ian fleming.casino royale-第6章

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ats；　there　remained　absolutely　nothing。　But　there　were　red　traces　on　the　road；　and　on　the　pavements　and　against　the　trunks　of　the　trees；　and　there　were　glittering　shreds　high　up　in　the　branches。
　Bond　felt　himself　starting　to　vomit。
　It　was　Mathis　who　got　to　him　first；　and　by　that　time　Bond　was　standing　with　his　arm　round　the　tree　which　had　saved　his　life。
　Stupefied；　but　unharmed；　he　allowed　Mathis　to　lead　him　off　towards　the　Splendide　from　which　guests　and　servants　were　pouring　in　chattering　fright。　As　the　distant　clang　of　bells　heralded　the　arrival　of　ambulances　and　fire…engines；　they　managed　to　push　through　the　throng　and　up　the　short　stairs　and　along　the　corridor　to　Bond's　room。
　Mathis　paused　only　to　turn　on　the　radio　in　front　of　the　fireplace；　then；　while　Bond　stripped　off　his　blood…flecked　clothes；　Mathis　sprayed　him　with　questions。
　When　it　came　to　the　description　of　the　two　men；　Mathis　tore　the　telephone　off　its　hook　beside　Bond's　bed。
　'。。。　and　tell　the　police；'　he　concluded；　'tell　them　that　the　Englishman　from　Jamaica　who　was　knocked　over　by　the　blast　is　my　affair。　He　is　unhurt　and　they　are　not　to　worry　him。　I　will　explain　to　them　in　half　an　hour。　They　should　tell　the　Press　that　it　was　apparently　a　vendetta　between　two　Bulgarian　munists　and　that　one　killed　the　other　with　a　bomb。　They　need　say　nothing　of　the　third　Bulgar　who　must　have　been　hanging　about　somewhere；　lout　they　must　get　him　at　all　costs。　He　will　certainly　head　for　Paris。　Road…blocks　everywhere。　Understand？　Alors；　bonne　chance。'
　Mathis　turned　back　to　Bond　and　heard　him　to　the　end。
　'Merde；　but　you　were　lucky；'　he　said　when　Bond　had　finished。　'Clearly　the　bomb　was　intended　for　you。　It　must　have　been　faulty。　They　intended　to　throw　it　and　then　dodge　behind　their　tree。　But　it　all　came　out　the　other　way　round。　Never　mind。　We　will　discover　the　facts。'　He　paused。　'But　certainly　it　is　a　curious　affair。　And　these　people　appear　to　be　taking　you　seriously。'　Mathis　looked　affronted。　'But　how　did　these　sacré　Bulgars　intend　to　escape　capture？　And　what　was　the　significance　of　the　red　and　the　blue　cases？　We　must　try　and　find　some　fragments　of　the　red　one。'
　Mathis　bit　his　nails。　He　was　excited　and　his　eyes　glittered。　This　was　being　a　formidable　and　dramatic　affair；　in　many　aspects　of　which　he　was　now　involved　personally。　Certainly　it　was　no　longer　just　a　case　of　holding　Bond's　coat　while　he　had　his　private　battle　with　Le　Chiffre　in　the　Casino。　Mathis　jumped　up。
　'Now　get　a　drink　and　some　lunch　and　a　rest；'　he　ordered　Bond。　'For　me；　I　must　get　my　nose　quickly　into　this　affair　before　the　police　have　muddied　the　trail　with　their　big　black　boots。'
　Mathis　turned　off　the　radio　and　waved　an　affectionate　farewell。　The　door　slammed　and　silence　settled　on　the　room。　Bond　sat　for　a　while　by　the　window　and　enjoyed　being　alive。
　Later；　as　Bond　was　finishing　his　first　straight　whisky　'on　the　rocks'　and　was　contemplating　the　paté　de　foie　gras　and　cold　langouste　which　the　waiter　had　just　laid　out　for　him；　the　telephone　rang。
　'This　is　Mademoiselle　Lynd。'
　The　voice　was　low　and　anxious。
　'Are　you　all　right？'
　'Yes；　quite。'
　'I'm　glad。　Please　take　care　of　yourself。'
　She　rang　off。
　Bond　shook　himself；　then　he　picked　up　his　knife　and　selected　the　thickest　of　the　pieces　of　hot　toast。
　He　suddenly　thought：　two　of　them　are　dead；　and　I　have　got　one　more　on　my　side。　It's　a　start。
　He　dipped　the　knife　into　the　glass　of　very　hot　water　which　stood　beside　the　pot　of　Strasbourg　porcelain　and　reminded　himself　to　tip　the　waiter　doubly　for　this　particular　meal。
　
　CHAPTER　7　…　ROUGE　ET　NOIR
