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The Tale of the Muscular Manservant


CardiMuscleman

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Chapter Seven

As the chairman looked at Phileas with a confused look on his face, Phileas turned and smiled in a reassuring manner.

“Mr. Sullivan” he added, “I believe that to travel around the world so take no more than eighty days!”

“WHAT?” exclaimed Mr. Sullivan, “that’s the most ridiculous statement I think I have ever heard you utter!”

“I beg to differ!” and with that he went to a table and picked up a copy of that day’s Daily Telegraph and opened it up to reveal a report. “This report, gentlemen, outlines a schedule that gets you from London to London in eighty days precisely!”

As the members crowded in to read the report, one of them said “But this is just a theory!”

“A theory” replied Phileas, “that has been researched and therefore is viable and if a journey is viable, then it can be done” and with that he rattled off the schedule before anyone had a chance to stop him. “

“You travel from London to Suez, via Dover, Calais and Brindisi, all of which takes a week, then you sail on to Bombay with takes thirteen days. That is then followed by a three-day crossing of India and then another thirteen-day sail, this time from Calcutta to Hong Kong. Once there you transfer to another ship heading to Yokohama in Japan which takes another six days, then the real mammoth crossing. Twenty-two days sailing across the Pacific to San Francisco. After that another week to cross the United States and then finally a nine-day crossing across the Atlantic arriving back after how many days, your Lordship?” he concluded with a smile.

“By Jove!” His Lordship declared as he finished totting up the sums, “Eighty days to travel the world!” and getting caught up in the excitement he tried to stand up from his chair but his legs couldn’t stand the strain and he would have fallen over if Phileas hadn’t caught him and said “Yes, eighty days Your Lordship” and helping him back into his chair he turned and said “And all thanks to the miracle of modern engineering!”

“Complete stuff and nonsense!” retorted Mr. Sullivan, “Your finger can go around the world in eighty days, maybe, but you can’t!”

“And what about bad weather?” asked another member

“Shipwrecks!” said another, punching the arm of a shipping magnate

“Railway accidents!” the man replied, punching the arm of the railway owner

“All included” replied Phileas calmly

“You see” said the chairman, “It can be done!”

“Theoretically maybe” said Mr. Sullivan, “but practically I…”

“Practically” replied Phileas holding Mr. Sullivan a stern gaze.

“Well” then said Mr. Sullivan, “Do it!”

As the two members stared at each other with intent, the other members were starting to get a little worried. Several of their past members had drawn pistols at dawn over things less than this and it certainly look as if another duel was being planned when Phileas declared “Gentlemen, I will!”

The room was stunned into silence as Phileas continued his declaration saying “I, Phileas Hines Fogg, of number seven Saville Row, Burlington Gardens, London, will travel around the world in eighty days. I will follow the route as outlined in the article published using any means of transport available to me” and then he added, “and I will wager half my personal fortune, twenty thousand pounds, that it can done!”

Lord Albemarle was stunned at this news and grasped Phileas’s sleeve and said “Sir, please, I…” but Phileas just smiled and gently removed the chairman’s hand announcing “Gentlemen, do you accept the wager?”

“WE ACCEPT!” announced the five members of the Reform Club standing before Phileas and with that they shook on the deal each wagering five thousand pounds of their own money in return. Taking a chequebook from his jacket, Phileas wrote a cheque for twenty thousand pounds and added “Today is October 2nd 1872” and as he spoke he dated the cheque December 22nd 1872 and handing it to the chairman announced “If I do not return by a quarter to nine in the evening of the twenty first day of December, this year, the money in this cheque will become yours by right!”

As a memo confirming the wager was drawn up and signed, Phileas stood impassively. He had been challenged by his fellow Reform Club members to prove the article right and as I think you will have discovered by now, when an Englishman is challenged to do anything, he does it!

Half an hour later, three people left the Reform Club. The first was Phileas heading home, as he always did on foot, pacing the five hundred and seventy-six steps between the Reform Club and his home in a methodical manner. He was followed a short while later by Mr. Weston, owner of the Daily Telegraph, who having lost several guineas to Phileas in a game of whist suddenly had a wonderful idea. Hailing a hansom cab he ordered “Fleet Street, my man!” and was soon heading towards the newspaper heartland of London. It wasn’t until several moments after that, that Mr. Sullivan emerged. However, when he hailed the cab, he gave the driver no instructions bar “Head East!” and with that got into the cab that travelled towards the seedier parts of the capital.

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Chapter Eight

Of the three men, Mr. Weston was the first to arrive at his destination and bounding out of the cab he charged up the stairs to the office of Mr. Ralph, the young reporter who had penned the article that was about to send Phileas on a true adventure.

“Really, sir?” the young reporter asked, “Really, Truly?”

Mr. Weston nodded and as he did, the young reporter started to gush.

“My article” he said, “my article that I spent the best part of three months researching, has generated so much interest that Mr. Fogg is actually going to try and complete the journey?”

“To the letter!” smiled Mr. Weston, adding “and he has wagered half his personal fortune too, twenty thousand pounds!”

Mr. Ralph’s eyes opened wide and he exclaimed “Twenty thousand pounds! I won’t make half that money even if I worked here all my life!”

