Of course I was magistrate, and in all cases
I was guided by my own code of laws, being at some thousand miles
from an Act of Parliament.
Wat Gamma had no suspicion of any person in particular, but his
money had evidently been stolen.
"Who was drunk last night?" I inquired. "We were all drunk,"
replied the plaintiff. "Who was very drunk, and who was the least
drunk?" I inquired. This entailed a discussion among the people
who had now assembled. It appeared that most of them had been
"very drunk;" others only a little drunk; and one old
white-headed Arab camel-driver had been perfectly sober, as he
never drank anything but water. This was old Mini, a splendid
specimen of a fine patriarchal Arab; he declared that he had not
even joined the party. Wat Gamma had left his garment rolled up
in the mat upon which he usually slept; this was in the same spot
where the camel-drivers lived, and where old Mini declared he was
fast asleep during the drinking bout.
I had my suspicions, but to express them would have defeated the
chance of discovery. I therefore adopted my usual rule in cases
of theft. I counted my people: nine camel-men, five Tokrooris,
Taher Noor, and Bacheet; in all sixteen, without Wat Gamma.
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