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ned up at the Blue Hills Hotel and stayed for the winter。 At the end of the time he took Rhoda Masters back to Canada and married her。 She's lived in clover ever since。〃
〃Good heavens。 That was a stroke of luck。 Hardly deserved it。〃
〃I suppose not。 One can't tell。 Life's a devious business。 Perhaps； for all the harm she'd done to Masters； Fate decided that she had paid back enough。 Perhaps Masters's father and mother were the true guilty people。 They turned Masters into an accident…prone man。 Inevitably he was involved in the emotional crash that was due to him and that they had conditioned him for。 Fate had chosen Rhoda for its instrument。 Now Fate reimbursed her for her services。 Difficult to judge these things。 Anyway； she made her Canadian very happy。 I thought they both seemed happy tonight。〃
Bond laughed。 Suddenly the violent dramatics of his own life seemed very hollow。 The affair of the Castro rebels and the burned out yachts was the stuff of an adventure…strip in a cheap newspaper。 He had sat next to a dull woman at a dull dinner party and a chance remark had opened for him the book of real violence … of the édie Humaine where human passions are raw and real； where Fate plays a more authentic game than any Secret Service conspiracy devised by Governments。
Bond faced the Governor and held out his hand。 He said： 〃Thank you for the story。 And I owe you an apology。 I found Mrs Harvey Miller a bore。 Thanks to you I shall never forget her。 I must pay more attention to people。 You've taught me a lesson。〃
They shook hands。 The Governor smiled。 〃I'm glad the story interested you。 I was afraid you might be bored。 You lead a very exciting life。 To tell you the truth； I was at my wit's end to know what we could talk about after dinner。 Life in the Colonial Service is very humdrum。〃
They said goodnight。 Bond walked off down the quiet street towards the harbour and the British Colonial Hotel。 He reflected on the conference he would be having in the morning with the Coastguards and the FBI in Miami。 The prospect； which had previously interested； even excited him； was now edged with boredom and futility。
RISICO
〃In this pizniss is much risico。〃
The words came softly through the thick brown moustache。 The hard black eyes moved slowly over Bond's face and down to Bond's hands which were carefully shredding a paper match on which was printed Albergo Colombo； d'Oro。
James Bond felt the inspection。 The same surreptitious examination had been going on since he had met the man two hours before at the rendezvous in the Excelsior bar。 Bond had been told to look for a man with a heavy moustache who would be sitting by himself drinking an Alexandra。 Bond had been amused by this secret recognition signal。 The creamy； feminine drink was so much cleverer than the folded newspaper； the flower in the buttonhole； the yellow gloves that were the hoary； slipshod call…signs between agents。 It had also the great merit of being able to operate alone； without its owner。 And Kristatos had started off with a little test。 When Bond had e into the bar and looked round there had been perhaps twenty people in the room。 None of them had a moustache。 But on a corner table at the far side of the tall； discreet room； flanked by a saucer of olives and another of cashew nuts； stood the tall…stemmed glass of cream and vodka。 Bond went straight over to the table； pulled out a chair and sat down。
The waiter came。 〃Good evening； sir。 Signor Kristatos is at the telephone。〃
Bond nodded。 〃A Negroni。 With Gordon's； please。〃
The waiter walked back to the bar。 〃Negroni。 Uno。 Gordon's。〃
〃I am so sorry。〃 The big hairy hand picked up the small chair as if it had been as light as a matchbox and swept it under the heavy hips。 〃I had to have a word with Alfredo。〃
There had been no handshake。 These were old acquaintances。 In the same line of business； probably。 Something like import and export。 The younger one looked American。 No。 Not with those clothes。 English。
Bond returned the fast serve。 〃How's his little boy？〃
The black eyes of Signor Kristatos narrowed。 Yes； they had said this man was a professional。 He spread his hands。 〃Much the same。 What can you expect？〃
〃Polio is a terrible thing。〃
The Negroni came。 The two men sat back fortably； each one satisfied that he had to do with a man in the same league。 This was rare in 'The Game'。 So many times； before one had even started on a tandem assignment like this； one had lost confidence in the oute。 There was so often； at least in Bond's imagination； a faint smell of burning in the air at such a rendezvous。 He knew it for the sign that the fringe of his cover had already started to smoulder。 In due course the smouldering fabric would burst into flames and he would be br？lé。 Then the game would be up and he would have to decide whether to pull out or wait and get shot at by someone。 But at this meeting there had been no fumbling。
Later that evening； at the little restaurant off the Piazza di Spagna called the Colomba d'Oro； Bond was amused to find that he was still on probation。 Kristatos was still watching and weighing him； wondering if he could be trusted。 This remark about the risky business was as near as Kristatos had so far got to admitting that there existed any business between the two of them。 Bond was encouraged。 He had not really believed in Kristatos。 But surely all these precautions could only mean that M's intuition had paid off … that Kristatos knew something big。
Bond dropped the last shred of match into the ashtray。 He said mildly： 〃I was once taught that any business that pays more than ten per cent or is conducted after nine o'clock at night is a dangerous business。 The business which brings us together pays up to one thousand per cent and is conducted almost exclusively at night。 On both counts it is obviously a risky business。〃 Bond lowered his voice。 〃Funds are available。 Dollars； Swiss francs； Venezuelan bolivars … anything convenient。〃
〃That makes me glad。 I have already too much lire。〃 Signor Kristatos picked up the folio menu。 〃But let us feed on something。 One should not decide important pizniss on a hollow stomach。〃
A week earlier M had sent for Bond。 M was in a bad temper。 〃Got anything on； 007？〃
〃Only paper work； sir。〃
〃What do you mean； only paper work？〃 M jerked his pipe towards his loaded in…tray。 〃Who hasn't got paper work？〃
〃I meant nothing active； sir。〃
〃Well； say so。〃 M picked up a bundle of dark red files tied together with tape and slid them so sharply across the desk that Bond had to catch them。 〃And here's some more paper work。 Scotland Yard stuff mostly … their narcotics people。 Wads from the Home Office and the Ministry of Health； and some nice thick reports from the International Opium Control people in Geneva。 Take it away and read it。 You'll need today and most of tonight。 Tomorrow you fly to Rome and get after the big men。 Is that clear？〃
Bond said that it was。 The state of M's temper was also explained。 There was nothing that made him more angry than having to divert his staff from their primary duty。 This duty was espionage； and when necessary sabotage and subversion。 Anything else was a misu