style="font-size:15px;"> Slipping in at the door he found that everything had been ransacked. His books and pencils strewed the floor. His weapons and shields and other little store of treasures were littered about.
As he saw what had been done a great wave of anger surged through him, and the new made scar upon his forehead stood suddenly out, a bar of inflamed crimson against his tawny hide.
Quickly he ran to the cupboard and searched in the far recess of the lower shelf. Ah! He breathed a sigh of relief as he drew out the little tin box, and, opening it, found his greatest treasures undisturbed.
The photograph of the smiling, strong-faced young man, and the little black puzzle book were safe.
What was that?
His quick ear had caught a faint but unfamiliar sound.
Running to the window Tarzan looked toward the harbor, and there he saw that a boat was being lowered from the great ship beside the one already in the water. Soon he saw many people clambering over the sides of the larger vessel and dropping into the boats. They were coming back in full force.
For a moment longer Tarzan watched while a number of boxes and bundles were lowered into the waiting boats, then, as they shoved off from the ship’s side, the ape-man snatched up a piece of paper, and with a pencil printed on it for a few moments until it bore several lines of strong, well-made, almost letter-perfect characters.
This notice he stuck upon the door with a small sharp splinter of wood. Then gathering up his precious tin box, his arrows, and as many bows and spears as he could carry, he hastened through the door and disappeared into the forest.
When the two boats were beached upon the silvery sand it was a strange assortment of humanity that clambered ashore.
Some twenty souls in all there were, fifteen of them rough and villainous appearing seamen.
The others of the party were of different stamp.
One was an elderly man, with white hair and large rimmed spectacles. His slightly stooped shoulders were draped in an ill-fitting, though immaculate, frock coat, and a shiny silk hat added to the incongruity of his garb in an African jungle.
The second member of the party to land was a tall young man in white ducks, while directly behind came another elderly man with a very high forehead and a fussy, excitable manner.
After these came a huge Negress clothed like Solomon as to colors. Her great eyes rolled in evident terror, first toward the jungle and then toward the cursing band of sailors who were removing the bales and boxes from the boats.
The last member of the party to disembark was a girl of about nineteen, and it was the young man who stood at the boat’s prow to lift her high and dry upon land. She gave him a brave and pretty smile of thanks, but no words passed between them.
In silence the party advanced toward the cabin. It was evident that whatever their intentions, all had been decided upon before they left the ship; and so they came to the door, the sailors carrying the boxes and bales, followed by the five who were of so different a class. The men put down their burdens, and then one caught sight of the notice which Tarzan had posted.
“Ho, mates!” he cried. “What’s here? This sign was not posted an hour ago or I’ll eat the cook.”
The others gathered about, craning their necks over the shoulders of those before them, but as few of them could read at all, and then only after the most laborious fashion, one finally turned to the little old man of the top hat and frock coat.
“Hi, perfesser,” he called, “step for’rd and read the bloomin’ notis.”
Thus addressed, the old man came slowly to where the sailors stood, followed by the other members of his party. Adjusting his spectacles he looked for a moment at the placard and then, turning away, strolled off muttering to himself: “Most remarkable—most remarkable!”
“Hi, old fossil,” cried the man who had first called on him for assistance, “did je think we wanted of you to read the bloomin’ notis to yourself? Come back here and read it out loud, you old barnacle.”
The old man stopped and, turning back, said: “Oh, yes, my dear sir, a thousand pardons. It was quite thoughtless of me, yes—very thoughtless. Most remarkable—most remarkable!”
Again he faced the notice and read it through, and doubtless would have turned off again to ruminate upon it had not the sailor grasped him roughly by the collar and howled into his ear.
“Read it out loud, you blithering old idiot.”
“Ah, yes indeed, yes indeed,” replied the professor softly, and adjusting his spectacles once more he read aloud:
This is the house of Tarzan, the killer of beasts and many black men. Do not harm the things which are Tarzan’s. Tarzan watches. Tarzan of the apes.
“Who the devil is Tarzan?” cried the sailor who had before spoken.
“He evidently speaks English,” said the young man.
“But what does ‘Tarzan of the Apes’ mean?” cried the girl.
“I do not know, Miss Porter,” replied the young man, “unless we have discovered a runaway simian from the London Zoo who has brought back a European education to his jungle home. What do you make of it, Professor Porter?” he added, turning to the old man.
Professor Archimedes Q. Porter adjusted his spectacles.
“Ah, yes, indeed; yes indeed—most remarkable, most remarkable!” said the professor; “but I can add nothing further to what I have already remarked in elucidation of this truly momentous occurrence,” and the professor turned slowly in the direction of the jungle.
“But, papa,” cried the girl, “you haven’t said anything about it yet.”
“Tut, tut, child; tut, tut,” responded Professor Porter, in a kindly and indulgent tone, “do not trouble your pretty head with such weighty and abstruse problems,” and again he wandered slowly off in still another direction, his eyes bent upon the ground at his feet, his hands clasped behind him beneath the flowing tails of his coat.
“I reckon the daffy old bounder don’t know no more’n we do about it,” growled the rat-faced sailor.
“Keep a civil tongue in your head,” cried the young man, his face paling in anger, at the insulting tone of the sailor. “You’ve murdered our officers and robbed us. We are absolutely in your power, but you’ll treat Professor Porter and Miss Porter with respect or I’ll break that vile neck of yours with my bare hands—guns or no guns,” and the young fellow stepped so close to the rat-faced sailor that the latter, though he bore two revolvers and a villainous looking knife in his belt, slunk back abashed.
“You damned coward,” cried the young man. “You’d never dare shoot a man until his back was turned. You don’t dare shoot me even then,” and he deliberately turned his back full upon the sailor and walked nonchalantly away as if to put him to the test.
The sailor’s hand crept slyly to the butt of one of his revolvers; his wicked eyes glared vengefully at the retreating form of the young Englishman. The gaze of his fellows was upon him, but still he hesitated. At heart he was
