at apparently bloodthirsty indifference had of course tended to
make more men "crazy wild," as she put it, about her. And that reputation
had added to her numerous attractions even to Birnier.

He could escape if he wished--with zu Pfeiffer. He could take Mungongo with
him. Yet would Mungongo dare the tabu at his bidding? Birnier doubted it.
Would Mungongo even consent to let him, Birnier, who was now in his eyes
the King-God, go and so imperil the foundations of the native world?
Birnier was certain that he would not. They were all dominated by this
confounded idol of wood, he reflected. Bakahenzie, or even Mungongo, would
cheerfully sacrifice him if either imagined that the damned Unmentionable
One desired it, at the suppositious bidding of something which was
nothing.

Through the sweet scent of her in the air like a compelling aura about
him, came suddenly zu Pfeiffer's voice speaking in the accents of agony;
yet all he said was:

"Herr Professor Birnier--I am compelled--to--to apologise for {~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~}"

The voice failed and the haughty blond head turned away, unable to
complete to the uttermost the greatest sacrifice he had ever attempted.

"Please don't," said Birnier comprehendingly. "I understand."

And Birnier did comprehend; realised the small hell in zu Pfeiffer as a
higher developed tabu did a childish tabu unto death. Zu Pfeiffer, white
man, had been just as guilty of an attempt to commit murder at the
suppositious inversion of a thumb of an idol as Bakahenzie; not an idol of
wood but the projection of his subconscious desires. Zu Pfeiffer would
sacrifice a million at the bidding of his Kaiser, whose divinity was the
same myth, the projection of himself. Yet what had been Birnier's object
in undertaking all these pains and penalties but to study mankind in the
making, the black microcosm of a white macrocosm; to aid them to a better
understanding of themselves and each other? Was not Bakahenzie an
embryonic zu Pfeiffer? How could one aid a zu Pfeiffer if one did not know
a Bakahenzie?

From the saturnalia in progress outside came another swirl of sound
seeming to lap mockingly against the motionless figure of zu Pfeiffer
silhouetted against a green sky; and above him towered the idol leaning
sideways.

As if in drunken laughter of the follies of black and white humanity!
mused Birnier. Yet what am I doing? At the crook of a dainty finger am I,
too, to bow to an idol? Am I to pity zu Pfe