Perera jumped up as the thing fell among the cards, and began in his excitement to gabble in Portuguese. The Mendi was bowing, with the red cloth in his hand. “De gun!” he said. Pollock stared back at the head in the corner. It bore exactly the expression it had in his dreams. Something seemed to snap in his own brain as he looked at it.
Then Perera found his English again.
“You got him killed?” he said. “You did not kill him yourself?”
“Why should I?” said Pollock.
“But he will not be able to take it off now!”
“Take what off?” said Pollock.
“And all dese cards are spoiled!”
“What do you mean by taking off?” said Pollock.
“You must send me a new pack from Freetown. You can buy dem dere.”
“But—‘take it off’?”