Stuart became so excited at this that he made a false deal. At least, he seemed to be excited. Fogg knew that the trey of diamonds meant: On the track. Go ahead.
Stuart then said that the schedule did not take into account bad weather, contrary winds, shipwrecks, railroad accidents, and other likely events.
“All included,” Fogg said. He had kept on playing even though the others had stopped.
Stuart was insistent. “Suppose the Hindus or American Indians pull up the rails? Suppose they stop the trains, clean out the baggage cars, scalp the passengers?”
“All included,” Fogg replied calmly. He threw down his cards. “Two trumps.”
The others looked surprised, not at his cards but at his talkativeness. And they found his attitude irritating. The mirror-smooth calmness and assumption of authority had been noticed by them before, but in general he was a decent chap. His peccadilloes were minor and forgivable because he was an eccentric. Englishmen then loved eccentrics, or at least respected them. But the world was much bigger then and there was room for the unconventionals.
It was Stuart’s turn to deal. While shuffling, he said, “Theoretically, you’re right, Mr. Fogg. But practically...”
“Practically also, Mr. Stuart.”
Mr. Stuart had hoped that someone besides himself would initiate the bet. Since this did not now seem likely, he would have to do it. He hoped that the inevitable Capellean—who was he? The servant nearby? Fallentin? Flanagan? Perhaps, perish the thought, Fogg himself?—would think that the bet had arisen naturally. Of course, they were on to Fogg now or at least suspected him. But he did not want them to suspect Stuart. Or, at least, to suspect no more than they did Fallentin, Flanagan, or Ralph.
In a somewhat indignant manner, he said, “I’d like to see you do it within eighty days.
“That,” Fogg said, “depends on you. Shall we go?”
Stuart replied that he would bet four thousand dollars that it could not be done.
Fogg calmly insisted that it was quite possible. One thing led to another, and so the famous wager was made. Fogg had a deposit of twenty thousand pounds at Baring’s. He would risk all of it.
Sullivan cried out, and we may judge the intensity of his passions—real or assumed—by the fact that an English gentleman would raise his voice inside the Reform Club. He cried out that Fogg would lose all by one accidental delay.
Phileas Fogg replied with his curious, and now classical, remark that the unforeseen does not exist.
Stuart may have shot a warning look. Any eavesdropping Capellean would fasten onto this, worry it as if he were a dog and it the bone, and find in the marrow a vast suspicion. He would wonder if some strange hands were being dealt by strange hands at this card table.
Or had Stuart sent the message that Fogg was to talk suspiciously?
The latter seems more likely, since Stuart’s plan was to use Fogg as a decoy. The time for laying low was over. Now there was a reason for bringing the enemy out, to mark them, and to put an end to them.
Where Stuart got his idea for exposing Fogg is not known. At least, the other log says nothing about its origin. Probably, Stuart was inspired when he read the model schedule for the eighty-day trip in The Daily Telegraph. Fogg would not find out until later why Stuart had decided to launch another campaign.
One of the players protested that eighty days was the least possible time to make the journey.
Mr. Fogg made another classical reply. “A well-used minimum suffices for everything.”
Another protest that, if he were to keep within the minimum, he would have to jump mathematically from trains to ships and back again.
Fogg made his third classical reply.
“1 will jump—mathematically.”
“You are joking.”
Fogg’s rejoinder was, in effect, that a true Englishman does not joke about such matters.
Convinced by this, the whist players decided to accept the wager.
Mr. Fogg then announced that the train left that evening for Dover at a quarter before nine. He would be on it.
He had not known about the bet until this hour, and he never took the train. How did he know the railway schedules? Had he memorized Bradshaw’s? In view of his other talents, this seems probable, though he must have done it sometime before 1866, as will be made clear in due course. Thus, he had no way of knowing that trains were still adhering to the schedules of that time. But he would have checked long before boarding, and no doubt he trusted in the resistance against change inherent in the English character.
