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s mind about his future。 Goldfinger hoped that they would one day have a return match but； alas； he was leaving for France tomorrow and wasn't certain when he would be back。 Flying？ Yes； taking the Air Ferry from Lydd。 Well； thanks for the match。 And thank you； Mr Bond。 The eyes had given Bond one last X…ray treatment； as if fixing him for a last time in Gold…finger's filing system； and then the big yellow car had sighed away。
Bond had had a good look at the chauffeur。 He was a chunky flat…faced Japanese； or more probably Korean； with a wild； almost mad glare in dramatically slanting eyes that belonged in a Japanese film rather than in a Rolls Royce on a sunny afternoon in Kent。 He had the snout…like upper lip that sometimes goes with a cleft palate； but he said nothing and Bond had no opportunity of knowing whether his guess was right。 In his tight； almost bursting black suit and farcical bowler hat he looked rather like a Japanese wrestler on his day off。 But he was not a figure to make one smile。 If one had been inclined to smile； a touch of the sinister； the unexplained； in the tight shining patent…leather black shoes that were almost dancing pumps； and in the heavy black leather driving gloves； would have changed one's mind。 There was something vaguely familiar to Bond in the man's silhouette。 It was when the car drove away and Bond had a glimpse of the head from the rear that he remembered。 Those were the head and shoulders and bowler hat of the driver of the sky…blue Ford Popular that had so obstinately hugged the crown of the Herne Bay road at about twelve o'clock that morning。 Where had he been ing from？ What errand had he been on？ Bond remembered something Colonel Smithers had said。 Could this have been the Korean who now travelled the country collecting the old gold from the chain of Goldfinger jewellery shops？ Had the boot of the innocent； scurrying little saloon been stuffed with the week's takings of presentation watches； signet rings； lockets； gold crosses？ As he watched the high； primrose…yellow silhouette of the Silver
Ghost disappearing towards Sandwich； Bond thought the answer was yes。
Bond turned off the main road into the drive and followed it down between high Victorian evergreens to the gravel sweep in front of just the sort of house that would be called The Grange … a heavy； ugly； turn…of…the…century mansion with a glass…enclosed portico and sun parlour whose smell of trapped sunshine； rubber plants and dead flies came to Bond in his imagination before he had switched off the engine。 Bond got slowly out of the car and stood looking at the house。 Its blank； well…washed eyes stared back at him。 The house had a background noise； a heavy rhythmic pant like a huge animal with a rather quick pulse。 Bond assumed it came from the factory whose plumed chimney reared up like a giant cautionary finger from the high conifers to the right where the stabling and garages would normally be。 The quiet watchful facade of the house seemed to be waiting for Bond to do something； make some offensive move to which there would be a quick reply。 Bond shrugged his shoulders to lighten his thoughts and went up the steps to the opaque glass…panelled door and pressed the bell。 There was no noise of it ringing； but the door slowly opened。 The Korean chauffeur still had his bowler hat on。 He looked without interest at Bond。 He stood motionless； his left hand on the inside doorknob and his outstretched right pointing like a signpost into the dark hall of the house。
Bond walked past him； vanquishing a desire either to stamp on his neat black feet or hit him very hard indeed in the centre of his tightly buttoned black stomach。 This Korean matched up with what he had always heard about Koreans； and anyway Bond wanted to do something violent to the heavy； electric atmosphere of the house。
The gloomy hall was also the main living…room。 A meagre fire flickered behind the fire…irons in the wide hearth and two club chairs and a Knole sofa stood impassively watching the flames。 Between them on a low settee was a well…stocked drink tray。 The wide spaces surrounding this spark of life were crowded with massive Rothschildian pieces of furniture of the Second Empire； and ormolu； tortoiseshell； brass and mother…of…pearl winked back richly at the small fire。 Behind this orderly museum； dark panelling ran up to a first…floor gallery which was reached by a heavy curved stairway to the left of the hall。 The ceiling was laced with the sombre woodcarving of the period。
