Tarzan of the Apes, Edgar Rice Burroughs [best classic books of all time TXT] 📗
- Author: Edgar Rice Burroughs
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Squeezing a drop of ink onto the glass, he spread it back and forth with the rubber roller until the entire surface of the glass was covered to his satisfaction with a very thin and uniform layer of ink.
“Place the four fingers of your right hand upon the glass, thus,” he said to D’Arnot. “Now the thumb. That is right. Now place them in just the same position upon this card, here, no—a little to the right. We must leave room for the thumb and the fingers of the left hand. There, that’s it. Now the same with the left.”
“Come, Tarzan,” cried D’Arnot, “let’s see what your whorls look like.”
Tarzan complied readily, asking many questions of the officer during the operation.
“Do fingerprints show racial characteristics?” he asked. “Could you determine, for example, solely from fingerprints whether the subject was Negro or Caucasian?”
“I think not,” replied the officer.
“Could the finger prints of an ape be detected from those of a man?”
“Probably, because the ape’s would be far simpler than those of the higher organism.”
“But a cross between an ape and a man might show the characteristics of either progenitor?” continued Tarzan.
“Yes, I should think likely,” responded the official; “but the science has not progressed sufficiently to render it exact enough in such matters. I should hate to trust its findings further than to differentiate between individuals. There it is absolute. No two people born into the world probably have ever had identical lines upon all their digits. It is very doubtful if any single fingerprint will ever be exactly duplicated by any finger other than the one which originally made it.”
“Does the comparison require much time or labor?” asked D’Arnot.
“Ordinarily but a few moments, if the impressions are distinct.”
D’Arnot drew a little black book from his pocket and commenced turning the pages.
Tarzan looked at the book in surprise. How did D’Arnot come to have his book?
Presently D’Arnot stopped at a page on which were five tiny little smudges.
He handed the open book to the policeman.
“Are these imprints similar to mine or Monsieur Tarzan’s or can you say that they are identical with either?” The officer drew a powerful glass from his desk and examined all three specimens carefully, making notations meanwhile upon a pad of paper.
Tarzan realized now what was the meaning of their visit to the police officer.
The answer to his life’s riddle lay in these tiny marks.
With tense nerves he sat leaning forward in his chair, but suddenly he relaxed and dropped back, smiling.
D’Arnot looked at him in surprise.
“You forget that for twenty years the dead body of the child who made those fingerprints lay in the cabin of his father, and that all my life I have seen it lying there,” said Tarzan bitterly.
The policeman looked up in astonishment.
“Go ahead, captain, with your examination,” said D’Arnot, “we will tell you the story later—provided Monsieur Tarzan is agreeable.”
Tarzan nodded his head.
“But you are mad, my dear D’Arnot,” he insisted. “Those little fingers are buried on the west coast of Africa.”
“I do not know as to that, Tarzan,” replied D’Arnot. “It is possible, but if you are not the son of John Clayton then how in heaven’s name did you come into that God forsaken jungle where no white man other than John Clayton had ever set foot?”
“You forget—Kala,” said Tarzan.
“I do not even consider her,” replied D’Arnot.
The friends had walked to the broad window overlooking the boulevard as they talked. For some time they stood there gazing out upon the busy throng beneath, each wrapped in his own thoughts.
“It takes some time to compare finger prints,” thought D’Arnot, turning to look at the police officer.
To his astonishment he saw the official leaning back in his chair hastily scanning the contents of the little black diary.
D’Arnot coughed. The policeman looked up, and, catching his eye, raised his finger to admonish silence. D’Arnot turned back to the window, and presently the police officer spoke.
“Gentlemen,” he said.
Both turned toward him.
“There is evidently a great deal at stake which must hinge to a greater or lesser extent upon the absolute correctness of this comparison. I therefore ask that you leave the entire matter in my hands until Monsieur Desquerc, our expert returns. It will be but a matter of a few days.”
“I had hoped to know at once,” said D’Arnot. “Monsieur Tarzan sails for America tomorrow.”
“I will promise that you can cable him a report within two weeks,” replied the officer; “but what it will be I dare not say. There are resemblances, yet—well, we had better leave it for Monsieur Desquerc to solve.”
A taxicab drew up before an oldfashioned residence upon the outskirts of Baltimore.
A man of about forty, well built and with strong, regular features, stepped out, and paying the chauffeur dismissed him.
A moment later the passenger was entering the library of the old home.
“Ah, Mr. Canler!” exclaimed an old man, rising to greet him.
“Good evening, my dear Professor,” cried the man, extending a cordial hand.
“Who admitted you?” asked the professor.
“Esmeralda.”
“Then she will acquaint Jane with the fact that you are here,” said the old man.
“No, Professor,” replied Canler, “for I came primarily to see you.”
“Ah, I am honored,” said Professor Porter.
“Professor,” continued Robert Canler, with great deliberation, as though carefully weighing his words, “I have come this evening to speak with you about Jane.”
