He slapped Moran across the face, pushed him to the floor, took his gun, and aimed it at Moran's head.

"No!" shrieked Franziska.

The soldier saw the box in her hand and took it from her. His talons moved viciously. "What have we here?" he asked mockingly. He opened the box and held the pearl up so all could see it. "'Well, so now we have it. Let us then amuse ourselves with it."

He motioned to the three of them and they filed out between the leader and his men, their hands tied behind their backs. In an hour's walk, they reached Foul Point, a cliff that extends into the sea to the south of the town of Trincomalee at a height of about three hundred feet above the sea.

"Here, Watson, in this most beautiful place, was enacted the final portion of the drama. Moran and I were led to within a few feet of the precipice. Opposite us on the ground sat some fifty of the rebel army, their leader, now identified as Rama IV, at their center. Franziska sat to his left, the ropes now taken from her hands in honour of her s.e.x."

King Rama stood up. "You English have brought our island to ruination. Your stench is everywhere. You have fouled our soil. I live only to rid the motherland of your pestilential presence."

He paused. "But let us make this night pleasant for us. Mr. Holmes, honoured guest, let the royal festivities begin here this very night for your beloved queen." He took the pearl and placed it on the ground between two small rocks.

"You will fight for the pearl-and your lives. Strip them! Bring the hoods!"

Holmes looked at me, a bemused look in his eye. "Moran and I, stripped to the waist, were to fight it out to the delight of the rebel army. There I was again, Watson, on the brink of an abyss with a mortal enemy bent on my destruction, the very one who had almost caused me to fall into the Reichenbach Falls."

He stopped his account to light his pipe. "You have heard, no doubt, of the andabatarian gladiators of ancient Rome?"

"No," I replied.

"A most interesting custom," interjected Mycroft, lifting his heavy eyelids with difficulty, "which may have derived in the end from the ancient Indians. Hoods were placed over the gladiators' heads to blind them. Without sight, they fought more amusingly and of course more cruelly, to the great glee of the Roman audience."

"Never did I think that I would ever find myself in such a position," said Holmes. "I suddenly thanked Heaven for my hours of practice walking and living in the dark. As soon as the hood was placed over my head, my ears, and my skin came alive. I knew that Moran, through far stronger than I, would be no match for me. My other senses, so patiently cultivated in my training in Benares, became so strong that they more than made up for the lack of vision. I could sense Moran's slightest move. I could hear his breathing, the smallest sound that he caused, the smell of his breath and of his sweat. Without eyes I had no back, no front. All my senses were equal and functioned in all directions. Moran could not do the same. Indeed, as we began our duel, I made myself almost imperceptible. He could not hear my breath for I dropped it to an inaudible minimum. I could feel through my feet the vibrations of his heavy step, but he could not sense mine. I waited calmly as he moved. Purposely, I taunted him, so as to let him know where I was. Then, as he rushed towards me, I moved out of his way and gave him a kick to the stomach. It brought him down, stunned and writhing in pain. I pulled the hood from his head. "'Come, my dear Colonel, this will give you a better chance."

"Despite his pain, I could hear his fury rise, and so deftly did he move that he caught me by my foot. I escaped from his grasp, however, but felt a rush of pain as I extricated my leg. Moran rose and rushed towards me, but I dodged, and tripped him, throwing him off balance. As he fell, I delivered a hard blow to the jaw. He moaned as he hit the ground, panting in pain at my feet, no longer able to move. I tore the hood from my own head. I sat him up, and he revived."

"You fiend," he cried.

"Come, come, my dear fellow, one wins some, and one loses others. You unfortunately, have just lost a big one."

It had been no contest. The great Moran had been unable to find Holmes. He raged in the dark, pummeling the air and growling like a bull. Subduing him required the skill that one uses in subduing a blinded elephant. He was still dangerous, but not for a practised hunter.

Rama and his men sat and did not move. Holmes rushed to the pearl. All watched helplessly as he took it and threw it as high and as far as he could against the darkening sky. For an instant it caught the light of the moon, then fell slowly downwards, glowing like a star before it began its descent into the void. Suddenly, Franziska stood up, a look of horror and greed on her face.

