Around the World in 80 by Jules Verne (page 2)

Around the World in 8


 Days

'But it is not midnight,' responded the other, showing

his watch.

'I know it; I don't blame you. We start for Dover and

Calais in ten minutes.'

A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout's round face;

clearly he had not comprehended his master.

'Monsieur is going to leave home?'

'Yes,' returned Phileas Fogg. 'We are going round the

world.'

Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows,

held up his hands, and seemed about to collapse, so

overcome was he with stupefied astonishment.

'Round the world!' he murmured.

'In eighty days,' responded Mr. Fogg. 'So we haven't a

moment to lose.'

'But the trunks?' gasped Passepartout, unconsciously

swaying his head from right to left.

'We'll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two

shirts and three pairs of stockings for me, and the same for

you. We'll buy our clothes on the way. Bring down my

mackintosh and traveling-cloak, and some stout shoes,

though we shall do little walking. Make haste!'

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Passepartout tried to reply, but could not. He went out,

mounted to his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered:

'That's good, that is! And I, who wanted to remain quiet!'

He mechanically set about making the preparations for

departure. Around the world in eighty days! Was his

master a fool? No. Was this a joke, then? They were going

to Dover; good! To Calais; good again! After all,

Passepartout, who had been away from France five years,

would not be sorry to set foot on his native soil again.

Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and it would do his

eyes good to see Paris once more. But surely a gentleman

so chary of his steps would stop there; no doubt— but,

then, it was none the less true that he was going away, this

so domestic person hitherto!

By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest

carpet-bag, containing the wardrobes of his master and

himself; then, still troubled in mind, he carefully shut the

door of his room, and descended to Mr. Fogg.

Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have

been observed a red-bound copy of Bradshaw's

Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide,

with its timetables showing the arrival and departure of

steamers and railways. He took the carpet-bag, opened it,

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and slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes,

which would pass wherever he might go.

'You have forgotten nothing?' asked he.

'Nothing, monsieur.'

'My mackintosh and cloak?'

'Here they are.'

'Good! Take this carpet-bag,' handing it to

Passepartout. 'Take good care of it, for there are twenty

thousand pounds in it.'

Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty

thousand pounds were in gold, and weighed him down.

Master and man then descended, the street-door was

double-locked, and at the end of Saville Row they took a

cab and drove rapidly to Charing Cross. The cab stopped

before the railway station at twenty minutes past eight.

Passepartout jumped off the box and followed his master,

who, after paying the cabman, was about to enter the

station, when a poor beggar-woman, with a child in her

arms, her naked feet smeared with mud, her head covered

with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered

feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl,

approached, and mournfully asked for alms.

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Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won

at whist, and handed them to the beggar, saying, 'Here,

my good woman. I'm glad that I met you;' and passed on.

Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his

master's action touched his susceptible heart.

Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily

purchased, Mr. Fogg was crossing the station to the train,

when he perceived his five friends of the Reform.

'Well, gentlemen,' said he, 'I'm off, you see; and, if you

will examine my passport when I get back, you will be

able to judge whether I have accomplished the journey

agreed upon.'

'Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg,' said

Ralph politely. 'We will trust your word, as a gentleman

of honour.'

'You do not forget when you are due in London

again?' asked Stuart.

'In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December,

1872, at a quarter before nine p.m. Good-bye,

gentlemen.'

Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-

class carriage at twenty minutes before nine; five minutes

later the whistle screamed, and the train slowly glided out

of the station.

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The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling.

Phileas Fogg, snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open

his lips. Passepartout, not yet recovered from his

stupefaction, clung mechanically to the carpet-bag, with its

enormous treasure.

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham,

Passepartout suddenly uttered a cry of despair.

'What's the matter?' asked Mr. Fogg.

'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.'

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Chapter V



IN WHICH A NEW SPECIES

OF FUNDS, UNKNOWN TO

THE MONEYED MEN,

APPEARS ON 'CHANGE

Phileas Fogg rightly suspected that his departure from

London would create a lively sensation at the West End.

