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Bond's answering smile was taut。 He felt the quickening of the pulse he had so often experienced in this room。 M had got something for him。 He said； 'I was just getting into it； sir。'
'Quite。 Have plenty of opportunity later on。 Something's e up。 Odd business。 Not really your line of country； except for one particular angle which' … M jerked his pipe sideways in a throwaway gesture … 'may not be an angle at all。'
Bond sat back。 He said nothing； waiting。
'Had dinner with the Governor of the Bank last night。 One's always hearing something new。 At 'least； all this was new to me。 Gold … the seamy side of the stuff。 Smuggling； counterfeiting； all that。 Hadn't occurred to me that the Bank of England knew so much about crooks。 Suppose it's part of the Bank's job to protect our currency。' M jerked his eyebrows up。 'Know anything about gold？'
'No； sir。'
'Well； you will by this afternoon。 You've got an appointment with a man called Colonel Smithers at the Bank at four o'clock。 That give you enough time to get some sleep？'
'Yes； sir。'
'Good。 Seems that this man Smithers is head of the Bank's research department。 From what the Governor told me； that's nothing more or less than a spy system。 First time I knew they had one。 Just shows what watertight partments we all work in。 Anyway； Smithers and his chaps keep an eye out for anything fishy in the banking world … particularly any monkeying about with our currency and bullion reserves and what not。 There was that business the other day of the Italians who were counterfeiting sovereigns。 Making them out of real gold。 Right carats and all that。 But apparently a sovereign or a French napoleon is worth much more than its melted…down value in gold。 Don't ask me why。 Smithers can tell you that if you're interested。 Anyway； the Bank went after these people with a whole battery of lawyers…it wasn't technically a criminal offence … and； after losing in the Italian courts； they finally nailed them in Switzerland。 You probably read about it。 Then there was that business of dollar balances in Beirut。 Made quite a stir in the papers。 Couldn't understand it myself。 Some crack in the fence we put round our currency。 The wide City boys had found it。 Well； it's Smithers's job to smell out that kind of racket。 The reason the Governor told me all this is because for years； almost since the war apparently； Smithers has had a bee in his bonnet about some big gold leak out of England。 Mostly deduction； plus some kind of instinct。 Smithers admits he's got damned little to go on； but he's impressed the Governor enough for him to get permission from the PM to call us in。' M broke off。 He looked quizzically at Bond。 'Ever wondered who are the richest men in England？'
？No； sir。'
〃Well； have a guess。 Or rather； put it like this： Who are the richest Englishmen？'
Bond searched his mind。 There were a lot of men who sounded rich or who were made to sound rich by the newspapers。 But who really had it； liquid； in the bank？ He had to say something。 He said hesitatingly； 'Well； sir； there's Sas…soon。 Then that shipping man who keeps to himself … er …Ellerman。 They say Lord Cowdray is very rich。 There are the bankers … Rothschilds； Barings； Hambros。 There was Williamson； the diamond man。 Oppenheimer in South Africa。 Some of the dukes may still have a lot of money。' Bond's voice trailed away。
'Not bad。 Not bad at all。 But you've missed out the joker in the pack。 Man I'd never thought of until the Governor brought up his name。 He's the richest of the lot。 Man called Goldfinger。 Auric Goldfinger。'
Bond couldn't help himself。 He laughed sharply。
'What's the matter？' M's voice was testy。 What the hell is there to laugh about？'
'I'm sorry； sir。' Bond got hold of himself。 'The truth is； only last night I was building his face up on the Identicast。' He glanced at his watch。 In a strangled voice he said； 'Be on its way to CID Records。 Asked for a Trace on him。'
M was getting angry。 'What the hell's all this about？ Stop behaving like a bloody schoolboy。'
Bond said soberly； 'Well； sir； it's like this。。。' Bond told the story； leaving nothing out。
M's face cleared。 He listened with all his attention； leaning forward across the desk。 When Bond had finished； M sat back in his chair。 He said 〃Well； well。。。 well' on a diminishing scale。 He put his hands behind his head and gazed for minutes at the ceiling。
Bond could feel the laughter ing on again。 How would the CID word the resounding snub he would get in the course of the day？ He was brought sharply back to earth by M's next words。 'By the way； what happened to that ten thousand dollars？'
'Gave it to the girl； sir。'
'Really！ Why not to the White Cross？'
The White Cross Fund was for the families of Secret Service men and women who were killed on duty。
'Sorry； sir。' Bond was not prepared to argue that one。
'Humpf。' M had never approved of Bond's womanizing。 It was anathema to his Victorian soul。 He decided to let it pass。 He said； 'Well； that's all for now； 007。 You'll be hearing all about it this afternoon。 Funny about Goldfinger。 Odd chap。 Seen him once or twice at Blades。 He plays bridge there when he's in England。 He's the chap the Bank of England's after。' M paused。 He looked mildly across the table at Bond。 'As from this moment； so are you。'
CHAPTER SIX
TALK OF GOLD
BOND WALKED up the steps and through the fine bronze portals and into the spacious； softly echoing entrance hall of the Bank of England and looked around him。 Under his feet glittered the brilliant golden patterns of the Boris Anrep mosaics； beyond； through twenty…feet…high arched windows； green grass and geraniums blazed in the central courtyard。 To right and left were spacious vistas of polished Hopton Wood stone。 Over all hung the neutral smell of air…conditioned air and the heavy； grave atmosphere of immense riches。
One of the athletic…looking； pink frock…coated missionaires came up to him。 'Yes； sir？'
'Colonel Smithers？'
'mander Bond； sir？ This way please。' The missionaire moved off to the right between the pillars。 The bronze doors of a discreetly hidden lift stood open。 The lift rose a few feet to the first floor。 Now there was a long panelled corridor ending in a tall Adam window。 The floor was close…carpeted in beige Wilton。 The missionaire knocked at the last of several finely carved oak doors that were just so much taller and more elegant than ordinary doors。 A grey…haired woman was sitting at a desk。 She looked as if she had once taken a double first。 The walls of the room were lined with grey metal filing cabinets。 The woman had been writing on a quarto pad of yellow memorandum paper。 She smiled with a hint of conspiracy； picked up a telephone and dialled a number。 'mander Bond is here。' She put the telephone back and stood up。 'Will you e this way？' She crossed the room to a door covered with green baize and held it open for Bond to go through。
Colonel Smithers had risen from his desk。 He said gravely； 'Nice of you to have e。 Won't you sit down？' Bond took the chair。 'Smoke？' Colonel Smithers pushed forward a silver box of Senior Service and himself sat down and began to fill a pipe。 Bond took a cigarette and lit i