"It's like this." He began his antics with the pipe. "The Jamaican is a kindly2 lazy man with the virtues3 and vices4 of a child. He lives on a very rich island but he doesn't get rich from it. He doesn't know how to and he's too lazy. The British come and go and take the easy pickings, but for about two hundred years no Englishman has made a fortune out here. He doesn't stay long enough. He takes a fat cut and leaves. It's the Portuguese5 Jews who make the most. They came here with the British and they've stayed. But they're snobs6 and they spend too much of their fortunes on building fine houses and giving dances. They're the names that fill the social column in the Gleaner7 when the tourists have gone. They're in rum and tobacco and they represent the big British firms over here-motor cars, insurance and so forth8. Then come the Syrians, very rich too, but not such good businessmen. They have most of the stores and some of the best hotels. They're not a very good risk. Get overstocked and have to have an occasional fire to get liquid again. Then there are the Indians with their usual flashy trade in soft goods and the like. They're not much of a lot. Finally there are the Chinese, solid, compact, discreet-the most powerful clique9 in Jamaica. They've got the bakeries and the laundries and the best food stores. They keep to themselves and keep their strain pure." Pleydell-Smith laughed. "Not that they don't take the black girls when they want them. You can see the result all over Kingston-Chigroes-Chinese Negroes and Negresses. The Chigroes are a tough, forgotten race. They look down on the Negroes and the Chinese look down on them. One day they may become a nuisance. They've got some of the intelligence of the Chinese and most of the vices of the black man. The police have a lot of trouble with them."
Bond said, "That secretary of yours. Would she be one of them?"
"That's right. Bright girl and very efficient. Had her for about six months. She was far the best of the ones that answered our advertisement."
"She looks bright," said Bond non-committally. "Are they organized, these people? Is there some head of the Chinese Negro community?"
"Not yet. But someone'll get hold of them one of these days. They'd be a useful little pressure group." Pleydell-Smith glanced at his watch. "That reminds me. Must be getting along. Got to go and read the riot act about those files. Can't think what happened to them. I distinctly remember…" He broke off. "However, main point is that I haven't been able to give you much dope about Crab10 Key and this doctor fellow. But I can tell you there wasn't much you'd have found out from the files. He seems to have been a pleasant spoken chap. Very businesslike. Then there was that argument with the Audubon Society. I gather you know all about that. As for the place itself, there was nothing on the files but one or two pre-war reports and a copy of the last ordnance11 survey. Godforsaken bloody12 place it sounds. Nothing but miles of mangrove13 swamps and a huge mountain of bird dung at one end. But you said you were going down to the Institute. Why don't I take you there and introduce you to the fellow who runs the map section?"
An hour later Bond was ensconced in a corner of a sombre room with the ordnance survey map of Crab Key, dated 1910, spread out on a table in front of him. He had a sheet of the Institute's writing-paper and had made a rough sketch-map and was jotting14 down the salient points.
The overall area of the island was about fifty square miles. Three-quarters of this, to the east, was swamp and shallow lake. From the lake a flat river meandered15 down to the sea and came out halfway16 along the south coast into a small sandy bay. Bond guessed that somewhere at the headwaters of the river would be a likely spot for the Audubon wardens17 to have chosen for their camp. To the west, the island rose steeply to a hill stated to be five hundred feet high and ended abruptly18 with what appeared to be a sheer drop to the sea. A dotted line led from this hill to a box in the corner of the map which contained the words Guano deposits. Last workings 1880.
There was no sign of a road, or even of a track oh the island, and no sign of a house. The relief map showed that the island looked rather like a swimming water rat-a flat spine19 rising sharply to the head-heading west. It appeared to be about thirty miles due north of Galina Point on the north shore of Jamaica and about sixty miles south of Cuba.
Little else could be gleaned20 from the map. Crab Key was surrounded by shoal water except below the western cliff where the nearest marking was five hundred fathoms21. After that came the plunge22 into the Cuba Deep. Bond folded the map and handed it in to the librarian.
Suddenly he felt exhausted23. It was only four o'clock, but it was roasting in Kingston and his shirt was sticking to him. Bond walked out of the Institute and found a taxi and went back up into the cool hills to his hotel. He was well satisfied with his day, but nothing .else could be done on this side of the island. He would spend a quiet evening at his hotel and be ready to get up early next morning and be away.
Bond went to the reception desk to see if there was a message from Quarrel. "No messages, sir," said the girl. "But a basket of fruit came from King's House. Just after lunch. The messenger took it up to your room."
"What sort of a messenger?"
"Coloured man, sir. Said he was from the ADC's office."
