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licemen wanted hard facts。 They were better； he decided； at solving crimes than at anticipating them。 〃No。 That's all。〃 He hung up。
He felt more cheerful after an excellent breakfast。 He read the Express and The Times and found a bare report of the inquest on Tallon。 The Express had made a big play with the girl's photograph and he was amused to see what a neutral likeness Vallance had managed to produce。 He decided that he must try and work with her。 He would take her pletely into his confidence whether she was receptive or not。 Perhaps she also had her suspicions and intuitions which were so vague that she was keeping them to herself。
Bond drove back fast to the house。 It was just nine o'clock and as he came through the trees on to the concrete there was the wail of a siren and from the woods behind the house a double file of twelve men appeared running； in purposeful unison； towards the launching dome。 They marked time while one of their number rang the bell； then the door opened and they filed through and out of sight。
Scratch a German and you find precision； thought Bond。
CHAPTER XIV
ITCHING FINGERS
HALF AN hour before； Gala Brand had stubbed out her breakfast cigarette； swallowed the remains of her coffee； left her bedroom and walked across to the site； looking very much the private secretary in a spotless white shirt and dark blue pleated skirt。
Punctually at eight…thirty she was in her office。 There was a sheaf of Air Ministry teleprints on her desk and her first action was to transfer a digest of their contents on to a weather map and walk through the municating door into Drax's office and pin the map to the board that hung in the angle of the wall beside the blank glass wall。 Then she pressed the switch that illuminated the wall map； made some Calculations based on the columns of figures revealed by the light； and entered the results on the diagram she had pinned to the board。
She had done this； with Air Ministry figures that became more and more precise as the practice shoot drew nearer； every day since the site was pleted and the building of the rocket that had begun inside it； and she had bee so expert that she now carried in her head the gyro settings for almost every variation in the weather at the different altitudes。
So it irritated her all the more that Drax did not seem to accept her figures。 Every day when； punctually at nine； the warning bells clanged and he came down the steep iron stairway and into his office； his first action was to call for the insufferable Dr Walter and together they would work out all her figures afresh and transfer the results to the thin black notebook that Drax always carried in the hip pocket of his trousers。 She knew that this was an invariable routine and she had bee tired of watching it through an inconspicuous hole she had drilled； so as to be able to send Vallance a weekly record of Drax's visitors； in the thin wall between the two offices。 The method was amateurish but effective and she had slowly built up a plete picture of the daily routine she came to find so irritating。 It was irritating for two reasons。
It meant that Drax didn't trust her figures； and it undermined her chance of having some part； however modest； in the final launching of the rocket。
It was natural that over the months she should have bee as immersed in her disguise as she was in her real profession It was fundamental to the thoroughness of her cover that her personality should be as truly split as possible。 And now； while she spied and probed and sniffed the wind around Drax for her Chief in London； she was passionately concerned with the success of the Moonraker and had bee as dedicated to its service as anyone else on the site。
And the rest of her duties as Drax's private secretary were insufferably dull。 Every day there was a big post addressed to Drax in London and forwarded down by the Ministry； and that morning she had found the usual batch of about fifty letters waiting on her desk。 They would be of three kinds。 Begging letters； letters from rocket cranks； and business letters from Drax's stockbroker and from other mercial agents。 To these Drax would dictate brief replies and the rest of her day would be occupied with typing and filing。 So it was natural that her one duty connected with the operation of the rocket should bulk very large in the dull round； and that morning； as she checked and rechecked her flight…plan； she was more than ever determined that her figures should be accepted on The Day。 And yet； as she often reminded herself； perhaps there was no question but that they would be。 Perhaps the daily calculations of Drax and Walter for entry in the little black book were nothing but a recheck of her own figures。 Certainly Drax had never queried either her weather plan or the gyro settings she calculated from them。 And when one day she had asked straight out whether her figures were correct he had replied with evident sincerity； 〃Excellent； my dear。 Most valuable。 Couldn't manage without them。〃
Gala Brand walked back into her own office and started slitting open the letters。 Only two more flight plans； for Thursday and Friday and then； on her figures or on a different set； the set in Drax's pocket； the gyros would be finally adjusted and the switch would be pulled in the firing point。
She absentmindedly looked at her finger…nails and then stretched her two hands out with their backs towards her。 How often in the course of her training at the Police College had she been sent out among the other pupils and told not to e back without a pocketbook； a vanity case； a fountain pen； even a wristwatch？ How often during the courses had the instructor whipped round and caught her wrist with a 'Now； now； Miss。 That won't do at all。 Might have been an elephant looking for sugar in the keeper's pocket。 Try again。' Coolly she flexed her fingers and then； her mind made up； turned back to the pile of letters。
At a few minutes to nine the alarm bells rang and she heard Drax arrive in the office。 A moment later she heard him open the double doors again and call for Walter。 Then came the usual mumble of voices whose words were drowned by the soft whirr of the ventilators。
She arranged the letters in their three piles and sat forward relaxed； her elbows resting on the desk and her chin in her left hand。
mander Bond。 James Bond。 Clearly a conceited young man like so many of them in the Secret Service。 And why had he been sent down instead of somebody she could work with； one of her friends from the Special Branch； or even somebody from MI5？ The message from the Assistant missioner had said that there was no one else available at short notice； that this was one of the stars of the Secret Service who had the plete confidence of the Special Branch and the blessings of MI5。 Even the Prime Minister had had to give permission for him to operate； for just this one assignment； inside England。 But what use could he be in the short time that was left？ He could probably shoot all right and talk foreign languages and do a lot of tricks that might be useful abroad。 But what good could he do down here without any beautiful spies to make love to。 Because he was certa