Bond had walked for only a few minutes when it suddenly occurred to him that he was being followed. There was no evidence for it except a slight tingling of the scalp and an extra awareness of the people near him, but he had faith in his sixth sense and he at once stopped in front of the shop window he was passing and looked causally back along 46 th Street. Nothing but a lot of miscellaneous people moving slowly on the sidewalks, mostly on the same side as himself, the side that was sheltered from the sun. There was no sudden movement into a doorway, nobody causally wiping his face with a handkerchief to avoid recognition, nobody bending down to tie a shoelace. Bond examined the Swiss watches in the shop window and then turned and sauntered on. After a few yards he stopped again. Still nothing. He went on and turned right into the Avenue of the Americas, stopping in the first doorway, the entrance to a woman’s underwear store where a man in a tan suit with his back to him was examining the black lace pants on a particular realistic dummy. Bond turned and leant against a pillar and gazed lazily but watchfully out into the street. And then something gripped his pistol arm and a voice snarled: “All right, Limey. Take it easy unless you want lead for lunch.” And he felt something press into his back just above the kidneys. What was there familiar about that voice? The Law? The Gang? Bond glanced down to see what was holding his right arm. It was a steel hook. Well, if the man had only one arm! Like lighting he swiveled, bending sideways and bringing his left fist round in a flailing blow, low down. There was a smack as his fist was caught in the other’s left hand, and at the same time as the contact telegraphed to Bond’s mind that there could have been no gun, there came the well-remembered laugh and the lazy voice saying: “No good, James. The angels have got you.” Bond straightened himself slowly and for a moment he could only gaze into the grinning hawk-like face of Felix Leiter with blank disbelief, his built-up tension slowly relaxing. “So you were doing a front tail, you lousy bastard,” he finally said.