‘All right.’ Colonel Smithers now talked in the soft, tired voice of an overworked man in the service of his Government. It was the voice of the specialist in a particular line of law enforcement. It said that he knew most things connected with that line and that he could make a good guess at all the rest. Bond knew the voice well, the voice of the first-class Civil Servant. Despite his prosiness, Bond was beginning to take to Colonel Smithers. ‘All right. Supposing you have a bar of gold in your pocket about the size of a couple of packets of Players. Weight about five and a quarter pounds. Never mind for the moment where you got it from – stole it or inherited it or something. That’ll be twenty-four carat – what we call a thousand fine. Now, the law says you have to sell that to the Bank of England at the controlled price of twelve pounds ten per ounce. That would make it worth around a thousand pounds. But you’re greedy. You’ve got a friend going to India or perhaps you’re on good terms with an airline pilot or a steward on the Far East run. All you have to do is cut your bar into thin sheets or plates – you’d soon find someone to do this for you – and sew the plates – they’d be smaller than playing cards – into a cotton belt, and pay your friend a commission to wear it. You could easily afford a hundred pounds for the job. Your friend flies off to Bombay and goes to the first bullion dealer in the bazaar. He will be given one thousand seven hundred pounds for your five-pound bar and you’re a richer man than you might have been. Mark you,’ Colonel Smithers waved his pipe airily, ‘that’s only seventy per cent profit. Just after the war you could have got three hundred per cent. If you’d done only half a dozen little operations like that every year you’d be able to retire by now.’
‘Why the high price in India?’ Bond didn’t really want to know. He thought M. might ask him.
‘It’s a long story. Briefly, India is shorter of gold, particularly for her jewellery trade, than any other country.’
‘What’s the size of this traffic?’
‘Huge. To give you an idea, the Indian Intelligence Bureau and their Customs
‘I see. Is there anywhere else I can get a good premium for my gold bar?’
‘You could get a small premium in most countries – Switzerland, for instance – but it wouldn’t be worth your while. India’s still the place.’
‘All right,’ said Bond. ‘I think I’ve got the picture. Now what’s your particular problem?’ He sat back and lit a cigarette. He was greatly looking forward to hearing about Mr Auric Goldfinger.
