The dangerous rescue was over. For nearly an hour, Passepartout could not stop laughing at what had happened.
Sir Francis Cromarty shook his hand warmly.
“Well done, Passepartout!”
Phileas Fogg gave him a brief nod.
“You did well.”
Passepartout grinned.
“Thank you, sir, but Mr. Fogg deserves all the credit. I only had one of my strange ideas.”
He laughed again.
“Just imagine! For a few moments, I was the husband of a beautiful young woman and the dead, embalmed Rajah of Bundelkhand. Me—a former gymnast and fireman! What a ridiculous adventure!”
Aouda had known nothing about what was happening during the rescue. She was still unconscious, wrapped in a blanket and resting in one of the elephant’s howdahs.
The Parsee guide urged Kiouni forward. The elephant moved quickly through the dark forest.
About an hour after leaving the temple, they reached a wide plain.
At seven o’clock, they stopped to rest.
Aouda was still completely exhausted. The guide gave her a little brandy mixed with water, but she remained deeply drowsy.
Sir Francis examined her and shook his head.
“Don’t worry too much about her condition. The drug they gave her was made from hemp. It can leave someone unconscious for quite a while.”
Then his expression became serious.
“What worries me more is what will happen to her after this.”
Phileas Fogg looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“If Aouda stays in India, she will never be safe. The men who wanted to sacrifice her are spread throughout the country. Even if the British police protect her, those fanatics could find her again in Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“She must leave India permanently. It is the only way to keep her safe.”
Phileas Fogg was silent for a moment.
“I will think about it.”
They continued their journey and reached Allahabad at about ten o’clock.
At last, they were back on the railway line. From there, they could reach Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours.
Fogg checked his schedule.
“The steamer for Hong Kong leaves tomorrow, October twenty-fifth, at noon. We should have enough time.”
At the station, they settled Aouda in a waiting room.
“Passepartout,” Fogg said, “I need you to buy some clothes for Madame Aouda.”
“What should I buy, sir?”
“A dress, a shawl, and some warm clothing. Buy whatever she needs.”
“And the cost?”
“Do not worry about it.”
Passepartout smiled.
“With pleasure, sir.”
He hurried into the streets of Allahabad.
Allahabad, known as the City of God, was one of the most sacred places in India. It stood where the Ganges and Jumna rivers met, drawing pilgrims from all over the country.
Passepartout had little time for sightseeing, but he could not resist looking around as he searched for clothes.
He found that the city was not nearly as prosperous as he had expected. Its old fort had become a prison, and its trade had declined.
“This is certainly no Regent Street,” he muttered.
Eventually, he found an elderly Jewish merchant who sold second-hand goods.
The man showed him several items.
Passepartout quickly chose a Scottish dress, a large cloak, and a beautiful otter-skin coat.
“How much?”
“Seventy-five pounds.”
Passepartout paid without hesitation.
“Mr. Fogg told me not to worry about the price.”
He returned to the station carrying his purchases like a victorious general.
Meanwhile, Aouda was beginning to recover.
The effects of the drug were slowly wearing off. Her eyes opened more clearly, and the gentle expression that made her so attractive returned to her face.
Aouda was a remarkably beautiful young woman. She had been educated in a way that had given her a strong knowledge of European language and manners.
She also spoke English fluently.
When the train was ready to leave Allahabad, Fogg went to settle his account with the Parsee guide.
He paid exactly the amount they had agreed upon.
Passepartout watched in surprise.
“Sir, that is all?”
“Yes.”
“But the guide risked his life for us. He saved us from the men at the temple. If they catch him, they may kill him.”
Fogg said nothing for a moment.
“And what about Kiouni?” Passepartout continued. “We paid a fortune for that elephant. What are we going to do with him?”
Fogg turned toward the guide.
“Parsee, you have served us well. I have paid you for your work, but I have not paid you for your courage.”
The guide looked puzzled.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“You may keep the elephant.”
The Parsee stared at him.
“Keep Kiouni?”
“Yes. He is yours.”
The guide’s eyes filled with excitement.
“Sir, you are giving me a fortune!”
“Take him. Even then, I will still owe you something.”
Passepartout laughed.
“Take him, my friend! Kiouni is a brave and loyal animal.”
He walked over to the elephant and offered him several lumps of sugar.
“Here you are, Kiouni. Good fellow.”
The elephant made a pleased sound.
Then he wrapped his trunk around Passepartout’s waist and lifted him high into the air.
Passepartout laughed instead of panicking.
“All right, all right! Put me down, you enormous fellow!”
Kiouni gently lowered him back to the ground.
“See?” Passepartout said, patting the elephant. “We’re still friends.”
Soon afterward, Fogg, Sir Francis, Passepartout, and Aouda boarded a railway carriage.
