Treachery in Tibet (26 page)

‘You will all know what we are doing here,’ he said. ‘My wife is somewhere in Lhasa and we have come to take her back to the column. We have now heard that she is in a prison on this side of the city. I intend to go straight there and free her and then ride out of the city. I do not wish to create a lot of trouble, no firing or fighting if we can help it. It is particularly important that we are allowed to get to the prison without incident.’

He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t want the Tibetan government to think that the General Sahib has sent just a troop of Gurkhas into the city alone to take it – although you fellows are quite capable of doing so.’

He waited until the dutiful chuckles had subsided. ‘No. I want us to ride in peacefully, without fuss, as though we are all just going shopping in a bazaar back in Nepal. So carbines will remain in their saddle buckets and you will keep your kukris out of sight. In other words, we don’t fight until we have to. And then, as always, as Gurkhas, we fight hard!’

At this a cheer went up from the ten soldiers. Then they formed into a compact group of five couples, with the interpreter riding behind Simon and Jenkins in the lead, and Sunil sitting at the back of Jenkins, his arm around the Welshman’s waist.

They quickly passed the bodies of the three Khampas, which
the Gurkhas had thrown by the side of the road. Fonthill looked enquiringly at the
daffadar.

‘Their ponies were old, sahib,’ the Gurkhas said in answer to the unspoken question. ‘Not worth keeping. I let them go.’

‘No,
Daffadar,
you should have taken them. They will return now to their stables and the Khampas will know that their riders have been killed. They could well now come out in force looking for us.’

‘Ah yes, sahib. I am sorry.’

‘Very well. Ride on ahead and give us warning if you see danger.’

‘Very good, sahib.’

Fonthill looked at his two companions. ‘You two all right?’ he asked.

Jenkins nodded. ‘The wound in the thigh is throbbin’ a bit but the head, where the great brain operates, like, is fine now, thank you.’

‘Sunil?’

The youth gave his white, wrap-around smile. ‘I am good now that we go and rescue Memsahib,’ he grinned.

They were approaching Nethang, the village from which Alice was taken, when the
daffadar
came galloping back.

‘Big party of Khampas on horses coming, sahib,’ he reported.

‘Damn! I thought as much. How far away?’

‘Perhaps one-quarter mile.’

Fonthill looked around. ‘I don’t want to fight them now.’ He turned to Sunil. ‘Is there anywhere near where we can get off the road and not be seen?’

‘Yes. Gulley just up here on this side.’ He pointed with this right hand. ‘We hid our ponies when we arrived. They can’t be seen from road.’

‘Good. Lead the way, 352.’

The gulley was tree-fringed and curved away into the hillside and comfortably took the troop.

‘Quiet now,’ ordered Fonthill and he parted the branches of a tree which hung over the entrance. Within three minutes, there was the thunder of hooves and a band of Khampa soldiers, perhaps thirty in number, galloped by, whipping their ponies, their long swords bouncing against the sides of their mounts.

‘Miserable lookin’ lot,’ muttered Jenkins, at Simon’s elbow. ‘I reckon we could ’ave seen ’em off in two volleys.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t want to stir up trouble before we find Alice. Come on, let’s get out of here before they find those bodies and start to look for our tracks.’

The little party trotted on now, bringing puzzled looks from the Tibetan peasants who were beginning to crowd the road. Fonthill looked neither to right nor left but kept his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the troop between the tables that had been set at the roadside to sell sweetmeats, lengths of cloth and a bewildering array of trinkets.

Eventually, Sunil called. ‘We go right here.’

Simon led them into a narrow dark street, fringed on the right by a high stone wall in which narrow, barred, unglazed windows were set high up.

‘This is place,’ called Sunil.

Fonthill looked around him quickly. The street seemed deserted, although the normal Tibetan shack-like dwellings formed a terrace facing the jail. Everything was strangely quiet. He took a deep breath.

‘Dismount,’ he called. ‘Handlers take the horses.’ Two men came
forward. ‘Keep them here, against the wall,’ Simon ordered, ‘in case we have to ride away quickly. One man at the end of the street to watch for Khampa soldiers. The rest of the troop, draw kukris.’

He helped Jenkins and Sunil down from their horse, withdrew his sabre from its saddle sheath, stuck it through his belt and then took his Webley revolver from its holster.

‘Where is the entrance?’ he demanded of Sunil.

