The Story of my Experiments with Truth

The reader, by now, will be quite familiar with Parsi Rustomji's name. He was one who became at once my client and coworker, or perhaps it would be truer to say that he first became coworker and then client. I won his confidence to such an extent that he sought and followed my advice also in private domestic matters. Even when he was ill, he would seek my aid, and though there was much difference between our ways of living, he did not hesitate to accept my quack treatment.

This friend once got in a very bad scrape. Though he kept me informed of most of his affairs, he had studiously kept back one thing. He was a large importer of goods from Bombay and Calcutta, and not infrequently he resorted to smuggling. But as he was on the best terms with customs officials, no one was inclined to suspect him. In charging duty, they used to take his invoice on trust. Some might even have connived at the smuggling.