“This way!” cried Burt, and he led the way up-stairs. The two sergeants followed with drawn revolvers. When they reached the parlor floor they heard two pistol reports up-stairs. That caused the little party to accelerate their speed. Burt readily found Stolburst’s new quarters. Upon the floor lay Ajeeb, with a smoking revolver in his hand. Blood flowed in a continuous stream from a little hole in his forehead, the edges of which were blackened with powder. He had bragged to Billy Barry that he should never die by violence, yet he had in the end inflicted death with his own hand. Before shooting himself Ajeeb had shot Stolburst. The bullet aimed at the latter’s heart had struck a rib and glanced off. Seeing escape impossible, Ajeeb determined to kill both his prisoner and himself. Luckily for Stolburst, the villain’s plan had miscarried. Burt cut the bonds that encircled the prisoner’s ankles and wrists. Stolburst was insensible, but he soon came around. When he saw the detective bending over him the unfortunate man’s features became illuminated with joy. “At last!” he murmured. “Yes; you won’t suffer any more.” “The Eye of Jobu--have you recovered it yet?” “No.” The explorer’s countenance fell. “Too bad--too bad!” “I have a good prospect of securing it,” said Burt. “Tell me upon what you base your hopes.” “Not now.” “But I must know.” “You are too weak to converse; I will tell you soon enough.” A doctor was sent for, and when he came he dressed Stolburst’s wound. The physician was greatly surprised to see the man had but one ear. Burt took him aside and told him how Stolburst had lost the ear. “There is a man in Paris who could do something for him.” The doctor gave Burt the party’s name and Burt wrote it down. Then he had Stolburst conveyed to a hospital in an ambulance. As Burt was leaving the house Zulima met him on the stoop. “Did you arrest my uncle?” the beautiful girl asked. “No.” Her face brightened up. “I am so glad!” “Zulima, your uncle is dead.” The princess did not cry. For a moment she regarded the detective with a stony stare. “Where is the body?” “In the room where Stolburst was confined,” replied Burt. “Did you kill him?” “He killed himself.” Without another word the princess went up-stairs. Burt took his departure. It now becomes necessary for us to follow Frank Hare. That cheerful and ambitious young man got himself up like a beggar. Then he sauntered out to find Bull Blair. For hours he went from saloon to saloon in the Fourth and Sixth Wards, begging. His receipts were lamentably small. At about nightfall he flushed his quarry. He came on Blair in a beer saloon on Baxter Street. As when he met him in Shaw’s, Frank found him alone. “Please help a poor man,” said Hare, going up to the burglar. “Clear out!” “Won’t you give me a little something?” pleaded the pseudo-beggar. “Haven’t got anything. I’m thinking about going into your line of business myself.” “Ain’t you Bull Blair?”