Even as he uttered the words Hunsa had slipped behind the merchant and
his towel was about the victim's neck. Each man who had been assigned
as a strangler, had pounced upon his individual victim; while Sookdee
stood erect, a knife in his hand, ready to plunge it into the heart of
any one who was likely to overcome his assailant.

Hunsa had thrown the helpless merchant upon his face, and with one knee
between his shoulder-blades had broken the neck; no sound beyond a
gurgling breath of strangulation had passed the Hindu's lips. There
had been no clamour, no outcry; nothing but a few smothered words,
gasps, the scuffle of feet upon the earth; it was like a horrible
nightmare, a fantastic orgy of murderous fiends. The flame of the
campfire flickered sneers, drawn torture, red and green shadows in the
staring faces of the men who lay upon the ground, and the figures of
the stranglers glowed red in its light, like devils who danced in hell.

Hunsa had turned the merchant upon his back and his evil gorilla face
was thrust into the face of his victim. No breath passed the thick
protruding lips upon which was a froth of death.

As the Jamadar tore the keys from the waist-band, snapping a silver
chain that was about the body, he said: "Sookdee, be quick. Have the
bodies carried to the pits. Do not forget to drive a spear through
each belly lest they swell up and burst open the earth."

"You have the keys to the chest, Hunsa?" Sookdee said, with suspicion
in his voice.

"Yes, Jamadar; I will open it. We will empty it, and place the iron
box on top of the bodies in a pit, for it is too heavy to carry, and if