He was attired in his customary garments, with the addition of a wide-brimmed, high-crowned black felt hat which—in a rare concession to the precepts of civilized behavior—he had evidently doffed upon entering our premises and was now clutching in one hand.
Stuffing my tear-dampened handkerchief into the breast pocket of my frockcoat, I rose from my chair and offered him a civil, if less than wholehearted, greeting.
“Cricket” he replied, “I’m right sorry to come bullin’ my way into yer home at such an uncivilized hour. But there’s been a heap of bad doings, and I’m plumb eager for you ’n’ me to have a pow-wow.” Then, with a nod towards Virginia, he added, “That was awful purty singin’, young miss. If you don’t warble as sweet as a bluebird in a cottonwood tree, why, I’m an injun.”
“Thank you!” chirped Virginia, favoring the intruder with the prettiest curtsy imaginable. Then, in a voice so sweetly ingenuous that it might have emanated from an angel, she inquired, “Are you really the famous Colonel Crocked:—the same one that Eddie was saying such terrible things about at dinnertime?”
“I am the genu-wine, blowed-in-the-glass article, there ain’t no buts about it,” the frontiersman acknowledged with a low-throated chuckle. “And hearin’ that Cricket’s been castin’ dispersions on me don’t exactly come as no surprise. There ain’t much love lost atwixt us, that’s for a certainty. But”—and here, he turned to regard me with a look of solemn intensity—“I’m hopin’ him ’n’ me can bury the hatchet. There’s some mighty bad business that needs attendin’ to—and there ain’t no time to waste.”
“The ‘business’ to which you allude,” I retorted, “must be urgent indeed if it has impelled you, once again, to disrupt in so precipitate a manner the tranquillity of our domestic milieu.”
“It is for a fact, Cricket,” came the somber reply.
At this moment, Muddy—who had been gazing at our visitor with (it pains me to say) a most irksome look of admiration on her countenance—stepped forward and extended one hand in Virginia’s direction. “Come, dear,” she said. “Let us leave Eddie and Colonel Crockett to their affairs.”
“Okay!” chirped the darling maiden. Skipping across the floor, she grasped her mothers hand, where-upon the two angelic creatures exited the room. Just before they vanished over the threshold, however, Virginia turned to look at Crockett. “I hope you will come again soon,” she exclaimed, “and I will sing another song for you!”
“You can depend on it, gal,” replied Crockett.
By now, the logs in the fireplace had been reduced to a mound of glimmering embers. The parlor, though still comfortably warm, was half-hidden in shadow. Stepping to the oil lamp that sat on a small, claw-footed tea-table in the center of the room, I raised the glass chimney and ignited the wick with a sulfur match. Then—still clutching the paper sheet upon which I had inscribed the enigmatical letters—I returned to my place and gestured towards the high-backed elbow-chair facing me.
Settling into this seat, the frontiersman crossed one leg over the other and rested his felt hat upon the peak of his knee. “That’s a right purty gal you got there, Cricket, Why, I had no idea you was a daddy.”
I could feel a hot flush of indignation suffuse my entire countenance. “You have entirely misapprehended the nature of the relationship that exists between Virginia and myself,” I declared. “She is not my daughter, but rather that of the good woman in whose company she has just now departed, my aunt Maria Clemm. Virginia is, in short, my cousin—though it is my fervent prayer that, before another year has passed, she will consent to be my wife!”
At this pronouncement, the frontiersman regarded me with an expression of slightly stupefied wonderment. He stared at me wordlessly before expelling a low, barely audible whistle. “If that don’t beat all,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Well,” he continued after a momentary pause, “it ain’t your family circumstances that I come here to discuss, Cricket—though I will confess that the whole situation sounds a mite peculiar. But as I say, that ain’t none o’ Davy Crockett’s business.”
“And what precisely is this business of yours, Colonel Crockett?” I inquired. “For an individual engaged in a mission of such purported urgency, you are, if I may say so, proceeding at a most dilatory pace.”
“It’s that infarnal miscreant, Neuendorf,” sighed Crockett. “It appears that he ain’t the killer after all.” In the warm glow of the lamplight, I could not help but discern that his customary expression of inordinate self-confidence had been replaced by one of self-doubt.
“On what evidence,” I exclaimed, “is your assertion based?”
