Read Online On Her Majesty's Secret Service by Ian Fleming - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ian Fleming
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courtyard, where Bond parked his car. There are horseshoe-shaped stone stairs leading up to an impressive entrance, over which, that day, there hung a banner showing a splendid heraldic beast, half animal and half bird, in gold against a pale blue background. Griffon, thought Bond. Made of Or. He went through the door into a large gloomy hall whose dark panelling was lined with the musty portraits of proud-looking gentlemen in ruffs and lace, and from whose cornice hung the banners of the Commonwealth. The porter, a kindly, soft-spoken man in a cherry-coloured uniform with brass buttons, asked Bond what he could do for him. Bond asked for the Griffon Or and confirmed that he had an appointment.
'Ah yes, sir,' said the porter mysteriously.' Griffon Or is in waiting this week. That is why his banner is flying outside. This way please, sir.'
Bond followed the porter along a passage hung with gleaming coats of arms in carved wood, up a dank, cobwebby staircase, and round a corner to a heavy door over which was written in gold 'Griffon Or Pursuivant' under a representation of the said golden griffon. The porter knocked, opened the door and announced Bond, and left him facing, across an unkempt study Uttered with books, papers, and important-looking inscribed parchments, the top of a bald, round pink head fringed with grizzled curls. The room smelt like the crypt of a church. Bond walked down the narrow lane of carpet left between the piles of litter and stood beside the single chair that faced the man behind the books on the desk. He cleared his throat. The man looked up and the Pickwickian, pince-nez'd face broke into an absent smile. He got to his feet and made a little bow. 'Bond,' he said in a voice that creaked like the lid of an old chest. 'Commander James Bond. Now then, Bond, Bond, Bond. I think I've got you here." He had kept his finger at the open page of a vast tome. He now sat down and Bond followed suit. 'Yes, yes, yes. Very interesting indeed. Very. But I fear I have to disappoint you, my dear sir. The title is extinct. Actually it's a baronetcy. Most desirable. But no doubt we can establish a relationship through a collateral branch. Now then' - he put his pince-nez very close to the page - 'we have some ten different families of Bonds. The important one ended with Sir Thomas Bond, a most distinguished gentleman. He resided in Peckhain. He had, alas, no issue' - the pince-nez gleamed encouragingly at Bond - 'no legitimate issue that is. Of course in those days, ahem, morals were inclined to be laxer. Now if we could establish some connexion with Peckham...'
'I have no connexion with Peckham. Now, I...'
Griffon Or held up his hand. He said severely, 'Where did your parents come from, if I may ask? That, my dear fellow, is the first step in the chain. Then we can go back from there -Somerset House, parish records, old tomb-stones. No doubt, with a good old English name like yours, we will get somewhere in the end.'
'My father was a Scot and my mother was Swiss. But the point is...'
'Quite, quite. You are wondering about the cost of the research. That, my dear fellow, we can leave until later. But, now tell me. From whereabouts in Scotland did your father come? That is important. The Scottish records are of course less fully documented than those from the South. In those days I am forced to admit that our cousins across the border were little more than savages.' Griffon Or bobbed his head politely. He gave a fleeting and, to Bond's eye, rather false smile. 'Very pleasant savages, of course, very brave and all that. But, alas, very weak at keeping up their records. More useful with the sword than with the pen, if I may say so. But perhaps your grandparents and their forebears came from the South?'
'My father came from the Highlands, from near Glencoe. But look here...'
But Griffon Or was not to be diverted from the scent. He pulled another thick book towards him. His finger ran down the page of small print. 'Hum.
'Ah yes, sir,' said the porter mysteriously.' Griffon Or is in waiting this week. That is why his banner is flying outside. This way please, sir.'
Bond followed the porter along a passage hung with gleaming coats of arms in carved wood, up a dank, cobwebby staircase, and round a corner to a heavy door over which was written in gold 'Griffon Or Pursuivant' under a representation of the said golden griffon. The porter knocked, opened the door and announced Bond, and left him facing, across an unkempt study Uttered with books, papers, and important-looking inscribed parchments, the top of a bald, round pink head fringed with grizzled curls. The room smelt like the crypt of a church. Bond walked down the narrow lane of carpet left between the piles of litter and stood beside the single chair that faced the man behind the books on the desk. He cleared his throat. The man looked up and the Pickwickian, pince-nez'd face broke into an absent smile. He got to his feet and made a little bow. 'Bond,' he said in a voice that creaked like the lid of an old chest. 'Commander James Bond. Now then, Bond, Bond, Bond. I think I've got you here." He had kept his finger at the open page of a vast tome. He now sat down and Bond followed suit. 'Yes, yes, yes. Very interesting indeed. Very. But I fear I have to disappoint you, my dear sir. The title is extinct. Actually it's a baronetcy. Most desirable. But no doubt we can establish a relationship through a collateral branch. Now then' - he put his pince-nez very close to the page - 'we have some ten different families of Bonds. The important one ended with Sir Thomas Bond, a most distinguished gentleman. He resided in Peckhain. He had, alas, no issue' - the pince-nez gleamed encouragingly at Bond - 'no legitimate issue that is. Of course in those days, ahem, morals were inclined to be laxer. Now if we could establish some connexion with Peckham...'
'I have no connexion with Peckham. Now, I...'
Griffon Or held up his hand. He said severely, 'Where did your parents come from, if I may ask? That, my dear fellow, is the first step in the chain. Then we can go back from there -Somerset House, parish records, old tomb-stones. No doubt, with a good old English name like yours, we will get somewhere in the end.'
'My father was a Scot and my mother was Swiss. But the point is...'
'Quite, quite. You are wondering about the cost of the research. That, my dear fellow, we can leave until later. But, now tell me. From whereabouts in Scotland did your father come? That is important. The Scottish records are of course less fully documented than those from the South. In those days I am forced to admit that our cousins across the border were little more than savages.' Griffon Or bobbed his head politely. He gave a fleeting and, to Bond's eye, rather false smile. 'Very pleasant savages, of course, very brave and all that. But, alas, very weak at keeping up their records. More useful with the sword than with the pen, if I may say so. But perhaps your grandparents and their forebears came from the South?'
'My father came from the Highlands, from near Glencoe. But look here...'
But Griffon Or was not to be diverted from the scent. He pulled another thick book towards him. His finger ran down the page of small print. 'Hum.
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