Burt was too quick for him. Covering Enoch with a revolver, he ordered him to be seated. Then Burt requested the bartender to leave the room.
Cook had not seen Quick since the latter’s visit to Monte Murphy. After his crime in Elizabeth Street Mike did not return to his saloon until the next day. Consequently Enoch knew nothing about the tragedy.
“Now, my fellow,” said the detective, “you won’t slip through my fingers so easily this time as you did before. Perhaps it will interest you to know that Pierre Jacquet is dying.”
Cook became deathly pale, and he felt his spine grow weak. The Frenchman’s death would make him a murderer.
It was hard enough to be compelled to serve a long term in prison, but the gallows—— The thought of that grim instrument of death almost froze the blood in his veins.
“Who is Pierre Jacquet?”
Cook’s voice was hoarse, and it hardly rose above a whisper.
“You know who I mean.”
“I don’t.”
“Why will you be so silly? I mean the man you stabbed in Frankfort Street—the man whose wife your friend Kidd ran off with.”