show you no mercy."

Paulvitch's sneering laugh came through the polished panels.

"The purser will fetch your husband, madame," said the man. "In

fact, that officer has already been notified that you are entertaining

a man other than your husband behind the locked door of your cabin."

"Bah!" cried the woman. "My husband will know!"

"Most assuredly your husband will know, but the purser will not;

nor will the newspaper men who shall in some mysterious way hear

of it on our landing. But they will think it a fine story, and so

will all your friends when they read of it at breakfast on--let me

see, this is Tuesday--yes, when they read of it at breakfast next

Friday morning. Nor will it detract from the interest they will

all feel when they learn that the man whom madame entertained is

a Russian servant--her brother's valet, to be quite exact."

"Alexis Paulvitch," came the woman's voice, cold and fearless, "you

are a coward, and when I whisper a certain name in your ear you

will think better of your demands upon me and your threats against

me, and then you will leave my cabin quickly, nor do I think that

ever again will you, at least, annoy me," and there came a moment's

silence in which Tarzan could imagine the woman leaning toward

the scoundrel and whispering the thing she had hinted at into his

ear. Only a moment of silence, and then a startled oath from the

man--the scuffling of feet--a woman's scream--and silence.

But scarcely had the cry ceased before the ape-man had leaped from

his hiding-place. Rokoff started to run, but Tarzan grasped him

by the collar and dragged him back. Neither spoke, for both felt

instinctively that murder was being done in that room, and Tarzan

was confident that Rokoff had had no intention that his confederate

should go that far--he felt that the man's aims were deeper than

that--deeper and even more sinister than brutal, cold-blooded

murder. Without hesitating to question those within, the ape-man

threw his giant shoulder against the frail panel, and in a shower

of splintered wood he entered the cabin, dragging Rokoff after

him. Before him, on a couch, the woman lay, and on top of her was

Paulvitch, his fingers gripping the fair throat, while his victim's

hands beat futilely at his face, tearing desperately at the cruel

fingers that were forcing the life from her.