“It is all up with me,” he said.
“Give me that greenish stone and I will set you at liberty.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Yes.”
“You will find it in the water-pitcher.”
Frank darted for the utensil named. He had hardly turned his back, as he was obliged to do, when he was startled by a crash of wood and glass. Bull Blair had leaped through the window to the street below.
CHAPTER XXVII.
BILLY BARRY, OF LONDON.
Before Barry could draw his revolver he was downed by a blow from the detective’s fist. Before the man could rise Burt was upon him. Burt disarmed the fellow, and then allowed him to get up.
“My friend,” said the detective, “you see you are not so smart as you think.”
A bump arose on Barry’s forehead where he had been struck. The English crook fairly boiled over with wrath.