Around the World in 80 Days by Jules Verne (best story books to read .txt) đź“•
and sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six. Half an hour later several members of the Reform came in and drew up to the fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning. They were Mr. Fogg's usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England-- all rich and highly respectable personages, even in a club which comprises the princes of English trade and finance.
"Well, Ralph," said Thomas Flanagan, "what about that robbery?"
"Oh," replied Stuart, "the Bank will lose the money."
"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands on the robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all the principal ports of America and the Continent, and he'll be a clever fellow if he slips through their fingers."
"But have you got the robber's description?" asked Stuart.
"In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph
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“What!” cried the Frenchman. “Has Monsieur Fogg dared—
fifty-five thousand pounds! Well, there’s all the more reason
for not losing an instant,” he continued, getting up hastily.
Fix pushed Passepartout back in his chair, and resumed:
“Fifty-five thousand pounds; and if I succeed, I get two thousand pounds.
If you’ll help me, I’ll let you have five hundred of them.”
“Help you?” cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide open.
“Yes; help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days.”
“Why, what are you saying? Those gentlemen are not satisfied
with following my master and suspecting his honour, but they must
try to put obstacles in his way! I blush for them!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery. They might
as well waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!”
“That’s just what we count on doing.”
“It’s a conspiracy, then,” cried Passepartout, who became more
and more excited as the liquor mounted in his head, for he drank
without perceiving it. “A real conspiracy! And gentlemen, too. Bah!”
Fix began to be puzzled.
“Members of the Reform Club!” continued Passepartout. “You must know,
Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and that,
when he makes a wager, he tries to win it fairly!”
“But who do you think I am?” asked Fix, looking at him intently.
“Parbleu! An agent of the members of the Reform Club, sent out here
to interrupt my master’s journey. But, though I found you out some time ago,
I’ve taken good care to say nothing about it to Mr. Fogg.”
“He knows nothing, then?”
“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.
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’hote; 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
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