Chapter XV

The train entered the station, and Passepartout jumped out first, followed by Mr. Fogg, who assisted his fair companion to descend. Phileas Fogg intended to proceed at once to the Hong Kong steamer, in order to get Aouda comfortably settled for the voyage.

Just as he was leaving the station a policeman came up to him, and said, “Mr. Phileas Fogg?”

“I am he.”

“Is this man your servant?” added the policeman, pointing to Passepartout.

“Yes.”

“Be so good, both of you, as to follow me.”

Mr. Fogg was not surprised. The policeman was a representative of the law, and law is sacred to an Englishman.

“May this young lady go with us?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“She may,” replied the policeman.

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout were conducted to a palkigahri, a sort of four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses, in which they took their places and were driven away. No one spoke during the twenty minutes. They first passed through the “black town,” with its narrow streets, its miserable, dirty huts, and squalid population; then through the “European town,” which presented a relief in its bright brick mansions, shaded by coconut-trees and bristling with masts, where, although it was early morning, elegantly dressed horsemen and handsome equipages were passing back and forth.

The carriage stopped before a modest-looking house. The policeman conducted them into a room with barred windows, and said: “You will appear before Judge Obadiah at half-past eight.”

He then retired, and closed the door.

“Why, we are prisoners!” exclaimed Passepartout, falling into a chair.

Aouda, with an emotion she tried to conceal, said to Mr. Fogg: “Sir, you must leave me to my fate! It is on my account that you receive this treatment, it is for having saved me!”

Phileas Fogg said that it was impossible. It was quite unlikely that he should be arrested for preventing a suttee. There was some mistake. Moreover, he would not, in any event, abandon Aouda, but would escort her to Hong Kong.

“But the steamer leaves at noon!” observed Passepartout, nervously.

“We shall be on board by noon,” replied his master, placidly.

At half-past eight the door opened, the policeman appeared, and, requesting them to follow him, led the way to an adjoining hall. It was evidently a court-room, and a crowd of Europeans and natives already occupied the rear of the apartment.

Mr. Fogg and his two companions took their places on a bench opposite the desks of the magistrate and his clerk. Immediately after, Judge Obadiah, a fat, round man, followed by the clerk, entered.

“The first case,” said he.

“Phileas Fogg?” demanded the secretary.

“I am here,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“Passepartout?”

“Present,” responded Passepartout.

“Good,” said the judge. “You have been looked for, prisoners, for two days on the trains from Bombay.”

“But of what are we accused?” asked Passepartout, impatiently.

“I am an English subject, sir,” said Mr. Fogg, “and I have the right—”

“Very well; let the complainants come in.”

A door was swung open by order of the judge, and three Indian priests entered.

“That’s it,” muttered Passepartout; “these are the rogues who were going to burn our young lady.”

The priests took their places in front of the judge, and the clerk proceeded to read in a loud voice a complaint of sacrilege against Phileas Fogg and his servant, who were accused of having violated a place held consecrated by the Brahmin religion.

“You hear the charge?” asked the judge.

“Yes, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, “and I admit it.”

“You admit it?”

“I admit it, and I wish to hear these priests admit, in their turn, what they were going to do at the pagoda of Pillaji.”

The priests looked at each other; they did not seem to understand what was said.

“Yes,” cried Passepartout, warmly; “at the pagoda of Pillaji, where they were on the point of burning their victim.”

The judge stared with astonishment, and the priests were stupefied.

“What victim?” said Judge Obadiah. “Burn whom? In Bombay?”

“Bombay?” cried Passepartout.

“Certainly. We are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of the pagoda of Malabar Hill, in Bombay.”

“And as a proof,” added the clerk, “here are the desecrator’s very shoes, which he left behind him.”

Whereupon he placed a pair of shoes on his desk.

“My shoes!” cried Passepartout.

The confusion of master and man, who had quite forgotten the affair at Bombay, may be imagined.

Fix the detective, had foreseen the advantage which Passepartout’s escapade gave him, and, delaying his departure for twelve hours, had consulted the priests of Malabar Hill. He promised the authorities a goodly sum, and sent them forward to Calcutta by the next train. Owing to the delay caused by the rescue of the young widow, Fix and the priests reached the Indian capital before Mr. Fogg and his servant. So the magistrates arrested them when they arrived.

The detective sat in a corner of the court-room, watching the proceedings with great interest.

“The facts are admitted?” asked the judge.

“Admitted,” replied Mr. Fogg, coldly.

“Inasmuch,” resumed the judge, “as the English law protects equally and sternly the religions of the Indian people, and as the man Passepartout has admitted that he violated the sacred pagoda of Malabar Hill, in Bombay, on the 20th of October, I condemn the said Passepartout to imprisonment for fifteen days and a fine of three hundred pounds.”

“Three hundred pounds!” cried Passepartout.

“Silence!” shouted the constable.

“And inasmuch,” continued the judge, “as it is not proved that the act was not done by the connivance of the master with the servant, and as the master in any case must be held responsible for the acts of his paid servant, I condemn Phileas Fogg to a week’s imprisonment and a fine of one hundred and fifty pounds.”

Fix rubbed his hands softly with satisfaction. Passepartout was stupefied. This sentence ruined his master. A wager of twenty thousand pounds lost, because he, like a fool, had gone into that abominable pagoda!

Phileas Fogg did not even lift his eyebrows. Just as the clerk was calling the next case, he rose, and said, “I offer bail.”

