"You are going to Baku?" answered the clerk.

And from his trap-door he gave me one of those looks more military than
civil, which are invariably found under the peak of a Muscovite cap.

"I think so," said I, perhaps a little sharply, "that is, if it is not
forbidden to go to Baku."

"No," he replied, dryly, "that is, if you are provided with a proper
passport."

"I will have a proper passport," I replied to this ferocious
functionary, who, like all the others in Holy Russia, seemed to me an
intensified gendarme.

Then I again asked what time the train left for Baku.

"Six o'clock to-night."

"And when does it get there?"

"Seven o'clock in the morning."

"Is that in time to catch the boat for Uzun Ada?"

"In time."

And the man at the trap-door replied to my salute by a salute of
mechanical precision.