Here am I on the platform, walking the deck as I smoke.  This is rather an important station, and from the engine house comes a more powerful locomotive than those which have brought the train along since we left Uzun Ada.  These early engines were all very well as long as the line lay over an almost horizontal plain.  But now we are among the gorges of the Pamir plateau, there are gradients of such steepness as to require more engine power.

I watch the proceedings, and when the locomotive has been detached with its tender, the baggage van—­with Kinko in—­is at the head of the train.

The idea occurs to me that the young Roumanian may perhaps venture out on the platform.  It would be an imprudence for he runs the risk of being seen by the police, the “gardovois,” who move about taking a good look at the passengers.  What my No. 11 had better do is to remain in his box, or at least in his van.  I will go and get a few provisions, liquid and solid, and take them to him, even before the departure of the train, if it is possible to do so without fear of being noticed.

The refreshment room at the station is open, and Popof is not there.  If he was to see me making purchases he would be astonished, as the dining car contains everything we might want.

At the bar I get a little cold meat, some bread, and a bottle of vodka.

The station is not well lighted.  A few lamps give only a feeble light.  Popof is busy with one of the railway men.  The new engine has not yet been attached to the train.  The moment seems favorable.  It is useless to wait until we have left.  If I can reach Kinko I shall be able to sleep through the night—­and that will be welcome, I admit.

I step onto the train, and after assuring myself that no one is watching me, I enter the baggage van, saying as I do so: 

“It is I.”

In fact it is as well to warn Kinko in case he is out of his box.

But he had not thought of getting out, and I advise him to be very careful.

He is very pleased at the provisions, for they are a change to his usual diet.

“I do not know how to thank you, Monsieur Bombarnac,” he says to me.

“If you do not know, friend Kinko,” I reply, “do not do it; that is very simple.”

“How long do we stop at ?”

“Two hours.”

“And when shall we be at the frontier?”

“To-morrow, about one in the afternoon.”

“And at Kachgar?”

“Fifteen hours afterward, in the night of the nineteenth.”

“There the danger is, Monsieur Bombarnac.”

“Yes, Kinko; for if it is difficult to enter the Russian possessions, it is no less difficult to get out of them, when the Chinese are at the gates.  Their officials will give us a good look over before they will let us pass.  At the same time they examine the passengers much more closely than they do their baggage.  And as this van is reserved for the luggage going through to Pekin, I do not think you have much to fear.  So good night.  As a matter of precaution, I would rather not prolong my visit.”