They would work until one o'clock, take lunch in a nearby bar, walking there and back, they work again until five.
Each evening at seven they would go down to Le Bar, the Hotel de Paris's famous meeting place, where, it is said, the wrists and necks of the ladies put the Cartier showcases to shame.
If they intended to stay in Monaco for the evening they would dine at the hotel, but they could be seen at L'Oasis in La Napoule when the Cannes Casino took their fancy, sampling the latest tempting dish invented by the master chef, Louis Outhier. Sometimes they would eat a more austere meal at the Negresco in Nice, or even in La Reserve at Beaulieu, or - on occasion - at the modest Le Gallon in the Menton port of Garavan.
The meal was always a prelude to a night at the tables.
Don't go invisible, M had instructed. You are bait, and it would be a mistake to forget it. If they are trawling there, let them catch you.
So the Bentley Mulsanne Turbo slid its silent way along the coast roads each evening, and the tanned, assured Englishman with his willowy elegant American companion, became familiar figures in the gambling landscape of the Cete d'Azur.
Bond played only the wheel, and then conservatively though he tended to double up on bets, plunging heavily on some evenings, coming away thousands to the good on others. Mainly he worked to a system, using big money on the Pair, Impair, Manque and Passe which paid evens, only occasionally changing to a Carr6 - covering four numbers at odds of just over eight to one. Within the first week, he was the equivalent of a few thousand pounds sterling to the good and knew the various casinos were watching with interest. No casino, even with the reputation of those along that once glittering coast, is happy about a regular who plays systematically and wins.
Most nights, Percy and Bond were back at the hotel between three and three-thirty in the morning. Sometimes it was earlier - even one o'clock - giving them a chance to do another hour's work before getting a good sleep before starting all over again.
From time to time, during those weeks, they would not return until dawn. Driving the coast roads with the windows open to breathe the morning air, they feasted their eyes on the greenery of palm and plane trees, the cacti and climbing flowers around the summer homes of the wealthy, their swimming pools fed by spouting marble dolphins. On those occasions they would get back to the hotel in time to smell the first coffee of the day - one of the most satisfying aromas in the world, Bond thought.
The hotel staff considered it all very romantic, the attractive American lady and the wealthy Englishman, so lucky at the tables, and in love. Nobody would have dreamed of disturbing the love-birds.
The truth concerning their enclosed life in Percy's room was far removed from the fantasies of chambermaids and porters, at least for the first couple of weeks.
Percy began by teaching Bond how to flowchart a program - to draw out, in a kind of graph, exactly what he wanted the program to do.
This he mastered in a matter of forty-eight hours, after which the serious business of learning the computer language, Basic, began.
There were extra lessons on the use of graphics and sound.
Towards the end of the second week, Bond started to learn various dialects of Basic, gradually grasping the essentials of further, more complex languages like Machine Code, the high-level Pascal, and Forth.
Even in their spare time, they spoke of little else but the job in hand, though usually with special reference to Jay Autem Holy, and it did not take long for Bond to glean that Holy used his own hybrid program language, which Percy referred to as Holy Code.
"It's one of Jay Autem's main strengths as far as protecting his programs is concerned,' Percy told him over dinner. "He's still using the same system, and the games being produced by Gunfire Simulations are quite inaccessible to other programmers. He always said that if security were necessary - and by God he believed in it the simplest protection is the best. He has an almost perfect little routine at the start of all his games programs that's quite unreadable by anyone who wants to copy or get into the disk. It's exactly the same code he used to put on to his Pentagon work. Anyone trying to copy or list turns the disk into rubbish." Bond insisted on talking about Dr Holy whenever he was given the opportunity, to seek out as much as he could about the man's strengths and weaknesses before meeting him. There could certainly be no better instructor than Percy in this area.
"He looks like a great angry hawk. Well, you've seen the photographs." They were dining in the hotel. "Outward appearances are not to be trusted, though. If I hadn't been on a specific job, I could so easily have fallen for him. In fact, in some ways I did. There were often times when I hoped he'd prove to be straight." She looked pensive, and for a moment it was as though she did not see Bond, or the magnificent dining hall dating back to the Third Empire and undoubtedly the best restaurant in the principality.
"He has amazing powers of concentration. That knack of being able to close off the rest of the world and allow his own work to become the only reality. You know how dangerous that can be." Bond reflected on his own past encounters with the kind of madness that turned men into devils.
It was after this particular dinner, towards the end of the second week, that something happened to change the even tenor of Bond's emotions for some time to come.
"So, are we playing the Salles Privees tonight, or shall we jaunt?" Percy asked.
Bond decided on a trip along the coast to the small casino in Menton, and they left soon afterwards.
The gaming itself did not make it a night to remember, though Bond left with a few thousand francs bulging in his wallet. As they pulled away from the casino to take the road through Roquebrune-CapMartin and so back to Monaco, he caught the lights of a car drawing away directly behind him. He knew there had been a car there, but he had seen nobody getting into it. Immediately he told Percy to tighten her seatbelt.
"Trouble?" she asked, but betrayed no sign of nervousness.
"I'm going to find out, he said as he accelerated, letting the big car glide steadily into the nineties, holding well into the side of the narrow road, praying the police were not around, then thinking perhaps it would be better if they were.
The lights of the car behind remained visible in the driving mirror. When Bond was forced to slow - for that road twists and turns before reaching the long stretch of two-lane highway - it came even closer. It was hard to tell if anything was wrong. Plenty of traffic used this route, though it was late and the season had yet to get under way.
The car tailing them was a white Citron, its distinctive rounded bonnet clearly visible behind the lowered headlights. It stuck like a limpet, a discreet distance behind. Bond wondered whether it was just some young Frenchman or Italian wanting to race or show off to a girlfriend. Yet the prickling sensation around the back of his neck told him this was a more sinister challenge.
They came off the two-lane stretch like a rocket, with Bond stabbing at the big footbrake in order to drop speed quickly. From there the road into Monaco was not only narrow but closed in on both sides by rockface or houses leaving little room for manoeuvre. He took the next bend at about sixty miles per hour. Percy made a little audible intake of breath. As he heard her, Bond saw the obstruction.
Another car pulled over to the right, but was still in the Bentley's road space, its hazard lights winking like a dragon's eyes.
To the left and hardly moving, blocking most of the remaining space, was an old and decrepit lorry, wheezing as though about to suffer a complete collapse. Bond yelled for Percy to hang on, jabbed hard at the brake, and slewed the Bentley first left, then right, in an attempt to slalom his way between the vehicles.