if.goldfinger-第5部分

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Bamboo　Coffee　Shoppe；　the　Rendezvous　Bar；　the　La　Tropicala　dining…room；　the　Kittekat　Klub　for　children　and　the　Boom…Boom　Nighterie。　He　then　went　purposefully　out　into　the　garden。　Mr　Du　Pont；　now　dressed　'for　the　beach'　by　Abercrombie　&　Fitch；　gave　him　the　pass…key　to　Goldfinger's　suite。　They　sauntered　over　to　the　Cabana　Club　and　climbed　the　two　short　flights　of　stairs　to　the　top　deck。
　Bond's　first　view　of　Mr　Goldfinger　was　startling。　At　the　far　corner　of　the　roof；　just　below　the　cliff　of　the　hotel；　a　man　was　lying　back　with　his　legs　up　on　a　steamer　chair。　He　was　wearing　nothing　but　a　yellow　satin　bikini　slip；　dark　glasses　and　a　pair　of　wide　tin　wings　under　his　chin。　The　wings；　which　appeared　to　fit　round　his　neck；　stretched　out　across　his　shoulders　and　beyond　them　and　then　curved　up　slightly　to　rounded　tips。
　Bond　said；　〃What　the　hell's　he　wearing　round　his　neck？'
　'You　never　seen　one　of　those？'　Mr　Du　Pont　was　surprised。　'That's　a　gadget　to　help　your　tan。　Polished　tin。　Reflects　the　sun　up　under　your　chin　and　behind　the　ears　…　the　bits　that　wouldn't　normally　catch　the　sun。'
　'Well；　well；'　said　Bond。
　When　they　were　a　few　yards　from　the　reclining　figure　Mr　Du　Pont　called　out　cheerfully；　in　what　seemed　to　Bond　an　overloud　voice；　'Hi　there！'
　Mr　Goldfinger　did　not　stir。
　Mr　Du　Pont　said　in　his　normal　voice。　'He's　very　deaf。'　They　were　now　at　Mr　Goldfinger's　feet。　Mr　Du　Pont　repeated　his　hail。
　Mr　Goldfinger　sat　up　sharply。　He　removed　his　dark　glasses。　'Why；　hullo　there。'　He　unhitched　the　wings　from　round　his　neck；　put　them　carefully　on　the　ground　beside　him　and　got　heavily　to　his　feet。　He　looked　at　Bond　with　slow；　inquiring　eyes。
　'Like　you　to　meet　Mr　Bond；　James　Bond。　Friend　of　mine　from　New　York。　Countryman　of　yours。　e　down　to　try　and　talk　me　into　a　bit　of　business。'
　Mr　Goldfinger　held　out　a　hand。　'Pleased　to　meet　you；　Mr　Bomb。'
　Bond　took　the　hand。　It　was　hard　and　dry。　There　was　the　briefest　pressure　and　it　was　withdrawn。　For　an　instant　Mr　Goldfinger's　pale；　china…blue　eyes　opened　wide　and　stared　hard　at　Bond。　They　stared　right　through　his　face　to　the　back　of　his　skull。　Then　the　lids　drooped；　the　shutter　closed　over　the　X…ray；　and　Mr　Goldfinger　took　the　exposed　plate　and　slipped　it　away　in　his　filing　system。
　'So　no　game　today。'　The　voice　was　flat；　colourless。　The　words　were　more　of　a　statement　than　a　question。
　'Whaddya　mean；　no　game？'　shouted　Mr　Du　Pont　boisterously。　'You　weren't　thinking　I'd　let　you　hang　on　to　my　money？　Got　to　get　it　back　or　I　shan't　be　able　to　leave　this　darned　hotel；'　Mr　Du　Pont　chuckled　richly。　'I'll　tell　Sam　to　fix　the　table。　James　here　says　he　doesn't　know　much　about　cards　and　he'd　like　to　learn　the　game。　That　right；　James？'　He　turned　to　Bond。　'Sure　you'll　be　all　right　with　your　paper　and　the　sunshine？'
　'I'd　be　glad　of　the　rest；'　said　Bond。　'Been　travelling　too　much。'
　Again　the　eyes　bored　into　Bond　and　then　drooped。　Til　get　some　clothes　on。　I　had　intended　to　have　a　golf　lesson　this　afternoon　from　Mr　Armour　at　the　Boca　Raton。　But　cards　have　priority　among　my　hobbies。　My　tendency　to　un…cock　the　wrists　too　early　with　the　mid…irons　will　have　to　wait。'　The　eyes　rested　incuriously　on　Bond。　'You　play　golf；　Mr　Bomb？'
　Bond　raised　his　voice。　'Occasionally；　when　I'm　in　England。'
　'And　where　do　you　play？'
　'Hunterbe。'
　'Ah　…　a　pleasant　little　course。　I　have　recently　joined　the　Royal　St　Marks。　Sandwich　is　close　to　one　of　my　business　interests。　You　know　it？'
