Bond hardly noticed the words. He had heard the click of the door opening. A burst of laughter came from the room behind him.
`Eh bien’ it was the voice of delight that Bond remembered so well. `The 70th position! Now, at last, I have seen everything. And invented by an Englishman! James, this really is an insult to my countrymen.’
`I don’t recommend it,’ said Bond over his shoulder. `It’s too strenuous. Anyway, you can take over now. I’ll introduce you. Her name’s Rosa. You’ll like her. She’s a big noise in SMERSH–she looks after the murdering, as a matter of fact.’
Mathis came up. There were two laundry-men with him. The three of them stood and looked respectfully into the dreadful face.
`Rosa,’ said Mathis thoughtfully. `But, this time, a Rosa Malheur. Well, well! But I am sure she is uncomfortable in that position. You two, bring along the panier de fleurs–she will be more comfortable lying down.
The two men walked to the door. Bond heard the creak of the laundry basket.
The woman’s eyes were still locked in Bond’s. She moved a little, shifting her weight. Out of Bond’s sight, and not noticed by Mathis, who was still examining her face, the toe of one shiny buttoned boot pressed under the instep of the other. From the point of its toe there slid forward half an inch of thin knife blade. Like the knitting needles, the steel had a dirty bluish tinge.
The two men came up and put the big square basket down beside Mathis.
`Take her,’ said Mathis. He bowed slightly to the woman. `It has been an honour.’
`Au revoir, Rosa,’ said Bond.
The yellow eyes blazed briefly.
`Farewell, Mister Bond.’
The boot, with its tiny steel tongue, flashed out.
Bond felt a sharp pain in his right calf. It was only the sort of pain you would get from a kick. He flinched and stepped back. The two men seized Rosa Klebb by the arms.
Mathis laughed. `My poor James,’ he said. `Count on SMERSH to have the last word.’
The tongue of dirty steel had withdrawn into the leather. Now it was only a harmless bundle of old woman that was being lifted into the basket.
Mathis watched the lid being secured. He turned to Bond. `It is a good day’s work you have done, my friend,’ he said. `But you look tired. Go back to the Embassy and have a rest because this evening we must have dinner together. The best dinner in Paris. And I will find the loveliest girl to go with it.’
Numbness was creeping up Bond’s body. He felt very cold. He lifted his hand to brush back the comma of hair over his right eyebrow. There was no feeling in his fingers. They seemed as big as cucumbers. His hand fell heavily to his side.
Breathing became difficult. Bond sighed to the depth of his lungs. He clenched his jaws and half closed his eyes, as people do when they want to hide their drunkenness.
Through his eyelashes he watched the basket being carried to the door. He prised his eyes open. Desperately he focused Mathis.
`I shan’t need a girl, René,’ he said thickly.
Now he had to gasp for breath. Again his hand moved up towards his cold face. He had an impression of Mathis starting towards him.
Bond felt his knees begin to buckle.
He said, or thought he said, `I’ve already got the loveliest. . . .’ Bond pivoted slowly on his heel and crashed headlong to the wine-red floor.
THE END