if.goldfinger-第19部分

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ing　up　on　the　man。
　Goldfinger　cautiously　took　out　his　spoon　for　the　longish　second　over　cross…bunkers　to　the　narrow　entrance　to　the　green。　He　made　one　more　practice　swing　than　usual　and　then　hit　exactly　the　right；　controlled　shot　up　to　the　apron。　A　certain　five；　probably　a　four。　Much　good　would　it　do　him！
　Bond；　after　a　great　show　of　taking　pains；　brought　his　hands　down　well　ahead　of　the　club　and　smothered　his　number　three　iron　so　that　the　topped　ball　barely　scrambled　over　the　cross…bunkers。　He　then　wedged　the　ball　on　to　the　green　twenty　feet　past　the　pin。　He　was　where　he　wanted　to　be　…　enough　of　a　threat　to　make　Goldfinger　savour　the　sweet　smell　of　victory；　enough　to　make　Goldfinger　really　sweat　to　get　his　four。
　And　now　Goldfinger　really　was　sweating。　There　was　a　savage　grin　of　concentration　and　greed　as　he　bent　to　the　long　putt　up　the　bank　and　down　to　the　hole。　Not　too　hard；　not　too　soft。　Bond　could　read　every　anxious　thought　that　would　be　running　through　the　man's　mind。　Goldfinger　straightened　up　again；　walked　deliberately　across　the　green　to　behind　the　flag　to　verify　his　line。　He　walked　slowly　back　beside　his　line；　brushing　away　…　carefully；　with　the　back　of　his　hand　…　a　wisp　or　two　of　grass；　a　speck　of　top…dressing。　He　bent　again　and　made　one　or　two　practice　swings　and　then　stood　to　the　putt；　the　veins　standing　out　on　his　temples；　the　cleft　of　concentration　deep　between　his　eyes。
　Goldfinger　hit　the　putt　and　followed　through　on　the　line。　It　was　a　beautiful　putt　that　stopped　six　inches　past　the　pin。　Now　Goldfinger　would　be　sure　that　unless　Bond　sank　his　difficult　twenty…footer；　the　match　was　his！
　Bond　went　through　a　long　rigmarole　of　sizing　up　his　putt。　He　took　his　time；　letting　the　suspense　gather　like　a　thunder　cloud　round　the　long　shadows　on　the　livid；　fateful　green。
　'Flag　out；　please。　I'm　going　to　sink　this　one。'　Bond　charged　the　words　with　a　deadly　certitude；　while　debating　whether　to　miss　the　hole　to　the　right　or　the　left　or　leave　it　short。　He　bent　to　the　putt　and　missed　the　hole　well　on　the　right。
　'Missed　it；　by　God！'　Bond　put　bitterness　and　rage　into　his　voice。　He　walked　over　to　the　hole　and　picked　up　the　two　balls；　keeping　them　in　full　view。
　Goldfinger　came　up。　His　face　was　glistening　with　triumph。　'Well；　thanks　for　the　game。　Seems　I　was　just　too　good　for　you　after　all。'
　'You're　a　good　nine　handicap；'　said　Bond　with　just　sufficient　sourness。　He　glanced　at　the　balls　in　his　hand　to　pick　out
　Goldfinger's　and　hand　it　to　him。　He　gave　a　start　of　surprise。　'Hullo！'　He　looked　sharply　at　Goldfinger。　'You　play　a　Number　One　Dunlop；　don't　you？'
　'Yes；　of　course。'　A　sixth　sense　of　disaster　wiped　the　triumph　off　Goldfinger's　face。　'What　is　it？　What's　the　matter？'
　'Well；'　said　Bond　apologetically。'　〃Fraid　you've　been　playing　with　the　wrong　ball。　Here's　my　Penfold　Hearts　and　this　is　a　Number　Seven　Dunlop。'　He　handed　both　balls　to　Gold…finger。　Goldfinger　tore　them　off　his　palm　and　examined　them　feverishly。
