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cheerful voice of the player with his back to Bond. Bond thoughtfully noted the head of tight reddish hair that was all he could see of the speaker, then he looked to the left at the rather studious profile of Lord Basildon. The Chairman of Blades was leaning back, looking critically down his nose at the hand of cards which he held out and away from him as if it were a rare object.
“My hand is so exquisite that I am forced to redouble, my dear Drax,” he said. He looked across at his partner. “Tommy,” he said. “Charge this to me if it goes wrong.”
“Rot,” said his partner. “Meyer? Better take Drax out.”
“Too frightened,” said the middle-aged florid man who was playing with Drax. “No bid.” He picked up his cigar from the brass ashtray and put it carefully into the middle of his mouth.
“No bid here,” said Basildon’s partner.
“And nothing here,” came Drax’s voice.
“Five clubs redoubled,” said Basildon. “Your lead, Meyer.”
Bond looked over Drax’s shoulder. Drax had the ace of spades and the ace of hearts. He promptly made them both and led another heart which Basildon took on the table with the king.
“Well,” said Basildon. “There are four trumps against me including the queen. I shall play Drax to have her.” He finessed against Drax. Meyer took the trick with the queen.
“Hell and damnation,” said Basildon. “What’s the queen doing in Meyer’s hand? Well, I’m damned. Anyway the rest are mine.” He fanned his cards down on the table. He looked defensively at his partner. “Can you beat it, Tommy? Drax doubles and Meyer has the queen.” There was not more than a natural exasperation in his voice.
Drax chuckled. “Didn’t expect my partner to have a Yar borough did you?” he said cheerfully to Basildon. “Well, that’s just the four hundred above the line. Your deal.” He cut the cards to Basildon and the game went on.
So it had been Drax’s deal the hand before. That might be important. Bond lit a cigarette and reflectively examined the back of Drax’s head.
M.’s voice cut in on Bond’s thoughts. “You remember my friend Commander Bond, Basil? Thought we’d come along and play some bridge this evening.”
Basildon smiled up at Bond. “Evening,” he said. He waved a hand round the table from the left to right. “Meyer, Dangerfield, Drax.” The three men looked up briefly and Bond nodded a greeting to the table in general. “You all know the Admiral,” added the Chairman, starting to deal.
Drax half turned in his chair. “Ah, the Admiral,” he said boisterously. “Glad to have you aboard, Admiral. Drink?”
“No, thanks,” said M. with a thin smile. “Just had one.”
Drax turned and glanced up at Bond, who caught a glimpse of a tuft of reddish moustache and a rather chilly blue eye. “What about you?” asked Drax perfunctorily.
“No, thanks,” said Bond.
Drax swivelled back to the table and picked up his cards. Bond watched the big blunt hands sort them.
Then he moved round the table with a second clue to ponder.
Drax didn’t sort his cards into suits as most players do, but only into reds and blacks, ungraded, making his hand very difficult to kibitz and almost impossible for one of his neighbours, if they were so inclined to decipher.
Bond knew it for the way people hold their hands who are very careful card-players indeed.
Bond went and stood beside the chimneypiece. He took out a cigarette and lit it at the flame from a small gas-jet enclosed in a silver grille-a relic of the days before the use of matches-that protruded from the wall beside him.
From where he stood he could see the hand of Meyer, and by moving a pace to the right, of Basildon. His view of Sir Hugo Drax was uninterrupted and he inspected him carefully while appearing to interest himself only in the game.
Drax gave the impression of being a little larger than life. He was physically big-about six foot tall, Bond guessed-and his shoulders were exceptionally broad. He