The Oriental Casebook Of Sherlock Holmes Part 8

"I explained to them my search, and at first I met with resistance. They had seen no one. After a moment, however, the woman told me how sick and hungry the infant was, and that it was their grandchild, whose mother had died the previous day when the child was but a month old. I told them that I would give them sufficient a.s.sistance for the child, but that they must help me as quickly as possible. I placed several more coins in their hands, and the old man, rising to his feet, told the old woman to stay where she was. He motioned to me to follow."

"Despite his age and infirmities, the old man walked down the hill quickly, speaking in a low voice as we descended. The boy followed him close by. In a short time, they came to a clearing, filled with large wildflowers that glistened in the moonlight. In the center was an ancient banyan tree. From it were hanging a variety of votive objects-even ordinary pots and pans-all brought there in honour of the dead. Suddenly, the boy left the old man's side and climbed the tree. There, halfway up on a central limb, there hung a silver disc. The boy turned it slightly, then jumped down and returned to the old man.

"Your friend is not far away, but by now it is too late. This is the udyana, the pleasure garden of our ancient kings. Your friend has gone to the Tridivam, the treasure house of death, from which he cannot exit. He is dead by now and will not return."

The words he used chilled Holmes's blood, for in the archaic form in which they issued from his mouth, they were very close to the ancient words in the inscription of Manadeva. It was apparent that Levi, unable to contain his desire to know, had waited until dark and set out on his fateful journey alone. He had followed the path of the ancient king Dharmadeva.

Seeing the look of despair on his face, the old man drew Holmes closer to the tree. There, in the dark, he could see that there was a shrine built into its trunk. A stone image of the G.o.d Vishnu, in the form of one of his avatars, the Wild Boar, stood astride the universe, a figure of the G.o.ddess Earth sitting in comfort on his shoulder.

"This is the pleasure garden, the udyana of the ancient kings," the old man repeated. "Below it is the Tridivam, the other world, or heaven, where their treasures are stored. In ancient times, only the kings knew how to enter and how to leave, for as soon as one person enters, the entrance closes and can only be opened from within The secret was pa.s.sed from father to son in the royal line, and among us, the twilight people, from father to son. King Dharmadeva entered often, but, for reasons we do not know, one day he did not return. And so the secret among kings died with him. Since that time a few, greedy for the treasure that lies inside, have come to understand how to enter, but none has ever returned. They have all died within. Your friend entered. He too has not returned. I know, for we showed him how."

"Then show me how he entered, for there is no time to waste," Holmes admonished.

The old man obeyed me.

"Lift the Earth from her place," he said, pointing to the figure sitting on Vishnu's shoulder.

Holmes did as he said, raising the figure with his hand. It moved upwards at his touch, then of itself fell back in place. There was suddenly a deafening noise, as if a giant spring had been released by the movement of the image of the Earth. Then the great statue of Vishnu moved, ever so slowly, at first seemingly of its own accord, swinging rapidly inward to the left, leaving a small opening in front of it, large enough for one man to crawl down into.

The old man pointed to the black hole.

"That is the path to the Tridivam, to the treasure house, and to death, the path of your friend," he said. "If you follow, the opening will close as soon as your head pa.s.ses within. Even if I open it again, you will not be able to return by this path. The return is by another way. I entered once, but out of fear I climbed out before my head was covered. I escaped, but Vishnu bit me and took all the strength from my arm, and I no longer remembered how to return."

For a moment, Holmes was taken aback by the speech of the old man, for, with his own fear of the G.o.ds, the old man's words would have filled any ordinary mortal with terror.

"My dilemma was immediately apparent, Watson," said Holmes calmly. "I was sure that given enough time I would be able to extricate myself from this so-called treasure house, but I had no way to judge what lay below, nor how much time I would have before I succ.u.mbed either to lack of air or water or some preordained scheme of death arranged by the bloodthirsty and greedy despots of the past. No sound emanated from the dark s.p.a.ce below, and I presumed that Levi was either dead, too weak, or too far away to be heard. Should I enter or should I report back what I then knew to the Maharajah?"

As he stood there in thought, he noticed that the moon had risen to the point where its rays were beginning to hit the temple. A minute later the moonlight, filtering through the leaves of the tree, struck the disc. As if by magic, it fell reflected onto the third eye of the statue of Vishnu and then the figure of Ganesh, striking his right hand. The astronomy of the temple, its relation to sun and moon, to night and day, struck Holmes, and he suddenly realised what he had to do in order to understand the meaning of the second line of the inscription. He took out Levi's notes and read the cryptic line backwards, from right to left. It read in perfect clarity: bahirvishnupravesha bhitraganeshanivesha which means simply: "Enter through the Vishnu outside; Leave by the Ganesh inside."

