Edgar Allan Poe and the London Monster by Karen Lee Street Page A

seems the thieves placed a boutonnière of artificial violets in my frock coat buttonhole. I must say it disturbed me rather more than the theft.”
    Dupin frowned. “May I see this boutonnière? It is singularly odd to leave such a token and certainly significant.”
    â€œI am afraid I threw the thing from me—I felt most repelled by it.”
    â€œFoolish, very foolish. It was evidence that might lead us to a larger crime,” Dupin snapped, his face tense with an anger deeper than the situation merited. “Violets,” he muttered as if to himself before turning his gaze back to me. “Do violets have any significance to you? Some meaning I should be aware of?”
    â€œPerhaps. After the attack I remembered an incident from my childhood, an incident so disturbing I was forbidden to speak of it at home. I had all but put it from my mind until this morning.”
    â€œGo on.”
    As I recounted the details of the artificial-flower seller’s attempt to kidnap me all those years ago, Dupin’s frown deepened. “Extraordinary,” he said when I had finished my tale. “I am surprised you did not immediately inform me of your attack,” he added stiffly.
    â€œThere is more,” I confessed, anxious to reveal everything at once. “When I returned to Brown’s, these letters were at the desk. I have read these three,” I said, handing him the smaller bundle, “which seem to have a bearing on what you have just told me.”
    His look of suppressed anger was replaced by intense concentration as he unfolded the first letter of the collection and quickly read it. “1784. How interesting.”
    â€œInteresting? Uncanny may be the better word.”
    Dupin tilted his head. “Made to seem so, perhaps.”
    â€œI am sorry, Dupin, but I am not following you.”
    He waved his hand dismissively as he scanned the next two letters. “And the others?” He nodded at the second bundle in my hand.
    â€œI glanced at the first few, which are reminiscent of those delivered in the box. I am not certain that I wish to read the remainder.” I placed the second bundle on the table before him.
    â€œBut you must.”
    I shook my head. “I would rather you read them first. I am confused by today’s revelation and will not come to any sensible conclusion.”
    Dupin nodded, making it all too clear that he agreed with me. “I presume there was no note from Mrs. Allan with these letters.”
    I shook my head.
    â€œThen of course we must deduce that she did not write the original note.”
    â€œMust we? It is possible she hired someone to leave the letters for me.”
    â€œWhy would she do so? Why not simply deliver all the letters to you at once—the mahogany box is certainly capacious enough to hold all of them.”
    â€œTo torment me.”
    Dupin frowned again. “Certainly someone wishes to torment you, but I do not believe it is Mrs. Allan. From your description of her, it is unlikely she has the strategic skills to engineer such a complex plan. As Mrs. Allan has secured all your adoptive father’s property for herself, why go to the trouble of torturing you with letters?”
    â€œTo make me think I come from bad blood. To persuade me she was right to coerce my Pa into disowning me.”
    Dupin leaned back and relit his cigar. I realized from the expressions of the clerks assembled around us that I had been shouting.
    â€œAnd may we now directly state that you know Elizabeth and Henry Arnold to be your maternal grandparents?” he said, exhaling a plume of smoke.
    I could feel the flame of guilt ignite my face.
    â€œYou knew all along,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine, “but you chose not to make the facts plain to me. I must wonder why.”
    I turned my gaze to the window. Evening had faded away, and lamplight illuminated the street with a garish luster. The crowd had