these two apartments that we have to seek issues. The police have laid
bare the floors, the ceilings, and the masonry of the walls, in every
direction. No secret issues could have escaped their vigilance. But,
not trusting to their eyes, I examined with my own. There were, then,
no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms into the passage
were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn to the chimneys.
These, although of ordinary width for some eight or ten feet above the
hearths, will not admit, throughout their extent, the body of a large
cat. The impossibility of egress, by means already stated, being thus
absolute, we are reduced to the windows. Through those of the front room
no one could have escaped without notice from the crowd in the street.
The murderers must have passed, then, through those of the back room.
Now, brought to this conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are,
it is not our part, as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent
impossibilities. It is only left for us to prove that these apparent
‘impossibilities’ are, in reality, not such.
“There are two windows in the chamber. One of them is unobstructed by
furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower portion of the other is
hidden from view by the head of the unwieldy bedstead which is thrust
close up against it. The former was found securely fastened from within.
It resisted the utmost force of those who endeavored to raise it. A
large gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to the left, and a very
stout nail was found fitted therein, nearly to the head. Upon examining
the other window, a similar nail was seen similarly fitted in it; and
a vigorous attempt to raise this sash, failed also. The police were now
entirely satisfied that egress had not been in these directions. And,
therefore, it was thought a matter of supererogation to withdraw the
nails and open the windows.
“My own examination was somewhat more particular, and was so for the
reason I have just given--because here it was, I knew, that all apparent
impossibilities must be proved to be not such in reality.
“I proceeded to think thus--a posteriori. The murderers did escape
from one of these windows. This being so, they could not have refastened
the sashes from the inside, as they were found fastened;--the
consideration which put a stop, through its obviousness, to the scrutiny
of the police in this quarter. Yet the sashes were fastened. They
must, then, have the power of fastening themselves. There was no
escape from this conclusion. I stepped to the unobstructed casement,
withdrew the nail with some difficulty and attempted to raise the sash.
It resisted all my efforts, as I had anticipated. A concealed spring
must, I now know, exist; and this corroboration of my idea convinced
me that my premises at least, were correct, however mysterious still
appeared the circumstances attending the nails. A careful search soon
brought to light the hidden spring. I pressed it, and, satisfied with
the discovery, forbore to upraise the sash.
“I now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively. A person passing
out through this window might have reclosed it, and the spring would
have caught--but the nail could not have been replaced. The conclusion
was plain, and again narrowed in the field of my investigations. The
assassins must have escaped through the other window. Supposing, then,
the springs upon each sash to be the same, as was probable, there must
be found a difference between the nails, or at least between the modes
of their fixture. Getting upon the sacking of the bedstead, I looked
over the head-board minutely at the second casement. Passing my hand
down behind the board, I readily discovered and pressed the spring,
which was, as I had supposed, identical in character with its neighbor.
I now looked at the nail. It was as stout as the other, and apparently
fitted in the same manner--driven in nearly up to the head.
“You will say that I was puzzled; but, if you think so, you must have
misunderstood the nature of the inductions. To use a sporting phrase,
I had not been once ‘at fault.’ The scent had never for an instant
been lost. There was no flaw in any link of the chain. I had traced the
secret to its ultimate result,--and that result was the nail. It
had, I say, in every respect, the appearance of its fellow in the other
window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive us it might
seem to be) when compared with the consideration that here, at this
point, terminated the clew. ‘There must be something wrong,’ I said,
‘about the nail.’ I touched it; and the head, with about a quarter of an
inch of the shank, came off in my fingers. The rest of the shank was in
the gimlet-hole where it had been broken off. The fracture was an old
one (for its edges were incrusted with rust), and had apparently been
accomplished by the blow of a hammer, which had partially imbedded,
in the top of the bottom sash, the head portion of the nail. I now
carefully replaced this head portion in the indentation whence I had
taken it, and the resemblance to a perfect nail was complete--the
fissure was invisible. Pressing the spring, I gently raised the sash
for a few inches; the head went up with it, remaining firm in its bed.
I closed the window, and the semblance of the whole nail was again
perfect.
