re he can have no just
cause of anger against me."

Horace perceived that the Jinnee was not altogether at ease, and pushed
his advantage accordingly.

"My dear good old friend," he said, "you don't seem to realise yet what
an awful thing you've done. For your own mistaken purposes, you have
compelled the Chief Magistrate and the Corporation of the greatest City
in the world to make themselves hopelessly ridiculous. They'll never
hear the last of this affair. Just look at the crowds waiting patiently
below there. Look at the flags. Think of that gorgeous conveyance of
yours standing outside the Guildhall. Think of the assembly inside--all
the most aristocratic, noble, and distinguished personages in the land,"
continued Horace, piling it on as he proceeded; "all collected for what?
To be made fools of by a Jinnee out of a brass bottle!"

"For their own sakes they will preserve silence," said Fakrash, with a
gleam of unwonted shrewdness.

"Probably they would hush it up, if they only could," conceded Horace.
"But how _can_ they? What are they to say? What plausible explanation
can they give? Besides, there's the Press: you don't know what the Press
is; but I assure you its power is tremendous--it's simply impossible to
keep anything secret from it nowadays. It has eyes and ears everywhere,
and a thousand tongues. Five minutes after the doors in that hall are
unlocked (and they can't keep them locked _much_ longer) the reporters
will be handing in their special descriptions of you and your latest
vagaries to their respective journals. Within half an hour bills will be
carried through every quarter of London--bills with enormous letters:
'Extraordinary Scene at the Guildhall.' 'Strange End to a Civic
Function.' 'Startling Appearance of an Oriental Genie in the City.'
'Abduction of a Guest of the Lord Mayor.' 'Intense Excitement.' 'Full
Particulars!' And by that time the story will have flashed round the
whole world. 'Keep silence,' indeed! Do you imagine for a moment that
the Lord Mayor, or anybody else concerned, however remotely, will ever
forget, or be allowed to forget, such an outrageous incident as this? If
you do, believe me, you're mistaken."

"Truly, it would be a terrible thing to incur the wrath of the Lord
Mayor," said the Jinnee, in troubled accents.

"Awful!" said Horace. "But you seem to have managed it."

"He weareth round his neck a magic jewel, which giveth him dominion
over devils--is it not so?"