"No!" she shouted. Like some great Stymphalian bird, she leapt into the air, almost flying directly into Holmes, her hands and fingers spread wide, her sharp talons fully extended. He moved aside quickly and watched as she neared the precipice.

For a moment, the pearl seemed to hang in midair. It shivered for an instant, then continued its inevitable descent. Franziska stretched forwards. The tips of her talons touched it, and for an instant it appeared as though it would obey and come to her. Instead, she lost her balance and, with a frightful shriek, fell after the small white sphere as it disappeared into the abyss. Holmes looked down. There was nothing but the roar of the sea as it crashed on the rocks below.

Moran rushed to the precipice. Seeing only the sea, he turned towards Holmes, a shocked look of despair on his face. His defiance gone, he suddenly broke into a run towards the jungle and disappeared in seconds. Rama quickly despatched some men after him.

"It was only at that moment that the severe pain in my leg came to my consciousness," said Holmes. "I could not walk. My leg felt broken, and I stumbled to my knees."

Then in an angry voice, Rama IV barked an order: "Fling him into the sea." Four men came forwards. They lifted Holmes by the limbs and began to swing him to and fro over the edge of the precipice. His injured leg groaned as he was swung in the air, and he swooned.

"I remembered nothing until I awoke in the dark. Thrown high into the air, I had come to rest on a soft ledge about fifteen feet from the top of the cliff. I lay there unable to move, listening only to the roar of the sea below. In the distance, I could see the lights of the Susannah II as it began its departure from Trincomalee for Egypt, carrying the Pasha to his homeland. As it disappeared in the night, I heard friendly voices. Gentle hands lifted me and carried me upwards. Gorashar's soft voice entered my ears, and I blacked out for the second time.

"I awoke the following day in the fort of Trincomalee, or so I was told, since I had no recollection of how or how long I had come to be there. My head throbbed, and my leg was immobilised with heavy bandages. Gorashar sat at the window in a light doze. At the first sign of life from me, he was at my side."

Holmes paused for a moment and sipped his drink slowly. I could say nothing, so horrifying was his account. Even Mycroft, who had remained impa.s.sive through most of the tale, seemed moved now by his brother's pain and his nearly fatal encounter.

"It was a fortnight before I was able to travel. What I thought was a broken leg was fortunately only a badly torn muscle, and I was able to travel sooner than I had antic.i.p.ated. Before I left, however, Vansittart informed me that the Pasha had escaped from the ship in the Gulf of Aden and had been met by a group of followers on the Arabian coast. He was now said to be deep in the Hadhramaut, planning his way back to Egypt. Wellesley, thinking that the Pasha still carried the pearl with him, had also boarded the ship, pretending to be me. He was caught in an attempt to rob the Pasha and was placed under arrest by the ship's captain. But he too disappeared sometime during the voyage, and it was not sure at the time whether he had been lost at sea or he had gone ash.o.r.e when the Pasha escaped. It was only several years later that I was able to deal with Mr. Arthur Wellesley. And as to the Pasha, we know that his efforts came to nought."

By now it was late afternoon, just before five. As Holmes ended his tale, there was a great thunderclap, and the rains poured down heavily for a few moments. The heat had broken, and the late-afternoon sun now fell on a cooler and cleaner London.

Mycroft looked at his watch. "The festivities for the Queen," he said, "have ended." Let us therefore stand, for Her Majesty is about to enter Westminster."

The few odd members of the club who remained stood with us.

Throughout the city, church bells rang. Then, as if by command, the stately strains of "G.o.d Save the Queen" rose in the city and floated through the window. It was as if the whole country sang in unison. Even in the staid chambers of the Diogenes Club, there appeared not to be a dry eye. . . . except for Holmes, who rose slowly, his face impa.s.sive, his jaw set. He said nothing, sang nothing.

"No new crown for the Queen, Watson," said Mycroft when the music ended, "no pearl of course, either. But Her Majesty is well attired for the occasion, in brocade, hand-embroidered in gold in India."

I thanked him for taking the time to relate his part in the Trincomalee affair. Holmes graciously helped his brother to his feet and walked him to his rooms.

