Around the World in 80 Days - Jules Verne (best finance books of all time TXT) 📗
- Author: Jules Verne
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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 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 racehorse. Bonds were 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.
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.
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 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?”
“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!”
“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.
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 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
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