if.goldfinger-第3章

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　'Thanks。　Bourbon　on　the　rocks。'
　'And　dimple　Haig　and　water。'　The　waitress　went　away。
　Mr　Du　Pont　leant　forward；　beaming。　A　whiff　of　soap　or　after…shave　lotion　came　across　the　table。　Lentheric？　'I　knew　it　was　you。　As　soon　as　I　saw　you　sitting　there。　But　I　thought　to　myself；　Junius；　you　don't　often　make　an　error　over　a　face；　but　let's　just　go　make　sure。　Well；　I　was　flying　Transamerican　tonight　and；　when　they　announced　the　delay；　I　watched　your　expression　and；　if　you'll　pardon　me；　Mr　Bond；　it　was　pretty　clear　from　the　look　on　your　face　that　you　had　been　flying　Transamerican　too。'　He　waited　for　Bond　to　nod。　He　hurried　on。　'So　I　ran　down　to　the　ticket　counter　and　had　me　a　look　at　the　passenger　list。　Sure　enough；　there　it　was；　〃J。　Bond〃。'
　Mr　Du　Pont　sat　back；　pleased　with　his　cleverness。　The　drinks　came。　He　raised　his　glass。　'Your　very　good　health；　sir。　This　sure　is　my　lucky　day。'
　Bond　smiled　non…mittally　and　drank。
　Mr　Du　Pont　leant　forward　again。　He　looked　round。　There　was　nobody　at　the　nearby　tables。　Nevertheless　he　lowered　his　voice。　'I　guess　you'll　be　saying　to　yourself；　well；　it's　nice　to　see　Junius　Du　Pont　again；　but　what's　the　score？　Why's　he　so　particularly　happy　at　seeing　me　on　just　this　night？'　Mr。　Du　Pont　raised　his　eyebrows　as　if　acting　Bond's　part　for　him。　Bond　put　on　a　face　of　polite　inquiry。　Mr　Du　Pont　leant　still　farther　across　the　table。　'Now；　I　hope　you'll　forgive　me；　Mr　Bond。　It's　not　like　me　to　pry　into　other　people's　secre。。。　er　…　affairs。　But；　after　that　game　at　Royale；　I　did　hear　that　you　were　not　only　a　grand　card　player；　but　also　that　you　were　…　er　…　how　shall　I　put　it？　…　that　you　were　a　sort　of　…　er　…　investigator。　You　know；　kind　of　intelligence　operative。'　Mr　Du　Font's　indiscretion　had　made　him　go　very　red　in　the　face。　He　sat　back　and　took　out　a　handkerchief　and　wiped　his　forehead。　He　looked　anxiously　at　Bond。
　Bond　shrugged　his　shoulders。　The　grey…blue　eyes　that　looked　into　Mr　Du　Font's　eyes；　which　had　turned　hard　and　watchful　despite　his　embarrassment；　held　a　mixture　of　candour；　irony　and　self…deprecation。　'I　used　to　dabble　in　that　kind　of　thing。　Hangover　from　the。war。　One　still　thought　it　was　fun　playing　Red　Indians。　But　there's　no　future　in　it　in　peacetime。'
　'Quite；　quite。'　Mr　Du　Pont　made　a　throwaway　gesture　with　the　hand　that　held　the　cigarette。　His　eyes　evaded　Bond's　as　he　put　the　next　question；　waited　for　the　next　lie。　（Bond　thought；　there's　a　wolf　in　this　Brooks　Brothers　clothing。　This　is　a　shrewd　man。）　'And　now　you've　settled　down？'　Mr　Du　Pont　smiled　paternally。　'What　did　you　choose；　if　you'll　pardon　the　question？'
　'Import　and　Export。　I'm　with　Universal。　Perhaps　you've　e　across　them。'
　Mr　Du　Pont　continued　to　play　the　game。　'Hm。　Universal。　Let　me　see。　Why；　yes；　sure　I've　heard　of　them。　Can't　say　I've　ever　done　business　with　them；　but　I　guess　it's　never　too　late。'　He　chuckled　fatly。　'I've　got　quite　a　heap　of　interests　all　over　the　place。　Only　stuff　I　can　honestly　say　I'm　not　interested　in　is　chemicals。　Maybe　it's　my　misfortune；　Mr　Bond；　but　I'm　not　one　of　the　chemical　Du　Fonts。'
　Bond　decided　that　the　man　was　quite　satisfied　with　the　particular　brand　of　Du　Pont　he　happened　to　be。　He　made　no　ment。　He　glanced　at　his　watch　to　hurry　Mr　Du　Font's　play　of　the　hand。　He　made　a　note　to　handle　his　own　cards　carefully。　Mr　Du　Pont　had　a　nice　pink　kindly　baby…face　with　a　puckered；　rather　feminine　turn…down　mouth。　He　looked　as　harmless　as　any　of　the　middle…aged　Americans　with　cameras　who　stand　outside　Buckingham　Palace。　But　Bond　sensed　many　tough；　sharp　qualities　behind　the　fuddyduddy　facade。
　Mr　Du　Font's　sensitive　eye　caught　Bond's　glance　at　his　watch。　He　consulted　his　own。　'My；　oh　my！　Seven　o'clock　and　here　I've　been　talking　away　without　ing　to　the　point。　Now；　see　here；　Mr　Bond。　I've　got　me　a　problem　on　which　I'd　greatly　appreciate　your　guidance。　If　you　can　spare　me　the　time　and　if　you　were　counting　on　stopping　over　in　Miami　tonight　I'd　reckon　it　a　real　favour　if　you'd　allow　me　to　be　your　host。'　Mr　Du　Pont　held　up　his　hand。　'Now；　I　think　I　can　promise　to　make　you　fortable。　So　happens　I　own　a　piece　of　the　Floridiana。　Maybe　you　heard　we　opened　around　Christmas　time？　Doing　a　great　business　I'm　happy　to　say。　Really　pushing　that　little　old　Fountain　Blue；'　Mr　Du　Pont　laughed　indulgently。　'That's　what　we　call　the　Fontainebleau　down　here。　Now；　what　do　you　say；　Mr　Bond？　You　shall　have　the　best　suite　…　even　if　it。　means　putting　some　good　paying　customers　out　on　the　sidewalk。　And　you'd　be　doing　me　a　real　favour。'　Mr　Du　Pont　looked　imploring。
