Bond walked back into the bedroom. One by one he picked up the fruit and took each piece back to the bathroom and examined it through his glass. The pinprick was always there, concealed in the stalk-hole or a crevice. Bond rang down and asked for a cardboard box and paper and string. He packed the fruit carefully in the box and picked up the telephone and called King’s House. He asked for the Colonial Secretary. ‘That you, Pleydell-Smith? James Bond speaking. Sorry to bother you. Got a bit of a problem. Is there a public analyst in Kingston? I see. Well, I’ve got something I want analysed. If I sent the box down to you, would you be very kind and pass it on to this chap? I don’t want my name to come into this. All right? I’ll explain later. When you get his report would you send me a short telegram telling me the answer? I’ll be at Beau Desert, over at Morgan’s Harbour, for the next week or so. Be glad if you’d keep that to yourself too. Sorry to be so damned mysterious. I’ll explain everything when I see you next. I expect you’ll get a clue when you see what the analyst has to say. And by the way, tell him to handle the specimens carefully, would you. Warn him there’s more in them than meets the eye. Very many thanks. Lucky I met you this morning. Goodbye.’
Bond addressed the parcel and went down and paid a taxi to deliver it at once to King’s House. It was six o’clock. He went back to his room and had a shower and changed and ordered his first drink. He was about to take it out on the balcony when the telephone rang. It was Quarrel.
‘Everyting fixed, cap’n.’
‘Everything? That’s wonderful. That house all right?’
‘Everyting okay,’ Quarrel repeated, his voice careful. ‘See yo as yo done said, cap’n.’
‘Fine,’ said Bond. He was impressed with Quarrel’s efficiency and a sense of security. He put down the telephone and went out on to the balcony.
The sun was just setting. The wave of violet shadow was creeping down towards the town and the harbour. When it hits the town, thought Bond, the lights will go on. It happened as he had expected. Above him there was the noise of a plane. It came into sight, a Super Constellation, the same flight that Bond had been on the night before. Bond watched it sweep out over the sea and then turn and come in to land at the Palisadoes airport. What a long way he had come since that moment, only twenty-four hours before, when the door of the plane had clanged open and the loudspeaker had said, ‘This is Kingston, Jamaica. Will passengers please remain seated until the aircraft has been cleared by the Health Authorities.’
Should he tell M. how the picture had changed? Should he make a report to the Governor? Bond thought of the Governor and dismissed that idea. But what about M.? Bond had his own cipher. He could easily send M. a signal through the Colonial Office. What would he say to M.? That Doctor No had sent him some poisoned fruit? But he didn’t even know that it was poisoned, or, for the matter of that, that it had come from Doctor No. Bond could see M.’s face as he read the signal. He saw him press down the lever on the intercom: ‘Chief of Staff, 007’s gone round the bend. Says someone’s been trying to feed him a poisoned banana. Fellow’s lost his nerve. Been in hospital too long. Better call him home.’
Bond smiled to himself. He got up and rang down for another drink. It wouldn’t be quite like that, of course. But still … No, he’d wait until he had something more to show. Of course if something went badly wrong, and he hadn’t sent a warning, he’d be in trouble. It was up to him to see that nothing did go wrong.
Bond drank his second drink and thought over the details of his plan. Then he went down and had dinner in the half-deserted dining-room and read the
