Witch-Doctors | Page 3

yellow glare.
"Nein," he said at length, meditatively, removed the cigar from his lips

and delicately knocked off the ash. "Circumstances alter cases. That
method is too expensive. Son Altesse cannot afford the blood of the
Fatherland in return for such ignoble carcasses. We--the price paid in
the Herrero campaign was insupportable."
"Pardon, Excellence, but Treitschke said----"
"I know, sergeant. But Treitschke did not live in Central Africa."
"True, Excellence."
"Die Schweinhünde Engländer have had more experience than we have.
Even a fool learns wisdom by experience--sometimes."
"True, Excellence."
Again fell a silence save for the buzz of the persistent fly.
"Also psychological research is more valuable than
artillery--sometimes--in spite of Napoleon and Treitschke." Zu Pfeiffer
glanced at the sergeant who, beneath the mask of his features, appeared
shocked. "Blasphemy, nicht wahr, sergeant?"
"If your Excellence thinks----"
"But remember if Napoleon invented the science of artillery, we
invented psychology."
"True, Excellence."
Zu Pfeiffer smiled complacently and stroked his moustaches.
"Now for this animal here. Who and what was he?"
"One of the principal witch-doctors, Excellence, wealthy and powerful.
He attempted to overthrow the Chief Witch-doctor, one Bakahenzie,
and was discredited."
"How discredited?"

"He attempted some form of magic, Excellence, which failed. Details
are not given."
"Who gave the dossier?"
"Ali ben Hassan, Excellence."
"From whom did he get his information?"
"Name given as one Yabolo, another witch-doctor and relative."
"This Saka--Saka"--zu Pfeiffer glanced at the document--"Sakamata. Is
he in communication with this Yabolo?"
"Ja, Excellence."
Zu Pfeiffer smoked reflectively.
"When did the last agent come in?"
"But yesterday, Excellence."
"And no report of any other white men in the country? No British
missionaries or traders?"
"Nein, Excellence."
"Where is Saunders?"
"On Lake Kivu."
"No report?"
"Not since the last three months ago, Excellence."
"Umph!--Now, pay attention." Schultz leaned forward dutifully. Zu
Pfeiffer unrolled a map on the wall beside him. "Here's Ingonya. The
Wongolo country is twenty days' march from here, but across the lake
it's twenty hours with the launch, and five days from there." The

delicate finger-nail indicated a spot on the opposite side of the lake.
"From here--what's the place? Ach--Timballa. To hell with the British
boundary! We must not give them time to get the news. Always rush
the seat of government. Surprise them and they're done."
"But, Excellence, Treitschke says regarding retreat----"
"There will be no retreat. At MFunya MPopo's is the idol, the fetish.
We destroy it and they're done!" He brought down his fist with a crash
on the table. "Faith unites a people; in unity is strength. Break the faith
and you've broken the people."
"But, Excellence!" exclaimed the Lutheran sergeant, aghast.
Zu Pfeiffer's blue eyes hardened.
"Understand, you fool, these are savages. You have an abstract
deity--which you cannot break in the concrete--obviously: they have a
concrete god which we can and shall smash."
"Excellence, you are right," said the sergeant humbly.
Zu Pfeiffer flicked cigar ash from his sleeve and lolled back.
"Those are your orders. Commandeer the necessary canoes and notify
Ludwig to have the men in readiness for the full moon. Work out the
details and give them to me to-morrow."
"Ja, Excellence." Schultz stood to attention. "But, Excellence, this
creature----"
Zu Pfeiffer glanced casually at Sakamata.
"Oh, that? Take it away!"
Schultz saluted smartly and wheeled about.
"Njoo!" he commanded sharply.

Sakamata rose up quietly and disappeared through the door without
glancing to the right or the left.
"The Court awaits your Excellence," reminded the sergeant.
As zu Pfeiffer nodded languidly, a booted foot clopped on the
verandah.
"Wa da?" queried Sergeant Schultz, startled at the intrusion of a
stranger.
"Oh, only I," responded a soft voice in English.
Through the screen door a tall figure in a Tirai hat was silhouetted in
sepia against the yellow glare. A brown hand pushed open the door.
"Mon nom est Birnier, Gerald Birnier--er--Does any one speak
English?"
Zu Pfeiffer, in the act of rising, sank back into the chair, placing his left
leg in a favourite position and selecting a cigar simultaneously.
"Yes," said he, almost without accent. "What do you want?"
"I wish to see the--the Herr Kommandant."
Zu Pfeiffer struck a match without looking up.
"I am he."
One hand upon the open door, Birnier stroked his shaven chin
perplexedly with the other. He glanced from the sergeant, standing
rigidly by the table, to the lieutenant engaged in stoking his cigar to a
nicety.
"Well, it's usual to invite a white man to sit down, isn't it?" suggested
Birnier, with a note of irritation.
Zu Pfeiffer looked across the table.

"Nein. This is the Orderly Room; not a general office."
"Oh, I see. I beg your pardon!" There was a note of laughter in the
voice. "Will you kindly instruct me where I am to apply?"
Zu Pfeiffer continued to regard the