9780099575979

IAN FLEMING Ian Lancaster Fleming was born in London in 1908.

His first job was at Reuters news agency after which he worked briefly as a stockbroker before working in Naval Intelligence during the Second World War. His first novel, Casino Royale, was published in 1953 and was an instant success. Fleming went on to write thirteen other Bond books as well as two works of non-fiction and the children’s classic Chitty-ChittyBang-Bang. The Bond books have sold over sixty million copies and earned praise from figures such as Raymond Chandler, who called Fleming ‘the most forceful and driving writer of thrillers in England’, and President Kennedy, who named From Russia, With Love as one of his favourite books. The books inspired a hugely successful series of film adaptations which began in 1962 with the release of Dr No, starring Sean Connery as 007. Fleming was married to Ann Rothermere with whom he had a son, Caspar.

Ian Fleming died in 1964. www.ianfleming.com

T H E JA ME S B O ND B OO K S Casino Royale Live and Let Die

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Moonraker Diamonds are Forever From Russia, With Love Dr No Goldfinger For Your Eyes Only Thunderball The Spy Who Loved Me On Her Majesty’s Secret Service You Only Live Twice The Man with the Golden Gun Octopussy and The Living Daylights

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IAN FLEMING

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007

CASINO ROYALE with a new introduction by

Anthony Horowitz

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I A N F LEMING P U B L I C AT I O N S L I M I T E D

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10 9 Vintage 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London SW1V 2SA Vintage is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

& Copyright © Ian Fleming Publications Limited 1953 Introduction Copyright © Anthony Horowitz 2018 Ian Fleming has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 James Bond and 007 are registered trademarks of Danjaq LLC, used under licence by Ian Fleming Publications Ltd. The Ian Fleming logo and Ian Fleming signature are both trademarks owned by The Ian Fleming Estate and used under licence by Ian Fleming Publications Ltd. First published in Great Britain in 1953 by Jonathan Cape First published by Vintage in 2012 This edition published 2018 A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 9780099575979 Printed bound

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by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc Penguin Random House is committed to a sustainable future for our business, our readers and our planet. This book is made from Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.

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Introduction The Secret Agent Dossier for M. Number 007 ‘L’Ennemi Écoute’ The Girl from Headquarters Two Men in Straw Hats ‘Rouge et Noir’ Pink Lights and Champagne The Game is Baccarat The High Table Moment of Truth The Deadly Tube ‘A Whisper of Love, a Whisper of Hate’ ‘La Vie en Rose?’

Black Hare and Grey Hound The Crawling of the Skin ‘My Dear Boy’

vii viii 1 10 22 27 36 46 52 63 71 82 91 100

109 119 125 131 140

C A S I N O R O YA L E

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A Crag-like Face The White Tent The Nature of Evil Vesper The Hastening Saloon Tide of Passion ‘Fruit Défendu’ ‘Black-Patch’ ‘Sleep Well, My Darling’ The Bleeding Heart

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153 158 167 177 187 196 202 208 216 222

INTRODUCTION

&@£$27 What must it have been like, writing the first book in a series that would, to some extent, change the world?

Sales of the James Bond adventures exceed one hundred million copies. Continuation novels have been created by writers including Kingsley Amis, Sebastian Faulks, Jeffery Deaver, William Boyd and myself. It has been said (though never proved) that half the population of the planet has seen a James Bond film. There have been twenty-four of those and they have taken around eight billion dollars at the box office.

Ian Fleming began Casino Royale on the morning of 15 January 1952 and finished the 62,000-word manuscript just eight weeks later on 18 March – though Andrew Lycett, Fleming’s biographer, suggests the time-frame may have been even shorter. It was written – as were all the Bond novels – at Goldeneye, the villa that Fleming had built on the north coast of Jamaica. It is quite possible that he felt under pressure to produce a money-spinner. He had talked about

C A S I N O R O YA L E

writing a thriller in the vein of Geoffrey Household or H.C. McNeile (Bulldog Drummond). But now he was about to get married. His wife-to-be, Ann Rothermere, was two months pregnant. His salary, as Foreign Manager of the Kemsley newspaper group, would surely not be enough for the lifestyle he had in mind.

Later on, Fleming would write dismissively of the genesis of James Bond. ‘I was on the edge of marrying and the prospect was so horrifying that I was in urgent need of some activity to take my mind off it. . .so I decided to write a book.’ And his thoughts when he had finished it? ‘I did nothing with the manuscript. I was too ashamed. No publisher would want it and if they did I would not have the face to see it in print.