Mr. Weston chuckled and said “Then, you shall have a pay increase, besides we’re the only ones who know!” and with that he tapped his nose and opening Mr. Ralph’s door bellowed, above the noise of the printing presses “STOP THE PRESSES!”. As the presses slowed down and came to a halt, he announced “Gentlemen of the Telegraph, I have an announcement to make. This very evening, Mr. Phileas Fogg is to set out on an adventure that will set this country’s star in the firmament for eternity. He will be travelling around the world in eighty days, prompted by this man’s reporting” and with that dragged Mr. Ralph out of the office before adding “Therefore, for the first time in our history, we are printing an evening edition, which I want out on the streets of London within the next ninety minutes. Gentlemen, we have an exclusive!”

***

Whilst Fleet Street was celebrating a rare exclusive, back at number seven Saville Row Jean was lying on his bed.

He had come to the end of his first days of duty as a manservant and was remembering everything he had done, the highlight of which has been cleaning his master’s house from top to bottom. Coming from the northern part of France, where the work ethic was very high, he remembered something his parents had instilled in him from a child, “if you make work fun, it’s not like work at all” and so for the duration of his cleaning, he had been singing songs that he had picked up in his days in the circus. His favourite though was one that he picked up from a group of sailors when the circus had been asked to perform for the Emperor himself in his native home of Corsica and on the boat travelling to the island, the sailors sang this song to help them with their work and so he had followed in a similar suit.

“All around the world, we’ll go together day by day” he had sang as he polished the bannisters of the staircase, whistling as the song required every alternate line, “Anytime you want me, you can whistle in this way” he carried on as he swept the steps at the same time, “And I will be there ready to help you anywhere” and with that he launched into a full blown whistling routine and at the same time started to dance around the house before singing, “Hand in hand, we’ll always go to many places we don’t know. We’ll sing along the way, and every time we’ll find a way to carry on!”

He was so lost in enjoyment that he failed to notice several people peering inside wondering what was going on. As they watched in bewilderment at the sight of a manservant singing and dancing, Jean carried on with his song.

“All around the world, we’ll go together day by day” he sang as he polished the mantelpiece over the fire, whistling as he did, “And we’ll see new people, white or black, new anyway!” and whistled as he cleaned the floor with a broom adding, “Mr. Fogg will be the boss, and I will serve him well!” and with that brushed the dust to the front door and overtaken by the mood of the song flung the doors open and as he brushed the dust into the street broke into a dance which surprised the people watching, a newspaper boy, the local policeman and two neighbours to such an extent that they couldn’t help but get roped in as well and as they did, Jean gave a final rousing rendition of the chorus which was greeted by a round of rapturous applause and as Jean remembered the deep bow he gave, his face glowed in a beaming smile. The house was now spick and span, gleaming like a new pin and per his master’s schedule he now had a good three hours to recover before helping his master into bed.

During that doze, Jean wondered what his friends in the past careers he had been in would make of him serving a gentleman, but having worked so hard he was soon gently dozing, dreaming of his days as a physical culturist.  As he did, he dreamt about his days as a gymnast performing tumbling routines that made people dizzy, as a professor of the sport where he would whip those less strong than himself into shape, and how that training had helped him rise up the ranks of the Paris fire service to become a sergeant and as he dreamt about the day when he was raised to that rank, his muscular chest swelled with pride as he dreamed about the moment the ceremonial pin was attached to his jacket and he was hailed by the gathered crowd.

“Passepartout, Passepartout!”

The smile on his face was now in danger of escaping his face when another voice entered his dreams.

“JEAN, COULD YOU COME AND SEE ME PLEASE?”

Jean sat up with a start. Was that? No, it couldn’t have been, he wasn’t due back for at least two hours.

“JEAN, I NEED TO SPEAK WITH YOU QUITE URGENTLY!”

It was. His master was back. Jumping from his bed, he raced downstairs and found his master standing in the hallway holding his cane and his hat and looking rather stern. As Jean screeched to a halt in front of him he panted “Forgive me, monsieur!”

“I had to call you twice!” he said, his face not displaying anything bar a stern expression

“But, monsieur” replied Jean, “you should not be back for quite some time!”

“I realise that” he said as Jean took his hat and cane, “and I am not going to lay blame. Now, I would like you to pack my trunk as we are leaving for Dover in ten minutes!”

“We are?” asked Jean, wondering what his master meant.

“That’s right” replied Phileas as he entered his room, “Around the world to be precise!” and with that closed the door leaving his manservant completely stunned by this development. As he walked back to his room, the astonishment gave way to anger and entering his room, he slammed the door, slumped to his knees and pounded his bed in desperation swearing under his breath.

“I thought I was never going to travel again!” he roared as he stamped his foot.

He had left the world of the circus and all its travelling behind years ago. All he wanted to do was just settle down and he had hoped that in England he would have done so but in the five years that he had been in the country, it seemed as if every master had been a traveler. Jean had been a sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned for repose; but so far he had failed to find it, though he had already served in ten English houses. But he could not take root in any of these; with chagrin, he found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular, constantly running about the country, or on the look-out for adventure. His last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of Parliament, after passing his nights in the Haymarket taverns, was too often brought home in the morning on policemen’s shoulders. Passepartout, desirous of respecting the gentleman whom he served, ventured a mild remonstrance on such conduct; which, being ill-received, he took his leave. Hearing that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life was one of unbroken regularity, that he neither travelled nor stayed from home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the place he was after. But now, even he appeared to be have caught the bug and as he started to pack his bags, sorrow filling in his heart, he resolved that after this trip he would resign as manservant and find a new master who was perhaps very old and therefore would never travel.

