LITMIR.BIZ

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as he sat at play. From where I sat in that chair yonder I saw the reflection of it all in the mirror before me. This person whom I just intercepted in an effort to escape placed the cards in the count’s pocket.”

      De Coude had glanced from Tarzan to the man in his grasp.

      “Mon Dieu, Nikolas!” he cried. “You?”

      Then he turned to his accuser, and eyed him intently for a moment.

      “And you, monsieur, I did not recognize you without your beard. It quite disguises you, Paulvitch. I see it all now. It is quite clear, gentlemen.”

      “What shall we do with them, monsieur?” asked Tarzan. “Turn them over to the captain?”

      “No, my friend,” said the count hastily. “It is a personal matter, and I beg that you will let it drop. It is sufficient that I have been exonerated from the charge. The less we have to do with such fellows, the better. But, monsieur, how can I thank you for the great kindness you have done me? Permit me to offer you my card, and should the time come when I may serve you, remember that I am yours to command.”

      Tarzan had released Rokoff, who, with his confederate, Paulvitch, had hastened from the smoking-room. Just as he was leaving, Rokoff turned to Tarzan. “Monsieur will have ample opportunity to regret his interference in the affairs of others.”

      Tarzan smiled, and then, bowing to the count, handed him his own card.

      The count read:

      M. Jean C. Tarzan

      “Monsieur Tarzan,” he said, “may indeed wish that he had never befriended me, for I can assure him that he has won the enmity of two of the most unmitigated scoundrels in all Europe. Avoid them, monsieur, by all means.”

      “I have had more awe-inspiring enemies, my dear count,” replied Tarzan with a quiet smile, “yet I am still alive and unworried. I think that neither of these two will ever find the means to harm me.”

      “Let us hope not, monsieur,” said De Coude; “but yet it will do no harm to be on the alert, and to know that you have made at least one enemy today who never forgets and never forgives, and in whose malignant brain there are always hatching new atrocities to perpetrate upon those who have thwarted or offended him. To say that Nikolas Rokoff is a devil would be to place a wanton affront upon his satanic majesty.”

      That night as Tarzan entered his cabin he found a folded note upon the floor that had evidently been pushed beneath the door. He opened it and read:

      M. Tarzan:

      Doubtless you did not realize the gravity of your offense, or you would not have done the thing you did today. I am willing to believe that you acted in ignorance and without any intention to offend a stranger. For this reason I shall gladly permit you to offer an apology, and on receiving your assurances that you will not again interfere in affairs that do not concern you, I shall drop the matter.

      Otherwise—but I am sure that you will see the wisdom of adopting the course I suggest. Very respectfully,

      Nikolas Rokoff.

      Tarzan permitted a grim smile to play about his lips for a moment, then he promptly dropped the matter from his mind, and went to bed.

      In a nearby cabin the Countess de Coude was speaking to her husband.

      “Why so grave, my dear Raoul?” she asked. “You have been as glum as could be all evening. What worries you?”

      “Olga, Nikolas is on board. Did you know it?”

      “Nikolas!” she exclaimed. “But it is impossible, Raoul. It cannot be. Nikolas is under arrest in Germany.”

      “So I thought myself until I saw him today—him and that other arch scoundrel, Paulvitch. Olga, I cannot endure his persecution much longer. No, not even for you. Sooner or later I shall turn him over to the authorities. In fact, I am half minded to explain all to the captain before we land. On a French liner it were an easy matter, Olga, permanently to settle this Nemesis of ours.”

      “Oh, no, Raoul!” cried the countess, sinking to her knees before him as he sat with bowed head upon a divan. “Do not do that. Remember your promise to me. Tell me, Raoul, that you will not do that. Do not even threaten him, Raoul.”

      De Coude took his wife’s hands in his, and gazed upon her pale and troubled countenance for some time before he spoke, as though he would wrest from those beautiful eyes the real reason which prompted her to shield this man.

      “Let it be as you wish, Olga,” he said at length. “I cannot understand. He has forfeited all claim upon your love, loyalty, or respect. He is a menace to your life and honor, and the life and honor of your husband. I trust you may never regret championing him.”

      “I do not champion him, Raoul,” she interrupted vehemently. “I believe that I hate him as much as you do, but—Oh, Raoul, blood is thicker than water.”

      “I should today have liked to sample the consistency of his,” growled De Coude grimly. “The two deliberately attempted to besmirch my honor, Olga,” and then he told her of all that had happened in the smoking-room. “Had it not been for this utter stranger, they had succeeded, for who would have accepted my unsupported word against the damning evidence of those cards hidden on my person? I had almost begun to doubt myself when this Monsieur Tarzan dragged your precious Nikolas before us, and explained the whole cowardly transaction.”

      “Monsieur Tarzan?” asked the countess, in evident surprise.

      “Yes. Do you know him, Olga?”

      “I have seen him. A steward pointed him out to me.”

      “I did not know that he was a celebrity,” said the count.

      Olga de Coude changed the subject. She discovered suddenly that she might find it difficult to explain just why the steward had pointed out the handsome Monsieur Tarzan to her. Perhaps she flushed the least little bit, for was not the count, her husband, gazing at her with a strangely quizzical expression. “Ah,” she thought, “a guilty conscience is a most suspicious thing.”

      Forging Bonds of Hate and —?

       Table of Contents

      It was not until late the following afternoon that Tarzan saw anything more of the fellow passengers into the midst of whose affairs his love of fair play had thrust him. And then he came most unexpectedly upon Rokoff and Paulvitch at a moment when of all others the two might least appreciate his company.

      They were standing on deck at a point which was temporarily deserted, and as Tarzan came upon them they were in heated argument with a woman. Tarzan noted that she was richly appareled, and that her slender, well-modeled figure denoted youth; but as she was heavily veiled he could not discern her features.

      The men were standing on either side of her, and the backs of all were toward Tarzan, so that he was quite close to them without their being aware of his presence. He noticed that Rokoff seemed to be threatening, the woman pleading; but they spoke in a strange tongue, and he could only guess from appearances that the girl was afraid.

      Rokoff’s attitude was so distinctly filled with the threat of physical violence that the ape-man paused for an instant just behind the trio, instinctively sensing an atmosphere of danger. Scarcely had he hesitated ere the man seized the woman roughly by the wrist, twisting it as though to wring a promise from her through torture. What would have happened next had Rokoff had his way we may only conjecture, since he did not have his way at all. Instead, steel fingers gripped his shoulder, and he was swung unceremoniously around, to meet the cold gray eyes of the stranger who had thwarted him on the previous day.

      “Sapristi!” screamed the infuriated Rokoff. “What do you mean? Are you a fool that you thus again insult Nikolas Rokoff?”

      “This

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