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Ian fleming casino royale pdf

ian fleming casino royale pdf

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Thus the reader has to go on reading". Writing for The New York Times , Anthony Boucher wrote that the book belongs "pretty much to the private-eye school" of fiction.

You should certainly begin this book; but you might as well stop when the baccarat game is over. For this Americanised version of the story, Bond is an American agent, described as working for "Combined Intelligence", while the character Leiter from the original novel is British, renamed "Clarence Leiter".

The agent for Station S. Casino Royale was the first James Bond novel to be adapted as a daily comic strip ; it was published in The Daily Express and syndicated worldwide.

Following the adaptation, the rights to the film remained with Columbia Films until when the studio, and the rights to their intellectual property portfolio was acquired by the Japanese company Sony.

This led to Eon Productions making the film Casino Royale. Casino Royale is a reboot , [] showing Bond at the beginning of his career as a agent and overall stays true to the original novel.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. For other uses, see Casino Royale. James Bond is the culmination of an important but much-maligned tradition in English literature.

His genius was to repackage these antiquated adventures to fit the fashion of postwar Britain In Bond, he created a Bulldog Drummond for the jet age.

Ian Fleming Publications state that it was "in not much more than two months", [13] while the academic Jeremy Black states that it was on 18 March Retrieved 15 January Early draft of Casino Royale reveals what Ian Fleming wanted to call his super spy".

The Independent on Sunday. The National Interest The Times Literary Supplement. Murder Is Their Business". The New York Times. Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis.

Retrieved 20 January Retrieved 21 January Retrieved 19 January Campbell on Casino Royale". The Journal of Popular Culture. Retrieved 11 June The James Bond Dossier.

Barnes, Alan; Hearn, Marcus Bennett, Tony ; Woollacott, Janet The Political Career of a Popular Hero. The James Bond Phenomenon: The James Bond Bedside Companion.

The Politics of James Bond: University of Nebraska Press. The Best in English Since Butler, William Vivian James Bond and Existentialism".

The folders contain material from five screenplays, four of which are by Hecht. An early near-complete script from is a faithful adaptation of the novel in many ways but for one crucial element: Instead of the suave but ruthless British agent, the hero is Lucky Fortunato, a rich, wisecracking American gangster who is an expert poker player.

Of the remaining material, two of the scripts are missing title pages and so are undated and without a credit, while the other two are from and are clearly credited to Hecht.

There are also snippets of notes, letters, and three pages of "notes for an outline" dated December 17 , which feature scenes in Baghdad, Algiers and Naples and culminate in a raid on a German castle.

Of all the Bond books, Casino Royale was one of the more problematic to adapt for film. But the novel is also short — practically a novella — with little physical action in it other than the infamous torture scene.

Bond also falls in love with his fellow agent on the mission, Vesper Lynd, and even considers proposing marriage to her before he discovers she has been coerced into working for Smersh and has betrayed him.

She kills herself, and the novel ends with Bond reporting to London savagely that "the bitch is dead".

Although Hecht was tackling the novel 10 years after it had been published, these are all elements it seems hard to imagine in a film adaptation.

But these drafts are a master-class in thriller-writing, from the man who arguably perfected the form with Notorious.

Hecht made vice central to the plot, with Le Chiffre actively controlling a network of brothels and beautiful women who he is using to blackmail powerful people around the world.

This is visible in the surviving pages of two separate undated drafts. Judging from the plotlines and character names, they were written after the December notes, but before the three drafts from Hecht wrote to Feldman on January 13 to say he had pages of "our blissful Casino Royale " ready to be typed and sent to him, but that if he could wait three days he would be able to send him pages of what he refers to as a first draft, which will bring it up to its conclusion.

As there is no other material dating from January in his papers, it seems likely that these are excerpts from that time. Hecht also adds that he has "never had more fun writing a movie".

In both, Bond falls in love with Vesper Lynd, who betrays him and kills herself. Both drafts stick closely to the atmosphere of the novel, while adding several new plot elements and characters.

Surnamed alternatively Vigne and Brant, she is a classic femme fatale, trying to seduce Bond in her night gown.

Bond turns her down — just. Bond says he would rather stick around in case M has any errands for him. The second Bond film, From Russia With Love , premiered in England in late , but the series had not yet solidified: The 40 pages of the draft dated February 20 elaborated on many of the scenes and ideas in these pages, but add an unusual gimmick.

Bond is precisely the same character as he was in the other drafts: But he is not James Bond. Instead, he is an unnamed American agent called in by M who is given the name James Bond.

It may be that Feldman was also considering how to make the film with an actor other than Sean Connery. The draft opens with a pre-titles sequence — itself a nod to the Connery films — in which Felix Leiter arrests senior United Nations diplomats and the beautiful prostitutes who have ensnared them in honey traps.

Then we cut to M informing his new Bond about the villain he is sending him after. If the banker failed to show either figure, he also had the right to take another card which might or might not improve his count.

With his right hand he picked up the two cards and turned them face up- wards on the table with a faint snap. They were a four and a five, an uhdef eatable natural nine.

Le Chiffre had chosen the second course. The croupier slipped some counters through the slot in the table which receives the cagnotte and announced quietly: Bond lit a cigarette and settled himself in his chair.

The long game was launched, and the sequence of these gestures and the reiteration of this subdued litany would continue until the end came and the players dispersed.

Then the enigmatic cards would be burnt or defaced, a shroud would be draped over the table, and the grass- green baize battlefield would soak up the blood of its victims and refresh itself.

He slowly removed one thick hand from the table and slipped it into the pocket of his dinner-jacket. The hand came out holding a small metal cylinder with a cap which Le Chiffre unscrewed.

He inserted the nozzle of the cylinder, with an obscene deliberation, twice into each black nostril in turn, and luxuriously inhaled the benzedrine vapour.

Unhurriedly he pocketed the inhaler; then his hand came quickly back, above the level of. But for the high-lights on the satin of the shawl-cut lapels, he might have been faced by the thick bust of a black-fleeced Minotaur rising out of a green grass field.