After consulting his pocket almanac, he said, “Since today is Wednesday, second of October, I shall be due in London, in this very room, on Saturday, the twenty-first of December, at fifteen minutes before nine p.m. Otherwise, the twenty thousand pounds now deposited in my name at Baring’s is yours in fact and in right. Here is a check for the amount.”
Mr. Fogg’s total fortune was forty thousand pounds, but he foresaw having to spend half of that to win the twenty thousand. And this is so strange that it is surprising that no one has commented on it. Why should an eminently practical man, indeed, a far too practical man, one who conducted his life according to the laws of rational mechanics, make a bet like this? He was a man who had never given way to an impulse. Moreover, even if he won his bet, and this did not seem probable, he would not be a guinea richer than before. And if he lost, he was a pauper.
The only explanation is that he was under orders to make this astonishing and unprecedented move. Even if we did not now have his secret log, we could be certain of that.
As for his forty thousand pounds, the private property of an Eridanean was at the disposal of Stuart when the situation demanded it. Stuart would have sacrificed his own fortune if it were necessary. And so, if Fogg must put his entire wealth in jeopardy, he could assure himself that it was in a good cause.
Far more than money could be lost. He could be killed at any moment. From now on, he would not be an eccentric semi-hermit living obscurely in a tiny area of London. His bet was sure to be publicized quickly. The world would soon be following his journey with hot interest and cool cash.
If Fogg was perturbed by this, he showed not the slightest sign. Of all the party, he was the calmest. The others were quite disturbed. All except Stuart felt that they were taking advantage of their friend with this bet. Stuart’s agitation had another case. He knew what dangers Fogg would be encountering.
4
Verne says nothing about the whist game from this point on. However, the other log does. Fogg had to let Stuart know that he had seen someone who might or might not be their old enemy. Inasmuch as he was as adept with the cards as Stuart, though he had only thirty-one years of practice, not one hundred and fifty, he had no trouble in dealing out the correct combination. Stuart’s eyes widened when he saw his hand, and his lips soundlessly formed the dread name. He looked up at Fogg, who slowly lifted his head and lowered it in affirmation.
When it was Stuart’s turn to deal, he gave Fogg cards the order of which said: Proceed as directed.
But Fogg knew that Stuart would return to his house as soon as the game was over, and the machinery of investigation would be started.
The game of surprises was not yet over. It may be that Stuart had not planned to impart additional information to Fogg. The less any individual in the Race knew, the less he could tell if he were captured and tortured. Fogg’s news may have changed his mind. Fogg needed to be on guard even more than Stuart had suspected. And so, when Stuart dealt again, Fogg read a telegraphic but clear message.
The enemy had found a distorter. In China.
If Fogg were shaken by this, he did not show it, of course, and his log says nothing of his emotional state at this time. But he would have been unhuman if he had not been throbbing with curiosity. Who? How? Was this why he was being ordered to circle the Earth? Was this the reason for the inevitable publicity? Was he the decoy? Or, not actually himself but Passepartout? The enemy was
to learn that Passepartout had a distorter, and they would try to get it. One distorter was no good; two were needed for transmission.
Then it occurred to him that the Capelleans did have at least one. Rather, they had had one. But this belonged to the rajah of Bundelcund, who was a traitor. According to Eridanean reports, the rajah had been ordered to give it up for use elsewhere. He had refused and so was marked for death by his former superiors. This did not mean, however, that the rajah had gone over to the Eridaneans. Far from it, as an Eridanean agent had found when he had approached the rajah to enlist him. The agent had died horribly.
No, the rajah was not pro-Eridanean. He was only pro-rajah. Intelligence said that he was mad, that he had intentions of finding another distorter, stealing it, rather, and using both in a revolt against the British. First, he would launch a secret war against the British, using his independent raj as a base of operations. The distorters would transmit thuggees, the worshippers of the goddess of death, Kali, into the fortresses and homes of the British officers. The thuggees would strangle the officers in their beds.
The native grapevine would let all India know that the rajah of Bundelcund was behind this and that he had a magical means for sending in his assassins and for getting them out. The rajah’s magic could not be fought; his stranglers could go everywhere, not only in India but in the world.
