The New Yorker:

The author Ian Fleming spent a weekend in the city to see his publishers and “assorted crooks” en route from his Jamaica hideaway to his London home.

By Geoffrey T. Hellman

April 13, 1962

Ian Fleming, whose nine Secret Service thrillers (“Casino Royale,” “Doctor No,” “For Your Eyes Only,” “From Russia with Love,” “Live and Let Die,” “Moonraker,” “Goldfinger,” “Diamonds Are Forever,” and “Thunderball”) have had phenomenal sales in this country and abroad (more than eleven hundred thousand hardcover copies and three and a half million paperbacks), was here for a weekend recently en route from his Jamaica hideaway to his London home, and we caught him on Sunday morning at his hotel, the Pierre, where he amiably stood us a lunch. He ordered a prefatory medium-dry Martini of American vermouth and Beefeater gin, with lemon peel, and so did we.

“I’m here to see my publishers and assorted crooks,” he said. “Not other assorted crooks, mind you. By ‘crooks,’ I don’t mean crooks at all; I mean former Secret Service men. There are one or two of them here, you know.”

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