"You mentioned in your note that you had only twenty-four hours to give to Chitipur, didn't you?
So I was sure that you would be upon this train." He spoke with a slow precision in a voice which he was careful--or so it struck Thresk--to keep suave and low; and as he spoke he moved towards the dinner-table and came within the round pool of light.

Thresk had a clear view of him.

He was a man of a gross and powerful face, with a blue heavy chin and thick eyelids over bloodshot eyes.
"Will you have a cocktail ?" he asked, and he called aloud, going to the second passage from the tent: "Quai hai! Baram Singh, cocktails!" The servant who had met Thresk at the door came in upon the instant with a couple of cocktails on a tray.
"Ah, you have them," he said.

"Good!" But he refused the glass when the tray was held out to him, refused it after a long look and with a certain violence.
"For me?
Certainly not! Never in this world." He looked up at Thresk with a laugh.

"Cocktails are all very well for you, Mr.Thresk, who are here during a cold weather, but we who make our homes here--we have to be careful." "Yes, so I suppose," said Thresk.