Isaac Asimov: Asimov's Mysteries

One thing is certain. Nothing Priss would do at the billiard table could be accidental. He was an expert and the billiard ball did exactly what he wanted it to. I was standing right there. I saw him look at Bloom and then at the table as though he were judging angles.

I watched him hit that ball. I watched it bounce off the side of the table and move into the zero-gravity volume, heading in one particular direction.

For when Priss sent that ball toward the zero-gravity volume-and the tri-di films bear me out-it was already aimed directly at Bloom's heart! Accident? Coincidence?

…Murder?

A friend of mine after reading the above story suggested I change the title to 'Dirty Pool.' I have been tempted to do so but have refrained, for it seems too flippant a title for so grave a story -or perhaps I am just corroded with jealousy at not having thought of it first. But in either case, nowthat all the stories in this volume have been gone over, and I have experienced the memories to which each gave rise, all I can say is, 'Gee, it's great to be a science fiction writer.'