The Travels of Sherlock Holmes, page 5
In the week or so that followed my arrival, Norbu told me something of the state of Tibet at that time. Nominally the country was under the control of the Chinese emperors, but that control was weak, partly because of the great distance of isolated Tibet from the Chinese capital, partly because China herself was decadent, in a fair way to being torn apart by internal strife.
The great powers, said Norbu wryly, were by no means unwilling to see this disintegration of China, for it presented them with the opportunity to extend their own influence into that vast marketplace. All of them – Britain included – were engaged in this reprehensible practice. Britain, indeed, had fought some disgraceful wars in order not only to compel the Chinese to buy opium from British merchants, but to pay compensation for their effrontery in daring to object to the trade in the first place.
More to the immediate purpose, Russia had occupied Chinese territory north of the Amur, and more or less compelled the Chinese to legalize the seizure by signing a treaty at Peking in 1860. This region was quite close to the northern border of Tibet, so it was by no means fanciful to suppose that Russia would move quickly to fill the gap left by a collapse of Chinese influence. It was absolutely necessary that Russia should gain control of those countries to the north of India – Tibet, Afghanistan and the like – before she could make any attempt to move into India itself.
The lamas who ruled Tibet had no particular love for their Chinese overlords, Norbu went on, and would not be too sorry to see them leave, but there was some debate as to what would, or should, happen thereafter. Some Tibetans wanted to rule themselves, but most of them realized that Tibet’s significant position in between British India and Russia made that impossible for all practical purposes. Some, therefore, inclined to an alliance with Britain, but equally some favoured Russia. This was the problem to which Fenton – and his opposite numbers on the Russian general staff, of course – must endeavour to find a solution.
We spent a few days deciding what equipment we should take – it was not very elaborate, for we should be obliged to carry it all on our backs – and making plans as to the best route to take.
Once that was done, we were obliged to possess our souls in patience, waiting for the man the Foreign Office would send. I did not find the waiting too unwelcome, for I was able to meet some of those ladies who, as I have said, made Darjeeling a very pleasant place for a young army officer to be stationed. I attended more dances in a few weeks there than I had in all my previous time in India, and so had few complaints.
Fenton, however, fretted very badly over the delay, saying that the year was getting on, the summer would be over before we could take our leave, and the like. In vain did I try to advise him to enjoy the comforts of civilization while he could. He invariably heard me out with ill-concealed impatience, swore in an unmannerly fashion, then set off for a walk or a ride among the hills.
And then one day Fenton, greatly elated, opened a telegram over breakfast, and told me that our visitor should be arriving on the little train due into Darjeeling that very morning. We strolled along to the station with no great enthusiasm, determined to talk our visitor out of accompanying us if we possibly could, for we both felt sure he would prove something of a liability. On the other hand, we felt happier that, one way or another, we should soon be off, for we had already been compelled to delay our departure quite long enough.
‘Have you ever crossed the border into Tibet?’ Fenton asked me, as we sat smoking in the little waiting room, he with one of his infernal Indian gaspers in his mouth, I with a relatively decent lunkah.
‘Never. I was tempted to try doing so last year, I was near the border, but I had strict orders to stay this side.’
Fenton nodded. ‘Unwise to cross unless you are disguised, and have some object in view,’ said he. His voice grew reflective. ‘It is a curious country. For some strange reason, far more boys are born than girls.’ He looked round the waiting room, which was empty save for us, and then lowered his voice anyway. ‘Accordingly, the same wife usually has more than one husband, often marrying all the brothers from one family.’
‘Indeed? I have come across men who maintained more than one establishment – though I hasten to say that I have never been tempted to emulate them – but I cannot recall ever meeting a woman who behaved in that fashion.’
‘Unusual, is it not? And apparently even that proves unequal to the task of absorbing all the surplus men, so that about half the male population are celibate monks. The country is run by the lamas, a cross between priests and witch-doctors, and the people are more superstitious than the Irish peasantry.’