The news of the bet spread through the Reform Club,

and afforded an exciting topic of conversation to its

members. From the club it soon got into the papers

throughout England. The boasted 'tour of the world' was

talked about, disputed, argued with as much warmth as if

the subject were another Alabama claim. 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. The

Times, Standard, Morning Post, and Daily News, and

twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr.



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Fogg's project as madness; the Daily Telegraph alone

hesitatingly supported him. People in general thought him

a lunatic, and blamed his Reform Club friends for having

accepted a wager which betrayed the mental aberration of

its proposer.

Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the

question, for geography is one of the pet subjects of the

English; and the columns devoted to Phileas Fogg's

venture were eagerly devoured by all classes of readers. At

first some rash individuals, principally of the gentler sex,

espoused his cause, which became still more popular when

the Illustrated London News came out with his portrait,

copied from a photograph in the Reform Club. A few

readers of the Daily Telegraph even dared to say, 'Why

not, after all? Stranger things have come to pass.'

At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October,

in the bulletin of the Royal Geographical Society, which

treated the question from every point of view, and

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. He might, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of

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trains at the designated hours, in Europe, where the

distances were relatively moderate; but when he calculated

upon crossing India in three days, and the United States in

seven, could he rely beyond misgiving upon

accomplishing his task? 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? Would he not find

himself, when travelling by steamer in winter, at the

mercy of the winds and fogs? 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; should Phileas Fogg once miss, even by

an hour; a steamer, he would have to wait for the next,

and that would irrevocably render his attempt vain.

This article made a great deal of noise, and, being

copied into all the papers, seriously depressed the

advocates of the rash tourist.

Everybody knows that England is the world of betting

men, who are of a higher class than mere gamblers; to bet

is in the English temperament. Not only the members of

the Reform, but the general public, made heavy wagers

for or against Phileas Fogg, who was set down in the

betting books as if he were a race-horse. Bonds were

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issued, and made their appearance on 'Change; 'Phileas

Fogg bonds' were offered at par or at a premium, and a

great business was done in them. But five days after the

article in the bulletin of the Geographical Society

appeared, the demand began to subside: 'Phileas Fogg'

declined. They were offered by packages, at first of five,

then of ten, until at last nobody would take less than

twenty, fifty, a hundred!

Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was

now the only advocate of Phileas Fogg left. This noble

lord, who was fastened to his chair, would have given his

fortune to be able to make the tour of the world, if it took

ten years; and he bet five thousand pounds on Phileas

Fogg. When the folly as well as the uselessness of the

adventure was pointed out to him, he contented himself

with replying, 'If the thing is feasible, the first to do it

ought to be an Englishman.'

The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody

was going against him, and the bets stood a hundred and

fifty and two hundred to one; and a week after his

departure an incident occurred which deprived him of

backers at any price.

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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:

I've found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg. Send with

out delay warrant of arrest to Bombay.

Fix, Detective.

The effect of this dispatch was instantaneous. The

polished gentleman disappeared to give place to the bank

robber. His photograph, which was hung with those of

the rest of the members at the Reform Club, was minutely

examined, and it betrayed, feature by feature, the

description of the robber which had been provided to the

police. The mysterious habits of Phileas Fogg were

recalled; his solitary ways, his sudden departure; and it

seemed clear that, in undertaking a tour round the world

on the pretext of a wager, he had had no other end in

view than to elude the detectives, and throw them off his

track.

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Chapter VI



IN WHICH FIX, THE

DETECTIVE, BETRAYS A

VERY NATURAL IMPATIENCE

The circumstances under which this telegraphic

dispatch about Phileas Fogg was sent were as follows:

The steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and

Oriental Company, built of iron, of two thousand eight

hundred tons burden, and five hundred horse-power, was

due at eleven o'clock 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 belonging to the company, 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 who

were sojourning at this once straggling village— now,

thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing

town. One was the British consul at Suez, who, despite





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Around the World in 80 Days

the prophecies of the English Government, and the

unfavourable predictions of Stephenson, was in the habit

of seeing, from his office window, English ships daily

passing to and fro on the great canal, by which the old

roundabout route from England to India by the Cape of

Good Hope was abridged by at least a half. The other was

a small, slight-built personage, with a nervous, intelligent

face, and bright eyes peering out from under eyebrows

which he was incessantly twitching. He was just now

manifesting unmistakable 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 narrowly watch every passenger

who arrived at Suez, and to follow up all who seemed to

be suspicious characters, or bore a resemblance to the

description of the criminal, which he had received two

days before from the police headquarters at London. The

detective was evidently inspired by the hope of obtaining

the splendid reward which would be the prize of success,

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?'

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'No, Mr. Fix,' replied the consul. 'She was bespoken

yesterday at Port Said, and the rest of the way is of no

account to such a craft. I repeat that the Mongolia has

been in advance of the time required by the company's

regulations, and gained the prize awarded for excess of

speed.'

'Does she come directly from Brindisi?'

'Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails

there, and she left there Saturday at five p.m. Have

patience, Mr. Fix; she 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 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. Burglars are

getting to be so contemptible nowadays! A fellow gets

hung for a handful of shillings!'

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'Mr. Fix,' said the consul, 'I like your way of talking,

and hope you'll succeed; but I fear you will find it far from

easy. 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 only one course to take, and that is to

remain honest; otherwise they would be arrested off-hand.

The artistic thing is, to unmask honest countenances; it's

no light task, I admit, but a real art.'

Mr. Fix evidently was not wanting in a tinge of self-

conceit.

Little by little the scene on the quay became more

animated; sailors of various nations, merchants, ship-

brokers, porters, fellahs, bustled to and fro as if the steamer

were immediately expected. The weather was clear, and

slightly chilly. The minarets of the town loomed above the

houses in the pale rays of the sun. A jetty pier, some two

thousand yards along, extended into the roadstead. A

number of fishing-smacks and coasting boats, some

retaining the fantastic fashion of ancient galleys, were

discernible on the Red Sea.

As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to

habit, scrutinised the passers-by with a keen, rapid glance.

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It was now half-past ten.

'The steamer doesn't come!' he exclaimed, as the port

clock struck.

'She can't be far off now,' returned his companion.

'How long will she stop at Suez?'

'Four hours; long enough to get in her coal. It is

thirteen hundred and ten miles from Suez to Aden, at the

other end of the Red Sea, and she has to take in a fresh

coal supply.'

'And does she go from Suez directly to Bombay?'

'Without putting in anywhere.'

'Good!' said Fix. 'If the robber is on board he will no

doubt get off at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch or French

colonies in Asia by some other route. He ought to know

that he would not be safe an hour in India, which is

English soil.'

'Unless,' objected the consul, 'he is exceptionally

shrewd. An English criminal, you know, is always better

concealed in London than anywhere else.'

This observation furnished the detective food for

thought, and meanwhile the consul went away to his

office. Fix, left alone, was more impatient than ever,

having a presentiment that the robber was on board the

Mongolia. If he had indeed left London intending to reach

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the New World, he would naturally take the route via

India, which was less watched and more difficult to watch

than that of the Atlantic. But Fix's reflections were soon

interrupted by a succession of sharp whistles, which

announced the arrival of the Mongolia. The porters and

fellahs rushed down the quay, and a dozen boats pushed

off from the shore to go and meet the steamer. Soon her

gigantic hull appeared passing along between the banks,

and eleven o'clock struck as she anchored in the road. She

brought an unusual number of passengers, some of whom

remained on deck to scan the picturesque panorama of the

town, while the greater part disembarked in the boats, and

landed on the quay.

Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each

face and figure which made its appearance. Presently one

of the passengers, after vigorously pushing his way through

the importunate crowd of porters, came up to him and

politely asked if he could point out the English consulate,

at the same time showing a passport which he wished to

have visaed. 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.

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'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.

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Chapter VII



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.'



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'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?'

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'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.

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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

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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.

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Chapter VIII



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.'

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