about it, but it had to be done. I approached the cottage from the east side where there were the least number of windows, walking as lightiy as my hundred and twenty seers of corporeal flesh permitted. I managed to scramble over the picket fence without any difficulty – just a few scratches and a slightly torn dhoti – and sidled up to the stone wall of the cottage. Then I crept up to the front door and prepared for action. Girding up my loins – in this case quite literally as I had to tie the loose ends of my dhoti around my loins for the sake of comfort and convenience – and closing my hand on the butt of my revolver, I slowly pushed the door open.
The small parlour was empty, but I noticed that the door of the study-cum-living room was ajar. With nerves tingling I tiptoed over and peeked in.
A pukka villain of a hill-man stood by the side table near the fire-place, rifling through Mr Holmes's papers. He looked decidedly sinister. His small slanting eyes peered furtively at the papers that he clutched with thin dirty fingers. A scraggly moustache dropped around the sides of his greasy lips. His long hair matted with dirt complemented the filthy sheep-skin cap that partly covered it. He wore a bukoo, or woollen gown of Thibetan cut, and felt boots of Tartar design. His Thibetan broadsword, I was relieved to note, was firmly in its scabbard, stuck into the belt of his robe. He looked quite the budmaash, or desperado, and was probably one of those bad characters from the upper reaches of Gharwal who specialised in robbing pilgrims proceeding to Mount Kailash.
But what was he doing? If he was a robber, he should be packing away whatever articles of value he could lay his hands on, and not poring through other people's correspondence – which he certainly could not read in any case. There was a mystery here, and I would not solve it by dithering in the parlour.
Cocking the hammer of the revolver, I entered the room. 'Khabardar!' I said in a brave voice. He turned towards me slowly. The blighter looked even more villainous than I had previously supposed. His greasy lips curled into a sneer and he placed his hands akimbo on his hips. 'Take heed, budmaash,' I expostulated firmly. 'Thou hast only to touch the hilt of thy sword and I will most surely blow thee to Jehannum on a lead ball.'
He must have been impressed by my stern demeanour for he suddenly fell on his knees and babbled apologies and excuses in a queer mixture of bad Hindustani and Thibetan. 'Forgive thy slave, Lord and Master. I only came to take back what is rightfully mine. What was stolen from me by the tall English sahib. My sacred ghau, my charm- box. Even now it hangs there on the wall of this unbeliever's house.'
Mr Holmes stealing his charm-box? What tommy-rot did this smooth-tongued villain expect me to believe. I moved my head to look at the wall where he was pointing but there was no charm-box there. When I turned back to the rascal to give him a piece of my mind, Sherlock Holmes stood smiling at me by the fireplace.
'I do wish you wouldn't grip the revolver so tightly, Huree,' said he in his dry, unemotional way. 'After all, the thing may have a hair trigger, you know.'
'Good Heavens, Mr Holmes!' I cried in amazement. 'This takes the bally biscuit. How the deuce an' all…'
'Confess that you were absolutely taken in,' said he, chuckling to himself and throwing his cap, wig, and false moustache on the armchair.
'Why, certainly, Sir. It was a most extraordinary thespian performance. But you should not pull my leg like that, Mr Holmes. I was very worried about your safety.'
'I owe you an apology for that. I certainly did not intend this disguise to be some kind of practical joke on you. This is my passport to Thibet.'
'But surely it is too dan…'
'You were fooled by it, were you not? You thought I was a Bhotia trader.'
'A Bhotia bandit, Sir. Not a trader.'
'But a Bhotia, nonetheless.'
'Well, I cannot deny that, Mr Holmes… By Jove, you were, if I may say so, a Bhotia to the boot heels; a Bhotia ad vivium, if you will pardon the expression. But I must still beg you not to be rash, Sir. After all I am responsible for your welfare – and a trip to Thibet demands much more than an adequate disguise. You will require pack animals, provisions, medicines, tents, tin-openers, etcetera, etcetera – and at least the services of an experienced and faithful guide.'
