“There must be a mistake. I never stabbed any one.”
“You never stopped at a cabaret in Paris, kept by one Pierre Jacquet?”
Cook hesitated.
“Yes,” he said finally, “but I know nothing of Kidd running off with the fellow’s wife.”
“Nor you didn’t stab him?”
“No; I did not even know the fellow was in this country.”
“Enoch, you know very well you can’t throw dust in my eyes.”
“Jacquet may be here, but I never stabbed him,” said Cook.
“Perhaps it was your friend Kidd who did that,” remarked Burt.
“Possibly.”