I meowed, prompting him to turn the ringer. Did I have to do everything myself? When the bell failed to summon anyone, Eddie knocked. No response. Minding an overgrown thistle patch, he crossed the lawn and shouted into a partially open front window. Again, no response. Eager for answers, I jumped to the sill and listened through the gap. Bump-bump. A sound not altogether human reverberated from the structure. Mr. Uppity may not have been home, but something was inside.
"I tell you, Sissy," Eddie said, "Caroline Ferris was as beautiful as she was sad. But a single glance of her dull, lifeless eyes is enough to send a man to his grave."
Eddie hadn't given me a chance to investigate the odd bump-bump. He'd whisked me from the sill and down the street where we hailed an omnibus to Constable Harkness's neighborhood. I say this in warning: the omnibus is a torture device wherein humans squeeze together on little bench seats, sneeze and cough at intervals, and natter on about the weather. Private transport agrees with me so much more. Once we arrived at our destination, Eddie told the constable countless stories of Mr. Ferris while I listened from the front windowsill. Throughout the day, I began to understand that Mr. Ferris and Mr. Uppity were one and the same. But he would always be Mr. Uppity to me. Shortly after, the Poe family gathered in the front room of our little house on Coates.
"Send a man to his grave?" Sissy sat on the chaise and fanned herself with a lace fan, her face flushed. "How you exaggerate, husband."
"A skill for which I am paid," Eddie said.
"Not often enough," Muddy said. She rocked her chair. Squeak, squeak. I sat on the hearth near her, swiping my tail back and forth in a little game with the rails. They'd caught me once. But only once.
"Mother," Sissy said, "must you always turn the talk? Let Eddie finish."
"Actually, Virginia, she reminded me a little of you." He leaned back in his desk chair, hands clasped behind his head, and began the full account of our adventures. Even though the fire had died, the hearth retained enough heat to warm me during the retelling. From the length of his speech, he'd spared no detail. He finished by adding me to the story. "We have Catters to thank for the outcome. If not for her, I wouldn't have met Miss Ferris or known where to find her uncle." He looked at me. "You ran right to 207 Walnut and waited for me, didn't you?"
Sissy smiled. "Detective Dupin would be proud."
"That doesn't matter," he said. "As long as you are proud."
"I am, very, but I wish Mr. Ferris had been caught. Is there nothing else we can do?"
"No. Constable Harkness will handle the rest." Eddie sat forward and rubbed his hands together. "At any rate, I am glad that you're feeling better. My thoughts scarcely left you today."
"Yes, the nap did wonders for me," she said.
I approached Sissy and let her pet me. I liked Caroline, but she was no substitute.
Muddy yawned. "Now I am tired." She resettled her shawl around her shoulders and nestled into the chair.
They talked awhile longer, speaking of tea and dinner and other things that made my stomach go grumbly. So I turned to groom my back haunch, noticing I reached it more easily today. Perhaps running about town had trimmed my middle. I stretched to the other side and found those curves equally easy to navigate. I'd lost Mr. Uppity, but I'd also lost weight. I could live with that—for now. But that sound, that blasted bump-bump, gnawed at me.
A loud knock drew our attention to the front door. Eddie rose to answer it, speaking to the guest with incredulity. "Constable Harkness? I didn't expect to see you here. Come in. Please." He showed the man into the front room and introduced him to his "sweet wife, Mrs. Poe."
Nodding and hand shaking and so forth.
"I'm here to let you know about Gideon Ferris." The constable's tone had taken on newfound civility since his last visit to Coates Street. But I still didn't like him.
"What happened?" Sissy asked. She sat upright on the chaise and closed her fan.
"He's left Philadelphia," Constable Harkness said. "We spoke to his houseboy, Owen. He'd just come from the livery stable, complaining of a bum knee. Seems a horse had thrown him that morning. Once we pressed him, he told us how Mr. Ferris killed those women and stole their eyes. He even said Ferris admitted to murdering the Wills patient, Tom Sullivan."
"He's growing bolder," Eddie said. "But why take a leg?"
"Hah! To make your doll," Muddy added with a snicker.
"What's that?" the constable asked.
"She suffers the occasional spell," Eddie whispered to him. "Please continue."
"Owen, the houseboy, was half out of his mind, scared to even speak with us. I'm sure he knew we'd come to send his employer to prison. Nonetheless, he invited us in, we had a look around, and saw no sign of the old man." He fingered the brim of his hat. "Apparently, Mr. Ferris rode west this morning by train, bound for Virginia, without so much as a goodbye to his niece." He nodded to the women, then headed for the door. "Just thought you should know."
Eddie saw him out and returned, his face darkened by disappointment. "They will never find him. Never," he said. "Gideon Ferris is gone."
Sissy rose and put her arm around him. "You did your best, Eddie. Why don't you go out and get some air, clear your head. It will be good for you." She smiled. "And you're in need of a new pen, aren't you? Why don't you visit the stationer's store? Have a look around. Cheer yourself up."
"Are you sure?"
"Mother will keep an eye on me."
Muddy waved dismissively.
"And bring me back a sweet from Jersey's Dry Goods on the way home," Sissy said. "Licorice cats if they have them."
"Of course." Eddie rocked back on his heels. "I may stop by Shakey House to tell Murray, Abbot, and the rest of the boys about this business. But I won't be long."
Shakey House? I had no intention of following him there.
"Just be back by dinner," Sissy said.
He kissed her on the cheek and left, giving us the quiet house. I yawned with the growing afternoon, tired as Old Muddy. But I had not abandoned the hunt as Eddie obviously had. I leapt to the windowsill to watch him leave for the pub. This was no longer about writing or despondency or any other damnable thing. It was about my satisfaction now. Mr. Uppity would not best me. I would not let him. I pictured him hiding in his house, waiting for cover of darkness to either kill or escape. And that bump-bump… I could not rest until I learned its source.
When Sissy and Muddy left for the kitchen, I tripped the front door latch and started for Rittenhouse with the goal of luring Mr. Uppity to the Eastern State Penitentiary. I would put him where he belonged with a bit of humbuggery, for it would take a thief to catch a thief. And I prayed Midnight would help devise a plan.
Bump-bump
After my earlier apprenticeship in public transport, I embraced these ways, hopping on and off the backs of carriages to reach Rittenhouse in half the time. If anyone noticed me, I jumped down and waited for another horse and buggy to pass. I became so adept at this game that toward the end, my paws rarely touched the ground. I even stooped to catching an omnibus at one point. While I loathed these high-occupancy coaches, they let me ride inside when the roads grew too crowded. Cats are adept at underfoot travel, and with proper concentration, they can slip in and amongst human legs with near invisibility. So I gained egress with no appreciable hardship, save for a bent whisker.
Some time between lunch and tea, in the squishy middle of the afternoon, I arrived at Midnight's house, confident that he could devise a scheme for drawing Mr. Uppity to the penitentiary. I yowled and yowled outside his front door, but only little Sarah came to greet me. A slip of a girl, she wasn't much more than two braids and two skinned knees clothed in velvet. She gave me a ham rind, which I accepted, and a red ribbon around my neck, which I did not. So I left for the grocer's, thinking Midnight might've gone back to steal another sausage. I wish I had not been right.