Devil May Care

second lest he shoot his paymaster. With Gorner’s bulk across him, Bond lashed out once with his forearm into Hashim’s face. Then, still with Gorner on top of him, he grabbed Hashim’s hair, pulled his head forward and smashed his face into the back of the bench. With his right hand, Bond shoved Gorner down on to the deck where, on all fours, he searched frantically for his glove. With his left hand, Bond kept Hashim’s face against the bench. He heard the sound of a silenced gunshot, but it went into the deck by his feet. Then he vaulted over the bench and took Hashim’s right wrist between both of his own hands. The gun went off again, this time upwards through the striped canvas canopy.
    Passengers had begun to scream as they saw what was happening. Two crew men were running towards Bond and Hashim. Bond had managed to get Hashim’s arm behind his back and was twisting it violently. He could hear the elbow dislocating as the crew closed in on him. The captain sounded the alarm as the band stopped playing their Dixie tune. Hashim let out a grim, feral scream and dropped the gun. Bond grabbed it from the deck and ran forwards.
    The Huckleberry Finn was approaching a low bridge as the captain killed the engines. Gorner, his precious white glove now back on his left hand, had climbed on top of the enclosed wheelhouse where the captain and the pilot stood. There were iron rungs let into the brickwork of the bridge that was slowly approaching them. By the time Bond had seen what was happening, Gorner was hauling himself up the side of the low bridge. Bond managed to catch the last iron handhold as the Huckleberry Finn, now drifting without power, slid beneath the arch.
    With Hashim’s gun in his waistband, Bond pulled himselfup the dozen rungs and on to the parapet. Gorner had already crossed four lanes of traffic and was making off towards the Right Bank.
    Weaving between furious, hooting cars, Bond steadied himself on the central island, planted his feet and fired once. The phlegmy cough of the silencer was followed by a scream from Gorner as the bullet caught his thigh.
    Bond dodged through the northbound traffic. As he did so, he heard the rumble of the steamer below as the captain restarted the engines.
    Bond ran towards Gorner, but when he got there he found that Gorner, bleeding but not disabled, had pulled himself up off the pavement and on to the brick parapet. Bond stopped and pointed the gun at Gorner’s chest.
    ‘I won’t give you that pleasure, Englishman,’ panted Gorner. The black beard had come half unstuck.
    Bond watched closely, expecting him to produce a second gun. But Gorner said nothing, merely turned, jumped and disappeared. Bond ran to the edge of the parapet and looked down. Gorner was still alive, floundering in the brown water.
    The Huckleberry Finn, presumably making with all haste to a point where the captain could disembark the passengers and report to the police, had changed course and was now heading upstream, back beneath the same bridge. The wounded Gorner, splashing impotently with both arms, was directly in her path.
    Gorner appeared stricken, unable to move, as the great paddle swept under him, lifted him up in its teeth, and rolled him round and back beneath the water. Bond watched in fascination as Gorner rose and circulated once more, leaving a poppy-coloured bloodstain in the river. A third time, the trapped body was swept up and revolved in the indifferentpaddles, as the captain of the boat, unaware of what was happening, proceeded at full steam ahead.
    The minstrel band began to play again as the paddles turned – this time with no trace of Gorner. Then on the surface of the river there appeared, floating like a water-lily, a single white glove. It bobbed and turned in the wake of the boat for a few seconds, then filled with water and sank.
    Bond barely had time to telephone Scarlett’s office where he left a message – ‘Crillon lobby at six thirty tomorrow’ – before the police were on the scene. He spent most of the afternoon explaining to them what had happened. A suicide, a bizarre accident … At five o’clock he persuaded them to call René Mathis, who was happy to vouch for Bond’s good name in person.
    It was six thirty by the time the paperwork was finished and the two men stood on the quai des Orfèvres.
    ‘I would love to … But I …’ said Mathis, looking at his watch.
    ‘Me too,’ said Bond. ‘Business.’
    ‘Lunch on Monday,’ said