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anged the gears into bottom and ground off back the way he had e。 Bond picked up his suitcase and walked resignedly up the steps and through the heavy door。
Inside it was very warm and quiet。 At the reception desk in the big oak…paneled hall a severely pretty girl in starched white weled him briskly。 When he had signed the register she led him through a series of somberly furnished public rooms and down a neutral…smelling white corridor to the back of the building。 Here there was a municating door with the annex； a long； low； cheaply built structure with rooms on both sides of a central passage。 The doors bore the names of flowers and shrubs。 She showed him into Myrtle； told him that 〃the Chief〃 would see him in an hour's time； at six o'clock； and left him。 It was a room…shaped room with furniture…shaped furniture and dainty curtains。 The bed was provided with an electric blanket。 There was a vase containing three marigolds beside the bed and a book called Nature Cure Explained by Alan Moyle； M。N。B。A。 Bond opened it and ascertained that the initials stood for 〃Member： British Naturopathic Association。〃 He turned off the central heating and opened the windows wide。 The herb garden； row upon row of small nameless plants round a central sundial； smiled up at him。 Bond unpacked his things and sat down in the single armchair and read about eliminating the waste products from his body。 He learned a great deal about foods he had never heard of； such as Potassium Broth； Nut Mince； and the mysteriously named Unmalted Slippery Elm。 He had got as far as the chapter on massage and was reflecting on the injunction that this art should be divided into Effleurage； Stroking； Friction； Kneading； Petrissage； Tapotement； and Vibration； when the telephone rang。 A girl's voice said that Mr。 Wain would be glad to see him in Consulting Room A in five minutes。
Mr。 Joshua Wain had a firm； dry handshake and a resonant； encouraging voice。 He had a lot of bushy gray hair above an unlined brow； soft； clear brown eyes； and a sincere and Christian smile。 He appeared to be genuinely pleased to see Bond and to be interested in him。 He wore a very clean smocklike coat with short sleeves from which strong hairy arms hung relaxed。 Below were rather incongruous pin…stripe trousers。 He wore sandals over socks of conservative gray and when he moved across the consulting room his stride was a springy lope。
Mr。 Wain asked Bond to remove all his clothes except his shorts。 When he saw the many scars he said politely； 〃Dear me； you do seem to have been in the wars； Mr。 Bond。〃
Bond said indifferently； 〃Near miss。 During the war。〃
〃Really！ War between peoples is a terrible thing。 Now； just breathe in deeply； please。〃 Mr。 Wain listened at Bond's back and chest； took his blood pressure； weighed him and recorded his height； and then； after asking him to lie face down on a surgical couch； handled his joints and vertebrae with soft； probing fingers。
While Bond replaced his clothes； Mr。 Wain wrote busily at his desk。 Then he sat back。 〃Well； Mr。 Bond； nothing much to worry about here； I think。 Blood pressure a little high； slight osteopathic lesions in the upper vertebrae…they'll probably be causing your tension headaches； by the way…and some right sacroiliac strain with the right ilium slightly displaced backwards。 Due to a bad fall some time； no doubt。〃 Mr。 Wain raised his eyebrows for confirmation。
Bond said； 〃Perhaps。〃 Inwardly he reflected that the 〃bad fall〃 had probably been when he had had to jump from the Arlberg Express after Heinkel and his friends had caught up with him around the time of the Hungarian uprising in 1956。
〃Well； now。〃 Mr。 Wain drew a printed form toward him and thoughtfully ticked off items on a list。 〃Strict dieting for one week to eliminate the toxins in the blood stream。 Massage to tone you up； irrigation； hot and cold sitz baths； osteopathic treatment； and a short course of traction to get rid of the lesions。 That should put you right。 And plete rest； of course。 Just take it easy； Mr。 Bond。 You're a civil servant； I understand。 Do you good to get away from all that worrying paper work for a while。〃 Mr。 Wain got up and handed the printed form to Bond。 〃Treatment rooms in half an hour； Mr。 Bond。 No harm in starting right away。〃
〃Thank you。〃 Bond took the form and glanced at it。 〃What's traction； by the way？〃
〃A mechanical device for stretching the spine。 Very beneficial。〃 Mr。 Wain smiled indulgently。 〃Don't be worried by what some of the other patients tell you about it。 They call it ‘The Rack。' You know what wags some people are。〃
〃Yes。〃
Bond walked out and along the white…painted corridor。 People were sitting about； reading or talking in soft tones in the public rooms。 They were all elderly； middle…class people； mostly women； many of whom wore unattractive quilted dressing gowns。 The warm； close air and the frumpish women gave Bond claustrophobia。 He walked through the hall to the main door and let himself out into the wonderful fresh air。
Bond walked thoughtfully down the trim narrow drive and smelled the musty smell of the laurels and the laburnums。 Could he stand it？ Was there any way out of this hell…hole short of resigning from the Service？ Deep in thought； he almost collided with a girl in white who came hurrying round a sharp bend in the thickly hedged drive。 At the same instant as she swerved out of his path and flashed him an amused smile； a mauve Bentley； taking the corner too fast； was on top of her。 At one moment she was almost under its wheels； at the next； Bond； with one swift step； had gathered her up by the waist and； executing a passable Veronica； with a sharp swivel of his hips had picked her body literally off the hood of the car。 He put the girl down as the Bentley dry…skidded to a stop in the gravel。 His right hand held the memory of one beautiful breast。 The girl said； 〃Oh！〃 and looked up into his eyes with an expression of flurried astonishment。 Then she took in what had happened and said breathlessly； 〃Oh； thank you。〃 She turned toward the car。
A man had climbed unhurriedly down from the driving seat。 He said calmly； 〃I am so sorry。 Are you all right？〃 Recognition dawned on his face。 He said silkily； 〃Why； if it isn't my friend Patricia。 How are you； Pat？ All ready for me？〃
The man was extremely handsome…a dark…bronzed woman…killer with a neat mustache above the sort of callous mouth women kiss in their dreams。 He had regular features that suggested Spanish or South American blood and bold； hard brown eyes that turned up oddly； or； as a woman would put it； intriguingly； at the corners。 He was an athletic…looking six foot； dressed in the sort of casually well…cut beige herring…bone tweed that suggests Anderson and Sheppard。 He wore a white silk shirt and a dark red polka…dot tie； and the soft dark brown V…necked sweater looked like vicuna。 Bond summed him up as a good…looking bastard who got all the women he wanted and probably lived on them…and lived well。
The girl had recovered her poise。 She said severely； 〃You really ought to be more careful； Count Lippe。 You know there are always patients and staff walking down th