if.goldfinger-第27节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　'Thanks。'　The　room　emptied。　Bond　took　the　fragile　little　parcel　out　of　his　pocket。　It　contained　a　dry…cell　battery　wired　to　a　small　vacuum　tube。　He　ran　his　eye　over　the　wiring　and　put　the　apparatus　back　in　his　coat　pocket　and　waited。
　At　eleven…fifty…five　the　door　opened。　The　officer　beckoned。　'No　trouble。　They're　on　the　plane。'
　The　huge　gleaming　Silver　Ghost　stood　in　the　Customs　bay　out　of　sight　of　the　plane。　The　only　other　car　was　a　dove…grey　Triumph　TR3　convertible　with　its　hood　down。　Bond　went　to　the　back　of　the　Rolls。　The　Customs　men　had　unscrewed　the　plate　of　the　spare　tool　partment。　Bond　pulled　out　the　tray　of　tools　and　made　a　show　of　minutely　examining　them　and　the　tray。　He　knelt　down。　Under　cover　of　rummaging　at　the　sides　of　the　partment；　he　slipped　the　battery　and　tube　into　the　back　of　it。　He　replaced　the　tool　tray。　It　fitted　all　right。　He　stood　up　and　brushed　his　hands　together。　'Negative；'　he　said　to　the　Customs　officer。
　The　officer　fitted　the　plate　on　and　screwed　it　down　with　the　square　key。　He　stood　up。　'Nothing　funny　about　the　chassis　or　the　bodywork。　Plenty　of　room　in　the　frame　and　upholstery　but　we　couldn't　get　at　them　without　doing　a　major　job。　All　right　to　go？'
　'Yes；　and　thanks。'　Bond　walked　back　into　the　office。　He　heard　the　quick　solid　whine　of　the　old　self…starter。　A　minute　later；　the　car　came　out　of　the　bay　and　idled　superbly　over　to　the　loading　ramp。　Bond　stood　at　the　back　of　the　office　and　watched　it　being　eased　up　the　ramp。　The　big　jaws　of　the　Bristol　Freighter　clanged　shut。　The　chocks　were　jerked　away　and　the　dispatcher　raised　a　thumb。　The　two　engines　coughed　heavily　and　fired　and　the　great　silver　dragonfly　trundled　off　towards　the　runway。
　When　the　plane　was　on　the　runway；　Bond　walked　round　to　his　car　and　climbed　into　the　driver's　seat。　He　pressed　a　switch　under　the　dash。　There　was　a　moment's　silence；　then　a　loud　harsh　howl　came　from　the　hidden　loud…speaker。　Bond　turned　a　knob。　The　howl　diminished　to　a　deep　drone。　Bond　waited　until　he　heard　the　Bristol　take　off。　As　the　plane　rose　and　made　for　the　coast　the　drone　diminished。　In　five　minutes　it　had　gone。　Bond　tuned　the　set　and　picked　it　up　again。　He　followed　it　for　five　minutes　as　the　plane　made　off　across　the　Channel　and　then　switched　the　set　off。　He　motored　round　to　the　Customs　bay；　told　the　AA　that　he　would　be　back　at　one…thirty　for　the　two　o'clock　flight；　and　drove　slowly　off　towards　a　pub　he　knew　in　Rye。　From　now　on；　so　long　as　he　kept　within　about　a　hundred　miles　of　the　Rolls；　the　Homer；　the　rough　radio　transmitter　he　had　slipped　into　its　tool　partment；　would　keep　contact　with　Bond's　receiver。　All　he　had　to　do　was　watch　the　decibels　and　not　allow　the　noise　to　fade。　It　was　a　simple　form　of　direction　finding　which　allowed　one　car　to　put　a　'long　tail'　on　another　and　keep　in　touch　without　any　danger　of　being　spotted。　On　the　other　side　of　the　Channel；　Bond　would　have　to　discover　the　road　Goldfinger　had　taken　out　of　Le　Touquet；　get　well　within　range　and　close　up　near　big　towns　or　wherever　there　was　a　major　fork　or　crossroads。　Sometimes　Bond　would　make　a　wrong　decision　and　have　to　do　some　fast　motoring　to　catch　up　again。　The　DB　III　would　look　after　that。　It　was　going　to　be　fun　playing　hare　and　hounds　across　Europe。　The　sun　was　shining　out　of　a　clear　sky。　Bond　felt　a　moment's　sharp　thrill　down　his　spine。　He　smiled　to　himself；　a　hard；　cold；　cruel　smile。　Goldfinger；　he　thought；　for　the　first　time　in　your　life　you're　in　trouble　…　bad　trouble。
