“That's all very well,” said the Inspector, when he had taken Abdul's dramatically dying depositions on the steamer, “but you can't hammer a native merely because he laughs at you. I see nothing for it but the law to take its course.”
“You might reduce the charge to—er—tampering with an interpreter,” said the Governor. Mr. Groombride was too far gone to be comforted.
“It's the publicity that I fear,” he wailed. “Is there no possible means of hushing up the affair? You don't know what a question—a single question in the House means to a man of my position—the ruin of my political career, I assure you.”
“I shouldn't have imagined it,” said the Governor thoughtfully.
“And, though perhaps I ought not to say it, I am not without honour in my own country—or influence. A word in season, as you know, Your Excellency. It might carry an official far.”
The Governor shuddered.
“Yes, that had to come too,” he said to himself. “Well, look here. If I tell this man of yours to withdraw the charge against you, you can go to Gehenna for aught I care. The only condition I make is that if you write—I suppose that's part of your business—about your travels, you don't praise me!”
So far Mr. Groombride has loyally adhered to this understanding.