if.goldfinger-第30节

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r　zipped　shut　and　a　small；　expensive　looking　suitcase。　She　brought　them　over　to　the　Aston　Martin　and；　rejecting　Bond's　offer　of　help；　fitted　them　in　alongside　Bond's　suitcase。　She　watched　him　lock　the　back　of　the　car　and　went　back　to　the　Triumph。　She　took　out　a　wide；　black…stitched　leather　shoulder　bag。
　Bond　said；　'What　name　and　address　shall　I　give？'
　'What？'
　Bond　repeated　his　question；　wondering　if　she　would　lie　about　the　name　or　the　address；　or　both。
　She　said；　'I　shall　be　moving　about。　Better　say　the　Bergues　at　Geneva。　The　name's　Soames。　Miss　Tilly　Soames。'　There　was　no　hesitation。　She　went　into　the　butcher's　shop。
　A　quarter　of　an　hour　later　they　were　on　their　way。
　The　girl　sat　upright　and　kept　her　eyes　on　the　road。　The　drone　on　the　Homer　was　faint。　The　Rolls　must　have　gained　fifty　miles。　Bond　hurried。　They　flashed　through　Bourg　and　over　the　river　at　Pont　d'Ain。　Now　they　were　in　the　foothills　of　the　Jura　and　there　were　the　S…bends　of　N84。　Bond　went　at　them　as　if　he　was　peting　in　the　Alpine　Trials。　After　the　girl　had　swayed　against　him　twice　she　kept　her　hand　on　the　handle　on　the　dash　and　rode　with　the　car　as　if　she　were　his　spare　driver。　Once；　after　a　particularly　sharp　dry　skid　that　almost　took　them　over　the　side；　Bond　glanced　at　her　profile。　Her　lips　were　parted　and　her　nostrils　slightly　flared。　The　eyes　were　alight。　She　was　enjoying　herself。
　They　came　to　the　top　of　the　pass　and　there　was　the　run　down　towards　the　Swiss　frontier。　Now　the　Homer　was　sending　out　a　steady　howl。　Bond　thought；　I　must　take　it　easy　or　we　shall　be　running　into　them　at　the　Customs。　He　put　his　hand　under　the　dash　and　tuned　the　noise　down。　He　pulled　in　to　the　side　of　the　road。　They　sat　in　the　car　and　ate　a　polite　but　almost　silent　picnic；　neither　making　any　attempt　at　conversation；　both；　it　seemed；　with　other　things　on　their　minds。　After　ten　minutes；　Bond　got　going　again。　He　sat　relaxed；　motoring　easily　down　the　curving　road　through　the　young　whispering　pines。
　The　girl　said；　'What's　that　noise？'
　'Magneto　whine。　Gets　worse　when　I　hurry。　Started　at　Orleans。　Have　to　get　it　fixed　tonight。'
　She　seemed　satisfied　with　this　mumbo…jumbo。　She　said　diffidently；　'Where　are　you　heading　for？　I　hope　I　haven't　taken　you　very　far　out　of　your　way。'
　Bond　said　in　a　friendly　voice；　'Not　at　all。　As　a　matter　of　fact；　I'm　going　to　Geneva　too。　But　I　may　not　stop　there　tonight。　May　have　to　get　on。　Depends　on　my　meeting。　How　long　will　you　be　there？'
　'I　don't　know。　I'm　playing　golf。　There's　the　Swiss　Women's　Open　Championship　at　Divonne。　I'm　not　really　that　class；　but　I　thought　it　would　be　good　for　me　to　try。　Then　I　was　going　to　play　on　some　of　the　other　courses。'
　Fair　enough。　No　reason　why　it　shouldn't　be　true。　But　Bond　was　certain　it　wasn't　the　whole　truth。　He　said；　'Do　you　play　a　lot　of　golf？　What's　your　home　course？'
　'Quite　a　lot。　Temple。'
　It　had　been　an　obvious　question。　Was　the　answer　true；　or　just　the　first　golf　course　she　had　thought　of？　'Do　you　live　near　there？'
　'I've　got　an　aunt　who　lives　at　Henley。　What　are　you　doing　in　Switzerland。　Holiday？'
