Bond 07 - Goldfinger Read Online Free

slapped the table-cloth. He sat back. ‘Ex-actly. That’s what I said to myself after I’d lost – lost for four whole days. So I said to myself, this bastard is cheating me and by golly I’ll find out how he does it and have him hounded out of Miami. So I doubled the stakes and then doubled them again. He was quite happy about it. And I watched every card he played, every movement. Nothing! Not a hint or a sign. Cards not marked. New pack whenever I wanted one. My own cards. Never looked at my hand – couldn’t, as I always sat dead opposite him. No kibitzer to tip him off. And he just went on winning and winning. Won again this morning. And again this afternoon. Finally I got so mad at the game – I didn’t show it, mind you –’ Bond might think he had not been a sport–‘I paid up politely. But, without telling this guy, I just packed my bag and got me to the airport and booked on the first plane to New York. Think of that!’ Mr Du Pont threw up his hands. ‘Running away. But twenty-five grand is twenty-five grand. I could see it getting to fifty, a hundred. And I just couldn’t stand another of these damned games and I couldn’t stand not being able to catch this guy out. So I took off. What do you think of that? Me, Junius Du Pont, throwing in the towel because I couldn’t take the licking any more!’
    Bond grunted sympathetically. The second round of drinks came. Bond was mildly interested, he was always interested in anything to do with cards. He could see the scene, the two men playing and playing and the one man quietly shuffling and dealing away and marking up his score while the other was always throwing his cards into the middle of the table with a gesture of controlled disgust. Mr Du Pont was obviously being cheated. How? Bond said, ‘Twenty-five thousand’s a lot of money. What stakes were you playing?’
    Mr Du Pont looked sheepish. ‘Quarter a point, then fifty cents, then a dollar. Pretty high I guess with the games averaging around two thousand points. Even at a quarter, that makes five hundred dollars a game. At a dollar a point, if you go on losing, it’s murder.’
    ‘You must have won sometimes.’
    ‘Oh sure, but somehow, just as I’d got the s.o.b. all set for a killing, he’d put down as many of his cards as he could meld. Got out of the bag. Sure, I won some small change, but only when he needed a hundred and twenty to go down and I’d got all the wild cards. But you know how it is with Canasta, you have to discard right. You lay traps to make the other guy hand you the pack. Well, darn it, he seemed to be psychic! Whenever I laid a trap, he’d dodge it, and almost every time he laid one for me I’d fall into it. As for giving me the pack – why, he’d choose the damnedest cards when he was pushed – discard singletons, aces, God knows what, and always get away with it. It was just as if he knew every card in my hand.’
    ‘Any mirrors in the room?’
    ‘Heck, no! We always played outdoors. He said he wanted to get himself a sunburn. Certainly did that. Red as lobster. He’d only play in the mornings and afternoons. Said if he played in the evening he couldn’t get to sleep.’
    ‘Who is this man, anyway? What’s his name?’
    ‘Goldfinger.’
    ‘First name?’
    ‘Auric. That means golden, doesn’t it? He certainly is that. Got flaming red hair.’
    ‘Nationality?’
    ‘You won’t believe it, but he’s a Britisher. Domiciled in Nassau. You’d think he’d be a Jew from the name, but he doesn’t look it. We’re restricted at the Floridiana. Wouldn’t have got in if he had been. Nassavian passport. Age forty-two. Unmarried. Profession, broker. Got all this from his passport. Had me a peek via the house detective when I started to play with him.’
    ‘What sort of broker?’
    Du Pont smiled grimly. ‘I asked him. He said, “Oh, anything that comes along.’ Evasive sort of fellow. Clams up if you ask him a direct question. Talks away quite