if.thunderball-第5部分
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n't mind； sir。〃
There was a moment's silence。 Bond could almost feel Count Lippe controlling his temper。 The words； when they came； were spat out with what seemed to Bond ludicrous violence。 〃Take it off then。〃 The 〃Damn you〃 didn't have to be uttered。 It hung in the air at the end of the sentence。
〃Thank you； sir。〃 There was a brief pause and then the massage began。
The small incident seemed odd to Bond。 Obviously one had to take off one's wristwatch for a massage。 Why had the man wanted to keep it on？ It seemed very childish。
〃Turn over； please； sir。〃
Bond obeyed。 Now his face was free to move。 He glanced casually to his right。 Count Lippe's face was turned away from him。 His left arm hung down toward the floor。 Where the sunburn ended； there was a bracelet of almost white flesh at the wrist。 In the middle of the circle where the watch had been there was a sign tattooed on the skin。 It looked like a small zigzag crossed by two vertical strokes。 So Count Lippe had not wanted this sign to be seen！ It would be amusing to ring up Records and see if they had a line on what sort of people wore this little secret recognition sign under their wristwatches。
3。 The Rack
At the end of the hour's treatment Bond felt as if his body had been eviscerated and then run through a wringer。 He put on his clothes and； cursing M； climbed weakly back up the stairs into what； by parison with the world of nakedness and indignities in the basement； were civilized surroundings。 At the entrance to the main lounge were two telephone booths。 The switchboard put him through to the only Headquarters number he was allowed to call on an outside line。 He knew that all such outside calls were monitored。 As he asked for Records； he recognized the hollowness on the line that meant the line was bugged。 He gave him number to Head of Records and put his question； adding that the subject was an Oriental probably of Portuguese extraction。 After ten minutes Head of Records came back to him。
〃It's a Tong sign。〃 His voice sounded interested。 〃The Red Lightning Tong。 Unusual to find anyone but a full…blooded Chinaman being a member。 It's not the usual semi…religious organization。 This is entirely criminal。 Station H had dealings with it once。 They're represented in Hong Kong； but their headquarters are across the bay in Macao。 Station H paid big money to get a courier service running into Peking。 Worked like a dream； so they gave the line a trial with some heavy stuff。 It bounced； badly。 Lost a couple of H's top men。 It was a double…cross。 Turned out that Redland had some sort of a deal with these people。 Hell of a mess。 Since then they've cropped up from time to time in drugs； gold smuggling to India； and top…bracket white slavery。 They're big people。 We'd be interested if you've got any kind of a line。〃
Bond said； 〃Thanks； Records。 No； I've got nothing definite。 First time I've heard of these Red Lightning people。 Let you know if anything develops。 So long。〃
Bond thoughtfully put back the receiver。 How interesting！ Now what the hell could this man be doing at Shrublands？ Bond walked out of the booth。 A movement in the next booth caught his eye。 Count Lippe； his back to Bond； had just picked up the receiver。 How long had he been in there？ Had he heard Bond's inquiry？ Or his ment？ Bond had the crawling sensation at the pit of his stomach he knew so well…the signal that he had probably made a dangerous and silly mistake。 He glanced at his watch。 It was seven…thirty。 He walked through the lounge to the sun parlor where 〃dinner〃 was being served。 He gave his name to the elderly woman with a wardress face behind a long counter。 She consulted a list and ladled hot vegetable soup into a plastic mug。 Bond took the mug。 He said anxiously； 〃Is that all？〃
The woman didn't smile。 She said severely； 〃You're lucky。 You Wouldn't be getting as much on Starvation。 And you may have soup every day at midday and two cups of tea at four o'clock。〃
Bond gave her a bitter smile。 He took the horrible mug over to one of the little café tables near the windows overlooking the dark lawn and sat down and sipped the thin soup while he watched some of his fellow inmates meandering aimlessly； weakly； through the room。 Now he felt a grain of sympathy for the wretches。 Now he was a member of their club。 Now he had been initiated。 He drank the soup down to the last neat cube of carrot and walked abstractedly off to his room； thinking of Count Lippe； thinking of sleep； but above all thinking of his empty stomach。
After two days of this； Bond felt terrible。 He had a permanent slight nagging headache； the whites of his eyes had turned rather yellow； and his tongue was deeply furred。 His masseur told him not to worry。 This was as it should be。 These were the poisons leaving his body。 Bond； now a permanent prey to lassitude； didn't argue。 Nothing seemed to matter any more but the single orange and hot water for breakfast； the mugs of hot soup； and the cups of tea which Bond filled with spoonfuls of brown sugar； the only variety that had Mr。 Wain's sanction。
On the third day； after the massage and the shock of the sitz baths； Bond had on his program 〃Osteopathic Manipulation and Traction。〃 He was directed to a new section of the basement； withdrawn and silent。 When he opened the designated door he expected to find some hairy H…man waiting for him with flexed muscles。 （H…man； he had discovered； stood for Health…man。 It was the smart thing to call oneself if you were a naturopath。） He stopped in his tracks。 The girl； Patricia something； whom he had not set eyes on since his first day； stood waiting for him beside the couch。 He closed the door behind him and said； 〃Good lord。 Is this what you do？〃
She was used to this reaction of the men patients and rather touchy about it。 She didn't smile。 She said in a business…like voice； 〃Nearly ten per cent of osteopaths are women。 Take off your clothes； please。 Everything except your shorts。〃 When Bond had amusedly obeyed she told him to stand in front of her。 She walked round him； examining him with eyes in which there was nothing but professional interest。 Without menting on his scars she told him to lie face downward on the couch and； with strong； precise； and thoroughly practiced holds； went through the handling and joint…cracking of her profession。
Bond soon realized that she was an extremely powerful girl。 His muscled body； admittedly unresistant； seemed to be easy going for her。 Bond felt a kind of resentment at the neutrality of this relationship between an attractive girl and a half…naked man。 At the end of the treatment she told him to stand up and clasp his hands behind her neck。 Her eyes； a few inches away from his； held nothing but professional concentration。 She hauled strongly away from him； presumably with the object of freeing his vertebrae。 This was too much for Bond。 At the end of it； when she told him to release his hands； he did nothing of the sort。 He tightened them； pulled her head sharply toward him； and kissed her full on the lips。 She ducked quickly down through his arms and straightened herself； her cheeks red and her eyes shining with anger。 Bond smiled at her； knowing that he had never missed a slap in the face； and a hard one at that； by so little。 He said； 〃It's all very well； but I just had to do it。 You shouldn't have a mouth like that if you're going to be an osteopath。〃
The anger in her eyes subsided a fraction。 She said； 〃The last time that happened； the man had to leave by the next train。〃
Bond laughed。 He made a threatening move toward her。 〃If I thought there was any hope of being kicked out of this damn place I'd kiss you again。〃
She said； 〃Don't be silly。 Now pick up your things。 You've got half an hour's traction。〃 She smiled grimly。 〃That ought to keep you quiet。〃
Bond said morosely； 〃Oh； all right。 But only on condition you let me take you out on your next day off。〃
〃We'll see about that。 It depends how you behave at the next treatment。〃 She held open the door。 Bond picked up his clothes and went out； almost colliding with a man ing down the passage。 It was Count Lippe； in slacks and a gay wi
