if.goldfinger-第3节

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　kind　of　thing。　Hangover　from　the。war。　One　still　thought　it　was　fun　playing　Red　Indians。　But　there's　no　future　in　it　in　peacetime。'
　'Quite；　quite。'　Mr　Du　Pont　made　a　throwaway　gesture　with　the　hand　that　held　the　cigarette。　His　eyes　evaded　Bond's　as　he　put　the　next　question；　waited　for　the　next　lie。　（Bond　thought；　there's　a　wolf　in　this　Brooks　Brothers　clothing。　This　is　a　shrewd　man。）　'And　now　you've　settled　down？'　Mr　Du　Pont　smiled　paternally。　'What　did　you　choose；　if　you'll　pardon　the　question？'
　'Import　and　Export。　I'm　with　Universal。　Perhaps　you've　e　across　them。'
　Mr　Du　Pont　continued　to　play　the　game。　'Hm。　Universal。　Let　me　see。　Why；　yes；　sure　I've　heard　of　them。　Can't　say　I've　ever　done　business　with　them；　but　I　guess　it's　never　too　late。'　He　chuckled　fatly。　'I've　got　quite　a　heap　of　interests　all　over　the　place。　Only　stuff　I　can　honestly　say　I'm　not　interested　in　is　chemicals。　Maybe　it's　my　misfortune；　Mr　Bond；　but　I'm　not　one　of　the　chemical　Du　Fonts。'
　Bond　decided　that　the　man　was　quite　satisfied　with　the　particular　brand　of　Du　Pont　he　happened　to　be。　He　made　no　ment。　He　glanced　at　his　watch　to　hurry　Mr　Du　Font's　play　of　the　hand。　He　made　a　note　to　handle　his　own　cards　carefully。　Mr　Du　Pont　had　a　nice　pink　kindly　baby…face　with　a　puckered；　rather　feminine　turn…down　mouth。　He　looked　as　harmless　as　any　of　the　middle…aged　Americans　with　cameras　who　stand　outside　Buckingham　Palace。　But　Bond　sensed　many　tough；　sharp　qualities　behind　the　fuddyduddy　facade。
　Mr　Du　Font's　sensitive　eye　caught　Bond's　glance　at　his　watch。　He　consulted　his　own。　'My；　oh　my！　Seven　o'clock　and　here　I've　been　talking　away　without　ing　to　the　point。　Now；　see　here；　Mr　Bond。　I've　got　me　a　problem　on　which　I'd　greatly　appreciate　your　guidance。　If　you　can　spare　me　the　time　and　if　you　were　counting　on　stopping　over　in　Miami　tonight　I'd　reckon　it　a　real　favour　if　you'd　allow　me　to　be　your　host。'　Mr　Du　Pont　held　up　his　hand。　'Now；　I　think　I　can　promise　to　make　you　fortable。　So　happens　I　own　a　piece　of　the　Floridiana。　Maybe　you　heard　we　opened　around　Christmas　time？　Doing　a　great　business　I'm　happy　to　say。　Really　pushing　that　little　old　Fountain　Blue；'　Mr　Du　Pont　laughed　indulgently。　'That's　what　we　call　the　Fontainebleau　down　here。　Now；　what　do　you　say；　Mr　Bond？　You　shall　have　the　best　suite　…　even　if　it。　means　putting　some　good　paying　customers　out　on　the　sidewalk。　And　you'd　be　doing　me　a　real　favour。'　Mr　Du　Pont　looked　imploring。
　Bond　had　already　decided　to　accept　…　blind。　Whatever　Mr　Du　Font's　problem　…　blackmail；　gangsters；　women　…　it　would　be　some　typical　form　of　rich　man's　worry。　Here　was　a　slice　of　the　easy　life　he　had　been　asking　for。　Take　it。　Bond　started　to　say　something　politely　deprecating。　Mr　Du　Pont　interrupted。　'Please；　please；　Mr　Bond。　And　believe　me；　I'm　grateful；　very　grateful　indeed。'　He　snapped　his　fingers　for　the　waitress。　When　she　came；　he　turned　away　from　Bond　and　settled　the　bill　out　of　Bond's　sight。　Like　many　very　rich　men　he　considered　that　showing　his　money；　letting　someone　see　how　much　he　tipped；　amounted　to　indecent　exposure。　He　thrust　his　roll　back　into　his　trousers　pocket　（the　hip　pocket　is　not　the　place　among　the　rich）　and　took　Bond　by　the　arm。　He　sensed　Bond's　resistance　to　the　contact　and　removed　his　hand。　They　went　down　the　stairs　to　the　main　hall。
