So I paid attention to the man.

He was a strapping fellow, handsome as the deuce, with a Roman nose, and the eye of a gentleman unafraid.
He said that Major King was in Bombay, but detained by urgent business.
However, he invited me to Major King's quarters for breakfast, so instead of waiting for the regular launch I got into the native sailboat with him.

And he seemed to have some sort of talisman for charming officials, for on the quay an officer motioned us through without even examining my passport.
We drew up finally in front of a neat little bungalow in a long street of similar buildings intended for British officials.

Gulab Lal Singh took me straight into the dining room and carried in breakfast with his own hands, standing behind my chair in silence while I ate.
Without much effort I could see his face in the mirror to my right, and when I thought he wasn't noticing I studied him carefully.
"Is there anything further that the _sahib_ would care for ?" he asked when the meal was finished.
"Yes," I said, pulling out an envelope.

"Here's your contract, Major King.