James Bond shut the door of M’s office behind him. He smiled into the warm brown eyes of Miss Moneypenny and walked across her office into the Chief of Staff’s room.
The Chief of Staff, a lean relaxed man of about Bond’s age, put down his pen and sat back in his chair. He watched as Bond automatically reached for the flat g*n-metal cigarette case in his hip pocket and walked over to the open window and looked down on to Regent’s Park.
There was a thoughtful deliberation in Bond’s movements that answered the Chief of Staff’s question.
“So you’ve bought it.”
Bond turned round. “Yes,” he said. He lit a cigarette. Through the smoke, his eyes looked very directly at the Chief of Staff. “But just tell me this, Bill. Why’s the old man got cold feet about this job? He’s even looked up the resu
