Luckily, as soon as they were seated, Mr. Mandel’stahm became much more coherent. He gave a conspiratorial glance to check that there was nobody in earshot except Winslow Homer’s fisherboys, then resumed his conversation in a completely different tone of voice.
“I promised I’d take only a few minutes. Here’s my card—you can use it to key my number. Yes, I call myself an antique dealer, but that covers a multitude of sins. My main interest is gems—I have one of the largest private collections in the world. So you’ve probably guessed why I was anxious to meet you.”
“Go on.”
“Titanite, Mr. Makenzie. There are not more than a dozen fragments on Earth—five of them in museums. Even the Smithsonian doesn’t have a specimen, and its curator of gems—that tall man over there—is most unhappy. I suppose you know that titanite is one of the few materials that can’t be replicated?”
“So I believe,” answered Duncan, now very cautious. Mr. Mandel’stahm had certainly made his interests clear, though not his intentions.
“You’ll understand, therefore, that if a swarthy, cornuted gentleman suddenly appeared in a puff of smoke with a contract for several grams of titanite in exchange for my signature in blood, I wouldn’t bother to read the small print.”
Duncan was not quite sure what ‘cornute’ meant, but he got the general picture quickly enough, and gave a noncommittal nod.
“Well, something like this has been happening over the last three months—not quite so dramatically, of course. I’ve been approached, in great confidence, by a dealer who claims to have titanite for sale, in lots of up to ten grams. What would you say to that?”
“I’d be extremely suspicious. It’s probably fake.”
“You can’t fake titanite.”
“Well—synthetic?”
“I’d thought of that too—it’s an interesting idea, but it would mean so many scientific breakthroughs somewhere that it couldn’t possibly be hushed up. It certainly wouldn’t be a simple job, like diamond manufacture. No one has any idea how titanite is produced. There are at least four theories proving that it can’t exist.”
“Have you ever seen it?”
“Of course—the fragment in the American Museum of Natural History, and the very fine specimen in the Geological Museum, South Kensington.”
Duncan refrained from adding that there was an even finer specimen in the Centennial Hotel, not ten kilometers from here. Until this mystery was cleared up, and he knew more about Mr. Mandel’stahm, this information was best kept to himself. He did not believe that burglarious visitors were likely, but it was foolish to take unnecessary chances.
“I don’t quite see how I can help you. If you’re sure that the titanite is genuine, and hasn’t been acquired illegally, what’s your problem?”
“Simply this. Not everything rare is valuable—but everything valuable is rare. If someone’s discovered a few kilograms of titanite, it would be just another common gemstone, like opal or sapphire or ruby. Naturally, I don’t want to make a big investment if there’s any danger that the price might suddenly nose-dive.”
He saw Duncan’s quizzical expression and added hastily, “Of course, now that the profit motive’s extinct, I do this for amusement. I’m more concerned with my reputation.”
“I understand. But if there had been such a find, I’m sure I would have heard of it. It would have been reported to my government.”
Mr. Mandel’stahm’s eyebrows gained altitude perceptibly.
“Perhaps. But perhaps not. Especially if it were found—off-planet. I’m referring, of course, to the theories suggesting that it’s not indigenous to Titan.”
You’re certainly well informed, Duncan told himself—in fact, I’m sure you know far more about titanite than I do...
“I suppose you mean the theory that there may be bigger lodes on the other moons?”
“Yes. In fact, traces have been detected on Iapetus.”
“That’s news to me, but I wouldn’t have heard unless there had been a major find. Which, I gather, is what you suspect.”
“Among other things.”
For a few seconds, Duncan processed this information in silence. If it was true—and he could think of no reason why Mandel’stahm should be lying—it was his duty as an officer of the Titanian administration to look into it. But the very last thing he wanted now was extra work, especially if it was likely to lead to messy complications. If some clever operator was actually smuggling titanite, Duncan would prefer to remain in blissful ignorance. He had more important things to worry about.
Perhaps Mandel’stahm understood the reason for his hesitation, for he added quietly: “The sum involved may be quite large. I’m not interested in that, of course—but most governments are rather grateful to anyone who detects a loss of revenue. If I can help you earn that gratitude, I should be delighted.”
I understand you perfectly, said Duncan to himself, and this makes the proposition much more attractive. He did not know the Titan law on these matters, and even if a reward was involved, it would be tactless for the Special Assistant to the Chief Administrator to claim it. But his task would certainly not be much easier if—as he gloomily expected—he were compelled to apply for more Terran solars before the end of his stay.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said to Mandel’stahm. “Tomorrow, I’ll send a message to Titan, and initiate inquiries—very discreetly, of course. If I learn something, I’ll let you know. But don’t expect too much—or, for that matter, anything at all.”
Mandel’stahm seemed quite happy with this arrangement, and departed with rather fulsome protestations of gratitude. Duncan decided that it was also high time he left the party. He had been on his feet for over two hours, and all his vertebrae were now starting to protest in unison. As he made his way toward the exit, he kept a lookout for George Washington, and managed to find him—despite his short stature—without falling back on the paging system.
“Everything going well?” asked George.
“Yes—I’ve had a very interesting time. And I’ve run into a curious character—he calls himself a gem expert—”
“Ivor Mandel’stahm. What did the old fox want from you?”
“Oh—information. I was polite, but not very helpful. Should I take him seriously, and can he be trusted?”
“Ivor is merely the world’s greatest expert on gems. And in that business, one can’t afford even the hint of a suspicion. You can trust him absolutely.”
“Thanks—that’s all I wanted to know.”
Half an hour later, back at the hotel, Duncan unlocked his case and laid out the set of pentominoes that Grandma had given him; he had not even touched it since arriving on Earth. Carefully, he lifted out the titanite cross and held it up to the light...
The first time he had seen the gem was at Grandma Ellen’s, and he could date the event very accurately. Calindy had been with him, so he must have been sixteen years old. He could not remember how it had been arranged. In view of Grandma’s dislike of strangers (and even of relatives) the visit must have been a major diplomatic feat. He did recall that Calindy had been very anxious to meet the famous old lady, and had wanted to bring along her friends; that, however, had been firmly vetoed.
It was one of those days when Ellen Makenzie’s co-ordinate system coincided with the external world’s, and she treated Calindy as if she were actually there. Doubtless the fact that she had a fascinating new novelty to display had much to do with her unusual friendliness.