“No need to ask, O lord! The court is full of them,” murmured the scribe at his feet.
“It is well. The accused are before us. Let the English hakìm testify against them.”
At that the Christian showed annoyance, calling the demand vexatious, unnecessary. The hakìm had made deposition before the consul, which was quite sufficient. Naturally, after the outrages committed against him, he was not calm enough to appear in public. To what purpose on earth should he come? The crime was indisputable, for it was the talk of the whole city. And the prisoners had made themselves so notorious on former occasions, that any lad out of the street could identify them.
The Câdi appeared dissatisfied with the representations of his loathsome colleague. He would not submit without a wrangle. But at length, after prolonged whisperings, he said aloud:
“Good. Then what witness have you?”
“We have a capital witness—none like him!—a certain vender of cooling drinks, who saw all that befell. He has been examined already before the consul, but is now in this court, at your Excellency’s pleasure. His name is Mûsa. If it please you, hear him.”
“Call Mûsa the sherbet seller,” murmured the Câdi wearily; and “Mûsa the sherbet seller” was called on every hand.
A Muslim of middle age pushed forward through the crowd. He bent double before the dais.
“To hear is to obey, O majesty!”