“On the fact that he warn’t even in town last night when Mrs. Macready got herself kilt. He’s been gone for near a week. A dozen folks has come forward to swear oaths to it. The pestiferous varmint was off workin’ on a fishin’ vessel that only just sailed back into port at daybreak this mornin’”
This revelation produced a most singular response within my bosom: a not unpleasurable feeling of vindication, followed at once by an intense throb of dismay.
As though possessed of a preternatural faculty that permitted him access to my innermost thoughts, the frontiersman declared, “Aye, Cricket, it’s a mighty plaguesome state of affairs, and no mistake. For if that devilish rascal Neuendorf ain’t guilty, then the butcherous killer is still walkin’ the streets”
A long moment passed while I digested this intelligence. “The situation you have described,” I said at last, “while certainly distressing, is nothing less than what I had already surmised. Indeed, immediately prior to your unanticipated arrival, I was endeavoring to decipher the mysterious word left at the crime scene, under the conviction that it did not, in fact, spell out Neuendorf’s name.” And here I held up the sheet of paper upon which the mysterious notation was transcribed.
“Why, that’s just what brung me here tonight, Cricket! After the police was forced to set Neuendorf free, Captain Russell come to see me and told me all about your little palaver this morning. Thinks I—‘There’s more to this-here Cricket feller than meets the eye.’”
“I am, of course, deeply touched by your heartfelt encomium,” I replied with more than a hint of wryness in my tone. “But as to the precise purpose of your visit,” I continued, “I must confess that I remain in the dark.”
“That’s easily answered. I’m here to lay out a proposition—that you ’n’ me hook up together! Why, with that rattlin’ good head of yourn and my own—if I may say—uncommon endowments, I reckon we’ll catch that low-down murderer quicker’n a blind horse can bump into a fence post!”
So startling was Crockett’s proposal that, for a moment, I was rendered utterly incapable of speech. “Am I to understand,” I inquired at last, “that you are suggesting a partnership between us?”
“You have struck the nail bang on the head, Cricket.”
Another moment passed as I struggled to digest this extraordinary development. “And what of the police? Surely it is the responsibility of duly appointed law officers, and not of private citizens, to engage in the pursuit and apprehension of notorious criminals.”
Plucking his wide-brimmed hat from his knee, Crockett uncrossed his leg and leaned forward in his chair. “No disrespect meant to Captain Russell and his boys, but I don’t take much stock in ’em, Cricket They ain’t no different from any other constabulary I ever struck—so saddled with doin’ things accordin’ to the book that they move as slow as cold molasses in January. And anyways,” he added with a grin, “I ain’t no private citizen. I am a real sure-enough U.S. congressman!”
“So you are,” I repled, arranging my features into an expression that—while falling short of a smirk—nonetheless conveyed a fair degree of skepticism.“Indeed, at the risk of wrongfully impugning your motives, I cannot help suspecting that they are not wholly untainted with considerations of a political nature.”
This observation elicited a singular response in the normally buoyant frontiersman. Far from offending him, it appeared to plunge him into a mood of solemn introspection. His smile faded, his brow contracted, and—casting his gaze downward—he nodded in a slow, reflective manner. When, after the passage of several silent moments, he opened his mouth to speak, it was in a tone of unwonted gravity, “You ain’t entirely uncorrect, Cricket,” he conceded. “Catchin’ the heinous miscreant that kilt poor ol’ Mrs. Macready sure wont do me no harm come election day, I won’t deny it.”
Suddenly, his countenance underwent another striking transformation, his sombre expression turning into one of fierce resolution. “But you’ve plumb missed the mark if you reckon that’s the only reason I’m set on runnin the varmint to ground,” he asserted. “You seed with your own two eyes what he done to that poor ol’ widder-lady. Why, it’s enough to make a mans bristles stand up stiff as the thorns on a honey-locust tree. If you reckon I’m about to set still and not stir a finger while that unhuman devils on the loose—well then, Cricket, all’s I can say is, you have sadly mis-judged Davy Crockett’s character!”
Much to my astonishment, I found myself reacting with a real, if somewhat grudging, respect to this impassioned declaration. While not entirely dispelling my doubts as to the purity of Crockett’s motives, such spirited words could not help but strike a responsive chord within the breast of any but the most hopelessly phlegmatic male. As Crockett had correctly observed, I had indeed been witness to the full horrors of the atrocity. They had inflamed within my bosom, no less than in his, a fervent desire to see the perpetrator brought to justice. To assist in that enterprise would be a source of the most profound personal satisfaction.
