Текст книги "The James Bond Anthology"

Автор книги: Ian Fleming

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13 | ‘MY NAME IS EMILIO LARGO’

Lester’s ‘sixpenny sick’ was the hotel launch, a smart Chrysler-engined speedboat that said it would be 20 dollars an hour. They ran out westwards from the harbour, past Silver Cay, Long Cay and Balmoral Island, and round Delaporte Point. Five miles further down the coast, encrusted with glittering seashore properties the boatman said cost £400 per foot of beach frontage, they rounded Old Fort Point and came upon the gleaming white and dark blue ship lying with two anchors out in deep water just outside the reef. Leiter whistled. He said in an awestruck voice, ‘Boy, is that a piece of boat! I’d sure like to have one of those to play with in my bath.’

Bond said, ‘She’s Italian. Built by a firm called Rodrigues at Messina. Thing called an Aliscafo. She’s got a hydrofoil under the hull and when she gets going you let this sort of skid down and she rises up and practically flies. Only the screws and a few feet of the stern stay in the water. The Police Commissioner says she can do 50 knots in calm water. Only good for inshore work of course, but they can carry upwards of a hundred passengers when they’re designed as fast ferries. Apparently this one’s been designed for about forty. The rest of the space is taken up with the owner’s quarters and cargo space. Must have cost damned near a quarter of a million.’

The boatman broke in, ‘They say on Bay Street that she goin’ go after the treasure these next few days or so. All the people that own share in the gold come in a few days ago. Then she spen’ one whole night doin’ a final recce. They say is down Exhuma way, or over by Watlings Island. Guess you folks know that’s where Columbus make him first landfall on this side of the Atlantic. Around fourteen ninety somethin’. But could be anywhere down there. They’s always been talk of treasure down ’mongst the Ragged Islands – even as far as Crooked Island. Fact is she sail out southward. Hear her myself, right until her engines died away. East by south-east I’da say.’ The boatman spat discreetly over the side. ‘Must be plenty heap of treasure with the cost of that ship and all the money they throwing ’way. Every time she go to the Hoiling Wharf they say the bill’s five hundred pound.’

Bond said casually, ‘Which night was it they did the final recce?’

‘Night after she hoiled. That’d be two nights ago. Sail round six.’

The blank portholes of the ship watched them approach. A sailor polishing brass round the curve of the enclosed dome that was the bridge walked through the hatch into the bridge and Bond could see him talking into a mouthpiece. A tall man in white ducks and a very wide mesh singlet appeared on deck and observed them through binoculars. He called something to the sailor, who came and stood at the top of the ladder down the starboard side. When their launch came alongside, the man cupped his hands and called down, ‘What is your business please? Have you an appointment?’

Bond called back, ‘It’s Mr Bond, Mr James Bond. From New York. I have my attorney here. I have an inquiry to make about Palmyra, Mr Largo’s property.’

‘One moment please.’ The sailor disappeared and returned accompanied by the man in white ducks and singlet. Bond recognized him from the police description. He called down cheerfully, ‘Come aboard, come aboard.’ He gestured for the sailor to go down and help fend the launch. Bond and Leiter climbed out of the launch and went up the ladder.

Largo held out a hand. ‘My name is Emilio Largo. Mr Bond? And …?’

‘Mr Larkin, my attorney from New York. Actually I’m English, but I have property in America.’ They shook hands. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mr Largo, but it’s about Palmyra, the property I believe you rent from Mr Bryce.’

‘Ah yes, of course.’ The beautiful teeth gleamed warmth and welcome. ‘Come on down to the stateroom, gentlemen. I’m sorry I am not properly dressed to receive you.’ The big brown hands caressed his flanks, the wide mouth turned down in deprecation. ‘My visitors usually announce themselves on the ship-to-shore. But if you will forgive the informality …’ Largo allowed the phrase to die on the air and ushered them through a low hatch and down a few aluminium steps into the main cabin. The rubber-lined hatch hissed to behind him.

