Free Bond 03 - Moonraker by Ian Fleming Page B

expectations.
    Casually he folded his hand and laid it on the table. Nonchalantly he took the flat carton out of his pocket, selected a cigarette and lit it. He didn’t look at Bond. He glanced up at Basildon.
    ‘Yes,’ he said, continuing the conversation about their stakes. ‘It’s a high game, but not the highest I’ve ever played. Once played for two thousand a rubber in Cairo. At the Mahomet Ali as a matter of fact. They’ve really got guts there. Often bet on every trick as well as on the game and rubber. Now,’ he picked up his hand and looked slyly at Bond. ‘I’ve got some good tickets here. I’ll admit it. But then you may have too, for all I know.’ (Unlikely, you old shark, thought Bond, with three of the ace-kings in your own hand.) ‘Care to have something extra just on this hand?’
    Bond made a show of studying his cards with the minuteness of someone who is nearly very drunk. ‘I’ve got a promising lot too,’ he said thickly. ‘If my partner fits and the cards lie right I might make a lot of tricks myself. What are you suggesting?’
    ‘Sounds as if we’re pretty evenly matched,’ lied Drax. ‘What do you say to a hundred a trick on the side? From what you say it shouldn’t be too painful.’
    Bond looked thoughtful and rather fuddled. He took another careful look at his hand, running through the cards one by one. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You’re on. And frankly you’ve made me gamble. You’ve obviously got a big hand, so I must shut you out and chance it.’
    Bond looked blearily across at M. ‘Pay your losses on this one, partner,’ he said. ‘Here we go. Er – seven clubs.’
    In the dead silence that followed, Basildon, who had seen Drax’s hand, was so startled that he dropped his whisky and soda on the floor. He looked dazedly down at the broken glass and let it lie.
    Drax said, ‘What?’ in a startled voice and hastily ran through his cards again for reassurance.
    ‘Did you say grand slam in clubs?’ he asked, looking curiously at his obviously drunken opponent. ‘Well, it’s your funeral. What do you say, Max?’
    ‘No bid,’ said Meyer, feeling in the air the electricity of just that crisis he had hoped to avoid. Why the hell hadn’t he gone home before this last rubber? He groaned inwardly.
    ‘No bid,’ said M. apparently unperturbed.
    ‘Double.’ The word came viciously out of Drax’s mouth. He put down his hand and looked cruelly, scornfully at this tipsy oaf who had at last, inexplicably, fallen into his hands.
    ‘That mean you double the side-bets too?’ asked Bond.
    ‘Yes,’ said Drax greedily. ‘Yes. That’s what I meant.’
    ‘All right,’ said Bond. He paused. He looked at Drax and not at his hand. ‘Redouble. The contract and the side-bets. £400 a trick on the side.’
    It was at that moment that the first hint of a dreadful, incredible doubt entered Drax’s mind. But again he looked at his hand, and again he was reassured. At the very worst he couldn’t fail to make two tricks.
    A muttered ‘No bid’ from Meyer. A rather strangled ‘No bid’ from M. An impatient shake of the head from Drax.
    Basildon stood, his face very pale, looking intently across the table at Bond.
    Then he walked slowly round the table, scrutinizing all the hands. What he saw was this:

     
    And suddenly Basildon understood. It was a laydown Grand Slam for Bond against any defence. Whatever Meyer led, Bond must get in with a trump in his own hand or on the table. Then, in between clearing trumps, finessing of course against Drax, he would play two rounds of diamonds, trumping them in dummy and catching Drax’s ace and king in the process. After five plays he would be left with the remaining trumps and six winning diamonds. Drax’s aces and kings would be totally valueless.
    It was sheer murder.
    Basildon, almost in a trance, continued round the table and stood between M. and Meyer so that he could watch Drax’s face, and Bond’s. His own face was