　'Now；　let's　just　straighten　out　your　reservation。'　Mr　Du　Pont　headed　for　the　Transamerica　ticket　counter。　In　a　few　curt　phrases　Mr　Du　Pont　showed　his　power　and　efficiency　in　his　own；　his　American；　realm。
　'Yes；　Mr　Du　Pont。　Surely；　Mr　Du　Pont。　I'll　take　care　of　that；　Mr　Du　Pont。'
　Outside；　a　gleaming　Chrysler　Imperial　sighed　up　to　the　kerb。　A　tough…looking　chauffeur　in　a　biscuit…coloured　uniform　hurried　to　open　the　door。　Bond　stepped　in　and　settled　down　in　the　soft　upholstery。　The　interior　of　the　car　was　de…liciously　cool；　almost　cold。　The　Transamerican　representative　bustled　out　with　Bond's　suitcase；　handed　it　to　the　chauffeur　and；　with　a　half…bow；　went　back　into　the　Terminal。　'Bill's　on　the　Beach；'　said　Mr　Du　Pont　to　the　chauffeur　and　the　big　car　slid　away　through　the　crowded　parking　lots　and　out　on　to　the　parkway。
　Mr　Du　Pont　settled　back。　'Hope　you　like　stone　crabs；　Mr　Bond。　Ever　tried　them？'
　Bond　said　he　had；　that　he　liked　them　very　much。
　Mr　Du　Pont　talked　about　Bill's　on　the　Beach　and　about　the　relative　merits　of　stone　and　Alaska　crab　meat　while　the　Chrysler　Imperial　sped　through　downtown　Miami；　along　Biscayne　Boulevard　and　across　Biscayne　Bay　by　the　Douglas　MacArthur　Causeway。　Bond　made　appropriate　ments；　letting　himself　be　carried　along　on　the　gracious　stream　of　speed　and　fort　and　rich　small…talk。
　They　drew　up　at　a　white…painted；　mock…Regency　frontage　in　clapboard　and　stucco。　A　scrawl　of　pink　neon　said：　BILL'S　ON　THE　BEACH。　While　Bond　got　out；　Mr　Du　Pont　gave　his　instructions　to　the　chauffeur。　Bond　heard　the　words。　'The　Aloha　Suite；'　and　'If　there's　any　trouble；　tell　Mr　Fairlie　to　call　me　here。　Right？'
　They　went　up　the　steps。　Inside；　the　big　room　was　decorated　in　white　with　pink　muslin　swags　over　the　windows。　There　were　pink　lights　on　the　tables。　The　restaurant　was　crowded　with　sunburned　people　in　expensive　tropical　get…ups　。　…　brilliant　garish　shirts；　jangling　gold　bangles；　dark　glasses　with　jewelled　rims；　cute　native　straw　hats。　There　was　a　confusion　of　scents。　The　wry　smell　of　bodies　that　had　been　all　day　in　the　sun　came　through。
　Bill；　a　pansified　Italian；　hurried　towards　them。　'Why；　Mr　Du　Pont。　Is　a　pleasure；　sir。　Little　crowded　tonight。　Soon　fix　you　up。　Please　this　way　please。'　Holding　a　large　leather…bound　menu　above　his　head　the　man　weaved　his　way　between　the　diners　to　the　best　table　in　the　room；　a　corner　table　for　six。　He　pulled　out　two　chairs；　snapped　his　ringers　for　the　maitre　d'hotel　and　the　wine　waiter；　spread　two　menus　in　front　of　them；　exchanged　pliments　with　Mr　Du　Pont　and　left　them。
　Mr　Du　Pont　slapped　his　menu　shut。　He　said　to　Bond；　'Now；　why　don't　you　just　leave　this　to　me？　If　there's　anything　you　don't　like；　send　it　back。'　And　to　the　head　waiter；　'Stone　crabs。　Not　frozen。　Fresh。　Melted　butter。　Thick　toast。　Right？'
