Considering the circumstances, it might have been predicted that when the Black Widowers met at the Milano Restaurant for their monthly banquet, the sole topic of conversation would be the Iran-Contra hearings.

Each of the Black Widowers had something to say, one about Oliver North's hurt-little-boy look and his appeal to middle-aged women; another of John Poindexter's sievelike memory. James Drake, who was host of the banquet, pointed out that, between them, North and Poindexter had badly tarnished the Reagan presidency, something all the Democrats in combination had failed to as much as scratch. Why, then, he wanted to know, was the Republican right making heroes out of that Laurel-and-Hardy team?

It was Emmanuel Rubin who, not unexpectedly, brought the discussion down to the matter of hostages and principle.

"The thing is," he said, "how does one deal with loss of life, or potential loss of life, or even just a matter of imprisonment? Must the national interest come second to the rescue of hostages? If that is the case, how would we ever dare carry out any armed strike? In any such move, even one as simple and safe as attacking the mighty army of Grenada, or bombing the mighty fortress of Tripoli, we suffer casualties and run the risk of having prisoners taken."

Geoffrey Avalon, staring down at Rubin's sixty-four inches from the height of his own seventy-four, said, "You're talking military action. The hostages are civilians, pursuing a peaceful life, taken without cause by gangsters and thugs. Wouldn't you pay any price and abandon any principle to gain the freedom of someone you loved? Wouldn't you pay a ransom to kidnappers if that would keep them from killing your wife?"

"Yes, of course, I would," said Rubin, his eyes flashing through his thick spectacles. "I would, as an individual. But would I expect two hundred and thirty million Americans to suffer a weakening of the national interest because I am suffering? Not even an American president has the right to do that, and that was Reagan's mistake. And don't think that hostage-taking is an aberration of peace. It isn't. We're at war with terrorism and the hostages are prisoners of war. We wouldn't think of giving an enemy arms to buy back our prisoners of war. It would have been treason to do that in any other war we've fought."

"Terrorism isn't like any other war," growled Thomas Trumbull, "and you can't make a point-by-point analogy."

"Actually," said Roger Halsted, "all this talk about national interest is irrelevant. Surely, terrorism is a global problem which will yield only to global action."

Mario Gonzalo said, "Oh, sure. Global! How do you manage a global solution when each nation is willing to make a deal with the terrorists, hoping that it will be left alone and to hell with its neighbors?"

"That's what's got to stop," said Halsted earnestly. "Trying to buy off the terrorists only points out to them how they might make a profit. If hostages sell at a premium, they will take more hostages whenever they run short of funds."

"Of course, and our proper answer to the taking of hostages is making the procedure expensive for the hostage takers. You inflict casualties on them," said Gonzalo.

"Provided you know who the enemy is," protested Avalon. "You can't simply kill people at random."

"Why not? We do that in every war. When we bombed German and Japanese cities during World War II, didn't we know that uncounted thousands of totally innocent people would be killed, including babies? Did we think our bombs were selective enough to kill only villains?"

"All of Germany and Japan was fighting us, even if only by passively supporting the German and Japanese governments," said Avalon.

"And do you think that terrorism can survive without at least the passive approval or acquiescence of the society in which it exists?" demanded Rubin.

At that point, James Drake, who had been listening to the exchange with manifest unease, said, "Gentlemen, my guest is coming up the stairs. Could we suspend the argument for now, and not return to it, either? Please!" He then said hurriedly, "Henry, my guest isn't a drinker. Would you get him a large diet cola? Not much ice."

Henry, the perennial waiter at the Black Widower banquets, nodded his head slightly just as the guest entered the banquet room.

He was a tall man, darkly tanned, with a large curved nose, and blue eyes that stood out startlingly against his dark coloring. His hair, still copious, was graying and he looked fiftyish.

"Sorry I'm late, Jim," he said, grasping Drake's hand. "The train did not feel at all bound by the timetable."

