“Near Assiut, Your Excellency. Perhaps he wasn’t a Bey. I don’t know. Perhaps he was a mamur or a police officer. I don’t quite know what he was, but he worked for the Government.”
“Bey!” repeated the mamur contemptuously. “Mr. Harden Keen says you upset some water. What do you say to it?”
“Yes, I upset the water. But I could not help it. It was a very hot day . . .”
“Liar!” said the mamur.
“Na’am?” said Qway, rather taken aback.
“I said liar,” shouted the mamur, thumping the table. Qway, who was a high-spirited old fellow, found this more than he could stand, and began to get nettled. It was entirely characteristic of our position in Egypt at that time that at this juncture, Qway, the accused, should turn to me, the accuser, for protection from the judge.
“It was a hot day, Effendim, wasn’t it?”
Badly as he had behaved, I was getting to be very sorry for him, and I had taken a strong dislike to that mamur. So I replied that it was one of the hottest days that I ever remembered.
The mamur could not contradict me, but looked distinctly uncomfortable and shifted uneasily in his chair. He told Qway to go on. Qway, who was beginning to recover his composure, proceeded to make the most of the victory he had gained over him.
“As I said, Effendim, it was a hot day—very hot, and I am an old man and perhaps it was the sun. I don’t know what it was, but an afrit—”