Works of Jules Verne/Round the World in Eighty Days/Chapter 19
CHAPTER XIX
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TAKES A LITTLE TOO LIVELY INTEREST IN HIS MASTER, AND WHAT FOLLOWS
Hong Kong is only a small island secured to England by the treaty of Nanking, after the war of 1842. In a few years, the colonizing genius of Great Britain had established there an important city, and created the port Victoria. This island is situated at the mouth of the Canton river, and sixty miles only separate it from the Portuguese city of Macao, built on the other shore. Hong Kong must necessarily vanquish Macao in a commercial struggle, and now the greatest part of the Chinese transportation is done through the English city. Docks, hospitals, wharves, warehouses, a Gothic cathedral, a Government House, macadamized streets, all would lead one to believe that one of the commercial cities of the counties of Kent or Surrey, traversing the terrestrial sphere, had found a place at this point in China, nearly at its antipodes.
Passepartout, with his hands in his pockets, sauntered towards the port Victoria, looking at the palanquins, the curtained carriages still in favor in the Celestial Empire, and all the crowd of Chinese, Japanese, and Europeans hurrying along in the streets. In some things, it was like Bombay, Calcutta, or Singapore that the worthy fellow was finding again on his route. There is thus a track of English towns all around the world.
Passepartout arrived at Victoria port. There, at the mouth of Canton river, was a perfect swarm of the ships of all nations, English, French, American, Dutch, war and merchant vessels, Japanese or Chinese craft, junks, sempas, tankas, and even flower-boats, which formed so many parterres floating on the waters. Walking along, Passepartout noticed a certain number of natives dressed in yellow, all of quite advanced age. Having gone into a Chinese barber's to be shaved "a la Chinese," he learned from Figaro in the shop, who spoke pretty good English, that these ancient men were at least eighty years old, and that at this age they had the privilege of wearing yellow, the Imperial color. Passepartout found this very funny, without knowing exactly why.
His beard shaved, he repaired to the wharf from which the Carnatic would leave, and there he perceived Fix walking up and down, at which he was not at all astonished. But the detective showed upon his face marks of great disappointment.
"Good!" said Passepartout to himself; "that will be bad for the gentlemen of the Reform Club!"
And he accosted Fix with his merry smile, without seeming to notice the vexed air of his companion.
Now, the detective had good reasons to fret about the infernal luck which was pursuing him. No warrant! It was evident that the warrant was running after him, and that it could reach him only if he stopped some days in this city. Now, Hong Kong being the last English territory on the route, this Mr. Fogg would escape him finally, if he did not succeed in detaining him there.
"Well, Monsieur Fix, have you decided to come with us as far as America?" asked Passepartout.
"Yes," replied Fix between his closed teeth.
"Well then!" cried Passepartout, shouting with laughter. "I knew very well that you could not separate yourself from us. Come and engage your berth, come!"
And both entered the ticket office and engaged cabins for four persons. But the clerk told them that the repairs of the Carnatic being completed, the steamer would leave at eight o'clock in the evening, and not the next morning, as had been announced.
"Very good!" replied Passepartout, "that will suit my master. I am going to inform him."
At this moment Fix took an extreme step. He determined to tell Passepartout everything. It was the only means, perhaps, that he had of retaining Phileas Fogg for a few days in Hong Kong.
Leaving the office, Fix offered to treat his companion in a tavern. Passepartout had the time. He accepted Fix's invitation.
A tavern opened on the quay. It had an inviting appearance. Both entered. It was a large room, finely decorated, at the back of which was stretched a camp bed, furnished with cushions. Upon this bed were lying a certain number of sleepers.
Some thirty customers in the large room occupied small tables of plaited rushes. Some emptied pints of English beer, ale or porter, others jugs of alcoholic liquors, gin, or brandy. Besides, the most of them were smoking long, red-clay pipes, stuffed with little balls of opium mixed with essence of rose. Then, from time to time, some smoker overcome would fall down under the table, and the waiters of the establishment, taking him by the head and feet, carried him onto the camp-bed, alongside of another. Twenty of these sots were thus laid side by side, in the last stage of brutishness.
Fix and Passepartout understood that they had entered a smoking-house haunted by those wretched, stupefied, lean, idiotic creatures, to whom mercantile England sells annually ten million four hundred thousand pounds' worth of the fatal drug called opium. Sad millions are these, levied on one of the most destructive vices of human nature.
The Chinese Government has tried hard to remedy such an abuse by severe laws, but in vain. From the rich class, to whom the use of opium was at first formally reserved, it has descended to the lower classes, and its ravages can no longer be arrested. Opium is smoked everywhere and always in the Middle Empire. Men and women give themselves up to this deplorable passion, and when they are accustomed to inhaling the fumes they can no longer do without it, except by suffering terrible cramps in the stomach. A great smoker can smoke as many as eight pipes a day, but he dies in five years.
Now it was in one of the numerous smoking-houses of this kind, which swarm even in Hong Kong, that Fix and Passepartout had entered with the intention of refreshing themselves. Passepartout had no money, but he accepted willingly the "politeness" of his companion, ready to return it to him at the proper time and place.
