The Bell and Anchor pub held a charity quiz every autumn, and every autumn Ron’s team finished second.
Ron blamed the questions, the lighting, the pens, the table shape, and once the fact that the opposing team had “the unfair advantage of knowing things.”
This year he announced a new strategy.
“We need a specialist.”
His teammates, Sheila, Martin, and Grace, asked what subject.
“All of them,” Ron said. “I have invited Professor Edward Finch.”
Nobody had heard of Professor Finch, which impressed them even more.
On quiz night, Finch arrived wearing a tweed jacket, polished shoes, and glasses balanced low on his nose. Ron introduced him as a retired lecturer with an extraordinary memory.
“What did he teach?” Grace whispered.
Ron whispered back, “He has not said. That proves he is modest.”
The first round was history.
“What year did the Berlin Wall fall?”
Ron looked at Finch.
Finch stared at the ceiling. “I remember watching it on television.”
“So?”
“It was after dinner.”
Martin wrote 1989 without waiting.
The next question asked which king signed Magna Carta.
Finch said, “One with a very weak negotiating position.”
Sheila wrote King John.
In geography, Finch knew that the capital of Australia was not Sydney, but refused to say what it was until the team considered why Sydney deserved the job.
In music, he recognized every song but could remember only where he had parked when he first heard it.
Ron grew nervous.
“I thought you had an extraordinary memory.”
“I do,” Finch replied. “I remember the wrong details with remarkable accuracy.”
After four rounds, they were third.
During the break, Ron confronted him.
“You are supposed to be our expert.”
Finch looked surprised. “You asked whether I was good at quizzes.”
“And you said you had never lost one.”
“Correct.”
Ron brightened. “Then start helping.”
“I have never entered one.”
Before Ron could respond, the bell rang for the final round: General Knowledge. Each question was worth two points, and the Bell and Anchor team was six points behind.
The first question asked for the chemical symbol for silver.
Finch answered, “Ag.”
The second asked who wrote The Old Man and the Sea.
“Hemingway.”
The third asked which planet had the shortest year.
“Mercury.”
Ron nearly hugged him.
Finch answered the next seven questions perfectly. Their team surged into the lead. Even the landlord checked the answer sheet twice.
The final question would decide the winner.
“For ten points,” the landlord announced, “what is the full name of the person who donated tonight’s first prize?”
Silence filled the pub.
On the prize table sat a large hamper covered in cellophane. A card beside it read: DONATED ANONYMOUSLY.
Every team complained that the question was impossible.
Finch calmly wrote an answer.
Ron tried to see it. Finch covered the paper with one hand.
The landlord collected the sheets and returned a minute later, astonished.
“The Bell and Anchor team has the only correct answer: Edward James Finch.”
The room applauded.
Ron stared. “You donated the prize?”
Finch nodded.
“And you knew the final question?”
“I suggested it.”
“That is cheating!”
“No,” Finch said. “Cheating is secretly obtaining an answer. I publicly supplied both the hamper and the man who knew it.”
The opposing captain demanded a protest.
The landlord checked the rules. There was nothing forbidding a contestant from being the answer.
Ron lifted the trophy at last.
Then the landlord handed him the bill for the hamper.
Ron turned to Finch. “I thought you donated it.”
“I donated it in your team’s name.”
“Why?”
Finch smiled. “You said you would pay anything to stop finishing second.”
Ron looked at the trophy, the bill, and the cheering pub.
For the first time in twelve years, his team had won the quiz.
They had also paid ten pounds for every point.
Finch raised his glass.
“That,” he said, “is why I never lose.”