all a world whose ghastly daintiness and propriety would normally have sickened him。 NOW； empty； weak； drained of all the things that belonged to his tough； fast； basically dirty life； through banting； he had somehow regained some of the innocence and purity of childhood。 In this frame of mind the na？veté and total lack of savor； surprise； excitement； of the dimity world of the Nice…Cup…of…Tea； of the Home…Made Cakes； and the One…Lump…or…Two； were perfectly acceptable。
And the extraordinary thing was that he could not remember when he had felt so well…not strong； but without any aches and pains； clear of eye and skin； sleeping ten hours a day and； above all； without that nagging sense of morning guilt that one is slowly wrecking one's body。 It was really quite disturbing。 Was his personality changing？ Was he losing his edge； his point； his identity？ Was he losing the vices that were so much part of his ruthless； cruel； fundamentally tough character？ Who was he in process of being？ A soft； dreaming； kindly idealist who would naturally leave the Service and bee instead a prison visitor； interest himself in youth clubs； march with the H…bomb marchers； eat nut cutlets； try and change the world for the better？ James Bond would have been more worried； as day by day the H…cure drew his teeth； if it had not been for three obsessions which belonged to his former life and which would not leave him…a passionate longing for a large dish of Spaghetti Bolognese containing plenty of chopped garlic and acpanied by a whole bottle of the cheapest； rawest Chianti （bulk for his empty stomach and sharp tastes for his starved palate）； an overwhelming desire for the strong； smooth body of Patricia Fearing； and a deadly concentration on ways and means to wring the guts of Count Lippe。
The first two would have to wait； though tantalizing schemes for consuming both dishes on the day of his release from Shrublands occupied much of his mind。 So far as Count Lippe was concerned； work had started on the project from the moment Bond took up again the routine of the cure。
With the cold intensity he would have employed against an enemy agent； say in a hotel in Stockholm or Lisbon during the war； James Bond set about spying on the other man。 He became garrulous and inquisitive； chatting with Patricia Fearing about the various routines at Shrublands。 〃But when do the staff find time to have lunch？〃 〃That man Lippe looks very fit。 Oh； he's worried about his waist…line！ Aren't the electric blanket…baths good for that？ No； I haven't seen the Turkish Bath Cabinet。 Must have a look at it sometime。〃 And to his masseur： 〃Haven't seen that big chap about lately； Count something…Ripper？ Hipper？ Oh yes； Lippe。 Oh； noon every day？ I think I must try and get that time as well。 Nice being clear for the rest of the day。 And I'd like to have a spell in the Turkish Bath thing when you've finished the massage。 Need a good sweat。〃 Innocently； fragment by fragment； James Bond built up a plan of operations…a plan that would leave him and Lippe alone among the machinery of the soundproof treatment rooms。
For there would be no other opportunity。 Count Lippe kept to his room in the main building until his treatment time at noon。 In the afternoons he swished away in the violet Bentley…to Bournemouth； it seemed； where he had 〃business。〃 The night porter let him in around eleven each night。 One afternoon…in the siesta hour…Bond slipped the Yale lock on Count Lippe's room with a straight piece of plastic cut off a child's airplane he had bought for the purpose in Washington。 He went over the room meticulously and drew a blank。 All he learned…from the clothes…was that the Count was a much…traveled man…shirts from Charvet； ties from Tripler； Dior； and Hardy Amies； shoes from Peel； and raw…silk pajamas from Hong Kong。 The dark red morocco suitcase from Mark Cross might have contained secrets； and Bond eyed the silk linings and toyed with the Count's Wilkinson razor。 But no！ Better that revenge； if it could be contrived； should e out of a clear sky。
