Fix and Passepartout often met on deck after their conversation, but Fix was careful not to ask too many questions about Mr. Fogg. He occasionally caught sight of Fogg, but Fogg usually stayed in his cabin with Aouda or played whist, as he always did when he had nothing else to occupy him.
Passepartout could not stop wondering why Fix kept appearing wherever they went.
“First I met him at Suez,” he thought. “Then he was on the Mongolia. He got off at Bombay, saying that was his destination. And now, somehow, he is here on the Rangoon with us. What on earth is he after?”
Passepartout was almost certain that Fix would leave Hong Kong at the same time as they did.
“I would bet my Indian shoes on it,” he told himself. “And I have taken very good care of those shoes.”
But he had no idea of Fix’s real purpose. It never occurred to him that the detective was following Fogg because he suspected him of robbery.
Like most people, however, Passepartout could not resist trying to solve a mystery. After thinking about it for some time, he came up with an explanation that seemed perfectly reasonable to him.
“Of course!” he said to himself. “Fix must be working for the gentlemen at the Reform Club. They sent him to follow Mr. Fogg and make sure he really goes around the world as promised.”
He nodded proudly.
“He’s a spy! That’s it. He’s been sent to keep an eye on us. And what a shameful thing to do to a gentleman like Mr. Fogg, who is as honorable as anyone could be!”
Passepartout decided not to tell his master. He did not want Fogg to become angry at the Reform Club for doubting him.
Instead, he decided to tease Fix whenever he had the opportunity, dropping hints that might make the detective nervous without revealing what he really suspected.
On Wednesday afternoon, October 30, the Rangoon entered the Strait of Malacca, which separates the Malay Peninsula from Sumatra. The islands and mountains along the way blocked much of the view of the beautiful land.
The next morning, the ship reached Singapore at four o’clock. It had arrived half a day ahead of schedule, and stopped to take on coal.
Fogg immediately recorded the time gained in his notebook.
Aouda wanted to go ashore for a walk, so Fogg accompanied her.
Fix quietly followed them.
Passepartout noticed what the detective was doing and secretly laughed to himself.
“So, Mr. Fix,” he thought, “you really are keeping an eye on us!”
Singapore had no great mountains, but it was still an attractive place. Its roads and avenues ran through what looked almost like a huge tropical park.
Fogg and Aouda hired a fine carriage pulled by two handsome New Holland horses.
They drove through avenues lined with tall palms and fragrant clove trees. Pepper plants grew where European fields would have had hedges. Huge ferns and sago palms filled the landscape, while nutmeg trees spread their rich scent through the air.
Monkeys jumped through the trees, chattering and grinning.
And in the jungle, there were tigers.
After two hours, Fogg and Aouda returned to the city.
Fix had followed them the entire time without being noticed.
At ten o’clock, they boarded the Rangoon again.
Passepartout was already waiting on deck with several dozen mangoes he had bought.
He offered some to Aouda.
“Please, madam. I bought far too many for myself.”
Aouda smiled.
“Thank you, Passepartout. That is very kind of you.”
At eleven o’clock, the Rangoon left Singapore.
Within a few hours, the mountains of Malacca disappeared from view. The region was famous for its forests and the magnificent tigers that lived there.
Hong Kong was about thirteen hundred miles away. Fogg hoped to reach it within six days, because he needed to catch the steamer leaving for Yokohama on November 6.
Many passengers had left the Rangoon at Singapore, including Indians, Ceylonese, Chinese, Malays, and Portuguese travelers, most of them traveling second class.
The weather, which had been pleasant, soon changed.
The sea became rough, and the wind sometimes rose almost to storm strength. Fortunately, it blew from the southwest, which helped push the ship forward.
Whenever possible, the captain raised the sails. With both wind and steam driving her, the Rangoon made good progress along the coasts of Annam and Cochin China.
But the ship was not built particularly well, so bad weather forced the crew to take extra precautions.
