The valley of eyes unseen

calls British. For what reason have your people received him in such honour and placed him so high?' Kalliboas looked at me with surprise in which there was more than a hint of disdain. 'Can it be,' he said, 'that among those from whom you come there is so little knowledge of the great conqueror? Is there no statue, no carving upon metal or stone, which enables you to recognise our King?' 'You mean--' we cried together. 'I say,' broke in Kalliboas, 'that the man whom you call by your barbarian name of Philipson is no other than our own lost King who has returned to us after the years, Alexander of Macedon.' Nothing was said by anybody as we walked back to our quarters. Kalliboas, as it seemed, was quite content to let us believe his amazing statement or not as we chose. We were silent because we simply found no words to say. From that far-off day beside Yangtze River, when Poyning had addressed Philipson as Macedonian and justified his impertinent fancy by the fact that our comrade's features bore a striking resemblance to those of the great Grecian conqueror, I had pondered much in my mind upon the nature of Saunders Philipson. More than once already in this narrative I have recorded things which argued him to be far out of the common run of men. His astonishing physical beauty--not to be totally extinguished even by the very skilful native disguise I'd first seen him in--the force and intensity of his mind, his almost superhuman determination in following an object he had set his heart on, his strange power of inspiring affection and faith, his stupendous bodily strength--all had got me and kept me speculating in a vague, perhaps even fantastic strain about him. But that he should regard himself as the living incarnation of one of the greatest figures in history, and that the people most interested in such a reincarnation should promptly accept him as such--this set my brain whirling again. 'You have added enough to your knowledge of us for one day, strangers,' said Kalliboas, when at last we had reached the guest-house. 'Let me now learn something from you. What moved you to accompany our King hither?' It was on the tip of my tongue to blurt out something which, as I now see, would have been extremely impolitic, but luckily Poyning broke in. 'We are of a race which delights in strange adventures,' he said. 'When our comrade unfolded this adventure to us we readily joined him, for we believed he was a man who would accomplish much.' This answer seemed to please Kalliboas greatly. 'You had faith in our King?' he queried. 'We had great faith, which was justified, for I do not think any other man in the world could have brought us over the mountains as he did. But now, Kalliboas, it is long since we saw him.' The old man drew back his head sharply. 'Surely,' went on Poyning with a little heat, 'we have some claim upon him? We risked our lives in coming here, when few men even of our race would have followed him on a journey so full of uncertainty and danger. Though he is your King, to us he is still our comrade, with whom we went through much, and whom we greatly love. He, surely, will not deny us an audience?' I don't know that the old man approved of Poyning's free words, but he seemed to relax a little at the evident sincerity with which they were spoken. 'Our own people, even our greatest, have audience with the King seldom,' he said, rising. 'Inquiry shall nevertheless be made.' When Kalliboas had gone, Poyning sat for a long time on the edge of a couch, drumming his fingers on his knees. I spoke to him once or twice, but he returned nothing but absent monosyllables, and I could see from the look on his face that his thoughts were neither clear nor pleasant. 'This will never do, Mirlees,' he burst out at last. 'What do you mean?' 'We must have a plan--present a united front. We were within an ace of disaster to-day. When he asked our reason for coming here, you very nearly let him know _your_ reason. I could see it.' I began to catch Poyning's drift. 'That would be unwise, of course,' I said. 'Unwise? It would be suicidal. I've had my eyes open since we came here, Mirlees, and I can see this much with absolute certainty: we are not _personæ gratæ_ in this state. The people greatly rejoice at getting back their King, as they call him--but they would sooner have had him come alone. There's a palpable atmosphere of suspicion wherever _we_ move.' 'You think so?' 'I do most decidedly. Look at the facts. These people find us, strangers, on the hillside. What is the first thing they do? They take very good care that we shall not run back by the way we came. It is not till they find Philipson also, and recognise him for their lost King, that things become easier for us. Why? Because, I take it, they thought we were his servants like the Chinese and might be trusted not to run away. But as soon as they learn more about us, suspicion brews again, and we are under arrest for a week. Then, apparently, Philipson having vouched for us, we are given more freedom and shown more secrets. I don't imagine that would have happened unless they were satisfied those secrets were safe in our keeping, and what does that mean? _That we must stay here for ever._' This was putting the situation in an unpleasant light indeed. 'We shall have to have a say in that,' I said. 'Agreed. But how?' 'You think they'll keep us by force?' 