When he arrives at a place on a dark night, particularly in an alien land which he has never seen before — a strange house, perhaps, or an hotel — even the most alert man is assailed by the confused sensations of the meanest tourist.
James Bond more or less knew the map of Jamaica. He knew that the sea had always been close to him on his left and, as he followed the twin red glares of the leading car through an impressive entrance gate of wrought iron and up an avenue of young Royal palms, he heard the waves scrolling into a beach very close to his car. The fields of sugar cane would, he guessed from the approach, come close up against the new high wall that surrounded the Thunderbird property, and there was a slight smell of mangrove swamp coming down from below the high hills whose silh
