'H'm. Of course. I did not tell you. They are members, Mirlees, of a large and powerful secret society, whose headquarters are at the monastery of Shigatse, in Tibet. During my novitiate I gathered that there was something of the sort in existence, though no mention of it was ever made to me. I fancy it started there centuries ago, as a purely religious organisation, but that it has since extended over China and taken on a character the very reverse of religious, though it still preserves the ancient hidden form of language which was used by Sbrang Chikya on the _obo_. I have been able to discover one or two things about the society since my return to Shanghai, but I little dreamed its agents were actually in the city and had marked me down for destruction.' 'You're sure of that?' 'I recognised one of my former fellow monks during our encounter in the opium hell.' 'What were you after there?' 'Facts. Since I got the translation of the legend I have been constantly on the look out for confirmation of it, however slight. It seemed impossible that a race like this people of the legend should lie hidden in their valley through the centuries without at least some vague tradition of their existence developing in neighbouring lands. I had heard of no such tradition, but other men might. I made veiled but thorough inquiries among natives who have used the caravan routes of the interior a good deal, and at last came upon a man who professed to know something about it. We were to meet in that den, then go on to his house. I now see the whole scheme. The monks at Shigatse had divined from certain questions I put to them that I was on the track of some land of gems in the interior, which had originally been discovered by one of their own fraternity. They wanted to filch my information and revenge themselves upon me for entering their monastery and penetrating some of _their_ secrets under false pretences. The fellow who was to give me information was put up as a trap, to get hold of this inscription and these--' Philipson threw himself back in his chair, staring at the wall above my head. He then began feverishly turning over the papers he had drawn from his wallet. 'What's wrong?' I cried. Philipson glared at me in a sort of suppressed fury. 'This is wrong, Mirlees,' he muttered between his teeth. 'The man you are partnering yourself with is about the clumsiest fool in Asia. When I came away from my house I thought I had all my papers with me. But I had not. One packet is missing--the one containing half the maps of my journey down country.' 'That's essential, of course?' 'Vital. It's this end of the trail I've left behind. The other I might dispense with--with extreme good luck I might find the _obo_ from memory if I had a correct start. As it is, I would not guarantee to get within a hundred miles of it.' 'H'm. Perhaps you'd better let me risk Shanghai after all, Philipson,' I said. 'I could get the maps as well as settle my own affairs.'