Free Bond 03 - Moonraker by Ian Fleming

double the stakes on this rubber,’ he said rather wildly. ‘All right with you?’
    Drax had dealt and was looking at his cards. His lips were wet with anticipation. He looked at Bond who seemed to be having difficulty lighting his cigarette. ‘Taken,’ he said quickly. ‘A hundred pounds a hundred and a thousand on the rubber.’ Then he felt he could risk a touch of sportsmanship. Bond could hardly cancel the bet now. ‘But I seem to have got some good tickets here,’ he added. ‘Are you still on?’
    ‘Of course, of course,’ said Bond, clumsily picking up his hand. ‘I made the bet, didn’t I?’
    ‘All right, then,’ said Drax with satisfaction. ‘Three No Trumps here.’
    He made four.
    Then, to Bond’s relief, the cards turned. Bond bid and made a small slam in hearts and on the next hand M. ran out in three No Trumps.
    Bond grinned cheerfully into the sweating face. Drax was picking angrily at his nails. ‘Big battalions,’ said Bond, rubbing it in.
    Drax growled something and busied himself with the score. Bond looked across at M., who was putting a match, with evident satisfaction at the way the game had gone, to his second cheroot of the evening, an almost unheard of indulgence.
    ‘’Fraid this’ll have to be my last rubber,’ said Bond. ‘Got to get up early. Hope you’ll forgive me.’
    M. looked at his watch. ‘It’s past midnight,’ he said. ‘What about you, Meyer?’
    Meyer, who had been a silent passenger for most of the evening and who had the look of a man caught in a cage with a couple of tigers, seemed relieved at being offered a chance of making his escape. He leapt at the idea of getting back to his quiet flat in Albany and the soothing companionship of his collection of Battersea snuff-boxes.
    ‘Quite all right with me, Admiral,’ he said quickly. ‘What about you, Hugger? Nearly ready for bed?’
    Drax ignored him. He looked up from his score-sheet at Bond. He noticed the signs of intoxication. The moist forehead, the black comma of hair that hung untidily over the right eyebrow, the sheen of alcohol in the grey-blue eyes.
    ‘Pretty miserable balance so far,’ he said. ‘I make it you win a couple of hundred or so. Of course if you want to run out of the game you can. But how about some fireworks to finish up with? Treble the stakes on the last rubber? Fifteen and fifteen? Historic match. Am I on?’
    Bond looked up at him. He paused before answering. He wanted Drax to remember every detail of this last rubber, every word that had been spoken, every gesture.
    ‘Well,’ said Drax impatiently. ‘What about it?’
    Bond looked into the cold left eye in the flushed face. He spoke to it alone.
    ‘One hundred and fifty pounds a hundred, and fifteen hundred on the rubber,’ he said distinctly. ‘You’re on.’

7 ....... THE QUICKNESS OF THE HAND
    T HERE WAS a moment’s silence at the table. It was broken by the agitated voice of Meyer.
    ‘Here I say,’ he said anxiously. ‘Don’t include me in on this, Hugger.’ He knew it was a private bet with Bond, but he wanted to show Drax that he was thoroughly nervous about the whole affair. He saw himself making some ghastly mistake that would cost his partner a lot of money.
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Max,’ said Drax harshly. ‘You play your hand. This is nothing to do with you. Just an enjoyable little bet with our rash friend here. Come along, come along. My deal, Admiral.’
    M. cut the cards and the game began.
    Bond lit a cigarette with hands that had suddenly become quite steady. His mind was clear. He knew exactly what he had to do, and when, and he was glad that the moment of decision had come.
    He sat back in his chair and for a moment he had the impression that there was a crowd behind him at each elbow, and that faces were peering over his shoulder, waiting to see his cards. He somehow felt that the ghosts were friendly, that they approved of the rough justice that was about to be done.
    He smiled as he