dust and débris of its fall arose controversies and discussions without end. Bankruptcies, law proceedings, claims and counter-claims, pamphlets, narratives, charges, explanations — a whole literature grew round the dismal subject. The personality of the Governor-General became engaged in it. The members of the Supreme Council were divided over it. Before it was finally laid to rest, the Board of Control had dragged the Court of Directors before the King's Bench to answer to a writ of Mandamus. Little wonder, then, if the figure of an Indian Múnshi is found at work in the innermost maze.
The Resident's confidential Native Secretary was accused by the trustees of Messrs. Palmer & Co. of various acts of corruption. To examine these charges, the Resident's two Assistants, with a third officer, were formed into a Committee. As inquiry proceeded, the Múnshi appealed for protection to his master. Mr. Martin responded by dismissing from their posts two of the prosecutors, English officers in the service of the Nizám. This should have proved sufficient avis aux intéressés. But, as the Indian phrase goes, the Múnshi's ikbál was bad; his luck had turned. When the Committee's finding against the Múnshi was sent, with the record, to the Supreme Government, the Resident, inspired possibly by his underling, combated their conclusions. But, when your ikbál is bad, you may as well throw up the sponge. Whether you are a Mughal Emperor, or a mere Múnshi, your hour has come. The Supreme Government agreed