"Not too late, Sandy," said Drake. "Let me introduce you to the Black Widowers. This is Alexander Mountjoy, gentlemen."

One by one, the Black Widowers advanced to shake his hand. Last came Henry with his tall drink. Mountjoy sniffed at it, then grinned. "You warned the waiter, I see."

Drake nodded. "And I should add that our waiter is Henry, and that he is a particularly valued member of our club."

The dinner was a hearty one. Melon, followed by a thick vegetable soup, a prime rib roast with baked potato and broccoli, and apple pie with cheese for dessert.

Rubin, having abandoned topical references, chose to point out Charles Dickens's contribution to the evolution of the modern detective story with a stern disquisition on Bleak House, which only he, of those at the table, had read. Drake, who was quite openly relieved at this new direction of the conversation, pointed out that Dickens's detective had come a generation after Edgar Allan Poe and that, if Rubin's descriptions were correct, Dickens had not at all benefited by Poe's work.

This elicited only a snarl of contempt from Rubin, who turned to Wilkie Collins and Emile Gaboriau. At a crucial moment, Drake mentioned Arthur Conan Doyle, at which point Mountjoy plunged in joyously and conversation grew general.

Over the coffee, Drake gave his water glass its ritual tinkle and said, "Manny has done his whole evening's share of talking by now, so if you don't mind, Mario, you take over the grilling. I know I can rely on you to keep Manny quiet."

Gonzalo adjusted his jacket with its subdued green stripe, made sure his tie was seated properly, sat back, and said, "Just how do you justify your existence, Mr. Mountjoy?"

Mountjoy looked satisfyingly replete as he watched Henry pour the brandy, and said, "I'm a Sherlock Holmes enthusiast and a member of the Baker Street Irregulars, which should be justification enough for this crowd, eh?"

Gonzalo said, "I don't know about that. Actually, Manny is the only one really interested in mysteries because he writes them, or does something he calls writing them, and makes a living of sorts out of it." He raised his hand, palm held imperiously in the direction of Rubin, who shifted in his seat and gave all the signs of wanting to burst into speech. "Try something else."

"In that case," said Mountjoy, "I might mention that I'm a college president, but I don't know if any perceptible fraction of the world's population would consider that as justifying my existence."

"We are all academic personalities, one way or another," said Avalon, "and we might be willing to consider the matter moot."

Mountjoy grinned. "If college has taught you to speak in that fashion, that's a black mark against me."

Gonzalo said, with clear disappointment, "A college president? Is that all?"

Mountjoy's eyebrows went up. "Well, the post may not justify my existence, but I would scarcely think of it as trivial. Dealing with students and faculty and trustees and potential donors and the general public is quite a bit more than enough. What do you mean, 'Is that all'?"

Gonzalo said, "I mean do you work for the government in any way?"

"No, I'm spared that."

"You haven't been involved in any government investigations?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, then," said Gonzalo, "why is it that Drake asked us not to discuss the matter of hostages in front of you?"

"Oh, for God's sake," exploded Drake. "If I asked you not to, why do you bring the matter up?"

It was impossible for Mountjoy to turn pale, but he took on a rigid look and said angrily, "Jim!"

Drake shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sandy. The conversation was on hostages before you came. It was bound to be, considering what the nation has been going through. But I did ask them to drop it."

"And I want to know why," said Gonzalo stubbornly.

"I can't say why," said Drake. "But I put the matter out of bounds. As host  - "

"Even as host you can't do that," said Gonzalo. "The whole point of the club dinners is that there are no holds barred at the grilling. Even the host can't limit the matter. It's - it's unconstitutional."

Avalon, turning the brandy glass in his hand, said thoughtfully, "Mario has a point there. - Mr. Mountjoy, may I assure you that nothing said within these walls is ever repeated outside them. The habit of confidentiality is strong and it includes our excellent waiter, Henry. Does that help?"

