'Because of what’s written in the document,” replied the Police Chief, “and because certain events have not happened that certainly would happen if he used it.” I‘ve been told by a very important person that a document has been stolen from the royal apartments. 'But, before I begin, let me say that this is a very sensitive case and that I’ll probably lose my job if anyone hears that I’ve discussed it outside the police department.' 'Well, I can explain it easily,' replied the Chief and sat down in his chair. 'Perhaps the mystery is a little too clear,' said Dupin. 'Nonsense!' replied the police chief, laughing loudly. 'Perhaps that’s because it’s so very simple,' said my friend.

'The fact is that we’re all puzzled because the case is very simple, but we can’t solve it,' replied G. 'No! Nothing like that! The fact is that the situation is really very simple and I’m certain we can manage it ourselves but I thought Dupin would like to hear the details, because it’s so very odd.' 'Very true,' said Dupin, as he gave his visitor a pipe and pushed a comfortable chair in his direction. 'That’s another of your odd ideas,' said G, who had a habit of calling anything he didn’t understand 'odd' and therefore lived surrounded by 'oddities.' 'If it’s anything we need to think deeply about,' said Dupin, 'it’ll be easier in the dark.' We had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin stood up to light a lamp but sat down again without doing so, as soon as G said that he had come to ask for my friend’s advice about a case which was causing him a lot of trouble. We welcomed him as he was not a bad man, if not very clever, and we had not seen him for several years. Suddenly, the apartment door opened and our old acquaintance, Monsieur G, the head of the Paris police force, came in. However, I was considering some things we had discussed earlier that evening: the case of the Rue Morgue and the mystery of the murder of Marie Rogêt. We had not spoken for about an hour and seemed to pay attention only to the smoke filling the air. We were in Paris, just after dark one windy evening in the autumn of 18- and I was smoking a pipe with my friend, Dupin, in his room on the 4th floor.

The stolen letter by edgar allan poe