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Sherlock Holmes walked slowly over to the monolith and replaced the stone. Then he quickly came over to where I lay on the floor, now at peace with myself, and reconciled to stepping onto another stage on the Wheel of Life. Kneeling beside me he inspected my wound anxiously. The Lama Yonten and the Grand Lama crouched beside him, their eyes filled with solicitude.

'I trust that my services have proved satisfactory, Sir?' I managed to whisper, my lips now experiencing the icy chill that had gripped the rest of my body.

'More, much more than satisfactory, my friend.' Mr Holmes's clear, hard eyes were dimmed, and his firm lips were shaking. 'Do not give up hope yet. There is a chance ...'

'No, Mr Holmes,' I interrupted. 'There is no time. I only ask you to give a fiill report of my service to Colonel Creighton. Also, if it would not be too much trouble, could you please scatter my ashes over the river Ganges. I am a scientific man but... but one cannot be too sure about everything. Now farewell, good Sirs.'

'There must be something we can do,' said Holmes in a despairing voice that wrung my heart.

'Perhaps there is ...' said the Lama Yonten hesitantly, '... beyond the portals of the mandala. But how ...'

'Of course,' cried Holmes, snapping his fingers. 'I remember the tale. We can but try. Come, Your Holiness. Only you can save our friend now.'

He led the Grand Lama by the hand to the stone platform. The lad seated himself, in fiill lotus position, before the Stone of Power, and closed his eyes in meditation. Sherlock Holmes crouched beside him and whispered into his ear. Whatever Mr Holmes was attempting, I knew that it would be too late, for I was fast slipping into unconsciousness. My vision began to blur until everything took on a far-away, dream-like quality; so much so that it is with much hesitation, and indeed against all my training as a scientific observer and recorder, that I now set down on paper what I beheld — or imagined I beheld — subsequently. I lay no claims of truth on the matter. Perhaps it was a hallucination. Let the reader take it as he will.

My fading vision was somehow compelled towards the Great Stone of Power, whose luminosity now strangely seemed to be the only thing of substance or reality around me. The light of the Stone gradually changed, becoming darker, but no less luminous. This wonderful phenomenon increased, until I realised that I was peering into some kind of dark, radiant opening. The black hole gradually increased in size until it filled the entire cavern — and then beyond it. Lying on my back and looking up I seemed to behold an endless and wonderful night sky, unlimited by any horizons, or the usual restrictions dictated by the limitations of the human eye.

This immense space was not static, but churned, nay, seethed with energy and movement, like gigantic whirlpools and waterspouts in a storm-tossed sea. The centre of this oceanic space seemed to tear open, giving birth to another vortex that gradually filled the previous space. Seven times it happened in all, till seven endless vortices, one within the other, stretched out millions upon millions of miles to whatever eternity lay in this universe of God's creation.

Then from the centre of the ultimate vortex emerged a small point of light, that, moving forward, gradually grew in size, till it was possible to appoint a definite shape to it. It seemed like a distant mountain, floating by itself—like Mount Kinchenjoonga seen from Darjeeling, that often floats serenely above a sea of monsoon clouds; or like Mr Jonathan Swift's 'Flying Island of Laputa'. The edges of this mountain-like shape glowed with a ring of fire, while its surface glittered with multi-coloured points of light.

As it came lower I could see that the shape was actually a kind of city — a celestial city, with soaring towers and marvellous palaces piled, en echelon, on each other like a Thibetan monastery — indeed like the Potala — but infinitely larger and higher. Millions of points of light