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'Well, there were a few lines explaining that the thangka had been commissioned by my first body after his return from the realm of Shambala of the North. That's about all, I think. No. Wait a minute, there were also some strange verses, penned by the First Body himself.'

'Can you remember them?'

'No. I only glanced at them that once. They were very puzzling and I could not understand them. That is all I remember.' The lad must have realised how disappointed we were with his answer, for he looked up at Holmes anxiously. 'Is it very important? I do wish I could remember. I wish I could help.'

'Your Holiness must not worry,' said Holmes kindly. 'You have helped enough by letting us know of the existence of the verses.'

'Yes, and Mr Holmes will confound our enemies with his powers, my Lord.' the Lama Yonten tried to cheer up the crestfallen boy. 'Now you must rest. The Venerable Physician Abbot has expressly instructed that you must have a great deal of rest if you are to fully recover from your illness.' The Lama Yonten looked up at the tall bearded monk who was standing at the doorway. 'Come, the Lord Chamberlain is waiting.'

We all bowed as the young Grand Lama bade us a polite farewell and left the room with his chamberlain. I could not but help reflect on how, in spite of his illness, he was such a bright, intelligent boy, unspoiled by the loftiness of the unique position, gentle and courteous in spite of the treachery and violence surrounding him. It saddened and frightened me to think what he might have to face very soon. Sherlock Holmes too seemed to share my sombre reflections, for he gazed silently ahead, grim-faced and pensive, his heavy drooping eyelids forming deep shadows under his eyes. The ticking of the ormolu clock filled the silent room.

'We must get it back!' cried Sherlock Holmes suddenly, smacking his fist into the palm of his hand.

'What?' I said, surprised.

'You mean the thangka, Mr Holmes?' asked the Lama Yonten.

'Yes. I am convinced that it is the loose thread that will unravel the mystery.'

'But, Sir, everything about this case is so bizarre and complicated.' said I.

'As a rule,' said Holmes 'the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to remember or identify.'

'But how can the scroll be the solution to this confusing business?'

'It is of the highest importance in the art of detection to be able to recognise, out of a number of facts, which are incidental and which are vital. Otherwise your energy and attention will be dissipated instead of concentrated. Now, if we overlook, for the moment, all the strange occurrences of the night, even the unfortunate death of our monk guard, what we have remaining is the theft of the painted scroll. That is the simple cause on which everything else, however bizarre, devolves.'

'But how can you get it back?'

'Simple. I mean to burgle the Chinese legation,' replied Holmes calmly. I was rather startied by the answer, though awed by the infinite resourcefulness and daring of my companion.

'But you can't do that.' the Lama Yonten wailed.

'I don't see why not. View the matter fairly. They burgled the Grand Lama's chapel, so it seems only fitting and proper that we return the compliment.'

'Ah! A quid pro quo, Mr Holmes.' said I.

'Exactly.'

'There's bound to be an embarrassing diplomatic incident if you are caught,' the Lama said nervously.

'Well, we cannot discount that possibility entirely, can we now? But look at it this way. The only means we have of discovering our enemy's schemes is through that thangka. So either we avoid any incidents and wait for them to strike, or we take a risk and possibly confound their knavish tricks.'

'When you put it that way, I don't see what else we can do,' said the Lama Yonten glumly.

'Excellent!' cried Holmes, rubbing his hands together. 'Now let us work out the actual execution of our enterprise. Your mention of a diplomatic incident has given me a little inspiration.