再次证明护照对侦探毫无用处
侦探走下码头，迅速来到领事馆，立即获准会见那位官员。
"领事先生，"他开门见山地说，"我有充分理由相信我要找的人就在'蒙古号'上。"接着他讲述了刚才关于护照的事。
"好吧，费克斯先生，"领事回答，"我倒不介意看看那无赖的长相——不过如果他真是你怀疑的那个人，恐怕他不会来这里。强盗不喜欢留下逃跑的痕迹；况且，他也无需让护照加签。"
"领事先生，如果他真像我料想的那样狡猾，他一定会来的。"
"来让护照签证？"
"是的。护照这种东西只会骚扰老实人，帮助坏人逃窜。我敢肯定他一定会这么做；但我希望您不要给他签证。"
"为什么？如果护照是真的，我无权拒绝。"
"可我得把他扣在这里，直到伦敦的逮捕令送达。"
"啊，那是你的事。但我不能——"
领事话没说完，门外传来敲门声，两个陌生人走了进来。其中一个正是费克斯在码头上见过的仆人。另一个是他的主人，正递上护照请领事签证。领事接过文件仔细查看，费克斯则从房间角落紧紧盯着，不，简直是吞食着那个陌生人。
"您是斐利亚·福克先生？"看完护照后领事问道。
"是的。"
"这是您的仆人？"
"是的，法国人，名字叫路路通。"
"您从伦敦来？"
"是的。"
"您要去——"
"去孟买。"
"很好，先生。您知道签证毫无用处，而且不需要护照吗？"
"我知道，先生，"斐利亚·福克回答，"但我希望通过您的签证证明我是经苏伊士来的。"
"很好，先生。"
领事签署了护照并注明日期，然后加盖了官印。福克先生付了规定的费用，冷淡地鞠了一躬，便带着仆人走了出去。
"怎么样？"侦探问道。
"嗯，从外表和行为看，他是个十分正派的人，"领事回答。
"可能吧；但问题不在此。领事先生，您认为这位冷静的绅士与我所收到的案犯相貌描述完全吻合吗？"
"我承认；但您知道，所有描述都——"
"我一定要确认这一点，"费克斯打断道。"在我看来，那个仆人比主人更少神秘感；况且他是法国人，肯定爱说话。请稍等，领事先生。"
费克斯跑出去找路路通。
与此同时，福克先生离开领事馆后回到码头，给路路通下达了一些指示，便乘小船登上"蒙古号"，回到自己的舱房。他取出笔记本，上面记载着这样的备忘：
"10月2日星期三，晚上8时45分离开伦敦。
"10月3日星期四，上午7时20分到达巴黎。
"10月3日星期四，上午8时40分离开巴黎。
"10月4日星期五，上午6时35分经塞尼山到达都灵。
"10月4日星期五，上午7时20分离开都灵。
"10月5日星期六，下午4时到达布林迪西。
"10月5日星期六，下午5时乘坐'蒙古号'起航。
"10月9日星期三，上午11时到达苏伊士。
"总计耗时158.5小时；即六天半。"
这些日期都记在一张分成数栏的行程表里，标明月份、日期、预定到达和实际到达各主要地点的时间——从10月2日到12月21日，沿途经过巴黎、布林迪西、苏伊士、孟买、加尔各答、新加坡、香港、横滨、旧金山、纽约、伦敦——每一处都留有空格记录提前或延误的时间。这份有条理的记录包含了所有必要的信息，福克先生随时都能知道自己是否准时。10月9日这个星期五，他记下到达苏伊士的时间，发现既没有提前也没有延误。他安静地坐在舱房里用早餐，从没想过要参观这座城市——他是那种习惯通过仆人的眼睛看外国的英国人。
WHICH ONCE MORE DEMONSTRATES THE USELESSNESS OF PASSPORTS AS AIDS TO
DETECTIVES
The detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made his way to the
consul’s office, where he was at once admitted to the presence of that
official.
“Consul,” said he, without preamble, “I have strong reasons for
believing that my man is a passenger on the ‘Mongolia.’” And he
narrated what had just passed concerning the passport.
“Well, Mr. Fix,” replied the consul, “I shall not be sorry to see the
rascal’s face; but perhaps he won’t come here—that is, if he is the
person you suppose him to be. A robber doesn’t quite like to leave
traces of his flight behind him; and, besides, he is not obliged to
have his passport countersigned.”
“If he is as shrewd as I think he is, consul, he will come.”
“To have his passport _visaed?_”
“Yes. Passports are only good for annoying honest folks, and aiding in
the flight of rogues. I assure you it will be quite the thing for him
to do; but I hope you will not _visa_ the passport.”
“Why not? If the passport is genuine I have no right to refuse.”
“Still, I must keep this man here until I can get a warrant to arrest
him from London.”
“Ah, that’s your look-out. But I cannot—”
The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a knock was
heard at the door, and two strangers entered, one of whom was the
servant whom Fix had met on the quay. The other, who was his master,
held out his passport with the request that the consul would do him the
favour to _visa_ it. The consul took the document and carefully read
it, whilst Fix observed, or rather devoured, the stranger with his eyes
from a corner of the room.
“You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?” said the consul, after reading the
passport.
“I am.”
“And this man is your servant?”
“He is: a Frenchman, named Passepartout.”
“You are from London?”
“Yes.”
“And you are going—”
“To Bombay.”
“Very good, sir. You know that a _visa_ is useless, and that no
passport is required?”
“I know it, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg; “but I wish to prove, by your
_visa_, that I came by Suez.”
“Very well, sir.”
The consul proceeded to sign and date the passport, after which he
added his official seal. Mr. Fogg paid the customary fee, coldly bowed,
and went out, followed by his servant.
“Well?” queried the detective.
“Well, he looks and acts like a perfectly honest man,” replied the
consul.
“Possibly; but that is not the question. Do you think, consul, that
this phlegmatic gentleman resembles, feature by feature, the robber
whose description I have received?”
“I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions—”
“I’ll make certain of it,” interrupted Fix. “The servant seems to me
less mysterious than the master; besides, he’s a Frenchman, and can’t
help talking. Excuse me for a little while, consul.”
Fix started off in search of Passepartout.
Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate, repaired to the quay,
gave some orders to Passepartout, went off to the “Mongolia” in a boat,
and descended to his cabin. He took up his note-book, which contained
the following memoranda:
“Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8.45 p.m.
“Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7.20 a.m.
“Left Paris, Thursday, at 8.40 a.m.
“Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at 6.35 a.m.
“Left Turin, Friday, at 7.20 a.m.
“Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October 5th, at 4 p.m.
“Sailed on the ‘Mongolia,’ Saturday, at 5 p.m.
“Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 a.m.
“Total of hours spent, 158½; or, in days, six days and a half.”
These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns,
indicating the month, the day of the month, and the day for the
stipulated and actual arrivals at each principal point Paris, Brindisi,
Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama, San Francisco,
New York, and London—from the 2nd of October to the 21st of December;
and giving a space for setting down the gain made or the loss suffered
on arrival at each locality. This methodical record thus contained an
account of everything needed, and Mr. Fogg always knew whether he was
behind-hand or in advance of his time. On this Friday, October 9th, he
noted his arrival at Suez, and observed that he had as yet neither
gained nor lost. He sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never
once thinking of inspecting the town, being one of those Englishmen who
are wont to see foreign countries through the eyes of their domestics.
