 CHAPTER I. The longboat of the Marjory W was floating down the broad Oogambi with ebb tide and current. Her crew were lazily enjoying this respite from the arduous labour of rowing upstream. Three miles below them lay the Marjory W herself, quite ready to sail so soon as they should have clamoured aboard and swung the longboat to its davits. Presently the attention of every man was drawn from his dreaming, or his gossiping, to the northern bank of the river. There, aiming at them in a cracked falsetto, and with skinny arms outstretched stood a strange apparition of a man. What the hell! ejaculated one of the crew. A white man muttered the mate, and then, man yours, boys, and we'll just pull over and see what he wants. When they came close to the shore they saw an emaciated creature with scant white locks tangled and matted. The thin bent body was naked but for a loincloth. Tears were rolling down the sunken pockmarked cheeks. The man jabbered at them in a strange tongue. Ruchan, hazarded the mate, savvy English, he called to the man. He did, and in that tongue, brokenly and haltingly, as though it had been many years since he had used it, he begged them to take him with them away from this awful country. Once on board the Marjory W., the stranger told his rescuers a pitiful tale of privation, hardships, and torture, extending over a period of ten years. How he happened to have come to Africa he did not tell them, leaving them to assume he had forgotten the incidents of his life prior to the frightful ordeals that had wrecked him mentally and physically. He did not even tell them his true name. And so they knew him only as Michael Sabrov. Or was there any resemblance between this sorry wreck and the virile, though unprincipled, Alex Polvitch of old? It had been ten years since the Russian had escaped the fate of his friend, the Archfiend Rokov, and not once, but many times during those ten years, had Polvitch cursed the fate that had given to Nicholas Rokov death and immunity from suffering, while it had meted to him the hideous terrors of an existence infinitely worse than death that persistently refused to claim him. Polvitch had taken to the jungle when he had seen the beasts of Tarzan and their savage lords swarm the deck of the Kincaid, and in his terror, lest Tarzan pursue and capture him, he had stumbled on deep into the jungle, only to fall at last into the hands of one of the savage cannibal tribes that had felt the weight of Rokov's evil temper and cruel brutality. Some strange whim of the chief of this tribe saved Polvitch from death only to plunge him into a life of misery and torture. For ten years he had been the butt of the village, beaten and stoned by the women and children, cut and slashed and disfigured by the warriors, a victim of often recurring fevers of the most malignant variety. Yet he did not die. Smallpox laid its hideous clutches upon him, leaving him unspeakably branded with its repulsive marks. Between it and the attentions of the tribe the countenance of Alex Polvitch was so altered that his own mother could not have recognized in the pitiful mask he called his face a single familiar feature. A few scraggly yellow white logs had supplanted the thick dark hair that had covered his head. His limbs were bent and twisted. He walked with a shuffling, unsteady gait. His body doubled forward. His teeth were gone, knocked out by his savage masters. Even his mentality was but a sorry mockery of what it once had been. They took him aboard the Marjory W. And there they fed and nursed him. He gained a little in strength, but his appearance never altered for the better. A human derelict, battered and wrecked, they found him. A human derelict, battered and wrecked, he would remain until death claimed him. Though still in his thirties Alexus Polvitch could easily have passed for eighty, inscrutable nature had demanded of the accomplice a greater penalty than his principal had paid. From the mind of Alexus Polvitch there lingered no thoughts of revenge. Only a dull hatred of the man whom he and Rokov had tried to break and failed. There was hatred, too, of the memory of Rokov, for Rokov had led him into the horrors he had undergone. There was hatred of the police of a score of cities from which he had had to flee. There was hatred of law, hatred of order, hatred of everything. Every moment of the man's waking life was filled with morbid thought of hatred. He had become mentally, as he was physically an outward appearance, the personification of the blighting emotion of hate. He had little or nothing to do with the man who had rescued him. He was too weak to work and too morose for company, and so they quickly left him alone to his own devices. The Marjorie W. had been chartered by a syndicate of wealthy manufacturers, equipped with a laboratory and a staff of scientists, and sent out to search for some natural product which the manufacturers who footed the bills had been importing from South America at an enormous cost. What the product was, none on board the Marjorie W. knew, except the scientists, nor is it of any moment to us, other than that it led the ship to a certain island off the coast of Africa, where Alexis Pulvitch had been taken aboard. The ship lay at anchor off the coast for several weeks. The monotony of life aboard her became trying for the crew. They went off on the shore, and finally Pulvitch asked to accompany them. He too was tiring of the blighting sameness of existence upon the ship. The island was heavily timbered. Dense jungle ran down almost to the beach. The scientists were far inland, prosecuting their search for the valuable commodity that native rumor upon the mainland had led them to believe might be found here in marketable quantity. The ship's company fished, hunted, and explored. Pulvitch shuffled up and down the beach, or lay in the shade of the great trees that skirted it. One day, as the men were gathered at a little distance inspecting the body of a panther that had fallen to the gun of one of them who had been hunting inland, Pulvitch lay sleeping beneath his tree. He was awakened by the touch of a hand upon his shoulder. With a start he sat up to see a huge anthropoid ape squatting at his side, inspecting him intently. The Russian was thoroughly frightened. He glanced toward the sailors. They were a couple of hundred yards away. Again the ape plucked at his shoulder, jabbering plaintively. Pulvitch saw no menace in the inquiring gaze or in the attitude of the beast. He got slowly to his feet. The ape rose at his side. Half doubled the man shoveled cautiously away toward the sailors. The ape moved with him, taking one of his arms. They had come almost to the little knot of men before they were seen, and by this time Pulvitch had become assured that the beast meant no harm. The animal evidently was accustomed to the association of human beings. It occurred to the Russian that the ape represented a certain considerable money value, and before they reached the sailors he had decided he should be the one to profit by it. When the men looked up and saw the oddly paired couples shuffling toward them they were filled with amazement and started on a run toward the two. The ape showed no sign of fear. Instead he grasped each sailor by the shoulder and peered long and earnestly into his face. Having inspected them all he returned to Pulvitch's side, disappointment written strongly upon his countenance and in his carriage. The men were delighted with him. They gathered about, asking Pulvitch many questions and examining his companion. The Russian told them that the ape was his. Nothing further would he offer, but kept harping continually upon the same theme. The ape is mine! The ape is mine! Tiring of Pulvitch one of the men essayed a pleasantry. Circling about behind the ape he prodded the anthropoid in the back with a pin. Like a flash the beast wheeled upon its tormentor, and in the briefest instant of turning the placid, friendly animal was metamorphosed to a frenzy demon of rage. The broad grin that had sat upon the sailor's face as he perpetrated his little joke froze to an expression of terror. He attempted to dodge the long arms that reached for him. But failing drew a long knife that hung at his belt. With a single wrench the ape tore the weapon from the man's grasp and flung it to one side. Then his yellow fangs were buried in the sailor's shoulder. With sticks and knives the man's companions fell upon the beast, while Pulvitch danced around the cursing snarling pack, mumbling and screaming pleas and threats. He saw his visions of wealth rapidly dissipating before the weapons of the sailors. The ape, however, proved no easy victim to the superior numbers that seemed fated to overwhelm him. Rising from the sailor who had precipitated the battle, he shook his giant shoulders, freeing himself from two of the men that were clinging to his back, and with mighty blows of his open palms felled one after another of his attackers, leaping hither and thither with the agility of a small monkey. The fight had been witnessed by the captain and mate who were just landing from the Margery W, and Pulvitch saw these two now running forward with drawn revolvers, while the two sailors who had brought them ashore trailed at their heels. The ape stood looking about him at the havoc he had wrought, but whether he was awaiting a renewal of the attack or was deliberating which of his foes he should exterminate first, Pulvitch could not guess. What he could guess, however, was that the moment that two officers came within firing distance of the beast they would put an end to him in short order, unless something were done and done quickly to prevent. The ape had made no move to attack the Russian, but even so the man was none too sure of what might happen were he to interfere with the savage beast, now thoroughly aroused to bestial rage and with the smell of new-spilled blood fresh in its nostrils. For an instant he hesitated, and then again there rose before him the dreams of affluence, which this great anthropoid would doubtless turn to realities once Pulvitch had landed him safely in some great metropolis like London. The captain was shouting to him now to stand aside that he might have a shot at the animal, but instead Pulvitch shuffled to the ape's side and though the man's hair quivered at its roots he mastered his fear and laid hold of the ape's arm. Come, he commanded, and tugged to pull the beast from among the sailors, many of whom were now sitting up in wide-eyed fright or crawling away from their conqueror upon hands and knees. Slowly the ape permitted itself to be led to one side, nor did it show the slightest indication of a desire to harm the Russian. The captain came to a halt a few paces from the odd pair. Get aside, Subrov, he commanded. I'll put that root where he won't chew up any more able semen. It wasn't his fault, Captain, pleaded Pulvitch. Please don't shoot him. The men started it. They attacked him first. You see, he's perfectly gentle, and he's mine. He's mine. He's mine. I won't let you kill him. He concluded, as his half-wrecked mentality pictured anew the pleasure that money would buy in London, money that he could not hope to possess without some such windfall as the ape represented. The captain lured his weapon. The men started it, did they, he repeated? How about that? And he turned toward the sailors who would by this time pick themselves from the ground. None of them much the worse for his experience except the fellow who had been the cause of it, and who would doubtless nurse a sore shoulder for a weak or so. See, him son done it, said one of the men. He stuck a pin into the monk