if.themanwiththegoldengun-第1部分

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　〃Can　I　Help　You？〃
　
　The　Secret　Service　holds　much　that　is　kept　secret　even　from　very　senior　officers　in　the　organization。　Only　M。　and　his　Chief　of　Staff　know　absolutely　everything　there　is　to　know。　The　latter　is　responsible　for　keeping　the　Top　Secret　record　known　as　The　War　Book　so　that；　in　the　event　of　the　death　of　both　of　them；　the　whole　story；　apart　from　what　is　available　to　individual　Sections　and　Stations；　would　be　available　to　their　successors。
　One　thing　that　James　Bond；　for　instance；　didn't　know　was　the　machinery　at　Headquarters　for　dealing　with　the　public；　whether　friendly　or　otherwise…drunks；　lunatics；　bona　fide　applications　to　join　the　Service；　and　enemy　agents　with　plans　for　penetration　or　even　assassination。
　On　that　cold；　clear　morning　in　November　he　was　to　see　the　careful　cogwheels　in　motion。
　The　girl　at　the　switchboard　at　the　Ministry　of　Defence　flicked　the　switch　to　HOLD　and　said　to　her　neighbour；　〃It's　another　nut　who　says　he's　James　Bond。　Even　knows　his　code　number。　Says　he　wants　to　speak　to　M。　personally。〃
　The　senior　girl　shrugged。　The　switchboard　had　had　quite　a　few　such　calls　since；　a　year　before；　James　Bond's　death　on　a　mission　to　Japan　had　been　announced　in　the　press。　There　had　even　been　one　pestiferous　woman　who；　at　every　full　moon；　passed　on　messages　from　Bond　on　Uranus；　where　it　seemed　he　had　got　stuck　while　awaiting　entry　into　heaven。　She　said；　〃Put　him　through　to　Liaison；　Pat。〃
　The　Liaison　Section　was　the　first　cog　in　the　machine；　the　first　sieve。　The　operator　got　back　on　the　line：　〃Just　a　moment；　sir。　I'll　put　you　on　to　an　officer　who　may　be　able　to　help　you。〃
　James　Bond；　sitting　on　the　edge　of　his　bed；　said；　〃Thank　you。〃
　He　had　expected　some　delay　before　he　could　establish　his　identity。　He　had　been　warned　to　expect　it　by　the　charming　〃Colonel　Boris〃　who　had　been　in　charge　of　him　for　the　past　few　months　after　he　had　finished　his　treatment　in　the　luxurious　Institute　on　the　Nevsky　Prospekt　in　Leningrad。　A　man's　voice　came　on　the　line。　〃Captain　Walker　speaking。　Can　I　help　you？〃　；
　James　Bond　spoke　slowly　and　clearly。　〃This　is　mander　James　Bond　speaking。　Number　007。　Would　you　put　me　through　to　M。；　or　his　secretary；　Miss　Moneypenny。　I　want　to　make　an　appointment。〃
　Captain　Walker　pressed　two　buttons　on　the　side　of　his　telephone。　One　of　them　switched　on　a　tape　recorder　for　the　use　of　his　department；　the　other　alerted　one　of　the　duty　officers　in　the　Action　Room　of　the　Special　Branch　at　Scotland　Yard　that　he　should　listen　to　the　conversation；　trace　the　call；　and　at　once　put　a　tail　on　the　caller。　It　was　now　up　to　Captain　Walker；　who　was　in　fact　an　extremely　bright　ex…prisoner…of…war　interrogator　from　Military　Intelligence；　to　keep　the　subject　talking　for　as　near　five　minutes　as　possible。　He　said；　〃I'm　afraid　I　don't　know　either　of　these　two　people。　Are　you　sure　you've　got　the　right　number？〃
　James　Bond　patiently　repeated　the　Regent　number　which　was　the　main　outside　line　for　the　Secret　Service。　Together　with　so　much　else；　he　had　forgotten　it；　but　Colonel　Boris　had　known　it　and　had　made　him　write　it　down　among　the　small　print　on　the　front　page　of　his　forged　British　passport　that　said　his　name　was　Frank　Westmacott；　pany　director。
　〃Yes；〃　said　Captain　Walker　sympathetically。　〃We　seem　to　have　got　that　part　of　it　right。　But　I'm　afraid　I　can't　place　these　people　you　want　to　talk　to。　Who　exactly　are　they？　This　Mr。　Em；　for　instance。　I　don't　think　we've　got　anyone　of　that　name　at　the　Ministry。〃
