“I appreciate your advice,” said the Choen Joe, “I will not tell it to anyone. If I do, it will be only when it is positively to your benefit, but not till then. When I disclose it you may be sure that you will have a great name in Tibet.” With such pleasant talkings we closed the day. I took my leave and lodged at the druggist’s for that night.
On the following day, (May 4th) my friend the Secretary of the Chinese Minister stepped into my room as usual. While we were talking together there was something in his manner that put me on the alert. He said: “You say you are from Foochee in China. Of course I don’t doubt it. But I see a great difference in your character from that of the ordinary people of China. It may sound strange, but did not your ancestors come from a foreign country?”
I replied that I had no definite knowledge about my ancestor’s original home, and asked him what had made him think that my character did not resemble that of the Chinese. Upon this he said:
“The Japanese are very smart by nature and push on with great patience, while most Chinese lack in quickness, of course with a few exceptions like yourself. Moreover the Chinese have in general the characteristic of sedateness which you see in me, but which I cannot see in you. Instead of being calm, you are always hustling and active. It is too delicate a distinction for words, but I am sure you have something in you which I cannot trace to the Chinese. But from whom are you descended?”
From this way of talking I could understand that he was closely examining me, and trying to find out my secret by my countenance and expression. It seemed probable that he already knew that I was not a Chinaman but a Japanese. But I did not give him any definite answer, and he left me.
Some while later on during the same day I had another startling story told me by the wife of the apothecary. She began with: “Say, Kusho-la (your lordship). Don’t you think the most awful thing in the world is a madman?”
I asked her reason, and she said: “Why, that mad son of Para has been telling a strange story. It is a story told by a madman, so of course I think it cannot be depended upon; but he said that though it was a great secret, he knew of a horrible affair that was to take place in this country. When I asked what it was, he whispered to me: ‘There is a priest from Japan in this town. He calls himself a priest, but he is surely a great officer of the Japanese Government, who has been sent for the investigation of the country. It is no less a personage than the Serai Amchi. I met and talked with him once when I went to Darjeeling, and I found him a great man.’ This is what he tells me. Is it not strange? Nobody knows he has ever been to Darjeeling, but what do you think about it?”
I thought the madman was not mad if he had spoken that way, but answered her: “The story of a madman must be only taken as such.”
The lady continued, “Anyhow my husband and many others seem to believe it. I have told this to you as I heard it, and hope you will not mind.”
This conversation occurred on the 14th of May. That night I returned to the mansion of the Minister of the Treasury, and on the next day I came to the monastery at Sera. At night when all were fast asleep, I took out some paper and began to write a letter to the Pope. I did this as a preparation against the day when my secret should be disclosed.