‘And that is the sort of benighted place you would bring under the umbrella of the Empire?’
‘Yes, as a buffer to protect the north of India.’ Fenton waved a hand to indicate the station, the town, and the hills beyond. ‘We are two days from Tibet, here. Would you like to see the Imperial Russian eagle flying from the flagpole yonder? Tibet is the key that would unlock India for the Tsar.’ He rose and crushed his cigarette end beneath his heel. ‘The train is here.’
We had, of course, no idea as to what our visitor from London might look like, or even what his name was, so we had to wait on the little platform until the tea-planters, army men and ICS officials had departed.
One man remained on the platform, and I had grown so used to the notion of the FO sending some superannuated clerk – for Fenton and I had talked so often about him that we had constructed our own unflattering picture of him, down to the fussily buttoned gaiters on the pudgy little feet – that for a moment I did not realize that this must be our man.
He reminded me irresistibly of Norbu, being as tall as the Tibetan, as thin, and looking every bit as ascetic. His eyes were set close together, and his great hooked nose was like the beak of some curious mountain bird. He cast an extraordinarily penetrating glance at Fenton and myself, before coming towards us, and saying, ‘Captain Fenton?’
‘I’m Gerald Fenton, and this is Lieutenant Harold Dyce. You, I take it, are the gentleman we were expecting from London?’
‘I am. My name is Sigerson.’
Fenton raised an eyebrow, but held out his hand.
‘It is a Norwegian name,’ explained Sigerson, in perfect English without the slightest hint of any accent.
‘Indeed?’ said Fenton, rank disbelief in his voice. ‘And how was Oslo, last time you saw it? Not vastly different from London, I should judge?’
Sigerson laughed, in a peculiar, silent fashion. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘one name is as good as another. As Chandra Dass, or Mr Patak Singh, might well tell you.’
I could see a look of respect dawn in Fenton’s eyes. ‘You know a great deal, Mr Sigerson.’
Sigerson nodded. ‘It is quite essential that I should impress you at the outset, gentlemen. You see, I am being very frank with you, for I absolutely need your co-operation, and I am well aware that you must resent having my presence thus cavalierly thrust upon you.’
Of course, Fenton and I protested that he was quite wrong, that such a thought had not entered our heads, that it would not, and indeed could not, ever do so.
Sigerson heard us out, then said, ‘It would be curious if you did not resent my presence here. In your place, I should do the same. And I might as well say at the very outset that my name is nothing like Sigerson. However, there are one or two Scandinavian explorers in this region at present, and it suits my present purposes to be thought of as one of them. Now, having cleared that little matter up it is, I assure you, quite essential that I get into Tibet as soon as possible.’
‘We are all ready,’ said Fenton, with no sign of annoyance, much to my surprise. ‘We have only been waiting until you should arrive.’
‘I apologize for the delay,’ said Sigerson. ‘I got here as soon as humanly possible, but it is a long journey, as you are well aware.’
‘And you positively insist upon going into Tibet in person?’ Fenton asked him.
‘It is, as I say, essential. Not that I imply any lack of confidence in either of you, but I know the enemy we are pursuing, and you do not.’
‘The Russian agent?’ said Fenton, in a low tone.
Sigerson laughed. ‘Hardly.’ He picked up a shabby suitcase from the platform. ‘If you would be so kind as to provide me with a drink of something cool, and perhaps an armchair, I shall explain how matters stand.’
Chapter Five - A Norwegian named Sigerson
The man who called himself Sigerson accepted a brandy and soda from Fenton, and sat back in a chair on the veranda overlooking the distant sweep of hills. The rest of us, curious as to what he might have to say, gathered around him in silence.
‘Thank you,’ said he, taking a drink from his glass. ‘And now, I feel that some explanation is necessary as to why you have been burdened with my company in this somewhat brusque fashion.’
