Had Annette really captured her white man? Sinclair. Sinclair’s weaknesses were well known to him. She had said Sinclair was going to marry her. Sinclair! Was he?
Fyles moved to his door where his fur coat was hanging. Then in a moment he was hurrying along the well-swept sidewalk in the direction of the Orderly Room.
A shadow descended upon the grating which lit the guardroom cell. The Wolf shot a quick glance of inquiry from where he sat on his wooden bunk.
He could make out the black of a sheepskin coat beyond the grating, that was all.
There was a clank of iron levers moving. Then the cell door opened, and the Wolf discovered two figures beyond. He recognized Sergeant Fyles. The other he knew to be the sergeant of the guard. It was Fyles who spoke.
“I want you to come right along with me, Wolf,” he said. “And we can have a yarn. Maybe you’ll feel glad to see daylight for awhile?”
Fyles’ tone had none of his official abruptness in it. And the Wolf sprang from his hard seat without a moment’s hesitation.
“I certainly will, Sergeant,” he replied. “Say, I’m sick to death of these wood walls and a light that ’ud depress a blind man. They haven’t passed word to hang me yet? Can’t I be set where I ken see daylight an’ breathe air?”
Fyles studied the clean-cut features. And somehow what he saw there made him glad he had come to the guardroom.