De Richleau adjusted his rucksack on his shoulders; he frowned.
“We have a difficult task before us — while attracting as little attention as possible, we must find out how the trains run on the branch line to the Tavda River, and then secure seats.
“How far is it — I mean to Tobolsk?” Simon inquired.
“Two hundred miles to the dead end of the railway, and a further hundred across country — but we have at least one piece of good fortune.”
“What’s that?”
“That we should have arrived here early in the morning; if there is a train today we cannot have missed it!”
“Today?” echoed Simon, aghast “Aren’t there trains every day?”
De Richleau laughed. “My dear fellow, it is not Brighton that we are going to. In such a place as this, trains run only twice weekly, or at best every other day!”
Simon grunted. “Thank God we didn’t arrive in the middle of the night, then.”
“Yes, we should have been frozen before the morning.”