Great nodded soberly. "And now I must go. They've almost finished the count-down, as one of my technicians keeps on calling it. Very pleased to have met you, Miss Grayling--I'll check with our PR man on that interview. Be seeing you, Savvy." The tiers of seats were filled now and the central space almost clear. Officials were shooing off a few knots of lingerers. Several of the grandmasters, including all four Russians, were seated at their tables. Press and company cameras were flashing. The four smaller wallboards lit up with the pieces in the opening position--white for White and red for Black. Simon Great stepped over the red velvet cord and more flash bulbs went off. "You know, Doc," Sandra said, "I'm a dog to suggest this, but what if this whole thing were a big fake? What if Simon Great were really playing the Machine's moves? There would surely be some way for his electricians to rig--" Doc laughed happily--and so loudly that some people at the adjoining tables frowned. "Miss Grayling, that is a wonderful idea! I will probably steal it for a short story. I still manage to write and place a few in England. No, I do not think that is at all likely. WBM would never risk such a fraud. Great is completely out of practice for actual tournament play, though not for chess-thinking. The difference in style between a computer and a man would be evident to any expert. Great's own style is remembered and would be recognized--though, come to think of it, his style was often described as being machinelike...." For a moment Doc's eyes became thoughtful. Then he smiled again. "But no, the idea is impossible. Vanderhoef as Tournament Director has played two or three games with the Machine to assure himself that it operates legitimately and has grandmaster skill." "Did the Machine beat him?" Sandra asked. * * * * * Doc shrugged. "The scores weren't released. It was very hush-hush. But about your idea, Miss Grayling--did you ever read about Maelzel's famous chess-playing automaton of the 19th Century? That one too was supposed to work by machinery (cogs and gears, not electricity) but actually it had a man hidden inside it--your Edgar Poe exposed the fraud in a famous article. In _my_ story I think the chess robot will break down while it is being demonstrated to a millionaire purchaser and the young inventor will have to win its game for it to cover up and swing the deal. Only the millionaire's daughter, who is really a better player than either of them ... yes, yes! Your Ambrose Bierce too wrote a story about a chess-playing robot of the clickety-clank-grr kind who murdered his creator, crushing him like an iron grizzly bear when the man won a game from him. Tell me, Miss Grayling, do you find yourself imagining this Machine putting out angry tendrils to strangle its opponents, or beaming rays of death and hypnotism at them? I can imagine...."