«How clever,» she said.
«How lucky,» I said bitterly. «Lucky enough to prove myself a murderer. My forgetting of the pens brought on Giles’s death. I had been hoping to prove that the pens had nothing to do with it.»
Sarah said, «They had something to do with it, but everything in the world had something to do with it. Why did the pen have to run out just as Strong was standing before him? If it hadn’t, all would still have been well. Or if Strong hadn’t been impelled to offer a pen of his own. Or giving in to the impulse, if Strong had just handed him the right pen! Or if I had stayed with Devore in his room! Or if Devore hadn’t fiddled with the pen he had and opened it! Or if Strong hadn’t panicked! Look for responsibility and everything is at fault, including random chance and the victim himself. The only reason you so desperately want to be the villain yourself is—»
«That I am a romantic? That only people who are villains or angels are of interest to me?»
«Well?»
«Suppose I tell you that I discard all villains and angels? Suppose I tell you I’ll settle for a woman I like?»
She flushed a little and said, «Well, it’s over. I hope it’s over… Will you be going back to the convention now?»
«No. I’ve had enough convention. The big banquet is tonight, but I won’t attend. I have something much better in mind. What’s on your schedule?»
«Nothing. The advertising campaign is taken care of and my son won’t be back for ten days. I’ll go to the office to attend to some little items and then I’m having at least a week off.»
«Mind if I come back to your office with you?»
«Not at all.»
«Good. I’m going to take off some time also. I think I’ve earned it. Why not take time off together?»
She smiled. «Now and then? Why not?»
«How about a late dinner tonight?»
«I’d love it.»
«We could make up for what didn’t happen last night, if you like.»
«I might like.»
8 SARAH VOSKOVEK 11:00 P.M.
We both liked. It was amazing how well she fit inside my enveloping arm.
She said, «This is much better than last night. How is your head?»
«Don’t feel a thing,» I said. (Not quite true, but true enough.)
She said, «What would have happened, Darius, if Marsogliani was in it with Strong? What if I had been wrong in my judgment of Tony’s honesty?»
«Why, then,» I said, «I’d be dead eleven hours by now. But I wasn’t worried. I had had enough of doubting and suspicions as far as you were concerned. After last night, I was quite content to bet my life on you.»
«Oh, God, if I’d known.» Then she said, snuggling, «You’re the tallest man I know.»
«No, I’m not,» I said contentedly. «I’m short. But who cares?»
SPECIAL NOTICE
The 75th annual convention of the American Booksellers Association did take place on the days indicated in this book, in a certain American city and in certain hotels of that city.
Some of the events did take place roughly as described. I, Isaac Asimov, did attend under instructions from Doubleday to write a mystery entitled Murder at the ABA. I was introduced to Cathleen Nesbit and Anita Loos (complete with pun) and to Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., as well. Fairbanks did speak at the Monday luncheon. Muhammad Ali, Leo Durocher, and Mrs. Namath were all at the convention at one time or another and there was indeed a panel called «Explaining the Unexplained» that included Walter Sullivan, Carl Sagan, Charles Berlitz, Uri Geller, and myself, though it was not quite at the time given in the book. On that occasion, I even made the little speech I quoted (more or less).
I also signed autographs on Tuesday (not Monday), but needless to say there were no untoward incidents on that occasion. The other person on the platform was Dan Rather, for whom the occasion was an unalloyed triumph (and whom I was delighted to meet and fawn over at the conclusion of the stint).
What’s more, at least one of the incidents described as happening to Darius Just happened to me, actually. I came to the convention on Sunday, chasing in from out of state in order to make an appointment right on time, only to find that the appointment had been moved up for the reason actually given in the book.
Having said all this, and having written the book in such a way as to make it as realistic as possible, I am most anxious that no one think that the convention was marred by any such events as those I have described in the book, or that the hotel or hotels at which it took place were involved in any way in such things, or that any of the employees of the hotel or of the ABA, or any of the attendees of the convention, had anything to do with the incidents in this book.
I must stress that this book is a work of fiction; that the unnamed city and unnamed hotel in which the convention took place are, for the purposes of this book, creations of fantasy; that the murder and all the events connected with it are also completely imaginary; that no one who has a speaking part in the book—except for Isaac Asimov—has any real counterpart.
All my speaking characters are invented and if there is some resemblance, real or fancied, between any character in the book and anyone in real life, it is strictly coincidental and unintentional. In particular, Giles Devore (whom I didn’t like), Darius Just (whom I liked) and Sarah Voskovek (whom I liked very much) are creatures of my imagination.
Finally, I must apologize for introducing myself into the book. It made sense (in my mind) to do this and it seemed to me that it lent authenticity to the story. I hope you’ll agree that I didn’t seize the opportunity to idealize myself at all. In fact, I had myself supply the comic interest and, in view of that, I hope you will forgive me.