The Rose of Tibet by Lionel Davidson Read Free Book Online Page B

this new view of the situation.
    He thought it over for the next three days. He had made the decision by the time the office workers were streaming back after the holiday, and had telephoned Stahl to tell him so.
    ‘Of course,’ Stahl said. ‘I knew you would. When do you want to go?’
    ‘As soon as possible. I’ve got nothing to keep me here.’   
        
    Which was how, that winter, after many unsettling months, Houston came to embark upon his adventure. He had not visited any swamis. He knew nothing of Tibetan prophecies. He was a very ordinary young man who at the time, certainly, claimed no pre-knowledge of the extraordinary thing that was going to happen to him.
    He said good-bye to the two young women who had served to distract him during the restless months and promised each of them that he would mend his ways with regard to the other. He offered the use of his flat to Oliphant for he knewthe older man was uncomfortable in his own. And as the beneficiary of an eventual ten thousand pounds, he made a will.
    He did all these things before 24 January 1950 ; and early in the morning of 25 January he walked out with his bag into Fitzmaurice Crescent and whistled for a taxi to take him to the air terminal in Kensington High Street. He thought he would be taking one back again within two months.

CHAPTER TWO
1
    J ANUARY is the first month of the cold season in Calcutta, and though the temperature, in the low seventies, was brisk by local standards, Houston found it spring-like after the damp chill of London. He walked tirelessly about the town, and by his fourth day reckoned to have covered the major part of it. He had ample time to do this. Lister-Lawrence was away. Nobody knew when he would return.
    Twice a day, morning and afternoon, Houston walked from his hotel, the Great Eastern, to Chowringhee where Lister- Lawrence had his office in the offices of the Commissioner for the United Kingdom, and stated his business to an eager succession of Bengali clerks. Although each seemed to be called Mukherjee or Ghosh, he had never somehow managed to strike the same one twice.
    ‘Yes, sir. How can I help you, please?’
    ‘You might remember I called yesterday. To see Mr Lister-Lawrence.’
    ‘Ah, you would have seen a colleague of mine. I am Mr Mukherjee, sir. If you will tell me your name I will make a note for Mr Lister-Lawrence. He is away at the moment.’
    ‘Is he going to be away much longer?’
    ‘Oh, no. This afternoon, perhaps, he will return. What is your business, please, sir?’
    Houston was at first mildly amused by the appetite of the Bengali clerks for information about himself, but by the fifthday, found himself becoming a little impatient of the delay. After breakfast that morning, he strode up Chowringhee determined to wrest some information from Mr Mukherjee or Mr Ghosh himself.
    He said, ‘I’ve been waiting for the last four days, and I can’t wait much longer. Can’t you tell me where I can get in touch with Mr Lister-Lawrence?’
    ‘Ah, you must have seen one of my colleagues, sir. I am Mr Ghosh. What is your name, please?’
    Houston gave it, but he declined to provide the basis for another note, pointing out that eight were already awaiting Lister-Lawrence.
    ‘Excuse me, sir. I must know your business –’
    Houston said, pleasantly, that he wasn’t going to state it, and after a somewhat rambling argument had begun to turn away, when Mr Ghosh caught his sleeve.
    ‘Oh, wait, sir!’ he cried. ‘Mr. Lister-Lawrence is here. He returned last night. He is very busy but if you will only tell me your business – It is a most strict rule –’
    A few minutes later he was shaking hands with Lister- Lawrence.
    He was a tall, thin man in a duck suit, with heavy shadows under his eyes and nicotine stains on his fingers. He looked as if he had not had a good night’s sleep for some time, and his grasp was brief and limp.
    ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to keep calling. I’ve been away for