That same afternoon； drinking his treacly tea； Bond scraped together the meager scraps of his knowledge of Count Lippe。 He was about thirty； attractive to women； and physically； to judge from the naked body Bond had seen； very strong。 His blood would be Portuguese with a dash of Chinaman and he gave the appearance of wealth。 What did he do？ What was his profession？ At first glance Bond would have put him down as a tough maquereau from the Ritz bar in Paris； the Palace at St。 Moritz； the Carlton at Cannes…good at backgammon； polo； water…skiing； but with the yellow streak of the man who lives on women。 But Lippe had heard Bond making inquiries about him and that had been enough for an act of violence…an inspired act that he had carried out swiftly and coolly when he finished his treatment with the Fearing girl and knew； from her remark； that Bond would be alone on the traction table。 The act of violence might only have been designed to warn； but equally； since Lippe could only guess at the effect of a 200…pound pull on the spine； it might have been designed to kill。 Why？ Who was this man who had so much to hide？ And what were his secrets？ Bond poured the last of his tea on to a mound of brown sugar。 One thing was certain…the secrets were big ones。
Bond never seriously considered telling Headquarters about Lippe and what he had done to Bond。 The whole thing； against the background of Shrublands； was so unlikely and so utterly ridiculous。 And somehow Bond； the man of action and resource； came out of it all as something of a ninny。 Weakened by a diet of hot water and vegetable soup； the ace of the Secret Service had been tied to some kind of a rack and then a man had e along and just pulled a lever up a few notches and reduced the hero of a hundred bats to a quivering jelly！ No！ There was only one solution…a private solution； man to man。 Later perhaps； to satisfy his curiosity； it might be amusing to put through a good Trace on Count Lippe…with S。I。S。 Records； with the C。I。D。； with the Hong Kong Station。 But for the time being Bond would stay quiet； keep out of Count Lippe's way； and plan meticulously for just the right kind of pay…off。
By the time the fourteenth day； the last day； came； Bond had it all fixed…the time； the place； and the method。
At ten o'clock Mr。 Joshua Wain received Bond for his final checkup。 When Bond came into the consulting room； Mr。 Wain was standing by the open window doing deep…breathing exercises。 With a final thorough exhalation through the nostrils he turned to greet Bond with an Ah！ Bisto！ expression on his healthily flushed face。 His smile was elastic with good…fellowship。 〃And how's the world treating you； Mr。 Bond？ No ill effects from that unhappy little accident？ No。 Quite so。 The body is a most remarkable piece of mechanism。 Extraordinary power of recovery。 Now then； shirt off； please； and we'll see what Shrublands has managed to do for you。〃
Ten minutes later； Bond； blood pressure down to 132/84； weight reduced by ten pounds； osteopathic lesions gone； clear of eye and tongue； was on his way down to the basement rooms for his final treatment。
As usual； it was clammily quiet and neutral…smelling in the white rooms and corridors。 From the separate cubicles there came an occasional soft exchange between patient and staff； and； in the background； intermittent plumbing noises。 The steady whir of the ventilation system created the impression of the deep innards of a liner in a dead calm。 It was nearly twelve…thirty。 Bond lay face down on the massage table and listened for the authoritative voice and the quick slap of the naked feet of his prey。 The door at the end of the corridor sighed open and sighed shut again。 〃Morning； Beresford。 All ready for me？ Make it good and hot today。 Last treatment。 Three more ounces to lose。 Right？〃
〃Very good； sir。〃 The gym shoes of the chief attendant； followed by the slapping feet； came down the corridor outside the plastic curtain of the massage room and on to the end room of all； the electric Turkish bath。 The door sighed shut and a few minutes later sighed again as the attendant； having installed Count Lippe； came back down the corridor。 Twenty minutes went by。 Twenty…five。 Bond rolled off the table。 〃Well； thanks； Sam。 You've done me a power of good。 I'll be back to see you again one of these days； I expect。 I'll just go along and have a final salt rub and a sitz bath。 You cut along to your carrot cutlets。 Don't worry about me。 I'll let myself out when I've finished。〃 Bond wrapped a towel round his waist and moved off down the corridor。 There was a flurry of movement and voices as the attendants got rid of their patients and made their way through the staff door for the luncheon break。 The last patient； a reformed drunk； called back from the entrance； 〃See you later； Irrigator！〃 Somebody laughed。 Now the petty…officer voice of Beresford sounded down the corridor； making certain that everything was shipshape： 〃Windows； Bill？ Okay。 Your next is Mr。 Dunbar at two sharp。 Len； tell the laundry we shall need more towels after lunch。 Ted 。 。 。 Ted。 You there； Ted？ Well； then； Sam； look after Count Lippe； would you； Turkish bat