The Lord of the Witch Doctors

The thrill of the nighttime, the hushed voice and the prowling step, The crime that is almost committed, The finger of suspicion pointing perhaps at the wrong man, The stir of nerves, the ticking of the clock, The rescue that might be too late or the murderer who might get away, mystery and intrigue and dangerous adventure. We invite you to enjoy stories that keep you in

for suspense. For suspense, tonight we present The Lord of the Witch Doctors by John Dixon Carr. The drums were beating that night. The Lord of the Witch Doctors was on his way. Twenty miles of the East African coast and by the blistering heat of the Indian Ocean lies the island of Zanzibar. Here many years ago, in the year 1889, three nations were rivals for

Kiril, Germany, and Mogadishu, the Italian, a mixed population boiled along that coast, Portuguese, Arabs, Swahili. The island itself, Seid Khalif, Sultan of and of our rule the remains of a once mighty empire. Mohammedan Bantus of the tribe of Zeng, took over there in the moonlight.

That white building patched and rotted was the palace where Sayyad Kali lived with his fat wives and his captive lion. Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Not far away on the hill overlooking the harbor, stood the British residency.

The British residents are crown official, held uneasy sway against German and Italian influence. And that's the residency on that heart. Mother! Yes, Father? Come away to the windows, please. But Father, there's drums around the mainland.

Have a mind. I'd rather you stood bad. It's the fires I don't like, sir. You can see the red light all this distance. Having a bino of some kind. You better stand back too, Mr. Harris.