Bond went back into her room. He left both doors open so that he could hear. She was still sitting on the bed wrapped in a coiled immobility. She watched Bond carefully. Bond leaned against the jamb of the door. He took a long pull at his whisky. He said, looking her in the eye, ‘You’d better know that I’m from Scotland Yard’ – the euphemism would serve. ‘We’re after this man Goldfinger. He doesn’t mind. He thinks no one can find us for at least a week. He’s probably right. He saved our lives because he wants us to work for him on a crime. It’s big business. Pretty scatter-brained. But there’s a lot of planning and paperwork. We’ve got to look after that side. Can you do shorthand and typing?’

‘Yes.’ Her eyes were alight. ‘What’s the crime?’

Bond told her. He said, ‘Of course it all sounds ridiculous and I daresay a few questions and answers will show these gangsters, if they don’t show Goldfinger, that the whole thing’s impossible. But I don’t know. Goldfinger’s an extraordinary man. From what I know about him, he never moves unless the odds are right. And I don’t think he’s mad – at least not madder than other kinds of geniuses – scientists and so on. And there’s no doubt he’s a genius in his particular field.’

‘So what are you going to do about it?’

Bond lowered his voice. He said, ‘What are we going to do about it, you mean. We are going to play along. And to the hilt. No shirking and no funny business. We’re going to be greedy for the money and we’re going to give him absolutely top-notch service. Apart from saving our lives, which mean less than nothing to him, it’s the only hope we, or rather I because that’s my line of country, can have of a chance to queer his pitch.’

‘How are you going to do that?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Something may turn up.’

‘And you expect me to go along with you?’

‘Why not? Any other suggestions?’

She pursed her lips obstinately. ‘Why should I do what you say?’

Bond sighed. ‘There’s no point in being a suffragette about this. It’s either that or get yourself killed after breakfast. It’s up to you.’

The mouth turned down with distaste. She shrugged her shoulders. She said ungraciously, ‘Oh, all right then.’ Suddenly her eyes flared. ‘Only don’t ever touch me or I shall kill you.’

There came the click of Bond’s bedroom door. Bond looked mildly down at Tilly Masterton. ‘The challenge is attractive. But don’t worry. I won’t take it up.’ He turned and strolled out of the room.

One of the Koreans passed him carrying the girl’s breakfast. In his room another Korean had brought in a typist’s desk and chair and a Remington portable. He arranged them in the corner away from the bed. Oddjob was standing in the doorway. He held out a sheet of paper. Bond went up to him and took it.

It was a foolscap memo sheet. The writing, with a ball point, was neat, careful, legible, undistinguished. It said:

Prepare ten copies of this agenda.

Meeting held under the chairmanship of Mr Gold

Secretaries

: J. Bond

Miss Tilly Masterton

Present

Helmut M. Springer Jed

The Purple Gang. Detroit

Midnight

Shadow Syndicate. Miami and

Havana

Billy (The Grinner) Ring

The Machine. Chicago

Jack Strap

The Spangled Mob. Las Vegas

Mr Solo

Unione Siciliano

Miss  Pussy Galore

The Cement Mixers. Harlem.

New York City

Agenda

A project with the code name OPERATION GRAND SLAM. (Refreshments.)

At the end of this was written, ‘You and Miss Masterton will be fetched at 2.20. Both will be prepared to take notes. Formal dress, please.’

Bond smiled. The Koreans left the room. He sat down at the desk, slipped paper and carbons into the typewriter and set to. At least he would show the girl that he was prepared to do his stint. Gosh, what a crew! Even the Mafia had come in. How had Goldfinger persuaded them all to come? And who in heaven’s name was Miss Pussy Galore?

Bond had the copies finished by two o’clock. He went into the girl’s room and gave them to her together with a shorthand notebook and pencils. He also read her Goldfinger’s note. He said, ‘You’d better get these names in your head. They probably won’t be hard to identify. We can ask if we get stuck. I’ll go and get into my formal dress.’ He smiled at her. ‘Twenty minutes to go.’

She nodded.

Walking down the corridor behind Oddjob, Bond could hear the sounds of the river – the slapping of water on the piles below the warehouse, the long mournful hoot of a ferry clearing her way, the distant thump of diesels. Somewhere beneath his feet a truck started up, revved and then growled away presumably towards the West Side Highway. They must be on the top tier of the long two-tiered building. The grey paint in the corridor smelled new. There were no side doors. Light came from bowls in the ceiling. They reached the end. Oddjob knocked. There was the sound of a Yale key being turned and two lots of bolts being pulled and they walked through and into a large bright sunlit room. The room was over the end of the warehouse and a wide picture window, filling most of the facing wall, framed the river and the distant, brown muddle of Jersey City. The room had been dressed for the conference. Goldfinger sat with his back to the window at a large round table with a green baize cloth, carafes of water, yellow scratch-pads and pencils. There were nine comfortable armchairs and on the scratch-pads in front of six of them were small oblong white parcels sealed with red wax. To the right, against the wall, was a long buffet table gleaming with silver and cut glass. Champagne stood in silver coolers and there was a row of other bottles. Among the various foods Bond noticed two round five-pound tins of Beluga caviar and several terrines of foie gras. On the wall opposite the buffet hung a blackboard above a table on which there were papers and one large oblong carton.

Goldfinger watched them come towards him across the thick wine-red carpet. He gestured to the chair on his left for Tilly Masterton and to the one on the right for Bond. They sat down.

‘The agenda?’ Goldfinger took the copies, read the top one and handed them back to the girl. He gave a circular wave of the hand and she got up and distributed the copies round the table. He put his hand beneath the table and pressed a hidden bell. The door at the back of the room opened. One of the Koreans came in and stood waiting. ‘Is everything ready?’ The man nodded. ‘You understand that no one is to come into this room but the people on your list? Good. Some of them, perhaps all, will bring a companion. The companions will remain in the anteroom. See that they have everything they wish. The cards are there and the dice? Oddjob.’ Goldfinger glanced up at the Korean who had remained behind Bond’s chair. ‘Go and take up your position. What is the signal?’ Oddjob held up two fingers. ‘Right. Two rings on the bell. You may go. See that all the staff carry out their duties to perfection.’

Bond said casually, ‘How many staff have you got?’

‘Twenty. Ten Koreans and ten Germans. They are all excellent men, hand picked. Much goes on in this building. It is like below-decks in a man-of-war.’ Goldfinger laid his hands flat on the table in front of him. ‘And now, your duties. Miss Masterton, you will take notes of any practical points that arise, anything that is likely to require action by me. Do not bother with the argument and chatter. Right?’

Bond was glad to see that Tilly Masterton now looked bright and businesslike. She nodded briskly, ‘Certainly.’