“A pseudo trader and hunter, named Carl Bornstadt,” continued zu Pfeiffer imperturbably, “is charged under sub-section 79 of section 8 with supplying guns and liquor to the native subjects of his Imperial Majesty.”
“Good God!” began Birnier. But as he realised zu Pfeiffer’s purpose and his own position, he closed his lips tightly.
Methodically the sergeant finished the entries and waited. Zu Pfeiffer stroked his favourite moustache and considered. He glanced at Birnier, but without a vestige of expression and continued:
“Make a special note, sergeant, that we have reason to suspect that the prisoner is in the political service of”—a slight smile flicked the lieutenant’s face—“in the service of the Portuguese, and so under sub-section 109 of section 8, I am referring the case to Dar-es-salaam for investigation; witnesses, documentary and personal, to accompany the prisoner. Owing to unusual pressure of service we are unable to afford the prisoner, although apparently of European descent, a white guard; therefore, Sergeant Ludwig will detail a corporal and six men for the duty.”
He paused. The sergeant’s pen scratched on. Zu Pfeiffer lighted a cigar and added impersonally:
“The prisoner and escort will leave to-morrow morning. Sergeant Schneider, remove the prisoner!”
Birnier’s face was a little paler, the eyes were slightly [pg 66] more bloodshot; but he did not attempt to speak. Zu Pfeiffer rose. The sergeants stood to attention and saluted. As he left the room towards the Court House, he smiled with slight satisfaction as the gruff voice of Sergeant Schneider barked: “Prisoner, shun! Right turn! Quick marrch!”
But zu Pfeiffer did not remain long in the Court House. After fidgeting about with papers on the table and reprimanding Sergeant Schultz because he had not arranged the next native case to his satisfaction, he rose abruptly and marched swiftly across the square in the brilliant glare without his helmet and into his study. There he straddled a chair and leaned on the back sucking a dead cigar absent-mindedly. As he stared at the portrait in the ivory frame, the blue eyes grew soft and the delicate lips quivered like a child about to weep. He sighed heavily and then rapping out an oath, rose violently, overturning the chair, poured out a half-glass of neat cognac, and drank it at a gulp. As he neared the Court House the sentry, turning at the end of his short beat, was so startled at the proximity of the Kommandant, or incompletely disciplined, that he became flurried. Zu Pfeiffer clicked his heels together and haughtily watched the fumbled efforts to salute. The bolt caught in the man’s tunic. Gold flashed in the sun as the sjambok descended. Zu Pfeiffer walked on unconcernedly, leaving a grey weal on the terrified native’s face. To Sergeant Schultz, rigid in the doorway, he snapped an order to have fifty lashes given to the “clumsy dog.”
Sentences were harsher than usual that morning. All the native world about him knew that a demon had taken possession of the Eater-of-men; he was usually [pg 67] inhabited by an evil spirit, but this time the demon of Bakra who, as everybody knows, tears the vitals with hot claws, making the victim to have fits, to foam at the mouth, to be quite mad, had entered the white man. Bakunjala, coming to the Court House with vermouth and biscuits at eleven o’clock, distinctly saw the devil glaring through zu Pfeiffer’s eyes, and was so scared that he let fall the tray, which was the reason that he also was doomed to have twenty-five lashes that evening. Even the stolid Sergeant Schultz remarked that the Herr Lieutenant had gotten a touch of the sun; but the grizzled Schneider, who came from Luthuania, opined that the Herr Kommandant had left his table knife edge uppermost.
When zu Pfeiffer went across to tiffin the hot sun had dried up the gutters and the plot of grass. He did not return to the Court House, much to the gratitude of many innocent and guilty. After drinking more wine than usual he lay down for the siesta and fell asleep. But at five he awoke with a mouth like a burnt cooking pot and the temper of the said devil. He yelled for Bakunjala, who came, so trembling with fright that he stuttered. Zu Pfeiffer threw a glass which missed him and broke a mirror.