“Do thou interrogate him, O khawâjah,” said the Câdi bitingly. “Thou, it seems, art conducting this trial.”
“Allah forbid that I should usurp any function of your Grace!” murmured the supple Christian. Nevertheless he proceeded to question the witness, while the judge told his beads sulkily, never lifting his eyes.
Did the witness recognize among the men in court a certain sheykh who had been wont to go often to the house of the English physician, for the reason that his sick daughter lay there?
Most certainly he did, and was glad to see the excellent man in life and health, after the grievous blow he had sustained in the loss of his daughter.
It was not the answer required by the consul’s delegate; but he swallowed his disconcertion and proceeded.
“What kind of a man did the witness consider him to be?”
“The very best kind of man. No less than a saint, by Allah.”
Stung by a cackling noise in the throat of the judge, the Nazarene thundered:
“O lying dog! Thou didst tell another tale to the consul’s excellency. Thou hast made oath that he was concerned in the riot.”
“No, no, by thy leave, O dear lord; I said not that he knew aught of the riot, but that they who made the tumult might have been his companions.”