007 Complete Series - 21 James Bond Novels in One Volume. Ian Fleming

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      Chapter VIII

       The Red Telephone

       Table of Content

      Although he had not got to bed until two, Bond walked into his headquarters punctually at ten the next morning. He was feeling dreadful. As well as acidity and liver as a result of drinking nearly two whole bottles of champagne, he had a touch of the melancholy and spiritual deflation that were partly the after-effects of the benzedrine and partly reaction to the drama of the night before.

      When he went up in the lift towards another routine day, the bitter taste of the midnight hours was still with him.

      After Meyer had scuttled thankfully off to bed, Bond had taken the two packs of cards out of the pockets of his coat and had put them on the table in front of Basildon and M. One was the blue pack that Drax had cut to him and that he had pocketed, substituting instead, under cover of his handkerchief, the stacked blue pack in his right-hand pocket. The other was the stacked red pack in his left-hand pocket which had not been needed.

      He fanned the red pack out on the table and showed M. and Basildon that it would have produced the same freak grand slam that had defeated Drax.

      "It's a famous Culbertson hand," he explained. "He used it to spoof his own quick-trick conventions. I had to doctor a red and a blue pack. Couldn't know which colour I would be dealing with."

      "Well, it certainly went with a bang," said Basildon gratefully. "I expect he'll put two and two together and either stay away or play straight in future. Expensive evening for him. Don't let's have any arguments about your winnings," he added. "You've done everyone--and particularly Drax--a good turn tonight. Things might have gone wrong. Then it would have been your fingers that would have got burned. Cheque will reach you on Saturday."

      They had said good-night and Bond, in a mood of anti-climax, had gone off to bed. He had taken a mild sleeping pill to try and clear his mind of the bizarre events of the evening and prepare himself for the morning and the office. Before he slept he reflected, as he had often reflected in other moments of triumph at the card table, that the gain to the winner is, in some odd way, always less than the loss to the loser.

      When he closed the door behind him Loelia Ponsonby looked curiously at the dark shadows under his eyes. He noticed the glance, as she had intended.

      He grinned. "Partly work and partly play," he explained. "In strictly masculine company," he added. "And thanks very much for the benzedrine. It really was badly needed. Hope I didn't interfere with your evening?"

      "Of course not," she said, thinking of the dinner and the library book she had abandoned when Bond telephoned. She looked down at her shorthand pad. "The Chief of Staff telephoned half an hour ago. He said that M. would be wanting you today. He couldn't say when. I told him that you've got Unarmed Combat at three and he said to cancel it. That's all, except the dockets left over from yesterday."

      "Thank heavens," said Bond. "I couldn't have stood being thrown about by that dam' Commando chap today. Any news of 008?"

      "Yes," she said. "They say he's all right. He's been moved to the military hospital at Wahnerheide. Apparently it's only shock."

      Bond knew what 'shock' might mean in his profession. "Good," he said without conviction. He smiled at her and went into his office and closed the door.

      He walked decisively round his desk to the chair, sat down, and pulled the top file towards him. Monday was gone. This was Tuesday. A new day. Closing his mind to his headache СКАЧАТЬ