The Travels of Sherlock Holmes, page 10
It all happened so quickly that the rest of us had not been able to move from where we stood. As the professor went over the edge, Sigerson slumped down on the very lip of the path, like a rag doll, and that galvanized us into action.
Fenton and I took one look over the edge, but it was evident – and had been from the dreadful, abrupt, way that the scream had been cut off – that nothing could be done for the professor, so we turned our attention to Sigerson.
Between us, we lifted him up. He was unhurt, there was not a mark on him, but his face was a ghastly white, and there was a haunted look in his eyes.
He stared at me. ‘How many more times?’ he asked, and then I think he must have fainted, for he went limp in our arms.
We scurried round, trying to revive him. Dass donated a small and secret hoard of brandy for the purpose, and eventually Sigerson groaned, and stared up at us. But his eyes were now blank, without a sign of any human emotion in them.
‘He has had a dreadful jolt,’ said Fenton – although indeed that much was obvious. ‘We had best get him back to the capital, and try to find a doctor of sorts.’
Fenton and I carried Norbu, while Dass followed behind, leading Sigerson by the hand with the innocence of a child leading a blind man. And thus we entered Lhasa, to the curious stares of the crowds who turned out to see five men, three live, one dead, and one who walked as if in a dream.
We explained to the curious sightseers that we had been attacked by bandits, which was near enough to the truth, and found an inn with an empty room.
Dass went off to find Norbu’s cousin, who brought two or three of his fellow monks along, sturdy, silent men who took over the necessary arrangements. Norbu’s cousin already knew something of our mission, so we told him the truth.
‘My cousin told me of the dangers,’ said he calmly enough. ‘He was willing to accept them, and had no fear of dying – as you know, we believe that we shall be reborn again and again until we are free from the wheel, and become one with the infinite – so you need shed no tears for him. But now, what of our other friend here?’
Sigerson did, indeed, demand some careful attention. The glazed look which had been in his eyes since the professor’s death had gone, and he seemed to have developed some sort of brain fever, for he lay on the makeshift bed, tossing from side to side like a man who had a bad dose of malaria, and muttering and mumbling to himself.
Norbu’s cousin ordered him moved to a room within the Potala, and we were also provided with clean, albeit Spartan, accommodation within the same building. Perhaps I ought to digress here for a moment to explain that the Potala is not a single palace as the word is used in Europe, but a congeries of buildings of every shape and size, all lumped together over the hill on which it stands. Some of the lower levels correspond to what in London would be the offices of the various government departments, and house the various ministers – all of them lamas – and their staffs.
The local doctors took charge of Sigerson, treating him with a mixture of herbal decoctions and magic chants, while Fenton, Dass and I took turns sitting by his side through the night.
By way of some small consolation, we learned from Norbu’s cousin that the Dalai Lama’s father and sister had reached Lhasa without any untoward incident, and it was good to have this confirmed, though we had assumed it would be so, once we had halted the Russians in so spectacular a fashion.
For two weeks Sigerson hovered on the very brink of insanity, apparently not knowing where or who he was, and unable to recognize anyone around him, so that we wondered if it had been worth it after all, or whether the price had been too high. ‘He, too, was a soldier, and knew the risks,’ muttered Fenton, when I put it to him in those terms. But for all that, I noticed that he was seldom long away from Sigerson’s bedside.
One night when it was my turn on duty and I was alone in the sickroom, I remember that Sigerson opened his eyes and stared at me as if he knew me, and I thought that it was over, and that he was cured, but he slapped me on the back, and called me, ‘Good old W——!’ over and again, and talked quite lucidly, as it seemed, of the many and varied adventures which we had been through together. It was not until much later that I managed to work out who the mysterious W—— really was.
From what he said in these delirious ramblings, it was pretty clear that “Sigerson”, as I shall continue to call him, had been through a great deal – far more, I am certain, than most men could cope with and retain their sanity – in the few months immediately prior to our meeting him. He spoke of numerous attempts on his life, of a web of evil and corruption spread over the entire length and breadth of England – nay, Europe – a web which had Professor Moriarty at the centre of it. If the half of what Sigerson said in his ravings was true, then the professor had indeed been the most double-dyed villain in the whole history of crime.
And Sigerson kept coming back again and again to some nightmarish scene on the edge of a cliff. This was fairly obviously a reference to the death of Professor Moriarty, but it seemed to have become an obsession with him, a hideous recurring nightmare, for he spoke as if it had happened more than once.
Then, quite abruptly, the fever broke, and Sigerson was himself again. Or almost himself, for there was still a haunted look in his eyes. Moreover I am certain that the nightmare was still with him, because for a long time after that his sleep was troubled, and he woke at least once each night, drenched with sweat, and with a look on his face that frightened anyone who saw it.
The onset of winter meant that we should be confined to Lhasa for several months, and now that Sigerson was up and about once more, if not exactly his old cheerful self, we could concentrate on the second stage of our mission, and attempt some sort of diplomatic overtures to the Tibetan authorities, though these negotiations were necessarily conducted in strict secrecy.
