Worlds of Edgar Rice Burroughs Read Online Free PDF Page A

Jane.
    “Who do you work with among the Germans?” Tarzan asked.
    “Whoever pays the most,” the man said.
    “And who would that be?”
    “It’s never the same,” the man said. Then he listed several more names.
    Tarzan memorized all of them.
    “Please! Please! Do not kill me!” the man said.
    “You didn’t give Mireau the opportunity to beg for his life,” Tarzan said.
    The man’s mouth opened in fear. Tarzan gripped him strongly, then swung him forward as if throwing him off the roof.
    The coward fainted.
    Tarzan brought him onto the roof proper, then ripped pieces of the man’s shirt, and tied him in place. He removed the remaining bullets from the gun, pocketed them, and placed the gun just out of the man’s reach.
    The authorities would find him soon, and they would decide what to do with him. If they did not arrest him, Tarzan would make sure the man paid for Mireau’s death.
    First, he had some business to finish. He went to the far end of the roof. Three buildings stood nearby, but were not attached. He missed trees, vines, branches, easy ways to travel from one high place to another. But heights did not bother him, and neither did taking a running jump—which he did.
    He landed on the next roof down, then jumped onto one more, before using an interior staircase. When he reached the bottom, he walked but not to the Kasbah where his hotel was.
    Instead, he went to the telegraph office.

    The little man sat at his desk. He had a light jacket draped over the back of his chair, apparently in deference to the French government that he worked for. He reached for the jacket when Tarzan entered, then saw who was there, and grinned his toothless grin.
    “Can you send three messages for me?” Tarzan asked. “I need them to remain confidential.”
    “I am trustworthy, monsieur ,” the little man said.
    “I know that,” Tarzan said. “You have already proven it.”
    But still, he worried that someone else might not be.
    He sent the cables back to the office that had initially contacted him. He signed all three missives, Jean C. Tarzan .
    In the first message, he said he regretted to tell them of Mireau’s death. Then he said that he would provide the information they sought and nothing more.
    In the second message, he simply listed the French names that the man on the roof had given him.
    And in the third message, he wrote, These Germans have paid for the services we discussed .
    He figured the Allies could take care of everything—or not.
    The fates of nations were not his concern. He had to continue his search for Jane, and then he would retire to his jungle.
    He paid the little man five times the cost of the cables.
    The little man scowled at him. “I do not take tips, monsieur .”
    “I am not giving you a tip,” Tarzan said. “I am paying you for your service in the war effort.”
    The little man smiled. The smile, even without the teeth, was infectious. “My pleasure, monsieur,” he said. “My pleasure.”

    Tarzan did not have to return to the hotel. He had left clothes there, but clothes were easily replaced. He now knew that Algiers did not have the information he so desperately wanted.
    He didn’t have to see Beaton, but he was curious why the Englishman had been following him. So he walked back. Along the way, he heard discussion of the deaths at the Grand Post Office, and relief that the man who had caused them had already been caught.
    Algiers did not like even a hint of the war at its doorstep.
    The hotel he had chosen was shabby and nondescript. It had a café that wasn’t very good.
    Beaton sat at a table near the hotel’s main door, nursing a glass of tea. He looked relieved when he saw Tarzan.
    “Milord,” he said as he stood.
    So this man did not confuse Tarzan with his old identity, Jean C. Tarzan.
    “Everything’s taken care of at the Grand Post Office,” Tarzan said.
    “And they do not blame you for Mireau?” Beaton asked.
    “They have their killer,” Tarzan