If not a full explanation, at least it provided a clue that exiting had something to do with a statue of Ganesh inside. Holmes looked around. He was alone. The old man had taken the opportunity of his distraction to disappear. The opening was still there.

"At that moment, I chose to enter, knowing full well that I might be wrong, that I did not know with any certainty how I would escape if the opening closed above me, but knowing also that I had been through narrow escapes before, and that my brain had at the last moment saved me."

He peered into the abyss, then lowered his feet into it and slowly let go. He fell only a short distance onto a dirt floor. He could still see the moon in the sky through the opening above. He was now in some sort of pit. A large statue of the G.o.d Ganesh stood inside where he had entered. Holmes smiled at him. Then the sky above him disappeared. The opening had closed, and he heard the idol of Vishnu moving back to its earlier location.

Holmes peered into the darkness. There was a corridor in front of him, at the end of which he could see a small light flickering. All else was darkness. He walked slowly towards the light. The corridor was wide, and the ceiling high enough for him to walk without bending over, though he could touch it if he extended his arm upwards. The air was damp and stale.

As he approached, he could see that the light emanated from a small tuki, or oil lamp, placed on the floor well ahead of him. Beside it, as if asleep, was the figure of a man. As he neared, he saw that it was Levi, alive or dead he did not know, but he was there amidst untold treasures-gold, jewels, precious stones, sculptures, and images of every sort-strewn everywhere, all sparkling in the flickering flame of the lamp. There was no one else.

When he got close, Holmes realised that Levi was in a deep sleep, but breathing slowly and comfortably. In front of him was a large sheaf of papers. Holmes was amused with his scholarly dedication, for rather than worry about finding his exit, he had begun to describe and record what he saw. The sheets that he had filled were well over fifty, and he had fallen asleep with exhaustion, his pen still in hand.

Holmes took a moment to examine what he saw. There were treasures, to be sure, everywhere, jewellery, coins, images, ma.n.u.scripts in abundance. But his eye was immediately taken aback by a skeleton seated on a throne, covered in now crumbling attire, a gold tiara on its skull. This was presumably the ancient king Dharmadeva, who had entered never to return, eloquent testimony to the difficulty of exiting alive. Taking the lamp, he examined the walls and floor of the room for any indication of a hidden opening. He found nothing, save the bones of others who had wandered in but had not been able to exit.

As he finished his preliminary examination, Levi stirred and awoke. Holmes went over to him.

"'Ah, my dear Kaul! How good to see you! I must have fallen asleep. How clever of you! When did you arrive?"

"Only a few moments ago," said Holmes, "but I must tell you frankly that I am most anxious to test my idea of how to exit."

Holmes explained to him that the Maharajah had summoned him and by what reasoning he had been able to follow him, taking the inscription on his desk as his chief clue. Holmes's tone of voice was one of irritation, for he made it clear that his quest had inconvenienced them all, even possibly costing them their lives.

Levi smiled and stood up. "You need not worry, Monsieur Kaul. I am not nearly as brave as you. I am but a simple scholar, and I never take large risks. You see, I was almost sure how to leave before I entered. Granted, I took some chance, but I was very certain. I have already been out twice this very night. The air in this small s.p.a.ce is limited, and I would have been asphyxiated by now. But look, I have completed a preliminary inventory of what is here-there are over one hundred ancient sculptures alone, and the ma.n.u.scripts number in the hundreds. Just a few more notes and we shall leave-in time for me to greet Henri, the Prince of Orleans."

Levi spoke the last few words with a grin, and Holmes had no recourse but to wait until he had finished his tasks. As he wrote, he continued to speak: "There is a third person of importance here with us, Monsieur Kaul, the ill.u.s.trious king Dharmadeva, who sits there, dead for almost fifteen hundred years. I examined his remains very carefully. He was murdered, Monsieur Kaul, but before he died he wrote out his own account of what had transpired. It is a long tale of intrigue, but more of that on our way back."

Levi pointed to a ma.n.u.script of birch bark that lay near his papers. He then carefully packed his notes and the ma.n.u.script, and then, taking the lamp, he motioned to Holmes to follow down the corridor whence they had come. As they approached the end, Levi took from his pocket a large metal key and placed it firmly in the right hand of the large statue of Ganesh that Holmes had seen when he entered.

"The key!" exclaimed Levi. "Another lucky find. But any long object would work."

Loud reverberations were heard, and the sky appeared in an opening above their heads. Levi motioned Holmes forwards and, standing on the shoulders of Ganesh, he pulled himself up through hole. Levi followed quickly. Within seconds, they stood breathing the fresh early-morning air. The opening from which they had exited had disappeared without a trace into the temple wall.

