"Humbug!" cried Passepartout, striking the table with his clenched fist. "My master is the most honest man in the world!"
"How do you know?" replied Fix. "You are not even acquainted with him. You entered his service the day of his departure, and he left precipitately under a senseless pretext, without trunks, and carrying with him a large sum in bank notes! And you dare to maintain that he is an honest man?"
"Yes, yes!" repeated the poor fellow mechanically.
"Do you wish, then, to be arrested as his accomplice?"
Passepartout dropped his head in his hands. He could no longer be recognized. He did not look at the detective. Phileas Fogg, the deliverer of Aouda, the brave and generous man, a robber! And yet how many presumptions there were against him. Passepartout tried to force back the suspicions which would slip into his mind. He would never believe in his master's guilt.
"To conclude, what do you want of me?" said he to the detective by a strong effort.
"See here," replied Fix, "I have tracked Mr. Fogg to this point, but I have not yet received the warrant of arrest, for which I asked, from London. You must help me, then, to keep him in Hong Kong———"
"I! Help you!"
"And I will share with you the reward of two thousand pounds promised by the Bank of England!"
"Never!" replied Passepartout, who wanted to rise and fell back, feeling his reason and his strength at once escaping him.
"Monsieur Fix," he said, stammering, even if everything you have told me should be true—if my master should be the robber whom you seek—which I deny—I have been—I am in his service—I have seen him kind and generous—betray him—never—no, not for all the gold in the world—I am from a village where they don't eat that kind of bread!"
"You refuse?"
"I refuse."
"Treat it as if I had said nothing," replied Fix, "and let's take a drink."
"All right, let's take a drink!"
