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ing up on the man。
Goldfinger cautiously took out his spoon for the longish second over cross…bunkers to the narrow entrance to the green。 He made one more practice swing than usual and then hit exactly the right； controlled shot up to the apron。 A certain five； probably a four。 Much good would it do him！
Bond； after a great show of taking pains； brought his hands down well ahead of the club and smothered his number three iron so that the topped ball barely scrambled over the cross…bunkers。 He then wedged the ball on to the green twenty feet past the pin。 He was where he wanted to be … enough of a threat to make Goldfinger savour the sweet smell of victory； enough to make Goldfinger really sweat to get his four。
And now Goldfinger really was sweating。 There was a savage grin of concentration and greed as he bent to the long putt up the bank and down to the hole。 Not too hard； not too soft。 Bond could read every anxious thought that would be running through the man's mind。 Goldfinger straightened up again； walked deliberately across the green to behind the flag to verify his line。 He walked slowly back beside his line； brushing away … carefully； with the back of his hand … a wisp or two of grass； a speck of top…dressing。 He bent again and made one or two practice swings and then stood to the putt； the veins standing out on his temples； the cleft of concentration deep between his eyes。
Goldfinger hit the putt and followed through on the line。 It was a beautiful putt that stopped six inches past the pin。 Now Goldfinger would be sure that unless Bond sank his difficult twenty…footer； the match was his！
Bond went through a long rigmarole of sizing up his putt。 He took his time； letting the suspense gather like a thunder cloud round the long shadows on the livid； fateful green。
'Flag out； please。 I'm going to sink this one。' Bond charged the words with a deadly certitude； while debating whether to miss the hole to the right or the left or leave it short。 He bent to the putt and missed the hole well on the right。
'Missed it； by God！' Bond put bitterness and rage into his voice。 He walked over to the hole and picked up the two balls； keeping them in full view。
Goldfinger came up。 His face was glistening with triumph。 'Well； thanks for the game。 Seems I was just too good for you after all。'
'You're a good nine handicap；' said Bond with just sufficient sourness。 He glanced at the balls in his hand to pick out
Goldfinger's and hand it to him。 He gave a start of surprise。 'Hullo！' He looked sharply at Goldfinger。 'You play a Number One Dunlop； don't you？'
'Yes； of course。' A sixth sense of disaster wiped the triumph off Goldfinger's face。 'What is it？ What's the matter？'
'Well；' said Bond apologetically。' 〃Fraid you've been playing with the wrong ball。 Here's my Penfold Hearts and this is a Number Seven Dunlop。' He handed both balls to Gold…finger。 Goldfinger tore them off his palm and examined them feverishly。
Slowly the colour flooded over Goldfinger's face。 He stood； his mouth working； looking from the balls to Bond and back to the balls。
Bond said softly； 'Too bad we were playing to the rules。 Afraid that means you lose the hole。 And； of course； the match。' Bond's eyes observed Goldfinger impassively。
'But； but。。。'
This was what Bond had been looking forward to … the cup dashed from the lips。 He stood and waited； saying nothing。
Rage suddenly burst Goldfinger's usually relaxed face like a bomb。 'It was a Dunlop Seven you found in the rough。 It was your caddie that gave me this ball。 On the seventeenth green。 He gave me the wrong ball on purpose； the damned che…'
'Here； steady on；' said Bond mildly。 'You'll get a slander action on your hands if you aren't careful。 Hawker； did you give Mr Goldfinger the wrong ball by mistake or anything？'
'No； sir。' Hawker's face was stolid。 He said indifferently； 'If you want my opinion； sir； the mistake may have been made at the seventeenth when the gentleman found his ball pretty far off the line we'd all marked it on。 A Seven looks very much like a One。 I'd say that's what happened； sir。 It would have been a miracle for the gentleman's ball to have ended up as wide as where it was found。'
'Tommy rot！' Goldfinger gave a snort of disgust。 He turned angrily on Bond。 'You saw that was a Number One my caddie found。'
Bond shook his head doubtfully。 'I didn't really look closely； I'm afraid。 However；' Bond's voice became brisk； businesslike； 'it's really the job of the player to make certain he's using the right ball； isn't it？ I can't see that anyone else can be blamed if you tee the wrong ball up and play three shots with it。 Anyway；' he started walking off the green； 'many thanks for the match。 We must have it again one day。'
