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r。 Then it was a simple bullet； but from much the same sort of a crazed officer。 One can't legislate against the lunatic。 But the Office of Works certainly did a good job with that gadget。 Now then； Chief of Staff。 This is of course to go no further。 Get Sir James Molony as soon as you can and have 007 taken down to The Park。 Ambulance； surreptitious guard。 I'll explain things to Sir James this afternoon。 Briefly； as you heard； the K。G。B。 got hold of him。 Brainwashed him。 He was already a sick man。 Amnesia of some kind。 I'll tell you all I know later。 Have his things collected from the Ritz and his bill paid。 And put something out to the Press Association。 Something on these lines： 'The Ministry of Defense is pleased…'no； say 'delighted to announce that mander James Bond etc。； who was posted as missing； believed killed while on a mission to Japan last November； has returned to this country after a hazardous journey across the Soviet Union which is expected to yield much valuable information。 mander Bond's health has inevitably suffered from his experiences and he is convalescing under medical supervision。'〃 M。 smiled frostily。 〃That bit about information'll give no joy to rade Semichastny and his troops。 And add a D notice…to…editors： 'It is particularly requested； for security reasons； that the minimum of speculation or ment be added to the above munique and that no attempts be made to trace mander Bond's whereabouts。' All right？〃
Bill Tanner had been writing furiously to keep up with M。 He looked up from his scratchpad； bewildered。 〃But aren't you going to make any charges； sir？ After all； treason and attempted murder 。。。 I mean； not even a court martial？〃
〃Certainly not。〃 M。's voice was gruff。 〃007 was a sick man。 Not responsible for his actions。 If one can brainwash a man； presumably one can un…brainwash him。 If anyone can； Sir James can。 Put him back on half pay for the time being； in his old Section。 And see he gets full back pay and allowances for the past year。 If the K。G。B。 has the nerve to throw one of my best men at me； I have the nerve to throw him back at them。 007 was a good agent once。 There's no reason why he shouldn't be a good agent again。 Within limits； that is。 After lunch； give me the file on Scaramanga。 If we can get him fit again； that's the right…sized target for 007。〃
The Chief of Staff protested； 〃But that's suicide； sir！ Even 007 could never take him。〃
M。 said coldly； 〃What would 007 get for this morning's bit of work？ Twenty years？ As a minimum； I'd say。 Better for him to fall on the battlefield。 If he brings it off； hell have won his spurs back again and we can all forget the past。 Anyway； that's my decision。〃
There was a knock on the door and the duty Medical Officer came into the room。 M。 bade him good afternoon and turned stiffly on his heel and walked out through the open door。
The Chief of Staff looked at the retreating back。 He said； under his breath； 〃You coldhearted bastard！〃 Then； with his usual minute thoroughness and sense of duty； he set about the tasks he had been given。 His not to reason why！
3
〃Pistols〃 Scaramanga
At Blades； M。 ate his usual meagre luncheon…a grilled Dover sole followed by the ripest spoonful he could gouge from the club Stilton。 And as usual he sat by himself in one of the window seats and barricaded himself behind The Times； occasionally turning a page to demonstrate that he was reading it； which； in fact； he wasn't。 But Porterfield mented to the head waitress； Lily； a handsome； much…loved ornament of the club； that 〃there's something wrong with the old man today。 Or maybe not exactly wrong； but there's something up with him。〃 Porterfield prided himself on being something of an amateur psychologist。 As head…waiter； and father confessor to many of the members； he knew a lot about all of them and liked to think he knew everything； so that； in the tradition of inparable servants； he could anticipate their wishes and their moods。 Now； standing with Lily in a quiet moment behind the finest cold buffet on display at that date anywhere in the world； he explained himself。 〃You know that terrible stuff Sir Miles always drinks？ That Algerian red wine that the wine mittee won't even allow on the wine list。 They only have it in the club to please Sir Miles。 Well； he explained to me once that in the navy they used to call it the Infuriator because if you drank too much of it； it seems that it used to put you into a rage。 Well now； in the ten years that I've had the pleasure of looking after Sir Miles； he's never ordered more than half a carafe of the stuff。〃
Porterfield's benign； almost priestly countenance assumed an expression of theatrical solemnity as if he had read something really terrible in the tea leaves。 〃Then what happens today？〃 Lily clasped her hands tensely and bent her head fractionally closer to get the full impact of the news。 〃The old man says； 'Porterfield。 A bottle of Infuriator。 You understand？ A full bottle！' So of course I didn't say anything but went off and brought it to him。 But you mark my words； Lily〃…he noticed a lifted hand down the long room and moved off…〃there's something hit Sir Miles hard this morning and no mistake。〃
M。 sent for his bill。 As usual he paid； whatever the amount of the bill； with a five…pound note for the pleasure of receiving in change crisp new pound notes； new silver and gleaming copper pennies； for it is the custom at Blades to give its members only freshly minted money。 Porterfield pulled back his table and M。 walked quickly to the door； acknowledging the occasional greeting with a preoccupied nod and a brief lifting of the hand。 It was two o'clock。 The old black Phantom Rolls took him quietly and quickly northwards through Berkeley Square； across Oxford Street and via Wigmore Street； into Regent's Park。 M。 didn't look out at the passing scene。 He sat stiffly in the back； his bowler hat squarely set on the middle of his head； and gazed unseeing at the back of the chauffeur's head with hooded； brooding eyes。
For the hundredth time； since he had left his office that morning； he assured himself that his decision was right。 If James Bond could be straightened out…and M。 was certain that that supreme neurologist； Sir James Molony； could bring it off…it would be ridiculous to re…assign him to normal staff duties in the Double…O Section。 The past could be forgiven； but not forgotten…except with the passage of time。 It would be most irksome for those in the know to have Bond moving about Headquarters as if nothing had happened。 It would be doubly embarrassing for M。 to have to face Bond across that desk。 And James Bond； if aimed straight at a known target…M。 put it in the language of battleships…was a supremely effective firing…piece。 Well； the target was there and it desperately demanded destruction。 Bond had accused M。 of using him as a tool。 Naturally。 Every officer in； the Service was a tool for one secret purpose or another。 The problem on hand could only be solved by a killing。 James Bond would not possess the Double…O prefix if he had not high talents； frequently proved； as a gunman。 So be it！ In exchange for the happenings of that morning； in expiation of them； Bond must prove himself