“Monsieur, I keep a cabaret in Paris. The police do not speak well of me or my customers. I had a wife—pretty Aimee. She was far above me in station when we married.
“Aimee did not like my business, and I had promised her to give it up at the close of the present year. Three months ago—only three short months ago—Cook and Kidd came to board with me.
“They were recommended to my cabaret by a friend of mine. Two months ago they left. Aimee went with Kidd.”
A look, such as a tiger might wear when at bay, appeared in Jacquet’s eyes, and he gritted his teeth hard.
“Then, as I understand it, you came to America in search of your wife,” said Burt.
“No.”
Burt looked at the Frenchman in some surprise.
“You did not come as an emigrant?” he remarked.
“I came to kill Richard Kidd.”
“My man,” said the detective kindly, “don’t you know that murder is punished with death?”