No greater rascal than Pierre Jacquet called Paris home, and that is a very broad statement. Yet Monsieur Jacquet was devotedly fond of his wife, and he could have forgiven her for her escapade, even then, if she appealed to him. Not so the man who had stolen the woman’s affections. Pierre had crossed the ocean with the avowed intention of recovering his wife, and avenging his honor. He owned a prosperous cabaret in Paris, and the two Americans had been his guests during a stay they made in that city. “I do not know the lady to whom you refer,” said Enoch coolly. “You don’t know Aimee?” Jacquet seemed overwhelmed with astonishment. “No.” “I mean my wife.” “Oh!” exclaimed Cook; “has anything serious happened to madame?” “Curse your impudence, you know she ran away with your companion!” “I know nothing of the kind,” returned Enoch, perfectly unruffled. “I tracked you three to Havre, and learned you had sailed together for America.” Cook laughed. “I came to New York,” he said, “by way of Liverpool.” Monsieur Jacquet looked hard at his companion. “You are trying to deceive me,” he said. “No.” “Will you swear you know nothing of my wife running off with Monsieur Kidd?” “Certainly I will swear to it.” Cook was quite willing to swear to almost anything. The Frenchman’s breath came hard and fast. His eyes were directed full at his companion. That did not annoy Enoch in the least. “_Peste!_” exclaimed Monsieur Jacquet; “where could have been your eyes?” “I do not understand.” “It seems you do not care to understand anything.” “You wrong me. I am naturally very dull,” said Enoch. “Did you not notice the intimacy that sprang up between my wife and Monsieur Kidd?” “No; did you?” “Yes.” “Then why did you not put a stop to it?” asked Cook. “Aimee assured me I had no cause to be jealous.” “Well,” said Cook, “I never thought Dick Kidd would run off with another’s wife. He certainly isn’t very beautiful.” “He succeeded in making himself loved by that foolish woman.” “Jacquet, old man,” said Enoch flippantly, “I feel sorry for you.” “Where is this man?” “I don’t know.” “You should know.” “Why should I?” “He is your friend.” “You mean, rather, he was once my friend,” said Cook. “Did you two fall out?” “Yes.” “About what?” “Excuse me, that is a personal affair,” replied Enoch. “Is Monsieur Kidd here in this city?” “I hardly think so; I have never seen him since my return.” “Monsieur Cook,” exclaimed Pierre, and his voice became harsh and loud, “you are trying to shield this man from my just vengeance!” Enoch laughed. Again the Frenchman grasped his throat. “Conduct me to Kidd,” said Monsieur Jacquet, “or I shall strangle you!” “Two can play at that game!” A bright knife-blade flashed under the electric light, the Frenchman groaned, his hold on Enoch’s throat was released, he staggered and fell upon the sidewalk in a heap. The man’s blood had spurted over his assailant’s face and hand.