And Pideau saw and read. And, as was inevitable, he searched his mind for a right explanation. Nothing in his child, and in his partner, ever escaped his watchfulness. With him it was only a question of the rightness of interpretation.
The man’s mind had been as busy as his jaws, and his narrowed eyes, so intent upon his food, no less. But not for an instant during his meal did he permit the betrayal of a single passing thought. He simply sat in verbal silence, and ate till he could eat no more.
Then it was that he pushed back from the table, awaiting the replenishment of his massive coffee cup. Annette supplied his want. She set the cup on the table with a clatter, and with the contents slopping. And as she did so the man broke the silence between them.
“I bin figgerin’ ’bout Fyles,” he said harshly.
Pideau’s black eyes blinked into Annette’s face as she turned back to him.
She did not reply at once. The man’s words had startled her.
“We’ll need to figger hard, with Fyles around,” she agreed at last.
“You know the feller he is then?”
The girl shrugged her shapely shoulders. But her face betrayed nothing. Even the brooding of her eyes had vanished under the quickening of her mental processes.
“Everybody knows about him,” she said. “He’s their special man. His comin’ means things.”