Isaac Asimov: Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Vol. 59, No. 1. Whole No. 338, January 1972

“I pointed that out to him,” said Bartram, “but he was wild and unreasoning. He offered me a great deal of money, win or lose; a very handsome fee, indeed, and he put down a sizable portion of it as a retainer. It was clear he resented beyond measure the deliberate insult to his acquisitiveness. The thought that an amateur non-acquisitor like Jackson should dare beard him in the most sacred of his passions had driven him, on this one point, mad, and he was prepared to go to any expense to keep the other’s victory from being final.

“I, too, am human. So I accepted the retainer and the fee. After all, I reasoned, I had my methods. — I took up the question of insurance lists first. All were outdated, but they served to eliminate the furniture and all the larger items as possible objects of Jackson’s thievery; for everything on the lists was still in the house.”

Avalon said, “They were eliminated anyway, since the stolen object would have had to fit into the attaché case.”

“Provided that it was the attaché case that was used to transport the item out of the house,” Bartram pointed out patiently. “The attaché case might easily have been a decoy. Prior to Anderson’s return, Jackson could have had a moving van at the door and taken out the grand piano had he so chosen, and then snapped the attaché case in Anderson’s face to mislead him.

“But never mind that. I agree it wasn’t likely. I took him around the house room by room, following a systematic procedure of considering the floor, walls, and ceiling, studying all the shelves, opening every door of every piece of furniture, going through every closet. Nor did I neglect the attic and the basement. Never before had Anderson been forced to consider every item of his vast and amorphous collection in order that somewhere, somehow, some item would jog his memory of some companion item that was not there.

“It was an enormous house, a heterogeneous one, an endless one. It took us days, and poor Anderson grew more befuddled each day.

“I next tackled it from the other end. It was obvious that Jackson had deliberately taken something unnoticeable, probably small; certainly something that Anderson would not easily miss and therefore something to which he was not greatly attached. On the other hand, it made sense to suppose that it was something Jackson would want to take away, and which he would find valuable. Indeed, his act would give him most satisfaction if Anderson also considered it valuable — once he realized what it was that was gone. What, then, could it be?”

“A small painting,” said Gonzalo eagerly, “which Jackson knew to be an authentic Cezanne, but which Anderson thought was junk.”

“A postage stamp from Anderson’s collection,” said Rubin, “which Jackson noted had an error in the engraving.” He had once written a story which had hinged on this precise point.

“A book,” said Trumbull, “that contained some hidden family secret with which, in due time, Jackson could blackmail Anderson.”

“A photograph,” said Avalon dramatically, “showing the likeness of an old sweetheart which Anderson would give a large sum to buy back.”

“I don’t know what business they were in,” said Drake thoughtfully, “but it might have been the kind where some unvalued gimcrack might actually be of great value to a competitor and drive Anderson to bankruptcy. I remember one case where a formula for a hydrazo-intermediate—”

“Oddly enough,” Bartram broke in firmly, “I thought of each of these possibilities, and I went over each one with Anderson. It was clear that he had no taste in art and such pieces as he had were really junk, and no mistake. He did not collect stamps, and though he had many books and could not tell for certain whether one were gone, he swore he had no family secrets anywhere that were worth the skipped beat of a blackmailer’s heart. Nor had he ever had any old sweethearts, since in his younger days he had confined himself to professional ladies whose photographs he did not prize. As for his business secrets, they were of the sort that would interest the government far more than any competitor, and everything of that sort had been kept from Jackson’s honest eyes and were still in the safe, or long in the fire. I thought of other possibilities, but one by one they were knocked down.

“Of course, Jackson might betray himself. He might blossom into sudden wealth and in ferreting out the source of the wealth we might learn the identity of the stolen object.

“Anderson himself suggested this and paid lavishly to have a twenty-four-hour watch put on Jackson. It was useless. The man kept a dull way of life and behaved precisely as you would expect someone minus his life savings to behave. He lived parsimoniously and eventually he took a menial job, where his honesty and calm demeanor were desirable assets.

“Finally I had but one alternative left—”

“Wait, wait,” said Gonzalo, “let me guess.” He tossed off what was left of his brandy and said, “Would any of you care for a cigar?” Only Trumbull reached for one.

Gonzalo lit the cigar, signaled Henry for another brandy, and said, “You asked Jackson what he stole!”

“I was strongly tempted to,” said Bartram ruefully, “but that would scarcely have been feasible. It doesn’t do in my profession to even hint at an accusation without evidence of any sort. Licenses are too fragile. And in any case he would simply deny theft, if accused, and be put on his guard against any self-incrimination.”

“Well, then—” Gonzalo said blankly, and petered out.

The other four furrowed their brows, but only silence ensued.

Bartram, having waited politely, said, “You won’t guess, gentlemen, for you are not in the profession. You know only what you read in romances and so you think gentlemen like myself have an unlimited number of alternatives and invariably solve all cases. I, myself, being in the profession, know otherwise. Gentlemen, the one alternative I had left was to confess failure.

“Anderson paid me, however. I’ll give him that much credit. By the time I said goodbye to him he had lost some ten pounds. There was a vacant look in his eyes and as he shook hands with me they moved round and round the room he was in, still looking, still searching. He muttered, ‘I tell you I couldn’t possibly mistake that chuckle. He took something from me. He took something from me.’

“I saw him on two or three later occasions. He never stopped looking; he never found the missing object. He went rather downhill. The events I have described took place nearly five years ago, and last month he died.”

There was a short silence. Avalon said, “Without ever finding the missing object?”

“Without ever finding it.”

Trumbull said, with disapproval, “Are you coming to us for help with the problem?”

“In a way, yes. The occasion is too good to miss. Anderson is dead and whatever is said within these walls will go no further, we all agree, so that I may now ask what I could not ask before. — Henry, may I have a light, please.”

Henry, who had been listening with a kind of absent-minded deference, produced a book of matches and lit Bartram’s cigarette.

“Let me introduce you, Henry, to those you so efficiently serve. — Gentlemen, may I introduce to you — Henry Jackson.”

There was a moment of clear shock and Drake said, “The Jackson.”

“Exactly,” said Bartram. “I knew he was working here and when I heard it was at this club that you met for your monthly meetings I had to beg, rather shamelessly, for an invitation. It was only here that I could find the gentleman with the acquisitive chuckle, and do so under conditions of both bonhomie and discretion.”