Around the World in Eighty Days
criminal, you know, is always better concealed in London than anywhere
else.”
This observation furnished the detective food for thought, and
meanwhile the consul went away to his office. Fix, left alone, was more
impatient than ever, having a presentiment that the robber was on board
the “Mongolia.” If he had indeed left London intending to reach the New
World, he would naturally take the route _viâ_ India, which was less
watched and more difficult to watch than that of the Atlantic. But
Fix’s reflections were soon interrupted by a succession of sharp
whistles, which announced the arrival of the “Mongolia.” The porters
and fellahs rushed down the quay, and a dozen boats pushed off from the
shore to go and meet the steamer. Soon her gigantic hull appeared
passing along between the banks, and eleven o’clock struck as she
anchored in the road. She brought an unusual number of passengers, some
of whom remained on deck to scan the picturesque panorama of the town,
while the greater part disembarked in the boats, and landed on the
quay.
Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each face and figure
which made its appearance. Presently one of the passengers, after
vigorously pushing his way through the importunate crowd of porters,
came up to him and politely asked if he could point out the English
consulate, at the same time showing a passport which he wished to have
_visaed_. Fix instinctively took the passport, and with a rapid glance
read the description of its bearer. An involuntary motion of surprise
nearly escaped him, for the description in the passport was identical
with that of the bank robber which he had received from Scotland Yard.
“Is this your passport?” asked he.
“No, it’s my master’s.”
“And your master is—”
“He stayed on board.”
“But he must go to the consul’s in person, so as to establish his
identity.”
“Oh, is that necessary?”
“Quite indispensable.”
“And where is the consulate?”
“There, on the corner of the square,” said Fix, pointing to a house two
hundred steps off.
“I’ll go and fetch my master, who won’t be much pleased, however, to be
disturbed.”
The passenger bowed to Fix, and returned to the steamer.
CHAPTER VII.
WHICH ONCE MORE DEMONSTRATES THE USELESSNESS OF PASSPORTS AS AIDS TO
DETECTIVES
The detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made his way to the
consul’s office, where he was at once admitted to the presence of that
official.
“Consul,” said he, without preamble, “I have strong reasons for
believing that my man is a passenger on the ‘Mongolia.’” And he
narrated what had just passed concerning the passport.
“Well, Mr. Fix,” replied the consul, “I shall not be sorry to see the
rascal’s face; but perhaps he won’t come here—that is, if he is the
person you suppose him to be. A robber doesn’t quite like to leave
traces of his flight behind him; and, besides, he is not obliged to
have his passport countersigned.”
“If he is as shrewd as I think he is, consul, he will come.”
“To have his passport _visaed?_”
“Yes. Passports are only good for annoying honest folks, and aiding in
the flight of rogues. I assure you it will be quite the thing for him
to do; but I hope you will not _visa_ the passport.”
“Why not? If the passport is genuine I have no right to refuse.”
“Still, I must keep this man here until I can get a warrant to arrest
him from London.”
“Ah, that’s your look-out. But I cannot—”
The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a knock was
heard at the door, and two strangers entered, one of whom was the
servant whom Fix had met on the quay. The other, who was his master,
held out his passport with the request that the consul would do him the
favour to _visa_ it. The consul took the document and carefully read
it, whilst Fix observed, or rather devoured, the stranger with his eyes
from a corner of the room.
“You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?” said the consul, after reading the
passport.
“I am.”
“And this man is your servant?”
“He is: a Frenchman, named Passepartout.”
“You are from London?”
“Yes.”
“And you are going—”
“To Bombay.”
“Very good, sir. You know that a _visa_ is useless, and that no
passport is required?”
“I know it, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg; “but I wish to prove, by your
_visa_, that I came by Suez.”
“Very well, sir.”
The consul proceeded to sign and date the passport, after which he
added his official seal. Mr. Fogg paid the customary fee, coldly bowed,
and went out, followed by his servant.
“Well?” queried the detective.
“Well, he looks and acts like a perfectly honest man,” replied the
consul.
“Possibly; but that is not the question. Do you think, consul, that
this phlegmatic gentleman resembles, feature by feature, the robber
whose description I have received?”
“I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions—”
“I’ll make certain of it,” interrupted Fix. “The servant seems to me
less mysterious than the master; besides, he’s a Frenchman, and can’t
help talking. Excuse me for a little while, consul.”
Fix started off in search of Passepartout.
Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate, repaired to the quay,
gave some orders to Passepartout, went off to the “Mongolia” in a boat,
and descended to his cabin. He took up his note-book, which contained
the following memoranda:
“Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8.45 p.m.
“Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7.20 a.m.
“Left Paris, Thursday, at 8.40 a.m.
“Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at 6.35 a.m.
“Left Turin, Friday, at 7.20 a.m.
“Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October 5th, at 4 p.m.
“Sailed on the ‘Mongolia,’ Saturday, at 5 p.m.
“Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 a.m.
“Total of hours spent, 158½; or, in days, six days and a half.”
