A single grain of
      gimlet-dust, for example, would have been as obvious as an apple. Any disorder in the glueing—any unusual gaping in the
      joints—would have sufficed to insure detection.”

      “I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boards and the
      plates, and you probed the beds and the bed-clothes, as well as
      the curtains and carpets.”

      “That of course; and when we had absolutely completed every
      particle of the furniture in this way, then we examined the house
      itself. We divided its entire surface into compartments, which we
      numbered, so that none might be missed; then we scrutinized each
      individual square inch throughout the premises, including the two
      houses immediately adjoining, with the microscope, as before.”

      “The two houses adjoining!” I exclaimed; “you must have had a
      great deal of trouble.”

      “We had; but the reward offered is prodigious!”

      “You include the grounds about the houses?”

      “All the grounds are paved with brick. They gave us comparatively
      little trouble. We examined the moss between the bricks, and
      found it undisturbed.”

      “You looked among D——‘s papers, of course, and into the books of
      the library?”

      “Certainly; we opened every package and parcel; we not only
      opened every book, but we turned over every leaf in each volume,
      not contenting ourselves with a mere shake, according to the
      fashion of some of our police officers. We also measured the
      thickness of every book-cover, with the most accurate
      admeasurement, and applied to each the most jealous scrutiny of
      the microscope. Had any of the bindings been recently meddled
      with, it would have been utterly impossible that the fact should
      have escaped observation. Some five or six volumes, just from the
      hands of the binder, we carefully probed, longitudinally, with
      the needles.”

      “You explored the floors beneath the carpets?”

      “Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and examined the boards
      with the microscope.”

      “And the paper on the walls?”

      “Yes.”

      “You looked into the cellars?”

      “We did.”

      “Then,” I said, “you have been making a miscalculation, and the
      letter is not upon the premises, as you suppose.”

      “I fear you are right there,” said the Prefect. “And now, Dupin,
      what would you advise me to do?”

      “To make a thorough re-search of the premises.”

      “That is absolutely needless,” replied G——. “I am not more sure
      that I breathe than I am that the letter is not at the Hotel.”

      “I have no better advice to give you,” said Dupin. “You have, of
      course, an accurate description of the letter?”

      “Oh yes!”—And here the Prefect, producing a memorandum-book,
      proceeded to read aloud a minute account of the internal, and
      especially of the external appearance of the missing document. Soon after finishing the perusal of this description, he took his
      departure, more entirely depressed in spirits than I had ever
      known the good gentleman before. In about a month afterwards he paid us another visit, and found
      us occupied very nearly as before. He took a pipe and a chair and
      entered into some ordinary conversation. At length I said,—

      “Well, but G——, what of the purloined letter? I presume you have
      at last made up your mind that there is no such thing as
      overreaching the Minister?”

      “Confound him, say I—yes; I made the re-examination, however, as
      Dupin suggested—but it was all labor lost, as I knew it would
      be.”

      “How much was the reward offered, did you say?” asked Dupin. “Why, a very great deal—a very liberal reward—I don’t like to say
      how much, precisely; but one thing I will say, that I wouldn’t
      mind giving my individual check for fifty thousand francs to any
      one who could obtain me that letter. The fact is, it is becoming
      of more and more importance every day; and the reward has been
      lately doubled. If it were trebled, however, I could do no more
      than I have done.”

      “Why, yes,” said Dupin, drawlingly, between the whiffs of his
      meerschaum, “I really—think, G——, you have not exerted
      yourself—to the utmost in this matter. You might—do a little
      more, I think, eh?”

      “How?—in what way?”

      “Why—puff, puff—you might—puff, puff—employ counsel in the
      matter, eh?—puff, puff, puff. Do you remember the story they tell
      of Abernethy?”

      “No; hang Abernethy!”

      “To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once upon a time, a
      certain rich miser conceived the design of spunging upon this
      Abernethy for a medical opinion. Getting up, for this purpose, an
      ordinary conversation in a private company, he insinuated his
      case to the physician, as that of an imaginary individual. “‘We will suppose,’ said the miser, ‘that his symptoms are such
      and such; now, doctor, what would you have directed him to take?’

      “‘Take!’ said Abernethy, ‘why, take advice, to be sure.’”

      “But,” said the Prefect, a little discomposed, “I am perfectly
      willing to take advice, and to pay for it. I would really give
      fifty thousand francs to any one who would aid me in the matter.”

      “In that case,” replied Dupin, opening a drawer, and producing a
      check-book, “you may as well fill me up a check for the amount
      mentioned. When you have signed it, I will hand you the letter.”

      I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely
      thunder-stricken. For some minutes he remained speechless and
      motionless, looking incredulously at my friend with open mouth,
      and eyes that seemed starting from their sockets; then,
      apparently recovering himself in some measure, he seized a pen,
      and after several pauses and vacant stares, finally filled up and
      signed a check for fifty thousand francs, and handed it across
      the table to Dupin. The latter examined it carefully and
      deposited it in his pocket-book; then, unlocking an escritoire,
      took thence a letter and gave it to the Prefect. This functionary
      grasped it in a perfect agony of joy, opened it with a trembling
      hand, cast a rapid glance at its contents, and then, scrambling
      and struggling to the door, rushed at length unceremoniously from
      the room and from the house, without having uttered a syllable
      since Dupin had requested him to fill up the check. When he had gone, my friend entered into some explanations. “The Parisian police,” he said, “are exceedingly able in their
      way. They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, and thoroughly
      versed in the knowledge which their duties seem chiefly to
      demand.