from behind, and the monk got him, which served him Blumen well right, and he got the rest of us, too, for which I can't blame him, since we all jumped him to once. The captain looked at Simpson, who sheepishly admitted the truth of the allegation. Then he stepped over to the ape, as though to discover for himself the sort of temper the beast possessed. But it was noticeable that he kept his revolver cocked and leveled as he did so. However, he spoke soothingly to the animal who squatted at the Russian side, looking first at one and then another of the sailors. As the captain approached him the ape half rose and waddled forward to meeting. Upon his countenance was the same strange searching expression that had marked his scrutiny of each of the sailors he had first encountered. He came quite close to the officer, and laid a paw upon one of the man's shoulders, studying his face intently for a long moment. Then came the expression of disappointment, accompanied by what was almost a human sigh, as he turned away to peer in the same curious fashion into the faces of the mate and the two sailors who had arrived with the officers. In each instance he sighed and passed on, returning at length to Palvitch's side, where he squatted down once more, thereafter evincing little or no interest in any of the other men and apparently forgetful of his recent battle with them. Then the party returned aboard the Marjory W. Palvitch was accompanied by the ape who seemed anxious to follow him. The captain interposed no obstacles to the arrangement, and so the great anthropoid was tacitly admitted to membership in the ship's company. Once aboard he examined each new face minutely, evincing the same disappointment in each instance that had marked his scrutiny of the others. The officers and scientists aboard often discussed the beast, but they were unable to account satisfactorily for the strange ceremony with which he greeted each new face. Had he been discovered upon the mainland, or any other place than the almost unknown island that had been his home, they would have concluded that he had formerly been a pet of man. But that theory was not tenable in the face of the isolation of his uninhabited island. He seemed continually to be searching for someone, and during the first days of the returned voyage from the island he was often discovered nosing about in various parts of the ship, but after he had seen and examined each face of the ship's company and explored every corner of the vessel he lapsed into utter indifference of all about him. Even the Russian elicited only casual interest when he brought him food. At other times the ape appeared merely to tolerate him. He never showed affection for him or for anyone else upon the Marjory W. Nor did he at any time evince any indication of the savage temper that had marked his resentment of the attack of the sailors upon him at the time that he had come among them. Most of his time was spent in the eye of the ship, scanning the horizon ahead, as though he were endowed with sufficient reason to know that the vessel was bound for some port where there would be other human beings to undergo his searching scrutiny. All in all, Ajax, as he had been dubbed, was considered the most remarkable and intelligent ape that anyone aboard the Marjory W. ever had seen. Nor was his intelligence the only remarkable attribute he owned. His stature and physique were for an ape awe-inspiring. That he was old was quite evident, but if his age had impaired his physical or mental powers in the slightest it was not apparent. And so at length the Marjory W came to England, and there the officers and the scientists, filled with compassion for the pitiful wreck of a man they had rescued from the jungles, furnished Pulvitch with funds and bid him and his Ajax godspeed. Upon the dock and all through the journey to London the Russian had his hands full with Ajax. Each new face of the thousands that came within the anthropoid's can must be carefully scrutinized, much to the horror of many of these victims. But at last, failing apparently to discover whom he sought, the great ape relapsed into morbid indifference, only occasionally evincing interest in a passing face. In London Pulvitch went directly with his prize to a certain famous animal trainer. This man was much impressed with Ajax, with the result that he agreed to train him for a lion's share of the profits of exhibiting him, and in the meantime to provide for the keep of both the ape and his owner. And so came Ajax to London, and there was forged another link in the chain of strange circumstances that were to affect the lives of many people. Mr. Harold Moore was a billious countenance studious young man. He took himself very seriously, and life and his work, which latter was the tutoring of the young son of a British nobleman. He felt that his charge was not making the progress that his parents had a right to expect, and he was now conscientiously explaining this fact to the boy's mother. It's not that he isn't bright, he was saying. If that were true, I should have hopes of succeeding, for then I might bring to bear all my energies in overcoming his obtuseness. But the trouble is that he is exceptionally intelligent, and learn so quickly that I can find no fault in the matter of the preparation of his lessons. What concerns me, however, is that fact that he evidently takes no interest whatever in the subjects we are studying. He merely accomplishes each lesson as a task to be rid of as quickly as possible, and I am sure that no lesson ever again enters his mind until the hours of study and recitation once more arrive. His sole interest seemed to be feats of physical prowess and the reading of everything that he can get hold of relative to savage beasts and the lives and customs of uncivilized peoples, but particularly do stories of animals appeal to him. He will sit for hours together pouring over the work of some African explorer, and upon two occasions I have found him setting up in bed at night reading Carl Hagenbeck's book on men and beasts. The boy's mother tapped her foot nervously upon the hearth rug. You discourage this, of course," she ventured. Mr. Moore shuffled embarrassedly. I, uh, essayed to take the book from him, he replied, a slight flush mounting his shallow cheek, but, uh, your son is quite muscular for one so young. He wouldn't let you take it, asked the mother. He would not, confessed the tutor. He was perfectly good natured about it, but he insisted upon pretending that he was a gorilla and that I was a chimpanzee attempting to steal food from him. He leaped upon me with the most savage growls I ever heard, lifted me completely above his head, hurled me upon his bed, and after going through a pantomime indicative of choking me to death, he stood upon my prostrate form and gave voice to a most fearsome shriek which he explained was the victory cry of a bull ape. Then he carried me to the door, shoved me out into the hall, and locked me from his room. For several minutes neither spoke again. It was the boy's mother who finally broke the silence. It is very necessary, Mr. Moore, she said, that you do everything in your power to discourage this tendency in Jack. He, but she got no further, allowed whoop from the direction of the window brought them both to their feet. The room was upon the second floor of the house, and opposite the window to which their attention had been attracted was a large tree, a branch of which spread within a few feet of the cell. Upon this branch now they both discovered the subject of their recent conversation. A tall, well-built boy, balancing with ease upon the bending limb, and uttering loud shouts of glee, as he noted the terrified expressions upon the faces of his audience. The mother and Tudor both rushed toward the window, but before they had crossed half the room the boy had leaped nimbly to the cell, and entered the apartment with them. The wild man from Borneo has just come to town, he sang, dancing a species of war dance about his terrified mother and scandalized Tudor, and ending up by throwing his arms about the former's neck and kissing her upon either cheek. Oh, mother! he cried, there's a wonderful educated ape being shown at one of the music halls Willie Grimm's beside last night. He says it can do everything but talk. It rides a bicycle, eats with knife and fork, counts up to ten, and ever so many other wonderful things, and can I go and see it too? Oh, please, mother, please let me. Patting the boy's cheek affectionately, the mother shook her head negatively. No, Jack, she said, you know I do not approve of such exhibitions. I don't see why not, mother, replied the boy. All the other fellows go, and they go to the zoo too, and you'll never let me do even that. Anybody had think I was a girl or a mollycoddle. Oh, father! he exclaimed as the door opened to admit a tall gray-eyed man. Oh, father, can't I go? Go where, my son, asked the newcomer. He wants to go to a music hall to see a trained ape, said the mother, looking warningly at her husband. Who, Ajax, questioned the man, the boy nodded. Well, I don't know that I blame you, my son, said the father. I wouldn't mind seeing him myself. They say he is very wonderful, and that for an anthropoid is unusually large. Let's all go, Jane. What do you say? And he turned toward his wife. But that lady only shook her head in a most positive manner, and, turning to Mr. Moore, asked him if it was not time that he and Jack were in the study for the morning recitations. When the two had left, she turned toward her husband. John, she said, something must be done to discourage Jack's tendency toward anything that may excite the cravings for the savage life which I fear he has inherited from you. You know from your own experience how strong is the call of the wild at times. You know that often it has necessitated a stern struggle on your part to resist the almost insane desire which occasionally overwhelms you to plunge once again into the jungle life that claimed you for so many years, and at the same time, you know, better than any other, how frightful a fate it would be for Jack were the trail to the savage jungle made either alluring or easy to him. I doubt if there is any danger of his inheriting a taste for jungle life from me, replied the man, for I cannot conceive that such a thing may be transmitted from father to son. And sometimes, Jane, I think that in your solicitude for his future you go a bit too far in restrictive measures. His love for animals, his desire, for example, to see this trained ape, is only natural in a healthy, normal boy of his age. Just because he wants to see Ajax is no indication that he would wish to marry an ape, that even should he far be it from you, Jane, to have the right to cry shame. And John Clayton, Lord Grey Stoke, put an arm about his wife, laughing good-naturedly down into her upturned face before he bent his head and kissed her. Then, more seriously, he continued, you have never told Jack anything concerning my early life, nor have you permitted me to, and in this I think that you have made a mistake. Had I been able to tell him of the experiences of Tarzan of the Apes, I could doubtless have taken much of the glamour and romance from jungle life that naturally surrounds it in the minds of those who have had no experience of it. He might then have profited by my experience, but now, should the jungle lust ever claim him, he will have nothing to guide him but his own impulses, and I know how powerful these may be in the wrong direction at times. But Lady Grey Stoke only shook her head as she had a hundred other times when the subject had claimed her