At eight o’clock that evening, Jean walked down the staircase carrying a bag full of clothes and then, still worried as to why his master had suddenly decided to travel somewhere entered the main living room where his master had opened a safe. Gesturing for Jean to place the bag on a table, he started to fill it with notes of all manner of different currencies noting them as he placed them in the bag.

“Pounds for use in England and Egypt, Francs for France, Lira for Italy, Rupees for India, Straits dollars for Singapore and the Hong Kong version for there, yens for Japan, more dollars for the United States and a few extra pounds just in case” and with that he closed the bag and announced, “Jean, I have wagered half my personal fortune that I can travel the world in eighty days. Inside that bag is the other half. Trust it with your life!”

The manservant stood to attention and saluted his master accepting his charge and picked up the bag. As he did, it dropped suddenly and it took every ounce of his strength to prevent it from falling to the floor. As Phileas heard his manservant grunt, he looked and instantly started to feel himself becoming hard again. Jean was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by Moliere with a bold gaze and a nose held high in the air; he was an honest fellow, with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding, soft-mannered and serviceable, with a good round head, such as one likes to see on the shoulders of a friend. His eyes were blue, his complexion rubicund, his figure almost portly and well-built, his body muscular, and his physical powers fully developed by the exercises of his younger days and it was those muscles, struggling to lift the bag that was making Phileas very uncomfortable indeed. He was the master of this man, not the willing acolyte who would worship the very ground he walked on and so with a slightly falsetto “Order a cab” and as the manservant placed the bag on his chest, which was heaving from the effort, he nodded and went outside where he saw a cab pass by the end of the lane. That cab was the cab that contained Mr. Sullivan and whilst Jean was hoping to catch it, if he had, he would not have liked where it was heading towards.

***

As the cab stopped next to an obelisk in the heart of the district known as Tower Hamlets, Mr. Sullivan disembarked and looked around. Out of the gloom came a figure and as it got closer a wicked smile crossed Mr. Sullivan’s face.

“Ah” Mr. Sullivan said as the figure came to a halt in front of him, “my dear Timothy. I am so glad that you could see me this evening!”

The figure bowed and as he stood up introduced himself formally saying “And how may Timothy Renton, master of disguise, help the honourable governor of the Bank of England?”

“I’ll tell you inside the cab” replied Mr. Sullivan and as he looked around said “Walls have ears you know!”

As Mr. Sullivan threw his cigar into a nearby puddle, Timothy embarked and with a “Drive on”, the cab resumed its travels, the two conspirators discussing their objective.

“I presume that you have heard about this wager I have with Phileas?” asked Mr. Sullivan.

“I have” came the reply, “and if I understand correctly, if he does you stand to lose five thousand pounds?”

“The money is not important” insisted Mr. Sullivan, “No, what worries me the most is that if Phileas succeeds he will become a national hero. He’ll be swept into Parliament at the next election and then what happens to me? Next thing I know, he’ll have a word in the Chancellor’s ear, who will then declare the Bank of England independent of government control and I will be out of a job. That man is the most conceited man I have ever come across in my life. He doesn’t deserve such an honour, therefore you and me are going to humiliate him, Timothy. We are going to humble him in the eyes of the world and ensure that he does not complete his wager!”

“And how much is it worth?” asked Timothy, his eyes gleaming with greed.

However, before Mr. Sullivan could answer the cab encountered a very bad piece of road and the two villains were bounced around as if in a washing machine. Despite the problems Mr. Sullivan promised Timothy that if he managed to stop Phileas from completing his journey, the five thousand pounds that Phileas would owe him would be his by right. As Mr. Sullivan was thrown about and started to hit Timothy’s jaw with his shoe he replied “I will take the job, sir, just tell your driver to slow down!” but it was to no avail as Mr. Sullivan’s shoe punched Timothy’s jaw with such force that a painful howling could be heard as the cab carried on its way.

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Chapter Nine

“EXTRA, EXTRA” announced a newspaper boy in the heart of the capital, “Phileas Fogg to travel around the world in eighty days. Exclusive report by Mr. Ralph, Telegraph reporter. EXTRA, EXTRA!”

The lad in question was doing a roaring trade as everyone wanted to read about the Englishman who would, potentially, set a new record however one customer was more interested in reading the article than paying for it and when the newspaper boy vented his anger, the customer in question replied “Pay the lad would you, Drummond?”

As Constable Drummond rifled around in his wallet he could only find a shilling and so offering payment asked the lad if he had any change. The lad replied with a bright “Sure thing, sir!” and took the coin. However, as he pocketed the coin, he then ran off shouting “That’s for not paying at the right time” to which the poor police constable moaned “Inspector, he’s stolen my change!”, however the Inspector was more interested in the article.

“Phileas Fogg, of Savile Row, London, is tonight attempting to travel around the world in eighty days using the route as published in this morning’s edition of the Telegraph. The author of the report, Mr. Ralph, will be using the latest technology to keep track of Mr. Fogg’s progress and will announce important points in the journey from outside the Telegraph’s headquarters at midday every day with more detailed reporting in this paper as soon as it comes in from our team of reporters from around the world!”

As the Inspector rolled the newspaper up and placed it under his arm he smiled, “If the thing is feasible, the first to do it ought to be an Englishman” and was about to walk on when he stopped. That name was familiar from somewhere and so he unrolled the newspaper and read the article again. There next to it was a picture of the said explorer and as he looked at it, he gasped.