Naturally we made the customary polite noises, but Sigerson waved a hand, and went on, ‘You will be well aware that Russia has, for many years, been looking to extend her influence into Tibet, and thence into India. You may also know that recent reports indicate an increase of Russian activity in that area, and that is something which the government in London take very seriously.’
Fenton nodded. ‘We had heard all that.’
‘What you do not know,’ Sigerson went on, ‘is that I have reason – excellent reason – to believe that an Englishman is involved with the Russian activity.’
Fenton and myself expressed some surprise at this, as may be readily imagined.
Sigerson heard us out, then said, ‘It is difficult to believe, I know. But if you knew this villain as well as I do, you would perhaps not find it quite so hard to accept.’
‘Who is he, then?’ I asked. ‘Or is that a secret?’
Sigerson thought for a moment, then smiled. ‘I am asking you to run a great risk, so it is perhaps only right that I should trust you to some extent,’ said he. ‘I do not imagine that the name will mean anything to you, but it is a – a gentleman – named Moriarty.’
I shook my head, for the name meant nothing to me.
Fenton frowned, though, as if in thought, then said, ‘It could not be Professor James Moriarty that you mean?’
‘It is none other,’ said Sigerson, a curious expression crossing his face. ‘You know of him, then?’
‘I know the man himself,’ said Fenton, unexpectedly. ‘Or I did, rather, for he coached me for the army entrance exams, years ago. You are way off the mark there though, I fear, Mr Sigerson. Why, a more inoffensive old chap could hardly be imagined! He was, if anything, somewhat of a figure of fun amongst the candidates whom he coached – did you know that his brother is also called James? We used to laugh about that – strictly amongst ourselves, though, for the professor had something of a way with him. He seldom, if ever, actually lost his temper, but you knew well enough when he was displeased. He had a way of making his disappointment known, if you follow me.’
‘I am aware of the fact,’ said Sigerson drily. ‘As, indeed, many of those who have crossed the professor have been made aware of it – too late. I could give you the names of at least a dozen men who have met very unpleasant deaths after falling foul of Moriarty, and I have not the slightest doubt that there are many more unknown to me.’
I started to say something, I forget what it may have been, but Fenton raised a hand. ‘There was always something a little odd – perhaps even sinister – about him, that’s true,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘And yet what you suggest is staggering in its enormity. That any Englishman could act in such a fashion!’
‘Moriarty’s loyalties are, and always have been, very much to himself,’ said Sigerson, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Did you never bother to query why he, who had been a professor, should have ended up coaching young men for the army entrance examinations? After all, laudable though the profession of army coach may be, and delightful company as I am sure you all were, it was not exactly the usual course of a brilliant academic career.’
‘There was some talk,’ agreed Fenton, ‘some scurrilous rumours, to which most of us attached very little truth.’
‘I suspect that they understated the facts,’ said Sigerson. ‘He seemed set for a brilliant academic career, but he could not hide his true nature, and drifted irresistibly into a life of crime. At the same time as he was, ostensibly, that “inoffensive old chap” whom you knew so well, he was the organizing genius behind most of the large-scale criminal activity in London, aye, and outside London as well, of late. His tentacles ran everywhere, even into the highest reaches of the London police force, and the courts, if my assumptions are correct. His regiment of rogues was as well drilled, as well supplied, as the Guards, and twice as strong in terms of numbers.’
Fenton looked grave. ‘He had some expensive pictures and the like in his lodgings, that is certain,’ he said. ‘I often wondered where he got the money, for his personal tastes seemed ascetic in the extreme, and the fees he garnered from his pupils were not munificent.’
‘The wages of sin can be impressive, for a time at least,’ said Sigerson sententiously.
‘Well, then,’ said Fenton. ‘Supposing – and I am still not entirely convinced – but supposing for one moment that your suggestions are correct, still, the professor is not a particularly young man, and scarcely fitted for a long campaign in the mountains.’
‘He may be fitter than we might think,’ said Sigerson. ‘And besides, there are mules, porters, surely? You would know more as to that than I.’
