and would place burning oil lamps on its top and at its bottom. If they did try to storm him, he would shoot both lamps. The paraffin oil (called kerosene by the Americans) would form an impenetrable barrier, and some of it might even splash on the invaders and set them afire. The dangerous disadvantage of this was that he and Aouda would have to get out of the room to escape being burned alive. Aouda might be incapable of getting out by herself, in which case he would have to lower her on the rope made out of bedsheets. This would make both of them somewhat easy targets for the rifleman in the garden.
That would have to be taken care of when it occurred. Fogg would throw out his last lamp and hope that its burning would illuminate the garden enough for him to see the rifleman. Also, the fire might be seen by the neighbors behind him, and an alarm would, he hoped, force the Capelleans to run. He could, of course, shoot out the window now and try to attract the attention of the neighborhood. But he had heard the fire wagons and the explosion and had comprehended that the explosion was a trick to draw his neighbors away for the time being.
He set the third lamp, as yet unlit, by the window, peered between the curtains, and then turned away. The sky was overcast; the garden was in an impenetrable darkness. If only there were snow there, he might be able to see better what the garden held.
After turning off the jet light, he got some brandy for Aouda and lifted her head so she could drink. Some blood had spread beyond her bandages, but the flow seemed to have stopped.
“Did you hear all that?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said.
“He hasn’t much time to do whatever he is going to do,” he said. “And the neighbors will surely be back soon. At least, some of the servants will have to return; they won’t want to take the chance of displeasing their masters by staying away too long. And our chief is sure to reply to my telegram. Perhaps even now the house is under surveillance by our people.”
“I trust you to see us all through,” Aouda said weakly.
“One way or the other,” Mr. Fogg said.
“Did I hear you call me
“You were not mistaken,” he said.
“Would that mean…?”
“It would.”
She smiled slightly, and her eyes looked brighter.
“I have been waiting to hear you say that,” she said. “And then…”
“And then…?”
“And then kiss me.”
Fogg stooped over and kissed her lightly. Straightening, he said, “I dare not press my ardor, Aouda, since you are in no condition to receive anything but a tender nursing. But would you marry me?”
“If we had a minister, immediately,” she said.
Passepartout, meanwhile, watched Nemo and Vandeleur as they watched the scene on the street. According to their comments, which were frequently asterisked by oaths, the plight of the colonel had attracted a number of people returning from the excitement. From Vandeleur’s exclamations, the first to reach the colonel was a street boy, a ragged and dirty urchin. “He’s not helping him!” Vandeleur said. “He’s robbing him!”
“What?” Nemo said, and he opened the curtains a trifle more.
“He’s taking the distorter!” he said. “He’s running away with his wallet and the watch!”
Vandeleur turned to his chief for orders and saw then that he was in no condition to give them. He had been seized with a fit of shaking.
Vandeleur said, “By God, you aren’t fit to command us!” He started to open the door, but Nemo, by a great effort of will, overcame the shaking. He bounded forward and struck Vandeleur on the back of his neck with the barrel of the air pistol. Vandeleur crumpled. Nemo shut the door.
Though his body had quit shuddering, Nemo’s head still oscillated. And when he spat out his recriminations at Vandeleur, he seemed to Passepartout to resemble a giant snake even more.
“Did you think you could really catch that guttersnipe? What did you think would happen when you dashed out of a house supposedly uninhabited? And so you think that I am not fit to command?”
Vandeleur did not answer. Nemo kicked him heavily in the ribs and snarled, “Get up!”
Vandeleur groaned but made no effort to rise.
Nemo placed the flats of his palms against the door and leaned against it for a moment. When he pushed himself away a moment later, the oscillations had ceased. He started to turn away, and his composure, only just regained, was immediately lost.
Passepartout, with his acrobat’s skill and agility, had gotten to his feet though his ankles were bound together. He had advanced across the room in a series of very small hops. Any small noise he might have made was drowned out by the exclamations of the two Capelleans. When he had seen Nemo starting to run toward him, he had crouched low, leaped high into the air, and kicked out in a double-sabot.
The heels of his boots caught Nemo on the side of his jaw. Nemo crashed sideways into the door and slumped to the floor. Passepartout fell heavily on his back, hurting the arms tied behind his back and knocking the wind out of him. For a moment he writhed in agony. Vandeleur groaned again and rolled over onto his side. Nemo, sitting with one side against the door, his head on his chest, seemed completely unconscious.
Passepartout, his breath regained, got to his knees with a jerk of his body. With another violent contortion, he got to his feet.
Vandeleur managed to struggle to all fours. He shook his head, an action which must have pained his injured neck, because he groaned.
There was a slight cracking sound as the Frenchman disjointed his arms. He brought them up and over his head and now had his arms in front of him. If Nemo had been able to see him, he would have understood how the three Eridaneans had managed to get free of their bonds in the cabin of the
It was at this moment that someone banged on the front door and that he heard a voice raised in some room in the back of the house.
Passepartout fumbled desperately in Nemo’s clothes for a knife. The banging on the door continued, and now he recognized Moran’s voice as the captain approached. He was asking why in blue hazes someone had not brought the promised hot coffee and brandy? Post or no post, he was coming in for a moment. His hands were so cold that he couldn’t even handle the air gun properly.
Passepartout brought a knife out of one of Nemo’s boots and slashed at the ropes binding his ankles. Moran’s footsteps became louder; he was just about to enter the room.
Vandeleur got onto his feet and lurched toward the Frenchman. Passepartout turned and slashed at him, gashing him on the left side of his face. Vandeleur screamed and stumbled back with one hand held over the wound. Blood spread out between his fingers and ran down his neck.
Still holding the knife, Passepartout ran across the room and raced up the steps. Just as he was about six steps from the first landing, he heard a shout behind and below him. He cleared the six steps and dived forward. He slid forward, stopped, rolled over, and saw a hole in the ceiling just above the landing where the missile from the captain’s air rifle had struck. He got onto his feet and sped down the hallway. At its far end was the staircase used by the servants. If he could get to that and then back down, he might escape from the house. But it was a long way to go, and Moran was not far behind him, and if he caught him while he was still in the hall, he would probably not miss.
He dared a glance behind him. The captain had halted a few steps past the end of the hall and was bringing up his weapon to his shoulder.
Passepartout threw himself to one side so hard that he rebounded from a door. The door opposite was part way open, offering an opportunity which he could not afford to dismiss. He staggered sidewise into it and fell through. He was up quickly and locked the door. He stuck the hilt of the knife between his teeth and sawed at the rope around his wrists. The knob rattled; the door crashed as Moran vainly hurled his body against it. Passepartout cut the last fibers and stood up, his hands free.
Moran’s voice shouted down the hall; somebody shouted back. Evidently Moran would be telling them to guard the door while he returned to the garden. Passepartout quickly pulled back the curtains and opened the window. He could drop one story to the walk below and dash across the garden. But Moran would be out almost as quickly, and
