“That’s most interestin’.” Vance extended his match-case to Arnesson, who had been filling his pipe as he talked. “Was Pardee well acquainted with Sprigg?”
“Oh, no. Met him here twice—that’s all. Pardee knows Drukker well, though. Always asking him about potentials and scalars and vectors. Hopes to hit on something that’ll revolutionize chess.”
“Was he interested in the Riemann-Christoffel tensor when you discussed it the other night?”
“Can’t say that he was. A bit out of his realm. You can’t hitch the curvature of space-time to a chess-board.”
“What do you make of this formula being found on Sprigg?”
“Don’t make anything of it. If it had been in Sprigg’s handwriting I’d say it dropped out of his pocket. But who’d go to the trouble of trying to type a mathematical formula?”
“The Bishop apparently.”
Arnesson took his pipe from his mouth and grinned.
“Bishop X. We’ll have to find him. He’s full of whimsies. Perverted sense of values.”
“Obviously.” Vance spoke languidly. “And, by the by, I almost forgot to ask you: does the Dillard house harbor any revolvers?”