I introduced myself, told him who I was. He didn’t even give me his hand. I tried to tell him how proud and honoured all of us on board would be if he’d play a simultaneous game against us. But he was damn stiff about it; he was sorry, he said, but he had contractual obligations to his agents, and they expressly forbade him to play without a fee when he was on tour. His minimum was two hundred and fifty dollars a game.’

I laughed. ‘I’d never have thought pushing chessmen from black squares to white could be such a lucrative business. I hope you took your leave of him with equal civility.’

But McConnor remained perfectly serious. ‘The game’s to be tomorrow afternoon at three, here in the smoking-room. I hope we won’t be so easily crushed.’

‘What? Did you agree to pay him two hundred and fifty dollars?’ I cried in dismay.

‘Why not? C’est son métier. If I had toothache and there happened to be a dentist on board, I wouldn’t ask him to pull my tooth out for nothing. The man’s quite right to name a fat fee; the real experts in any field are good businessmen too. As far as I’m concerned, the more clear-cut a deal is the better. I’d rather pay cash than have a man like Mr Czentovic do me a favour and find myself obliged to thank him in the end. And after all, I’ve lost over two hundred and fifty dollars in an evening at our club before, and without playing a champion. It’s no disgrace for “third-rate” players to be beaten by the likes of Czentovic.’

I was amused to see how deeply I had wounded McConnor’s amour propre with my innocent remark about ‘third-rate’ players. But since he was minded to pay for this expensive bit of fun, I had no objection to his misplaced ambition, which would finally get me acquainted with that oddity Czentovic. We made haste to inform the four or five gentlemen who had already proclaimed themselves chess players about the forthcoming event, and so as to be disturbed as little as possible by people passing by, we reserved not only our table but the one next to it for the coming match.

Next day all the members of our small group had turned up at the appointed hour. The place in the centre of the table, opposite the champion, was of course taken by McConnor, who relieved his nervousness by lighting cigar after large cigar, and glancing at the time again and again. But the world champion – as I had already thought likely from what my friend said about him – kept us waiting a good ten minutes, thus heightening the effect when he appeared. He walked over to the table with calm composure. Without introducing himself – a discourtesy which seemed to say, ‘You know who I am, and I don’t care who you are’ – he began making the practical arrangements with dry professionalism. Since there were not enough chessboards available on the ship for a simultaneous match, he suggested that we all of us play him together. After every move he would go to another table at the far end of the room, to avoid disturbing our deliberations. As soon as we had made our move, and since unfortunately there was no little bell available on the table, we were to tap a glass with a spoon. He suggested ten minutes as the maximum time for deciding on a move, unless we preferred some other arrangement. Of course, we agreed to all his suggestions like shy schoolboys. The draw for colours gave Czentovic Black; he made his first move still standing there, and immediately moved away to wait in the place he had chosen, where he leaned casually back, leafing through an illustrated magazine.

There’s not much point in describing the game. Of course it ended, as it was bound to end, in our total defeat as early as the twenty-fourth move. In itself, there was nothing surprising in a world chess champion’s ability to sweep away half a dozen average or below-average players with one hand tied behind his back; what really depressed us all was the obvious way in which Czentovic made us feel only too clearly that it was with one hand tied behind his back he was defeating us. He never did more than cast an apparently fleeting glance at the board, looking past us with as little interest as if we were inanimate wooden figures ourselves, and his insolent manner instinctively reminded us of the way you might throw a mangy dog a morsel of food while turning your eyes away.