Puzzles of the Black Widowers (The Black Widowers #5)

Puzzles of the Black Widowers (The Black Widowers #5) Page 4

"Mr. Silverstein," said Thomas Trumbull, "how do you justify your existence?"

Albert Silverstein was the guest of James Drake at that month's banquet of the Black Widowers. He was a rather shriveled-looking gentleman, small of body, with a good-natured, gnomelike face, a tanned complexion to the bald dome of his head, and an easy smile.

He was smiling now as he said, "I suppose you might say that I add to the feeling of security of many people."

"Indeed?" said Trumbull, creasing his own tanned forehead into a washboard effect. "And how do you do that?"

"Well," said Silverstein, "I own a chain of novelty stores - perfectly innocent novelties, you understand, though some tend to be in questionable taste  - "

Mario Gonzalo straightened his delicately striped jacket and said, with a touch of sarcasm, "Like the clay representations of dog excrement that you carefully place on your host's living-room carpet when you've brought your hound with you on a visit?"

Silverstein laughed. "No, we've never handled that. However, one popular item in my father's time was the upset ink bottle and the apparently spreading ink stain in hard rubber that you put on your friend's best tablecloth. Of course, the coming of the ballpoint pen wiped out ink bottles and that particular novelty. Our industry has to keep up with technological change."

"Where does the feeling of security come in?" asked Trumbull doggedly.

"The point there is that one of our biggest perennials is the sale of lucky pieces - like this one." He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small plastic square. Embedded in it was a four-leaf clover. "One of our steady sellers," he said. "We sell thousands each year."

Geoffrey Avalon, who sat next to Silverstein, took the object from him and stared at it with a mixture of puzzlement and contempt on his stiffly aristocratic face. He said disapprovingly, "Do you really mean that thousands of people believe that a clover mutation will affect the Universe in their favor, and are willing to pay money for something like this?"

"Of course," said Silverstein cheerfully. "Thousands every year, year in and year out. These days, of course, they hesitate to admit their superstition. They buy it for their children, supposedly, or as a gift, or as a curio, but they buy it and hang it up in their car or keep it on their key ring. That thing sells for up to five dollars."

"That's revolting," said Trumbull. "You make money out of their folly."

Silverstein's smile vanished. "Not at all," he said seriously. "It is not that object I sell, but a feeling of security, as I said, and that is a very valuable commodity which I sell for far less than it is worth. For as long as someone owns that four-leaf clover, a weight of fear is lifted from his or her mind and soul. There is less fear of crossing the street, of encountering a mugger, of hearing bad news. There is less concern if it should happen that a black cat ran across one's path, or if one should carelessly walk beneath a ladder."

"But the sense of security they get is a false one."

"It is not, sir. The sense of security they experience is very real. The cause may be unreal, but it brings the desired result. Consider, too, that most fears that people have are unreal in the sense that they do not tend to happen. You do not get mugged every time you take a walk. You do not get bad news every time you pick up a letter. You do not break a leg every time you fall. Misadventures are, in fact, quite rare. If my lucky pieces remove, or at least lessen, these unnecessary fears, and lighten the load of apprehension each of us carries about, then I perform a useful service. The price of that four-leaf clover, which will soothe you for as long as you own it, would buy you only five minutes or less of a psychiatrist's time."

Roger Halsted was now regarding the lucky piece. As he passed it to Emmanuel Rubin, he said, "Where do you find thousands of four-leaf clovers every year? Do you pay an army of assistants to comb the clover patches of the world?"

"Of course not," said Silverstein. "That thing would cost a couple of thousand dollars if I had to pay an army, and I doubt that anyone would be superstitious enough to submit to that kind of financial sacrifice. What those are  - " He paused, and said, "Jim Drake told me that everything said at these meetings was strictly under the rose."

"Absolutely, Al," said Drake in his softly hoarse cigarette voice.

Silverstein's eyes drifted to the waiter and Halsted intervened quickly. "Our waiter, Henry, is a member of the Black Widowers, sir, and as quiet about anything he hears as a mummy would be."

"In that case," said Silverstein, "four three-leaf clovers, which are almost as common as sand grains, make three four-leaf clovers. What you're holding is a three-leaf clover with an added leaf held in place by the plastic. You'll see the join-point under a magnifying glass, but no one has ever returned it on that account."