Bond slipped a packet of notes on to the table without counting them. The other players sensed a tension between the two gamblers, and there was a silence as Le Chiffre fingered the four cards out of the shoe.

There was a little gasp of envy from the table, and the players to the left of Bond exchanged rueful glances at their failure to accept the two-million-franc bet.

With the hint of a shrug, Le Chiffre slowly faced his own two cards and flicked them away with his finger- nail. They were two valueless knaves.

Bond slipped them into his right-hand pocket with the unused packet of notes. His face showed no emotion, but he was pleased with the success of his first coup and with the outcome of the silent clash of wills across the: The woman on his left, the American Mrs.

Du Pont, turned to him with a wry smile. Du Pont leant forward from the other side of his wife: They stood behind and to either side of the banker.

His whole long body was restless, and his hands shifted often on the brass rail. Bond guessed that he would kill without interest or concern for what he killed, and that he would prefer strangling.

He had something of Lennie in Of Mice and Men, but his inhumanity would not come from infantilism but from drugs. The other man looked like a Corsican shopkeeper.

He was short and very dark with a flat head covered with thickly greased hair. He seemed to be a cripple. A chunky Malacca cane with a rubber tip hung on a rail beside him.

He must have had permission to bring the cane into the Casino with him, reflected Bond, who knew that neither sticks nor any other objects were allowed in the rooms as a precaution against acts of violence.

He looked sleek and well fed. His mouth hung vacantly half open and revealed very bad teeth. He wore a heavy black moustache, and the backs of his hands on the rail were matted with black hair.

Bond guessed that hair covered most of his squat body. The game continued uneventfully, but with a slight bias against the bank.

Your luck can defeat the first and second tests, but when the third deal comes along it most often spells disaster.

Again and again at this point you find yourself being bounced back to earth. It was like that now. Neither the bank nor any of the players seemed to be able to get hot.

Bond had no idea what profits Le Chiffre had made over the past two days. In fact, Le Chiffre had lost heavily all that afternoon. At this moment he only had ten million left.

Bond was cautiously pleased. Le Chiffre showed no trace of emotion. He continued to play like an automaton, never speaking except when he gave in- structions in a low aside to the croupier at the opening of each new bank.

Outside the pool of silence round the high table, there was the constant hum of the other tables, chemin-de- - fer, roulette, and trente-et-quarante, interspersed with the clear calls of the croupiers and occasional bursts of laughter or gasps of excitement from different corners of the huge salle.

In the background there thudded always the hidden metronome of the Casino, ticking up its little treasure of one-per-cents with each spin of a wheel and each turn of a card — a pulsing fat-cat with a zero for a heart.

The Greek at Number 1 was still having a bad time. He had lost the first coup of half a million francs and the second. He passed the third time, leaving a bank of two millions.

Carmel Delane at Number 2 refused it. So did Lady Danvers at Number 3. The Du Ponts looked at each other. Again he fixed Le Chiffre with his eye.

Again he gave only a cursory look at his two cards. He held a marginal five. The position was dangerous. Le Chiffre turned up a knave and a four.

He gave the shoe another slap. He drew a three. And lost again, to a natural nine. In two coups he had lost twelve million francs.

Suddenly Bond felt the sweat on his palms. Like snow in sunshine his capital had melted. With the covetous deliberation of the winning gambler, Le Chiffre was tapping a light tattoo on the table with his right hand.

Bond looked across into the eyes of murky basalt. They held an ironical question. There was no hint in his movements that this would be his last stake.

His mouth felt suddenly as dry as flock wall-paper. He looked up and saw Vesper and Felix Leiter standing where the gunman with the stick had stood.

He did not know how long they had been standing there. He heard a faint rattle on the rail behind him and turned his head. The battery of bad teeth under the black moustache gaped vacantly back at him.

The light from the broad satin-lined shades which had seemed so welcoming now seemed to take the colour out of his hand as he glanced at the cards.

Then he looked again. It was nearly as bad as it could have been — the king of hearts and an ace, the ace of spades. It squinted up at him like a black widow spider.

Le Chiffre faced his own two cards. He had a queen and a black five. He looked at Bond and pressed out another card with a wide forefinger. The table was ab- solutely silent.

He faced it and flicked it away. The croupier lifted it delicately with his spatula and slipped it over to Bond.

It was a good card, the five of hearts, but to Bond it was a difficult fingerprint in dried blood. He now had a count of six and Le Chiffre a count of five, but the banker having a five and giving a five, would and must draw another card and try and improve with a one, two, three, or four.

Drawing any other card he would be defeated. It was, unnecessarily, the best, a four, giving the bank a count of nine.

He had won, almost slowing up. Bond was beaten and cleaned out. He opened his wide black case and took out a cigarette.

He snapped open the tiny jaws of the Ronson and lit the cigarette and put the lighter back on the table.

He took a deep lungful of smoke and expelled it between his teeth with a faint hiss. Back to the hotel and bed, avoiding the commiserating eyes of Mathis and Leiter and Vesper: He looked round the table and up at the spectators.

Few were looking at him. Leiter had vanished, not wishing to look Bond in the eye after the knock-out, he supposed. Yet Vesper looked curiously unmoved, she gave him a smile of en- couragement.

But then, Bond reflected, she knew nothing of the game. Had no notion, probably, of the bitterness of his defeat. The huissier was coming towards Bond inside the rail.

He stopped beside him. Placed a squat envelope beside Bond on the table. It was as thick as a dictionary. Said something about the caisse.

He took the heavy anonymous envelope below the level of the table and slit it open with his thumbnail, noticing that the gum was still wet on the flap.

Unbelieving and yet knowing it was true, he felt the broad wads of notes. He slipped them into his pockets, retaining the half-sheet of notepaper which was pinned to the topmost of them.

He glanced at it in the shadow below the table. There was one line of writing in ink: With the compliments of the U.

He looked over towards Vesper. Felix Leiter was again standing beside her. He grinned slightly, and Bond smiled back and raised his hand from the table in a small gesture of benediction.

Then he set his mind to sweeping away all traces of the sense of complete defeat which had swamped him a few minutes before.