　'Very　good；　Mr　Du　Pont。'　The　wine　waiter；　washing　his　hands；　took　the　waiter's　place。
　'Two　pints　of　pink　champagne。　The　Pommery　'50。　Silver　tankards。　Right？'
　'Vairry　good；　Mr　Du　Pont。　A　cocktail　to　start？'
　Mr　Du　Pont　turned　to　Bond。　He　smiled　and　raised　his　eyebrows。
　Bond　said；　'Vodka　martini；　please。　With　a　slice　of　lemon　peel。'
　'Make　it　two；'　said　Mr　Du　Pont。　'Doubles。'　The　wine　waiter　hurried　off。　Mr　Du　Pont　sat　back　and　produced　his　cigarettes　and　lighter。　He　looked　round　the　room；　answered　one　or　two　waves　with　a　smile　and　a　lift　of　the　hand　and　glanced　at　the　neighbouring　tables。　He　edged　his　chair　nearer　to　Bond's。　'Can't　help　the　noise；　I'm　afraid；'　he　said　apologetically。　'Only　e　here　for　the　crabs。　They're　out　of　this…world。　Hope　you're　not　allergic　to　them。　Once　brought　a　girl　here　and　fed　her　crabs　and　her　lips　swelled　up　like　cycle　tyres。'
　Bond　was　amused　at　the　change　in　Mr　Du　Pont　…　this　racy　talk；　the　authority　of　manner　once　Mr　Du　Pont　thought　he　had　got　Bond　on　the　hook；　on　his　payroll。　He　was　a　different　man　from　the　shy　embarrassed　suitor　who　had　solicited　Bond　at　the　airport。　What　did　Mr　Du　Pont　want　from　Bond？　It　would　be　ing　any　minute　now；　the　proposition。　Bond　said；　'I　haven't　got　any　allergies。'
　'Good；　good。'
　There　was　a　pause。　Mr　Du　Pont　snapped　the　lid　of　his　lighter　up　and　down　several　times。　He　realized　he　was　making　an　irritating　noise　and　pushed　it　away　from　him。　He　made　up　his　mind。　He　said；　speaking　at　his　hands　on　the　table　in　front　of　him；　'You　ever　play　Canasta；　Mr　Bond？'
　'Yes；　it's　a　good　game。　I　like　it。'
　'Two…handed　Canasta？'
　'I　have　done。　It's　not　so　much　fun。　If　you　don't　make　a　fool　of　yourself　…　if　neither　of　you　do　…　it　tends　to　even　out。　Law　of　averages　in　the　cards。　No　chance　of　making　much　difference　in　the　play。'
　Mr　Du　Pont　nodded　emphatically。　'Just　so。　That's　what　I've　said　to　myself。　Over　a　hundred　games　or　so；　two　equal　players　will　end　up　equal。　Not　such　a　good　game　as　Gin　or　Oklahoma；　but　in　a　way　that's　just　what　I　like　about　it。　You　pass　the　time；　you　handle　plenty　of　cards；　you　have　your　ups　and　downs；　no　one　gets　hurt。　Right？'
　Bond　nodded。　The　martinis　came。　Mr　Du　Pont　said　to　the　wine　waiter；　'Bring　two　more　in　ten　minutes。'　They　drank。　Mr　Du　Pont　turned　and　faced　Bond。　His　face　was　petulant；　crumpled。　He　said；　'What　would　you　say；　Mr　Bond；　if　I　told　you　I'd　lost　twenty…five　thousand　dollars　in　a　week　playing　two…handed　Canasta？'　Bond　was　about　to　reply。　Mr　Du　Pont　held　up　his　hand。　'And　mark　you；　I'm　a　good　card　player。　Member　of　the　Regency　Club。　Play　a　lot　with　people　like　Charlie　Goren；　Johnny　Crawford　…　at　bridge　that　is。　But　what　I　mean；　I　know　my　way　around　at　the　card　table。'　Mr　Du　Pont　probed　Bond's　eyes。
　'If　you've　been　playing　with　the　same　man　all　the　time；　you've　been　cheated。'
　'Ex…actly。'　Mr　Du　Pont　slapped　the　table…cloth。　He　sat　back。　'Ex…actly。　That's　what　I　said　to　myself　after　I'd　lost　…lost　for　four　whole　days。　So　I　said　to　myself；　this　bastard　is　cheating　me　and　by　golly　I'll　find　out　how　he　does　it　and　have　him　hounded　out　of　Miami。　So　I　doubled　the　stakes　and　then　doubled　them　again。　He