Our desire to see such imperturbable arrogance brought low grew all the more fiercely. Peaceable, idle passengers though we were, we had suddenly been seized by a wild, ambitious bellicosity, tantalized and aroused by the thought that the palm might be wrested from the champion right here on this ship in the middle of the ocean, a feat that would then be telegraphed around the globe. There was also the allure of mystery, the effect of our benefactor’s unexpected intervention just at the critical moment, and the contrast between his almost anxious diffidence and the imperturbable self-assurance of the professional. Who was this stranger? Had chance brought to light an as yet undiscovered chess genius? Or was he a renowned master who was concealing his identity from us for some unfathomable reason? We debated all these possibilities in a state of utmost excitement; even the most daring hypotheses were not daring enough for us to square the stranger’s puzzling timidity and surprising avowal with the unmistakable artfulness of his play. But on one point we were agreed: on no account would we forgo the spectacle of a return engagement. We resolved to do everything to have our benefactor play against Czentovic the next day; McConnor agreed to bear the financial risk. In the meantime it had been learned from the steward that the stranger was an Austrian. Thus it fell to me, as his compatriot, to convey our request.

I soon found the man who had fled so hurriedly. He was on the promenade deck, reading in a deck chair. Before presenting myself I took the opportunity to study him. The angular head rested in an attitude of mild fatigue on the cushion; I was again especially struck by the remarkable pallor of the comparatively young face, framed at the temples by blindingly white hair. I had the feeling, I don’t know why, that this man must have aged abruptly. I had hardly approached him when he rose politely and introduced himself, using a name which was immediately familiar to me as that of a highly regarded old Austrian family. I recalled that one of the bearers of this name had been part of Schubert’s most intimate circle and that one of the old Kaiser’s personal physicians had descended from the same family. When I conveyed to Dr. B. our request that he accept Czentovic’s challenge, he was visibly astonished. As it turned out, he had had no idea that it was a world champion, in fact the reigning one, against whom he had so magnificently held his own in that game. For some reason this information seemed to make a special impression on him, for he asked over and over if I was sure his opponent really was the acknowledged world champion. I soon found that this state of affairs made my task easier and, aware of his sensitivity, considered it advisable to conceal from him only that the financial risk of possible defeat was being borne by McConnor. After hesitating for quite a while, Dr. B. finally declared himself ready for a match, though not without expressly asking me to warn the other gentlemen that it was imperative not to place exaggerated hopes in his abilities.

“You see,” he added with a pensive smile, “I honestly don’t know if I can play a proper chess game according to all the rules. Please believe me, it was absolutely not out of false modesty that I said I hadn’t touched a chess piece since grammar school—that was more than twenty years ago. And even then I wasn’t considered a player of any particular talent.”

He said this so naturally that it was impossible to entertain the least doubt as to his sincerity. Nevertheless, I could not help but express my astonishment at the precision with which he had been able to remember every combination of moves played by a variety of chess masters; surely he must have been much involved with chess theory, at least? Dr. B. smiled once again in that oddly dreamy way.

“Much involved!—God knows you’d have to say I was much involved with chess. But it happened under quite special, indeed entirely unique circumstances. It’s a fairly complicated story, and one that might possibly be considered a small contribution to the delightful, grand times we live in.