"What if someone did?" asked Gonzalo.

"We'd explain that sometimes a leaf breaks off in the plastic-embedding process, and give him his money back."

"But this is fraud," said Trumbull violently. "You're not really selling them lucky pieces."

Silverstein said, "Think of what you're saying, Mr. Trumbull. There are no lucky pieces outside the mind of the owner. A four-leaf clover does not really bring luck, and a three-leaf clover, with a fourth leaf added, can do no worse. If the owner believes it to be a lucky piece, that is all that counts.

"We can argue similarly," he went on, "for the aluminum horseshoes we sell, and the cat's-fur rabbit's feet, and the cheap rings with lover's knots twined around them, which are said to insure the fidelity of a loved one. We never guarantee anything, or say that anything will do something. Nothing can stop us, however, from saying that something is said to do something, because that's true.

"One big item in my grandfather's day was a cheap brass coin with a swastika on it and the words 'Good Luck' on the other side. The swastika was a good luck symbol since ancient times, you know. My grandfather stopped selling them in 1928, however, for obvious reasons. The industry has to keep up with social change, too, and I suppose the swastika will never again be used as a good luck symbol."

For a moment there was silence in the room and Silverstein's generally sunny expression turned solemn and unhappy. - But then he shrugged and said, "Well, we can only hope that nothing like that ever happens again. - And meanwhile, I am reminded of a peculiar example of the force of a good luck piece. I'm not referring to its force as a bringer of good luck, but it's force in inspiring belief. However, I mustn't forget that this is a grilling, and a long-winded story might not fit in with the occasion."

"Wait," said Gonzalo in sudden urgency. "How peculiar was the peculiar example?"

"In my opinion, very peculiar."

"In that case, would you tell us about it?"

"Oh, for the love of Mike," said Trumbull, grimacing. "I want to find out about additional aspects of the novelty business."

"No," said Gonzalo, managing a frown worthy of Trumbull himself. "Mine is a legitimate question. Am I a Black Widower or am I not? - Jim?"

Drake stared thoughtfully through the smoke of his cigarette and, as host, made the decision. "Mario has put the question and deserves a response. Tell us about it, Al. I'm curious, too."

Silverstein said, "Gladly. It was - let's see - nine years ago. The wife and I were at a small summer resort and she had gone off to see some summer-stock performance in which I was totally uninterested. Fortunately, she didn't mind going alone, so I was spared.

"I spent the evening in the living room of the place, with about a dozen others who were likewise not caught up in the stampede to see a third-rate play just because, like Mount Everest, it was there. Besides me, there was a man, his wife, and their son, who figured in what was about to happen. The man was a rather stiff, unsociable fellow, his wife was passive and quiet, and his son was about twelve years old, well-behaved, and clearly very bright. Their name was Winters.

"Then there was a woman who my wife and I referred to, in private, as 'the Tongue.' Her name, if I remember correctly, was Mrs. Freed. She seemed a good-natured woman and had a rather lively mind, but what was most noticeable about her was her perpetual stream of talk. She never seemed to stop except when someone else managed to insert a remark by main force. Hers wasn't an unpleasant voice; it wasn't rasping, or shrill, or hectoring. It might even have been considered a pleasant voice, if there had been less of it.

"Her husband walked with a slight stoop, I remember, as though he were forever breasting the wind of that unceasing vocal current. Needless to say, he rarely spoke.

"There were six other people, if I remember correctly, two couples and two spare men who were either single or, like me, with their wives at the play. I don't remember which.

"The Tongue was knitting skillfully, and I sat watching her fingers as they kept time with her words, and between the two I was hypnotized into a semi-coma that was not at all unpleasant. Periodically, as she pulled at her yarn, her large ball of wool rolled to the floor, and each time she scrambled after it. One time it rolled in the direction of the Winterses, and the young boy leapt for it and returned it to her. She thanked him effusively and patted him and smiled. It occurred to me at the time that she had no children of her own and that her heart yearned when she saw those of others.

"Then at one point she reached into her purse for a mint - I suspect she needed a steady supply to keep her tongue lubricated - and the zipper on the purse opened with a rasp. There were, in fact, several rasps, for it was a multicompartment purse and, of course, she had to find which compartment contained the mints.