It was a fine large cabin panelled in mahogany with a deep wine-red carpet and comfortable dark blue leather club chairs. The sun shining through the slats of Venetian blinds over the broad square ports added a touch of gay light to an otherwise rather sombre and masculine room, its long centre table littered with papers and charts, glass-fronted cabinets containing fishing gear and an array of guns and other weapons, and a black rubber underwater diving suit and aqualung suspended, almost like the skeleton in a sorcerer’s den, from a rack in one corner. The air-conditioning made the cabin deliciously cool, and Bond felt his damp shirt slowly freeing itself from his skin.

‘Please take a chair, gentlemen.’ Largo carelessly brushed aside the charts and papers on the table as if they were of no importance. ‘Cigarettes?’ He placed a large silver box between them. ‘And now what can I get you to drink?’ He went to the loaded sideboard. ‘Something cool and not too strong perhaps? A Planter’s Punch? Gin and tonic. Or there are various beers. You must have had a hot journey in that open launch. I would have sent my boat for you if only I had known.’

They both asked for a plain tonic. Bond said, ‘I’m very sorry to barge in like this, Mr Largo. No idea I could have got you on the telephone. We just got in this morning and as I’ve only a few days I have to get a move on. The point is, I’m looking for a property down here.’

‘Oh yes?’ Largo brought the glasses and bottles of tonic to the table and sat down so that they formed a comfortable group. ‘What a good idea. Wonderful place. I’ve been here for six months and already I’d like to stay for ever. But the prices they’re asking – ’ Largo threw up his hands. ‘These Bay Street pirates. And the millionaires, they are even worse. But you are wise to come at the end of the season. Perhaps some of the owners are disappointed not to have sold. Perhaps they will not open their mouths so wide.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ Bond sat comfortably back and lit a cigarette. ‘Or rather what my lawyer, Mr Larkin, advised.’ Leiter shook his head pessimistically. ‘He had made some inquiries and he frankly advised that real estate values down here have gone mad.’ Bond turned politely towards Leiter to bring him into the conversation. ‘Isn’t that so?’

‘Daft, Mr Largo, quite daft. Worse even than Florida. Out of this world. I wouldn’t advise any client of mine to invest at these prices.’

‘Quite so.’ Largo obviously didn’t want to get drawn too deeply into these matters. ‘You mentioned something about Palmyra. Is there anything I can do to help in that respect?’

Bond said, ‘I understand you have a lease of the property, Mr Largo. And there is talk that you may be leaving the house before long. Only gossip of course. You know what they are in these small islands. But it sounds more or less what I’m looking for and I gather the owner, this Englishman, Bryce, might sell if he got the right price. What I was going to ask you,’ Bond looked apologetic, ‘was whether we might drive out and look the place over. Some time when you weren’t there of course. Any time that might suit you.’

Largo flashed his teeth warmly. He spread his hands. ‘But of course, of course, my dear fellow. Whenever you wish. There is no one in residence but my niece and a few servants. And she is out most of the time. Please just call her up on the telephone. I shall tell her that you will be doing so. It is indeed a charming property – so imaginative. A beautiful piece of design. If only all rich men had such good taste.’

Bond got to his feet and Leiter followed suit. ‘Well that’s extraordinarily kind of you, Mr Largo. And now we’ll leave you in peace. Perhaps we may meet again in the town some time. You must come and have lunch. But,’ Bond poured admiration and flattery into his voice, ‘with a yacht like this, I don’t suppose you ever want to come ashore. Must be the only one on this side of the Atlantic. Didn’t one used to run between Venice and Trieste? I seem to remember reading about it somewhere.’

Largo grinned his pleasure. ‘Yes, that is right, quite right. They are also on the Italian lakes. For passenger traffic. Now they are buying them in South America. A wonderful design for coastal waters. She only draws four feet when the hydrofoil is operating.’

‘I suppose accommodation’s the problem?’