Moreover, by accepting his proposal, I would be able to show the cocksure frontiersman, once and for all, that—owing to the inherent superiority of intellect over brawn—the man of exceptional mental capacities will always perform at a higher level of distinction than one endowed with mere physical prowess. I hasten to add that feelings of mere personal rivalry with Crockett played no part in my calculations—such petty emotions being wholly alien to my character.
“Well, Cricket, what d’ye say?” urged Crockett as I continued to deliberate on the matter.
Straightening up in my chair, I regarded the frontiersman with a look of the most solemn and purposeful intensity. “Colonel Crodkett,” I declared, “having given your proposition the careful consideration it so manifestly deserves, I have reached the conclusion that it is, indeed, my sacred duty—as a man no less than a citizen—to assist, in whatever way possible, in the resolution of this dreadful mystery. As a result, I have decided to respond in the affirmative.”
Raising one hand to the level of his shoulder, the irrepressible frontiersman let out a delighted whoop and delivered a resounding slap to his right knee. “By jings, Cricket, them’s the very words I was hopin’ to hear! Why, you ’n’ me’ll capture that pestiferous varmint afore you can say ‘Jack Robinson’!”
So infectious was Crockett’s enthusiasm that I could not help responding with an indulgent half-smile— which, however, rapidly faded from my countenance as I was struck with a troublesome thought. “But surely, Colonel Crockett, you must have weighty obligations elsewhere that require your immediate attention. While I hesitate to question your optimistic conviction, it is possible that this matter may not, in fact, be resolved quite as expeditiously as you believe.”
“It’s true as preachin’, Cricket—there’s more folks’n you can shake a stick at that’s clammerin’ after me. Why, the Big-Whigs of Boston was fixin’ to throw me a riproarious dinner at the Tremont House the day after next. But that little shindig’ll just have to wait for a spell. No sir,” he insisted with an emphatic shake of the head. “I don’t aim to stir from this fair city of yourn ’til the culprit has been brung to justice.”
“Well, Colonel Crockett,” I replied, “should this affair require more time than you anticipate, you will at least have the privilege of spending it in Baltimore, which, as you say, is truly one of the fairest—as well as one of the most progressive—municipalities in the land.” Then, cocking an eyebrow, I added, “I assume that your newfound acquaintance of this morning has already introduced you to some of its many attractions.”
“You mean Maryanne Mullany?” said the frontiersman with a distinctly rakish grin. “Why, that sweet li’l gal was what I’d call downright hospitable. Yessir, she showed me a sight or two that had my eyes bulgin’ out as big as a bullfrog’s.”
“I have no doubt,” I replied dryly. “And which of these marvels, if I may inquire, were you most taken by?”
“Lemme see,” he reflected, stroking his square, smooth-shaven chin. “There was that splendiferous cathedra! that ain’t like nothin’ I ever seed. And the Holliday Street The-ayter. And that dazzlin’ big buildin’ over yonder on Gay Street,”
“Ah yes” I said, “The New Export-Import Mercantile Association Building—one of the most imposing commercial structures in Baltimore,”
“That’s the one—she’s a dilly, all right. And then there was that huge-acious statue of George Washington that I’ve heard tell so much about. It’s a corker, and no mistake. Course, I don’t entirely cotton to seein’ any man—not even a United States President—stuck way high up on a pedestal that way. It don’t hardly seem right. Though I don’t s’ppose the one we got now would have any objections to bein’ treated in such a manner. Hell, ol’ Andy Jackson already acts so high ’n’ mighty that … why, Cricket, what in tarnation has come over you?”
Though I was, at that instant, entirely unconscious of my facial expression, it must have been of a most remarkable character to have brought the frontiers-man’s soliloquy to such an abrupt halt. But however singular my aspect, it could only have been a faint representation of the exceedingly agitated sensations that were swirling within my bosom.
“What the devils the matter, Cricket?” repeated the frontiersman.
“Of course!” I exclaimed, staring down at the sheet of paper in my lap. “It is not one word but two!”
Rising swiftly from his place, Crocked: stepped behind my chair and peered over my shoulder, “Slow down, Cricket,” he said. “You’re movin’ a mite fast for me.”
