Witch-Doctors Part 12

"Take a drink, sergeant."

"I thank you, Excellence."

The sergeant obeyed with some semblance of initiative and he remarked that the lieutenant drank half a tumbler of neat brandy at a gulp. As if to drag himself away from the contemplation of the photograph zu Pfeiffer stood up and sat on the arm of the chair with his face in shadow above the lamp-shade. Gazing keenly at the sergeant, he said sharply:

"You are quite aware of the regulations regarding official secrets, sergeant?"

"Ach, yes, Excellence!"

As the sergeant paused to answer with the gla.s.s in his hand there was just a suspicion of astonishment in the tone.

"Good. Don't forget it!" A note of menace was in zu Pfeiffer's voice. He added more mildly, "Political reasons may cause stringent measures sometimes."

"Yes, Excellence."

Zu Pfeiffer smoked, coldly regarding the sergeant.

"Who is Sergeant Schneider detailing for the prisoner's escort to-morrow?"

"Corporal Inyira, Excellence."

"A long service man?"

"Ja, Excellence."

"Good. Go and fetch him here."

Not a shadow of surprise showed on Sergeant Schultz's face as he departed.

Zu Pfeiffer smoked hard and drank another brandy thirstily with a slight unsteadiness as he lifted the gla.s.s to his mouth. The sergeant returned and stood at attention just within the door.

"The man is here, Excellence." Zu Pfeiffer nodded.

"Forward, quick marrch," commanded the sergeant in a m.u.f.fled bark.

"Halttt!"

"Very good, sergeant, you may wait."

Schultz saluted and retired without. The tall powerfully built native in uniform stood as if he had a bayonet beneath his chin. There was a slight nervousness about the blues of the eyes as he squinted in the attempt to look straight ahead and to watch the Kommandant at the same time. One nostril was slit, in the lobes of the ears were three can keys, and the temples were tattooed with tribal scars.

"Corporal Inyira!" said zu Pfeiffer sharply. The black body twitched at the voice. "You are to leave to-morrow for Dar-es-salaam and you will take as a prisoner a white man who has been taking your tribe as slaves and selling them to the Abyssinians. The Bwana Mkubwa protects you from these evil white men and Arabs. You know that?" sharply.

"Bwana!"

"Very good. You know what would happen to you if you were sold as a slave?

You have had many brothers who have been sold to the Abyssinians?"

"Bwana! Many, Bwana!"

"Very good. Now listen! This white man is very bad. He leaves with you to-morrow morning for Dar-es-salaam, but-he is never to arrive there. I give him to you. You may do what you like with him, but never let me see him again. You have my protection. Understand?"

"Bwana!"

The rubber lips pouted in the emphatic utterance.

"These are your secret orders. But you are not to tell them to any man, woman, or child here; you may tell your men when you are gone. If you disobey I will cut out your tongue and give you three hundred lashes.

Understand?"

"Bwana!"

"This man is the enemy of the Bwana Mkubwa. His enemies are your enemies.

His goods are yours. Begone!"

The black hand came up jerkily to the black forehead, shot away out and down; the polished calves moved like the eccentrics of an engine, and Corporal Inyira melted into the shadows.

"Sergeant Schultz!"

To smart heel taps on the verandah entered the sergeant.

"You will see that Corporal Inyira and the escort leave before daybreak; moreover, that he talks with no one before he leaves."

"Excellence."

"Take a drink, sergeant."

With legs as stiff as his sjambok, Sergeant Schultz obeyed the order; lifted the gla.s.s and drank.

"You may go! Good night, sergeant."

"Excellence, good night!"

As zu Pfeiffer s.h.i.+fted from the chair-arm to the seat his movements were slightly erratic. He sat forward, staring at the photograph, as he drank more brandy. Outside, the paean of the frogs pulsed steadily. From a distance came the throb of a native drum. A cricket shrilled intermittently.

"Bwana!"

The ghostly figure of Bakunjala whispered from the doorway. Zu Pfeiffer started nervously.

"Zingala," began Bakunjala timorously.

"Gott verdamf-Ems.h.i.+!" snapped zu Pfeiffer, his ring flas.h.i.+ng in an irritable gesture.

Bakunjala melted. Came a mutter of voices and a subdued giggle.

Zu Pfeiffer sat and drank and stared. Above the insectile anthem of the night, rose a gurgling voice in a drinking song.... Later the crash of a breaking gla.s.s was accompanied by an oath. The glimmer of three pairs of eyes through the window screen vanished and reappeared.... Once more rose the voice singing:

"Scheiden tut weh, Scheiden, ja scheiden, scheiden tut weh!"

Just as the cricket began anew, after having politely ceased to hear the lieutenant's song, trickled out upon the clammy air the sound of weeping.