attention in the past. No, John, she insisted, I shall never give my consent to the implanting in Jack's mind of any suggestion of the savage life which we both wish to preserve him from. It was evening before the subject was again referred to, and then it was raised by Jack himself. He had been sitting curled in a large chair reading when he suddenly looked up and addressed his father. Why, he asked, coming directly to the point, can't I go and see a Jack's? Your mother does not approve, replied his father. Do you? That is not the question, evaded Lord Grey Stoke. It is enough that your mother abjaks. I am going to see him, announced the boy after a few moments of thoughtful silence. I am not different from Willie Grimsby or any other of the fellows who have been to see him. It did not harm them, and it will not harm me. I could go without telling you, but I would not do that. So I tell you now, beforehand, that I am going to see a Jack's. There was nothing disrespectful or defiant in the boy's tone or manner. His was merely a dispassionate statement of facts. His father could scarce repress either a smile or a show of the admiration he felt for the manly course his son had pursued. I admire your candor, Jack, he said. Permit me to be candid as well. If you go to see a Jack's without permission, I shall punish you. I have never inflicted corporal punishment upon you, but I warn you that should you disobey your mother's wishes in this instance, I shall. Yes, sir, replied the boy, and then I shall tell you, sir, when I have been to see a Jack's. Mr. Moore's room was next to that of his youthful charge, and it was the tutor's custom to have a look into the boy's each evening as the former was about to retire. This evening he was particularly careful not to neglect his duty, for he had just come from a conference with the boy's father and mother, in which it had been impressed upon him that he must exercise the greatest care to prevent Jack from visiting the music-hall where a Jack was being shown. So when he opened the boy's door at about half-after-nine he was greatly excited, though not entirely surprised, to find the future Lord Greystoke fully dressed for the street and about to crawl from his open bedroom window. Mr. Moore made a rapid spring across the apartment, but the waste of energy was unnecessary, for when the boy heard him within the chamber and realized that he had been discovered he turned back as though to relinquish his planned adventure. Where were you going? panted the excited Mr. Moore. I am going to see a Jack's, replied the boy quietly. I am astonished, cried Mr. Moore, but a moment later he was infinitely more astonished, for the boy, approaching close to him, suddenly seized him about the waste, lifted him from his feet, and threw him face downward upon the bed, shoving his face deep into a soft pillow. Be quiet, admonished the victor, or I'll choke you! Mr. Moore struggled, but his efforts were in vain. Whatever else Tarzan of the apes may or may not have handed down to his son, he had at least bequeathed him almost as marvelous a physique as he himself had possessed at the same age. The tutor was as putty in the boy's hands. Kneeling upon him, Jack tore strips from a sheet and bound the man's hands behind his back. Then he rolled him over and stuffed a gag of the same material between his teeth, securing it with a strip wound about the back of his victim's head. All the while he talked in a low conversational tone. I am Waja, chief of the Wajji, he explained, and you are Mohamed Dubin, the Arab sheik, who would murder my people and steal my ivory. And dexterously, trust Mr. Moore's hobbled ankles up behind to meet his hobbled wrists. Ah-ha, villain! I have you in my power at last. I go, but I shall return. And the son of Tarzan skipped across the room, slipped through the open window, and slid to liberty by way of the downspout from an eave's trough. Mr. Moore wriggled and struggled about the bed. He was sure that he should suffocate unless aid came quickly. In his frenzy of terror he managed to roll off the bed. The pain and shock of the fall jolted him back to something like sane consideration of his plight, where before he had been unable to think intelligently because of the hysterical fear that had claimed him, he now lay quietly searching for some means of escape from his dilemma. It finally occurred to him that the room in which Lord and Lady Graystroke had been sitting when he left him was directly beneath that in which he lay upon the floor. He knew that some time had elapsed since he had come upstairs, and that they might be gone by this time, for it seemed to him that he had struggled about the bed in his efforts to free himself for an eternity. But the best that he could do was to attempt to attract attention from below, and so after many failures he managed to work himself into a position in which he could tap the toe of his boot against the floor. This he proceeded to do at short intervals, until after what seemed a very long time he was rewarded by hearing footsteps ascending the stairs and presently a knock upon the door. Mr. Moore tapped vigorously with his toe. He could not reply in any other way. The knock was repeated after a moment's silence. Again Mr. Moore tapped. Would they never open the door? Theboriously he rolled in the direction of Sucker. If he could get his back against the door he could then tap upon its base when surely he must be heard. The knocking was repeated a little louder, and finally a voice called Mr. Jack. It was one of the housemen. Mr. Moore recognized the fellow's voice. He came near to bursting a blood vessel in an endeavor to scream, through the stifling gag. After a moment the man knocked again, quite loudly, and again called the boy's name. Receiving no reply he turned the knob, and at the same instant a sudden recollection filled the tutor anew with numbing terror. He had himself locked the door behind him when he had entered the room. He heard the servant try the door several times, and then depart, upon which Mr. Moore swooned. In the meantime Jack was enjoying to the full the stolen pleasures of the music hall. He had reached the temple of mirth just as Ajax's act was commencing, and having purchased a box seat was now leaning breathlessly over the rail, watching every move of the great ape, his eyes wide in wonder. The trainer was not slow to note the boy's handsome eager face, and as one of Ajax's biggest hits consisted in an entry to one or more boxes during his performance, ostensibly in search of a long lost relative, as the trainer explained, the man realized the effectiveness of sending him into the box with the handsome boy, who doubtless would be terror-stricken by proximity to the shaggy, powerful beast. When the time came, therefore, for the ape to return from the wings in reply to an encore, the trainer directed its attention to the boy, who chanced to be the sole occupant of the box in which he sat. With a spring the huge anthropoid leaped from the stage to the boy's side, but if the trainer had looked for a laughable scene of fright he was mistaken. A broad smile lighted the boy's features as he laid his hand upon the shaggy arm of his visitor. The ape, grasping the boy by either shoulder, peered long and earnestly into his face, while the latter stroked his head and talked to him in a low voice. Never had Ajax devoted so long a time to an examination of another as he did in this instance. He seemed troubled and not a little excited, jabbering and mumbling to the boy, and now caressing him as the trainer had never seen him caress a human being before. Presently he clambered over into the box with him and snuggled down close to the boy's side. The audience was delighted, but they were still more delighted when the trainer, the period of his act having elapsed, attempted to persuade Ajax to leave the box. The ape would not budge. The manager, becoming excited at the delay, urged the trainer to greater haste, but when the latter entered the box to drag away the reluctant Ajax he was met by bared fangs and menacing growls. The audience was delirious with joy. They cheered the ape, they cheered the boy, and they hooted and cheered at the trainer and the manager, which luckless individual had inadvertently shown himself and attempted to assist the trainer. Finally reduced to desperation and realizing that this show of mutiny upon the part of his valuable possession might render the animal worthless for exhibition purposes in the future, if not immediately subdued, the trainer had hastened to his dressing room and procured a heavy whip. With this he now returned to the box, but when he had threatened Ajax with it, but once he found himself facing two infuriated enemies instead of one, for the boy had leaped to his feet and seizing a chair was standing ready at the ape's side to defend his newfound friend. There was no longer a smile upon his handsome face. In his gray eyes was an expression which gave the trainer pause, and beside him stood the giant anthropoid growling and ready. What might have happened but for a timely interruption may only be surmised, but that the trainer would have received a severe mauling, if nothing more, was clearly indicated by the attitudes of the two who faced him. Yet was a pale-faced man who rushed into the gray stoke library to announce that he had found Ajax's door locked and had been able to obtain no response to his repeated knocking and calling other than a strange tapping and the sound of what might have been a body moving about upon the floor. Four steps at a time John Clayton took the stairs that led to the floor above, his wife and the servant hurried after him. Once he called his son's name in a loud voice, but receiving no reply he launched his great weight back by all the undiminished power of his giant muscles against the heavy door, with a snapping of iron butts and a splintering of wood, the obstacle burst inward. At its foot lay the body of the unconscious Mr. Moore, across whom it fell with a resounding thud. Through the opening leaped Tarzan, and a moment later the room was flooded with light from a dozen electric bulbs. It was several minutes before the tutor was discovered, so completely had the door covered him, but finally he was dragged forth, his gag and bonds cut away, and a liberal application of cold water had hastened returning consciousness. Where is Jack? was John Clayton's first question, and then who did this, as the memory of Rolkov and the fear of a second abduction seized him. Slowly Mr. Moore staggered to his feet. His gaze wandered about the room. Gradually he collected his scattered wits. The details of his recent harrowing experience returned to him. I tender my resignation, sir, to take effect at once, were his first words. You do not need a tutor for your son. What he needs is a wild animal trainer. But where is he? cried Lady Graystroke. He has gone to see Ajax! It was with difficulty that Tarzan restrained a smile, and after satisfying himself that the tutor was more scared than injured, he ordered his closed car around and departed in the direction of a certain well-known music hall. CHAPTER III As the trainer with raised lash hesitated an instant at the entrance to the box where the boy and the ape confronted him, a tall broad-shouldered man pushed past him and entered, as his eyes fell upon the newcomer a slight flush mounted the boy's cheeks. Father, he exclaimed. The ape gave one look at the English lord, and then leaped toward him, calling out in excited jabbering. The man, his eyes going wide in astonishment, stopped as though turned to stone. A coat! he cried. The boy looked bewildered