if.moonraker-第25部分

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d　white　dogtooth　suit；　dark　blue　Sea　Island　cotton　shirt　and　black　silk　knitted　tie；　he　was　walking　softly；　but　not　surreptitiously；　along　the　corridor　to　the　head　of　the　stairs；　the；　square　leather　case　in　his　left　hand。
　He　found　the　garage　at　the　back　of　the　house　and　the　big　engine　of　the　Bentley　answered　with　the　first　pressure　on　the　starter。　He　motored　slowly　across　the　concrete　apron　beneath　the　indifferent　gaze　of　the　curtained　windows　of　the　house　and　pulled　up；　the　engine　idling　in　neutral；　at　the　edge　of　the　trees。　His　eyes　travelled　back　to　the　house　and　confirmed　his　calculation　that　a　man　standing　on　its　roof　would　be　able　to　see　over　the　top　of　the　blast…wall　and　get　a　view　of　the　edge　of　the　cliff　and　of　the　sea　beyond。
　There　was　no　sign　of　life　round　the　domed　emplacement　of　the　Moonraker；　and　the　concrete；　already　beginning　to　shimmer　in　the　early　morning　sun；　stretched　emptily　away　towards　Deal。　It　looked　like　a　newly　laid　aerodrome　or　rather；　he　thought；　with　its　three　disparate　concrete　'things'；　the　beehive　dome；　the　flat…iron　blast…wall；　and　the　distant　cube　of　the　firing　point；　each　casting　black　pools　of　shadow　towards　him　in　the　early　sun；　like　a　Dali　desert　landscape　in　which　three　objets　trouvés　reposed　at　carefully　calculated　random。　Out　at　sea；　in　the　early　mist　that　promised　a　hot　day；　the　South　Goodwin　Lightship　could　just　be　seen；　a　dim　red　barque　married　for　ever　to　the　same　pass　point　and　condemned；　like　a　property　ship　on　the　stage　of　Drury　Lane；　to　watch　the　diorama　of　the　waves　and　clouds　sail　busily　into　the　wings　while；　without　papers　or　passengers　or　cargo；　it　lay　anchored　for　ever　to　the　departure　point　which　was　also　its　destination。
　At　thirty　seconds'　interval　it　blared　its　sad　plaint　into　the　mist；　a　long　double　trumpet　note　on　a　falling　cadence。　A　siren　song；　Bond　reflected；　to　repel　instead　of　to　seduce。　He　wondered　how　the　seven　men　of　its　crew　were　now　supporting　the　noise　as　they　munched　their　pork　and　beans。　Did　they　flinch　as　it　punctuated　the　Housewife's　Choice　ing　at　full　strength　from　the　radio　in　the　narrow　mess？　But　a　secure　life；*　（*　Bond　was　wrong：　Friday；　November　26th　1954。　R。I。P。　）
　Bond　decided；　although　anchored　to　the　gates　of　a　graveyard。
　He　made　a　mental　note　to　find　out　if　those　seven　men　had　seen　or　heard　the　thing　that　Tallon　had　marked　on　the　chart；　then　he　drove　quickly　on　through　the　guard　posts。
　In　Dover；　Bond　pulled　up　at　the　Cafe　Royal；　a　modest　little　restaurant　with　a　modest　kitchen　but　capable；　as　he　knew　of　old；　of　turning　out　excellent　fish　and　egg　dishes。　The　Italian…Swiss　mother　and　son　who　ran　it　weled　him　as　an　old　friend　and　he　asked　for　a　plate　of　scrambled　eggs　and　bacon　and　plenty　of　coffee　to　be　ready　in　half　an　hour。　Then　he　drove　on　to　the　police　station　and　put　a　call　in　to　Vallance　through　the　Scotland　Yard　switchboard。　Vallance　was　at　home　having　breakfast。　He　listened　without　ment　to　Bond's　guarded　talk；　but　he　expressed　surprise　that　Bond　had　not　had　an　opportunity　to　have　a　talk　with　Gala　Brand。　〃She's　a　bright　girl；　that；〃　he　said。　〃If　Mr　K。　is　up　to　something　she's　sure　to　have　an　idea　what　it　is。　And　if　T。　heard　a　noise　on　Sunday　night；　she　may　have　heard　it　too。　Though　I'll　admit　she's　said　nothing　about　it。〃
　Bond　said　nothing　about　the　reception　he　had　had　from　Vallance's　agent。　〃Going　to　talk　to　her　this　morning；〃　he　said；　〃and　I'll　send　up　the　chart　and　the　Leica　film　for　you　to　have　a　look　at。　I'll　give　them　to　the　Inspector。　Perhaps　one　of　the　road　patrols　could　bring　them　up。　By　the　way；　where　did　T。　telephone　from　when　he　rang　up　his　employer　on　Monday？〃
　〃I'll　have　the　call　traced　and　let　you　know；〃　said　Vallance。　〃And　I'll　have　Trinity　House　ask　the　South　Goodwins　and　the　Coastguards　if　they　can　helpr。　Anything　else？〃
　〃No；〃　said　Bond。　The　line　went　through　too　many　switchboards。　Perhaps　if　it　had　been　M。　he　would　have　hinted　more。　It　seemed　ridiculous　to　talk　to　Vallance　about　moustaches　and　the　creep　of　danger　he　had　felt　the　night　before　and　which　the　daylight　had　dissipated。　These　policemen　wanted　hard　facts。　They　were　better；　he　decided；　at　solving　crimes　than　at　anticipating　them。　〃No。　That's　all。〃　He　hung　up。
