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Updated: June 4, 2025
He was coming from the direction of the only building upon the platform the railroad office, or, as it was grandiloquently called, the "booking hall." Fyles recognized the man as the railroad agent, Huntly, who controlled the affairs of his company in this half-fledged prairie town. He came up in a flurry of unusual excitement. "She's past New Camp, inspector," he cried.
"I sure got something to sell, an' I guess you ought to be the buyer." Fyles nodded. "I mostly buy what I need. What's your line?" Again the man laughed. His uneasiness had passed. He felt they understood each other. "Mostly hot air," he said carelessly. Fyles hated the man's contemplated treachery. However, his duty was plain. "Well, I might buy hot air if it's right, and the price is right."
Nature never intended a man of his mould to occupy the position that Fyles held in his country's peace regime. He was one of her happy mistakes. And in that first survey Tresler realized something of the personality which form and features were so ludicrously struggling to conceal. "Yes." The officer let his eyes move slowly over this stranger.
These men were, as was their custom, merely utilizing the chance finding as an added comfort in their strenuous lives. Fyles lit his pipe, and, for some moments, smoked thoughtfully, while McBain's pen scratched a series of entries in his diary. Fyles watched him through a cloud of smoke, and when his subordinate returned his pen to the home-made rack on the table, he began to talk.
Halfway down to the village Charlie again reverted to his news. "Helen put the rest of it out of my head," he said, and his manner of speaking had lost the enjoyment of his earlier announcement. "It's about the police. They're going to set a station here. A corporal and two men. Fyles is coming, too. Inspector Fyles." His eyes were studying Kate's face as he made the announcement.
The gang don't do one single thing to give itself away, and there's not a man or woman could give them away in the village, except from their talk when they're drunk." The man was making his point, and Fyles remained interested. "Now, this is the argument, an' you'll admit, sir, experience carries a lot of it out. Crooks are scared to death of each other, you know that, sir, better than I do.
Verna and I had lunch together in a perfectly gorgeous old hall, with beams and carved panelling and antlers, and a fireplace you could have roasted an ox in, and rows of glistening suits of armour which the original ffrenches had worn when they had first started the family in life and all this, if you please, tete-a-tete with a woman who seemed to get more beautiful every minute I gazed at her, and who smiled back at me and called me Fyles, to the stupefaction of three noiseless six- footers in silk stockings.
She waved a farewell to Kate and moved away, and Bill, like some faithful watchdog, followed at her heels. Fyles looked after them both with serious, earnest eyes. Kate watched them smiling. Presently Fyles turned back to her. "Well?" he demanded. Kate's eyes were slowly raised to his. "Well?" she echoed. "So " She broke off. Her generous nature checked her in time.
I'm not smart, like you, on these crook games, but I'm determined that the man who lags you will get it good and plenty. I sort of hate you, you foolish man. I hate you and like you. You've got grit, and, by God, I like you for it, and I don't stand to see you go down for any twenty years alone. If Fyles gets you that way, you're the last man he ever will get. Damn you!"
A light buckboard and team could travel very fast under the hands of a skilful teamster. It would take a distance of five miles to overhaul it. The direction yes, it was the direction of the village. The buckboard might get there ahead of them. Fyles rammed both spurs into the flanks of the faithful Peter, and, as he did so, he saw a party of horsemen converging on him from the left.
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