Around the World in Eighty Days
“Nothing,” replied Passepartout, again emptying his glass.
The detective passed his hand across his forehead, hesitating before he
spoke again. What should he do? Passepartout’s mistake seemed sincere,
but it made his design more difficult. It was evident that the servant
was not the master’s accomplice, as Fix had been inclined to suspect.
“Well,” said the detective to himself, “as he is not an accomplice, he
will help me.”
He had no time to lose: Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong, so he
resolved to make a clean breast of it.
“Listen to me,” said Fix abruptly. “I am not, as you think, an agent of
the members of the Reform Club—”
“Bah!” retorted Passepartout, with an air of raillery.
“I am a police detective, sent out here by the London office.”
“You, a detective?”
“I will prove it. Here is my commission.”
Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix displayed this
document, the genuineness of which could not be doubted.
“Mr. Fogg’s wager,” resumed Fix, “is only a pretext, of which you and
the gentlemen of the Reform are dupes. He had a motive for securing
your innocent complicity.”
“But why?”
“Listen. On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five thousand
pounds was committed at the Bank of England by a person whose
description was fortunately secured. Here is his description; it
answers exactly to that of Mr. Phileas Fogg.”
“What nonsense!” cried Passepartout, striking the table with his fist.
“My master is the most honourable of men!”
“How can you tell? You know scarcely anything about him. You went into
his service the day he came away; and he came away on a foolish
pretext, without trunks, and carrying a large amount in banknotes. And
yet you are bold enough to assert that he is an honest man!”
“Yes, yes,” repeated the poor fellow, mechanically.
“Would you like to be arrested as his accomplice?”
Passepartout, overcome by what he had heard, held his head between his
hands, and did not dare to look at the detective. Phileas Fogg, the
saviour of Aouda, that brave and generous man, a robber! And yet how
many presumptions there were against him! Passepartout essayed to
reject the suspicions which forced themselves upon his mind; he did not
wish to believe that his master was guilty.
“Well, what do you want of me?” said he, at last, with an effort.
“See here,” replied Fix; “I have tracked Mr. Fogg to this place, but as
yet I have failed to receive the warrant of arrest for which I sent to
London. You must help me to keep him here in Hong Kong—”
“I! But I—”
“I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered by the
Bank of England.”
“Never!” replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back,
exhausted in mind and body.
“Mr. Fix,” he stammered, “even should what you say be true—if my master
is really the robber you are seeking for—which I deny—I have been, am,
in his service; I have seen his generosity and goodness; and I will
never betray him—not for all the gold in the world. I come from a
village where they don’t eat that kind of bread!”
“You refuse?”
“I refuse.”
“Consider that I’ve said nothing,” said Fix; “and let us drink.”
“Yes; let us drink!”
Passepartout felt himself yielding more and more to the effects of the
liquor. Fix, seeing that he must, at all hazards, be separated from his
master, wished to entirely overcome him. Some pipes full of opium lay
upon the table. Fix slipped one into Passepartout’s hand. He took it,
put it between his lips, lit it, drew several puffs, and his head,
becoming heavy under the influence of the narcotic, fell upon the
table.
“At last!” said Fix, seeing Passepartout unconscious. “Mr. Fogg will
not be informed of the ‘Carnatic’s’ departure; and, if he is, he will
have to go without this cursed Frenchman!”
And, after paying his bill, Fix left the tavern.
CHAPTER XX.
IN WHICH FIX COMES FACE TO FACE WITH PHILEAS FOGG
While these events were passing at the opium-house, Mr. Fogg,
unconscious of the danger he was in of losing the steamer, was quietly
escorting Aouda about the streets of the English quarter, making the
necessary purchases for the long voyage before them. It was all very
well for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg to make the tour of the world with
a carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected to travel comfortably under
such conditions. He acquitted his task with characteristic serenity,
and invariably replied to the remonstrances of his fair companion, who
was confused by his patience and generosity:
“It is in the interest of my journey—a part of my programme.”
The purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined at a
sumptuously served _table-d’hôte;_ after which Aouda, shaking hands
with her protector after the English fashion, retired to her room for
rest. Mr. Fogg absorbed himself throughout the evening in the perusal
of the _Times_ and _Illustrated London News_.
Had he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would have been
not to see his servant return at bedtime. But, knowing that the steamer
was not to leave for Yokohama until the next morning, he did not
disturb himself about the matter. When Passepartout did not appear the
next morning to answer his master’s bell, Mr. Fogg, not betraying the
least vexation, contented himself with taking his carpet-bag, calling
Aouda, and sending for a palanquin.
It was then eight o’clock; at half-past nine, it being then high tide,
the “Carnatic” would leave the harbour. Mr. Fogg and Aouda got into the
palanquin, their luggage being brought after on a wheelbarrow, and half
an hour later stepped upon the quay whence they were to embark. Mr.
Fogg then learned that the “Carnatic” had sailed the evening before. He
had expected to find not only the steamer, but his domestic, and was
forced to give up both; but no sign of disappointment appeared on his
face, and he merely remarked to Aouda, “It is an accident, madam;
nothing more.”
At this moment a man who had been observing him attentively approached.
It was Fix, who, bowing, addressed Mr. Fogg: “Were you not, like me,
sir, a passenger by the ‘Rangoon,’ which arrived yesterday?”