This was a reprieve, but only a reprieve. There could be no more miracles. This time he had to win— if Le Chif fre had not already made his fifty million — if he was going to go on!

Perhaps, thought Bond, Le Chiffre needed just one more coup, even a minor one of a few million francs, to achieve his object. Then he would have made his fifty million francs and would leave the table.

By tomorrow his deficits would be covered and his position secure. Then the only hope, thought Bond, was to stamp on him how.

Not to share the bank with the table, or to take some minor r part of it, but to go the whole hog. This would really jolt Le Chiffre.

He would hate to see more than ten or fifteen million of the stake covered, and he could not possibly expect anyone to banco the entire thirty-two millions.

He might not know that Bond had been cleaned out, but he must imagine that Bond had by now only small reserves.

He could not know of the contents of the envelope. If he did, he would probably withdraw the bank and start all over again on the wearisome journey up from the five hundred franc opening bet.

The analysis was right. Le Chiffre needed another eight million. At last he nodded. A silence built itself up round the table. Besides, this was won- derful publicity.

The stake had only once been reached in the history of baccarat — at Deauville in It was then that Bond leant slightly forward.

The word ran through the Casino. For most of them it was more than they had earned all their lives.

It was their savings and the savings of their families. It was, literally, a small fortune. One of the Casino directors consulted with the chef de partie.

The chef de partie turned apologetically to Bond. It was an indication that Bond really must show he had the money to coyer the bet.

They knew, of course, that he was a very wealthy man, but after all, thirty-two millions! And it sometimes happened that desperate people would bet without a sou in the world and cheer- fully go to prison if they lost.

It was when Bond shovelled the great wad of notes out on to the table and the croupier busied himself with the task of counting the pinned sheaves of ten thousand franc notes, the largest denomination issued in France, that he caught a swift exchange of glances between Le Chiffre and the gunman standing directly behind Bond.

Immediately he felt something hard press into the base of his spine, right into the cleft between his two buttocks on the padded chair.

At the same time a thick voice speaking southern French said softly, urgently, just behind his right ear: It is absolutely silent.

You will appear to have fainted. I shall be gone. Withdraw your bet before I count ten. If you call for help I shall fire.

These people had shown they would unhesitatingly go the limit. The thick walking stick was explained. Bond knew the type of gun.

The barrel a series of soft rubber baffles which absorbed the detonation, but allowed the passage of the bullet. They had been invented and used in the v.

Bond had tested them himself. Bond turned his head. There was the man, leaning forward close behind him, smiling broadly under his black moustache as if he were wishing Bond luck, com- pletely secure in the noise and the crowd.

The discoloured teeth came together. His eyes glittered back at Bond. His mouth was open, and he was breathing fast. They were smiling and talking to each other.

Where were those famous men of his? This crowd of jabbering idiots. The chef de partie, the croupier, the huissier? The chef de partie bowed smilingly towards Bond.

It was a chance. He carefully moved his hands to the edge of the table, gripped it, edged his buttocks right back, feeling the sharp gun-sight grind into his coccyx.

The back of the chair splintered with the sharp crack. There were cries of dismay. The spectators cringed away and then, reassured, clustered back.

Hands helped him to his feet and brushed him down. The huissier bustled up with the chef de partie. At all costs a scandal must be avoided.

Bond held on to the brass rail. He looked confused and embarrassed. He brushed his hand across his forehead.

Naturally, with this tremendous game. Would Monsieur prefer to with- draw, to lie down, to go home? Should a doctor be fetched?

Bond shook his head. He was perfectly all right now. His excuses to the table. To the banker also. A new chair was brought and he sat down. He looked across at Le Chiffre.

Through his relief at being alive, he felt a moment of triumph at what he saw— some fear in the fat, pale face. There was a buzz of speculation round the table.

He turned to examine the crowd behind him. There was no trace of the gunman, but the huissier was looking for someone to claim the Malacca stick. But it no longer carried a rubber tip.

Bond beckoned to him. It belongs to an acquaintance of his. Bond grimly reflected that a short examination would reveal to Leiter why he had made such an embarrassing public display of himself.

He turned back to the table and tapped the green cloth in front of him to show that he was ready. Le Chiffre hit the shoe with a flat-handed slap that made it rattle.

As an afterthought he took out his benzedrine inhaler and sucked the vapour up his nose. By a miracle he had sur- vived a devastating wound.

He could feel his armpits still wet with the fear of it. But the success of his gambit with the chair had wiped out all memories of the dread- ful valley of defeat through which he had just passed.

He had made a fool of himself. They must not fail him. In the silence round his own table, Bond suddenly heard a distant croupier intone: Le rouge gagne, impair et manque.

The two cards slithered towards him across the green sea. Like an octopus under a rock, Le Chiffre watched him from the other side of the table.

Bond reached out a steady right hand and drew the cards towards him. Would it be the lift of the heart which a nine brings, or an eight brings?

He fanned the two cards under the curtain of his hand. His whole body stiffened in a reflex of self- defence. He had two queens, two red queens.

They looked rougishly back at him from the shadows. They were the worst. The banker slowly turned his own two cards face up. He had a count of three — a king and a black three.

Bond softly exhaled a cloud of tobacco smoke. He still had a chance. Now he was really faced with the moment of truth. The croupier slipped it delicately across.

To Le Chiffre it meant nothing. Or he might have had a two, three, four, or even five. In which case, with nine, his maximum count would be four.

Holding a three and giving a nine is one of the moot situations at the game. The odds are so nearly divided between to draw or not to draw.

Bond let the banker sweat it out. Since his nine could only be equalled by the banker drawing a six, he would normally have shown his count if it had been a friendly game.

The whole secret lay in the reverse of the two pink backs where the pair of queens kissed the green cloth. His thick tongue came out slyly and licked a drop out of the corner of his red gash of a mouth.

Then his whole body shrugged and he slipped out a card for himself from the lisping shoe. It was a wonderful card, a five.

He must have won. There was not a man at the table who did not believe Bond was defeated. The spatula flicked the two pink cards over on their backs.