"One of the other women managed to insert a statement of marvel at what an unusual purse it was. It was, too, for it was quite thick. The Tongue said, as near as I can get across her way of speaking, 'Unusual indeed I bought it in a little store in New Orleans and now the store is gone and the company that made it is out of business and really whenever I find something I like they stop making it at once you see this purse has seven zippers and seven compartments three of the zippers are inside a bit and I can have a different compartment for my lipsticks and my money and my papers and my letters I have to mail and so on they're all lined with slick material so I can empty any or all the compartments when I have to and nothing ever stays behind when I change purses though heaven knows I never want to change this one I'll show you, let's see  - '

"That's the way she spoke, you understand, making no use of punctuation. Then, in her effort to show how her purse worked, she started rasping the zippers again, looking for a compartment she could empty without creating too much trouble for herself, I suppose.

"When she finally decided, she turned the purse upside down, gave it a shake, and out came flying a small shower of coins and costume jewelry.

" 'Nothing left behind,' she said triumphantly, spreading the opening apart and showing it to the woman who had asked. She then put everything back, and again there was the rasp of zippers as she tried to decide on another compartment to empty, but apparently thought the better of it. She put the purse down and continued talking.

"I remember this incident well and repeated it to show you that in the novelty business, we have to keep our ears and eyes open. Listening to her talk about her purse gave me an idea for a novelty I called 'the bottomless purse.' It was a real purse, with three zippers above and a hidden zipper below. Two zippers above were straightforward and opened into two compartments, but they were unobtrusive. The middle zipper above had a very noticeable handle in colored glass and was usually the only one the victim saw.

"The owner of the purse would fill it with unimportant objects and would then give it to some innocent and easily embarrassed man or woman at a party. 'Would you hold this for me for a moment?' Then, a while later, she would say, 'Would you reach into my purse for my compact? It's right on top.' The victim would, of course, pull the noticeable zipper and that would activate the hidden zipper below. With both compartments open, everything would drop out all over the floor, to the utter confusion and horror of the victim."

Avalon said disapprovingly, "And another old friendship would come to an end."

"Not at all," said Silverstein. "Once the joke became obvious, the victim usually laughed harder than anyone, especially since he or she had the pleasure of sitting back while the perpetrator had to go through the trouble of collecting everything that had fallen.

"We had it on the market the next spring and it did pretty well. It wasn't a world-beater but it did pretty well. It was a woman's item, of course, but it's a mistake to think women are not interested in novelties. You have to  - "

Trumbull interrupted. "Was that the peculiar event? Emptying the purse?"

Silverstein seemed to have been brought up with a jerk. He flushed, then laughed in an embarrassed way. "Well, no. Actually, I haven't come to that part yet. - I'm afraid I have a little of the Tongue in me, especially when it comes to a discussion of my profession.

"It was some time after the purse incident that the Winters boy caught my eye. He had been watching and listening to everything with a look of deep interest, but now he suddenly seemed concerned. He seemed to hesitate a moment and then turned to his father and spoke rapidly in a very low voice. As he listened, the father stiffened and his face went a dead white. He muttered something to his wife, and then all three began to peer about the floor, to move their chairs and look beneath. They looked very anxious, the father particularly so.

"I did what anyone would do. I said, 'Have you folks lost something?'

"The father looked up, seemed for a moment to be lost in thought, then, as though he had come to a difficult decision, rose to his feet and said in a stiff and pedantic way, 'I'm afraid that my son has lost a lucky piece that he greatly valued, though of course it has no intrinsic worth. It looks like a rather large coin with good luck symbols of various kinds on each side. It may have rolled somewhere. If anyone sees it  - '

"We were all moved by the same kindly impulse or, if you wish to be cynical about it, each of us thought it would be fun to look for something that was lost when we were in no personal agony at the loss. Either way, the room was at once put under an unsystematic, but thorough search. Two men moved the couch, searched amid the dust beneath, then put it back in place. The material in the unused fireplace was looked through. The carpet was lifted all around the edges. It was all to no avail.

"I felt rather guilty. The lucky piece, as described, was certainly not one of ours, but I felt somehow responsible. I said to the boy softly, 'You know, son, these lucky pieces don't really bring good luck. If it doesn't show up, that doesn't mean you're in for trouble.'

"The boy looked at me in his quick, intelligent way and said, 'I know that. I just hate to lose anything.'