“I was, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg coldly. “But I have not the honour—”
“Pardon me; I thought I should find your servant here.”
“Do you know where he is, sir?” asked Aouda anxiously.
“What!” responded Fix, feigning surprise. “Is he not with you?”
“No,” said Aouda. “He has not made his appearance since yesterday.
Could he have gone on board the ‘Carnatic’ without us?”
“Without you, madam?” answered the detective. “Excuse me, did you
intend to sail in the ‘Carnatic’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So did I, madam, and I am excessively disappointed. The ‘Carnatic’,
its repairs being completed, left Hong Kong twelve hours before the
stated time, without any notice being given; and we must now wait a
week for another steamer.”
As he said “a week” Fix felt his heart leap for joy. Fogg detained at
Hong Kong for a week! There would be time for the warrant to arrive,
and fortune at last favoured the representative of the law. His horror
may be imagined when he heard Mr. Fogg say, in his placid voice, “But
there are other vessels besides the ‘Carnatic,’ it seems to me, in the
harbour of Hong Kong.”
And, offering his arm to Aouda, he directed his steps toward the docks
in search of some craft about to start. Fix, stupefied, followed; it
seemed as if he were attached to Mr. Fogg by an invisible thread.
Chance, however, appeared really to have abandoned the man it had
hitherto served so well. For three hours Phileas Fogg wandered about
the docks, with the determination, if necessary, to charter a vessel to
carry him to Yokohama; but he could only find vessels which were
loading or unloading, and which could not therefore set sail. Fix began
to hope again.
But Mr. Fogg, far from being discouraged, was continuing his search,
resolved not to stop if he had to resort to Macao, when he was accosted
by a sailor on one of the wharves.
“Is your honour looking for a boat?”
“Have you a boat ready to sail?”
“Yes, your honour; a pilot-boat—No. 43—the best in the harbour.”
“Does she go fast?”
“Between eight and nine knots the hour. Will you look at her?”
“Yes.”
“Your honour will be satisfied with her. Is it for a sea excursion?”
“No; for a voyage.”
“A voyage?”
“Yes, will you agree to take me to Yokohama?”
The sailor leaned on the railing, opened his eyes wide, and said, “Is
your honour joking?”
“No. I have missed the ‘Carnatic,’ and I must get to Yokohama by the
14th at the latest, to take the boat for San Francisco.”
“I am sorry,” said the sailor; “but it is impossible.”
“I offer you a hundred pounds per day, and an additional reward of two
hundred pounds if I reach Yokohama in time.”
“Are you in earnest?”
“Very much so.”
The pilot walked away a little distance, and gazed out to sea,
evidently struggling between the anxiety to gain a large sum and the
fear of venturing so far. Fix was in mortal suspense.
Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda and asked her, “You would not be afraid, would
you, madam?”
“Not with you, Mr. Fogg,” was her answer.
The pilot now returned, shuffling his hat in his hands.
“Well, pilot?” said Mr. Fogg.
“Well, your honour,” replied he, “I could not risk myself, my men, or
my little boat of scarcely twenty tons on so long a voyage at this time
of year. Besides, we could not reach Yokohama in time, for it is
sixteen hundred and sixty miles from Hong Kong.”
“Only sixteen hundred,” said Mr. Fogg.
“It’s the same thing.”
Fix breathed more freely.
“But,” added the pilot, “it might be arranged another way.”
Fix ceased to breathe at all.
“How?” asked Mr. Fogg.
“By going to Nagasaki, at the extreme south of Japan, or even to
Shanghai, which is only eight hundred miles from here. In going to
Shanghai we should not be forced to sail wide of the Chinese coast,
which would be a great advantage, as the currents run northward, and
would aid us.”
“Pilot,” said Mr. Fogg, “I must take the American steamer at Yokohama,
and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki.”
“Why not?” returned the pilot. “The San Francisco steamer does not
start from Yokohama. It puts in at Yokohama and Nagasaki, but it starts
from Shanghai.”
“You are sure of that?”
“Perfectly.”
“And when does the boat leave Shanghai?”
“On the 11th, at seven in the evening. We have, therefore, four days
before us, that is ninety-six hours; and in that time, if we had good
luck and a south-west wind, and the sea was calm, we could make those
eight hundred miles to Shanghai.”
“And you could go—”
“In an hour; as soon as provisions could be got aboard and the sails
put up.”
“It is a bargain. Are you the master of the boat?”
“Yes; John Bunsby, master of the ‘Tankadere.’”
“Would you like some earnest-money?”
“If it would not put your honour out—”
“Here are two hundred pounds on account sir,” added Phileas Fogg,
turning to Fix, “if you would like to take advantage—”
“Thanks, sir; I was about to ask the favour.”
“Very well. In half an hour we shall go on board.”
“But poor Passepartout?” urged Aouda, who was much disturbed by the
servant’s disappearance.
“I shall do all I can to find him,” replied Phileas Fogg.
While Fix, in a feverish, nervous state, repaired to the pilot-boat,
the others directed their course to the police-station at Hong Kong.
Phileas Fogg there gave Passepartout’s description, and left a sum of
money to be spent in the search for him. The same formalities having
been gone through at the French consulate, and the palanquin having
stopped at the hotel for the luggage, which had been sent back there,
they returned to the wharf.
It was now three o’clock; and pilot-boat No. 43, with its crew on