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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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.
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 phelgmatic 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, 158+; 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 Pere la Chaise
and the circus in the Champs Elysees!”
“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
sixpense 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
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