The gay red queens smiled up at the lights. The big man fell back in his chair as if slugged above the heart.

Then he rocked back. His lips were grey. As the huge stack of plaques was shunted across the table to Bond the banker reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and threw a wad of notes on to the table.

The croupier riffled through them. He slapped down their equivalent in ten plaques of a million each. This is the kill, thought Bond.

This man has reached the point of no return. This is the last of his capital. He has come to where I stood an hour ago, and he is making the last gesture that I made.

But if this man loses there is no one to come to his aid, no miracle to help him. Bond sat back arid lit a cigarette.

On a small table beside him half a bottle of Clicquot and a glass had materialized. Without asking who the benefactor was, Bond filled the glass to the brim and drank it down in two long draughts.

Then he leant back with his arms curled forward on the table in front of him like the arms of a wrestler seeking a hold at the opening of a bout of ju-jitsu.

The players on his left remained silent. Once more the two cards were borne over to him, and this time the croupier slipped them into the green lagoon between the outstretched arms.

Bond curled his right hand in, glanced briefly down and flipped the cards face up into the middle of the table.

Le Chiffre was gazing down at his own two black kings. He unhooked the velvet- covered chain and let it fall.

The spectators opened a way for him. They looked at him curiously and rather fearfully as if he carried the smell of death on him. He took a hundred-mille plaque from the stacks beside him and slipped it across the table to the chef de partie.

He cut short the effusive thanks and asked the croupier to have his winnings carried to the caisse. The other players were leaving their seats.

With no banker, there could be no game, and by now it was half-past two. He exchanged some pleasant words with his neighbours to right and left and then ducked under the rail to where Vesper and Felix Leiter were waiting for him.

Together they walked over to the caisse. Bond was invited to come into the private office of the Casino directors. On the desk lay his huge pile of chips.

He added the contents of his pockets to it. In all there was over seventy million francs. He was congratulated warmly on his winnings.

The directors hoped that he would be playing again that evening. Bond gave an evasive reply. For a few minutes they discussed the game over a bottle of champagne.

He Was as puzzled as we were by the spill you took. He was standing at the back of the crowd with one of his men when it happened. The gunman got away without difficulty.

You can imagine how they kicked themselves when they saw the gun. Mathis gave me this bullet to show you what you escaped.

The man came in alone. He got permission to bring the stick in with him. He had a cer- tificate for a war-wound pension.

These people certainly get themselves well organized. You certainly took Le Chiffre for a ride at the end, though we had some bad moments.

I expect you did too. I thought I was really finished. Talk about a friend in need. He might get ideas. What do you think? She had hardly said a word since the end of the game.

You get to it through the public rooms. It looks quite cheerful. Leiter looked at him and read his mind. Might as well convoy the treasure ship right into port.

Both had their hands on their guns. The short walk was uneventful. At the hotel, Leiter insisted on accompanying Bond to his room. It was as Bond had left it six hours before.

Do you think I ought to stay up and keep you two company? I hope we get on a job again one day. He went out and closed the door.

Bond turned back to the friendliness of his room. He went into the bathroom and dashed cold water over his face and gargled with a sharp mouthwash.

He felt the bruises on the back of his head and on his right shoulder. He reflected cheerfully how narrowly he had twice that day escaped being murdered.

Would he have to sit up all that night and wait for them to come again, or was Le Chiffre even now on his way to Le Havre or Bordeaux to pick up a boat for some corner of the world where he could escape the eyes and guns of SMERSH?

Bond shrugged his shoulders. Sufficient unto that day had been its evil. He wanted her cold and arrogant body.

He turned away and took out of his pocket the cheque for forty million francs. He folded this very small. Then he opened the door and looked up and down the corridor.

He left the door wide open and with his ears cocked for footsteps or the sound of the lift, he set to work with a small screwdriver.

Five minutes later he gave a last-minute survey to his handiwork, put some fresh cigarettes in his case, closed and locked the door, and went off down the corridor and across the hall and out into the moonlight.

The night club was small and dark, lit only by candles in gilded candelabra whose warm light was repeated in wall mirrors set in more gold picture-frames.

The walls were covered in dark red satin, and the chairs and banquettes in matching red plush. Seduction dripped on the quietly throbbing air.

It seemed to Bond that every couple must be touching with passion under the tables. They were given a corner table near the door.

Bond ordered a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and scrambled eggs and bacon. They sat for a time listening to the music, and then Bond turned to Vesper: She seemed to be listening carefully to the music.

One elbow rested on the table, and her hand supported her chin, but on the back of her hand and not on the palm; and Bond noticed that her knuckles showed white as if her fist was tightly clenched.

Bond noticed these small things because he felt in- tensely aware of her and because he wanted to draw her into his own feeling of warmth and relaxed sensuality.

But he accepted her reserve. He thought it came from a desire to protect herself from him, or else it was her reaction to his coolness to her earlier in the evening, his deliberate coolness, which he knew had been taken as a rebuff.

He drank champagne and talked a little about the happenings of the day and about the per- sonalities of Mathis and Leiter and about the possible consequences for Le Chiffre.

He was discreet, and he only talked about the aspects of the case on which she must have been briefed by London. They could not believe that anything would be attempted in the Casino itself.

Di- rectly Bond and Leiter had left to walk over to the hotel, she had telephoned Paris and told M. She had had to speak guardedly, and the agent had rung off without comment.

She had been told to do this whatever the result. This was all she said. She sipped at her champagne and rarely glanced at Bond.

Ian fleming casino royale pdf - have removed

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Book Review: Casino Royale 007 - Ian Fleming

He gave the shoe another slap. He drew a three. And lost again, to a natural nine. In two coups he had lost twelve million francs.

Suddenly Bond felt the sweat on his palms. Like snow in sunshine his capital had melted. With the covetous deliberation of the winning gambler, Le Chiffre was tapping a light tattoo on the table with his right hand.

Bond looked across into the eyes of murky basalt. They held an ironical question. There was no hint in his movements that this would be his last stake.