“The riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The assassin had escaped through
the window which looked upon the bed. Dropping of its own accord upon
his exit (or perhaps purposely closed), it had become fastened by the
spring; and it was the retention of this spring which had been mistaken
by the police for that of the nail,--farther inquiry being thus
considered unnecessary.
“The next question is that of the mode of descent. Upon this point I had
been satisfied in my walk with you around the building. About five feet
and a half from the casement in question there runs a lightning-rod.
From this rod it would have been impossible for any one to reach the
window itself, to say nothing of entering it. I observed, however, that
the shutters of the fourth story were of the peculiar kind called by
Parisian carpenters ferrades--a kind rarely employed at the present
day, but frequently seen upon very old mansions at Lyons and Bordeaux.
They are in the form of an ordinary door, (a single, not a folding door)
except that the lower half is latticed or worked in open trellis--thus
affording an excellent hold for the hands. In the present instance these
shutters are fully three feet and a half broad. When we saw them from
the rear of the house, they were both about half open--that is to say,
they stood off at right angles from the wall. It is probable that the
police, as well as myself, examined the back of the tenement; but, if
so, in looking at these ferrades in the line of their breadth (as they
must have done), they did not perceive this great breadth itself, or,
at all events, failed to take it into due consideration. In fact, having
once satisfied themselves that no egress could have been made in this
quarter, they would naturally bestow here a very cursory examination.
It was clear to me, however, that the shutter belonging to the window
at the head of the bed, would, if swung fully back to the wall, reach
to within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was also evident that, by
exertion of a very unusual degree of activity and courage, an entrance
into the window, from the rod, might have been thus effected.--By
reaching to the distance of two feet and a half (we now suppose the
shutter open to its whole extent) a robber might have taken a firm grasp
upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold upon the rod, placing
his feet securely against the wall, and springing boldly from it, he
might have swung the shutter so as to close it, and, if we imagine the
window open at the time, might even have swung himself into the room.
“I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have spoken of a very
unusual degree of activity as requisite to success in so hazardous and
so difficult a feat. It is my design to show you, first, that the thing
might possibly have been accomplished:--but, secondly and chiefly, I
wish to impress upon your understanding the very extraordinary--the
almost præternatural character of that agility which could have
accomplished it.
“You will say, no doubt, using the language of the law, that ‘to make
out my case,’ I should rather undervalue, than insist upon a full
estimation of the activity required in this matter. This may be the
practice in law, but it is not the usage of reason. My ultimate object
is only the truth. My immediate purpose is to lead you to place in
juxtaposition, that very unusual activity of which I have just spoken
with that very peculiar shrill (or harsh) and unequal voice, about
whose nationality no two persons could be found to agree, and in whose
utterance no syllabification could be detected.”
At these words a vague and half-formed conception of the meaning
of Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed to be upon the verge of
comprehension without power to comprehend--men, at times, find
themselves upon the brink of remembrance without being able, in the end,
to remember. My friend went on with his discourse.
“You will see,” he said, “that I have shifted the question from the mode
of egress to that of ingress. It was my design to convey the idea that
both were effected in the same manner, at the same point. Let us now
revert to the interior of the room. Let us survey the appearances here.
The drawers of the bureau, it is said, had been rifled, although many
articles of apparel still remained within them. The conclusion here is
absurd. It is a mere guess--a very silly one--and no more. How are
we to know that the articles found in the drawers were not all these
drawers had originally contained? Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter
lived an exceedingly retired life--saw no company--seldom went out--had
little use for numerous changes of habiliment. Those found were at least
of as good quality as any likely to be possessed by these ladies. If a
thief had taken any, why did he not take the best--why did he not take
all? In a word, why did he abandon four thousand francs in gold to
encumber himself with a bundle of linen? The gold was abandoned.
Nearly the whole sum mentioned by Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was
discovered, in bags, upon the floor. I wish you, therefore, to discard
from your thoughts the blundering idea of motive, engendered in the
brains of the police by that portion of the evidence which speaks of
money delivered at the door of the house. Coincidences ten times as
remarkable as this (the delivery of the money, and murder committed
within three days upon the party receiving it), happen to all of us
every hour of our lives, without attracting even momentary notice.
Coincidences, in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the way of that
class of thinkers who have been educated to know nothing of the theory
of probabilities--that theory to which the most glorious objects of
human research are indebted for the most glorious of illustration. In
the present instance, had the gold been gone, the fact of its delivery
three days before would have formed something more than a coincidence.
