One evening in paris just after dark on a windy evening in the autumn of 18-, I was enjoying the double pleasure of meditation and a meerschaum pipe.
I was in the company of my friend, c. Auguste Dupin , in his little library in the back of this house which was at No.33 on dunot street.
For about an hour we shared a deep silence.
Any casual observer might have thought that we were both intently occupied with studying the smoke that curled up and seemed to oppress the atmosphere of the room.
Actually, I was mentally going over certain topics that had been the subject of our conversation earlier this evening.
We had been discussing the affair of the rue morgue, and the mystery surrounding the death of Marie roget.
Thus, I thought it a coincidence when the door flew open and in came our old acquaintance, monsieur G-, the captain of the Parisian police.
We gave him a warm welcome because we had not seen him for several years.
We had been sitting in the dark.