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He got back under cover and heard their boisterous voices and laughter only yards away as they came into the hut and pulled
out their rakes and barrows and dispersed to their jobs, and for some time Bond could hear them calling to each other across
the park. Then, from the direction of the castle, came the deep tolling of a bell, and the men fell silent. Bond glanced at the
cheap Japanese wristwatch Tiger had provided. It was nine o'clock. Was this the beginning of the official working day?
Probably. The Japanese usually get to their work half an hour early and leave half an hour late in order to gain face with their
employer and show keenness and gratitude for their jobs. Later, Bond guessed, there would be an hour's luncheon break. Work
would probably cease at six. So it would only be from six thirty on that he would have the grounds to himself. Meanwhile, he
must listen and watch and find out more about the guards' routines, of which he had presumably witnessed the first - the
smelling out and final dispatch of suicides who had changed their minds or turned faint-hearted during the night. Bond softly
unzipped his container and took a bite at one of his three slabs of pemmican and a short draught from his water-bottle. God, for
a cigarette!
An hour later, Bond heard a brief shuffling of feet on the gravel path on the other side of the lake. He looked through the slit.
The four guards had lined up and were standing rigidly to attention. Bond's heart beat a little faster. This would be for some
form of inspection. Might Blofeld be doing his rounds, getting his reports of the night's bag?
Bond strained his eyes to the right, towards the castle, but his view was obstructed by an expanse of white oleanders, that
innocent shrub with its attractive clusters of blossom that is used as a deadly fish poison in many parts of the tropics. Dear,
pretty bush! Bond thought. I must remember to keep clear of you tonight.
And then, following the path on the other side of the lake, two strolling figures came into his line of vision and Bond
clenched his fists with the thrill of seeing his prey.
Blofeld, in his gleaming chain armour and grotesquely spiked and winged helmet of steel, its visor closed, was something
out of Wagner, or, because of the oriental style of his armour, a Japanese Kabuki play. His armoured right hand rested easily
on a long naked samurai sword while his left was hooked into the arm of his companion, a stumpy woman with the body and
stride of a wardress. Her face was totally obscured by a hideous bee-keeper's hat of dark-green straw with a heavy pendent
black veil reaching down over her shoulders. But there could be no doubt! Bond had seen that dumpy silhouette, now clothed
in a plastic rainproof above tall rubber boots, too often in his dreams . That was her! That was Irma Bunt!
Bond held his breath. If they came round the lake to his side, one tremendous shove and the armoured man would be
floundering in the water! But could the piranhas get at him through chinks in the armour? Unlikely! And how would he, Bond,
get away? No, that wouldn't be the answer.
The two figures had almost reached the line of four men, and at this moment the guards dropped to their knees in unison and
bowed their foreheads down to the ground. Then they quickly jumped up and stood again at attention.
Blofeld raised his visor and addressed one of the men, who answered with deference. Bond noticed for the first time that this
particular guard wore a belt round his waist with a bolstered automatic. Bond couldn't hear the language they were speaking. It
was impossible that Blofeld had learned Japanese. English or German? Probably the latter as a result of some wartime liaison
job. The man laughed and pointed towards the lake, where a collapsed balloon of blue clothing was jigging softly with the
activities of the horde of feasting piranhas within it. Blofeld nodded his approval and the men again went down on their knees.
Blofeld raised a hand in brief acknowledgement, lowered his visor and the couple moved regally on.
Bond watched carefully to see if the file of guards, when they got to their feet, registered any private expressions of scorn or
hilarity once The Master's back was turned. But there was no hint of disrespect. The men broke ranks and hurried off about
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