platform. Having tracked
Fogg, he perceived that that worthy was about to leave Bombay at once.
Fix made up his mind to go with him as far as Calcutta, and even
beyond if necessary. Passe-partout did not notice the detective, who
kept in the shade; but the policeman heard the recital of the valet's
adventures, which Passe-partout told to his master in a few sentences.

"I trust this will not happen again," replied Fogg, quietly, as he
took his seat in the carriage.

The poor lad, quite upset and minus his hat and shoes, took his place
also without replying.

Fix was getting into another compartment, when suddenly a thought
struck him, and he muttered:

"No, I will remain. An offence has been committed upon Indian ground.
I've got my man!"

At that moment the engine uttered a piercing whistle, and the train
moved out into the night.

CHAPTER XI.

Showing how Phileas Fogg purchased a "Mount" at a Fabulous Price.

The train started punctually, carrying the usual complement of
travellers, including officers of the civil and military classes and
merchants. Passe-partout was seated near his master, a third traveller
had secured a corner opposite.

This gentleman was General Sir Francis Cromarty, one of Mr. Fogg's
whist-party on board the _Mongolia_, who was _en route_ to take up his
command at Benares.

Sir Francis was a tall fair specimen of the British officer, about
fifty years old. He had greatly distinguished himself during the
Mutiny. He had been in India almost all his life, and only paid
occasional visits to his native country. He was a well-informed man,
and would willingly have imparted any information he possessed, had
Phileas Fogg chosen to apply to him. But the latter did nothing of the
kind. He never travelled. He merely made a track across country. He
was a heavy body, describing an orbit around the terrestrial globe,
according to certain mechanical laws. At that time he was actually
engaged in calculating how many hours had passed since he left London,
and he would have rubbed his hands joyfully, had he been one of those
people who indulge in these needless enthusiastic demonstrations.

Sir Francis Cromarty had already noticed the eccentricity of his
companion while at whist, and had questioned seriously whether a human
heart actually beat beneath that cold envelope of flesh, whether Fogg
really possessed a soul alive to the beauties of nature, and subject
to human failings and aspi