It is a weakness of all men, though not necessarily of all women, to love their material possessions. Largo said, with a trace of pricked vanity, ‘No, no. I think you will find that is not so. You can spare five minutes? We are rather crowded at the moment. You have heard no doubt of our treasure hunt?’ He looked sharply at them as a man would who expects ridicule. ‘But we will not discuss that now. No doubt you do not believe in these things. But my associates in the affair are all on board. With the crew, there are forty of us. You will see that we are not cramped. You would like?’ Largo gestured to the door in the rear of the stateroom.

Felix Leiter showed reluctance. ‘You know, Mr Bond, that we have that meeting with Mr Harold Christie at five o’clock?’

Bond waved the objection aside. ‘Mr Christie is a charming man. I know he won’t mind if we are a few minutes late. I’d love to see over the ship if you’re sure you can spare the time, Mr Largo.’

Largo said, ‘Come. It will not take more than a few minutes. The excellent Mr Christie is a friend of mine. He will understand.’ He went to the door and held it open.

Bond had been expecting the politeness. It would interfere with Leiter and his apparatus. He said firmly, ‘Please go first, Mr Largo. You will be able to tell us when to duck our heads.’

With more affabilities, Largo led the way.

Ships, however modern, are more or less the same – the corridors to port and starboard of the engine room, rows of cabin doors, which Largo explained were occupied, the large communal bathrooms, the galley, where two cheerful looking Italians in white smocks laughed at Largo’s jokes about the food and seemed pleased with the visitors’ interest, the huge engine room where the chief engineer and his mate, Germans it seemed, gave enthusiastic information about the powerful twin diesels and explained the hydraulics of the hydrofoil depressor – it was all exactly like visiting any other ship and saying the right things to the crew, using the right superlatives to the owner.

The short space of afterdeck was occupied by the little two-seater amphibian, painted dark blue and white to match the yacht, its wings now folded and its engine cowled against the sun, a big jolly-boat to hold about twenty men, and an electric derrick to hoist them in– and outboard. Bond, estimating the ship’s displacement and her free-board, said casually, ‘And the hold? More cabin space?’

‘Just storage. And the fuel tanks of course. She is an expensive ship to run. We have to carry several tons. The ballast problem is important with these ships. When her bows come up, the fuel shifts aft. We have to have big lateral tanks to correct these things.’ Talking fluently and expertly Largo led them back up the starboard passageway. They were about to pass the radio room when Bond said, ‘You said you had ship-to-shore. What else do you carry? The usual Marconi short and long wave, I suppose. Could I have a look? Radio has always fascinated me.’

Largo said politely, ‘Some other time, if you don’t mind. I’m keeping the operator full time on met. reports. They’re rather important to us at the moment.’

‘Of course.’

They climbed up into the enclosed dome of the bridge, where Largo briefly explained the controls and then led them out on to the narrow deck space. ‘So there you are,’ said Largo. ‘The good ship Disco Volante – the Flying Saucer. And she really does fly, I can assure you. I hope you and Mr Larkin will come for a short cruise one of these days. For the present,’ he smiled with the hint of a secret shared, ‘as you may have heard, we are rather busy.’

‘Very exciting, this treasure business. Do you think you’ve got a good chance?’

‘We like to think so.’ Largo was deprecating. ‘I only wish I could tell you more,’ he waved an apologetic hand. ‘Unfortunately, as they say, my lips are sealed. I hope you will understand.’

‘Yes, of course. You have your shareholders to consider. I only wish I was one so that I could come along. I suppose there’s not room for another investor?’

‘Alas no. The issue, as they say, is fully subscribed. It would have been very pleasant to have had you with us.’ Largo held out a hand. ‘Well, I see that Mr Larkin has been looking anxiously at his watch during our brief tour. We must not keep Mr Christie waiting any longer. It has been a great pleasure to meet you, Mr Bond. And you, Mr Larkin.’

With a further exchange of courtesies they went down the ladder to the waiting launch and got under way. There was a last wave from Mr Largo before he vanished through the hatch to the bridge.

