if.goldfinger-第4节

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　does　it　and　have　him　hounded　out　of　Miami。　So　I　doubled　the　stakes　and　then　doubled　them　again。　He　was　quite　happy　about　it。　And　I　watched　every　card　he　played；　every　movement。　Nothing！　Not　a　hint　or　a　sign。　Cards　not　marked。　New　pack　whenever　I　wanted　one。　My　own　cards。　Never　looked　at　my　hand　…couldn't；　as　I　always　sat　dead　opposite　him。　No　kibitzer　to　tip　him　off。　And　he　just　went　on　winning　and　winning。　Won　again　this　morning。　And　again　this　afternoon。　Finally　I　got　so　mad　at　the　game　…　I　didn't　show　it；　mind　you'　…　Bond　might　think　he　had　not　been　a　sport　…　'I　paid　up　politely。　But；　without　telling　this　guy；　I　just　packed　my　bag　and　got　me　to　the　airport　and　booked　on　the　first　plane　to　New　York。　Think　of　that！'　Mr　Du　Pont　threw　up　his　hands。　'Running　away。　But　twenty…five　grand　is　twenty…five　grand。　I　could　see　it　getting　to　fifty；　a　hundred。　And　I　just　couldn't　stand　another　of　these　damned　games　and　I　couldn't　stand　not　being　able　to　catch　this　guy　out。　So　I　took　off。　What　do　you　think　of　that？　Me；　Junius　Du　Pont；　throwing　in　the　towel　because　I　couldn't　take　the　licking　any　more！'
　Bond　grunted　sympathetically。　The　second　round　of　drinks　came。　Bond　was　mildly　interested；　he　was　always　interested　in　anything　to　do　with　cards。　He　could　see　the　scene；　the　two　men　playing　and　playing　and　the　one　man　quietly　shuffling　and　dealing　away　and　marking　up　his　score　while　the　other　was　always　throwing　his　cards　into　the　middle　of　the　table　with　a　gesture　of　controlled　disgust。　Mr　Du　Pont　was　obviously　being　cheated。　How？　Bond　said；　'Twenty…five　thousand's　a　lot　of　money。　What　stakes　were　you　playing？'
　Mr　Du　Pont　looked　sheepish。　'Quarter　a　point；　then　fifty　cents；　then　a　dollar。　Pretty　high　I　guess　with　the　games　averaging　around　two　thousand　points。　Even　at　a　quarter；　that　makes　five　hundred　dollars　a　game。　At　a　dollar　a　point；　if　you　go　on　losing；　it's　murder。'
　'You　must　have　won　sometimes。'
　'Oh　sure；　but　somehow；　just　as　I'd　got　the　s。o。b。　all　set　for　a　killing；　he'd　put　down　as　many　of　his　cards　as　he　could　meld。　Got　out　of　the　bag。　Sure；　I　won　some　small　change；　but　only　when　he　needed　a　hundred　and　twenty　to　go　down　and　I'd　got　all　the　wild　cards。　But　you　know　how　it　is　with　Canasta；　you　have　to　discard　right。　You　lay　traps　to　make　the　other　guy　hand　you　the　pack。　Well；　darn　it；　he　seemed　to　be　psychic！　Whenever　I　laid　a　trap；　he'd　dodge　it；　and　almost　every　time　he　laid　one　for　me　I'd　fall　into　it。　As　for　giving　me　the　pack　…　why；　he'd　choose　the　damnedest　cards　when　he　was　pushed　…　discard　singletons；　aces；　God　knows　what；　and　always　get　away　with　it。　It　was　just　as　if　he　knew　every　card　in　my　hand；'
　'Any　mirrors　in　the　room？'
　'Heck；　no！　We　always　played　outdoors。　He　said　he　wanted　to　get　himself　a　sunburn。　Certainly　did　that。　Red　as　lobster。　He'd　only　play　in　the　mornings　and　afternoons。　Said　if　he　played　in　the　evening　he　couldn't　get　to　sleep。'
　'Who　is　this　man；　anyway？　What's　his　name？'
　'Goldfinger。'
　'First　name？'
　'Auric。　That　means　golden；　doesn't　it？　He　certainly　is　that。　Got　flaming　red　hair。'
