The Wolf and Fyles were standing together. Where the Wolf stood he was in full view of the dead Pideau. And his dark eyes were held fascinated by the gruesome spectacle. Fyles, with the stove barring his view, was closely observing his companion.
After the slamming of the far door Fyles had waited. He had known at once the meaning of that crash. It was the thing for which he had planned and waited. It could only be the coming of the Wolf, and possibly Annette. He hoped and expected it would be the Wolf alone.
When the man pushed his way into the little office there had been one sharp ejaculation of amazement that seemed to hiss with the Wolf’s intake of breath as he made his discovery. Fyles said nothing. He watched. He was reading in his own way the flood of emotion the other’s expressive face was at no pains to conceal. He wanted the Wolf to realize every detail of the scene before he spoke.
When at last the Wolf turned from the man on the floor and looked at the policeman, the latter had risen from his chair.
“So you came right along—at once?” Fyles questioned. “The moment you saw the light in the window? Why?”
There was an instant change in the expression of the Wolf’s face. Fyles saw it abruptly harden. His eyes lit with a frigid gleam that warned the other of the ugly depths he had deliberately probed.
“To kill him!” the Wolf snapped. And the downright simplicity of it left no doubt whatever.
The policeman looked squarely into the fierce eyes and nodded.
“That’s why I had to get around ahead of you,” he smiled without provocation. “I meant to see you didn’t set that rope about your fool neck for good and all. I came for that. But I came to get him, too. He’s fooled us—both.”
Then Fyles indicated the letter propped against the lamp.