Aouda was given the most comfortable seat.
The train raced toward Benares.
The distance was about eighty miles, and they covered it in only two hours.
During the journey, Aouda gradually returned to full consciousness.
When she finally understood where she was, she looked around in astonishment.
“Where am I?”
“You are safe,” Sir Francis told her.
She looked down at herself.
“Why am I wearing these clothes?”
Passepartout smiled.
“You have a new wardrobe.”
Aouda looked from him to Fogg and then back again.
“I don’t understand.”
Sir Francis gently explained everything that had happened.
He told her about the sacrifice ceremony, Fogg’s decision to risk his life to save her, and Passepartout’s wild idea that had made the rescue possible.
Aouda listened in disbelief.
“You mean Mr. Fogg risked his life for me?”
Sir Francis nodded.
“Yes. Without hesitation.”
Fogg remained silent.
Passepartout became embarrassed.
“Oh, it wasn’t anything important. Really. There is no need to talk about it.”
Aouda looked at Fogg.
“Thank you.”
Her voice trembled.
Tears filled her eyes.
She could not find enough words to express her gratitude.
Then she remembered what had happened at the temple.
The fear returned.
She shuddered.
“They will come after me again, won’t they?”
Fogg understood immediately.
“You do not need to remain in India.”
Aouda looked at him.
“What can I do?”
“I am going to Hong Kong. You can come with us. You can stay there until this matter is forgotten.”
Aouda’s face softened with relief.
“I would be deeply grateful.”
“I have heard that you have relatives there.”
“Yes. I have a relative in Hong Kong. He is one of the principal merchants there.”
“Then it is settled.”
Aouda lowered her eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Fogg.”
At half past twelve, the train reached Benares.
Sir Francis Cromarty had to leave them there. The troops he was returning to were stationed several miles north of the city.
He turned to Fogg.
“This is where we part.”
“I wish you success, Sir Francis.”
“And I hope that when you pass this way again, you will be travelling for pleasure rather than racing against a clock.”
Fogg smiled faintly.
“I hope so too.”
Sir Francis shook his hand.
Aouda stepped forward.
“Sir Francis, I will never forget what you did for me.”
He bowed.
“Take care of yourself, Madame Aouda.”
Passepartout shook his hand enthusiastically.
“Good luck, General!”
“Good luck to you too, my friend.”
The train moved on.
After leaving Benares, the railway followed the great valley of the Ganges.
Through the windows, Aouda and Passepartout caught brief glimpses of the countryside.
There were green mountains, fields of barley, wheat, and corn, thick forests, small villages, and jungles where green alligators lived.
Along the Ganges, elephants bathed in the sacred water.
Groups of Indians performed religious ceremonies on the riverbank despite the cold morning air.
Passepartout watched them with fascination.
“So this is the famous Ganges.”
Aouda nodded.
“Yes. It is one of the holiest rivers in India.”
The train continued at full speed.
The scenery flashed past so quickly that there was hardly time to see anything clearly.
Passepartout pointed toward the window.
“Was that a fort?”
“Perhaps,” Fogg replied.
“And that town?”
“Ghazipur.”
“And what was that?”
“Lord Cornwallis’s tomb.”
Passepartout sighed.
“We are passing everything and seeing nothing.”
Fogg looked at his watch.
“We are making good time.”
Passepartout laughed.
“Of course we are. That’s the whole point.”
They passed ancient forts, busy towns, factories, trading centers, and places that had once been important capitals.
Yet the travellers had little chance to explore any of them.
As evening arrived, darkness covered the countryside.
The train thundered through Bengal.
In the forests, tigers, bears, and wolves fled from the noise of the locomotive.
Passepartout pressed his face against the window.
“It’s a shame we can’t see anything.”
“There will be other opportunities,” Aouda said.
Passepartout looked at Fogg.
“Do you believe that, sir?”
Fogg checked his watch.
“We have no time to stop.”
Passepartout sighed.
“Of course.”
The famous places of Bengal passed unseen in the darkness. Ancient cities, ruined capitals, busy towns, and even the French settlement of Chandernagor disappeared behind the night.
Passepartout would have loved to see the French flag there.
Instead, he saw nothing but darkness.
The train finally reached Calcutta at seven the next morning.
Fogg immediately checked the schedule.
The steamer to Hong Kong would leave at noon.
He had five hours.
He opened his travel journal.
His schedule said he was supposed to arrive in Calcutta on October 25.
He had arrived on October 25.
Exactly on time.
He was neither early nor late.
The two days he had gained between London and Bombay had disappeared during the journey across India.
But Phileas Fogg did not regret losing them.
For him, the important thing was simple.
He was still on schedule.