It was just dawn, and the sun was about to rise. Nepal was covered by a thick silver mist. Unnoticed in it, they made their way back to the Prime Minister's palace, which they reached just as the mist burned off in the sun. On the way, Levi explained his discoveries.

"You see, Monsieur Kaul, I had available to me the entire text of the inscription now, due to the excavations that had been performed. King Dharmadeva's own writing clears up many of the difficulties. This enabled me to translate to the end. It also enabled me to read a new beginning."

In his last few words, peculiar in their intent, Holmes realised how Levi had learned what he knew, and how he had known how to escape from the abyss beneath the temple, for he had guessed the same just before entering the treasure house.

"You mean that the entire inscription is also what the ancients called a rama shabda, a composition that can be read in two directions, one that, therefore, can also be read from right to left. I surmised this, just as I entered," said Holmes.

"Indeed, Monsieur, that is precisely what I mean. It came to me as I worked at my desk. So excited did I become that I left without saying anything to my poor wife. Nor did I register it in my notes. This inscription is a brilliant work, written by a poet who had complete knowledge of the Sanscrit poetic system. Read in the ordinary way, beginning at the left and reading to the right, one has one reading. Reading it in reverse gives you a totally different but completely coherent, if not always grammatical, composition. Almost no one knows this, of course, since the beginning of the inscription had been buried for centuries. Read in the usual way, from left to right, one had the public account of events. Read from right to left, from the end forwards, one had the private account of what had happened. . . . and the secret of how to leave the treasury."

"And who was the poet who composed this and how did he come to know what he knew?"

"We do not know his name so he remains unknown. In answer to your second question, he was obviously someone well placed at the court, someone who knew the royal family intimately and could observe them closely without arousing their suspicion. Obviously of the Brahmanic caste, he may have been a teacher in the royal palace. The first line of his work immediately struck me: Enter by the Vishnu outside; leave by the Ganesh inside. It was a clue to the meaning of the whole and was was all I needed to have the courage to enter. Once there, I saw lying in the dust at the feet of Ganesh a great key. I placed it in the s.p.a.ce in his hand made for it, and suddenly the way out appeared. I had tested the meaning of the line and, seeing that it worked, I began the examination of this secret treasury. It was almost immediately that I noticed the dead figure of Dharmadeva seated on the small throne to one side. He had in his hands a birch bark ma.n.u.script, which I immediately took and read. It gives in detail his own account of what happened at the court, and how he found himself trapped in the treasury."

Holmes listened as Levi gave his account.

"'Dharmadeva was a king whose sole interest was in justice and in non-injury to living things. As he grew older, he became in his thought closer and closer to Buddhism. He refused to send his army on missions of conquest and began s.h.i.+fting much of his government's resources to the building of temples and monasteries. His interest in the G.o.ds began to waiver and he grew estranged from his wife, Rajyavati, whom he had once loved but now treated with respectful distance. Rajyavati, of a different character from that of her husband, had a love of royal power that was not shared by her husband. One day, Dharmadeva called her and told her that he had decided to give up the throne and announce his abdication. He had decided to become a monk and to enter a monastery. He expected her and their son, Manadeva, to follow him in this. Controlling her anger at his words, Rajyavati gave her consent, but decided secretly that Dharmadeva must be removed. With Dharmadeva dead, Manadeva would become king, and she would rule through her son, who followed her every whim. She took as her chance the day when the king walked in the royal temple garden and visited the treasury to bring the annual gift of gold to the G.o.d Vishnu. She requested that she and their son be allowed to enter the treasury since this would be the last visit before they entered the monastery. Once inside the treasury, the unsuspecting king revealed to them the secret of how to leave. He showed them the key. Manadeva then hit his unsuspecting father from behind on the head, rendering him unconscious. They left him for dead and returned to the palace. Dharmadeva awoke to find himself alone and without the key. Realising that his fate was sealed, he wrote as fast as he could an account of what had happened, an account that was unknown and unread until now."

Levi stopped for a moment as if in deep thought. "And, as luck would have it," he said, "Manadeva had dropped the key on his way out. Had he known that it was there, Dharmadeva could have excaped his fate. Too fearful to return to the scene of patricide without the key, Manadeva issued a royal edict forbidding entrance to the treasure house."

"An incredible tale," Holmes remarked.

"Yes. I shall write it up in the Journal Asiatique and send you a copy."

"I shall enjoy it immensely," said Holmes.

By now he had reached the palace. He bade good-bye to M. Levi, and returned to his hotel.

