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-