hurled him violently to the floor, leaping upon his breast as he
fell. From the bed the ape growled and struggled with his bonds.
The boy did not cry out--a trait inherited from his savage sire
whom long years in the jungle following the death of his foster
mother, Kala the great ape, had taught that there was none to come
to the succor of the fallen.

Paulvitch's fingers sought the lad's throat. He grinned down
horribly into the face of his victim.

"Your father ruined me," he mumbled. "This will pay him. He will
think that the ape did it. I will tell him that the ape did it.
That I left him alone for a few minutes, and that you sneaked in
and the ape killed you. I will throw your body upon the bed after
I have choked the life from you, and when I bring your father he
will see the ape squatting over it," and the twisted fiend cackled
in gloating laughter. His fingers closed upon the boy's throat.

Behind them the growling of the maddened beast reverberated against
the walls of the little room. The boy paled, but no other sign
of fear or panic showed upon his countenance. He was the son
of Tarzan. The fingers tightened their grip upon his throat. It
was with difficulty that he breathed, gaspingly. The ape lunged
against the stout cord that held him. Turning, he wrapped the
cord about his hands, as a man might have done, and surged heavily
backward. The great muscles stood out beneath his shaggy hide.
There was a rending as of splintered wood--the cord held, but a
portion of the footboard of the bed came away.

At the sound Paulvitch looked up. His hideous face went white with