The Oriental Casebook Of Sherlock Holmes Part 2

"So," said Holmes, "we meet again. If I am not mistaken, I sit before Karol Lissonevitch Rastrakoff, one-time member of the Oriental Inst.i.tute at St. Petersburg, now secret agent for the Tsar in central Asia, an infamous figure throughout the murky underworld of Asia. We tangled in Tibet, Rastrakoff, and I would judge the contest a draw. Your message of blood was clear to me almost immediately, for your initials and part of your last name conveniently spelled ka and li, and rastra, the word for 'nation' in the native tongue. I shall not waste time or mince words: I want the return of the file, for which I am willing to offer a reasonable sum and your safe pa.s.sage out of India."

"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes, please, dear sir, you move too quickly."

As he talked, he lowered the shawl from his face, and Holmes saw once again the cruel countenance that recorded so many evil deeds.

"A most impressive jump into my rickshaw, Rastrakoff. My compliments."

Rastrakoff smiled. "It was nothing," he said, "with our training. But we have more important matters before us. First, let me explain to you that I have no desire to bargain for the file. It is already on its way to its intended destination. It was of the utmost importance to my employers, and I stopped at nothing to obtain it. The deaths of Maxwell and Hamilton were unavoidable, for they entered the office unexpectedly in the evening after hours. They interrupted me in my search. I was able to hide when they entered, but then they began a long interminable conversation, punctuated by Maxwell's loud accusations. I had little time to waste, and at the height of their argument I shot them both, intending at first to make the crime into one of murder and suicide. I then found the file. It was while I was seeking it that I thought of the grand opportunity that had been thrown my way. The file, once I had it, was my triumph. But if I could cause the Viceroy to think of this murder as an act of terror against Britain, then I would have caused even greater havoc among our enemies. I decided then to make the crime look like an act of thugee."

"A foolish move," said Holmes," for it did not look like such an act at all. Thugee victims are strangled alive, Rastrakoff."

"Only one such as you would be aware of such niceties. Your countrymen are pitifully ignorant of the people they rule. It was only after I severed their heads that I decided the third part of my plan: to lead you here, for I had recognised you immediately upon your first visit to Maxwell. I reversed the heads, added the word rastra to my message and arranged my initials so that they could be read in two different ways. I knew that you would read the message instantly. I gather now that I have been completely successful. The Viceroy has put all troops on the alert, arrested most of the political leaders of Bengal-and all on the eve of the visit of Edward the Seventh, the so-called King-Emperor."

He stopped then and looked at me, his eyes narrowing evilly. "And finally, I shall rid the world of Sherlock Holmes."

Rastrakoff squealed the last few words in a high falsetto, and the quick action that followed almost took Holmes by surprise. Rastrakoff lunged forwards, a dagger in hand. Holmes fell back pinned to the ground, the point of the knife now grazing his chest. He was unable to free himself. Suddenly, he was covered by a shower of warm liquid that he at first took for his own blood. He looked up, however, to see Rastrakoff's severed head hurtling through the air, and he knew that the blood that covered him came from his severed jugular. One of the Gurkhas, aware of the situation and Holmes's helplessness, acting instinctively and with lightning speed had rid the world of one of its archfiends.

Holmes's eyes were now ablaze as he recalled the perilous situation into which he had fallen. I listened in amazed silence and cold fear, for even though he was before me he had related the last events with such realism that I thought he might have been slain before me.

"The rest, unfortunately, is history. I reported immediately to the Viceroy that Rastrakoff was dead, that he could call off the emergency, that the file was already on its way to its destination, and that we had failed to recover it. When hostilities broke out between Russia and j.a.pan thereafter, we knew that the doc.u.ments had been used for their evil purposes. That short war, Watson, the first lost by a European power to an Asian one, will have untold repercussions for the white race as we move further into this century."

"What an incredible story, Holmes. And to think that Maxwell and his brother were killed needlessly."

"Yes, Watson. Though there was more to that part of the story, a part which had to wait until my return to England. It was shortly before my meeting with you, Watson. You will recall that I was disguised as an old book dealer when we first met after my return?"

"Yes," said I.

"A few days before, I had journeyed to Yorkshire in the same guise, to find Rose Hamilton, the mother of James."

"Why on earth did you want to do that?" said I in great puzzlement.

