When Bond's head hit into the soft stomach and he felt the hands at his throat, it was too late to think of his revolver. His only reaction was to throw himself down and forward at the legs. The legs gave against his shoulder and there was a shrill scream as the body crashed down on his back.
Bond had started the heave that would hurl his attacker sideways and on to the conveyor-belt when the quality of the scream and something light and soft about the impact of the body froze his muscles.
It couldn't be!
As if in answer, sharp teeth bit deeply into the calf of his right leg and an elbow jabbed viciously, knowledgeably, backwards into his groin.
Bond yelled with the pain. He tried to squirm sideways to protect himself, but even as he shouted "Honey!" the elbow thudded into him again.
The breath whistled through Bond's teeth with the agony. There was only one way to stop her without throwing her on to the conveyor-belt. He took a firm grip of one ankle and heaved himself to his knees. He stood upright, holding her slung over his shoulder by one leg. The other foot banged against his head, but half-heartedly, as if she too realized that something was wrong.
"Stop it, Honey! It's me!"
Through the din of the conveyor-belt, Bond's shout got through to her. He heard her cry "James!" from somewhere near the floor. He felt her hands clutch at his legs. "James, James!"
Bond slowly let her down. He turned and knelt and reached for her. He put his arms round her and held her tightly to him. "Oh Honey, Honey. Are you all right?" Desperately, unbelieving, he strained her to him.
"Yes, James! Oh, yes!" He felt her hands at his back and his hair. "Oh, James, my darling!" she fell against him, sobbing.
"It's all right, Honey." Bond smoo'thed her hair. "And Doctor No's dead. But now we've got to run for it. We've got to get out of here. Come on! How can we get out of the tunnel? How did you get here? We've got to hurry!"
As if in comment, the conveyor-belt stopped with a jerk.
Bond pulled the girl to her feet. She was wearing a dirty suit of workmen's blue dungarees. The sleeves and legs were; rolled up. The suit was far too big for her. She looked like a girl in a man's pyjamas. She was powdered white with the guano dust except where the tears had marked her cheeks. She said breathlessly, "Just up there! There's a side tunnel that leads to the machine shops and the garage. Will they come after us?"
There was no time to talk. Bond said urgently, "Follow me!" and started running. Behind him her feet padded softly in the hollow silence. They came to the fork where the side tunnel led off into the rock. Which way would the men come? Down the side tunnel or along the catwalk in the main tunnel? The sound of voices booming far up the side tunnel answered him. Bond drew the girl a few feet up the main tunnel. He brought her close to him and whispered, "I'm sorry. Honey. I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill them."
"Of course." The answering whisper was matter of fact. She pressed his hand and stood back to give him room. She put her hands up to her ears.
Bond eased the gun out of his waistband. Softly he broke the cylinder sideways and verified with his thumb that all six chambers were loaded. Bond knew he wasn't going to like this, killing again in cold blood, but these men would be the Chinese Negro gangsters, the strong-arm guards who did the dirty work. They would certainly be murderers many times over. Perhaps they were the ones who had killed Strangways and the girl. But there was no point in trying to ease his conscience. It was kill or be killed. He must just do it efficiently.
The voices were coming closer. There were three men. They were talking loudly, nervously. Perhaps it was many years since they had even thought of going through the tunnel. Bond wondered if they would look round as they came out into the main tunnel. Or would he have to shoot them in the back?
Now they were very close. He could hear their shoes scuffing the ground.
"That makes ten bucks you owe me, Sam."
"Not after tonight it won't be. Roll them bones, boy. Roll them bones."
"No dice for me tonight, feller. I'm goin' to cut maself a slice of de white girl."
"Haw, haw, haw."
The first man came out, then the second, then the third. They were carrying their revolvers loosely in their right hands.
Bond said sharply, "No, you won't."
The three men whirled round. White teeth glinted in open mouths. Bond shot the rear man in the head and the second man in the stomach. The front man's gun was up. A bullet whistled past Bond and away up the main tunnel. Bond's gun crashed. The man clutched at his neck and spun slowly round and fell across the conveyor-belt. The echoes thundered slowly up and down the tunnel. A puff of fine dust rose in the air and settled. Two of the bodies lay still. The man with the stomach shot writhed and jerked.
Bond tucked his hot gun into the waistband of his trousers. He said roughly to the girl, "Come on." He reached for her hand and pulled her after him into the mouth of the side tunnel. He said, "Sorry about that, Honey," and started running, pulling her after him by the hand. She said, "Don't be stupid." Then there was no sound but the thud of their naked feet on the stone floor.
The air was clean in the side tunnel and it was easier going but, after the tension of the shooting, pain began to crowd in again and take possession of Bond's body. He ran automatically. He hardly thought of the girl. His whole mind was focused on taking the pain and on the problems that waited at the end of the tunnel.
He couldn't tell if the shots had been heard and he had no idea what opposition was left. His only plan was to shoot anyone who got in his way and somehow get to the garage and the marsh buggy. That was their only hope of getting away from the mountain and down to the coast.
The dim yellow bulbs in the ceiling flickered by overhead. Still the tunnel stretched on. Behind him, Honey stumbled. Bond stopped, cursing himself for not having thought of her. She reached for him and for a moment she leaned against him panting. "I'm sorry, James. It's just that…"
Bond held her to him. He said anxiously, "Are you hurt, Honey?"
"No, I'm all right. It's just that I'm so terribly tired. And my feet got rather cut on the mountain. I fell a lot in the dark. If we could walk a bit. We're nearly there. And there's a door into the garage before we get to the machine shop. Couldn't we go in there?"
Bond hugged her to him. He said, "That's just what I'm looking for, Honey. That's our only hope of getting away. If you can stick it till we get there, we've got a real chance."
Bond put his arm round her waist and took her weight. He didn't trust himself to look at her feet. He knew they must be bad. It was no good being sorry for each other. There wasn't time for it if they we're to stay alive.
They started moving again, Bond's face grim with the extra effort, the girl's feet leaving bloody footsteps on the ground, and almost immediately she whispered urgently and there was a wooden door in the wall of the tunnel and it was ajar and no sound came from the other side.
Bond took out his gun and gently eased the door open. The long garage was empty. Under the neon lights the black and gold painted dragon on wheels looked like a float waiting for the Lord Mayor's Show. It was pointing towards the sliding doors and the hatch of the armoured cabin stood open. Bond prayed that the tank was full and that the mechanic had carried out his orders to get the damage fixed.
Suddenly, from somewhere outside, there was the sound of voices. They came nearer, several of them, jabbering urgently.
Bond took the girl by the hand and ran forward. There was only one place to fide—in the marsh buggy. The girl scrambled in. Bond followed, softly pulling the door shut behind him. They crouched, waiting. Bond thought: only three rounds left in the gun. Too late he remembered the rack of weapons on the wall of the garage. Now the voices were outside. There came the clang of the door being slid back on its runners and a confusion of talk.