TARZAN: 8 Novels in One Volume. Edgar Rice Burroughs

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      As he sat musing over his cigarette his eyes fell upon a mirror before him, and in it he saw reflected a table at which four men sat at cards. Presently one of them rose to leave, and then another approached, and Tarzan could see that he courteously offered to fill the vacant chair, that the game might not be interrupted. He was the smaller of the two whom Tarzan had seen whispering just outside the smoking-room.

      It was this fact that aroused a faint spark of interest in Tarzan, and so as he speculated upon the future he watched in the mirror the reflection of the players at the table behind him. Aside from the man who had but just entered the game Tarzan knew the name of but one of the other players. It was he who sat opposite the new player, Count Raoul de Coude, whom at over-attentive steward had pointed out as one of the celebrities of the passage, describing him as a man high in the official family of the French minister of war.

      Suddenly Tarzan’s attention was riveted upon the picture in the glass. The other swarthy plotter had entered, and was standing behind the count’s chair. Tarzan saw him turn and glance furtively about the room, but his eyes did not rest for a sufficient time upon the mirror to note the reflection of Tarzan’s watchful eyes. Stealthily the man withdrew something from his pocket. Tarzan could not discern what the object was, for the man’s hand covered it.

      Slowly the hand approached the count, and then, very deftly, the thing that was in it was transferred to the count’s pocket. The man remained standing where he could watch the Frenchman’s cards. Tarzan was puzzled, but he was all attention now, nor did he permit another detail of the incident to escape him.

      The play went on for some ten minutes after this, until the count won a considerable wager from him who had last joined the game, and then Tarzan saw the fellow back of the count’s chair nod his head to his confederate. Instantly the player arose and pointed a finger at the count.

      “Had I known that monsieur was a professional card sharp I had not been so ready to be drawn into the game,” he said.

      Instantly the count and the two other players were upon their feet.

      De Coude’s face went white.

      “What do you mean, sir?” he cried. “Do you know to whom you speak?”

      “I know that I speak, for the last time, to one who cheats at cards,” replied the fellow.

      The count leaned across the table, and struck the man full in the mouth with his open palm, and then the others closed in between them.

      “There is some mistake, sir,” cried one of the other players. “Why, this is Count de Coude, of France.” “If I am mistaken,” said the accuser, “I shall gladly apologize; but before I do so first let monsieur le count explain the extra cards which I saw him drop into his side pocket.”

      And then the man whom Tarzan had seen drop them there turned to sneak from the room, but to his annoyance he found the exit barred by a tall, gray-eyed stranger.

      “Pardon,” said the man brusquely, attempting to pass to one side.

      “Wait,” said Tarzan.

      “But why, monsieur?” exclaimed the other petulantly. “Permit me to pass, monsieur.”

      “Wait,” said Tarzan. “I think that there is a matter in here that you may doubtless be able to explain.”

      The fellow had lost his temper by this time, and with a low oath seized Tarzan to push him to one side. The ape-man but smiled as he twisted the big fellow about and, grasping him by the collar of his coat, escorted him back to the table, struggling, cursing, and striking in futile remonstrance. It was Nikolas Rokoff’s first experience with the muscles that had brought their savage owner victorious through encounters with Numa, the lion, and Terkoz, the great bull ape.

      The man who had accused De Coude, and the two others who had been playing, stood looking expectantly at the count. Several other passengers had drawn toward the scene of the altercation, and all awaited the denouement.

      “The fellow is crazy,” said the count. “Gentlemen, I implore that one of you search me.”

      “The accusation is ridiculous.” This from one of the players.

      “You have but to slip your hand in the count’s coat pocket and you will see that the accusation is quite serious,” insisted the accuser. And then, as the others still hesitated to do so: “Come, I shall do it myself if no other will,” and he stepped forward toward the count.

      “No, monsieur,” said De Coude. “I will submit to a search only at the hands of a gentleman.”

      “It is unnecessary to search the count. The cards are in his pocket. I myself saw them placed there.”

      All turned in surprise toward this new speaker, to behold a very well-built young man urging a resisting captive toward them by the scruff of his neck.

      “It is a conspiracy,” cried De Coude angrily. “There are no cards in my coat,” and with that he ran his hand into his pocket. As he did so tense silence reigned in the little group. The count went dead white, and then very slowly he withdrew his hand, and in it were three cards.

      He looked at them in mute and horrified surprise, and slowly the red of mortification suffused his face. Expressions of pity and contempt tinged the features of those who looked on at the death of a man’s honor.

      “It is a conspiracy, monsieur.” It was the gray-eyed stranger who spoke. “Gentlemen,” he continued, “monsieur le count did not know that those cards were in his pocket. They were placed there without his knowledge as he sat at play. From where I sat in that chair yonder I saw the reflection of it all in the mirror before me. This person whom I just intercepted in an effort to escape placed the cards in the count’s pocket.”

      De Coude had glanced from Tarzan to the man in his grasp.

      “Mon Dieu, Nikolas!” he cried. “You?”

      Then he turned to his accuser, and eyed him intently for a moment.

      “And you, monsieur, I did not recognize you without your beard. It quite disguises you, Paulvitch. I see it all now. It is quite clear, gentlemen.”

      “What shall we do with them, monsieur?” asked Tarzan. “Turn them over to the captain?”

      “No, my friend,” said the count hastily. “It is a personal matter, and I beg that you will let it drop. It is sufficient that I have been exonerated from the charge. The less we have to do with such fellows, the better. But, monsieur, how can I thank you for the great kindness you have done me? Permit me to offer you my card, and should the time come when I may serve you, remember that I am yours to command.”

      Tarzan had released Rokoff, who, with his confederate, Paulvitch, had hastened from the smoking-room. Just as he was leaving, Rokoff turned to Tarzan. “Monsieur will have ample opportunity to regret his interference in the affairs of others.”

      Tarzan smiled, and then, bowing to the count, handed him his own card.

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