Chapter 8

Before the train reaches Gheok Tepe I am back in the car. Confound this
dromedary! If he had not managed to get smashed so clumsily No. 11
would no longer be unknown to me. He would have opened his panel, we
would have talked in a friendly way, and separated with a friendly
shake of the hand. Now he will be full of anxiety, he knows his fraud
is discovered, that there is some one who has reason to suspect his
intentions, some one who may not hesitate to betray his secret. And
then, after being taken out of his case, he will be put under guard at
the next station, and it will be useless for Mademoiselle Zinca Klork
to expect him in the capital of the Chinese Empire!

Yes! It would be better for me to relieve his anxiety this very night.
That is impossible, for the train will soon stop at Gheok Tepe, and
then at Askhabad which it will leave in the first hour of daylight. I
can no longer trust to Popof's going to sleep.

I am absorbed in these reflections, when the locomotive stops in Gheok
Tepe station at one o'clock in the morning. None of my companions have
left their beds.

I get out on to the platform and prowl around the van. It would be too
risky to try and get inside. I should have been glad to visit the town,
but the darkness prevents me from seeing anything. According to what
Major Noltitz says it still retains the traces of Skobeleffs terrible
assault in 1880--dismantled walls, bastions in ruins. I must content
myself with having seen all that with the major's eyes.

The train starts at two o'clock in the morning, after having been
joined by a few passengers who Popof tells me are Turkomans. I will
have a look at them when daylight comes.

For ten minutes I remained on the car platform and watched the heights
of the Persian frontier on the extreme limit of the horizon. Beyond the
stretch of verdant oasis watered by a number of creeks, we crossed wide
cultivated plains through which the line made frequent diversions.

Having discovered that Popof did not intend to go to sleep again, I
went back to my corner.

At three o'clock there was another stop. The name of Askhabad was
shouted along the platform. As I could not remain still I got out,
leaving my companions sound asleep, and I ventured into the town.

Askhabad is the headquarters of the Transcaspian, and I opportunely
remembered what Boulangier, the engineer, had said about it in the
course of that interesting journey he had made to Merv. All that I saw
on the left as I went out of the station, was the gloomy outline of the
Turkoman Fort, dominating the new town, the population of which has
doubled since 1887. It forms a confused mass behind a thick curtain of
trees.

When I returned at half-past