if.goldfinger-第22节

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s　mind　about　his　future。　Goldfinger　hoped　that　they　would　one　day　have　a　return　match　but；　alas；　he　was　leaving　for　France　tomorrow　and　wasn't　certain　when　he　would　be　back。　Flying？　Yes；　taking　the　Air　Ferry　from　Lydd。　Well；　thanks　for　the　match。　And　thank　you；　Mr　Bond。　The　eyes　had　given　Bond　one　last　X…ray　treatment；　as　if　fixing　him　for　a　last　time　in　Gold…finger's　filing　system；　and　then　the　big　yellow　car　had　sighed　away。
　Bond　had　had　a　good　look　at　the　chauffeur。　He　was　a　chunky　flat…faced　Japanese；　or　more　probably　Korean；　with　a　wild；　almost　mad　glare　in　dramatically　slanting　eyes　that　belonged　in　a　Japanese　film　rather　than　in　a　Rolls　Royce　on　a　sunny　afternoon　in　Kent。　He　had　the　snout…like　upper　lip　that　sometimes　goes　with　a　cleft　palate；　but　he　said　nothing　and　Bond　had　no　opportunity　of　knowing　whether　his　guess　was　right。　In　his　tight；　almost　bursting　black　suit　and　farcical　bowler　hat　he　looked　rather　like　a　Japanese　wrestler　on　his　day　off。　But　he　was　not　a　figure　to　make　one　smile。　If　one　had　been　inclined　to　smile；　a　touch　of　the　sinister；　the　unexplained；　in　the　tight　shining　patent…leather　black　shoes　that　were　almost　dancing　pumps；　and　in　the　heavy　black　leather　driving　gloves；　would　have　changed　one's　mind。　There　was　something　vaguely　familiar　to　Bond　in　the　man's　silhouette。　It　was　when　the　car　drove　away　and　Bond　had　a　glimpse　of　the　head　from　the　rear　that　he　remembered。　Those　were　the　head　and　shoulders　and　bowler　hat　of　the　driver　of　the　sky…blue　Ford　Popular　that　had　so　obstinately　hugged　the　crown　of　the　Herne　Bay　road　at　about　twelve　o'clock　that　morning。　Where　had　he　been　ing　from？　What　errand　had　he　been　on？　Bond　remembered　something　Colonel　Smithers　had　said。　Could　this　have　been　the　Korean　who　now　travelled　the　country　collecting　the　old　gold　from　the　chain　of　Goldfinger　jewellery　shops？　Had　the　boot　of　the　innocent；　scurrying　little　saloon　been　stuffed　with　the　week's　takings　of　presentation　watches；　signet　rings；　lockets；　gold　crosses？　As　he　watched　the　high；　primrose…yellow　silhouette　of　the　Silver
　Ghost　disappearing　towards　Sandwich；　Bond　thought　the　answer　was　yes。
　Bond　turned　off　the　main　road　into　the　drive　and　followed　it　down　between　high　Victorian　evergreens　to　the　gravel　sweep　in　front　of　just　the　sort　of　house　that　would　be　called　The　Grange　…　a　heavy；　ugly；　turn…of…the…century　mansion　with　a　glass…enclosed　portico　and　sun　parlour　whose　smell　of　trapped　sunshine；　rubber　plants　and　dead　flies　came　to　Bond　in　his　imagination　before　he　had　switched　off　the　engine。　Bond　got　slowly　out　of　the　car　and　stood　looking　at　the　house。　Its　blank；　well…washed　eyes　stared　back　at　him。　The　house　had　a　background　noise；　a　heavy　rhythmic　pant　like　a　huge　animal　with　a　rather　quick　pulse。　Bond　assumed　it　came　from　the　factory　whose　plumed　chimney　reared　up　like　a　giant　cautionary　finger　from　the　high　conifers　to　the　right　where　the　stabling　and　garages　would　normally　be。　The　quiet　watchful　facade　of　the　house　seemed　to　be　waiting　for　Bond　to　do　something；　make　some　offensive　move　to　which　there　would　be　a　quick　reply。　