‘Just here. It will be locked. You will need to knock loudly.’

But there was no need. The great, metal hinged door, set in its recess, hung open, revealing a dark interior. Treading carefully, Fonthill stepped forward, pulled it back with his foot and stepped inside. A small passageway opened out onto a courtyard of beaten earth, lined on all sides by blank walls, topped along the roof line by narrow, barred windows.

‘Ah!’ Simon drew back with a gasp. Just inside the courtyard, hung a figure, swaying gently in the breeze created by the open doorway. The rope around his neck had been fixed to a cross-beam and his feet hung only a couple of inches from the ground. Underneath his feet lay a pair of pince-nez spectacles, the glass lenses shattered, the frames twisted, as though someone had stamped upon them. Part rigor mortis seemed to have set in, so the man must have been hanging for a little time.

‘My God!’ exclaimed Jenkins. ‘I thought at first it was Miss Alice.’

‘So did I.’ Fonthill levelled his revolver and looked around keenly. Nothing stirred. He stepped outside into the courtyard. All of the cell doors were hanging wide open, except one.

‘Sunil, which cell was she in?’

‘I can’t tell from inside. Wait. I go outside and count windows.’

He returned within seconds. ‘Second on the left.’

‘Oh God.’ Simon swallowed hard. ‘That’s the only one that has been locked by the look of it. Wait. The key is still in the door on the outside.’

He stood stock-still, thinking for a moment. Then, he spoke softly. ‘This may be a trap.
Daffadar.
Take the men and look into each cell. Be careful. There may be Khampas waiting in each one. Sunil and 352, come with me.’

Averting their eyes from the hanging body, the three stepped softly towards the locked cell. There, Fonthill gently turned the key, pulled open the door and stepped back.

Immediately, a Tibetan, dressed in ubiquitous smock and baggy trousers, held up both hands in the far corner of the cell and screamed something.

‘He say, don’t shoot,’ interpreted Sunil.

‘Good lord!’ Once again Simon stepped back in revulsion. Two bodies, lay flat on the floor of the cell. They were obviously Khampa warriors, for their long black hair trailed behind them and they wore the washed blue smocks that were as near as these soldiers ever came to wearing uniforms. Their long swords lay, undrawn in the sheaths hanging from their belts. Two pools of blood had oozed out from a bullet wound in each of their chests and lay, half congealed, at their side. They were clearly dead.

Apart from a small heap of flattened straw lying in a corner, from which the Tibetan had obviously just risen, the rest of the cell was empty – except, that is, for a small, crumpled piece of clothing that lay against the wall near the door.

‘Tell him he’s not going to be shot as long as he tells us truthfully
who he is and what has happened,’ said Fonthill tersely. Still keeping the man covered with his revolver, he moved to the garment and picked it up. It was a cotton garment of some sort and carried a strange, sulphurous smell, emanating from a small hole, blackened at the edges, in the centre of the fabric.

Frowning, Simon shook it out. ‘Oh my God!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s Alice’s under-vest. Look at these little primroses embroidered onto the neckline. Oh, don’t say that she’s been shot!’ He whirled round to where Sunil was talking quietly to the man. ‘What’s he saying? What happened in here?’

‘It’s all right, sahib. She not dead. At least, not yet.’

‘What happened? Tell me.’

‘I do. Listen. This is jailer for the prison. He came in early this morning with these two dead men. They Khampas, part of bodyguard of Khampas General who is also governor here. It was General who ordered Memsahib’s arrest and who had her tied up there to bar in window.’

‘Yes. Go on. Get on with it.’

‘Sorry to be slow. He keep talking. Now, he say that he let the two men in this morning. He think they going to take Memsahib to General who lives in this street for, er, further questioning – he think probably torture to make Memsahib say she really a British spy. They come into cell, but Memsahib not hanging any more because I cut her down, see. She standing facing them. The men go to her to take her but she had little pistol – I give her, you know.’

‘Yes, Yes. Go on.’

‘She has pistol wrapped in that cotton thing in your hand. She
fire it at each man in turn and garment reduce noise. She clever, Memsahib, of course.’

‘Sunil …!’

‘Yes, I go on. Both men die quickly because she fire into their chests very close. Jailer think she go to kill him so he falls on knees and cries for mercy. But Memsahib go to door to see if anybody who heard muffled shots is coming but nobody comes. So she takes key from jailer, makes him lie on straw and goes out, locking door behind her.’

