Turning to the bartender, Burt said:
“Sweep that thing into the gutter.”
Then, drawing his own revolver, he made his way from the room, and none sought to bar his progress.
It may readily be assumed that Enoch Cook lost no time in getting out of that neighborhood. He went directly across the city, and brought up at a small hotel on West Street.
Without asking questions of the clerk, he went up-stairs and entered a room on the second floor. A small, wiry, and hatchet-faced man arose from a lounge upon which he had been stretched. This was the Honorable Richard Kidd.
“What’s the matter, Enoch? Have you been interviewing a ghost?”
“Why do you ask that question?”
“You’re as pale as death,” said Kidd; “what caused it?”
“The diamond.”
“The diamond, eh?”