　Bond　was　determined　to　be　pletely　fit　and　relaxed　for　a　gambling　session　which　might　last　most　of　the　night。　He　ordered　a　masseur　for　three　o'clock。　After　the　remains　of　his　luncheon　had　been　removed；　he　sat　at　his　window　gazing　out　to　sea　until　there　came　a　knock　on　the　door　as　the　masseur；　a　Swede；　presented　himself
　Silently　he　got　to　work　on　Bond　from　his　feet　to　his　neck；　melting　the　tensions　in　his　body　and　calming　his　still　twanging　nerves。　Even　the　long　purpling　bruises　down　Bond's　left　shoulder　and　side　ceased　to　throb；　and　when　the　Swede　had　gone　Bond　fell　into　a　dreamless　sleep。
　He　awoke　in　the　evening　pletely　refreshed。
　After　a　cold　shower；　Bond　walked　over　to　the　Casino。　Since　the　night　before　he　had　lost　the　mood　of　the　tables。　He　needed　to　re…establish　that　focus　which　is　half　mathematical　and　half　intuitive　and　which；　with　a　slow　pulse　and　a　sanguine　temperament；　Bond　knew　to　be　the　essential　equipment　of　any　gambler　who　was　set　on　winning。
　Bond　had　always　been　a　gambler。　He　loved　the　dry　riffle　of　the　cards　and　the　constant　unemphatic　drama　of　the　quiet　figures　round　the　green　tables。　He　liked　the　solid；　studied　fort　of　card…rooms　and　casinos；　the　well…padded　arms　of　the　chairs；　the　glass　of　champagne　or　whisky　at　the　elbow；　the　quiet　unhurried　attention　of　good　servants。　He　was　amused　by　the　impartiality　of　the　roulette　ball　and　of　the　playing…cards　…　and　their　eternal　bias。　He　liked　being　an　actor　and　a　spectator　and　from　his　chair　to　take　part　in　other　men's　dramas　and　decisions；　until　it　came　to　his　own　turn　to　say　that　vital　'yes'　or　'no'；　generally　on　a　fifty…fifty　chance。
　Above　all；　he　liked　it　that　everything　was　one's　own　fault。　There　was　only　oneself　to　praise　or　blame。　Luck　was　a　servant　and　not　a　master。　Luck　had　to　be　accepted　with　a　shrug　or　taken　advantage　of　up　to　the　hilt。　But　it　had　to　be　understood　and　recognized　for　what　it　was　and　not　confused　with　a　faulty　appreciation　of　the　odds；　for；　at　gambling；　the　deadly　sin　is　to　mistake　bad　play　for　bad　luck。　And　luck　in　all　its　moods　had　to　be　loved　and　not　feared　Bond　saw　luck　as　a　woman；　to　be　softly　wooed　or　brutally　ravaged；　never　pandered　to　or　pursued。　But　he　was　honest　enough　to　admit　that　he　had　never　yet　been　made　to　suffer　by　cards　or　by　women。　One　day；　and　he　accepted　the　fact　he　would　be　brought　to　his　knees　by　love　or　by　luck。　When　that　happened　he　knew　that　he　too　would　be　branded　with　the　deadly　question…mark　he　recognized　so　often　in　others；　the　promise　to　pay　before　you　have　lost：　the　acceptance　of　fallibility。
　But　on　this　June　evening　when　Bond　walked　through　the　'kitchen'　into　the　salle　privée；　it　was　with　a　sensation　of　confidence　and　cheerful　anticipation　that　he　changed　a　million　francs　into　plaques　of　fifty　mille　and　took　a　seat　next　to　the　chef　de　partie　at　Roulette　Table　Number　1。
　Bond　borrowed　the　chef's　card　and　studied　the　run　of　the　ball　since　the　session　had　started　at　three　o'clock　that　afternoon。　He　always　did　this　although　he　knew　that　each　turn　of　the　wheel；　each　fall　of　the　ball　into　a　numbered　slot　has　absolutely　no　connexion　with　its　predecessor。　He　accepted　that　the　game　begins　afresh　each　time　the　croupier　picks　up　the　ivory　ball　with　his　right　hand；　gives　one　of　the　four　spokes　of　the　wheel　a　controlled　twist　clockwise　with　the　same　hand；　and　with　a　third　motion；　also　with　the　right　hand；　flicks　the　ball　round　the　outer　rim　of　the　wheel　anti…clockwise；　against　the　spin。
　It　was　obvious　that　all　this　ritual　and　all　the　mechanical　minutiae　of　the　wheel；　of　the　numbered　slots　and　the　cylinder；　had　been　devised　and　perfected　over　the　years　so　that　neither　the　skill　of　the　croupier　nor　any　bias　in　the　wheel　could　affect　the　fall　of　the　ball。　And　yet　it　is　a　convention　among　roulette　players；　and　Bond　rigidly　adhered　to　it；　to　take　careful　note　of　the　past　history　of　each　session　and　to　be　guided　by　any　peculiarities　in　the　run　of　the　wheel。　To　note；　for　instance；　and　consider　significant；　sequences　of　more　than　two　on　a　single　number　or　of　more　than　four　at　the　other　chances　down　to　evens。