The next morning a group of soldiers arrived from the Maharajah's palace, deputed by him to accompany Holmes to the Indian border. As he had promised, Gorashar came part of the way. They left around ten and a short time later they reached the top of the Chandragiri pa.s.s. Holmes looked down and bade good-bye to the valley of Katmandu and to the dear friend who had brought him there. He then turned his gaze southwards, towards the plains of India.

I found myself at this moment gazing at Holmes's drawing.

"Who would have thought, Holmes, that so much meaning could be contained in this temple, and so easily hidden from us?"

"Light and word had come together in this temple, Watson. The words of the inscription were registered in its astronomy, if you will, in its relation to the sun and moon and other stars. The people of the twilight were the guardians of the relation, there to make sure through the millennia that the minute adjustments necessary to the preservation of its meaning were made. Indeed, these people, the lowliest of outcasts, made the system work and kept well its secrets. Levi and I saw what is only a small fragment of a vast machine. But enough, Watson, it is late. The tale is told, such as it is."

Holmes suggested a walk before bed, and we went out into the early spring night. He said no more about the French savant, but instead spoke rapidly about his latest enthusiasm, the polyphony of Orlando di La.s.so. Then we talked of many other things, none of which merit recounting here. It was almost light when we returned, and as we mounted the steps to our quarters, Holmes quoted two lines of the greatest of Italian poets: Cos andammo infino alla lumiera, Parlando cose che il tacere e bello.

AN ENVOY TO LHASA.

IN THE PAGES WHICH I HAVE DEVOTED TO THE ADVENTURES of Sherlock Holmes, I have often alluded to the contradiction between the impeccable order of his logical faculties and the extraordinary disorder that he allowed to reign in the world of physical objects immediately about him. Such thoughts again crossed my mind one morning as I looked up from my book and watched my friend slouched low in his favourite easy chair, his eyes half closed, his mind apparently far distant. A year had pa.s.sed since his return to London, and he was in the grip of another of the long melancholic fits that still seized him from time to time.

It was now the spring of 1895, a day in late March to be exact, and as the rare London sun began to pour through our sitting room window, I again looked up and cast a glance around our quarters. As my eyes moved over them, I was struck this time not only by Holmes's continued untidiness, but by his ability to maintain such by now familiar disarray almost unchanged over many years. It was as if in the depths of his boredom he had somehow managed to cultivate a hidden order within the clutter.

As usual, his papers, chemicals, and test tubes were scattered everywhere. His cigars were still in the coal scuttle, and his tobacco was tucked into the toe of one of his Persian slippers. There were some new elements in the overall design, however, added in my absence no doubt during his more disconsolate moments. One of his recently acquired criminal relics, what appeared to be a large, sharp tooth, had now invaded the b.u.t.ter dish. A few bullet holes in the form of a "P" and an "M" had been added to the wooden mantel, this time presumably in honour of the present prime minister, and his unanswered correspondence was still pinned to the wall by a knife. It was only when I looked at this last object more closely, however, that I noticed another alteration, seemingly slight at first but important enough in the entire picture. The knife on the wall, originally an old jack-knife, had been replaced by a different instrument, what appeared to be, from where I was seated, a knife of an entirely novel character, one with a golden handle. A quick glance about the room informed me that the jack-knife had been transferred to the breakfast table, where it had been thrust to the hilt into an open jar of marmalade.

Curious about the provenance of the new knife, I walked over and pulled it from the wall, inadvertently letting the correspondence flutter audibly to the floor. I heard Holmes suddenly pull himself up in his chair.

"Boredom," he sniffed, "is the only true gift of the G.o.ds, Watson. And the gold knife is from Tibet, should you be at all interested. It is a most unusual weapon. Note the distinctive fullering of the double-edged blade and the initial 'S' that appears on the quillon. These details tell us immediately that the blade is of recent English manufacture and, judging from its slight curvature, is a modified version of one of Major Henry Shakespear's deadly creations. The gold handle was of course cast in Tibet, possibly hundreds of years ago."

I made no immediate response to my friend's remarks, but returned to my seat to examine the knife. It had a blade about seven inches in length of fine steel that was embedded in a slightly shorter handle that appeared to be of solid gold. The handle showed almost no signs of wear but bore decorations and an inscription. I noted what appeared to be the sun and moon, and the fylfot as it is known in British heraldry, or Buddhist swastika, here presumably a religious symbol, and an inscription in beautiful elegant characters that I could not read. The language I a.s.sumed to be the Tibetan.

"Indeed, I am most interested, particularly if there is a tale a.s.sociated with it," I answered belatedly, with feigned indifference.

