The back of the fireplace was the lone slit of dark red. The white tusks surrounded it and were surrounded themselves by a circle of black. Ratchett was the only person at Brewster Forum who did not grasp the symbol of his design. But then a man's sickness is invariably hidden from his soul.

"That policeman made a very good move," he said, packing the pipe for Ratchett.

"If I knew that cop knew what he knew, I never would

have played that way against Boyle. You know I'm a better

player than that."

"I know."

"It won't count in the tournament, will it?"

"I'm afraid it must."

"It shouldn't. Boyle had help."

"You offered to allow it."

"That Boyle. I could beat him any day of the week. Any day."

"Yes, you can."

"I could kill him."

"What for?"

"For doing that to me."

"He didn't do anything to you."

"He took that cop's advice, that night watchman who is all of a sudden allowed to play in our tournaments."

"Yes, he took the advice. But who gave it? Did you see him laugh at you?"

"He didn't laugh."

"He smirked and started the laughing. All the time he knew you were only toying with Boyle and he knew you could beat him in a fair game. But he saw he could beat you, the only way he could, by taking your generosity toward Boyle and turning it on you."

"Yes. The only way he could beat me. Humiliate me."

"Of course, and everybody laughed along with him."

"The bastards."

"They can't help it. As long as that man is here, they will laugh at you."

"Nonsense. They know he's only a policeman."

"They will laugh the more."

"No."

"Yes. When they see you. They will laugh inside."