“One million dollars.”
“It was a cavernous, echoing voice, with a trace of American accent.
Bond turned slowly, almost reluctantly, away from the window.
Doctor No had come through a door behind his desk. He stood looking at them benignly, with a thin smile on his lips.
“I expect you were wondering about the cost. My guests usually think about the material side after about fifteen minutes. Were you?”
“I was.”
Still smiling (Bond was to get used to that thin smile), Doctor No came slowly out from behind the desk and moved towards them. He seemed to glide rather than take steps. His knees did not dent the matt, gunmetal sheen of his kimono and no shoes showed below the sweeping hem.
Bond’s first impression was of thinness and erectness and height. Doctor No was at least six inches taller than Bond, but the straight immovable poise of his body made him seem still taller. The head also was elongated and tapered from a round, completely bald skull down to a sharp chin so that the impression was of a reversed raindrop-or rather oildrop, for the skin was of a deep almost translucent yellow.
It was impossible to tell Doctor No’s age: as far as Bond could see, there were no lines on the face. It was odd to see a forehead as smooth as the top of the polished skull. Even the cavernous indrawn cheeks below the prominent cheekbones looked as smooth as fine ivory. There was something Dali-esque about the eyebrows, which were fine and black, and sharply upswept as if they had been painted on as makeup for a conjurer. Below them, slanting jet black eyes stared out of the skull. They were without eyelashes. They looked like the mouths of two small revolvers, direct and unblinking and totally devoid of expression. The thin fine nose ended very close above a wide compressed wound of a mouth which, despite its almost permanent sketch of a smile, showed only cruelty and authority. The chin was indrawn towards the neck. Later Bond was to notice that it rarely moved more than slightly away from centre, giving the impression that the head and the vertebra were in one piece.
The bizarre, gliding figure looked like a giant venomous-worm wrapped in grey tin-foil, and Bond would not have been surprised to see the rest of it trailing slimily along the carpet behind.
Doctor No came within three steps of them and stopped. The wound in the tall face opened. “Forgive me for not shaking hands with you,” the deep voice was flat and even. “I am unable to.” Slowly the sleeves parted and opened. “I have no hands.”
The two pairs of steel pincers came out on their gleam-ing stalks and were held up for inspection like the hands of a praying mantis. Then the two sleeves joined again.
Bond felt the girl at his side give a start.
The black apertures turned towards her. They slid down to her nose. The voice said flatly, “It is a misfortune.” The eyes came back to Bond. “You were admiring my aquarium.” It was a statement, not a question. “Man enjoys the beasts and the birds. I decided to enjoy also the fish. I find them far more varied and interesting. I am sure you both share my enthusiasm.”
Bond said, “I congratulate you. I shall never forget this room.”
“No.” Again a statement, perhaps with a sardonic inflection, of fact. “But we have much to talk about. And so little time. Please sit down. You will have a drink? Cigarettes are beside your chairs.”
Doctor No moved to a high leather chair and folded himself down on to the seat. Bond took the chair opposite. The girl sat between them and slightly back.
Bond felt a movement behind him. He looked over his shoulder. A short man, a Chinese Negro, with the build of a wrestler, stood at the drink tray. He was dressed in black trousers and a smart white jacket. Black almond eyes in a wide moon face met his and slid incuriously away.
Doctor No said, “This is my bodyguard. He is expert in many things. There is no mystery about his sudden appearance. I always carry what is known as a walkie-talkie here,” he inclined his chin towards the bosom of his kimono. “Thus I can summon him when he is needed. What will the girl have?”