"Because I had a hunch, a mere suspicion, that Reginald and James were not brothers. I had examined them in death very carefully and my knowledge of skeletal and craniological types had made me suspect that it was unlikely that they were related at all. And in fact there was something in Hamilton's face that struck me. There was a clear resemblance to someone, but it was not to Maxwell, though there was a surface similarity that had struck his wife early on. As soon as I returned to England, I went to Wyck Rissington in disguise, located the old Hume estate, the natal home of Lady Maxwell, and then found the house where James Hamilton had grown up. It was now an abandoned shack. His mother had died several years before in an alcoholic fever. Her place had been boarded up by a man in the village so that it would not be easily vandalised. I entered the hut one night, prying off the boards on a back window. I spent several hours looking through the woman's possessions. There was a small metal box in one of the drawers of an old cabinet that had been hidden amidst her clothes. Inside it was a small diary. It contained the information I had been hoping for. An entry, dated 5 June 1865, read: "My little son, to whom I have given the name James, was born to me one week ago. His father is Jeremy Hume, who refuses to recognise him."

"Good lord," I cried, "Hamilton, then, was Lady Maxwell's half-brother!"

"Precisely, my dear Watson. I had noticed the resemblance. Hence her father's violent reaction when he found that an amorous relationship had developed between them. It was during the telling of her story that I initially became suspicious. Hume, a man of position, could not admit either to his family or publicly that his liaison with the wench Rose Hamilton had produced unwanted progeny. Hence his violent outbursts and the actions that followed."

"And what of Maxwell's father, and the information conveyed to his son? Surely, Maxwell believed that Hamilton was his half-brother."

"I thought that this part of the case would be forever lost to us, since the last conversation between Maxwell and Hamilton was heard only by Rastrakoff. Its contents had died with all of them. Here again, however, my dear Watson, luck was with us, for another entry in Rose Hamilton's diary made it clear that after the death of his wife, Humphrey Maxwell, Reginald's father, did begin to visit her as well and to take solace in her arms. When Hume failed to recognise his son, or to support her, Rose Hamilton turned to Maxwell, claiming he was the boy's father. Maxwell believed her, and secretly supported her and the child."

"Extraordinary," said I.

"Yes," said Holmes, "as I look back the story is perhaps unique in your annals. One day you might bring it to public attention."

"Indeed, I might. And what of Lady Maxwell?"

Holmes now looked out the window wistfully. He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I wonder, Watson. I have often wondered."

THE CASE OF.

HODGSON'S GHOST.

IT WAS LATE IN MAY, 1894, THAT THE DEATH OF BRIAN Houghton Hodgson was announced in the London newspapers. One of the great Oriental scholars of the century, Hodgson pa.s.sed away quietly in his sleep at his home in Aldersley at the age of ninety-four. His life had spanned, therefore, all but the last few years of the nineteenth century.

It was on seeing his obituary that I decided to put together these few notes from my portfolio concerning Sherlock Holmes's years in the Orient. In a curious way, Hodgson had played a major role in the singular events that I have set down here, but it was only after Holmes returned to England that he was to meet him in the flesh. My friend often spoke of the great scholar of Buddhism, and his lasting influence on the intellectual life of Europe.

Brian Hodgson was born in 1801 in Cheshire. When he was twenty-one, he joined the Indian Civil Service and was first sent to Calcutta, where he held a junior post. Within the first few months of his arrival, however, it became clear to his superiors that the climate and other discomforts of Bengal were serious impediments to his health. He had lost considerable weight, and there was talk of sending him home. He was sent instead first to Almora in the k.u.maon Himalaya, and when an opening appeared in Nepal, he was then transferred there with an appointment as a.s.sistant to the British Resident, Edward Gardner.

In April, 1823, Hodgson left Almora for Katmandu. The journey was a difficult one. To reach the Nepalese capital, Hodgson had to brave the notorious jungles of the Tarai, where, in addition to the afflictions acquired in Bengal, he contracted one of the worst fevers of the globe, the aul, as it is known in those parts. After his arrival, he spent the first three weeks ill with a high fever that kept him to his bed. Gradually, he began to mend, due largely to the ministrations of Mrs. Gardner and the salubrious climate of the mountains.

Upon his recovery, Hodgson rapidly became an energetic and trusted servant of the Company. So highly did his superiors regard him that Gardner, upon his retirement, recommended that he be appointed his successor. The recommendation was enthusiastically received in Calcutta, and Hodgson, not yet thirty, attained the coveted position of British Resident to the Court of Nepal.

