We crept in among the branches. Sure enough, there was a little clearing. Other people had been there before. There was a cigarette packet, a Coca-Cola bottle. The moss and leaves had been beaten down. 1 had the feeling that this was a brothel bed where hundreds, perhaps thousands, of lovers had pressed and struggled. But now there was no turning back. At least it must be a good place for it, if so many others had used it.
The driver, with Bond's clubs over his shoulder, waited for Bond beside the doors of an elevator across the hall. When Bond followed him inside, he pressed the button for the fourth floor and they rode up in silence. They emerged into another small hallway. It contained two chairs, a table, a large brass spittoon and a smell of stale heat.
“Oh, Lady Oswald!” exclaimed Fitz-Ullin, “I forgot to mention it before, but—” and, making two strides into the library, and one back, carrying a pile of parchment, he continued—“Here are the title-deeds of Arthur’s estates.” Lady Oswald was near fainting. Frances was obliged to assist in supporting her.
`The devil knows we don't. Telephone me after the first meeting. I wish to report to the Praesidium tomorrow morning.' `Certainly, Comrade General.'
The big man was sweating freely. He wiped his face with a circular sweep of his napkin. "Nonsense," he said shortly. "He drinks."