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.
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