It would have been corroborative of this idea of motive. But, under the
real circumstances of the case, if we are to suppose gold the motive
of this outrage, we must also imagine the perpetrator so vacillating an
idiot as to have abandoned his gold and his motive together.
“Keeping now steadily in mind the points to which I have drawn your
attention--that peculiar voice, that unusual agility, and that startling
absence of motive in a murder so singularly atrocious as this--let us
glance at the butchery itself. Here is a woman strangled to death
by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney, head downward. Ordinary
assassins employ no such modes of murder as this. Least of all, do they
thus dispose of the murdered. In the manner of thrusting the corpse
up the chimney, you will admit that there was something excessively
outré--something altogether irreconcilable with our common notions of
human action, even when we suppose the actors the most depraved of men.
Think, too, how great must have been that strength which could have
thrust the body up such an aperture so forcibly that the united vigor
of several persons was found barely sufficient to drag it down!
“Turn, now, to other indications of the employment of a vigor most
marvellous. On the hearth were thick tresses--very thick tresses--of
grey human hair. These had been torn out by the roots. You are aware of
the great force necessary in tearing thus from the head even twenty or
thirty hairs together. You saw the locks in question as well as myself.
Their roots (a hideous sight!) were clotted with fragments of the flesh
of the scalp--sure token of the prodigious power which had been exerted
in uprooting perhaps half a million of hairs at a time. The throat of
the old lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutely severed from
the body: the instrument was a mere razor. I wish you also to look at
the brutal ferocity of these deeds. Of the bruises upon the body
of Madame L’Espanaye I do not speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy
coadjutor Monsieur Etienne, have pronounced that they were inflicted by
some obtuse instrument; and so far these gentlemen are very correct. The
obtuse instrument was clearly the stone pavement in the yard, upon which
the victim had fallen from the window which looked in upon the bed. This
idea, however simple it may now seem, escaped the police for the same
reason that the breadth of the shutters escaped them--because, by the
affair of the nails, their perceptions had been hermetically sealed
against the possibility of the windows having ever been opened at all.
“If now, in addition to all these things, you have properly reflected
upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we have gone so far as to combine
the ideas of an agility astounding, a strength superhuman, a ferocity
brutal, a butchery without motive, a grotesquerie in horror absolutely
alien from humanity, and a voice foreign in tone to the ears of men
of many nations, and devoid of all distinct or intelligible
syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? What impression have I
made upon your fancy?”
I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me the question. “A
madman,” I said, “has done this deed--some raving maniac, escaped from a
neighboring Maison de Santé.”
“In some respects,” he replied, “your idea is not irrelevant. But the
voices of madmen, even in their wildest paroxysms, are never found to
tally with that peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of some
nation, and their language, however incoherent in its words, has always
the coherence of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a madman is not
such as I now hold in my hand. I disentangled this little tuft from the
rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L’Espanaye. Tell me what you can make
of it.”
“Dupin!” I said, completely unnerved; “this hair is most unusual--this
is no human hair.”
“I have not asserted that it is,” said he; “but, before we decide this
point, I wish you to glance at the little sketch I have here traced upon
this paper. It is a fac-simile drawing of what has been described in
one portion of the testimony as ‘dark bruises, and deep indentations
of finger nails,’ upon the throat of Mademoiselle L’Espanaye, and in
another, (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne,) as a ‘series of livid spots,
evidently the impression of fingers.’
“You will perceive,” continued my friend, spreading out the paper upon
the table before us, “that this drawing gives the idea of a firm
and fixed hold. There is no slipping apparent. Each finger has
retained--possibly until the death of the victim--the fearful grasp by
which it originally imbedded itself. Attempt, now, to place all your
fingers, at the same time, in the respective impressions as you see
them.”
I made the attempt in vain.
“We are possibly not giving this matter a fair trial,” he said. “The
paper is spread out upon a plane surface; but the human throat is
cylindrical. Here is a billet of wood, the circumference of which
is about that of the throat. Wrap the drawing around it, and try the
experiment again.”
I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than before. “This,”
I said, “is the mark of no human hand.”
“Read now,” replied Dupin, “this passage from Cuvier.”