　'Nationality？'
　'You　won't　believe　it；　but　he's　a　Britisher。　Domiciled　in　Nassau。　You'd　think　he'd　be　a　Jew　from　the　name；　but　he　doesn't　look　it。　We're　restricted　at　the　Floridiana。　Wouldn't　have　got　in　if　he　had　been。　Nassavian　passport。　Age　forty…two。　Unmarried。　Profession；　broker。　Got　all　this　from　his　passport。　Had　me　a　peek　via　the　house　detective　when　I　started　to　play　with　him。'
　'What　sort　of　broker？'
　Du　Pont　smiled　grimly。　'I　asked　him。　He　said；　〃Oh；　anything　that　es　along。〃　Evasive　sort　of　fellow。　Clams　up　if　you　ask　him　a　direct　question。　Talks　away　quite　pleasantly　about　nothing　at　all。'
　'What's　he　worth？'
　'Ha！'　said　Mr　Du　Pont　explosively。　'That's　the　damnedest　thing。　He's　loaded。　But　loaded！　I　got　my　bank　to　check　with　Nassau。　He's　lousy　with　it。　Millionaires　are　a　dime　a　dozen　in　Nassau；　but　he's　rated　either　first　or　second　among　them。　Seems　he　keeps　his　money　in　gold　bars。　Shifts　them　around　the　world　a　lot　to　get　the　benefit　of　changes　in　the　gold　price。　Acts　like　a　damn　federal　bank。　Doesn't　trust　currencies。　Can't　say　he's　wrong　in　that；　and　seeing　how　he's　one　of　the　richest　men　in　the　world　there　must　be　something　to　his　system。'　But　the　point　is；　if　he's　as　rich　as　that；　what　the　hell　does　he　want　to　take　a　lousy　twenty…five　grand　off　me　for？*
　A　bustle　of　waiters　round　their　table　saved　Bond　having　to　think　up　a　reply。　With　ceremony；　a　wide　silver　dish　of　crabs；　big　ones；　their　shells　and　claws　broken；　was　placed　in　the　middle　of　the　table。　A　silver　sauceboat　brimming　with　melted　butter　and　a　long　rack　of　toast　was　put　beside　each　of　their　plates。　The　tankards　of　champagne　frothed　pink。　Finally；　with　an　oily　smirk；　the　head　waiter　came　behind　their　chairs　and；　in　turn；　tied　round　their　necks　long　white　silken　bibs　that　reached　down　to　the　lap。
　Bond　was　reminded　of　Charles　Laughton　playing　Henry　VIII；　but　neither　Mr　Du　Pont　nor　the　neighbouring　diners　seemed　surprised　at　the　hoggish　display。　Mr　Du　Pont；　with　a　gleeful　'Every　man　for　himself；　raked　several　hunks　of　crab　on　to　his　plate；　doused　them　liberally　in　melted　butter　and　dug　in。　Bond　followed　suit　and　proceeded　to　eat；　or　rather　devour；　the　most　delicious　meal　he　had　had　in　his　life。
　The　meat　of　the　stone　crabs　was　the　tenderest；　sweetest　shellfish　he　had　ever　tasted。　It　was　perfectly　set　off　by　the　dry　toast　and　slightly　burned　taste　of　the　melted　butter。　The　champagne　seemed　to　have　the　faintest　scent　of　strawberries。　It　was　ice　cold。　After　each　helping　of　crab；　the　champagne　cleaned　the　palate　for　the　next。　They　ate　steadily　and　with　absorption　and　hardly　exchanged　a　word　until　the　dish　was　cleared。
　With　a　slight　belch；　Mr　Du　Pont　for　the　last　time　wiped　butter　off　his　chin　with　his　silken　bib　and　sat　back。　His　face　was　flushed。　He　looked　proudly　at　Bond。　He　said　reverently；　'Mr　Bond；　I　doubt　if　anywhere　in　the　world　a　man　has　eaten　as　good　a　dinner　as　that　tonight。　What　do　you　say？'
