Seabright Ellison shrugged.

"Still, as a member of the Allan household, you enjoyed advantages denied to many," he observed. "For example, your four years in a private school in England—Manor House School, in the north of London, was it not?"

"It was," I admitted. "Your knowledge of my life astonishes me."

"And I suppose," he said, "it might have been at about that time when, in some—shall we say dream, or vision—you first encountered Annie?"

I stared at him. No one in waking life could know of her. I had never spoken of her.

"What do you know about Annie?" I whispered hoarsely. "What could you know about her?"

"Not a great deal, I assure you," he answered. "Certainly not all that I should like to know. Still— more than you do, I dare say."

"I have seen her," I said. "Two days ago, in Charleston—and again, within the hour. At this moment she is aboard—"

He raised his hand.

"I know where she is," he told me. "And while there is some danger involved, nothing threatens her at the moment. I can quite probably help you to reach her—eventually. But things will really proceed more swiftly if you will permit me to take things in my own order, at my own pace."

I nodded.

"Very well," I said, and I drained my minuscule wineglass once again. He refilled it, shook his head and muttered something that sounded like "Amazing."

Then, "Are you familiar, Mr. Perry, with the name of 'Poe'?" he asked.

"There is an Italian river, I believe," I stated.

"Really!" he hissed. "P-O-E. A man's name. Edgar Poe. Edgar Allan Poe."

"Sorry ..." I said, then, "Ah. A confusion of identity. Is that it? Those men on the beach— They really wanted to kill this Edgar Poe."

"No." Ellison raised his hand. "I beg of you, be of no illusions on that score. I've no doubt those men knew exactly whom they were to kill. It was you, Sergeant Edgar A. Perry. I will not say that Edgar Poe is in no danger. Far from it. But his fate will be more subtle, I suppose ... and it need not directly concern us."