if.liveandletdie-第21节

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　All　she　knew　of　the　gold　coins　was　that　she　had　several　times　had　to　question　men　on　how　many　they　had　passed　and　the　price　they　had　been　paid　for　them。　Very　often；　she　said；　they　were　lying　on　both　counts。
　Bond　was　careful　to　divulge…very　little　of　what　he　himself　knew　or　guessed。　His　growing　warmth　towards　Solitaire　and　his　desire　for　her　body　were　in　a　partment　which　had　no　municating　door　with　his　professional　life。
　The　Silver　Meteor　came　in　on　time　and　they　were　both　relieved　to　be　on　their　way　again　and　to　get　away　from　the　dreary　world　of　the　big　junction。
　The　train　sped　on　down　through　Florida；　through　the　forests　and　swamps；　stark　and　bewitched　with　Spanish　moss；　and　through　the　mile　upon　mile　of　citrus　groves。
　All　through　the　centre　of　the　state　the　moss　lent　a　dead；　spectral　feeling　to　the　landscape。　Even　the　little　townships　through　which　they　passed　had　a　grey　skeletal　aspect　with　their　dried…up；　sun…sucked　clapboard　houses。　Only　the　citrus　groves　laden　with　fruit　looked　green　and　alive。　Everything　else　seemed　baked　and　desiccated　with　the　heat。
　Looking　out　at　the　gloomy　silent　withered　forests；　Bond　thought　that　nothing　could　be　living　in　them　except　bats　and　scorpions；　horned　toads　and　black　widow　spiders。
　They　had　lunch　and　then　suddenly　the　train　was　running　along　the　Gulf　of　Mexico；　through　the　mangrove　swamps　and　palm　groves；　endless　motels　and　caravan　sites；　and　Bond　caught　the　smell　of　the　other　Florida；　the　Florida　of　the　advertisements；　the　land　of　'Miss　Orange　Blossom　I954'。
　They　left　the　train　at　Clearwater；　the　last　station　before　St。　Petersburg。　Bond　took　a　cab　and　gave　the　address　on　Treasure　Island；　half　an　hour's　drive　away。　It　was　two　o'clock　and　the　sun　blazed　down　out　of　a　cloudless　sky。　Solitaire　insisted　on　taking　off　her　hat　and　veil。　'It's　sticking　to　my　face；'　she　said。　'Hardly　a　soul　has　ever　seen　me　down　here。'
　
　A　big　negro　with　a　face　pitted　with　ancient　smallpox　was　held　up　in　his　cab　at　the　same　time　as　they　were　checked　at　the　intersection　of　Park　Street　and　Central　Avenue；　where　the　Avenue　runs　on　to　the　long　Treasure　Island　causeway　across　the　shallow　waters　of　Boca　Ciega　Bay。
　When　the　negro　saw　Solitaire's　profile　his　mouth　fell　open。　He　pulled　his　cab　into　the　kerb　and　dived　into　a　drugstore。　He　called　a　St。　Petersburg　number。
　'Dis　is　Poxy；'　he　said　urgently　into　the　mouthpiece。　'Gimme　da　Robber'n　step　on　it。　Dat　you；　Robber？　Lissen；　Da　Big　Man　muss　be　n'town。　Whaddya　mean　yuh　jes　talked　wit　him　'n　New　York？　Ah　jes　seen　his　gal　'n　a　Clear…water　cab；　one　of　da　Stassen　pany's。　Headin'　over　da　Causeway。　Sho　Ahm　sartin。　Cross　ma　heart。　Couldn　mistake　dat　eyeful。　Wid　a　man　'n　a　blue　suit；　grey　Stetson。　Seemed　like　a　scar　down　his　face。　Whaddya　mean；　follow　'em？　Ah　jes　couldn　believe　yuh　wouldn　tell　me　da　Big　Man　wuz　'n　town　ef　he　wuz。　Thought　mebbe　Ahd　better　check　'n　make　sho。　Okay；　okay。　Ah'll　ketch　da　cab　when　he　es　back　over　da　Causeway；　else　at　Clearwater。　Okay；　okay。　Keep　yo　shirt　on。　Ah　ain't　done　nuthen　wrong。'
