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 ménageais_:—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 confounding the unusual with the abstruse. But it is by
      these deviations from the plane of the ordinary, that reason
      feels its way, if at all, in its search for the true. In
      investigations such as we are now pursuing, it should not be so
      much asked ‘what has occurred,’ as ‘what has occurred that has
      never occurred before.’ In fact, the facility with which I shall
      arrive, or have arrived, at the solution of this mystery, is in
      the direct ratio of its apparent insolubility in the eyes of the
      police.”

      I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment. “I am now awaiting,” continued he, looking toward the door of our
      apartment—“I am now awaiting a person who, although perhaps not
      the perpetrator of these butcheries, must have been in some
      measure implicated in their perpetration. Of the worst portion of
      the crimes committed, it is probable that he is innocent. I hope
      that I am right in this supposition; for upon it I build my
      expectation of reading the entire riddle. I look for the man
      here—in this room—every moment. It is true that he may not
      arrive; but the probability is that he will. Should he come, it
      will be necessary to detain him. Here are pistols; and we both
      know how to use them when occasion demands their use.”

      I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, or believing
      what I heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if in a
      soliloquy. I have already spoken of his abstract manner at such
      times. His discourse was addressed to myself; but his voice,
      although by no means loud, had that intonation which is commonly
      employed in speaking to some one at a great distance. His eyes,
      vacant in expression, regarded only the wall. “That the voices heard in contention,” he said, “by the party
      upon the stairs, were not the voices of the women themselves, was
      fully proved by the evidence. This relieves us of all doubt upon
      the question whether the old lady could have first destroyed the
      daughter and afterward have committed suicide. I speak of this
      point chiefly for the sake of method; for the strength of Madame
      L’Espanaye would have been utterly unequal to the task of
      thrusting her daughter’s corpse up the chimney as it was found;
      and the nature of the wounds upon her own person entirely
      preclude the idea of self-destruction. Murder, then, has been
      committed by some third party; and the voices of this third party
      were those heard in contention. Let me now advert—not to the
      whole testimony respecting these voices—but to what was
      _peculiar_ in that testimony. Did you observe any thing peculiar
      about it?”

      I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in supposing the
      gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there was much
      disagreement in regard to the shrill, or, as one individual
      termed it, the harsh voice. “That was the evidence itself,” said Dupin, “but it was not the
      peculiarity of the evidence. You have observed nothing
      distinctive. Yet there _was_ something to be observed. The
      witnesses, as you remark, agreed about the gruff voice; they were
      here unanimous. But in regard to the shrill voice, the
      peculiarity is—not that they disagreed—but that, while an
      Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Hollander, and a Frenchman
      attempted to describe it, each one spoke of it as that _of a
      foreigner_. Each is sure that it was not the voice of one of his
      own countrymen. Each likens it—not to the voice of an individual
      of any nation with whose language he is conversant—but the
      converse.