They called for two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did full justice, whilst Fix, more reserved, observed his companion with the closest attention. They talked of one thing and another, and especially of the excellent idea that Fix had of taking passage on the Carnatic. The bottles now being empty, Passepartout rose to inform his master that the steamer would leave several hours in advance of the time announced.
Fix detained him.
"One moment," he said.
"What do you wish, Monsieur Fix?"
"I have some serious matters to talk to you about."
"Serious matters?" cried Passepartout, emptying the few drops of wine remaining in the bottom of his glass. "Very well, we will talk about them to-morrow. I have not the time to-day."
"Remain," replied Fix. "It concerns your master, Phileas Fogg."
Passepartout, at this phrase, looked attentively at his questioner. The expression of Fix's face seemed singular to him. He took a seat again. "What have you to say to me?" he asked.
Fix placed his hand upon his companion's arm, and lowering his voice, he asked him, "You have guessed who I am."
"Parbleu!" said Passepartout smiling.
"Then I am going to tell you everything."
"Now that I know everything, my friend. Ah! that's pretty tough! But go on. But first let me tell you that these gentlemen have put themselves to very useless expense.
"Useless," said Fix. "You speak confidently! It may be seen that you do not know the size of the sum!"
"But I do know it," said Passepartout. "Twenty thousand pounds!"
"Fifty-five thousand!" replied Fix, grasping the Frenchman's hand.
"What!" cried Passepartout, "Monsieur Fogg would have dared—Fifty-five thousand pounds! Well, well! All the more reason that I should not lose an instant," he added rising again.
"Fifty-five thousand pounds!" replied Fix, who forced Passepartout to sit down again, after having ordered a decanter of brandy, "and if I succeed, I get a reward of two thousand pounds. Do you wish five hundred of them on condition that you help me?"
"Help you!" cried Passepartout, whose eyes were opened very wide.
"Yes, help me to detain Mr. Fogg in Hong Kong for a few days!"
"Phew!" said Passepartout, "what are you saying? How, not satisfied with having my master followed, with suspecting his faithfulness, do these gentlemen wish to throw new obstacles in his way. I am ashamed for them."
"Ah! what do you mean by that?" asked Fix.
"I mean that it is simple indelicacy. It is about the same as stripping Monsieur Fogg and putting his money in their pockets."
"Ah! that is the very thing we are coming to!"
"But it is a trap!" cried Passepartout—who was getting lively under the influence of the brandy with which Fix was plying him, and which he drank without noticing it—"a real trap! Gentlemen! Colleagues!"
Fix began to be puzzled.
"Colleagues!" cried Passepartout, "members of the Reform Club! You must know, Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and that, when he has made a bet, he intends to win it fairly."
"But who do you think I am?" asked Fix, fastening his look upon Passepartout.
"Parbleu! an agent of the members of the Reform Club with the mission to interfere with my master's journey, which is singularly humiliating. So, although it has been some time already since I guessed your business, I have taken good care not to disclose it to Monsieur Fogg."
"He knows nothing?" asked Fix quickly.
"Nothing," answer Passepartout, emptying his glass once more.
The agent passed his hand over his forehead. He hesitated before continuing the conversation. What ought he to do? The error of Passepartout seemed sincere, but it rendered his plan more difficult. It was evident that this young man was speaking with perfect good faith, and that he was not his master's accomplice—which Fix had feared. "Well," he said to himself, "since he is not his accomplice, he will aid me."
The detective had the advantage a second time. Besides, he had no more time to wait. At any cost Fogg must be arrested at Hong Kong.
"Listen," said Fix, in an abrupt tone, "listen carefully to me. I am not what you think, that is, an agent of the members of the Reform Club———"
"Bah!" said Passepartout, looking at him in a jocose way.
"I am a police detective, charged with a mission by the Metropolitan Government.
"You—a detective!"
"Yes, and I will prove it," replied Fix. "Here is my commission."
And the agent, taking a paper from his pocket-book, showed his companion a commission signed by the Commissioner of the Central Police. Passepartout stunned, unable to articulate a word, looked at Fix.
"The bet of Mr. Fogg," continued Fix, "is only a pretext of which you are the dupes, you and his colleagues of the Reform Club, for he had an interest in assuring himself of your unconscious complicity."
"But why?" cried Passepartout.
"Listen. The 28th of September, ultimo, a robbery of fifty-five thousand pounds was committed at the Bank of England, by an individual whose description they were able to obtain. Now, look at this description, and it is feature for feature that of Mr. Fogg."
"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!"
Passepartout felt himself more and more overcome by intoxication. Fix, understanding that he must at all hazards separate him from his master, wanted to finish him. On the table were a few pipes filled with opium. Fix slipped one into Passepartout's hand, who took it, lifted it to his lips, lighted it, took a few puffs, and fell over, his head stupefied under the influence of the narcotic.
"At least," said Fix, seeing Passepartout out of the way, "Mr. Fogg will not be informed in time of the departure of the Carnatic, and if he leaves he will at least be without this cursed Frenchman!"
Then he left, after paying his bill.