Hadow was not satisfied with his 'curiosities' and went back at seven the next morning with only one other officer to look for more. This secret mission proved fruitful because:

 . . . presently in a dark corner I discovered what appeared to be a cupboard with two doors. It was piled high with dust inside but the first thing I touched rattled, it being hung from the ceiling, and i recognised it as a Lama's apron made of human bones and beautifully carved - knowing this to be of some value I seized it out at once.

Hadow also found a large 'image of some deity' covered in silk, but it was evidently too big for him to take away so he settled on two smaller images, though he was 'disappointed to find no precious stones set in any of them as is often their custom'. However he remained concerned that:

if the authorities heard of what I had got, some of the things would be appropriated for the British Museum, so I have packed up the best of them and they are leaving tomorrow. There is a Colonel in the Indian Medical Service who is 'Antiquarian to the Force' and whenever he sees anything nice, he says for the British Museum, but we are very doubtful as to how much will eventually reach the said museum.

Though Hadow does not name him, the 'Antiquarian to the Force' was their surgeon, L. A. Waddell. With the assistance of the NorfolkRegiment and their Maxim machine guns, the Young husband Expedition successfully reached Lhasa and attempted to establish the much sought after trade relations between Tibet and British India. In the meantime Waddell did ensure that the majority of looted Tibetan objects were accessioned at both the British Museum and the Victoria & Albert Museum in London. There they have performed honourable service to the static, religious vision of Tibet which still predominates one hundred years later. In the absence in these galleries of any narrative of Tibet's history in the twentieth century, they contribute to the process by which Tibetan culture continues to be viewed as 'timeless' and 'nameless'.

Hadow's collection on the other hand (now displayed in the Norfolk and Norwich Regimental Museum, Norwich) is presented in the context of a military museum whose entrance display includes a highly polished Maxim machine gun alongside a Tibetan gun collected at Gyantse. As artefacts of battle their labels also suggest a wider epistemological conflict. The Maxim is captioned as the 'very sophisticated' weapon which successfully suppressed the opposition, while the flint triggered Tibetan weapon is described as a 'simple, slow, clumsy and inaccurate' implement of war.  Like its users, it is construed as lower on the evolutionary scale by comparison to the British machine gun. The Young husband Expedition had been one of the first tests for the newly designed Maxim, and [as the regimental museum informs us) Lt Hadow returned from Tibet 'a very enthusiastic advocate' of it. (However, he was unsuccessful in his attempts to introduce a machine-gun section to the All India Rifle competition.) In the Norwich display, the visitor passes Hadow's human-bone apron en route to a case that reiterates the effectiveness of British weaponry and includes a photograph by Hadow of a Tibetan dying on the plain at Gyantse. Here lies Tibet as if in a perpetual state of rigor mortis. This impression is all the more poignant and problematic when the picture is accompanied by Tibetan bones in the form of a thigh-bone trumpet (again from Hadow's collection at Gyantse) and the 'apron'. This collection confirms an observation made by Susan Stewart that:

If the function of the souvenir proper is to create a continuous and personal narrative of the past, the function of such souvenirs of death is to disrupt and disclaim that continuity. Souvenirs of the mortal body are not so much a nostalgic celebration of the past as they are an erasure of the significance of history.