As we left the club, Holmes said that he wished to walk alone for a while and suggested that we meet just before eight at Covent Garden for a performance of Nabucco. I agreed and watched him as he rapidly disappeared into the dwindling crowd.

THE MYSTERY OF.

JAISALMER.

I HAVE ALREADY ALERTED THE READER OF THESE TALES on several occasions to the deep melancholia suffered by Sherlock Holmes during the first months after his return to England in 1894. That depression began to abate, however, as soon as the opportunities for him to exercise his profession increased. Beginning with the case of the Norwood Builder in 1895, almost to the very end of the century, Holmes was constantly occupied. The need for me to keep his mind active waned, therefore, and the opportunities to learn of his adventures in the Orient became severely restricted. Often I would catch the merest glimpse of a tale, sometimes only odd fragments, out of which I could piece together nothing complete.

The present tale remained a series of bizarre and fragmentary references for the longest time. They were conveyed to me between Holmes's adventures in 1895 and '96, and I have edited them into one continuous narrative. During this period, Holmes had travelled frequently to the Continent, his now considerable fame having brought him into the employ of kings and other heads of state, and even the Church of Rome. It was during a short gap in his schedule, after the notorious case of Busoni's daughter, to be exact, that he gave me the portions of the account that enabled me finally to put the story in order.

Holmes's extensive travels in the Orient for a period of almost three years had led him to contemplate the voyage homewards. His original plan was to begin his last journey in India from Delhi, travel westwards through Rajpootana and Sind, and then board a freighter in Karachi bound for the Mediterranean.

It was in Delhi that he met a Frenchman, one Louis Benoit de Boigne, who was travelling to Rajasthan with his companions: Shiva, his Indian servant boy, and a young Swiss painter, known only at first by the name of Schaumberg. Finding the company congenial, Holmes, still in the guise of Roger Lloyd-Smith, suggested that they travel together for a time. Benoit acquiesced enthusiastically to the suggestion, for he had already made the arrangements for a trip through the desert and thought that the addition of a third member to their party would increase the interest of the journey. Having overextended himself a bit financially in his previous travels, he was happy to have someone share the costs of his latest adventure: a third traveller, he thought, would make little difference to their hosts along the way.

Benoit had prepared a varied route that included the chief cities of Rajpootana-Jaipur, Udaipur, and Jodhpur, and some of the least-known ones, including Jaisalmer, the one farthest west into the desert. Few Europeans had visited this city, and the descriptions of its fabled beauties had led Benoit to make it the final objective of his long journey. Holmes too saw it as his one of his last destinations before going south to Karachi. Little did he know that his visit there would bring him into a chain of events that would threaten to delay indefinitely his return to England.

"Our journey really began once we had outfitted ourselves, Watson," said Holmes at the beginning of his narration. "In Nizamuddin, just outside the old city of Delhi, we hired two guides who knew the desert well, and, bought our supplies. We were to travel on horseback to Jodhpur. Once there we would continue on by camel for the rest of our journey, for, according to our guides, the desert becomes a sea of shifting dunes once one leaves that city. Our last destination together was to be the city of Hyderabad in Sind, where my companions and I were to part company, they to journey northwards to Lah.o.r.e, and I south to Karachi, where I planned to board the first ship bound for Europe."

I interrupted my friend at this point.

"Surely, Holmes, there was more to it. I find it difficult to believe that you chose merely to tag along with these two."

Holmes grinned. "Your power to see through my accounts has increased, I see. You are quite right, Watson. I could easily, and preferably perhaps, made the journey myself. I had had little luck with travelling companions either on the high seas or in the mountains and often found myself bored into the dullest of conversations. But in this case I was intrigued immediately by the discrepancy between their account of themselves and what I could observe. Here were two European gentlemen travelling through India, one a painter, the other a writer, or, as he put it, a diarist. Their story as they told it was quite unremarkable. They had met casually in Ma.r.s.eilles as they boarded the steamship that was to take them to Bombay. Finding each other compatible, they decided to journey together and to produce a book of travels, one of the kind that now commonly adorn the bookshelves of the English middle cla.s.s.

