A small flower of evil, premeditated, in which Mr. Perowne, who has been resuscitating Raffles, conjectures what might have happened in 1844 had Poe and Baudelaire met in Paris -- Poe by virtue of the ticket and belongings of a man shot in a saloon (he also assumes his name). Baudelaire never found a truer ""mon frere"" than in Poe and together they conspire against Baudelaire's disapproving stepfather, General Aupick, abandoning a more complicated scheme for his disposition than the duel with which the book ends. . . . Perowne seems to enjoy his literary droit de seigneur even where he abuses it (the cloisonne prose, however appropriate, is sometimes repetitious) but it's a pleasant enough period trifle.