“To be sure I am, sir.”

“I shall be sorry to part with him,” said Dupin.

“I don’t mean that you should be at all this trouble for nothing, sir,” said the man.  “Couldn’t expect it.  Am very willing to pay a reward for the finding of the animal — that is to say, any thing in reason.”

“Well,” replied my friend, “that is all very fair, to be sure.  Let me think! — what should I have?  Oh!  I will tell you.  My reward shall be this.  You shall give me all the information in your power about these murders in the Rue Morgue.”

Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly.  Just as quietly, too, he walked toward the door, locked it and put the key in his pocket.  He then drew a pistol from his bosom and placed it, without the least flurry, upon the table.

The sailor’s face flushed up as if he were struggling with suffocation.  He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel, but the next moment he fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with the countenance of death itself.  He spoke not a word.  I pitied him from the bottom of my heart.

“My friend,” said Dupin, in a kind tone, “you are alarming yourself unnecessarily — you are indeed.  We mean you no harm whatever.  I pledge you the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we intend you no injury.  I perfectly well know that you are innocent of the atrocities in the Rue Morgue.  It will not do, however, to deny that you are in some measure implicated in them.  From what I have already said, you must know that I have had means of information about this matter — means of which you could never have dreamed.  Now the thing stands thus.  You have done nothing which you could have avoided — nothing, certainly, which renders you culpable.  You were not even guilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with impunity.  You have nothing to conceal.  You have no reason for concealment.  On the other hand, you are bound by every principle of honor to confess all you know.  An innocent man is now imprisoned, charged with that crime of which you can point out the perpetrator.”

The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure, while Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing was all gone.

“So help me God,” said he, after a brief pause, “I will tell you all I know about this affair; — but I do not expect you to believe one half I say — I would be a fool indeed if I did.  Still, I am innocent, and I will make a clean breast if I die for it.”

What he stated was, in substance, this.  He had lately made a voyage to the Indian Archipelago.  A party, of which he formed one, landed at Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure.  Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang- Outang.  This companion dying, the animal fell into his own exclusive possession.  After great trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his captive during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging it safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract toward himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it carefully secluded, until such time as it should recover from a wound in the foot, received from a splinter on board ship.  His ultimate design was to sell it.