wing collar and spotted bow tie, was sitting at a broad mahogany desk on which there was nothing but the Daily Gleaner, the Times Weekly and a bowl of hibiscus blossoms. His hands lay flat on the desk in front of him. He was sixtyish with a red, rather petulant face and bright, bitter blue eyes. He didn’t smile or get up. He said, ‘Good morning, Mr – er – Bond. Please sit down.’
Bond took the chair across the desk from the Governor and sat down. He said, ‘Good morning, sir,’ and waited. A friend at the Colonial Office had told him his reception would be frigid. ‘He’s nearly at retiring age. Only an interim appointment. We had to find an Acting Governor to take over at short notice when Sir Hugh Foot was promoted. Foot was a great success. This man’s not even trying to compete. He knows he’s only got the job for a few months while we find someone to replace Foot. This man’s been passed over for the Governor Generalship of Rhodesia. Now all he wants is to retire and get some directorships in the City. Last thing he wants is any trouble in Jamaica. He keeps on trying to close this Strangways case of yours. Won’t like you ferreting about.’
The Governor cleared his throat. He recognized that Bond wasn’t one of the servile ones. ‘You wanted to see me?’
‘Just to make my number, sir,’ said Bond equably. ‘I’m here on the Strangways case. I think you had a signal from the Secretary of State.’ This was a reminder that the people behind Bond were powerful people. Bond didn’t like attempts to squash him or his Service.
‘I recall the signal. And what can I do for you? So far as we’re concerned here the case is closed.’
‘In what way “closed”, sir?’
The Governor said roughly, ‘Strangways obviously did a bunk with the girl. Unbalanced sort of fellow at the best of times. Some of your – er – colleagues, don’t seem to be able to leave women alone.’ The Governor clearly included Bond. ‘Had to bail the chap out of various scandals before now. Doesn’t do the Colony any good, Mr – er – Bond. Hope your people will be sending us a rather better type of man to take his place. That is,’ he added coldly, ‘if a Regional Control man is really needed here. Personally I have every confidence in our police.’
Bond smiled sympathetically. ‘I’ll report your views, sir. I expect my Chief will like to discuss them with the Minister of Defence and the Secretary of State. Naturally, if you would like to take over these extra duties it will be a saving in manpower so far as my Service is concerned. I’m sure the Jamaican Constabulary is most efficient.’
The Governor looked at Bond suspiciously. Perhaps he had better handle this man a bit more carefully. ‘This is an informal discussion, Mr Bond. When I have decided on my views I will communicate them myself to the Secretary of State. In the meantime, is there anyone you wish to see on my staff?’
‘I’d like to have a word with the Colonial Secretary, sir.’
‘Really? And why, pray?’
‘There’s been some trouble on Crab Key. Something about a bird sanctuary. The case was passed to us by the Colonial Office. My Chief asked me to look into it while I’m here.’
The Governor looked relieved. ‘Certainly, certainly. I’ll see that Mr Pleydell-Smith receives you straight away. So you feel we can leave the Strangways case to sort itself out? They’ll turn up before long, never fear.’ He reached over and rang a bell. The A.D.C. came in. ‘This gentleman would like to see the Colonial Secretary, A.D.C. Take him along, would you? I’ll call Mr Pleydell-Smith myself and ask him to make himself available.’ He got up and came round the desk. He held out his hand. ‘Goodbye then, Mr Bond. And I’m so glad we see eye to eye. Crab Key, eh? Never been there myself, but I’m sure it would repay a visit.’
Bond shook hands. ‘That was what I was thinking. Goodbye, sir.’
‘Goodbye, goodbye.’ The Governor watched Bond’s back retreating out of the door and himself returned well satisfied to his desk. ‘Young whippersnapper,’ he said to the empty room. He sat down and said a few peremptory words down the telephone to the Colonial Secretary. Then he picked up the Times Weekly and turned to the Stock Exchange prices.
The Colonial Secretary was a youngish shaggy-haired man with bright, boyish eyes. He was one of those nervous pipe smokers who are constantly patting their pockets for matches, shaking the box to see how many are left in it, or knocking the dottle out of their pipes. After he had gone through this routine two or three times in his first ten minutes with Bond, Bond wondered if he ever got any smoke into his lungs at all.
After pumping energetically at Bond’s hand and waving vaguely at a chair, Pleydell-Smith walked up and down the room scratching his temple with the stem of his pipe. ‘Bond. Bond. Bond! Rings a bell. Now let me see. Yes, by jove! You were the chap who was mixed up in that treasure business here. By jove, yes! Four, five years ago. Found the file lying around only the other day. Splendid show. What a lark! I say, wish you’d start another bonfire like that here. Stir the place up a bit. All they think of nowadays is Federation and their bloody self-importance. Self-determination indeed! They can’t even run a bus service. And the colour problem! My dear chap, there’s far more colour problem between the straight-haired and the crinkly-haired Jamaicans than there is between me and my black cook. However,’ Pleydell-Smith came to rest beside his desk. He sat down opposite Bond and draped one leg over the arm of his chair. Reaching for a tobacco jar with the arms of King’s College, Cambridge, on it, he dug into it and started filling his pipe. ‘I mean to say I don’t want to bore you with all that. You go ahead and bore me. What’s your problem? Glad to help. I bet it’s more interesting than this muck,’ he waved at the pile of papers in his In tray.
Bond grinned at him. This was more like it. He had found an ally, and an intelligent one at that. ‘Well,’ he said seriously, ‘I’m here on the Strangways case. But first of all I want to ask you a question that may sound odd. Exactly how did you come to be looking at that other case of mine? You say you found the file lying about. How was that? Had someone asked for it? I don’t want to be indiscreet, so don’t answer if you don’t want to. I’m just inquisitive.’
Pleydell-Smith cocked an eye at him. ‘I suppose that’s your job.’ He reflected, gazing at the ceiling. ‘Well, now I come to think of it I saw it on my secretary’s desk. She’s a new girl. Said she was trying to get up to date with the files. Mark you,’ the Colonial Secretary hastened to exonerate his girl, ‘there were plenty of other files on her desk. It was just this one that caught my eye.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Bond. ‘It was like that.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry, but various people seem to be rather interested in me being here. What I really wanted to talk to you about was Crab Key. Anything you know about the place. And about this Chinaman, Doctor No, who bought it. And anything you can tell me about his guano business. Rather a tall order, I’m afraid, but any scraps will help.’
Pleydell-Smith laughed shortly through the stem of his pipe. He jerked the pipe out of his mouth and talked while he tamped down the burning tobacco with his matchbox. ‘Bitten off a bit more than you can chew on guano. Talk to you for hours about it. Started in the Consular before I transferred to the Colonial Office. First job was in Peru. Had a lot to do with their people who administer the whole trade – Compania Aministradora del Guano. Nice people.’ The pipe was going now and Pleydell-Smith threw his matchbox down on the table. ‘As for the rest, it’s just a question of getting the file.’ He rang a bell. In a minute the door opened behind Bond. ‘Miss Taro, the file on Crab Key, please. The one on the sale of the place and the other one on that warden fellow who turned up before Christmas. Miss Longfellow will know where to find them.’
A soft voice said, ‘Yes, sir.’
