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.