Argosy (UK), January 1955 — page 23: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

BLACK MAGIC 2I the soul of a Javanese? Never a direct answer to a simple, direct question... He shut the door behind him, silently hoping that the woman would have disappeared by the time he left the bathroom again. He stood by the side of the large brick bath and dipped into the cool water the small, saucepan-like utensil used in the East Indies for pouring water over oneself. Just as he was about to empty it over his head and shoulders, an idea came to him with the force of conviction, and he stopped halfway. It was, after all, such a surprising and strange idea—or rather suspicion . . Wasn’t he making a mistake? Could it really be that that woman .. . had been sitting waiting for him .. . with certain intentions? In the club, as the evening wore on and the gentlemen were left alone together, he had often heard laughing references made _to A or B, “who preferred the Koran to the Bible at night — behind the mosquito-netting.” Grey-haired Civil Service officials told stories, unembarrassed, with obvious pleasure even, of their time as young controleurs on tour of inspection up country, when they had sometimes found a young village beauty waiting for them in their bed at the end of the day—a kind attention on the part of the village headman, who still subscribed to old oriental conceptions of hospitality. Planters on holiday from the hinterland recollected striking examples of the seductive arts of native women who would not scruple to make use of goona-goona, black magic, if they wanted to gain power over you. Mr. Van Houten had always hated to have to listen to such tales. ‘The mere idea was an abomination in his eyes: how could a white man forget himself so far as to. . .! He would waste no time in asking Simin for a clear explanation of the presence of this woman. And if Simin couldn’t give it, he would ask him to tell her to clear out. Of course, he could tell her himself, if she still happened to be sitting there when he went out presently. But, on second thoughts, it seemed better to him not to say another word to her, and to leave the matter to his houseboy. She sat there still. And—as if she felt she had done something to incur his displeasure in the meanwhile, and that it would not be wise to turn round to him at the moment—this time she remained immobile, looking straight in front of her. He could have sworn she had not heard him come out. In passing the girl, he threw a cold, almost hostile glance at her motionless back. As he did so, for a brief instant he could not help seeing her through the eyes of .. . the others. A coil Comicbooks.com