if.goldfinger-第11章

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g　business。　Slips　the　messages　into　the　right…hand　coat　pocket　when　he　brushes　the　customers　down。　He　lost　a　leg　at　Stalingrad。　Any　good；　sir？　There's　plenty　more　on　him。'
　'No　thanks。　That　couldn't　be　my　man。'
　'We　could　put　a　trace　through　CID　Records　in　the　morning。　Got　a　picture；　sir？'
　Bond　remembered　the　Leica　film。　He　hadn't　even　bothered　to　have　it　developed。　It　would　be　quicker　to　mock　up　the　man's　face　on　the　Identicast。　He　said；　'Is　the　Identicast　room　free？'
　'Yes；　sir。　And　I　can　operate　it　for　you　if　you　like。'
　'Thanks。　I'll　e　down。'
　Bond　told　the　switchboard　to　let　heads　of　sections　know　where　he　would　be　and　went　out　and　took　the　lift　down　to　Records　on　the　first　floor。
　The　big　building　was　extraordinarily　quiet　at　night。　Be　neath　the　silence　there　was　a　soft　whisper　of　machinery　and　hidden　life　…　the　muffled　clack　of　a　typewriter　as　Bond　passed　a　door；　a　quickly　suppressed　stammer　of　radio　static　as　he　passed　another；　the　soft　background　whine　of　the　ventilation　system。　It　gave　you　the　impression　of　being　in　a　battleship　in　harbour。
　The　Records　duty　officer　was　already　at　the　controls　of　the　Identicast　in　the　projection　room。　He　said　to　Bond；　'Could　you　give　me　the　main　lines　of　the　face；　sir？　That'll　help　me　leave　out　the　slides　that　are　obviously　no　good。'
　Bond　did　so　and　sat　back　and　watched　the　lighted　screen。
　The　Identicast　is　a　machine　for　building　up　an　approximate　picture　of　a　suspect　…　or　of　someone　who　has　perhaps　only　been　glimpsed　in　a　street　or　a　train　or　in　a　passing　car。　It　works　on　the　magic　lantern　principle。　The　operator　flashes　on　the　screen　various　head…shapes　and　sizes。　When　one　is　recognized　it　stays　on　the　screen。　Then　various　haircuts　are　shown；　and　then　all　the　other　features　follow　and　are　chosen　one　by　one　…　different　shapes　of　eyes；　noses；　chins；　mouths；　eyebrows；　cheeks；　ears。　In　the　end　there　is　the　whole　picture　of　a　face；　as　near　as　the　scanner　can　remember　it；　and　it　is　photographed　and　put　on　record。
　It　took　some　time　to　put　together　Goldfinger's　extraordinary　face；　but　the　final　result　was　an　approximate　likeness　in　monochrome。　Bond　dictated　one　or　two　notes　about　the　sunburn；　the　colour　of　the　hair　and　the　expression　of　the　eyes；　and　the　job　was　done。
　'Wouldn't　like　to　meet　that　on　a　dark　night；'　mented　the　man　from　Records。　'I'll　put　it　through　to　CID　when　they　e　on　duty。　You　should　get　the　answer　by　lunch　time。'
　Bond　went　back　to　the　seventh　floor。　On　the　other　side　of　the　world　it　was　around　midnight。　Eastern　stations　were　closing　down。　There　was　a　flurry　of　signals　that　had　to　be　dealt　with；　the　night's　log　to　be　written　up；　and　then　it　was　eight　o'clock。　Bond　telephoned　the　canteen　for　his　breakfast。　He　had　just　finished　it　when　there　came　the　harsh　purr　of　the　red　telephone。　M！　Why　the　hell　had　he　got　in　half　an　hour　early？
　'Yes；　sir。'
　'e　up　to　my　office；　007。　I　want　to　have　a　word　before　you　go　off　duty。'
　'Sir。'　Bond　put　the　telephone　back。　He　slipped　on　his　coat　and　ran　a　hand　through　his　hair；　told　the　switchboard　where　he　would　be；　took　the　night　log　and　went　up　in　the　lift　to　the　eighth　and　top　floor。　Neither　the　desirable　Miss　Moneypenny　nor　the　Chief　of　Staff　was　on　duty。　Bond　knocked　on　M's　door　and　went　in。
　'Sit　down；　007。'　M　was　going　through　the　pipe…lighting　routine。　He　looked　pink　and　well　scrubbed。　The　lined　sailor's　face　above　the　stiff　white　collar　and　loosely　tied　spotted　bow　tie　was　damnably　brisk　and　cheerful。　Bond　was　conscious　of　the　black　stubble　on　his　own　chin　and　of　the　all…night　look　of　his　skin　and　clothes。　He　sharpened　his　mind。
　'Quiet　night？'　M　had　got　his　pipe　going。　His　hard；　healthy　eyes　regarded　Bond　attentively。
　'Pretty　quiet；　sir。　Station　H…'
　M　raised　his　left　hand　an　inch　or　two。　'Never　mind。　I'll　read　all　about　it　in　the　log。　Here；　I'll　take　it。'
　Bond　handed　over　the　Top　Secret　folder。　M　put　it　to　one　side。　He　smiled　one　of　his　rare；　rather　sardonic；　bitten…off　smiles。　'Things　change；　007。　I'm　taking　you　off　night　duty　for　the　present。'
