ok
out! look out!" for the Merv was coming in at some speed. It brought
death to the hat, the engine smashed it pitilessly, and it was only a
torn rag when it was handed to the baron. And then began again a series
of imprecations on the Grand Transasiatic.

The signal is given. The passengers, old and new, hurry to their
places. Among the new ones I notice three Mongols, of forbidding
appearance, who get into the second-class car.

As I put my foot on the platform I hear the young Chinese say to his
companion:

"Well, Dr. Tio-King, did you see the German with his performing hat?
How I laughed!"

And so Pan Chao speaks French. What do I say? Better than French--he
speaks Persian! Most extraordinary! I must have a talk with him.

CHAPTER IX.

We started to time. The baron could not complain this time. After all,
I understood his impatience; a minute's delay might cause him to lose
the mail boat from Tien Tsin to Japan.

The day looked promising, that is to say, there might have been a wind
strong enough to put out the sun as if it were a candle, such a
hurricane as sometimes stops the locomotives of the Grand Transasiatic,
but to-day it is blowing from the west, and will be supportable, as it
blows the train along. We can remain out on the platforms.

I want to enter into conversation with Pan Chao. Popof was right; he
must be the son of some family of distinction who has been spending
some years in Paris for education and amusement. He ought to be one of
the most regular visitors at the _Twentieth Century_ "five o'clocks."

Meanwhile I will attend to other business. There is that man in the
case. A whole day will elapse before I can relieve his anxiety. In what
a state he must be! But as it would be unwise for me to enter the van
during the day, I must wait until night.

I must not forget that an interview with the Caternas is included in
the programme. There will be no difficulty in that, apparently.

What will not be so easy is to get into conversation with my No. 12,
his superb lordship Faruskiar. He seems rather stiff, does this
Oriental.

Ah! There is a name I must know as soon as possible, that of the
mandarin returning to China in the form of a mortuary parcel. With a
little ingenuity Popof may manage to ascertain it from one of the
Persians in charge of his Excellency. If it would only be that of some
grand functionary, the Pao-Wang, or the Ko-Wang, or the viceroy of the
two Kiangs, the Pr