"But he looked very troubled just the same and it's an axiom in my business that to deny superstition doesn't mean a thing. The deniers are quite as likely to believe as the admitters are.

"We were all taking our seats again. Someone said to the boy, 'Maybe you lost it before you came into the room, sonny.'

"Mr. Winters turned to the son. 'Is that possible, Maurice?'

"Maurice looked more frightened than ever, but his high-pitched voice was firm. He said, 'No, Father, I had the lucky piece when I entered this room, I'm sure of that.'

"Winters clearly accepted his son's word as putting the matter beyond dispute. He cleared his throat and looked, somehow, both embarrassed and determined. He said, 'Ladies and gentlemen, it may be that one of you has picked up this valueless object a little while ago and put it away without thinking and that you are now reluctant to admit it. Please don't let embarrassment stand in the way. This means a great deal to my little Maurice.'

"No one said a word. Each one looked from neighbor to neighbor as though expecting someone to produce the lucky piece and curious to see who would. Winters, face red with mortification, allowed his eyes to rest for a moment on the Tongue's thick purse. As they did so, I couldn't help remembering the coins that had rolled out of it when she demonstrated how it might be emptied.

"The Tongue had participated in the search and had been unusually quiet since. She caught the look and had no trouble interpreting it. Her lips tightened a bit, but she showed no open sign of offense. She said, 'Well I don't suppose it would be convincing if I told you I didn't have the thing in my purse you would really want to see for yourself so let's just empty the whole thing on the table.'

"It was really quite an impressive and convincing performance. She put the purse on the table before her and said, slowly, 'One - two - three - four - five - six - seven.' With each count, there was the sound of a zipper being rasped open. She then turned the purse upside down and a cascade of items tumbled out upon the table. You wouldn't believe one woman could have so many items of so many different kinds in one purse. Some items rolled off the table, but she didn't try to stop them. She shook the purse to show nothing else was falling out and then tossed it to one side.

"She said kindly, and with no trace of ill temper, 'Sonny, you know what your lucky piece looks like so just rummage through everything on the table and look at whatever rolled on the floor. Go ahead, you can look through my wallet, and any envelope you see. I know you won't take anything but what is yours.'

"The boy took her at her word and looked through and at everything thoroughly, while his father remained at his side, watching the process sharply. Finally, the boy said, 'Father, it isn't here.'

"Winters nodded gloomily and the Tongue began putting the objects back into her purse, carefully choosing which of the seven compartments was the correct one for each item, and carrying on a running commentary as she did so. The boy picked up the items on the floor for her.

"After that, of course, the other two ladies had to follow suit and empty their purses, but with less good grace than the Tongue had. I was the first man to turn out my pockets and then the other men did the same.

"The good luck piece was nowhere to be found - not in any purse, not in any pocket. And still Winters stood there, clearly unwilling to give up but uncertain as to the next step.

"I still felt a bit of responsibility, but I also felt irritated, so I said, 'If it will make you feel any better, Mr. Winter, you and I can step into the library, lock the door, and pull down the blinds. I'll take off my clothes and you can search them for hidden pockets and lucky pieces. You can also see if I have it glued to my skin.'

"I didn't think for one moment that he'd take me up on it, but damned if he didn't. I had a most embarrassed and uncomfortable five minutes as I stood there totally bare while he went over my clothes and studied me narrowly front, side, and back.

"I was beginning to worry that he'd suggest inspecting my various apertures, but the lucky piece was undoubtedly too large to make them reasonable hiding places.

"One by one, the other men followed my lead. One made as though he were going to refuse, but when every eye turned on him with clear suspicion, he gave in. But he left in a fury as soon as the search was completed. Perhaps he was wearing dirty underwear.

"When that was done, the Tongue rose to her feet and said, 'Well if Mrs. Winters will do the honors I'll stand still to be searched after all I might have slipped it into my bra there'd be plenty of room there and it wouldn't show through this dress the way I drape my shawl over it.'

"Off she marched and, eventually, back she came, and the other two women had to agree to be searched as well."

Silverstein paused in his tale to sip at his neglected brandy, and Halsted said, "I take it the lucky piece wasn't found on anyone."

