Mohamet did not know Abu Ali. That he was an Afghan, and that the deaf mute had come with him from India.
"A liar as well!" exclaimed the cadi.
The voice showed Bugs that he had blundered. He could not understand why. The cadi was corrupt, the entire hearing was a farce—but such conditions were common enough. Why had the great name of Abu Ali been of no avail, and done harm?
"I have heard enough," said the cadi. "Thou art a liar as well as a thief and murderer! I judge you guilty, Ben Mohamet! . . . Take him away to prison. Let him lie there while I meditate on his sentence!"
Bugs laughed insultingly. He never in all his life had found it so difficult to laugh. But he had to play the proud Durani to the bitter end. A poor but proud Durani, under whose clothes it was no use looking for money. That gun must not be discovered.
"Cadi" and his voice rose sonorously above his weariness, "Cadi, thou art more of a fool than a knave! Abu Ali would not have thee for his dog. I am his man! God help thee when he hears of this!"
The crowd gasped at this loud insult.
"The sun hath made him mad," droned the cadi. "Put him in the lowest cell, where the heat of the sun can not trouble him. I will meditate on his sentence!"
Bugs and the tottering Russian were marched to the filthy jail. As they went the cadi beckoned the camel-driver.
"I think you lied also," he drawled. "If it turns out he spoke the truth concerning Abu Ali—who will protect thee then?”
The camel-driver shivered.
"Get what money you can, and I will do my best for thee,” said the cadi in matter-of-fact tones.
The cadi meditated, but not upon the sentence of Ben Mohamet. He had decided that long ago. Even if he had given the weary Bugs a chance to explain why he had killed the "son of my father by his second wife," such explanation would have made no difference. He did not think for a moment that Bugs had told the truth about Abu Ali and his cousin, but he would have liked to believe it was the truth. For Abu Ali Al Hassen, far above graft and petty cadis, had, after many tales about this particularly rotten one, sent word that his days as a judge were done.
"You may plead that you are no worse than many others," the message had run, "but they go also! Lest it hold the office of cadi up to the scorn of the people more than thou hast done thyself—I give thee the chance to leave Jidda and never again show thy face there. Be gone after tomorrow's judging!"
The cadi, who had made hay for years, was making hay frantically while the sun still shone. His power held until midnight. After that hour began the Mohametan sabbath. . . . There were a hundred wretched prisoners in the jail. They lacked a sufficiency of both food and water. Their other conditions can not be described. . . . At nine that evening the poor creatures, broken in mind and body, were called out into the yard two by two. There a ring was welded around their necks. A chain was attached to the rings. There was one chain to two rings. Thus two prisoners were chained to one another, and so on. Fifty helpless couples, after the fashion of slaves. . . . Two men ringed together can not do much, or escape. And a gang of a hundred men so ringed can be herded, if necessary, until they fall in a strangling mass.
A smith did the work, but two huge, bestial Nubians bossed the job. Then into the dark of Jidda the prisoners were
