I drew his Will, leaving the Moonstone to Miss Verinder.  I persuaded his executor to act, on the chance that the jewel might prove to be a valuable acquisition to the family.  And, lastly, I combated Mr. Franklin Blake’s scruples, and induced him to be the means of transporting the Diamond to Lady Verinder’s house.  If anyone can claim a prescriptive right of interest in the Moonstone, and in everything connected with it, I think it is hardly to be denied that I am the man.

The moment my mysterious client was shown in, I felt an inner conviction that I was in the presence of one of the three Indians—­probably of the chief.  He was carefully dressed in European costume.  But his swarthy complexion, his long lithe figure, and his grave and graceful politeness of manner were enough to betray his Oriental origin to any intelligent eyes that looked at him.

I pointed to a chair, and begged to be informed of the nature of his business with me.

After first apologising—­in an excellent selection of English words—­for the liberty which he had taken in disturbing me, the Indian produced a small parcel the outer covering of which was of cloth of gold.  Removing this and a second wrapping of some silken fabric, he placed a little box, or casket, on my table, most beautifully and richly inlaid in jewels, on an ebony ground.

“I have come, sir,” he said, “to ask you to lend me some money.  And I leave this as an assurance to you that my debt will be paid back.”

I pointed to his card.  “And you apply to me,” I rejoined, “at Mr. Luker’s recommendation?”

The Indian bowed.

“May I ask how it is that Mr. Luker himself did not advance the money that you require?”

“Mr. Luker informed me, sir, that he had no money to lend.”

“And so he recommended you to come to me?”

The Indian, in his turn, pointed to the card.  “It is written there,” he said.

Briefly answered, and thoroughly to the purpose!  If the Moonstone had been in my possession, this Oriental gentleman would have murdered me, I am well aware, without a moment’s hesitation.  At the same time, and barring that slight drawback, I am bound to testify that he was the perfect model of a client.  He might not have respected my life.  But he did what none of my own countrymen had ever done, in all my experience of them—­he respected my time.

“I am sorry,” I said, “that you should have had the trouble of coming to me.  Mr. Luker is quite mistaken in sending you here.  I am trusted, like other men in my profession, with money to lend.  But I never lend it to strangers, and I never lend it on such a security as you have produced.”

Far from attempting, as other people would have done, to induce me to relax my own rules, the Indian only made me another bow, and wrapped up his box in its two coverings without a word of protest.  He rose—­this admirable assassin rose to go, the moment I had answered him!