Where Passepartout takes too keen an interest in his master and what that leads to

Hong Kong is only a small island, ceded to Great Britain by the Treaty of Nanking after the war of 1842. Within the space of a few years the colonizing spirit of the British was responsible for the building of a large town and the creation of a port, Victoria Harbour. The island is situated at the mouth of the Canton River and only sixty miles separate it from the Portuguese possession of Macao, which stands on the opposite bank. It was inevitable that Hong Kong would be the victorious rival of Macao as a trading centre, and now most Chinese goods for export transit via the British possession. Docks, hospitals, wharves, warehouses, a Gothic cathedral, a government house and tarmacked roads all give the visitor the impression that a typical busy town in the south-east of England has been transported halfway across the globe and has landed here in China, almost at the antipodes.

So Passepartout, with his hands in his pockets, went along to Victoria Harbour, watching on his way the palanquins, the sail-powered wheelbarrows, still popular in the Celestial Empire, and this whole crowd of Chinese, Japanese and Europeans thronging the streets. Give or take a few differences, the dear fellow found it was like walking through Bombay, Calcutta or Singapore. The English have left a trail of similar cities around the world.

Passepartout reached Victoria Harbour. There, at the mouth of the Canton River, he saw a heaving mass of ships from all over the world, English, French, American, Dutch, warships and trading vessels, Japanese or Chinese boats, junks, sampans, tankas and even flower-boats that looked like gardens floating on water. As he walked around, Passepartout noticed that some of the native inhabitants were dressed in yellow, all of them very elderly. After going into a barbershop to have a Chinese-style shave, he was told by the local barber, who spoke quite good English, that these elderly men were at least eighty years old, and from that age on they were given the privilege of wearing yellow, the imperial colour. Passepartout found this very amusing, without quite knowing why.

Once his beard was shaved he went along to the quay from where the Carnatic was due to depart and there he caught sight of Fix, who was walking up and down, which didn’t surprise him. However, the inspector’s face bore the sign of severe disappointment.

‘Good!’ thought Passepartout. ‘Things must be going badly for those gentlemen members of the Reform Club.’

So he went up to Fix with a broad smile, pretending not to notice his companion’s look of annoyance.

The detective really had every reason to curse the appalling bad luck that dogged him. There was still no sign of the warrant. It was obvious that the warrant was still on its way and could only reach him if he stayed put for a few days. Since Hong Kong was indeed the last British territory on the route, this Fogg fellow would get away once and for all unless he found some way of keeping him here.

‘Well then, Mr Fix, have you made up your mind to come to America with us?’ asked Passepartout.

‘Yes,’ replied Fix, gritting his teeth.

‘Now, now!’ exclaimed Passepartout, in a joyful burst of laughter. ‘I was sure you wouldn’t be able to let us go off like that on our own. Come and book your seat. Come on!’

So the two men went into the shipping office and booked cabins for four people. But the employee pointed out that as the repairs to the Carnatic had been completed, the steamer would be leaving that evening at eight o’clock and not the following morning, as had been announced.

‘Very good!’ replied Passepartout. ‘That will suit my master. I’ll go and tell him.’

At that moment Fix decided on an extreme course of action. He would tell Passepartout everything. It was perhaps the only way to keep Phileas Fogg in Hong Kong for a few more days.

After they had left the office Fix offered to take his companion for a drink in a nearby tavern. Passepartout had time, so he accepted Fix’s invitation.

There was a tavern fronting on to the quayside. It looked inviting and both men went in. There was a large, well-decorated room, at the back of which stood a camp-bed, scattered with cushions. On the bed a number of men were stretched out, asleep.

Thirty or so customers were in the main room sitting at small rattan tables. Some of them were downing pints of English beer, ale or porter, others flagons of spirits, gin or brandy. In addition most of them were smoking long pipes made of red clay, stuffed with small pellets of opium mixed with attar of roses. Then, from time to time, some helpless smoker collapsed under the table and the barmen would take him by the head and feet and carry him on to the camp-bed near a fellow smoker. About twenty of these drunkards were thus laid out side by side, in an advanced state of drugged stupor.

