In the course of two days they burned the husband in the Middle River; and as the canoe bearing the body swept out of sight round a bend of the river, the woman stepped into the water and laved the dust from her grimy body and stripped the green leaves of mourning from her waist. Then she walked back to the village with a light step, for the man she hated best was dead and there was an end to it. Four days later came Sanders, a grim little man, with a thin, brown face and hair inclined to redness. "M'Fasa," he said, standing at the door of her hut and looking down at her, as with a dogged simulation of indifference she pounded her grain, "they tell me your man has died." "Lord, that is true," she said. "He died of a sudden sickness." "Too sudden for my liking," said Sanders, and disappeared into the dark interior of the hut. By and by Sanders came back into the light and looked down on her. In his hand was a tiny glass phial, such as Europeans know very well, but which was a remarkable find in a heathen village. "I have a fetish," he said, "and my fetish has told me that you poisoned your husband, M'Fasa." "Your fetish lies," she said, not looking up. "I will not argue that matter," said Sanders wisely, for he had no proofs beyond his suspicions; and straightway he summoned to him the chief man of the village. There was a little wait, the woman pounding her corn slowly, with downcast eyes, pausing now and then to wipe the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, and Sanders, his helmet on the back of his head, a half-smoked cheroot in his mouth, hands thrust deep into his duck-pockets and an annoyed frown on his face, looking at her. By and by came the chief tardily, having been delayed by the search for a soldier's scarlet coat, such as he wore on great occasions. "Master, you sent for me," he said. Sanders shifted his gaze. "On second thoughts," he said, "I do not need you." The chief went away with a whole thanksgiving service in his heart, for there had been certain secret doings on the river for which he expected reprimand. "M'Fasa, you will go to my boat," said Sanders, and the woman, putting down her mortar, rose and went obediently to the steamer. Sanders followed slowly, having a great many matters to consider. If he denounced this woman to the elders of the village, she would be stoned to death; if he carried her to headquarters and tried her, there was no evidence on which a conviction might be secured. There was no place to which he could deport her, yet to leave her would be to open the way for further mischief. She awaited him on the deck of the _Zaire_, a straight, shapely girl of eighteen, fearless, defiant. "M'Fasa," said Sanders, "why did you kill your husband?" "Lord, I did not kill him; he died of the sickness," she said, as doggedly as before. Sanders paced the narrow deck, his head on his breast, for this was a profound problem. Then he looked up.