"

"That's not my way of doing business," said Merry, as he carried the
Mexican lad to a place of safety and sat holding him in his arms until
the ambulance came.

Fire engines shrieked and roared their mad way to the scene of the
conflagration. The firemen hastened with their work, but the building
was doomed.

When Jalisco had been removed in the ambulance, Merry sought for
Bronson, and finally found him.

"Did you get Lazaro?" he asked.

"Couldn't find the fellow," was the regretful answer. "In that mad
turmoil it was impossible to do a thing."

"I wonder what has become of him?" said Frank.

"There is your answer!" shouted Bruce Browning, clutching Merry's arm
with one hand and pointing with the other to one of the upper windows of
the doomed tenement.

A man appeared in that window. Behind him was a glare of fire, and the
red light showed the man distinctly. His hair was white as the driven
snow.

For a moment it seemed that the man contemplated leaping. Those below
shouted for him to wait, and the firemen hastened with a ladder. He was
seen to turn and shade his face from the heat with his lifted arm. Then
he disappeared from the window.

Barely had this occurred when some of the inner portions of the building
fell and the flames poured forth from a score of windows. Within thirty
seconds the whole place was a roaring furnace.

"That's the last of Alvarez Lazaro!" said Bart Hodge, who had escaped
serious injury and was watching in company with Browning and Merriwell.
"His murderous plotting is finished. He'll never trouble you again,
Frank."

CHAPTER XXV.

THE PATIENT AND THE VISITOR.

In a private ward of a New York City hospital lay Felipe Jalisco so
hidden with bandages that scarcely more than his eyes could be seen. The
patient's hands and wrists were likewise hidden by bandages.

The door of the room opened gently, and a white-gowned, white-capped,
soft-footed nurse stepped in.

"A visitor to see you," she said, in a low tone.

She was followed at once by Frank Merriwell, who stepped quickly to the
side of the cot, a look of deep sympathy and regret in his brown eyes as
he gazed down at the patient.

The dark eyes that looked back at him seemed filled with wonderment and
surprise.

Stooping over the cot, Merriwell spoke in his gentlest tones.

"How are you, my poor boy?" he said. "They would not let me see you
before, saying it was best that you should be quiet and unexcite