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I had good reason to be proud. I had been the butt of every gully at school, I had suffered the 
agonies of knowing myself a coward and a weakling. My whole life seemed at times to be one vast 
and slimy subterfuge to cozen death. 
Yet in the past month there had been a dozen outrages upon Europeans in Calcutta, some of them 
culminating in the most brutal murder. And I was the only Englishman who had come out on top. I 
had lost four rupees, eight annas, it is true; but I had won the victory, one against six. 
Thornton was in bed when I arrived; but I had not hesitation in making his "bera" admit me. I told 
him my story and opened my revolver. Then only did I discover that my elaborate course of 
reasoning was entirely at fault! I had NOT monkeyed with the weapon and the hammer HAD been 
down on the empty chamber as was right. What had happened was that the first cartridge had 
failed to explode; for there was the dent in the cap; once again had nature, simple and sufficient, 
mocked the pomposity of the human intelligence! 
Now, concluded I, hadn't I better go to the police and have these ruffians rounded up? Thornton was 
half asleep, but his mocking eye expressed a more than godlike pity for my idiocy. "Go to bed," he 
murmured in his dreams; "come round after Chota Hazri in the morning and I'll take you to the right 
man." My indignation subsided. I agreed. I withdrew. I slept. I bathed. I breakfasted. I went to 
Thornton. 
Thornton took me to a Scottish solicitor named MacNair. I brought out my indignation, its hair nicely 
brushed, and parted exactly in the middle. MacNair remembered what his ancestors (who, at the 
time of the Flood, had a boat of their ain) thought about caution. "Go to Garth," was his considered 
opinion. Garth was one of the most brilliant barristers in Calcutta. I brought out my indignation 
again, but its hair got slightly ruffled, and I am not sure but what there was a speck of dust on its 
collar. I protested violently that I wanted to go to the police. 
"Well," said Garth, "Curzon and Fraser are busy with the partition of Bengal, for reasons of purely 
administrative convenience; and it is singularly unfortunate that the measure will break the 
political power of the Bengali into a lot of dirty little bits. Their hearts bleed for Bengal. So, if you 
should have happened to hit somebody last night, they will be very indignant and bring you to trial. 
You will be instantly acquitted, but they will invent some scheme for having you tried again, and 
acquitted again, to show the sincerity of their love for the Bengali, whom they are out to smash." 
"Then you advise me," I said innocently, "to say nothing?" "Indeed no," he said tempestuously, "as a 
sworn barrister, it is my duty to advise you to report the whole affair immediately to the police." I 
became more innocent that ever. "Well, I don't see how I can throw any light on the matter. (I was 
still ignorant of the effect, if any, of the shot.) 
{457} 
He bellowed with laughter. "You can throw a whole flood of light on it," he shouted. My Quaker 
ancestors knocked at the door of my dull mind, I suppose. "Would you do it yourself?" I asked 
meekly. "Well,: he said more soberly, "you'd be acquitted of course. A man doesn't stroll out after 
dinner to murder strangers. But you'd be kept hanging about Calcutta indefinitely; and an 
unscrupulous man, I'm afraid, might be tempted to hold his tongue and clear our of British India 
p.d.q." 
My Quaker ancestors told me what to do. I said sternly, but sadly, "then I suppose it is my duty to go 
to the police at once. Where is my gharry?" The great barrister wrong my hand in silent sympathy. 
But it has been one of the guiding principles of my life never to go into a game unless there is a 
sporting chance. It is silly to be tried for murder if there is no possibility of conviction. All the 
bubbles are gone from the champagne. So I waited two days more, still unaware whether my shot 
had told, and went to meet my wife and child at the wharf.