# Works of Jules Verne/Round the World in Eighty Days/Chapter 20

CHAPTER XX IN WHICH FIX COMES IN DIRECT CONTACT WITH PHILEAS FOGG
During this scene, which might perhaps seriously interfere with his future, Mr. Fogg, accompanying Aouda, was taking a walk through the streets of the English town. Since Aouda accepted his offer to take her to Europe, he had to think of all the details necessary for so long a journey. That an Englishman like him should make the tour of the world with a carpet-bag in his hand, might pass; but a lady could not undertake such a journey under the same conditions. Hence, the necessity of buying clothing and articles necessary for the voyage. Mr. Fogg acquitted himself of his task with the quiet characteristic of him, and he invariably replied to all the excuses and objections of the young woman, confused by so much kindness. "It is the interest of my journey; it is in my programme."
The purchases made, Mr. Fogg and the young woman returned to the hotel and dined at the table d'hôte, which was sumptuously served. Then Aouda, a little tired, went up into her room after having shaken hands English fashion with her imperturbable deliverer.
He, Fogg, was absorbed all the evening in reading the Times and the Illustrated London News. If he had been a man to be astonished at anything it would have been not to have seen his servant at the hour for retiring. But knowing that the Yokohama steamer was not to leave Hong ​Kong before the next morning, he did not otherwise bother himself about it. The next morning Passepartout did not come at Mr. Fogg's ring.
What the honorable gentleman thought on learning that his servant had not returned to the hotel, no one could have said. Mr. Fogg contented himself with taking his carpet-bag, calling for Aouda and sending for a palanquin. It was then eight o'clock, and high tide, of which the Carnatic was to take advantage to go out through the passes, was put down at half-past nine.
When the palanquin arrived at the door of the hotel, Mr. Fogg and Aouda got into the comfortable vehicle, and their baggage followed them on a wheelbarrow. Half an hour later the travelers dismounted on the wharf and there Phileas Fogg learned that the Carnatic had left the evening before.
Mr. Fogg, who counted on finding at the same time both the steamer and his servant, was compelled to do without both. But not a sign of disappointment appeared upon his face; and, when Aouda looked at him with uneasiness, he contented himself with replying, "It is an incident, Madame, nothing more."
At this moment a person who had been watching him closely came up to him. It was the detective, Fix, who turned to him and said, "Are you not like myself, sir, one of the passengers of the Rangoon, who arrived yesterday?"
"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Fogg coldly, "but I have not the honor———"
"Pardon me, but I thought I would find your servant here."
"Do you know where he is, sir?" asked the young woman quickly.
"What!" replied Fix, feigning surprise, "is he not with you?"
"No," replied Aouda. "He has not returned since yesterday. Has he perhaps embarked without us aboard the Carnatic?"
"Without you, madame?" replied Fix. "But, excuse my question, you expected then to leave by that steamer?"
"Yes, sir."
"I too, madame, and I am much disappointed. The Carnatic, having completed her repairs, left Hong Kong ​twelve hours sooner without warning anyone, and we must now wait a week for another steamer!"
Fix felt his heart jump for joy in pronouncing these words, "a week." A week! Fogg detained a week at Hong Kong! There would be time to receive the warrant of arrest. Chance would at last declare for the representative of the law.
It may be judged then what a stunning blow he received, when he heard Phileas Fogg say in his calm voice. "But there are other vessels than the Carnatic, it seems to me, in the port of Hong Kong."
And Mr. Fogg, offering his arm to Aouda, turned towards the docks in search of a vessel leaving. Fix, stupefied, followed. It might have been said that a thread attached him to this man.
However, chance seemed really to abandon him whom it had served so well up to that time. Phileas Fogg, for three hours, traversed the port in every direction, decided, if it was necessary, to charter a vessel to take him to Yokohama; but he saw only vessels loading or unloading, which consequently could not set sail. Fix began to hope again.
But Mr. Fogg was not disconcerted, and he was going to continue his search, if he had to go as far as Macao, when he was accosted by a sailor on the end of the pier. "Your honor is looking for a boat?" said the sailor to him, taking off his hat.
"You have a boat ready to sail?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"Yes, your honor, a pilot-boat, the best in the flotilla."
"She goes fast?"
"Between eight and nine knots an hour, nearly the latter. Will you look at her?"
"Yes."
"Your honor will be satisfied. Is it for an excursion?"
"No; for a voyage."
"A voyage?"
"You will undertake to convey me to Yokohama?"
The sailor, at these words, stood with arms extended and eyes starting from his head. "Your honor is joking?" he said.
"No, I have missed the sailing of the Carnatic, and I must be at Yokohama on the 14th, at the latest, to take the steamer for San Francisco."
​"I regret it," replied the pilot, "but it is impossible."
"I offer you one hundred pounds per day, and a reward of two hundred pounds if I arrive in time."
"You are in earnest?" asked the pilot.
"Very much in earnest," replied Mr. Fogg.
