With a wild yell Gagool’s horrid ministers broke away in every direction, like fragments from a shell, the dry bones round their waists rattling as they ran, and headed for various points of the dense human circle.  We could not watch them all, so we fixed our eyes upon the Isanusi nearest to us.  When she came to within a few paces of the warriors she halted and began to dance wildly, turning round and round with an almost incredible rapidity, and shrieking out sentences such as “I smell him, the evil-doer!” “He is near, he who poisoned his mother!” “I hear the thoughts of him who thought evil of the king!”

Quicker and quicker she danced, till she lashed herself into such a frenzy of excitement that the foam flew in specks from her gnashing jaws, till her eyes seemed to start from her head, and her flesh to quiver visibly.  Suddenly she stopped dead and stiffened all over, like a pointer dog when he scents game, and then with outstretched wand she began to creep stealthily towards the soldiers before her.  It seemed to us that as she came their stoicism gave way, and that they shrank from her.  As for ourselves, we followed her movements with a horrible fascination.  Presently, still creeping and crouching like a dog, the Isanusi was before them.  Then she halted and pointed, and again crept on a pace or two.

Suddenly the end came.  With a shriek she sprang in and touched a tall warrior with her forked wand.  Instantly two of his comrades, those standing immediately next to him, seized the doomed man, each by one arm, and advanced with him towards the king.

He did not resist, but we saw that he dragged his limbs as though they were paralysed, and that his fingers, from which the spear had fallen, were limp like those of a man newly dead.

As he came, two of the villainous executioners stepped forward to meet him.  Presently they met, and the executioners turned round, looking towards the king as though for orders.

“Kill!” said the king.

“Kill!” squeaked Gagool.

“Kill!” re-echoed Scragga, with a hollow chuckle.

Almost before the words were uttered the horrible dead was done.  One man had driven his spear into the victim’s heart, and to make assurance double sure, the other had dashed out his brains with a great club.

“One,” counted Twala the king, just like a black Madame Defarge, as Good said, and the body was dragged a few paces away and stretched out.

Hardly was the thing done before another poor wretch was brought up, like an ox to the slaughter.  This time we could see, from the leopard-skin cloak which he wore, that the man was a person of rank.  Again the awful syllables were spoken, and the victim fell dead.

“Two,” counted the king.