The doctor looked worried. He turned to Goldfinger. Goldfinger shook his head – discreetly so that Bond would not be insulted. A surreptitious hand went up and tapped the side of his head away from Bond. Goldfinger raised helpless eyebrows. ‘You see what I mean, Doctor? It’s been like this for days. Total nervous prostration combined with persecution mania. Dr Foch said they often go together. It may need weeks at the Harkness. But I’m going to pull him round if it’s the last thing I do. It’s the shock of these unfamiliar surroundings. Perhaps a shot of intraval sodium…’
The doctor bent to his black bag. ‘I guess you’re right, Mr Goldfinger. So long as Harkness is looking after the case.’ There came the tinkle of instruments.
Goldfinger said, ‘It’s terribly sad to see a man break down so utterly, a man who has been one of my best assistants.’ He bent a sweet, fatherly smile on Bond. There was a catch in his voice. ‘You’ll be all right, James. Just relax and have a nice sleep. I was afraid the flight might be too much for you. Just relax and leave everything to me.’ .
Bond felt the swab on his arm. He heaved. Against his will, a shower of curses poured from his lips. Then he felt the needle and opened his mouth and screamed and screamed while the doctor knelt beside him and delicately, patiently, wiped away the sweat from his forehead.
Now it was a grey painted box of a room. There were no windows. Light came from a single lamp inset in the centre of the ceiling. Round the lamp were concentric slits in the plaster and there was the neutral smell and faint hum of air-conditioning. Bond found he could sit up. He did so. He felt drowsy but well. He suddenly realized that he was ravenously hungry and thirsty. When had he last had a meal? Two, three days ago? He put his feet down on the floor. He was naked. He examined his body. Oddjob had been careful. There was no sign of damage save for the group of needle-.marks on his right forearm. He got up, conquering dizziness, and took a few steps in the room. He had been lying on a ship’s type bunk with drawers under it. The only other furniture in the room was a plain deal table and an upright wooden chair. Everything was clean, functional, Spartan. Bond knelt to die drawers under the bunk and opened them. They contained all the contents of his suitcase except his watch and the gun. Even the rather heavy shoes he had been wearing on his expedition to Entreprises Auric were there. He twisted one of the heels and pulled. The broad double-sided knife slid smoothly out of its scabbard in the sole. With the fingers wrapped round the locked heel it made a workmanlike stabbing dagger. Bond verified that the other shoe held its knife and clicked the heels back into position. He pulled ouj: some clothes and put them on. He found his cigarette case and lighter and lit a cigarette. There were two doors of which one had a handle. He opened this one. It led into a small, well-appointed bathroom and lavatory. His washing and shaving things were neatly laid out. There were a girl’s things beside them. Bond softly opened the other door into the bathroom. It was a similar room to his own. Tilly Masterton’s black hair showed on the pillow of the bunk. Bond tiptoed over and looked down. She was sleeping peace fully, a half-smile on the beautiful mouth. Bond went back into the bathroom, softly closed the door and went to the mirror over the basin and looked at himself. The black stubble looked more like three days than two. He set to work to clean himself up.
Half an hour later. Bond was sitting on the edge of his bunk thinking, when the door without a handle opened abruptly. Oddjob stood in the entrance. He looked incuriously at Bond. His eyes nickered carefully round the room. Bond said sharply, ‘Oddjob, I want a lot of food, quickly. And a bottle of bourbon, soda and ice. Also a carton of Chesterfields, king-size, and either my own watch or another one as good as mine. Quick march! Chop-chop! And tell Goldfinger I want to see him, but not until I’ve had something to eat. Come on! Jump to it! Don’t stand there looking inscrutable. I’m hungry.’