“You poor dears. We simply didn’t know when to expect you. We kept on being told you were on your way. First it was teatime yesterday, then dinner, and it was only half an hour ago we heard you would only be here in time for breakfast. You must be famished. Come along now and help Sister Rose fill in your forms and then I’ll pack you both straight off to bed. You must be tired out.”
Clucking softly, she closed the door and ushered them forward to the desk. She got them seated in the chairs and rattled on. “Now I’m Sister Lily and this is Sister Rose. She just wants to ask you a few questions. Now, let me see, a cigarette?” She picked up a tooled leather box. She opened it and put it on the desk in front of them. It had three compartments. She pointed with a little finger. “Those are American, and those are Players, and those are Turkish.” She picked up an expensive desk-lighter and waited.
Bond reached out his manacled hands to take a Turkish cigarette.
Sister Lily gave a squeak of dismay. “Oh, but really.” She sounded genuinely embarrassed. “Sister Rose, the key, quickly. I’ve said again and again that patients are never to be brought in like that.” There was impatience and distaste in her voice. “Really, that outside staff! It’s time they had a talking to.”
Sister Rose was just as much put out. Hastily, she scrabbled in a drawer and handed a key across to Sister Lily who, with much cooing and tut-tutting, unlocked the two pairs of handcuffs and walked behind the desk and dropped them as if they were dirty bandages into the wastepaper basket.
“Thank you.” Bond was unable to think of any way to handle the situation except to fall in with what was happening on the stage. He reached out and took a cigarette and lit it. He glanced at Honeychile Rider who sat looking dazed and nervously clutching the arms of her chair. Bond gave her a reassuring smile.
“Now, if you please.” Sister Rose bent over a long printed form on expensive paper. “I promise to be as quick as I can. Your name please Mister-er…”
“Bryce, John Bryce.”
She wrote busily. “Permanent address?”
“Care of the Royal Zoological Society, Regent’s Park, London, England.”
“Profession.”
“Ornithologist.”
“Oh dear,” she’dimpled at him, “could you please spell that?”
Bond did so.
“Thank you so much. Now, let me see, Purpose of Visit?”
“Birds,” said Bond. “I am also a representative of the Audubon Society of New York. They have a lease of part of this island.”
“Oh, really.” Bond watched the pen writing down exactly what he had said. After the last word she put a neat query in brackets.
“And,” Sister Rose smiled politely in the direction of Honeychile, “your wife? Is’she also interested in birds?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“And her first name?”
“Honeychile.”
Sister Rose was delighted. “What a pretty name.” She wrote busily. “And now just your next of kin and then we’re finished.”
Bond gave M’s real name as next of kin for both of them. He described him as ‘uncle’ and gave his address as ‘Managing Director, Universal Export, Regent’s Park, London’.
Sister Rose finished writing and said, “There, that’s done. Thank you so much, Mr Bryce, and I do hope you both enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you very much. I’m sure we will.” Bond got up. Honeychile Rider did the same, her face still expressionless.
Sister Lily said, “Now come along with me, you poor dears.” She walked to a door in the far wall. She stopped with her hand on the cut-glass doorknob. “Oh deary me, now I’ve gone and forgotten the number of their rooms! It’s the Cream Suite, isn’t it, Sister?”
“Yes, that’s right. Fourteen and fifteen.”
. “Thank you, my dear. And now,” she opened the door, “if you’ll just follow me. I’m afraid it’s a terribly long walk.” She shut the door behind them and led the way. “The Doctor’s often talked of putting in one of those moving stairway things, but you know how it is with a busy man,” she laughed gaily. “So many other things to think of.” – “Yes, I expect so,” said Bond politely.