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rrow dark red and blue striped tie that fractionally wasn't the Brigade of Guards'。 The cuffs of the shirt protruded half an inch below the cuffs of the coat and showed cabochon crystal links containing miniature trout flies。 The socks were charcoal…grey silk and the shoes were old and polished mahogany and hinted Peal。 The man carried a dark； narrow…brimmed straw Homburg with a wide claret ribbon。
Mr Du Pont sat down opposite Bond and produced cigarettes and a plain gold Zippo lighter。 Bond noticed that he was sweating slightly。 He decided that Mr Du Pont was what he appeared to be； a very rich American； mildly embarrassed。 He knew he had seen him before； but he had no idea where or when。
'Smoke？'
'Thank you。' It was a Parliament。 Bond affected not to notice the offered lighter。 He disliked held…out lighters。 He picked up his own and lit the cigarette。
Trance； '51； Royale les Eaux。' Mr Du Pont looked eagerly at Bond。 'That Casino。 Ethel； that's Mrs Du Pont； and me were next to you at the table the night you had the big game with the Frenchman。'
Bond's memory raced back。 Yes； of course。 The Du Ponts had been Nos 4 and 5 at the baccarat table。 Bond had been 6。 They had seemed harmless people。 He had been glad to have such a solid bulwark on his left 。on that fantastic night when he had broken Le Chiffre。 Now Bond saw it all again … the bright pool of light on the green baize； the pink crab hands across the table scuttling out for the cards。 He smelled the smoke and the harsh tang of his own sweat。 That had been a night！ Bond looked across at Mr Du Pont and smiled at the memory。 'Yes； of course I remember。 Sorry I was slow。 But that was quite a night。 I wasn't thinking of much except my cards。'
Mr Du Pont grinned back； happy and relieved。 'Why； gosh； Mr Bond。 Of course I understand。 And I do hope you'll pardon me for butting in。 You see。。。' He snapped his ringers for a waitress。 'But we must have a drink to celebrate。 What'll you have？'
'Thanks。 Bourbon on the rocks。'
'And dimple Haig and water。' The waitress went away。
Mr Du Pont leant forward； beaming。 A whiff of soap or after…shave lotion came across the table。 Lentheric？ 'I knew it was you。 As soon as I saw you sitting there。 But I thought to myself； Junius； you don't often make an error over a face； but let's just go make sure。 Well； I was flying Transamerican tonight and； when they announced the delay； I watched your expression and； if you'll pardon me； Mr Bond； it was pretty clear from the look on your face that you had been flying Transamerican too。' He waited for Bond to nod。 He hurried on。 'So I ran down to the ticket counter and had me a look at the passenger list。 Sure enough； there it was； 〃J。 Bond〃。'
Mr Du Pont sat back； pleased with his cleverness。 The drinks came。 He raised his glass。 'Your very good health； sir。 This sure is my lucky day。'
Bond smiled non…mittally and drank。
Mr Du Pont leant forward again。 He looked round。 There was nobody at the nearby tables。 Nevertheless he lowered his voice。 'I guess you'll be saying to yourself； well； it's nice to see Junius Du Pont again； but what's the score？ Why's he so particularly happy at seeing me on just this night？' Mr。 Du Pont raised his eyebrows as if acting Bond's part for him。 Bond put on a face of polite inquiry。 Mr Du Pont leant still farther across the table。 'Now； I hope you'll forgive me； Mr Bond。 It's not like me to pry into other people's secre。。。 er … affairs。 But； after that game at Royale； I did hear that you were not only a grand card player； but also that you were … er … how shall I put it？ … that you were a sort of … er … investigator。 You know； kind of intelligence operative。' Mr Du Font's indiscretion had made him go very red in the face。 He sat back and took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead。 He looked anxiously at Bond。
Bond shrugged his shoulders。 The grey…blue eyes that looked into Mr Du Font's eyes； which had turned hard and watchful despite his embarrassment； held a mixture of candour； irony and self…deprecation。 'I used to dabble in that kind of thing。 Hangover from the。war。 One still thought it was fun playing Red Indians。 But there's no future in it in peacetime。'
'Quite； quite。' Mr Du Pont made a throwaway gesture with the hand that held the cigarette。 His eyes evaded Bond's as he put the next question； waited for the next lie。 （Bond thought； there's a wolf in this Brooks Brothers clothing。 This is a shrewd man。） 'And now you've settled down？' Mr Du Pont smiled paternally。 'What did you choose； if you'll pardon the question？'
'Import and Export。 I'm with Universal。 Perhaps you've e across them。'
Mr Du Pont continued to play the game。 'Hm。 Universal。 Let me see。 Why； yes； sure I've heard of them。 Can't say I've ever done business with them； but I guess it's never too late。' He chuckled fatly。 'I've got quite a heap of interests all over the place。 Only stuff I can honestly say I'm not interested in is chemicals。 Maybe it's my misfortune； Mr Bond； but I'm not one of the chemical Du Fonts。'
Bond decided that the man was quite satisfied with the particular brand of Du Pont he happened to be。 He made no ment。 He glanced at his watch to hurry Mr Du Font's play of the hand。 He made a note to handle his own cards carefully。 Mr Du Pont had a nice pink kindly baby…face with a puckered； rather feminine turn…down mouth。 He looked as harmless as any of the middle…aged Americans with cameras who stand outside Buckingham Palace。 But Bond sensed many tough； sharp qualities behind the fuddyduddy facade。
Mr Du Font's sensitive eye caught Bond's glance at his watch。 He consulted his own。 'My； oh my！ Seven o'clock and here I've been talking away without ing to the point。 Now； see here； Mr Bond。 I've got me a problem on which I'd greatly appreciate your guidance。 If you can spare me the time and if you were counting on stopping over in Miami tonight I'd reckon it a real favour if you'd allow me to be your host。' Mr Du Pont held up his hand。 'Now； I think I can promise to make you fortable。 So happens I own a piece of the Floridiana。 Maybe you heard we opened around Christmas time？ Doing a great business I'm happy to say。 Really pushing that little old Fountain Blue；' Mr Du Pont laughed indulgently。 'That's what we call the Fontainebleau down here。 Now； what do you say； Mr Bond？ You shall have the best suite … even if it。 means putting some good paying customers out on the sidewalk。 And you'd be doing me a real favour。' Mr Du Pont looked imploring。
Bond had already decided to accept … blind。 Whatever Mr Du Font's problem … blackmail； gangsters； women … it would be some typical form of rich man's worry。 Here was a slice of the easy life he had been asking for。 Take it。 Bond started to say something politely deprecating。 Mr Du Pont interrupted。 'Please； please； Mr Bond。 And believe me； I'm grateful； very grateful indeed。' He snapped his fingers for the waitress。 When she came； he turned away from Bond and settled the bill out of Bond's sight。 Like many very rich men he considered that showing his money； letting someone see how much he tipped； amounted to indecent exposure。 He thrust his roll back into his trousers pocket （the hip pocket is not the pl