Hoagland smiled self-confidently. "I call it the capture of a Rook as well as the White Knight for—did you say two pawns?"
Grayson eyed Hoagland distastefully. "Who was the guy on Proxima?"
"Proxima?"
Paul sat back in his chair with the first feeling of returning self-confidence that he had enjoyed since the moment of his downfall in the lecture hall. "Hoagland," he said, "you've made me very happy."
"How?" snapped the other.
"I've always had the conviction that God was a swell Fellow, Who like the rest of us, was still seeking the completely Holy Truth. But happy, understand, in knowing that He did not really know everything because when He did there was no more future, for Him, for us, for anybody. Equally less-than-perfect is the Devil, who does not know everything either. Hoagland, you're just a minor devil."
"What do you mean?"
"There was a guy on Proxima about to impersonate me—or maybe impersonate the impersonation you provided. I can see one faction bumping off parties of the second part. But Hoagland, old devil, if you don't know about the mess on Proxima, you don't know that instead of one conflicting faction against you, you've got two!
"Because the guy you did not know about was polished off by another gang that you do not know about! How do you like them apples?"
Hoagland blew out a breath that sounded like the sigh of Autumn.