Philip Jose Farmer (4 page)

Ralph said, “Indeed, I agree with Mr. Fogg. The world has 
grown somewhat smaller. A man can now go around it ten times more quickly than he could a hundred years ago. That is why the search for the thief is more likely to succeed.”

Stuart said, “But that is also why it is easier for the thief to get away.”

“Be so good as to play, Mr. Stuart,” Fogg said.

No one except Stuart was aware of the double meaning in this request.

Stuart was, it must be confessed, as keen a cardsharper as could be found. Even if he had had no native talent, he would have had to be dull indeed not to have profited by one hundred and fifty years of practice. Despite his ability to crook the cards, he was always honest. That is, he was unless the occasion required otherwise. In this case, the occasion required. And so Stuart laid down as his first card that which he had selected, the jack of diamonds. To all except Stuart and Fogg, it meant that diamonds would be trumps. To Fogg it was an order to bet, to take a dare, though not with the cards. What bet, what dare? That depended on Stuart’s conversation and Fogg’s ability to interpret.

When this rubber was over, Stuart said, “You have a strange way, Ralph, of proving that the world has gotten smaller. Thus, because you can go around it in three months...”

“Eighty days,” Fogg said.

Sullivan interrupted with a long explanation of why it would only take eighty days. The Great Indian Peninsula Railway had just opened a new section between Rothal and Allahabad, and this would reduce the traveling time enough to make it possible. The 
Daily Telegraph
 itself had made out a schedule whereby an intrepid, and lucky, traveler might proceed from 
London and circle the globe with enough speed to be back in London in eleven weeks and three days.

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.