　'I　have　played　there。'
　'What　is　your　handicap？'
　'Nine。'
　'That　is　a　coincidence。　So　is　mine。　We　must　have　a　game　one　day。'　Mr　Goldfinger　bent　down　and　picked　up　his　tin　wings。　He　said　to　Mr　Du　Pont；　'I　will　be　with　you　in　five　minutes。'　He　walked　slowly　off　towards　the　stairs。
　Bond　was　amused。　This　social　sniffing　at　him　had　been　done　with　just　the　right　casual　touch　of　the　tycoon　who　didn't　really　care　if　Bond　was　alive　or　dead　but；　since　he　was　there　and　alive；　might　as　well　place　him　in　an　approximate　category。
　Mr　Du　Pont　gave　instructions　to　a　steward　in　a　white　coat。　Two　others　were　already　setting　up　a　card　table。　Bond　walked　to　the　rail　that　surrounded　the　roof　and　looked　down　into　the　garden；　reflecting　on　Mr　Goldfinger。
　He　was　impressed。　Mr　Goldfinger　was　one　of　the　most　relaxed　men　Bond　had　ever　met。　It　showed　in　the　economy　of　his　movement；　of　his　speech；　of　his　expressions。　Mr　Gold…finger　wasted　no　effort；　yet　there　was　something　coiled；　pressed；　in　the　immobility　of　the　man。
　When　Goldfinger　had　stood　up；　the　first　thing　that　had　struck　Bond　was　that　everything　was　out　of　proportion。　Goldfinger　was　short；　not　more　than　five　feet　tall；　and　on　top　of　the　thick　body　and　blunt；　peasant　legs；　was　set　almost　directly　into　the　shoulders；　a　huge　and　it　seemed　exactly　round　head。　It　was　as　if　Goldfinger　had　been　put　together　with　bits　of　other　people's　bodies。　Nothing　seemed　to　belong。　Perhaps；　Bond　thought；　it　was　to　conceal　his　ugliness　that
　Goldfinger　made　such　a　fetish　of　sunburn。　Without　the　red…brown　camouflage　the　pale　body　would　be　grotesque。　The　face；　under　the　cliff　of　crew…cut　carroty　hair；　was　as　startling；　without　being　as　ugly；　as　the　body。　It　was　moon…shaped　without　being　moonlike。　The　forehead　was　fine　and　high　and　the　thin　sandy　brows　were　level　above　the　large　light　blue　eyes　fringed　with　pale　lashes。　The　nose　was　fleshily　aquiline　between　high　cheek…bones　and　cheeks　that　were　more　muscular　than　fat。　The　mouth　was　thin　and　dead　straight；　but　beautifully　drawn。　The　chin　and　jaws　were　firm　and　glinted　with　health。　To　sum　up；　thought　Bond；　it　was　the　face　of　a　thinker；　perhaps　a　scientist；　who　was　ruthless；　sensual；　stoical　and　tough。　An　odd　bination。
　What　else　could　he　guess？　Bond　always　mistrusted　short　men。　They　grew　up　from　childhood　with　an　inferiority　plex。　All　their　lives　they　would　strive　to　be　big　…　bigger　than　the　others　who　had　teased　them　as　a　child。　Napoleon　had　been　short；　and　Hitler。　It　was　the　short　men　that　caused　all　the　trouble　in　the　world。　And　what　about　a　misshapen　short　man　with　red　hair　and　a　bizarre　face？　That　might　add　up　to　a　really　formidable　misfit。　One　could　certainly　feel　the　repressions。　There　was　a　powerhouse　of　vitality　humming　in　the　man　that　suggested　that　if　one　stuck　an　electric　bulb　into　Goldfinger's　mouth　it　would　light　up。　Bond　smiled　at　the　thought。　Into　what　channels　did　Goldfinger　release　his　vital　force？　Into　getting　rich？　Into　sex？　Into　power？　Probably　into　all　three。　What　could　his　history　be？　Today　he　might　be　an　Englishman。　What　had　he　been　born？　Not　a　Jew　…　though　there　might　be　Jewish　blood　in　him。　Not　a　Latin　or　anything　farther　south。　Not　a　Slav。　Perhaps　a　German　…　no；　a　Bait！　That's　where　he　would　have　e　from。　One　of　the　old　Baltic　provinces。　Probably　got　away　to　escape　the　Russians。　Goldfinger　would　have　been　warned　…　or　his　parents　had　smelled　trouble　and　they　had　got　him　out　in　time。　And　what　had　happened　then？　How　had　he　worked　his　way　up　to　being　one　of　the　richest　men　in　the　world？　One　day　it　might　be　interesting　to　find　out。　For　the　time　being　it　would　be　enough　to　find　out　how　he　won　at　cards。
