No! He has not gone. He is in the case. I hear distinctly his regular
and prolonged respiration. He sleeps. He sleeps the sleep of the
innocent, to which he has no right, for he ought to sleep the sleep of
the swindler of the Grand Transasiatic.
I am just going to knock when the locomotive's whistle emits its
strident crow, as we pass through a station. But the train is not going
to stop, I know, and I wait until the whistling has ceased.
I then give a gentle knock on the panel.
There is no reply.
However, the sound of breathing is not so marked as before.
I knock more loudly.
This time it is followed by an involuntary movement of surprise and
fright.
"Open, open!" I say in Russian.
There is no reply.
"Open!" I say again. "It is a friend who speaks. You have nothing to
fear!"
If the panel is not lowered, as I had hoped, there is the crack of a
match being lighted and a feeble light appears in the case.
I look at the prisoner through the holes in the side.
There is a look of alarm on his face; his eyes are haggard. He does not
know whether he is asleep or awake.
"Open, my friend, I say, open and have confidence.
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