On Her Majesty's Secret Service

On Her Majesty's Secret ServicePart I It was one of those Septembers when it seemed that the summer would never end. The five-mile promenade of Royale les Eaux, backed by trim lawns emblazoned at intervals with tricolor beds of salvia, alyssum and lobelia, was bright with flags and, on the longest beach in the north of France, the gay bathing tents still marched prettily down to the tideline in big, moneymaking battalions. Music, one of those lilting accordion waltzes, blared from the loudspeake...