Even under a pseudonym, someone would leak the ghastly fact that it was I who had written this adolescent tripe.’

Actually, I’ve never been completely persuaded by Fleming’s seeming diffidence towards his writing. This is a man who took his work deadly seriously, immersing himself in every aspect of the publishing process, including sales tactics, reviews and distribution. He would even design the ‘nine of hearts’ cover of Casino Royale and was instrumental in the choice of the iconic artist, Richard Chopping, who illustrated the covers from From Russia, With Love onwards. viii

And take a Royale:

The scent nauseating soul-erosio compost of – becomes revolt from

It’s a maste assurance and novels, the sen there and kno the constructio ‘compost’: cou described? Th churning it ou get it right.

Scent and with an a morning.

This was the any Bond nov so upfront. It

ey Household . But now he e-to-be, Ann His salary, as spaper group, estyle he had

issively of the e of marrying was in urgent off it. . .so I ghts when he manuscript. I want it and if ee it in print. ould leak the his adolescent

persuaded by writing. This sly, immersing hing process, tribution. He over of Casino e of the iconic he covers from

INTRODUCTION

And take a look at the opening paragraph of Casino Royale: The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning. Then the soul-erosion produced by high gambling – a compost of greed and fear and nervous tension – becomes unbearable and the senses awake and revolt from it.

It’s a masterful piece of prose, written with the selfassurance and authority that characterises all the Bond novels, the sense that we are with someone who has been there and knows exactly what he’s talking about. I love the construction of ‘soul-erosion’ and the perfect use of ‘compost’: could the mixture of greed and fear be better described? This is not the work of a hack writer simply churning it out. In fact, it took Fleming three goes to get it right.

Scent and smoke and sweat hit the taste buds with an acid thwack at three o’clock in the morning.

This was the first attempt and it’s hard to believe that any Bond novel would succeed with the word ‘thwack’ so upfront. It was followed by: ix

C A S I N O R O YA L E

Scent and smoke can suddenly combine together and hit the taste buds with an acid shock at three o’clock in the morning.

A touch boring? A little hesitant? At least the acid shock is an improvement on the acid thwack but what have taste buds got to do with anything?

It’s a rare insight: the sculptor chiselling away at his block of marble until he gets it right. Perhaps Fleming surprised himself, discovering just how good a writer he was. After all, despite his involvement in the world of newspapers, he hadn’t actually published a single article for almost twenty years. It was his older brother, Peter, whose travel writing and fiction had made ‘Fleming’ a household name. I like to imagine a surge of confidence, once that first paragraph had been nailed, that propelled Fleming to finish the book with such speed – and to begin the next one, Live and Let Die, before Casino Royale was even published.

There were no notes for Casino Royale, no plan – although there are some incidents in the book that are supposedly drawn from life. The perfectly titled chapter ‘Two Men in Straw Hats’ (nobody did chapter headings better than Fleming) was based on the attempted assassination of the former German Chancellor, Franz von Papen, while the casino at Royale-les-Eaux could have been inspired by the casino x

at Estoril, to t at the start of t to have happe book. Very go baldly, in her Casino Roya gone before it from all the o see the various can start with created by Drummond, t and just abou Fleming had particular his His own life, Division of th plenty of insp But there ha appears fully Bentley, Morla not stirred. At ‘his seventieth

His last acti pillow until Police Posit

ne together ock at three

least the acid wack but what

ng away at his haps Fleming od a writer he n the world of a single article brother, Peter, de ‘Fleming’ a of confidence, that propelled peed – and to e Casino Royale

ale, no plan – book that are rfectly titled dy did chapter based on the mer German the casino at d by the casino

INTRODUCTION

at Estoril, to the west of Lisbon, which Fleming visited at the start of the war. Generally, the book seems simply to have happened. ‘This morning Ian started to type a book. Very good thing’, Ann Rothermere wrote, quite baldly, in her diary.

Casino Royale was different from anything that had gone before it. As a matter of fact, it’s quite different from all the other Bond novels too. It’s easy enough to see the various influences that moulded James Bond. We can start with Richard Hannay, the Edwardian spy created by John Buchan. Then there’s Bulldog Drummond, the public schoolboy taking on communists and just about anyone else who happens to be foreign.

Fleming had also admired Somerset Maugham and in particular his stories about the British agent, Ashenden.

His own life, and his work at the Naval Intelligence Division of the Admiralty, would provide him with plenty of inspiration.