The pilot withdrew to one side. He looked at the sea, evidently struggling between the desire to gain an enormous sum and the fear of venturing so far. Fix was in mortal suspense.
During this time, Mr. Fogg had returned to Aouda. "You will not be afraid, madame?" he asked.
"With you—no, Mr. Fogg," replied the young woman.
The pilot had come towards the gentleman again, and was twisting his hat in his hands.
"Well, pilot?" said Mr. Fogg.
"Well, your honor," replied the pilot, "I can risk neither my men, nor myself, nor yourself, in so long a voyage on a boat scarcely twenty tons, at this time of the year. Besides, we would not arrive in time, for it is sixteen hundred and fifty miles from Hong Kong to Yokohama."
"Only sixteen hundred," said Mr. Fogg.
"It is the same thing."
Fix took a good long breath.
"But," added the pilot, "there might perhaps be a means to arrange it otherwise."
Fix did not breathe any more.
"How?" asked Phileas Fogg.
"By going to Nagasaki, the southern extremity of Japan, eleven hundred miles, or only to Shanghai, eight hundred miles from Hong Kong. In this last journey, we would not be at any distance from the Chinese coast, which would be a great advantage, all the more so that the currents run to the north."
"Pilot," replied Phileas Fogg, "I must take the American mail steamer at Yokohama, and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki."
"Why not?" replied the pilot. "The San Francisco steamer does not start from Yokohama. She stops there and at Nagasaki, but her port of departure is Shanghai."
"You are certain of what you are saying?"
"Certain."
"And when does the steamer leave Shanghai?"
​"On the 11th, at seven o'clock in the evening. We have then four days before us. Four days, that is ninety-six hours, and with an average of eight knots an hour, if we have good luck, if the wind keeps to the southeast, if the sea is calm, we can make the eight hundred miles which separate us from Shanghai."
"And you can leave———"
"In an hour, time enough to buy my provisions and hoist sail."
"It is a bargain—you are the master of the boat?"
"Yes, John Bunsby, master of the Tankadere."
"Do you wish some earnest money?"
"If it does not inconvenience your honor."
"Here are two hundred pounds on account—Sir," added Phileas Fogg turning towards Fix, "if you wish to take advantage———"
"Sir," answered Fix resolutely, "I was going to ask this favor of you."
"Well. In half an hour we will be on board."
"But this poor fellow—" said Aouda, whom Passepartout's disappearance worried very much.
"I am going to do all I can to find him," replied Phileas Fogg.
And while Fix, nervous, feverish, angry, repaired to the pilot boat, the two others went to the police station at Hong Kong. Phileas Fogg gave there Passepartout's description, and left a sufficient sum to find him. The same formality was carried out at the French consular agent's, and the palanquin having stopped at the hotel where the baggage had been taken took the travelers back to the outer pier.
Three o'clock struck. The pilot-boat, No. 43, her crew on board, and her provisions stowed away, was ready to set sail. She was a charming little schooner of twenty tons—this Tankadere—with a sharp cut-water, very graceful shape, and long water lines. She might have been called a racing yacht. Her shining copper sheathing, her galvanized iron work, her deck white as ivory, showed that Master John Bunsby knew how to keep her in good condition. Her two masts leaned a little to the rear. She carried brigantine-foresail, storm-jib, and standing-jib, and could rig up splendidly for a rear wind. She ought to sail ​wonderfully well, and in fact she had won several prizes in pilot-boat matches.
The crew of the Tankadere was composed of the master, John Bunsby, and four men. They were of that class of hardy sailors who, in all weathers, venture out in search of vessels, and are thoroughly acquainted with these seasons. John Bunsby, a man about forty-five years, vigorous, well sunburnt, of a lively expression, of an energetic face, self-reliant, well posted in his business, would have inspired confidence in the most timorous.
Phileas Fogg and Aouda went on board. Fix was already there. They went down by steps in the rear of the schooner into a square cabin, whose walls bulged out in the form of cots, above a circular divan. In the middle, there was a table lighted by a hanging lamp. It was small, but neat.
"I regret having nothing better to offer you," said Mr. Fogg to Fix, who bowed without replying.
The detective felt somewhat humiliated by thus taking advantage of Mr. Fogg's kindnesses. "Surely," he thought, "he is a very polite rogue, but he is a rogue!"
At ten minutes after three the sails were hoisted. The English flag was flying at the gaff of the schooner. The passengers were seated on deck. Mr. Fogg and Aouda cast a last look at the wharf, in hopes of seeing Passepartout.
Fix was not without apprehension, for chance might have brought to this place the unfortunate young man whom he had so indignantly treated, and then an explanation would have taken place, from which the detective would not have got out to advantage. But the Frenchman did not show himself, and doubtless the stupefying narcotic still held him under its influence.
Finally, Master John Bunsby ordered a start, and the Tankadere, taking the wind under her brigantine, foresail, and standing jib, flew out in the sea.
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