All at once
the thought came to me that the man was dumb.
And then that he was a machine--an automaton
chess-player! Then I remembered that Moxon had
once spoken to me of having invented such a piece
of mechanism, though I did not understand that it
had actually been constructed. Was all his talk about
the consciousness and intelligence of machines
merely a prelude to eventual exhibition of this de-
vice--only a trick to intensify the effect of its
mechanical action upon me in my ignorance of its
secret?
A fine end, this, of all my intellectual transports
--my 'endless variety and excitement of philo-
sophic thought'! I was about to retire in disgust
when something occurred to hold my curiosity. I
observed a shrug of the thing's great shoulders, as
if it were irritated: and so natural was this--so
entirely human--that in my new view of the matter
it startled me. Nor was that all, for a moment later
it struck the table sharply with its clenched hand.
At that gesture Moxon seemed even more startled
than I: he pushed his chair a little backward, as in
alarm.
Presently Moxon, whose play it was, raised his
hand high above the board, pounced upon one of his
pieces like a sparrow-hawk and with the exclama-
tion 'check-mate!' rose quickly to his feet and
stepped behind his chair. The automaton sat mo-
tionless.
The wind had now gone down, but I heard, at
lessening intervals and progressively louder, the
rumble and roll of thunder.
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