'God knows. But I begin to fear this people, Mirlees. There is a cold magnificence about them and their city that oppresses me. I feel they are benevolent to a point, but that beyond it they could be unpleasant in a way we don't dream. How do you suppose they've kept their secret from the world for twenty-two centuries? The impassable mountains would account for it to a great extent, but even we know of two men who have strayed into this valley from the outer world. Kalliboas admits the coming of one--why, I don't know, unless he thought the tomb these people have for some reason or other built for the stranger is so conspicuous that sooner or later we should find it for ourselves, and all about it. But who's to know there were no other strays? There may have been many in the course of the centuries. Some may have been content to spend the rest of their lives here, but what of those who wanted to go back? They never left this valley alive, Mirlees--only the one man, the Tibetan who built the _obo_, and that perhaps only because he ran before they saw him. Had others got out alive, this valley would not have remained secret from the world. Then again, doesn't it strike you as queer that a man who could get over those mountains on foot and alone should die of heart-failure climbing the foothills this side? What was that man doing when he died?' Poyning was striding swiftly to and fro, clenching and unclenching his hands in a curiously agitated fashion. Suddenly he halted, and stared. There, framed in the doorway, stood Kalliboas. 'Inquiry has been made,' he said. 'You are to be received by the King within a few days.' Poyning bowed in silence, and the old man was gone. 'It's a tall order,' said Poyning with a queer look at me, 'but I wonder if our ancient friend knows English?' 'I'm beginning to be shy of assigning limits to our ancient friend and his people,' I said. 'But for the future we shall do well to discuss private matters in a whisper. I never heard Kalliboas approach then.' 'Neither did I. But it was uncommonly odd he should turn up at the moment he did. This place gets on my nerves, Mirlees. Thank God we're to see Philipson. We may be able to catch some hint of what these people intend to do with us. But we must take care not to give him or anybody else the slightest inkling that we want to leave the valley, and if ever you had an idea of writing a book about it, for God's sake keep the ambition dark!' The promised audience with Philipson was the better part of a week in coming, but at last, one morning just after we had finished eating, Kalliboas came to announce the King was waiting us. We were swiftly carried in litters to the royal palace, where we mounted the magnificent marble steps, and passed into an outer hall, and there, at the bidding of Kalliboas, took off our sandals and followed him to the inner apartments. Kalliboas immediately threw himself on to his face, signalling us to do likewise. It seemed a pretty squalid thing to grovel in this fashion to a man with whom we had travelled so far on a footing of perfect comradeship, but I think we both realised it would be a bad move to demur. We heard light steps across the hall, and felt ourselves touched on the shoulder. There stood Saunders Philipson before us, his long white robes setting off his face and figure to admiration. He greeted us with that wonderful grace he always had, bade Kalliboas go, and a moment later was chatting with us as frankly and informally as if the strange wheelings of fortune of the past weeks had never been. He had motioned us to the lawn-covered couches of the apartment, three of which were laid so close together in a triangle that we could speak quite comfortably without raising our voices. We talked English. 'How do you find yourselves?' was Philipson's first question. 'We are very well looked after,' I said. 'But we ought rather to inquire for your health. You caught it pretty hot in the snow-slide, Philipson.' He seemed to cast his mind back, as if to something that had happened a great while ago. 'Ah, yes,' he said. 'The avalanche. If it had not been for my two faithful comrades I do not know that I should be here now. I have heard how you got the search party and found me. That adds one more to the already long list of services for which I have to thank you.' 'We did little,' said Poyning. 'But the doctors who attended you did much. It amazed us, Philipson, to see the way you recovered.' As Poyning spoke I saw him raise his head. His eyes opened in a wild glare of stupefaction. He was looking at something over my shoulder. Then I swung round on my couch, and looked for myself, and came near fainting. _The Chinese servants, Ah Sing and Lo Eng, stood behind me._ CHAPTER XI THE HALL OF WANDERING SOULS I rose to my feet and swayed like a drunken man, a furious throbbing in my temples and buzzing in my ears. For an instant I fancied we were the victims of an illusion; yet the men looked solid enough, and there was no doubting the way Ah Sing dropped a knee to the floor and saluted us with his old ingratiating grin. Philipson turned to the servants. 'You are to speak to Mr. Mirlees,' he said, 'and convince him you are real.' 'You, Lo Eng,' I said, 'do you remember what happened to you?' 'When we got well, Mr. Philipson asked for us,' he replied with dignity. 'We live in the palace and wait upon him.' 'What about you, Ah Sing?' The Celestial's grin broadened. 'Ah Sing fallum one big bang,' he said. 'Him tinkee die. Nex' time him sabbee, _tai-fu_ hab come, makee numbah-one topside pidgin. Gib Ah Sing plenty good dlink. Jus' now him headum walkee plopah, no makee seeck.' Then the pair of them withdrew. As body-servants to Philipson they were clearly enjoying some consequence, and I couldn't help feeling that in the bow they gave us there was just a shade of patronage. 'What does it mean?' I cried, staring at Philipson. 'We thought those men were dead. They _were_ dead--or what we've always been taught to call dead.' 'That is just the crux of the matter,' he replied, gravely. 'What one has been accustomed to regard as death. The world we came from is rather easily satisfied on that point, but the physicians of my people