"On the face of it, there was no contradiction. Their behaviour was impeccable, and their relations with the native Indians extraordinarily proper. Both were well attired, spoke English tolerably well, and did precisely what they said they did. The young painter, Schaumberg, spent every morning setting up his easel at his newly chosen site, and returned only at midday. The other, Benoit, rose before dawn and wrote until they were ready to travel.

"So much for the untrained eye, Watson. But for him who not only sees but also observes, there was much more. And here, dear doctor, I must say that I saw much that did not agree with the account that my new acquaintances had given of themselves. Their story was meant to mislead, and though I had no evidence as yet, I felt a sinister motive lurking beyond their quite innocent demeanour."

Schaumberg Holmes judged to be in his early twenties. He was of average height and very thin, almost gaunt, but wiry, with his hair cut quite short. He walked with a slight limp, the only physical infirmity Holmes observed. The limp he judged to be the result of a wound of some sort, and later this was confirmed when he saw a scar that was clearly the result of a recent bullet wound. His eyes were blue, and he avoided direct contact with them, as if there were something he was trying to hide.

Benoit was much older, in his early forties, not quite as slender, but taller, almost exactly Holmes's height. He had deep scars on his hands and one long one on his neck. His English was almost perfect except for a slight French accent that occurred from time to time, which he suppressed with great effort. He spoke softly and appeared extraordinarily calm, but his tranquillity seemed to Holmes to cover a deep tension that might erupt at any moment.

"Both men were muscular, their faces worn and hardened by long periods in the sun," said Holmes. "Their military carriage was therefore unmistakable. Their hands, strong and rough, spoke of the same life of heavy physical activity. There was nothing of the painter or writer in the body of either. And so, Watson, from the time that I first heard their story, I knew them to be something other than what they represented themselves to be."

For the first few days, Holmes continued, their trip was uneventful enough. They stopped at the end of the first day just outside Bharatpur, then continued on to Amber, where they spent the night in the great palace. In the morning they greeted the Maharajah of Jaipur in the Rambagh Palace, one of the truly magnificent domiciles of the Subcontinent, indeed of all of Asia. Like the succeeding monarchs whom they visited, the Maharajah of Jaipur was exceedingly courteous, British in his education, and most forthcoming in his generosity. He invited them to stay as long as they wished, but they begged leave after a few days and continued on their journey south towards Udaipur, stopping in the kingdoms of Kotah and Bundi and visiting the fabled wooden city of Tonk.

"It was in Tonk that I had my first inkling that something was newly amiss with my travelling companions. I must say, Watson, that despite the natural beauty that surrounded us, I was already becoming a bit bored. We were by now six days out of Delhi, out of touch with the world, and had arrived tired and hungry after a full day's journey in the hot sun. Tonk appeared towards evening, and we pitched our tents just on its outskirts. While the servants were preparing our food, we walked into the town, which lay about a half mile from our camp."

By this time, Holmes and his companions had become accustomed to being importuned by a variety of touts, mainly small boys in the employ of merchants in the city, who surrounded one, hoping to lead one into the greedy, wretched, hands of some thieving shopkeeper. But here in Tonk the expected touts failed to materialise and the three entered the city almost unnoticed. The town was silent, its streets and arcades empty of any persons, and only after they saw the entrance to the central mosque did they realise that they had entered at the time of evening prayer, and that the entire population was on its knees facing Mecca.

"Tonk, unlike the other kingdoms of Rajpootana, Watson," said Holmes, "is Mahometan, and is alone in this respect in the vast deserts in which a militant Hindooism holds sway. It is, unlike the other marble and stone cities of the Rajpoot, entirely constructed of wood, ornately carved and painted in greens, golds and reds, and a variety of other hues."

As they stood staring at the Palace, Schaumberg took leave of his companions. He said that he wished to wander alone through the town in order to sketch, and that he would meet them back at the camp. Benoit and Holmes sat for a few minutes under one of the arcades, delighting in this mirage of a kingdom. They then began to wend their way back to the main gate of the town. It was with some surprise, therefore, that Holmes saw Schaumberg stealthily entering a small house not far from the mosque. He said nothing to Benoit, for he thought that it would serve no purpose. They returned to the camp towards sunset, and retired immediately after a light supper.

