Witch-Doctors

fresh cigar, adjusted his helmet with care, took a gold-mounted sjambok from his servant, and strode across the square. The lines of his torso were so perfect that they suggested artificial aid. The orderly room was square and whitewashed; grass matting was upon the floor, and high screened doors opened on to the north verandah. Zu Pfeiffer sprawled in a swing chair before the office desk placed at an oblique angle to the wall, encumbered with books and papers. After tapping reflectively on a book cover with a polished nail zu Pfeiffer’s hand sharply struck the bell. Instantly a corporal appeared at the farther door and stood as if petrified, black hand to black temple. Zu Pfeiffer snapped instructions in Kiswahili without removing his cigar. The man grunted, shot his hand away at right angles with as much energy as if he were trying to knock down an elephant, and vanished. “Sergeant!” “Ja, Excellence.” At the other door like another Jack-in-the-box appeared Sergeant Schultz in exactly the same attitude. At a nod the sergeant melted into the semblance of human movement: he drew aside a chair, selected a [pg 10] certain document from a pile of them, and handed it to the lieutenant. Zu Pfeiffer pushed a box of cigars across the table, lolled back with one foot on the table, and began to peruse lazily. The sergeant retired respectfully with the cigar to the outer office. A fly buzzed hopefully at the mosquito wire. The tap of a typewriter sounded like some other insect. On the hot air came the faint barks of a drill-sergeant on the parade ground. From behind the building rose fitfully the murmur of voices from a herd of natives squatted in the sun awaiting the opening of the Court House. Leaves rustled largely under the Lieutenant’s fingers.… At length he pitched the report on to the table, carefully placed the butt of his cigar in an ash-tray, lighted another, and disposed of the match with equal care. “Sergeant.” “Ja, Excellence!” Zu Pfeiffer indicated a chair by a thrust of the chin. The sergeant sat. Tapping the report with the highly polished and very long finger-nail of the left hand, the lieutenant demanded: “Who is the man who gave you this report?” “Ali Ben Hassan, an Arab trader, Excellence.” “Trustworthy?” “Ja, Excellence. He has done much work for us.” “Where?” “On the Tanganika district, sub-division…