Hodgson was to remain twenty-one years in the post. During that time he pursued a double career. He was officially the Resident, representative of the East India Company to the Court of Nepal. In this capacity, he became an intimate of the court and its rulers, in particular of General Bhimsen Thapa, with whom he wielded considerable influence. At the same time, he pursued a private career of science, immersing himself tirelessly in every aspect of the life of the Himalayas, recording their history, languages, customs, and laws. His fame in Europe began with a series of papers on the little-known religion of the Buddhists, which formed the basis of European research for many decades.

It was in 1844, however, that his policies and conduct came into direct conflict with those of Lord Ellenborough, then Governor-General of the Company. Hodgson was recalled, and rather than take the minor post that Ellenborough offered him in India, he resigned from the service and returned to England, where he devoted his time to scientific research on Asiatic subjects.

A short time after Hodgson's death, one night late in June of 1894, to be more precise, Holmes and I sat at home, quietly discussing his years of absence after the death of Moriarty. I remember the night vividly, for Holmes had been suffering from severe melancholia during the previous weeks, and those few evenings when he narrated his experiences granted him a brief respite from the black moods of depression that overwhelmed him.

"You have mentioned on several occasions, Holmes, that you journeyed at one point to Katmandu in the forbidden kingdom of Nepal, but it has never been clear to me what you did there or how indeed you managed to enter the country at all."

Holmes smiled for the first time in many days.

"There are few places, Watson, that affect one as much as Nepal. One of our countrymen has written that it would take the pen of a Ruskin or the brush of a Monet to do it justice, and in those judgements I must concur. The climate is salubrious, the people friendly and as handsome as the landscape. They, however, suffer under the heel of a harsh and backward regime, and though it is in the interest of the Empire to support the present Maharaja, there is no question that the people would throw off his tyrannical yoke were it not for the support and friendliness that Government finds it necessary to display in order to preserve our interests."

As he spoke, Holmes became more expansive, and I realised only then the affection in which he held his mountain friends.

"As you may recall, Watson, from several previous adventures, I travelled in Tibet in the guise of a Scandinavian naturalist. I changed my ident.i.ty, however, when I was ready to leave, and journeyed from Lhasa to Katmandu on foot disguised as a Tibetan lama. While resident in Tibet, I had acquired the Tibetan language and had studied sufficiently the native Buddhist religion that, should I choose to, I could be convincing in my expositions of doctrine to the lay folk of the country and to the lamas as well, some of whom I had bested in debate on any number of philosophical subjects. One day the Scandinavian explorer bade good-bye to his friends, and left. Coincident with his departure a lama from Ladakh arrived in Lhasa."

Holmes then recalled that he had been befriended by a Nepalese trader long resident in Lhasa, and it was with his caravan that he made the difficult journey south. The trader, a Newar of the Tuladhar caste, had lived in Tibet for many years. His name was Gorashar and he dealt in cloth and a variety of manufactured goods, including on occasion Russian weaponry. Holmes met him purely by accident shortly after his arrival, and they soon became friends. Gorashar returned home to Nepal every four years, and it was fortunate that one of his trips coincided with Holmes's Tibetan sojourn. Gorashar warned him that he travelled at his own risk and that discovery in Katmandu would result in severe punishment. Holmes a.s.sured his friend that he was willing to bear the risk and that in any case his stay would be brief.

The journey was difficult, more difficult than the one by which he had entered Tibet. From Lhasa they went to Shigatse, then to Gyantse, crossing the Tsangpo or Brahmaputra River in one of those strange boats of yak skin that the Tibetans have made from time immemorial. From this point they began the ascent to an alt.i.tude of fifteen thousand feet, a climb that strained the lungs of all.

"Many of the animals refused to go further," he said, "and we had to search for fresh replacements. This caused endless delays. We finally crossed the pa.s.s above Nyalam at nineteen thousand feet, moving then to the village of Khasa where we spent the night. On the following morning we crossed to Kodari, resting there for the evening. The following day we began our descent toward the kingdom of Dolakha, a few days walk from Katmandu."

Holmes described the pa.s.sing from Tibet into Nepal as a dramatic change. Though filled with astounding sights, Tibet is by and large a barren land of great immensity. Nothing there prepared him for the sight of the snowy heights of the Himalayas, the clear mountain streams that pa.s.s through them, or the lush vegetation that begins to appear as soon as one begins the descent.

"To my knowledge, I was the first European to visit Dolakha, a forgotten kingdom of remarkable beauty, one even whose name is unknown to the civilised world. It was there that we began to recover from the rigours of our journey and I began to sense a well-being that I had not known before in my life."