　'Business。　Import　and　Export。'
　'Oh。'
　Bond　smiled　to　himself。　It　was　a　stage　conversation。　The　voices　were　polite　stage　voices。　He　could　see　the　scene；　beloved　of　the　English　theatre　…　the　drawing…room；　sunshine　on　hollyhocks　outside　french　windows；　the　couple　sitting　on　the　sofa；　on　the　edge　of　it；　she　pouring　out　the　tea。　'Do　you　take　sugar？〃
　They　came　out　into　the　foothills。　There　was　a　long　straight　stretch　of　road　and　in　the　distance　the　small　group　of　buildings　of　the　French　Customs。
　The　girl　gave　him　no　chance　to　get　a　glimpse　of　her　passport。　As　soon　as　the　car　stopped　she　said　something　about　tidying　up　and　disappeared　into　the　'Dames'。　Bond　had　gone　through　the　Controle　and　was　dealing　with　the　triptyque　when　she　reappeared；　her　passport　stamped。　At　the　Swiss　Customs　she　chose　the　excuse　of　getting　something　out　of　her　suitcase。　Bond　hadn't　got　time　to　hang　about　and　call　her　bluff。
　Bond　hurried　on　into　Geneva　and　pulled　up　at　the　imposing　entrance　of　the　Bergues。　The　baggagiste　took　her　suitcase　and　golf　clubs。　They　stood　together　on　the　steps。　She　held　out　her　hand。　'Goodbye。'　There　was　no　melting　of　the　candid　blue　eyes。　'And　thank　you。　You　drive　beautifully。'　Her　mouth　smiled。　'I'm　surprised　you　got　into　the　wrong　gear　at　Macon。'
　Bond　shrugged。　'It　doesn't　often　happen。　I'm　glad　I　did。　If　I　can　get　my　business　finished；　perhaps　we　could　meet　again。'
　'That　would　be　nice。'　The　tone　of　voice　said　it　wouldn't　be。　The　girl　turned　and　went　in　through　the　swingdoors。
　Bond　ran　down　to　his　car。　To　hell　with　her！　Now　to　pick　up　Goldfinger。　Then　to　the　little　office　on　the　Quai　Wilson。　He　tuned　the　Homer　and　waited　a　couple　of　minutes。　Gold…finger　was　close；　but　moving　away。　He　could　either　be　following　the　right　or　the　left　bank　of　the　lake。　From　the　pitch　of　the　Homer；　he　was　at　least　a　mile　outside　the　town。　Which　way？　To　the　left　towards　Lausanne？　To　the　right　towards　Evian？　The　DB　III　was　already　on　the　left…hand　road。　Bond　decided　to　follow　its　nose。　He　got　moving。
　Bond　caught　up　with　the　high　yellow　silhouette　just　before
　Coppet；　the　tiny　lakeside　hamlet　made　famous　by　Madame　de　Stael。　He　hid　behind　a　lorry。　At　his　next　reconnaissance　the　Rolls　had　disappeared。　Bond　motored　on；　watching　to　the　left。　At　the　entrance　to　the　village；　big　solid　iron　gates　were　closing　in　a　high　wall。　Dust　hung　in　the　air。　Above　the　wall　was　a　modest　placard。　It　said；　in　faded　yellow　on　blue；　ENTREPRISES　AURIC　A。G。　The　fox　had　gone　to　earth！
　Bond　went　on　until　he　found　a　turning　to　the　left。　He　followed　this　until　there　was　a　lane　which　led　back　through　the　vineyards　to　the　woods　behind　Coppet　and　to　the　chateau　of　Madame　de　Stael。　Bond　stopped　among　the　trees。　Now　he　should　be　directly　above　the　Entreprises　Auric。　He　took　his　binoculars；　got　out　and　followed　a　foot…path　down　towards　the　village。　Soon；　on　his　right；　was　a　spiked　iron　railing。　There　was　rolled　barbed　wire　along　its　top。　A　hundred　yards　lower　down　the　hill　the　railing　merged　into　a　high　stone　wall。　Bond　walked　slowly　back　up　the　path　looking　for　the　secret　entrance　the　children　of　Coppet　would　have　made　to　get　at　the　chestnut　trees。　He　found　it　…　two　bars　of　the　railing　widened　to　allow　a　small　body　through。　Bond　stood　on　the　lower　railing　with　all　his　weight；　widened　the　gap　by　another　couple　of　inches　and　wormed　his　way　through。
