Bond ordered his gin and tonic with a lime, and Quarrel a Red Stripe beer. They scanned the menu and both decided on broiled lobster followed by a rare steak with native vegetables.
The drinks came. The glasses were dripping with con- * densation. The small fact reminded Bond of other times in hot climates. A few yards away the sea lisped on the flat sand. The three-piece began playing ‘Kitch’. Above them the palm fronds clashed softly in the night breeze. A gecko chuckled somewhere in the garden. Bond thought of the London he had left the day before. He said, “I like this place, Quarrel.”
Quarrel was pleased. “Him a good fren of mine, da Pus-Feller. Him knows mostly what goes hon hin Kingston case you got hany questions, cap’n. Him come from da Caymans. Him an’ me once share a boat. Then him go hoff one day catching boobies’ heggs hat Crab Key. Went swimmin’ to a rock for more heggs an’ dis big hoctopus get him. Dey mos’ly small fellers roun’ here but dey come bigger at da Crab seein’ how its alongside de Cuba Deep, da deepest waters roun’ dese parts. Pus-Feller have himself a bad time wit dis hanimal. Bust one lung cuttin” hisself free. Dat scare him an’ him sell me his half of da boat an’ come to Kingston. Dat were ‘fore da war. . Now him rich mail whiles I go hon fishin’.” Quarrel chuckled at the quirk of fate.
“Crab Key,” said Bond. “What sort of a place is that?”
Quarrel looked at him sharply. “Dat a bad luck place now, cap’n,” he said shortly. “Chinee gemmun buy hit durin’ da war and bring in men and dig bird-dirt. Don’ let nobody land dere and don’ let no one get hoff. We gives it a wide bert’.”
“Why’s that?”
“Him have plenty watchmen. An’ guns-machine guns. An’ a radar. An’ a spottin’ plane. Frens o’ mine have landed dere and him never been seen again. Dat Chinee keep him island plenty private. Tell da trut’, cap’n,” Quarrel was apologetic, “dat Crab Key scare me plenty.”
Bond said thoughtfully, “Well, well.”
The food came. They ordered another round of drinks and ate. While they ate, Bond gave Quarrel an outline of the Strangways case. Quarrel listened carefully, occasionally asking questions. He was particularly interested in the birds on Crab Key, and what the watchmen had said, and how the plane was supposed to have crashed. Finally he pushed his plate away. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He took out a cigarette and lit it. He leant forward. “Cap’n,” he said softly, “I no mind if hit was birds or butterflies or bees. If dey was on Crab Key and da Commander was stickin’ his nose into da business, yo kin bet yo bottom dollar him been mashed. Him and him girl. Da Chinee mash dem for sho.”
Bond looked carefully into the urgent grey eyes. “What makes you so certain?”
Quarrel spread his hands. To him the answerwas simple. “Dat Chinee love him privacy. Him want be left alone. I know him kill ma frens order keep folk away from da Crab. Him a mos’ powerful man. Him kill hanyone what hinterfere with him.”
“Why?”
“Don’ rightly know, cap’n,” said Quarrel indifferently.”People dem want different tings in dis world. An’ what dem want sufficient dem gits.”
A glint of light caught the corner of Bond’s eye. He turned quickly. The Chinese girl from the airport was standing in the nearby shadows. Now she was dressed in a tight-fitting sheath of black satin slashed up one side almost to her hip.
She had a Leica with a flash attachment in one hand. The other was in a leather case at her side. The hand came out holding a flashbulb. The girl slipped the base into her mouth to wet it and improve the contact and made to screw it into the reflector.
“Get that girl,” said Bond quickly.
In two strides Quarrel was up with her. He held out his hand. “Evenin”, missy,” he said softly.
The girl smiled. She let the Leica hang on the thin strap round her neck. She took Quarrel’s hand. Quarrel swung her round like a ballet dancer. Now he had her hand behind her back and she was in the crook of his arm.