you. I need your help. To rescue my sister. She’s working against her will for a very unpleasant man. He effectively has her captive.’
‘I’m not a private investigator,’ said Bond sharply.
‘I don’t rescue distressed damsels. I suggest you get in touch with Pinkerton’s or their French equivalent.
‘‘Cherchez La Femme’’ it’ll probably be called.’
Scarlett smiled demurely. ‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘I did.’
There was a knock at the door. It was the bellboy with the bourbon. He poured two measures and retreated.
‘Leave the bottle,’ said Bond, placing a folded note on the tray.
‘ Merci, Monsieur .’
‘Did what?’ said Bond, when the waiter had gone.
‘Call Pinkerton’s,’ said Scarlett. ‘Eventually, I found myself talking to a man called Felix Leiter.’
Bond nodded wearily. He might have guessed.
‘Mr Leiter said he couldn’t do it himself – he only leaves America in exceptional circumstances – but he knew someone who might. He mentioned your name. He said you were in semi-retirement, on a lengthy paid sabbatical or some such thing. He said that, knowing you, you’d be itching for some action. He
said, ‘‘ This is right up James’s alley. Mention the broad and the ’coon’ll be treed.’’ ’ Scarlett shrugged.
‘Whatever that means. Anyway, then he said he didn’t know for sure where you were, but the last time he’d heard, you were on your way to Rome. He gave me the name of a hotel he’d recommended. I made some calls.’
‘How resourceful of you.’
‘ Thank you. You took your time getting there, I must say. I spent a fortune ringing the hotel every day.’
‘Not from work, I hope.’
‘Certainly not. From my apartment in the rue des Saints Pe`res. I must stress, Mr Bond, that this problem is nothing whatever to do with my work. It’s entirely private.’
‘But of course,’ said Bond.
SIS usually placed its agents on the staff of the embassy under the guise of a charge´ d’affaires or visa officer or some such thing. Bond disliked diplomats
– men with soft hands sent abroad to lie to foreign governments – and he disliked the agents on their staff even more. Few of them would have lasted thirty seconds in a fight. But it wasn’t just the embassy that could be used as a front for these people. They used other jobs as well, and finance, with its
requirements for up-to-the-minute information and international travel, was as good as any. Bond had never encountered a British female agent before, but it was just like SIS to think they must ‘move with the times’.
‘I know you must distrust me,’ said Scarlett. ‘You’re quite right to, I suppose. But I’ll gain your trust. I’ll prove myself, I promise you.’
Bond said nothing. He drained his bourbon and poured another glass.
‘ The thing is,’ said Scarlett hesitantly, ‘that I think I can help you find Julius Gorner. I can tell you where he’ll be on Saturday morning. At the Club Sporting de Tennis in the Bois de Boulogne.’
‘I think you’ve had your three minutes,’ said Bond.
Scarlett crossed her legs in the way Bond had noticed in the bar in Rome. The girl’s presence troubled him in more ways than one. She seemed to have shed some years. He would have put Larissa Rossi down as thirty-two, but Scarlett Papava looked more like twenty-eight.
She watched him closely, as though calculating her next move. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I won’t pretend. I know you’ve come to investigate Gorner.’
‘How?’
‘My sister told me. She telephoned. She wanted me to warn you to keep away from him.’
Bond lit a cigarette. ‘And your sister can only have heard it . . .’
Scarlett nodded. ‘From the horse’s mouth.’
Bond inhaled deeply. That explained the motorbikes. The fact that Gorner knew there was someone taking an interest in him was not that surprising –
not if he operated on the scale M had suggested.