if.goldfinger-第23节

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　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。　Flimsy；　but　it　would　do。　Bond　downed　his　drink　and　went　purposefully　to　the　service　door　and　walked　through。
　There　was　a　light　switch。　He　turned　on　the　light　and　walked　swiftly　down　a　long　passage。　It　ended　with　a　blank　wall　and　two　doors　to　right　and　left。　He　listened　for　an　instant　at　the　left…hand　one　and　heard　muffled　kitchen　noises。　He　opened　the　right…hand　door　and　found　himself　in　the　paved　garage　yard　he　might　have　expected。　The　only　odd　thing　about　it　was　that　it　was　brilliantly　lit　by　arc　lights。　The　long　wall　of　the　factory　occupied　the　far　side　and　now　the　rhythmic　engine　thump　was　very　loud。　There　was　a　plain　wooden　door　low　down　in　the　wall　opposite。　Bond　walked　across　the　yard　to　it；　looking　around　him　with　casual　interest。　The　door　was　unlocked。　He　opened　it　with　discretion　and　walked　through；　leaving　the　door　ajar。　He　found　himself　in　a　small　empty　office　lit　by　one　naked　bulb　hanging　from　the　ceiling。　There　was　a　desk　with　papers　on　it；　a　time…clock；　a　couple　of　filing　cabinets　and　a　telephone。　Another　door　led　from　the　office　into　the　main　factory　space　and　there　was　a　window　beside　the　door　for　keeping　an　eye　on　the　workmen。　It　would　be　the　foreman's　office。　Bond　walked　to　the　window　and　looked　through。
　Bond　didn't　know　what　he　had　expected；　but　there　seemed　to　be　the　usual　accoutrements　of　a　small　metal…working　business。　Facing　him　were　the　open　mouths　of　two　blast　furnaces；　their　fires　now　drawn。　Beside　these　stood　a　row　of　kilns　for　the　molten　metal；　of　which　sheets　of　different　sizes　and　colours　stood　against　the　wall　near　by。　There　was　the　polished　steel　table　of　a　circular　saw；　a　diamond　saw　presumably；　for　cutting　the　sheets；　and　to　the　left　in　the　shadows　a　big　oil　engine　connected　to　a　generator　pounding　away　making　power。　To　the　right；　under　arc　lights；　a　group　of　five　men　in　overalls；　four　of　them　Koreans；　were　at　work　on　…　of　all　things　…　Goldfinger's　Rolls　Royce。　It　stood　there　gleaming　under　the　lights；　immaculate　save　for　the　right…hand　door　which　had　been　taken　off　its　hinges　and　now　lay　across　two　nearby　benches　minus　its　door　panel。　As　Bond　watched；　two　men　picked　up　the　new　door　panel；　a　heavy；　discoloured　sheet　of　aluminium…coloured　metal；　and　placed　it　on　the　door　frame。　There　were　two　hand　riveters　on　the　floor　and　soon；　Bond　thought；　the　men　would　rivet　the　panel　into　place　and　paint　it　to　match　the　rest　of　the　car。　All　perfectly　innocent　and　above…board。　Goldfinger　had　dented　the　panel　that　afternoon　and　had　had　a　quick　repair　job　done　in　preparation　for　his　trip　tomorrow。　Bond　gave　a　quick；　sour　look　round；　withdrew　from　the　window　and　went　out　by　the　factory　door　and　closed　it　softly　behind　him。　Nothing　there；　damn　it。　And　now　what　was　his　story？　That　he　had　not　wanted　to　disturb　the　men　at　their　work　…　perhaps　after　dinner；　if　one　of　them　had　a　moment。
　Bond　walked　unhurriedly　back　the　way　he　had　e　and　regained　the　hall　without　misadventure。