　Slowly　the　colour　flooded　over　Goldfinger's　face。　He　stood；　his　mouth　working；　looking　from　the　balls　to　Bond　and　back　to　the　balls。
　Bond　said　softly；　'Too　bad　we　were　playing　to　the　rules。　Afraid　that　means　you　lose　the　hole。　And；　of　course；　the　match。'　Bond's　eyes　observed　Goldfinger　impassively。
　'But；　but。。。'
　This　was　what　Bond　had　been　looking　forward　to　…　the　cup　dashed　from　the　lips。　He　stood　and　waited；　saying　nothing。
　Rage　suddenly　burst　Goldfinger's　usually　relaxed　face　like　a　bomb。　'It　was　a　Dunlop　Seven　you　found　in　the　rough。　It　was　your　caddie　that　gave　me　this　ball。　On　the　seventeenth　green。　He　gave　me　the　wrong　ball　on　purpose；　the　damned　che…'
　'Here；　steady　on；'　said　Bond　mildly。　'You'll　get　a　slander　action　on　your　hands　if　you　aren't　careful。　Hawker；　did　you　give　Mr　Goldfinger　the　wrong　ball　by　mistake　or　anything？'
　'No；　sir。'　Hawker's　face　was　stolid。　He　said　indifferently；　'If　you　want　my　opinion；　sir；　the　mistake　may　have　been　made　at　the　seventeenth　when　the　gentleman　found　his　ball　pretty　far　off　the　line　we'd　all　marked　it　on。　A　Seven　looks　very　much　like　a　One。　I'd　say　that's　what　happened；　sir。　It　would　have　been　a　miracle　for　the　gentleman's　ball　to　have　ended　up　as　wide　as　where　it　was　found。'
　'Tommy　rot！'　Goldfinger　gave　a　snort　of　disgust。　He　turned　angrily　on　Bond。　'You　saw　that　was　a　Number　One　my　caddie　found。'
　Bond　shook　his　head　doubtfully。　'I　didn't　really　look　closely；　I'm　afraid。　However；'　Bond's　voice　became　brisk；　businesslike；　'it's　really　the　job　of　the　player　to　make　certain　he's　using　the　right　ball；　isn't　it？　I　can't　see　that　anyone　else　can　be　blamed　if　you　tee　the　wrong　ball　up　and　play　three　shots　with　it。　Anyway；'　he　started　walking　off　the　green；　'many　thanks　for　the　match。　We　must　have　it　again　one　day。'
　Goldfinger；　lit　with　glory　by　the　setting　sun；　but　with　a　long　black　shadow　tied　to　his　heels；　followed　Bond　slowly；　his　eyes　fixed　thoughtfully　on　Bond's　back。
　
　CHAPTER　TEN
　
　UP　AT　THE　GRANGE
　
　THERE　ARE　some　rich　men　who　use　their　riches　like　a　club。　Bond；　luxuriating　in　his　bath；　thought　that　Goldfinger　was　one　of　them。　He　was　the　kind　of　man　who　thought　he　could　flatten　the　world　with　his　money；　bludgeoning　aside　annoyances　and　opposition　with　his　heavy　wad。　He　had　thought　to　break　Bond's　nerve　by　playing　him　for　ten　thousand　dollars　…a　flea…bite　to　him　but　obviously　a　small　fortune　to　Bond。　In　most　circumstances　he　might　have　succeeded。　It　needs　an　iron　nerve　to　'wait　for　it'　on　your　swing；　to　keep　your　head　down　on　the　short　putts；　when　big　money　hangs　on　every　shot；　over　eighteen　long　holes。　The　pros；　playing　for　their　own　bread　and　butter　and　for　their　families'；　know　the　cold　breath　of　the　poor…house　on　the　back　of　their　necks　as　they　e　to　the　eighteenth　tee　all　square。　That　is　why　they　lead　careful　lives；　not　smoking　or　drinking；　and　why　the　one　that　wins　is　usually　the　one　with　the　least　imagination。