"No, it doesn't," said Mountjoy. "I have no secrets, but the government does. I am fully satisfied of the honor and honesty of every person here, but the government is not satisfied as easily as I am."

"You said you don't work for the government," said Gonzalo.

"Nor do I, but I have managed to get entangled with it just the same, and through no deliberate desire of my own."

Thomas Trumbull said gently, "I am employed by the government and I have been entrusted with secrets in my time. I vouch for these gentlemen, too. It would have been more convenient all around if we had avoided this matter, but in a free-for-all grilling it would have arisen sooner or later, and perhaps it would have been better if Jim had brought you as guest at another time. But here you are, and Mario's question puts us face-to-face with it. If you feel you cannot discuss the matter, then the rules of the club put an end to the dinner, which we would all regret. Is there anything you can tell us? If we decide that it would count as a satisfactory answer to the question we can drop the matter and go on to other subjects."

"The question is this," said Gonzalo. "Why can't we discuss the matter of hostages in front of you? That's just to remind you."

Mountjoy thought for a while, head bent, chin touching his chest. When he looked up, his eyes were friendly and his appearance seemed normal.

"I'll tell you this much, if you'll be kind enough not to ask me names and places and details, which I am not allowed to give you, in any case. I told you I was president of a college. Well, some members of the faculty were kidnapped some months ago by terrorists."

"But there's no secret to that," broke in Rubin. "It was in all the papers. Obviously, you're president of the  - "

"Please!" said Mountjoy. "I don't care how certain you are that you know the details of the case. Please realize you may not have them all and that I can't confirm or deny anything. Just listen to what I say. Some faculty members were kidnapped. They are held as hostages. One hostage who was being held, and I am specifically refraining from saying whether he was one of the faculty members or not, was killed. Presumably, he was tortured first.

"Now, then, the subject of hostages is bothersome to me personally since the hostages are known to me, and it is bothersome to me officially since I have been extensively interviewed by government agencies on various aspects of the event. Does that satisfy you, gentlemen? Can we go on to other matters?"

"No," said Gonzalo. "Why were you extensively interviewed? What had you to do with it?"

"With the hostage-taking? Absolutely nothing."

"With anything at all. You said you were interviewed on various aspects of the event. What aspects? Why limit it to hostage-taking?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"What's so hard about the question? I mean why were you extensively interviewed? If not about the hostage-taking, then about what?"

"I can't answer that question."

"Then I'm not satisfied."

Drake said, "Come on, Mario. Don't be a pigheaded fool."

"I'm not being pigheaded. I have an idea. There's something involved besides the hostage-taking. Mountjoy said the interviews had nothing to do with that, but covered various aspects of the matter. That means aspects besides the hostage-taking. I think there must be some sort of unfinished business in all of this or it wouldn't be so hush-hush. I'll bet there's a problem here of some kind, some puzzle, some mystery. How about it, Mr. Mountjoy?"

"I have nothing to say on the matter," said Mountjoy woodenly.

"It so happens," said Gonzalo, "that this club has solved a number of puzzles in the past. We could help you now."

Mountjoy looked toward Drake questioningly.

Drake smashed his cigarette to death and said, "That's true enough, but we can't guarantee we can solve any particular mystery."

Mountjoy muttered, "I wish you could solve this one."

"Ah," said Gonzalo, "then there is one. - Hey, Tom, tell him we can help out, and tell him we can be trusted to the death."

Trumbull said, "I've already told him we can all be trusted. - If there's a problem, Mountjoy, and if you're in trouble over it, then Mario is right. Maybe we can help."

Mountjoy said, "Well, let's see what I can tell you."

He stared at the Black Widowers, who, in turn, remained silent. Indeed, they scarcely moved.

Finally, Mountjoy said, "The hostage who was killed was not exactly innocent, at least in the eyes of the terrorists. Usually, the hostages that are taken are simply newsmen, or businessmen, or professors - people whose only value to the terrorists is as pawns. They were handy and the American government and people want them back so they are bargaining points.

