Eighty Letters, Plus One
(written with Sarah A. Hoyt)
Letter #1
September 30, 1872
London, England
My dearest Elizabeth,
I leave this note for you, as the house was empty when I came home to pack. Doubtless you’re out enjoying a quaint diversion with your women friends. As for me, I am unexpectedly off to the Suez, my dear. I’ve been dispatched to intercept a notorious thief who stole fifty thousand pounds from the Bank of England.
The villain is sure to leave the country and use his ill-gotten fortune to live extravagantly abroad. Detectives have been dispatched, one to each major port, and I have been chosen to keep a sharp eye on all British travelers who come through the Suez. I have a clear description of the thief, a well-dressed man with fine manners. Should I find him, I will shadow him till a warrant can be dispatched.
I’m sorry to leave you with nothing more than a note on this, our first anniversary, particularly since you never had the proper wedding you deserved. I still feel a bit of remorse over our brash elopement to Gretna Green, but you know your parents would never have consented to our love match. I still remember how haughtily your mother said that, because I need to work for a living, I should come in through the tradesman’s entrance.
I trust you will keep a stiff upper lip while I’m away. The bank has offered a substantial reward to the detective who captures the thief, and I am convinced I’ll get him if he comes my way. All that’s needed in law enforcement these days is flair. You have to know how to nose these vermin out. And I, of course, I have excellent flair. As I’ve told you many times, I have a veritable sixth sense for these things.
Two thousand pounds will allow us to buy a better home and to hire a servant to do the house work for you. I know you expect such things out of life. It will also prove to your parents that, though you disobeyed them, you were ultimately right to choose me as your husband.
Meanwhile, I will write to you every day I possibly can. I’m sure you’ll hardly notice I’m gone.
Yours, with much love,
Herbert Fix
Inspector, First grade
Letter #9
October 9
Suez, Egypt, Africa
My dear Elizabeth,
Good news! After all these days of waiting, the thief has finally come to the Suez.
Today, when the steamer Mongolia docked at the quay in Suez, I spotted a passenger forcing his way through the clamoring and stinking crowd of locals. You would not believe the mob of natives and black Africans that press around every passenger, offering to sell monkeys, unguents, jewelry, and the most grotesque pagan idols. One wretch even had the temerity to offer me some ground mummy which, he said, would strengthen my virile parts! I shudder to think, my dear, of you having to witness such sights.
By great luck, the fellow who came out of the Mongolia was in search of a government official. He nosed his way directly to me and held out a passport, for which he wished to procure a visa from the British consul. He was a wiry, dark-haired Frenchman, but he carried an Englishman’s passport—his master’s. Of course, I immediately glanced at the passport, and the description was exactly that of our thief! I could do no less than try to stop the man.
I told my suspicions to the consul and begged him to delay this man until I could get my arrest warrant. To my great disappointment, however, the consul said that I had no proof the traveler—Phileas Fogg—was guilty of any crime, and that without such proof he could not be detained.
I must therefore follow this rogue to his next stop, which is Bombay. I have talked to his servant, Passepartout—a good sort of fellow, but French and therefore garrulous. The man is convinced his master means to circle the globe to win a preposterous bet. Apparently, the cunning devil made a wager with the gentlemen in his club that he could go completely around the world in a mere eighty days. With my keen intellect, I realized immediately that this outrageous boast is nothing more than cover for his escape with the stolen money.
Hoping to pry more information from the talkative Frenchman, I took him on a shopping expedition to the bazaar. There, merchants offer all types of goods, including a very expensive perfume called Attar of Roses, of which a single drop can be mixed with oil or water to make many concoctions prized by the local ladies. Since you are always in my thoughts, I meant to buy you a dram of it. I also saw a fly swatter made from an elephant’s tail, which I thought might amuse you. But, as I’m sure you’ll understand, I had scarcely any time for frivolous purchases
Passepartout wished to obtain new shirts and other accouterments for his master. Due to the haste with which they left London, they had brought no more luggage than a carpetbag! Tell me, what man—not a thief and not in possession of fifty thousand pounds—would thus abandon his home and everything in it?
The loquacious Frenchman continually bemoaned the fact that he had left the gas burning in his room and that his master wouldn’t allow him so much as a moment to run back to turn it off. This is not the natural behavior of a man who truly intends to return home.
