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It was now Benezar’s turn to speak. He described his son, how noble and good he was, and the impossibility of his ever having become so degraded as to steal. He requested the caliph to make the most thorough examination of the case.

“I hope,” said Haroun, “that you reported the theft, Kalum-Bek, as was your duty?”

“Why, certainly!” exclaimed that worthy, smiling. “I took him before the police justice.”

“Let the police justice be brought!” ordered the caliph.

To every body’s astonishment, this official appeared as suddenly as if brought by magic. The caliph asked whether he remembered that Kalum-Bek had come before him with a young man, and the official replied that he did.

“Did you listen to the young man; did he confess to the theft?” asked Haroun.

“No, he was actually so obstinate that he would not confess to any one but yourself,” replied the justice.

“But I don’t remember to have seen him,” said the caliph.

“But why should you? If I were to listen to them, I should have a whole pack of such vagabonds to send you every day.”

“You know that my ear is open for every one,” replied Haroun; “but perhaps the proofs of the theft were so clear that it was not necessary to bring the young man into my presence. You had witnesses, I suppose, Kalum, that the money found on this young man belonged to you?”

“Witnesses?” repeated Kalum, turning pale; “no, I did not have any witnesses, for you know, Ruler of the Faithful, that one gold piece looks just like another. Where, then, should I get witnesses to testify that these one hundred gold pieces are the same that were missing from my cash-box.”

“How, then, can you tell that that particular money belonged to you?” asked the caliph.

“By the purse,” replied Kalum.

“Have you the purse here?” continued the caliph.

“Here it is,” said the merchant, drawing out a purse which he handed to the vizier to give to the caliph.

But the vizier cried with feigned surprise: “By the beard of the Prophet! Do you claim the purse, you dog? Why it is my own purse, and I gave it filled with a hundred gold pieces, to a brave young man who rescued me from a great danger.”

“Can you swear to that?” asked the caliph.

“As surely as that I shall some time be in paradise,” answered the vizier, “for my daughter made the purse with her own hands.”

“Why, look you then, police Justice!” cried Haroun, “you were falsely advised. Why did you believe that the purse belonged to this merchant?”

“He swore to it,” replied the justice, humbly.

“Then you swore falsely?” thundered the caliph, as the merchant, pale and trembling, stood before him.

“Allah, Allah!” cried Kalum. “I certainly don’t want to dispute the grand vizier’s word; he is a truthful man, but alas! the purse does belong to me and that rascal of a Said stole it. I would give a thousand tomans if he was in this room now.”

“What did you do with this Said?” asked the caliph. “Speak up! where shall we have to send for him, that he may come and make confession before me?”

“I banished him to a desert island,” said the police justice.

“O Said! my son, my son!” cried the unhappy father.

“Indeed, then he acknowledged the crime, did he?” inquired Haroun.

The police justice turned pale. He rolled his eyes about restlessly, and finally said: “If I remember rightly–yes.”

“You are not certain about it, then?” continued the caliph in a terrible voice; “then we will ask the young man himself. Step forth, Said, and you Kalum-Bek, to begin with, will count out one thousand gold pieces, as Said is now in the room.”

Kalum and the police justice thought it was a ghost that stood before them. They prostrated themselves and cried: “Mercy! Mercy!” Benezar, half-fainting with joy, fell into the arms of his long-lost son. But, with great severity of manner, the caliph said: “Police Justice, here stands Said; did he confess?”