Fix and Passepartout realized that they had walked into a den frequented by the drugged, emaciated, stupefied wretches to whom England sells annually for its commercial gain more than £11,000,000 of that fateful drug called opium. What a terrible source of wealth, one derived from exploiting one of the most deadly of human vices!

The Chinese government has attempted to tackle this problem by introducing strict laws, but to no avail. The use of opium has spread from the upper classes, for whom it was at first exclusively reserved, to the lower classes, and since then its disastrous effects have proved unstoppable. Opium is smoked everywhere and at any time in the Middle Kingdom. Both men and women are addicted to this deplorable habit and once they have become used to taking the drug they cannot go without it without experiencing severe stomach pains. A heavy opium smoker may smoke as many as eight pipes a day but will die within five years.

Their search for a drink had, then, led Fix and Passepartout into one of the many dens of this type that have sprung up even in Hong Kong. Passepartout didn’t have any money, but he was happy to accept his companion’s offer of a drink, though he insisted on returning the compliment at the right time and place.

They ordered two bottles of port, which the Frenchman proved very keen on, whereas Fix was more circumspect and observed his companion very carefully. They talked about this and that and especially about Fix’s brilliant idea of travelling with them on the Carnatic. After this mention of the Carnatic, which was due to leave several hours earlier than planned, Passepartout got to his feet, now that the bottles were empty, in order to go off to inform his master of the situation.

Fix held him back.

‘Just a moment,’ he said.

‘What do you want, Mr Fix?’

‘I need to speak to you about some serious matters.’

‘Serious matters!’ exclaimed Passepartout as he drank up a few drops that had remained at the bottom of his glass. ‘Well, we’ll discuss them tomorrow. I don’t have time today.’

‘Stay a minute,’ replied Fix. ‘It’s about your master.’

At the mention of this word Passepartout looked carefully at the expression on Fix’s face.

He had a strange look, Passepartout thought. He sat down again.

‘So what exactly have you got to say to me?’ he asked.

Fix put his hand on his companion’s arm and whispered, ‘Have you worked out who I am?’

‘I should say so,’ said Passepartout, smiling.

‘In that case I’m going to come clean with you …’

‘Now that I already know everything, old chum! Well, so much for that! On the other hand, why not? But before you do so, let me just tell you that these gentlemen from the club have been wasting their money.’

‘Wasting their money?’ said Fix. ‘It’s easy for you to talk. You obviously don’t have any idea of the amount of money involved.’

‘But I certainly do,’ replied Passepartout. ‘£20,000!’

‘£55,000!’ continued Fix, squeezing the Frenchman’s hand.

‘What!’ exclaimed Passepartout. ‘Fancy Mr Fogg daring to go so far! £55,000! Well, that’s all the more reason not to lose a second,’ he said as he got to his feet again.

‘£55,000,’ Fix went on, forcing Passepartout to sit down again after ordering another flagon of brandy. ‘And if I’m successful I earn a reward of £2,000. Would you fancy £500, if you agree to help me?’

‘To help you?’ cried out Passepartout, whose eyes were popping out of his head.

‘Yes, to help me keep this Fogg fellow in Hong Kong for a few days.’

‘Hey!’ said Passepartout. ‘What are you talking about? What? Not only do these gentlemen have my master followed, and doubt his honesty, but they also want to put obstacles in his path! I feel ashamed for them.’

‘Hang on. What do you mean?’ asked Fix.

‘I mean that it’s completely unacceptable behaviour. You might as well strip Mr Fogg of his belongings and take the money out of his pocket.’

‘Well, that’s exactly what we expect it to come to.’

‘But it’s a trap!’ exclaimed Passepartout, excited by the effects of the brandy that Fix was serving him and that he was drinking without realizing it. ‘A real trap, set by so-called gentlemen and colleagues!’

Fix was beginning to lose track.

‘Call them colleagues!’ shouted Passepartout. ‘Members of the Reform Club! Remember this, Mr Fix. My master is an honourable man and when he’s made a bet he intends to win it fairly.’

‘But who do you think I am?’ asked Fix, looking straight at Passepartout.

