on bars, and there was a slight frizzling of his brown curly locks at
the back. Then a fresh draught of air and a tremendous stream of water
that nigh washed him off the ladder.

Next moment they were safe on the ground, in the midst of the
wildly-cheering crowd, through which burst Mrs Rampy in a flood of
joyful tears, and seized old Liz in her arms. Mrs Blathers followed
close at her heels.

"My!" she exclaimed in sudden amazement, staring at old Liz's, "it's
gone!"

"So it is," cried Mrs Rampy, for once agreeing.

And so it was! The last fang belonging to chimney-pot Liz had perished
in that great conflagration!

Many were the offers that old Liz received of house accommodation that
night, from the lowest of washerwomen to the highest of tradesmen, but
Sam Blake, in her behalf, declined them all, and proceeded to the main
street to hail a cab.

"She ain't 'urt, is she? You're not takin' 'er to a hospital?" cried
one of the crowd. "You'll come back agin to stay with us, Liz--won't
you?"

"No, we won't," cried a boy's voice. "We've come into our fortins, an'
are a-goin' to live in the vest end for ever an' ever."

"Who's that blue spider?" asked a boy; "w'y--no--surely it ain't--yes--I
do b'lieve it's Tommy Splint!"

"Don't believe Tommy, friends," said old Liz, as she was about to get
into the cab. "I'll soon be back again to see you. Trust me!"

This was received with a tremendous cheer, as they all got inside except
Laidlaw, who mounted the box.

"Stop!" said the latter, as the coachman was about to drive off. He
pointed to the burning house, where the raging fire had reached the
roof-tree. The crowd seemed awed into silence as they gazed.

One swirl more of the flaming tongues and the Garret was consumed--
another swirl, and the Garden was licked from the scene as effectually
as though it had never been.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE LAST.

How that wonderful man Detective Dean managed it all is best known to
himself and those myrmidons of the law who aided and abetted him in his
investigations, but certain it is that he prepared as pretty a little
thunderbolt for John Lockhart, Esquire, as any man could wish to see.

He not only ferreted out all the details of the matter involving the
Washab and Roria railway and chimney-pot Liz, but he obtained proof,
through a clerk in the solicitor's office, and a stain in a sheet of
paper, and a half-finished signature, that the will by which Mr
L