His words produced an astonishing effect. Pardee drew himself up as if he had been struck in the face; and his cheeks went chalky white. For a full half-minute he stared at Vance, his eyes like live coals. His lips moved with a slight tremor, but no word came from them. Then, as if with superhuman effort, he turned stiffly away and went to the door. Jerking it open he held it for us to pass out.
As we walked up Riverside Drive to the District Attorney’s car, which had been left in front of the Drukker house in 76th Street, Markham questioned Vance sharply in regard to the final remark he had made to Pardee.
“I was in hopes,” explained Vance, “of surprising some look of recognition or understanding from him. But, ’pon my soul, Markham, I didn’t expect any effect like the one I produced. Astonishin’ how he reacted. I don’t grasp it—I don’t at all grasp it. . . .”
He became engrossed in his thoughts. But as the car swung into Broadway at 72nd Street he roused himself and directed the chauffeur to the Sherman Square Hotel.
“I have a gaspin’ desire to know more of that chess game between Pardee and Rubinstein. No reason for it—sheer vagary on my part. But the idea has been workin’ in me ever since the professor mentioned it. . . . From eleven until past one—that’s a deuced long time to play off an unfinished game of only forty-four moves.”
We had drawn up to the curb at the corner of Amsterdam Avenue and 71st Street, and Vance disappeared into the Manhattan Chess Club. It was fully five minutes before he returned. In his hand he carried a sheet of paper filled with notations. There was, however, no sign of jubilance in his expression.
“My far-fetched but charmin’ theory,” he said with a grimace, “has run aground on base prosaic facts. I just talked to the secret’ry of the club; and last night’s session consumed two hours and nineteen minutes. It seems to have been a coruscatin’ battle, full of esoteric quirks and strategical soul-searchin’s. Along about half past eleven the onlooking genii had Pardee picked for the winner; but Rubinstein then staged a masterly piece of sustained analysis, and proceeded to tear Pardee’s tactics to smithereens—just as Drukker had prognosticated. Astonishin’ mind, Drukker’s. . . .”
It was plain that even now he was not entirely satisfied with what he had learned; and his next words voiced his dissatisfaction.
“I thought while I was at it I’d take a page from the Sergeant’s book, so to speak, and indulge in a bit of routine thoroughness. So I borrowed the score sheet of last night’s game and copied down the moves. I may run over the game some day when time hangs heavy.”
And, with what I thought unusual care, he folded the score and placed it in his wallet.