While Passepartout was still trapped in the opium den, Mr. Fogg had no idea what was happening. He spent the day calmly taking Aouda around the English part of Hong Kong, buying everything she needed for the long journey ahead.
A man could travel around the world with little more than a carpet bag, but Aouda needed proper clothes and other necessities. Mr. Fogg handled all the shopping without the slightest complaint.
Whenever Aouda protested about the money or trouble he was taking for her, he gave the same calm answer.
“It is necessary for my journey, madam. It is part of my plan.”
Once they had finished shopping, they returned to the hotel and had dinner at a large shared table.
Afterward, Aouda shook Mr. Fogg’s hand in the English manner.
“Good night, Mr. Fogg. I am going to rest.”
“Good night, madam.”
She went to her room, while Mr. Fogg spent the evening quietly reading the Times and the Illustrated London News.
He did not even seem surprised when Passepartout failed to return that night.
The Carnatic was not supposed to leave for Yokohama until the next morning, so Mr. Fogg saw no reason to worry.
The next morning, however, Passepartout was still missing.
When Mr. Fogg rang the bell and received no answer, he simply took his carpet bag, called for Aouda, and ordered a palanquin.
It was eight o’clock.
The Carnatic was supposed to leave at half past nine, when the tide was high.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda climbed into the palanquin, and their luggage followed on a small handcart.
About half an hour later, they reached the harbor.
Mr. Fogg looked toward the water.
There was no Carnatic.
He soon learned the reason.
The ship had already left the evening before.
Mr. Fogg had expected to find both the ship and Passepartout waiting for him. Now he had lost them both.
Aouda looked at him anxiously.
“What shall we do now, Mr. Fogg?”
Mr. Fogg remained completely calm.
“It is an accident, madam. Nothing more.”
At that moment, a man who had been watching him carefully walked over.
It was Fix.
He bowed politely.
“Were you, by any chance, a passenger on the Rangoon, sir?”
“I was,” Mr. Fogg replied coldly. “But I do not believe we have been introduced.”
“Forgive me. I thought I would find your servant here.”
Aouda immediately spoke up.
“Do you know where he is?”
Fix pretended to be surprised.
“What? Is he not with you?”
“No,” said Aouda. “He has not appeared since yesterday. Could he have gone aboard the Carnatic without us?”
“Without you, madam?”
“Yes. We were supposed to take that ship.”
“So was I,” Fix said. “And I am extremely disappointed.”
He paused before continuing.
“The Carnatic finished its repairs earlier than expected and left Hong Kong twelve hours ahead of schedule. No one was informed. We will have to wait a week for another ship.”
Fix could hardly hide his excitement.
A whole week!
If Mr. Fogg were forced to remain in Hong Kong for seven days, there would be plenty of time for the arrest warrant to arrive.
At last, everything seemed to be going Fix’s way.
But then Mr. Fogg calmly said,
“Surely there are other ships in the harbor besides the Carnatic.”
Fix stared at him.
Mr. Fogg offered his arm to Aouda.
“Come, madam.”
They walked toward the docks.
Fix followed them, almost as if an invisible rope were pulling him along.
For three hours, Mr. Fogg searched the harbor.
He was determined to find some vessel that could take him to Yokohama. If necessary, he was even prepared to hire an entire ship.
But every vessel he found was either loading or unloading and could not leave immediately.
Fix began to feel hopeful again.
Then, as Mr. Fogg continued searching, a sailor approached him.
“Are you looking for a boat, sir?”
“Yes. Do you have one ready to leave?”
“Yes, sir. Pilot boat Number 43. She is one of the best boats in the harbor.”
“Is she fast?”
“She can make eight or nine knots an hour.”
“Can I see her?”
“Of course, sir. You will be pleased with her.”
The sailor smiled.
“Are you looking for a boat for an excursion?”
“No. I need her for a voyage.”
“A voyage?”
“Yes. Can you take me to Yokohama?”
The sailor stared at him.
“Yokohama? Are you joking, sir?”
“No. I missed the Carnatic. I must reach Yokohama by the fourteenth at the latest. I have to catch a ship there for San Francisco.”
The sailor shook his head.
“I am sorry, sir. That is impossible.”
“I will pay you one hundred pounds for every day, plus another two hundred pounds if we reach Yokohama in time.”
The sailor’s eyes widened.
“You are serious?”
“Completely.”
The sailor stepped away and looked out toward the sea.
He was clearly torn between the enormous amount of money and the danger of taking such a small boat on such a long voyage.