I have applied for a warrant, which should catch up with us in Bombay. My dear Elizabeth, the reward money is as good as ours. I have not had the time to pick up any souvenirs for you just yet, but I am sure to buy you something in Bombay once the villain Fogg has been arrested.
Yours affectionately,
Herbert Fix
Letter #20
October 20th, 1872
Bombay, British India
My dear Elizabeth,
Here I am, once more, fulfilling my promise of writing a letter a day to you. I will also post at once the letters I wrote aboard the steamer.
Unfortunately, we have made such rapid progress—Fogg bribed the owner of the liner to have the engine stoked with extraordinary zeal—that my warrant is not yet with the police here. I am more certain than ever of my quarry’s guilt. What man but a fleeing criminal would throw away money in such a way?
Only those who have not had to work for their income view it as of little importance. I know you do not like it when I speak of the extravagance of the lace on your sister’s gowns, but were it not for your parents’ private, she would surely weigh her expense more carefully and not burden herself with so much expensive frippery.
But worry not, my dear. Soon you’ll be able to afford dresses as good or better than hers. In fact, time permitting, I might pick up some fabric in Bombay, which is a city of goodly size and filled with all manner of strange things.
The streets are extraordinarily crowded with dark people attired in cotton robes. On the way to the police station, I saw a man who lay completely at ease upon a bed of sharp nails. Imagine! I also saw a man hypnotize a deadly snake by playing his flute.
I’m rather upset at not having received the warrant yet, but you may be confident in my abilities, my dear. Rest assured—Phileas Fogg, who really has no intention of going around the world, will no doubt remain several days here, which will certainly be sufficient time for me to arrest him. Meanwhile, maybe I’ll find you an appropriate gift … perhaps some silk with which the native women wrap themselves, something called a sari.
Oh, I almost forgot to acknowledge that I received your letter, which had been forwarded from Suez to the consulate at Bombay and which, vexingly, made it to town when the warrant didn’t.
It is extraordinarily kind of you to say that you’d gladly forego the two thousand pounds for the sake of having me near you again. Your female emotionalism is quite charming, in its own way, but I know you are not serious. If I obeyed you, I have no doubt you’d soon resent our poverty.
And, more importantly, I cannot let the villain Fogg go unpunished.
Bear my absence with fortitude, for I’m sure the arrest warrant will come soon, and I’ll return to you in glory and bearing the reward money that will start your climb back to the sphere you abandoned in order to marry me.
With my regards,
Herbert Fix
Letter #21
October 21st, 1872
Dear Elizabeth,
The warrant is not yet here. I write in haste and frustration. It turns out that Phileas Fogg intended to leave Bombay for Calcutta via the Great Peninsular railway. I was at the point of stepping into another train carriage, when Fogg’s servant Passepartout arrived breathless, hatless, barefoot, and bearing the marks of a scuffle.
Though I fear you’ll reproach me for my rudeness, I confess that I eavesdropped on the conversation between him and his master. The Frenchman had lost his shoes and barely escaped after violating the sanctity of a heathen pagoda on Malabar Hill—which is forbidden to Christians (or, at any rate, to anyone wearing shoes).
I was, as I said, on the point of stepping into the train carriage when I realized that, rather than waiting for the warrant from England—which might not reach us in time—I could simply find the temple and give the heathen priests the name and destination of their transgressor. Then they could press charges.
You see, the British authorities are extraordinarily careful never to offend the native religions—it is part of keeping control over this great uncivilized mob—and therefore, what that fool Passepartout did was an offense before British law. I’ll get a warrant for that crime, too, then meet them at Calcutta, and have both men properly arrested.
I will write to you soon and announce the date of my return home with the reward money.
Yours, in haste,
Herbert Fix
Letter #25
October 25th, 1872
Calcutta, British India
Dear Elizabeth,
At last Fogg and his servant have arrived. I was in some anxiety that something had befallen them in the noisome, uncharted jungle as they crossed the subcontinent. As I waited, pacing, I could not stop thinking of the thief and all those bank notes rotting away in the verdant wildness of India like mere mulch, and my reward unclaimed! I was truly in despair—but now the two men arrived at last, and the magistrates had them arrested at the train. Everything was going so well.
Unfortunately, Fogg bought his way out of the situation by posting an exorbitant bail of two thousand pounds, as if it were nothing. Two thousand pounds—the same amount that could have made the two of us comfortable for so long, thrown out like so much rubbish!
As I’ve said before, money that one has not earned is easy to discard.