"That's right," said Silverstein, "it wasn't. Apparently, though, Winters didn't give up easily. He got in touch with the manager of the hotel and persuaded him to detail two employees to help Winters look through the room even more carefully, to say nothing of the passages adjoining, the grounds outside the windows, and so on. At least, that's the story that went round the next day."

"And did they find it?" asked Halsted.

"No," said Silverstein. "Winters looked like death warmed over the next day. In the evening, he took what I was sure was an early departure, and I myself heard the manager feverishly assuring him that the search would continue and that as soon as the lucky piece was found it would be forwarded to him."

"And was it found thereafter?"

"No, it wasn't. At least, no word reached us to that effect up to the time my wife and I left a week later. - But you see the peculiar angle, don't you?"

Gonzalo said, "Sure. The thing disappeared into nothingness."

"Of course not," said Avalon sharply. "What evidence do we have that the lucky piece existed in the first place? The whole thing may have been a charade."

"To what end?" said Drake, making a face.

Avalon said, "To demonstrate that it was gone, of course."

"But why?" said Drake again. "If it were something intrinsically valuable, I can see that Winters might be laying the groundwork for an insurance claim - but a lucky piece worth, what? seventy-five cents?"

"I don't know the motive," said Avalon in exasperation, "but I can only suppose that Winters had one. I'd certainly sooner believe in the existence of an unknown motive than in the total disappearance of a material object."

Silverstein shook his head. "I don't think it was a charade, Mr. Avalon. If Winters was playing an elaborate game, it was one in which his wife and son were part. About the wife I can't say for certain, but that boy, Maurice, was not acting. I cannot doubt for a moment that he was really scared.

"Then, too, if it were really all play-acting, why would Mr. Winters feel it necessary to go to such extremes? A much simpler search would have been sufficient to establish that the lucky piece was missing, if that were all he wanted to do. That was the peculiar thing to me. Why should Winters have searched with such extreme assiduity, and why should young Maurice have look frightened rather than merely unhappy? Don't you see the explanation? It seems obvious to me."

There was silence among the Black Widowers for a few moments and then Rubin said, "Suppose you tell us your explanation, Mr. Silverstein, and I'll then tell you if it is correct or not."

Silverstein smiled. "Oh, you'll agree with me. Once the matter is explained, it will seem as obvious to you as it does to me. - That was not the boy's lucky piece, it was his father's. Winters had allowed his son to have it for a while and the boy had lost it. I'm sure the boy knew how intensely his father valued the lucky piece, so he looked scared, very scared, and I don't blame him. And it is only by realizing that Winters was looking for his own lucky piece that you can rationalize the nature of his search."

Halsted said, "He insisted it was his son's lucky piece."

"Of course! People are quite apt to deny their superstitions, as I told you earlier - especially if they are intelligent and educated and in the presence of other educated people - and most especially if the grip of the superstition is pathologically strong. They are intelligent enough to be bitterly ashamed of their madness and yet still be helpless in its grip. I'm a professional in such matters and I tell you it's so. Of course, he would pretend the lucky piece was his son's and I believed that, at first. However, as I watched Winters I eventually recognized his emotions to be those of someone terrorized in the belief that his luck had vanished forever. He was as much a victim of an irresistible craving for that vanished security as a drug addict would be for the heroin he lacked."

Trumbull said, "And yet you sell this druglike thing to people."

Silverstein shook his head. "A vanishingly small percentage are affected so extremely. Is a manufacture of penicillin to be blamed for the death of a few who develop a fatal sensitivity to it? - Well, Mr. Rubin, am I right or wrong?" He smiled confidently.

Rubin said, "Wrong, I'm afraid. You're having Winters behave in two irreconcilable ways. If he is so in the grip of the lucky piece mania that he would carry on a psychotically intense search for it, then, surely, he would never have given it to his boy to play with. No, I find it impossible to believe in the lucky piece story either for the son or the father."

Silverstein said, in the offended tone of one whose clever idea, triumphantly produced, is cavalierly dismissed, "I would like to hear an alternate explanation that makes any sense."

"No problem," said Rubin. "I would suggest that the so-called lucky piece was, in actual fact, a very valuable item."

"Do you mean it was actually a piece of gold, or contained real jewels, or was a work of art?" said Silverstein, with what was almost a sneer. "If so, the objection you raised still stands. Why give it to the boy to play with? And, for that matter, why call it a lucky piece? If Winters had mentioned its value, we'd have looked harder and submitted to a search with better grace."

