Vallance didn’t answer. Instead he pressed a switch on the big intercom on his desk.
«Yes, Sir?» said a metallic voice.
«Send up Dankwaerts at the double, please Sergeant. And Lobiniere. And then get me the House of Diamonds on the telephone. Gem merchants in Hatton Garden. Ask for Mr Saye.»
Vallance went and looked out of the window at the river. He took a cigarette lighter out of his waistcoat pocket and flicked at it absent-mindedly. There was a knock on the door and Vallance’s staff secretary put his head in. «Sergeant Dankwaerts, Sir.»
«Send him in,» said Vallance. «Hold Lobiniere until I ring.»
The secretary held open the door and a nondescript man in plain-clothes came in. His hair was thinning, he wore spectacles and his complexion was pale. His expression was kindly and studious. He might have been any senior clerk in any business.
«Afternoon, Sergeant,» said Vallance. «This is Commander Bond of the Ministry of Defence.» The Sergeant smiled politely. «I want you to take Commander Bond to the House of Diamonds in Hatton Garden. He will be ‘Sergeant James’ of your staff. You think the diamonds from that Ascot job are on their way out to the Argentine through America. You will say so to Mr Saye, the top man there. You will wonder if it is possible that Mr Saye has heard any talk from the other side. His New York office may have heard something. You know, all very nice and polite. But just look him in the eye. Put as much pressure on as you can without giving any grounds for complaint. Then apologize and leave and forget all about it. All right? Any questions?»
«No, Sir,» said Sergeant Dankwaerts stolidly.
Vallance spoke into the intercom and a moment later there appeared a sallow, rather ingratiating man wearing extremely smart plain-clothes and carrying a small attache case. He stood waiting just inside the door.
«Good afternoon, Sergeant. Come and have a look at this friend of mine.»
The Sergeant came and stood close up to Bond and politely turned him towards the light. Two very keen dark eyes examined his face minutely for a full minute. Then the man stepped away.
«Can’t guarantee the scar for more than six hours, Sir,» he said. «Not in this heat. But the rest’s all right. Who is he to be, Sir?»
«He’s to be Sergeant James, a member of Sergeant Dankwaert’s staff.» Vallance looked at his watch. «Only for three hours. All right?»
«Certainly, Sir. Shall I go ahead?» At Vallance’s nod, the policeman led Bond to a chair by the window, put his small attache case on the floor beside the chair and knelt down on one knee and opened it. Then, for ten minutes, his light fingers busied themselves over Bond’s face and hair.
Bond resigned himself and listened to Vallance talking to the House of Diamonds. «Not until 3.30? In that case would you please tell Mr Saye that two of my men will be calling on him at 3.30 sharp. Yes, I’m afraid it is rather important. Only a formality of course. Routine inquiry. I don’t expect it will take up more than ten minutes of Mr Saye’s time. Thank you so much. Yes. Assistant Commissioner Vallance. That’s right. Scotland Yard. Yes. Thank you. Goodbye.»
Vallance put back the receiver and turned towards Bond. «Secretary says Saye won’t be back until 3.30. I suggest you get there at 3.15. Never does any harm to have a look round first. Always useful to get your man a bit off balance. How’s it going?»
Sergeant Lobiniere held up a pocket mirror in front of Bond.
A touch of white at the temples. The scar gone. A hint of studiousness at the corners of the eyes and mouth. The faintest shadows under the cheekbones. Nothing you could put your finger on, but it all added up to someone who certainly wasn’t James Bond.
4. «WHAT GOES ON AROUND HERE?»
IN the patrol car Sergeant Dankwaerts was occupied with his thoughts, and they drove in silence along the Strand and up Chancery Lane and into Holborn. At Gamages they turned left into Hatton Garden and the car drew up near the neat white portals of the London Diamond Club. Bond followed his companion across the pavement to a smart door in the centre of which was a well polished brass plate on which was engraved ‘The House of Diamonds’. And underneath ‘Rufus B. Saye. Vice-President for Europe’. Sergeant Dankwaerts rang the bell and a smart Jewish girl opened the door and led them across a thickly carpeted entrance hall into a panelled waiting-room.
«I am expecting Mr Saye any minute now,» she said indifferently and went out and closed the door.
The waiting-room was luxurious and, thanks to an unseasonable log-fire in the Adam fireplace, tropically hot. In the centre of the close-fitted dark red carpet there was a circular Sheraton rosewood table and six matching armchairs that Bond guessed were worth at least a thousand pounds. On the table were the latest magazines and several copies of the Kimberley Diamond News. Dankwaerts’s eyes lit up when he saw these and he sat down and started to turn over the pages of the June issue.
On each of the four walls was a large flower painting in a golden frame. Something almost three dimensional about these paintings caught Bond’s attention and he walked over to examine one of them. It was not a painting, but a stylized arrangement of freshly cut flowers set behind glass in niches lined with copper-coloured velvet. The others were the same, and the four Waterford vases in which the flowers stood were a perfect set.
The room was very quiet except for the hypnotic tick of a large sunburst wall-clock and the soft murmur of voices from behind a door opposite the entrance. There was a click and the door opened a few inches and a voice with a thick foreign intonation expostulated volubly: «Bud Mister Grunspan, why being so hard? Vee must all make a lifting, yes? I am telling you this vonderful stone gost me ten tousant pounts. Ten tousant! You ton’t pelieff me? Bud I svear it. On my vort of honour.» There was a negative pause and the voice made its final bid. «Bedder still! I bet you fife pounts!»
There was the sound of laughter. «Willy, you’re a real card,» said an American voice. «But it’s no dice. Be glad to help you, but that stone isn’t worth more than nine thousand, and I’ll give you a hundred on top of that for yourself. Now you go along and think about it. You won’t get a better offer in The Street.»
The door opened and a stage American business man with pince-nez and a tightly buttoned mouth ushered out a small harassed-looking Jew with a large red rose in his button-hole. They looked startled at finding the waiting-room occupied and, with a muttered «Pardon me» to no one in particular, the American almost ran his companion across the room and out into the hall. The door closed behind them.
Dankwaerts looked up at Bond and winked. «That’s the whole of the diamond business in a nutshell,» he said. «That was Willy Behrens, one of the best-known freelance brokers in The Street. I suppose the other man was Saye’s buyer.» He turned again to his paper, and Bond, resisting the impulse to light a cigarette, went back to his examination of the flower ‘pictures’.
Suddenly the rich, carpeted, ticking silence of the room struck like a cuckoo clock. Simultaneously, a log fell in the grate, the sunburst clock on the wall chimed the half hour, the door was thrust open and a big, dark man took two quick steps in the room and stood looking sharply from one to the other.
«My name is Saye,» he said harshly. «What goes on around here? What do you want?»
The door was open behind him. Sergeant Dankwaerts rose to his feet and walked politely but firmly round the man and closed it. Then he returned to the middle of the room.
«I am Sergeant Dankwaerts of the Special Branch of Scotland Yard,» he said in a quiet, peaceful voice. «And this,» he made a gesture towards Bond, «is Sergeant James. I am making a routine inquiry about some stolen diamonds. It occurred to the Assistant Commissioner,» the voice was of velvet, «that you might be able to help us.»