you want.”
“Monsieur,” replied Passepartout, “you are really very kind.”
And both started off. Passepartout talked incessantly.
“Above all,” he said, “I must take care not to miss the steamer!”
“You have the time,” replied Fix, “it is only noon!”
Passepartout pulled out his large watch.
“Noon. Pshaw! It is eight minutes of ten!”
“Your watch is slow!” replied Fix.
“My watch! A family watch that has come down from my great-grandfather! It don’t vary five minutes in the year. It is a genuine chronometer.”
“I see what is the matter,” replied Fix. “You have kept London time, which is about two hours slower than Suez. You must be careful to set your watch at noon in each country.”
“What! I touch my watch!” cried Passepartout. “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 good fellow put his watch back in his fob with a magnificent gesture.
A few moments after Fix said to him: “You left London very hurriedly then?”
“I should think so! Last Wednesday, at eight o’clock in the evening, contrary to all his habits, Monsieur Fogg returned from his Club, and in three-quarters of an hour afterwards we were off.”
“But where is your master going, then?”
“Right straight ahead! He is making the tour of the world!”
“The tour of the world!” cried Fix.
“Yes, in eighty days! On a wager, he says; but, between ourselves, I do not believe it. There is no common sense in it. There must be something else.”
“This Mr Fogg is an original genius?”
“I should think so.”
“Is he rich?”
“Evidently, and he carries such a fine sum with him in fresh money on the route! And he doesn’t spare his money on the route! Oh! but he has promised a splendid reward to the engineer of the Mongolia, if we arrive at Bombay considerably in advance!”
“And you have known him for a long time, this master of yours?”
“I,” replied Passepartout, “I entered his service the very day of our departure.”
The effect which these answers naturally produced upon the mind of the detective, already strained with excitement, may easily be imagined.
This hurried departure from London so short a time after the robbery, this large sum carried away, this haste to arrive in distant countries, this pretext of an eccentric wager, all could have no other effect than to confirm Fix in his ideas. He kept the Frenchman talking, and learned to a certainty that this fellow did not know his master at all, that he lived isolated in London, that he was called rich without the source of his fortune being known, that he was a mysterious man, etc. But at the same time Fix was certain that Phileas Fogg would not get off at Suez, but he was really going to Bombay.
“Is Bombay far from here?” asked Passepartout.
“Pretty far,” replied the detective. “It will take you ten days more by sea.”
“And where do you locate Bombay?”
“In India.”
“In Asia?”
“Of course.”
“The deuce! What I was going to tell you—there is one thing that bothers me—it is my burner.”
“What burner?”
“My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is burning at my expense. Now, I have calculated that it will cost me two shillings each twenty-four hours, exactly sixpence more than I earn, and you understand that, however little our journey may be prolonged—”
Did Fix understand the matter of the gas? It is improbable. He did not listen any longer, and was coming to a determination. The Frenchman and he had arrived at the shop. Fix left his companion there making his purchases, recommending him not to miss the departure of the Mongolia, and he returned in great haste to the Consul’s office. Fix had regained his coolness completely, now he was fully convinced.
“Monsieur,” said he to the Consul, “I have my man. He is passing himself off as an oddity, who wishes to make the tour of the world in eighty days.”
“Then he is a rogue,” replied the Consul, “and he counts on returning to London after having deceived all the police of the two continents.”
“We will see,” replied Fix.
“But are you not mistaken?” asked the Consul once more.
“I am not mistaken.”
“Why, then, has this robber insisted upon having his stopping at Suez confirmed by a visé?”
“Why? I do not know, Consul,” replied the detective; “but listen to me.” And in a few words he related the salient points of his conversation with the servant of the said Fogg.
“Indeed,” said the Consul, “all the presumptions are against this man. And what are you going to do?”
“Send a dispatch to London with the urgent request to send to me at once at Bombay a warrant of arrest, set sail upon the Mongolia, follow my robber to the Indies, and there, on British soil, accost him politely, with the warrant in one hand, and the other hand upon his shoulder.”
Having coolly uttered these words, the detective took leave of the Consul, and repaired to the telegraph office. Thence he dispatched to the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, as we have already seen. A quarter of an hour later Fix, with his light baggage in his hand, and besides well supplied with money, went on board the Mongolia, and soon the swift steamer was threading its way under full head of steam on the waters of the Red Sea.
In which the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean show themselves Propitious to Phileas Fogg’s designs
The distance between Suez and Aden is exactly thirteen hundred and ten miles, and the timetable of the company allows its steamer a period of one hundred and thirty-eight hours to make the distance. The Mongolia, whose fires were well kept up, moved along rapidly enough to anticipate her stipulated arrival. Nearly all the passengers who came aboard at Brindisi had India for their destination. Some were going to Bombay, others to Calcutta, but via Bombay, for since a railway