They sat in the stern well away from the boatman. Leiter shook his head. ‘Absolutely negative. Reaction around the engine room and the radio room, but that’s normal. It was all normal, damnably normal. What did you make of him and the whole set up?’

‘Same as you – damned normal. He looks what he says he is, and behaves that way. Not much crew about, but the ones we saw were either ordinary crew or wonderful actors. Only two small things struck me. There was no way down to the hold that I could see, but of course it could have been a manhole under the passage carpet. But then how do you get the stores he talked of down there? And there’s the hell of a lot of space in that hold even if I don’t know much about naval architecture. I’ll do a check with the oiling wharf through the customs people and see just how much fuel he does carry. Then it’s odd that we didn’t see any of these shareholders. It was around three o’clock when we went on board and most of them may have been having siestas. But surely not all nineteen of them. What do they do in their cabins all the time? Another small thing. Did you notice that Largo didn’t smoke and that there was no trace of tobacco smell anywhere in the ship? That’s odd. Around forty men and not one of them is a smoker. If one had anything else to go on one would say that wasn’t coincidence but discipline. The real pros don’t drink or smoke. But I admit it’s a damned long shot. Notice the Decca Navigator and the echo-sounder? Pretty expensive bits of equipment both of them. Fairly normal on a big yacht of course, but I’d have expected Largo to point them out when he was showing us the bridge. Rich men are proud of their toys. But that’s only clutching at straws. I’d have said the whole outfit’s as clean as a whistle if it wasn’t for all that missing space we weren’t shown. That talk about fuel and ballast sounded a bit glib to me. What do you think?’

‘Same as you. There’s at least half of that ship we didn’t see. But then again there’s a perfectly good answer to that. He may have got a stack of secret treasure-hunting gear down there he doesn’t want anyone to see. Remember that merchant ship off Gibraltar during the war? The Italian frogmen used it as a base. Big sort of trapdoor affair cut in the hull below the waterline. I suppose he hasn’t got something like that?’

Bond looked sharply at Leiter. ‘The Olterra. One of the blackest marks against Intelligence during the whole war.’ He paused. ‘The Disco was anchored in about forty feet of water. Supposing they’d got the bombs buried in the sand below her. Would your Geiger counter have registered?’

‘Doubt it. I’ve got an underwater model and we could go and have a sniff round when it gets dark. But really, James,’ Leiter frowned impatiently, ‘aren’t we getting a bit off beam – seeing burglars under the bed? We’ve got damn-all to go on. Largo’s a powerful-looking piratical sort of chap, probably a bit of a crook where women are concerned. But what the hell have we got against him? Have you put a Trace through on him and on these shareholders and the crew members?’

‘Yes. Put them all on the wire from Government House, Urgent Rates. We should get an answer by this evening. But look here, Felix,’ Bond’s voice was stubborn, ‘there’s a damned fast ship with a plane and forty men no one knows anything about. There’s not another group or even an individual in the area who looks in the least promising. All right, so the outfit looks all right and its story seems to stand up. But just supposing the whole thing was a phoney – a damned good one of course, but then so it ought to be with all that’s at stake. Take another look at the picture. These so-called shareholders all arrive just in time for June 3rd. On that night the Disco goes to sea and stays out till morning. Just supposing she rendezvous’d that plane in shallow water somewhere. Just suppose she picked up the bombs and put them away – in the sand under the ship, if you like. Anyway, somewhere safe and convenient. Just suppose all that and what sort of a picture do you get?’

‘A B picture so far as I’m concerned, James.’ Leiter shrugged resignedly. ‘But I guess there’s just enough to make it a lead.’ He laughed sardonically. ‘But I’d rather shoot myself than put it in tonight’s report. If we’re going to make fools of ourselves, we’d better do it well out of sight and sound of our chiefs. So what’s on your mind? What comes next?’