"The hostage who was killed - and I can't name him or tell you anything about him - was working for the government, and to the terrorists he could be considered a spy or a secret agent or something like that. They killed him, either because they considered that a just punishment for his crime of being on the other side, or they did so accidentally in the process of torturing him in order to elicit information.

"The question is, how did they know he was worth torturing? They don't torture all their hostages as a matter of course. In fact, they treat them as well as they reasonably can, for a dead hostage has no value to them, and in fact any hostage that is in anything but good condition merely inflames American public opinion and may encourage the United States to more violent reprisals, something for which they are obviously not eager.

"The feeling is that someone fingered him. In short, a traitor of some sort is involved. The dead hostage had confided his true role to someone for some reason, or let it slip inadvertently, and that someone betrayed him. The question, of course, is who? Naturally, the government wants to know, not simply in order to avenge the death by punishing the traitor, but because if the traitor is left at large, he is in a position in which his treason can continue, you understand.

"I come into it because the circumstances of the kidnapping of the faculty members - those particular ones and no others - make it seem clear that the traitor is also a member of the faculty. There is good reasoning behind that, but I can't pass it on to you. I simply say that that is the conclusion - that we have a traitor on the faculty.

"I was interviewed extensively on the matter, and so were others, and it seems that the conclusion come to is that the traitor is one of four members of the faculty, but which of the four - Ah, that's the rub."

Rubin said, "The only safe thing to do is to remove all four from their posts, put them where they can do no harm, and keep them all under surveillance while you continue the investigation."

"And that has been done," said Mountjoy, "but does it occur to you that a great deal of unjustified harm is being done to three innocent people who are loyal Americans and do not deserve such treatment?"

"Casualties of war," said Rubin.

Halsted said, "You're being very callous tonight, Mannie. Are you having trouble with your current novel?"

"That has nothing to do with it," said Rubin. "I say what I think."

"Well, what I think," said Mountjoy, "is that it is much more important to absolve the three innocents than to catch the guilty. And there's a way of doing it if only we were clever enough. We assume, for instance, that the dead hostage knew who the traitor was. He would know, after all, to whom he had confided, or let slip, the matter. Now, then, he was forced to write a letter which the kidnappers then released. You know the kind."

The Black Widowers nodded, and Halsted said, "The hostage admits he's a member of the CIA and that he spied on the poor mistreated groups to which the kidnappers belong. He goes on to confess to all sorts of other misdemeanors and then denounces the American government for not giving in to the simple demands of the captors so that he might be released."

"Exactly," said Mountjoy. "Exactly. By then, he had undoubtedly been subject to some torture, so that they wouldn't release a photograph of him as they did in the case of other hostages. Even so, he might not have consented to sign that letter - and it was definitely his signature - were it not that the hostage we're speaking of was hoping to give us information under the nose of his captors. He added at the end of the letter that he hoped he would be lucky enough to have the government arrange his release and drew a four-leaf clover at the end. Very carefully drawn. It was some time after that that he was killed."

Avalon said, "Do you think the four-leaf clover had anything to do with that, Mr. Mountjoy?"

"The government thinks so. He had to choose some sign that would indicate the traitor, yet do so in a sufficiently subtle manner to escape the kidnappers. Unfortunately, it was sufficiently subtle to escape us as well. The government has not been able to work out the significance of the four-leaf clover. However, it may be that the traitor did - that the traitor saw the letter reproduced on television and realized that the four-leaf clover was pointing straight at him. He managed to get a message to the kidnappers, who then tortured their victim further and killed him."

"Well," said Avalon, "a four-leaf clover is a well-known symbol of good luck. Might it not be that the poor hostage really wanted to have the good luck of being freed and drew a four-leaf clover as a piece of sympathetic magic?"

"It's possible," said Mountjoy. "Anything is possible. The government doesn't give that credence, however. The hostage was an outspoken rationalist, utterly contemptuous of anything that smacked of mysticism or superstition. The people who knew him best say that it is unthinkable that he would draw a four-leaf clover in the expectation of deriving good luck from it."