from the ape to its father, and from his father to the ape. The trainer's jaw dropped as he listened to what followed, for from the lips of the Englishman flowed the gutterls of an ape that were answered in kind by the huge anthropoid that now clung to him, and from the wings a hideously bent and disfigured old man watched the tableau in the box, his pock-marked features working spasmodically and varying expressions that might have marked every sensation in the gamut from pleasure to terror. Long have I looked for you, Tarzan! said a coat. Now that I have found you, I shall come to your jungle and live there always. The man stroked the beast's head. Through his mind there was running rapidly a train of recollection that carried him far into the depths of the primeval African forest, where this huge man-like beast had fought shoulder to shoulder with him years before. He saw the black Mugambi wielding his deadly knob-stick, and beside them with bared fangs and bristling whiskers, Sheeta, the terrible, and pressing close behind the savage and the savage panther, the hideous apes of Akut. The man sighed. Strong within him surged the jungle lust that he had thought dead. Ah, if he could go back even for a brief month of it to feel again the brush of leafy branches against his naked hide, to smell the musty rot of dead vegetation, frankincense and myrrh to the jungle-born, to sense the noiseless coming of the great carnivore upon his trail, to hunt and to be hunted, to kill. The picture was alluring, and then came another picture, a sweet-faced woman, still young and beautiful, friends, a home, a son. He shrugged his giant shoulders. It cannot be, Akut, he said, but if you would return, I shall see that it is done. You could not be happy here. I may not be happy there. The trainer stepped forward. The ape bared his fangs, growling. Go with him, Akut, said Tarzan of the apes. I will come and see you tomorrow. The beast moved sullenly to the trainer's side. The latter, at John Clayton's request, told where they might be found. Tarzan turned toward his son. Come, he said, and the two left the theater. Neither spoke for several minutes after they had entered the limousine. It was the boy who broke the silence. The ape knew you, he said, and you spoke together in the ape's tongue. How did the ape know you, and how did you learn his language? And then briefly, and for the first time, Tarzan of the apes told his son of his early life, of the birth in the jungle, of the death of his parents, and of how Kayla, the great she-ape, had suckled and raised him from infancy, almost to manhood. He told him, too, of the dangers and the horrors of the jungle, of the great beast that stalked one by day and by night, of the periods of drought and of cataclysmic rains, of hunger, of cold, of intense heat, of nakedness and fear and suffering. He told him of all those things that seemed most horrible to the creature of civilization in the hope that the knowledge of them might expunge from the lad's mind any inherent desire for the jungle. Yet they were the very things that made the memory of the jungle what it was to Tarzan that made up the composite jungle life he loved, and in the telling he forgot one thing, the principal thing, that the boy at his side listening with eager ears was the son of Tarzan of the apes. After the boy had been tucked away in bed, and without the threatened punishment, John Clayton told his wife of the events of the evening, and that he had at last acquainted the boy with the facts of his jungle life. The mother who had longed foreseen that her son must sometime know of those frightful years during which his father had roamed the jungle, a naked, savage beast of prey, only shook her head, hoping against hope that the lore she knew was still strong in the father's breast had not been transmitted to his son. Tarzan visited Eikut the following day, but though Jack begged to be allowed to accompany him, he was refused. This time Tarzan saw the pockmarked old owner of the ape, whom he did not recognize as the wily polvitch of former days. Tarzan, influenced by Eikut's pleadings, broached the question of the ape's purchase, but polvitch would not name any price saying that he would consider the matter. When Tarzan returned home, Jack was all excitement to hear the details of his visit, and finally suggested that his father buy the ape and bring it home. Lady Graystroke was horrified at the suggestion. The boy was insistent. Tarzan explained that he had wished to purchase Eikut and return him to the jungle home, and to this the mother assented. Jack asked to be allowed to visit the ape, but again he was met with flat refusal. He had the address, however, which the trainer had given his father, and two days later he found the opportunity to elude his new tutor, who had replaced the terrified Mr. Moore, and after a considerable search through a section of London which he had never before visited, he found the smelly little quarters of the pockmarked old man. The old fellow himself replied to his knocking, and when he stated that he had come to see Ajax, opened the door and admitted him to the little room which he and the Great Ape occupied. In former years Pulvitch had been a fastidious scoundrel, but ten years of hideous life among the cannibals of Africa had he eradicated the last vestige of niceness from his habits. His apparel was wrinkled and soiled. His hands were unwashed. His few straggling locks uncombed. His room was a jumble of filthy disorder. As the boy entered he saw the Great Ape squatting upon the bed, the coverlets of which were a tangled wad of filthy blankets and ill-smelling quilts. At sight of the youth the ape leaped to the floor and shuffled forward. The man, not recognizing his visitor, and fearing that the ape meant mischief, stepped between them, ordering the ape back to the bed. He will not hurt me, cried the boy. We are friends, and before he was my father's friend. They knew one another in the jungle. My father is Lord Grey Stoke. He does not know that I have come here. My mother forbid my coming. But I wish to see Ajax, and I will pay you, if you will let me come here often and see him." At the mention of the boy's identity, Pulvitch's eyes narrowed. Since he had first seen Tarzan again from the wings of the theatre there had been forming in his deadened brain the beginnings of a desire for revenge. It is a characteristic of the weak and criminal to attribute to others the misfortunes that are the result of their own wickedness, and so now it was that Alexis Pulvitch was slowly recalling the events of his past life, and as he did so, laying at the door of the man whom he and Rokov had so assiduously attempted to ruin and murder all the misfortunes that had befallen him in the failure of their various schemes against their intended victim. He saw, at first, no way in which he could, with safety to himself, wreak vengeance upon Tarzan through the medium of Tarzan's son. But that great possibilities for revenge lay in the boy was apparent to him, and so he determined to cultivate the lad in the hope that fate would play into his hands in some way in the future. He told the boy all that he knew of his father's past life in the jungle, and when he found that the boy had been kept in ignorance of all these things for so many years, and that he had been forbidden visiting the zoological gardens, that he had had to bind and gag his tutor to find an opportunity to come to the music hall in C.A. Jacks, he guessed immediately the nature of the great fear that lay in the hearts of the boy's parents, that he might crave the jungle as his father had craved it. And so Polvitch encouraged the boy to come and see him often, and always he played upon the lads' craving for tales of the savage world with which Polvitch was all too familiar. He left him alone with aikut much, and it was not long until he was surprised to learn that the boy could make the great beast understand him, that he had actually learned many of the words of the primitive language of the anthropoids. During this period Tarzan came several times to visit Polvitch. He seemed anxious to purchase A. Jacks, and at last he told the man frankly that he was prompted not only by a desire upon his part to return the beast to the liberty of his native jungle, but also because his wife feared that in some way her son might learn the whereabouts of the ape and through his attachment for the beast become imbued with the roving instinct which, as Tarzan explained to Polvitch, had so influenced his own life. The Russian could scarce repress a smile as he listened to Lord Greystroke's words, since scarce a half hour had passed since the time the future Lord Greystroke had been sitting upon the disordered bed jabbering away to A. Jacks with all the fluency of a born ape. It was during this interview that a plan occurred to Polvitch, and as a result of it he agreed to accept a certain fabulous sum for the ape, and upon receipt of the money to deliver the beast to a vessel that was sailing south from Dover for Africa two days later. He had a double purpose in accepting Clayton's offer. Primarily the money consideration influenced him strongly, as the ape was no longer a source of revenue to him, having consistently refused to perform upon the stage after having discovered Tarzan. It was as though the beast had suffered himself to be brought from his jungle home and exhibited before thousands of curious spectators for the sole purpose of searching out his long-lost friend and master, and having found him considered further mingling with the common herd of humans unnecessary. However that may be, the fact remained that no amount of persuasion could influence him even to show himself upon the music hall stage, and upon the single occasion that the trainer attempted force the results were such that the unfortunate man considered himself lucky to have escaped with his life. All that saved him was the accidental presence of Jack Clayton who had been permitted to visit the animal in the dressing room reserved for him at the music hall, and had immediately interfered when he saw that the savage beast meant serious mischief. And after the money consideration, strong in the heart of the Russian, was the desire for revenge which had been drawing with constant brooding over the failures and miseries of his life, which he attributed to Tarzan. The latest and by no means the least of which was Ajax's refusal to longer earn money for him. The ape's refusal he traced directly to Tarzan, finally convincing himself that the ape man had instructed the great antipoid to refuse to go upon the stage. Palvitch's naturally maligned disposition was aggravated by the weakening and warping of his mental and physical faculties through torture and privation. From cold, calculating, highly intelligent perversity it had deteriorated into the indiscriminating dangerous menace of the mentally defective. His plan, however, was sufficiently cunning to at least cast a doubt upon the assertion that his mentality was wandering. It assured him first of the competence which Lord Gravesstroke had promised to pay him for the deportation of the ape, and then of revenge upon his benefactor through the sun he idolized. That part of his scheme was crude and brutal. It lacked the refinement of torture that had marked the master strokes of the Palvitch of old when he had worked with the virtuoso of villainy, Nicholas Rokov, but it at least assured Palvitch of immunity from responsibility, placing that upon the ape who would thus also be punished for his refusal longer to support the Russian. Everything played with fiendish unanimity