"Then even though your never-ending curiosity in my exploits threatens my beloved Demoiselle Ennui," he said, "I shall tell you the tale of the gold knife and my trip to Lhasa."

He tossed the morning papers that had lain across his chest onto the floor. The boredom suddenly left his eyes, and I could almost see his brain running through the sequence of events that had transpired several years before as it reached his lips. I was inwardly overjoyed at his sudden decision to reveal his life in Tibet, but I did not press him, lest he draw back as he had done several times in the past. He had mentioned his life in Lhasa only in pa.s.sing, the first time in his brief account of his escape from the Reichenbach Falls. But until now, he had resisted all attempts on my part to wrest from him even the smallest portion of his Tibetan adventures. I knew only what I had previously reported to the public: that he had lived there under the name of Sigerson, a Norwegian explorer and naturalist.

"You see, Watson," he began, "my trip to Lhasa was not due to any whim of mine, but to a secret mission which I undertook under the highest authority of Government. If I have shown a certain reluctance to divulge the details until now, it is because several princ.i.p.als in the matter would have been injured by their disclosure. This morning's paper announced the death of the last of these, and so I am now free to add these exploits to your chronicles."

He took the knife from my hand, moving his long, thin fingers slowly along the blade.

"As I have related to you before, except for the late, unlamented Colonel Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's chief henchman, only one other person was sure that I had survived the fateful encounter at the Reichenbach Falls, and that was my brother, Mycroft, to whom alone I communicated the fact of my fortunate but unexpected survival. It was shortly after my arrival in Florence a week later that I informed him that I was alive. A few days later, I received a message from him in the secret code that we shared, saying that special emissaries of Government were on their way to see me: My dear Sherlock, It was good of you to inform me of your final victory and survival in the battle with your great adversary, but in truth I expected no less of you. My compliments. The world is surely a better place now that Moriarty is no more.

This is perhaps not the best moment to intrude upon your privacy or to add to your woes, considering your recent escapades, but a matter that will be before you shortly is of the greatest urgency. It involves a mission of extreme importance and great danger. I shall understand if you decline, but I believe that you are the only individual I know capable of bringing it off. You must forgive me, therefore, for having suggested to the authorities that you would be the ideal person to execute it. Representatives of the highest authority are on their way to you to discuss the matter. Please consider it carefully, Sherlock, for in addition to taking you far from your known enemies for a time, it will enable you to serve the most pressing needs of the Empire. It involves a long trip to one of the remotest corners of the civilised world. Expect to hear shortly, therefore, from a certain Florentine gentleman, one Signor Berolini.

As your executor, I have taken charge of your personal affairs, which, I trust, will be in good order when you eventually return. A distraught Watson has just placed your obituary in the papers and is now writing up what he believes to be your "final problem." Although my sympathies go out to him, I agree with you that the deception of a sincerely grieving friend is necessary to your long-term survival.

Mycroft "I was immediately gratified by my brother's expression of trust in me, Watson, but I confess that I felt no immediate enthusiasm for the mission he mentioned. Mycroft, as you know, is the most brilliant mind available to our Government. Indeed, as I have remarked on previous occasions, in some important ways he is the British Government. His message to me held important clues: the remotest corner of the civilised world could only mean somewhere in Asia, and in Asia most probably Tibet, that perennial goal of the romantic Englishman. But I a.s.sure you that what transpired in Tibet, or in any other remote corner of the world for that matter, was then farthest from my mind. After Moriarty's death, having dodged the rocks thrown down on me by Colonel Moran, I had taken to my heels, torn and bleeding, and had done ten miles in the darkness over the mountains before I boarded a train to Italy. The reaction of a terrible weariness was upon me, and I knew that I should be limp as a rag for many days to come."

Holmes suddenly rose and began pacing back and forth in front of me. He did not have to wait long, he said, to find out more about the proposed mission. It was towards evening a day later, that the portiere in the pensione where he had taken a room handed him a note: Please meet me at seven this evening at the Piazza della Signoria about the urgent matter of which you have already been informed. Under the Medusa head.

Suo dev. mo Sg. Berolini The last reference was of course to the famous statue of Perseus by Cellini that still graces the central piazza of Florence. And it was to that place that Holmes walked slowly from his pensione, arriving at exactly seven o'clock. He placed himself near the statue and looked around. It was the hour of what is known in Italy as the pa.s.seggiata, and the square was filled with strollers walking arm in arm. Among them he saw striding towards him the only single figure, a short rather stout man, wearing a black overcoat and a fedora.

"I am Signor Berolini." He bowed, addressing Holmes in measured but almost flawless Italian. "Please follow me," he said. They walked over to a nearby bench not far from the piazza, where they sat and conversed.

