Free More Tales of the Black Widowers by Isaac Asimov

renewed his offer?”
    “Never. It was over ten years ago and I have never heard from him at all. And now that Jansen and his wife are dead, I don't even know where he is or how he could be located if I decided I wanted to sell.”
    Gonzalo said, “What did he mean by his threat about others who wouldn't be so kind as to offer money?”
    “I don't know,” said Reed. “I suppose he meant mysterious turbaned strangers of the kind I had told him about. I think he was just trying to frighten me into selling.”
    Avalon said, “Since a mystery has developed despite everything, I suppose we ought to consider the possibilities here. The obvious motive for his offer is, as you say, that he believed the object to be a piece of the Black Stone.”
    “If so,” said Reed, “he was the only one there who did. I don't think anyone else took the story seriously for a moment. Besides, even if it were a chip of the Black Stone and the guy were a collector, what good would it be to him without definite proof? He could take any piece of scrap iron and label it 'piece of the Black Stone' and it would do him no less good than mine.”
    Avalon said, “Do you suppose he might have been an Arab who knew that a chip the size of your object had been stolen from the Black Stone a century before and wanted it out of piety?”
    “He didn't seem Arab to me,” said Reed. “And if he were, why was the offer not renewed? Or why wasn't there 'an attempt at taking it from me by violence?”
    Drake said, “He studied the object carefully. Do you suppose he saw something there that convinced him of its value—whatever that value might be?”
    Reed said, “How can I dispute that? Except that, whatever he might have seen, I certainly never have. Have you?”
    “No,” admitted Drake.
    Rubin said, 'This doesn't sound like anything we can possibly work out. We just don't have enough information. —What do you say, Henry?”
    Henry, who had been listening with his usual quiet attention, said, “I was wondering about a few points.”
    “Well then, go on, Henry,” said Avalon. “Why not continue the grilling of the guest?”
    Henry said, “Mr. Reed, when you showed the object to your guests on that occasion in 1962 or 1963, you say you passed the package around. You mean the original package in which the letter and the meteorite had come, with its contents as they had always been?”
    “Yes. Oh yes. It was a family treasure.”
    “But since 1963, sir, you have carried the meteorite in your pocket?”
    “Yes, always,” said Reed.
    “Does that mean, sir, that you no longer have the letter?”
    “Of course it doesn't mean that,” said Reed indignantly. “We certainly do have the letter. I'll admit that after that fellow's threat I was a little concerned so I put it in a safer place. It's a glamorous document from the family standpoint, hoax or not.”
    “Where do you keep it now?” asked Henry.
    “In a small wall safe I use for documents and occasional jewels.”
    “Have you seen it recently, sir?”
    Reed smiled broadly. “I use the wall safe frequently, and I see it every time. Take my word for it, Henry, the letter is safe; as safe as the luck piece in my pocket.”
    Henry said, “Then you don't keep the letter in the original package anymore.”
    “No,” said Reed. “The package was more useful as a container for the meteorite. Now that I carry that object in my pocket, there was no point in keeping the letter alone in the package.”
    Henry nodded. “And what did you do with the package, then, sir?”
    Reed looked puzzled. “Why, nothing.”
    “You didn't throw it out?”
    “No, of course not.”
    “Do you know where it is?”
    Slowly, Reed frowned. He said at last, “No, I don't think so.”
    “When did you last see it?”
    The pause was just as long this time. “I don't know that either.”
    Henry seemed lost in thought.
    Avalon said, “Well, Henry, what do you have in mind?”
    Henry said, “I'm just