from the opposite side of the way.  It was an ordinary Parisian house, with a gateway, on one side of which was a glazed watch-box, with a sliding panel in the window, indicating a loge de concierge. Before going in we walked up the street, turned down an alley, and then, again turning, passed in the rear of the building — Dupin, meanwhile examining the whole neighborhood, as well as the house, with a minuteness of attention for which I could see no possible object.

Retracing our steps, we came again to the front of the dwelling, rang, and, having shown our credentials, were admitted by the agents in charge.  We went up stairs — into the chamber where the body of Mademoiselle L’Espanaye had been found, and where both the deceased still lay.  The disorders of the room had, as usual, been suffered to exist.  I saw nothing beyond what had been stated in the “Gazette des Tribunaux.”  Dupin scrutinized every thing — not excepting the bodies of the victims.  We then went into the other rooms, and into the yard; a gendarme accompanying us throughout.  The examination occupied us until dark, when we took our departure.  On our way home my companion stepped in for a moment at the office of one of the daily papers.

I have said that the whims of my friend were manifold, and that Je les ménagais:  — for this phrase there is no English equivalent.  It was his humor, now, to decline all conversation on the subject of the murder, until about noon the next day.  He then asked me, suddenly, if I had observed any thing peculiar at the scene of the atrocity.

There was something in his manner of emphasizing the word “peculiar,” which caused me to shudder, without knowing why.

“No, nothing peculiar,” I said; “nothing more, at least, than we both saw stated in the paper.”

“The ‘Gazette,’ " he replied, “has not entered, I fear, into the unusual horror of the thing.  But dismiss the idle opinions of this print.  It appears to me that this mystery is considered insoluble, for the very reason which should cause it to be regarded as easy of solution — I mean for the outré character of its features.  The police are confounded by the seeming absence of motive — not for the murder itself — but for the atrocity of the murder.  They are puzzled, too, by the seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices heard in contention, with the facts that no one was discovered up stairs but the assassinated Mademoiselle L’Espanaye, and that there were no means of egress without the notice of the party ascending.  The wild disorder of the room; the corpse thrust, with the head downward, up the chimney; the frightful mutilation of the body of the old lady; these considerations, with those just mentioned, and others which I need not mention, have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by putting completely at fault the boasted acumen, of the government agents.  They have fallen into the gross but common error of