“Oh, yes, Grand Master Janowick,” he said en route. “May I ask why you refused the Commander’s queen?” “He would have gained such an advantage in position as to mate in twelve moves.” “I see . . . thanks.” He didn’t, at all, but he had to say something. “I wonder . . . would it be possible for me to find out how this game comes out?” “Why, I suppose so.” Joan thought for a moment. “Certainly. If you’ll give me your card I’ll send you a tape of it after we finish.”[3] The two Patrolmen boarded a copter. Joan looked subdued, almost forlorn. Cloud took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Don’t take it so hard, Joan,” he thought. He found it remarkably easy to send to her now; in fact, telepathy was easier and simpler and more natural than talking. “We had it to do.” “I suppose so; but it was a dirty, slimy, stinking, _filthy_ trick, Storm. I’m ashamed . . . I feel soiled.” “I know how you feel. I’m not so happy about the thing, either. But when you think of thionite, and what _that_ stuff means. . . ?” “That’s true, of course . . . and they stole the money in the first place. . . . Not that two wrongs, or even three or four, make a right . . . but it does _help_.” She cheered up a little, but she was not yet her usual self when they boarded the _Vortex Blaster II_. Vesta met them just inside the lock. “Oh, chief, I won—I won!” she shrieked, tail waving frantically in air. “Where’d you go after the club closed? I looked all _over_ for you—do you know how much I won, Captain Nealcloud?” “Haven’t any idea. How much?” “One million seven hundred sixty two thousand eight hundred and ten credits! Yow-wow-yow!” “Whew!” Cloud whistled in amazement. “And you’re figuring on giving it all back to ’em tomorrow?” “I . . . I haven’t quite decided.” Vesta sobered instantly. “What do _you_ think, chief?” “Not being a gambler, I don’t have hunches very often, but I’ve got one now. In fact, I know one thing for certain damn sure. There isn’t one chance in seven thousand million of anything like this ever happening to you again. You’ll lose your shirt—that is, if you had a shirt to lose,” he added hastily. “You know, I think you’re right? I thought so myself, and you’re the second smart man to tell me the same thing.” “Who was the first one?” “That man at the club, Althagar, his name was. So, with three hunches on the same play, I’d be a fool not to play it that way. Besides, I’ll _never_ get another wallop like that . . . my uncle’s been wanting me to be linguist in his bank, and with a million and three-quarters of my own I could buy half his bank and be a linguist and a cashier both. Then I couldn’t _ever_ gamble again.” “Huh? Why not?”