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“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 phlegmatic gentleman resembles the robber whose description I have received?”
“I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions—”
“I’ll make certain of it[56 - I’ll make certain of it – я в этом разберусь],” interrupted Fix. “The servant seems to me less mysterious than the master; besides, he’s a Frenchman, and likes to talk. Excuse me, consul.”
Chapter VIII
Fix soon rejoined Passepartout, who was lounging and looking about on the quay.
“Well, my friend,” said the detective, coming up with him, “is your passport visaed?”
“Ah, it’s you, monsieur!” responded Passepartout. “Thanks, yes, the passport is all right. We travel so fast! 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!”
“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 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. 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.”
“Ah! Is Mr. Fogg rich?”
“No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in brand new banknotes with him. And 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 hasty departure from London soon after the robbery; the large sum carried by Mr. Fogg; his eagerness to reach distant countries—all confirmed Fix in his theory. He continued to ask 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 learned 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.”
Fix and Passepartout had reached the shop, where Fix left his companion to make his purchases, and hurried back to the consulate. Now he was fully convinced.
“Consul,” said he, “I have no longer any doubt. That man is going round the world in eighty days.”
“Then he’s a smart fellow,” returned the consul. “But are you not mistaken?”
“I am not mistaken.”
“Why did this robber want 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.
“So,” said the consul, “what are you going to do?”
“Send a dispatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be dispatched instantly to Bombay, follow my rogue to India, and there, on English ground, arrest him politely, with my warrant in my hand, and my hand on his shoulder.”
Chapter IX
The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred and ten miles. Many passengers from Brindisi were going to Bombay, others for Calcutta. Phileas Fogg was watching the changes of the wind, he seldom went upon the deck, and he played whist, for he had found partners as enthusiastic in the game as himself. As for Passepartout, he had escaped sea-sickness, and rather enjoyed the voyage, for he was well fed and well lodged.
“If I am not mistaken,” said Passepartout, approaching Fix, with his most amiable smile, “you are the gentleman who so guide me at Suez?”
“Ah! I quite recognise you. You are the servant of the strange Englishman—”
“Just so, monsieur—”
“Fix.”
“Monsieur Fix,” resumed Passepartout, “I’m charmed to find you on board. Where are you going?”
“Like you, to Bombay.”
“That’s great! Have you made this trip before?”
“Several times. I am one of the agents of the Peninsular Company.”
“Then you know India?”
“Why yes,” replied Fix, who spoke cautiously.
“A curious place, this India?”
“Oh, very curious. Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas, tigers, snakes, elephants! And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?” asked Fix, in the most natural tone in the world.
“Quite well, and I too.”
“But I never see your master on deck.”
After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit of chatting together. Meanwhile the Mongolia was pushing forward rapidly, and instead of reaching Aden on the morning of the 15th, arrived there on the evening of the 14th. Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport again visaed; Fix, unobserved, followed them. The visa procured, Mr. Fogg returned on board; while Passepartout, sauntered about among the mixed population of Somalis, Banyans, Parsees, Jews, Arabs, and Europeans.
“Very curious, very curious,” said Passepartout to himself, on returning to the steamer.
On Sunday, October 20th, towards noon, they came in sight of the Indian coast. The Mongolia was due at Bombay on the 22nd; it arrived on the 20th.
Chapter X
Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its base in the north and its apex in the south, which is called India, embraces fourteen hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread unequally a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls. But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven hundred thousand square miles, and a population of from one hundred to one hundred and ten millions of inhabitants. A considerable portion of India is still free from British authority; and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior who are absolutely independent.
The passengers of the Mongolia went ashore at 4.30 p.m.; at exactly 8 p.m. the train would start for Calcutta.
Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, and, with his regular step, directed his steps to the passport office. As for the wonders of Bombay—its famous city hall, its splendid library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on Malabar Hill[57 - Malabar Hill – Малабар-Хилл], with its two polygonal towers—he did not care about them.
Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner. Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord especially recommended a “native rabbit,” on which he prided himself.
Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but found it horrible. He rang for the landlord, and, on his appearance, said, “Is this rabbit, sir?”
“Yes, my lord,” the rogue boldly replied, “rabbit from the jungles.”
“And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?”
