The Return of Tarzan

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Page 37

seated before a little desk on
which stood her telephone. She was tapping impatiently upon the
polished surface of the desk. She had not heard him enter.

"Olga," he said, "what is wrong?"

She turned toward him with a little cry of alarm.

"Jean!" she cried. "What are you doing here? Who admitted you? What
does it mean?"

Tarzan was thunderstruck, but in an instant he realized a part of the

"Then you did not send for me, Olga?"

"Send for you at this time of night? MON DIEU! Jean, do you think
that I am quite mad?"

"Francois telephoned me to come at once; that you were in trouble and
wanted me."

"Francois? Who in the world is Francois?"

"He said that he was in your service. He spoke as though I should
recall the fact."

"There is no one by that name in my employ. Some one has played a joke
upon you, Jean," and Olga laughed.

"I fear that it may be a most sinister 'joke,' Olga," he replied.
"There is more back of it than humor."

"What do you mean? You do not think that--"

"Where is the count?" he interrupted.

"At the German ambassador's."

"This is another move by your estimable brother. Tomorrow the count
will hear of it. He will question the servants. Everything will point
to--to what Rokoff wishes the count to think."

"The scoundrel!" cried Olga. She had arisen, and come close to Tarzan,
where she stood looking up into his face. She was very frightened. In
her eyes was an expression that the hunter sees in those of a poor,
terrified doe--puzzled--questioning. She trembled, and to steady
herself raised her hands to his broad shoulders. "What shall we do,
Jean?" she whispered. "It is terrible. Tomorrow all Paris will read
of it--he will see to that."

Her look, her attitude, her words were eloquent of the age-old appeal
of defenseless woman to her natural protector--man. Tarzan took one of
the warm little hands that lay on his breast in his own strong one.
The act was quite involuntary, and almost equally so was the instinct
of protection that threw a sheltering arm around the girl's shoulders.

The result was electrical. Never before had he been so close to her.
In startled guilt they looked suddenly into each other's eyes, and
where Olga de Coude should have been strong she was weak, for she crept
closer into the man's arms, and clasped her own about his neck. And
Tarzan of

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