Bond　shrugged　his　shoulders　to　lighten　his　thoughts　and　went　up　the　steps　to　the　opaque　glass…panelled　door　and　pressed　the　bell。　There　was　no　noise　of　it　ringing；　but　the　door　slowly　opened。　The　Korean　chauffeur　still　had　his　bowler　hat　on。　He　looked　without　interest　at　Bond。　He　stood　motionless；　his　left　hand　on　the　inside　doorknob　and　his　outstretched　right　pointing　like　a　signpost　into　the　dark　hall　of　the　house。
　Bond　walked　past　him；　vanquishing　a　desire　either　to　stamp　on　his　neat　black　feet　or　hit　him　very　hard　indeed　in　the　centre　of　his　tightly　buttoned　black　stomach。　This　Korean　matched　up　with　what　he　had　always　heard　about　Koreans；　and　anyway　Bond　wanted　to　do　something　violent　to　the　heavy；　electric　atmosphere　of　the　house。
　The　gloomy　hall　was　also　the　main　living…room。　A　meagre　fire　flickered　behind　the　fire…irons　in　the　wide　hearth　and　two　club　chairs　and　a　Knole　sofa　stood　impassively　watching　the　flames。　Between　them　on　a　low　settee　was　a　well…stocked　drink　tray。　The　wide　spaces　surrounding　this　spark　of　life　were　crowded　with　massive　Rothschildian　pieces　of　furniture　of　the　Second　Empire；　and　ormolu；　tortoiseshell；　brass　and　mother…of…pearl　winked　back　richly　at　the　small　fire。　Behind　this　orderly　museum；　dark　panelling　ran　up　to　a　first…floor　gallery　which　was　reached　by　a　heavy　curved　stairway　to　the　left　of　the　hall。　The　ceiling　was　laced　with　the　sombre　woodcarving　of　the　period。
　Bond　was　standing　taking　all　this　in　when　the　Korean　came　silently　up。　He　flung　out　his　signpost　of　an　arm　towards　the　drink　tray　and　the　chairs。　Bond　nodded　and　stayed　where　he　was。　The　Korean　walked　past　him　and　disappeared　through　a　door　into　what　Bond　assumed　were　the　servants'　quarters。　The　silence；　helped　by　the　slow　iron　tick　of　a　massively　decorated　grandfather　clock；　gathered　and　crept　nearer。
　Bond　walked　over　and　stood　with　his　back　to　the　poor　fire。　He　stared　offensively　back　at　the　room。　What　a　dump！　What　a　bloody　awful　deathly　place　to　live　in。　How　did　one；　could　one；　live　in　this　rich　heavy　morgue　among　the　conifers　and　evergreens　when　a　hundred　yards　away　there　was　light　and　air　and　wide　horizons？　Bond　took　out　a　cigarette　and　lit　it。　What　did　Goldfinger　do　for　enjoyment；　for　fun；　for　sex？　Perhaps　he　didn't　need　these　things。　Perhaps　the　pursuit　of　gold　slaked　all　his　thirsts。
　Somewhere　in　the　distance　a　telephone　rang。　The　bell　shrilled　twice　and　stopped。　There　was　the　murmur　of　a　voice；　then　steps　echoed　down　a　passage　and　a　door　under　the　stairway　opened。　Goldfinger　came　through　and　quietly　closed　the　door　behind　him。　He　was　wearing　a　plum…coloured　velvet　dinner　jacket。　He　came　slowly　across　the　polished　wood　floor。　He　didn't　hold　out　his　hand。　He　said；　smiling　with　his　mouth；　'It　was　kind　of　you　to　e　at　such　short　notice；　Mr　Bond。　You　were　alone　and　so　was　I　and　it　occurred　to　me　that　we　might　discuss　the　price　of　corn。'
　It　was　the　sort　of　remark　that　rich　men　make　to　each　other。　Bond　was　amused　at　being　made　a　temporary　member　of　the　club。　He　said；　'I　was　delighted　to　get　the　invitation。　I　was　already　bored　with　worrying　over　my　problems。　Ramsgate　hasn't　much　to　offer。'
