By the time dusk approached, my eagerness to escape from my bed had reached the point of near desperation. At my insistence, Sissy had finally taken a respite and joined Muddy in the kitchen for supper. Donning my dressing gown, I made my way into my study, seated myself at my writing table, and enkindled the lamp. No sooner had I done so, however, than Muddy re-appeared at my door and announced that Colonel Crocked: had arrived and was eager to see me.

“Please bid him enter forthwith,” I replied.

Moments later, he strode into the chamber, appearing as ruddy and robust as though he had just enjoyed an invigorating outdoor stroll. He was garbed in his customary high-collared coat and gray-striped trousers. In one hand, he clutched the brim of his black felt hat; in the other, a newspaper folded in quarters.

“Evenin’, pard,” he exclaimed. “I am powerful glad to see you up ’n’ around. Your Aunty Clemm says that if you warn’t quite dead since you come home, you was actin’ mighty nigh it.”

I made a casually dismissive gesture with one hand. “Her unwavering concern for my well-being has led my dearest Muddy to exaggerate the severity of my condition. While it is true that I have remained largely confined to my bedchamber since our return, I have done so almost entirely for the purpose of maintaining that precious seclusion so conducive to exertions of a contemplative nature—my primary interest having been to meditate on the significance of our recent ordeal.”

“Well, when it comes to meditatin’, you are a regular rip-hummer, all right,” said Crockett with a chuckle.

After moving a straight-backed chair close to my writing table, Crockett turned it around so that its slatted back faced in my direction—then straddled the seat as though it were a saddle and rested his folded forearms upon the headpiece.

“It don’t take long to curry a short horse, Poe, so I’ll get right to the particulars. Now that this Macready business has been settled up, I’m fixin’ to move on.”

I made no effort to conceal my surprise, openly conveying it in both my voice and facial expression. “But what makes you so certain that the matter has been, as you put it, ‘settled up’?”

“Why, there ain’t no buts about it, Poe! It’s plain as preachin’! Asher kilt that poor ol’ landlady to git vengeance on the Macreadys for ruining his life. Once he seen that you ’n’ me was onto him, he knew the jig was up an made up his mind to end it all by burnin’ up the whole kit ’n’ kaboodle—himself, his house, that pestiferous sister o’ his, and you ’n’ me into the bargain!”

“But how, then, do you account for the hideous manner of Asher’s death?”