in Dupalvitch's hands. As chance would have it Tarzan's son overheard his father relating to the boy's mother the steps he was taking to return Eikut safely to his jungle home, and having overheard he begged them to bring the ape home that he might have him for a playfellow. Tarzan would not have been averse to this plan, but Lady Gravesstroke was horrified at the very thought of it. Jack pleaded with his mother, but all unavailingly, she was obdurate, and at last the lad appeared to acquiesce in his mother's decision that the ape must be returned to Africa and the boy to school from which he had been absent on vacation. He did not attempt to visit Palvitch's room again that day, but instead busied himself in other ways. He had always been well supplied with money, so that when necessity demanded he had no difficulty in collecting several hundred pounds. Some of this money he invested in various strange purchases which he managed to smuggle into the house undetected when he returned late in the afternoon. The next morning, after giving his father time to precede him and conclude his business with Palvitch, the lad hastened to the Russian's room. Knowing nothing of the man's true character the boy dared not take him fully into his confidence for fear that the old fellow would not only refuse to aid him, but would report the whole affair to his father. Instead he simply asked permission to take Ajax to Dover. He explained that it would relieve the old man of a tiresome journey as well as placing a number of pounds in his pocket for the lad proposed paying the Russian well. You see, he went on, there will be no danger of detection since I am supposed to be leaving on an afternoon train for school. Instead I will come here after they have left me on board the train. Then I can take Ajax to Dover, you see, and arrive at school only a day late. No one will be the wiser, no harm will be done, and I shall have had an extra day with Ajax before I lose him forever. The plan fitted perfectly with that which Polvitch had in mind. Had he known what further the boy contemplated he would doubtless have entirely abandoned his own scheme of revenge and aided the boy wholeheartedly in the consummation of the lads, which would have been better for Polvitch, could he have but read the future but a few short hours ahead. That afternoon Lord and Lady Graystroke bid their son good-bye and saw him safely settled in a first-class compartment of the railway carriage that would set him down at school in a few hours. No sooner had they left him, however, than he gathered his bags together, descended from the compartment, and sought a cab stand outside the station. Here he engaged a cabbie to take him to the Russian's address. It was dusk when he arrived. He found Polvitch awaiting him. The man was pacing the floor nervously. The ape was tied with a stout cord to the bed. It was the first time that Jack had ever seen Ajax thus secured. He looked questioningly at Polvitch. The man, mumbling, explained that he believed the animal had guessed that he was to be sent away, and he feared he would attempt to escape. Polvitch carried another piece of cord in his hand. There was a noose in one end of it which he was continually playing with. He walked back and forth up and down the room. His pot-marked features were working horribly as he talked silent to himself. The boy had never seen him thus. It made him uneasy. At last Polvitch stopped on the opposite side of the room, far from the ape. Come here, he said to the lad. I will show you how to secure the ape. Should he show signs of rebellion during the trip? The lad laughed. It will not be necessary, he replied. Ajax will do whatever I tell him to do. The old man stamped his foot angrily. Come here, as I tell you, he repeated. If you do not do, as I say, you shall not accompany the ape to Dover. I will take no chances upon his escaping. Still smiling, the lad crossed the room and stood before the wrasse. Turn around with your back toward me, directed the latter, that I may show you how to bind him quickly. The boy did as he was bed, placing his hands behind him when Polvitch told him to do so. Instantly the old man slipped the running noose over one of the lad's wrists, took a couple of half-hitches about the other wrist, and knotted the cord. The moment that the boy was secured, the attitude of the man changed. With an angry oath he wheeled his prisoner about, tripped him and hurled him violently to the floor, leaping upon his breast as he fell. From the bed the ape growled and struggled with his bonds. The boy did not cry out, a trait inherited from his savage sire, whom long years in the jungle, following the death of his foster-mother Kayla, the great ape, had taught that there was none to come to the succor of the fallen. Polvitch's fingers sought the lad's throat. He grinned down horribly into the face of his victim. Your father ruined me, he mumbled. This will pay him. He will think that the ape did it. I will tell him that the ape did it, that I left him alone for a few minutes and that you sneaked in and the ape killed you. I will throw your body upon the bed after I have choked the life from you, and when I bring your father he will see the ape squatting over it. And the twisted fiend cackled in gloating laughter. His fingers closed upon the boy's throat. Behind them the growling of the maddened beast reverberated against the walls of the little room. The boy paled, but no other sign of fear or panic showed upon his countenance. He was the son of Tarzan. The fingers tightened their grip upon his throat. It was with difficulty that he breathed gaspingly. The ape lunged against the stout cord that held him. Turning he wrapped the cord about his hands, as a man might have done, and surged heavily backward. The great muscles stood out beneath his shaggy hide. There was a rending as of splintered wood. The cord held, but a portion of the footboard of the bed came away. At the sound Paulvich looked up. His hideous face went white with terror. The ape was free. With a single bound the creature was upon him. The man shrieked. The brute wrenched him from the body of the boy. Great fingers sunk into the man's flesh. Yellow fangs gape close to his throat. He struggled futilely, and when they closed the soul of Alexis Paulvich passed into the keeping of the demons who had long been awaiting it. The boy struggled to his feet, assisted by a cute. For two hours under the instruction of the former, the ape worked upon the knots that secured his friend's wrists. Finally they gave up their secret, and the boy was free. Then he opened one of his bags and drew forth some garments. His plans had been well made. He did not consult the beast, which did all that he directed. Together they slumped from the house, but no casual observer might have noted that one of them was an ape. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of Son of Tarzan This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Son of Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burles Chapter 4 The killing of the friendless old Russian, Michael Sabrov, by his great trained ape, was a matter for newspaper comment for a few days. Lord Greystoke read of it, and while taking special precautions not to permit his name to become connected with the affair, kept himself well posted as to the police search for the anthropoid. As was true of the general public, his chief interest in the matter centered about the mysterious disappearance of the slayer. Or at least this was true until he learned, several days subsequent to the tragedy, that his son Jack had not reported at the public school in route for which they had seen him safely ensconced in a railway carriage. Even then the father did not connect the disappearance of his son with the mystery surrounding the whereabouts of the ape. Nor was it until a month later that careful investigation revealed the fact that the boy had left the train before it pulled out of the station at London, and the cab driver had been found who had driven him to the address of the old Russian that Tarzan of the Apes realized that Acute had in some way been connected with the disappearance of the boy. Beyond the moment that the cab driver had deposited his fare beside the curb in front of the house in which the Russian had been quartered there was no clue. No one had seen either the boy or the ape from that instant. At least no one who still lived. The proprietor of the house identified the picture of the lad as that of one who had been a frequent visitor in the room of the old man. Aside from this he knew nothing. And there at the door of a grimy old building in the slums of London the searchers came to a blank wall, baffled. The day following the death of Alexis Pulvitch a youth accompanying his invalid grandmother boarded a steamer at Dover. The old lady was heavily veiled and so weakened by age and sickness that she had to be wheeled aboard the vessel in an invalid chair. The boy would permit none but himself to wheel her and with his own hands assisted her from the chair to the interior of their stateroom and that was the last that was seen of the old lady by the ship's company until the pair disembarked. The boy even insisted upon doing the work of their cabin steward since, as he explained, his grandmother was suffering from a nervous disposition that made the presence of strangers extremely distasteful to her. Outside the cabin and none there was a board who knew what he did in the cabin, the lad was just as any other healthy normal English boy might have been. He mingled with these fellow passengers, became a prime favorite with the officers and struck up numerous friendships among the common sailors. He was generous and unaffected, yet carried an air of dignity and strength of character that inspired his many new friends with admiration as well as affection for him. Among the passengers there was an American named Condon, a noted black leg and crook who was wanted in a half-dozen of the larger cities of the United States. He had paid little attention to the boy until on one occasion he had seen him accidentally display a roll of banknotes. From then on Condon cultivated the youthful Britain. He learned easily that the boy was traveling alone with his invalid grandmother and that their destination was a small port on the west coast of Africa, a little below the equator, that their name was Billings and that they had no friends in the little settlement for which they were bound. Upon the point of their purpose in visiting the place, Condon found the boy reticent, and so he did not push the matter. He had learned all that he cared to know as it was. Several times Condon attempted to draw the lad into a card game, but his victim was not interested, and the black looks of several of the other men passengers decided the American to find other means of transferring the boy's bankroll to his own pocket. At last came the day that the steamer dropped anchor in the lee of a wooded promontory where a score or more of sheet iron shacks, making an unsightly blot upon the fair face of nature, proclaimed the fact that civilization had set its heel. Struggling upon the outskirts were the thatched huts of natives picturesque in their primeval savagery, harmonizing with the background of tropical jungle, and accentuating the squalid hideousness of the white man's pioneer architecture. The boy leaning over the rail was looking far beyond the man-made town, deep into the God-made jungle. A little shiver of anticipation tingled his spine, and then quite without volition he found himself gazing into the loving eyes of his mother and the strong face of the