‘Come and get drunk,’ he said. ‘This is the bad end to a worse day. Or do you want to play bingo with the oldsters? It says there’s a bingo tournament in the “romp room” this evening.’
Bond shrugged his shoulders and they went back to their sitting-room and sat gloomily for a while, drinking and staring out across the sand, bonewhite in the light of the moon, towards the endless dark sea.
When Bond had drunk enough to drown his thoughts he said goodnight and went off to Solitaire’s room, which he had now taken over as his bedroom. He climbed between the sheets where her warm body had lain and, before he slept, he had made up his mind. He would go after The Robber as soon as it was light and strangle the truth out of him. He had been too preoccupied to discuss the case with Leiter but he was certain that The Robber must have had a big hand in the kidnapping of Solitaire. He thought of the man’s little cruel eyes and the pale thin lips. Then he thought of the scrawny neck rising like a turtle’s out of the dirty sweat-shirt. Under the bedclothes the muscles of his arms went taut. Then, his mind made up, he relaxed his body into sleep.
He slept until eight. When he saw the time on his watch he cursed. He quickly took a shower, holding his eyes open into the needles of water until they smarted. Then he put a towel round his waist and went into Leiter’s room. The slats of the jalousies were still down but there was light enough to see that neither bed had been slept in.
He smiled, thinking that Leiter had probably finished the bottle of whisky and fallen asleep on the couch in the living-room. He walked through. The room was empty. The bottle of whisky, still half full, was on the table and a pile of cigarette butts overflowed the ash tray.
Bond went to the window, pulled up the jalousies and opened it. He caught a glimpse of a beautiful clear morning before he turned back into the room.
Then he saw the envelope. It was on a chair in front of the door through which he had come. He picked it up. It contained a note scribbled in pencil.
Got to thinking and don’t feel like sleep. It’s about five a.m. Going to visit the worm-and-bait store. All same early bird. Odd that trick-shot artist was sitting there while S. was being snatched. As if he knew we were in town and was ready for trouble in case the snatch went wrong. If I’m not back by ten, call out the militia. Tampa 88. FELIX
Bond didn’t wait. While he shaved and dressed he ordered some coffee and rolls and a cab. In just over ten minutes he had got them all and had scalded himself with the coffee. He was leaving the cottage when he heard the telephone ring in the living-room. He ran back.
‘Mr Bryce? Mound Park Hospital speaking,’ said a voice. ‘Emergency ward. Doctor Roberts. We have a Mr Leiter here who’s asking for you. Can you come right over?’
‘God Almighty,’ said Bond, gripped with fear. ‘What’s the matter with him. Is he bad?’
‘Nothing to worry about,’ said the voice. ‘Automobile accident. Looks like a hit-and-run job. Slight concussion. Can you come over? He seems to want you.’
‘Of course,’ said Bond, relieved. ‘Be there right away.’
Now what the hell, he wondered as he hurried across the lawn. Must have been beaten up and left in the road. On the whole, Bond was glad it was no worse.
As they turned across Treasure Island Causeway an ambulance passed them, its bell clanging.
More trouble, thought Bond. Don’t seem to be able to move without running into it.
They crossed St Petersburg by Central Avenue and turned right down the road he and Leiter had taken the day before. Bond’s suspicions seemed to be confirmed when he found the hospital was only a couple of blocks from Ourobouros Inc.
Bond paid off the cab and ran up the steps of the impressive building. There was a reception desk in the spacious entrance hall. A pretty nurse sat at the desk reading the ads in the
‘Dr Roberts?’ inquired Bond.
‘Dr which?’ asked the girl looking at him with approval.
‘Dr Roberts, Emergency ward,’ said Bond impatiently. ‘Patient called Leiter, Felix Leiter. Brought in this morning.’
‘No doctor called Roberts here,’ said the girl. She ran a finger down a list on the desk. ‘And no patient called Leiter. Just a moment and I’ll call the ward. What did you say your name was?’
‘Bryce,’ said Bond. ‘John Bryce.’ He started to sweat profusely although it was quite cool in the hall. He wiped his wet hands on his trousers, fighting to keep from panic. The damn girl just didn’t know her job. Too pretty to be a nurse. Ought to have someone competent on the desk. He ground his teeth as she talked cheerfully into the telephone.
She put down the receiver. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Bryce. Must be some mistake. No cases during the night and they’ve never heard of a Dr Roberts or a Mr Leiter. Sure you’ve got the right hospital?’
Bond turned away without answering her. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he made for the exit.
The girl made a face at his back and picked up her paper.