'Someone like yourself, perhaps?'
'Me, Sir? Ah… ahem. Well. I was really not implying that at all. But for the sake of argument – why not?'
'Why not, indeed. So why don't you come with me?'
'Mr Holmes, it is a deuced attractive proposition. After all I am a scientific man, and what is a littie danger and discomfort to the insignificant self, when weighed against the opportunities to extend the frontiers of human knowledge – which we will, no doubt, be doing on this proposed venture.'
'No doubt.'
'But alas, Sir. I unfortunately happen to be in official harness, and can only proceed on such voyages on receipt of authorised instructions, ex cathedra!
'Which would be Colonel Creighton's?'
'Most unfortunately, yes, Mr Holmes.'
'Well, I shall have to speak to the Colonel about it, won't I?'
'But the Colonel will surely object. He may even blame me…'
'Spare me your anxieties, I beg you,' he said, raising his hand in an imperious manner. 'Leave it to me.' He took off his Thibetan robe. 'Now I would be much obliged if, on your way home you would kindly return this costume to Lurgan, and that horrible wig and moustache to the manager of the Gaiety Theatre.'
Carrying these articles of disguise, I left the cottage. Mr Holmes was so masterly in his ways, and his requests so definite that it was difficult to question his actions – but I was still considerably worried. Colonel Creighton was a very suspicious man. He knew how keen I was on another opportunity to go to Thibet, and that I strongly resented the Departmental ruling that I was not to enter Thibet because of my last mishap there. Old Creighton would certainly conclude that I had deliberately influenced Mr Holmes to make this dangerous journey, so that I could accompany him.
I sighed unhappily. The Colonel could be very hard on those whom he felt were flouting Departmental discipline. I expected a very unpleasant interview with him soon. I was not disappointed.
Three weeks later Colonel Creighton came up to Simla. He met Mr Holmes, in fact they dined together a couple of times and seemed to enjoy each other's company. I was not invited, so I did not know what exactly passed between them. My own meeting with the Colonel took place in the storeroom behind Lurgan's shop. For at least an hour I was subjected to one of the most embarrassing and uncomfortable interviews in my career. The Colonel surpassed himself in his suspicions and nasty insinuations. Finally, with what seemed to be a great deal of reluctance and bad grace, he accepted my explanation.
'So, all right. Let's say for the sake of argument, that you didn't put him up to it. Then who did? Why the blazes does he want to go to Thibet, of all places? He's a detective, isn't he, not an explorer.'
'Well, Sir. In spite of my efforts to dissuade him, he is determined to go. That is all I can say.'
'Well he can't. And that's that.'
'Begging your pardon, Sir, but it would be very difficult to stop him, apart from restraining him physically. He has impressed me as an extremely resourceful and determined gentleman. He could pass himself off as a native any day.'
'Is he that good? In his disguise, I mean?'
'I am not exaggerating, Sir, when I say that, till now, I have never seen such a master of the art.'
'Hmmm…'the Colonel looked thoughtful, 'and how is he managing with his study of the language?'
'Well, he is not absolutely fluent yet, but competent enough to pass himself off as, let us say, a… a Ladakhi or some such person. Ah yes, a Ladakhi disguise would be the most suitable thing for Mr Holmes. It would convenientiy explain the few undisguisable elements of his features – like his prominent nose, for one thing.'
'Yes, and the spring caravan to Lhassa from Leh leaves in a few months. Why is it, Huree, that I still cannot get over this very nasty suspicion that you have very conveniently arranged matters to suit your needs.'
'Oh Sir! I assure you that…'
He dismissed my protestations with a wave of his hand.
'Anyway, as you said, we can't stop him. There are a number of reasons why we can't, not least of all, London – but that doesn't concern you.' He looked out of the window down at the red tin roofs of the houses in the bazaar below. Finally he turned around and shrugged his shoulders. 'Ah well, the violence and dangers he might face in Thibet will probably be no more than what he has already encountered in this country. And what about you, Huree?