Towards midnight, Holmes awoke to voices in the dark. Benoit and Schaumberg were seated by a small fire, trying to keep their voices down but without appreciable success.

"We have to get rid of him," said Schaumberg. "We should never have allowed him to come along. It was a big mistake, I tell you. Captain Fantome is upset that we have a stranger in our midst, or so his agent told me in Tonk this evening. They are already investigating who he is. If he finds out what we're up to-"

"Don't be so jumpy, and be quiet or you'll waken him, you fool," said Benoit excitedly but in a whisper. "I told you he will be with us through to Sind. He is harmless enough. His presence is necessary. He is an Englishman-that keeps the Maharajahs happy and unsuspecting. They see and hear him, and they see and hear nothing else, least of all us. And he gives them medicines for their ills. How many times do you think we can make this trip without discovery? No, I will be the one to decide when he goes, if he goes before Hyderabad. And to h.e.l.l with Fantome! That b.l.o.o.d.y crew in the desert will take orders from me! When we arrive in Jaisalmer, then we shall decide, only then."

"A most interesting conversation, Holmes, if I say so myself," I interjected. "You must have been elated at the developing mystery."

"Well put, my dear Watson. I am no lover of landscape for its own sake, as you know. And the Maharajahs and their palaces are a bit trying after a few days. Their pieties as well as their crimes are all well known. There is nothing to observe or deduce about them beyond the commonplaces that pertain to royalty. But, with this conversation in my ear, I smiled in the darkness of my tent. My two companions then retired for the night, and I heard their heavy, peaceful breathing as I too fell asleep in the brisk desert cold."

When Holmes awoke at dawn, Schaumberg was already at his easel, trying, he said, to capture on canvas the first rays of the morning sun across the desert. Benoit was writing in his diary a short distance away.

"You have slept well, I trust," said Benoit, in greeting.

"Very well, indeed," Holmes replied. "You both are most industrious this morning."

"Perhaps more than you will have noticed, my dear Roger. I have already been out, hunting up our breakfast. Look, three wild partridge and a peac.o.c.k!"

Benoit pointed to a large pile of feathers that the cooks had plucked from the unfortunate birds that were already roasting on spits over the fire, and it was not long before the three companions set upon devouring them, washing the meal down with large cups of Indian tea.

Invigorated by this most luxurious of breakfasts, they mounted fresh horses and proceeded towards Udaipur. Here they again visited the Maharajah, who, after he read Lloyd-Smith's letter of introduction from the Viceroy, insisted that they stay with him as his guests. It was here that they experienced the fabled land of enchantment that Tod, the great chronicler of Rajasthan, had made justly famous in England. The royal palace of Udaipur faces a beautiful lake and is surrounded by a ring of low hills. The city itself is a cl.u.s.ter of white houses that lies nestled in a small valley, visible from the top of the palace. After several days, they were loath to leave this happy vale. Indeed, it was difficult for Holmes to recollect by now the nocturnal conversation between his two companions and its implications, for his companions acted well and appeared, more and more, to be what they said they were: two travellers on tour in the desert. Benoit explored every alley of the city, bargained for trinkets, and wrote constantly in his diary. Schaumberg sketched and painted incessantly, never, it seemed to Holmes, approaching the true beauty of the landscape, but every so often producing a few strokes that gave some intimation of the beauty of the place. Benoit reiterated to the delighted Maharajah that his diaries would form the text for a book about India and that he would include in it Schaumberg's sketches as ill.u.s.trations. No more benign labours could be imagined, and Holmes resisted the temptation to equate exterior behaviour with the reality of his companions' true but hidden mission. Having somewhat of a literary bent himself, the Maharajah expressed keen interest, opened his vast library to Benoit, and ordered his chief scholar, one Shyamal Das, to produce whatever Benoit needed to embellish his accounts.

"It was during one of our visits to the royal library, Watson, that I learned something, purely by accident, which gave me pause to reflect and brought me back to an ever more serious contemplation of my companions," said Holmes. "While idly perusing a large tome dedicated to the history of the Mughal Empire, I learned that there had been several soldiers of fortune who had served in the armies of the Mughal emperors in their long battles with the Maharajahs of Rajasthan over two hundred years before. These soldiers of fortune were mostly French. The most famous of these was one Jean de Bourbon, who had served the emperor Akbar. My interest, and my consternation, were prodded even more when I learned a few paragraphs down that two others of these early adventurers had borne the names of Captain Fantome and Benoit de Boigne."