“Mew, my lord! What, a rabbit mew! I swear to you—”
“Landlord, remember this: cats were formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was a good time.”
“For the cats, my lord?”
“Perhaps for the travellers as well!”
Fix had gone on shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his first destination was the Bombay police. He told his business at Bombay, and the position of affairs, and nervously asked if a warrant had arrived from London. It had not reached the office. Fix was disappointed, and tried to obtain an order of arrest from the director of the Bombay police. The director refused.
Passepartout, however, having purchased shirts and shoes, took a leisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of people of many nationalities were collected. It happened to be the day of a Parsee festival[58 - Parsee festival – праздник парсов]. These descendants of the sect of Zoroaster[59 - Zoroaster – Заратуштра (основатель зороастризма)] were celebrating a sort of religious carnival, with processions and shows. It is needless to say that Passepartout watched these curious ceremonies with staring eyes and gaping mouth.
Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew him farther off than he intended to go. He happened to see the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill. He was quite ignorant that it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indian temples, and that even the faithful must not go in without first leaving their shoes outside the door.
Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple tourist, and was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin ornamentation, when of a sudden he found himself sprawling on the sacred floor. He looked up to behold three enraged priests, who tore off his shoes, and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations. The agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and lost no time in running away.
At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless, and having lost his package of shirts and shoes, rushed breathlessly into the station. Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he was really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform. He had resolved to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta, and farther, if necessary. Passepartout did not observe the detective, who stood in an obscure corner; but Fix heard him relate his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg.
“I hope that this will not happen again,” said Phileas Fogg coldly, as he got into the train. Poor Passepartout followed his master without a word. Fix wanted to enter another carriage, when an idea struck him.
“No, I’ll stay,” muttered he.
Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train passed out into the darkness of the night.
Chapter XI
The train had started punctually. Among the passengers were a number of officers, Government officials, and opium and indigo merchants, whose business called them to the eastern coast. Passepartout rode in the same carriage with his master, and a third passenger occupied a seat opposite to them. This was Sir Francis Cromarty[60 - Francis Cromarty – Фрэнсис Кромарти], one of Mr. Fogg’s whist partners on the Mongolia, now on his way to join his corps at Benares[61 - Benares – Бенарес (город в Индии, современное название – Варанаси)]. Sir Francis was a tall, fair man of fifty. He made India his home, only paying brief visits to England at rare intervals; and was almost as familiar as a native with the customs, history, and character of India and its people. But Phileas Fogg, who was not travelling, but only describing a circumference, did not inquire into these subjects; he was a solid body, traversing an orbit around the terrestrial globe, according to the laws of rational mechanics.
Sir Francis Cromarty had observed the oddity of his travelling companion, and questioned himself whether a human heart really beat beneath this cold exterior, and whether Phileas Fogg had any sense of the beauties of nature.
Phileas Fogg had not concealed from Sir Francis his plan of going round the world, nor the circumstances under which he set out; and the general only saw in the wager a useless eccentricity and a lack of common sense.
Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realise that he was actually crossing India in a railway train. The travellers crossed the fatal country so often stained with blood by the sectaries of the goddess Kali[62 - Kali – Кали (богиня–мать, символ разрушения в индуизме)]. Not far off rose Ellora[63 - Ellora – Эллора], with its graceful pagodas, and the famous Aurungabad[64 - Aurungabad – Аурунгабад].
At half-past twelve the train stopped at Burhampoor[65 - Burhampoor – Бурхампур], where Passepartout was able to purchase some Indian slippers, ornamented with false pearls.
The train stopped, at eight o’clock, in the midst of a glade some fifteen miles beyond Rothal, where there were several bungalows, and workmen’s cabins. The conductor, passing along the carriages, shouted, “Passengers will get out here!”
Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation; but the general could not tell what meant a halt in the midst of this forest of dates and acacias.
Passepartout, not less surprised, rushed out and speedily returned, crying: “Monsieur, no more railway!”
“What do you mean?” asked Sir Francis.
“I mean to say that the train isn’t going.”
The general at once stepped out, while Phileas Fogg calmly followed him, and they proceeded together to the conductor.
“Where are we?” asked Sir Francis.
“At the hamlet of Kholby[66 - hamlet of Kholby – посёлок Кольби].”
“Do we stop here?”
