“Say, Sergeant,” the Wolf said challengingly. “You’re wise to things. They mostly ask a boy if he’s guilty or not guilty?”
“Sure.”
“If he says ‘guilty’?”
“A man can’t plead ‘guilty’ in a murder case. They enter his pleading as ‘not guilty.’ The Crown must prove him guilty. What’s the big notion?”
“Just nothin’.”
The Wolf went on smoking. It was his third cigarette.
“I said you know who shot Sinclair?” Fyles said. “Don’t forget, boy, it’s a hanging. Hanging isn’t easy. Life’s mostly good while we got it. It’s not worth a cent when we haven’t. Won’t you talk?”
The Wolf nodded.
“Talk? Sure, Sergeant,” he laughed. “Why I’m crazy to talk. Later maybe I won’t be able to.”
His cigarette hung on his lower lip. The man was breathing its smoke as though it were the sweetest thing in life. His eyes were alert and flashing with good humor.