if.goldfinger-第6节

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rroty　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　voice　had　an　edge　of　exasperation。　'What　in　hell　told　you　to　cut　an'　run？'
　Goldfinger　said　indifferently；　'I　smelled　trouble。'　He　added　up　his　points；　announced　them　and　jotted　them　down；　waiting　for　Mr　Du　Pont　to　do　the　same。　Then　he　cut　the　cards　and　sat　back　and　regarded　Bond　with　polite　interest。
　'Will　you　be　staying　long；　Mr　Bomb？'
　Bond　smiled。　'It's　Bond；　B…O…N…D。　No；　I　have　to　go　back　to　New　York　tonight。'
　'How　sad。'　Goldfinger's　mouth　pursed　in　polite　regret。　He　turned　back　to　the　cards　and　the　game　went　on。　Bond　picked　up　his　paper　and　gazed；　unseeing；　at　the　baseball　scores；　while　he　listened　to　the　quiet　routine　of　the　game。　Goldfinger　won　that　hand　and　the　next　and　the　next。　He　won　the　game。　There　was　a　difference　of　one　thousand　five　hundred　points　…one　thousand　five　hundred　dollars　to　Goldfinger。
　'There　it　goes　again！'　It　was　the　plaintive　voice　of　Mr　Du　Pont。
　Bond　put　down　his　paper。　'Does　he　usually　win？'
　'Usually！'　The　word　was　a　snort。　'He　always　wins。'
　They　cut　again　and　Goldfinger　began　to　deal。
　Bond　said；　'Don't　you　cut　for　seats？　I　often　find　a　change　of　seat　helps　the　luck。　Hostage　to　fortune　and　so　on。'
　Goldfinger　paused　in　his　deal。　He　bent　his　gaze　gravely　on　Bond。　'Unfortunately；　Mr　Bond；　that　is　not　possible　or　I　could　not　play。　As　I　explained　to　Mr　Du　Pont　at　our　first　game；　I　suffer　from　an　obscure　plaint　…　agoraphobia　…the　fear　of　open　spaces。　I　cannot　bear　the　open；horizon。　I　must　sit　and　face　the　hotel。'　The　deal　continued。
　'Oh；　I'm　so　sorry。'　Bond's　voice　was　grave；　interested。　'That's　a　very　rare　disability。　I've　always　been　able　to　understand　claustrophobia；　but　not　the　other　way　round。　How　did　it　e　about？'
　Goldfinger　picked　up　his　cards　and　began　to　arrange　his　hand。　'I　have　no　idea；'　he　said　equably。
　Bond　got　up。　'Well；　I　think　I'll　stretch　my　legs　for　a　bit。　See　what's　going　on　in　the　pool。'
　'You　do　just　that；'　said　Mr　Du　Pont　jovially。　'Just　take　it　easy；　James。　Plenty　of　time　to　discuss　business　over　lunch。　I'll　see　if　I　can't　dish　it　out　to　my　friend　Goldfinger　this　time　instead　of　taking　it。　Be　seeing　you。'
　Goldfinger　didn't　look　up　from　his　cards。　Bond　strolled　down　the　roof；　past　the　occasional　splayed…out　body；　to　the　rail　at　the　far　end　that　overlooked　the　pool。　For　a　time　he　stood　and　contemplated　the　ranks　of　pink　and　brown　and　white　flesh　laid　out　below　him　on　the　steamer　chairs。　The　heavy　scent　of　suntan　oil　came　up　to　him。　There　were　a　few　children　and　young　people　in　the　pool。　A　man；　obviously　a　professional　diver；　perhaps　the　swimming　instructor；　stood　on　the　high…dive。　He　balanced　on　the　balls　of　his　feet；　a　muscled　Greek　god　with　golden　hair。　He　bounced　once；　casually；　and　flew　off　and　down；　his　arms　held　out　like　wings。　Lazily　they　arrowed　out　to　cleave　the　water　for　the　body　to　pass　through。　The　impact　left　only　a　brief　turbulence。　The　diver　jack…knifed　up　again；　shaking　his　head　boyishly。　There　was　a　smattering　of　applause。　The　man　trudged　slowly　down　the　pool；　his　head　submerged；　his　shoulders　moving　with　casual　power。　Bond　thought；　good　luck　to　you！　You　won't　be　able　to　keep　this　up　for　more　than　another　five　or　six　years。　High…divers　couldn't　take　it　for　long　…　the　repeated　shock　to　the　skull。　With　ski…jumping；　which　had　the　same　shattering　effect　on　the　frame；　high…diving　was　the　shortest…lived　sport。　Bond　radioed　to　the　diver；　'Cash　in　quick！　Get　into　films　while　the　hair's　still　gold。'
　Bond　turned　and　looked　back　down　the　roof　towards　the　two　Canasta　players　beneath　the　cliff　of　the　hotel。　So　Gold…finger　liked　to　face　the　hotel。　Or　was　it　that　he　liked　Mr　Du　Pont　to　have　his　back　to　it？　And　why？　Now；　what　was　the　number　of　Goldfinger's　suite？　No　200；　the　Hawaii　Suite。　Bond's　on　the　top　floor　was　1200。　So；　all　things　being　equal；　Goldfinger's　would　be　directly　below　Bond's；　on　the　second　floor；　twenty　yards　or　so　above　the　roof　of　the　Cabana　Club　…twenty　yards　from　the　card　table。　Bond　counted　down。　He　closely　examined　the　frontage　that　should　be　Goldfinger's。　Nothing。　An　empty　sun　balcony。　An　open　door　into　the　d