‘While you get our communications going, I’m going to check with the oiling wharf. Then we’ll call up this Domino girl and try and get ourselves asked for a drink and have a quick look at Largo’s shore base – this Palmyra. Then we go to the Casino and look over the whole of Largo’s group. And then,’ Bond looked stubbornly at Leiter, ‘I’m going to borrow a good man from the Police Commissioner to give me a hand, put on an aqualung and go out and have a sniff round the Disco with your other Geiger machine.’

Leiter said laconically, ‘Destry Rides Again! Well, I’ll go along with that, James. Just for old times’ sake. But don’t go and stub your toe on a sea-urchin or anything. I see there are free Cha-cha lessons in the ballroom of the Royal Bahamian tomorrow. We’ve got to keep fit for those. I guess there’ll be nothing else in this trip for my memory book.’

Back in the hotel, a dispatch rider from Government House was waiting for Bond. He saluted smartly, handed over an O.H.M.S. envelope and got Bond’s signed receipt in exchange. It was a cable from the Colonial Office ‘Personal to the Governor’. The text was prefixed PROBOND. The cable read: ‘YOUR 1107 RECORDS HAVE NOTHING REPEAT NOTHING ON THESE NAMES STOP INFORMATIVELY ALL STATIONS REPORT NEGATIVELY ON OPERATION THUNDERBALL STOP WHAT HAVE YOU QUERY. The message was signed ‘PRISM’, which meant that M. had approved it.

Bond handed the cable to Leiter.

Leiter read it. He said, ‘See what I mean? We’re on a bum steer. This is a thumb-twiddler. See you later in the Pineapple Bar for a dry Martini that’s half a jumbo olive. I’ll go send a post-card to Washington and ask them to send down a couple of WAVES. We’re going to have time on our hands.’

14 | SOUR MARTINIS

As it turned out, the first half of Bond’s programme for the evening went by the board. On the telephone, Domino Vitali said that it would not be convenient for them to see the house that evening. Her guardian and some of his friends were coming ashore. Yes it was indeed possible that they might meet at the Casino that evening. She would be dining on board and the Disco would then sail round and anchor off the Casino. But how would she be able to recognize him in the Casino? She had a very poor memory for faces. Would he perhaps wear a flower in his buttonhole or something?

Bond had laughed. He said that would be all right. He would remember her by her beautiful blue eyes. They were unforgettable. And the blue rinse that matched them. He had put the receiver down half way through the amused, sexy chuckle. He suddenly wanted to see her again very much.

But the movement of the ship altered his plans for the better. It would be much easier to reconnoitre her in the harbour. It would be a shorter swim and he would be able to go into the water under cover of the harbour police wharf. Equally, with her anchorage empty, it would be all the easier to survey the area where she had been lying. But if Largo moved the yacht about so nonchalantly was it likely the bombs, if there were any, would be hidden at the anchorage? If they were, surely the Disco would stand watch over them. Bond decided to put a decision aside until he had more, and more expert, information about the ship’s hull.

He sat in his room and wrote his negative report to M. He read it through. It would be a depressing signal to get. Should he say anything about the wisp of a lead he was working on? No. Not until he had something solid. Wishful intelligence, the desire to please or reassure the recipient, was the most dangerous commodity in the whole realm of secret information. Bond could imagine the reaction in Whitehall where the Thunderball war-room would be ready, anxious to grasp at straws. M.’s careful ‘I think we may conceivably have got a lead in the Bahamas. Absolutely nothing definite, but this particular man doesn’t often go wrong on these things. Yes, certainly I’ll check back and see if we can get a follow-up.’ And the buzz would get around: ‘M.’s on to something. Agent of his thinks he’s got a lead. The Bahamas. Yes, I think we’d better tell the P.M.’ Bond shuddered. The MOST IMMEDIATES would pour in to him: ‘Elucidate your 1806.’ ‘Flash fullest details.’ ‘Premier wants detailed grounds for your 1806.’ There would be no end to the flood. Leiter would get the same from C.I.A. The whole place would be in an uproar. Then, in answer to Bond’s tatty little fragments of gossip and speculation, there would come the blistering: ‘Surprised you should take this flimsy evidence seriously.’ ‘Futurely confine your signals to facts,’ and, the final degradation, ‘View speculative nature your 1806 and subsequents comma future signals must repeat must be joint and countersigned by C.I.A. representative.’

