There tramped aboard sheikhs and villagers to the number of seventeen. In each man's hand was a copy of the pamphlet; in each man's eye terror and uneasiness of the sort that Governors spend and are spent to clear away. Farag's uncle, now Sheikh of the village, spoke: “It is written in this book, Excellency, that the beatings whereby we hold our lands are all valueless. It is written that every man who received such a beating from the Father of Waterwheels who slow the Emirs, should instantly begin a lawsuit, because the title to his land is not valid.” “It is so written. We do not wish lawsuits. We wish to hold the land as it was given to us after the days of the Oppression,” they cried. The Governor glanced at the Inspector. This was serious. To cast doubt on the ownership of land means, in Ethiopia, the letting in of waters, and the getting out of troops. “Your titles are good,” said the Governor. The Inspector confirmed with a nod. “Then what is the meaning of these writings which came from down the river where the Judges are?” Farag's uncle waved his copy. “By whose order are we ordered to slay you, O Excellency Our Governor?” “It is not written that you are to slay me.” “Not in those very words, but if we leave an earth unstopped, it is the same as though we wished to save Abu Hussein from the hounds. These writings say: 'Abolish your rulers.' How can we abolish except we kill? We hear rumours of one who comes from down the river soon to lead us to kill.” “Fools!” said the Governor. “Your titles are good. This is madness!” “It is so written,” they answered like a pack. “Listen,” said the Inspector smoothly. “I know who caused the writings to be written and sent. He is a man of a blue-mottled jowl, in aspect like Bigglebai who ate unclean matters. He will come up the river and will give tongue about the beatings.” “Will he impeach our land-titles? An evil day for him!” “Go slow, Baker,” the Governor whispered. “They'll kill him if they get scared about their land.” “I tell a parable.” The Inspector lit a cigarette. “Declare which of you took to walk the children of Milkmaid?” “Melik-meid First or Second?” said Farag quickly. “The second--the one which was lamed by the thorn.” “No--no. Melik-meid the Second strained her shoulder leaping my water-channel,” a sheikh cried. “Melik-meid the First was lamed by the thorns on the day when Our Excellency fell thrice.” “True--true. The second Melik-meid's mate was Malvolio, the pied hound,” said the Inspector. “I had two of the second Melik-meid's pups,” said Farag's uncle. “They died of the madness in their ninth month.” “And how did they do before they died?” said the Inspector. “They ran about in the sun, and slavered at the mouth till they died.” “Wherefore?” “God knows. He sent the madness. It was no fault of mine.”