“It’s HIM!” he declared, “It’s the man who robbed the Bank!” and with that he grabbed his partner, still complaining about being diddled of his change and ran back to Scotland Yard where he burst into the Commissioner’s office to relay the news closely followed by his associate who was unable to stop in time and collided with one of the Commissioner’s chairs. As he ended up spread-eagled on the floor, he waved the newspaper he was holding and announced “We know the name of the robber!”

The Commissioner took the newspaper and read the article carefully and then compared the picture in the newspaper with the artist’s impression and had to agree that they were the same. With this information to hand, the Commissioner sat down at his desk and pondered what to do next, however the Inspector knew exactly what to do next.

“There’s not a moment to lose” he said, remonstrating at the Commissioner who had turned his chair around, “We must arrest him NOW!” and with that thumped his fist on the Commissioner’s table, who turned around sharply and bellowed, “YOU WILL NOT!” which caused the Inspector and Constable to stand to attention, with in the Constable’s case was hindered by him still being spread-eagled on the floor.

“Have you thought about what would happen if you did arrest this man and he was innocent?” asked the Commissioner, “Scotland Yard would become a laughing stock. Therefore, I am ordering you to do one thing only. Keep an eye on him, follow him whether he goes and report back at regular intervals. The minute you get any confirmation that he is the robber, I want to know. Whilst you are doing that, I will work on getting evidence here and if need be you will have to arrest him!”

“But, sir” replied the Inspector, “he’s off on a journey around the world!”

“In that case” replied the Commissioner, “I will set about getting a warrant for his arrest. According to this article he is scheduled to be in Bombay by the end of October, therefore I will get one organised for you at Suez so that you can arrest him, if the evidence is there, the moment he steps onto Indian soil”

The Inspector stood to attention, saluted and walked out of the office commanding his companion to follow him, however as Constable Drummond got to his feet and followed his boss, he felt sad. He was a Londoner born and bred, born within the sound of Bow Bells, a true Cockney at heart and the idea of leaving his home city filled him with sorrow but he was a policeman and as such followed the Inspector into the cold evening air

***

As Jean turned off the lights in the house he had only known for the last nine and a half hours, he felt very melancholy. He was travelling again, when he had thought, that his days of travelling where behind him. As he entered the hallway, the sad expression on his face was clear for everyone to see and despite Phileas saying, with a cheery smile, “There’s no need to look so glum, we’ll be back in a mere eighty days”, Jean couldn’t shake the feeling. And so, as he turned off the outside lights and finally the main hall lights, he closed the doors after his master and locked them. Almost as if saying goodbye to an old friend, he kissed the key and then, using his circus skills threw it into the air and pulled out his jacket where it landed in the breast pocket and as he patted it he whispered “Next to the heart, so that I will remember this house!” and with that followed his master who was now sitting in a cab waiting for him. Seeking permission to board, which was granted, Jean sat next to his master who gave the command of “Charing Cross Station, my good man” and with that the journey around the world started.

Twenty minutes later they arrived at the station to find it thronging with people all desperate to catch a glimpse of the adventurous Englishman, however as they approached the entrance to the station, a woman clearly destitute came hobbling up and wailed a tale of woe that pulled at Jean’s heart. He was about to give the poor woman a shilling, the last in his wallet, when his master stopped him. He then opened his own wallet and gave the woman a twenty-guinea note saying “Here, my good woman. I’m glad that I met you!” and with that entered the station. As the woman looked at the note in disbelief, she poured out her thanks to the manservant who simply nodded and as she walked away, Jean wiped his eyes which were now exceptionally damp. Was it just possible that inside that highly regulated man, a human heart existed?

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Chapter Ten

“Good evening, gentlemen!” declared Phileas as he met his friends from the Reform Club adding, “Why, Mr. Sullivan, I didn’t expect to see you here?”

“You have arrived precisely sixty seconds before the scheduled departure of this train!” he said, dismissing the question, “I am glad to see that you have allowed such little room for error!” and with that he folded his arms in a dismissive manner.

“Whereas I am sure” replied Phileas, in his usual cheery manner, “I shall see you again in eighty days” and with that he raised his hat to his fellow members and after a “I know you can do it, Phileas” from the chairman, he crouched down and said softly “Thank you, Your Lordship, that means a lot coming from you!”

As he got up the train whistled indicating that it was ready to leave and as the crowd cheered their best wishes to the travelers, they strode on board and were sitting down just as the train started to pull out of the station. At the suggestion of his master, Jean opened the windows and the two waved to the gathered crowd who followed the train to the edge of the platform. However, as it did, two figures could be seen chasing it down, one of them panting “Hurry up, Drummond!”

As the Inspector made a daring leap from the platform into a carriage with an open window, the poor constable, who had run further in the last ten minutes than he had in his entire life, was facing the threat of running out of platform. With a desperate leap, he grabbed hold of the window frame and held on for dear life as the train left the platform and was eventually dragged in by the Inspector who ended up with the Constable on top of him for his troubles.