Sadly, it appears that the thief will escape once more, and I must continue my relentless pursuit, even if it takes me all the way around the world. He is boarding the Rangoon, which lays at anchor and is to depart in an hour for Hong Kong.
My duty is clear. I have no choice but to follow, despite your half dozen letters imploring me to come home, which I recently collected from the consulate. Again, your letters have safely made the passage, while the desperately needed warrant lingers somewhere on the way. How can such a discrepancy be explained? Bureaucracy can be truly exasperating.
My greatest worry now is that Fogg is flinging money about with such abandon that the reward—being a fixed percentage of the recovered money—is shrinking visibly before my eyes.
I’m sure it will still be enough to make you happy.
I shall get him in the British colony of Hong Kong. Fogg and Passepartout are now traveling with a beautiful and clearly genteel young lady they picked up somewhere in the jungles of India. I suspect an elopement, and though you might call it unworthy of me—considering that we also eloped—I should be able to arrest Fogg for that, too, because elopement, until sanctified by marriage, can be prosecuted as a crime. I will question Passepartout for details about this woman.
Yours,
Herbert Fix
Letter #37
November 6th, 1872
Hong Kong
Elizabeth,
We are arrived in Hong Kong after much adventure. In your letters you expressed the wish that you could join me in my pursuit. You must realize that this traveling abroad, though exhilarating for a man, would be much too demanding for a delicate woman such as yourself. You are much happier at home.
Just before we landed we met with a hurricane, the greatest storm I’ve ever seen. It was as if the heavens themselves were on my side, whipping the seas and the wind into a frenzy to delay us. And while I was gripped by the most horrible nausea, I hoped we’d have to turn and run before the squall, which would slow our journey to Hong Kong. This made it more likely the warrant would arrive, and it would also disrupt whatever plans this scoundrel has for escaping the law.
Alas, the vessel braved it, and we made landfall shortly after.
Meanwhile, I learned that the relatives of the mysterious woman are not likely to chase Fogg for besmirching her honor. Auda is a mere native, despite her pale skin—an Indian princess, whom Passepartout and Fogg supposedly rescued from being burned with her husband’s body, a barbarous tradition of immolation. Now she is traveling with them.
They have already reserved berths on the Carnatic, which was scheduled to depart tomorrow for Yokohama. But I met Passepartout on his way from the quay to his master’s hotel, and he told me the Carnatic has unexpectedly changed its departure time to this evening instead. The Frenchman was in a great hurry to tell Fogg about it, but I waylaid the simple-minded and naïve servant and got him intoxicated in an opium den, a very common establishment in these parts
The man will sleep for at least a day, till long after the Carnatic has sailed. I am sure Fogg will not leave without his man. If my plan succeeds in delaying them, I shall go to the embassy and see if there are any forwarded letters from you.
Yours,
Herbert Fix
Letter #45
November 14th, 1872
Yokohama, Japan
Elizabeth,
Once more I write in haste. Fogg, having missed the Carnatic, engaged a small sail boat, the Tankedere—and he allowed me to travel with him. He does not even suspect that I am his nemesis! And Passepartout refuses to believe his master might be a thief. Either he is a wily accomplice, or a fool.
It is maddening to be so near him for so long and yet not to have the warrant that would stop him in his tracks. But there is nothing for it, as we’re no longer in British territory. My only hope now is that he’ll indeed go around the world in such a fashion hoping to confuse pursuers. I shall arrest him as soon as he lands in England again. Fogg intends to pursue travel to America aboard the General Grant.
I’ve already engaged a cabin in the General Grant, and I’ve now read the latest batch of your letters which, if you’ll forgive me, are rather tiresome in your insistence that I return to you at once. I have a job to do. Despite the rate at which this scoundrel is spending the stolen money, think of the renown his capture will bring me, and how much easier it will make my rise in the world.
Only minutes ago, I saw Passepartout being dragged into the boat by Fogg. Passepartout wore a most extraordinarily fanciful oriental uniform, with wings and a false nose which would have sufficed for a family of twelve. People on deck say this is a costume worn in theater for the glory of some god or other. Foolish native habits and abominable idolatry, of course, and one wonders how even a Frenchman could bear to mix himself in it.
While I take a moment to catch my breath, let me tell you something about Yokohama. It is a city of good size, and the native quarter is lit by many-colored lanterns. There are astrologers everywhere using fine telescopes. Scientific instruments to enhance their superstition. Most ironic. For fun, I thought about having a horoscope cast for you—an unusual and exotic gift—but I had no time to delay. I must catch Fogg.
