The Englishman broke in quietly. ‘Well, it seems I came along at the right time to keep the peace. Now, where’s that registry so that I can sign it.’
Sluggsy said curtly, ‘Register’s with de boss. No purpose in signin’ nuthen. You ain’t payin’. The place is closed. You can have your bed on the house.’
‘Well, thanks. That’s very kind of you.’ James Bond turned to me. ‘Any chance of some eggs and bacon and coffee? All this talking’s made me hungry. I can cook it myself if the stuff’s there.’
‘Oh, no.’ I almost ran behind the counter. ‘I’d love to do it.’
‘Thank you very much.’ He turned his back on Sluggsy and sauntered over to the counter and hoisted himself on to a stool, putting his case on the next one.
Out of the corner of my eye I watched Sluggsy turn on his heel and walk quickly over to the thin man and sit down and begin talking urgently.
James Bond glanced over his shoulder at them and then got down off his stool and took off his raincoat and hat and put them on top of his case and climbed back. He silently watched the men in the long mirror at the back of the counter while I busied myself with the cooking things and took him in with quick glances.
He was about six feet tall, slim and fit-looking. The eyes in the lean, slightly tanned face were a very clear grey-blue and as they observed the men they were cold and watchful. The narrowed, watchful eyes gave his good looks the dangerous, almost cruel quality that had frightened me when I had first set eyes on him, but now that I knew how he could smile, I thought his face only exciting, in a way that no man’s face had ever excited me before. He wore a soft-looking white silk shirt with a thin black knitted tie that hung down loosely without a pin, and his single-breasted suit was made of some dark blue lightweight material that may have been alpaca. The strong, rather good hands lay quietly on his crossed arms on the counter, and now he reached down to his hip pocket and took out a wide, thin gun-metal cigarette case and opened it.
‘Have one? Senior Service. I suppose it’ll have to be Chesterfields from now on.’ His mouth turned slightly down as he smiled.
‘No, thanks. Not now. After I’ve done the cooking.’
‘By the way, what’s your name? You’re Canadian aren’t you?’
‘Yes, from Quebec. But I’ve been in England the last five years or so. I’m Vivienne Michel. My friends call me Viv.’
‘How in God’s name did you manage to get into this fix? Those are a couple of the toughest hoodlums I’ve seen in years. And Troy’s a bad town – sort of a gangster suburb to Albany. The thin one’s just finished a long stretch in jail, or I’ll eat my hat. The other looks like the worst kind of psycho. How did it happen?’
I told him, in short bursts between the cooking, and cutting out all but the essentials. He listened quietly and without comment. Music was still coming from the radio, but the two gangsters were sitting silently watching us so I kept my voice low. When I had finished, I said, ‘But is it true that you’re a policeman?’
‘Not quite. But I’m in that sort of business.’
‘You mean a detective?’
‘Well, sort of.’
‘I knew it!’
He laughed. ‘How?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. But you look, kind of, kind of dangerous. And that was a gun you took out of your bag, and ammunition. Are you’ – I was embarrassed, but I needed to know–‘are you official? I mean from the Government?’
He smiled reassuringly. ‘Oh, yes. Don’t worry about that. And they know me in Washington. If we get out of this all right, I’m going to go after those two.’ His eyes were cold again. ‘I’m going to see they get roasted for what they did to you.’
‘You believe me?’
‘Of course. Every word. But what I can’t make out is what they’re up to. They seem to have acted as if they knew they were safe to do anything they liked with you. And now they seem quite calm about me having got into the act. I don’t like it. Have they had any drinks? Do they smoke?’
‘No. Neither of them.’
‘I don’t like that either. It’s only pros that don’t.’
