be mighty pleased to see you.”
Paulvitch crossed to the sailor's side. A friendly smile lay on the Russian's lips, and his right hand was extended in greeting, as though the other might have been a dear and long lost friend. The sailor ignored the proffered hand, nor did he return the other's smile.
“I've come to help you,” explained Paulvitch. “I'm going to help you get rid of the Englishman and his beasts—then there will be no danger from the law when we get back to civilization.
We can sneak in on them while they sleep—that is Greystoke, his wife, and that black scoundrel, Mugambi. Afterward it will be a simple matter to clean up the beasts. Where are they?”
“They're below,” replied the sailor; “but just let me tell you something, Paulvitch. You haven't got no more show to turn us men against the Englishman than nothing. We had all we wanted of you and that other beast. He's dead, an' if I don't miss my guess a whole lot you'll be dead too before long.
You two treated us like dogs, and if you think we got any love for you you better forget it.”
“You mean to say that you're going to turn against me?” demanded Paulvitch.
The other nodded, and then after a momentary pause, during which an idea seemed to have occurred to him, he spoke again.
“Unless,” he said, “you can make it worth my while to let you go before the Englishman finds you here.”
“You wouldn't turn me away in the jungle, would you?” asked Paulvitch. “Why, I'd die there in a week.”
“You'd have a chance there,” replied the sailor. “Here, you wouldn't have no chance. Why, if I woke up my maties here they'd probably cut your heart out of you before the Englishman got a chance at you at all. It's mighty lucky for you that I'm the one to be awake now and not none of the others.”
“You're crazy,” cried Paulvitch. “Don't you know that the Englishman will have you all hanged when he gets you back where the law can get hold of you?”
“No, he won't do nothing of the kind,” replied the sailor.
“He's told us as much, for he says that there wasn't nobody to blame but you and Rokoff—the rest of us was just tools. See?”
For half an hour the Russian pleaded or threatened as the mood seized him. Sometimes he was upon the verge of tears, and again he was promising his listener either fabulous rewards or condign punishment; but the other was obdurate.
[condign: of equal value]
He made it plain to the Russian that there were but two plans open to him—either he must consent to being turned over immediately to Lord Greystoke, or he must pay to the sailor, as a price for permission to quit the Kincaid unmolested, every cent of money and article of value upon his person and in his cabin.
“And you'll have to make up your mind mighty quick,” growled the man, “for I want to turn in. Come now, choose— his lordship or the jungle?”
“You'll be sorry for this,” grumbled the Russian.
“Shut up,” admonished the sailor. “If you get funny I may change my mind, and keep you here after all.”
Now Paulvitch had no intention of permitting himself to fall into the hands of Tarzan of the Apes if he could possibly avoid it, and while the terrors of the jungle appalled him they were, to his mind, infinitely preferable to the certain death which he knew he merited and for which he might look at the hands of the ape-man.
“Is anyone sleeping in my cabin?” he asked.
The sailor shook his head. “No,” he said; “Lord and Lady Greystoke have the captain's cabin. The mate is in his own, and there ain't no one in yours.”
“I'll go and get my valuables for you,” said Paulvitch.
“I'll go with you to see that you don't try any funny business,” said the sailor, and he followed the Russian up the ladder to the deck.
At the cabin entrance the sailor halted to watch, permitting Paulvitch to go alone to his cabin. Here he gathered together his few belongings that were to buy him the uncertain safety of escape, and as he stood for a moment beside the little table on which he had piled them he searched his brain for some feasible plan either to ensure his safety or to bring revenge upon his enemies.
And presently as he thought there recurred to his memory the little black box which lay hidden in a secret receptacle beneath a false top upon the table where his hand rested.
The Russian's face lighted to a sinister gleam of malevolent satisfaction as he stooped and felt beneath the table top.
A moment later he withdrew from its hiding-place the thing he sought. He had lighted the lantern swinging from the beams overhead that he might see to collect his belongings, and now he held the black box well in the rays of the lamplight, while he fingered at the clasp that fastened its lid.
The lifted cover revealed two compartments within the box.
In one was a mechanism which resembled the works of a small clock. There also was a little battery of two dry cells.
A wire ran from the clockwork to one of the poles of the battery, and from the other pole through the partition into the other compartment, a second wire returning directly to the clockwork.
Whatever lay within the second compartment was not visible, for a cover lay over it and appeared to be sealed in place by asphaltum. In the bottom of the box, beside the clockwork, lay a key, and this Paulvitch now withdrew and fitted to the winding stem.
Gently he turned the key, muffling the noise of the winding operation by throwing a couple of articles of clothing over the box. All the time he listened intently for any sound which might indicate that the sailor or another were approaching his cabin; but none came to interrupt his work.
When the winding was completed the Russian set a pointer upon a small dial at the side of the clockwork, then he replaced the cover upon the black box, and returned the entire machine to its hiding-place in the table.
A sinister smile curled the man's bearded lips as he gathered up his valuables, blew out the lamp, and stepped from his cabin to the side of the waiting sailor.
“Here are my things,” said the Russian; “now let me go.”
“I'll first take a look in your pockets,” replied the sailor.
“You might have overlooked some trifling thing that won't be of no use to you in the jungle, but that'll come in mighty handy to a poor sailorman in London . Ah! just as I feared,” he ejaculated an instant later as he withdrew a roll of bank— notes from Paulvitch's inside coat pocket.
The Russian scowled, muttering an imprecation; but nothing could be gained by argument, and so he did his best to reconcile himself to his loss in the knowledge that the sailor would never reach London to enjoy the fruits of his thievery.
It was with difficulty that Paulvitch restrained a consuming desire to taunt the man with a suggestion of the fate that would presently overtake him and the other members of the Kincaid's company; but fearing to arouse the fellow's suspicions, he crossed the deck and lowered himself in silence into his canoe.
A minute or two later he was paddling toward the shore to be swallowed up in the darkness of the jungle night, and the terrors of a hideous existence from which, could he have had even a slight foreknowledge of what awaited him in the long years to come, he would have fled to the certain death of the open sea rather than endure it.
The sailor, having made sure that Paulvitch had departed, returned to the forecastle, where he hid away his booty and turned into his bunk, while in the cabin that had belonged to the Russian there ticked on and on through the silences of the night the little mechanism in the small black box which held for the unconscious sleepers upon the ill-starred Kincaid the coming vengeance of the thwarted Russian.
Chapter 19
The Last of the “Kincaid”
Shortly after the break of day Tarzan was on deck noting the condition of the weather. The wind had abated.
The sky was cloudless. Every condition seemed ideal for the commencement of the return voyage to Jungle
