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‘I know what you mean,’ said M. ‘But you may be being a bit hard on the man. After all, it’s a big step from the Liverpool docks, or wherever he came from, to where he is now. And he’s one of those people who was born with naturally hairy heels. Nothing to do with snobbery. I expect his mates in Liverpool found him just as loud-mouthed as Blades does. As for his cheating, there’s probably a crooked streak in him somewhere. I dare say he took plenty of short cuts on his way up. Somebody said that to become very rich you have to be helped by a combination of remarkable circumstances and an unbroken run of luck. It certainly isn’t only the qualities of people that make them rich. At least that’s my experience. At the begi
M. paused while the next course came. With it arrived the champagne in a silver ice-bucket, and the small wicker-basket containing M.’s half-bottle of claret.
The wine-steward waited until they had delivered a favourable judgement on the wines and then moved away. As he did so a page came up to their table. ‘Commander Bond?’ he asked.
Bond took the envelope that was handed to him and slit it open. He took out a thin paper packet and carefully opened it under the level of the table. It contained a white powder. He took a silver fruit knife off the table and dipped the tip of the blade into the packet so that about half its contents were transferred to the knife. He reached for his glass of champagne and tipped the powder into it.
‘Now what?’ said M. with a trace of impatience.
There was no hint of apology in Bond’s face. It wasn’t M. who was going to have to do the work that evening. Bond knew what he was doing. Whenever he had a job of work to do he would take infinite pains beforehand and leave as little as possible to chance. Then if something went wrong it was the unforeseeable. For that he accepted no responsibility.
‘Benzedrine,’ he said. ‘I rang up my secretary before di
M smiled at him indulgently. ‘It’s your funeral,’ he said. ‘Now we’d better get on with our di
‘Superb,’ said Bond. ‘I could cut them with a fork. The best English cooking is the best in the world – particularly at this time of the year. By the way, what stakes will we be playing for this evening? I don’t mind very much. We ought to end up the wi
‘Drax likes to play for what he calls “One and One”,’ said M., helping himself from the strawberries that had just been put on the table. ‘Modest sounding stake, if you don’t know what it stands for. In fact it’s one te
‘Oh,’ said Bond respectfully. ‘I see.’
‘But he’s perfectly happy to play for Two and Two or even Three and Three. Mounts up at those figures. The average rubber of bridge at Blades is about ten points. That’s £200 at One and One. And the bridge here makes for big rubbers. There are no conventions so there’s plenty of gambling and bluffing. Sometimes it’s more like poker. They’re a mixed lot of players. Some of them are the best in England, but others are terribly wild. Don’t seem to mind how much they lose. General Bealey, just behind us,’ M. made a gesture with his head, ‘doesn’t know the reds from the blacks. Nearly always a few hundred down at the end of the week. Doesn’t seem to care. Bad heart. No dependants. Stacks of money from jute. But Duff Sutherland, the scruffy-looking chap next to the Chairman, is an absolute killer. Makes a regular ten thousand a year out of the club. Nice chap. Wonderful card ma
M. was interrupted by the arrival of his marrow bone. It was placed upright in a spotless lace napkin on the silver plate. An ornate silver marrow-scoop was laid beside it.
After the asparagus, Bond had little appetite for the thin slivers of pineapple. He tipped the last of the ice-cold champagne into his glass. He felt wonderful. The effects of the benzedrine and champagne had more than offset the splendour of the food. For the first time he took his mind away from the di
It was a sparkling scene. There were perhaps fifty men in the room, the majority in di
At the far end, above the cold table, laden with lobsters, pies, joints and delicacies in aspic, Romney’s unfinished full-length portrait of Mrs. Fitzherbert gazed provocatively across at Fragonard’s Jeu de Cartes, the broad conversation-piece which half-filled the opposite wall above the Adam fireplace. Along the lateral walls, in the centre of each gilt-edged panel, was one of the rare engravings of the Hell-Fire Club in which each figure is shown making a minute gesture of scatological or magical significance. Above, marrying the walls into the ceiling, ran a frieze in plaster relief of carved urns and swags interrupted at intervals by the capitals of the fluted pilasters which framed the windows and the tall double doors, the latter delicately carved with a design showing the Tudor Rose interwoven with a ribbon effect.
The central chandelier, a cascade of crystal ropes terminating in a broad basket of strung quartz, sparkled warmly above the white damask tablecloths and George IV silver. Below, in the centre of each table, branched candlesticks distributed the golden light of three candles, each surmounted by a red silk shade, so that the faces of the diners shone with a convivial warmth which glossed over the occasional chill of an eye or cruel twist of a mouth.
Even as Bond drank in the warm elegance of the scene, some of the groups began to break up. There was a drift towards the door accompanied by an exchange of challenges, side-bets, and exhortations to hurry up and get down to business. Sir Hugo Drax, his hairy red face shining with cheerful anticipation, came towards them with Meyer in his wake.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said jovially as he reached their table. ‘Are the lambs ready for the slaughter and the geese for the plucking?’ He gri
‘Be with you in a moment,’ said M. edgily. ‘You go along and stack the cards.’
Drax laughed. ‘We shan’t need any artificial aids,’ he said. ‘Don’t be long.’ He turned and made for the door. Meyer enveloped them in an uncertain smile and followed him.
M. grunted. ‘We’ll have coffee and brandy in the card room,’ he said to Bond. ‘Can’t smoke here. Now then. Any final plans?’
‘I’ll have to fatten him up for the kill, so please don’t worry if I seem to be betting high,’ said Bond. ‘We’ll just have to play our normal game till the time comes. When it’s his deal, we’ll have to be careful. Of course, he can’t alter the cards and there’s no reason why he shouldn’t deal us good hands, but he’s bound to bring off some pretty remarkable coups. Do you mind if I sit on his left?’