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watch … 〃if it had crossed his mind to have me followed here。 He is a very suspicious man。〃 She put her hand out and touched his sleeve。 Now she looked nervous。 She said urgently： 〃I think you had better go now。 This has been a great mistake。〃
Bond openly looked at his watch。 It was three…thirty。 He moved his head so that he could look behind the umbrella and back down the beach。 Far down by the bathing huts； their outlines dancing slightly in the heat haze； were three men in dark clothes。 They were walking purposefully up the beach； their feet keeping step as if they were a squad。
Bond got to his feet。 He looked down at the bent head。 He said drily： 〃I see what you mean。 Just tell Colombo that from now on I'm writing his life…story。 And I'm a very persistent writer。 So long。〃 Bond started running up the sand towards the tip of the peninsula。 From there he could double back down the other shore to the village and the safety of people。
Down the beach the three men broke into a fast jogtrot； elbows and legs pounding in time with each other as if they were long…distance runners out for a training spin。 As they jogged past the girl； one of the men raised a hand。 She raised hers in answer and then lay down on the sand and turned over … perhaps so that her back could now get its toasting； or perhaps because she did not want to watch the man…hunt。
Bond took off his tie as he ran and put it in his pocket。 It was very hot and he was already sweating profusely。 But so would the three men be。 It was a question who was in better training。 At the tip of the peninsula； Bond clambered up on to the seawall and looked back。 The men had hardly gained； but now two of them were fanning out to cut round the edge of the golf course boundary。 They did not seem to mind the danger notices with the skull and crossbones。 Bond； running fast down the wide seawall； measured angles and distances。 The two men were cutting across the base of the triangle。 It was going to be a close call。
Bond's shirt was already soaked and his feet were beginning to hurt。 He had run perhaps a mile。 How much farther to safety？ At intervals along the seawall the breeches of antique cannon had been sunk in the concrete。 They would be mooring posts for the fishing fleets sheltering in the protection of the lagoons before taking to the Adriatic。 Bond counted his steps between two of them。 Fifty yards。 How many black knobs to the end of the wall … to the first houses of the village？ Bond counted up to thirty before the line vanished into the heat haze。 Probably another mile to go。 Could he do it； and fast enough to beat the two flankers？ Bond's breath was already rasping in his throat。 Now even his suit was soaked with sweat and the cloth of his trousers was chafing his legs。 Behind him； three hundred yards back； was one pursuer。 To his right； dodging among the sand…dunes and converging fast； were the other two。 To his left was a twenty…foot slope of masonry to the green tide ripping out into the Adriatic。
Bond was planning to slow down to a walk and keep enough breath to try and shoot it out with the three men； when two things happened in quick succession。 First he saw through the haze ahead a group of spear…fishermen。 There were about half a dozen of them； some in the water and some sunning themselves on the seawall。 Then； from the sand…dunes came the deep roar of an explosion。 Earth and scrub and what might have been bits of a man fountained briefly into the air； and a small shock…wave hit him。 Bond slowed。 The other man in the dunes had stopped。 He was standing stock…still。 His mouth was open and a frightened jabber came from it。 Suddenly he collapsed on the ground with his arms wapped round his head。 Bond knew the signs。 He would not move again until someone came and carried him away from there。 Bond's heart lifted。 Now he had only about two hundred yards to go to the fishermen。 They were already gathering into a group； looking towards him。 Bond summoned a few words of Italian and rehearsed them。 〃Mi Ingles。 Prego； dove il carabinieri。〃 Bond glanced over his shoulder。 Odd； but despite the witnessing spear…fishers； the man was still ing on。 He had gained and was only about a hundred yards behind。 There was a gun in his hand。 Now； ahead； the fishermen had fanned out across Bond's path。 They had harpoon guns held at the ready。 In the centre was a big man with a tiny red bathing…slip hanging beneath his stomach。 A green mask was slipped back on to the crown of his head。 He stood with his blue swim…fins pointing out and his arms akimbo。 He looked like Mr Toad of Toad Hall in Technicolor。 Bond's amused thought died in him stillborn。 Panting； he slowed to a walk。 Automatically his sweaty hand felt under his coat for the gun and drew it out。 The man in the centre of the arc of pointing harpoons was Enrico Colombo。
Colombo watched him approach。 When he was twenty yards away； Colombo said quietly： 〃Put away your toy； Mr Bond of the Secret Service。 These are CO2 harpoon guns。 And stay where you are。 Unless you wish to make a copy of Mantegna's St Sebastian。〃 He turned to the man on his right。 He spoke in English。 〃At what range was that Albanian last week？〃
〃Twenty yards； padrone。 And the harpoon went right through。 But he was a fat man … perhaps twice as thick as this one。〃
Bond stopped。 One of the iron bollards was beside him。 He sat down and rested the gun on his knee。 It pointed at the centre of Colombo's big stomach。 He said： 〃Five harpoons in me won't stop one bullet in you； Colombo。〃
Colombo smiled and nodded； and the man who had been ing softly up behind Bond hit him once hard in the base of the skull with the butt of his Luger。
When you e to from being hit on the head the first reaction is a fit of vomiting。 Even in his wretchedness Bond was aware of two sensations … he was in a ship at sea； and someone； a man； was wiping his forehead with a cool wet towel and murmuring encouragement in bad English。 〃Is okay； amigo。 Take him easy。 Take him easy。〃
Bond fell back on his bunk； exhausted。 It was a fortable small cabin with a feminine smell and dainty curtains and colours。 A sailor in a tattered vest and trousers … Bond thought he recognized him as one of the spear…fishermen … was bending over him。 He smiled when Bond opened his eyes。 〃Is better； yes？ Subito okay。〃 He rubbed the back of his neck in sympathy。
〃It hurts for a little。 Soon it will only be a black。 Beneath the hair。 The girls will see nothing。〃
Bond smiled feebly and nodded。 The pain of the nod made him screw up his eyes。 When he opened them the sailor shook his head in admonition。 He brought his wrist…watch close up to Bond's eyes。 It said seven o'clock。 He pointed with his little finger at the figure nine。 'Mangiare con Padrone； Si？〃
Bond said： 〃Si。〃
The man put his hand to his cheek and laid his head on one side。 〃Dormire。〃
Bond said 〃Si〃 again and the sailor went out of the cabin and closed the door without locking it。
Bond got gingerly off the bunk and went over to the wash basin and set about cleaning himself。 On top of the chest of drawers was a neat pile of his personal belongings。 Everything was there except his gun。 Bond stowed the things away in his pocket