“Then,” said I, “as you don’t know of what the sahib is guilty or even the name of his accuser, you must release him.” “I cannot, sahib. I must take him to the police‐station.” Another Indian constable now came on the scene. I explained matters to him and insisted on his entering the garden and fetching out the complainant. He went in, and in a few minutes returned with the Portuguese hastily clad. He was in a very bad temper at being again disturbed; for, thinking that he had comfortably disposed of us for the night, he had calmly gone to bed. We all now proceeded to a small police‐station about a mile away, passing the hotel on the road. Furious at the unjust arrest and irritated at the coolness of the complainant and the stupidity of the sepoy, my friend and I were anxious to see some superior authority. We never doubted that a prompt release and apology, as well as a reprimand to the over‐zealous constable, would immediately follow. British subjects were not to be treated in this high‐handed fashion! Arrived at the station, we found only a Portuguese constable, with a Chinese policeman lying asleep on a guard‐bed in the corner. The accuser now came forward and charged my companion with “throwing stones at a dwelling‐house,” as the Indians informed me. Using them to interpret, I endeavoured to explain the affair to the Portuguese constable. He simply shrugged his shoulders, wrote down the charge, and said that the prisoner must be taken to the Head Police Office for the night. He added that, there being no charge against me, I was not concerned in the matter, and could go home.