Sincerely,
Herbert Fix
Letter #64
December 3rd, 1872
San Francisco, United States of America
Elizabeth,
We are in San Francisco, the wild city of 1849, with its bandits, incendiaries, and assassins who all came here in the Gold Rush. The city looks more civilized than you’d expect, with a lofty tower in the town hall and a whole network of streets and avenues. It also has a Chinese town, that you’d swear came from China itself.
We found ourselves caught in the middle of some incomprehensible political rally—a dispute for the post of Justice of the Peace involving two men—and soon it turned into a brawl. I could not make heads nor tails of it, nor why anyone would seek to harm anyone else over such a silly squabble. I think these Americans are just hot-tempered.
In the turmoil, I actually protected Fogg from what might have been a disabling blow. Don’t worry. Other than my clothes, nothing was hurt. Fogg insisted on buying me new garments, which are of a quality and cut to which even your parents could not object.
In your latest letters you reproached me for my “despicable Opium plot.” I must say that you simply don’t understand the business of men. Some deeds, though unpleasant, are necessary. Don’t concern yourself about the matter any further.
You’ll be heartened to know I’m now wholeheartedly working to speed Fogg’s travel. Indeed, now that the thief is heading back to England, I am more than glad to help him. The sooner he gets there, the sooner I can arrest him. (And be back home with you, of course.)
And now we are to catch a train on the Pacific Railroad, headed for New York, from where we shall sail for London. I must rush to the train, so I don’t lose sight of Fogg.
Herbert Fix
Letter #70
December 11th, 1872
New York, United States
Elizabeth,
Sorry for not writing for two days. Ran out of paper. You’d never believe what we’ve done in our trip across the United States. We rushed over a bridge mere moments before it collapsed, and in the process we’d gotten up such a head of steam that we didn’t even stop until we’d passed the station! Then there was a herd of animals so large that they impeded the movement of the train. We had to wait until the beasts moved before the train could pass. Only imagine! The Americans call them buffalo, though Fogg said that such a classification is absurd. Not sure why.
The wonders of this continent! This world!
At one point, Fogg nearly engaged in a gunfight duel with another passenger, but they were interrupted by an attack from the savage Sioux, who kidnaped three passengers, including Passepartout—which, naturally, necessitated a rescue. Afterward, we caught an express train at Omaha station. Fogg, apparently imagining the demons of justice after him, is not fond of sightseeing, only rushing onward and onward. All the better, for that means I’ll collect my reward sooner.
Now we’ve reached New York at last—but alas the vessel in which we expected to cross the Atlantic sailed forty-five minutes before our arrival. Fogg will no doubt find some boat to purchase or coerce. I very much fear there’s not much money left out of the fifty thousand pounds he stole, but I shall still reap fame for apprehending him. Wouldn’t you like to be the wife of a hero?
Herbert Fix
Letter #80
December 21
Friday
Liverpool
Elizabeth,
We have made landfall, and I served Phileas Fogg with the warrant, but—how could misfortune befall me so? After all my labors, after pursuing him round the world, I am not to enjoy success. Despite every indication, it appears that Fogg is not the thief after all, for the man who actually stole the fifty thousand pounds was apprehended three days ago, whilst I was traveling!
Worse, that upstart Passepartout punched me when he learned my true purpose in accompanying them on their long journey. Now I am bruised and tired, humiliated, disappointed—but at least I’m home, where doubtless you’ll be waiting for me.
Herbert Fix
[On embossed letterhead identifying it as belonging to the law firm of Everingham, Entwhistle and Brown—on the fireplace mantel of Fix’s home.]
London
December 18th of 1872
Dear Mr. Herbert Fix,
This letter serves to notify you that your wife, the honorable Elizabeth Rose Merriweather Fix, has returned to her parents’ home and is suing you for divorce on the grounds of abandonment.
Our client has further instructed us to inform you that she did not object to your poverty or even your low upbringing, but she cannot forgive your obsession with career at the expense of her peace of mind and felicity. She further instructs us to inform you that you married her under false pretenses, always having characterized your marriage as a love match, when it is clear you love nothing more than your reputation and the pursuit of your own ambitions.
Lord and Lady Merryweather advise you to pose no argument and seek no reconciliation with their daughter, as they have the means to see you dismissed from your employment.
Sincerely
Nigel Entwhistle, Esquire