Philip Farmer - The Other Log of Phileas Fogg

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 General Grant .

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 he would have too much time to aim while Passepartout tried to scramble up over the eight-foot-high wall. No, that was out.

He swore a few Gallic oaths. He had hoped to go through the door from which he had rebounded and so have access to a street window. There he could have shouted to the people in the street or even have dived through a window. But now he was in the same situation as Fogg and Aouda.

Nemo, on coming to his senses, may or may not have had another seizure. It is safe to assume that his jaw, head, and side hurt and that he raved at his aides and threatened horrible punishments. Then he turned his attention to the banging on the door. He opened it a crack. By the illumination of the nearby gaslight, he saw Fix. Fix was dressed in a messenger’s uniform.

Beyond, two men were carrying off the still form of the colonel on a stretcher. Leading them was a man carrying a leather bag. Doubtless, this was the Doctor Caber who lived near Fogg. He was bringing the colonel to his house to wait for the ambulance.

“Go away!” Nemo said through the crack. “Go away, you fool! The situation has changed!”

“What?” Fix said, and then, hesitatingly, “But you must read this telegram!”

Nemo could see that everybody in the crowd was turned to watch the colonel being carried off. He opened the door, reached out, grabbed Fix by his coatfront, and yanked him inside. He shut the door and said, “I must, must I?”

“Yes,” Fix said. He looked curiously around in the light afforded by the single gas jet. “What’s happened?”

“Never mind that,” Nemo said. He tore the envelope from Fix’s grasp. It had been opened, so obviously Fix had read it.

“Just as you told me, sir,” Fix said. “I stopped the real messenger, and I showed him that I was a detective. I told him that I had to have the telegram because it was evidence in a criminal case. I gave him two shillings to assure his cooperation, then read the message and hurried here as swiftly as I could.”

“Shut up!” Nemo said. He walked over to the gas jet and read the telegram silently the first time and loudly the second time. It was evident that he did not like what he read either time.

RELEASE THE THREE UNDAMAGED BY 8:30, AND YOU MAY GO UNTOUCHED. WE HAVE NESSE I. THE OLD ONE IS NO MORE. CONGRATULATIONS. YOU ARE NOW THE CHIEF. CONSIDER THE CONSEQUENCES. CHIEF OF ERID

Fix put his hands in his pockets to conceal their trembling. He said, “What does all that mean?”

“It’s obvious,” Nemo said scornfully. “They managed to located Nesse I when I arrived because of the noise made by the distorter. It took them some time, which is why I got away before they found it. They’ve killed our chief, the last…”

He paused, thinking of the effect on their morale if they knew that the last of the Old Capelleans was dead. He was too late. The others understood what he meant.

“The Old One is dead!” Fix said, almost wailing.

“Perhaps,” Nemo said. “The Eridanean may be lying, you know, and probably is. But he’s not lying about his knowledge of the situation here. So he’s giving us until eight-thirty to produce Fogg, the Frenchman, and Jejeebhoy unharmed. If we don’t, we’ll probably be invaded, no matter how many Earthlings are attracted by the battle.”

Fix started to the curtain as if he meant to look outside.

Nemo said, “Belay that! They’re out there somewhere.”

He stood for a moment in thought, softly rubbing his jaw, on which a swelling had appeared.