“You know my aspirations, and you have been generous enough to approve my suit.”
Professor Archimedes Q. Porter fidgeted in his armchair. The subject always made him uncomfortable. He could not understand why. Canler was a splendid match.
“But Jane,” continued Canler, “I cannot understand her. She puts me off first on one ground and then another. I have always the feeling that she breathes a sigh of relief every time I bid her good-by.”
“Tut, tut,” said Professor Porter. “Tut, tut, Mr. Canler. Jane is a most obedient daughter. She will do precisely as I tell her.”
“Then I can still count on your support?” asked Canler, a tone of relief marking his voice.
“Certainly, sir; certainly, sir,” exclaimed Professor Porter. “How could you doubt it?”
“There is young Clayton, you know,” suggested Canler. “He has been hanging about for months. I don’t know that Jane cares for him; but beside his title they say he has inherited a very considerable estate from his father, and it might not be strange,—if he finally won her, unless—” and Canler paused.
“Tut—tut, Mr. Canler; unless—what?”
“Unless, you see fit to request that Jane and I be married at once,” said Canler, slowly and distinctly.
“I have already suggested to Jane that it would be desirable,” said Professor Porter sadly, “for we can no longer afford to keep up this house, and live as her associations demand.”
“What was her reply?” asked Canler.
“She said she was not ready to marry anyone yet,” replied Professor Porter, “and that we could go and live upon the farm in northern Wisconsin which her mother left her.
“It is a little more than self-supporting. The tenants have always made a living from it, and been able to send Jane a trifle beside, each year. She is planning on our going up there the first of the week. Philander and Mr. Clayton have already gone to get things in readiness for us.”
“Clayton has gone there?” exclaimed Canler, visibly chagrined. “Why was I not told? I would gladly have gone and seen that every comfort was provided.”
“Jane feels that we are already too much in your debt, Mr. Canler,” said Professor Porter.
Canler was about to reply, when the sound of footsteps came from the hall without, and Jane entered the room.
“Oh, I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed, pausing on the threshold. “I thought you were alone, papa.”
“It is only I, Jane,” said Canler, who had risen, “won’t you come in and join the family group? We were just speaking of you.”
“Thank you,” said Jane, entering and taking the chair Canler placed for her. “I only wanted to tell papa that Tobey is coming down from the college tomorrow to pack his books. I want you to be sure, papa, to indicate all that you can do without until fall. Please don’t carry this entire library to Wisconsin, as you would have carried it to Africa, if I had not put my foot down.”
“Was Tobey here?” asked Professor Porter.
“Yes, I just left him. He and Esmeralda are exchanging religious experiences on the back porch now.”
“Tut, tut, I must see him at once!” cried the professor. “Excuse me just a moment, children,” and the old man hastened from the room.
As soon as he was out of earshot Canler turned to Jane.
“See here, Jane,” he said bluntly. “How long is this thing going on like this? You haven’t refused to marry me, but you haven’t promised either. I want to get the license tomorrow, so that we can be married quietly before you leave for Wisconsin. I don’t care for any fuss or feathers, and I’m sure you don’t either.”
The girl turned cold, but she held her head bravely.
“Your father wishes it, you know,” added Canler.
“Yes, I know.”
She spoke scarcely above a whisper.
“Do you realize that you are buying me, Mr. Canler?” she said finally, and in a cold, level voice. “Buying me for a few paltry dollars? Of course you do, Robert Canler, and the hope of just such a contingency was in your mind when you loaned papa the money for that hair-brained escapade, which but for a most mysterious circumstance would have been surprisingly successful.
“But you, Mr. Canler, would have been the most surprised. You had no idea that the venture would succeed. You are too good a businessman for that. And you are too good a businessman to loan money for buried treasure seeking, or to loan money without security—unless you had some special object in view.
“You knew that without security you had a greater hold on the honor of the Porters than with it. You knew the one best way to force me to marry you, without seeming to force me.
“You have never mentioned the loan. In any other man I should have thought that the prompting of a magnanimous and noble character. But you are deep, Mr. Robert Canler. I know you better than you think I know you.
“I shall certainly marry you if there is no other way, but let us understand each other once and for all.”
While she spoke Robert Canler had alternately flushed and paled, and when she ceased speaking he arose, and with a cynical smile upon his strong face, said:
“You surprise me, Jane. I thought you had more self-control —more pride. Of course you are right. I am buying you, and I knew that you knew it, but I thought you would prefer to pretend that it was otherwise. I should have thought your self respect and your Porter pride would have shrunk from admitting, even to yourself, that you were a bought woman. But have it your own way, dear girl,” he added lightly. “I am going to have you, and that is all that interests me.”
Without a word the girl turned and left the room.
Jane was not married before she left with her father and Esmeralda for her little Wisconsin farm, and as she coldly bid Robert Canler goodby as her train pulled out, he called to her that he would join them in a week or two.
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