Anscombe put his hand before his eyes, Heda sank down on the seat in a heap, and the coloured woman, Kaatje, beat her breast and said something in Dutch about being accursed or bewitched.

Luckily I kept my wits and went to the horses' heads, fearing lest they should start and drag the trap into the pool.

"Wake up," I said.

"That fellow has only got what he deserved, and you were quite right to shoot him." "I am glad you think so," answered Anscombe absently.

"It was so like murder.