"It might be," said Rubin, "that the value rested in something unmentionable. Suppose it was a device of some sort, or carried a message - a coded carving, or microfilm in a tiny inner compartment  - "

Silverstein frowned. "Do you mean Winters was a spy?"

"Consider it as a hypothesis," said Rubin. "Winters, having reason to feel there were others on his track and that an effort would be made to relieve him of the object he carried, had his son carry it instead, feeling that boy would go unsuspected."

Avalon harrumphed disapprovingly. "A rather heartless thing for a father to do."

"Not at all," said Rubin. "Winters himself would still be the one liable to be attacked, if there were danger of that sort of thing. But then they wouldn't find the object upon him. If they failed to suspect the boy of being the carrier, the youngster would not be in danger at any time. At least, that must have been his hope. And if there was danger for the boy, it might be that he was the sort of patriot who felt that his country and his task came first.

"When the object turned out to be missing, Winters' first thought must have been that it had been accidentally dropped, but when it was not found at once, Winters would have come to the frightening conclusion that it had been stolen by an enemy. He then carried through a major search in the hope that his adversary, whoever it might prove to be, would be uncovered at the same time the object was found. Naturally, he had to pretend it was something trivial he was searching for. But since it wasn't found, he was forced to leave, his mission destroyed, his own cover blown, his enemy secure. I don't envy him his situation. And I don't wonder his son was frightened, if he was intelligent enough to have an inkling of what was going on."

The Black Widowers showed no particular enthusiasm over this. Drake shook his head solemnly.

Rubin said indignantly, "What do you think, Tom? This is your kind of baby."

Trumbull shrugged. "I don't know everything that goes on. This happened nine years ago, you say, Silverstein?"

"Yes, sir."

"It may be that there was something, then, that involved South Africa and its attempts to develop a nuclear bomb - The American government was not involved in that, though, in any way."

"It didn't have to be," said Rubin, "from anything we heard. But I take it, Tom, that my interpretation is possible."

"Possible, sure, but I don't commit myself to more than that."

Gonzalo said, "You're all missing the point. You're talking about motivations, and why a kid should look frightened, and why a guy should search madly. No one seems to be the least interested in the real puzzle. What's the difference whether it's a lucky piece or a key to a nuclear bomb? What happened to it? Where did it go?"

Avalon said heavily, "I see no mystery there. The only way the object could disappear into nothingness was for it not to have been brought into the place to begin with. Despite the young man's denial, he must have lost it before he ever entered the room and was afraid to admit it - assuming it existed in the first place. After all, intelligent or not, he was twelve years old. He couldn't resist playing with it and he may have dropped it somewhere irretrievable, perhaps. He would then have been afraid to say anything about it, for he knows it is important to his father. In the room, later, his father asks him if it is safe, and he has to admit it's gone, but can't possibly say he lost it some time before and dared not own up to it."

"No!" said Silverstein violently. "He just wasn't that kind of youngster. You could see he had been brought up to meet rigid grown-up standards. The father didn't ask him for the lucky piece. The boy went up to him to volunteer the information that it was gone. If he had lost it earlier, he would have reported it earlier. I'm sure of that."

Drake said, "Suppose the loss were accidental. He might have pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket an hour earlier somewhere else and the object might have come out and fallen in the grass, let us say. He may never have noted the loss till he was in the room."

"No!" said Silverstein again. "The boy said he had it when he came into the room and his father believed him and didn't question the matter. He knew his son."

Avalon said, "Well, Mr. Silverstein, if you insist the object really existed and was really lost in the room, do you have any idea where it went to?"

Silverstein shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it fell through a crack into the cellar. Maybe it was in some perfectly ordinary place and for some reason everyone overlooked it. Many a time I've scoured my apartment for something that seemed to have vanished, and then, when I found it, it proved to be in plain sight all along."

"Yes, after you found it," said Avalon. "One always finds it, even without a search as prolonged and intense as Winters' search."

A momentary silence fell and then Trumbull said, "We seem to be at an impasse. The puzzle is an interesting one, but I don't see that it's anything that can be solved. We just don't have enough information."

Gonzalo said, "Well, wait. We haven't heard from Henry."

