Fix hurried along the quay to the consul’s office. He was admitted immediately.
“Consul,” Fix said, wasting no time, “I have good reason to believe that the man I’m looking for is a passenger on the Mongolia.”
He quickly explained what had just happened with the passport.
“Well, Mr. Fix,” the consul replied, “I wouldn’t mind seeing this fellow’s face. But he may not come here at all, if he really is the man you suspect. A thief usually doesn’t like leaving a trail behind him. And besides, he isn’t required to have his passport stamped here.”
“If he is as clever as I believe he is, he’ll come.”
“To have his passport stamped?”
“Yes. Passports are mostly useful for troubling honest people and helping criminals escape. I’m sure this man will come here. But I hope you won’t stamp his passport.”
“Why not? If the passport is genuine, I have no legal reason to refuse.”
“Even so, I need to keep him here until I receive an arrest warrant from London.”
“That’s your responsibility. I’m afraid I can’t—”
The consul stopped speaking.
Someone knocked on the door.
Two men entered. One was the servant Fix had seen on the quay. The other was his master, who immediately handed his passport to the consul.
“Would you be so kind as to stamp this for me?” he asked.
The consul took the passport and examined it carefully.
From the corner of the room, Fix stared at the stranger, studying every detail of his face.
“You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?” the consul asked.
“I am.”
“And this is your servant?”
“Yes. He is a Frenchman named Passepartout.”
“You have come from London?”
“Yes.”
“And you are traveling to—”
“Bombay.”
“Very well, sir. You know that a stamp from this office is unnecessary and that you don’t actually need a passport?”
“I know that, sir,” Fogg replied. “But I want your stamp to prove that I entered Egypt through Suez.”
“Of course, sir.”
The consul signed and dated the passport, then added his official seal.
Mr. Fogg paid the required fee, gave a polite but emotionless bow, and left with Passepartout.
“Well?” Fix asked.
“He looks and behaves like a completely honest gentleman,” the consul said.
“That may be true, but that isn’t what I’m asking. Do you think this calm, rather unusual gentleman looks exactly like the robber described in the message I received?”
“I admit there is a strong resemblance. But you know how unreliable descriptions can be—”
“I’ll find out for myself,” Fix interrupted. “The servant seems much less mysterious than his master. And he’s French, so I doubt he’ll be able to keep quiet for long. Excuse me, consul.”
Fix immediately went after Passepartout.
Meanwhile, Mr. Fogg left the consulate and returned to the quay.
“Passepartout,” he said, “take care of these things while I’m gone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fogg then boarded a small boat and went back to the Mongolia.
Once inside his cabin, he opened his notebook. It contained a carefully written record of his journey:
“Left London, Wednesday, October 2, at 8:45 p.m.
“Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3, at 7:20 a.m.
“Left Paris, Thursday, at 8:40 a.m.
“Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4, at 6:35 a.m.
“Left Turin, Friday, at 7:20 a.m.
“Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October 5, at 4:00 p.m.
“Sailed on the Mongolia, Saturday, at 5:00 p.m.
“Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9, at 11:00 a.m.
“Total time: 158 and a half hours, or six and a half days.”
His notebook contained a complete travel schedule arranged in columns.
For every major stop—Paris, Brindisi, Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama, San Francisco, New York, and London—it showed the date he was supposed to arrive and the date he actually arrived.
There was also a space where he could record whether he had gained time or fallen behind schedule.
Fogg had planned everything with such precision that he could tell at any moment whether he was ahead or behind.
That morning, Wednesday, October 9, he entered his arrival at Suez into the schedule.
He was exactly on time.
He had gained no time, but he had lost none either.
Satisfied, Mr. Fogg sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin.
He had no interest in going ashore or seeing the town.
Like many English gentlemen of his time, he was perfectly content to experience foreign countries through the eyes of his servants.