Eventually, there would be another great uprising, but this, unlike the Sepoy Revolt which had been suppressed fourteen years ago, would succeed. It would not fail. At least, this is what the rajah would transmit through the grapevine, though he would know that with only two distorters he could conduct only a very limited warfare. Though the initial transmitter could be used anywhere in the world, the receiver had to be planted at the intended destination. If a Britishman were to be assassinated in his bedroom, the receiver had to be put inside the bedroom. This could be done easily enough by the Indian servants, but if the British caught on to the pattern and imposed strict security measures, planting it would become difficult. The rajah knew this and was reported to have told his closest confidant that he would kidnap Queen Victoria herself and use her as a hostage if he had to do so.
This had not only panicked the Eridaneans. The Capelleans were equally affected. The Earthmen must not discover that there existed, and had existed for two hundred years, two groups of nonterrestrial origin among them. The Earthlings would become hysterical; a relentless hunt by all the governments of the globe would be conducted. This, in the opinion of Stuart, and doubtless of the Capellean chief, could have only one end. The extermination of all Eridaneans and Capelleans. Even if a few escaped, they would have to lie low for a long long time, and the recruiting of new members by adoption or education of their own children would be very dangerous.
Stuart, while playing solitaire with Fogg as a kibitzer for a few minutes, had told Fogg this some time ago. He had also predicted that if the two parties had to be quiescent for a long time, the concept of Eridanean and Capellean would just die out. This was especially probable if all those who were non-human were caught and killed. Their human foster-children could not be depended upon to keep alive the idea of the Race and of the ultimate peril.
There were times when Fogg thought that this might be a good idea.
Then he had to upbraid himself. After all, he and the other humans of the Race were doing all this for the good of the peoples of Earth. Though he would be regarded as a traitor by human beings, if they found out about him, he was actually their guardian angel.
Meanwhile, the rajah of Bundelcund threatened the existence of both Eridanean and Capellean. Once he got hold of another distorter, he would start the first phase of his plan to sweep the British out of India. That completed, he would assume the maharajah-ship of all India. After that, who knew?
Fogg was well aware that his intended route around the world would bring him close to the borders of Bundelcund. Was he supposed to attempt to get the rajah’s distorter?
Stuart sent no message about this.
That meant that he had no orders about that particular affair. And if an opportunity arose to get the distorter, he was free to seize it or ignore it. Perhaps Stuart was sending another agent to try for the distorter while the rajah was being distracted by the threat of Fogg. But why would he send Passepartout with Fogg? The Frenchman had the only distorter the Eridaneans possessed. Why put him near the rajah so the rajah could trap him and get his hands on what he needed most?
Of course, Passepartout’s device was the one thing which would draw the rajah away from the fortress-palace of the city of Bundelcund. Though he might come out with an army of thuggees, undoubtedly would be accompanied by an army, he would not be in the rear. He would want to make sure that no one else got a chance to get his hands on the distorter. His general, Kanker, knew about the distorters, though apparently he had not been told anything about their origins. Even so, this breach of security had enraged both Capellean and Eridanean. No one, unless he were of the Blood, should have even the slightest hint of the truth. And if Kanker should get greedy and should come into possession of distorters, there was no telling what terrible things would happen.
The rajah was a very wily person, however, and he would make certain precautions to ensure that Kanker would not realize his ambitions, if he should happen to have any.
But accidents happened, and though the rajah might live to be a thousand years old, he was as subject as anyone to a bullet or to disease.
5
It was quite true, as Verne says, that Passepartout yearned for repose. He had been almost everywhere and done almost everything. Part of this was due to his nature; he was not named Passepartout just because he carried a distorter. Mostly, though, he had gone here and there, performed this and that, at the orders of Stuart. Now, called from his beloved France, he had come to England and taken up a new trade. Ten English houses had seen him as their valet in five years. Verne says he would not take root in any of them. He always found his masters too impulsive and footloose. His latest, young Lord Longferry, M.P., had discharged him because he had commented on his lordship’s drunkenness. That was true. But Passepartout had deliberately insulted Longferry so that he would be dismissed. His investigations of the young nobleman had turned up nothing suspicious. He seemed to be as innocent of Capelleanism as the previous nine. Passepartout wondered why any of them had been put on Stuart’s list, but he did not question Stuart. And when he was commanded to go to Fogg at once and offer his services, he did not ask why.
