Rising to leave she said: “The information I have given you may cost me my life.”
“There is no danger of that.”
“At any rate,” said the beauty, “life now holds no promises for me.”
Bowing to the detective, she departed. An hour later the house occupied by the heathen priest was surrounded, front and rear, by a score of policemen. Accompanied by two sergeants of police Burt forced his way into the house by way of the basement door.
As the door gave away Ashah sprang for the detective with uplifted sword. Burt dodged the blow aimed at him and fired at the giant.
Ashah tumbled to the floor with a bullet in his brain. The faithful slave had died in defense of his rascally master.
“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.