“So you are that Englishman of Constantinople; how does a European find his way from there to here in this guise, unattended, speaking Kurdish, and using Persian as his own language? When I was in Constantinople you were my guest and I could say nothing, though I knew what you were; but here I can speak freely, for we are both strangers. And that explains why I cannot accept your presents; I wish to do you no discourtesy, but I am living here in a retreat of darvishes, where our diet is but buttermilk and bread; nor do we indulge in any luxuries, therefore I as a guest in another’s house cannot accept presents from any.
“Yet, because I bear you no ill-will, though you have doubly deceived me—coming there in false guise, and here too, perhaps—I beseech you to be frank and tell me who you are—what, after your close enquiries at Constantinople, your business is here upon the frontier.”
“It is evident,” I replied, “from what you say that you had suspected in Constantinople that I was a Persian, and your surmises were correct, and as a proof I will hand you letters from my native place, Shiraz, covering a long period.”
These he perused and handed them back.
“Yes,” he said, “that is all very specious, but how am I to know these are not forgeries. And at any rate, what brought you here to see me?”
“When I was in Constantinople,” I said, “you were kind to me and lightened the monotony of many a dark day there, it is only natural that I should come to see you when I hear that you are here now.”
“No, no,” he replied, with the air of a man who despairs of extracting the truth, “it was not that; tell me what it was. Remember, you have placed yourself in an awkward position. If I like, being a priest and holding a judicial position, I can cause you to be examined, and if the truth is what I suspect, it will be very awkward for you. It is useless to tell me you are this or that, for you have lied badly either then or now. It occurred to me in Constantinople that you were not a European, and I first thought you were a Kurd, for none but such know the names of places and tribes as you did; but you spoke Persian as a Persian, and not like a Kurd—like I do, for instance. I suspected then that you had some ulterior motive, and now, can you not see how suspicious your presence looks? As to your letters, they are or are not genuine. One thing remains, you are a native of Persia, that I feel sure; and now, if you would make a friend of me, tell me what you did to be expelled from Persia. Abandon all lies, my son, and cleave to the truth.”
I could do nothing but humour his delusion, so I described how I had been mixed up with political troubles in Teheran during the days of Muhammad Ali Shah, and my subsequent flight to London. Whether he believed this or not I do not know, but he pretended to accept it.
“And so you fled to escape the imprisonment or death that was the fate of some of your countrymen about that time,” he said with a smile.
“Yes,” I said, and could not resist the temptation to add, “like yourself from Sina not so long ago.”