“Monsieur Claudius,” said the actor to me, “there is not a single scene here that would suit the Prise de Pékin!”
“But we are not at Peking, my dear Caterna.”
“That is true, and it has to be remembered, if we are to be thankful for little.”
“ ‘Thankful for very little,’ as the Italians say.”
“Well, if they say that, they are no fools.”
As we were about to board the car again, I saw Popof running toward me, shouting:
“Monsieur Bombarnac!”
“What is the matter, Popof?”
“A telegraph messenger asked me if there was anyone belonging to the Twentieth Century in the train.”
“A telegraph messenger?”
“Yes, on my replying in the affirmative, he gave me this telegram for you.”
“Give it me! give it me!”
I seize the telegram, which has been waiting for me for some days. Is it a reply to my wire sent from Merv, relative to the mandarin Yen Lou?
I open it. I read it. And it falls from my hand.
This is what it said:
“Claudius Bombarnac,
“Correspondent,
“Twentieth Century.
“Khotan, Chinese Turkestan.“It is not the corpse of a mandarin that the train is taking to Peking, but the imperial treasure, value fifteen millions, sent from Persia to China, as announced in the Paris newspapers eight days ago; endeavor to be better informed for the future.”
XVIII
“Millions—there are millions in that pretended mortuary van!”
In spite of myself, this imprudent phrase had escaped me in such a way that the secret of the imperial treasure was instantly known to all, to the railway men as well as to the passengers. And so, for greater security, the Persian government, in agreement with the Chinese government, has allowed it to be believed that we were carrying the corpse of a mandarin, when we were really taking to Peking a treasure worth fifteen million of francs.
Heaven pardon me, what a howler—pardonable assuredly—but what a howler I had been guilty of! But why should I have doubted what Popof told me, and why should Popof have suspected what the Persians had told him regarding this Yen Lou? There was no reason for our doubting their veracity.
I am none the less deeply humiliated in my self-esteem as a journalist, and I am much annoyed at the call to order which I have brought upon myself. I shall take very good care not to breathe a word of my misadventure, even to the major. Is it credible? In Paris the Twentieth Century is better informed of what concerns the Grand Transasiatic than I am! They knew that an imperial treasure is in the van, and I did not! Oh! the mistakes of special correspondents!
Now the secret is divulged, and we know that this treasure, composed of gold and precious stones, formerly deposited in the hands of the Shah of Persia, is being sent to its legitimate owner, the Son of Heaven.
That is why my lord Faruskiar, who was aware of it in consequence of his position as general manager of the company, had joined the train at Douchak so as to accompany the treasure to its destination. That is why he and Ghangir—and the three other Mongols—had so carefully watched this precious van, and why they had shown themselves so anxious when it had been left behind by the breakage of the coupling, and why they were so eager for its recovery. Yes, all is explained!
That is also why a detachment of Chinese soldiers has taken over the van at Kachgar, in relief of the Persians! That is why Pan-Chao never heard of Yen Lou, nor of any exalted personage of that name existing in the Celestial Empire!
We started to time, and, as may be supposed, our traveling companions could talk of nothing else but the millions which were enough to enrich everyone in the train.
“This pretended mortuary van has always been suspicious to me,” said Major Noltitz. “And that was why I questioned Pan-Chao regarding the dead mandarin.”
“I remember,” I said; “and I could not quite understand the motive of your question. It is certain now that we have got a treasure in tow.”
“And I add,” said the major, “that the Chinese government has done wisely in sending an escort of twenty well-armed men. From Kothan to Lan Teheou the trains will have two thousand kilometres to traverse through the desert, and the safety of the line is not as great as it might be across the Gobi.”
“All the more so, major, as the redoubtable Ki-Tsang has been reported in the northern provinces.”
“Quite so, and a haul of fifteen millions is worth having by a bandit chief.”
“But how could the chief be informed of the treasure being sent?”
“That sort of people always know what it is their interest to know.”
“Yes,” thought I, “although they do not read the Twentieth Century.”
Meanwhile different opinions were being exchanged on the gangways. Some would rather travel with the millions than carry a corpse along with them, even though it was that of a first-class mandarin. Others considered the carrying of the treasure a danger to the passengers. And that was the opinion of Baron Weissschnitzerdörfer in a furious attack on Popof.
“You ought to have told us about it, sir, you ought to have told us about it! Those millions are known to be in the train, and they will tempt people to attack us. And an attack, even if repulsed, will mean delay, and delay I will not submit to! No, sir, I will not!”
“No one will attack us,” replied Popof. “No one will dream of doing it!”
“And how do you know that? how do you know that?”
“Be calm, pray.”
“I will not be calm; and if there is a delay, I will hold the company responsible!”
That is understood; a hundred thousand florins damages to Monsieur le Baron Tour de Monde.
Let us pass to the other passengers.
Ephrinell looked at the matter, of course, from a very practical point of view.
“There can be no doubt that our risks have been greatly increased by this treasure, and in case of accident