"But you are an Englishman nonetheless," Holmes replied, a bit sardonically perhaps. The man was a bit taken aback by his remark.

"How on earth did you know?" he cried out, breaking suddenly into English. "I have gone to great pains to create an Italian ident.i.ty."

"Then begin by taking the added trouble of employing an Italian barber to shape your moustache instead of tr.i.m.m.i.n.g it yourself."

Seeing that the man was crestfallen at his immediate exposure of him, Holmes did not continue in this vein, for he saw no reason to destroy the man's already injured confidence.

"My name is really James Munro," he said with a tight, embarra.s.sed smile.

He handed Holmes a card that identified him as an agent of our foreign ministry, permanently a.s.signed to the Italian peninsula. Holmes did not remark audibly on this part of his disguise, nor that he easily deduced that Munro had worked in Scotland Yard for a number of years.

"We shall leave here separately," said Munro, "having recovered his composure, "and meet again in one hour at the address on the back of that card. Please memorise it. Any cab will take you there."

He removed the card from Holmes's hand and replaced it in his pocket. Rising quickly, he tipped his hat with a cheerful "Auguri" and disappeared into the crowd. Thorougly amused, Holmes sat there for a few moments alone, contemplating the piazza, one of the most beautiful of Italian creations. Then he hopped into a cab, asking the driver to take him to the a.s.signed address.

It took almost an hour to reach his destination, a large villa beyond the old city limits on the southern route towards Rome, some hours from Montepulciano, Pienza, and the other beautiful towns that fill the Tuscan landscape. It was already dusk, and the shadows of the Italian pines were thrown softly everywhere by the golden setting sun.

Holmes alighted from the cab and was again met by Munro, alias Berolini, who stood at the gate, opening it as he approached. He followed him down the main path to a large villa that sat a few hundred yards back from the road behind a large garden. They entered and proceeded to the library in which two gentlemen, highly placed at the time in the British cabinet, were already seated. Holmes recognised one of them instantly; the other he knew by name. He has asked that I not reveal their ident.i.ties. One of them, a ranking member of our foreign office who still carries great weight in the upper circles of government though he has since resigned, began the discussion.

"Mr. Holmes, I am here to explain to you in detail the mission to which your brother has alluded in his message to you. I sincerely hope that you will agree to take on the tasks that I am about to describe to you. Should you choose not to, however, I trust that all that will have transpired between us will be irrevocably forgotten and dismissed from your mind."

Holmes nodded in a.s.sent. "You may speak frankly, Your Lords.h.i.+p, and I shall consider most seriously whatever you propose. I can a.s.sure you, however, that should your mission not suit me, I shall immediately dismiss it as well as any recollection of our meeting here this evening."

"Then listen most carefully, Mr. Holmes. As you may be aware, the threat to our Indian Empire from the design of other Oriental powers continues to grow and perturb those of us who have the grave responsibility of maintaining our vast Empire in safety and order. Although the entire Subcontinent has been pacified internally for some time, the threat continues to grow from outside. The Russians, the j.a.panese, and at times those who manage the flickering energies of the Chinese empire stand ever ready to take from us what is by now rightfully deemed ours. They see our Indian possessions as the likely sources of their own eventual enrichment, knowing little of the costly civilising burden that we carry there. Although the defences of the Empire in India are strong, the threat grows in Central Asia, an area that, as you know, is almost totally closed to us and still little known at best. The Tsars have continued to conquer and plunder the region, moving their borders eastward to the confines of Tibet, where they already have their resident agents. The j.a.panese, their eyes constantly on a weakening and starving China, have already begun to depute their agents there as well. You perhaps have heard of the Russian lama Dorjiloff and the notorious Yamamoto of Kyoto."

"The two have well-known criminal records, achieved long before they disappeared into the wilds of Tibet," said Holmes confidently. "Dorjiloff is a man of the greatest intelligence and is extremely dangerous. He is wanted for a particularly brutal murder in Riga. Yamamoto is hardly Dorjiloff's equal, though he has his talents. He is wanted in Shanghai for extortion and embezzlement. I have grappled with both in London, albeit at a distance and unfortunately without lasting success. Their reincarnations as Government agents have amused me for some time."

"They have been in and out of Lhasa for several years," continued the minister, "during which period our relations with the Tibetan government have come under serious strain. The Viceroy is already of the strong opinion that these agents, pursuing aggressive Tsarist and j.a.panese policies of expansion in the Orient, have moved the Tibetan government away from its traditionally neutral stance to one that could foreseeably cause us great trouble along our Himalayan border, thereby sowing the seeds of political dissatisfaction in the plains of Hindusthan as well. The ultimate objective is of course obvious: the removal of Britain as a power from the continent of Asia and the division of the spoils between Tsar and Emperor. I myself regard the latter as almost unthinkable considering our present strength. But I am also a person of prudence, one whose task it is in government to make sure that not even the slightest step along this path is taken."

