“Perhaps, then” said Russell, “my officers and I should undertake to interview the sundry individuals—play-actors, stage-managers, and so forth—connected to the various dramatic companies currently sojourning in Baltimore.”

“The course of action you propose might indeed be productive of important clues” I answered. “And now, I must ask your forbearance. The strains of this long and arduous day—combined with the intensely oppressive air of these surroundings and the shocking spectacle of the disarticulated victim—have had a severely enervating effect upon my frame.”

“Looky here, Cap’n,” the frontiersman declared, “I’m feeling a mite tuckered out myself. I’m all for calling it quits for tonight. Us three can pow-wow again tomorrow if you’ve a mind to.”

This proposal was readily accepted by Russell; whereupon, we bid farewell to Mr. Peale and—with Officer Carlton once more in the lead—proceeded through the dank, labyrinthine passages of the cellar and up the narrow, twisting staircase. Emerging once again into the hall of the great mastodon, we took our leave of the young officer and made our way out of the museum.

By this point, the crowd of curiosity seekers had entirely dispersed. We mounted the carriage in silence and drove away through the dark, largely deserted streets. Little conversation passed between us as we went. At length we arrived at my domicile.

“Reckon I’ll head on back to the hotel,” Crocked: said with a great yawn as I climbed down from the carriage. “It’s been a poison long and tiresome day. I’m fixing to get me some shut-eye, and I suggest you do likewise. I’ll come by before lunch tomorrow, and we’ll finish plowing through them damn newspapers.”

So saying, he bid me good-night and, maneuvering the chaise about, disappeared down Amity Street, while I approached the door of my abode.

The hour was sufficiently late that I did not expect to find either Sissy or Muddy awake. And indeed, as I entered the house, the pervading stillness led me to deduce that my loved ones had retired for the night. This supposition was confirmed when, stepping into the kitchen, I found a note on the table from Muddy, informing me that she and Virginia had gone to bed, and urging me to eat some of the Bologna sausage she had prepared for supper, which I would find on a platter near the stove.

Though I had consumed virtually nothing all day, I did not feel hungry in the slightest degree. Nor—in spite of my physical fatigue—was I inclined to repair to my bedroom, my overstimulated nerves having reached that pitch of excitation at which slumber becomes an impossibility. As a result, after extinguishing the oil lamp in the kitchen, I proceeded to my study.