Bond was standing taking all this in when the Korean came silently up。 He flung out his signpost of an arm towards the drink tray and the chairs。 Bond nodded and stayed where he was。 The Korean walked past him and disappeared through a door into what Bond assumed were the servants' quarters。 The silence； helped by the slow iron tick of a massively decorated grandfather clock； gathered and crept nearer。
Bond walked over and stood with his back to the poor fire。 He stared offensively back at the room。 What a dump！ What a bloody awful deathly place to live in。 How did one； could one； live in this rich heavy morgue among the conifers and evergreens when a hundred yards away there was light and air and wide horizons？ Bond took out a cigarette and lit it。 What did Goldfinger do for enjoyment； for fun； for sex？ Perhaps he didn't need these things。 Perhaps the pursuit of gold slaked all his thirsts。
Somewhere in the distance a telephone rang。 The bell shrilled twice and stopped。 There was the murmur of a voice； then steps echoed down a passage and a door under the stairway opened。 Goldfinger came through and quietly closed the door behind him。 He was wearing a plum…coloured velvet dinner jacket。 He came slowly across the polished wood floor。 He didn't hold out his hand。 He said； smiling with his mouth； 'It was kind of you to e at such short notice； Mr Bond。 You were alone and so was I and it occurred to me that we might discuss the price of corn。'
It was the sort of remark that rich men make to each other。 Bond was amused at being made a temporary member of the club。 He said； 'I was delighted to get the invitation。 I was already bored with worrying over my problems。 Ramsgate hasn't much to offer。'
'No。 And now I have an apology to make。 I have had a telephone call。 One of my staff … I employ Koreans； by the way … has had some minor trouble with the Margate police and I must go over and straighten it out。 Some incident at the fun fair； I understand。 These people get easily overexcited。 My chauffeur will drive me and we should not be more than half an hour。 Meanwhile I fear I must leave you to your own devices。 Please help yourself to drinks。 There are magazines to read。 Will you forgive me？ Not more than half an hour I assure you。'
'That's quite all right。' Bond felt there was something fishy in this。 He couldn't put his finger on what it was。
'Well then； au revoir。' Goldfinger went to the front door。 'But I must give you some light。 It's really very dark in here。' Goldfinger brushed his hand down a wall…plate of switches and suddenly lights blazed all over the hall … from standard lamps； wall brackets； and four clusters in the ceiling。 Now the room was as bright as a film studio。 It was an extraordinary transformation。 Bond； half dazzled； watched Goldfinger open the front door and stride out。 In a minute he heard the sound of a car； but not the Rolls； rev up noisily； change gear and go off fast down the drive。
On an instinct； Bond walked over to the front door and opened it。 The drive was empty。 In the distance he saw the lights of the car turn left…handed on the main road and make off in the direction of Margate。 He turned back into the house and closed the door。 He stood still； listening。 The silence； except for the heavy clock…tick； was plete。 He walked across to the service door and opened it。 A long dark passage disappeared towards the back of the house。 Bond bent forward； all his senses alert。 Silence； dead silence。 Bond shut the door and looked thoughtfully round the brilliantly lit hall。 He had been left alone in Goldfinger's house； alone with its secrets。 Why？
Bond walked over to the drink tray and poured himself a strong gin and tonic。 There certainly had been a telephone call； but it could easily have been an arranged call from the factory。 The story of the servant was plausible and it was reasonable that Goldfinger should go himself to bail the man out and take his chauffeur with him。 Goldfinger had twice mentioned that Bond would be alone for half an hour during which he 'would be left to his own devices'。 This could be innocent； or it could be an invitation for Bond to show his hand； mit some indiscretion。 Was somebody watching him？ How many of these Koreans were there and what were they doing？ Bond glanced at his watch。 Five minutes had gone。 He made up his mind。 Trap or no trap； this was too good a chance to miss。 He would have a quick look round…but an innocent one； with some sort of a cover story to explain why he had left the hall。 Where should he begin？ A
look at the factory。 His story？ That his car had given trouble on the way over … choked petrol feed probably … and that he had gone to see if there was a mechanic who could give him a hand。 Fl