TARZAN: 8 Novels in One Volume. Edgar Rice Burroughs

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      The Plot That Failed

       Table of Contents

      For a month Tarzan was a regular and very welcome devotee at the shrine of the beautiful Countess de Coude. Often he met other members of the select little coterie that dropped in for tea of an afternoon. More often Olga found devices that would give her an hour of Tarzan alone.

      For a time she had been frightened by what Nikolas had insinuated. She had not thought of this big, young man as anything more than friend, but with the suggestion implanted by the evil words of her brother she had grown to speculate much upon the strange force which seemed to attract her toward the gray-eyed stranger. She did not wish to love him, nor did she wish his love.

      She was much younger than her husband, and without having realized it she had been craving the haven of a friendship with one nearer her own age. Twenty is shy in exchanging confidences with forty. Tarzan was but two years her senior. He could understand her, she felt. Then he was clean and honorable and chivalrous. She was not afraid of him. That she could trust him she had felt instinctively from the first.

      From a distance Rokoff had watched this growing intimacy with malicious glee. Ever since he had learned that Tarzan knew that he was a Russian spy there had been added to his hatred for the ape-man a great fear that he would expose him. He was but waiting now until the moment was propitious for a master stroke. He wanted to rid himself forever of Tarzan, and at the same time reap an ample revenge for the humiliations and defeats that he had suffered at his hands.

      Tarzan was nearer to contentment than he had been since the peace and tranquility of his jungle had been broken in upon by the advent of the marooned Porter party. He enjoyed the pleasant social intercourse with Olga’s friends, while the friendship which had sprung up between the fair countess and himself was a source of never-ending delight. It broke in upon and dispersed his gloomy thoughts, and served as a balm to his lacerated heart.

      Sometimes D’Arnot accompanied him on his visits to the De Coude home, for he had long known both Olga and the count. Occasionally De Coude dropped in, but the multitudinous affairs of his official position and the never-ending demands of politics kept him from home usually until late at night.

      Rokoff spied upon Tarzan almost constantly, waiting for the time that he should call at the De Coude palace at night, but in this he was doomed to disappointment. On several occasions Tarzan accompanied the countess to her home after the opera, but he invariably left her at the entrance—much to the disgust of the lady’s devoted brother.

      Finding that it seemed impossible to trap Tarzan through any voluntary act of his own, Rokoff and Paulvitch put their heads together to hatch a plan that would trap the ape-man in all the circumstantial evidence of a compromising position.

      For days they watched the papers as well as the movements of De Coude and Tarzan. At length they were rewarded. A morning paper made brief mention of a smoker that was to be given on the following evening by the German minister. De Coude’s name was among those of the invited guests. If he attended this meant that he would be absent from his home until after midnight.

      On the night of the banquet Paulvitch waited at the curb before the residence of the German minister, where he could scan the face of each guest that arrived. He had not long to wait before De Coude descended from his car and passed him. That was enough. Paulvitch hastened back to his quarters, where Rokoff awaited him. There they waited until after eleven, then Paulvitch took down the receiver of their telephone. He called a number.

      “The apartments of Lieutenant D’Arnot?” he asked, when he had obtained his connection.

      “A message for Monsieur Tarzan, if he will be so kind as to step to the telephone.”

      For a minute there was silence.

      “Monsieur Tarzan?”

      “Ah, yes, monsieur, this is Francois—in the service of the Countess de Coude. Possibly monsieur does poor Francois the honor to recall him—yes?

      “Yes, monsieur. I have a message, an urgent message from the countess. She asks that you hasten to her at once—she is in trouble, monsieur.

      “No, monsieur, poor Francois does not know. Shall I tell madame that monsieur will be here shortly?

      “Thank you, monsieur. The good God will bless you.”

      Paulvitch hung up the receiver and turned to grin at Rokoff.

      “It will take him thirty minutes to get there. If you reach the German minister’s in fifteen, De Coude should arrive at his home in about forty-five minutes. It all depends upon whether the fool will remain fifteen minutes after he finds that a trick has been played upon him; but unless I am mistaken Olga will be loath to let him go in so short a time as that. Here is the note for De Coude. Hasten!”

      Paulvitch lost no time in reaching the German minister’s. At the door he handed the note to a footman. “This is for the Count de Coude. It is very urgent. You must see that it is placed in his hands at once,” and he dropped a piece of silver into the willing hand of the servant. Then he returned to his quarters.

      A moment later De Coude was apologizing to his host as he tore open the envelope. What he read left his face white and his hand trembling.

      Monsieur Le Count De Coude:

      One who wishes to save the honor of your name takes this means to warn you that the sanctity of your home is this minute in jeopardy.

      A certain man who for months has been a constant visitor there during your absence is now with your wife. If you go at once to your countess’ boudoir you will find them together.

      A Friend.

      Twenty minutes after Paulvitch had called Tarzan, Rokoff obtained a connection with Olga’s private line. Her maid answered the telephone which was in the countess’ boudoir.

      “But madame has retired,” said the maid, in answer to Rokoff’s request to speak with her.

      “This is a very urgent message for the countess’ ears alone,” replied Rokoff. “Tell her that she must arise and slip something about her and come to the telephone. I shall call up again in five minutes.” Then he hung up his receiver. A moment later Paulvitch entered.

      “The count has the message?” asked Rokoff.

      “He should be on his way to his home by now,” replied Paulvitch.

      “Good! My lady will be sitting in her boudoir, very much in negligee, about now. In a minute СКАЧАТЬ