The smile of welcome froze upon the Russian’s face as he looked into the hard, gray eyes of his visitor.
“Name of a name!” he shouted, springing to his feet, “What brings you here!”
“Sit down!” said Tarzan, so low that the men could barely catch the words, but in a tone that brought Rokoff to his chair, and kept Paulvitch in his.
“You know what has brought me here,” he continued, in the same low tone. “It should be to kill you, but because you are Olga de Coude’s brother I shall not do that—now.
“I shall give you a chance for your lives. Paulvitch does not count much—he is merely a stupid, foolish little tool, and so I shall not kill him so long as I permit you to live. Before I leave you two alive in this room you will have done two things. The first will be to write a full confession of your connection with tonight’s plot—and sign it.
“The second will be to promise me upon pain of death that you will permit no word of this affair to get into the newspapers. If you do not do both, neither of you will be alive when I pass next through that doorway. Do you understand?” And, without waiting for a reply: “Make haste; there is ink before you, and paper and a pen.”
Rokoff assumed a truculent air, attempting by bravado to show how little he feared Tarzan’s threats. An instant later he felt the ape-man’s steel fingers at his throat, and Paulvitch, who attempted to dodge them and reach the door, was lifted completely off the floor, and hurled senseless into a corner. When Rokoff commenced to blacken about the face Tarzan released his hold and shoved the fellow back into his chair. After a moment of coughing Rokoff sat sullenly glaring at the man standing opposite him. Presently Paulvitch came to himself, and limped painfully back to his chair at Tarzan’s command.
“Now write,” said the ape-man. “If it is necessary to handle you again I shall not be so lenient.”
Rokoff picked up a pen and commenced to write.
“See that you omit no detail, and that you mention every name,” cautioned Tarzan.