Золотой жук. Уровень 1 / The Gold-bug

The murderer must be an idiot if he attempted to rob these poor ladies and took nothing from them eventually!

“What do we have in the dry rest?[6 - What do we have in the dry rest? – Что мы имеем в сухом остатке?] The peculiar voice, an unusual agility, a startling absence of motive in a singularly atrocious murder. Let us glance at the butchery itself. A girl is strangled to death by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney, head downward. Ordinary assassins do not do that. Other indications of a great strength the murderer must had have are very thick tresses of grey human hair on the hearth.

They were torn out by the roots. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutely severed from the body: the instrument was a mere razor. Something here does not fit our ideas of human actions, even when we think of men of the most terrible kind. Who would commit the murder in such brutal way without a reason? Who could have such incredible strength?”

“A madman!” I exclaimed, “Some raving maniac!”

“In some ways,” he replied, “your idea is not irrelevant.

But madmen are of some nation. Their cries may be terrible, but they are made of words, and some of the words can be understood. Besides, look at the hair I hold in my hand. I took it from rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L’Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it.”

“Dupin!” I said, completely amazed; “this hair is most unusual-this is no human hair.”

“Before we decide this matter, I want you to look at the little sketch I made.

It is a picture of the marks on the daughter’s neck.”

My friend spread out the paper upon the table before us. “You see”, continued he, “there is no slipping apparent. The victim was killed by a firm and fixed hold. Now try to place all your fingers, at the same time, in the respective impressions as you see them.”

I tried and failed.

“Maybe we are not doing this in the right way?” said Dupin. “The paper is spread out on the table; but the human throat is cylindrical.

Here is a piece of wood as big as a neck. Try to wrap your hand around it.”

I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than before. “This,” I said, “is the mark of no human hand.”

“Read now,” replied Dupin, “this passage from Cuvier.”

It was a detailed anatomical description of the large fulvous orangutan of the East Indian Islands. Goosebumps ran down my spine.