"I understand your concerns," said Holmes. "What, then, are the immediate circ.u.mstances that have brought you here?"

"Recent events led us at first to believe that matters were about to improve. This past year, the Chinese government agreed to a treaty that would begin the regularisation of our relations with Tibet. In order to stabilise these relations, we asked that the treaty be signed as soon as possible. The Chinese agreed, but they have only nominal control over the Tibetans and could only meekly request Tibetan compliance. Indeed, the constantly weakening Chinese government proved too feeble to obtain Tibetan consent. As soon as certain elements within the Tibetan government who are unfriendly to us became aware of some of the provisions of the treaty, they began, deliberately and presumably with the aid of agents such as Dorjiloff, to undermine it. Boundary markers were uprooted and destroyed, border patrols were attacked, and, most impudently, English merchants were prevented from plying their trade. The most egregious example of this dastardly conduct occurred when the only road from Tibet to the market of Yatung, which had been thrown open to trade with India by the stipulations of the convention of 1810, was permanently blocked by the building of a wall. Letters from the Viceroy protesting this action to the Grand Lama in Lhasa were returned unopened. In order to convince the Tibetans that deeds such as these could only prove harmful in the long run and that it was in Tibet's interest to sign the treaty at once, a treaty that in my judgement is most generous to Tibet, a special envoy was sent to the Grand Lama with the specific purpose of explaining our present position directly and without ambiguity. The emissary was Sir William Manning, one of the most sober of our diplomats, whose experience began in the Central Provinces and included a distinguished period of service in Kashmir. We had every hope for his success, but except for a brief note sent by Manning himself to the Viceroy announcing his safe arrival in Lhasa, nothing has been heard of him since. A year has now gone by since his arrival, all requests from us have gone unheeded, and the Tibetan government professes no knowledge of him or his mission. Furious with what he considers to be Tibetan duplicity, the Viceroy has now requested permission to send an armed force to take the Tibetan capital and put an end once and for all to Tibetan machinations. His Majesty's Government, however, is reluctant to do this without one last approach to the Tibetan government. It is the general opinion in London that a war in Tibet is to be avoided at this juncture, if at all possible. Despite our military supremacy in the region, it would be a costly affair, causing severe repercussions amongst the warring tribesmen in Central Asia, all of which we would regard as undesirable. We are well aware of our losses in Afghanistan and do not wish to repeat such unfortunate episodes. An invasion would come only as a last resort. The mission which we propose to you, therefore, Mr. Holmes, would have several goals: to find Manning or learn what has happened to him; to have the treaty signed or, barring that, recommend to us a course of action, including, if you deem it necessary, an invasion of Tibet, for which undesirable eventuality we are prepared; and, finally, of course, to do whatever might be done to neutralise the effects of Yamamoto and Dorjiloff, particularly the latter. Until now, there has been no one whom we could oppose to the dexterity of the Buriat lama Dorjiloff, no one who might bring some sense to the turbulent children of Tibet. We believe that you are amongst the very few who can do these things. Should you agree to the mission, you will have the full force of Government and their resources behind you. I should advise that in all dealings with the Tibetan Government you keep to the specific ident.i.ty which we have chosen for you and confirmed in the doc.u.ments: if you accept the mission, you will be known as Hallvard Sigerson, Scandinavian explorer and naturalist, and incidentally secret envoy of the British Government. Your true ident.i.ty as Sherlock Holmes is to be kept secret and revealed only if necessary to the success of the mission. This, I would presume, would be your wish as well, judging from what little Mycroft Holmes has let us know of your immediate desires."

Holmes listened intently to the Minister's every word. Despite his fatigue and reluctance to undertake any arduous a.s.signments, he found that he was most intrigued. He had thought of a long trip to a quiet corner of the world where he could recover and plan the demise of his remaining enemies in the Moriarty gang. Why not Tibet? The suggested journey not only fit his plan to avoid his enemies for a time, but it promised to be a mission of the greatest interest. It also gave him an official disguise, invaluable to him at this dangerous juncture in his life. He therefore did not hesitate.

"I agree to the mission, Your Lords.h.i.+p, but I shall need immediate a.s.sistance. I should say, immodestly perhaps, that for a variety of reasons my knowledge of some aspects of Tibet is already considerable, and I shall not bore you with the many reasons why that is so. I do nothing of this kind, however, without the most painstaking preparation, preparation which, under circ.u.mstances such as those which may befall me during the mission-conceivably matters of life and death-must reach to the most minute detail."

