In the year 1902 another governor, one Mejid-es-Sultaneh, also attempted reform. He proposed to clean the streets and have a pure water-supply; a scheme which was admirable as far as it went, though an American missionary in the town did suggest that "his Excellency had better make the streets before he scrapes them." Another aspiration of his, expressed in the words that there would never be any real reform in Persia, "till one can see a _Seyyid_ hanging on every tree round Urmi," was also a perfectly sound one; but unfortunately he lacked the power to execute his admirable ideas. Thus, when Mohurram came round, friction began. By immemorial custom a deputation of _Seyyids_ waits on the governor at that feast; for then (like the Jews of old) they have the right to demand that he "release unto them one prisoner, whomsoever they will." Mejid-es-Sultaneh was willing enough to honour custom, but had let the college of _Seyyids_ know, unofficially, that there was one man whom they were not to ask for. It had cost some trouble to get him into the jail, and he was to hang. They accepted at once this challenge to a trial of strength, and demanded that man and no other. The governor had the whole deputation thrashed and turned out of his house; sending orders to the prison to hang the man without more ado. The _Seyyids_ were naturally furious; and they were able to pull strings at Teheran till Mejid-es-Sultaneh was exiled. He only escaped confiscation of his property by executing a hurried deed of gift of the whole of it, in legally binding form, to an English merchant at Tabriz. He trusted absolutely, and justifiably, to that man's verbal promise that the income should be paid over to him, and the capital restored if ever the original owner were in a position to claim it again. As for trial, or any pretence of justice, even for a man in this position, there was none. Such things are mere empty words to a ruler who on another occasion invited a prominent Kurdish chief to a conference, swearing on the Koran that, if he came, he should leave Tabriz in safety and honour. The Kurd (Jaffar Agha by name) came on that assurance. He had his conference and started home, loaded with honours and decorations. One hundred yards from the gate of Tabriz he was called back for a last word. He returned fearlessly; entered the reception room--and was shot dead from behind a grating. So the Shah kept faith with a man who trusted to his honour.