　Bond's　answering　smile　was　taut。　He　felt　the　quickening　of　the　pulse　he　had　so　often　experienced　in　this　room。　M　had　got　something　for　him。　He　said；　'I　was　just　getting　into　it；　sir。'
　'Quite。　Have　plenty　of　opportunity　later　on。　Something's　e　up。　Odd　business。　Not　really　your　line　of　country；　except　for　one　particular　angle　which'　…　M　jerked　his　pipe　sideways　in　a　throwaway　gesture　…　'may　not　be　an　angle　at　all。'
　Bond　sat　back。　He　said　nothing；　waiting。
　'Had　dinner　with　the　Governor　of　the　Bank　last　night。　One's　always　hearing　something　new。　At　'least；　all　this　was　new　to　me。　Gold　…　the　seamy　side　of　the　stuff。　Smuggling；　counterfeiting；　all　that。　Hadn't　occurred　to　me　that　the　Bank　of　England　knew　so　much　about　crooks。　Suppose　it's　part　of　the　Bank's　job　to　protect　our　currency。'　M　jerked　his　eyebrows　up。　'Know　anything　about　gold？'
　'No；　sir。'
　'Well；　you　will　by　this　afternoon。　You've　got　an　appointment　with　a　man　called　Colonel　Smithers　at　the　Bank　at　four　o'clock。　That　give　you　enough　time　to　get　some　sleep？'
　'Yes；　sir。'
　'Good。　Seems　that　this　man　Smithers　is　head　of　the　Bank's　research　department。　From　what　the　Governor　told　me；　that's　nothing　more　or　less　than　a　spy　system。　First　time　I　knew　they　had　one。　Just　shows　what　watertight　partments　we　all　work　in。　Anyway；　Smithers　and　his　chaps　keep　an　eye　out　for　anything　fishy　in　the　banking　world　…　particularly　any　monkeying　about　with　our　currency　and　bullion　reserves　and　what　not。　There　was　that　business　the　other　day　of　the　Italians　who　were　counterfeiting　sovereigns。　Making　them　out　of　real　gold。　Right　carats　and　all　that。　But　apparently　a　sovereign　or　a　French　napoleon　is　worth　much　more　than　its　melted…down　value　in　gold。　Don't　ask　me　why。　Smithers　can　tell　you　that　if　you're　interested。　Anyway；　the　Bank　went　after　these　people　with　a　whole　battery　of　lawyers…it　wasn't　technically　a　criminal　offence　…　and；　after　losing　in　the　Italian　courts；　they　finally　nailed　them　in　Switzerland。　You　probably　read　about　it。　Then　there　was　that　business　of　dollar　balances　in　Beirut。　Made　quite　a　stir　in　the　papers。　Couldn't　understand　it　myself。　Some　crack　in　the　fence　we　put　round　our　currency。　The　wide　City　boys　had　found　it。　Well；　it's　Smithers's　job　to　smell　out　that　kind　of　racket。　The　reason　the　Governor　told　me　all　this　is　because　for　years；　almost　since　the　war　apparently；　Smithers　has　had　a　bee　in　his　bonnet　about　some　big　gold　leak　out　of　England。　Mostly　deduction；　plus　some　kind　of　instinct。　Smithers　admits　he's　got　damned　little　to　go　on；　but　he's　impressed　the　Governor　enough　for　him　to　get　permission　from　the　PM　to　call　us　in。'　M　broke　off。　He　looked　quizzically　at　Bond。　'Ever　wondered　who　are　the　richest　men　in　England？'
　？No；　sir。'
　〃Well；　have　a　guess。　Or　rather；　put　it　like　this：　Who　are　the　richest　Englishmen？'
　Bond　searched　his　mind。　There　were　a　lot　of　men　who　sounded　rich　or　who　were　made　to　sound　rich　by　the　newspapers。　But　who　really　had　it；　liquid；　in　the　bank？　He　had　to　say　something。　He　said　hesitatingly；　'Well；　sir；　there's　Sas…soon。　Then　that　shipping　man　who　keeps　to　himself　…　er　…Ellerman。　They　say　Lord　Cowdray　is　very　rich。　There　are　the　bankers　…　Rothschilds；　Barings；　Hambros。　There　was　Williamson；　the　diamond　man。　Oppenheimer　in　South　Africa。　Some　of　the　dukes　may　still　have　a　lot　of　money。'　Bond's　voice　trailed　away。
　'Not　bad。　Not　bad　at　all。　But　you've　missed　out　the　joker　in　the　pack。　Man　I'd　never　thought　of　until　the　Governor　brought　up　his　name。　He's　the　richest　of　the　lot。　Man　called　Goldfinger。　Auric　Goldfinger。'
　Bond　couldn't　help　himself。　He　laughed　sharply。
　'What's　the　matter？'　M's　voice　was　testy。　What　the　hell　is　there　to　laugh　about？'
　'I'm　sorry；　sir。'　Bond　got　hold　of　himself。　'The　truth　is；　only　last　night　I　was　building　his　face　up　on　the　Identicast。'　He　glanced　at　his　watch。　In　a　strangled　voice　he　said；　'Be　on　its　way　to　CID　Records。　Asked　for　a　Trace　on　him。'
　M　was　getting　angry。　'What　the　hell's　all　this　about？　Stop　behaving　like　a　bloody　schoolboy。'
　Bond　said　soberly；　'Well；　sir；　it's　like　this。。。'　Bond　told　the　story；　leaving　nothing　out。
　M's　face　cleared。　He　listened　with　all　his　attention；　leaning　for