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ing。 And that's that。 I knew； you'd be fooling around somewhere down the coast； so I just drove along until one of the fishermen told me there was a crazy white man trying to mit suicide alone at Belle Anse and I knew that would be you。〃
Bond laughed。 〃Extraordinary the way these island people are afraid of the sea。 You'd think they'd have got on terms with it by now。 Damned few of the Seychellois can even swim。〃
〃Roman Catholic Church。 Doesn't like them taking their clothes off。 Bloody nonsense； but there it is。 And as for being afraid； don't forget you've only been here for a month。 Shark； barracuda … you just haven't met a hungry one。 And stone…fish。 Ever seen a man that's stepped on a stone…fish？ His body bends backwards like a bow with the pain。 Sometimes it's so frightful his eyes literally fall out of their sockets。 They very seldom live。〃
Bond said unsympathetically： 〃They ought to wear shoes or bind their feet up when they go on the reef。 They've got these fish in the Pacific and the giant clam into the bargain。 It's damned silly。 Everybody moans about how poor they are here； although the sea's absolutely paved with fish。 And there are fifty varieties of cowrie under those rocks。 They could make another good living selling those round the world。〃
Fidele Barbey laughed boisterously。 〃Bond for Governor！ That's the ticket。 Next meeting of LegCo I'll put the idea up。 You're just the man for the job far…sighted； full of ideas； plenty of drive。 Cowries！ That's splendid。 They'll balance the budget for the first time since the patchouli boom after the War。 'We sell sea…shells from the Seychelles。' That'll be our slogan。 I'll see you get the credit。 You'll be Sir James in no time。〃
〃Make more money that way than trying to grow vanilla at a loss。〃 They continued to wrangle with light…hearted violence until the palm groves gave way to the giant sangdragon trees on the outskirts of the ramshackle capital of Mahe。
It had been nearly a month before when M had told Bond he was sending him to the Seychelles。 Admiralty are having trouble with their new fleet base in the Maldives。 munists creeping in from Ceylon。 Strikes； sabotage … the usual picture。 May have to cut their losses and fall back on the Seychelles。 A thousand miles farther south； but at least they look pretty secure。 But they don't want to be caught again。 Colonial Office say it's safe as houses。 All the same I've agreed to send someone to give an independent view。 When Makarios was locked up there a few years ago there were quite a few Security scares。 Japanese fishing…boats hanging about； one or two refugee crooks from England； strong ties with France。 Just go and have a good look。〃 M glanced out of the window at the driving March sleet。 〃Don't get sunstroke。〃
Bond's report； which concluded that the only conceivable security hazard in the Seychelles lay in the beauty and ready availability of the Seychelloises； had been finished a week before and then he had nothing to do but wait for the ss Kampala to take him to Mombasa。 He was thoroughly sick of the heat and the drooping palm trees and the plaintive cry of the terns and the interminable conversations about copra。 The prospect of a change delighted him。
Bond was spending his last week in the Barbey house； and after calling there to pick up their bags； they drove out to the end of Long Pier and left the car in the Customs shed。 The gleaming white yacht lay half a mile out in the roadstead。 They took a pirogue with an outboard motor across the glassy bay and through the opening in the reef。 The Wawekrest was not beautiful … the breadth of beam and cluttered superstructure stunted her lines … but Bond could see at once that she was a real ship； built to cruise the world and not just the Florida Keys。 She seemed deserted； but as they came alongside two smart…looking sailors in white shorts and singlets appeared and stood by the ladder with boat…hooks ready to fend the shabby pirogue off the yacht's gleaming paint。 They took the two bags and one of them slid back an aluminium hatch and gestured for them to go down。 A breath of what seemed to Bond to be almost freezing air struck him as he went through and down a few steps into the lounge。
The lounge was empty。 It was not a cabin。 It was a room of solid richness and fort with nothing to associate it with the interior of a ship。 The windows behind the half…closed venetian blinds were full size； as were the deep armchairs round the low central table。 The carpet was the deepest pile in pale blue。 The walls were panelled in a silvery wood and the ceiling was off…white。 There was a desk with the usual writing…materials and a telephone。 Next to the big gramophone was a sideboard laden with drinks。 Above the sideboard was what looked like an extremely good Renoir … the head and shoulders of a pretty dark…haired girl in a black and white striped blouse。 The impression of a luxurious living…room in a town house was pleted by a large bowl of white and blue hyacinths on the central table and by the tidy range of magazines to one side of the desk。
〃What did I tell you； James？〃
Bond shook his head admiringly。 〃This is certainly the way to treat the sea … as if it damned well didn't exist。〃 He breathed in deeply。 〃What a relief to get a mouthful of fresh air。 I'd almost forgotten what it tastes like。〃
〃It's the stuff outside that's fresh； feller。 This is canned。〃 Mr Milton Krest had e quietly into the room and was standing looking at them。 He was a tough； leathery man in his early fifties。 He looked hard and fit； and the faded blue jeans； military…cut shirt and wide leather belt suggested that he made a fetish of doing so … looking tough。 The pale brown eyes in the weather…beaten face were slightly hooded and their gaze was sleepy and contemptuous。 The mouth had a downward twist that might be humorous or disdainful … probably the latter … and the words he had tossed into the room； innocuous in themselves except for the patronizing 'feller' had been tossed like small coin to a couple of coolies。 To Bond the oddest thing about Mr Krest was his voice。 It was a soft； most attractive lisping through the teeth。 It was exactly the voice of the late Humphrey Bogart。 Bond ran his eyes down the man from the sparse close…cropped black and grey hair； like iron filings sprinkled over the bullet head； to the tattooed eagle above a fouled anchor on the right forearm； and then down to the naked leathery feet that stood nautically square on the carpet。 He thought： this man likes to be thought a Hemingway hero。 I'm not going to get on with him。
Mr Krest came across the carpet and held out his hand。 〃You Bond？ Glad to have you aboard； sir。〃
Bond was expecting the bone…crushing grip and parried it with stiffened muscles。
〃Free…diving or aqualung？〃
〃Free； and I don't go deep。 It's only a hobby。〃
〃Whadya do the rest of the time？〃
〃Civil Servant。〃
Mr Krest gave a short barking laugh。 〃Civility and Servitude。 You English make the best goddam butlers and valets in the world。 Civil Servant； you say？ I reckon we're likely to get along fine。 Civil Servants are just what I like to have around me。〃
The click of the deck hatch sliding back saved Bond's temper。 Mr