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Page 114
Again the Oriental paused. He put up his hand and passed his
fingers over his face. The gaunt hand contrasted with the full
contour.
"I confess that we did not know what to do. We realized that we
had to deal with a nature possessing in one direction the exact
accurate knowledge of a man of science, and in another the wonder
extravagances of a child. The Dalai Lama was not yet able to be
consulted, and it seemed to us a better plan to say no more about
the impossible treasure, and address our endeavors to the
practical side of Major Carstair's intelligence instead. We now
pointed out the physical dangers of the region. The deadly chill
in it coming on at sunset could not fail to inflame the lungs of
a European, accustomed to an equable temperature, fever would
follow; and within a few days the unfortunate victim would find
his whole breathing space fatally congested."
The man removed his hand. The care in his articulation was
marked.
"Major Carstair was not turned aside by these facts, and we
permitted him to go on."
Again he paused as though troubled by a memory.
"In this course," he continued, "the Dalai Lama considered us to
have acted at the extreme of folly. But it is to be remembered,
in our behalf, that somewhat of the wonder at Major Carstair's
knowledge of Western science dealing with the human body was on
us, and we felt that perhaps the climatic peril of the Gobi might
present no difficult problem to him.
"We were fatally misled."
Then he added.
"We were careful to direct him along the highest route of the
plateau, and to have his expedition followed. But chance
intervened. Major Carstair turned out of the route and our
patrol went on, supposing him to be ahead on the course which we
had indicated to him. When the error was at last discovered, our
patrol was entering the Sirke range. No one could say at what
point on the route Major Carstair had turned out, and our search
of the vast waste of the Gobi desert began. The high wind on the
plateau removes every trace of human travel. The whole of the
region from the Sirke, south, had to be gone over. It took a
long time."
The man stopped like one who has finished a story. The girl had
not moved; her face was strained and white. The fog outside had
thickened; the sounds of the city seemed distant. The girl had
listened without a word, without a gesture. Now she spoke.
"But why were you so concerned about my father?"
The big Oriental turned about in the chair. He looked steadily
at the girl, he seemed to be treating the query to his involved
method of translation; and Miss Carstair felt that the man,
because of this tedious mental process, might have difficulty to
understand precisely what she meant.
What he wished to say, he could control and, therefore, could
accurately present - but what was said to him began in the
distant language.
"What Major Carstair did," he said, "it has not been made clear
to you?"
"No," she replied, "I do not understand."
The man seemed puzzled.
"You have not understood!"
He repeated the sentence; his face reflective, his great bare
head settling into the collar of his evening coat as though the
man's neck were removed.
He remained for a moment thus puzzled and reflective. Then he
began to speak as one would set in motion some delicate involved
machinery running away into the hidden spaces of a workshop.
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