“My great object,” said he, “was to obtain the reward intact, and so the only thing was to do the job myself, as going out in a party in search of the robber would have been expensive, and he would have got wind of it and kept out of the way. I consequently put on the dress of a substantial villager, disguised myself as a man of the pen by a big turban and huge slippers down at heel, mounted a donkey provided with a big pair of full saddle-bags, and started for the neighbourhood where the robber carried on his trade. At the first stage I purposely started after all other travellers had left, so as to make myself a conspicuous mark for attack, and as I apparently carried no weapons, I seemed, doubtless, an easy prey.
“On getting some half-way to the village to which I was proceeding, I was suddenly pounced upon by two men armed to the teeth, who rushed out from behind a ruined wall and covered me with their guns. I placed my donkey whom I was driving between us, and immediately simulated abject fear. ‘Amān, amān!’ (‘Mercy, mercy!’) ‘Oh, masters!’ I cried out; ‘I am a poor priest.’
“The men, seeing me apparently unarmed, lowered their guns and demanded my money; with many protestations I thrust each hand into the long pockets of my outer garments, and whipping out a brace of pistols before they had time to raise their weapons, I had shot one through the heart, and now rushed on the other, ordering him to drop his gun or I would fire; he was too astonished to resist. I bound him firmly, and informing him that on the first attempt to escape I should either hamstring or shoot him, I proceeded to reload my discharged pistol. I now searched them both, but only found a few kerans on them. I laid the dead man across my donkey—he it was on whom the price had been set; I shook the priming out of their guns and removed the flints, and we got safely back to the caravanserai from which I had started. The next morning I brought my prisoner and the dead man into Hamadan. Of course the fellow was duly executed, but the dog of a Governor never gave me anything but a colt worth some fifty kerans—a bad business, sahib; and though the catching the thieves did not cost me much, on other occasions I didn’t get off so cheaply.” Here he showed us several scars of sword-wounds.
The prince now changed the subject to that of servants. Addressing Pierson, he asked him what wages he gave his head-man (nazir).
Pierson told him he gave two pounds a month.
“And he robs you, I suppose?”
“Of course.”
“Why not engage an intelligent and honest man?”
“You know, Prince, I can’t find such a man in Persia.”
“Don’t call me ‘Prince,’” he said. “A man so poor as I am should do as I have done and drop the title; I only call myself ‘Khan’”—and here the tears were in his eyes—“till—till I can find myself in bread and my horse in food. Let me see; five tomans a month, the usual modakel—say ten tomans, my commission say twenty tomans; thirty-five tomans—a noble position! try me.”