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this gun. Rather painstaking, perhaps, but, he had to admit, technically
sound.
He lit a cigarette and gratefully drew the smoke deep into his lungs. He did
not feel particularly worried
by his position. He refused to believe he would come to any harm. It would be
a clumsy affair to have him disappear a couple of days after he arrived from
England unless a very expert accident could be contrived. And Leiter would
have to be disposed of at the same time. That would be altogether too much for
their two Services and Mr. Big must know it. But he was worried about Leiter
in the hands of those clumsy black apes.
The Big Man's lips rolled slowly back from his teeth.
'I have not seen a member of the Secret Service for many years, Mister Bond.
Not since the war. Your
Service did well in the war. You have some able men. I learn from my friends
that you are high up in your
Service. You have a double-o number, I believe  007, if I remember right. The
significance of that double-o number, they tell me, is that you have had to
kill a man in the course of some assignment. There cannot be many double-o
numbers in a Service which does not use assassination as a weapon. Whom have
you been sent over to kill here, Mister Bond? Not me by any chance?'
The voice was soft and even, without expression. There was a slight mixture of
accents, American and
French, but the English was almost pedantically accurate, without a trace of
slang.
Bond remained silent. He assumed that Moscow had signalled his description.
'It is necessary for you to reply, Mister Bond. The fate of both of you
depends upon your doing so. I
have confidence in the sources of my information. I know much more than I have
said. I shall easily detect a lie.'
Bond believed him. He chose a story he could support and which would cover the
facts.
'There are English gold coins circulating in America. Edward IV Rose Nobles,'
he said. 'Some have been sold in Harlem. The American Treasury asked for
assistance in tracing them since they must come from a British source. I came
up to Harlem to see for myself, with a representative of the American
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Treasury, who I hope is now safely on his way back to his hotel.'
'Mr. Leiter is a representative of the Central Intelligence Agency, not of the
Treasury,' said Mr. Big without emotion. 'His position at this moment is
extremely precarious.'
He paused and seemed to reflect. He looked past Bond.
'Tee-Hee.'
'Yassuh, Boss.'
'Tie Mister Bond to his chair.'
Bond half rose to his feet.
'Don't move, Mister Bond,' said the voice softly. 'You have a bare chance of
survival if you stay where you are.'
Bond looked at The Big Man, at the golden, impassive eyes, He lowered himself
back into his chair. Immediately a broad strap was passed round his body and
buckled tight. Two short straps went round his wrists and tied them to the
leather and metal arms. Two
more went round his ankles. He could hurl himself and the chair to the floor,
but otherwise he was powerless.
Mr. Big pressed down a switch on the intercom.
'Send in Miss Solitaire,' he said and centred the switch again.
There was a moment's pause and then a section of the bookcase to the right of
the desk swung open.
One of the most beautiful women Bond had ever seen came slowly in and closed
the door behind her.
She stood just inside the room and stood looking at Bond, taking him in slowly
inch by inch, from his head to his feet. When she had completed her detailed
inspection, she turned to Mr. Big.
'Yes?' she inquired flatly.
Mr. Big had not moved his head. He addressed Bond.
'This is an extraordinary woman, Mister Bond,' he said in the same quiet soft
voice, 'and I am going to marry her because she is unique. I found her in a
cabaret, in Haiti, where she was born. She was doing a telepathic act which I
could not understand. I looked into it and I still could not understand. There
was nothing to understand. It was telepathy.'
Mr. Big paused.
'I tell you this to warn you. She is my inquisitor. Torture is messy and
inconclusive. People tell you what will ease the pain. With this girl it is
not necessary to use clumsy methods. She can divine the truth in people. That
is why she is to be my wife. She is too valuable to remain at liberty. And,'
he continued blandly, 'it will be interesting to see our children.'
Mr. Big turned towards her and gazed at her impassively.
'For the time being she is difficult. She will have nothing to do with men.
That is why, in Haiti, she was called "Solitaire".'
'Draw up a chair,' he said quietly to her. 'Tell me if this man lies. Keep
clear of the gun,' he added.
The girl said nothing but took a chair similar to Bond's from beside the wall
and pushed it towards him.
She sat down almost touching his right knee. She looked into his eyes.
Her face was pale, with the pallor of white families that have lived long in
the tropics. But it contained no trace of the usual exhaustion which the
tropics impart to the skin and hair. The eyes were blue, alight and
disdainful, but, as they gazed into his with a touch of humour, he realized
they contained some message for him personally. It quickly vanished as his own
eyes answered. Her hair was blue-black and fell heavily to her shoulders. She
had high cheekbones and a wide, sensual mouth which held a hint of cruelty.
Her jawline was delicate and finely cut. It showed decision and an iron will
which were repeated in the straight, pointed nose. Part of the beauty of the
face lay in its lack of compromise. It was a face born to command. The face of
the daughter of a French Colonial slave-owner.
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She wore a long evening dress of heavy white matt silk whose classical line
was broken by the deep folds which fell from her shoulders and revealed the
upper half of her breasts. She wore diamond earrings, square-cut in broken [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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