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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.
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.
In a short time the Dalai Lama had recovered. But in the meantime Major Carstair had gone on into the Gobi seeking the fantastic treasure." The girl turned toward the man, a wide-eyed, eager, lighted face. "Do you realize," she said, "the sort of treasure that my father sacrificed his life to search for?" The Oriental spoke slowly. "It was to destroy a Kingdom," he said.
A faint look of gratification crossed the boy's face, but he only said stoically: "Twelve year's my age." "What do you do in the wintertime when there isn't much odd-jobbing? How do you get along then?" "I git along awright. Sometimes I git help. Off a lady here, a frien' o' mine." "What lady? What's her name?" "Name o' Miss Mary. Miss Carstair, some calls her. I git money and clo's off her.
But at the end of this involved mental process his English sentences appeared correctly, and with an accurate selection in the words. "You must pardon the hour, Miss Carstair," he said, in his slow, precise articulation, "but I am required to see you and it is the only time I have." Then his eyes caught the necklace on the table, and advancing with two steps he stooped over it.
"We interrupted then, for Major Carstair was our guest and entitled to every courtesy, and inquired how it would be possible to restore blood to the Dalai Lama; it was not conceivable that the lost blood could be gathered up. "He explained then that he would transfer it from the veins of a healthy man into the unconscious body." The Oriental hesitated; then he went on.
Major Carstair was at this time approaching the monastery from the south; his description sent to us from Lhassa contained the statement that he was an American surgeon. We sent at once asking him to visit the Dalai Lama, for the skill of Western people in this department of human knowledge is known to us." The Oriental went on, slowly, with extreme care.
"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.
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