‘There have been some remarkable feats of exploration by the least likely adventurers,’ I pointed out.
‘Now, what I need from you at this point is an expert view of what Moriarty and his Russian accomplices might have in mind,’ said Sigerson. ‘You know the situation here at first hand, and I do not. Let us start from the premise that a determined man wished to aid the Russians in their attempt to wrest control of Tibet from the present administration. How would he go about it?’
‘Norbu is better qualified to answer that than I,’ said Fenton, looking at the tall Tibetan. Both Norbu and Dass were listening intently to our conversation. They would run the same risks as the rest of us, so it was only fair that they should know as much as we did. Those distinctions between the races which seem so important in the Club at Simla or Ootie prove less significant when you are looking death in the face, and only a friend, be the colour of his skin what it may, can be of assistance to you.
‘Ultimately, any such project could only work if the parties concerned had the approval of the lamas,’ Norbu told us. ‘If that were not the case, then an invader must be prepared to impose strict military rule on the country.’
‘Yet the Chinese do not seem to have too much difficulty?’ said Fenton.
Norbu smiled. ‘Although we may assert our independence – and have done for a thousand years – yet the Chinese and the Tibetans share common ancestors, and have much in common, the languages and the cultures being broadly similar. Then the Chinese permit us to
govern ourselves, or at any rate permit us that illusion. An invading army of obvious foreigners, determined to rule by force, might not find things quite so straightforward.’
‘You are postulating some sort of formal treaty, then?’ asked Sigerson.
Norbu nodded gravely. ‘That would be the safest, simplest way to approach things,’ said he. ‘You must understand that there are various factions amongst the Tibetan authorities, some favouring Russia, some Britain – some, indeed, would like the Chinese overlordship to continue. My own sympathies will be clear to you, but you should know that each of the foreign powers has its own lobby.’
Dass, who had seemed restless for some time as he listened, now leaned over to Fenton, and muttered something in a hoarse whisper, using a language I could not recognize.
Fenton gave a slight start. ‘By Jove, I think Dass is right!’ He sat upright in his chair, and gazed earnestly at Sigerson. ‘As you will guess, we have our own agents, our own informants, who keep as close a watch on the Russians as may be – just as they keep watch on us, if we are careless enough to let them.’ He stared out at the distant Himalaya. ‘It is a curious profession, this of ours,’ he said. ‘The one-eyed beggar whom you kick out of your way, the evil-smelling dealer in horses or gatherer of night-soil whom you cross the road to avoid, may report directly to the office of the viceroy, and hold the future of a half-dozen kingdoms and principalities in his grimy paws.’
Sigerson laughed. ‘I had thought that my own trade was an odd one, but I see I was wrong,’ said he – but I noticed that he took good care not to say what that trade might be.
Fenton went on, ‘One of our men in Russia, a very brave man, who daily runs the risk of certain and hideous death if he is discovered, sent a report some while ago, at the beginning of spring, saying that an expedition was being outfitted to move into Tibet from the north, as he judged, but that the expedition was not moving. This was one of the odd facts which have aroused our present interest. I had not been able to explain it, but now it looks very much as if your man, my old teacher – assuming that it is the professor, which I still beg leave to doubt – might be the cause of the delay. They have been obliged to await his arrival, just as we were obliged to await yours. How say you to that?’
Sigerson nodded. ‘That would make perfect sense. Moriarty had got word to his allies to expect him, just as I did. I had made some enquiries of my own, but could not find that he had entered India at all. If he has gone to Russia, though, he would go overland, through central Europe. Yes, I think you have it. Do you know anything more of this expedition?’
Fenton shook his head. ‘Even what we do know has been won at great risk,’ said he. ‘We do know it is to be led by a Prince Exe.’
‘Exe?’ I said, puzzled. I thought it might be ‘Aix’, for I knew that many members of the Russian aristocracy habit-ually spoke French, but it still seemed unlikely.
