Looking for further clues, Bond noticed that Drax was sweating rather freely. Despite the occasional growl of thunder outside it was a cool evening, and yet Drax was constantly mopping his face and neck with a huge bandana handkerchief. He smoked incessantly, stubbing out the cork-tipped Virginia cigarettes after a dozen lungfuls of smoke and almost immediately lighting another from a box of fifty in his coat pocket. His big hands, their backs thickly covered with reddish hair, were always on the move, fiddling with his cards, handling the cigarette lighter that stood beside a plain flat silver cigarette-case in front of him, twisting a lock of hair on the side of his head, using the handkerchief on his face and neck. Occasionally he put a finger greedily to his mouth and worried a nail. Even at a distance Bond could see that every fingernail was bitten down to the quick.
The hands themselves were strong and capable but the thumbs had something ungainly about them which it took Bond a moment or two to define. He finally detected that they were unnaturally long and reached level with the top joint of the index finger.
Bond concluded his inspection with Drax’s clothes which were expensive and in excellent taste – a dark blue pin-stripe in lightweight flannel, double-breasted with turn-back cuffs, a heavy white silk shirt with a stiff collar, an unobtrusive tie with a small grey and white check, modest cuff-links, which looked like Cartier, and a plain gold Patek Philippe watch with a black leather strap.
Bond lit another cigarette and concentrated on the game, leaving his subconscious to digest the details of Drax’s appearance and manner that had seemed to him significant and that might help to explain the riddle of his cheating, the nature of which had still to be discovered.
Half an hour later the cards had completed the circle.
‘My deal,’ said Drax with authority. ‘Game all and we have a satisfactory inflation above the line. Now then, Max, see if you can’t pick up a few aces. I’m tired of doing all the work.’ He dealt smoothly and slowly round the table, keeping up a running fire of rather heavy-handed banter with the company. ‘Long rubber,’ he said to M. who was sitting smoking his pipe between Drax and Basildon. ‘Sorry to have kept you out so long. How about a challenge after dinner? Max and I’ll take on you and Commander Thingummy. What did you say his name was? Good player?’
‘Bond,’ said M. ‘James Bond. Yes, I think we’d like that very much. What do you say, James?’
Bond’s eyes were glued to the bent head and slowly moving hands of the dealer. Yes, that was it! Got you, you bastard. A Shiner. A simple, bloody Shiner that wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in a pro’s game. M. saw the glint of assurance in Bond’s eyes as they met across the table.
‘Fine,’ said Bond cheerfully. ‘Couldn’t be better.’
He made an imperceptible movement of the head. ‘How about showing me the Betting Book before dinner? You always say it’ll amuse me.’
M. nodded. ‘Yes. Come along. It’s in the Secretary’s office. Then Basildon can come down and give us a cocktail and tell us the result of this death-struggle.’ He got up.
‘Order what you want,’ said Basildon with a sharp glance at M. ‘I’ll be down directly we’ve polished them off.’
‘Around nine then,’ said Drax, glancing from M. to Bond. ‘Show him the bet about the girl in the balloon.’ He picked up his hand. ‘Looks like I shall have the Casino’s money to play with,’ he said after a rapid glance at his cards. ‘Three No Trumps.’ He shot a triumphant glance at Basildon. ‘Put that in your pipe and smoke it.’
Bond, following M. out of the room, missed Basildon’s reply.
They walked down the stairs and along to the Secretary’s office in silence. The room was in darkness. M. switched on the light and went and sat down in the swivel chair in front of the busy-looking desk. He turned the chair to face Bond who had walked over to the empty fireplace and was taking out a cigarette.
‘Any luck?’ he asked looking up at him.
‘Yes,’ said Bond. ‘He cheats all right.’
‘Ah,’ said M. unemotionally. ‘How does he do it?’
