Long clouds are creeping across the lower zones of the atmosphere. It
will be easy for me to enter the van without being noticed. And I have
not been too liberal in my visits to Kinko during these twelve days on
the road.
At this moment Popof says to me:
"Are you not going to sleep to-night, Monsieur Bombarnac?"
"I am in no hurry," I reply; "after this foggy day, spent inside the
car, I am glad of a breath of fresh air. Where does the train stop
next?"
"At Fuen-Choo, when it has passed the junction with the Nanking line."
"Good night, Popof."
"Good night, Monsieur Bombarnac."
I am alone.
The idea occurs to me to walk to the rear of the train, and I stop for
an instant on the gangway in front of the treasure van.
The passengers, with the exception of the Chinese guard, are all
sleeping their last sleep--their last, be it understood, on the Grand
Transasiatic.
Returning to the front of the train, I approach Popof's box, and find
him sound asleep.
I then open the door of the van, shut it behind me, and signal my
presence to Kinko.
The panel is lowered, the little lamp is lighted. In exchange for the
cakes and wine I receive the brave fellow's thanks, and we drink to the
health of Zinca Klork, whose acquaintance I am to make on the morrow.
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