if.liveandletdie-第13部分

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own　behind　the　table　towards　the　floor。　Above　the　neck　of　the　coat　a　battered　bowler　hat　gaped　at　him；　its　crown　pierced　by　the　vertical　bar　of　the　cross。　A　few　inches　below　the　rim；　round　the　neck　of　the　cross；　resting　on　the　cross…bar；　was　a　deep　starched　clergyman's　collar。
　At　the　base　of　the　white　pedestal；　on　the　table；　lay　an　old　pair　of　lemon…coloured　gloves。　A　short　malacca　stick　with　a　gold　knob；　its　ferrule　resting　beside　the　gloves；　rose　against　the　left　shoulder　of　the　effigy。　Also　on　the　table　was　a　battered　black　top　hat。
　This　evil　scarecrow　gazed　out　across　the　room　…　God　of　the　Cemeteries　and　Chief　of　the　Legion　of　the　Dead…Baron　Samedi。　Even　to　Bond　it　seemed　to　carry　a　dreadful　gaping　message。
　Bond　looked　away；　back　to　the　great　grey…black　face　across　the　desk。
　Mr。　Big　spoke。
　'I　want　you；　Tee…Hee。'　His　eyes　shifted。　'You　can　go；　Miami。'
　'Yes；　Sir；　Boss；'　they　both　said　together。
　Bond　heard　a　door　open　and　close。
　Silence　fell　again。　At　first；　Mr。　Big's　eyes　had　been　focused　sharply　on　Bond。　They　had　examined　him　minutely。　Now；　Bond　noticed　that　though　the　eyes　rested　on　him　they　had　bee　slightly　opaque。　They　gazed　upon　Bond　without　perception。　Bond　had　the　impression　that　the　brain　behind　them　was　occupied　elsewhere。
　Bond　was　determined　not　to　be　disconcerted。　Feeling　had　returned　to　his　hands　and　he　moved　them　towards　his　body　to　reach　for　his　cigarettes　and　lighter。
　Mr。　Big　spoke。
　'You　may　smoke；　Mister　Bond。　In　case　you　have　any　other　intentions　you　may　care　to　lean　forward　and　inspect　the　keyhole　of　the　drawer　in　this　desk　facing　your　chair。　I　shall　be　ready　for　you　in　a　moment。'
　Bond　leant　forward。　It　was　a　large　keyhole。　In　fact；　Bond　estimated；　。45　centimetres　in　diameter。　Fired；　Bond　supposed；　by　a　foot…switch　under　the　desk。　What　a　bunch　of　tricks　this　man　was。　Puerile。　Puerile？　Perhaps；　after　all；　not　to　be　dismissed　so　easily。　The　tricks　…　the　bomb；　the　disappearing　table　…　had　worked　neatly；　efficiently。　They　had　not　been　just　empty　conceits；　designed　to　impress。　Again；　there　was　nothing　absurd　about　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　e　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　e　from　a　British　source。　I　came　up　to　Harlem　to　see　for　myself；　with　a　representative　of　the　American　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　inter。
　'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　pleted　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　promise。　It　was　a　face　born　to　mand。　The　face　of　the　daughter　of　a　French　Colonial　slave…owner。
　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　bands；　and　a　thin　diamond　bracelet　on　her　left　wrist。　She　wore　no　rings。　Her　nails　were　short　and　without　enamel。
　She　watched　his　eyes　on　her　and　nonchalantly　drew　her　forearms　together　in　her　lap　so　that　the　valley　between　her　breasts　deepened。
　The　message　was　unmistakable　and　an　answering　warmth　must　hav