Tracy sat down at the table and moved her black queen's pawn two squares. In the background she saw Jeffs almost imperceptible nod of approval.
Without hesitation, Boris Melnikov moved his white queen's bishop pawn two squares.
Two minutes later, at Negulesco's table, Tracy moved her white queen's bishop two squares.
Negulesco played his king's pawn square.
Tracy rose and returned to the room where Boris Melnikov was waiting. Tracy played her king's pawn square.
So! She is not a complete amateur, Melnikov thought in surprise. Let us see what she does with this. He played his queen's knight to queen's bishop 3.
Tracy watched his move, nodded, and returned to Negulesco, where she copied Melnikov's move.
Negulesco moved the queen's bishop pawn two squares, and Tracy went back to Melnikov and repeated Negulesco's move.
With growing astonishment, the two grand masters realized they were up against a brilliant opponent. No matter how clever their moves, this amateur managed to counteract them.
Because they were separated, Boris Melnikov and Pietr Negulesco had no idea that, in effect, they were playing against each other. Every move that Melnikov made with Tracy, Tracy repeated with Negulesco. And when Negulesco countered with a move, Tracy used that move against Melnikov.
By the time the grand masters entered the middle game, they were no longer smug. They were fighting for their reputations. They paced the floor while they contemplated moves and puffed furiously on cigarettes. Tracy appeared to be the only calm one.
In the beginning, in order to end the game quickly, Melnikov had tried a knight's sacrifice to allow his white bishop to put pressure on the black king's side. Tracy had carried the move to Negulesco. Negulesco had examined the move carefully, then refuted the sacrifice by covering his exposed side, and when Negulesco had sacked a bishop to advance a rook to white's seventh rank, Melnikov had refuted it before the black rook could damage his pawn structure.
There was no stopping Tracy. The game had been going on for four hours, and not one person in either audience had stirred.
Every grand master carries in his head hundreds of games played by other grand masters. It was as this particular match was going into the end game that both Melnikov and Negulesco recognized the hallmark of the other.
The bitch, Melnikov thought. She has studied with Negulesco. He has tutored her.
And Negulesco thought, She is Melnikov's protegee. The bastard has taught her his game.
The harder they fought Tracy, the more they came to realize there was simply no way they could beat her. The match was appearing drawish.
In the sixth hour of play, at 4:00 A.M., when the players had reached the end game, the pieces on each board had been reduced to three pawns, one rook, and a king. There was no way for either side to win. Melnikov studied the board for a long time, then took a deep, choked breath and said, "I offer a draw."
Over the hubbub, Tracy said, "I accept."
The crowd went wild.
Tracy rose and made her way through the crowd into the next room. As she started to take her seat, Neguleseo, in a strangled voice said, "I offer a draw."
And the uproar from the other room was repeated. The crowd could not believe what it had just witnessed. A woman had come out of nowhere to simultaneously stalemate the two greatest chess masters in the world.
Jeff appeared at Tracy's side. "Come on," he grinned. "We both need a drink."
When they left, Boris Melnikov and Pietr Negulesco were sill slumped in their chairs, mindlessly staring at their boards.
Tracy and Jeff sat at a table for two in the Upper Deck bar. "You were beautiful," Jeff laughed. "Did you notice the look on Melnikov's face? I thought he was going to have a heart attack."
"I thought I was going to have a heart attack," Tracy said. "How much did we win?"
"About two hundred thousand dollars. We'll collect it from the purser in the morning when we dock at Southampton. I'll meet you for breakfast in the dining room."
"Fine."
"I think I'll turn in now. Let me walk you to your stateroom."
"I'm not ready to go to bed yet, Jeff. I'm too excited. You go ahead."
"You were a champion," Jeff told her. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Good night, Tracy."
"Good night, Jeff."
She watched him leave. Go to sleep? Impossible! It had been one of the most fantastic nights of her life. The Russian and the Romanian had been so sure of themselves, so arrogant. Jeff had said, "Trust me," and she had. She had no illusions about what he was. He was a con artist. He was bright and amusing and clever, easy to be with. But of course she could never be seriously interested in him.
Jeff was on the way to his stateroom when he encountered one of the ship's officers.
"Good show, Mr. Stevens. The word about the match has already gone out over the wireless. I imagine the press will be meeting you both at Southampton. Are you Miss Whitney's manager?"
"No, we're just shipboard acquaintances," Jeff said easily, but his mind was racing. If he and Tracy were linked together, it would look like a setup. There could even be an investigation. He decided to collect the money before any suspicions were aroused.
Jeff wrote a note to Tracy. HAVE PICKED UP MONEY AND WILL MEET YOU FOR A CELEBRATION BREAKFAST AT THE SAVOY HOTEL. YOU WERE MAGNIFICENT. JEFF. He sealed it in an envelope and handed it to a steward. "Please see that Miss Whitney gets this first thing in the morning."
"Yes, Sir."
Jeff headed for the purser's office.
"Sorry to bother you," Jeff apologized, "but we'll be docking in a few hours, and I know how busy you're going to be, so I wondered whether you'd mind paying me off now?"