　'No。　And　now　I　have　an　apology　to　make。　I　have　had　a　telephone　call。　One　of　my　staff　…　I　employ　Koreans；　by　the　way　…　has　had　some　minor　trouble　with　the　Margate　police　and　I　must　go　over　and　straighten　it　out。　Some　incident　at　the　fun　fair；　I　understand。　These　people　get　easily　overexcited。　My　chauffeur　will　drive　me　and　we　should　not　be　more　than　half　an　hour。　Meanwhile　I　fear　I　must　leave　you　to　your　own　devices。　Please　help　yourself　to　drinks。　There　are　magazines　to　read。　Will　you　forgive　me？　Not　more　than　half　an　hour　I　assure　you。'
　'That's　quite　all　right。'　Bond　felt　there　was　something　fishy　in　this。　He　couldn't　put　his　finger　on　what　it　was。
　'Well　then；　au　revoir。'　Goldfinger　went　to　the　front　door。　'But　I　must　give　you　some　light。　It's　really　very　dark　in　here。'　Goldfinger　brushed　his　hand　down　a　wall…plate　of　switches　and　suddenly　lights　blazed　all　over　the　hall　…　from　standard　lamps；　wall　brackets；　and　four　clusters　in　the　ceiling。　Now　the　room　was　as　bright　as　a　film　studio。　It　was　an　extraordinary　transformation。　Bond；　half　dazzled；　watched　Goldfinger　open　the　front　door　and　stride　out。　In　a　minute　he　heard　the　sound　of　a　car；　but　not　the　Rolls；　rev　up　noisily；　change　gear　and　go　off　fast　down　the　drive。
　On　an　instinct；　Bond　walked　over　to　the　front　door　and　opened　it。　The　drive　was　empty。　In　the　distance　he　saw　the　lights　of　the　car　turn　left…handed　on　the　main　road　and　make　off　in　the　direction　of　Margate。　He　turned　back　into　the　house　and　closed　the　door。　He　stood　still；　listening。　The　silence；　except　for　the　heavy　clock…tick；　was　plete。　He　walked　across　to　the　service　door　and　opened　it。　A　long　dark　passage　disappeared　towards　the　back　of　the　house。　Bond　bent　forward；　all　his　senses　alert。　Silence；　dead　silence。　Bond　shut　the　door　and　looked　thoughtfully　round　the　brilliantly　lit　hall。　He　had　been　left　alone　in　Goldfinger's　house；　alone　with　its　secrets。　Why？
　Bond　walked　over　to　the　drink　tray　and　poured　himself　a　strong　gin　and　tonic。　There　certainly　had　been　a　telephone　call；　but　it　could　easily　have　been　an　arranged　call　from　the　factory。　The　story　of　the　servant　was　plausible　and　it　was　reasonable　that　Goldfinger　should　go　himself　to　bail　the　man　out　and　take　his　chauffeur　with　him。　Goldfinger　had　twice　mentioned　that　Bond　would　be　alone　for　half　an　hour　during　which　he　'would　be　left　to　his　own　devices'。　This　could　be　innocent；　or　it　could　be　an　invitation　for　Bond　to　show　his　hand；　mit　some　indiscretion。　Was　somebody　watching　him？　How　many　of　these　Koreans　were　there　and　what　were　they　doing？　Bond　glanced　at　his　watch。　Five　minutes　had　gone。　He　made　up　his　mind。　Trap　or　no　trap；　this　was　too　good　a　chance　to　miss。　He　would　have　a　quick　look　round…but　an　innocent　one；　with　some　sort　of　a　cover　story　to　explain　why　he　had　left　the　hall。　Where　should　he　begin？　A
　look　at　the　factory。　His　story？　That　his　car　had　given　trouble　on　the　way　over　…　choked　petrol　feed　probably　…　and　that　he　had　gone　to　see　if　there　was　a　mechanic　who　could　give　him　a　hand。　Fl