　Bond　had　already　decided　to　accept　…　blind。　Whatever　Mr　Du　Font's　problem　…　blackmail；　gangsters；　women　…　it　would　be　some　typical　form　of　rich　man's　worry。　Here　was　a　slice　of　the　easy　life　he　had　been　asking　for。　Take　it。　Bond　started　to　say　something　politely　deprecating。　Mr　Du　Pont　interrupted。　'Please；　please；　Mr　Bond。　And　believe　me；　I'm　grateful；　very　grateful　indeed。'　He　snapped　his　fingers　for　the　waitress。　When　she　came；　he　turned　away　from　Bond　and　settled　the　bill　out　of　Bond's　sight。　Like　many　very　rich　men　he　considered　that　showing　his　money；　letting　someone　see　how　much　he　tipped；　amounted　to　indecent　exposure。　He　thrust　his　roll　back　into　his　trousers　pocket　（the　hip　pocket　is　not　the　place　among　the　rich）　and　took　Bond　by　the　arm。　He　sensed　Bond's　resistance　to　the　contact　and　removed　his　hand。　They　went　down　the　stairs　to　the　main　hall。
　'Now；　let's　just　straighten　out　your　reservation。'　Mr　Du　Pont　headed　for　the　Transamerica　ticket　counter。　In　a　few　curt　phrases　Mr　Du　Pont　showed　his　power　and　efficiency　in　his　own；　his　American；　realm。
　'Yes；　Mr　Du　Pont。　Surely；　Mr　Du　Pont。　I'll　take　care　of　that；　Mr　Du　Pont。'
　Outside；　a　gleaming　Chrysler　Imperial　sighed　up　to　the　kerb。　A　tough…looking　chauffeur　in　a　biscuit…coloured　uniform　hurried　to　open　the　door。　Bond　stepped　in　and　settled　down　in　the　soft　upholstery。　The　interior　of　the　car　was　de…liciously　cool；　almost　cold。　The　Transamerican　representative　bustled　out　with　Bond's　suitcase；　handed　it　to　the　chauffeur　and；　with　a　half…bow；　went　back　into　the　Terminal。　'Bill's　on　the　Beach；'　said　Mr　Du　Pont　to　the　chauffeur　and　the　big　car　slid　away　through　the　crowded　parking　lots　and　out　on　to　the　parkway。
　Mr　Du　Pont　settled　back。　'Hope　you　like　stone　crabs；　Mr　Bond。　Ever　tried　them？'
　Bond　said　he　had；　that　he　liked　them　very　much。
　Mr　Du　Pont　talked　about　Bill's　on　the　Beach　and　about　the　relative　merits　of　stone　and　Alaska　crab　meat　while　the　Chrysler　Imperial　sped　through　downtown　Miami；　along　Biscayne　Boulevard　and　across　Biscayne　Bay　by　the　Douglas　MacArthur　Causeway。　Bond　made　appropriate　ments；　letting　himself　be　carried　along　on　the　gracious　stream　of　speed　and　fort　and　rich　small…talk。
　They　drew　up　at　a　white…painted；　mock…Regency　frontage　in　clapboard　and　stucco。　A　scrawl　of　pink　neon　said：　BILL'S　ON　THE　BEACH。　While　Bond　got　out；　Mr　Du　Pont　gave　his　instructions　to　the　chauffeur。　Bond　heard　the　words。　'The　Aloha　Suite；'　and　'If　there's　any　trouble；　tell　Mr　Fairlie　to　call　me　here。　Right？'
　They　went　up　the　steps。　Inside；　the　big　room　was　decorated　in　white　with　pink　muslin　swags　over　the　windows。　There　were　pink　lights　on　the　tables。　The　restaurant　was　crowded　with　sunburned　people　in　expensive　tropical　get…ups　。　…　brilliant　garish　shirts；　jangling　gold　bangles；　dark　glasses　with　jewelled　rims；　cute　native　straw　hats。　There　was　a　confusion　of　scents。　The　wry　smell　of　bodies　that　had　been　all　day　in　the　sun　came　through。
　Bill；　a　pansified　Italian；　hurried　towards　them。　'Why；　Mr　Du　Pont。　Is　a　pleasure；　sir。　Little　crowded　tonight。　Soon　fix　you　up。　Please　this　way　please。'　Holding　a　large　leather…bound　menu　above　his　head　the　man　weaved　his　way　between　the　diners　to　the　best　table　in　the　room；　a　corner　table　for　six。　He　pulled　out　two　chairs；　snapped　his　ringers　for　the　maitre　d'hotel　and　the　wine　waiter；　spread　two　menus　in　front　of　them；　exchanged　pliments　with　Mr　Du　Pont　and　left　them。
　Mr　Du　Pont　slapped　his　menu　shut。　He　said　to　Bond；　'Now；　why　don't　you　just　leave　this　to　me？　If　there's　anything　you　don't　like；　send　it　back。'　And　to　the　head　waiter；　'Stone　crabs。　Not　frozen。　Fresh。　Melted　butter。　Thick　toast。　Right？'
　'Very　good；　Mr　Du　Pont。'　The　wine　wait