　〃Do　you　want　me　to　spell　it　out？　You　realize　this　is　an　open　line？〃
　Captain　Walker　was　rather　impressed　by　the　confidence　in　the　speaker's　voice。　He　pressed　another　button；　and；　so　that　Bond　would　hear　it；　a　telephone　bell　rang。　He　said；　〃Hang　on　a　moment；　would　you？　There's　someone　on　my　other　line。〃　Captain　Walker　got　on　to　the　head　of　his　Section。　〃Sorry；　sir。　I've　got　a　chap　on　who　says　he's　James　Bond　and　wants　to　talk　to　M。　I　know　it　sounds　crazy　and　I've　gone　through　the　usual　motions　with　the　Special　Branch　and　so　on；　but　would　you　mind　listening　for　a　minute？　Thank　you；　sir。〃
　Two　rooms　away　a　harassed　man；　who　was　the　Chief　Security　Officer　for　the　Secret　Service；　said　〃Blast！〃　and　pressed　a　switch。　A　microphone　on　his　desk　came　to　life。　The　Chief　Security　Officer　sat　very　still。　He　badly　needed　a　cigarette；　but　his　room　was　now　live　to　Captain　Walker　and　to　the　lunatic　who　called　himself　〃James　Bond。〃　Captain　Walker's　voice　came　over　at　full　strength。　〃I'm　so　sorry。　Now　then。　This　man　Mr。　Em　you　want　to　talk　to。　I'm　sure　we　needn't　worry　about　security。　Could　you　be　more　specific？〃
　James　Bond　frowned。　He　didn't　know　that　he　had　frowned；　and　he　wouldn't　have　been　able　to　explain　why　he　had　done　so。　He　said；　and　lowered　his　voice；　again　inexplicably；　〃Admiral　Sir　Miles　Messervy。　He　is　head　of　a　department　in　your　Ministry。　The　number　of　his　room　used　to　be　twelve　on　the　eighth　floor。　He　used　to　have　a　secretary　called　Miss　Moneypenny。　Good…looking　girl。　Brunette。　Shall　I　give　you　the　Chief　of　Staff's　name？　No？　Well；　let's　see；　it's　Wednesday。　Shall　I　tell　you　what'll　be　the　main　dish　on　the　menu　in　the　canteen？　It　should　be　steak…and…kidney　pudding。〃
　The　Chief　Security　Officer　picked　up　the　direct　telephone　to　Captain　Walker。　Captain　Walker　said　to　James　Bond；　〃Damn！　There's　the　other　telephone　again。　Shan't　be　a　minute。〃　He　picked　up　the　green　telephone。　〃Yes；　sir？〃
　〃I　don't　like　that　bit　about　the　steak…and…kidney　pudding。　Pass　him　on　to　the　Hard　Man。　No。　Cancel　that。　Make　it　the　Soft。　There　was　always　something　odd　about　007's　death。　No　body。　No　solid　evidence。　And　the　people　on　that　Japanese　island　always　seemed　to　me　to　be　playing　it　pretty　close　to　the　chest。　The　stone…face　act。　It's　just　possible。　Keep　me　informed；　would　you？〃
　Captain　Walker　got　back　to　James　Bond。　〃Sorry　about　that。　It's　being　a　busy　day。　Now　then；　this　inquiry　of　yours。　Afraid　I　can't　help　you　myself。　Not　my　part　of　the　Ministry。　The　man　you　want　is　Major　Townsend。　He　should　be　able　to　locate　this　man　you　want　to　see。　Got　a　pencil？　It's　number　forty…four　Kensington　Cloisters。　Got　that？　Kensington　double　five　double　five。　Give　me　ten　minutes　and　I'll　have　a　word　with　him　and　see　if　he　can　help。　All　right？〃
　James　Bond　said　dully；　〃That's　very　kind　of　you。〃　He　put　down　the　telephone。　He　waited　exactly　ten　minutes　and　picked　up　the　receiver　and　asked　for　the　number。
　James　Bond　was　staying　at　the　Ritz　Hotel。　Colonel　Boris　had　told　him　to　do　so。　Bond's　file　in　the　K。G。B。　Archive　described　him　as　a　high…liver；　so；　on　arrival　in　London；　he　must　stick　to　the　K。G。B。　image　of　the　high　life。　Bond　went　down　in　the　lift　to　the　Arlington　Street　entrance。　A　man　at　the　newsstand　got　a　good　profile　of　him　with　a　buttonhole　Minox。　When　Bond　went　down　the　shallow　steps　to　the　street　and　asked　the　missionaire　for　a　taxi；　a　Canonflex　with　a　telescopic　lens　clicked　away　busily　from　a　Red　Roses　laundry　van　at　the　neighbouring　goods　entrance；　and　in　due　course　the　same　van　followed　Bond's　taxi　while　a　man　inside　the　van　reported　briefly　to　the　Action　Room　of　the　Special　Branch。
