A thin net of rain fell on St Mark’s Square as Bond turned up the collar of his Aquascutum raincoat and waited respectfully on the less brisk pace of M and Frederick Gray. It was a few hours after he had left Holly’s suite and the more than prompt arrival of both his secular bosses was decidedly an embarrassment of riches. He was reminded of Gray’s immortal lines:
How happy could I be with either,
Were t’other dear charmer away!
‘This had better be good, Bond,’ snapped Gray. ‘There was a late sitting last night and I hardly had time to clear my mind of that damned division bell before your message came through.’
M felt it necessary to intercede on behalf of his protégé. ‘007 doesn’t usually press the panic button unless it’s serious, Minister.’
Gray uttered a noncommittal grunt and looked round the square. Small groups of armed carabinieri lurked in the archways with as much self-effacing discretion as Italians are capable of mustering. ‘I take it you’ve covered everything with our Italian friends?’
Bond nodded briskly. ‘Yes, sir. It’s all been taken care of.’ There was a slight edge of disdain to his voice which suggested that he was not overfond of Frederick Gray.
Gray either did not notice or did not care. ‘Poor devils. I expect they’re doing this kind of thing in their sleep these days.’ The tone was pious and complacent. It intimated that the Moro kidnapping could never have taken place in Britain. If pressed for an opinion, Bond would have been less optimistic.
The façade of the Venini Glass shop loomed up, with a few ,early morning sightseers peering in inquisitively. The police, wrapped in their heavy blue overcoats, nudged them back with their elbows. An inspector stepped forward and saluted. Bond addressed him in Italian and the three Englishmen moved into the shop, leaving the two plain clothes men who had flown in with Gray and M standing at the doorway. The beautiful shop assistant who had greeted Bond on his first visit thrust herself forward and unleashed a volley of excited Italian. Bond nodded to one of the policemen who drew her aside, still protesting.
Gray looked embarrassed. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Bond. I’ve played bridge with this fellow Drax.’ M delivered a cold look which Gray rightly took as a reproach. ‘He’s a very influential figure in Anglo-American affairs. Sort of diplomat without portfolio. Chaps like him wield an awful lot of international influence.’
Bond said nothing but led the way through to the courtyard. The prow of a police launch was visible through the wrought iron gate. Two policemen stood at the top of the flight of steps. Nobody could fault the speed and thoroughness with which the Italians had moved. Bond swallowed. His throat was dry. A few yards away lay the remnants of something inexplicably evil. He was not looking forward to seeing inside the laboratory again.
At the top of the steps they were met by two carabinieri and a plain clothes man carrying a canvas bag, The plain clothes man shook hands solemnly and led the way down the corridor. He paused outside the steel doors and turned to Bond.
‘This is it?’ asked Gray.
‘Yes, sir.’ Bond took the canvas bag and withdrew three gas masks. They dangled from his fingers like squid.
Gray looked incredulous. ‘Gas masks?’ His voice was an imitation of Lady Bracknell’s. ‘Now look here —’
‘I don’t think it’s wise to take any chances.’ Bond’s voice was firm but calm. M said nothing but stretched out his hand for a mask. Gray gave an exclamation of impatience and followed suit. The plain clothes man and the carabinieri retired down the corridor towards the courtyard.
‘Haven’t done this since the war.’ M’s voice almost savoured the nostalgia as he pulled on his gas mask. Gray followed suit as if being asked to put on a funny hat at a children’s party. When satisfied that the two men were properly protected, Bond pulled on his own mask and approached the door control panel. His chest heaved as he raised a finger. Five-one-one-three-five. Nothing happened. He tapped the numbers again with the same lack of result. Beside him he could see Gray’s eyes behind the mask straining to catch M’s. Bond turned towards the door and experienced a shock. Where there had once been smooth metal there was now a handle. Bond felt uneasy. As Gray cleared his throat impatiently, Bond turned the handle gently and felt the door opening. He pushed it forward and stepped into the room to receive his second surprise of the morning.
What had once been the outer office had disappeared. Of the laboratory there was no sign. In their place was a long vaulted chamber hung with Aubusson tapestries and Renaissance paintings. Bookcases projected at regular intervals from the walls and the gold leaf on the hand-tooled leather covers gleamed in the thin morning light that entered from the high diamond-shaped windows. A huge brass candelabra hung from the ceiling, and the room was sprinkled with tasteful items of antique furniture. It was from one of these that a familiar figure rose. The pink satin upholstery of the chaise longue paid an insipid compliment to the red hair and the rufous complexion, but there was no mistaking Drax’s awesome bulk in any surroundings. He surveyed his visitors with an amused smile tinged with mockery.
‘Why, I do believe it’s Frederick Gray. What a surprise!’ He approached with arms outstretched as Gray tore off his gas mask. ‘And in distinguished company, all wearing gas masks.’ His smile embraced the trio. ‘You must excuse me, gentlemen. Not being English, I sometimes find your sense of humour a trifle difficult to follow.’
Bond felt the words sting him like a whiplash. What a damnably clever fellow he was up against. To underestimate Hugo Drax for one second would be to risk paying a forfeit of one’s life.
Frederick Gray’s eyes blazed with anger and embarrassment. He removed them from Bond and accepted Drax’s hand. ‘Frightfully sorry about this intrusion — I think our lines of communication must have got crossed.’ He foundered and turned to M for help.
‘Good morning, Mr Drax,’ said M calmly. ‘Do you happen to have a laboratory on your premises?’
‘A laboratory?’ Drax sounded surprised. ‘No. There are the workshops, of course, but nothing that you could call a laboratory. The art of glass manufacture as practised here has changed little over the centuries.’
‘And no more accidents?’ said Bond coldly. ‘Such as the incident that led to Miss Parker’s death?’
For a second a tiny pinpoint of red glowed in the centre of Drax’s ill-matched eyes. ‘An incident certainly, but not an accident. Somebody broke into the glassworks last night. Chang, my personal assistant, appears to have surprised the intruder in the museum — it is where any thief would have gone. I cannot be sure of exactly what took place because Chang was murdered.’
Gray turned to look at Bond and then controlled himself. ‘How terrible. You have all our sympathy.’
‘Thank you,’ said Drax. ‘I take it that this is not the crime you are investigating?’
‘Not directly,’ said M. ‘Although the events may be connected.’
‘That is always possible,’ said Drax. He looked at Bond without love. ‘I hope you will keep me abreast of all developments.’ He smiled. ‘I believe that is the rather convoluted expression you English employ in these situations?’
‘Sometimes,’ said M noncommittally. Bond could tell that the old man had not warmed to Drax — though that was hardly going to help him in his present situation. ‘I think we’d better leave you in peace.’ M nodded gruffly to Drax and led the way towards the door, with Gray grovelling two steps behind.
Outside in the square the situation was different. No sooner clear of the puzzled onlookers and scarcely less confused carabinieri than Gray launched into the attack. He ignored Bond and addressed himself solely to M. ‘That was the greatest humiliation of my life,’ he hissed. ‘I ask you to put your best man on this case and what do I get? A paranoid lunatic who has apparently committed a murder. Not only that, he drags us out of bed to become accessories I’ The voice was approaching breaking point. ‘I want him replaced immediately! The man needs a medical report. God knows what the outcome of this affair is going to be.’