Below in the introductory preface to the seventh edition of The Poisoned Door.
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PREFACE

Like so many anonymous manuscripts, this one carries with it a curious story all it’s own.

Of the author we know little. We do know that he lived, and almost certainly perished, in the great contagion of the early part of the century.

Clues in the writing lead us to believe that he was a man of middle age. His precise and elegant vocabulary point to an advanced degree. His creative flair and dramatic voice hint of a life in the fine arts, but this analysis is pure speculation of course.

It would perhaps be overly romantic, especially in these prosaic times, to call this work “unfinished”. Perhaps the more modern “interrupted“ works better. Notwithstanding it’s abrupt ending, it seems as complete a story as we have from that extraordinary time.

To this day, I have no idea why we were chosen by the author. Our publishing house is of small reputation. We have a unique set of authors, more brilliant than renown. Our catalog is by design diverse. Perhaps this eclectic versatility brought our firm to his attention.

The work was delivered to my office in a plain unaddressed envelope. The messenger, a striking young woman with a foreign accent, asked for my name. I gave it, and she handed me a package. I recall thinking that her eyes were full of loss. Before I could say a word, she turned on her heel and was quickly gone.

My efforts to identify the author of this extraordinary yet imperfect work have all been in vain. I have the feeling that the writer would have preferred it this way, considering the efforts he went to in avoiding clues as to his location and identity.

This habit served him and us well, as it preserved this unique work, if not his life.

Dent-de-Lion du Midi
Publisher