Again Scaramanga dodged the sneer. He said, 'You carry a gun?'

'Of course. You don't go after the Rastas without one.'

'What kind of a gun?'

'Walther PPK. Seven sixty-five millimetre.'

'Yes, that's a stopper all right.' Scaramanga turned towards the counter. 'Hey, cool cat. Couple of Red Stripes, if you're in business again.' He turned back and the blank eyes looked hard at Bond. 'What's your next job?'

'Don't know. I'll have to contact London and find out if they've got any other problems in the area. But I'm in no hurry. I work for them more or less on a free-lance basis. Why? Any suggestions?'

The other man sat quiet while Tiffy came out from behind the counter. She came over to the table and placed the tin tray with the bottles and glasses in front of Bond. She didn't look at Scaramanga. Scaramanga uttered a harsh bark of laughter. He reached inside his coat and took out all alligator-skin billfold. He extracted a hundred-dollar bill and threw it on the table. 'No hard feelings, cool cat. You'd be okay if you didn't always keep your legs together. Go buy yourself some more birds with that. I like to have smiling people around me.'

Tiffy picked up the bill. She said, 'Thanks, mister. You'd be surprised what I'm going to spend your money on.' She gave him a long, hard look and turned on her heel.