Fix watched anxiously.
Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda.
“You would not be afraid, would you, madam?”
“Not if I am with you, Mr. Fogg.”
The sailor finally returned, twisting his hat nervously in his hands.
“Well, captain?” Mr. Fogg asked.
“I cannot risk my life, my men’s lives, or my little boat on such a voyage at this time of year,” the sailor replied. “She weighs less than twenty tons. And Yokohama is about sixteen hundred miles away.”
“Only sixteen hundred miles,” Mr. Fogg said.
The sailor gave him a doubtful look.
“That makes no difference, sir.”
Fix quietly let out a breath of relief.
But the sailor was not finished.
“There may be another way.”
Fix immediately became tense again.
“What way?” Mr. Fogg asked.
“You could sail to Nagasaki, at the southern end of Japan. Or better still, we could go to Shanghai. Shanghai is only eight hundred miles from here.”
“Why would Shanghai be better?”
“We would not have to sail far from the Chinese coast. The currents run northward there, and they would help push us toward Shanghai.”
Mr. Fogg shook his head.
“I need to catch the American ship at Yokohama, not at Shanghai or Nagasaki.”
The sailor smiled.
“Why? The ship for San Francisco does not actually begin its voyage at Yokohama. It stops there, and it also stops at Nagasaki. But it leaves from Shanghai.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.”
“When does it leave Shanghai?”
“On the eleventh at seven in the evening.”
The sailor pointed toward the sea.
“That gives us four days, or ninety-six hours. If the weather is good, the wind comes from the southwest, and the sea stays calm, we could cover the eight hundred miles to Shanghai.”
“And when could you leave?”
“Within an hour, sir. As soon as we load provisions and raise the sails.”
Mr. Fogg immediately held out his hand.
“Then we have a deal. Are you the captain?”
“Yes. John Bunsby, captain of the Tankadere.”
“Would you like some money in advance?”
“If it is not too much trouble, sir.”
Mr. Fogg handed him two hundred pounds.
Then he turned to Fix.
“Would you like to come with us?”
Fix quickly bowed.
“Thank you, sir. I was just about to ask.”
“Very well. We leave in half an hour.”
Aouda looked troubled.
“But what about Passepartout?”
“I will do everything I can to find him,” Mr. Fogg replied.
Fix hurried to the pilot boat in a nervous state.
Meanwhile, Mr. Fogg and Aouda went to the police station.
Mr. Fogg gave the police a full description of Passepartout and left money to help pay for the search.
They also went to the French consulate and reported his disappearance.
Then they returned to the hotel, collected their luggage, and headed back to the harbor.
It was now three o’clock.
Pilot boat Number 43 was ready to sail.
The Tankadere was a small but beautiful vessel of about twenty tons. She looked more like a racing yacht than an ordinary pilot boat.
Her copper-covered hull shone in the sunlight. Her metal fittings were polished, and her deck was as clean and white as ivory.
Captain John Bunsby was obviously proud of his boat.
She had two slightly backward-leaning masts and carried several sails designed to give her good speed when sailing with the wind behind her.
The boat had already won several pilot-boat races.
There were five men aboard: Captain John Bunsby and four experienced sailors who knew the waters around China extremely well.
Bunsby himself was about forty-five. He was strong, deeply tanned by the sun, and had sharp, lively eyes. His confident manner made him look like a man who could handle trouble at sea.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda climbed aboard.
Fix was already there.
Below deck was a small square cabin. The walls curved outward to form sleeping berths, with a circular seat running around them. A table stood in the center beneath a swinging lamp.
The space was small, but everything was clean and orderly.
“I am sorry I cannot offer you better accommodation,” Mr. Fogg said to Fix.
Fix simply bowed.
He felt strangely embarrassed.
He was traveling on Mr. Fogg’s boat only because Mr. Fogg had kindly allowed him to come.
Fix thought to himself,
“Even though he is a criminal, he certainly knows how to behave like a gentleman.”
At ten minutes past three, the sails were raised, and the English flag flew from the mast.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda sat on deck and looked back toward the harbor.
They were both hoping to catch sight of Passepartout.
Fix was nervous too.
He was afraid Passepartout might somehow appear on the quay. If the poor Frenchman arrived and recognized Fix, the detective would have a very difficult explanation to give.
But Passepartout did not appear.
He was almost certainly still unconscious from the opium.
Captain Bunsby gave the order.
“Cast off!”
The Tankadere caught the wind in her sails and surged forward.
Within moments, the little boat was racing across the waves toward Shanghai.