“Send him in,” said Vallance. “Hold Lobiniere until I ring.”
The secretary held open the door and a nondescript man in plain-clothes came in. His hair was thinning, he wore spectacles and his complexion was pale. His expression was kindly and studious. He might have been any senior clerk in any business.
“Afternoon, Sergeant,” said Vallance. “This is Commander Bond of the Ministry of Defence.” The Sergeant smiled politely. “I want you to take Commander Bond to the House of Diamonds in Hatton Garden. He will be ‘Sergeant fames’ of your staff. You think the diamonds from that Ascot job are on their way out to the Argentine through America. You will say so to Mr Saye, the top man there. You will wonder if it is possible that Mr Saye has heard any talk from the other side. His New York office may have heard something. You know, all very nice and polite. But just look him in the eye. Put as much pressure on as you can without giving any grounds for complaint. Then apologize and leave and forget all about it. All right? Any questions?”
“No, Sir,” said Sergeant Dankwaerts stolidly.
Vallance spoke into the intercom and a moment later there appeared a sallow, rather ingratiating man wearing extremely smart plain-clothes and carrying a small attache case. He stood waiting just inside the door.
“Good afternoon, Sergeant. Come and have a look at this friend of mine.”
The Sergeant came and stood close up to Bond and politely turned him towards the light. Two very keen dark eyes examined his face minutely for a full minute. Then the man stepped away.
“Can’t guarantee the scar for more than six hours, Sir,” he said. “Not in this heat. But the rest’s all right. Who is he to be, Sir?”
“He’s to be Sergeant James, a member of Sergeant Dank waert’s staff.” Vallance looked at his watch. “Only for three hours. All right?”
“Certainly, Sir. Shall I go ahead?” At Vallance’s nod, the policeman led Bond to a chair by the window, put his small attache case on the floor beside the chair and knelt down on one knee and opened it. Then, for ten minutes, his light fingers busied themselves over Bond’s face and hair.
Bond resigned himself and listened to Vallance talking to the House of Diamonds. “Not until 3.30? In that case would you please tell Mr Saye that two of my men will be calling on him at 3.30 sharp. Yes, I’m afraid it is rather important. Only a formality of course. Routine inquiry. I don’t expect it will take up more than ten minutes of Mr Saye’s time. Thank you so much. Yes. Assistant Commissioner Vallance. That’s right. Scotland Yard. Yes. Thank you. Goodbye.”
Vallance put back the receiver and turned towards Bond. “Secretary says Saye won’t be back until 3.30. I suggest you get there at 3.15. Never does any harm to have a look round first. Always useful to get your man a bit off balance. How’s it going?”
Sergeant Lobiniere held up a pocket mirror in front of Bond.
A touch of white at the temples. The scar gone. A hint of studiousness at the corners of the eyes and mouth. The faintest shadows under the cheekbones. Nothing you could put your finger on, but it all added up to someone who certainly wasn’t James Bond.
4
“WHAT GOES ON AROUND HERE?”
IN the patrol car Sergeant Dankwaerts was occupied with his thoughts, and they drove in silence along the Strand and up Chancery Lane and into Holborn. At Gamages they turned left into Hatton Garden and the car drew up near the neat white portals of the London Diamond Club. Bond followed his companion across the pavement to a smart door in (he centre of which was a well polished brass plate on which was engraved ‘The House of Diamonds’. And underneath ‘Rufus B. Saye. Vice-President for Europe’. Sergeant Dankwaerts rang the bell and a smart Jewish girl opened the door and led them across a thickly carpeted entrance hall into a panelled waiting-room.
“I am expecting Mr Saye any minute now,” she said indifferently and went out and closed the door.