sumed name--John Caldwell, London. He did not understand
the necessity of this, and it caused him considerable speculation. He
wondered what role he was to play in Cape Town.

"Well," he thought, "thank Heaven that I am rid of Rokoff. He was
commencing to annoy me. I wonder if I am really becoming so civilized
that presently I shall develop a set of nerves. He would give them to
me if any one could, for he does not fight fair. One never knows
through what new agency he is going to strike. It is as though Numa,
the lion, had induced Tantor, the elephant, and Histah, the snake, to
join him in attempting to kill me. I would then never have known what
minute, or by whom, I was to be attacked next. But the brutes are more
chivalrous than man--they do not stoop to cowardly intrigue."

At dinner that night Tarzan sat next to a young woman whose place was
at the captain's left. The officer introduced them.

Miss Strong! Where had he heard the name before? It was very
familiar. And then the girl's mother gave him the clew, for when she
addressed her daughter she called her Hazel.

Hazel Strong! What memories the name inspired. It had been a letter
to this girl, penned by the fair hand of Jane Porter, that had carried
to him the first message from the woman he loved. How vividly he
recalled the night he had stolen it from the desk in the cabin of his
long-dead father, where Jane Porter had sat writing it late into the
night, while he crouched in the darkness without. How terror-stricken
she would have been that night had she known that the wild jungle beast
squatted outside her window, watching her every move.

And this was Hazel Strong--Jane Porter's best friend!

Chapter 12

Ships That Pass

Let us go back a few months to the little, windswept platform of a
railway station in northern Wisconsin. The smoke of forest fires hangs
low over the surrounding landscape, its acrid fumes smarting the eyes
of a little party of six who stand waiting the coming of the train that
is to bear them away toward the south.

Professor Archimedes Q. Porter, his hands clasped beneath the tails of
his long coat, paces back and forth under the ever-watchful eye of his
faithful secretary, Mr. Samuel T. Philander. Twice within the past few
minutes he has started absent-mindedly across the tracks in the
direction of a near-by swamp, only to be rescued and dragged back by
the tireless Mr. Philander.

Jane Porter, the