Jules Verne by Claudius Bombarnac

to Christiania in a box, and two sweethearts of Barcelona,
Erres and Flora Anglora, had shared a box between them from Spain into
France.
    But I must wait until Popof had retired to rest. The train would not
stop until it reached Gheok Tepe at one o'clock in the morning. During
the run from Kizil Arvat to Gheok Tepe I reckoned that Popof would have
a good sleep, and then, or never, I would put my plan into execution.
    Hold! an idea! Suppose it is Zeitung who makes a trade of this sort of
thing and manages to make a little money out of public generosity? It
ought to be Zeitung, it must be! Confound it! he is not at all
interesting! And here was I reckoning on this fellow. Well, we shall
see. I shall know him by his photographs, and perhaps I may make use of
him.
    Half an hour went by, and the noise of a door shutting on the platform
of the car told me that our guard had just entered his little box. In
spite of my desire to visit the baggage car I waited patiently, for it
was possible that Popof was not yet sound asleep.
    Within, all is quiet under the veiled light of the lamps.
    Without, the night is very dark, and the rattle of the train mingles
with the whistling of the rather high wind.
    I rise. I draw aside the curtain of one of the lamps. I look at my
watch.
    It is a few minutes past eleven. Still two hours to Gheok Tepe.
    The moment has come. I glide between the seats to the door of the car.
I open it gently and shut it after me without being heard by my
companions, without waking any one.
    Here I am on the platform, which shakes as the train travels. Amid the
unfathomable darkness which envelops the Kara Koum, I experience the
feeling of a night at sea when on shipboard.
    A feeble light filters through the blind of the guard's box. Shall I
wait till it is extinct, or, as is very probable, will it not last till
the morning?
    Anyhow, Popof is not asleep, as I discover by the noise he makes in
turning over. I keep quiet, leaning against the balustrade of the
platform.
    Leaning forward my looks are attracted by the luminous ray thrown
forward by the headlight of the engine. It seems as though we are
running on a road of fire. Above me the clouds are racing across with
great rapidity, and a few constellations glitter through their rifts,
Cassiopeia, the Little Bear, in the north, and in the zenith Vega of
Lyra.
    At length absolute silence reigns on the platforms. Popof, who is in
charge of the train, has his eyes closed in sleep. Assured of safety I
cross the gangway and am in front of the baggage van.
    The door is only fastened with a bar which is hung between two staples.
    I open it and shut it behind me.
    I do this without noise, for if I do not want to attract Popof's
attention, I do not want as yet to attract the attention of the man in
the packing case.
    Although the darkness is deep in the van, although there is no side
window, I know my position. I know where the case is placed; it is in
the left corner as I enter. The thing is not to knock against any other
case—not against one of those belonging to Ephrinell, for what a row
there would be if I set all those artificial teeth chattering!
    Carefully feeling with feet and hands, I reach the case. No cat could
have been more gentle or more silent as I felt its edges.
    I leaned over and placed my ear timidly against the outer panel.
    There was no sound of breathing.
    The products of the house of Strong, Bulbul & Co., of New York, could
not be more noiseless in their boxes.
    A fear seizes upon me—the fear of seeing all my reporter's hopes
vanish. Was I deceived on board the
Astara
? That respiration, that
sneeze; had I dreamed it all? Was there no one in the case, not even
Zeitung? Were these really glass goods exported to Miss Zinca Klork,
Avenue Cha-Coua, Pekin, China?
    No! Feeble as it is, I detect a movement inside the case! It becomes
more distinct, and I ask if the panel is going to slide, if the
prisoner is coming out of his prison to breathe the fresh