Norbu’s cousin had told us that he had some small office in one of the ministries, but it was clear that he had been modest. From what Norbu had said about his cousin’s having spies throughout Lhasa, or something of the sort, I concluded that the cousin had some high office in the secret service, or its Tibetan equivalent, though naturally we did not deem it politic to inquire into his exact standing. I do know that he must certainly have had some influence to get us rooms in the Potala in the first place, and he was always treated with great deference by those monks who accompanied him.
Since Norbu had told his cousin why we were there, and the cousin had not had us arrested, we concluded that the cousin was as sympathetic to the British cause as our old friend had been, and told him the whole story accordingly. Just as we had hoped, he nodded when we had done, and said, ‘I had promised my cousin to arrange what I could. If you wish to proceed, I can introduce you to many of the chief lamas, and we should be able to achieve something. However, only the Regent himself can say the final word, and it will take time to arrange a meeting with him. He is watched by the agents of the Chinese overlords, who are suspicious of any dealings with foreigners. Also many of our own people are unsympathetic to Britain. But I shall do what I can.’
He was as good as his word, and there ensued a succession of meetings, usually held in the evening, with a succession of mysterious figures in red and gold robes. I myself was excluded from most of these, as being too young and inexperienced, but Fenton gave me a summary of what had taken place, from which I gathered that our party was making slow but steady progress.
Sigerson, too, seemed quite pleased with the way things were going. According to Fenton, it was Sigerson who took the lead in most of the talks, for he seemed to possess a natural flair for diplomacy.
Sigerson had now fully recovered his senses, though the haunted look never left him. He took us aside the first or second day after he was on his feet, and said, ‘Gentlemen, the professor inadvertently revealed my true name. I do not know whether it is familiar to you, but I should like you to try to forget it, along with anything I might have let slip in the course of my recent indisposition.’ We solemnly promised, and as you see I have kept my promise here. Sigerson seemed somewhat reassured by our undertaking, but as I say the haunted look, and the nightmares, persisted.
After a month or six weeks of these secret talks, Fenton came to me one day in great glee, and said that Norbu’s cousin had now arranged matters so that they might meet the Regent, to gain final approval for the secret treaty that would mean that Britain could enter Tibet when the Chinese Empire finally collapsed. Once again, I was to be excluded, though I might go along and wait outside.
On the appointed evening, Norbu’s cousin solemnly and silently conducted us into the Red Palace, the true heart of the Potala, a giant treasure house on some thirteen or fourteen floors, the floors being linked by innumerable ladders. I was conducted into an antechamber, where a couple of large, silent, young monks motioned me to sit down and wait, while Fenton and Sigerson were led off down a corridor lined with gigantic statues of demons, made from gold and silver.
I tried vainly to interest my companions in some idle conversation, but soon wearied of it, and settled down to try that meditation that was universally practised there. I am delighted to say that I succeeded to such an extent that I fell asleep, to be woken with a start a couple of hours later by Fenton.
‘Come on, you lazy young cur,’ he said cheerfully.
‘And Sigerson?’ said I, looking round.
‘Oh, he has a special interview on his own.’
‘Oh?’
Fenton was silent, but full of a sort of suppressed gleefulness, until we had reached our own quarters, then he explained that the interview had gone very well. The Regent had – wisely, I feel sure – refused to commit anything to writing, but had assured them that a British force would meet with little or no opposition from the Tibetan forces. Fenton and Sigerson had risen to take their leave, but the Regent – ‘A queer old bird, with a look of possessing the wisdom of the ages about him,’ at least according to Fenton – had spoken to Norbu’s cousin, who was acting as interpreter, and Sigerson was bidden to remain. ‘Though what he wants, I can’t say,’ added Fenton.
In the event, Sigerson did not reappear for three days. Then he strolled in as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and I saw at once that the haunted look was gone from his eyes, and he was truly himself once more.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ was all he said, ‘I am quite at your disposal now.’
Naturally we asked what had happened, but he only shook his head, and gave us that enigmatic smile.
‘But the Regent,’ demanded Fenton. ‘What think you of him?’
Sigerson smiled again. ‘An interesting man,’ said he. ‘A most interesting man.’
Chapter Eleven - Westward Ho!
Even if I could remember all the minutiae of our daily existence, I would not wish to give any detailed blow-by-blow account of how we passed the winter of 1891, and the early part of 1892, in Tibet, for the reader would find it wearisome.
It is true that everything in our new surroundings was strange, even exotic, and that there was much to do and much to learn. We found no difficulty about moving about the capital, and were even admitted without any questions as students in the schools of theology and medicine, though I regret to say that none of us, with the possible exception of Sigerson, were very apt pupils. Still, it was fascinating to watch the other students committing the sacred texts to memory, for such is the royal route to academic success in the Tibetan colleges. And the debates, vigorously conducted, were always a source of entertainment as well – I have no doubt – as instruction.
Despite that, though, the enforced idleness soon began to pall. Dass and Sigerson, both of whom possessed some private Stoic philosophy, coped best with the enforced seclusion from the outside world, but eventually they, too, caught that ennui which had affected Fenton and me almost from the start, and it was with considerable relief that we hailed the spring thaw, and could at last start to make our preparations for the return to India.
