“But you know, monsieur, that Cook is a great liar.” “I am looking for Kidd myself.” “Has he broken the law since returning to this country?” “No; it is for something he did abroad,” replied Burt. “Robbery, of course?” “Yes.” “I heard him say he had secured a fortune by theft in Africa.” “That is true.” “The villain, he must have so dazzled Aimee by making a display of wealth that the foolish creature forgot her obligations to me.” “His wealth consists of a great diamond. Did you ever hear him refer to it?” “Never.” “Now,” said the detective, “recover your wife if you can, but do no injury to this man.” “I would not take my wife back if she were to beg me to do so. I am a man of honor.” The keeper of the Parisian den of thieves actually believed himself a man of honor. “If you kill Kidd, I shall trail you down and bring you to the gallows.” “The threat does not frighten me, monsieur,” said Pierre. “I can put you under restraint for threatening this man’s life.” Jacquet’s jaw dropped. “Well,” he said, “I will promise not to harm him unless in self-defense.” Burt smiled at the Frenchman’s fear of prison. By stabbing Jacquet, Enoch had placed himself within the pale of the law. Burt determined to effect his capture. Cook might be willing to put him on the track of the green diamond when he found himself a prisoner in the Tombs. Burt knew his former schoolmate to be a selfish coward. Enoch would sacrifice anything or anybody to gain his own ends. But where to find his man? Mike Quick could tell him. Quick must. So the detective decided. After leaving the hospital, Burt went to Quick’s. Mike was alone in the back room, and there Burt found him. The ruffian sprang to his feet with an oath on his lips. Burt produced his revolver. “No nonsense, Mike!” “What do you want?” It was the day following Quick’s visit to Monte Murphy. The dive-keeper feared his crime had been found out, and that Burt had come to arrest him. “I want to have a little talk with you,” said Burt. The ruffian drew a long breath of relief, and something resembling a smile radiated his features. “I thought mebbe you came around to admire your handiwork.” Mike placed a finger on one and then on the other of his bruised eyes. “You have no one to thank for it but yourself.” “It’s tough on a fellow like me, all the same.” “Yes; I believe you put up to be something of a pugilist.” “I did.” “And I knocked that conceit out of you,” remarked Burt. “Jack O’Brien could not have done it better,” returned Mike. “Yes, and I should go farther.” “What do you mean?” “I mean I should jug you for interfering with me.” “Let the past go, won’t you?” “Perhaps.” “You are more than even with me. I never wore such a pair of ‘bungers’ before in my life.” “Through your interference I lost a prisoner,” said Burt. “Enoch Cook and I are old friends.” “Oh, that’s your excuse?” “Not exactly.” “Well?” “You gave me your word you did not intend to arrest him.”