“Yes, James! Oh, yes!” He felt her hands at his back and his hair. “Oh, James, my darling!” she fell against him, sobbing.
“It’s all right, Honey.” Bond smoo’thed her hair. “And Doctor No’s dead. But now we’ve got to run for it. We’ve got to get out of here. Come on! How can we get out of the tunnel? How did you get here? We’ve got to hurry!”
As if in comment, the conveyor-belt stopped with a jerk.
Bond pulled the girl to her feet. She was wearing a dirty suit of workmen’s blue dungarees. The sleeves and legs were; rolled up. The suit was far too big for her. She looked like a girl in a man’s pyjamas. She was powdered white with the guano dust except where the tears had marked her cheeks. She said breathlessly, “Just up there! There’s a side tunnel that leads to the machine shops and the garage. Will they come after us?”
There was no time to talk. Bond said urgently, “Follow me!” and started running. Behind him her feet padded softly in the hollow silence. They came to the fork where the side tunnel led off into the rock. Which way would the men come? Down the side tunnel or along the catwalk in the main tunnel? The sound of voices booming far up the side tunnel answered him. Bond drew the girl a few feet up the main tunnel. He brought her close to him and whispered, “I’m sorry. Honey. I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill them.”
“Of course.” The answering whisper was matter of fact. She pressed his hand and stood back to give him room. She put her hands up to her ears.
Bond eased the gun out of his waistband. Softly he broke the cylinder sideways and verified with his thumb that all six chambers were loaded. Bond knew he wasn’t going to like this, killing again in cold blood, but these men would be the Chinese Negro gangsters, the strong-arm guards who did the dirty work. They would certainly be murderers many times over. Perhaps they were the ones who had killed Strangways and the girl. But there was no point in trying to ease his conscience. It was kill or be killed. He must just do it efficiently.
The voices were coming closer. There were three men. They were talking loudly, nervously. Perhaps it was many years since they had even thought of going through the tunnel. Bond wondered if they would look round as they came out into the main tunnel. Or would he have to shoot them in the back?
Now they were very close. He could hear their shoes scuffing the ground.
“That makes ten bucks you owe me, Sam.”
“Not after tonight it won’t be. Roll them bones, boy. Roll them bones.”
“No dice for me tonight, feller. I’m goin’ to cut maself a slice of de white girl.”
“Haw, haw, haw.”
The first man came out, then the second, then the third. They were carrying their revolvers loosely in their right hands.
Bond said sharply, “No, you won’t.”
The three men whirled round. White teeth glinted in open mouths. Bond shot the rear man in the head and the second man in the stomach. The front man’s gun was up. A bullet whistled past Bond and away up the main tunnel. Bond’s gun crashed. The man clutched at his neck and spun slowly round and fell across the conveyor-belt. The echoes thundered slowly up and down the tunnel. A puff of fine dust rose in the air and settled. Two of the bodies lay still. The man with the stomach shot writhed and jerked.
Bond tucked his hot gun into the waistband of his trousers. He said roughly to the girl, “Come on.” He reached for her hand and pulled her after him into the mouth of the side tunnel. He said, “Sorry about that, Honey,” and started running, pulling her after him by the hand. She said, “Don’t be stupid.” Then there was no sound but the thud of their naked feet on the stone floor.
The air was clean in the side tunnel and it was easier going but, after the tension of the shooting, pain began to crowd in again and take possession of Bond’s body. He ran automatically. He hardly thought of the girl. His whole mind was focused on taking the pain and on the problems that waited at the end of the tunnel.