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This -tin is full of coal oil!" Hastily now Clayton and Monsieur Thuran tore open one of theirs, only to learn the hideous truth that it also contained, not food, but coal oil. One after another the four tins on board were opened. And as the contents of each became known howls of anger announced the grim truth there was not an ounce of food upon the boat.
The next day it came. Mrs. Strong, Hazel, and Monsieur Thuran were Lord Tennington's guests aboard his yacht. Mrs. Strong had been telling them how much she had enjoyed her visit at Cape Town, and that she regretted that a letter just received from her attorneys in Baltimore had necessitated her cutting her visit shorter than they had intended. "When do you sail?" asked Tennington.
The sailors, goaded by the remorseless pangs of hunger, had eaten their leather belts, their shoes, the sweatbands from their caps, although both Clayton and Monsieur Thuran had done their best to convince them that these would only add to the suffering they were enduring.
He told her then of his life since he had returned to the jungle of how he had dropped like a plummet from a civilized Parisian to a savage Waziri warrior, and from there back to the brute that he had been raised. She asked him many questions, and at last fearfully of the things that Monsieur Thuran had told her of the woman in Paris.
"Oh, I say now, Clayton," returned Tennington, "you needn't be so rough on a fellow just because you didn't happen to suggest this trip yourself you've acted a regular bounder ever since we sailed. "No, sir," he continued, "it's a bully idea, and you'll all say so. It's to take Mrs. Strong and Miss Strong, and Thuran, too, if he'll come, as far as England with us on the yacht.
Did she or her mother or a cousin require an escort was there a little friendly service to be rendered, the genial and ubiquitous Monsieur Thuran was always available. Her uncle and his family grew to like him for his unfailing courtesy and willingness to be of service. Monsieur Thuran was becoming indispensable. At length, feeling the moment propitious, he proposed. Miss Strong was startled.
"That's not a bad idea," said Monsieur Thuran, and then, turning to the third sailor, Wilson, he said: "Pass one of those tins aft, my good man." "Fetch it yerself," retorted Wilson sullenly. "I ain't a-takin' no orders from no furriner you ain't captain o' this ship yet."
"They said that there was no question but that it must have been you, and less that you could have survived or been picked up." "How can I convince you that I am no spirit?" he asked, with a laugh. "It was I whom the delightful Monsieur Thuran pushed overboard, but I did not drown I will tell you all about it after a while and here I am very much the same wild man you first knew, Jane Porter."
The old man was deeply touched at the news of Clayton's death. "I cannot understand it," he said. "Monsieur Thuran assured us that Clayton passed away many days ago." "Thuran is with you?" asked Tarzan. "Yes; he but recently found us and led us to your cabin. We were camped but a short distance north of it. Bless me, but he will be delighted to see you both." "And surprised," commented Tarzan.
It was quite dark before he knew it, but he was recalled to himself by a voice out of the night. It was the Russian calling him to his doom. "I am coming, Monsieur Thuran," he hastened to reply. Thrice he attempted to turn himself upon his hands and knees, that he might crawl back to his death, but in the few hours that he had lain there he had become too weak to return to Thuran's side.
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