“Two can play at that game!”
A bright knife-blade flashed under the electric light, the Frenchman groaned, his hold on Enoch’s throat was released, he staggered and fell upon the sidewalk in a heap. The man’s blood had spurted over his assailant’s face and hand.
Enoch wiped away the blood as well as he could with a handkerchief.
“I’m a murderer now!” he muttered between his set teeth.
Cook hurried to Quick’s.
“What’s up?” cried the latter and Kidd, in a single breath, as Enoch entered the back room, where they were seated.
“I don’t know of anything.”
Enoch tried to appear cool. He found that undertaking a vast one. The rascal had never before shed human blood, and he stood in great dread of the consequences of his act.
“Why!” exclaimed Dick; “your face and neck are bloody! Are you wounded?”
Cook forced a smile.