I smiled inwardly, for my friend rarely allowed himself to display his emotions, but in speaking of Nepal there was an exultant tone in his voice that I had not heard in a long time. He seemed to divine my thoughts, for he said, rather sternly, "Although I have often been amused by your portrayal of me as a cold, calculating machine without emotion, I have chaffed a bit at it as well, for it is of course untrue in one sense. I have emotions. In that I am like all other men. But they are completely in check and at the service of my brain. In that I am perhaps like no other."

I was amused by his attempt to attribute to my rather paltry literary efforts his own attempts to present himself as a thinking machine, but I did not join him in argument here, for I did not wish to interrupt him. Seeing that I had nothing to say, he grew pensive for a moment, then continued, as I had hoped he would.

After their rest in Dolakha, they proceeded through Panch Kal to the old town of Banepa, just east and south of the Nepal Valley. Holmes remembered clearly the morning in Banepa. They rose and bathed in one of the local dharas or fountains and then turned their direction along the road that leads to Katmandu. The morning sun had begun to burn off the winter mist and it was still early when they began the final ascent. It was there that they had begun to see the first signs of the beautiful Newar villages that lie scattered across the landscape. As they ascended a low hill, they pa.s.sed a series of small brick temples.

"The fields were green, for there had been heavy winter rains, and the fertile fields were in full bloom. We reached the top of the ridge and as I turned to the right, there lay before me the Valley of Katmandu! I must say, Watson, that I was taken aback, as I have never been before or since, even more than by my first sight of Lhasa. There it lay, its golden paG.o.das, shining rivers, and verdant fields. I watched silently as our long party pa.s.sed. Gorashar noticed my rapt attention."

"This is my home," he said quietly in his inimitable way.

"For the first time in my adult life, Watson, I had let down my guard. My will relaxed and for a few moments I was at peace in a gentle world, one apparently without crime and its evils. Perhaps I might remain here, I thought, and devote myself to meditation and the contemplation of first principles. Or perhaps it was here that I should lead the life of a householder, far from my enemies, and unknown to them.

"For a few moments, these were tempting thoughts, but I quickly rejected them, knowing that once I had joined the struggle there was no turning back. I knew well that intelligent evil had begun to tire of London and the other metropolitan centres of Europe. Of course there is no end to the mayhem and the brutality of the London back alleys, but it is almost always the result of small frictions, with no overall pattern. If one were to find the intelligent criminal, one would have to seek him out in the most unlikely of places. The more innocent the soil, the more likely it is to be sought out by the criminal for his evil purposes. One had only to look at the innocent face of a Nepalese child, Watson, to understand what fertile soil the Himalayas might prove to be."

It was with these sobering thoughts that Holmes walked the last few miles from the Banepa ridge into the city of Katmandu. He felt curiously vulnerable, for in the act of relaxing his will, he felt as if he had weakened in body as well. It was as if the armour that he had forged throughout his life had been pierced for the first time.

"I came out of my reverie sufficiently to notice that the caravan was well ahead of me. Gorashar himself had also tarried and was only a few yards ahead. He had been waiting for me. By the time I reached him I had sufficiently recovered my composure, but not well enough to hide my thoughts from his sensitive eyes. He said nothing, but I felt rea.s.sured by his presence."

They walked together behind the caravan, pa.s.sing to the south of the ancient city of Bhaktapur and through the town of Thimi. It was late afternoon when we reached the outskirts of Katmandu.

Gorashar owned a small inn in the centre of town, where he also lived with his family. His guests were Indian merchants for the most part. He invited Holmes to stay, for he could take his meals in his room and be less conspicuous than if he ventured forth on a regular basis. For the first few days, Holmes confined his activities to his room and the small but beautiful courtyard of the hotel. He had decided that he needed a more manageable disguise before he ventured forth. A Tibetan monk in this part of the city called for notice, and he felt that while the guise was a convenient one while travelling, it was too difficult to maintain once one was in residence.