“The letters above Mrs. Macready’s bed! I have been proceeding under the assumption that they formed a single word. But let us suppose that there were, in fact, two. In view of the intensely feverish circumstances under which he was undoubtedly operating, the author of the cryptic message—who, as I continue to believe, was the perpetrator of the deed and not the unfortunate victim—may easily have omitted the space between them, thus running the words together”
“I still ain’t altogether followin’ you, Cricket”
“Look!” I exclaimed. Taking my pencil, I quickly filled in the four blank spaces with the characters “W,” “X,” “P” and “T,” thus producing the following lexical formation:
NEW EXPORT
“Why, what in tarnation does it signify, Cricket? I can’t cipher it nohow.”
“New Export!”
“You mean like that building I seed this morning—the whaddayacallit?”
“Precisely! The New Export-Import Mercantile Association Building. Indeed, it was your allusion to it a moment ago that gave rise to my deduction.”
“But what in blue blazes does that buildin’ have t’do with poor ol’ Mrs. Macready?” inquired the frontiersman in a tone of deep perplexity.
“Indeed, Colonel Crocked,” I replied as the frontiersman walked back to the elbow chair and reseated himself upon it. “That—to quote the immortal Bard of Avon—is the question. As for the answer—while I am at a loss to propound a definitive reply, I can, at the very least, offer an educated surmise”
“Go ahead, Cricket. I am all ears.”
“The connection relates to Mrs. Macready’s late husband, Junius—for much of his life one of Baltimores most prominent citizens. In his latter years, this gentleman suffered grievous reversals which led to his near-total financial ruin and, ultimately, to his rapid physical decline and unseasonable death. The precise details of this catastrophe are, of course, unknown to me. But at the time of its occurrence, rumors abounded that his fall had been expedited, if not wholly effected, through a bitter feud with members of another venerable Baltimore family, the Ashers, whose fortune also underwent a considerable diminution through their monomaniacal pursuit of their vendetta against Macready. Indeed, far more than their wealth was affected, since the patriarch of the family, Samuel Asher—like his hated adversary Junius Macready—was left a broken man. He, too, perished soon afterwards, leaving as his only heirs a pair of notoriously reclusive—and, according to repute, wildly eccentric—adult children.”
“But where in thunderation does that buildin’ enter into it, Cricket?”
Here, I leaned forward in my seat and fixed the frontiersman with a firm, unwavering gaze, “According to newspaper accounts published at the time of Macready’s demise” I replied, “the precipitating cause of the enmity between this gentleman and the Ashers involved the edifice in question, in whose extravagantly costly construction the two had been major investors.”;
For several moments, the frontiersman sat frowning in silence, tugging pensively at his lower lip. “And you figger,” he inquired at last, “that these-here Asher children might’ve had a hand in Mrs. Macready’s killin’?”
“Given their apparently justified reputation for anomalous, if not highly abnormal, behavior—as well as the poisonous rancor that has, for many years, infected the relationship between the two parties—such a possibility is not wholly beyond question.”
“Well, then,” said Crodkett, rising purposefully to his feet. “Our path is plain as shootin’. We must commence by payin’ them Asher folks a little visit. Whereabouts will we find ’em, Cricket?”
“They continue to reside in their ancestral home, a once-splendid but now exceedingly dilapidated manse located in a remote area of the countryside, approximately twenty miles north of the city.”
Settling his wide-brimmed hat on his head, the frontiersman said: “Well then, Cricket, you’n me’d best get us some shut-eye. Come morning, I will hire us a couple of mounts at a livery stable and fetch you first thing after breakfast.”
“Your suggestion seems eminently reasonable,” said I, rising from my seat, “Allow me to show you to the door.”
Preceding the frontiersman out of the parlor and down the narrow hallway, I escorted him to the front door. Pausing at its threshold, I turned to him and said, “There is one final matter, Colonel Crockett. While fully committed to this enterprise, I must insist on a single stipulation.”
His brow knitted in evident perplexity.
“From this point forward” I explained, “I wish to be called by my actual cognomen. I can—I will—no longer tolerate your repeated denomination of me as a member of that vexatious order of orthoptera known scientifically as Gryllus domesticus.”
For several moments, the frontiersman simply regarded me with a look of open-mouthed wonderment, as though stunned into an awed silence by the sheer vehemence of my declaration. At last, his face brightened and a broad grin spread slowly over his countenance. “Why, it took me a minute to cipher your meanin’,” he chuckled. “But I am happy to oblige, Cr—er, Poe!” Then, as if to ratify our new understanding, he extended his powerful right hand.
I shook it politely. Then, with a parting farewell, he threw open the door, stepped into the fog-shrouded night, and took leave of me until the morrow.