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； for the ciphers hid their contents from him； only those prefixed 〃MOST IMMEDIATE〃 or 〃MOST SECRET。〃 Then； working carefully； he built up in his head a network of fictitious agents。 These were real but small people in the various embassies and armament firms to whom most of the traffic was addressed…a junior cipher clerk in the British Embassy； a translator working for the French； private secretaries…real ones…in the big firms。 These names were easily obtained from the diplomatic lists； by ringing up a firm and asking Inquiries for the name of the chairman's private secretary。 He was speaking for the Red Cross。 They wished to discuss the possibility of a donation from the chairman。 And so on。 When Blofeld had all his names right； he christened his network TARTAR and made a discreet approach to the German Military Attache with one or two specimens of its work。 He was rapidly passed on to the representative of AMT IV of the Abwehr； and from then on things were easy。 When this pot was bubbling merrily； and the money （he refused to accept payment except in American dollars） ing in （it came in fast； he explained that he had so many agents to pay off）； he proceeded to widen his market。 He considered the Russians but dismissed them； and the Czechs； as probable non…； or at any rate slow…； payers。 Instead he chose the Americans and the Swedes； and money positively showered in on him。 He soon realized； for he was a man of almost mimosaic sensibility in matters of security； that the pace could not possibly last。 There would be a leak： perhaps between the Swedish and German secret services； who he knew （for through his contacts with their spies he was picking up the gossip of his new trade） were working closely together in some territories； or through Allied counter…espionage or their cryptographic services； or else one of his notional agents would die or be transferred without his knowledge while he continued to use the name as a source。 Anyway； by now he had 200；000 and there was the added spur that the war was getting too close for fort。 It was time for him to be off into the wide world…into one of the safe bits of it。 Blofeld carried out his withdrawal expertly。 First he slowly petered off the service。 Security； he explained； was being tightened up by the English and the French。 Perhaps there had been a leak…he looked with mild reproof into the eyes of his contact…this secretary had had a change of heart； that one was asking too much money。 Then he went to his friend on the Bourse and； after sealing his lips with a thousand dollars； had all his funds invested in Shell Bearer Bonds in Amsterdam and thence transferred to a Numbered Safe Deposit box with the Diskonto Bank in Zurich。 Before the final step of telling his contacts that he was brulé and that the Polish Deuxième Bureau was sniffing at his heels； he paid a visit to Gdynia； called on the registrar and on the church where he had been baptized and； on the pretext of looking up details of an invented friend； neatly cut out the page recording his own name and birth。 It remained only to locate the passport factory that operates in every big seaport and purchase a Canadian seaman's passport for 2；000。 Then he was off to Sweden by the next boat。 After a pause in Stockholm for a careful look round the world and some cool thinking about the probable course of the war； he flew to Turkey on his original Polish passport； transferred his money from Switzerland to the Ottoman Bank in Istanbul； and waited for Poland to fall。 When； in due course； this happened； he claimed refuge in Turkey and spent a little money among the right officials in order to get his claim established。 Then he settled down。 Ankara Radio was glad to have his expert services and he set up RAHIR； another espionage service built on the lines of TARTAR； but rather more solidly。 Blofeld wisely waited to ascertain the victor before selling his wares； and it was only when Rommel had been kicked out of Africa that he plumped for the Allies。 He finished the war in a blaze of glory and prosperity and with decorations or citations from the British； Americans； and French。 Then； with half a million dollars in Swiss banks and a Swedish passport in the name of Serge Angstrom； he slipped off to South America for a rest； some good food； and a fresh think。
And now Ernst Blofeld； the name to which he had decided it was perfectly safe to return； sat in the quiet room in the Boulevard Hauss…mann； gazed slowly round the faces of his twenty men； and looked for eyes that didn't squarely meet his。 Blofeld's own eyes were deep black pools surrounded…totally surrounded； as Mussolini's were…by very clear whites。 The doll…like effect of this unusual symmetry was enhanced by long silken black eyelashes that should have belonged to a woman。 The gaze of these soft doll's eyes was totally relaxed and rarely held any expression stronger than a mild curiosity in the object of their focus。 They conveyed a restful certitude in their owner and in their analysis of what they observed。 To the innocent they exuded confidence； a wonderful cocoon of confidence in which the observed one could rest and relax； knowing that he was in fortable； reliable hands。 But they stripped the guilty or the false and made him feel transparent…as transparent as a fishbowl through whose sides Blofeld examined； with only the most casual curiosity； the few solid fish； the grains of truth； suspended in the void of deceit or attempted obscurity。 Blofeld's gaze was a microscope； the window on the world of a superbly clear brain； with a focus that had been sharpened by thirty years of danger； and of keeping just one step ahead of it； and of an inner self…assurance built up on a lifetime of success in whatever he hadattempted。
The skin beneath the eyes that now slowly； mildly； surveyed his colleagues was unpouched。 There was no sign of debauchery； illness； or old age on the large； white； bland face under the square； wiry black crew…cut。 The jaw line； going to the appropriate middle…aged fat of authority； showed decision and independence。 Only the mouth； under a heavy； squat nose； marred what might have been the face of a philosopher or a scientist。 Proud and thin； like a badly healed wound； the pressed； dark lips； capable only of false； ugly smiles； suggested contempt； tyranny； and cruelty…but to an almost Shakespearian degree。 Nothing about Blofeld was small。
Blofeld's body weighed about two hundred and eighty pounds。 It had once been all muscle…he had been an amateur weight…lifter in his youth…but in the past ten years it had softened and he had a vast belly that he concealed behind roomy trousers and well…cut double…breasted suits； tailored； that evening； out of beige doeskin。 Blofeld's hands and feet were long and pointed。 They were quick…moving when they wanted to be； but normally； as now； they were still and reposed。 For the rest； he didn't smoke or drink and he had never been known to sleep with a member of either sex。 He didn't even eat very much。 So far as vices or physical weaknesses were concerned； Blofeld had always been an enigma to everyone who had known him。
The twenty men who looked up the long table at this man and waited patiently for him to