It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive account of the
large fulvous Ourang-Outang of the East Indian Islands. The gigantic
stature, the prodigious strength and activity, the wild ferocity, and
the imitative propensities of these mammalia are sufficiently well known
to all. I understood the full horrors of the murder at once.
“The description of the digits,” said I, as I made an end of reading,
“is in exact accordance with this drawing. I see that no animal but an
Ourang-Outang, of the species here mentioned, could have impressed the
indentations as you have traced them. This tuft of tawny hair, too, is
identical in character with that of the beast of Cuvier. But I cannot
possibly comprehend the particulars of this frightful mystery. Besides,
there were two voices heard in contention, and one of them was
unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman.”
“True; and you will remember an expression attributed almost
unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice,--the expression, ‘mon
Dieu!’ This, under the circumstances, has been justly characterized by
one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner,) as an expression of
remonstrance or expostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I have
mainly built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A Frenchman
was cognizant of the murder. It is possible--indeed it is far more
than probable--that he was innocent of all participation in the bloody
transactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have escaped from
him. He may have traced it to the chamber; but, under the agitating
circumstances which ensued, he could never have re-captured it. It is
still at large. I will not pursue these guesses--for I have no right to
call them more--since the shades of reflection upon which they are based
are scarcely of sufficient depth to be appreciable by my own intellect,
and since I could not pretend to make them intelligible to the
understanding of another. We will call them guesses then, and speak
of them as such. If the Frenchman in question is indeed, as I suppose,
innocent of this atrocity, this advertisement which I left last night,
upon our return home, at the office of ‘Le Monde,’ (a paper devoted to
the shipping interest, and much sought by sailors,) will bring him to
our residence.”
He handed me a paper, and I read thus:
CAUGHT--In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of the--inst.,
(the morning of the murder,) a very large, tawny Ourang-Outang of
the Bornese species. The owner, (who is ascertained to be a sailor,
belonging to a Maltese vessel,) may have the animal again, upon
identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few charges arising from
its capture and keeping. Call at No. ----, Rue ----, Faubourg St.
Germain--au troisiême.
“How was it possible,” I asked, “that you should know the man to be a
sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?”
“I do not know it,” said Dupin. “I am not sure of it. Here, however,
is a small piece of ribbon, which from its form, and from its greasy
appearance, has evidently been used in tying the hair in one of those
long queues of which sailors are so fond. Moreover, this knot is one
which few besides sailors can tie, and is peculiar to the Maltese. I
picked the ribbon up at the foot of the lightning-rod. It could not have
belonged to either of the deceased. Now if, after all, I am wrong in my
induction from this ribbon, that the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to
a Maltese vessel, still I can have done no harm in saying what I did in
the advertisement. If I am in error, he will merely suppose that I have
been misled by some circumstance into which he will not take the trouble
to inquire. But if I am right, a great point is gained. Cognizant
although innocent of the murder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitate
about replying to the advertisement--about demanding the Ourang-Outang.
He will reason thus:--‘I am innocent; I am poor; my Ourang-Outang is of
great value--to one in my circumstances a fortune of itself--why should
I lose it through idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is, within my
grasp. It was found in the Bois de Boulogne--at a vast distance from the
scene of that butchery. How can it ever be suspected that a brute beast
should have done the deed? The police are at fault--they have failed to
procure the slightest clew. Should they even trace the animal, it would
be impossible to prove me cognizant of the murder, or to implicate me
in guilt on account of that cognizance. Above all, I am known. The
advertiser designates me as the possessor of the beast. I am not sure to
what limit his knowledge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property
of so great value, which it is known that I possess, I will render the
animal at least, liable to suspicion. It is not my policy to attract
attention either to myself or to the beast. I will answer the
advertisement, get the Ourang-Outang, and keep it close until this
matter has blown over.’”
At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.
“Be ready,” said Dupin, “with your pistols, but neither use them nor
show them until at a signal from myself.”
The front door of the house had been left open, and the visiter had
entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the staircase.
Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard him descending.
Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when we again heard him coming up.
He did not turn back a second time, but stepped up with decision, and
rapped at the door of our chamber.
“Come in,” said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone.