　But；　in　Bond's　case；　Goldfinger　could　not　have　known　that　high　tension　was　Bond's　natural　way　of　life　and　that　pressure　and　danger　relaxed　him。　And　he　could　not　have　known　that　Bond　wanted　to　play　Goldfinger　for　the　highest　possible　stakes　and　that　he　would　have　the　funds　of　the　Secret　Service　behind　him　if　he　lost。　Goldfinger；　so　used　to　manipulating　others；　had　been　blind　to　the　manipulation　for　once　being　practised　upon　himself。
　Or　had　he　been？　Thoughtfully　Bond　got　out　of　the　bath　and　dried　himself。　That　powerful　dynamo　inside　the　big　round　head　would　be　humming　at　this　very　moment；　wondering　about　Bond；　knowing　he　had　been　out…cheated；　asking　itself　how　it　came　about　that　twice　Bond　had　appeared　out　of　the　blue　and　twice　queered　his　pitch。　Had　Bond　played　his　cards　right？　Had　he　made　himself　appear　an　interesting　challenge；　or　would　Goldfinger's　sensitive　nose　smell　a　threat？　In　the　latter　case　there　would　be　no　follow…up　by　Goldfinger　and　Bond　would　have　to　bow　out　of　the　case　and　leave　it　to　M　to　devise　a　new　approach。　How　soon　would　he　know　if　the　big　fish　was　hooked？　This　one　would　take　plenty　of　time　sniffing　the　bait。　It　would　be　good　to　have　just　one　small　bite　to　tell　him　he　had　chosen　the　right　lure。
　There　was　a　knock　on　the　door　of　his　bedroom。　Bond　wrapped　the　towel　round　him　and　walked　through。　He　opened　the　door。　It　was　the　hall　porter。　'Yes？'
　'Telephone　message　from　a　Mr　Goldfinger；　sir。　His　pliments　and　would　you　care　to　e　to　his　house　for　dinner　tonight。　It's　the　Grange　over　at　Reculver；　sir。　Six…thirty　for　drinks　beforehand　and　not　to　bother　to　dress。'
　'Please　thank　Mr　Goldfinger　and　say　I　shall　be　delighted。'　Bond　shut　the　door　and　walked　across　to　the　open　window　and　stood　looking　out　across　the　quiet　evening　sea。　'Well；　well！　Talk　of　the　devil！'　Bond　smiled　to　himself；　'And　then　go　and　sup　with　him！　What　was　that　about　a　long　spoon？'
　At　six　o'clock　Bond　went　down　to　the　bar　and　had　a　large　vodka　and　tonic　with　a　slice　of　lemon　peel。　The　bar　was　empty　save　for　a　group　of　American　Air　Force　officers　from　Mansion。　They　were　drinking　whisky　and　water　and　talking　baseball。　Bond　wondered　if　they　had　spent　the　day　toting　a　hydrogen　bomb　round　the　skies　over　Kent；　over　the　four　little　dots　in　the　dunes　that　had　been　his　match　with　Goldfinger。　He　thought　wryly；　Not　too　much　of　that　whisky；　cousins；　paid　for　his　drink；　and　left。
　He　motored　slowly　over　to　Reculver；　savouring　the　evening　and　the　drink　inside　him　and　the　quiet　bubble　of　the　twin　exhausts。　This　was　going　to　be　an　interesting　dinner…party。　Now　was　the　moment　to　sell　himself　to　Goldfinger。　If　he　put　a　foot　wrong　he　was　out；　and　the　pitch　would　have　been　badly　queered　for　his　successor。　He　was　unarmed　…　it　would　be　fatal　for　Goldfinger　to　smell　that　kind　of　rat。　He　felt　a　moment's　qualm。　But　that　was　going　too　fast。　No　state　of　war　had　been　declared　…　the　opposite　if　anything。　When　they　had　parted　at　the　golf　club；　Goldfinger　had　been　cordial　in　a　rather　forced；　oily　fashion。　He　had　inquired　where　he　should　send　Bond's　winnings　and　Bond　had　given　him　the　address　of　Universal　Export。　He　had　asked　where　Bond　was　staying　and　Bond　had　told　him　and　added　that　he　would　only　be　at　Ramsgate　a　few　days　while　he　made　up　his　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…l