He thrust forward the amulet which hung from his neck by a gold chain. The doomed man fastened his eyes upon the thing. His eyelids did not move.
“Hypnotized!” whispered Jefferson Arnold.
“Yes,” assented Nick. “But look.”
For a full two minutes the man stood staring at the amulet, rigid as a wax figure. His swarthy face had become the color of dirty lead, and his nostrils were distended as if he had been petrified at the moment of drawing a deep breath.
Suddenly he began to shiver, his teeth chattered, and his eyes rolled inward, until only the whites could be seen.
“Now!” snapped Calaman.
He dropped the amulet from his fingers, and it fell back against his chest with a faint tinkle.
There was a momentary pause. Then the guard blinked, like a man moving in his sleep, and slowly drew his sword from its scabbard.
“Go on!” ordered Calaman.
The soldier was standing alone, in a bare space, everybody else at some distance. A deep breath could be heard from the spectators, and Patsy Garvan gave vent to a half-uttered ejaculation.