The minister smiled when he heard Holmes's acceptance, and in answer to his last words replied: "Easily done, my dear Holmes, far more easily done than you would have thought. First, accept this portfolio. It contains official copies of the treaty to be signed, copies of the charge to Manning as well as the details of his mission and itinerary, and secret exchanges concerning Tibet between ourselves and the Chinese."

As he spoke, he handed Holmes a large folder containing the official papers.

"Enclosed also is what I trust you will find to be more than adequate compensation for your efforts and for your expenses to Lhasa and return. There are also your personal doc.u.ments identifying you as the Norwegian naturalist Hallvard Sigerson. And now, let us proceed to the adjoining chamber."

They moved to the next room, one smaller than the library but also lined with books. It was the second minister who spoke at this time. "Thanks again to your brother Mycroft, Mr. Holmes, we were able to locate our meeting in this villa, the home of Count Giancarlo Possenza d'Este, one of Italy's greatest explorers and scholars of the Orient, and a good friend, I might add, of Mycroft's and mine from the Diogenes Club in London. It was in antic.i.p.ation of your a.s.sent to the mission that his estate was chosen for our meeting. He himself is absent from Italy, but he has consented to full use of his collections. This room contains substantial resources in several languages on the history and peoples of Tibet and adjacent areas. There is, in my judgement, no better collection anywhere. In your stay, an active brain such as yours should be able to absorb and retain as much as it needs. Notice, too, that these drawers contain detailed maps, the best now available, on Tibet and on Lhasa itself. We have made arrangements for you to live here until your departure from Italy. Berolini has already seen to the removal of your bags from your pensione, so you needn't return there at all. You will have, in all, six weeks here. You will travel then to Naples, and thence to Brindisi, where you will board a s.h.i.+p for Bombay. Once there, you must seek advice from the Indian Government-the Viceroy himself will be in charge of your mission-as to how to proceed and what the best route to Lhasa will be at the time of your arrival. Best of luck to you, my dear fellow, and I earnestly hope for your safety and success."

They shook Holmes's hand vigorously as they departed.

"I was left alone, Watson, elated at the prospect of my new adventure but still feeling the exhaustion of the previous days. By this time it was almost eleven and I decided to retire. A knock at the door came just as this thought occurred to me, and one of the servants appeared and showed me to my quarters. A heavy fatigue enveloped me, and I went smoothly into the first real sleep since the death of Moriarty."

The following days were for Holmes, as he recalled them for me, a vigorous a.s.say into the Oriental literature on Tibet and its neighbours. Each day he spent long hours poring over old histories and maps, taking notes, memorising routes, pa.s.ses, and alt.i.tudes. Since he was to travel in the guise of a Scandinavian explorer and naturalist, he made certain of his familiarity with what was known of Himalayan flora and fauna. He studied not only Hooker but also, and not without a certain irony, the works of his remaining chief enemy, Colonel Moran, who had spent long years in the Himalayas. At night, he learned the peculiar script and studied the language. He read the cla.s.sic accounts of the Catholic missionaries such as Orazio della Penna and Le Pere Huc. By all these accounts, the journey to Tibet was considered to be a most dangerous one, and it was in this last text of Huc that he read of the curious misadventures of the first Englishman to visit Tibet, a certain Clement Moorcroft, who was, according to the good friar's account, killed by bandits as he attempted his return from Lhasa. Not an appealing precedent, he thought. Danger lurked everywhere for the casual traveller, and accounts of more recent visitors did not differ in this judgement.

It was the more recent accounts, however, that provided much of what he needed to understand present conditions in the country. There was what appeared to be a most complicated political situation. The Grand Lama, the t.i.tular ruler of the country, was still a young boy in his minority, and the power of his office was wielded by a regent, one Getong Tsarong. Little was known of the latter except that he was the most feared individual in Tibet, known for his ruthless methods and great cruelties. His power seemed to be diminis.h.i.+ng, however, for in addition, there now lived in the Potala itself, the residence of the Grand Lama, this strange presence who bore the name of Dorjieff or Dorjiloff, the deadly agent alluded to by the ministers from London. In strategic but temporary collusion with him was the j.a.panese Yamamoto. The two appeared bent on wresting control of Tibet from the Tibetans themselves and dividing it between their respective governments. How long it would be before the interests of these two powers diverged into open conflict rather than remain in the cooperation that they now professed depended largely on the cleverness of our own policy. Holmes was indeed walking right into the Great Game in Central Asia.