　Bond　didn't　defend　the　practice。　He　simply　maintained　that　the　more　effort　and　ingenuity　you　put　into　gambling；　the　more　you　took　out。
　On　the　record　of　that　particular　table；　after　about　three　hours'　play；　Bond　could　see　little　of　interest　except　that　the　last　dozen　had　been　out　of　favour。　It　was　his　practice　to　play　always　with　the　wheel；　and　only　to　turn　against　its　previous　pattern　and　start　on　a　new　tack　after　a　zero　had　turned　up。　So　he　decided　to　play　one　of　his　favourite　gambits　and　back　two　…　in　this　case　the　first　two　…　dozens；　each　with　the　maximum　…　one　hundred　thousand　francs。　He　thus　had　two…thirds　of　the　board　covered　（less　the　zero）　and；　since　the　dozens　pay　odds　of　two　to　one；　he　stood　to　win　a　hundred　thousand　francs　every　time　any　number　lower　than　twenty…five　turned　up。
　After　seven　coups　he　had　won　six　times。　He　lost　on　the　seventh　when　thirty　came　up。　His　net　profit　was　four　hundred　thousand　francs。　He　kept　off　the　table　for　the　eighth　throw。　Zero　turned　up。　This　piece　of　luck　cheered　him　further　and；　accepting　the　thirty　as　a　finger…post　to　the　last　dozen；　he　decided　to　back　the　first　and　last　dozens　until　he　had　lost　twice。　Ten　throws　later　the　middle　dozen　came　up　twice；　costing　him　four　hundred　thousand　francs　but　he　rose　from　the　table　one　million　francs　to　the　good。
　Directly　Bond　had　started　playing　in　maximums；　his　game　had　bee　the　centre　of　interest　at　the　table。　As　he　seemed　to　be　in　luck；　one　or　two　pilot　fish　started　to　swim　with　the　shark。　Sitting　directly　opposite；　one　of　these；　whom　Bond　took　to　be　an　American；　had　shown　more　than　the　usual　friendliness　and　pleasure　at　his　share　of　the　winning　streak。　He　had　smiled　once　or　twice　across　the　table；　and　there　was　something　pointed　in　the　way　he　duplicated　Bond's　movements；　placing　his　two　modest　plaques　of　ten　mille　exactly　opposite　Bond's　larger　ones。　When　Bond　rose；　he　too　pushed　back　his　chair　and　called　cheerfully　across　the　table：
　'Thanks　for　the　ride。　Guess　I　owe　you　a　drink。　Will　you　join　me？'
　Bond　had　a　feeling　that　this　might　be　the　CIA　man。　He　knew　he　was　right　as　they　strolled　off　together　towards　the　bar；　after　Bond　had　thrown　a　plaque　of　ten　mille　to　the　croupier　and　had　given　a　mine　to　the　huissier　who　drew　back　his　chair。
　'My　name's　Felix　Leiter；'　said　the　American。　'Glad　to　meet　you。'
　'Mine's　Bond　…　James　Bond。'
　'Oh　yes；'　said　his　panion；　'and　now　let's　see。　What　shall　we　have　to　celebrate？'
　Bond　insisted　on　ordering　Leiter's　Haig…and…Haig　'on　the　rocks'　and　then　he　looked　carefully　at　the　barman。
　'A　dry　martini；'　he　said。　'One。　In　a　deep　champagne　goblet。'
　'Oui；　monsieur。'
　'Just　a　moment。　Three　measures　of　Gordon's；　one　of　vodka；　half　a　measure　of　Kina　Lillet。　Shake　it　very　well　until　it's　ice…cold；　then　add　a　large　thin　slice　of　lemon…peel。　Got　it？'
　'Certainly；　monsieur。'　The　barman　seemed　pleased　with　the　idea。
　'Gosh；　that's　certainly　a　drink；'　said　Leiter。
　Bond　laughed。　'When　I'm　。　。　。　er　。　。　。　concentrating；'　he　explained；　'I　never　have　more　than　one　drink　before　dinner。　But　I　do　like　that　one　to　be　large　and　very　strong　and　very　cold　and　very　well…made。　I　hate　small　portions　of　anything；　particularly　when　they　taste　bad。　This　drink's　my　own　invention。　I'm　going　to　patent　it　when　I　can　think　of　a　good　name。'
　He　watched　carefully　as　the　deep　glass　became　frosted　with　the　pale　golden　drink；　slightly　aerated　by　the　bruising　of　the　shaker。　He　reached　for　it　and　took　a　long　sip。
　'Excellent；'　he　said　to　the　barman；　'but　if　you　can　get　a　vodka　made　with　grain　instead　of　potatoes；　you　will　find　it　still　better。'