"Thank you." Bond took his key and went up the stairs to the first floor. It was ridiculously improbable. His hand on the gun under his coat, Bond softly approached his door. He turned the key and kicked the door open. The empty room yawned at him. Bond shut and locked the door. On his dressing24 table was a large, ornate basket of fruit-tangerines, grapefruit, pink bananas, soursop, star-apples and even a couple of hothouse nectarines. Attached to a broad ribbon on the handle was a white envelope. Bond removed it and held it up to the light. He opened it. On a plain sheet of expensive white writing paper was typed 'With the Compliments of His Excellency the Governor'.
Bond snorted. He stood looking at the fruit. He bent25 his ear to it and listened. He then took the basket by the handle and tipped its contents out on to the floor. The fruit bounced and rolled over the coconut26 matting. There was nothing but fruit in the basket. Bond grinned at his precautions. There was a last possibility. He picked up one of the nectarines, the most likely for a greedy man to choose first, and took it into the bathroom. He dropped it in the washbasin and went back to the bedroom and, after inspecting the lock, unlocked the wardrobe. Gingerly he lifted out his suitcase and stood it in the middle of the room. He knelt down and looked for the traces of talcum powder he had dusted round the two locks. They were smeared27 and there were minute scratches round the keyholes. Bond sourly examined the marks. These people were not as careful as some others he had had to deal with. He unlocked the case and stood it up on end. There were four innocent copper28 studs in the welting at the front right-hand corner of the lid. Bond prised at the top one of these studs with his nail and it eased out. He took hold of it and pulled out three feet of thick steel wire and put it on the floor beside him. This wire threaded through small wire loops inside the lid and sewed the case shut. Bond lifted the lid and verified that nothing had been disturbed. From his 'tool case' he took out a jeweller's glass and went back into the bathroom and switched on the light over the shaving mirror. He screwed the glass into his eye and gingerly picked the nectarine out of the washbasin and revolved29 it slowly between finger and thumb.
Bond stopped turning the nectarine. He had come to a minute pinhole, its edges faintly discoloured brown. It was in the crevice30 of the fruit, invisible except under a magnifying glass. Bond put the nectarine carefully down in the washbasin. He stood for a moment and looked thoughtfully into his eyes in the mirror.
So it was war! Well, well. How very interesting. Bond felt the slight tautening of the skin at the base of his stomach. He smiled thinly at his reflection in the mirror. So his instincts and his reasoning had been correct. Strangways and the girl had been murdered and their records destroyed because they had got too hot on the trail. Then Bond had come on the scene and, thanks to Miss Taro31, they had been waiting for him. Miss Chung, and perhaps the taxi driver, had picked up the scent32. He had been traced to the Blue Hills hotel. The first shot had been fired. There would be others. And whose finger was on the trigger? Who had got him so accurately33 in his sights? Bond's mind was made up. The evidence was nil34. But he was certain of it. This was long range fire, from Crab Key. The man behind the gun was Doctor No.
Bond walked back into the bedroom. One by one he picked up the fruit and took each piece back to the bathroom and examined it through his glass. The pin-prick was always there, concealed35 in the stalk-hole or a crevice. Bond rang down and asked for a cardboard box and paper and string. He packed the fruit carefully in the box and picked up the telephone and called King's House. He asked for the Colonial Secretary. "That you, Pleydell-Smith? James Bond speaking. Sorry to bother you. Got a bit of a problem. Is there a public analyst36 in Kingston? I see. Well, I've got something I want analysed. If I sent the box down to you, would you be very kind and pass it on to this chap? I don't want my name to come into this. All right? I'll explain later. When you get his report would you send me a short telegram telling me the answer? I'll be at Beau Desert, over at Morgan's Harbour, for the next week or so. Be glad if you'd keep that to yourself too. Sorry to be so damned mysterious. I'll explain everything when I see you next. I expect you'll get a clue when you see what the analyst has to say. And by the way, tell him to handle the specimens37 carefully, would you. Warn him there's more in them than meets the eye. Very many thanks. Lucky I met you this morning. Goodbye."
Bond addressed the parcel and went down and paid a taxi to deliver it at once to King's House. It was six o'clock. He went back to his room and had a shower and changed and ordered his first drink. He was about to take it out on the balcony when the telephone rang. It was Quarrel.
"Everyting fixed38, cap'n."
"Everything? That's wonderful. That house all right?"
"Everyting okay." Quarrel repeated, his voice careful. "See yo as yo done said, cap'n."
"Fine," said Bond. He was impressed with Quarrel's efficiency and a sense of security. He put down the telephone and went out on to the balcony.