"You know well, Watson, my abilities with regard to disguises and have remarked yourself more than once in your chronicles that the world had lost a great actor when it was decided that I should devote my life to the study of crime. Yet, I must say, with regard to these abilities, that Nepal taxed my talents to the fullest. Although I am capable of shedding at least a foot from my height, I could never pa.s.s for a Gurkha. The build of these hillmen and their physiognomy is completely different from ours. Being a Tibetan monk or European trader was quite satisfactory for travel but far too confining for a stay in Katmandu. Also, sooner or later, I should be found out. The disguise of Sigerson, the Scandinavian scientist, which I had abandoned in Lhasa, I could not revive, for the Nepalese government does not allow Europeans into the country without elaborate justification or bribes. I needed a new disguise, therefore, one that would at once arouse little attention and yet afford me the freedom that I needed to move about at will. I decided that I should have to become an Indian, for they cross the border in the Tarai freely, and that I would have to be of high caste, for there would be no other that would secure my freedom of movement. The dark-skinned frail Bengali I immediately eliminated, as well as the peoples of northern Bihar and Oudh. A Rajpoot prince? Perhaps, but I decided against it on the grounds that the Gorkhali rulers were said to be in constant touch with the maharajas of Rajpootana and that I should be hard-pressed for elaborate fictions. South India I know nothing of, and besides, the Tamilians are darker-complexioned than the people of the north.

"This reasoning left me with the Punjab and Kashmir from which to choose. Sikhs were too visible and their small community would immediately find me out. This left Kashmir, and I decided the best disguise might be that of a Kashmiri merchant. The difficulty was, of course, that these merchants are nearly all Mahometans, and the activities of Mahometans are restricted by the Hindoo orthodoxy of the Nepalese maharajas. In the end, I decided on the disguise of a Kashmir Brahman or pandit, who had come to Nepal to study the languages and dialects of the Himalayas. I had met on my way to India a young Irishman from Belfast by the name of Grierson, who was conducting a linguistic survey. He had remarked to me that his a.s.sistants were mainly Kashmiri Brahmans, who were well-educated, light-complexioned, and well versed in English. I was also aware of the work done in Kashmir by the Hungarian scholar Aurel Stein, whose archaeological interest had led him into remote areas of the Hindoo Kush. And so I became, shortly after arriving in Katmandu, Pandit Kaul, a.s.sistant, Royal Linguistic Survey of India. I would carry letters from both Grierson and Stein, forged of course, but convincing enough. So quick was my reasoning in all this that my decision took but a few seconds, the steps in my explanation to you being decided almost instantly by the mind."

During his first few days he busied himself with the new disguise and the departure of the Tibetan monk as whom he had arrived from Lhasa. One day, the monk bade good-bye to his few recent acquaintances and departed for India. Just after the police check post at Bhimphedi, however, he abandoned his robes and, donning Kashmiri costume, re-entered the Katmandu Valley as Pandit Kaul of Kashmir.

"I shall not bore you with details, Watson, but I may say that it is remarkable what a beard, properly shaped by a local barber, Tibetan spectacles, and Kashmiri dress can do for one's appearance. I returned on foot to Gorashar's hotel, and though he knew of my plan, I was pleased that he did not recognise me when I entered. My disguise as an aging Kashmiri pandit appeared to work very well."

Holmes now roamed the bazaar rather freely, learning the maze of its narrow streets and alleys. It became apparent to him at once that the notion of a forbidden kingdom was the deliberate and well-calculated fabrication of a weak government that did not have the means to defend itself from outside interference. There were many from abroad living there, and it appeared that anyone who had the physical stamina and the will could enter Nepal. The length and success of his stay depended on the skill of his disguise, and the extent to which he was willing to profit by the corruption of local officialdom. Through the years, the Nepalese government had kept an official record of foreigners afforded permission to enter the country. They numbered but a handful.

"So much for the humbug of governments, Watson. I can attest to the fact that the country was riddled with secret agents working both for and against our interests, and that I recognised several criminals of international repute living in the bazaar. In just two days, I had identified three Tsarist agents, among them the notorious anarchist and bomb thrower Kakovetsky, whose whereabouts had been unknown for many years. There was Rizzetti, the poisoner of entire families, living as a shopkeeper; Thallmann, the inventor of the deadly Salzburg rifle, earning a meagre existence as an old map seller; Caspariste, a groom in the stables of the German Kaiser, who suddenly went mad and left a string of horrors from Warsaw to Messina, now running a spectacle repair shop; and the infamous Anna Miramar, the Spanish gypsy, wanted for the murder of Lord Harrow, now the rich owner of a brothel and the chief supplier of young Nepalese women to the bordellos of India. All of this, Watson, in an area smaller than the distance from Trafalgar Square to Piccadilly. Like a beautiful forbidden fruit, Nepal had begun to attract a large number of maggots, ready to feed on its soft, sweet flesh.