As the train crossed the Thames a little downriver from Westminster, Phileas and his manservant sat facing each other in the compartment that they had booked. It was the first time that Jean had come to appreciate his new master. He appeared to be a man about forty years of age, with fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure; his hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled, his face rather pale, his teeth magnificent. His countenance possessed in the highest degree what physiognomists call “repose in action,” a quality of those who act rather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic, with a clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English composure which Angelica Kauffmann has so skillfully represented on canvas. Seen in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of being perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Leroy chronometer. Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed even in the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as well as in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the passions. Indeed, even now, he was reading his copy of Bradshaw’s, the guide to every train and boat journey across the whole world, and yet looked as if he was reading a novel.

Jean, on the other hand, was holding onto the bag that he had been given as if it were a child, and as he looked out of the window the cityscape of Central London soon disappeared and was replaced by the countryside of Kent. Turning his attention to the compartment he was in, he looked up at the light that was allowing his master to read and as he did, he suddenly gasped as a horrible thought crossed his mind. The gasp was enough to break his master’s concentration and he asked “Is something the matter?”

“It…It…It was an oversight” apologised Jean, bowing his head

“What have you done?” asked Phileas, lowering his book and looking sternly at his manservant

“I have forgotten to turn off the lamp in my room, Monsieur” he replied and with that bowed his head even more.

“There’s nothing to worry about” replied his master, in a reassuring manner, “the gas used will be paid for!”

“It will?” asked Jean

“Yes” replied Phileas, turning his attention back to his book, “by being deducted from your pay!”

Jean’s reaction was that of any typical Frenchman who has received exceptionally bad news and with that he decided to settle down and have a doze before they reached Dover. Sadly, for the Frenchman, that wasn’t very long and as October 3rd arrived the two men were already crossing the English Channel under a clear moonlit night. As Jean wandered around on board, he heard someone being terribly ill and saw two men both leaning against the side of the ship, one patting the other on the back saying “There, there, Drummond, it’s all right!”

“These Englishmen” he chuckled to himself, “For a nation of seafarers, they seem to have lost their sea legs!”

By two o’clock that morning, the boat had arrived in Calais and as Phileas and Jean had their passports stamped, Jean, for the first time, was starting to feel a little cheery. After all, he was now back in his homeland, France, and as he thanked the passport control officer with “Merci, Monsieur”, the two men headed towards the waiting train and were soon on their way to Paris. About half an hour later, as the two men were going to settle down for the night, the guard knocked on the door and asked if they would accommodate a passenger.

“We would be delighted to” replied Phileas, demonstrating the qualities that made Englishmen so renowned.

After the guard thanking them, he gestured the passenger to enter the carriage and as he did with a gentle “Merci, Monsieurs” both men were struck by her beauty. She had to be in her mid-twenties, wearing a flowery red hat, a lightly pink coloured dress and was carrying a cyan handbag and as she entered with a “I apologise if I am disturbing you?” both men just stood there and whispered “Not in the slightest!”

As she sat down next to Jean with a “You are as polite as you are handsome!”, Jean adjusted his collar. What were these feelings that were flowing over him? He only loved men. Big, strong, powerful men. The type that he loved in the circus. People like Hercule who could wrestle him to a standstill and then force him to kiss him with a passion like no other. He had no time for women and yet, this woman was making him feel the same type of emotions. He even started to go hard and as he sat down, he started to gently breathe deeply to relax.

“I do apologise disturbing you like this” she said, “It is difficult for a woman travelling on her own!”

Phileas just nodded and as she carried on with her tale about two men in her compartment who were making unwanted advances on her, Phileas just smiled politely but inside was a battleground. He was feeling emotions that he had never felt before. His heart was pounding, he couldn’t think straight, he even felt as if he was getting hard and gently squeezed his legs. Was this because he had never been in the presence of a lady before? No, he had seen Her Majesty in close quarters on several occasions, but never this close and certainly not with a lady this young before. As he nodded in sympathy with the story he was being told, he wondered if he wasn’t inverted as he had thought himself to be, but perhaps only partially inverted and could love both men and women at the same time. He simply didn’t know and the feeling was putting him on edge.

“Please excuse my indiscretion” she asked, “but may I ask where you are travelling to?”

“London” replied Phileas, instantly, glad to have something to divert attention from the feelings that were swirling inside him.

“London?” gasped the new passenger, “but, Monsieur you are…”

“…heading the wrong way!” smiled Phileas, and reassured her that there was method in his madness as he explained that he was heading to London the long way around by travelling around the world.

“Then, you are he!” the passenger gasped and as she did, she fell to her knees and held Phileas’s hand and looked deep into his eyes saying “I have read all about you and your journey!”

“That’s very kind of you” replied Phileas, feeling himself getting even harder than he was before

Realising her position, the lady suddenly stood up and apologised for her conduct and as she sat down next to Jean, it was his turn to start feeling those strange emotions that put him at conflict with his mind. As she did, she enquired as to Phileas’s route.

“We left London at a quarter to nine this evening” he replied, back in his comfortable place, “and will arrive in Paris around half past seven in the morning” and as he spoke he took out his pocket watch and said “Actually, thank you for reminding me, I have to put my watch on an hour to reflect the time difference between London and Paris” and as he adjusted his watch he added, “then we shall travel through France with a view of reaching Brindisi in Italy by tomorrow lunchtime!”

“Oh, mon dieu!” replied the lady, “this is a happy coincidence then. I am on the way to Brindisi as well” and as she spoke her mood saddened as he said “I am on my way to see my dearest aunt whose health has been failing in recent weeks” and with that she bowed her head. Phileas, although conflicted inside with his emotions, was always a gentleman and offered the passenger’s aunt his wishes for a recovery and agreed that for the duration of the journey to Brindisi, she may accompany them. A gesture of kindness that put Jean even more on edge than usual, but those thoughts were instantly put aside when Phileas ordered him to turn the light down so that they could all have some rest before the train reached Paris.