The sun was just setting. The wave of violet shadow was creeping down towards the town and the harbour. When it hits the town, thought Bond, the lights will go on. It happened as he had expected. Above him there was the noise of a plane. It came into sight, a Super Constellation39, the same flight that Bond had been on the night before. Bond watched it sweep out over the sea and then turn and come in to land at the Palisadoes airport. What a long way he had come since that moment, only twenty-four hours before, when the door of the plane had clanged open and the loudspeaker had said, 'This ia Kingston, Jamaica. Will passengers please remain seated until the aircraft has been cleared by the Health Authorities."
Should he tell M how the picture had changed? Should he make a report to the Governor? Bond thought of the Governor and dismissed that idea. But what about M? Bond had his own cipher40. He could easily send M a signal through the Colonial Office. What would he say to M? That Doctor No had sent him some poisoned fruit? But he didn't even know that it was poisoned, or, for the matter of that, that it had come from Doctor No. Bond could see M's face as he read the signal. He saw him press down the lever on the intercom: "Chief of Staff, 007's gone round the bend. Says someone's been trying to feed him a poisoned banana. Fellow's lost his nerve. Been in hospital too long. Better call him home."
Bond smiled to himself. He got up and rang down for another drink. It wouldn't be quite like that, of course. But still… No, he'd wait until he had something more to show. Of course if something went badly wrong, and he hadn't sent a warning, he'd be in trouble. It was up to him to see that nothing did go wrong.
Bond drank his second drink and thought over the details of his plan. Then he went down and had dinner in the half-deserted dining-room and read the Handbook of the West Indies. By nine o'clock he was half asleep. He went back to his room and packed his bag ready for the morning. He telephoned down and arranged to be called at five-thirty. Then he bolted the door on the inside, and also shut and bolted the slatted jalousies across the windows. It would mean a hot, stuffy41 night. That couldn't be helped. Bond climbed naked under the single cotton sheet and turned over on his left side and slipped his right hand on to the butt42 of the Walther PPK under the pillow. In five minutes he was asleep.
The next thing Bond knew was that it was three o'clock in the morning. He knew it was three o'clock because the luminous43 dial of his watch was close to his face. He lay absolutely still. There was not a sound in the room. He strained his ears. Outside, too, it was deathly quiet. Far in the distance a dog started to bark. Other dogs joined in and there was a brief hysterical44 chorus which stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Then it was quite quiet again. The moon coming through the slats in the jalousies threw black and white bars across the corner of the room next to his bed. It was as if he was lying in a cage. What had woken him up? Bond moved softly, preparing to slip out of bed.
Bond stopped moving. He stopped as dead as a live man can.
Something had stirred on his right ankle. Now it was moving up the inside of his shin. Bond could feel the hairs on his leg being parted. It was an insect of some sort. A very big one. It was long, five or six inches-as long as his hand. He could feel dozens of tiny feet lightly touching45 his skin. What was it?
Then Bond heard something he had never heard before-the sound of the hair on his head rasping up on the pillow. Bond analysed the noise. It couldn't be! It simply couldn't! Yes, his hair was standing46 on end. Bond could even feel the cool air reaching his scalp between the hairs. How extraordinary! How very extraordinary! He had always thought it was a figure of speech. But why? Why was it happening to him?
The thing on his leg moved. Suddenly Bond realized that he was afraid, terrified. His instincts, even before they had communicated with his brain, had told his body that he had a centipede on him.
Bond lay frozen. He had once seen a tropical centipede in a bottle of spirit on the shelf in a museum. It had been pale brown and very flat and five or six inches long-about the length of this one. On either side of the blunt head there had been curved poison claws. The label on the bottle had said that its poison was mortal if it hit an artery47. Bond had looked curiously48 at the corkscrew of dead cuticle49 and had moved on.
The centipede had reached his knee. It was starting up his thigh50. Whatever happened he mustn't move, mustn't even tremble. Bond's whole consciousness had drained down to the two rows of softly creeping feet. Now they had reached his flank. God, it was turning down towards his groin! Bond set his teeth! Supposing it liked the warmth there! Supposing it tried to crawl into the crevices51! Could he stand it? Supposing it chose that place to bite? Bond could feel it questing amongst the first hairs. It tickled52. The skin on Bond's belly53 fluttered. There was nothing he could do to control it. But now the thing was turning up and along his stomach. Its feet were gripping tighter to prevent it falling. Now it was at his heart. If it bit there, surely it would kill him. The centipede trampled54 steadily55 on through the thin hairs on Bond's right breast up to his collar bone. It stopped. What was it doing? Bond could feel the blunt head questing blindly to and fro. What was it looking for? Was there room between his skin and the sheet for it to get through? Dare he lift the sheet an inch to help it. No. Never! The animal was at the base of his jugular56. Perhaps it was intrigued57 by the heavy pulse there. Christ, if only he could control the pumping of his blood. Damn you! Bond tried to communicate with the centipede. It's nothing. It's not dangerous, that pulse. It means you no harm. Get on out into the fresh air!
