‘That is a small bet which would immediately be met, but when it gets to a million or two it’s often difficult to find a taker or even, if the bank seems to be in luck, a group of takers to cover the bet. At the moment I shall always try and step in and accept the bet – in fact, I shall attack Le Chiffre’s bank whenever I get a chance until either I’ve bust his bank or he’s bust me. It may take some time, but in the end one of us is bound to break the other, irrespective of the other players at the table, although they can, of course, make him richer or poorer in the meantime.
‘Being the banker, he’s got a slight advantage in the play, but knowing that I’m making a dead set at him and not knowing, I hope, my capital, is bound to play on his nerves a bit, so I’m hoping that we start about equal.’
He paused while the strawberries came and the avocado pear.
For a while they ate in silence, then they talked of other things while the coffee was served. They smoked. Neither of them drank brandy or a liqueur. Finally, Bond felt it was time to explain the actual mechanics of the game.
‘It’s a simple affair,’ he said, ‘and you’ll understand it at once if you’ve ever played vingt-et-un, where the object is to get cards from the banker which add up more closely to a count of twenty-one than his do. In this game, I get two cards and the banker gets two, and unless anyone wins outright, either or both of us can get one more card. The object of the game is to hold two, or three cards which together count nine points, or as nearly nine as possible. Court cards and tens count nothing; aces one each; any other card its face value. It is only the last figure of your count that signifies. So nine plus seven equals six – not sixteen.
‘The winner is the one whose count is nearest to nine. Draws are played over again.’
Vesper listened attentively, but she also watched the look of abstract passion on Bond’s face.
‘Now,’ Bond continued, ‘when the banker deals me my two cards, if they add up to eight or nine, they’re a ‘natural’ and I turn them up and I win, unless he has an equal or a better natural. If I haven’t got a natural, I can stand on a seven or a six, perhaps ask for a card or perhaps not, on a five, and certainly ask for a card if my count is lower than five. Five is the turning point of the game. According to the odds, the chances of bettering or worsening your hand if you hold a five are exactly even.
‘Only when I ask for a card or tap mine to signify that I stand on what I have, can the banker look at his. If he has a natural, he turns them up and wins. Otherwise he is faced with the same problems as I was. But he is helped in his decision to draw or not to draw a third card by my actions. If I have stood, he must assume that I have a five, six, or seven: if I have drawn, he will know that I had something less than a six and I may have improved my hand or not with the card he gave me. And this card was dealt to me face up. On its face value and a knowledge of the odds, he will know whether to take another card or to stand on his own.
‘So he has a very slight advantage over me. He has a tiny help over his decision to draw or to stand. But there is always one problem card at this game – shall one draw or stand on a five and what will your opponent do with a five? Some players always draw or always stand. I follow my intuition.
‘But in the end,’ Bond stubbed out his cigarette and called for the bill, ‘it’s the natural eights and nines that matter, and I must just see that I get more of them than he does.’