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"My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you are alarming yourself
unnecessarily--you are indeed. We mean you no harm whatever. I pledge
you the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we intend you no
injury. I perfectly well know that you are innocent of the atrocities
in the Rue Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny that you are in some
measure implicated in them. From what I have already said, you must know
that I have had means of information about this matter--means of which
you could never have dreamed. Now the thing stands thus. You have done
nothing which you could have avoided--nothing, certainly, which renders
you culpable. You were not even guilty of robbery, when you might have
robbed with impunity. You have nothing to conceal. You have no reason
for concealment. On the other hand, you are bound by every principle
of honor to confess all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned,
charged with that crime of which you can point out the perpetrator."
The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure, while
Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing was all
gone.
"So help me God," said he, after a brief pause, "I will tell you all I
know about this affair;--but I do not expect you to believe one half I
say--I would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent, and I will
make a clean breast if I die for it."
What he stated was, in substance, this. He had lately made a voyage
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