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nowhere the shadow of Goldfinger's huge head approached the ball on the ground； engulfed it and moved on。 Bond let his swing take itself to pieces in sections。 Then he stood away from his ball and looked up。 Goldfinger's feet were still moving。 He was looking carefully up at the sky。
'Shades please； Goldfinger。' Bond's voice was furiously controlled。
Goldfinger stopped and looked slowly at Bond。 The eyebrows were raised a fraction in inquiry。 He moved back and stood still； saying nothing。
Bond went back to his ball。 Now then； relax！ To hell with Goldfinger。 Slam that ball on to the green。 Just stand still and hit it。 There was a moment when the world stood still； then。。。 then somehow Bond did hit it … on a low trajectory that mounted gracefully to carry the distant surf of the bunkers。 The ball hit the bank below the green； bounced high with the impact and rolled out of sight into the saucer round the pin。
Hawker came up and took the driver out of Bond's hand。 They walked on together。 Hawker said seriously； 'That's one of the finest shots I've seen in thirty years。' He lowered his voice。 'I thought he'd fixed you then； sir。'
'He damned nearly did； Hawker。 It was Alfred Blacking that hit that ball； not me。〃 Bond took out his cigarettes； gave one to Hawker and lit his own。 He said quietly； 'All square and three to play。 We've got to watch those next three holes。 Know what I mean？'
'Don't you worry； sir。 I'll keep my eye on him。'
They came up with the green。 Goldfinger had pitched on and had a long putt for a four； but Bond's ball was only two inches away from the hole。 Goldfinger picked up his ball and walked off the green。 They halved the short sixteenth in good threes。 Now there were the two long holes home。 Fours would win them。 Bond hit a fine drive down the centre。 Goldfinger pushed his far out to the right into deep rough。 Bond walked along trying not to be too jubilant； trying not to count his chickens。 A win for him at this hole and he would only need a half at the eighteenth for the match。 He prayed that Goldfinger's ball would be unplayable or； better still； lost
Hawker had gone on ahead。 He had already laid down his bag and was busily … far tod busily to Bond's way of thinking … searching for Goldfinger's ball when they came up。
It was bad stuff … jungle country； deep thick luxuriant grass whose roots still held last night's dew。 Unless they were very lucky； they couldn't hope to find the ball。 After a few minutes' search Goldfinger and his caddie drifted away still wider to where the rough thinned out into isolated tufts。 That's good； thought Bond。 That wasn't anything like the line。 Suddenly he trod on something。 Hell and damnation。 Should he stamp it in？ He shrugged his shoulders； bent down and gently uncovered the ball so as not to improve the lie。 Yes it was a Dunlop 65。 'Here you are；' he called grudgingly。 'Oh no； sorry。 You play with a Number One； don't you？'
'Yes；' came back Goldfinger's voice impatiently。
'Well； this is a Number Seven。' Bond picked h up and walked over to Goldfinger。
Goldfinger gave the ball a cursory glance。 He said； 'Not mine；' and went on poking among the tufts with the head of his driver。
It was a good ball； unmarked and almost new。 Bond put it in his pocket and went back to his search。 He glanced at his watch。 The statutory five minutes was almost up。 Another half…minute and by God he was going to claim the hole。 Strict rules of golf； Goldfinger had stipulated。 All right my friend； you shall have them！
Goldfinger was casting back towards Bond； diligently prodding and shuffling through the grass。
Bond said； 'Nearly time； I'm afraid。'
Goldfinger grunted。 He started to say something when there came a cry from his caddie； 'Here you are； sir。 Number One Dunlop。'
Bond followed Goldfinger over to where the caddie stood on a small plateau of higher ground。 He was pointing down。 Bond bent and inspected the ball。 Yes； an almost new Dun…lop One and in an astonishingly good lie。 It was miraculous …more than miraculous。 Bond stared hard from Goldfinger to his caddie。 'Must have had the hell of a lucky kick；' he said mildly。
The caddie shrugged his shoulders。 Goldfinger's eyes were calm； untroubled。 'So it would seem。' He turned to his caddie。 'I think we can get a spoon to that one； Foulks。'
Bond walked thoughtfully away and then turned to watch the shot。 It was one of Goldfinger's best。 It soared over a far shoulder of rough towards the green。 Might just have caught the bunker on the right。
Bond walked on to where Hawker； a long blade of grass dangling from his wry lips； was standing on the fairway watching the shot finish。 Bond smiled bitterly at him。 He said in a controlled voice； 'Is my good friend in the bunker； or is the bastard on the green？'
'Green； sir；' said Hawker unemotionally。
Bond went up to his ball。 Now things had got tough again。 Once more he was fighting for a half after having a certain win in his pocket。 He glanced towards the pin； gauging the distance。 This was a tricky one。 He said。 'Five or six？'
'The six should do it； sir。 Nice firm shot。' Hawker handed him the club。
Now then； clear your mind。 Keep it slow and deliberate。 It's an easy shot。 Just punch it so that it's got plenty of zip to get up the bank and on to the green。 Stand still and head down。 Click！ The ball； hit with a slightly closed face； went off on just the medium trajectory Bond had wanted。 It pitched below the bank。 It was perfect！ No； damn it。 It had hit the bank with its second bounce； stopped dead； hesitated and then rolled back and down again。 Hell's bells！ Was it Hagen who had said； 'You drive for show； but you putt for dough'？ Getting dead from below that bank was one of the most difficult putts on the course。 Bond reached for his cigarettes and lit one； already preparing his mind for the next crucial shot to save the hole … so long as that bastard Gold…finger didn't hole his from thirty feet！
Hawker walked along by his side。 Bond said； 'Miracle finding that ball。'
'It wasn't his ball； sir。' Hawker was stating a fact。
'What do you mean？' Bond's voice was tense。
'Money passed； sir。 White； probably a fiver。 Foulks must have dropped that ball down his trouser leg。'
'Hawker！' Bond stopped in his tracks。 He looked round。 Goldfinger and his caddie were fifty yards away； walking slowly towards the green。 Bond said fiercely； 'Do you swear to that？ How can you be sure？'
Hawker gave a half…ashamed； lop…sided grin。 But there was a crafty belligerence in his eye。 'Because his ball was lying under my bag of clubs； sir。' When he saw Bond's open…mouthed expression he added apologetically； 'Sorry； sir。 Had to do it after what he's been doing to you。 Wouldn't have mentioned it； but I had to let you know he's fixed you again。'
Bond had to laugh。 He said admiringly； 〃Well； you are a card； Hawker。 So you were going to win the match for me all on your own！' He added bitterly； 'But； by God； that man's the flaming limit。 I've got to get him。 I've simply got to。 Now let's think！' They walked slowly on。
Bond's left hand was in his trousers pocket； absent…mindedly fingering the ball he had picked up in the rough。 Suddenly the message went