father which mirrored beneath its masculine strength a love no less than the mother's eyes proclaimed. He felt himself weakening in his resolve. Nearby one of the ship's officers was shouting orders to a flotilla of native boats that was approaching to lighter the consignment of the steamer's cargo, destined for this tiny post. When does the next steamer for England touch here? the boy asked. The Emmanuel ought to be along most any time now, replied the officer. I figured we'd find her here. He went on with his bellowing remarks to the dusty horde drawing close to the steamer's side. The task of luring the boy's grandmother over the side to a waiting canoe was rather difficult. The lad insisted on being always at her side, and when at last she was safely ensconced in the bottom of the craft that was to bear them shoreward her grandson dropped cat-like after her. So interested was he in seeing her comfortably disposed that he failed to notice the little package that had worked from his pocket as he assisted in luring the sling that contained the old woman over the steamer's side, nor did he notice it even as it slipped out entirely and dropped into the sea. Scarcely had the boat containing the boy and the old woman started for the shore, then Condon hailed the canoe upon the other side of the ship, and after bargaining with its owner finally lured his baggage and himself aboard. Once ashore he kept out of sight of the two-story atrocity that bore the legend Hotel to lure unsuspecting wayfarers to its multitudinous discomforts. It was quite dark before he ventured to enter and arrange for accommodations. In a back room upon the second floor the lad was explaining, not without considerable difficulty, to his grandmother that he had decided to return to England upon the next steamer. He was endeavouring to make it plain to the old lady that she might remain in Africa if she wished, but that for his part his conscience demanded that he return to his father and mother, who doubtless were even now suffering untold sorrow because of his absence, from which it may be assumed that his parents had not been acquainted with the plans that he and the old lady had made for their adventure into African wilds. Having come to a decision the lad felt a sense of relief from the worry that had haunted him for many sleepless nights. When he closed his eyes in sleep it was to dream of a happy reunion with those at home. And as he dreamed, fate, cruel and inexorable, crept stealthily upon him through the dark corridor of the squalid building in which he slept, fate in the form of the American crook Condon. Cautiously the man approached the door of the lad's room. There he crouched, listening until assured by the regular breathing of those within that both slept. Quietly he inserted a slim skeleton key in the lock of the door. With deft fingers, long accustomed to the silent manipulation of the bars and bolts that guarded other men's property, Condon turned the key and the knob simultaneously. Gentle pressure upon the door slung it slowly inward upon its hinges. The man entered the room, closing the door behind him. The moon was temporarily overcast by heavy clouds. The interior of the apartment was shrouded in gloom. Condon groped his way toward the bed. In the far corner of the room something moved. Moved with a silent stealthiness which transcended even the trained silence of the burglar. Condon heard nothing. His attention was riveted upon the bed in which he thought to find a young boy and his helpless, invalid grandmother. The Americans sought only the bankroll. If he could possess himself of this without detection, well and good. But were he to meet resistance, he was prepared for that too. The lad's clothes lay across a chair beside the bed. The American's fingers felt swiftly through them. The pockets contained no roll of crisp new notes. Doubtless they were beneath the pillows of the bed. He stepped closer toward the sleeper. His hand was already halfway beneath the pillow when the thick cloud that had obscured the moon rolled aside and the room was flooded with light. At the same instant the boy opened his eyes and looked straight into those of Condon. The man was suddenly conscious that the boy was alone in the bed. Then he clutched for his victim's throat. As the lad rose to meet him, Condon heard a low growl at his back. Then he felt his wrists seized by the boy and realized that beneath those tapering white fingers played muscles of steel. He felt other hands at his throat, rough hairy hands that reached over his shoulders from behind. He cast a terrified glance backward and the hairs of his head stiffened at the sight his eyes revealed, for grasping him from the rear was a huge man-like ape. The bared fighting fangs of the anthropoid were close to his throat. The lad pinioned his wrists. Neither uttered a sound. Where was the grandmother? Condon's eyes swept the room in a single all-inclusive glance. His eyes bulged in horror at the realization of the truth which that glance revealed. In the power of what creatures of hideous mystery had he placed himself, frantically he fought to beat off the lad that he might turn upon the fearsome thing at his back. Freeing one hand he struck a savage blow at the lad's face. His acts seemed to unloose a thousand devils in the hairy creature clinging to his throat. Condon heard a low and savage snarl. It was the last thing that the American ever heard in this life. Then he was dragged backward upon the floor. A heavy body fell upon him. Powerful teeth fastened themselves in his jugular. His head whirled in the sudden blackness which rims eternity. A moment later the ape rose from his prostrate form. But Condon did not know. He was quite dead. The lad horrified, sprang from the bed to lean over the body of the man. He knew that Acute had killed in his defense, as he had killed Michael Subrub, but here in Savvy Africa, far from home and friends, what would they do to him and his faithful ape? The lad knew that the penalty of murder was death. He even knew that an accomplice might suffer the death penalty with the principal. Who was there who would plead for them? All would be against them. It was little more than a half-civilized community, and the chances were that they would drag Acute and him forth in the morning and hang them both to the nearest tree. He had read of such things being done in America, and Africa was worse even and wilder than the great west of his mother's native land. Yes, they would both be hanged in the morning. Was there no escape? He thought in silence for a few moments, and then with an exclamation of relief he struck his palms together and turned toward his clothing upon the chair. Money would do anything. Money would save him and Acute. He felt for the bank-roll in the pocket in which he had been accustomed to carry it. It was not there. Slowly at first, and at last frantically, he searched through the remaining pockets of his clothing. Then he dropped upon his hands and knees and examined the floor. Lighting the lamp he moved the bed to one side, and inch by inch he fell over the entire floor. Beside the body of Condon he hesitated, but at last he nerved himself to touch it. Rolling it over he sought beneath it for the money. Nor was it there. He guessed that Condon had entered their room to rob, but he did not believe that the man had had time to possess himself of the money. However, as it was nowhere else, it must be upon the body of the dead man. Again and again he went over the room, only to return each time to the corpse. But nowhere could he find the money. He was half frantic with despair. What were they to do? In the morning they would be discovered and killed. For all his inherited size and strength he was, after all, only a little boy, a frightened, homesick little boy, reasoning faultily from the meager experience of childhood. He could think of but a single glaring fact. They had killed a fellow man, and they were among savage strangers, thirsting for the blood of the first victim whom fate cast into their clutches. This much he had gleaned from penny-dreadfuls. And they must have money. Again he approached the corpse, this time resolutely. The ape squatted in a corner watching his young companion. The youth commenced to remove the American's clothing piece by piece, and piece by piece he examined each garment minutely. Even to the shoes he searched with painstaking care, and when the last article had been removed and scrutinized he dropped back upon the bed with dilated eyes that saw nothing in the present, only a grim tableau of the future in which two forms swung silently from the limb of a great tree. How long he sat thus he did not know. But finally he was aroused by a noise coming from the floor below. Springing quickly to his feet he blew out the lamp, and crossing the floor silently locked the door. Then he turned toward the ape, his mind made up. Last evening he had been determined to start for home at the first opportunity, to beg the forgiveness of his parents for this mad adventure. Now he knew that he might never return to them. The blood of a fellow man was upon his hands. In his morbid reflections he had long since ceased to attribute the death of Condon to the ape. The hysteria of panic had fastened the guilt upon himself. With money he might have bought justice. But, penniless, ah, what hope could there be for strangers without money here? But what had become of the money? He tried to recall when last he had seen it. He could not, nor could he, would he have been able to account for its disappearance, for he had been entirely unconscious of the falling of the little package from his pocket into the sea as he clambered over the ship's side into the waiting canoe that bore him to shore. Now he turned toward Acute. Come, he said, in the language of the great apes. Forgetful of the fact that he wore only a thin pajama suit, he led the way to the open window. Thrusting his head out he listened attentively. A single tree grew a few feet from the window. Nimbly the lad sprang to its bowl, clinging cat-like for an instant before he clambered quietly to the ground below. Close behind him came the great ape. Two hundred yards away a spur of the jungle ran close to this straggling town. Toward this the lad led the way. None saw them, and a moment later the jungle swallowed them, and John Clayton, future Lord Greystoke, passed from the eyes and the knowledge of men. It was late the following morning that a native houseman knocked upon the door of the room that had been assigned to Mrs. Billings and her grandson. Receiving no response he inserted his pasky in the lock, only to discover that another key was already there, but from the inside. He reported the fact to Hairscoff, the proprietor, who at once made his way to the second floor, where he too pounded vigorously upon the door. Receiving no reply he bent to the key-hole in an attempt to look through into the room beyond. In so doing, being portly, he lost his balance, which necessitated putting a palm to the floor to maintain his equilibrium. As he did so he felt something soft and thick and wet beneath his fingers. He raised his open palm before his eyes in the dim light of the corridor and peered at it. Then he gave a little shudder, for even in the semi-darkness he saw a dark red stain upon his hand. Leaping to his feet he hurled his shoulder against the door. Hairscoff is a heavy man, or at least he was then. I have not seen him for several years. The frailed door collapsed beneath his weight, and Hairscoff stumbled precipitately into the room beyond. Before him lay the greatest mystery of his life. Upon the floor, at