　He　felt　more　cheerful　after　an　excellent　breakfast。　He　read　the　Express　and　The　Times　and　found　a　bare　report　of　the　inquest　on　Tallon。　The　Express　had　made　a　big　play　with　the　girl's　photograph　and　he　was　amused　to　see　what　a　neutral　likeness　Vallance　had　managed　to　produce。　He　decided　that　he　must　try　and　work　with　her。　He　would　take　her　pletely　into　his　confidence　whether　she　was　receptive　or　not。　Perhaps　she　also　had　her　suspicions　and　intuitions　which　were　so　vague　that　she　was　keeping　them　to　herself。
　Bond　drove　back　fast　to　the　house。　It　was　just　nine　o'clock　and　as　he　came　through　the　trees　on　to　the　concrete　there　was　the　wail　of　a　siren　and　from　the　woods　behind　the　house　a　double　file　of　twelve　men　appeared　running；　in　purposeful　unison；　towards　the　launching　dome。　They　marked　time　while　one　of　their　number　rang　the　bell；　then　the　door　opened　and　they　filed　through　and　out　of　sight。
　Scratch　a　German　and　you　find　precision；　thought　Bond。
　
　CHAPTER　XIV
　
　ITCHING　FINGERS
　
　HALF　AN　hour　before；　Gala　Brand　had　stubbed　out　her　breakfast　cigarette；　swallowed　the　remains　of　her　coffee；　left　her　bedroom　and　walked　across　to　the　site；　looking　very　much　the　private　secretary　in　a　spotless　white　shirt　and　dark　blue　pleated　skirt。
　Punctually　at　eight…thirty　she　was　in　her　office。　There　was　a　sheaf　of　Air　Ministry　teleprints　on　her　desk　and　her　first　action　was　to　transfer　a　digest　of　their　contents　on　to　a　weather　map　and　walk　through　the　municating　door　into　Drax's　office　and　pin　the　map　to　the　board　that　hung　in　the　angle　of　the　wall　beside　the　blank　glass　wall。　Then　she　pressed　the　switch　that　illuminated　the　wall　map；　made　some　Calculations　based　on　the　columns　of　figures　revealed　by　the　light；　and　entered　the　results　on　the　diagram　she　had　pinned　to　the　board。
　She　had　done　this；　with　Air　Ministry　figures　that　became　more　and　more　precise　as　the　practice　shoot　drew　nearer；　every　day　since　the　site　was　pleted　and　the　building　of　the　rocket　that　had　begun　inside　it；　and　she　had　bee　so　expert　that　she　now　carried　in　her　head　the　gyro　settings　for　almost　every　variation　in　the　weather　at　the　different　altitudes。
　So　it　irritated　her　all　the　more　that　Drax　did　not　seem　to　accept　her　figures。　Every　day　when；　punctually　at　nine；　the　warning　bells　clanged　and　he　came　down　the　steep　iron　stairway　and　into　his　office；　his　first　action　was　to　call　for　the　insufferable　Dr　Walter　and　together　they　would　work　out　all　her　figures　afresh　and　transfer　the　results　to　the　thin　black　notebook　that　Drax　always　carried　in　the　hip　pocket　of　his　trousers。　She　knew　that　this　was　an　invariable　routine　and　she　had　bee　tired　of　watching　it　through　an　inconspicuous　hole　she　had　drilled；　so　as　to　be　able　to　send　Vallance　a　weekly　record　of　Drax's　visitors；　in　the　thin　wall　between　the　two　offices。　The　method　was　amateurish　but　effective　and　she　had　slowly　built　up　a　plete　picture　of　the　daily　routine　she　came　to　find　so　irritating。　It　was　irritating　for　two　reasons。
　It　meant　that　Drax　didn't　trust　her　figures；　and　it　undermined　her　chance　of　having　some　part；　however　modest；　in　the　final　launching　of　the　rocket。
　It　was　natural　that　over　the　months　she　should　have　bee　as　immersed　in　her　disguise　as　she　was　in　her　real　profession　It　was　fundamental　to　the　thoroughness　of　her　cover　that　her　personality　should　be　as　truly　split　as　possible。　And　now；　while　she　spied　and　probed　and　sniffed　the　wind　around　Drax　for　her　Chief　in　London；　she　was　passionately　concerned　with　the　success　of　the　Moonraker　and　had　bee　as　dedicated　to　its　service　as　anyone　else　on　the　site。
　And　the　rest　of　her　duties　as　Drax's　private　secretary　were　insufferably　dull。　Every　day　there　was　a　big　post　addressed　to　Drax　in　London　and　forwarded　down　by　the　Ministry；　and　that　morning　she　had　found　the　usual　batch　of　about　fifty　letters　waiting　on　her　desk。　They　would　be　of　three　kinds。　Begging　letters；　letters　from　rocket　cranks；　and　business　letters　from　Drax's　stockbroker　and　from　other　mercial　agents。　To　these