‘What a gal!’ Jenkins was grinning from ear to ear. ‘I told you she could look after ’erself. She’s a fighter, that one.’

But Fonthill was frowning. ‘What about the man hanging out there by the courtyard?’

‘Ah, yes. I ask him.’

Immediately, the jailor dropped his eyes and spoke slowly, addressing the floor.

Eventually Sunil turned back. ‘He say that is body of man who is professor at one of great monasteries here. He used by General to act as interpreter with Memsahib. But General finds out that he has been giving food and water to Memsahib so he has him killed, also this morning.’

‘The swine. Does he have any idea of where Alice has gone?’

Sunil shook his head. He say he think Memsahib take keys to open all cell doors so that other prisoners can escape because he can hear them shouting in courtyard, but he don’t know where she goes then. He worried because he thought no one would come and rescue him.’

‘Ah, so the General has not come looking for his men?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Hmmm. That’s a bad sign. Perhaps he came and took Alice himself?’

Jenkins wrinkled his face. ‘No, bach sir. He would surely come and rescue the jailer, wouldn’t ’e, and ask how she got out – and probably strangle the little bugger with ’is bare ’ands – ’e sounds that sort of bloke.’

They were interrupted by the return of the
daffadar.
‘Nobody in cells, sahib. Everyone empty. Whole jail seems to be empty.’

‘Thank you,
Daffadar.’

Jenkins laid a hand on Simon’s arm. ‘What do you intend to do now, bach sir? We’ve obviously got to find ’er, but where do we look in this bloody sacred city, eh?’

Fonthill nodded slowly. ‘The question is … what would Alice have done? After acting as Mother Bountiful, that is, to the seedy dropouts of the city? Where would she have gone? To the monasteries to carry out her original mission? Maybe. But she wouldn’t know where to go and wouldn’t be able to ask anyone to help her.’ He frowned. ‘I have a feeling that this General of the Khampas can probably help us.’

He turned quickly back to Sunil. ‘Find out from the jailer where the General lives and if he will have more of his bodyguard with him. I think we’d better pay him a call. I’d certainly like to make his acquaintance, anyway.’

Now it was Jenkins’s turn to frown. ‘You told me that old Youngfather had ordered you not to make a fuss. If you do make a fuss, it’d better be a quiet one.’

‘To hell with that—’

He was interrupted by the arrival of the trooper he had left on
guard at the end of the street. ‘Sahib,’ he cried, breathlessly, ‘Khampas coming down main street.’

‘Damn!
Daffadar,
get the horses in here, into this courtyard. Then shut the door behind you.’

Immediately, all was bustle as the
daffadar
rushed out, followed by his men, and then the clatter of hooves as the horses were pushed and led through the narrow archway and into the compound within.

‘Sunil,’ Fonthill turned to the boy. ‘Come into the courtyard and bring your rifle. Interpreter, tell this jailer he is to lock the main door of the jail once the horses are inside.’

Jenkins was by his side. ‘What are you goin’ to do?’

‘I don’t want to fight unless I really have to. Perhaps if we can get everyone inside here, these fellows will pass by and we won’t have any trouble.’

‘Who are these blokes, anyway?’

‘I should think they’re probably the party that passed us on the way in and have followed our route by questioning people who saw us … oh damn!’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’ve just seen that little weasel of a jailer slip through our Gurkhas and go through the doorway into the street. He’s not locked it, of course. And he’ll tell the Khampas where we are.
Daffadar.’

‘Sahib.’ The sergeant was standing by the open gateway, ushering the last horses into the compound.

‘Can you lock the door?’

‘No, sahib. Don’t have key. No bolts, either.’

‘Very well. I think we are bound to have visitors now. Close the door and then get the men to bring the horses to the rear of this courtyard.
There they must stand behind the horses. Leave the carbines in the saddle buckets. When I give the order, we will stampede the horses towards the Khampas, once they have all come into the courtyard. We will be close behind with our kukris. Quickly, now, there is little time.’

‘Sahib.’

Jenkins nodded and a slow smile began to spread from under his great moustache. ‘What a bloody good idea, bach sir. Set the horses on ’em in this confined space an’ then go in with our koookerisdoodars. They’ll be buggered. They won’t know which way to turn.’