style="font-size:15px;"> “Alas! In my hurry—I—I forgot—”
“What?”
“To turn off the gas in my room!”
“Very well, young man,” returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; “it will burn—at your expense.”
Chapter V
Phileas Fogg did not suspect that his departure from London would create a lively sensation at the West End[50]. The news of the bet soon got into the papers throughout England. The “tour of the world” was talked about, disputed, argued. Some took sides with Phileas Fogg, but the large majority shook their heads and declared against him; it was absurd, impossible, they declared, that the tour of the world could be made, except theoretically and on paper, in this minimum of time, and with the existing means of travelling. People in general thought him a lunatic, and blamed his Reform Club friends for having accepted this wager.
A few readers of the Daily Telegraph even dared to say, “Why not, after all? Stranger things happened.” At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the bulletin of the Royal Geographical Society[51], which demonstrated the utter folly of the enterprise. Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle imposed alike by man and by nature. A miraculous agreement of the times of departure and arrival, which was impossible, was absolutely necessary to his success. There were accidents to machinery, the liability of trains to run off the line, collisions, bad weather, the blocking up by snow—were not all these against Phileas Fogg? Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers to be two or three days behind time? But a single delay would suffice to fatally break the chain of communication. This article made a great deal of noise, and was copied into all the papers.
Everybody knows that England is the world of betting men; to bet is in the English temperament. Not only the members of the Reform, but the general public, made wagers for or against Phileas Fogg, as if he were a race-horse. But everybody was going against Fogg, and the bets stood a hundred and fifty and two hundred to one; and a week after his departure an incident occurred.
The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine o’clock one evening, when the following telegraphic dispatch was put into his hands:
Suez to London.
Rowan, Commissioner of Police,
Scotland Yard[52]:
I’ve found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg. Send without delay warrant of arrest to Bombay.
The effect of this dispatch was instantaneous. The polished gentleman disappeared to give place to the bank robber. His photograph was minutely examined, and it betrayed, feature by feature, the description of the robber. The mysterious habits of Phileas Fogg were recalled; his solitary ways, his sudden departure; and it seemed clear that he had wanted to elude the detectives.
Chapter VI
The circumstances under which this telegraphic dispatch about Phileas Fogg was sent were as follows. The steamer Mongolia[53], built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons burden, and five hundred horse-power, was due at 11 a.m. on Wednesday, the 9th of October, at Suez. The Mongolia plied regularly between Brindisi and Bombay via the Suez Canal, and was one of the fastest steamers, always making more than ten knots an hour between Brindisi and Suez, and nine and a half between Suez and Bombay.
Two men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd of natives and strangers. One was the British consul at Suez. The other was a small, slight-built personage, with a nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes. He was just now manifesting signs of impatience, nervously pacing up and down, and unable to stand still for a moment. This was Fix, one of the detectives who had been dispatched from England in search of the bank robber; it was his task to watch every passenger who arrived at Suez, and to follow up all who seemed to be suspicious characters. The detective was evidently inspired by the hope of obtaining the splendid reward, and awaited with a feverish impatience, easy to understand, the arrival of the steamer Mongolia.
“So you say, consul,” asked he for the twentieth time, “that this steamer is never behind time?”
“No, Mr. Fix,” replied the consul.
“Does it come directly from Brindisi?”
“Directly from Brindisi; it takes on the Indian mail there, and it leaves on Saturday at five p.m. Have patience, Mr. Fix; it will not be late. But really, I don’t see how, from the description you have, you will be able to recognise your man, even if he is on board the Mongolia.”
“A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, than recognises them. You must have a scent for them, and a scent is like a sixth sense which combines hearing, seeing, and smelling. I’ve arrested more than one of these gentlemen[54] in my time, and, if my thief is on board, I’ll answer for it; he’ll not slip through my fingers.”
“I hope so, Mr. Fix, for it was a heavy robbery.”
“A magnificent robbery, consul; fifty-five thousand pounds! We don’t often have such windfalls!”
“Mr. Fix,” said the consul, “I hope you’ll succeed; but don’t you see, the description which you have there has a singular resemblance to an honest man?”
“Consul,” remarked the detective, dogmatically, “great robbers always resemble honest folks. Fellows who have rascally faces have to remain honest; otherwise they would be arrested. To unmask honest countenances is a difficult task, I admit, but a real art.”
Soon Mongolia appeared between the bank. It brought an unusual number of passengers, some of whom remained on deck to scan the picturesque panorama of the town.
Fix carefully examined each face. Presently one of the passengers came up to him and politely asked if he could point out the English consulate. 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.”
“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
West End – Уэст-Энд (
Royal Geographical Society – Королевское географическое общество
Scotland Yard – Скотланд-Ярд (
more than one of these gentlemen – немало подобных джентльменов