"How extraordinary, Holmes. What a strange coincidence! A name from that nocturnal conversation that you overheard and the name of one of your companions-"

"Coincidence, yes Watson, but a coincidence in its most basic form: the names were coincident, identical, but I knew that this was no mere chance. Once again, a piece of unexpected luck from an unsuspected source, a dusty old book. Thank the G.o.ds for the memory of mankind, however imperfect. I said nothing to Benoit, of course, who, at the moment of my discovery, was fortunately deep in conversation with the royal librarian. I closed the book, filed the information in my brain, and decided to let it do its work in the attic of my mind: there were, then, two Captain Fantomes, two Benoit de Boignes."

For over a week, neither Benoit nor Schaumberg showed any desire to leave Udaipur. It was on the evening of the tenth day that Benoit said that they had been there long enough and that they should move on. He said this with some urgency in his voice. They informed the Maharajah, who, grieved at their imminent departure, provided every convenience, including fresh horses for the journey to Jodhpur.

Jodhpur, said Holmes, lies three days from Udaipur, in the middle of a desiccated landscape in which only th.o.r.n.y scrub-desert plants survive. Its palace is interesting but not of the quality of those of Jaipur and Udaipur, and their stay there was short. It was there that he began to observe a rising tension in young Schaumberg, a tension which showed itself by his barely controlled anger in speech and his irritation at every mistake of the hapless porters. Several times he struck them. Benoit warned him quietly to control himself. Holmes said little, and kept slightly apart so that he could observe what transpired between them. Seeing Schaumberg's growing state of agitation, Holmes knew that he himself might also eventually become the object of his ire, and he wished to avoid that moment as long as possible, though it might be inevitable. The Maharajah of Jodhpur was absent on shikar, and so they camped outside the city walls, where they bargained for the camels that were to carry them to Jaisalmer. They left the very next morning.

It was on this portion of their journey, a day's ride beyond Jodhpur, that they entered the true deserts of Rajpootana. What had been up until then a dry rocky landscape occasionally broken by the Aravalli Hills now became an undifferentiated ma.s.s of yellowish sand, of the finest quality, so that even a scant breeze blew enough of it into one's face to cause discomfort. It being winter, the air was cool for the most part, the sun intense, and the landscape barren of any living thing except an occasional caravan treading its way east. The desert seemed endlessly smooth, effortlessly erasing every trace of their being there. Had a storm of sufficient force arisen, thought Holmes, they would have disappeared, covered forever in the unending dunes.

By now it had become quite clear to Holmes that the progress towards their destination was timed very precisely by Benoit, for reasons that were still concealed. As if controlled by an invisible hand, they alternately raced ahead or waited for him to complete his diary entries, which became the chief pretext by which the time of travel was determined. Holmes made no complaint, content as he was to wait and see. Schaumberg was, however, alternately tranquil and agitated. He appeared impatient to arrive at their destination and could not endure their slow pace without occasional outbursts to Benoit.

Two days from their destination, their guides informed them that sandstorms to the west were so intense that they had best make a detour northwards, towards a town called Bap that lay on the road to the great fortress of Bikaner. From there, they should follow that route south. A look of consternation came over Benoit's face as he communicated this news to Schaumberg and to Holmes.

"Despite the danger, I believe that we should proceed as planned," said Benoit. "The storms may be over by tomorrow. And we have no guarantee that we will not run into them to the north of here."

"As you choose," said Holmes, "I have no preference."

Schaumberg, however, appeared frightened by the reports.

"I don't like desert storms," he said excitedly. "I have seen one in North Africa, and I say let's take the detour. It won't add much, and we'll be much safer."

"No detour," said Benoit coldly. "We will proceed as planned."

Schaumberg said nothing.

