interminable work of the camp.

The air above the swamp began to sizzle in the heat. The same slender
figure clad in immaculate white reappeared upon the south verandah of the
florid bungalow. Herr Ober-Lieutenant stood staring about the small square
with a peevish glint in the fair eyes. A big negro in spotless white
hurried around the house bearing a brass tray set with a cup, a liqueur
glass and a decanter. Herr Lieutenant sprawled his legs on either arm of a
Bombay chair. As he delicately mixed cognac with his coffee, his jewelled
fingers sparkled in a shaft of sunlight which set afire the sapphires
mounted in an ivory bracelet.

At a yard from the table stood the servant as rigid as the flagpole. With
a lazy insolence which marked his movements, the lieutenant sipped the
cafe-cognac and smoked a cheroot, as if he were seated on the terrace of
the Cafe de la Paix. The brutality of the round skull, emphasized by the
cropped blonde hair, seemed at variance with the boyish rotundity of the
face and the small, but dominant, nose. Two separate moustaches bristled
so fiercely that they suggested sentries on guard over the feminine
softness of the lips. When he had finished zu Pfeiffer arose languidly,
lighted a fresh cigar, adjusted his helmet with care, took a gold-mounted
sjambok from his servant, and strode across the square. The lines of his
torso were so perfect that they suggested artificial aid.

The orderly room was square and whitewashed; grass matting was upon the
floor, and high screened doors opened on to the north verandah. Zu
Pfeiffer sprawled in a swing chair before the office desk placed at an
oblique angle to the wall, encumbered with books and papers. After tapping
reflectively on a book cover with a polished nail zu Pfeiffer's hand
sharply struck the bell. Instantly a corporal appeared at the farther door
and stood as if petrified, black hand to black temple. Zu Pfeiffer snapped
instructions in Kiswahili without removing his cigar. The man grunted,
shot his hand away at right angles with as much energy as if he were
trying to knock down an elephant, and vanished.

"Sergeant!"

"Ja, Excellence."

At the other door like another Jack-in-the-box appeared Sergeant Schultz
in exactly the same attitude. At a nod the sergeant melted into the
semblance of human movement: he drew aside a chair, selected a certain
document from a pile of them, and handed it to the lieutenant. Zu Pfeiffer
pushed a box of ci