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‘Admiral Sir Miles Messervy. He is head of a department in your Ministry.
M!
M. opened the brown folder, reached for his pipe and began absent-mindedly filling it as he glanced through the list of subsidiary files to see if there was any other docket he immediately needed. Then he set a match to his pipe and settled back in his chair and read: ‘FRANCISCO (PACO) “PISTOLS” SCARAMANGA.’ And underneath, in lower-case type, ‘Freelance assassin mainly under K.G.B. control through D.S.S., Havana, Cuba, but often as an independent operator for other organizations, in the Caribbean and Central American states. Has caused widespread damage, particularly to the S.S., but also to
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‘I have comment’, wrote C. C., ‘to make on this man’s alleged sexual potency when seen in relation to his profession. It is a Freudian thesis, with which I am inclined to agree, that the pistol, whether in the hands of an amateur or of a professional gunman, has significance for the owner as a symbol of virility – an extension of the male organ – and that excessive interest in guns (e.g. gun collections and gun clubs) is a form of fetishism.
Now it may only be myth, and it is certainly not medical science, but there is a popular theory that a man who cannot whistle has homosexual tendencies.
O _ o
James Bond awoke at six. At first he didn’t know where he was. He lay and remembered. Sir James Molony had said that his memory would be sluggish for a while. The E.C.T. treatment at The Park, a discreet so-called ‘convalescent home’ in a vast mansion in Kent, had been fierce. Twenty-four bashes at his brain from the black box in thirty days. After it was over, Sir James had confessed that, if he had been practising in America, he wouldn’t have been allowed to administer more than eighteen.
The prairie fire of the sunset raged briefly in the west and the molten sea cooled off into moonlit gunmetal.
She smiled at his scrutiny. ‘The buttons are down the back. This is standard uniform for a tropical Station.’ ‘I can just see Q Branch dreaming it up. I suppose one of the pearls has a death pill in it.’ ‘Of course. But I can’t remember which. I’ll just have to swallow the whole string.
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What about this 3½ Love Lane? Did you get anywhere?’ Mary Goodnight blushed. ‘Did I not! That was a fine question to get me mixed up with. Alexander’s were non-committal and I finally had to go to the Special Branch. I shan’t be able to show my face there for weeks. Heaven knows what they must think of you. That place is a, is a, er –’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s a famous disorderly house in Sav’ La Mar.’ Bond laughed out loud at her discomfiture. He teased her with malicious but gentle sadism. ‘You mean it’s a whorehouse?’ ‘James! For heaven’s sake! Must you be so crude?’
The first law for a secret agent is to get his geography right, his means of access and exit, and assure his communications with the outside world.
Bond might be a shade trigger-happy – of necessity. That he must watch. He must damp down the fire in his belly. Get ice-cold. In the lust to kill, perhaps he was the strongest. Of course. He was fighting for his life.
