his officers and the public executioner. He first harangued the people on the virtue of trustworthiness, saying that the Egyptian Government was determined to administer the strictest justice, and to punish, without partiality, the slightest breach of trust, even though committed by a senseless and inanimate object. Then, turning to the door of the shop: “Even this door,” he said, “shall be punished for failing in its duty, which is to keep out thieves, unless it tell me who it was that passed it the night before last, and stole things out of the shop.” The door giving no answer, he bade the executioner, administer one hundred lashes with his kurbâj.[1]
When the punishment was ended, he again exhorted the door to speak, saying that, if it feared to utter the name aloud, it could whisper in his ear. He gave his ear to the door, as one listening, then sprang erect and laughed in scorn: “This door talks nonsense. Executioner, another hundred lashes!”
After this second beating, he listened again to hear what the door had to say, while the people murmured and shrugged shoulders one to another, thinking him mad.
“The same stupid tale!” he cried despairingly. “It will persist in telling me that the thief is present in this crowd of honest people, and still has some dust and cobwebs from the shop on his tarbûsh.” At that a man was noticed hurriedly to brush his fez, and the Pasha, on the watch for some such action, had him arrested. He proved to be the guilty party, and was punished.
- ↑ A whip of hippopotamus-hide.
