Fyles nodded abruptly. He liked dealing with this man who was always so swift in the uptake.
“That’s just it, sir,” Fyles said sharply. “I guessed before. I’m sure now. The Wolf never killed Sinclair. It was that half-breed wench. And that crazy goat of a man intends to swing for a trollop that ought to be flayed alive. I feel hot, sir. They got me fooled between ’em, and it makes me sore. But that’s not the worst. I think that Wolf’s a pretty fine man. Oh, I know he’s a crook. He’s a bootlegger. Maybe he’s anything at all. But he’s a man. And if he dodges the gallows, one day he’ll show he is.”
Superintendent Croisette smiled. Sergeant Fyles was his favorite officer, and, in private, was distinctly privileged.
“It looks to me you’ve stirred a nasty mess for us.”
Fyles shook his head doggedly.
“No, sir. I think the police are going to get big credit out of this yet, if things are the way I reckon them. That boy knows Annette Estevan killed Sinclair. How I can’t say. But he does. It’s the whole answer to everything. I told you ’bout his arrest. That beat me and set me thinking. It was my only clue, and I couldn’t get it out of my fool head. I watched him all through the girl’s story. And what I saw told me how it was with him. That boy was near crazed to think she was to have a baby by Sinclair. I’ve tried to work it out. And this is the way I see him. He was raised with that girl and is crazy for her. She won’t look at him. He’s the sort of fool kid that don’t reckon life worth a thing without her.”
Croisette nodded.
“Now, sir, let’s look at her side. This is where I tripped. But I’m not tripping now, if there’s a grain of savvy in my head. I know Sinclair. You know something of him now, sir, too. That girl hit his trail, and he fell for her. He outfitted her with a baby. She’s a Breed. He was white. She means that baby to make him marry her. How? It’s easy with a man like Sinclair. He’s crazy to pull Pideau and the Wolf. Well, Annette can help him. And she’s a Breed. He promises to marry her if she’ll show him that liquor cache and hasn’t a notion of carrying out his promise. That’s Sinclair, where a woman’s concerned. She takes him to the cache. But she’s wily. She talks that marriage there at the cache. He puts her off. Maybe he laughs at her. Then she pulls one on him, with the Wolf’s gun, and leaves the gun there.”
Croisette nodded again and his eyes were far gazing with thought.
“And the Wolf?” he asked.