"I don't think, Hazel. I know that that is a picture of Tarzan of
the Apes."

"Jane!"

"I cannot be mistaken. Oh, Hazel, are you sure that he is dead?
Can there be no mistake?"

"I am afraid not, dear," answered Hazel sadly. "I wish I could think
that you are mistaken, but now a hundred and one little pieces of
corroborative evidence occur to me that meant nothing to me while
I thought that he was John Caldwell, of London. He said that he
had been born in Africa, and educated in France."

"Yes, that would be true," murmured Jane Porter dully.

"The first officer, who searched his luggage, found nothing to
identify John Caldwell, of London. Practically all his belongings
had been made, or purchased, in Paris. Everything that bore
an initial was marked either with a `T' alone, or with `J. C. T.'
We thought that he was traveling incognito under his first two
names--the J. C. standing for John Caldwell."

"Tarzan of the Apes took the name Jean C. Tarzan," said Jane,
in the same lifeless monotone. "And he is dead! Oh! Hazel,
it is horrible! He died all alone in this terrible ocean! It is
unbelievable that that brave heart should have ceased to beat--that
those mighty muscles are quiet and cold forever! That he who was
the personification of life and health and manly strength should