Fyles removed his pipe.
“McDonald and Lester,” he said. “I remember. They never got back.”
“No. The muskeg don’t let go its grip.”
“No.”
The two men sat staring at the stove. Fyles looked up.
“Yes, I’d say Pideau would have been glad to be quit of you. And now?”
“Now?”
The Wolf cocked an ear as a sound in the outer office warned of the return of the constable in charge of the station. He stood up.
“Guess I’ll beat it, Sergeant,” he said and held out a muscular hand.
Fyles took it and gripped it.