Chapter 10

       THE SILVER PHANTOM

       Table of Content

      Bond, the collar of his new raincoat up round his ears, was missed as he came out of the entrance of the St Regis Drugstore on 55th Street, which has a connecting door into the hotel.

      He waited in the entrance and leaped at a cruising cab, hooking the door open with the thumb of his injured hand and throwing his light suitcase in ahead of him. The cab hardly checked. The negro with the collecting-box for the Colored Veterans of Korea and his colleague fumbling under the bonnet of his stalled car stayed on the job until, much later, they were called off by a man who drove past and sounded two shorts and a long on his horn.

      But Bond was immediately spotted as he left his cab at the drive-in to the Pennsylvania Station. A lounging negro with a wicker basket walked quickly into a call-box. It was ten-fifteen.

      Only fifteen minutes to go and yet, just before the train started, one of the waiters in the diner reported sick and was hurriedly replaced by a man who had received a full and careful briefing on the telephone. The chef swore there was something fishy, but the new man said a word or two to him and the chef showed the whites of his eyes and went silent, surreptitiously touching the lucky bean that hung round his neck on a string.

      Bond had walked quickly through the great glass-covered concourse and through Gate 14 down to his train.

      It lay, a quarter of a mile of silver carriages, quietly in the dusk of the underground station. Up front, the auxiliary generators of the 4000 horsepower twin Diesel electric units ticked busily. Under the bare electric bulbs the horizontal purple and gold bands, the colours of the Seaboard Railroad, glowed regally on the streamlined locomotives. The engineman and fireman who would take the great train on the first two hundred mile lap into the south lolled in the spotless aluminium cabin, twelve feet above the track, watching the ammeter and the air-pressure dial, ready to go.

      It was quiet in the great concrete cavern below the city and every noise threw an echo.

      There were not many passengers. More would be taken on at Newark, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington. Bond walked a hundred yards, his feet ringing on the empty platform, before he found Car 245, towards the rear of the train. A Pullman porter stood at the door. He wore spectacles. His black face was bored but friendly. Below the windows of the carriage, in broad letters of brown and gold, was written 'Richmond, Fredericksburg and Potomac', and below that 'Bellesylvania', the name of the Pullman car. A thin wisp of steam rose from the couplings of the central heating near the door.

      'Compartment H,' said Bond.

      'Mr Bryce, Suh? Yassuh. Mrs Bryce just come aboard. Straight down da cyar.'

      Bond stepped on to the train and turned down the drab olive-green corridor. The carpet was thick. There was the usual American train-smell of old cigar-smoke. A notice said NEED A SECOND PILLOW? FOR ANY EXTRA COMFORT RING FOR YOUR PULLMAN ATTENDANT. HIS NAME IS, then a printed card, slipped in: SAMUEL D. BALDWIN.

      H was more than half way down the car. There was a respectable-looking American couple in E, otherwise the rooms were empty. The door of H was closed. He tried it and it was locked.

      'Who's that?' asked a girl's voice, anxiously.

      'It's me,' said Bond.

      The door opened. Bond walked through, put down his bag and locked the door behind him.

      She was in a black tailor-made. A wide-mesh veil came down from the rim of a small black straw hat. One gloved hand was up to her throat and through the veil Bond could see that her face was pale and her eyes were wide with fear. She looked rather French and very beautiful.

      'Thank God,' she said.

      Bond gave a quick glance round the room. He opened the lavatory door and looked in. It was empty.

      A voice on the platform outside called 'Board!' There was a clang as the attendant pulled up the folding iron step and shut the door and then the train was rolling quietly down the track. A bell clanged monotonously as they passed the automatic signals. There was a slight clatter from the wheels as they crossed some points and then the train began to accelerate. For better or for worse, they were on their way.

      'Which seat would you like?' asked Bond.

      'I don't mind,' she said anxiously. 'You choose.'

      Bond shrugged and sat down with his back to the engine. He preferred to face forwards.

      She sat down nervously, facing him. They were still in the long tunnel that takes the Philadelphia lines out of the city.

      She took off her hat and unpinned the broad-mesh veil and put them on the seat beside her. She took some hairpins out of the back of her hair and shook her head so that the heavy black hair fell forward. There were blue shadows under her eyes and Bond reflected that she too must have gone without sleep that night.

      There was a table between them. Suddenly she reached forward and pulled his right hand towards her on the table. She held it in both her hands and bent forward and kissed it. Bond frowned and tried to pull his hand away, but for a moment she held it tight in both of hers.

      She looked up and her wide blue eyes looked candidly into his.

      'Thank you,' she said. 'Thank you for trusting me. It was difficult for you.' She released his hand and sat back.

      'I'm glad I did,' said Bond inadequately, his mind trying to grapple with the mystery of this woman. He dug in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. It was a new pack of Chesterfields and with his right hand he scrabbled at the Cellophane wrapper.

      She reached over and took the pack from him. She slit it with her thumb-nail, took out a cigarette, lit it and handed it to him. Bond took it from her and smiled into her eyes, tasting the hint of lipstick from her mouth.

      'I smoke about three packs a day,' he said. 'You're going to be busy.'

      'I'll just help with the new packs,' she said. 'Don't be afraid I'm going to fuss over you the whole way to St Petersburg.'

      Bond's eyes narrowed and the smile went out of them.

      'You don't believe I thought we were only going as far as Washington,' she said. 'You weren't very quick on the telephone this morning. And anyway, Mr Big was certain you would make for Florida. I heard him warning his people down there about you. He spoke to a man called "The Robber", long distance. Said to watch the airport at Tampa and the trains. Perhaps we ought to get off the train earlier, at Tarpon Springs or one of the small stations up the coast. Did they see you getting on the train?'

      'Not that I know of,' said Bond. His eyes had relaxed again. 'How about you? Have any trouble getting away?'

      'It was my day for a singing lesson. He's trying to make a torch singer out of me. Wants me to go on at The Boneyard. One of his men took me to my teacher as usual and was due to pick me up again at midday. He wasn't surprised I was having a lesson so early. I often have breakfast with my teacher so as to get away from Mr Big. He expects me to have all my meals with him.' She looked at her watch.