Wendell Urth looked almost bewildered at the reaction and stared earnestly at Talliaferro over his glasses. He said, 'I have enough influence with the police to keep the probing, entirely confidential.'
Ryger said savagely, 'I didn't do it.' Kaunas shook his head.
Talliaferro disdained any answer.
Urth sighed. 'Then I shall have to point out the guilty man. It will be traumatic. It will make things harder.'
He tightened the grip on his belly and his fingers twitched. 'Dr. Talliaferro indicated that the film was hidden on the outer window sill so that it might remain safe from discovery and from harm. I agree with him.'
'Thank you,' said Talliaferro dryly.
'However, why should anyone think that an outer window sill is a particularly safe hiding place? The police would certainly look there.
'Even in the absence of the police it was discovered. Who would tend to consider anything outside a building as particularly safe? Obviously some person who has lived a long time on an airless world has had it drilled into him that no one goes outside an enclosed place without detailed precautions.
To someone on the Moon, for instance, anything hidden outside a Lunar Dome would be comparatively safe. Men venture out only rarely and then only on specific business. So he would overcome the hardship of opening a window and exposing himself to what he would subconsciously consider a vacuum for the sake of a safe hiding place. The reflex thought, Outside an inhabited structure is safe, would do the trick.'
Talliaferro said between clenched teeth, 'Why do you mention the Moon, Dr. Urth?'
Urth said blandly, 'Only as an example. What I've said so far applies to all three of you. But now comes the crucial point, the matter of the dying night.'
Talliaferro frowned. 'You mean the night Villiers died?'
'I mean any night. See here, even granted that an outer window sill was a safe hiding place, which of you would be mad enough to consider it a safe hiding place for a piece of unexposed film? Scanner film isn't very sensitive, to be sure, and is made to be developed under all sorts of hit-and-miss conditions.
Diffuse nighttime illumination wouldn't seriously affect it, but diffuse daylight would ruin it in a few minutes, and direct sunlight would ruin it at once. Everyone knows that.'
Mandel said, 'Go ahead, Urth. What is this leading to?'
'You're trying to rush me,' said Urth, with a massive pout. 'I want you to see this clearly. The criminal wanted, above all, to keep the film safe. It was his only record of something of supreme value to himself and to the world. Why would he put it where it would inevitably be ruined almost immediately by the morning Sun? Only because he did not expect the morning Sun ever to come. He thought the night, so to speak, was immortal.
'But nights aren't immortal. On Earth they die and give way to daytime. Even the six-month polar night is a dying night eventually. The nights on Ceres last only two hours; the nights on the Moon last two weeks. They are dying nights too, and Drs. Talliaferro and Ryger know that day must always come.'
Kaunas rose. 'But wait-'
Wendell Urth faced him full. 'No longer any need to wait, Dr. Kaunas. Mercury is the only sizable object in the Solar System that turns only one face to the Sun. Even taking libration into account, fully three-eights of its surface is true dark-side and never sees the Sun. The Polar Observatory is at the rim of that dark-side. For ten years you have grown used to the fact that nights are immortal, that a surface in darkness remains eternally in darkness, and so you entrusted unexposed film to Earth's night, forgetting in your excitement that nights must die-'
Kaunas came forward. 'Wait-'
Urth was inexorable. 'I am told that when Mandel adjusted the polarizer in Villiers' room, you screamed at the sunlight. Was that your ingrained fear of the Mercurian Sun, or your sudden realization of what sunlight meant to your plans? You rushed forward. Was that to adjust the polarizer, or to stare at the ruined film?'
Kaunas fell to his knees. 'I didn't mean it. I wanted to speak to him, only to speak to him, and he screamed and collapsed. I thought he was dead and the paper was under his pillow and it all just followed. One thing led on to another and before I knew it I couldn't get out of it anymore. But I meant none of it. I swear it.'
They had formed a semicircle about him and Wendell Urth stared at the moaning Kaunas with pity in his eyes.
An ambulance had come and gone. Talliaferro finally brought himself to say stiffly to Mandel, 'I hope, sir, there will be no hard feelings for anything said here.'
And Mandel had answered as stiffly, 'I think we had all better forget as much as possible of what has happened during the last twenty-four hours.'
They were standing in the doorway, ready to leave, and Wendell Urth ducked his smiling head and said,
'There's the question of my fee, you know.' Mandell looked at him with a startled expression.
'Not money,' said Urth at once. 'But when the first mass transference setup for humans is established, I want a trip arranged for me right away.'
Mandel continued to look anxious. 'Now, wait. Trips through outer space are a long way off.'
Urth shook his head rapidly. 'Not outer space. Not at all. I would like to step across to Lower Falls, New Hampshire.'
'All right. But why?'
Urth looked up. To Talliaferro's outright surprise, the extraterrologist's face wore an expression compounded equally of shyness and eagerness.
Urth said, 'I once-quite a long time ago-knew a girl there. It's been many years-but I sometimes wonder…'
Some readers may realize that this story, first published in 1956, has been overtaken by events. In 1965, astronomers discovered that Mercury does not keep one side always to the Sun, but has a period of rotation of about fifty-four days, so that all parts of it are exposed to sunlight at one time or another. Well, what can I do except say that I wish astronomers would get things right to begin with? And I certainly refuse to change the story to suit their whims.
This item is not strictly a mystery in the usual sense of the word, or even a story in the usual sense of the word. I don't know how to describe it, except perhaps as a good-natured satire on scientific research. I received more mail alter its publication than alter any other item of comparable length. A particularly pleasant memory is that of receiving a telephone call from a man who spoke with a strong Central European accent. He said be was in Boston for a convention and wanted to thank me lor the pleasure 'Pate de Foie Gras' had given him, since it so amusingly and effectively poked knowledgeable fun at science. I tried to get his name, but he wouldn't give it to me. He was afraid, I suspect, that his reputation might suffer if it were found he read science fiction. If he is secretly reading this book and recognizes himself, I would like to assure him that he has plenty of company and can take off that plain wrapper. Honest!
Pate de Foie Gras
I couldn't tell you my real name if I wanted to, and, under the circumstances, I don't want to.
I'm not much of a writer myself, so I'm having Isaac Asimov write this up for me. I've picked him for several reasons. First, he's a biochemist, so he understands what I tell him; some of it, anyway. Secondly, he can write; or at least he has published considerable fiction, which may not, of course, be the same thing.