He thought that the game had been sullied and he was on the point of
forfeiting. Seated at the board, however, he had not let his face reveal a
trace of his feelings. No one among the spectators could have guessed their
intensity.
Black 69 was like the flash of a dagger. The Master fell into silent
thought, and the time came for the noon recess. Otaké stood beside the
board even after the Master had left.
“Now we’re in for it,” he said. “This is the divide.” He continued to look
down at the board as if unable to tear himself away.
“A little unkind of you?” I said.
“He’s always making me do the thinking.” Otaké laughed brightly.
But the Master played White 70 as soon as he returned from lunch. It
was all too clear that he had made use of the noon recess, not charged
against his time allotment; but the trickery was not in the Master to conceal
the misdemeanor by pretending to deliberate his first afternoon play. The
penalty was that he had spent the recess gazing into space.