"I shall not deny to you, Watson, the pleasure that I imagined in bringing these criminals to justice, but I realised the difficulty of doing so in a country where the criminal justice system was of a rather crude order. I sensed, also, rather surprisingly one might think considering my stated att.i.tudes in the past, the absence of Scotland Yard, particularly of Gregson and Lestrade, for though I have been harsh at times in my judgement of their intellectual capabilities, their physical presence has enabled me to pull through many a narrow sc.r.a.pe. And, if I may say so, dear Watson, at times such as these, I missed your companionship and wished that you could share with me these strange moments abroad."

"How I wish," I said, "I could have been there with you. But pray, continue."

"Back in my room, more troublesome thoughts emerged in my brain: was the presence of all of these rogues here on the very edge of the civilised world due to accident, or was there some hitherto unsuspected evil intelligence lurking in the shadows, another prime mover of crime whose design was so subtle and so complex that perhaps even the major actors in his plans were unaware of his thoughts and actions, or perhaps even of his existence?"

So much did this and other like thoughts disturb him, he said, that for several nights he could not sleep. One night, he awoke some time after midnight. He dressed and read for a time by candlelight. Though his eyes ached, he could not sleep. He looked out his window. The city was quiet. The Clock Tower struck two. He peered into the pitch-darkness and decided to walk into the bazaar.

"I descended the stairs, walked through the courtyard, then into the front hall of the hotel, where I picked my way gingerly over the bodies of the servant boys asleep on the floor. I unbolted the door and let myself out into the dark. You know my penchant for nocturnal wanderings, Watson. Each new city requires several prowls by night. It is the time when the scent of the criminal is at its strongest."

The night air was cold, damp with Himalayan mist, and he wrapped myself tightly in a woollen shawl so that only his eyes were visible. He wore a black Nepalu topi, the Nepalese cap, so that he would not arouse suspicion in the event that he were seen. But he had little to fear. The night was moonless, the sky cloudy, and the black enveloped one immediately.

The city was filled with stray and wild dogs who began their horrible yelping at dusk and continued until they fell asleep around midnight. They were quiet now, but every so often one growled suddenly from the darkness. Holmes moved on, tripping every so often over the occasional person asleep on the road. He made his way to the market square called Asan. He perceived dimly a few figures performing some nocturnal worship, but except for the occasional sounding of temple bells, the city had entered a silence as deep as the enveloping darkness. He walked slowly down a lane opposite the temple, holding on to the buildings with his left hand as he tried not to stumble on the rough stones of the gully. The ancient bricks sometimes crumbled to dust at his touch, and invisible rodents scurried over his feet.

Holmes must have walked for about twenty minutes, when the lane ended and he found himself in an open area that he took to be the main square of the town near the old royal palace, the so-called Hanuman Dhoka, or Door of Hanuman, the Ape-G.o.d. The square itself presented an unearthly appearance in the night, shadows of paG.o.da temples and idols barely visible. It was here that much of the b.l.o.o.d.y drama of Nepalese kings and princes haf unfolded. In the centre of the square he saw the hideous image of the Black G.o.ddess. Even in the almost total obscurity of this night, her fangs and the whites of her eyes were visible.

It was only after he pa.s.sed through this rather lugubrious scene that he noticed any sign of human activity. Before him, just at the beginning of that portion of the bazaar known as Makhantol, he saw the flicker of a candle emanating from a partially open window and heard voices speaking what he thought was English. Curious, he went closer. An argument, quiet but deadly serious, was under way. Three men were seated round a small table, one facing in Holmes's direction. Holmes could barely see his face, but he thought for a moment that he recognised him. The others, their backs towards him, were wrapped in darkness.

The first man spoke in English but with a very heavy European accent: "No more, unnerstana? No more! I geef you no more-"

"These were his last words, Watson," said Holmes grimly, "for as he spoke, one of the men seated opposite him rose slowly. He was tall, far too tall for a Nepalese. I could see little of his face by the candlelight, but I saw his eyes. I am not a fanciful person, Watson, but they were enough for me to realise that I was in the presence of a major adversary, for within them I saw a look of such familiar evil intelligence that it took all of my self-control to prevent a gasp of surprise from issuing from my lips. The look was visible for but an instant, for in the same motion with which he had risen from his chair, he pulled a dagger from under his cloak and plunged it into the heart of the man in front of him. So quick was he and so surprised was his victim that the latter let out no sound. The murderer withdrew his weapon from the dead man's chest, calmly wiping it on his victim's shawl, and disappeared with his accomplice into the night. As they withdrew, however, the candle flamed bright in the ensuing draft, and for an instant the accomplice's face was revealed. It was the face of an Englishman."