"Desperation will have people clutching at straws," muttered Avalon.

Trumbull said, "It's an Irish symbol. Are any of the four suspects Irish, or of Irish descent? The traitor could be a member of the Irish Republican Army and be sympathetic to other struggling underground groups."

Mountjoy shook his head violently. "In the first place, the four-leaf clover is not an Irish symbol. The three-leaf clover is. It was plucked up by Saint Patrick, according to legend, to explain to an Irish king how the Trinity could exist - one God in three personifications. The Irish king was converted and the three-leaf clover became the shamrock. And in any case, none of the four suspects are in any way Irish."

Trumbull said, "What can you tell us about the four suspects, then? We can't figure out at whom the four-leaf clover is pointing if we know nothing about them."

"I can't help that," said Mountjoy despairingly. "I can't give you their names or tell you who they are."

"Can you give us their fields of specialty?" asked Avalon.

"I'm not sure. - Maybe I can take the chance." Mountjoy held up his fingers one by one: "One is a historian, one is an entomologist, one is an astronomer, and one is a mathematician. Does that help? It didn't help us."

Halsted said, "Are you sure what he drew was a four-leaf clover?"

"Well, of course it was. What else could it be?"

Halsted shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't see it. But it was something with four things sticking out of it. Right?"

"Yes."

"Then could he have been trying to draw a star? A point with rays of light coming from it? That might indicate the astronomer."

Mountjoy shook his head. "It might be the astronomer, for all I know, but not for that reason. He didn't draw radiating lines, he drew four recognizable clover leaves. The drawing also had a stem. Stars wouldn't have stems."

Drake said, "What kind of mathematician is the mathematician?"

Mountjoy said, "I couldn't tell you. I'm in political science myself and all the mathematics I know barely suffices to enable me to balance my checkbook."

"Could he have done papers on probability?"

"I suppose I could find out, but I don't know it off the cuff."

"Because the thing about four-leaf clovers is that they are rare. I don't know what the chances are of finding one if you look through clover patches at random, but it must be very small. When I was a youngster, I remember lying down in a field of clover and spending hours going over them one by one. I never found a four-leaf clover. So to find one is remarkable and it's the sort of thing that might interest a mathematician who specializes in probability."

Halsted, who was himself a mathematician, said, "That doesn't sound likely at all. What kind of a historian was the historian?"

"Ah," said Mountjoy. "That I can tell you. He wrote a rather well-known book entitled - Well, no, obviously I can't tell you that. It would identify him. Let's say," he added feebly, "that he's a medievalist."

"He specializes in medieval history?"

"Yes. Byzantine Empire. Fatimids. Things like that."

"Anything to do with four-leaf clovers?"

"Not that I know of."

"And what about the entomologist, who obviously studies insects."

"Yes."

"What kind of insects? Bees?"

Gonzalo put in, "Why bees, Roger?"

"Why not? Bees fly from clover blossom to clover blossom collecting honey and spreading pollen. Don't you know Emily Dickinson's quatrain: 'The pedigree of honey / Does not concern the bee. / A clover any time to him / Is aristocracy'? Well, then, a four-leaf clover might easily signify a bee, which would signify our entomologist."

Avalon said, "Why a four-leaf clover in that case? A three-leaf clover would do as well and would be simpler to draw."

Mountjoy said, "It doesn't matter which. The entomologist didn't work with bees. He worked with smaller bugs and I couldn't even give you the name. He told me once and I thought it sounded as though it came straight out of Shakespeare's A Comedy of Errors, but I couldn't repeat it."

"Well," said Rubin, "where does it put us? The four-leaf clover doesn't point to anyone. Frankly, I find myself looking with favor on Jeff's original idea that it was just a good luck symbol and nothing more. The poor guy needed luck and didn't have it."