His mouth felt suddenly as dry as flock wall-paper. He looked up and saw Vesper and Felix Leiter standing where the gunman with the stick had stood.

He did not know how long they had been standing there. He heard a faint rattle on the rail behind him and turned his head. The battery of bad teeth under the black moustache gaped vacantly back at him.

The light from the broad satin-lined shades which had seemed so welcoming now seemed to take the colour out of his hand as he glanced at the cards.

Then he looked again. It was nearly as bad as it could have been — the king of hearts and an ace, the ace of spades. It squinted up at him like a black widow spider.

Le Chiffre faced his own two cards. He had a queen and a black five. He looked at Bond and pressed out another card with a wide forefinger. The table was ab- solutely silent.

He faced it and flicked it away. The croupier lifted it delicately with his spatula and slipped it over to Bond. It was a good card, the five of hearts, but to Bond it was a difficult fingerprint in dried blood.

He now had a count of six and Le Chiffre a count of five, but the banker having a five and giving a five, would and must draw another card and try and improve with a one, two, three, or four.

Drawing any other card he would be defeated. It was, unnecessarily, the best, a four, giving the bank a count of nine.

He had won, almost slowing up. Bond was beaten and cleaned out. He opened his wide black case and took out a cigarette.

He snapped open the tiny jaws of the Ronson and lit the cigarette and put the lighter back on the table. He took a deep lungful of smoke and expelled it between his teeth with a faint hiss.

Back to the hotel and bed, avoiding the commiserating eyes of Mathis and Leiter and Vesper: He looked round the table and up at the spectators.

Few were looking at him. Leiter had vanished, not wishing to look Bond in the eye after the knock-out, he supposed. Yet Vesper looked curiously unmoved, she gave him a smile of en- couragement.

But then, Bond reflected, she knew nothing of the game. Had no notion, probably, of the bitterness of his defeat.

The huissier was coming towards Bond inside the rail. He stopped beside him. Placed a squat envelope beside Bond on the table. It was as thick as a dictionary.

Said something about the caisse. He took the heavy anonymous envelope below the level of the table and slit it open with his thumbnail, noticing that the gum was still wet on the flap.

Unbelieving and yet knowing it was true, he felt the broad wads of notes. He slipped them into his pockets, retaining the half-sheet of notepaper which was pinned to the topmost of them.

He glanced at it in the shadow below the table. There was one line of writing in ink: With the compliments of the U.

He looked over towards Vesper. Felix Leiter was again standing beside her. He grinned slightly, and Bond smiled back and raised his hand from the table in a small gesture of benediction.

Then he set his mind to sweeping away all traces of the sense of complete defeat which had swamped him a few minutes before. This was a reprieve, but only a reprieve.

There could be no more miracles. This time he had to win— if Le Chif fre had not already made his fifty million — if he was going to go on!

Perhaps, thought Bond, Le Chiffre needed just one more coup, even a minor one of a few million francs, to achieve his object. Then he would have made his fifty million francs and would leave the table.

By tomorrow his deficits would be covered and his position secure. Then the only hope, thought Bond, was to stamp on him how. Not to share the bank with the table, or to take some minor r part of it, but to go the whole hog.

This would really jolt Le Chiffre. He would hate to see more than ten or fifteen million of the stake covered, and he could not possibly expect anyone to banco the entire thirty-two millions.

He might not know that Bond had been cleaned out, but he must imagine that Bond had by now only small reserves. He could not know of the contents of the envelope.

If he did, he would probably withdraw the bank and start all over again on the wearisome journey up from the five hundred franc opening bet.

The analysis was right. Le Chiffre needed another eight million. At last he nodded. A silence built itself up round the table. Besides, this was won- derful publicity.

The stake had only once been reached in the history of baccarat — at Deauville in It was then that Bond leant slightly forward.

The word ran through the Casino. For most of them it was more than they had earned all their lives. It was their savings and the savings of their families.

It was, literally, a small fortune. One of the Casino directors consulted with the chef de partie. The chef de partie turned apologetically to Bond.

It was an indication that Bond really must show he had the money to coyer the bet. They knew, of course, that he was a very wealthy man, but after all, thirty-two millions!

And it sometimes happened that desperate people would bet without a sou in the world and cheer- fully go to prison if they lost.

It was when Bond shovelled the great wad of notes out on to the table and the croupier busied himself with the task of counting the pinned sheaves of ten thousand franc notes, the largest denomination issued in France, that he caught a swift exchange of glances between Le Chiffre and the gunman standing directly behind Bond.

Immediately he felt something hard press into the base of his spine, right into the cleft between his two buttocks on the padded chair. At the same time a thick voice speaking southern French said softly, urgently, just behind his right ear: It is absolutely silent.

You will appear to have fainted. I shall be gone. Withdraw your bet before I count ten. If you call for help I shall fire.

These people had shown they would unhesitatingly go the limit. The thick walking stick was explained. Bond knew the type of gun. The barrel a series of soft rubber baffles which absorbed the detonation, but allowed the passage of the bullet.

They had been invented and used in the v. Bond had tested them himself. Bond turned his head. There was the man, leaning forward close behind him, smiling broadly under his black moustache as if he were wishing Bond luck, com- pletely secure in the noise and the crowd.

The discoloured teeth came together. His eyes glittered back at Bond. His mouth was open, and he was breathing fast. They were smiling and talking to each other.

Where were those famous men of his? This crowd of jabbering idiots. The chef de partie, the croupier, the huissier? The chef de partie bowed smilingly towards Bond.

It was a chance. He carefully moved his hands to the edge of the table, gripped it, edged his buttocks right back, feeling the sharp gun-sight grind into his coccyx.

The back of the chair splintered with the sharp crack. There were cries of dismay. The spectators cringed away and then, reassured, clustered back.

Hands helped him to his feet and brushed him down. The huissier bustled up with the chef de partie. At all costs a scandal must be avoided.

Bond held on to the brass rail. He looked confused and embarrassed. He brushed his hand across his forehead. Naturally, with this tremendous game.

Would Monsieur prefer to with- draw, to lie down, to go home? Should a doctor be fetched? Bond shook his head.

