"Monsieur!" The concierge had appeared at the door.

"You! I will hear nothing from you!" I shouted, prodded by the anger I felt at Baron Dupin. "I am leaving Paris today, but I must and shall find Auguste Duponte first. You will tell me where he has gone at once, or you shall have me to face!"

He shook his head no, and I almost flung my fist into his chin before he explained. "He is not here," he panted. "Inside, I mean! Monsieur Duponte has left, with his baggage."

After further questioning, I learned that the concierge had assisted Duponte only minutes before with bringing his baggage into the courtyard. This after Duponte had studied the poisonous newspaper notice of the devious Baron. The treachery Duponte surely imagined from me had driven him to a melancholy so overwhelming that he could no longer remain in his place. I looked from the apartment's windows for any sign of him before descending.

Driving away from the boardinghouse was a carriage that I could see was loaded above with baggage. I cried out without success for the coach to return but could only throw up my hands limply as it passed into the street. What a surprise when I found no sign of my own coach and driver-whom I had ordered to wait. Stewing over this final insult, I was jarred by seeing that Duponte's coach was driving back-and that it was not Duponte's coach at all; well, he sat inside and his baggage wobbled on top, so now it was his, but it had been my driver and my carriage.

The horses stomped to a halt in front of me.

"Just wanted to turn the horses around to pull away easier, monsieur," the driver said to me, "so we'd not lose time."

He climbed down and opened the door opposite Duponte's, but first I had to see him. I walked to Duponte's side and opened his door. The analyst sat with a fixed gaze. Had the Baron Dupin's deceitful claims on C. Auguste Dupin's character finally affected him in a way none of my enticements or rewards could?

"Monsieur Duponte, does this mean…are you…?"

"You'll be late," shouted the driver, "for the train to your ship, monsieurs. You'll lose your passage. Come in, come in!"

Duponte nodded to me. "Now it is time," he said.

10

THE CUNARD STEAMER Humboldt to America had seventy-eight officers and seamen aboard and a sufficient number of accommodations-narrow staterooms entered from the sides of the richly carpeted main saloon-for more than one hundred passengers. There was also a labyrinth of ancillary chambers-the library, the smoking rooms, and the sitting rooms, as well as the sheltered pens for cattle.

Duponte and I had been among the earliest passengers to arrive at this floating palace, and I brimmed with anticipation, gazing upon the ark that would carry us to the New World. Duponte remained standing in place as soon as he reached the upper deck. I froze too. I imagined he was experiencing some sudden doubt, a premonition, and would back out of our voyage.

"Monsieur Duponte?" I said attentively, hoping I could oblige him. "All right?"

"Do request, Monsieur Clark," Duponte said, taking my elbow, "that the steward inform our ship's captain there is a stowaway on board this ship. Armed."

My anxiety flitted away into utter astonishment. When I had sufficiently regained my calm, I commanded an interview with the steward in a private corner.

"Sir, there is a stowaway on board the ship," I whispered urgently, "possibly armed."

He lowered his brow at me, showing no concern. "How do you know that?"

"Whatever does that matter?"

"We checked all stowage and cabins already, sir, as always. Did you see someone on board?"

"No," I replied. "We have only just arrived!"

He nodded, persuaded that he had proven his argument.

I looked back at Duponte across the deck. I could not fail him so soon, not after all that had been required to secure him. I wanted him to feel that anything he asked was no sooner suggested than done. "Sir, what do you know of ratiocination?" I asked the steward.

"Aye. That is a new sea-beast, sir, with six hundred legs and a hunched back."

I ignored this. "It is the rare ability of knowing, by a process of reasoning not only using logic, but through the higher logic of imagination, that which is outside the mental function of most ordinary people. There is-I promise you-an armed and most villainous stowaway here. I suggest the captain be informed double-quick and that you look more carefully."

"I was going to have another look anyway," he said importantly. He walked with a deliberately slow step.

A few minutes later, the steward was calling-or, rather, shrieking-for his superior to come to the mail chamber. Soon the burly old captain and the steward had wrestled a struggling, shouting man from down below.

The stowaway thrust both his elbows out, breaking loose and shoving the steward flat on his back. The few passengers lolling about went immediately scurrying below in fear for their lives, or at least in fear for their jewels. Others, along with Duponte and myself, clustered together to watch the scene. There was a moment of stillness as the captain stood across from the intruder.

"Trying to steal our mail?" the captain barked out. Our steamer, like most crossing the ocean, supplemented its finances in large part by transporting mail.

The stowaway seemed for a moment a phantasm from another world, large and red in the cheeks. Perhaps the captain experienced a similar effect looking at him, as he put his hands in front of him in a soothing gesture. "Peace," said the captain.

"You shall want to know what I know!" warned the stowaway, looking beyond the captain toward the passengers, seeming to be assessing which one of us to take prisoner. We all took a step back, except for Duponte.

The captain did not jump at the man's declaration, but the foolish steward was intrigued by the bluff. "Like what?" he asked. "What could you know?" The stowaway lost his footing on some wet boards and the captain and steward charged again, overwhelming their victim. After a few awkward attempts and to the cheers of some passengers, they heaved him straight overboard.

The captain leaned over the side and observed the fellow, whose lost hat had left his baldness to shine in the sun. I rushed to the rails, too, and stood watching for a long while. I could not help feeling some pity for the shocked, flailing rogue. The captain, believing his own crew member responsible for the discovery, shook the steward by the hand probably more heartily than ever before.

Later that same day, after we'd pushed away to sea, the steward found me alone and said with a snarl, "How the deuce did you know about him?"

I held my tongue.

"How in the devil could someone know there was a stowaway here, just after stepping on deck? How in the devil? How did you get this ration-sin-ation?"

He would take his small-minded revenge by giving Duponte and me undesirable seats at the dining table. But that day I could not help but wear a peculiar grin, which reappeared whenever I saw the steward during all three weeks of our voyage to America.