‘I’ll tell you, all right. You’re a private investigator for the members of the Reform Club, given the job of checking up on the route my master’s taking. It’s a disgrace! So, although I guessed what you were some time ago, I’ve been careful not to tell Mr Fogg.’

‘He doesn’t know anything about this, does he?’ Fix asked sharply.

‘Nothing,’ replied Passepartout downing another glass of brandy.

The police inspector scratched his forehead. He waited before going on. What was he to do? Passepartout’s mistake seemed genuine, but it made his plan more difficult. It was obvious that this fellow was speaking in complete good faith and that he wasn’t his master’s accomplice – something which Fix might have feared.

‘Well,’ he said to himself, ‘if he’s not his accomplice he’ll be prepared to help me.’

The detective had come to a second decision. In any case, he had no time to lose. Phileas Fogg had to be arrested in Hong Kong at all costs.

‘Listen,’ said Fix curtly, ‘listen to me carefully. I’m not what you think. I’m not a private detective for the members of the Reform Club.’

‘Huh!’ said Passepartout, looking at him mockingly.

‘I’m a police inspector, working for the Metropolitan Police.’

‘You … A police inspector!’

‘Yes, and I can prove it. Here’s my commission.’

With that, the detective took a piece of paper from his wallet and showed to his companion a commission signed by the head of the Metropolitan Police. Passepartout was dumbfounded and unable to say a word.

‘Mr Fogg’s bet is just a front, which you’ve fallen for, you and his colleagues from the Reform Club, because it was important for him to make you his accomplices without you realizing it.’

‘But why?’ cried out Passepartout.

‘Listen. On 28 September a theft involving £55,000 was committed at the Bank of England by an individual whom we have a description of. That description fits exactly this man Fogg.’

‘Come off it!’ exclaimed Passepartout, banging the table with his hefty fist. ‘My master is the most honest man in the world.’

‘How can you tell?’ replied Fix. ‘You don’t even know him. You started to work for him the day you set off and he left in a considerable hurry with a madcap excuse, without any luggage, and taking with him a large amount of money in banknotes. And you still maintain that he’s an honest man!’

‘I do. I do,’ the poor fellow repeated, like a machine.

‘Do you want to be arrested as his accomplice, then?’

Passepartout had his head in his hands. He was unrecognizable. He didn’t dare look at the police inspector. Phileas Fogg, a thief? The very man who had rescued Mrs Aouda, a good and a generous man? And yet there was no denying the evidence against him. Passepartout tried to brush aside the suspicions that were creeping into his mind. He refused to believe his master was guilty.

‘Well then, what do you want from me?’ he said to the policeman with a supreme effort of self-restraint.

‘Just this,’ replied Fix. ‘I’ve trailed this fellow Fogg all this way, but I still haven’t received the arrest warrant that I’ve requested from London. I need you to help me to keep him in Hong Kong.’

‘What! You want me to –’

‘And then I’ll give you a share of the £2,000 reward put up by the Bank of England.’

‘Never,’ replied Passepartout, who wanted to get up but fell back down, feeling both his wits and his strength deserting him at the same time. ‘Mr Fix,’ he stammered, ‘even if everything you say is true … even if my master was the thief you’re after … which I don’t believe for a moment … I’ve worked for him … I still work for him … I know how kind and generous he is … Betray him … never … no, not for all the money in the world. Where I come from, that’s just not the sort of thing people go in for …’

‘So you refuse?’

‘I refuse.’

‘Let’s just forget everything I’ve said,’ replied Fix, ‘and have a drink.’

‘Yes. Let’s have a drink.’

Passepartout was feeling the effects of the alcohol more and more. Fix realized that he needed to separate him from his master at all costs and wanted to finish the job off. On the table were a few pipes, stuffed with opium. Fix slipped one into Passepartout’s hand and the latter took it, put it in his mouth, lit it, took a few puffs and fell back, his mind befuddled by the drug.

‘At last,’ said Fix, seeing Passepartout senseless. ‘This man Fogg won’t find out in time about the departure of the Carnatic, and even if he does leave at least it’ll be without this wretched Frenchman.’

Then he paid the bill and walked out.