“We err, Colonel Crockett,” said I, “in attributing an utter incapacity for violent behavior to the fairer sex. The history of humankind is replete with instances of the most savage atrocities committed by women.”

With deeply knitted brow, Crockett ruminated on this statement for several moments before replying: “I reckon you ain’t wholly mistook there, Poe, for I have heard of injun squaws doing things to captives that’d make a body’s blood run cold.” Throwing up his hands in a gesture of impatience, he added: “Anyways, whosomever done this, man or woman, the main thing is for us to trade down the eternal varmint—ƒast?”

“I concur absolutely,” I replied. “Indeed, our mission has achieved a new and dramatic level of urgency, since there is now the additional motivation of allaying Captain Russell’s suspicions of my own direct involvement in these horrific crimes.”

“Well sir,” said Crockett, slapping both hands against his thighs, “how do you reckon we’d best proceed?”

“I have given this matter some thought and have arrived, I believe, at a reasonable course of action. As you are aware, the mystery that confronts us is related, in some still-unknown fashion, to the theatrical world of which my late mother was such a shining adornment. This fact, as I have previously indicated to you, is attested by this.”

Here, I reached for my casket-shaped “treasure box” and—opening the lid—extracted the yellowed newspaper dipping and held it aloft “You will recall that this review was composed by Alexander Montague. In view of the latter’s rôle as a drama critic, it appears likely—or at any rate ƒeasible—that further clues to the mystery might well be contained in other of his writings.”

“But where in thunderation will we find them?” Crockett demanded.

“I have already determined,” I answered, restoring the clipping to its receptade, “that they are contained in the collection of moldering newspapers with which his apartment is crammed to overflowing. I propose, therefore, that you and I repair at once to his dwelling and conduct a thoroughgoing search of these time-worn publications”

For a moment, Crockett sat in silent rumination “Damned if that don’t sound like mighty tiresome work,” he said at last. “Still,” he added with a sigh of resignation, “I reckon it is a level-headed idea.”

“Then let us proceed without delay,” I declared.

As Crockett got to his feet, I rose from my chair, stepped around the writing table, and—positioning myself before the frontiersman—extended my right hand. “Before we depart, Colonel Crockett,” I solemnly declared, “I must convey to you my heartfelt sense of gratitude for the unwavering faith you have shown in me, at a time when others—and indeed, even I myself—have been beset by the gravest doubts as to my innocence.”