Around the World in Eighty Days, Jules Verne [best classic books TXT] 📗
- Author: Jules Verne
Book online «Around the World in Eighty Days, Jules Verne [best classic books TXT] 📗». Author Jules Verne
“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.
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 returning to London after putting the police of the two countries off his track.”
“We’ll see about that,” replied Fix.
“But are you not mistaken?”
“I am not mistaken.”
“Why was this robber so anxious to prove, by the visa, that he had passed through Suez?”
“Why? I have no idea; but listen to me.”
He reported in a few words the most important parts of his conversation with Passepartout.
“In short,” said the consul, “appearances are wholly against this man. And what are you going to do?”
“Send a dispatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be dispatched instantly to Bombay, take passage on board the ‘Mongolia,’ follow my rogue to India, and there, on English ground, arrest him politely, with my warrant in my hand, and my hand on his shoulder.”
Having uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the detective took leave of the consul, and repaired to the telegraph office, whence he sent the dispatch which we have seen to the London police office. A quarter of an hour later found Fix, with a small bag in his hand, proceeding on board the “Mongolia;” and, ere many moments longer, the noble steamer rode out at full steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.
IN WHICH THE RED SEA AND THE INDIAN OCEAN PROVE PROPITIOUS TO THE DESIGNS OF PHILEAS FOGG
The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred and ten miles, and the regulations of the company allow the steamers one hundred and thirty-eight hours in which to traverse it. The “Mongolia,” thanks to the vigorous exertions of the engineer, seemed likely, so rapid was her speed, to reach her destination considerably within that time. The greater part of the passengers from Brindisi were bound for India some for Bombay, others for Calcutta by way of Bombay, the nearest route thither, now that a railway crosses the Indian peninsula. Among the passengers was a number of officials and military officers of various grades, the latter being either attached to the regular British forces or commanding the Sepoy troops, and receiving high salaries ever since the central government has assumed the powers of the East India Company: for the sub-lieutenants get £280, brigadiers, £2,400, and generals of divisions, £4,000. What with the military men, a number of rich young Englishmen on their travels, and the hospitable efforts of the purser, the time passed quickly on the “Mongolia.” The best of fare was spread upon the cabin tables at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the eight o’clock supper, and the ladies scrupulously changed their toilets twice a day; and the hours were whirled away, when the sea was tranquil, with music, dancing, and games.
But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like most long and narrow gulfs. When the wind came from the African or Asian coast the “Mongolia,” with her long hull, rolled fearfully. Then the ladies speedily disappeared below; the pianos were silent; singing and dancing suddenly ceased. Yet the good ship ploughed straight on, unretarded by wind or wave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. What was Phileas Fogg doing all this time? It might be thought that, in his anxiety, he would be constantly watching the changes of the wind, the disorderly raging of the billows—every chance, in short, which might force the “Mongolia” to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his journey. But, if he thought of these possibilities, he did not betray the fact by any outward sign.
Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no incident could surprise, as unvarying as the ship’s chronometers, and seldom having the curiosity even to go upon the deck, he passed through the memorable scenes of the Red Sea with cold indifference; did not care to recognise the historic towns and villages which, along its borders, raised their picturesque outlines against the sky; and betrayed no fear of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which the old historians always spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient navigators never ventured without propitiating the gods by ample sacrifices. How did this eccentric personage pass his time on the “Mongolia”? He made his four hearty meals every day, regardless of the most persistent rolling and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he played whist indefatigably, for he had found partners as enthusiastic in the game as himself. A tax-collector, on the way to his post at Goa; the Rev. Decimus Smith, returning to his parish at Bombay; and a brigadier-general of the English army, who was about to rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up the party, and, with Mr. Fogg, played whist by the hour together in absorbing silence.
As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and took his meals conscientiously in the forward cabin. He rather enjoyed the voyage, for he was well fed and well lodged, took a great interest in the scenes through which they were passing, and consoled himself with the delusion that his master’s whim would end at Bombay. He was pleased, on the day after leaving
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