But there had never been a hero like James Bond who appears fully formed in Casino Royale, complete with Bentley, Morland cigarettes and martini cocktail shaken, not stirred. At the end of the first chapter, after smoking ‘his seventieth cigarette of the day’, he gets into bed.

His last action was to slip his right hand under the pillow until it rested under the butt of the .38 Colt Police Positive with the sawn barrel. Then he slept, xi

C A S I N O R O YA L E

and with the warmth and humour of his eyes extinguished, his features relapsed into a taciturn mask, ironical, brutal, cold.

Bond is colder, darker than his predecessors. In his long essay, ‘The James Bond Dossier’, Kingsley Amis defined him as a Byronic hero, the dark knight who is ‘lonely, melancholy. . .dark and brooding in expression, of a cold and cynical veneer, above all enigmatic. . .’ He is without question a creature of his time. Casino Royale was written just one year after Guy Burgess and Donald Maclean had defected and Bond is the ultimate Cold Warrior.

In a famous passage, much quoted by modern revisionists who have little sympathy for the character, he more or less decides to abandon his assistant, the beautiful Vesper Lynd, after she has been kidnapped.

These blithering women who thought they could do a man’s work. Why they hell couldn’t they stay at home and mind their pots and pans and stick to their frocks and gossip and leave men’s work to the men?

Fleming needs no defence from me but such an attitude would have raised no eyebrows in 1951 – and it’s worth remembering the context: Vesper Lynd in fact xii

runs rings aro final, bitter en And that’s the other Bon into three par on one locati writing, thoug sweep of the la working for villain with h sanpaku eyes speaking – ‘M time compare brothers and follow and he Then come scene which so critics. Even hi ‘I thought its revealed a sadi Michael How publish was pu The last sec called ‘The W There’s no ra with Mr Big’s Moonraker or

s eyes extiniturn mask,

cessors. In his Kingsley Amis knight who is in expression, gmatic. . .’ He Casino Royale ss and Donald ultimate Cold

modern revicharacter, he t, the beautiful ed.

they could n’t they stay ns and stick n’s work to

t such an atti1951 – and it’s Lynd in fact

INTRODUCTION

runs rings around Bond, fooling him right up to the final, bitter end.

And that’s what makes Casino Royale different from the other Bond novels. One of the shortest, it is divided into three parts. The first thirteen chapters are focused on one location; the casino at Royale-les-Eaux. The writing, though sweaty and suspenseful, has none of the sweep of the later adventures. Le Chiffre, a Russian agent working for SMERSH, is a wonderfully memorable villain with his false teeth (‘of expensive quality’), his sanpaku eyes and his silky and sinister manner of speaking – ‘My dear boy. . .’ Even so, he is quite smalltime compared to Mr Big, Hugo Drax, the Spang brothers and Rosa Klebb who would, consecutively, follow and he is actually defeated quite early on.

Then comes the turnaround and the famous torture scene which so shocked some of Fleming’s contemporary critics. Even his own publisher, Jonathan Cape, was unsure.

‘I thought its cynical brutality, unrelieved by humour, revealed a sadistic fantasy that was deeply shocking’, wrote Michael Howard, its editorial director. The decision to publish was pushed through by a majority vote.

The last section of the book, starting with the chapter called ‘The White Tent’, describes Bond’s slow recovery.

There’s no racing to a climax here as there would be with Mr Big’s sharks or the horrifying launch of the Moonraker or the final confrontations with Rosa Klebb xiii

C A S I N O R O YA L E

or Goldfinger. The mood is slow, introspective right up to the savage twist and the last five words that provide an ending that’s crueller than any of the other stories, including On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. For all his perceived sexism, Bond never was particularly lucky in love.

When he had finished Casino Royale, Fleming rewarded himself with an act of quite startlingly vulgar bravado by going out and purchasing a gold-plated typewriter. One of the first letters he wrote was to his wife, Ann. This is only a tiny letter to try out my new typewriter and to see if it will write golden words since it is made of gold.

He didn’t need the machine. With Casino Royale he had struck literary gold, producing a character who would define his century and a world which would, like diamonds, be for ever.

Anthony Horowitz, 2018

xiv

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The scent and at three in the by high gamb nervous tensio awake and rev James Bond always knew w and he always to avoid stalen mistakes.