He was perfectly all right now. His excuses to the table. To the banker also. A new chair was brought and he sat down.

He looked across at Le Chiffre. Through his relief at being alive, he felt a moment of triumph at what he saw— some fear in the fat, pale face.

There was a buzz of speculation round the table. He turned to examine the crowd behind him. There was no trace of the gunman, but the huissier was looking for someone to claim the Malacca stick.

But it no longer carried a rubber tip. Bond beckoned to him. It belongs to an acquaintance of his. Bond grimly reflected that a short examination would reveal to Leiter why he had made such an embarrassing public display of himself.

He turned back to the table and tapped the green cloth in front of him to show that he was ready. Le Chiffre hit the shoe with a flat-handed slap that made it rattle.

As an afterthought he took out his benzedrine inhaler and sucked the vapour up his nose. By a miracle he had sur- vived a devastating wound.

He could feel his armpits still wet with the fear of it. But the success of his gambit with the chair had wiped out all memories of the dread- ful valley of defeat through which he had just passed.

He had made a fool of himself. They must not fail him. In the silence round his own table, Bond suddenly heard a distant croupier intone: Le rouge gagne, impair et manque.

The two cards slithered towards him across the green sea. Like an octopus under a rock, Le Chiffre watched him from the other side of the table.

Bond reached out a steady right hand and drew the cards towards him. Would it be the lift of the heart which a nine brings, or an eight brings?

He fanned the two cards under the curtain of his hand. His whole body stiffened in a reflex of self- defence. He had two queens, two red queens.

They looked rougishly back at him from the shadows. They were the worst. The banker slowly turned his own two cards face up.

He had a count of three — a king and a black three. Bond softly exhaled a cloud of tobacco smoke. He still had a chance. Now he was really faced with the moment of truth.

The croupier slipped it delicately across. To Le Chiffre it meant nothing. Or he might have had a two, three, four, or even five.

In which case, with nine, his maximum count would be four. Holding a three and giving a nine is one of the moot situations at the game. The odds are so nearly divided between to draw or not to draw.

Bond let the banker sweat it out. Since his nine could only be equalled by the banker drawing a six, he would normally have shown his count if it had been a friendly game.

The whole secret lay in the reverse of the two pink backs where the pair of queens kissed the green cloth.

His thick tongue came out slyly and licked a drop out of the corner of his red gash of a mouth. Then his whole body shrugged and he slipped out a card for himself from the lisping shoe.

It was a wonderful card, a five. He must have won. There was not a man at the table who did not believe Bond was defeated. The spatula flicked the two pink cards over on their backs.

The gay red queens smiled up at the lights. The big man fell back in his chair as if slugged above the heart. Then he rocked back.

His lips were grey. As the huge stack of plaques was shunted across the table to Bond the banker reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and threw a wad of notes on to the table.

The croupier riffled through them. He slapped down their equivalent in ten plaques of a million each. This is the kill, thought Bond. This man has reached the point of no return.

This is the last of his capital. He has come to where I stood an hour ago, and he is making the last gesture that I made.

But if this man loses there is no one to come to his aid, no miracle to help him. Bond sat back arid lit a cigarette. On a small table beside him half a bottle of Clicquot and a glass had materialized.

Without asking who the benefactor was, Bond filled the glass to the brim and drank it down in two long draughts. Then he leant back with his arms curled forward on the table in front of him like the arms of a wrestler seeking a hold at the opening of a bout of ju-jitsu.

The players on his left remained silent. Once more the two cards were borne over to him, and this time the croupier slipped them into the green lagoon between the outstretched arms.

Bond curled his right hand in, glanced briefly down and flipped the cards face up into the middle of the table.

Le Chiffre was gazing down at his own two black kings. He unhooked the velvet- covered chain and let it fall. The spectators opened a way for him.

They looked at him curiously and rather fearfully as if he carried the smell of death on him. He took a hundred-mille plaque from the stacks beside him and slipped it across the table to the chef de partie.

He cut short the effusive thanks and asked the croupier to have his winnings carried to the caisse. The other players were leaving their seats. With no banker, there could be no game, and by now it was half-past two.

He exchanged some pleasant words with his neighbours to right and left and then ducked under the rail to where Vesper and Felix Leiter were waiting for him.

Together they walked over to the caisse. Bond was invited to come into the private office of the Casino directors.

On the desk lay his huge pile of chips. He added the contents of his pockets to it. In all there was over seventy million francs.

He was congratulated warmly on his winnings. The directors hoped that he would be playing again that evening. Bond gave an evasive reply.

For a few minutes they discussed the game over a bottle of champagne. He Was as puzzled as we were by the spill you took.

He was standing at the back of the crowd with one of his men when it happened. The gunman got away without difficulty. You can imagine how they kicked themselves when they saw the gun.

Mathis gave me this bullet to show you what you escaped. The man came in alone. He got permission to bring the stick in with him.

He had a cer- tificate for a war-wound pension. These people certainly get themselves well organized. You certainly took Le Chiffre for a ride at the end, though we had some bad moments.

I expect you did too. I thought I was really finished. Talk about a friend in need. He might get ideas. What do you think? She had hardly said a word since the end of the game.

You get to it through the public rooms. It looks quite cheerful. Leiter looked at him and read his mind. Might as well convoy the treasure ship right into port.

Both had their hands on their guns. The short walk was uneventful. At the hotel, Leiter insisted on accompanying Bond to his room.

It was as Bond had left it six hours before. Do you think I ought to stay up and keep you two company? I hope we get on a job again one day.

He went out and closed the door. Bond turned back to the friendliness of his room. He went into the bathroom and dashed cold water over his face and gargled with a sharp mouthwash.

He felt the bruises on the back of his head and on his right shoulder. He reflected cheerfully how narrowly he had twice that day escaped being murdered.

Would he have to sit up all that night and wait for them to come again, or was Le Chiffre even now on his way to Le Havre or Bordeaux to pick up a boat for some corner of the world where he could escape the eyes and guns of SMERSH?