　Bond　looked　at　his　watch。　Ten　minutes　to　go。　Now　for　the　first　floor。　The　secrets　of　a　house　are　in　the　bedrooms　and　bathrooms。　Those　are　the　private　places　where　the　medicine　cabinets；　the　dressing…table；　the　bedside　drawers；　reveal　the　intimate　things；　the　frailties。　Bond　had　a　bad　headache。　He　had　gone　to　look　for　an　aspirin。　He　acted　the　part　for　an　invisible　audience；　massaged　his　temples；　glanced　up　at　the　gallery；　walked　decisively　across　the　floor　and　climbed　the　stairs。　The　gallery　gave　on　to　a　brightly　lit　passage。　Bond　walked　down　it　opening　the　doors　and　glancing　in。　But　they　were　spare　bedrooms^　the　beds　not　made　up。　They　held　a　smell　of　must　and　shut　windows。　A　large　ginger　cat　appeared　from　nowhere　and　followed　him；　mewing　and　rubbing　itself　against　his　trouser　legs。　The　end　room　was　the　one。　Bond　went　in　and　closed　the　door　to　a　crack。
　All　the　lights　were　on。　Perhaps　one　of　the　servants　was　in　the　bathroom。　Bond　walked　boldly　across　to　the　municating　door　and　opened　it。　More　lights；　but　no　one。　It　was　a　big　bathroom；　probably　a　spare　room　converted　into　a　bathroom　and；　in　addition　to　the　bath　and　lavatory；　it　held　various　fitness　machines…a　rowing　machine；　a　fixed　bicycle　wheel；　Indian　clubs　and　a　Ralli　Health　Belt。　The　medicine　cabinet　contained　nothing　except　a　great　variety　of　purges　…　senna　pods；　cascara；　Calsalettes；　Enos　and　various　apparatus　for　the　same　purpose。　There　were　no　other　drugs　and　no　aspirin。　Bond　went　back　into　the　bedroom　and　again　drew　a　blank。　It　was　a　typical　man's　room；　fortable；　lived　in；　with　plenty　of　fitted　cupboards。　It　even　smelled　neutral。　There　was　a　small　bookcase　beside　the　bed　in　which　all　the　books　were　history　or　biography；　all　in　English。　The　drawer　of　the　bedside　table　yielded　a　solitary　indiscretion；　a　yellow…backed　copy　of　The　Hidden　Sight　of　Love；　Palladium　Publications；　Paris。
　Bond　glanced　at　his　watch。　Five　more　minutes。　It　was　time　to　go。　He　took　a　last　look　round　the　room　and　moved　to　the　door。　Suddenly　he　stopped。　What　was　it　he　had　noticed　almost　subconsciously　ever　since　he　had　e　into　the　room？　He　sharpened　his　senses。　There　was　an　incongruity　somewhere。　What　was　it？　A　colour？　An　object？　A　smell？　A　sound？　That　was　it！　From　where　he　stood　he　could　hear　the　faintest；　mosquito…shrill　whine。　It　was　almost　extra…sensory　in　its　pitch。　Where　did　it　e　from？　What　was　making　it？　Now　there　was　something　else　in　the　room；　something　that　Bond　knew　all　too　well；　the　smell　of　danger。
　Tensely　Bond　stepped　closer　to　the　fitted　cupboard　beside　the　door；　softly　opened　it。　Yes；　it　came　from　inside　the　cupboard；　from　behind　a　range　of　sports　coats　that　reached　down　to　the　top　of　three　banks　of　drawers。　Sharply　Bond　swept　the　coats　aside。　His　jaws　clenched　at　what；was　behind　them。