He shifted roulette he ha moment at th the top table i Le Chiffre w There was an u

ective right up s that provide other stories, e. For all his ularly lucky in

yale, Fleming rtlingly vulgar d-plated typeas to his wife,

y new typewords since

sino Royale he haracter who ch would, like

Horowitz, 2018

001

&@£$27 THE SECRET AGENT The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning. Then the soul-erosion produced by high gambling – a compost of greed and fear and nervous tension – becomes unbearable and the senses awake and revolt from it.

James Bond suddenly knew that he was tired. He always knew when his body or his mind had had enough and he always acted on the knowledge. This helped him to avoid staleness and the sensual bluntness that breeds mistakes.

He shifted himself unobtrusively away from the roulette he had been playing and went to stand for a moment at the brass rail which surrounded breast-high the top table in the ‘salle privée’.

Le Chiffre was still playing and still, apparently, winning.

There was an untidy pile of flecked hundred-mille plaques

C A S I N O R O YA L E

in front of him. In the shadow of his thick left arm there nestled a discreet stack of the big yellow ones worth half a million francs each.

Bond watched the curious, impressive profile for a time, and then he shrugged his shoulders to lighten his thoughts and moved away.

The barrier surrounding the ‘caisse’ comes as high as your chin and the ‘caissier’, who is generally nothing more than a minor bank clerk, sits on a stool and dips into his piles of notes and plaques. These are ranged on shelves. They are on a level, behind the protecting barrier, with your groin. The caissier has a cosh and a gun to protect him, and to heave over the barrier and steal some notes and then vault back and get out of the casino through the passages and doors would be impossible.

And the caissiers generally work in pairs.

Bond reflected on the problem as he collected the sheaf of hundred thousand and then the sheaves of ten thousand franc notes. With another part of his mind, he had a vision of tomorrow’s regular morning meeting of the casino committee.

‘Monsieur Le Chiffre made two million. He played his usual game. Miss Fairchild made a million in an hour and then left. She executed three “bancos” of Monsieur Le Chiffre within an hour and then left. She played with coolness. Monsieur le Vicomte de Villorin made one million two at roulette. He was playing the maximum 2

on the first an Englishman, exactly three m a progressive s de partie’, has and plays in m good. On the baccarat won y was again bad ‘Merci, Mon ‘Merci, Mon Or somethi his way throu nodded to the it is to bar yo foot-switch w trouble.

And the ca and break up As for robb not personally that it would certainly have anyway you pr in France, or i As he gave walked down

left arm there nes worth half

e profile for a to lighten his

mes as high as erally nothing stool and dips are ranged on tecting barrier, and a gun to and steal some of the casino be impossible.

ected the sheaf es of ten thoumind, he had meeting of the

on. He played ion in an hour ” of Monsieur he played with rin made one the maximum

THE SECRET AGENT

on the first and last dozens. He was lucky. Then the Englishman, Mister Bond, increased his winnings to exactly three million over the two days. He was playing a progressive system on red at table five. Duclos, the ‘chef de partie’, has the details. It seems that he is persevering and plays in maximums. He has luck. His nerves seem good. On the ‘soirée’, the chemin-de-fer won x, the baccarat won y and the roulette won z. The boule which was again badly frequented still makes its expenses.’

‘Merci, Monsieur Xavier.’

‘Merci, Monsieur le Président.’

Or something like that, thought Bond as he pushed his way through the swing doors of the salle privée and nodded to the bored man in evening clothes whose job it is to bar your entry and your exit with the electric foot-switch which can lock the doors at any hint of trouble.

And the casino committee would balance its books and break up to its homes or cafés for lunch.

As for robbing the caisse, in which Bond himself was not personally concerned, but only interested, he reflected that it would take ten good men, that they would certainly have to kill one or two employees, and that anyway you probably couldn’t find ten non-squeal killers in France, or in any other country for the matter of that.

As he gave a thousand francs to the ‘vestiaire’ and walked down the steps of the casino, Bond made up his 3

C A S I N O R O YA L E

mind that Le Chiffre would in no circumstances try to rob the caisse and he put the contingency out of his mind.

Instead he explored his present physical sensations. He felt the dry, uncomfortable gravel under his evening shoes, the bad, harsh taste in his mouth and the slight sweat under his arms. He could feel his eyes filling their sockets.

The front of his face, his nose and antrum, were congested.

He breathed the sweet night air deeply and focused his senses and his wits. He wanted to know if anyone had searched his room since he had left it before dinner.

He walked across the broad boulevard and through the gardens to the Hotel Splendide. He smiled at the concierge who gave him his key – No. 45 on the first floor – and took the cable.