Bond wiped his forehead. He unlocked the case containing his cipher machine, transposed his text, checked it again and went off to Police Headquarters where Leiter was sitting at his keyboard, the sweat of concentration pouring down his neck. Ten minutes later Leiter took off his earphones and handed over to Bond. He mopped his face with an already drenched handkerchief. ‘First it’s sunspots and I had to swap over to the emergency wavelength. There I found they’d put a baboon on the other end – you know, one of the ones that can write the whole of Shakespeare if you leave him at it long enough.’ He angrily waved several pages of cipher groups. ‘Now I’ve got to unscramble all this. Probably from Accounts about how much extra income tax this sunshine trip will cost me.’ He sat down at a table and began cranking away at his machine.

Bond put his short message over quickly. He could see it being punched out on the tapes in one of those busy rooms on the eighth floor, going to the supervisor, being marked ‘Personal for M., copy to OO Section and Records’, then another girl hurrying off down the passage with the flimsy yellow forms on a clip file. He queried whether there was anything for him and signed off. He left Leiter and went down to the Commissioner’s room.

Harling was sitting at his desk with his coat off, dictating to a police sergeant. He dismissed him, pushed a box of cigarettes over his desk to Bond and lit one himself. He smiled quizzically. ‘Any progress?’

Bond told him that the Trace on the Largo group had been negative and that they had called on Largo and gone over the Disco with a Geiger counter. This also had been negative. Bond still wasn’t satisfied. He told the Commissioner what he wanted to know about the fuel capacity of the Disco and the exact location of the fuel tanks. The Commissioner nodded amiably and picked up the telephone. He asked for a Sergeant Molony of the Harbour Police. He cradled the receiver and explained, ‘We check all fuelling. This is a narrow harbour crammed with small craft, deep sea fishing boats and so on. Quite a fire hazard if something went wrong. We like to know what every-one is carrying and whereabouts in the ship. Just in case there’s some fire-fighting to be done or we want a particular ship to get out of range in a hurry.’ He went back to the telephone. ‘Sergeant Molony?’ He repeated Bond’s questions, listened, said thank-you, and put the receiver down. ‘She carries a maximum of 500 gallons of diesel. Took that amount in on the afternoon of June 2nd. She also carries about forty gallons of lubricating oil and a hundred gallons of drinking water – all carried amidships just forrard of the engine room. That what you want?’

This made nonsense of Largo’s talk of lateral tanks and the difficult ballast problem and so forth. Of course he could have wanted to keep some secret treasure-hunting gear out of sight of the visitors, but at least there was something on board he wanted to hide, and, for all his show of openness, it was now established that Mr Largo might be a rich treasure hunter, but he was also an unreliable witness. Now Bond’s mind was made up. It was the hull of the ship he wanted to have a look at. Leiter’s mention of the Olterra had been a long shot, but it just might pay off.

Bond passed on a guarded version of his thoughts to the Commissioner. He told him where the Disco would be lying that night. Was there on the force a totally reliable man who could give him a hand with his underwater recce, and was there a sound aqualung, fully charged, available?

Harling gently asked if this was wise. He didn’t exactly know the laws of trespass, but these seemed to be good citizens and they were certainly good spenders. Largo was very popular with every-one. Any kind of scandal, particularly if the police was involved, would create the hell of a stink in the Colony.

Bond said firmly, ‘I’m sorry, Commissioner. I quite see your point. But these risks have to be run and I’ve got a job to do. Surely the Secretary of State’s instructions are sufficient authority,’ Bond fired his broadside, ‘I could get specific orders from him, or from the Prime Minister for the matter of that, in about an hour if you feel it’s necessary.’

