“At present, I am not at all afflicted with the gnawing pangs of hunger, though—should such discomforting sensations assail me at a later period—I can readily avail myself of the dining facilities at Colonel Crockett’s hostelry. In the meanwhile, please convey my deepest love to Sissy upon her awakening.”

Then, after placing a grateful osculation upon Muddy’s expansive brow, I hurried to the door and emerged onto the street.

Despite the earliness of the hour, the day was already unusually warm and humid, the sky being entirely overcast with gray, lowering masses of cloud. Though the streets would soon be teeming with humanity, they were, at present, largely deserted—a circumstance that allowed me to proceed in the direction of Fayette Street at full, unimpeded stride. As I bent my steps towards the Barnum Hotel, my mind was deeply occupied with the intelligence so recently imparted to me by Muddy. Her description of the intensely humiliating experience suffered by my father on the stage of the New Theatre accorded entirely with the newspaper article I had discovered earlier that morning. I was struck, moreover, by her account of the infuriated state into which she herself had been driven by the cruel, the caustic gibes of the audience. That a creature as gentle—as loving—as intrinsically soft-hearted—as Muddy should have been thus provoked only served to confirm what I had already surmised: that the recent spate of murders was the poisonous outgrowth of that long-ago evening of torment and mortification.

But then who was responsible for these hideous crimes? The identity of the perpetrator remained as enigmatic as ever. In this connection, I was intrigued by Muddy’s reference to a rumor I had never before heard: that my feckless father had not merely abandoned his wife and children but had done so in order to abscond with another woman: a “Scottish hussy,” in Muddy’s uncharacteristically harsh phraseology. Was it possible that this rumor had some basis in fact—and that the savage, spectral female I had observed on three separate occasions was in some way related to this circumstance?

My attention was completely engaged by these reflections as I hurried towards my rendezvous with Crockett. All at once, a sudden gust of wind, arising from the northeast, blew a particle of dust into my left eye, causing it to shed copious tears. Pausing in my stride, I extracted my pocket handkerchief and attempted to remove the offending mote. As I stood there on the deserted street, dabbing at my ocular organ and blinking repeatedly, I became vaguely aware that another pedestrian had materialized directly in front of me and—for an unknown reason—come to a complete halt. At length, my vision cleared permitting me to scrutinize the strange figure looming before me. The reader may readily imagine my astonishment—shock—and utter dismay—when I found myself staring into the singularly odious visage of … Hans Neuendorf!