Bond was surprised. “As a matter of fact I have. But I've been fit for weeks. What made you say that”

Quarrel was embarrassed. “Sorry, cap'n,” he said, thinking he might have offended Bond. “Dere some pain lines in yo face since de las' time.”

“Oh well,” said Bond. “It was nothing much. But I could do with a spell of your training. I'm not as fit as I ought to be.”

“Shooting, cap'n.”

They were moving towards the exit when there came the sharp crack and flash of a Press camera. A pretty Chinese girl in Jamaican dress was lowering her Speed Graphic. She came up to them. She said with synthetic charm, “Thank you, gentlemen. I am from the Daily Gleaner.” She glanced down at a list in her hand. “Mister Bond, isn't it And how long will you be with us, Mister Bond”

Bond was offhand. This was a bad start. “In transit,” he said shortly. “I think you'll find there were more interesting people on the plane.”

“Oh no, I'm sure not, Mister Bond. You look very important. And what hotel will you be staying at”

Damn, thought Bond. He said “Myrtle Bank” and moved on.

“Thank you, Mister Bond,” said the tinkling voice. “I hope you'll enjoy...”

They were outside. As they walked towards the parking place Bond said, “Ever seen that girl at the airport before”

Quarrel reflected. “Reck'n not, cap'n. But de Gleaner have plenty camera gals.”

Bond was vaguely worried. There was no earthly reason why his picture should be wanted by the Press. It was five years since his last adventures on the island, and anyway his name had been kept out of the papers.

They got to the car. It was a black Sunbeam Alpine. Bond looked sharply at it and then at the number plate. Strangways's car. What the hell “Where did you get this, Quarrel”