Bond shrugged his shoulders. Sufficient unto that day had been its evil. He wanted her cold and arrogant body. He turned away and took out of his pocket the cheque for forty million francs.

He folded this very small. Then he opened the door and looked up and down the corridor. He left the door wide open and with his ears cocked for footsteps or the sound of the lift, he set to work with a small screwdriver.

Five minutes later he gave a last-minute survey to his handiwork, put some fresh cigarettes in his case, closed and locked the door, and went off down the corridor and across the hall and out into the moonlight.

The night club was small and dark, lit only by candles in gilded candelabra whose warm light was repeated in wall mirrors set in more gold picture-frames.

The walls were covered in dark red satin, and the chairs and banquettes in matching red plush. Seduction dripped on the quietly throbbing air.

It seemed to Bond that every couple must be touching with passion under the tables. They were given a corner table near the door. Bond ordered a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and scrambled eggs and bacon.

They sat for a time listening to the music, and then Bond turned to Vesper: She seemed to be listening carefully to the music.

One elbow rested on the table, and her hand supported her chin, but on the back of her hand and not on the palm; and Bond noticed that her knuckles showed white as if her fist was tightly clenched.

Bond noticed these small things because he felt in- tensely aware of her and because he wanted to draw her into his own feeling of warmth and relaxed sensuality.

But he accepted her reserve. He thought it came from a desire to protect herself from him, or else it was her reaction to his coolness to her earlier in the evening, his deliberate coolness, which he knew had been taken as a rebuff.

He drank champagne and talked a little about the happenings of the day and about the per- sonalities of Mathis and Leiter and about the possible consequences for Le Chiffre.

He was discreet, and he only talked about the aspects of the case on which she must have been briefed by London.

They could not believe that anything would be attempted in the Casino itself. Di- rectly Bond and Leiter had left to walk over to the hotel, she had telephoned Paris and told M.

She had had to speak guardedly, and the agent had rung off without comment. She had been told to do this whatever the result. This was all she said.

She sipped at her champagne and rarely glanced at Bond. He drank a lot of champagne and ordered another bottle. The scrambled eggs came, and they ate in silence.

He handed her a note which she took and read hastily. Then perhaps we could go home. He sat down and lit a cigarette.

He sud- denly realized that he was tired. The stuffiness of the room hit him as it had hit him in the Casino in the early hours of the previous day.

He called for the bill and took a last mouthful of champagne. It tasted bitter, as the first glass too many always does. Suddenly the note to Vesper seemed odd to him.

He would have asked them both to join him at the bar of the Casino, or he would have joined them in the night club, whatever his clothes.

They would have laughed together, and Mathis would have been excited. He had much to tell Bond, more than Bond had to tell him: He hastily paid the bill, not waiting for the change.

He hurried through the gaming-room and looked carefully up and down the long entrance hall. He cursed and quickened his step. There were only one or two of- ficials and two or three men and women in evening clothes getting their things at the vestiaire.

He was almost running. He got to the entrance and looked along the steps to the left and right down and amongst the few remaining cars.

The commissionaire came towards him. He was halfway down when he heard a faint cry, then the slam of a door away to the right.

With a harsh growl and stutter from the exhaust a beetle-browed Citroen shot out of the shadows into the light of the moon, its front- wheel drive dry-skidding through the loose pebbles of the forecourt.

Its tail rocked on its soft springs as if a violent struggle was taking place on the back seat. With a snarl it raced out to the wide entrance gate in a spray of gravel.

He ran back with it across the gravel to the brightly lit steps and scrabbled through its contents while the com- missionaire hovered round him.

The crumpled note was there amongst the usual feminine baggage: I have news for your companion. Bond leapt for the Bentley, blessing the impulse , which had made him drive it over after dinner.

With the choke full out the engine answered at once to the starter, and the roar drowned the faltering words of the com- missionaire who jumped aside as the rear wheels whipped gravel at his piped trouser-legs.

As the car rocked to the left outside the gate, Bond ruefully longed for the front-wheel drive and low chassis of the Citroen. Then he went fast through the gears and settled himself for the pursuit, briefly savouring the echo of the huge exhaust as it came back at him from either side of the short main street through the town.

He pushed the revs up and up, hurrying the car to eighty then to. He knew the Citroen must have come this way. He had heard the exhaust penetrate beyond the town, and a little dust still hung on the bends.

He hoped soon to see the distant shaft of its headlights. The night was still and clear. Only out at sea there must be a light summer mist, for at intervals he could hear the foghorns lowing like iron cattle down the coast.

As he drove, whipping the car faster and faster through the night, with the other half of his mind he cursed Vesper, and M.

This was just what he had been afraid of. And now for this to happen to him, just when the job had come off so beautifully: The idea was a straight swap.

The girl against his cheque for forty million. She was in the Service and knew what she was up against. This job was more important than her.

It was just too bad. He would try and catch the Citroen and shoot it out with them; and if she got shot in the process that was too bad too. The next morning he would ask Mathis what had happened to her and show him the note.

The girl would just have to take it. If the com- missionaire came along with the story of what he had seen, Bond would bluff it out by saying he had had a drunken row with the girl.

Then the revolutions mounted until he was past and on to the m. He knew he must be gaining fast. Loaded as she was, the Citroen could hardly better eighty even on this road.

On an impulse he slowed down to seventy, turned on his foglights, and dowsed the twin-Marchals. Sure enough, without the blinding curtain of his own lights, he could see the glow of another car a mile or two down the coast.

He felt under the dashboard and from a concealed holster took out a long- barrelled Colt Army Special. With this, if he was lucky with the surface of the road, he could hope to get their tyres or their petrol tank at anything up to a hun- dred yards.

Then he switched on the big lights again and screamed off in pursuit. He felt calm and at ease. His face in the blue light from the dashboard was grim but serene.

Ahead in the Citroen there were three men and the girl. Hecht also adds that he has "never had more fun writing a movie". In both, Bond falls in love with Vesper Lynd, who betrays him and kills herself.

Both drafts stick closely to the atmosphere of the novel, while adding several new plot elements and characters.

