“Good God, no.” Bond let go the arm he was holding. “Let her go.” He felt angry with himself for having hurt the girl and still failed. But he had learned something. Whoever was behind her held his people by a steel chain.
Quarrel brought the girl’s right arm from behind her back. He still held on to the wrist. Now he opened the girl’s hand.
He looked into her eyes. His own were cruel. “You mark me, Missy. Now I mark you.” He brought up his other hand and took the Mount of Venus, the soft lozenge of flesh in the palm below her thumb, between his thumb and forefinger. He began to squeeze it. Bond could see his knuckles go white with the pressure. The girl gave a yelp. She hammered at Quarrel’s hand and then at his face. Quarrel grinned and squeezed harder. Suddenly he let go. The girl shot to her feet and backed away from the table, her bruised hand at her mouth. She took her hand down and hissed furiously. “He’ll get you, you bastards!” Then, her Leica dangling, she ran off through the trees.
Quarrel laughed shortly. He took a napkin and wiped it down his cheek and threw it on the ground and took up another. He said to Bond, “She’s Love Moun’ be sore long after ma face done get healed. Dat a fine piece of a woman, de Love Moun’. When him fat like wit’ dat girl you kin tell her’ll be good in bed. You know dat, cap’n?”
“No,” said Bond. “That’s new to me.”
“Sho ting. Dat piece of da han’ most hindicative. Don’ you worry ’bout she,” he added, noticing the dubious expression on Bond’s face. “Hers got nuttin but a big bruise on she’s Love Moun’. But boy, was dat a fat Love Moun’! I come back after dat girl sometime, see if ma teory is da troof.”
Appropriately the band started playing ‘Don’ touch me tomato’. Bond said “Quarrel, it’s time you married and settled down. And you leave that girl alone or you’ll get a knife between your ribs. Now come on. We’ll get the check and go. It’s three o’clock in the morning in London where I was yesterday. I need a night’s sleep. You’ve got to start getting me into training. I think I’m going to need it. And it’s about time you put some plaster on that cheek of yours. She’s written her name and address on it.”
Quarrel grunted reminiscently. He said with quiet pleasure, “Dat were some tough baby.” He picked up a fork and clanged it against his glass.
V
FACTS AND FIGURES
HE’LL GET you… He’ll get you… He’ll get you, you bastards.’
The words were still ringing in Bond’s brain the next day as he sat on his balcony and ate a delicious breakfast and gazed out across the riot of tropkal gardens to Kingston, five miles below him.
Now he was sure that Strangways and the girl had been killed. Someone had needed to stop them looking any further into his business, so he had killed them and destroyed the records of what they were investigating. The same person knew or suspected that the Secret Service would follow up Strangways’s disappearance. Somehow he had known that Bond had been given the job. He had wanted a picture of Bond and he had wanted to know where Bond was staying. He would be keeping an eye on Bond to see if Bond picked up any of the leads that had led to Strangways’s death. If Bond did so, Bond would also have to be eliminated. There would be a car smash or a street fight or some other innocent death. And how, Bond wondered, would this person react to their treatment of the Chung girl? If he was as ruthless as Bond supposed, that would be enough. It showed that Bond was on to something. Perhaps Strangways had made a preliminary report to London before he was killed. Perhaps someone had leaked. The enemy would be foolish to take chances. If he had any sense, after the Chung incident, he would deal with Bond and perhaps also with Quarrel without delay.