We had made a good many friends among the monks and lamas, and although I cannot truthfully claim that a large crowd turned out to wave us off, still there were a good many handshakes and kind words before we left.
As it was spring, and the snow was starting to melt, the journey back to Darjeeling was easier with each day that passed, with the result that three uneventful weeks after setting off from Lhasa we arrived back in Darjeeling, and made our way to Fenton’s bungalow.
By the time we had bathed and shaved and generally made ourselves respectable – a process which I may say took some considerable time – it was getting too late to think of contacting Fenton’s superior and making our report in person. Fenton accordingly sent a message to say that we were back, and would be giving a full account of ourselves on the following day. And then we sought our beds, the first time in something over a year that we had not been obliged to curl up on an earth floor, or amongst a pile of hay. I do not know how the others fared, but I can say that in my own case the novelty meant that I could not get off to sleep for some considerable time, but then I knew nothing until ten or eleven the next morning, when Fenton quite literally turned me out of my bed onto the hard floor.
At breakfast, which was somewhat later than would be regarded as respectable, Fenton received an answer to his message, which said that his chief would be busy all day, but could see us in the evening.
‘Fairly typical, in this line of work,’ was Fenton’s laconic comment. ‘The colonel probably has a dozen different ploys in hand at the moment, and, since we have returned safely, he will have gathered that we have been successful.’
I thought this over for a moment, then, ‘You mean that had we not been successful, your chief would not have expected us to return? Death or glory, that sort of thing?’ I asked.
Fenton nodded. ‘I did not say as much at the outset, for it might have put you off,’ he remarked.
‘Well –’ I began, but Sigerson laughingly intervened.
We now bade farewell for the time being to Dass, who wanted to be off to see his family. Then, since we could do nothing until later, we tried to catch up with events in the wider world.
Fenton was a member of the Darjeeling Club, and the secretary made no difficulty about Sigerson and myself being admitted temporarily, so we were able to talk with the local army and Indian Civil Service officers about what had occurred during our absence.
There was a library of sorts at the club, and Sigerson immersed himself in the piles of back numbers of the London papers. I could not help noticing that he seemed particularly amused by a fairly recent issue of the Strand, a circumstance which intrigued me greatly. When I looked over the list of contents myself later that afternoon I could see little that seemed likely to be of interest, with the possible exception of a detective yarn by a man called Doyle, which I had no time just then to read. I may add that when I was later able to do so, it explained almost everything about the history of ‘Sigerson’, and also much about what he had said when he was raving with fever in Lhasa.
The look of amusement vanished, though, when Sigerson found an old copy of The Times. He read it with an expression of irritation, and threw the paper down with an exclamation of disgust.
‘Bad news?’ I felt compelled to ask.
‘No more than I expected. I see from the law court reports of a year ago that a couple of the villains who were Moriarty’s chief lieutenants managed to walk free after the jury refused to accept evidence which quite plainly implicated them in crimes of the foulest nature. Still, I am certain that they are constitutionally incapable of living lives of blameless purity, so no doubt there will be other opportunities for justice to take its proper course.’ He retrieved and tidied up the newspaper, replaced it among its fellows, and laughed. ‘On balance, I think it is better this way, for Moriarty was well worth a pair of these lesser villains. And now, if we can find Fenton, I think we might sample the wine of the country.’
We took a walk round the town, and after taking some refreshment in one of the many little teashops in the place – Darjeeling tea, naturally – it was time to call upon Fenton’s superior, a Colonel Munro Stark, whom I had not hitherto met.
Colonel Stark was another of those men – dark, small, nondescript – who, like Fenton, could pass for a native, if he had been clad in a tattered robe instead of the dress uniform he had put on ready for some reception or another later that evening.
‘You have done well indeed,’ he said to Fenton and me when we told him of our journey and our negotiations with the Tibetans. ‘Be sure it will not go unremarked by the powers that be. I wish I had been there with you, for you seem to have had an exciting time of it. A pity that much of what happened cannot be generally divulged, for it would make interesting reading.’
Fenton flushed. ‘I had thought that perhaps some account of our expedition might not come amiss, sir,’ said he. ‘The part played by Dyce and myself must, of course, be suppressed, as must the Russian involvement, but I confess that I could see no very great objections to reporting some of the less controversial adventures of Mr Sigerson of Norway, unless either of you see fit to forbid it?’
‘Not I,’ said Sigerson.
‘Nor I, provided that I can read and approve the final draft,’ said Colonel Stark.
I may add that, although I subsequently twitted Fenton unmercifully about his unsuspected literary leanings, he did make an excellent job of the finished descriptive articles, which received wide circulation and attracted a good deal of interest in learned circles.
‘And you, sir,’ the colonel went on to Sigerson, ‘you have, I understand, accomplished the task you were set by London?’
Sigerson nodded. ‘I have. And moreover I have accomplished the more difficult task I had privately set myself.’
Colonel Stark raised an eyebrow, and when Sigerson did not elaborate, he said, ‘You have evidently had a most interesting time of it, and must tell me as many details as time will allow.’ He took out his watch, and added, ‘We have two hours or so before I must leave, so pray begin your account.’