"And so, Watson, we continued on our route. A few hours out, the cool of the early morning had disappeared. The sun bore down on us mercilessly from the unending blue sky. Even more ominously, however, as we moved on, the gentle breeze which we had experienced thus far became more intense, and we began to feel the sting of the sand on our hands and faces. A storm was building, and we could see in the distance the tops of the dunes transformed into dancing swirls rising high in the air."

Towards dusk, they began to look anxiously for shelter, and their chief guide changed direction. In a short time, they saw something on the horizon, and as they approached they saw what appeared to be an abandoned temple. The guides motioned them into it, and they took refuge just as the storm hit.

Holmes had never experienced anything equal to it. Sand swirled around them so intensely that it was as if all air had been sucked away. The temple was an open structure and the only recourse they had was to turn their faces to the walls. But as the wind increased, sand blew everywhere, sand filled their eyes, their nostrils, and it was almost impossible to breathe without taking it into their lungs. At the very height of the storm, Schaumberg began to scream in terror.

"'We can't stay here! We have to go on. C'mon! Are ye with me? We're going to die like rats here!"

He grabbed Holmes by the arm, but he resisted. Then Schaumberg stood up screaming in fear and leapt from the temple directly into the storm. Benoit sat silently, but Holmes rushed after him to stop him from what he knew to be a suicidal act. As he grabbed him and pulled him in, Schaumberg collapsed in tears as Holmes and Benoit pressed his face towards the wall. Schaumberg sobbed, and Benoit shouted to him to be still. He kept sobbing to himself, however, and Holmes pretended not to hear as Benoit continued his remonstrances.

The storm subsided as fast as it arose, and Holmes looked out to see that it had moved pa.s.sed, leaving nothing in sight but blinding white sand.

"The worst is over," said Benoit. "You can shut up now."

"Don't tell me to shut up," said Schaumberg, vehemently. "I have lived through too much in the Sahara. Don't you remember? This is the last time-"

Benoit slapped him hard across the face.

"Just remember who you are-and who I am," said Benoit viciously.

Schaumberg became calmer, and a morose look came over his face. The three dragged themselves through the sand on the temple floor, into the desert. All that they had brought with them was gone. Animals, water, food, the guides-all appeared to have been buried. They had nothing.

"We're going to die," said Schaumberg. "I know it. This time, we're going to die."

"You b.l.o.o.d.y coward, shut up!" shouted Benoit.

Schaumberg sobbed uncontrollably, and Benoit shook him to try to bring him to his senses, but to no avail. Benoit left him and searched the horizon. Schaumberg's fears were fortunately not to materialise. He had been conditioned by his experience in the great Sahara. Here, however, the desert, though vast, was far more heavily travelled, and as they looked out they saw two campfires, not more than a few hundred yards away, towards which they immediately made their way. There, they found a group of Gujar herdsmen with their goats and camels. They had spent the day in Sam, they said, and had made a detour around the storm before returning to their route, their destination being the city of Jaisalmer. They offered the travellers food and shelter for the night and said that they would be welcome to accompany them to the desert city. And so, at dawn they awoke and, now provided with fresh camels to ride, began the last leg of their journey.

For two days they rode through the dunes. A merciless sun beat down upon them from a monotonous blue sky. Towards evening on the second day, they saw their destination in the distance: a series of sand-colored towers and walls rising suddenly out of the desert.

"I shall never forget that first glimpse, Watson," said Holmes. "We rode first through the many monstrous cenotaphs of the Rajpoots, scattered as they were through the sand, and pa.s.sed through the main gate at nightfall, lodging in our tents just inside the city walls. Our exhaustion made what little we saw of the population of the city that night seem even more unworldly than it otherwise would have seemed to be. The inhabitants were ghost-like, for all were dressed in long white caftans and white caps, with white masks over their faces. I later learned that the majority of the population were of the Jain faith, an Indian sect that practices no harm to living creatures. Fearful of injuring even an insect, they wear masks over their faces in order to avoid even the inadvertent inhalation of a fly or mosquito. Except for this oddity of behaviour, the population appeared quiet and tranquil, free of the many grotesque excesses that one finds in other parts of our Indian possessions. It was into this religious atmosphere of extreme gentleness that Benoit, Schaumberg, and I entered."