It was from Jamaica and read:

kingstonja xxxx xxxxxx xxxx xxx bond splendide royale-les-eaux seine inferieure havana cigar production all cuban factories 1915 ten million repeat ten million stop hope this figure you require regards dasilva

This meant that ten million francs was on the way to him. It was the reply to a request Bond had sent that 4

afternoon thro asking for m where Clemen spoken to M. Broker’ to fix Bond had o the Royale ass Messrs Caffer Jamaica. So h through a tac desk on the D Caribbean.

This man o had been boo fisheries on th the Caymans war, he had e naval intelligen war, when, wi the Caymans, Service concern trained in pho the quiet conn found his way In the interv by the great ag I.N.P., and R

THE SECRET AGENT

mstances try to ut of his mind. sensations. He evening shoes, e slight sweat g their sockets. were congested. nd focused his if anyone had re dinner. d and through smiled at the 45 on the first

d splendide vana cigar en million figure you dasilva

on the way to had sent that

afternoon through Paris to his headquarters in London asking for more funds. Paris had spoken to London where Clements, the head of Bond’s department, had spoken to M. who had smiled wryly and told ‘The Broker’ to fix it with the Treasury.

Bond had once worked in Jamaica and his cover on the Royale assignment was that of a very rich client of Messrs Caffery, the principal import and export firm of Jamaica. So he was being controlled through Jamaica, through a taciturn man who was head of the picture desk on the Daily Gleaner, the famous newspaper of the Caribbean.

This man on the Gleaner, whose name was Fawcett, had been book-keeper for one of the leading turtlefisheries on the Cayman Islands. One of the men from the Caymans who had volunteered on the outbreak of war, he had ended up as a Paymaster’s clerk in a small naval intelligence organization in Malta. At the end of the war, when, with a heavy heart, he was due to return to the Caymans, he was spotted by the section of the Secret Service concerned with the Caribbean. He was strenuously trained in photography and in some other arts and, with the quiet connivance of an influential man in Jamaica, found his way to the picture desk of the Gleaner.

In the intervals between sifting photographs submitted by the great agencies – Keystone, Wide-World, Universal, I.N.P., and Reuter-Photo – he would get peremptory 5

C A S I N O R O YA L E

instructions by telephone from a man he had never met to carry out certain simple operations requiring nothing but absolute discretion, speed, and accuracy. For these occasional services he received twenty pounds a month paid into his account with the Royal Bank of Canada by a fictitious relative in England.

Fawcett’s present assignment was to relay immediately to Bond, full rates, the text of messages which he received at home by telephone from his anonymous contact. He had been told by this contact that nothing he would be asked to send would arouse the suspicion of the Jamaican post office. So he was not surprised to find himself suddenly appointed string correspondent for the ‘Maritime Press and Photo Agency’, with press-collect facilities to France and England, on a further monthly retainer of ten pounds.

He felt secure and encouraged, had visions of a B.E.M. and made the first payment on a Morris Minor. He also bought a green eye-shade which he had long coveted and which helped him to impose his personality on the picture desk.

Some of this background to his cable passed through Bond’s mind. He was used to oblique control and rather liked it. He felt it feather-bedded him a little, allowed him to give or take an hour or two in his communications with M. He knew that this was probably a fallacy, that probably there was another member of the Service at Royale-les-Eaux who was reporting independently, but it did give the illusion 6

that he wasn’t deadly office b and judged by show work. J Kingston, knew instead of signi London would the money had Bond read off the pad on and wrote his

thanks inf

He handed signed ‘DaSilv the concierge office, if the co lope open or re He took hi the stairs, sha what an obligi expect anyone preferred to b

had never met uiring nothing acy. For these unds a month of Canada by

y immediately ich he received us contact. He g he would be f the Jamaican mself suddenly time Press and to France and ten pounds. ns of a B.E.M. Minor. He also long coveted onality on the

passed through trol and rather e, allowed him unications with y, that probably Royale-les-Eaux give the illusion

THE SECRET AGENT

that he wasn’t only 150 miles across the Channel from that deadly office building near Regent’s Park, being watched and judged by those few cold brains that made the whole show work. Just as Fawcett, the Cayman Islander in Kingston, knew that if he bought that Morris Minor outright instead of signing the hire-purchase agreement, someone in London would probably know and want to know where the money had come from.

