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golden silence, such as are
proper to the accumulation of great wealth, there would seem a
necessity in any political assembly to open the mouth from time to time,
if only for the giving of a vote.
But Ahmed, who had by this time accumulated into his own hands the
millions formerly his master's, finally solved the problem. Judicious
presents to the servants of the palace and the public criers made his way
the easier, and on the summoning of the council Mahmoud's-Nephew,
whose troublesome affection of the throat was now publicly discussed,
was permitted to bring into the council-room his private secretary and
manager.
Moreover at the council, as at his private office, the continued
taciturnity of the millionaire could not but impress the politicians as it
had already impressed the financial world.
"He does not waste his breath in tub-thumping," said one, looking
reverently at the sealed figure.
"No," another would reply, "they may ridicule our old-fashioned,
honest, quiet Mohammedan country gentlemen, but for common sense
I will back them against all the brilliant paradoxical young fellows of

our day."
"They say he is very kind at heart and lovable," a third would then add,
upon which a fourth would bear his testimony thus:
"Yes, and though he says nothing about it, his charitable gifts are
enormous."
By the second meeting of the council the lay figure had achieved a
reputation of so high a sort that the Caliph himself insisted upon
making him a domestic adviser, one of the three who perpetually
associated with the Commander of the Faithful and directed his policy.
For the universal esteem in which the new councillor was held had
affected that Prince very deeply.
Here there arose a crux from which there could be no escape, as one of
the three chief councillors, Mahmoud's-Nephew, must speak at last and
deliver judgments!
The Manager, first considering the whole business, and next adding up
his private gains, which he had carefully laid out in estates of which the
firm and its employés knew nothing, decided that he could afford to
retire. What might happen to the general business after his withdrawal
would not be his concern.
He first gave out, therefore, that the millionaire was taken exceedingly
ill, and that his life was despaired of: later, within a few hours, that he
was dead.
So far from attempting to allay the panic which ensued, Ahmed frankly
admitted the worst.
With cries of despair and a confident appeal to the justice of Heaven
against such intrigues, the honest fellow permitted the whole of the vast
business to be wound up in favour of newcomers, who had not
forgotten to reward him, and soothing as best he could the ruined
crowds of small investors who thronged round him for help and advice,
he retired under an assumed name to his highly profitable estates,
which were situated in the most distant provinces of the known world.
As for Mahmoud's-Nephew, three theories arose about him which are
still disputed to this day:
The first was that his magnificent brain with its equitable judgment and
its power of strict secrecy, had designed plans too far advanced for his
time, and that his bankruptcy was due to excess of wisdom.
The second theory would have it that by "going into politics" (as the

phrase runs in Bagdad) he had dissipated his energies, neglected his
business, and that the inevitable consequences had followed.
The third theory was far more reasonable. Mahmoud's-Nephew,
according to this, had towards the end of his life lost judgment; his
garrulous indecision within the last few days before his death was
notorious: in the Caliph's council, as those who should best know were
sure, one could hardly get a word in edgewise for his bombastic
self-assurance; while in matters of business, to conduct a bargain with
him was more like attending a public meeting than the prosecution of
negotiations with a respectable banker.
In a word, it was generally agreed that Mahmoud's-Nephew's success
had been bound up with his splendid silence, his fall, bankruptcy, and
death, with a lesion of the brain which had disturbed this miracle of
self-control.

The Inventor
I had a day free between two lectures in the south-west of England, and
I spent it stopping at a town in which there was a large and very
comfortable old posting-house or coaching-inn. I had meant to stay
some few hours there and to take the last train out in the evening, and I
had meant to spend those hours alone and resting; but this was not
permitted me, for just as I had taken up the local paper, which was a
humble, reasonable thing, empty of any passion and violence and very
reposeful to read, a man came up and touched my left elbow