Trumbull said, "Don't wish it on Henry. If a puzzle is inherently insoluble, it is insoluble even for Henry."

Gonzalo said, "Is that a fact? Well, I want to hear Henry say that. - Henry?"

Henry, who from the sideboard had listened carefully to all the proceedings, smiled a small smile in an avuncular fashion, and said, "As a matter of fact, Mr. Gonzalo, I can't help but think that a solution may be suggested. The object need not be considered to have vanished mysteriously."

Trumbull's eyebrows climbed. "Really, Henry? What do you suggest?"

"Well, sir, consider Mr. Silverstein's comment to the effect that he had designed a trick purse through the inspiration of the one belonging to Mrs. Freed, the woman who talked a great deal."

Silverstein stared. "Do you mean the Tongue had a trick purse?"

"No, sir. But it did occur to me that tricks could be done with even a legitimate purse if it had seven zippers and seven compartments."

"You had better explain, Henry," said Drake.

Henry said, "This is all supposition, gentlemen, but suppose Mrs. Freed talked endlessly for a purpose. One who earns the sobriquet 'Tongue' is bound to seem silly to anyone less penetrating than Mr. Silverstein, and is sure to be underestimated - which is an advantage for a spy.

"Suppose she had learned of the existence of the object and, for some reason, suspected it was in the possession of the boy, Maurice. Her ball of yarn fell to the floor several times, and at least once, according to Mr. Silverstein, it rolled in the direction of Maurice. He sprang to help her; she petted him and, in this way, distracted him by touching him - an old pickpocket's trick. A moment later, the object was not in the boy's pocket but in Mrs. Freed's hand.

"Next she reached for a mint. In doing so, the object was dropped into a compartment that was already open and contained nothing. She had to fiddle with the zippers, searching for the mints, and when she was done, all the compartments were closed, including the one with the object.

"She then displayed how easily and surely the purse might be emptied by opening one compartment and turning the purse upside down. Having made that demonstration, intended to impress everyone, she fiddled with the zippers again, according to Mr. Silverstein, as though she were searching for another compartment with which to demonstrate, but apparently deciding against it. When she was done fiddling, however, all the compartments were closed, except the one with the object. That was open. She had then only to wait. If the object was not noticed to have been lost, fine. If the loss were noticed, she was ready.

"The loss was noticed and Winters' eye fell on her purse. She at once volunteered to empty it, and pulled every zipper, counting ostentatiously from one to seven as she did so. When she was done, the six compartments which had been closed were open, and the one compartment, with the object and nothing else inside, which had been open, was closed.

"She then upended the purse and out of it dropped every last thing it contained but the object. And because she had worked very hard to seem nothing but a chatterbox, because she had laid such a careful background, and because she had complied cheerfully with the search, no one gave any thought to investigating the apparently empty purse. In the end, therefore, the object seemed to have vanished into thin air."

Mr. Silverstein, whose mouth had dropped open as Henry had talked, closed it with what seemed to be an effort, then said, "It might have happened exactly like that. It seems to fit perfectly what I saw, and I've told the story so many times in the past nine years, there is no question of my having forgotten what I saw. Still, I don't suppose we can ever know for sure."

"No," said Trumbull, "but I'll bet on Henry, and from now on, I think my people will be on the watch for harmless chatterboxes with intricate purses."

"Only if they are zippered, sir," said Henry. "Purses with catches and clasps open quietly, but close with a loud snap, whereas the sounds of a zipper opening and of a zipper closing are indistinguishable."

Afterword

As explained in the previous Afterword, "The Lucky Piece" was bought and paid for, but the magazine that was to publish it never appeared. The story therefore makes its first appearance in this book. That doesn't bother me. In each of my Black Widowers collections, I have managed to include some stories that have not appeared elsewhere. I consider it a bonus to those who are generous enough to buy these books.

Incidentally, it is necessary for me occasionally to include some graphic details of some facet of the human experience as part of the background to these stories. In "The Lucky Piece," for instance, I discuss the novelty business to some extent. You may have admired the neatness of my research into the matter, but please don't. I am far too lazy (and far too busy writing a million other things) to waste time on research. When I need details on the novelty business, I just make them up out of my ever-fevered imagination. Consequently, if you run a novelty business yourself and feel I have made a mistake, write and enlighten me.