“You’re crazy,” cried Paulvitch. “Don’t you know that the Englishman will have you all hanged when he gets you back where the law can get hold of you?” “No, he won’t do nothing of the kind,” replied the sailor. “He’s told us as much, for he says that there wasn’t nobody to blame but you and Rokoff—the rest of us was just tools. See?” For half an hour the Russian pleaded or threatened as the mood seized him. Sometimes he was upon the verge of tears, and again he was promising his listener either fabulous rewards or condign punishment; but the other was obdurate. [condign: of equal value] He made it plain to the Russian that there were but two plans open to him—either he must consent to being turned over immediately to Lord Greystoke, or he must pay to the sailor, as a price for permission to quit the Kincaid unmolested, every cent of money and article of value upon his person and in his cabin. “And you’ll have to make up your mind mighty quick,” growled the man, “for I want to turn in. Come now, choose—his lordship or the jungle?” “You’ll be sorry for this,” grumbled the Russian. “Shut up,” admonished the sailor. “If you get funny I may change my mind, and keep you here after all.” Now Paulvitch had no intention of permitting himself to fall into the hands of Tarzan of the Apes if he could possibly avoid it, and while the terrors of the jungle appalled him they were, to his mind, infinitely preferable to the certain death which he knew he merited and for which he might look at the hands of the ape-man. “Is anyone sleeping in my cabin?” he asked. The sailor shook his head. “No,” he said; “Lord and Lady Greystoke have the captain’s cabin. The mate is in his own, and there ain’t no one in yours.” “I’ll go and get my valuables for you,” said Paulvitch. “I’ll go with you to see that you don’t try any funny business,” said the sailor, and he followed the Russian up the ladder to the deck. At the cabin entrance the sailor halted to watch, permitting Paulvitch to go alone to his cabin. Here he gathered together his few belongings that were to buy him the uncertain safety of escape, and as he stood for a moment beside the little table on which he had piled them he searched his brain for some feasible plan either to ensure his safety or to bring revenge upon his enemies. And presently as he thought there recurred to his memory the little black box which lay hidden in a secret receptacle beneath a false top upon the table where his hand rested. The Russian’s face lighted to a sinister gleam of malevolent satisfaction as he stooped and felt beneath the table top. A moment later he withdrew from its hiding-place the thing he sought. He had lighted the lantern swinging from the beams overhead that he might see to collect his belongings, and now he held the black box well in the rays of the lamplight, while he fingered at the clasp that fastened its lid.