　'All　set？'　Mr　Du　Pont　called　to　Goldfinger　who　was　ing　across　the　roof　towards　the　card　table。　With　his　clothes　on　…　a　fortably　fitting　dark　blue　suit；　a　white　shirt　open　at　the　neck　…　Goldfinger　cut　an　almost　passable　figure。
　But　there　was　no　disguise　for　the　great　brown　and　red　football　of　a　head　and　the　flesh…coloured　hearing　aid　plugged　into　the　left　ear　was　net　an　improvement。
　Mr　Du　Pont　sat　with　his　back　to　the　hotel。　Goldfinger　took　the　seat　opposite　and　cut　the　cards。　Du　Pont　won　the　cut；　pushed　the　other　pack　over　to　Goldfinger；　tapped　them　to　show　they　were　already　shuffled　and　he　couldn't　bother　to　cut；　and　Goldfinger　began　the　deal。
　Bond　sauntered　over　and　took　a　chair　at　Mr　Du　Font's　elbow。　He　sat　back；　relaxed。　He　made　a　show　of　folding　his　paper　to　the　sports　page　and　watched　the　deal。
　Somehow　Bond　had　expected　it；　but　this　was　no　card…sharp。　Goldfinger　dealt　quickly　and　efficiently；　but　with　no　hint　of　the　Mechanic's　Grip；　those　vital　three　fingers　curled　round　the　long　edge　of　the　cards　and　the　index　finger　at　the　outside　short　upper　edge　…　the　grip　that　means　you　are　armed　for　dealing　Bottoms　or　Seconds。　And　he　wore　no　signet　ring　for　pricking　the　cards；　no　surgical　tape　round　a　finger　for　marking　them。
　Mr　Du　Pont　turned　to　Bond。　'Deal　of　fifteen　cards；'　he　mented。　'You　draw　two　and　discard　one。　Otherwise　straight　Regency　rules。　No　monkey　business　with　the　red　treys　counting　one；　three；　five；　eight；　or　any　of　that　European　stuff。'
　Mr　Du　Pont　picked　up　his　cards。　Bond　noticed　that　he　sorted　them　expertly；　not　grading　them　according　to　value　from　left　to　right；　or　holding　his　wild　cards；　of　which　he　had　two；　at　the　left　…　a　pattern　that　might　help　a　watchful　opponent。　Mr　Du　Pont　concentrated　his　good　cards　in　the　centre　of　his　hand　with　the　singletons　and　broken　melds　on　either　side。
　The　game　began。　Mr　Du　Pont　drew　first；　a　miraculous　pair　of　wild　cards。　His　face　betrayed　nothing。　He　discarded　casually。　He　only　needed　two　more　good　draws　to　go　out　unseen。　But　he　would　have　to　be　lucky。　Drawing　two　cards　doubles　the　chance　of　picking　up　what　you　want；　but　it　also　doubles　the　chance　of　picking　up　useless　cards　that　will　only　clutter　up　your　hand。
　Goldfinger　played　a　more　deliberate　game；　almost　irritatingly　slow。　After　drawing；　he　shuffled　through　his　cards　again　and　again　before　deciding　on　his　discard。
　On　the　third　draw；　Du　Pont　had　improved　his　hand　to　the　extent　that　he　now　needed　only　one　of　five　cards　to　go　down　and　out　and　catch　his　opponent　with　a　handful　of　cards　which　would　all　count　against　him。　As　if　Goldfinger　knew　the　danger　he　was　in；　he　went　down　for　fifty　and　proceeded　to　make　a　canasta　with　three　wild　cards　and　four　fives。　He　also　got　rid　of　some　more　melds　and　ended　with　only　four　cards　in　his　hand。　In　any　other　circumstances　it　would　have　been　ridiculously　bad　play。　As　it　was；　he　had　made　some　four　hundred　points　instead　of　losing　over　a　hundred；　for；　on　the　next　draw　Mr　Du　Pont　filled　his　hand　and；　with　most　of　the　edge　taken　off　his　triumph　by　Goldfinger's　escape；　went　down　unseen　with　the　necessary　two　canastas。
　'By　golly；　I　nearly　screwed　you　that　time。'　Mr　Du　Font's　voi