THE ESSENTIAL JULES VERNE (5 Must Read Classics in One Edition). Jules Verne

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 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.

      “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.

Chapter VII

      WHICH ONCE MORE DEMONSTRATES THE USELESSNESS OF PASSPORTS AS AIDS TO DETECTIVES

      Table of Contents

      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.”

      “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 lookout. 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?”

      “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 phlegmatic 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.

      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 notebook, 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