The message had been made the more insulting by the note of exclamation at the end implying derisive laughter. It had, as Birnier had calculated that it would, struck zu Pfeiffer upon the most tender spot in his mental anatomy, evoking a homicidal mania which dominated his consciousness. To be cheated, to be swindled, to be sworn at, cursed, even to be beaten was sufferable to a degree, but to be laughed at—zu Pfeiffer’s haughty soul exploded like a bomb at an impact. For a time he had been absolutely incoherent with rage. His one impulse had been to rush out and tear Birnier limb from limb. Well might the listening natives believe in the mighty magic of the new King-God, that it should make the Son-of-the-Earthquake to trumpet like a wounded cow elephant!
Then out of the dissolving acrid smoke of wounded pride begin to loom arbitrary points. First, that Birnier would have complained, as he once had threatened to do, to Washington, which would infuriate the authorities in Berlin; and secondly, that he would have written to Lucille revealing the attempt he had made upon the life of her husband as well as the things he had said. How Birnier had escaped was immaterial, but the particular fate that awaited Corporal Inyira was decided but futilely; for the bold son of Banyala and his merry men were footing it to the south of lake Tanganika, scared by day lest the long arm of the Eater-of-Men should overtake them and haunted by the terror of seeing another illuminated ghost by night.
As the jewelled hand glittered in the lamp-light came the mutter of a distant drum on the moist darkness; zu Pfeiffer, abnormally irritable, raised his head, scowled, and muttering that he would have to issue an order to have the drums stopped, bent again to the uncongenial task of finishing the report due for headquarters before he left. The drum ceased; began again and was answered by another drum seemingly nearer at hand.
Five or ten minutes elapsed. As zu Pfeiffer took up a fresh sheet of paper a shot rang out followed instantly by yells. Zu Pfeiffer with an oath sprang to his feet, snatched at the revolver hanging above his camp bed and rushed out as a fusillade of shots mingled with wilder cries. The gruff coughs of the corporal in charge of the guard competed with the sharp barks of Sergeant Schultz. Zu Pfeiffer, bawling for a sergeant, ran to the great gate where the pom-pom was stationed. On the opposite hill red flashes of rifle fire darted downwards. Came another outburst of yelling. Forms of askaris scurrying to their places round the fence brushed by him on every side.