“Whatever you think best, dear,” Muddy sighed, reaching across the table and patting my right hand with her own. “But I hope that you will be careful!”

Fervently, I raised her chapped and reddened, yet inexpressibly precious, hand to my lips and covered it with devotional kisses. “Oh, Muddy!” I exclaimed, my voice cracking with emotion. “You are as dear to me as the doomed, long-departed woman who first brought me into this world. Indeed, even dearer; for—while she was but the mother of myself—you are mother to one who means more to me than my own life!” And with this heartfelt testimonial, I turned my head in the direction of the parlor, where Sissy had embarked on a surpassingly melodic rendition of the popular ditty “There’s a Star that Shines for Thee.”

“Her voice is like the angel Israfel’s,” I sighed, “whose glorious hymn—so legend has it—made the very moon blush with love.” I listened until Sissy’s performance came to an end. Then, placing my palms upon the table-edge, I pushed myself to my feet and declared: “I must retire to my study. There is a matter that demands my urgent attention.”

“Shall I fix you a nice cheese sandwich and bring it to your room?” inquired Muddy.

My stomach—which had been deprived of the least morsel of food since the morning—responded to this offer with a ravenous growl. Assuring Muddy that nothing could afford me keener pleasure, I took temporary leave of the dear-hearted woman and repaired directly to my sanctum, where—after enkindling the lamp that sat upon my writing table—I settled down to think.

So manifold were the mysteries now confronting me that, at first, their sheer profusion rendered me incapable of systematic analysis. It quickly became evident that I could best achieve my purpose by selecting a single enigma and focussing the entirety of my attention upon it. I decided to commence with the bloody word “Nevermore”—and, with this end in view, I dipped my quill into the inkpot and inscribed the inscrutable message on a blank sheet of paper.

Propping my elbows on the tabletop, I rested my chin in my hands and stared down at the paper. The melancholy tone and sinister connotations of the word were sufficiently clear. But what could it possibly mean? Did it signify a threat—or the fulfillment of one? Did it refer to a secret in the lives of the victims—or was it an allusion to something known solely to the perpetrator? Try as I might, I could not conjure up a single association that might shed light upon the mystery.