Around the World in 80 Days by Jules Verne (best story books to read .txt) 📕

isn’t quite the thing, either,

to be spying Mr. Fogg, who is so honourable a man! Ah, gentlemen of the Reform,

this shall cost you dear!”

 

Passepartout, enchanted with his discovery, resolved to say

nothing to his master, lest he should be justly offended at this

mistrust on the part of his adversaries. But he determined

to chaff Fix, when he had the chance, with mysterious allusions,

which, however, need not betray his real suspicions.

 

During the afternoon of Wednesday, 30th October, the Rangoon

entered the Strait of Malacca, which separates the peninsula

of that name from Sumatra. The mountainous and craggy islets

intercepted the beauties of this noble island from the view

of the travellers. The Rangoon weighed anchor at Singapore the next day

at four a.m., to receive coal, having gained half a day on the prescribed

time of her arrival. Phileas Fogg noted this gain in his journal, and then,

accompanied by Aouda, who betrayed a desire for a walk on shore, disembarked.

 

Fix, who suspected Mr. Fogg’s every movement, followed them cautiously,

without being himself perceived; while Passepartout, laughing in his sleeve

at Fix’s manoeuvres, went about his usual errands.

 

The island of Singapore is not imposing in aspect, for there are

no mountains; yet its appearance is not without attractions.

It is a park checkered by pleasant highways and avenues.

A handsome carriage, drawn by a sleek pair of New Holland horses,

carried Phileas Fogg and Aouda into the midst of rows of palms

with brilliant foliage, and of clove-trees, whereof the cloves

form the heart of a half-open flower. Pepper plants replaced

the prickly hedges of European fields; sago-bushes, large ferns

with gorgeous branches, varied the aspect of this tropical clime;

while nutmeg-trees in full foliage filled the air with a penetrating perfume.

Agile and grinning bands of monkeys skipped about in the trees, nor were tigers

wanting in the jungles.

 

After a drive of two hours through the country, Aouda and Mr. Fogg

returned to the town, which is a vast collection of heavy-looking,

irregular houses, surrounded by charming gardens rich in tropical fruits

and plants; and at ten o’clock they re-embarked, closely followed by

the detective, who had kept them constantly in sight.

 

Passepartout, who had been purchasing several dozen mangoes—

a fruit as large as good-sized apples, of a dark-brown colour

outside and a bright red within, and whose white pulp, melting in

the mouth, affords gourmands a delicious sensation—was waiting

for them on deck. He was only too glad to offer some mangoes

to Aouda, who thanked him very gracefully for them.

 

At eleven o’clock the Rangoon rode out of Singapore harbour,

and in a few hours the high mountains of Malacca, with their forests,

inhabited by the most beautifully-furred tigers in the world,

were lost to view. Singapore is distant some thirteen hundred miles

from the island of Hong Kong, which is a little English colony

near the Chinese coast. Phileas Fogg hoped to accomplish the journey

in six days, so as to be in time for the steamer which would leave

on the 6th of November for Yokohama, the principal Japanese port.

 

The Rangoon had a large quota of passengers, many of whom disembarked

at Singapore, among them a number of Indians, Ceylonese, Chinamen,

Malays, and Portuguese, mostly second-class travellers.

 

The weather, which had hitherto been fine, changed with the

last quarter of the moon. The sea rolled heavily, and the wind

at intervals rose almost to a storm, but happily blew from

the south-west, and thus aided the steamer’s progress.

The captain as often as possible put up his sails,

and under the double action of steam and sail the vessel made

rapid progress along the coasts of Anam and Cochin China.

Owing to the defective construction of the Rangoon, however,

unusual precautions became necessary in unfavourable weather;

but the loss of time which resulted from this cause, while it

nearly drove Passepartout out of his senses, did not seem

to affect his master in the least. Passepartout blamed the captain,

the engineer, and the crew, and consigned all who were connected

with the ship to the land where the pepper grows. Perhaps the thought

of the gas, which was remorselessly burning at his expense in Saville Row,

had something to do with his hot impatience.

 

“You are in a great hurry, then,” said Fix to him one day, “to reach Hong Kong?”

 

“A very great hurry!”

 

“Mr. Fogg, I suppose, is anxious to catch the steamer for Yokohama?”

 

“Terribly anxious.”

 

“You believe in this journey around the world, then?”

 

“Absolutely. Don’t you, Mr. Fix?”

 

“I? I don’t believe a word of it.”

 

“You’re a sly dog!” said Passepartout, winking at him.

 

This expression rather disturbed Fix, without his knowing why.

Had the Frenchman guessed his real purpose? He knew not what

to think. But how could Passepartout have discovered that he

was a detective? Yet, in speaking as he did, the man evidently

meant more than he expressed.

 

Passepartout went still further the next day; he could not hold his tongue.

 

“Mr. Fix,” said he, in a bantering tone, “shall we be so unfortunate

as to lose you when we get to Hong Kong?”

 

“Why,” responded Fix, a little embarrassed, “I don’t know; perhaps—”

 

“Ah, if you would only go on with us! An agent of the Peninsular Company,

you know, can’t stop on the way! You were only going to Bombay,

and here you are in China. America is not far off, and from America

to Europe is only a step.”

 

Fix looked intently at his companion, whose countenance was

as serene as possible, and laughed with him. But Passepartout

persisted in chaffing him by asking him if he made much by his

present occupation.

 

“Yes, and no,” returned Fix; “there is good and bad luck in such things.

But you must understand that I don’t travel at my own expense.”

 

“Oh, I am quite sure of that!” cried Passepartout, laughing heartily.

 

Fix, fairly puzzled, descended to his cabin and gave himself

up to his reflections. He was evidently suspected; somehow

or other the Frenchman had found out that he was a detective.

But had he told his master? What part was he playing in all this:

was he an accomplice or not? Was the game, then, up? Fix spent

several hours turning these things over in his mind, sometimes

thinking that all was lost, then persuading himself that Fogg

was ignorant of his presence, and then undecided what course

it was best to take.

 

Nevertheless, he preserved his coolness of mind, and at last

resolved to deal plainly with Passepartout. If he did not find it

practicable to arrest Fogg at Hong Kong, and if Fogg made preparations

to leave that last foothold of English territory, he, Fix, would tell

Passepartout all. Either the servant was the accomplice of his master,

and in this case the master knew of his operations, and he should fail;

or else the servant knew nothing about the robbery, and then his interest

would be to abandon the robber.

 

Such was the situation between Fix and Passepartout. Meanwhile Phileas Fogg

moved about above them in the most majestic and unconscious indifference.

He was passing methodically in his orbit around the world, regardless of

the lesser stars which gravitated around him. Yet there was near by what

the astronomers would call a disturbing star, which might have produced

an agitation in this gentleman’s heart. But no! the charms of Aouda

failed to act, to Passepartout’s great surprise; and the disturbances,

if they existed, would have been more difficult to calculate than those

of Uranus which led to the discovery of Neptune.

 

It was every day an increasing wonder to Passepartout, who read

in Aouda’s eyes the depths of her gratitude to his master.

Phileas Fogg, though brave and gallant, must be, he thought,

quite heartless. As to the sentiment which this journey might

have awakened in him, there was clearly no trace of such a thing;

while poor Passepartout existed in perpetual reveries.

 

One day he was leaning on the railing of the engine-room,

and was observing the engine, when a sudden pitch of the steamer

threw the screw out of the water. The steam came hissing out

of the valves; and this made Passepartout indignant.

 

“The valves are not sufficiently charged!” he exclaimed. “We are

not going. Oh, these English! If this was an American craft,

we should blow up, perhaps, but we should at all events go faster!”