Bond read the cable twice. He tore a telegram form off the pad on the desk (why give them carbon copies?) and wrote his reply in capital letters:

thanks information should suffice bond

He handed this to the concierge and put the cable signed ‘DaSilva’ in his pocket. The employers (if any) of the concierge could bribe a copy out of the local post office, if the concierge hadn’t already steamed the envelope open or read the cable upside down in Bond’s hands.

He took his key and said good night and turned to the stairs, shaking his head at the liftman. Bond knew what an obliging danger-signal a lift could be. He didn’t expect anyone to be moving on the first floor, but he preferred to be prudent.

7

C A S I N O R O YA L E

Walking quietly up on the balls of his feet, he regretted the hubris of his reply to M. via Jamaica. As a gambler he knew it was a mistake to rely on too small a capital.

Anyway, M. probably wouldn’t let him have any more.

He shrugged his shoulders and turned off the stairs into the corridor and walked softly to the door of his room.

Bond knew exactly where the switch was and it was with one flow of motion that he stood on the threshold with the door full open, the light on and a gun in his hand. The safe, empty room sneered at him. He ignored the half-open door of the bathroom and, locking himself in, he turned up the bed-light and the mirror-light and threw his gun on the settee beside the window. Then he bent down and inspected one of his own black hairs which still lay undisturbed where he had left it before dinner, wedged into the drawer of the writing-desk.

Next he examined a faint trace of talcum powder on the inner rim of the porcelain handle of the clothes cupboard. It appeared immaculate. He went into the bathroom, lifted the cover of the lavatory cistern and verified the level of the water against a small scratch on the copper ball-cock.

Doing all this, inspecting these minute burglar-alarms, did not make him feel foolish or self-conscious. He was a secret agent, and still alive thanks to his exact attention to the detail of his profession. Routine precautions were to him no more unreasonable than they would be to a 8

deep-sea dive danger-money Satisfied th he was at the shower. Then and sat down his stake mon some figures i play, he was u he had been i London for a local branch o amounted to twenty-three t For a few m of the window bundle of bank bed, cleaned h with relief be minutes he la of the day. Th towards the tu His last actio until it rested u with the sawn and humour o into a taciturn

et, he regretted As a gambler mall a capital. ave any more. the stairs into r of his room. was and it was the threshold d a gun in his m. He ignored ocking himself rror-light and dow. Then he wn black hairs d left it before riting-desk. um powder on of the clothes went into the ry cistern and mall scratch on

urglar-alarms, cious. He was exact attention ecautions were would be to a

THE SECRET AGENT

deep-sea diver or a test pilot, or to any man earning danger-money.

Satisfied that his room had not been searched while he was at the casino, Bond undressed and took a cold shower. Then he lit his seventieth cigarette of the day and sat down at the writing-table with the thick wad of his stake money and winnings beside him and entered some figures in a small note-book. Over the two days’ play, he was up exactly three million francs. In London he had been issued with ten million, and he had asked London for a further ten. With this on its way to the local branch of the Crédit Lyonnais, his working capital amounted to twenty-three million francs, or some twenty-three thousand pounds.

For a few moments Bond sat motionless, gazing out of the window across the dark sea, then he shoved the bundle of banknotes under the pillow of the ornate single bed, cleaned his teeth, turned out the lights and climbed with relief between the harsh French sheets. For ten minutes he lay on his left side reflecting on the events of the day. Then he turned over and focused his mind towards the tunnel of sleep.

His last action was to slip his right hand under the pillow until it rested under the butt of the .38 Colt Police Positive with the sawn barrel. Then he slept, and with the warmth and humour of his eyes extinguished, his features relapsed into a taciturn mask, ironical, brutal, and cold.

9

Documentation Chiffre i B, a note

002

&@£$27 DOSSIER FOR M. Two weeks before, this memorandum had gone from Station S. of the Secret Service to M., who was then and is today head of this adjunct to the British defence ministries:

To: M. From: Head of S. Subject: A project for the destruction of Monsieur Le Chiffre (alias ‘The Number’, ‘Herr Nummer’, ‘Herr Ziffer’, etc.), one of the Opposition’s chief agents in France and undercover Paymaster of the ‘Syndicat des Ouvriers d’Alsace’, the communistcontrolled trade union in the heavy and transport industries of Alsace and, as we know, an important fifth column in the event of war with Redland.

We have be is getting in is an admir physical ha heel of whic from time Eurasian (N has recently private affa Briefly, it of a financia noticed by the disposa tendency to always been inquiries w of the Deux working jo has come to In Januar chain of br operating in