The Commissioner shook his head. He smiled. ‘No need to use the big guns, Commander. Of course you shall have what you want. I was just giving you the local reaction. I’m sure the Governor would have given you the same warning. This is a small puddle here. We’re not used to the crash treatment from Whitehall. No doubt we’ll get used to it if this flap lasts long enough. Now then. Yes, we’ve got plenty of what you want. We’ve got twenty men in the Harbour Salvage Unit. Have to. You’d be surprised how often a small boat gets wrecked in the fairway, just where some cruise ship’s going to anchor. And of course there’s the occasional body. I’ll have Constable Santos assigned to you. Splendid chap. Native of Eleuthera, where he used to win all the swimming prizes. He’ll have the gear you want where you want it. Now just give me the details …’

Back in his hotel, Bond took a shower, swallowed a double Bourbon Old Fashioned and threw himself down on his bed. He felt absolutely beat – the plane trip, the heat, the nagging sense that he was making a fool of himself in front of the Commissioner, in front of Leiter, in front of himself, added to the dangers, and probably futile ones at that, of this ugly night swim, had built up tensions that could only be eased by sleep and solitude. He went out like a light – to dream of Domino being pursued by a shark with dazzling white teeth that suddenly became Largo, Largo who turned on him with those huge hands. They were coming closer, they reached slowly for him, they had him by the shoulder … But then the bell rang for the end of the round, and went on ringing.

Bond reached out a drugged hand for the receiver. It was Leiter. He wanted that Martini with the jumbo olive. It was nine o’clock. What the hell was Bond doing? Did he want someone to help with the zip?

The Pineapple Room was panelled in bamboo carefully varnished against termites. Wrought iron pineapples on the tables and against the wall contained segments of thick red candle, and more light was provided by illuminated aquaria let into the walls and by ceiling lights enclosed in pink glass star-fish. The Vinylite banquettes were in ivory white and the barman and the two waiters wore scarlet satin calypso shirts with their black trousers.

Bond joined Leiter at a corner table. They both wore white dinner jackets with their dress trousers. Bond had pointed up his rich, property-seeking status with a wine-red cummerbund. Leiter laughed. ‘I nearly tied a gold-plated bicycle chain round my waist in case of trouble, but I remembered just in time that I’m a peaceful lawyer. I suppose it’s right that you should get the girls on this assignment. I suppose I just stand by and arrange the marriage settlement and later the alimony. Waiter!’

Leiter ordered two dry Martinis. ‘Just watch,’ he said sourly.

The Martinis arrived. Leiter took one look at them and told the waiter to send over the barman. When the barman came, looking resentful, Leiter said, ‘My friend, I asked for a Martini and not a soused olive.’ He picked the olive out of the glass with the cocktail stick. The glass, that had been three-quarters full, was now half full. Leiter said mildly, ‘This was being done to me while the only drink you knew was milk. I’d learned the basic economics of your business by the time you’d graduated to Coca Cola. One bottle of Gordon’s Gin contains sixteen true measures – double measures that is, the only ones I drink. Cut the gin with three ounces of water and that makes it up to twenty-two. Have a jigger glass with a big steal in the bottom and a bottle of these fat olives and you’ve got around twenty-eight measures. Bottle of gin here costs only two dollars retail, let’s say around a dollar sixty wholesale. You charge eighty cents for a Martini, one dollar sixty for two. Same price as a whole bottle of gin. And with your twenty-eight measures to the bottle, you’ve still got twenty-six left. That’s a clear profit on one bottle of gin of around twenty-one dollars. Give you a dollar for the olives and the drop of vermouth and you’ve still got twenty dollars in your pocket. Now, my friend, that’s too much profit, and if I could be bothered to take this Martini to the management and then to the Tourist Board, you’d be in trouble. Be a good chap and mix us two large dry Martinis without olives and with some slices of lemon peel separate. Okay? Right, then we’re friends again.’