　Number　forty…four　Kensington　Cloisters　was　a　dull　Victorian　mansion　in　grimy　red　brick。　It　had　been　chosen　for　its　purpose　because　it　had　once　been　the　headquarters　of　the　Empire　League　for　Noise　Abatement；　and　its　entrance　still　bore　the　brass　plate　of　this　long…defunct　organization；　the　empty　shell　of　which　had　been　purchased　by　the　Secret　Service　through　the　monwealth　Relations　Office。　It　also　had　a　spacious　old…fashioned　basement；　re…equipped　as　detention　cells；　and　a　rear　exit　into　a　quiet　mews。
　The　Red　Roses　laundry　van　watched　the　front　door　shut　behind　James　Bond　and　then　moved　off　at　a　sedate　speed　to　its　garage　not　far　from　Scotland　Yard　while　the　process　of　developing　the　Canonflex　film　went　on　in　its　interior。
　〃Appointment　with　Major　Townsend；〃　said　Bond。
　〃Yes。　He's　expecting　you；　sir。　Shall　I　take　your　raincoat？〃　The　powerful…looking　doorman　put　the　coat　on　a　coat　hanger　and　hung　it　up　on　one　of　a　row　of　hooks　beside　the　door。　As　soon　as　Bond　was　safely　closeted　with　Major　Townsend；　the　coat　would　go　swiftly　to　the　laboratory　on　the　first　floor　where　its　provenance　would　be　established　from　an　examination　of　the　fabric。　Pocket　dust　would　be　removed　for　more　leisurely　research。　〃Would　you　follow　me；　sir？〃
　It　was　a　narrow　corridor　of　freshly　painted　clapboard　with　a　tall；　single　window　which　concealed　the　fluoroscope　triggered　automatically　from　beneath　the　ugly　patterned　carpet。　The　findings　of　its　X…ray　eye　would　be　fed　into　the　laboratory　above　the　passage。　The　passage　ended　intwo　facing　doors　marked　〃A〃　and　〃B。〃　The　doorman　knocked　on　Room　B　and　stood　aside　for　Bond　to　enter。
　It　was　a　pleasant；　very　light　room；　close…carpeted　in　dove…grey　Wilton。　The　military　prints　on　the　cream　walls　were　expensively　framed。　A　small；　bright　fire　burned　under　an　Adam　mantelpiece；　which　bore　a　number　of　silver　trophies　and　two　photographs　in　leather　frames…one　of　a　nice…looking　woman　and　the　other　of　three　nice…looking　children。　There　was　a　central　table　with　a　bowl　of　flowers　and　two　fortable　club　chairs　on　either　side　of　the　fire。　No　desk　or　filing　cabinets；　nothing　official…looking。　A　tall　man；　as　pleasant　as　the　room；　got　up　from　the　far　chair；　dropped　The　Times　on　the　carpet　beside　it；　and　came　forward　with　a　weling　smile。　He　held　out　a　firm；　dry　hand。
　This　was　the　Soft　Man。
　〃e　in。　e　in。　Take　a　pew。　Cigarette？　Not　the　ones　I　seem　to　remember　you　favour。　Just　the　good　old　Senior　Service。〃
　Major　Townsend　had　carefully　prepared　the　loaded　remark…a　reference　to　Bond's　liking　for　the　Morland　Specials　with　the　three　gold　rings。　He　noted　Bond's　apparent　lack　of　prehension。　Bond　took　a　cigarette　and　accepted　a　light。　They　sat　down　facing　one　another。　Major　Townsend　crossed　his　legs　fortably。　Bond　sat　up　straight。　Major　Townsend　said；　〃Well　now。　How　can　I　help　you？〃
　Across　the　corridor；　in　Room　A…a　cold　Office　of　Works　cube；　equipped　only　with　a　hissing　gas　fire；　an　ugly　desk　under　a　naked　neon　light；　and　two　wooden　chairs…　Bond's　reception　by　the　Hard　Man；　an　ex…police　superintendent　（〃ex〃　because　of　a　brutality　case　in　Glasgow　for　which　he　had　taken　the　rap）　would　have　been　very　different。　There；　the　man　who　went　under　the　n