"Poor guy?" said Halsted. "Just a casualty of war, Manny."

Rubin looked annoyed. "I was just speaking theoretically. When we get down to individuals, I'm not any more callous than the rest of you, and you know it."

Drake said, "Well, we chivied and tortured poor Sandy into telling us more than he should have, probably, and putting him under the nervous tension of fearing the government may somehow find out he did, and we haven't been able to help him at all. - I'm sorry, Sandy."

"Hold on," said Gonzalo, teetering his chair back on two legs. "We're not through yet. I notice that Henry is poking his way through the reference shelf."

"Oh, really," said Trumbull. "We'll ask him just as soon as he gets back."

"Whom are we talking about?" said Mountjoy, frowning. "The waiter?"

"We're talking about Henry. The best of the Black Widowers."

Henry returned and resumed his usual place by the service table.

Gonzalo said, "Well, Henry, can you help us?"

"I have had a thought, Mr. Gonzalo, concerning four-leaf clovers."

"Tell us."

"Clovers almost always have three leaves. Occasionally, a clover grows from a seed that is slightly abnormal and it develops four leaves in consequence. Such a sudden change between parent and offspring is called a mutation," said Henry politely.

"So it is," said Halsted.

"Mutations take place now and then in all species. You can get a white blackbird, or a two-headed calf, or a baby with six fingers. I daresay the list is endless."

"Probably," murmured Avalon.

"For the most part, mutations are unfavorable and are viewed as deformities and monstrous distortions. The four-leaf clover is an example of a mutation, however, that not only does not strike people as a deformity but is valued and treasured by them - by almost all of them - as something very desirable, as a symbol and bringer of good luck. That makes it very unusual as a mutation and it is one mutation that can be easily drawn without repelling people and can be made to seem as nothing more than a natural way of calling down good fortune. It can therefore symbolize the idea of mutation unmistakably and yet escape detection by people without a certain degree of education. However, to those who know the hostage's strong rationality, they would - or should - dismiss the good luck and cling to the symbolization of a mutation."

"Where does all that get us, Henry?" asked Trumbull.

"To change the subject slightly, Mr. Mountjoy mentioned Shakespeare's A Comedy of Errors. There are two characters in it named Antipholus. They are twin brothers, one from the city of Syracuse in Sicily and one from Ephesus in Asia Minor. Does the name Antipholus bring anything to your mind, Mr. Mountjoy?"

"Yes," said Mountjoy. "The insects the entomologist was working with. I still can't give you the exact name, though."

"Was it Drosophila?"

"Yes! By God, yes."

"It is more commonly known as the fruit fly and it is the classic insect used for the study of mutations. It seems to me, then, that the four-leaf clover may have been drawn to signify mutations and that that was meant to point rather precisely to the entomologist as the traitor. At least, it seems so to me."

"Heavens!" said Mountjoy. "It seems so to me, too. - I'll get in touch with - with some people in Washington first thing in the morning and suggest it. Drosophila. Drosophila. I'll have to remember the name."

"Fruit fly will be sufficient, sir," said Henry, "and if the suggestion is accepted, I would suggest you allow it to remain understood that it occurred to you quite independently. No need to admit you spoke of the matter to the Black Widowers."

Afterword

Sometimes, if I feel really lazy, I think of some one thing and see if I can't build a story around it. Thus, I was in a grassy place at Mohonk (see the previous Afterword) and I noted that it was rich in three-leaf clovers. As is my wont, I looked about to see if there was a four-leaf clover and after about two and a half seconds I decided there wasn't. (I have never found a four-leaf clover in my life, but I have had enough good luck even without it.)

So I thought: Let's write a story about a four-leaf clover, and I did.

This time, though, Eleanor Sullivan, the beautiful editor of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, turned it down. She thought the point of the story was sufficiently arcane to be unfair to the reader. I didn't agree (I never agree with a rejection) but the editor's word is law, and I present the story here as the second in this collection to make its first-time appearance.