"It will make no difference whom he suspects--after to-night," said
Rokoff, with a nasty grin.

After Miss Strong had gone below that night Tarzan stood leaning
over the rail looking far out to sea. Every night he had done this
since he had come on board--sometimes he stood thus for an hour.
And the eyes that had been watching his every movement since he
had boarded the ship at Algiers knew that this was his habit.

Even as he stood there this night those eyes were on him. Presently
the last straggler had left the deck. It was a clear night, but
there was no moon--objects on deck were barely discernible.

From the shadows of the cabin two figures crept stealthily upon the
ape-man from behind. The lapping of the waves against the ship's
sides, the whirring of the propeller, the throbbing of the engines,
drowned the almost soundless approach of the two.

They were quite close to him now, and crouching low, like tacklers
on a gridiron. One of them raised his hand and lowered it, as
though counting off seconds--one--two--three! As one man the two
leaped for their victim. Each grasped a leg, and before Tarzan of
the Apes, lightning though he was, could turn to save himself he
had been pitched over the low rail and was falling into the Atlantic.

Hazel Strong was looking from her darkened port across the dark
sea. Suddenly a body shot past her eyes from the deck above. It
dropped so quickly into the dark waters below that she could not be
sure of what it was--it might have been a man, she could not say.