　From　three　slots　near　the　top　of　the　cupboard；　sixteen…millimetre　film　was　inching　down　in　three　separate　strips　into　a　deep　bin　behind　the　false　front　of　the　drawers。　The　bin　was　almost　half　full　of　the　slimy　snakes　of　the　stuff。　Bond's　eyes　narrowed　tensely　as　he　watched　the　damning　evidence　coil　slowly　down　on　to　the　pile。　So　that　was　it　…　cine…cameras；　three　of　them；　their　lenses　concealed　God　knows　where　…　in　the　hall；　in　the　garage　courtyard；　in　this　room　…　had　been　watching　his　every　move　from　the　moment　Goldfinger　had　left　the　house；　switching　on　the　cameras；　and；　of　course；　the　dazzling　lights；　as　he　went　out　of　the　door。　Why　hadn't　Bond　seen　the　significance　of　those　lights？　Why　hadn't　he　had　the　elementary　imagination　to　see　the　trap　as　well　as　smell　it？　Cover　stories；　indeed！　What　use　were　they　now　when　he　had　spent　half　an　hour　snooping　round　and　finding　nothing　for　his　pains？　That　too！　He　had　discovered　nothing　…　unearthed　no　secret。　It　had　all　been　an　idiotic　waste　of　time。　And　now　Goldfinger　had　him。　Now　he　was　finished；　hopelessly　blown。　Was　there　any　way　of　saving　something　from　the　wreckage？　Bond　stood　riveted；　staring　at　the　slow　cataracts　of　film。
　Let's　see　now！　Bond's　mind　raced；　thinking　of　ways　out；　excuses；　discarding　them　all。　Well；　at　least　by　opening　the　cupboard　door　he　had　exposed　some　of　the　film。　Then　why　not　expose　it　all？　Why　not；　but　how？　How　could　the　open　cupboard　door　be　explained　except　by　his　doing？　There　came　a　miaow　from　the　open　slit　of　the　bedroom　door。　The　cat！　Why　shouldn't　the　cat　have　done　it？　Pretty　thin；　but　at　least　it　was　the　shadow　of　an　alibi。　Bond　opened　the　door。　He　picked　the　cat　up　in　his　arms。　He　went　back　with　it　to　the　cupboard；　stroking　it　brusquely。　It　purred。　Bond　leant　over　the　bin　of　film；　picking　it　up　in　handfuls　so　that　it　would　all　get　the　light。　Then；　when　he　was　satisfied　that　it　must　be　ruined；　he　tossed　it　back　and　dropped　the　cat　in　on　top　of　it。　The　cat　would　not　be　able　to　get　out　easily。　With　any　luck　it　would　settle　down　and　go　to　sleep。　Bond　left　the　cupboard　door　three　inches　ajar　to　spoil　the　continuing　film　and　the　bedroom　door　the　same　amount　and　ran　down　the　passage。　At　the　top　of　the　stairs　he　slowed　and　sauntered　down。　The　empty　hall　yawned　at　his　play…acting。　He　walked　across　to　the　fireplace；　dashed　more　drink　into　his　glass　and　picked　up　The　Field。　He　turned　to　the　golf　mentary　by　Bernard　Darwin；　ran　his　eye　down　it　to　see　what　it　was　about；　and　then　settled　into　one　of　the　club　chairs　and　lit　a　cigarette。
　What　had　he　found　out？　What　was　there　on　the　plus　side？　Precious　little　except　that　Goldfinger　suffered　from　constipation　and　a　dirty　mind　and　that　he　had　wanted　to　put　Bond　through　an　elementary　test。　He　had　certainly　done　it　expertly。　This　was　no　amateur。　The　technique　was　fully　up　to　SMERSH　standards；　and　it　was　surely　the　technique　of　somebody　with　a　very　great　deal　to　hide。　And　now　what　would　happen？　For　the　cat　alibi　to　stand　up；　Goldfinger　would　have　to　have　left　two　doors；　one　of　them　vital；　ajar；　and　the　cat　had　got　into　the　room　and　been　intrigued　by　the　whine　of　the　cameras。　Most　unlikely；　almost　incredible。　Goldfinger　would　be　ninety　per　cent　certain　it　was　Bond　…but　only　ninety。　There　would　still　be　that　ten　per　cent　of　uncertainty。　Would　Goldfinger　have　learnt　much　more　than　he　knew　before　…　that　Bond　was　a　tricky；