A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently,--a tall, stout, and
muscular-looking person, with a certain dare-devil expression of
countenance, not altogether unprepossessing. His face, greatly sunburnt,
was more than half hidden by whisker and mustachio. He had with him
a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise unarmed. He bowed
awkwardly, and bade us “good evening,” in French accents, which,
although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still sufficiently indicative of a
Parisian origin.
“Sit down, my friend,” said Dupin. “I suppose you have called about the
Ourang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost envy you the possession of him;
a remarkably fine, and no doubt a very valuable animal. How old do you
suppose him to be?”
The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a man relieved of some
intolerable burden, and then replied, in an assured tone:
“I have no way of telling--but he can’t be more than four or five years
old. Have you got him here?”
“Oh no, we had no conveniences for keeping him here. He is at a livery
stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You can get him in the morning. Of
course you are prepared to identify the property?”
“To be sure I am, sir.”
“I shall be sorry to part with him,” said Dupin.
“I don’t mean that you should be at all this trouble for nothing, sir,”
said the man. “Couldn’t expect it. Am very willing to pay a reward for
the finding of the animal--that is to say, any thing in reason.”
“Well,” replied my friend, “that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me
think!--what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be
this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these
murders in the Rue Morgue.”
Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly. Just as
quietly, too, he walked toward the door, locked it and put the key in
his pocket. He then drew a pistol from his bosom and placed it, without
the least flurry, upon the table.
The sailor’s face flushed up as if he were struggling with suffocation.
He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel, but the next moment he
fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with the countenance
of death itself. He spoke not a word. I pitied him from the bottom of my
heart.
“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
to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of which he formed one, landed
at Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure.
Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang-Outang. This companion
dying, the animal fell into his own exclusive possession. After great
trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his captive during
the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging it safely at his own
residence in Paris, where, not to attract toward himself the unpleasant
curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it carefully secluded, until such
time as it should recover from a wound in the foot, received from a
splinter on board ship. His ultimate design was to sell it.
Returning home from some sailors’ frolic the night, or rather in the
morning of the murder, he found the beast occupying his own bed-room,
into which it had broken from a closet adjoining, where it had been, as
was thought, securely confined. Razor in hand, and fully lathered, it
was sitting before a looking-glass, attempting the operation of shaving,
in which it had no doubt previously watched its master through the
key-hole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so dangerous a weapon
in the possession of an animal so ferocious, and so well able to use
it, the man, for some moments, was at a loss what to do. He had been
accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even in its fiercest moods,
by the use of a whip, and to this he now resorted. Upon sight of it, the
Ourang-Outang sprang at once through the door of the chamber, down
the stairs, and thence, through a window, unfortunately open, into the
street.
The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor still in hand,
occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate at its pursuer, until
the latter had nearly come up with it. It then again made off. In this
manner the chase continued for a long time. The streets were profoundly
quiet, as it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. In passing down
an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive’s attention was
arrested by a light gleaming from the open window of Madame L’Espanaye’s
chamber, in the fourth story of her house. Rushing to the building, it
perceived the lightning rod, clambered up with inconceivable agility,
grasped the shutter, which was thrown fully back against the wall, and,
by its means, swung itself directly upon the headboard of the bed. The
whole feat did not occupy a minute. The shutter was kicked open again by
the Ourang-Outang as it entered the room.
The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and perplexed. He had
strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as it could scarcely escape
from the trap into which it had ventured, except by the rod, where it
might be intercepted as it came down. On the other hand, there was
much cause for anxiety as to what it might do in the house. This latter
reflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A lightning rod
is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor; but, when he had
arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his left, his career was
stopped; the most that he could accomplish was to reach over so as to
obtain a glimpse of the interior of the room. At this glimpse he nearly
fell from his hold through excess of horror. Now it was that those
hideous shrieks arose upon the night, which had startled from slumber
the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame L’Espanaye and her daughter,
habited in their night clothes, had apparently been occupied in
arranging some papers in the iron chest already mentioned, which had
been wheeled into the middle of the room. It was open, and its contents
lay beside it on the floor. The victims must have been sitting with
their backs toward the window; and, from the time elapsing between the
ingress of the beast and the screams, it seems probable that it was not
immediately perceived. The flapping-to of the shutter would naturally
have been attributed to the wind.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500