　The　man　called　'The　Robber'　was　through　to　New　York　in　five　minutes。　He　had　been　warned　about　Bond　but　he　couldn't　understand　where　Solitaire　tied　in　to　the　picture。　When　he　had　finished　talking　to　The　Big　Man　he　still　didn't　know；　but　his　instructions　were　quite　definite。
　He　rang　off　and　sat　for　a　while　drumming　his　fingers　on　his　desk。　Ten　Grand　for　the　job。　He'd　need　two　men。　That　would　leave　eight　Grand　for　him。　He　licked　his　lips　and　called　a　poolroom　in　a　downtown　bar　in　Tampa。
　
　Bond　paid　off　the　cab　at　The　Everglades；　a　group　of　neat　white…and…yellow　clapboard　cottages　set　on　three　sides　of　a　square　of　Bahama　grass　which　ran　fifty　yards　down　to　a　bone…white　beach　and　then　to　the　sea。　From　there；　the　whole　Gulf　of　Mexico　stretched　away；　as　calm　as　a　mirror；　until　the　heat…haze　on　the　horizon　married　it　into　the　cloudless　sky。
　After　London；　after　New　York；　after　Jacksonville；　it　was　a　sparkling　transition。
　Bond　went　through　a　door　marked　'Office'　with　Solitaire　demurely　at　his　heels。　He　rang　a　bell　that　said；　'Manageress　：　Mrs。　Stuyvesant'；　and　a　withered　shrimp　of　a　woman　with　blue…rinsed　hair　appeared　and　smiled　with　her　pinched　lips。　'Yes？'
　'Mr。　Leiter？'
　'Oh　yes；　you're　Mr。　Bryce。　Cabana　Number　One；　right　down　on　the　beach。　Mr。　Leiter's　been　expecting　you　since　lunchtime。　And。。。？'　She　heliographed　with　her　pince…nez　towards　Solitaire。
　'Mrs。　Bryce；'　said　Bond。
　'Ah　yes；'　said　Mrs。　Stuyvesant；　wishing　to　disbelieve。　'Well；　if　you'd　care　to　sign　the　register；　I'm　sure　you　and　Mrs。　Bryce　would　like　to　freshen　up　after　the　journey。　The　full　address；　please。　Thank　you。'
　She　led　them　out　and　down　the　cement　path　to　the　end　cottage　on　the　left。　She　knocked　and　Leiter　appeared。　Bond　had　looked　forward　to　a　warm　wele；…but　Leiter　seemed　staggered　to　see　him。　His　mouth　hung　open。　His　straw…coloured　hair；　still　faintly　black　at　the　roots；　looked　like　a　haystack。
　'You　haven't　met　my　wife；　I　think；'　said　Bond。
　'No；　no；　I　mean；　yes。　How　do　you　do？'
　The　whole　situation　was　beyond　him。　Forgetting　Solitaire；　he　almost　dragged　Bond　through　the　door。　At　the　last　moment　he　remembered　the　girl　and　seized　her　with　his　other　hand　and　pulled　her　in　too；　banging　the　door　shut　with　his　heel　so　that　Mrs。　Stuyvesant's　'I　hope　you　have　a　happy。。。'　was　guillotined　before　the'stay'。
　Once　inside；　Leiter　could　still　not　take　them　in。　He　stood　and　gaped　from　one　to　the　other。
　Bond　dropped　his　suitcase　on　the　floor　of　the　little　lobby。　There　were　two　doors。　He　pushed　open　the　one　on　his　right　and　held　it　for　Solitaire。　It　was　a　small　living…room　that　ran　the　width　of　the　cottage　and　faced　across　the　beach　to　the　sea。　It　was　pleasantly　furnished　with　bamboo　beach　chairs　upholstered　in　foam　rubber　covered　with　a　red…and…green　hibiscus　chintz。　Palrn…leaf　matting　covered　the　floor。　The　walls　were　duck's…egg　blue　and　in　the　centre　of　each　was　a　colour　print　of　tropical　flowers　in　a　bamboo　frame。　There　was　a　large　drum…shaped　table　in　bamboo　with　a　glass　top。　It　held　a　bowl　of　flowers　and　a　white　telephone。　There　were　broad　windows　facing　the　sea　and　to　the　right　of　them　a　door　leading　on　to　the　beach。　White　plastic　jalousies　were　drawn　half　up　the　windows　to　cut　the　glare　from　the　sand。
