winging up his scimitar, Holmes burst forth:

"Hold on, Lutali! Give the poor devil another show."

Half turning his head at this interruption, there was that look upon the
hawk-like features of the Arab which at times so strangely resembled
Hazon. His keen eyes darted haughty reproof at Holmes, for he was a sort
of supercargo of the slave department, and relished not this
interference. Then, turning back, he once more gave the signal. Down
flashed the great blade. There was a dull swooshing thud, and the
headless trunk was deluging the earth.

The effect, however, upon the other two exhausted wretches was magical.
With a despairing effort they raised themselves up and staggered on, to
the accompaniment of not a few blows by way of recognition of their
malingering. Lutali, who had uttered no word, and whose impassive
countenance had not moved a feature, stalked gravely on.

"Why could we not have prevented this?" burst forth Holmes, whom a sort
of morbid fascination seemed to root to the spot.

"Because it would have been the very acme of insanity to attempt such a
thing. Lutali, in common with the rest, is in far too ugly a mood, after
yesterday, to be fooled with needlessly. Besides, all that sentiment is
simply thrown away. These people, remember, are atrocious brutes, who
eat their own fathers and mothers. It is positively a work of charity to
enslave them. Once they are off the march they are fairly well
treated,--better, in fact, than they treat each other--and, of course,
no more cannibalism."

"That may be. But I wish to Heaven I could blot out these two years as
though they had never been. The recollection of the horrors one has been
through will haunt me for life. I feel like blowing my brains out in
sheer disgust. Why did I ever come?"

It was not the first time Holmes had burst forth in this fashion, as we
have shown. Laurence looked keenly at him.

"There is a worse thing to haunt one's life than recollection," he said,
"and that is anticipation."

"Of what?" asked Holmes shortly.

The other touched the muzzle of his rifle, then his own forehead.

"It's that--or this," he said, pointing to the ghastly trunk and the
severed head which lay before them. "You don't suppose I should have
adopted this sweet trade from choice, I suppose? No. Hard necessity, my
dear chap. If anybody has to go under--and somebody always has to--I
prefer that it shall not be me."

Holmes made no reply for a while, so th