Surnamed alternatively Vigne and Brant, she is a classic femme fatale, trying to seduce Bond in her night gown. Bond turns her down — just.

Bond says he would rather stick around in case M has any errands for him. The second Bond film, From Russia With Love , premiered in England in late , but the series had not yet solidified: The 40 pages of the draft dated February 20 elaborated on many of the scenes and ideas in these pages, but add an unusual gimmick.

Bond is precisely the same character as he was in the other drafts: But he is not James Bond. Instead, he is an unnamed American agent called in by M who is given the name James Bond.

It may be that Feldman was also considering how to make the film with an actor other than Sean Connery. The draft opens with a pre-titles sequence — itself a nod to the Connery films — in which Felix Leiter arrests senior United Nations diplomats and the beautiful prostitutes who have ensnared them in honey traps.

Then we cut to M informing his new Bond about the villain he is sending him after. Hecht introduces more new characters in this draft, including Lili Wing, a beautiful but drug-addicted Eurasian madam who once had a fling with Bond, and her girlfriend, Georgie, who carries a black kitten on her shoulder.

She and much of this draft returned in the final two surviving sections of script, which are dated April 8 and April 14, The first has 84 pages, and covers most of the plot.

The second is 49 pages long and is an addition to it, indicating which pages are to remain untouched from the draft of a week earlier.

Taken together, they form a near-complete story. Taken with the rest of the documents, with gaps in one draft often being filled in by others, these or so pages give a strong sense of what a completed final Hecht screenplay would have been like.

The April 8 pages revert to Bond being the real thing. The April 14 draft switches back to the counterfeit Bond idea, but adds to and improves the earlier draft in other ways.

The first third of the story follows Bond and Vesper as they track down the incriminating rolls of film that Chiffre has collected for Spectre, which are being transported from a warehouse in Hamburg by a protected van.

Bond commandeers the van and impersonates one of the eye-patched henchmen in the darkness. During a car chase in the Swiss Alps, the van goes over the cliff and explodes with the films in it, Bond escaping at the last moment.

As a result of Bond ruining the extortion scheme, Chiffre loses half of his budget allocated to him by Spectre, and sets about trying to win it back.

Then we relocate to northern France and the area around the fictional Royale. Vesper gives Bond instructions from M to accompany her to the casino there to finish Chiffre off for good.

This is ingenious in several ways. In the book, Le Chiffre and Bond duel without ever having met each other. Fleming claimed that while there he was cleaned out by a "chief German agent" at a table playing chemin de fer.

Both Papen and Bond survived their assassination attempts, carried out by Bulgarians, because trees protected them from the blasts. Fleming also included four references in the novel to "Red Indians", including twice on the last page, which came from a unit of commandos , known as No.

Fleming initially named the character James Secretan before he appropriated the name of James Bond , author of the ornithology guide, Birds of the West Indies.

Fleming decided that Bond should resemble both the American singer Hoagy Carmichael and himself, [30] and in the novel Lynd remarks that "Bond reminds me rather of Hoagy Carmichael, but there is something cold and ruthless.

Fleming used the casino to introduce Bond in his first novel because "skill at gambling and knowledge of how to behave in a casino were seen William Cook in New Statesman [39].

The semiotician and essayist, Umberto Eco , in his examination of the Bond books, "The Narrative Structure of Ian Fleming", considered that Fleming "has a rhythm, a polish, a certain sensuous feeling for words.

That is not to say that Fleming is an artist; yet he writes with art. Casino Royale was written after, and was heavily influenced by, the Second World War; [40] Britain was still an imperial power, [56] and the Western and Eastern blocs were engaged in the Cold War.

In parts of central London, including Oxford Street and High Holborn still had uncleared bomb sites and, while sweets had ceased being rationed, coal and other food items were still regulated.

Casino Royale deals with the question of Anglo-American relations, reflecting the real-world central role of the US in the defence of the West. Amis, in his exploration of Bond in The James Bond Dossier , pointed out that Leiter is "such a nonentity as a piece of characterization The treachery of Le Chiffre, with the overtones of a fifth column , struck a chord with the largely British readership as Communist influence in the trade unions had been an issue in the press and parliament at the time.

Benson considers the most obvious theme of the novel to be good versus evil. Black also identifies a mechanism Fleming uses in Casino Royale —and in subsequent Bond novels—which is to use the evil of his opponents both as a justification of his actions, and as a device to foil their own plans.

Black refers to the episode of the attempted assassination of Bond by Bulgarian assassins which results in their own deaths.

Casino Royale was first released on 13 April in the UK as a hardback edition by publishers Jonathan Cape, [73] with a cover devised by Fleming.

John Betjeman , writing in The Daily Telegraph , considered that "Ian Fleming has discovered the secret of the narrative art Thus the reader has to go on reading".

Writing for The New York Times , Anthony Boucher wrote that the book belongs "pretty much to the private-eye school" of fiction. You should certainly begin this book; but you might as well stop when the baccarat game is over.

For this Americanised version of the story, Bond is an American agent, described as working for "Combined Intelligence", while the character Leiter from the original novel is British, renamed "Clarence Leiter".

The agent for Station S. Casino Royale was the first James Bond novel to be adapted as a daily comic strip ; it was published in The Daily Express and syndicated worldwide.

Following the adaptation, the rights to the film remained with Columbia Films until when the studio, and the rights to their intellectual property portfolio was acquired by the Japanese company Sony.

This led to Eon Productions making the film Casino Royale. Casino Royale is a reboot , [] showing Bond at the beginning of his career as a agent and overall stays true to the original novel.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. For other uses, see Casino Royale. James Bond is the culmination of an important but much-maligned tradition in English literature.

His genius was to repackage these antiquated adventures to fit the fashion of postwar Britain In Bond, he created a Bulldog Drummond for the jet age.

Ian Fleming Publications state that it was "in not much more than two months", [13] while the academic Jeremy Black states that it was on 18 March Retrieved 15 January Early draft of Casino Royale reveals what Ian Fleming wanted to call his super spy".

The Independent on Sunday. The National Interest The Times Literary Supplement. Murder Is Their Business".

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