THE TARZAN COLLECTION (8 Books in One Edition). Edgar Rice Burroughs
who are you?” insisted Clayton, speaking in French this time himself.
“Tarzan of the Apes.”
Clayton started back in surprise.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “It is true.”
And Professor Porter and Mr. Philander pressed forward to add their thanks to Clayton’s, and to voice their surprise and pleasure at seeing their jungle friend so far from his savage home.
The party now entered the modest little hostelry, where Clayton soon made arrangements for their entertainment.
They were sitting in the little, stuffy parlor when the distant chugging of an approaching automobile caught their attention.
Mr. Philander, who was sitting near the window, looked out as the car drew in sight, finally stopping beside the other automobiles.
“Bless me!” said Mr. Philander, a shade of annoyance in his tone. “It is Mr. Canler. I had hoped, er—I had thought or—er—how very happy we should be that he was not caught in the fire,” he ended lamely.
“Tut, tut! Mr. Philander,” said Professor Porter. “Tut, tut! I have often admonished my pupils to count ten before speaking. Were I you, Mr. Philander, I should count at least a thousand, and then maintain a discreet silence.”
“Bless me, yes!” acquiesced Mr. Philander. “But who is the clerical appearing gentleman with him?”
Jane blanched.
Clayton moved uneasily in his chair.
Professor Porter removed his spectacles nervously, and breathed upon them, but replaced them on his nose without wiping.
The ubiquitous Esmeralda grunted.
Only Tarzan did not comprehend.
Presently Robert Canler burst into the room.
“Thank God!” he cried. “I feared the worst, until I saw your car, Clayton. I was cut off on the south road and had to go away back to town, and then strike east to this road. I thought we’d never reach the cottage.”
No one seemed to enthuse much. Tarzan eyed Robert Canler as Sabor eyes her prey.
Jane glanced at him and coughed nervously.
“Mr. Canler,” she said, “this is Monsieur Tarzan, an old friend.”
Canler turned and extended his hand. Tarzan rose and bowed as only D’Arnot could have taught a gentleman to do it, but he did not seem to see Canler’s hand.
Nor did Canler appear to notice the oversight.
“This is the Reverend Mr. Tousley, Jane,” said Canler, turning to the clerical party behind him. “Mr. Tousley, Miss Porter.”
Mr. Tousley bowed and beamed.
Canler introduced him to the others.
“We can have the ceremony at once, Jane,” said Canler. “Then you and I can catch the midnight train in town.”
Tarzan understood the plan instantly. He glanced out of half-closed eyes at Jane, but he did not move.
The girl hesitated. The room was tense with the silence of taut nerves.
All eyes turned toward Jane, awaiting her reply.
“Can’t we wait a few days?” she asked. “I am all unstrung. I have been through so much today.”
Canler felt the hostility that emanated from each member of the party. It made him angry.
“We have waited as long as I intend to wait,” he said roughly. “You have promised to marry me. I shall be played with no longer. I have the license and here is the preacher. Come Mr. Tousley; come Jane. There are plenty of witnesses —more than enough,” he added with a disagreeable inflection; and taking Jane Porter by the arm, he started to lead her toward the waiting minister.
But scarcely had he taken a single step ere a heavy hand closed upon his arm with a grip of steel.
Another hand shot to his throat and in a moment he was being shaken high above the floor, as a cat might shake a mouse.
Jane turned in horrified surprise toward Tarzan.
And, as she looked into his face, she saw the crimson band upon his forehead that she had seen that other day in far distant Africa, when Tarzan of the Apes had closed in mortal combat with the great anthropoid—Terkoz.
She knew that murder lay in that savage heart, and with a little cry of horror she sprang forward to plead with the ape-man. But her fears were more for Tarzan than for Canler. She realized the stern retribution which justice metes to the murderer.
Before she could reach them, however, Clayton had jumped to Tarzan’s side and attempted to drag Canler from his grasp.
With a single sweep of one mighty arm the Englishman was hurled across the room, and then Jane laid a firm white hand upon Tarzan’s wrist, and looked up into his eyes.
“For my sake,” she said.
The grasp upon Canler’s throat relaxed.
Tarzan looked down into the beautiful face before him.
“Do you wish this to live?” he asked in surprise.
“I do not wish him to die at your hands, my friend,” she replied. “I do not wish you to become a murderer.”
Tarzan removed his hand from Canler’s throat.
“Do you release her from her promise?” he asked. “It is the price of your life.”
Canler, gasping for breath, nodded.
“Will you go away and never molest her further?”
Again the man nodded his head, his face distorted by fear of the death that had been so close.
Tarzan released him, and Canler staggered toward the door. In another moment he was gone, and the terror-stricken preacher with him.
Tarzan turned toward Jane.
“May I speak with you for a moment, alone,” he asked.
The girl nodded and started toward the door leading to the narrow veranda of the little hotel. She passed out to await Tarzan and so did not hear the conversation which followed.
“Wait,” cried Professor Porter, as Tarzan was about to follow.
The professor had been stricken dumb with surprise by the rapid developments of the past few minutes.
“Before we go further, sir, I should like an explanation of the events which have just transpired. By what right, sir, did you interfere between my daughter and Mr. Canler? I had promised him her hand, sir, and regardless of our personal likes or dislikes, sir, that promise must be kept.”
“I interfered, Professor Porter,” replied Tarzan, “because your daughter does not love Mr. Canler—she does not wish to marry him. That is enough for me to know.”
“You do not know what you have done,” said Professor Porter. “Now he will doubtless refuse to marry her.”
“He most certainly will,” said Tarzan, emphatically.
“And further,” added Tarzan, “you need not fear that your pride will suffer, Professor Porter, for you will be able to pay the Canler person what you owe him the moment you reach home.”
“Tut, tut, sir!” exclaimed Professor Porter. “What do you mean, sir?”
“Your treasure has been found,” said Tarzan.
“What—what is that you are saying?” cried the professor. “You are mad, man. It cannot be.”
“It is, though. It was I who stole it, not knowing either its value or to whom it belonged. I saw the sailors bury it, and, ape-like, I had