But once in London Jane Porter was no more tractable than she had been in Baltimore. She found one excuse after another, and when, finally, Lord Tennington invited the party to cruise around Africa in his yacht, she expressed the greatest delight in the idea, but absolutely refused to be married until they had returned to London. As the cruise was to consume a year at least, for they were to stop for indefinite periods at various points of interest, Clayton mentally anathematized Tennington for ever suggesting such a ridiculous trip.
It was Lord Tennington’s plan to cruise through the Mediterranean, and the Red Sea to the Indian Ocean, and thus down the East Coast, putting in at every port that was worth the seeing.
And so it happened that on a certain day two vessels passed in the Strait of Gibraltar. The smaller, a trim white yacht, was speeding toward the east, and on her deck sat a young woman who gazed with sad eyes upon a diamondstudded locket which she idly fingered. Her thoughts were far away, in the dim, leafy fastness of a tropical jungle—and her heart was with her thoughts.
She wondered if the man who had given her the beautiful bauble, that had meant so much more to him than the intrinsic value which he had not even known could ever have meant to him, was back in his savage forest.
And upon the deck of the larger vessel, a passenger steamer passing toward the east, the man sat with another young woman, and the two idly speculated upon the identity of the dainty craft gliding so gracefully through the gentle swell of the lazy sea.
When the yacht had passed the man resumed the conversation that her appearance had broken off.
“Yes,” he said, “I like America very much, and that means, of course, that I like Americans, for a country is only what its people make it. I met some very delightful people while I was there. I recall one family from your own city, Miss Strong, whom I liked particularly—Professor Porter and his daughter.”
“Jane Porter!” exclaimed the girl. “Do you mean to tell me that you know Jane Porter? Why, she is the very best friend I have in the world. We were little children together—we have known each other for ages.”
“Indeed!” he answered, smiling. “You would have difficulty in persuading any one of the fact who had seen either of you.”
“I’ll qualify the statement, then,” she answered, with a laugh. “We have known each other for two ages—hers and mine. But seriously we are as dear to each other as sisters, and now that I am going to lose her I am almost heartbroken.”
“Going to lose her?” exclaimed Tarzan. “Why, what do you mean? Oh, yes, I understand. You mean that now that she is married and living in England, you will seldom if ever see her.”
“Yes,” replied she; “and the saddest part of it all is that she is not marrying the man she loves. Oh, it is terrible. Marrying from a sense of duty! I think it is perfectly wicked, and I told her so. I have felt so strongly on the subject that although I was the only person outside of blood relations who was to have been asked to the wedding I would not let her invite me, for I should not have gone to witness the terrible mockery. But Jane Porter is peculiarly positive. She has convinced herself that she is doing the only honorable thing that she can do, and nothing in the world will ever prevent her from marrying Lord Greystoke except Greystoke himself, or death.”
“I am sorry for her,” said Tarzan.
“And I am sorry for the man she loves,” said the girl, “for he loves her. I never met him, but from what Jane tells me he must be a very wonderful person. It seems that he was born in an African jungle, and brought up by fierce, anthropoid apes. He had never seen a white man or woman until Professor Porter and his party were marooned on the coast right at the threshold of his tiny cabin. He saved them from all manner of terrible beasts, and accomplished the most wonderful feats imaginable, and then to cap the climax he fell in love with Jane and she with him, though she never really knew it for sure until she had promised herself to Lord Greystoke.”
“Most remarkable,” murmured Tarzan, cudgeling his brain for some pretext upon which to turn the subject. He delighted in hearing Hazel Strong talk of Jane, but when he was the subject of the conversation he was bored and embarrassed. But he was soon given a respite, for the girl’s mother joined them, and the talk became general.
The next few days passed uneventfully. The sea was quiet. The sky was clear. The steamer plowed steadily on toward the south without pause. Tarzan spent quite a little time with Miss Strong and her mother. They whiled away their hours on deck reading, talking, or taking pictures with Miss Strong’s camera. When the sun had set they walked.
One day Tarzan found Miss Strong in conversation with a stranger, a man he had not seen on board before. As he approached the couple the man bowed to the girl and turned to walk away.
“Wait, Monsieur Thuran,” said Miss Strong; “you must meet Mr. Caldwell. We are all fellow passengers, and should be acquainted.”
The two men shook hands. As Tarzan looked into the eyes of Monsieur Thuran he was struck by the strange familiarity of their expression.
“I have had the honor of monsieur’s acquaintance in the past, I am sure,” said Tarzan, “though I cannot recall the circumstances.”
Monsieur Thuran appeared ill at ease.
“I cannot say, monsieur,” he replied. “It may be so. I have had that identical sensation myself when meeting a stranger.”
“Monsieur Thuran has been explaining some of the mysteries of navigation to me,” explained the girl.
Tarzan paid little heed to the conversation that ensued—he was attempting to recall where he had met Monsieur Thuran before. That it had been under peculiar circumstances he was positive. Presently the sun reached them, and the girl asked Monsieur Thuran to move her chair farther back into the shade. Tarzan happened to be watching the man at the time, and noticed the awkward manner in which he handled the chair—his left wrist was stiff. That clew was sufficient—a sudden train of associated ideas did the rest.
Monsieur Thuran had been trying to find an excuse to make a graceful departure. The lull in the conversation following the moving of their position gave him an opportunity to make his excuses. Bowing low to Miss Strong, and inclining his head to Tarzan, he turned to leave them.
“Just a moment,” said Tarzan. “If Miss Strong will pardon me I will accompany you. I shall return in a moment, Miss Strong.”
Monsieur Thuran looked uncomfortable. When the two men had passed out of the girl’s sight, Tarzan stopped, laying a heavy hand on the other’s shoulder.
“What is your game now, Rokoff?” he asked.
“I am leaving France as I promised you,” replied the other, in a surly voice.
“I see you are,” said Tarzan; “but I know you so well that I can scarcely believe that your being on the same boat with me is purely a coincidence. If I could believe it the fact that you are in disguise would immediately disabuse my mind of any such idea.”
“Well,” growled Rokoff, with a shrug, “I cannot see what you are going to do about it. This vessel flies the English flag. I have as much right on board her as you, and from the fact that you are booked under an assumed name I imagine that I have more right.”
“We will not discuss it, Rokoff. All I wanted to say to you is that you must keep away from Miss Strong—she