his feet, was the dead body of a strange man. The neck was broken, and the jugular severed as by the fangs of a wild beast. The body was entirely naked, the clothing being strewn about the courts. The old lady and her grandson were gone. The window was open. They must have disappeared through the window, for the door had been locked from the inside. But how could the boy have carried his invalid grandmother from a second-story window to the ground? It was preposterous. Again Hairscoff searched the small room. He noticed that the bed was pulled well away from the wall. Why? He looked beneath it again for the third or fourth time. The two were gone, and yet his judgment told him that the old lady could not have gone without porters to carry her down, as they had carried her up the previous day. Further search deepened the mystery. All the clothing of the two was still in the room. If they had gone then they must have gone naked or in their night clothes. Hairscoff shook his head. Then he scratched it. He was baffled. He had never heard of Sherlock Holmes, or he would have lost no time in invoking the aid of that celebrated sleuth, for here was a real mystery. An old woman, an invalid who had to be carried from the ship to her room in the hotel, and the handsome lad, her grandson, had entered a room on the second floor of his hostelry the day before. They had had their evening meal served in their room. That was the last that had been seen of them. At nine the following morning the corpse of a strange man had been the sole occupant of that room. No boat had left the harbor in the meantime. There was not a railroad within hundreds of miles. There was no other white settlement that the two could reach under several days of arduous marching, accompanied by a well equipped safari. They had simply vanished into thin air, for the native he had sent to inspect the ground beneath the open window had just returned to report that there was no sign of a footstep there, and what sort of creatures were they who could have dropped that distance to the soft turf without leaving spore? Hairscoff shuttered. Yes, it was a great mystery. There was something uncanny about the whole thing. He hated to think about it, and he dreaded the coming of night. It was a great mystery to Hairscoff, and doubtless still is. Stunted palm tree. His broad shoulders and his close-cropped head rested in luxurious ease against the rough bowl of the palm. His long legs were stretched straight before him, overlapping the meager blanket, his spurs buried in the sandy soil of the little desert oasis. The captain was taking his ease after a long day of weary riding across the shifting sands of the desert. Lazily he puffed upon his cigarette, and watched his orderly, who was preparing his evening meal. Captain Armand Jacob was well satisfied with himself and the world. A little to his right rose the noisy activity of his troop of suntanned veterans, released for the time from the irksome trammels of discipline, relaxing tired muscles, laughing, joking, and smoking as they too prepared to eat after a twelve-hour fast. Among them, silent and taciturn, squatted five white-robed A-Rabs, securely bound and under heavy guard. It was the sight of these that filled Captain Armand Jacob with the pleasurable satisfaction of a duty well performed. For a long, hot, gaunt month he and his little troop had scoured the places of the desert waste in search of a band of marauders to the sin- stained account of which were charged innumerable thefts of camels, horses, and goats, as well as murders enough to have sent the whole unsavory gang to the guillotine several times over. A week before he had come upon them. In the ensuing battle he had lost two of his own men, but the punishment inflicted upon the marauders had been severe almost to extinction. A half-dozen perhaps had escaped, but the balance with the exception of the five prisoners had expiated their crimes before the nickel-jacketed bullets of the legionnaires. And best of all the ring-leader, Aukmit Ben Houdine, was among the prisoners. From the prisoners Captain Jacob permitted his mind to traverse the remaining miles of sand to the little garrison post where, upon the moral, he should find awaiting him with eager welcome his wife and little daughter. His eyes softened to the memory of them, as they always did. Even now he could see the beauty of the mother reflected in the childish lines of little genie's face, and both those faces would be smiling up into his as he swung from his tired mount late the following afternoon. Already he could feel a soft cheek pressed close to each of his velvet against leather. His reverie was broken in upon by the voice of a sentry summoning a non-commissioned officer. Captain Jacob raised his eyes. The sun had not yet set, but the shadows of the few trees huddled about the water-hole and of his men and their horses stretched far away into the east across the now golden sand. The sentry was pointing in this direction, and the corporal, through narrowed lids, was searching the distance. Captain Jacob rose to his feet. He was not a man content to see through the eyes of others. He must see for himself. Usually he saw things long before others were aware that there was anything to see, a trait that had won for him the sobriquet of hawk. Now he saw just beyond the long shadows a dozen specks rising and falling among the sands. They disappeared and reappeared, but always they grew larger. Jacob recognized them immediately. They were horsemen, horsemen of the desert. Already a sergeant was running toward him. The entire camp was straining its eyes into the distance. Jacob gave a few terse orders to the sergeant, who saluted, turned upon his heel, and returned to the men. Here he gathered a dozen who saddled their horses, mounted, and rode out to meet the strangers. The remaining men disposed themselves in readiness for instant action. It was not entirely beyond the range of possibilities that the horsemen riding thus swiftly toward the camp might be friends of the prisoners bent upon the release of their kinsmen by a sudden attack. Jacob doubted this, however, since the strangers were evidently making no attempt to conceal their presence. They were galloping rapidly toward the camp in plain view of all. There might be treachery lurking beneath their fair appearance, but none who knew the hawk would be so gullible as to hope to trap him thus. The sergeant with his detail met the Arabs two hundred yards from the camp. Jacob could see him in conversation with a tall white-robed figure, evidently the leader of the band. Presently the sergeant and this Arab rode side by side toward camp. Jacob awaited them. The two reigned in and dismounted before him. Sheik Amor Ben-Katur announced the sergeant by way of introduction. Captain Jacob eyed the newcomer. He was acquainted with nearly every principal Arab within a distance of several hundred miles. This man he never had seen. He was a tall, weather-beaten, sour-looking man of sixty or more. His eyes were narrow and evil. Captain Jacob did not relish his appearance. Well, he asked tentatively. The Arab came directly to the point. Ockment Ben-Houdin is my sister's son, he said. If you will give him into my keeping, I will see that he sins no more against the laws of the French. Jacob shook his head. That cannot be, he replied. I must take him back with me. He will be properly and fairly tried by a civil court. If he is innocent he will be released. And if he is not innocent, asked the Arab, he is charged with many murders. For any of these, if he is proved guilty, he will have to die. The Arab's left hand was hidden beneath his bernouse. Now he withdrew it, disclosing a large goatskin purse, bulging and heavy with coins. He opened the mouth of the purse and let a handful of the contents trickle into the palm of his right hand. All were pieces of good French gold. From the size of the purse and its bulging proportions, Captain Jacob concluded that it must contain a small fortune. Sheik Amor Ben-Couture dropped the spilled gold pieces one by one back into the purse. Jacob was eyeing him narrowly. They were alone. The sergeant, having introduced the visitor, had withdrawn to some little distance. His back was toward them. Now the sheik, having returned all the gold pieces, held the bulging purse outward upon his open palm toward Captain Jacob. O commande Ben-Houdin, my sister's son, might escape to-night, he said. Eh? Captain Armand Jacob flushed to the roots of his close cropped hair. Then he went very white and took a half-step toward the agrav. His fists were clenched. Suddenly he thought better of whatever impulse was moving him. Sergeant, he called. The non- commissioned officer hurried toward him, sleuthing as his heels clipped together before his superior. Take this black dog back to his people, he ordered. See that they leave at once. Shoot the first man who comes within range of camp to-night. Sheik Amor Ben-Couture drew himself up to his full height. His evil eyes narrowed. He raised the bag of gold level with the eyes of the French officer. You will pay more than this for the life of Ock-Mint Ben-Houdin, my sister's son, he said. And as much again for the name that you have called me, and a hundred fold in sorrow in the bargain. Get out of here, growled Captain Armand Jacob, before I kick you out. All of this happened some three years before the opening of this tale. The trail of Ock-Mint Ben-Houdin and his accomplices is a matter of record. You may verify it if you care to. He met the death he deserved, and he met it with the stoicism of the Arab. A month later little Jeannie Jacob, the seven-year-old daughter of Captain Armand Jacob, mysteriously disappeared. Neither the wealth of her father and mother, or all the powerful resources of the Great Republic, were able to rest the secret of her whereabouts from the inscrutable desert that had swallowed her and her abductor. A reward of such enormous proportions was offered that many adventurers were attracted to the hunt. This was no case for the modern detective of civilization, yet several of these threw themselves into the search. The bones of some are already bleaching beneath the African sun upon the silent sands of the Sahara. Two Swedes, Carl Jensen and Sven Malbin, after three years of following false leads, at last gave up the search far to the south of the Sahara to turn their attention to the more profitable business of ivory poaching. In a great district they were already known for their relentless cruelty and their greed for ivory. The natives feared and hated them. The European governments, in whose possessions they worked, had long sought them. But working their way slowly out of the north, they had learned many things in the no man's land south of the Sahara, which gave them immunity from capture through easy avenues of escape that were unknown to those who pursued them. Their raids were sudden and swift. They seized ivory and retreated into the trackless wastes of the north before the guardians of the territory they raped could be made aware of their presence. Relentlessly they slaughtered elephants themselves, as well as stealing ivory from the natives. Their following consisted of a hundred or more renegade rabs and negro slaves, a fierce relentless band of cutthroats. Remember them, Carl Jensen and Sven Malvin, yellow-bearded Swedish giants, for you will meet them later. In the heart of the jungle, hidden away upon the banks of a small unexplored tributary of a large river that empties into the Atlantic, not so far from the equator, lay a small heavily palisaded village. Twenty palm-thatched beehive huts