"
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. Then he
began to speak as one would set in motion some delicate involved
machinery running away into the hidden spaces of a workshop.
"The Dalai Lama had fallen - he was alone in the Image Room. His
head striking the sharp edge of a table was cut. He had lost a
great deal of blood when we found him and was close to death.
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.
"Major Carstair did not at once impress us. `What this man
needs,' he said, `is blood.' That was clear to everybody. One
of our, how shall I say it in your language, Cardinals, replied
with some bitterness, that the Dalai Lama could hardly be
imagined to lack anything else.
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