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He would come by night to the side of the Kincaid, and once aboard, would
search out the members of the ship's original crew who had survived the terrors
of this frightful expedition, and enlist them in an attempt to wrest the vessel from
Tarzan and his beasts.
In the cabin were arms and ammunition, and hidden in a secret receptacle in the
cabin table was one of those infernal machines, the construction of which had
occupied much of Paulvitch's spare time when he had stood high in the
confidence of the Nihilists of his native land.
That was before he had sold them out for immunity and gold to the police of
Petrograd. Paulvitch winced as he recalled the denunciation of him that had
fallen from the lips of one of his former comrades ere the poor devil expiated his
political sins at the end of a hempen rope.
But the infernal machine was the thing to think of now. He could do much with
that if he could but get his hands upon it. Within the little hardwood case hidden
in the cabin table rested sufficient potential destructiveness to wipe out in the
fraction of a second every enemy aboard the Kincaid.
Paulvitch licked his lips in anticipatory joy, and urged his tired legs to greater
speed that he might not be too late to the ship's anchorage to carry out his
designs.
All depended, of course, upon when the Kincaid departed. The Russian realized
that nothing could be accomplished beneath the light of day. Darkness must
shroud his approach to the ship's side, for should he be sighted by Tarzan or
Lady Greystoke he would have no chance to board the vessel.
The gale that was blowing was, he believed, the cause of the delay in getting the
Kincaid under way, and if it continued to blow until night then the chances were
all in his favour, for he knew that there was little likelihood of the ape-man
attempting to navigate the tortuous channel of the Ugambi while darkness lay
upon the surface of the water, hiding the many bars and the numerous small
islands which are scattered over the expanse of the river's mouth.
It was well after noon when Paulvitch came to the Mosula village upon the bank
of the tributary of the Ugambi. Here he was received with suspicion and
unfriendliness by the native chief, who, like all those who came in contact with
Rokoff or Paulvitch, had suffered in some manner from the greed, the cruelty, or
the lust of the two Muscovites.
When Paulvitch demanded the use of a canoe the chief grumbled a surly refusal
and ordered the white man from the village. Surrounded by angry, muttering
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