“That’s why I asked. It’s almost too mean. It’s full of spite. Spite against anybody and everybody—except Sinclair.”
“Friend of Sinclair?”
But the superintendent only shrugged his black-coated shoulders.
“Tell Sergeant Fyles to step in.”
Stanley Fyles entered the office accompanied by a draught of icy air. Of middle height and neat figure, capacity was there in the keen glance he gave his superiors as he paused before the desk and saluted.
Croisette took in the man’s appearance without seeming to do so. A quick upward glance accompanied his sharp announcement.
“Constable Sinclair’s missing from his post at Buffalo Coulee,” he said. “I’ve had word by anonymous letter; the sergeant-major by a private letter from Doctor Fraser, who lives there.”
“Any particulars, sir?”
“Doctor Fraser gives none. Mentions the fact and expresses worry. That’s all.”
“May I see the anonymous letter, sir?”