Murik's food matched the outer show: a fine lobster cocktail, prepared individually at each diner's elbow from freshly cooked and cooled crustaceans; a light consomme with a chicken base, followed by rare rib of beef which almost dissolved on the tongue; and, before the cheese board was circulated, there was one of Bond's favourite Scottish puddings, the delicious cream-crowdie – toasted oatmeal folded into thick whipped cream.

'The simplest things are best at table,' Anton Murik commented. 'You pay a fortune for that in the Edinburgh and Glasgow hotels, and yet it's merely an old farmhouse dish.'

Bond reflected on a fact he had noted so often in his travels: that the wealthy of today's world take their so-called 'simple' pleasures for granted.

He was not surprised when the port arrived and the ladies withdrew, leaving the two men to their own devices. The running of Murik Castle, it seemed, clung to the fashions of more gracious days. The servants – there had been two muscular young men waiting at table under Donal's eye – withdrew; as did the butler himself, after placing cigars, cutter and matches within the Laird's reach. Bond refused a cigar, asking permission to smoke his own cigarettes.

As he drew out the old and faithful gunmetal case, James Bond's thumb felt the rough section around the middle, where it had been skilfully repaired. The thought flashed through his head that this very case had once saved his life, by stopping a SMERSH assassin's bullet. The evidence was in the rough patch, invisible to the eye, on either side of the case. For a second he wondered if he would have need of any life-saving devices in this present encounter with the Laird of Murcaldy.

'So, you took up my offer, Mr Bond?' The eyes assumed the grey and menacing lava flow look as Anton Murik faced Bond across the table.

'To visit you, yes.' Bond watched as Murik expelled a great cloud of cigar smoke.

'Oh, I didn't just mean the visit.' He gave a throaty chuckle. 'I know men, Bond. I can scent them. You are a man of vigour who lives for danger. I smelled that the moment I met you. I also felt you have a similar facility – for scenting out possible dangers. Yes?'

Bond shrugged. It was not time to commit himself to anything.

'You must be good,' Murik continued. 'Only good mercenaries stay alive; and you did all the right things – reconnoitring my estate, I mean. There may well be a job for you. Just stay for a day or two and we shall see. Tomorrow I may even give you a small test. Again, we shall see.'

There was a moment's pause, and then Bond asked levelly, 'How did you do it?'

Murik arched his eyebrows in surprise. 'Do what?'

'Win the Gold Cup with China Blue?' Bond did not smile.

Murik spread out his hands. 'I have a good trainer. How else would I win such a prestigeous cup race? And I had the right horse.'

'How?' Bond asked again. 'China Blue's form made him the biggest outsider in the race. He even looked like a loser. Now I know that's easy enough to do, but you brought it off and there were no questions. You have him pulled in his other races?'

Slowly the Laird of Murcaldy shook his head. 'There was no need for that. China Blue won. Fair and square.' Then, as though suddenly making up his mind, he rose from the table. 'Come, I'll show you something.' He led the way to a door Bond had not noticed, in a corner on the far side of the dining room. He took out a bunch of keys on a thin gold chain, selected a key and unlocked the door.

They went down a cool, well-lit passage which terminated at yet another door, which Murik unlocked with a second key. A moment later they stood in a large book-lined room. There were three leather chairs facing a wide military desk and a cabinet containing some exquisite pieces of antique weaponry. On the wall above the desk hung the only painting in the room – a large and undeniable Turner.

'Genuine?' asked Bond.

'Naturally.' Murik moved behind the desk and motioned Bond into one of the chairs facing him. 'My inner sanctum,' he commented. 'You are honoured to be here at all. This is where I work and plan.'

Gently Bond drew the chair nearer to the desk. Murik was opening one of the drawers. He removed a small buff folder, opened it and passed two photographs to Bond. 'Tell me about these photographs, Mr Bond.'

Bond said they were pictures of China Blue.

'Almost correct.' Murik smiled again: a deep secretive smirk. 'They are brothers. You see -I will not bore you with the documents -just over four years ago I had a mare in foal, here on the estate. I happened to be in residence at the time, and was in at the birth, so to speak. Happily I have a vet who knows how to keep his mouth closed. It was a rare thing, Bond. Two identical foals. Absolutely identical. No expert could have told them apart, though it was obvious to the vet and myself that the second would always be the weaker of the two. That is usual in such cases.'

He paused for effect. 'I registered one only. They were from good racing stock. There is one China Blue – the one you saw running at Ascot – with tremendous stamina and the natural aptitude for racing. The other? Well, he races, but has no speed and little stamina. Though still, at four years, you would be hard put to tell the difference in build. Now, I've shared a secret with you. I am attempting to establish a trust between us. But if it ever leaks out, I promise you are a dead man.'

'Nobody's going to hear it from me.' As he spoke, Bond moved the chair even closer, taking out his gunmetal cigarette case and the package of cigarettes provided by Q'ute. The Laird of Murcaldy had just answered a prize question. The man was a cheat and a fraud. Franco was in the house, and, for Bond, that was enough. M had been right to send him: this was certainly no panic or fool's errand.

Quickly he removed a couple of the cigarettes from the packet and placed them in his case. At the same time Bond pressed on the side of the packet, expelling one of the small electronic micro-bugs into his hand. Murik was still chuckling as he picked up the photographs from the desk. As he leaned down to return them to the drawer, Bond slid his hand under the foot-well of the desk, pressing the adhesive side of the bug hard against the woodwork. Now the Laird of Murcaldy's inner sanctum was wired for sound.

Murik snapped the drawer closed and stood up. 'Now, Mr Bond, I suggest you say goodnight to the ladies and retire. Your cases are in your room, and tomorrow we must all take part in the Games. After that you may wish to stay; and I may wish to make you a proposition. It depends on many things.'

In the drawing room, Mary-Jane Mashkin and Lavender Peacock sat listening to Mozart through hidden speakers. Bond thought he glimpsed the look of friendly conspiracy on Lavender's face as they entered the room. Once again he experienced the feeling that she was trying to warn him of something as they shook hands, bidding each other goodnight.

The silent Donal had appeared, summoned surreptitiously by Murik, and was instructed to show Bond to the East Guest Room.

As he left, Bond caught Lavender's eyes in his, warm, friendly, but with a lonely message hidden within. Of one thing he was certain, she was a living virgin on the rocks-though he admitted to himself that he was being presumptuous about the first part of that statement.

He followed Donal up the stairs, anxious to get at the receiver in his case and set it up so that any further business transacted by Murik in his inner sanctum could be recorded and listened to at leisure.

Donal opened the door, intoning, 'The East Guest Room, sir,' and Bond stepped into an Aladdin's Cave for the passing visitor.