“I don’t think there will be much difficulty in finding Enoch if he is in New York.” “You know him?” “I’ve seen him a couple of times; he used to hang out with the gang that made Mike Quick’s place their headquarters.” “I wonder what possessed him to become a servant for the explorer?” “Oh, I suppose that was a sudden freak upon his part.” “You don’t know the fellow Stolburst calls Dick Kidd?” remarked Burt. “I may, but I don’t know him by that name,” replied Frank. “If the diamond is as valuable as described, Kidd will have some difficulty in disposing of it.” “Well, I won’t move in the affair until I see Stolburst’s references and satisfy myself that he is straight up and down.” On the morning following Burt visited the bankers whom the lecturer had given as references. They joined in pronouncing Stolburst as a perfectly reliable man. Afterward Burt wrote his new client that he would undertake the case at the terms agreed upon. In a small saloon near the East River and between the Fulton and Catharine ferries Mike Quick resided. Mr. Quick had several disfiguring marks. Both his cheeks had been slashed some time by a knife, part of one ear was gone, and his great rubicund nose was broken. His eyes were deep set and overshadowed by heavy gray brows. He was big in build, and probably fifty years of age. Quite a number of those years had been passed by Quick behind prison-bars. Taken all in all, he was not the sort of chap a man would care to meet in a lonely place after dark. Quick was behind his dirty and antiquated bar when Burt entered, early in the evening of the day he had interviewed Stolburst’s banker friends. Mike knew the detective quite well. “How are you, Burt?” The man’s voice was hoarse and guttural. “Glad to see me, of course?” “Can’t say that I am. Whom do you expect to find here?” “How do you know I am looking to find any one?” Quick indulged in a hoarse laugh so loud that it seemed to set the bottles behind the bar dancing. “Young fellow,” he said, “it wasn’t simply to get a drink you stepped in.” “Perhaps.” “Then you are a long time about asking for it. This hotel may not have any oil-paintings or statuary scattered about, but you’ll find brandy here as good as can be got in town.” “Give me a pony, then, and have a drink yourself.” The order was quickly filled. Burt found Quick’s statement fulfilled. The liquor was of the best. “Now, my boy,” said Mike, with a knowing wink, “what’s your game?” “I want to find Enoch Cook.” Quick emitted a low whistle and looked very wise. “Why,” he said, “your man went to foreign parts about two years ago.” Burt smiled. Cook and Sam Henry were identical. Any doubts he might have had on the subject were laid at rest by the dive-keeper’s words. “Yes,” said Burt, “I know all about his going away, but he has returned.” “What do you want him for?” “To ask him a few questions.” “Nothing more?” “Nothing.” “You surely ain’t giving me a yarn, old man?”