Holmes was tempted to follow them, but they disappeared immediately into the dark labyrinth of the city. He sensed, however, that another meeting with the murderers was inevitable. He found the door to the wretched victim's room and entered. His corpse lay in a pool of blood. The candle was still aflame, and by its light he recognised the face of Rizzetti, the poisoner. The killer of many, he had come to a violent end, richly deserved no doubt, but one that was deeply troubling to Holmes for what it seemed to portend for his stay in Katmandu.

"I left Rizzetti to whoever would eventually find him and walked back to my quarters. As I pa.s.sed through the hotel courtyard, I noticed the slightest touch of light blue in the sky. I had been gone almost until dawn. No one, however, was aware of my nocturnal peregrination."

He lay down on the bed and must have fallen into a light sleep, for he suddenly awoke to a strange clatter coming from outside his window. Hundreds of pigeons had gathered on the roof outside to feed on the grain that was thrown to them. It was a morning ritual of Buddhist worship, and he had not yet grown accustomed to the sound of handfuls of maize-muckeye, as they call it-striking the roof. He peered out to see an old Newar woman above him, hurling grain from a veranda high above his room. The day had begun. Morning worship had started all over the city accompanied by the now familiar ablutions of the Nepalese, including the vociferous removal of catarrh from the nose and throat. So real and warmly human were these sounds and sights that they dispelled some of the apprehension engendered by the events of the previous night.

"There was a knock at the door, by now familiar. Lakshman, a small village boy who worked as a bearer in the hotel, was there with my morning tea. He was only eleven years old, dirty, barefoot, but of great cheer and spirit. The Anglo-Indian breakfast of eggs and porridge was on the usual filthy tray, which he placed on a small table in front of my window. He smiled and left as quickly as he had come."

As he sat in his room reviewing the events of the night before, Holmes became convinced that Rizzetti's murder might be part of a larger, as yet undefined series of evil events. The question was: where was the centre of this intrigue? Judging from his height, the murderer was in all probability a European, one who could only travel outside at night without being seen unless he had a reason for being here that allowed his stay to be known to the Nepalese authorities. Holmes's close scrutiny of the bazaar in the previous days led him to believe that he had spotted all the European criminals in Katmandu. All were known to him and not one of them matched the physical appearance of the murderer. No, this villain was not in the bazaar. He was elsewhere. But where? By a process of elimination, Holmes arrived at a possible answer to his question: the British Residence itself, the only place where a foreigner could hide un.o.bserved.

"As I sat there deep in thought, I noticed that the tea cup and saucer had begun to jingle and the small table on which they were placed had begun to shake. The shaking moved to my chair, and for a moment I thought that perhaps a cat or some other animal had moved under it. Suddenly, the entire room began to sway and the hotel itself began to move. The tray slid off the table, and I heard objects outside my window begin to crash and the voices of people shouting wildly. Then the shaking abated as suddenly as it had come. It took no time at all to realise that I had just lived through an earthquake. A strong tremor had pa.s.sed through the city. I raced to the window. There appeared to have been no great damage, for everything I could see was intact. But it was then that I heard something that I shall not forget: the rhythmic, slow, eerie repet.i.tion of what sounded like the syllables 'Ah Ah,' said over and over again by what seemed to be the entire population of Katmandu. I learned later from Gorashar that this is the magic utterance of the people, spoken as they press their thumbs against the ground to stop the earth from moving under them any further."

It was not long before Holmes dressed and was on his way out. He could see that the bright Katmandu sun was already high as he walked through the courtyard. Gorashar stopped him as he was about to leave the hotel and warned that he exercise all caution. The astrologers had seen a most inauspicious conjunction of stars and planets and foresaw the possibility of disastrous events. The morning's earth tremor was merely the beginning. Everyone in Nepal was worshipping the G.o.ds in order to ward off calamity. The entire population of the city was frightened, and in their fear any stranger could be instantly blamed for the situation. He rea.s.sured Gorashar that he would be most prudent but that he wished to pay his first call on the British Resident, Mr. Edward Richardson. Gorashar said that Richardson was reportedly ill and that he probably would not receive anyone. Holmes insisted, however, and Gorashar said that he would accompany him as far as the outer wall of the city. Just as they entered the place known as Bhotahity, a large procession stopped them.

"The Bodhisattvas have come to protect us," said Gorashar.

