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THE COURTEOUS JUDGE
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inquiry of the crowd of witnesses—false witnesses for hire—who thronged the entrance. The judge, we heard, had not yet taken his seat. We should be sure to find his Honour in the coffee-shop across the road. One of the false witnesses conducted us to the said coffee-shop and pointed out our man. Together with his clerk and certain advocates, one of whom read aloud the morning news, the judge sat underneath a vine arbour in pleasant shade. He smiled. His hands were clasped upon a fair round belly.

Suleymân, his dust-cloak billowing, strolled forward coolly, and presented me as ‘one of the chief people of the Franks.’ The company arose and made us welcome, placing stools for our convenience.

‘His Highness comes to thee for justice, O most righteous judge. He has been wronged,’ observed Suleymân, dispassionately.

The judge looked much concerned. ‘What is the case?’ he asked.

‘Our cook is snatched from us,’ was the reply, ‘and to‑night we have invited friends to dinner.’

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