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e we're going they just take it off the little man。 Serves him right； of course。 He goes there to die。 He can't take it with him。'
'For heaven's sake；' said Bond； 'what sort of a place are we going to？'
'Everybody's nearly dead in St。 Petersburg；' explained Solitaire。 'It's the Great American Graveyard。 When the bank clerk or the post…office worker or the railroad conductor reaches sixty he collects his pension or his annuity and goes to St。 Petersburg to get a few years' sunshine before he dies。 It's called 〃The Sunshine City〃。 The weather's so good that the evening paper there； The Independent； is given away free any day the sun hasn't shone by edition time。 It only happens three or four times a year and it's a fine advertisement。 Everybody goes to bed around nine o'clock in the evening and during the day the old folks play shuffleboard and bridge； herds of them。 There's a couple of baseball teams down there； the 〃Kids〃 and the 〃Kubs〃； all over seventy…five！ Then they play bowls； but most of the time they sit squashed together in droves on things called 〃Sidewalk Davenports〃； rows of benches up and down the sidewalks of the main streets。 They just sit in the sun and gossip and doze。 It's a terrifying sight； all these old people with their spectacles and hearing…aids and clicking false…teeth。'
'Sounds pretty grim；' said Bond。 'Why the hell did Mr。 Big choose this place to operate from？'
'It's perfect for him；' said Solitaire seriously。 'There's practically no crime； except cheating at bridge and Canasta。 So there's a very small police force。 There's quite a big Coastguard Station but it's mainly concerned with smuggling between Tampa and Cuba； and sponge…fishing out of season at Tarpon Springs。 I don't really know what he does there except that he's got a big agent called 〃The Robber〃。 Something to do with Cuba； I expect；' she added thoughtfully。 'Probably mixed up with munism。 I believe Cuba conies under Harlem and runs red agents all through the Caribbean。
'Anyway；' she went on； 'St。 Petersburg is probably the most innocent town in America。 Everything's very 〃folksy〃 and 〃gracious〃。 It's true there's a place called 〃The Res…torium〃； a hospital for alcoholics。 But very old ones； I suppose；' she laughed； 'and I expect they're past doing anyone any harm。 You'll love it；' she smiled maliciously at Bond。 'You'll probably want to settle down there for life and be an 〃Oldster〃 too。 That's the great word down there。。。 〃oldster〃。'
'God forbid；' said Bond fervently。 'It sounds rather like Bournemouth or Torquay。 But a million times worse。 I hope we don't get into a shooting match with 〃The Robber〃 and his friends。 We'd probably hurry a few hundred oldsters off to the cemetery with heart…failure。 But isn't there anyone young in this place？'
'Oh yes；' laughed Solitaire。 'Plenty of them。 All the local inhabitants who take the money off the oldsters； for instance。 The people who own the motels and the trailer…camps。 You could make plenty of money running the bingo tournaments。 I'll be your 〃barker〃 … the girl outside who gets the suckers in。 Dear Mr。 Bond；' she reached over and pressed his hand； 'will you settle down with me and grow old gracefully in St。 Petersburg？'
Bond sat back and looked at her critically。 'I want a long time of disgraceful living with you first；' he said with a grin。 'I'm probably better at that。 But it suits me that they go to bed at nine down there。'
Her eyes smiled back at him。 She took her hand away from his as their breakfast arrived。 'Yes；' she said。 'You go to bed at nine。 Then I shall slip out by the back door and go on the tiles with the Kids and the Kubs。'
The breakfast was as bad as Bond had prophesied。
When they had paid they wandered over to the station waiting…room。
The sun had risen and the light swarmed in dusty bars into the vaulted； empty hall。 They sat together in a corner and until the Silver Meteor came in Bond plied her with questions about The Big Man and all she could tell him about his operations。
Occasionally he made a note of a date or a name but there was little she could add to what he knew。 She had an apartment to herself in the same Harlem block as Mr。 Big and she had been kept virtually a prisoner there for the past year。 She had two tough negresses as 'panions' and was never allowed out without a guard。
From time to time Mr。 Big would have her brought over to the room where Bond had seen him。 There she would be told to divine whether some man or woman； generally bound to the chair； was lying or not。 She varied her replies according to whether she sensed these people were good or evil。 She knew that her verdict might often be a death sentence but she felt indifferent to the fate of those she judged to be evil。 Very few of them were white。
Bond jotted down the dates and details of all these occasions。
Everything she told him added to the picture of a very powerful and active man； ruthless and cruel； manding a huge network of operations。
All she knew of the gold coins was that she had several times had to question men on how many they had passed and the price they had been paid for them。 Very often； she said； they were lying on both counts。
Bond was careful to divulge…very little of what he himself knew or guessed。 His growing warmth towards Solitaire and his desire for her body were in a partment which had no municating door with his professional life。
The Silver Meteor came in on time and they were both relieved to be on their way again and to get away from the dreary world of the big junction。
The train sped on down through Florida； through the forests and swamps； stark and bewitched with Spanish moss； and through the mile upon mile of citrus groves。
All through the centre of the state the moss lent a dead； spectral feeling to the landscape。 Even the little townships through which they passed had a grey skeletal aspect with their dried…up； sun…sucked clapboard houses。 Only the citrus groves laden with fruit looked green and alive。 Everything else seemed baked and desiccated with the heat。
Looking out at the gloomy silent withered forests； Bond thought that nothing could be living in them except bats and scorpions； horned toads and black widow spiders。
They had lunch and then suddenly the train was running along the Gulf of Mexico； through the mangrove swamps and palm groves； endless motels and caravan sites； and Bond caught the smell of the other Florida； the Florida of the advertisements； the land of 'Miss Orange Blossom I954'。
They left the train at Clearwater； the last station before St。 Petersburg。 Bond took a cab and gave the address on Treasure Island； half an hour's drive away。 It was two o'clock and the sun blazed down out of a cloudless sky。 Solitaire insisted on taking off her hat and veil。 'It's sticking to my face；' she said。 'Hardly a soul has ever seen me down here。'
A big negro with a face pitted with ancient smallpox was held up in his cab at the same time as they were checked at the intersection of Park Street and Central Avenue； where the Avenue runs on to the long Treasure Island causeway across the shallow waters of Boca Ciega Bay。
When the negro saw Solitaire's profile his mouth fell o