These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns,
indicating the month, the day of the month, and the day for the
stipulated and actual arrivals at each principal point Paris, Brindisi,
Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama, San Francisco,
New York, and London—from the 2nd of October to the 21st of December;
and giving a space for setting down the gain made or the loss suffered
on arrival at each locality. This methodical record thus contained an
account of everything needed, and Mr. Fogg always knew whether he was
behind-hand or in advance of his time. On this Friday, October 9th, he
noted his arrival at Suez, and observed that he had as yet neither
gained nor lost. He sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never
once thinking of inspecting the town, being one of those Englishmen who
are wont to see foreign countries through the eyes of their domestics.
CHAPTER VIII.
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TALKS RATHER MORE, PERHAPS, THAN IS PRUDENT
Fix soon rejoined Passepartout, who was lounging and looking about on
the quay, as if he did not feel that he, at least, was obliged not to
see anything.
“Well, my friend,” said the detective, coming up with him, “is your
passport _visaed?_”
“Ah, it’s you, is it, monsieur?” responded Passepartout. “Thanks, yes,
the passport is all right.”
“And you are looking about you?”
“Yes; but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying in a dream. So
this is Suez?”
“Yes.”
“In Egypt?”
“Certainly, in Egypt.”
“And in Africa?”
“In Africa.”
“In Africa!” repeated Passepartout. “Just think, monsieur, I had no
idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I saw of Paris
was between twenty minutes past seven and twenty minutes before nine in
the morning, between the Northern and the Lyons stations, through the
windows of a car, and in a driving rain! How I regret not having seen
once more Père la Chaise and the circus in the Champs Elysées!”
“You are in a great hurry, then?”
“I am not, but my master is. By the way, I must buy some shoes and
shirts. We came away without trunks, only with a carpet-bag.”
“I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you want.”
“Really, monsieur, you are very kind.”
And they walked off together, Passepartout chatting volubly as they
went along.
“Above all,” said he; “don’t let me lose the steamer.”
“You have plenty of time; it’s only twelve o’clock.”
Passepartout pulled out his big watch. “Twelve!” he exclaimed; “why,
it’s only eight minutes before ten.”
“Your watch is slow.”
“My watch? A family watch, monsieur, which has come down from my
great-grandfather! It doesn’t vary five minutes in the year. It’s a
perfect chronometer, look you.”
“I see how it is,” said Fix. “You have kept London time, which is two
hours behind that of Suez. You ought to regulate your watch at noon in
each country.”
“I regulate my watch? Never!”
“Well, then, it will not agree with the sun.”
“So much the worse for the sun, monsieur. The sun will be wrong, then!”
And the worthy fellow returned the watch to its fob with a defiant
gesture. After a few minutes silence, Fix resumed: “You left London
hastily, then?”
“I rather think so! Last Friday at eight o’clock in the evening,
Monsieur Fogg came home from his club, and three-quarters of an hour
afterwards we were off.”
“But where is your master going?”
“Always straight ahead. He is going round the world.”
“Round the world?” cried Fix.
“Yes, and in eighty days! He says it is on a wager; but, between us, I
don’t believe a word of it. That wouldn’t be common sense. There’s
something else in the wind.”
“Ah! Mr. Fogg is a character, is he?”
“I should say he was.”
“Is he rich?”
“No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in brand new banknotes
with him. And he doesn’t spare the money on the way, either: he has
offered a large reward to the engineer of the ‘Mongolia’ if he gets us
to Bombay well in advance of time.”
“And you have known your master a long time?”
“Why, no; I entered his service the very day we left London.”
The effect of these replies upon the already suspicious and excited
detective may be imagined. The hasty departure from London soon after
the robbery; the large sum carried by Mr. Fogg; his eagerness to reach
distant countries; the pretext of an eccentric and foolhardy bet—all
confirmed Fix in his theory. He continued to pump poor Passepartout,
and learned that he really knew little or nothing of his master, who
lived a solitary existence in London, was said to be rich, though no
one knew whence came his riches, and was mysterious and impenetrable in
his affairs and habits. Fix felt sure that Phileas Fogg would not land
at Suez, but was really going on to Bombay.
“Is Bombay far from here?” asked Passepartout.
“Pretty far. It is a ten days’ voyage by sea.”
“And in what country is Bombay?”
“India.”
“In Asia?”
“Certainly.”
“The deuce! I was going to tell you there’s one thing that worries
me—my burner!”
“What burner?”
“My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is at this moment
burning at my expense. I have calculated, monsieur, that I lose two
shillings every four and twenty hours, exactly sixpence more than I
earn; and you will understand that the longer our journey—”
Did Fix pay any attention to Passepartout’s trouble about the gas? It
is not probable. He was not listening, but was cogitating a project.
Passepartout and he had now reached the shop, where Fix left his
companion to make his purchases, after recommending him not to miss the
steamer, and hurried back to the consulate. Now that he was fully
convinced, Fix had quite recovered his equanimity.
“Consul,” said he, “I have no longer any doubt. I have spotted my man.
He passes himself off as an odd stick who is going round the world in
eighty days.”
“Then he’s a sharp fellow,” returned the consul, “and counts on