As if the beast had heard, it moved on up the column of the neck and into the stubble on Bond's chin. Now it was at the corner of his mouth, tickling58 madly. On it went, up along the nose. Now he could feel its whole weight and length. Softly Bond closed his eyes. Two by two the pairs of feet, moving alternately, trampled across his right eyelid59. When it got off his eye, should he take a chance and shake it off-rely on its feet slipping in his sweat? No, for God's sake! The grip of the feet was endless. He might shake one lot off, but not the rest.
With incredible deliberation the huge insect ambled60 across Bond's forehead. It stopped below the hair. What the hell was it doing now? Bond could feel it nuzzling at his skin. It was drinking! Drinking the beads61 of salt sweat. Bond was sure of it. For minutes it hardly moved. Bond felt weak with the tension. He could feel the sweat pouring off the rest of his body on to the sheet. In a second his limbs would start to tremble. He could feel it coming on. He would start to shake with an ague of fear. Could he control it, could he? Bond lay and waited, the breath coming softly through his open, snarling62 mouth.
The centipede started to move again. It walked into the forest of hair. Bond could feel the roots being pushed aside as it forced its way along. Would it like it there? Would it settle down? How did centipedes sleep? Curled up, or at full length? The tiny centipedes he had known as a child, the ones that always seemed to find their way up the plughole into the empty bath, curled up when you touched them. Now it had come to where his head lay against the sheet. Would it walk out on to the pillow or would it stay on in the warm forest? The centipede stopped. Out! OUT! Bond's nerves screamed at it.
The centipede stirred. Slowly it walked out of his hair on to the pillow.
Bond waited a second. Now he could hear the rows of feet picking softly at the cotton. It was a tiny scraping noise, like soft fingernails.
With a crash that shook the room Bond's body jackknifed out of bed and on to the floor.
At once Bond was on his feet and at the door. He turned on the light. He found he was shaking uncontrollably. He staggered to the bed. There it was crawling out of sight over the edge of the pillow. Bond's first instinct was to twitch63 the pillow on to the floor. He controlled himself, waiting for his nerves to quieten. Then softly, deliberately64, he picked up the pillow by one corner and walked into the middle of the room and dropped it. The centipede came out from under the pillow. It started to snake swiftly away across the matting. Now Bond was uninterested. He looked round for something to kill it with. Slowly he went and picked up a shoe and came back. The danger was past. His mind was now wondering how the centipede had got into his bed. He lifted the shoe and slowly, almost carelessly, smashed it down. He heard the crack of the hard carapace65.
Bond lifted the shoe.
The centipede was whipping from side to side in its agony-five inches of grey-brown, shiny death. Bond hit it again. It burst open, yellowly.
Bond dropped the shoe and ran for the bathroom and was violently sick.
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1
delving
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的现在分词 ) | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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snobs
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| （谄上傲下的）势利小人( snob的名词复数 )； 自高自大者，自命不凡者 | |
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7
gleaner
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| n.拾穗的人；割捆机 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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clique
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| n.朋党派系，小集团 | |
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crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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11
ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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13
mangrove
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| n.(植物)红树，红树林 | |
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jotting
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| n.简短的笔记，略记v.匆忙记下( jot的现在分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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meandered
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| （指溪流、河流等）蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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wardens
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| n.看守人( warden的名词复数 )；管理员；监察员；监察官 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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gleaned
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| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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25
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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26
coconut
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| n.椰子 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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taro
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| n.芋，芋头 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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nil
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| n.无，全无，零 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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analyst
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| n.分析家，化验员；心理分析学家 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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39
constellation
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| n.星座n.灿烂的一群 | |
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40
cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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41
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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43
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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44
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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45
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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46
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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47
artery
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| n.干线，要道；动脉 | |
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48
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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49
cuticle
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| n.表皮 | |
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50
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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51
crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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52
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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53
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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54
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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55
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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56
jugular
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| n.颈静脉 | |
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57
intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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58
tickling
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| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
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59
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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60
ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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61
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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62
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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63
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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carapace
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| n.（蟹或龟的）甲壳 | |
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