“Please” said the passenger, “allow me” and as she stood up she brushed her hand along Jean’s muscular chest sending the Frenchman into so much emotional conflict he just moaned. However, as she turned down the light, there was a jolt in the carriage and she accidentally turned the light out. Apologising profusely, Phileas reassured her there was nothing to worry about and asked Jean to relight the lamp using some matches that were in the bag he was carrying. However, as Jean went to open the bag, he found that it was already open and that there was a hand inside it and with his master sitting opposite him and he having not opened it, that meant that it was the passenger’s hand inside it. As he tried to explain what was happening to his master, he could feel the hand reaching for some of the money inside and so did the only thing he could, and slammed the bag shut on the hand.

There was an almighty roar of pain, that Jean was convinced sounded like a man’s voice, which was closely followed by him being forced onto his back by the passenger who fled the carriage. Phileas shook his head with a sense of disappointment and as he lit the lamp in the carriage himself, found his manservant spread-eagled over the seat and the floor holding onto the bag with an expression of grim determination on his face. As Jean recovered and slid onto the floor, his master demanded an explanation of what had happened.

As Jean tried his best to explain, he found him being stood over by his master who as the questioning became more and more threatening stood on tiptoes to try and dominate the man into answering his questions truthfully and causing him to have to bend over backwards in order to deliver his answers. Unable to bear this assault he screamed “EVERYTHING I HAVE SAID IS TRUE” causing Phileas to place his hands over his ears and bellow “ALL RIGHT!”. For a moment, these was a tense standoff between master and manservant but as Phileas sat down he apologised to Jean saying “I’m sorry, I was just…” and then paused wondering if he should admit how he felt to his manservant, a man whose feat of strength less than twenty-four earlier had made such an impression on him, however just then the guard entered and asked if everything was alright.

Jean was all for telling him what had happened, but Phileas replied with a smile “Thank you for your concern, monsieur” and as the guard closed the door, Phileas closed his eyes pondering why the woman would want to make a grab for the bag. In one of the many toilets on the train, the woman closed the door behind her and examined her wrist which had a large bruise on it. As she nursed it, grimacing with pain, she growled and threw her hat to the floor and then pulled at her collar revealing a mask that was thrown to the floor with disgust. As Timothy looked at himself in the mirror, he scowled.

“I’ll get you sooner or later, Phileas Fogg” he vowed, “for no one beats Timothy Renton, master of disguise!” and with that his eyes glinted with pure evil.

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Chapter Eleven

The early morning sunrise over London was greeted with expectation as France, being an hour ahead of Britain, was now in full working operation and this meant that Mr. Ralph could deliver the first report to the people gathered outside the offices of the Telegraph. As he climbed a platform, the crowd roared their approval.

“Ladies and Gentlemen” he announced, causing the crowd to fall silent, “I have just received confirmation that Phileas Fogg has arrived in Paris and he is on schedule!”

The jubilation of the crowd below was such as that they rushed the platform and as Mr. Ralph climbed a set of stairs to escape they detached from the platform and balanced precariously over the streets of London. As the crowd dispersed, fearing an accident, the stairs fell and if it had not been for a policeman who caught Mr. Ralph as he fell, he would have been badly injured. But, he wasn’t and as the policemen helped him to the ground, Mr. Ralph doffed his hat to the policeman who replied in that time honoured fashion by simply bending his knees and nodding politely. Having done his civic duty for the day, the policeman wandered over to one of the many bookmakers accepting bets on Phileas’s progress. As the bookmaker announced his latest odds of two to one, the policeman, Irish by birth and therefore always willing to gamble, gave him a fresh five-pound note, the same month’s pay and giving it to him announced “A fiver on Mr. Fogg to complete his challenge!” which was greeted by firm handshakes and pats on the back from the gathered crowd.

Mr. Ralph’s information was a little inaccurate. Phileas was indeed now in Paris and as he stood underneath a clock that showed the time to be twenty minutes past seven he announced “Only five minutes late, the French train service will never cease to amaze me!”, however as his manservant went to hail a carriage, it was clear that that might be the only aspect of French public transport that would amaze him.

“Excuez moi, monsieur, may I…?”

“Non, non, non, monsieur!”

“Monsieur, may we….?”

“Non!”

“Monsieur?”

“Non!”

As the last of the three carriages parked outside the Lyon station in Paris trundled away, Jean sighed and reported back to his master.

“I am sorry, monsieur” he said, bowing his head in shame, “but there are no carriages to take us to the northern station” and with that he sighed, “I regret that the days when Parisian drivers would take anyone are long gone, monsieur!”

If Phileas was concerned by this news, he didn’t show it and after a few moments looking around announced, “Then we shall simply have to walk!” and as he set off in the direction of the station he mused, “You know, Jean, I’ve never seen Paris before!”

Jean’s sad expression suddenly changed and with a smile he said “Monsieur, I have lived in this city for years. With your permission, may I be your guide?”