Goldfinger； lit with glory by the setting sun； but with a long black shadow tied to his heels； followed Bond slowly； his eyes fixed thoughtfully on Bond's back。
CHAPTER TEN
UP AT THE GRANGE
THERE ARE some rich men who use their riches like a club。 Bond； luxuriating in his bath； thought that Goldfinger was one of them。 He was the kind of man who thought he could flatten the world with his money； bludgeoning aside annoyances and opposition with his heavy wad。 He had thought to break Bond's nerve by playing him for ten thousand dollars …a flea…bite to him but obviously a small fortune to Bond。 In most circumstances he might have succeeded。 It needs an iron nerve to 'wait for it' on your swing； to keep your head down on the short putts； when big money hangs on every shot； over eighteen long holes。 The pros； playing for their own bread and butter and for their families'； know the cold breath of the poor…house on the back of their necks as they e to the eighteenth tee all square。 That is why they lead careful lives； not smoking or drinking； and why the one that wins is usually the one with the least imagination。
But； in Bond's case； Goldfinger could not have known that high tension was Bond's natural way of life and that pressure and danger relaxed him。 And he could not have known that Bond wanted to play Goldfinger for the highest possible stakes and that he would have the funds of the Secret Service behind him if he lost。 Goldfinger； so used to manipulating others； had been blind to the manipulation for once being practised upon himself。
Or had he been？ Thoughtfully Bond got out of the bath and dried himself。 That powerful dynamo inside the big round head would be humming at this very moment； wondering about Bond； knowing he had been out…cheated； asking itself how it came about that twice Bond had appeared out of the blue and twice queered his pitch。 Had Bond played his cards right？ Had he made himself appear an interesting challenge； or would Goldfinger's sensitive nose smell a threat？ In the latter case there would be no follow…up by Goldfinger and Bond would have to bow out of the case and leave it to M to devise a new approach。 How soon would he know if the big fish was hooked？ This one would take plenty of time sniffing the bait。 It would be good to have just one small bite to tell him he had chosen the right lure。
There was a knock on the door of his bedroom。 Bond wrapped the towel round him and walked through。 He opened the door。 It was the hall porter。 'Yes？'
'Telephone message from a Mr Goldfinger； sir。 His pliments and would you care to e to his house for dinner tonight。 It's the Grange over at Reculver； sir。 Six…thirty for drinks beforehand and not to bother to dress。'
'Please thank Mr Goldfinger and say I shall be delighted。' Bond shut the door and walked across to the open window and stood looking out across the quiet evening sea。 'Well； well！ Talk of the devil！' Bond smiled to himself； 'And then go and sup with him！ What was that about a long spoon？'
At six o'clock Bond went down to the bar and had a large vodka and tonic with a slice of lemon peel。 The bar was empty save for a group of American Air Force officers from Mansion。 They were drinking whisky and water and talking baseball。 Bond wondered if they had spent the day toting a hydrogen bomb round the skies over Kent； over the four little dots in the dunes that had been his match with Goldfinger。 He thought wryly； Not too much of that whisky； cousins； paid for his drink； and left。
He motored slowly over to Reculver； savouring the evening and the drink inside him and the quiet bubble of the twin exhausts。 This was going to be an interesting dinner…party。 Now was the moment to sell himself to Goldfinger。 If he put a foot wrong he was out； and the pitch would have been badly queered for his successor。 He was unarmed … it would be fatal for Goldfinger to smell that kind of rat。 He felt a moment's qualm。 But that was going too fast。 No state of war had been declared … the opposite if anything。 When they had parted at the golf club； Goldfinger had been cordial in a rather forced； oily fashion。 He had inquired where he should send Bond's winnings and Bond had given him the address of Universal Export。 He had asked where Bond was staying and Bond had told him and added that he would only be at Ramsgate a few days while he made up his mind about his future。 Goldfinger hoped that they would one day have a return match but； alas； he