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animals. Tap was always complaining about
Pluto chasing him. I almost wished the cat would catch him one of
these days and choke on him, ridding me of both troublesome
creatures at once. I imagined the ghastly beast spitting feathers
with his final breaths and it almost brought a smile to my
lips.
    I straightened my collar and hurried back to
my cottage, walking with an exaggerated dignity. I felt a
drunkard's remorse, as if my bouts of delirium were a moral defect
and not a mere physical malady of the brain. I supposed that it was
this same malady that also accounted for my acute sensitivity to
light. As I strode rapidly along the graveyard path, I shielded my
eyes from the glare of the sun which at this time of the year was
always too low in the sky, causing me constant torment. I probably
looked like a man trying to hide his identity. An observer who
might have taken me for a vagrant before probably suspected me of
much worse now.
    Such was my lot.
    By the time I reached the wrought-iron gate,
I saw through the leaves of the trees that someone was in my house.
I had caught just the merest hint of movement through one of the
back windows. I wondered absurdly if the police had been summoned
on reports of a strange man wandering around in the graveyard. Or
perhaps not a strange man at all— perhaps Poe himself!
    I rushed to the house with as much haste as I
could muster, growing more fearful with every step. Fearful of
what, I did not know. Then it dawned on me. Tap . Alone with
me, the wretched bird was a mere nuisance. Alone in my house with a
stranger ... Well, that might be harder to explain.
    And who knew what the garrulous creature
might find to talk about in my absence?
    I raced around the house to the front door
and flung it open. My eyes immediately fell upon my rocking chair
where Tap normally perched. To my relief, I saw no bird there. I
scanned other likely spots and didn't see him in any of them
either. Then I saw a figure emerge from my kitchen. It was
Inspector Gessler.
    "Mr. Poe!" he cried happily when he saw me,
his mustache puffing out on his breath.
    "You are in the habit of breaking into
peoples' homes now?" I asked, feeling less annoyed than I tried to
impart in my tone. In truth, his intrusion did not surprise me.
That was probably why my first thought upon waking was of
policemen. Perhaps I had been expecting him.
    "My profuse apologies, sir," he gushed at me.
"I knocked but when no one came, I grew frightened that something
might be amiss."
    "Why would something be amiss?" I looked past
his face and into the corners of the room. The man made me
unaccountably nervous. I felt as if I might have left some
incriminating material laying about where it could be found and
used against me. But, of course, I was guilty of nothing, except
perhaps a little slovenliness. Still, I had nothing to hide and no
reason for anxiety.
    At least not once I realized Tap was nowhere
about. I went to his window and clamped it shut tight, in case he
decided to return.
    "I looked in your window there," Gessler
nodded at the one next to my desk, "and saw that your candle had
toppled over, and your papers... Well, when I found your door
slightly ajar, I was afraid something had happened. After our
business yesterday..."
    I must have knocked over my candle in my
sleep. I could see how the state of my desk might have caused some
concern. My unfinished manuscript littered my desktop and several
sheets had fallen to the floor. From the outside, it must have
looked like a struggle had taken place. I supposed the mess was
from me groping about in the dark in my delirium. Perhaps Pluto had
been chasing mice while I slept. Who knew?
    I stooped and gathered errant pages from the
floor. Thankfully, I had developed the habit of numbering my
manuscript sheets as I wrote so I could re-order them easily in
case of accident. I spent the next few moments organizing and
stacking them on my desk.
    "I took the liberty, Mr. Poe," Gessler began
in the