“Permission granted” smiled Phileas as he twirled his cane and with that the two men walked through the streets of the French capital. As they did, Phileas couldn’t help to notice how it was so much like London with gaslights along the streets, carriages riding up and down the roads, or as Jean helpfully pointed out, boulevards, bakeries selling fresh breads and pastries, houses a good four floors high and of course the history of the city and as they continued on their way, Jean gave a potted history of the city noting that he and his family had a very close connection to the city, whether it was through his great great great great grandfather Isaac du Porthau the famed Musketeer who served King Louis XIII or indeed himself as a sergeant in the fire service. In fact, he was just explaining about one of his many brave deeds at the house they were passing when a lady popped her head out of the window of a carriage parked by and asked “Excusez moi, monsieurs, are you lost?”

Phileas smiled politely and doffing his hat reassured the lady that they were not and that due to the lack of carriages they were walking to their destination, enjoying the city at the same time.

“Oh, mon dieu!” the lady exclaimed, “the streets are too dirty for such refined gentlemen to walk along” and with that opened the door and added “Please, let me take you to where you need to go”

“Are all the ladies of Paris this kind?” Phileas asked his manservant

“Mais, oui monsieur!” he replied, “They are the most generous people on the entire continent. Their reputation as being graceful, intelligent and witty precedes them wherever they go!”

“Then we would be honoured!” replied Phileas and as he climbed into the carriage said “We are heading to the northern station!”

“Monsieur” announced the lady as Jean entered, “Gare du Nord, s’il vous plait!”

“Immediatement!” came the reply and the carriage started to travel through the streets of Paris.

As Phileas conveyed their thanks to the lady, she chuckled and said “Please, I was heading the same way and as visitors to our noble city felt that I should offer my carriage as a way of helping our neighbours from across the Channel!” and for the next few moments, Phileas and the lady engaged in small talk that Jean sensibly didn’t enter into. However, hearing about things he knew about got a little uninteresting and so he looked out of the window to see where they were, but as he did he got a nasty shock. Instead of travelling through the streets of Paris, they now appeared to be travelling out of the city and into the Bois de Boulogne, the forest outside the city that had been preserved for eternity by the Kings of France.

“Pardon me, Mademoiselle” he said, with a slight concern in his voice, “but are we heading in the right direction?”

“Naturallement” she replied, but seeing the concern on Jean’s face popped her head out of the carriage and gasped in shock and with a firm, “Arête!”, the carriage came to a gentle halt. As she got up, apologising for the diversion stating “the coachman must have lost his way” she left the carriage with Phileas reassuring her that “there is no need, we were both enjoying the journey”. A few moments later, however, there was a shriek and the carriage shot off throwing both Phileas and Jean to the floor of the carriage. The sudden forward movement had caused Jean to land on the floor and Phileas to land on top of him and as the two men struggled to get back onto their seats, Phileas accidentally hit Jean in the chest with his foot but as he did, Phileas realised that it was his foot that was hurting and not Jean’s chest. Was Jean a modern-day Hercules, able to withstand pain that would make any normal man wail in agony? Eventually they managed to get back to their seats, and as Phileas dusted his top hat and pressed the dent out of it, they considered what might have happened. Phileas announced “We must stop this coach” and with that Jean saluted and without so much as a bye or a leave leapt out of the carriage window and was soon clambering onto the roof and out of sight of his master. A few seconds later he heard Jean jumping up and down on the roof and was wondering what was happening when his manservant suddenly appeared upside down and with his back to his master.

“What in the blazes are you doing?” demanded Phileas

“Forgive me, monsieur” replied Jean, turning himself around, “but I will explain everything later. Could you rein the horses in, merci?” and with that he hauled himself back onto the roof. Phileas reached for the reins stretching his arm as far as it could. He could feel his shoulders aching from the effort, but he knew he had to and so closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and willing his arms to stretch that little bit further. But it was no good, and then he had an idea and reaching for his cane, resumed his stretch. The reins were now within inches of being reeled in and with a mighty effort, he wrapped his cane around them and as they tightened around his cane, the carriage started to slow down. As it did, he heard a massive grunt and managed to register something flying from the roof of the carriage into a lake that they were passing where it landed with a mighty splash. As Phileas pulled on the reins with all his might, Jean appeared above him and said “Monsieur, give me the reins!” and as he untangled them from his master’s cane he leapt into the empty driver’s seat and gently woahed the horses and the carriage came to a gentle stop. The crisis averted, he jumped down and opened his master’s door and reassured him that everything was all right and for a moment as they looked at each other, the same question was racing through their minds.

"How strong is he?"

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Chapter Twelve

As both men continued to look at each other, they both pondered what they had seen and heard.

Jean knew that he was strong, after all he had just punched a man, masquerading as the lady into the lake that they had passed, but how strong was his master to be able to rein in a set of horses with just a cane?

Phileas knew that he had a small amount of strength in him thanks to all his training, and he knew that Jean was strong from his display the previous day, but to punch someone off the roof of a carriage with such force that they landed a good ten feet away.

If they had been able to read each others mind they would have seen themselves, as worshiped and worshipper, both naked, both kissing each other passionately, hands writhing over their muscular bodies, their cocks at full mast, gasping as they began to feel that moment when they would scream out in agonised ecstasy.

"So, where are we then?" asked Phileas in a desperate attempt to break the silence.

As Jean explained they were now in the depths of the forest outside Paris, Phileas sighed.

“And miles away from the train station as well?” he asked

“Oui” came the sad reply, but then was replaced by a cheery, “Monsieur, when I was in the circus I rode horses, and I know how to get to the station from here!”

“In that case, my man, the train station please?”