sheltered its black population. While a half-dozen goatskin tents in the center of the clearing housed the score of a-rabs who found shelter here, while by trading and raiding they collected the cargoes which their ships of the desert bore northward twice each year to the market of Timbuktu. Playing before one of the a-rab tents was a little girl of ten. A black-haired, black-eyed little girl, who with her nut-brown skin and graceful carriage looked every inch a daughter of the desert. Her little fingers were busily engaged in fashioning a skirt of grasses for a much-dishevelled doll which a kindly-disposed slave had made for her a year or two before. The head of the doll was rudely chipped from ivory, while the body was a rat-skin stuffed with grass. The arms and legs were bits of wood, perforated at one end and sewn to the rat-skin torso. The doll was quite hideous and altogether disreputable and soiled, but Merriam thought it the most beautiful and adorable thing in the whole world, which is not so strange in view of the fact that it was the only object within that world upon which she might bestow her confidence and her love. Everyone else with whom Merriam came in contact was, almost without exception, either indifferent to her or cruel. There was, for example, the old black hag who looked after her, mabunu, toothless, filthy, and ill-tempered. She lost no opportunity to cuff the little girl, or even inflict minor tortures upon her, such as pinching, or, as she had twice done, searing the tender flesh with hot coals. And there was the sheik, her father. She feared him more than she did mabunu. He often scolded her for nothing, quite habitually terminating his tirades by cruelly beating her until her little body was black and blue. But when she was alone she was happy, playing with geeka, or decking her hair with wild flowers, or making ropes of grasses. She was always busy and always singing when they left her alone. No amount of cruelty appeared sufficient to crush the innate happiness and sweetness from her full little heart. Only when the sheik was near was she quiet and subdued. Him she feared with a fear that was at times almost hysterical terror. She feared the gloomy jungle, too, the cruel jungle that surrounded the little village with chattering monkeys and screaming birds by day and the roaring and coughing and moaning of the carnivora by night. Yes, she feared the jungle. But so much more did she fear the sheik that many times it was in her childish head to run away out into the terrible jungle for ever, rather than longer to face the ever-present terror of her father. As she sat there this day before the sheik's goat-skin tent, fashioning a skirt of grasses for geeka, the sheik appeared, suddenly approaching. Instantly the look of happiness faded from the child's face. She shrunk aside in an attempt to scramble from the path of the leather-faced old A-rab, but she was not quick enough, with a brutal kick the man's center sprawling upon her face, where she lay quite still, tearless but trembling. Then with an oath at her, the man passed into the tent. The old black hag shook with a appreciative laughter, disclosing an occasional and lonesome yellow fang. When she was sure the sheik had gone, the little girl crawled to the shady side of the tent, where she lay quite still, hugging geeka close to her breast. Her little form reacted long intervals with choking sobs. She dared not cry loud, since that would have brought the sheik upon her again. The anguish in her little heart was not alone the anguish of physical pain, but that infinitely more pathetic anguish of love denied a childish heart that yearns for love. Little Miriam could scarce recall any other existence than that of the stern cruelty of the sheik and Mabunu. Dimly in the back of her childish memory there lurked a recollection of a gentle mother, but Miriam was not sure, but that even this was but a dream picture induced by her own desire for the caresses she never received, but which she lavished upon the much loved geeka. Never was such a spoiled child as geeka. Its little mother, far from fashioning her own conduct after the example set by her father and nurse, went to the extreme of indulgence. Geeka was kissed a thousand times a day. There was play in which geeka was naughty, but the little mother never punished. Instead she caressed and fondled, her attitude influenced solely by her own pathetic desire for love. Now as she pressed geeka close to her, her sobs lessened gradually, until she was able to control her voice and pour out her misery into the ivory ear of her only confidant. Geeka loves Miriam, she whispered. Why does the sheik my father not love me too? Am I so naughty? I try to be good, but I never know why he strikes me, so I cannot tell what I've done which displeases him. Just now he kicked me and hurt me so, geeka. But I was only sitting before the tent making a skirt for you. That must be wicked, or he would not have kicked me for it. But why is it wicked, geeka? Oh dear, I do not know, I do not know. I wish geeka that I were dead. Yesterday the hunters brought in the body of El Adria. El Adria was quite dead. No more will he slink silently upon his unsuspecting prey. No more will his great head and his main shoulder strike terror to the hearts of the grass-eaters at the drinking-ford by night. No more will his thundering roar shake the ground. El Adria is dead. They beat his body terribly when it was brought into the village, but El Adria did not mind. He did not feel the blows, for he was dead. When I am dead, geeka, neither shall I feel the blows of Mabunu or the kicks of the sheik, my father. Then I shall be happy. Oh, geeka, how I wish that I were dead! If geeka contemplated a remonstrance, it was cut short by sounds of altercation beyond the village gates. Miriam listened. With the curiosity of childhood she would have liked to have run down there and learn what it was that caused the men to talk so loudly. Others of the village were already trooping in the direction of the noise, but Miriam did not dare. The sheik would be there, doubtless, and if he saw her it would be but another opportunity to abuse her. So Miriam lay still and listened. Presently she heard the crowd moving up the street toward the sheik's tent. Cautiously she stuck her little head around the edge of the tent. She could not resist the temptation, for the sameness of the village life was monotonous, and she craved diversion. What she saw was two strangers, white men. They were alone, but as they approached she learned from the talk of the natives that surrounded them that they possessed a considerable following that was camped outside the village. They were coming to pull have her with the sheik. The old A-rab met them at the entrance to his tent. His eyes narrowed wickedly when they appraised the newcomers. They stopped before him, exchanging greetings. They had come to trade for ivory, they said. The sheik grunted. He had no ivory. Miriam gasped. She knew that in a nearby hut the great tusks were piled almost to the roof. She poked her little head further forward to get a better view of the strangers. How white their skins! How yellow their great beards! Suddenly one of them turned his eyes in her direction. She tried to dodge back out of sight, for she feared all men. But he saw her. Miriam noticed the look of almost shocked surprise that crossed his face. The sheik saw it too, and guessed the cause of it. I have no ivory, he repeated. I do not waste your trade. Go away. Go now. He stepped from his tent and almost pushed the strangers about in the direction of the gates. They demerred and then the sheik threatened. It would have been suicide to have disobeyed, so the two men turned and left the village, making their way immediately to their own camp. The sheik returned to his tent, but he did not enter it. Instead he walked to the side where little Miriam lay close to the goatskin wall, very frightened. The sheik stooped and clutched her by the arm. Viciously he jerked her to her feet, dragged her to the entrance of the tent, and shoved her viciously within. Following her he again seized her, beating her ruthlessly. Stay within, he growled. Never let the strangers see thy face. Next time you show yourself to strangers, I shall kill you. With a final vicious coffee knocked the child into a far corner of the tent where she lay stifling her moans, while the sheik paced to and fro muttering to himself. At the entrance sat Mahbunu muttering and chuckling. In the camp of the strangers one was speaking rapidly to the other. There is no doubt of it, Marben, he was saying, not the slightest, but why the old scoundrel hasn't claimed the reward long since is what puzzles me. There are some things dearer to an Arab Janssen than money, return the first speaker, revenge is one of them. Anyhow it will not harm to try the power of gold, replied Janssen. Mahbun shrugged. Not on the sheik, he said, we might try it on one of his people, but the sheik will not part with his revenge for gold. To offer it to him would only confirm his suspicions that we must have awakened when we were talking to him before his tent if we got away with our lives then we should be fortunate. Well, try bribery then, assented Janssen, but bribery failed gruesomely. The tool they selected after a stay of several days in their camp outside the village was a tall old headman of the sheik's native contingent. He fell to the lure of the shining metal, for he had lived upon the coast and knew the power of gold. He promised to bring them what they craved late that night. Immediately after dark the two white men commenced to make arrangements to break camp. By midnight all was prepared. The porters lay beside their loads ready to swing them aloft at a moment's notice. The armed askeries loitered between the balance of the safari and the Arab village, ready to form a rear guard for the retreat that was to begin the moment that the headman brought that which the white masters awaited. Presently there came the sound of footsteps along the path from the village. Instantly the askeries and the whites were on the alert, more than a single man was approaching. Janssen stepped forward and challenged the newcomers in a low whisper. "'Who comes?' he queried. "'Mabeda,' came the reply. Mabeda was the name of the traitorous headman. Janssen was satisfied, though he wondered why Mabeda had brought others with him. Presently he understood. The thing they fetched lay upon a litter borne by two men. Janssen cursed beneath his breath. Could the fool be bringing them a corpse? They had paid for a living prize. The bearers came to a halt before the white men. "'This has your gold purchased,' said one of the two. They set the litter down, turned, and vanished into the darkness toward the village. Malben looked at Janssen, a crooked smile twisting his lips. The thing upon the litter was covered with a piece of cloth. "'Well,' queried the other, "'raised the covering and see what you have bought. Much money shall we realize on a corpse, especially after the six months beneath the burning sun, that will be consumed in carrying it to its destination? The fool should have known that we desired her alive,' grumbled Malben, grasping a corner of the cloth and jerking the cover from the thing that lay upon the litter. At sight of what lay beneath, both men stepped back. Involuntary oasts upon their lips, for there before them lay the dead body of Mabeda, the faithless headman. Five minutes later the safari of Janssen and Malben was forcing its way rapidly toward the west, nervous asqueries guarding the rear from the attack they momentarily expected.