“You have that right,” returned the judge.

“I will pay it at once,” said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank-bills from the carpet-bag and placing them on the clerk’s desk.

“This sum will be restored to you upon your release from prison,” said the judge. “Meanwhile, you are liberated on bail.”

“Come!” said Phileas Fogg to his servant.

“But let them at least give me back my shoes!” cried Passepartout angrily.

“Ah, these are pretty dear shoes!” he muttered, as they were handed to him. “More than a thousand pounds apiece; besides, they pinch my feet.”

That gentleman took a carriage, and the party were soon landed on one of the quays. Fix saw them leave the carriage and push off in a boat for the steamer, and stamped his feet with disappointment.

“The rascal is off, after all!” he exclaimed. “Two thousand pounds sacrificed! He’s as prodigal as a thief! I’ll follow him to the end of the world if necessary.”

Chapter XVI

The Rangoon was a screw steamer, built of iron, weighing about seventeen hundred and seventy tons, and with engines of four hundred horse-power. The trip from Calcutta to Hong Kong comprised some three thousand five hundred miles, occupying from ten to twelve days.

During the first days of the journey Aouda became better acquainted with her protector. The phlegmatic gentleman listened to her with coldness, neither his voice nor his manner betraying the slightest emotion. He visited her regularly each day at certain hours. Aouda did not quite know what to think, but Passepartout gave her some hints of his master’s eccentricity, and made her smile by telling her of the wager which was sending him round the world.

Aouda belonged to the highest of the native races of India. She had her cousin, Jeejeeh, whom she hoped to join at Hong Kong. Aouda’s great eyes, clear as the sacred lakes of the Himalaya, looked at Fogg; but he did not seem at all inclined to throw himself into this lake.

The first few days of the voyage passed prosperously, amid favourable weather and propitious winds, and they soon came in sight of the great Andaman, the principal of the islands in the Bay of Bengal, with its picturesque Saddle Peak, two thousand four hundred feet high, looming above the waters. The steamer passed along near the shores, but the savage Papuans did not make their appearance.

The panorama of the islands was superb. Vast forests of palms, bamboo, teakwood, of the gigantic mimosa, and tree-like ferns covered the foreground, while behind, the graceful outlines of the mountains were traced against the sky. The varied landscape was soon passed, and the Rangoon rapidly approached the Straits of Malacca, which gave access to the China seas.

Fix had managed to embark on the Rangoon at Calcutta without being seen by Passepartout, after leaving orders that, if the warrant should arrive, it should be forwarded to him at Hong Kong; and he hoped to conceal his presence to the end of the voyage. All the detective’s hopes and wishes were now centred on Hong Kong; for the steamer’s stay at Singapore would be too brief to enable him to take any steps there. The arrest must be made at Hong Kong, or the robber would probably escape him forever. Hong Kong was the last English ground; beyond, China, Japan, and America offered Fogg an almost certain refuge. If the warrant should at last make its appearance at Hong Kong, Fix could arrest him and give him into the hands of the local police, and there would be no further trouble.

Fix thought over these probabilities during the long hours which he spent in his cabin, and kept repeating to himself, “Now, I have failed at Bombay, and I have failed at Calcutta; if I fail at Hong Kong, my reputation is lost. Cost what it may, I must succeed!”

Who was this woman? What combination of events had made her Fogg’s travelling companion? They had evidently met somewhere between Bombay and Calcutta; but where? Had they met accidentally or not? Fix was fairly puzzled.

Fix decided that he must warn the English authorities, and signal the Rangoon before its arrival. This was easy to do, since the steamer stopped at Singapore, whence there is a telegraphic wire to Hong Kong. He finally resolved to question Passepartout. It would not be difficult to make him talk; and, as there was no time to lose, Fix prepared to make himself known. It was now the 30th of October, and on the following day the Rangoon was due at Singapore.

Fix emerged from his cabin and went on deck. Passepartout was promenading up and down in the forward part of the steamer. The detective rushed forward with appearance of extreme surprise, and exclaimed, “You here, on the Rangoon?”

“What, Monsieur Fix, are you on board?” returned the really astonished Passepartout, recognising his crony of the Mongolia. “Why, I left you at Bombay, and here you are, on the way to Hong Kong! Are you going round the world too?”

“No, no,” replied Fix; “I shall stop at Hong Kong—at least for some days.”

“Hum!” said Passepartout, who seemed for an instant perplexed. “But I have not seen you on board since we left Calcutta.”

“Oh, sea-sickness—I’ve been staying in my berth. The Gulf of Bengal does not agree with me as well as the Indian Ocean. And how is Mr. Fogg?”

“As well and as punctual as ever, not a day behind time! But, Monsieur Fix, you don’t know that we have a young lady with us.”

“A young lady?” replied the detective.

Passepartout thereupon recounted Aouda’s history, the affair at the Bombay pagoda, the purchase of the elephant for two thousand pounds, the rescue, the arrest, and sentence of the Calcutta court, and the restoration of Mr. Fogg and himself to liberty on bail.

“But does your master propose to carry this young woman to Europe?”

“Not at all. We are simply going to place her under the protection of one of her relatives, a rich merchant at Hong Kong.”

“Nothing to be done there,” said Fix to himself, concealing his disappointment. “A glass of gin, Mr. Passepartout?”

“Willingly, Monsieur Fix.”