Til be waiting for you. Got all that? And for God’s sake watch out. And I mean it. The Big Man’ll get you if he possibly can and a police escort to the train would only put the finger on you. Take a cab and keep out of sight. I’m sending you up another hat and a fawn raincoat. The check’s taken care of at the St. Regis. That’s the lot. Any questions?’
‘Sounds fine,’ said Bond. ‘I’ve talked to M and he’ll square Washington if there’s any trouble. Look after yourself too,’ he added. ‘You’ll be next on the list after me. See you tomorrow. So long.’
Til watch out,’ said Leiter. “Bye.’
It was half-past six and Bond pulled back the curtains in the sitting-room and watched the dawn come up over the city. It was still dark down in the caverns below but the tips of the great concrete stalagmites were pink and the sun lit up the windows floor by floor as if an army of descending janitors was at work in the buildings.
The police surgeon came, stayed for a painful quarter of an hour and left.
‘Clean fracture,’ he had said. ‘Take a few days to heal. How did you come by it?’
‘Caught it in a door,’ said Bond.
‘You ought to keep away from doors,’ commented the surgeon. ‘They’re dangerous things. Ought to be forbidden by law. Lucky you didn’t catch your neck in this one.’
When he had gone, Bond finished packing. He was wondering how soon he could order breakfast when the telephone rang.
Bond was expecting a harsh voice from the Police or the FBI. Instead, a girl’s voice, low and urgent, asked for Mr. Bond.
‘Who’s calling?’ asked Bond, gaining time. He knew the answer.
‘I know it’s you,’ said the voice, and Bond could feel that it was right up against the mouthpiece. ‘This is Solitaire.’ The name was scarcely breathed into the telephone.
Bond waited, all his senses pricked to what might be the scene at the other end of the line. Was she alone? Was she speaking foolishly on a house-phone with extensions to which other listeners were now coldly, intently glued? Or was she in a room with only Mr. Big’s eyes bent carefully on her, a pencil and pad beside him so that he could prompt the next question?
‘Listen,’ said the voice. I’ve got to be quick. You must trust me. I’m in a drugstore, but I must get back at once to my room. Please believe me.’
Bond had his handkerchief out. He spoke into it. ‘If I can reach Mr. Bond what shall I tell him?’
‘Oh damn you,’ said the girl with what sounded like a genuine touch of hysteria. ‘I swear by my mother, by my unborn children. I’ve got to get away. And so have you. You’ve got to take me. I’ll help you. I know a lot of his secrets. But be quick. I’m risking my life here talking to you.’ She gave a sob of exasperation and panic. ‘For God’s sake trust me. You must. You must!’
Bond still paused, his mind working furiously.
‘Listen,’ she spoke again, but this time dully, almost hopelessly. ‘If you don’t take me, I shall kill myself. Now will you? Do you want to murder me?’
If it was acting, it was too good acting. It was still an unpardonable gamble, but Bond decided. Fie spoke directly into the telephone, his voice low.
‘If this is a double-cross, Solitaire, I’ll get at you and kill you if it’s the last thing I do. Have you got a pencil and paper?’
‘Wait,’ said the girl, excitedly. ‘Yes, yes.’
If it had been a plant, reflected Bond, all that would have been ready.
‘Be at Pennsylvania Station at ten-twenty exactly. The Silver Phantom to…’ he hesitated. ‘… to Washington. Car 245, Compartment H. Say you’re Mrs. Bryce. Conductor has the ticket in case I’m not there already. Go straight to the compartment and wait for me. Got that?’
‘Yes,’ said the girl, ‘and thank you, thank you.’
‘Don’t be seen,’ said Bond. ‘Wear a veil or something.’
‘Of course,’ said the girl. ‘I promise. I really promise. I must go.’ She rang off.