Every delay drove Passepartout crazy.
He blamed the captain.
He blamed the engineer.
He blamed the crew.
He blamed everyone connected with the ship.
“May they all end up where the pepper grows!” he muttered.
Perhaps he was also thinking about the gas lamps in Fogg’s house on Saville Row, which were still burning while no one was there.
One day, Fix approached him.
“You seem very eager to reach Hong Kong.”
“I’m more than eager. I’m desperate to get there!”
“Mr. Fogg must be very anxious to catch the steamer to Yokohama.”
“He certainly is.”
“You really believe this journey around the world will succeed?”
“Of course I do. Don’t you, Mr. Fix?”
Fix smiled.
“I? I don’t believe a word of it.”
Passepartout winked.
“You’re a sly one!”
The remark made Fix uncomfortable.
Had Passepartout discovered the truth?
Could the Frenchman somehow know that he was a detective?
Fix could not understand how that was possible. Yet Passepartout’s words seemed to carry a hidden meaning.
The next day, Passepartout went even further.
“Mr. Fix,” he said jokingly, “are we going to have the misfortune of losing you when we reach Hong Kong?”
Fix looked slightly embarrassed.
“I don’t know. Perhaps.”
“Oh, I hope you’ll continue traveling with us! After all, you’re an agent of the Peninsular Company, aren’t you? You can’t just stop halfway.”
Fix stared at him.
“You told us you were going only as far as Bombay, but now you’re in China. America isn’t very far away, and from America, Europe is practically next door!”
Fix laughed, though he was becoming increasingly uneasy.
Passepartout continued.
“Tell me, does this strange job of yours pay well?”
“Sometimes,” Fix replied. “Sometimes it doesn’t. There is always good luck and bad luck in this business. But remember, I don’t travel at my own expense.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely certain of that!”
Passepartout burst out laughing.
Fix could take no more.
He returned to his cabin and began thinking seriously about the situation.
The Frenchman clearly suspected him.
But had Passepartout told Fogg?
Was Passepartout working with his master?
Or was he completely innocent?
If Fogg knew that Fix was following him, then the whole plan might already be ruined.
Fix spent hours thinking about every possibility.
At one moment, he was convinced that everything was lost.
A little later, he persuaded himself that Fogg still knew nothing.
Then he wondered what he should do next.
Finally, Fix made a decision.
He would speak openly to Passepartout if necessary.
If he could not arrest Fogg in Hong Kong, and Fogg prepared to leave the last English territory in the region, Fix would tell Passepartout the whole truth.
If Passepartout was Fogg’s accomplice, then Fogg already knew about the detective, and Fix’s plan had failed.
But if Passepartout knew nothing about the robbery, he would surely want to abandon Fogg once he learned the truth.
That was the strange battle of minds taking place between Fix and Passepartout.
Meanwhile, Phileas Fogg remained completely unaware of it all.
He went about his journey with the same calm, precise manner as always, as if nothing in the world could disturb him.
Passepartout, however, was beginning to notice something else.
Aouda clearly felt a deep gratitude toward Fogg.
Whenever she looked at him, Passepartout could see how much she admired and trusted him.
“Surely he must notice it,” Passepartout thought.
But Fogg seemed completely untouched by her charm.
“He’s brave and generous,” Passepartout thought, “but perhaps he has no heart at all.”
Passepartout saw no sign that the journey had awakened any romantic feelings in his master.
As for himself, he was constantly lost in dreams.
One day, Passepartout was leaning against the railing near the engine room, watching the machinery work.
Suddenly, the ship rolled heavily, and the propeller came partly out of the water.
Steam hissed violently from the valves.
Passepartout became furious.
“The pressure is too low!” he shouted. “We’re hardly moving!”
He shook his head angrily.
“Typical English ship! If this were an American vessel, we might blow ourselves to pieces—but at least we’d be going faster!”