 Arzhan of the apes brought to you from out the pages of Edgar Rice borrows gripping book Don't wait a minute Clayton. Don't shoot again. I'll tell you I saw him. The eight man. Whoever he is. Mr. What is the matter? The eight man. And here we are wasting time. But surely, Monsieur would not shoot. I did shoot. But Clayton doesn't do reason. Don't you understand? I intend to get him and that's all there is to it. One moment. Monsieur, I believe that I was placed in charge here. That is correct. Then if I am to be in command, I will be obeyed. As far as you'll say it is a concern, yes. But you have no right to order me. Monsieur Clayton, I have only one thing to do here. That my impetuous friend is to rescue Monsieur La Professeur's daughter. If anyone interferes with the possible success of that enterprise, then I will take the necessary step. Take what steps you please, Lieutenant. I'm going. Pleadance! If you do not obey me, Monsieur Clayton, I am sorry. But I will find myself compelled to order you aboard the cruiser. And regretfully, very regretfully, clop you in iron. Come, Clayton, you're distraught. Upset. I don't blame you. If Lieutenant Donnell understood that you were very fond of Jane... Monsieur Clayton, I am entirely impersonal. You have shouldered the responsibility of keeping your party intact? Ah, bien. You are tired. I am fresh. It is only fair that I should now assume that responsibility. Very well. I'm sorry. I'm being a little more part of it too. That is not necessary, Monsieur. It is already forgotten. Clayton, will you permit me to point out to you something that is very foolish? Yes, certainly. You, Clayton, are determined in your stand that this ape man, a jungle fellow, whatever you please to call him, has kidnapped Jane. I'm convinced that I'm right. And you have every right to your conclusions. But we, the Professor, Lieutenant Donnell and myself, all are agreed that the blacks are responsible. Now, Clayton, don't you think that in deference to the majority, you should say nothing more? Very well. I will say nothing more. And also, my friend, if you were correct, then killing this man, the only man in your belief who knows where Jane is, well, Clayton, in short, it's not good judgment. Yes. I suppose you're right. What is all right, Clayton? I was quite lost in thoughts about Mike Ford Jane. Did I hear you speak of the blacks? Was it some of those aborigines you shot at? No, it was nothing, Professor. I thought I saw something in the trees. But I was in town in a second. I was afraid I had to... No, no, no, no. It was nothing. It was nothing at all. Come on. We'll go into the hut, prepare for our journey. Jane Porter awaiting Tarzan's return hears the distant report of Clayton's rifle. Momentary panic seizes the girl. What can it be? Her father, Philander, Clayton, or the very thought freezes her white skin. She looks about her. The jungle that had been almost friendly only a moment ago now seems fraught with a thousand dangers. If white skin should never come back, again, Jane Porter's eyes search the jungle depths to be left alone, to die here, in turns her head. See, Tarzan, and with a cry of relief, she stretches out both arms toward the apron. Oh, my skin. I was so afraid. I heard a shot. I didn't know what had happened. I thought you might have been killed, so I don't know what I thought. Overcome by relief, Jane talks on, forgetting that Tarzan can't understand one word. But Tarzan does understand her mood and holds the girl close to him, soothing and caressing her as one would a frightened child. Jane looks up at the ape's mouth. And here I am, talking on and on, and you don't understand a thing I'm saying, but you haven't any idea how glad I am to see you, how long for you to come back. White skin, come back. Come back, quick. Yes, I suppose you have, but it seems like centuries to me. White skin, sit down. Sit down, white skin. Sit down. Sit down. Jane releases herself from Tarzan's arms and taking him by the hand, motions him to sit beside her. Down. Sit down. That's right. Say it over again. Over. Again. Over again. No, white skin. Sit. Sit. Down. White skin. Sit. Down. That's it. And suiting the action to the words, Tarzan seats himself beside Jane for her. I wish you could tell me what had happened. Did you put out the fire and what was that shot? Shot? Shot? Yes, shot. Bang, bang. Jane raises her arms as if holding a rifle when she says bang, bang. Tarzan's eyes gleam. He raises his hand and passes it quickly past his head. Shot. Shot. Bang, bang. Again, the eighth man brushes his ear with his hand. You, white skin. Someone shot you. Some on, some on. Shot. White skin. Into Tarzan's mind flashes the memory of Clayton and the raised rifle. Tarzan has learned enough about firearms to realize that they signify death. His eyes become clouded, his brows wrinkled. Why should this white man, this man he has saved from the treatment of a leopard? Try to kill him. He thought that these men were different from the men that had come from the thing that floated upon the water, but Tarzan shakes his head. How I wish I knew what had happened if I only could make you understand. If only I could make you understand that I must get to that hut. Hut? Hut? Yes, the hut. And Jane at last has got Tarzan to say the word hut, but has no way that she can think of actually could to convey the meaning of the word. The sun falls away to the west. All afternoon the sailors have carried supplies from the cruiser to the hut. And Professor Porter, Philander and Clayton watch with satisfaction the final preparations for departure. Soon it will be dark and tomorrow, tomorrow we'll see us well on our way into the jungle. Yes, Professor, and we're on our way towards finding Jane, I hope. I know it sounds ridiculous, but this waiting is doing nothing. Yes, Clayton, we know. For the way, Clayton, it's very possible we shall not return here. Don't you think that you should take Grey Stokes diary and papers with you? Oh, thanks, Flander. I hadn't thought of that. Hi, Joe. This tin box has been moved. Professor! It's gone. Well, you must have placed it somewhere else, Clayton. I left it here, in this box. Let us look about that, perhaps. It can be of no possible use to anyone but you, Clayton. What is this? No, no, this is one of the other books. No? It's gone. After all, there are not many places in this bare cabin where it could be hidden. It's very mysterious. Very mysterious, Clayton. Are you positive that you did not take it with you at some time and lose it? No, I did not. In fact, just before Jane disappeared, I was looking at it. I placed it in this box. I know I did. Of course, it's possible that Jane placed it somewhere else. Yes, Flander, that is true. But where? It's not in the cupboard or in the bunk here. Certainly not on the shelf. No, I know where it is. You do? You both laugh at me when I tell you. Well, the only man interested in the jungle man I fired at was Tarzan of the Eighth. You fired at him? You fired at Tarzan of the Eighth? Yes. He was going across the clearing when we came back from the boat. I'm more certain than ever now that it is with him that we shall find Jane. But, Clayton, all right, Flander. I have no more idea than you have as to what he could want with the diary. But I'm just as sure that I'm living it. Well, Donna, are we ready to start? In a very little time, Monsieur, we must and be ready to leave at sunrise, which, my friends, is not so very distant. Oh, it seems very stuffy tonight. I was thinking, tell me, Lieutenant, will your men be carrying supplies all night? Ah, but yes, Monsieur. Then I suggest that we leave this door open since there's no danger with the sailors moving about. Excellent idea, Clayton. Come forward. You too, Clayton. Let us get some rest. The jungle night somber, stifling, menacing, closes in. The fog rolls in from the sea and hangs in murky banks of black mist along the jungle fringe. Suddenly, quietly, a shadow, black and fantastic, detaches itself from surrounding gloom. Closer and closer to the heart it creeps. Now it stands up. It's a man. Slowly, he draws an arrow from the quiver at his back, fits it through the bow string, his gleaming eyes on Clayton, and pulls.