Not until he had been given a password by Forster at the agency did he suspect that this case was different. On the way in the cab, he was told more but not much. He had no idea that Fogg was going to get an assignment at the Reform Club. Forster could not have told him because Forster did not know this.
This sparseness of information indicates the strictness of the Eridanean security. It also tells of the loneliness that affected most Eridaneans. He or she had few contacts or intimacy with his or her fellows unless a marriage could be arranged or the singularities of a mission permitted such. The true Eridaneans could not even get married with the idea of having children, since the last true Eridanean female had died several decades ago. However, Stuart was zealous in trying to fix situations so that human Eridaneans could become married and so have children. Otherwise, the Race would die out, and the Capelleans would be victor by default. That is, they would have if they had not also had the same problem as their enemies.
Passepartout seldom got his orders by word of mouth. Almost always it was by code transmitted via playing cards. He would be seated in a restaurant catering to people of his class, and a man at a table by his would be playing patience. Passepartout would be observing the cards with the greatest of interest, of course. And so the cards would tell him in telegraphic language what he was to do next. And Passepartout would do it.
He had been in a restaurant in Tours when the cards informed him he was to go to London. While eating oysters in a Cheapside i
nn, the cards, dealt by a red-faced, fat middle-aged lady, told him to get hired as valet for a Lord Windermere. This was the first of his investigations, all of which had resulted in nothing Capellean. But Passepartout thought that some of the things he had uncovered could be, probably would be, used by the Eridanean chief to the advantage of the Race.
The ninth person he’d worked for had been General Sir William Clayton of Sallust’s. Passepartout had not ever actually valeted for the old baronet, since Sir William was absent from the manor of Sallust’s House, Oxfordshire. He was away somewhere in southern or south central Africa at this time. Apparently, he was once again looking for the site of the ancient city of Ophir, if Sir William’s wife was telling the truth. She was a good-looking woman of thirty-seven years of age, the eleventh wife of the seventy-three-year-old adventurer. Passepartout’s predecessor had been fired when he was caught drinking brandy from the master’s stock. Lady Martha Clayton had hired the Frenchman to be the baronet’s valet when he got back from the Dark Continent. Meanwhile, he was to be both butler and manager of the household, which included a maid, a cook, a gardener, Lady Martha, an infant, William, by Sir William’s tenth marriage, and an infant, Martha, by the present wife. Passepartout used “the present” because the baronet’s wives did not seem to have much survival value. Except for one who had divorced him, all had died a few years after marrying him. There was no suspicion of foul play in this series of fatalities. The baronet seemed to radiate an aura which attracted beautiful women and then scorched them. Like moths to a light, thought Passepartout.
He did not understand why women kept marrying him, since everybody seemed to know what happened to his wives. But then everybody thinks he or she is special; death isn’t going to notice them.
Passepartout was puzzled by his assignment. Sir William’s flamboyant lifestyle did not make him a likely candidate for Capelleanship.
Passepartout did not stay long at Sallust’s House, however. Apparently, the chief was interested mainly in finding out where Sir William was and how long he would be gone. He had left the country secretly and with no word to his intimates of his destination. But his wife knew, and so Passepartout read, very late at night in the study, a letter she had written but not yet posted to a missionary friend in southeast Africa. She confided to her that Sir William was again on the old quest for Solomon’s treasure city. Would her friend report anything she heard about him? Sir William, despite his age, was a remarkably vigorous man, she wrote. (As who should know better than she, who had borne him two children in the past three years, Passepartout thought.) He might be gone a long time. Meantime, their son, Phileas, had died of the colic. But if her friend happened to run into Sir William, she was to say nothing of this. Sir William must not be deterred from his quest.