　There　is　always　an　agent　cycliste　at　the　dangerous　crossroads　where　Le　Touquet's　quiet　N38　meets　the　oily　turbulence　of　the　major　Nl。　Yes；　certainly　he　had　seen　the　Rolls。　One　could　not　fail　to　remark　it。　A　real　aristocrat　of　a　car。　To　the　right；　monsieur；　towards　Abbeville。　He　will　be　an　hour　ahead；　but　with　that　bolide　of　yours。。。！
　As　soon　as　Bond　had　cleared　his　papers　at　the　airport；　the　Homer　had　picked　up　the　drone　of　the　Rolls。　But　it　was　impossible　to　tell　if　Goldfinger　was　heading　north　…　for　the　Low　Countries　or　Austria　or　Germany　…　or　if　he　was　off　to　the　south。　For　that　sort　of　fix　you　needed　two　radio　cars　to　get　a　bearing。　Bond　raised　a　hand　to　the　agent　and　gave　his　engine　the　gun。　He　would　have　to　close　up　fast。　Goldfinger　would　be　through　Abbeville　and　would　already　have　taken　the　major　fork　on　to　Nl　for　Paris　or　N28　for　Rouen。　A　lot　of　time　and　distance　would　be　wasted　if　Bond　made　the　wrong　guess。
　Bond　swept　along　the　badly　cambered　road。　He　took　no　chances　but　covered　the　forty…three　kilometres　to　Abbeville　in　a　quarter　of　an　hour。　The　drone　of　the　Homer　was　loud。　Goldfinger　couldn't　be　more　than　twenty　miles　ahead。　But　which　way　at　the　fork？　On　a　guess　Bond　took　the　Paris　road。　He　beat　the　car　along。　For　a　time　there　was　little　change　in　the　voice　of　the　Homer。　Bond　could　be　right　or　wrong。　Then；　imperceptibly；　the　drone　began　to　fade。　Blast！　Turn　back　or　press　on　fast　and　take　one　of　the　secondary　roads　across　to　Rouen　and　catch　up　with　him　there？　Bond　hated　turning　back。　Ten　kilometres　short　of　Beauvais　he　turned　right。　For　a　time　it　was　bad　going　but　then　he　was　on　to　the　fast　N30　and　could　afford　to　drift　into　Rouen；　led　on　by　the　beckoning　voice　of　his　pick…up。　He　stopped　on　the　outskirts　of　the　town　and　listened　with　one　ear　while　consulting　his　Michelin。　By　the　waxing　drone　he　could　tell　that　he　had　got　ahead　of　Goldfinger。　But　now　there　was　another　vital　fork；　not　quite　so　easy　to　retrieve　if　Bond　guessed　wrong　again。　Either　Goldfinger　would　take　the　Alengon…Le　Mans…Tours　route　to　the　south；　or　he　meant　to　move　south…east；　missing　Paris；　by　way　of　Evreux；　Chartres　and　Orleans。　Bond　couldn't　afford　to　get　closer　to　the　centre　of　Rouen　and　perhaps　catch　a　glimpse　of　the　Rolls　and　of　the　way　it　would　take。　He　would　have　to　wait　until　the　Homer　went　on　the　wane　and　then　make　his　own　guess。
　It　was　a　quarter　of　an　hour　later　before　Bond　could　be　sure　that　the　Rolls　was　well　past。　This　time　he　again　took　the　left　leg　of　the　fork。　He　thrust　the　pedal　into　the　floor　and　hurried。　Yes。　This　time　the　drone　was　merging　into　a　howl。　Bond　was　on　the　track。　He　slowed　to　forty；　tuned　down　his　receiver　to　a　whisper　and　idled　along；　wondering　where　Goldfinger　was　heading　for。
