“The paper is spread out upon a plane surface; but the human
      throat is cylindrical. Here is a billet of wood, the
      circumference of which is about that of the throat. Wrap the
      drawing around it, and try the experiment again.”

      I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than before. “This,” I said, “is the mark of no human hand.”

      “Read now,” replied Dupin, “this passage from Cuvier.”

      It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive account of
      the large fulvous Ourang-Outang of the East Indian Islands. The
      gigantic stature, the prodigious strength and activity, the wild
      ferocity, and the imitative propensities of these mammalia are
      sufficiently well known to all. I understood the full horrors of
      the murder at once. “The description of the digits,” said I, as I made an end of
      reading, “is in exact accordance with this drawing. I see that no
      animal but an Ourang-Outang, of the species here mentioned, could
      have impressed the indentations as you have traced them. This
      tuft of tawny hair, too, is identical in character with that of
      the beast of Cuvier. But I cannot possibly comprehend the
      particulars of this frightful mystery. Besides, there were _two_
      voices heard in contention, and one of them was unquestionably
      the voice of a Frenchman.”

      “True; and you will remember an expression attributed almost
      unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice,—the expression,
      ‘_mon Dieu!_’ This, under the circumstances, has been justly
      characterized by one of the witnesses (Montani, the
      confectioner,) as an expression of remonstrance or expostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I have mainly built my hopes of
      a full solution of the riddle. A Frenchman was cognizant of the
      murder. It is possible—indeed it is far more than probable—that
      he was innocent of all participation in the bloody transactions
      which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have escaped from him. He
      may have traced it to the chamber; but, under the agitating
      circumstances which ensued, he could never have re-captured it. It is still at large. I will not pursue these guesses—for I have
      no right to call them more—since the shades of reflection upon
      which they are based are scarcely of sufficient depth to be
      appreciable by my own intellect, and since I could not pretend to
      make them intelligible to the understanding of another. We will
      call them guesses then, and speak of them as such. If the
      Frenchman in question is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this
      atrocity, this advertisement which I left last night, upon our
      return home, at the office of ‘Le Monde’ (a paper devoted to the
      shipping interest, and much sought by sailors), will bring him to
      our residence.”

      He handed me a paper, and I read thus:

      CAUGHT—_In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the
      ——inst.,_ (the morning of the murder), _a very large, tawny
      Ourang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owner (who is
      ascertained to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel) may
      have the animal again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and
      paying a few charges arising from its capture and keeping. Call
      at No. ——, Rue ——, Faubourg St. Germain—au troisième._

      “How was it possible,” I asked, “that you should know the man to
      be a sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?”

      “I do _not_ know it,” said Dupin. “I am not _sure_ of it. Here,
      however, is a small piece of ribbon, which from its form, and
      from its greasy appearance, has evidently been used in tying the
      hair in one of those long _queues_ of which sailors are so fond. Moreover, this knot is one which few besides sailors can tie, and
      is peculiar to the Maltese. I picked the ribbon up at the foot of
      the lightning-rod. It could not have belonged to either of the
      deceased. Now if, after all, I am wrong in my induction from this
      ribbon, that the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to a Maltese
      vessel, still I can have done no harm in saying what I did in the
      advertisement. If I am in error, he will merely suppose that I
      have been misled by some circumstance into which he will not take
      the trouble to inquire. But if I am right, a great point is
      gained. Cognizant although innocent of the murder, the Frenchman
      will naturally hesitate about replying to the advertisement—about
      demanding the Ourang-Outang. He will reason thus:—‘I am innocent;
      I am poor; my Ourang-Outang is of great value—to one in my
      circumstances a fortune of itself—why should I lose it through
      idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is, within my grasp. It was
      found in the Bois de Boulogne—at a vast distance from the scene
      of that butchery. How can it ever be suspected that a brute beast
      should have done the deed? The police are at fault—they have
      failed to procure the slightest clew. Should they even trace the
      animal, it would be impossible to prove me cognizant of the
      murder, or to implicate me in guilt on account of that
      cognizance. Above all, _I am known._ The advertiser designates me
      as the possessor of the beast. I am not sure to what limit his
      knowledge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property of so
      great value, which it is known that I possess, I will render the
      animal at least, liable to suspicion. It is not my policy to
      attract attention either to myself or to the beast. I will answer
      the advertisement, get the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until
      this matter has blown over.’”

      At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs. “Be ready,” said Dupin, “with your pistols, but neither use them
      nor show them until at a signal from myself.”

      The front door of the house had been left open, and the visitor
      had entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the
      staircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we
      heard him descending. Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when
      we again heard him coming up. He did not turn back a second time,
      but stepped up with decision, and rapped at the door of our
      chamber. “Come in,” said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone. A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently,—a tall, stout, and
      muscular-looking person, with a certain dare-devil expression of
      countenance, not altogether unprepossessing. His face, greatly
      sunburnt, was more than half hidden by whisker and _mustachio._
      He had with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise
      unarmed.