Could he have saved Campbell? Well, he could have had a desperate shot at it. «Oh, yes. I know this man. Perfectly respectable chap. We used to work for the same export firm, Universal, in London. You look in pretty bad shape, old boy. What the devil happened?» But it was just as well he hadn’t tried. As cover, solid cover, Universal was «brule» with the pros. It had been in use too long. All the secret services in the world had penetrated it by now. Obviously Blofeld knew all about it. Any effort to save Campbell would simply have tied Bond in with him. There had been no alternative except to throw him to the wolves. If Campbell had a chance to get his wits back before they really started on him, he would know that Bond was there for some purpose, that his disavowal by Bond was desperately important to Bond, to the Service. How long would he have the strength to cover for Bond, retrieve his recognition of Bond? At most a few hours. But how many hours? That was the vital question. That and how long the storm would last. Bond couldn’t possibly get away in this stuff. If it stopped, there might be a chance, a damned slim one, but better than the alternatives, of which, if and when Campbell talked, there was only one – death, probably a screaming death.
Bond surveyed his weapons. They were only his hands and feet, his Gillette razor and his wrist-watch, a heavy Rolex Oyster Perpetual on an expanding metal bracelet. Used properly, these could be turned into most effective knuckledusters. Bond got up, took the blade out of his Gillette and dropped the razor into his trouser pocket. He slipped the shaft between the first and second fingers of his left hand so that the blade-carrier rested flat along his knuckles. Yes, that was the way! Now was there anything, any evidence he should try and take with him? Yes, he must try and get more, if not all, of the girls’ names and, if possible, addresses. For some reason he knew they were vital. For that he would have to use Ruby. His head full of plans for getting the information out of her, Bond went out of the bathroom and sat down at his desk and got on with a fresh page of de Bleuvilles. At least he must continue to show willing, if only to the recording eye in the ceiling.
It was about twelve-thirty when Bond heard his doorknob being softly turned. Ruby slipped in and, her finger to her lips, disappeared into his bathroom. Bond casually threw down his pen, got up and stretched and strolled over and went in after her.
Ruby’s blue eyes were wide and frightened. «You’re in trouble,» she whispered urgently. «What have you been doing?»
«Nothing,» said Bond innocently. «What’s up?»
«We’ve all been told that we mustn’t talk to you unless Miss Bunt is there.» Her knuckles went distractedly up to her teeth. «Do you think they know about Mi?»
«Couldn’t possibly,» said Bond, radiating confidence. «I think I know what it is.» (With so much obfuscation in the air, what did an extra, a reassuring, lie matter?) «This morning the Count told me I was an upsetting influence here, that I was what he called ‘disruptive’, interfering with your treatments. He asked me to keep myself more to myself. Honestly» – (how often that word came into a lie!) – «I’m sure that’s all it is. Rather a pity really. Apart from you – I mean you’re sort of special – I think all you girls are terribly sweet. I’d like to have helped you all.»
«How do you mean? Helped us?»
«Well, this business of surnames. I talked to Violet last night. She seemed awfully interested. I’m sure it would have amused all the others to have theirs done. Everyone’s interested in where they came from. Rather like palmistry in a way.» Bond wondered how the College of Arms would have liked that one! He shrugged. «Anyway, I’ve decided to get the hell away from here. I can’t bear being shepherded and ordered about like this. Who the hell do they think I am? But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you can give me the names of the girls, as many as you know, I’ll do a piece on each of them and post them when you all get back to England. How much longer have you got, by the way?»
«We’re not told exactly, but the rumour is about another week. There’s another batch of girls due about then. When we’re slow at our work or get behind-hand with our reading, Miss Bunt says she hopes the next lot won’t be so stupid. The old bitch! But Sir Hilary» – the blue eyes filled with concern – «how are you going to get away? You know we’re practically prisoners up here.»
Bond was off-hand. «Oh, I’ll manage somehow. They can’t hold me here against my will. But what about the names, Ruby? Don’t you think it would give the girls a treat?»
«Oh, they’d love it. Of course I know all of them. We’ve found plenty of ways of exchanging secrets. But you won’t be able to remember. Have you got anything to write down on?»
Bond tore off some strips of lavatory paper and took out a pencil. «Fire away!»
She laughed. «Well, you know me and Violet, then there’s Elizabeth Mackinnon. She’s from Aberdeen. Beryl Morgan from somewhere in Herefordshire. Pearl Tampion, Devonshire – by the way, all those simply loathed every kind of cattle. Now they live on steaks! Would you believe it? I must say the Count’s a wonderful man.»
«Yes, indeed.»
«Then there’s Anne Charter from Canterbury and Caresse Ventnor from the National Stud, wherever that is – fancy her working there and she came up in a rash all over whenever she went near a horse! Now all she does is dream of pony clubs and read every word she can get hold of about Pat Smythe! And Denise Robertson…»
The list went on until Bond had got the whole ten. He said, «What about that Polly somebody who left in November?»
«Polly Tasker. She was from East Anglia. Don’t remember where, but I can find out the address when I get back to England. Sir Hilary» – she put her arm round his neck - «I’am going to see you again, aren’t I?»
Bond held her tight and kissed her. «Of course, Ruby. You can always get me at the College of Arms in Queen Victoria Street. Just send me a postcard when you get back. But for God’s sake cut out the ‘Sir’. You’re my girl friend. Remember?»
«Oh, yes, I will – er – Hilary,» she said fervently. «And you will be careful, getting away I mean. You’re sure it’s all right? Is there anything I can do to help?»
«No, darling. Just don’t breathe a word of all this. It’s a secret between us. Right?»
«Of course, darling.» She glanced at her watch. «Oh lord! I must simply fly. Only ten minutes to lunch-time. Now, can you do your trick with the door? There shouldn’t be anyone about. It’s their lunch-time from twelve till one.»
Bond, out of any possible line of vision from the eye in the ceiling, did his trick with the door and she was gone with a last whispered goodbye.
Bond eased the door shut. He let out a deep sigh and went over to the window and peered out through the snow-heaped panes. It was thick as Hades outside and the fine powder snow on the veranda was whirling up in little ghosts as the wind tore at the building. Pray God it would let up by nighttime! Now, what did he need in the way of equipment? Goggles and gloves were two items he might harvest over lunch. Bond went into the bathroom again and rubbed soap into his eyes. It stung like hell, but the blue-grey eyes emerged from the treatment realistically bloodshot. Satisfied, Bond rang for the «warden» and went thoughtfully off to the restaurant.