“For you,” he said.
The Wolf moved round to the table. Fyles watched the careful manner in which he avoided the body of his partner. He saw him tear the letter open and glance at its contents. Then he saw him thrust it into the pocket of his pea-jacket.
After that he picked his way round to the stove, and began to shake it down in the preoccupied fashion of a man whose physical action has nothing to do with his thought.
But Fyles wanted to know the contents of the letter.
“May I read it?” he asked simply.
The Wolf passed the letter without a moment’s hesitation.
“Sure,” he said. “You best read it.”
Fyles unfolded the paper. It was stained and dirty, like the envelope. He moved to obtain a better light. Then he read. The message was scrawled across the sheet in clumsy characters.
“Be good to my girl or I’ll bring all hell back at you.”
There was no signature. And certainly none was needed.