Page 9 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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THE MIND IS THE MAN

Eventually, the autopsy on Robert Allardyce would give cause of death as deep
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trauma resulting from the spinal chord and left lung being penetrated by two
.45 bullets. At the moment those bullets hit the unfortunate professor, James

Bond was sitting only some five miles away, in the opulent Palm Court lounge
of the Empress Hotel on Victoria’s pleasant waterfront.
People who knew Bond well would have noticed that his manner, and
expression, were ones of disapproval, his eyes hard and restless, his face

frozen into the look of someone who has just been served spoiled fish. In fact
Bond was irritated by the way this old and famous hotel served what it called
an English Tea. During his four days in Victoria, Bond had avoided taking tea
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at the hotel, but today he had played two rounds of golf with indifferent

partners at the Victoria Golf Club and returned earlier than usual. Tea seemed
to be in order and he was shown to a small table right by a massive potted
plant.
The first thing that annoyed him was a card on which was printed a highly

inaccurate history of what it called The English Tea Ritual. This claimed that,
at some time in the late nineteenth century, tea had become a ‘serious’ meal
called High Tea. Happily, Bond reflected that while he could still recall the
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delights of Nursery Tea, he had never been in a position to eat High Tea, but
here he was being asked to believe that the fare set before him was High Tea –
an indifferent brew of tea itself, strawberries and cream, finger sandwiches,
tasteless petits fours and some abomination called a ‘honey crumpet’.
Crumpets, to Bond, were delicious items which should be served piping hot

and dripping with butter, not jam, marmalade or this sweet confection of honey.

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