"You shall know."

Such was the extent of my distraction that I did not notice that it was three times as dark as it should have been for that hour. By the time it was starting to rain I was already too far on my walk to return for an umbrella. The water grew deeper along the way until it was lapping at my ankles. I trudged ahead, the brim of my hat sheltering my face as much as possible.

I took an omnibus part of the way to the address Duponte had written down. Still, I was drenched walking through the downpour. The address was a small office where a man behind a desk dispatched telegraph messages. "Sir?" he turned to me.

Not knowing what to say, I merely asked whether this was the address I sought.

"Downstairs," he said blandly.

I walked down the steps, to the next sign, which was dripping with streams of water. It was a clothier. Well! This was the urgent mission, perhaps to hand over a coat that needed mending for Duponte-perhaps he had some supper party to attend. I walked in, overcome by my impatience.

"Ah, you've come to the right place."

It was a man with a large belly stuffed into a bright satin vest.

"Me? Are we acquainted, sir?"

"No, sir."

"Then how do you know I'm at the right place?"

"Look at you!" He put his arms out dramatically, as though I was the prodigal son returning to him. "Wet to the bone. You shall have a chill and fall sick. Now, I have just the suit." He rummaged behind his desk. "You have found the right place to trade your clothes."

"You are mistaken. I have brought something for you."

"Truly? I am not expecting it," he said greedily.

I put the bag down on a chair and opened it, finding only a folded newspaper-a number of the Baltimore Sun. Drops of water blotted the page from my hair and brow.

He snatched it from me while his friendly face sharpened. "Blame me! I daresay I can purchase my own newspaper, young man. This isn't even from this year. Do you come here to jest? What shall I do with this, I ask you?" He glared at me reprovingly. I had dropped from "sir" to "young man." "If you have no business for me tonight…" He waved his hand.

At the word "business" he pointed to one of the signs on his wall to demonstrate his own. Fashionable Clothing and Outfitting Establishment. Shirts, Collars, Under-shirts and Drawers, Cravats, Socks, Hosiery-Warranted in every respect equal to the best custom work.

"Hold on a minute! Apologies, sir," I said eagerly. "I should like very much to make that exchange of clothing, after all."

He brightened. "Excellent, excellent, a wise choice. We shall put you in a suit of finest quality and fit."

"That is what you do, sir? Trade clothing?"

"When there is the need, of course. It is a necessary service for stranded gentlemen like yourself, dear sir. So many forget umbrellas even in the fall and bring but one suit in their trunk. Especially strangers to Baltimore. You are a visitor, I suppose?"

I made a noncommittal gesture. I began to better understand the work of this man; and of Duponte…

The clothier brought me a handful of garments-what a costume it was! He repeated his assessment that they were of the finest quality, though they were quite shabby, and they did not fit in the least. The coat and its drab velvet collar almost matched one leg of the pants-the less faded one-and neither were intended to match the vest. All were several sizes too small for me, yet the clothier had an expression of deep pride as he declared me very "finefied" and held up a looking-glass so I might glory in the sight of myself.

"There, snug and dry! It is quite a fair shake for you, this trade," he said. "Now this"-he picked up my cane-"this is as fair a specimen as I have seen. Heavy thing, though, for a pilgrim like yourself. A burden. Looking to part with it? I may pay well for this, and my prices are not cut under by anyone in the neighborhood."

I almost forgot, before leaving his store, the newspaper Duponte had sent with me. I looked at the date at the top of the page. October 4, 1849. The day after Poe was discovered with ill-fitting clothes at Ryan's. I scanned the pages, stopping at the reports of the previous day's weather. The day, I mean, when Poe was found. "Cold, raw, and misty." "Damp and rainy." "A steady, heavy blow from the northeast."

Just like today. When I'd entered the library, Duponte had been waiting at the window, looking not absently into the air, as it seemed, but into the sky and clouds. He was waiting for a day fitting the description of that fateful third of October to send me into.

"I'll take that, sir," I said politely, removing the Malacca cane from his grasp. "This I shall never part with." Before leaving, I fished out some half-dimes and took an umbrella the clothier had sitting behind his table.

Outside, I found my steps were uneven, with my legs constrained by the irregular pants. I stood under the awning while testing the flimsy umbrella.

"The heavens are splitting tonight."

I jumped, startled by the coarse voice. In the dark covering of rain I could hardly make out the figure of a man.

I screwed up my eyes as he turned and faced me. Another shape appeared near him.

"You would try to hide from us, would you, Monsieur Clark?"

The two French thugs.

"Clothes like this," said the other one, bowing his head down at my scrubby dress, "will still not conceal you."

"Gentlemen-monsieurs-I know not what to call you. I do not wear this to conceal myself from you. I know not why you should continue to bother me."

It was not the time for this, I know. But my eye, which somehow felt free of the concerns of my brain, was drawn inexplicably to a flyer on the lamppost, which was flapping from the pressure in the air. I could not read it, but I suppose by some instinct I knew it contained something of great interest.

"Look here when we speak!"

The man slapped me against my cheek. It was not particularly hard, but the extreme abruptness left me standing in shock.

"You cannot long protect a man marked for death. We have been handed our orders."

His partner pulled a pistol from his coat. "You're in for it now. You should select a friend more carefully."

"My friend? It is untrue!"

"Then his wench assisted you for her mere pleasure at the Washington Monument?" he replied.

"I vow it! He is no friend!" I shouted, my voice trembling at the sight of the weapon.

"No…not any longer."

23

"SIR! SIR! YOU FORGOT-"

The clothier had come out with the bag I had left inside. He stopped when he saw my company in their unfriendly postures. One of them had wrapped his arm around mine.

The clothier gesticulated angrily at my assailant. "What is this about?

Let that suit be!"

When the clothier took a step forward, the other assailant turned around and slapped the clothier across the face with more force than a punch. It sent him spinning down hard beyond the awning.

As the clothier met the ground, he let out a high-pitched, cat-like groan. Making use of the distraction, I pulled my arm free. I flung my new umbrella behind me and ran against a sheet of rain that felt like a brick wall against my body. The two assailants bolted after me.

I swerved onto the first street, hoping the darkness of the storm would cloak me. But the pair of men trimmed the distance almost at once. My head twisted around to watch them, and I tripped over some uneven ground. Though I caught myself, they were now dangerously close, one of them brushing my coat with his hand. I dared not look back again.

Ahead a party of pigs was devouring the evening's garbage. Our chase disturbed them, sending them scattering. A flash of light hit the sky and illuminated all of us. I found myself panting and sucking at the air for breath. They were coming nearer to my heels, and I would certainly be tackled within a few rods. I noticed the street we were coming to and heard faint bells. This gave me an idea. I quickly turned around and ran toward my pursuers. The Frenchmen, running fast as they were, took a moment to halt themselves on the slippery ground.