“But madame has retired,” said the maid, in answer to Rokoff’s request to speak with her.
“This is a very urgent message for the countess’ ears alone,” replied Rokoff. “Tell her that she must arise and slip something about her and come to the telephone. I shall call up again in five minutes.” Then he hung up his receiver. A moment later Paulvitch entered.
“The count has the message?” asked Rokoff.
“He should be on his way to his home by now,” replied Paulvitch.
“Good! My lady will be sitting in her boudoir, very much in negligee, about now. In a minute the faithful Jacques will escort Monsieur Tarzan into her presence without announcing him. It will take a few minutes for explanations. Olga will look very alluring in the filmy creation that is her night-dress, and the clinging robe which but half conceals the charms that the former does not conceal at all. Olga will be surprised, but not displeased.
“If there is a drop of red blood in the man the count will break in upon a very pretty love scene in about fifteen minutes from now. I think we have planned marvelously, my dear Alexis. Let us go out and drink to the very good health of Monsieur Tarzan in some of old Plancon’s unparalleled absinth; not forgetting that the Count de Coude is one of the best swordsmen in Paris, and by far the best shot in all France.”
When Tarzan reached Olga’s, Jacques was awaiting him at the entrance.
“This way, Monsieur,” he said, and led the way up the broad, marble staircase. In another moment he had opened a door, and, drawing aside a heavy curtain, obsequiously bowed Tarzan into a dimly lighted apartment. Then Jacques vanished.
Across the room from him Tarzan saw Olga seated before a little desk on which stood her telephone. She was tapping impatiently upon the polished surface of the desk. She had not heard him enter.
“Olga,” he said, “what is wrong?”