The procession was a compelling sight. Avalokiteshvara and the other chief figures of Buddhism walked slowly past, their robes barely concealing the more diminutive figures who walked inside them, holding up the great weight of the statues. Holmes left Gorashar to watch the full procession and, pa.s.sing through the old city gate, he proceeded in a northerly direction towards the British Residence.

The Residence lies outside the old city walls, to the north, in an area that had once been infertile swamp land and was considered by the Nepalese to be an unlucky and inauspicious area, haunted by demons. What events lay behind these quaint superst.i.tions are well hidden in the recesses of Nepalese history, said Holmes, but what was apparent even to a casual observer was that a succession of British Residents had turned the swamp into a small English paradise. The gardens were extraordinary and the Residence itself of the most pleasing dimensions. Much of this was the creation of Brian Hodgson, the second person to occupy the post of Resident, who, Holmes gathered, had spent over twenty years in Katmandu. It was he who was first charged with turning the cursed spot given by the Nepalese into a place where our representative could live.

As he entered the Residence, Holmes was greeted by one Shiv Shankar, the chief pandit. He informed him that Mr. Richardson was still quite ill but that he would see him immediately, if only briefly. Holmes saw a look of deep concern on the pandit's face as he accompanied me to the rear of the Residence.

Richardson was seated in the sun on the terrace. As Holmes came into view, he turned and motioned him to a chair next to him. Whatever his initial appearance was, Holmes could not judge, but it was apparent that he had been extremely ill, for he was emaciated, and of a deadly pallor. Probably a thin man to begin with, his recent illness had only made him appear almost skeletal.

"Please excuse me, Panditji, and welcome. I have not been well, and under the orders of the Resident Surgeon, Dr. Wright, I am not to exert myself at all, even to rise out of this chair for an honoured scholar such as yourself. I gather that you bring news of Mr. Grierson and Mr. Stein."

"I bring you warm greetings from both gentlemen," said Holmes.

"Ah," he said, with a bit of effort. "Grierson! That ambitious young philologist, the one who is writing a book about all the languages of the Subcontinent! And Stein, whom I met in Kashmir. A funny little man, eh wot? With a funny little dog."

"But a man of intense energy and great intelligence," replied Holmes.

Holmes; mild contradiction seemed to disturb him. It was as if the reference to Stein's energetic ways reminded him of his former self. He became silent. There was a further exchange of pleasantries for a few more minutes, but it was clear that the Resident's energy had ebbed. Rather than overstay his welcome, Holmes took his leave and expressed the hope that they would have occasion to meet again soon. So weak had Richardson suddenly become that he was unable to reply, and he bade Holmes good-bye with a feeble wave of his hand. In his eyes Holmes saw a look of despair, as if he were bidding farewell to any connections with the outside world that he once might have had.

"I returned to Pandit Shiv Shankar's study, where I spent the afternoon with him and a Nepalese scholar, one Gunanand, working on the philological tasks that Grierson had supposedly a.s.signed to me. This work consisted of having the Biblical text, the parable of the prodigal son, translated into the various languages and dialects of the Himalayas. This work, simple but lengthy, gave me the excuse to pay repeated visits to the Residence. I also became acquainted with the work that the pandits were doing themselves. They were immersed in the innocent world of Oriental scholarship, preparing a translation into English of a mythological history of Nepal written by Gunanand's grandfather, a translation which had been commissioned by the resident surgeon, Dr. Wright."

In several additional visits to the Residence in the following weeks, Holmes learned that the only other people living there, beyond the servants and the guards, were the aforementioned Dr. Wright and Resident Richardson's daughter, Lucy, who had arrived only recently. She appeared to have had a very difficult journey, for since her arrival she had hardly ventured forth from her rooms except to spend brief periods with her father.

It was not long, however, before Holmes's initial surmise about who might be present in the Residence received some corroboration. One morning, after a brief discussion of philological matters with his pandit friends, he busied himself with copying out in Roman transcription a Tibetan version of the parable of the prodigal son. As he sat there thus engaged, a tall, thin Englishman entered the room. Holmes recognised him immediately: it was the face that he had glimpsed ever so briefly by candlelight, the face of the accomplice in Rizzetti's murder. The pandits rose and motioned to me that he should rise as well. He was then formally introduced to Daniel Wright, the resident surgeon. Holmes gave him the usual Indian greeting.

"Welcome, Panditji," he replied. "I hear that you have become part of this learned circle."

"My knowledge is like a small drop in the sea of the milk of their intelligence," said Holmes.

"Your modest response no doubt conceals its own sea of wisdom," Wright answered coolly.