THE IRREGULAR CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by Ron Weighell Read Free Book Online Page B

prevent anyone from entering, we established that all the other servants were accounted for and free of bloodstains, as was Mrs Sturleson when she opened her bedroom door to receive the news. Though deeply upset, she asked if she might break the news to Freya, who had spent the night in her stepmother’s room and was still asleep.
    We conducted another painstaking search of every room, then donned our overcoats and made a circuit of the ground outside the house, paying particular attention to the side overlooked by Sturleson’s window. Save for Holmes’s own prints, the unbroken surface of the snow made it clear that not so much as a bird had alighted there in hours.
    ‘This is incredible, Holmes. No one has left the house, and none of the occupants could have committed the act. It is impossible . . .’
    I said this in the firm expectation that Holmes would chide me for overlooking some obvious clue, but he did not appear to hear me. He stood with head bowed, utterly crestfallen.
    ‘This has been my worst hour, Watson. I fear that the faculties hymned in those sensationalised accounts of yours have not been in evidence here, and a man is dead because of it. I have allowed my mental processes to be dulled by a shadow out of the past.’
    ‘The Hound, Holmes?’
    ‘No Watson, the shadow falls from a greater distance than Dartmoor: Tibet, Watson, Tibet. I had not intended to mention it, but you deserve an explanation. Let us go back inside.
    ‘As I may have mentioned, I had been in contact with Mycroft throughout the period of my disappearance, and was in fact engaged in work on his behalf, the nature of which I need not go into. It was required of me that I assemble men, animals, and supplies at Darjeeling for a journey into Tibet. My application for a permit was successful, and, to my surprise, it was accompanied by an invitation to speak to the Head Lama, who was representing the Dalai Lama himself.
    ‘After a six hundred foot descent into the Teesta River Valley, we crossed the Teesta Bridge and covered the last sixty miles to the Tibetan border. Torrential rains, suffocating atmosphere, and leeches made the trip intolerable. Men and animals alike were running with spilled blood. Following a pony track through Yalimpong to Rangpo, I reached Sikkim. We entered a region of tropical forests, a riot of hibiscus, bougainvilleas, and orchids. A place not unlike Mrs Sturleson’s conservatory in atmosphere. Climbing steeply through blazing rhododendrons we reached the Tibetan plateau and descended into the Chumbi valley.
    ‘On the high plateau of central Tibet, we travelled through a region of blue skies and searching winds. The way divided at Gyantse, but I pressed on and, a hundred miles further, crossed the Tsangpo by a narrow bridge suspended on yaks’ hair cables. Finally, having braved landslides and freezing nights, for the “long arm of Everest” was already reaching for us, we entered foggy Lhasa.
    ‘I was taken to the Jokhang Temple for an audience with the Head Lama, Abbot of the Ten-gye-ling monastery, who was acting Regent during the Minority of the Dalai Lama. Among the carved red pillars and tapestries, he made an impressive figure in his burgundy red robes. I presented him with the traditional gift of a white Khata, or scarf, and spoke with him for some hours. As you recorded in The Sign of the Four , I had at that time some knowledge of the Southern form of Buddhism, but was very keen to learn of the Northern form.
    ‘When eventually I asked why I had been summoned to Lhasa, I was taken deep into the temple and brought into the presence of the young God King himself.
    ‘He was a small child, but with the dignity of bearing and the intensely focussed gaze of the adept. When I was introduced his face broke into a wide smile so typical of Tibetan people, and he brandished some well-worn documents. One was my monograph on footsteps, the others—and I hate to say it, Watson, for I fear it will do little