　Bond　and　Solitaire　sat　down。　Bond　lit　a　cigarette　and　threw　the　pack　and　his　lighter　on　to　the　table。
　Suddenly　the　telephone　rang。　Leiter　came　out　of　his　trance　and　walked　over　from　the　door　and　picked　up　the　receiver。
　'Speaking；'　he　said。　'Put　the　Lieutenant　on。　That　you；　Lieutenant？　He's　here。　Just　walked　in。　No；　all　in　one　piece。'　He　listened　for　a　moment；　then　turned　to　Bond。　'Where　did　you　leave　the　Phantom？'　he　asked。　Bond　told　him。　'Jacksonville；'　said　Leiter　into　the　telephone。　'Yeah；　I'll　say。　Sure。　I'll　get　the　details　from　him　and　call　you　back。　Will　you　call　off　Homicide？　I'd　sure　appreciate　it。　And　New　York。　Much　obliged；　Lieutenant。　Orlando　9000。　Okay。　And　thanks　again。　'Bye。'　He　put　down　the　receiver。　He　wiped　the　sweat　off　his　forehead　and　sat　down　opposite　Bond。
　Suddenly　he　looked　at　Solitaire　and　grinned　apologetically。　'I　guess　you're　Solitaire；'　he　said。　'Sorry　for　the　rough　wele。　It's　been　quite　a　day。　For　the　second　time　in　around　twenty…four　hours　I　didn't　expect　to　see　this　guy　again。'　He　turned　back　to　Bond。　'Okay　to　go　ahead？'　he　asked。
　'Yes；'　said　Bond。　'Solitaire's　on　our　side　now。'
　'That's　a　break；'　said　Leiter。　'Well；　you　won't　have　seen　the　papers　or　heard　the　radio；　so　I'll　give　you　the　headlines　first。　The　Phantom　was　stopped　soon　after　Jacksonville。　Between　Waldo　and　Ocala。　Your　partment　was　tommy…gunned　and　bombed。　Blown　to　bits。　Killed　the　Pullman　porter　who　was　in　the　corridor　at　the　time。　No　other　casualties。　Bloody　uproar　going　on。　Who　did　it？　Who's　Mr。　Bryce　and　who's　Mrs。　Bryce？　Where　are　they？　Of　course　we　were　sure　you'd　been　snatched。　The　police　at　Orlando　are　in　charge。　Traced　the　bookings　back　to　New　York。　Found　the　FBI　had　made　them。　Everyone　es　down　on　me　like　a　load　of　bricks。　Then　you　walk　in　with　a　pretty　girl　on　your　arm　looking　as　happy　as　a　clam。'
　Leiter　burst　out　laughing。　'Boy！　You　should　have　heard
　Washington　a　while　back。　Anybody　would　have　thought　it　was　me　that　bombed　the　goddam　train。'
　He　reached　for　one　of　Bond's　cigarettes　and　lit　it。
　'Well；'　he　said。　'That's　the　synopsis。　I'll　hand　over　the　shooting　script　when　I've　heard　your　end。　Give。'
　Bond　described　in　detail　what　had　happened　since　he　had　spoken　to　Leiter　from　the　St。　Regis。　When　he　came　to　the　night　on　the　train　he　took　the　piece　of　paper　out　of　his　pocket…book　and　pushed　it　across　the　table。
　Leiter　whistled。　'Voodoo；'　he　said。　'This　was　meant　to　be　found　on　the　corpse；　I　guess。　Ritual　murder　by　friends　of　the　men　you　bumped　in　Harlem。　That's　how　it　was　supposed　to　look。　Take　the　heat　right　away　from　The　Big　Man。　They　certainly　think　out　all　the　angles。　We'll　get　after　that　thug　they　had　on　the　train。　Probably　one　of　the　help　in　the　diner。　He　must　have　been　the　man　who　put　the　finger　on　your　partment。　You　finish。　Then　I'll　tell　you　how　he　did　it。'
　'Let　me　see；'　said　Solitaire。　She　reached　across　for　the　paper。
　'Yes；'　she　said　quietly。　'It's　an　ouanga；　a　Voodoo　fetish。　It's　the　invocation　to　t