　Five　o'clock；　six；　seven。　The　sun　set　in　Bond's　driving　mirror　and　still　the　Rolls　sped　on。　They　were　through　Dreux　and　Chartres　and　on　to　the　long　straight　fifty…mile　stretch　into　Orleans。　If　that　was　to　be　the　night　stop　the　Rolls　'　wouldn't　have　done　badly　at　all　…　over　two　hundred　and　fifty　miles　in　something　over　six　hours。　Goldfinger　was　certainly　no　slouch　when　it　came　to　motoring。　He　must　be　keeping　the　old　Silver　Ghost　at　maximum　outside　the　towns。　Bond　began　to　close　up。
　There　were　rear…lights　ahead　…　dim　ones。　Bond　had　his　fog　lights　on。　He　switched　on　the　Marchals。　It　was　some　little　sports　car。　Bond　closed　up。　MG？　Triumph？　Austin　Healey？　It　was　a　pale　grey　Triumph　two…seater　with　the　hood　up。　Bond　blinked　his　lights　and　swept　past。　Now　there　was　the　glare　of　another　car　ahead。　Bond　dowsed　his　headlamps　and　drove　on　the　fogs。　The　other　car　was　a　mile　down　the　road。　Bond　crept　up　on　it。　At　a　quarter　of　a　mile；　he　flashed　the　Marchals　on　and　off　for　a　quick　look。　Yes；　it　was　the　Rolls。　Bond　dropped　back　to　a　mile　and　stayed　there；　vaguely　noticing　the　dim　lights　of　the　TR3　in　his　mirror。　On　the　outskirts　of　Orleans；　Bond　pulled　into　the　side　of　the　road。　The　Triumph　growled　casually　past。
　Bond　had　never　cared　for　Orleans。　It　was　a　priest　and　myth　ridden　town　without　charm　or　gaiety。　It　was　content　to　live　off　Joan　of　Arc　and　give　the　visitor　a　hard；　holy　glare　while　it　took　his　money。　Bond　consulted　his　Michelin。　Gold…finger　would　stop　at　five…star　hotels　and　eat　fillets　of　sole　and　roast　chicken。　It　would　be　the　Arcades　for　him　…　perhaps　the　Moderne。　Bond　would　have　liked　to　stay　outside　the　town　and　sleep　on　the　banks　of　the　Loire　in　the　excellent　Auberge　de　la　Montespan；　his　belly　full　of　quenelles　de　brocket。　He　would　have　to　stick　closer　to　his　fox。　He　decided　on　the　Hotel　de　la　Gare　and　dinner　at　the　station　buffet。
　When　in　doubt；　Bond　always　chose　the　station　hotels。　They　were　adequate；　there　was　plenty　of　room　to　park　the　car　and　it　was　better　than　even　chances　that　the　Buffet　de　la　Gare　would　be　excellent。　And　at　the　station　one　could　hear　the　heartbeat　of　the　town。　The　night…sounds　of　the　trains　were　full　of　its　tragedy　and　romance。
　The　drone　on　the　receiver　had　stayed　constant　for　ten　minutes。　Bond　noted　his　way　to　the　three　hotels　and　cautiously　crept　into　the　town。　He　went　down　to　the　river　and　along　the　lighted　guais。　He　had　been　right。　The　Rolls　was　outside　the　Arcades。　Bond　turned　back　into　the　town　and　made　for　the　station。
　The　Hotel　de　la　Gare　was　all　he　had　expected　…　cheap；　old…fashioned；　solidly　fortable。　Bond　had　a　hot　bath；　went　back　to　his　car　to　make　sure　the　Rolls　hadn't　moved；　and　walked　into　the　station　restaurant　and　ate　one　of　his　favourite　meals　…　two　aeufs　cocotte　a　la　creme；　a　large　sole　meuniere　（Orleans　was　close　enough　to　the　sea。　The　fish　of　the　Loire　are　inclined　to　be　muddy）　and　an　adequate　Camembert。　He　drank　a　well…iced　pint　of　Rose　d'Anjou　and　had　a　Hennessy's　Three　Star　with　his　coffee。　At　ten…thirty　he　left　the　restaurant；　checked　on　the　Rolls　and　wal