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wife, penis, prisoners, let alone gossip, to himself. And what

    Miss Hazelstone had to recount wasn’t in the nature of mere gossip. It was political,

    racial, social, you name it, dynamite.
    It was just at this point in his musings that the Kommandant caught sight of Konstabel

    Els approaching the house. He had the air of a good dog that has done its duty and expects

    to be rewarded. Had he possessed a tail he would undoubtedly have been wagging it.

    Lacking that appendage he dragged behind him a terrible substitute which, Kommandant

    van Heerden noted thankfully, he had the decency not to wag. What remained of Fivepence

    were not things that anybody, not even Els, would wish to wag.
    Kommandant van Heerden acted swiftly. He stepped out on to the stoep and shut the door

    behind him.
    “Konstabel Els,” he commanded. “These are your orders.” The Konstabel dropped the

    pillowcase and came to attention eagerly. Tree-climbing and body-snatching he could

    do without, but he loved being given orders. They usually meant that he was being given

    permission to hurt somebody.
    “You will dispose of that … that thing,” the Kommandant ordered.
    “Yes sir,” said Els thankfully. He was getting tired of Fivepence.
    “Proceed to the main gate and remain there on guard until you are relieved. See that

    nobody enters or leaves the grounds. Anybody at all. That means Europeans as well. Do you

    understand?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “If anyone enters you are to see that they don’t get out again.”
    “Can I use firearms to stop them, sir?” asked Els.
    Kommandant van Heerden hesitated. He didn’t want a bloodbath up at the main gateway

    to Jacaranda Park. On the other hand the situation was clearly such a desperate one and

    one word to the Press would bring hordes of newspapermen up - that he was prepared to take

    drastic measures.
    “Yes,” he said at last. “You can shoot.” And then remembering the fuss there had been

    when a wounded reporter had been taken to Piemburg Hospital, he added, “And shoot to

    kill, Els, shoot to kill.” Complaints from the morgue were easier to refute.
    Kommandant van Heerden went back into the house and Konstabel Els started off to

    guard the main gate. He hadn’t gone very far when the thought crossed his mind that the

    elephant gun would certainly ensure that nothing larger than a cockroach got out of

    Jacaranda Park alive. He turned back and collected the gun from the stoep and then, after

    adding several packets of revolver ammunition from the police car. set off up the drive

    with a light heart.
    Back in the house Kommandant van Heerden was glad to see that Miss Hazelstone was still

    in her stupor in the armchair. At least one problem had been solved. No word of the

    injections would reach Konstabel Els. The thought of what would follow should Els get wind

    of that diversion had been haunting the Kommandant’s mind. There had been enough

    complaints lately from local residents about the screams that came from the cells in

    Piemburg Police Station without Konstabel Els practising penal injections on the

    prisoners. Not that Els would have been content to use novocaine. He would have graduated

    to nitric acid before you could say Apartheid.
    With Els out of the way, the Kommandant decided on his next step. Leaving Miss

    Hazelstone in her chair, he made his way to the telephone which lurked in the potted jungle

    in the hall. He made two calls. The first was to Luitenant Verkramp at the Police

    Station.
    In later life Luitenant Verkramp was to recall that telephone conversation with the

    shudder that comes from recalling the first omens of disaster. At the time he had merely

    wondered what the hell was wrong with his Kommandant. Van Heerden sounded as though he

    were on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
    “Verkramp, is that you?” his voice came in a strangled whisper over the phone.
    “Of course it’s me. Who the hell did you think it was?”