　Bond　walked　warily　through　the　trees；　watching　each　step　for　dead　branches。　The　trees　thinned。　There　were　glimpses　of　a　huddle　of　low　buildings　behind　a　small　manoir。　Bond　picked　the　thick　trunk　of　a　fir　tree　and　got　behind　it。　Now　he　was　looking　down　on　the　buildings。　The　nearest　was　about　a　hundred　yards　away。　There　was　an　open　courtyard。　In　the　middle　of　the　courtyard　stood　the　dusty　Silver　Ghost。
　Bond　took　out　the　binoculars　and　examined　everything　minutely。
　The　house　was　a　well…proportioned　square　block　of　old　red　brick　with　a　slate　roof。　It　consisted　of　two　storeys　and　an　attic　floor。　It　would　probably　contain　four　bedrooms　and　two　principal　rooms。　The　walls　were　partly　covered　by　a　very　old　wistaria　in　full　bloom。　It　was　an　attractive　house。　In　his　mind's　eye　Bond　could　see　the　white…painted　panelling　inside。　He　smelled　the　sweet　musty　sunshiny　smell　of　the　rooms。　The　back　door　gave　on　to　the　wide　paved　courtyard　in　which　stood　the　Rolls。　The　courtyard　was　open　on　Bond's　side　but　closed　on　the　other　two　sides　by　single…storey　corrugated　iron　workshops。　A　tall　zinc　chimney　rose　from　the　angle　of　the　two　workshops。　The　chimney　was　topped　by　a　zinc　cowl。　On　top　of　the　zinc　cowl　was　the　revolving　square　mouth　of　what　looked　to　Bond　like　a　Decca　radar　scanner　you　see　on　the　bridges　of　most　ships。　The　apparatus　whirled　steadily　round。　Bond　couldn't　imagine　what　purpose　it　served　on　the　roof　of　this　little　factory　among　the　trees。
　Suddenly　the　silence　and　immobility　of　the　peaceful　scene　were　broken。　It　was　as　if　Bond　had　put　a　penny　in　the　slot　of　a　diorama　on　Brighton　pier。　Somewhere　a　tinny　clock　struck　five。　At　the　signal；　the　back　door　of　the　house　opened　and　Goldfinger　came　out；　still　dressed　in　his　white　linen　motoring　coat；　but　without　the　helmet。　He　was　followed　by　a　nondescript；　obsequious　little　man　with　a　toothbrush　moustache　and　horn…rimmed　spectacles。　Goldfinger　looked　pleased。　He　went　up　to　the　Rolls　and　patted　its　bonnet。　The　other　man　laughed　politely。　He　took　a　whistle　out　of　his　waistcoat　pocket　and　blew　it。　A　door　in　the　right…hand　workshop　opened　and　four　workmen　in　blue　overalls　filed　out　and　walked　over　to　the　car。　From　the　open　door　they　had　left　there　came　a　whirring　noise　and　a　heavy　engine　started　up　and　settled　into　the　rhythmic　pant　Bond　remembered　from　Reculver。
　The　four　men　disposed　themselves　round　the　car。　At　a　word　from　the　little　man；　who　was　presumably　the　foreman；　they　began　to　take　the　car　to　pieces。
　By　the　time　they　had　lifted　the　four　doors　off　their　hinges；　removed　the　bonnet　cover　from　the　engine　and　had　set　about　the　rivets　on　one　of　the　mudguards；　it　was　clear　that　they　were　methodically　stripping　the　car　of　its　armour　plating。
　Almost　as　soon　as　Bond　had　e　to　this　conclusion；　the　black；　bowler…hatted　figure　of　Oddjob