Ian Fleming. The Spy Who Loved Me. James Bond #10

“Yes.”

“I’m Lieutenant Morrow. We hear you had some trouble last night.” He gestured with his gloved hand at the ruins. “Seems like we heard right.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” I said disdainfully. “There’s a car in the lake with a corpse in it and another corpse behind cabin Number 3.”

“Yes, Miss.” There was a hint of disapproval at my levity. He turned to his companion, who had clipped back the microphone to the set behind his saddle. “O’Donnell, take a look round, would you?”

“Okay, loot.” O’Donnell strode off across the grass.

“Well, let’s go and take a seat somewhere, Miss Michel.” The lieutenant bent down to one of his saddlebags and produced a carefully wrapped package. “Brought along some breakfast. ‘Fraid it’s only coffee and doughnuts. That suit you?” He held out the package.

I gave him a full-candlepower smile. “That’s terribly kind of you. I’m starving. There are some seats over by the lake. We can choose one that’s out of sight of the sunk car.” I led the way across the grass, and we sat down. The lieutenant took off his cap and produced a notebook and pencil and pretended to go through his notes to give me a chance to get started on a doughnut.

He looked up and produced his first smile. “Now don’t worry about this, miss. I’m not taking a statement. The captain’s coming up himself for that. Should be along any time now. When they gave me the hurry call I got down the bare facts. But what’s worrying me is that that radio just hasn’t left me alone since then. Had to cut down my speed the whole way here from Route 9 to keep on listening to instructions from the station—that Albany was interested in the case, that even the top brass in Washington was breathing down our necks. Never heard such a load coming over the air. Now, miss, can you tell me how it’s come about that Washington’s mixed up in this, and within a bare couple of hours of Glens Falls getting the first report?”

I couldn’t help smiling at his earnestness. I could almost hear him calling over to O’Donnell as they roared along, “Hell, we’ll have Jack Kennedy on our tails any moment now!” I said, “Well, there’s a man called James Bond who’s involved. He saved me and shot these two gangsters. He’s some kind of an English agent, secret service or something. He was driving from Toronto to Washington to report on a case, and he got a flat and ended up at the motel. If he hadn’t, I’d be dead by now. Anyway, I guess he must be someone pretty important. He told me he wanted to make sure this Mr. Sanguinetti didn’t get away to Mexico or somewhere. But that’s more or less all I know about him, except that—except that he seemed a wonderful guy.”

The lieutenant looked sympathetic. “Guess so, miss. If he got you out of this trouble. But he’s certainly got a fix in with the F.B.I. They don’t often tangle in a local case like this. Unless they’re called in, that is, or there’s some federal angle.” The thin wail of sirens sounded far down the road. Lieutenant Morrow got to his feet and put his cap on. “Well, thanks, miss. I was just satisfying my curiosity. The captain will be taking over from here. Don’t you worry. He’s a nice kind of a guy.” O’Donnell came up. “If you’ll excuse me, miss.” The lieutenant moved off with O’Donnell, listening to his report, and I finished the coffee and followed slowly, thinking of the gray Thunder-bird that would now be hammering out the miles southward, and of the sunburned hands on the wheel.

* * *

It was quite a cavalcade that came sweeping up the road between the pines—a squad car with outriders, an ambulance, two other police cars, and a recovery truck that came toward me across the grass and went on down to the lake. Everyone seemed to have had their orders, and very soon the whole area was covered with moving figures in olive-green or dark blue.

The heavily built man who soon came forward to meet me, followed by a junior officer who turned out to be the stenographer, looked every inch the detective-captain of the films—slow-moving, kindly-faced, purposeful. He held out his hand. “Miss Michel? I’m Captain Stonor from Glens Falls. Let’s go somewhere where we can have a talk, shall we? One of the cabins, or shall we stay out in the open?”

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