　Bond　thought；　I　asked　for　the　easy　life；　the　rich　life。　How　do　I　like　it？　How　do　I　like　eating　like　a　pig　and　hearing　remarks　like　that？　Suddenly　the　idea　of　ever　having　another　meal　like　this；　or　indeed　any　other　meal　with　Mr　Du　Pont；　revolted　him。　He　felt　momentarily　ashamed　of　his　disgust。　He　had　asked　and　it　had　been　given。　It　was　the　puritan　in　him　that　couldn't　take　it。　He　had　made　his　wish　and　the　wish　had　not　only　been　granted；　it　had　been　stuffed　down　his　throat。　Bond　said；　'I　don't　know　about　that；　but　it　was　certainly　very　good。'
　Mr　Du　Pont　was　satisfied。　He　called　for　coffee。　Bond　refused　the　offer　of　cigars　or　liqueurs。　He　lit　a　cigarette　and　waited　with　interest　for　the　catch　to　be　presented。　He　knew　there　would　be　one。　It　was　obvious　that　all　this　was　part　of　the　e…on。　Well；　let　it　e。
　Mr　Du　Pont　cleared　his　throat。　'And　now；　Mr　Bond；　I　have　a　proposition　to　put　to　you。'　He　stared　at　Bond；　trying　to　gauge　his　reaction　in　advance。
　'Yes？'
　'It　surely　was　providential　to　meet　you　like　that　at　the　airport。'　Mr　Du　Font's　voice　was　grave；　sincere。　'I've　never　forgotten　our　first　meeting　at　Royale。　I　recall　every　detail　of　it　…　your　coolness；　your　daring；　your　handling　of　the　cards。'　Bond　looked　down　at　the　table…cloth。　But　Mr　Du　Pont　had　got　tired　of　his　peroration。　He　said　hurriedly；　'Mr　Bond；　I　will　pay　you　ten　thousand　dollars　to　stay　here　as　my　guest　until　you　have　discovered　how　this　man　Goldfinger　beats　me　at　cards。'
　Bond　looked　Mr　Du　Pont　in　the　eye。　He　said；　'That's　a　handsome　offer；　Mr　Du　Pont。　But　I　have　to　get　back　to
　London。　I　must　be　in　New　York　to　catch　my　plane　within　forty…eight　hours。　If　you　will　play　your　usual　sessions　tomorrow　morning　and　afternoon　I　should　have　plenty　of　time　to　find　out　the　answer。　But　I　must　leave　tomorrow　night；　whether　I　can　help　you　or　not。　Done？'　'Done；'　said　Mr　Du　Pont。
　
　CHAPTER　THREE
　
　THE　MAN　WITH　AGORAPHOBIA
　
　THE　FLAPPING　of　the　curtains　wakened　Bond。　He　threw　off　the　single　sheet　and　walked　across　the　thick　pile　carpet　to　the　picture　window　that　filled　the　whole　of　one　wall。　He　drew　back　the　curtains　and　went　out　on　to　the　sun…filled　balcony。
　The　black　and　white　chequer…board　tiles　were　warm；　almost　hot　to　the　feet　although　it　could　not　yet　be　eight　o'clock。　A　brisk　inshore　breeze　was　blowing　off　the　sea；　straining　the　flags　of　all　nations　that　flew　along　the　pier　of　the　private　yacht　basin。　The　breeze　was　humid　and　smelt　strongly　of　the　sea。　Bond　guessed　it　was　the　breeze　that　the　visitors　like；　but　the　residents　hate。　It　would　rust　the　metal　fittings　in　their　homes；　fox　the　pages　of　their　books；　rot　their　wallpaper　and　pictures；　breed　damp…rot　in　their　clothes。
　Twelve　storeys　down　the　formal　gardens；　dotted　with　palm　trees　and　beds　of　bright　croton　and　traced　with　neat　gravel　walks　between　avenues　of　bougainvillaea；　were　rich　and　dull。　Gardeners　were　working；　raking　the　paths　and　picking　up　leaves　with　the　lethargic　slow　motion　of　coloured　help。　Two　mowers　were　at　work　on　the　lawns　and；　where　they　had　already　been；　sprinklers　were　gracefully　flinging　handfuls　of　spray。
　Directly　below　Bond；　the　elegant　curve　of　the　Cabana　Club　swept　down　to　the　beach　…　two　storeys　of　changing…rooms　below　a　flat　roof　dotted　with　chair