t of a sheer
diabolical lust of cruelty and the power which he could sway through
that agency. This day, indeed, he might feel content, for it had not
been wasted. But the day was not over yet--oh no--not quite yet.
Still, would it be possible for this satanic being to commit further
deeds of atrocity and of blood? Well, is there not the wretched
sufferer lying bound and helpless within the hut?

Again that low, vibrating hum sounded forth. It seemed to come from the
thick of the thorn palisade. The deeply plotting brain of the wizard
was again on the alert, but its owner evinced no eagerness, not even
looking up from what he was doing. Some person or persons had unawares
touched the hidden communication wire which, situated at the entrance of
the narrow labyrinthine passage leading to the kraal, signalled such
approach.

Shiminya's discernment was consummate in every sense he possessed;
indeed, this faculty had not a little to do with the ascendency he had
gained. In the very footsteps of the new comer, shod with the
_amanyatelo_--a kind of raw-hide sandal used as protection in thorny
country--his keen ear could gather a whole volume of information. They
were, in fact, to him an open index of the new comer's mind. While
distant they indicated a mind made up, yet not altogether removed from,
the verge of wavering; the possession of a purpose, yet not altogether a
whole-heartedness in its carrying out. Nearer they revealed the vulgar
trepidation attendant upon the mere fact of approaching a place so
sinister and redoubtable as the _muti_ den of a renowned sorcerer, and
that in the dim hours of night.

For the brief twilight had long since passed, and now a golden moon, in
its third quarter, hung lamplike in the sky, and, save in the shadows,
its soft brilliance revealed every detail almost as clear as in the day.
It fell on the form of a tall, powerfully built savage, standing there
in the gateway, naked save for the _mutya_, unarmed save for a short,
heavy knobstick. This he laid down as he drew near the wizard.

"Greeting, my father," he uttered.

"Greeting, Nanzicele," replied the sorcerer, without looking up.

Divested of his civilised and official trappings, the ex-sergeant of
police looked what he was--a barbarian pure and simple, no whit less of
a one, in fact, than those over whom he was vested with a little brief
authority. Whether this visit was made in the interests of loyalty to
his superio