I said. She didn’t look as if she believed me. “It was Rambo. He came upstairs. I couldn’t stop him. Honest. He wouldn’t come down.” She said nothing, but just looked at me, frowning. I was glad I wasn’t having to lie, because I knew her eyes would find me out. Rambo was rubbing himself blissfully up against her leg, and I wondered how long it would be before he realized that two of us couldn’t be the same person. Still the Black Queen said nothing. I hated the silence, so I went on, “It’s him, isn’t it? In the photos. It’s your son. It’s Greg McInley. We’ve been watching. Everyone’s been watching. All those chessboards, and you said he was a chess nut. And you told me you were going to New York to see your son. I guessed it all along. That’s where you went, didn’t you? He won. He beat Purple. My dad says he’s a genius, a pure genius.” Suddenly her face softened, and she laughed. “It’ll take more than some fool machine to beat my son,” she said.
