. Turning a corner, we came upon just such a feature.
An axe jutted rigidly from a block, its handle making an elongated
shadow on the wall that drew our eyes to a recess therein. Inside,
three or four stone steps led down to what must have been the door
of the crypt. A lantern hung from a hook on the wall. Supposing the
interior would be black as a tomb, I removed it from its peg, lit
it, and started down to the door.

"Damn you, Gessler," I said as I turned the
latch. I had had enough of his crime scenes. Whoever's handiwork it
turned out to be, I was not eager to lay eyes on the defiled
remains of Mrs. Landor.

"Does any of this seem familiar to you yet,
Mr. Poe?"

I set my jaw firmly, ignoring Gessler's
taunt, and opened the door. It creaked gently and I peered inside.
The glow of the lantern revealed a long chamber with an arched
ceiling. An aisle separated two rows of stone pedestals. Atop them
rested sarcophagi which contained, I supposed, the coffins of the
departed. Ignoring the flutter in my stomach, I ducked under the
lintel and entered a space just high enough to allow me to stand
upright. Gessler followed close on my heels. As we walked down the
aisle among the dead, I saw that the names of the deceased Landors
were chiseled into the stone.

When I saw the final name, a chill went
through me.
Berenice
. I had not been prepared for the shock
of seeing the title of my story here in this crypt. The name itself
was wedded in my mind to the hideous crime of my imagination. I
could not see the word without seeing the deed. And there it was
before me. Silent but so full of evil portent that my hand began to
quake, rattling the fittings on the lantern and causing the light
to shudder.

The heavy stone lid of the sarcophagus stood
propped up against the pedestal where it had fallen. Upon being
dislodged, it must have struck the floor with some force, for I saw
that it had cracked, suggesting great weight. I found a ledge and
put my lantern upon it and, to satisfy my own curiosity, tried to
lift the lid, but could not budge it. I looked at Gessler with a
gleam of triumph in my eye. I nodded toward the fallen stone. "Try
it."