The physicist set his mind against frustration. To change over to the
engineer without an answer would be an admission of defeat. At least
without _some_ satisfactory answer.
He mulled his problem by the hour, by the day, and by the week. He did
take enough time out to consider the chess problem daily. He figured
all the possible moves and finally, one night, he smiled, shrugged his
shoulders and decided to plunge ahead.
He slid his rook down from one king row to the other through the
square formerly covered by the knight which had been protected by a
bishop. All the way across the board he went, and as he arrived at his
opponent's king row, he took out the little sign and stood it on the
center of the board.
* * * * *
Tom Lionel blinked and removed his finger from the pushbutton. He
shook his head. This was all wrong. And, besides, what in the name of
entropy was this little box? He didn't recall putting a finger on that
button--but here he was, removing his hand after holding the button
down.
It was a small metal box about eight by seven by four inches. The edges
were all die-straight and the surfaces were as optically flat as Tom
could determine without testing. The pushbutton was set flush with the
surface, and made of the same metal as the box.
No other projection was evident.
But the button was accompanied with engraving cut in the metal of the
front surface. It said: