The Poe Shadow

'I do remember the story now,' said White. 'I shall say this, Mr. Clark. You couldn't use that higgledy-piggledy talk from those stories to catch the most ordinary Baltimore thief.' Officer White topped this comment with a coarse laugh. The clerk, at a loss at first, then imitated his example in a higher pitch, so that there were two men laughing while there I stood, somber as the undertaker in war.

I had little doubt that there were an infinite number of talents these police officers could have learned, or tried to learn, from Poe's tales-indeed, the prefect of police whom Dupin embarrassed in the stories had more aptitude than my present companions for understanding that which is classed as mysterious, inexplicable, unavoidable.

'Have the newspapers agreed with you that there is more to find?'

'Not yet. I have pressed the editors, and will continue to use my influence to do so,' I promised.

Officer White's eyes wandered skeptically as I gave him further details. But he ruminated on our talk and, to my surprise, agreed it was a matter for the police to examine. He advised in the meantime that I dismiss it from my mind and not speak of it to anyone else.

Nothing particular occurred for several days after that. Peter and I prospered with some important clients who had recently retained our services. I'd see Hattie at a dinner or on Baltimore Street as she strolled on her aunt's arm, and we would exchange tidings. I would be blissfully lost in her restful voice. Then one day I received a message from Officer White to call on him. I rushed over to the station house.

Officer White greeted me at once. From the twitch of his grin he seemed eager to tell me something. I inquired if he had made progress.

'Oh, there has been much of it. Yes, I should say ‘progress'!' He searched a drawer and then handed me the newspaper clippings I had left in his possession.

'Officer, but you may wish to refer to these further in your examination.'

'There will be no examination, Mr. Clark,' he said conclusively as he settled back into his chair. Only then did I notice another man gathering his hat and walking stick from a table. He had his back to me, but then turned around.

'Mr. Clark.' Neilson Poe greeted me quietly, after a slow blink as though making an effort to remember my name.

'I called on Mr. Neilson Poe,' Officer White said, gesturing with satisfaction at this guest. 'He is known to us from the police courts as one of our most highly esteemed citizens and was a cousin to the deceased. You gentlemen are acquainted? Mr. Poe was kind enough to discuss your concerns with me, Mr. Clark,' Officer White continued. I already knew what would come next. 'Mr. Poe believes there is no need for any examination. He stands quite content with what is known about his cousin's premature death.'

'But, Mr. Poe,' I argued, 'you yourself said you were not able to learn what had happened in Edgar Poe's final days! You see there is some great mystery!'

Neilson Poe was busy covering himself in his cloak. As I looked upon him, I thought of his demeanor during our meeting and his manner toward his cousin. 'I'm afraid there's nothing more I can tell you about the end,' he had said to me in his office chambers. But, I now considered, did he mean he knew nothing else or he would tell me nothing else?

I leaned in close to where Officer White sat, trying to confide in him. 'Officer, you cannot-Neilson believes Edgar Poe is better dead than alive!' But Officer White cut me short.

'And Mr. Herring here agrees with Mr. Poe,' he went on. 'Perhaps you know him-the lumber merchant? He is another one of Mr. Poe's cousins, and he was the first relative to be present at the Fourth Ward polls, which were at Ryan's hotel, the day Mr. Poe was found delirious there.'

Henry Herring stood at the door of the station house, waiting for Neilson Poe. At the mention of his early presence upon Edgar Poe's discovery, Herring dropped his head. He was of a stouter build and shorter stature than Neilson, and wore a dour expression. He took my hand stiffly and without the least interest. I knew him immediately as another one of these four negligent mourners at Poe's lonely burial.

'Let the dead rest,' Neilson Poe said to me. 'Your interest strikes me as morbid. Perhaps you are like my cousin more than in handwriting alone.' Neilson Poe bid us all a quiet good afternoon and walked briskly out the door.

'Peace be to his ashes,' said Henry Herring in solemn tones, and then joined Neilson in front of the building.

'We have enough problems to concern ourselves with in all events, Mr. Clark,' Officer White began once we were left without Poe's relatives. 'There are the vagabonds, the night-strollers, the foreigners, harassing, corrupting, robbing our stores, demoralizing the good children more every day. No time for small issues.'

The officer's speech went on and, as he spoke, I cast a glance out the window. My eyes followed Neilson Poe and Henry Herring to a carriage. I saw a petite woman waiting inside as the door was opened. Neilson Poe climbed in next to her. It took me a moment to realize how eerily familiar she looked. In another moment, I remembered with a chill through my bones where I had seen her or, rather, a woman just like her. That death portrait in Neilson Poe's office that had so disturbed him. This woman was almost a double, a twin, for Edgar Poe's deceased young love, Virginia. She was Virginia-Poe's darling Sissy!-as far I was concerned.

Remembering the countenance of Sissy Poe, captured only hours after her death, some lines of Edgar Poe's inserted themselves in my mind.

For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes-
The life still there, upon her hair-the death upon her eyes.

But stay! I could not believe it. Poe's description of the beautiful girl Lenore at her death-'that now so lowly lies'-were the same two words at the end of the Phantom's warning. It is unwise to meddle with your lowly lies. The warning had been about Poe after all, just as I had thought! Lowly lies!

I leaned out the window and watched the carriage disappear safely.

Officer White sighed. 'Realize it, Mr. Clark,' he said. 'There is nothing more here, sir. I beg you to give these concerns to the wind! It seems you have an inclination to think of affairs as extraordinary that are quite ordinary. Do you have a wife, Mr. Clark?'

My attention was pulled back to him by the question. I hesitated. 'I will soon.'

He laughed knowingly. 'Good. You should have much to occupy yourself without needing to think of this unhappy affair, then. Or your sweetheart might give you the mitten.'

Faithful use of the blank page before me would describe the ensuing despondency as I sat at my misted window overlooking the exodus of people from the offices surrounding ours. I stayed until even Peter had gone. I should have felt at ease. I had done all I could. Even speaking with the police. There was nothing remaining for me to attempt to do. A pall of routine seemed to stretch out before me.

Days passed like this. I entered into an advanced state of ennui that no comforts of society could diminish. It was then I received a knock at the door, and a letter. It was a messenger sent from the athenaeum; the reading room clerk, not having seen me for some time, had decided to send me some newspaper cuttings he had come upon. Newspaper cuttings from several years before; noticing some that had occasion to allude to Edgar Poe, and no doubt remembering my inquiries, he had thought to enclose them in a letter to me.

One seized me entirely.