“That’s easily explained,” the frontiersman replied. “Once that blaze got roaring hot, he must’ve decided that bein’ roasted alive warn’t such a prime idea after all. So he high-tailed it for the front door. But in all the smoke an’ gen’ral confustification, he ran smack-dab into that skewer an’ ended up like a gigged bullfrog.”

“And you are absolutely confident of this analysis?”

“Blamed if I ain’t. That’s how the police calculate it, too.”

“Ah—then you have already communicated your theory with the authorities.”

“You know me, Poe. I ain’t one for dilly-dallyin’. ‘Be sure you’re right, then go ahead!’—that’s Davy Crockett’s motto.” Extending one hand across the table, he proffered me the newspaper. “Here. Take a gander.”

Frowning, I unfolded the paper and held it dose to the lamplight. It proved to be that morning’s edition of the Baltimore Chronicle. Immediately, my gaze lighted upon a bold headline occupying several columns on the front page:

SHOCKING TRAGEDY!

ASHER HOME DESTROYED BY CONFLAGRATION!

Roger Asher and Sister Perish in Blaze!

Thrilling Tale of Escape Related by Colonel David Crockett

Perusing the article—whose author had evidently derived much of his information directly from Crockett—I soon encountered the passage to which the latter had been alluding. It read as follows:

As to the cause of the devastating blaze, an explanation was proffered to police by the celebrated frontier scout, author, and congressman, Colonel David Crockett of Tennessee, who, as fate would have it, was present at the Asher home at the time of the tragedy. In an interview with Police Captain Horace Russell, Colonel Crockett—who has been a visitor to our city for several days—intimated that a connection may well have existed between Mr. Roger Asher and the recent, ghastly murder of Mrs. Elmira Macready—the widow of the late Junius Macready, who had reputedly been embroiled in a singularly bitter feud with Mr. Asher’s deceased father, Samuel, over business dealings involving the New Export-Import Mercantile Association.

“Pitch me naked into a briar patch if that Asher feller didn’t butcher that poor ol’ landlady in her bed, then start the fire hisself to escape bein’ hung,” Colonel Crockett is quoted as having said. “Tell the good folks o’ Baltimore that Davy Crockett says they can rest easy—for the varminous murderer o’ Mrs. Macready is now roastin’ in flames a monstrous sight hotter than the ones that burned up his house!”

Neatly re-folding the newspaper into quarto size, I passed it back to the frontiersman and regarded him silently for a moment before saying: “With the plausibility of your interpretation I have no dispute. Nevertheless, I cannot entirely share in your sense of absolute conviction.” Here, I hesitated for a moment, silently engaged in an internal debate over the advisability of revealing to Crockett the particulars of my extraordinary nocturnal visitation in the hours preceding the outbreak of the fire.