Free More Tales of the Black Widowers by Isaac Asimov Page A

wondering”—quietly he circled the table removing the brandy glasses—”whether that man wanted the meteorite at all.”
    “He certainly offered me money for it,” said Reed.
    “Yes,” said Henry, “but first such small sums as would offer you no temptation to release it, and which he could well afford to pay if you called his bluff. Then a larger sum couched in such offensive language as to make it certain you would refuse. And after that, a mysterious threat which was never implemented.”
    “But why should he do all that,” said Reed, “unless he wanted my iron gem?”
    Henry said, “To achieve, perhaps, precisely what he did, in fact, achieve—to convince you he wanted the meteorite and to keep your attention firmly fixed on that. He gave you back the meteorite when you held out your hand for it; he gave you back the letter—but did he give you back the original package?”
    Reed said, “I don't remember him taking it.”
    Henry said, “It was ten years ago. He kept your attention fixed on the meteorite. You even spent some time examining it yourself and during that time you didn't look at him, I'm sure. —Can you say you've seen the package since that time, sir?”
    Slowly, Reed shook his head. “I can't say I have. You mean he fastened my attention so tightly on the meteorite that he could walk off with the package and I wouldn't notice?”
    I’m afraid you didn't. You put the meteorite in your pocket, the letter in your safe, and apparently never gave another thought to the package. This man, whose name you don't know and whom you can no longer identify thanks to your friends' death, has had the package for ten years with no interference. And by now you could not possibly identify what it was he took.”
    “I certainly could,” said Reed stoutly, “if I could see it. It has my great-grandmother's name and address on it.”
    “He might not have saved the package itself,” said Henry.
    “I've got it,” cried out Gonzalo suddenly. “It was that Chinese writing. He could make it out somehow and he took it to get it deciphered with certainty. The message was important.”
    Henry's smile was the barest flicker. “That is a romantic notion that had not occurred to me, Mr. Gonzalo, and I don't know that it is very probable. I was thinking of something else. —Mr. Reed, you had a package from Hong Kong in 1856 and at that time Hong Kong was already a British possession.”
    'Taken over in 1848,” said Rubin briefly.
    “And I think the British had already instituted the modern system of distributing mail.”
    “Rowland Hill,” said Rubin at once, “in 1840.”
    “Well then,” said Henry, “could there have been a stamp on the original package?”
    Reed looked startled. “Now that you mention it, there was something that looked like a black stamp, I seem to recall. A woman's profile?”
    “The young Victoria,” said Rubin.
    Henry said, “And might it possibly have been a rare stamp?”
    Gonzalo threw up his arms. “Bingo!”
    Reed sat with his mouth distinctly open. Then he said, “Of course, you must be right —I wonder how much I lost.”
    “Nothing but money, sir,” murmured Henry. “The early British stamps were not beautiful.”

    3    Afterword

    “The Iron Gem” appeared in the July 1974 issue of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine under the title “A Chip of the Black Stone.” Ordinarily, all things being equal, I go for the shorter title, so I'm changing it back to my original title in this case. (I don't always refuse to accept changes. The first story in this collection was called “No Man Pursueth” when I wrote it. The magazine changed it to “When No Man Pursueth” and I accept the extra word as an improvement.)
    I wrote this story on board the Canberra, which took me over the ocean to the coast of Africa and back in the summer of 1973, to view a total solar eclipse—the first total solar eclipse I had ever seen. Heaven knows, they filled my time, for I was on