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creeping along when he came over a rise and saw the big yellow car stopped by the wayside a mile ahead. There was a blessed
cart-track. Bond swerved into it and stopped under cover of a low hedge. He took a small pair of binoculars out of the glove
compartment, got out of the car and walked back. Yes, damn it! Goldfinger was sitting below a small bridge on the bank of a
stream. He was wearing a white dust coat and white linen driving helmet in the style of German tourists. He was eating, having
a picnic. The sight made Bond hungry. What about his own lunch? He examined the Rolls. Through the rear window he could
see part of the Korean's black shape in the front seat. There was no sign of the Triumph. If the girl had still been on
Goldfinger's tail she would have had no warning. She would have just kept her head down and stepped on the gas. Now she
would be somewhere ahead, waiting in ambush for the Rolls to come by. Or would she? Perhaps Bond's imagination had run
away with him. She was probably on her way to the Italian lakes to join an aunt, some friends, a lover.
Now Goldfinger was on his feet. Tidy man. That's right, pick up the scraps of paper and tuck them away carefully under the
bridge. Why not throw them in the stream? Suddenly Bond's jaw tightened. What did those actions of Gold-finger remind him
of? Was Bond romancing again, or was the bridge a post box? Had Goldfinger been instructed to leave something, one of his
bars of gold, under this particular bridge? France, Switzerland, Italy. It was convenient for all of them - the Communist cell in
Lyons for instance, one of the strongest in France. And this was a good place to use with a clear field of view up and down the
road.
Goldfinger scrambled up the bank. Bond drew back under cover. He heard the distant grind of the old self-starter. He
cautiously watched the Rolls until it had disappeared.
It was a pretty bridge over a pretty stream. It had a survey number set in the arch - 79/6 - the sixth bridge from some town on
N79. Easy to find. Bond got quickly out of the car and slid down the shallow bank. It was dark and cool under the arch. There
were the shadows of fish in the slow, clear, pebbled water. Bond searched the edge of the masonry near the grass verge.
Exactly in the centre, below the road, there was a patch of thick grass against the wall. Bond parted the grass. There was a
sprinkling of freshly turned earth. Bond dug with his fingers.
There was only one. It was smooth to the touch and brick-shaped. It needed some strength to lift it. Bond brushed the earth
off the dull yellow metal and wrapped the heavy bar in his handkerchief. He held the bar under his coat and climbed back up
the bank on to the empty road.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
'IF YOU TOUCH ME THERE& '
BOND FELT pleased with himself. A whole lot of people were going to get very angry with Goldfinger. You can do a lot of
dirty work with twenty thousand pounds. Now plans would have to be altered, conspiracies postponed, perhaps even lives
saved. And, if it ever got to an inquiry by SMERSH, which was unlikely as they were the sort of realistic people who cut their
losses, it could only be assumed that some sheltering tramp had found the gold bar.
40
Bond lifted the secret flap under the passenger seat and slipped the bar inside. Dangerous stuff. He would have to contact
the next station of the Service and hand it over to them. They would get it back to London in the Embassy bag. Bond would
have to report this quickly. It confirmed a lot. M might even want to warn the Deuxieme and have the bridge watched to see
who came. But Bond hoped that would not happen. He didn't want a scare started just when he was getting close to Goldfinger.
He wanted the skies over Gold-finger to be blue and clear.
Bond got moving. Now there were other things to think about. He must catch up with the Rolls before Macon and get the
next fork, to Geneva or Lyons, right. He must solve the problem of the girl and if possible get her off the road. Pretty or not,
she was confusing the issue. And he must stop and buy himself something to eat and drink. It was one o'clock and the sight of
Goldfinger eating had made him hungry. And it was time to fill up and check the water and oil.
The drone of the Homer grew louder. He was in the outskirts of Macon. He must close up and take the risk of being spotted.
The busy traffic would hide his low-slung car. It was vital to know if the Rolls crossed the Saone for the Bourg road or if it
turned right at the bridge and joined the N6 for Lyons. Far down the Rue Rambuteau there was a glimpse of yellow. Over the
railway bridge and through the little square. The high yellow box kept on towards the river. Bond watched the passers-by turn
their heads to follow the gleaming Rolls. The river. Would Goldfinger turn right or keep on across the bridge? The Rolls kept
straight on. So it was Switzerland! Bond followed over into the suburb of St Laurent. Now for a butcher and a baker and a
wine shop. A hundred yards ahead the golden head of a calf hung over the pavement. Bond glanced in his driving mirror. Well,
well! The little Triumph was only feet away from his tail. How long had she been there? Bond had been so intent on following
the Rolls that he hadn't glanced back since entering the town. She must have been hiding up a ^ide street. So! Now coincidence
was certainly out. Something must be done. Sorry, sweetheart. I've got to mess you up. I'll be as gentle as I can. Hold tight.
Bond stopped abruptly in front of the butcher's shop. He banged the gears into reverse. There was a sickening scrunch and
tinkle. Bond switched off his engine and got out.
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