Beyond, the village had hushed—­the strident call of voices had ceased.  Somewhere a woman was pounding grain in a wooden mortar—­a dull monotonous “thud, thud, swish, thud” carrying on the dead air.  Night-jars were circling above the trees, their plaintive call, “chy-eece, chy-e-ece!” filtering downward like the weird cry of spirits.  Once the deep sonorous bugling note of a saurus, like the bass pipe of an organ, smote the stillness as the giant crane winged his way up the river that lay beyond, a mighty ribbon of silver in the moonlight.  A jackal from the far side of the village, in the fields, raised a tremulous moan.

Sookdee looked into the eyes of Hunsa and he understood.  It was the tibao, the happiest augury of success, for it came over the right shoulder of the victim.

Hunsa, feeling that the moment to strike had come, rose carelessly, saying:  “Give me tobacco.”

That was a universal signal amongst thugs, the command to strike.

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 we are stopped it might be observed.”

“Take the dead,” Sookdee commanded the Bagrees; “lay them out; take down the tents that are over the pits, and by that time I will be there to count these dead things in the way of surety that not one has escaped with the tale.