“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], 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]. These descendants of the sect of Zoroaster[59] 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.