As Jean bowed, he closed the carriage door, resumed his place in the driver’s seat, cracked the whip and with a mighty “ALLEZ!” the carriage resumed its journey by turning around and heading back the way it came. As the scenery turned back into the cityscape of Paris, Phileas smiled. Jean was clearly a valuable asset and had saved him from missing his connection, but as he sat back he couldn’t help thinking of him, standing before him, completely naked, showing off his muscles and his strength. The image, replying itself over and over again in his mind, was starting to make Phileas hard and this time no amount of thinking about other things would stop it. He was going to have to tell Jean everything and hope, even it was beyond hope, that he wouldn’t be offended by the fact that he wanted to take him to heaven with himself along for the ride.

As Phileas and Jean sat next to each other on the train heading south, there was an uneasy silence between the two. Phileas hadn’t said a word since he had boarded and Jean didn’t want to say anything unless he said something that put his master into the wrong frame of mind. It wasn’t for another twenty minutes that Phileas finally spoke and broke the silence with “Jean, can I ask you a question? How strong are you?”

Jean was rather surprised by this line of questioning, but replied as he had been always taught to, fully and honestly, and as he rattled off his career in the sports of wrestling, weightlifting and gymnastics, Phileas had to squeeze his legs tighter than he had ever squeezed them before. When Jean finished, he added “Monsieur, may I ask you a question? How strong are you?”

Phileas’ eyes opened wide but like Jean answered the question truthfully explaining about his subscription to the exercise programme created by Donald Dinnie. As soon as he mentioned that name, Jean gasped.

“You exercise to Monsieur Dinnie’s exacting regime?” he asked, almost in wonder

“Yes, I do” came the reply

“Oh, Monsieur” said Jean, “Monsieur Dinnie is my hero!” and with that pulled out his wallet and handed Phileas a small piece of paper on which was written “In appreciation of the strongman of France, Donald”. As Phileas looked at the paper and then at Jean, Jean closed his eyes and started to retell the events that allowed him and “Scotland’s greatest athlete” to meet and train.

“Ah” smiled Donald, “so you’re the wee chap who I was told I should say hello to then?”

As Jean shook the hand of the man who had asked to meet him, he immediately gasped. He was a good judge of how strong a man was just from how they shook hands, and the strength this young man had instantly took his breath away. Shaking his hand to get the feeling back into it, Donald apologised saying “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

Jean shook his head but could feel himself starting to get hard already and that was before Donald asked, “I understand that you’re a strongman, I am thinking of taking up strength athletics and was told that you might be able to help me?”

Jean was by now gently gritting his teeth. This man, who had to be only twenty-three or thereabout, wanted to become stronger and had asked him to help him. This was too good an opportunity to pass up but first he had to relieve himself from the agony he was experiencing in his groin and so saying “Excusez moi, monsieur” he left the big top in with a gentle walk, then broke into a run and ran towards the nearby forest to where the circus pitched. He just managed to get his trousers off before he came and as he did so he moaned, “Monsieur, I will make you the strongest man in the world” and as he walked back, he decided to start with one of the most strength draining lifts he knew, picking up a weight just with your back.

“It is clear” Jean said as he started to teach what he knew, “that you know how to lift things, however there is a special way of lifting with just your back. First, you need to stand with your feet at least the distance apart as your shoulders” and as Donald adjusted his feet to do so, Jean added “You also need to make sure that your shins are as close to the bar as possible” and as Donald moved forward he apologised slightly saying that he wasn’t used to being that close. Jean smiled and carried on with the instructions.

Bending down as he did, he placed his hand on the bar outside his feet and asked Donald to repeat the movement, however Donald asked “Sir, I hope you will forgive me for asking this, but, may I keep my kilt on please? It is a representation of the nation that I call home and feel that without it, I cannot be as strong as I know I can be!"

Jean had noticed the kilt that Donald wore and knowing its history, he consented and so Donald copied Jean’s position exactly and was congratulated with a “Tres bien, monsieur” however as Jean went behind Donald, he readjusted him slightly so that his back was as straight as could be, his bottom sticking out slightly and his knees bent which Donald thanked him for.

“Now” said Jean, gesturing for Donald to stand up, “the lift is the most dangerous part, monsieur, so please watch carefully as I show you how to do it” and with that Jean adopted the same pose that Donald had and explained slowly using a bar that didn’t have any weights on it.

“First” he said, “you straighten the legs until you cannot straighten them anymore, then you start to raise your back, keeping it as straight as possible, and then when you have you lean back slightly and then to lower the bar, do the same, but in reverse” and with that demonstrated the move several times to ensure that Donald understood it. When he nodded that he had, he asked Donald to repeat the move and aside from a few adjustments, Jean was satisfied with his pupil. As Donald lowered the bar he asked “Does this mean that I can do it now?”

Jean nodded and as they started, Donald asked “Say, you look like a sporting lad, shall we have a wager?”

“Wager, monsieur?” asked Jean

“Yes, if I end up lifting more than you, then I will donate five pounds to your circus and if you lift more than me, which is more than likely, then I will give you something that most people would only dream of” and with that he took out a lithograph of himself and said “I want you to have this, if you can lift more than me, as a thank you for teaching me” and as he placed it on a barrel Jean agreed to the wager.

Both men were soon huffing and puffing as the weight increased, in the form of more water being added to a barrel, but they were evenly matched with Donald’s form exactly as he had been taught. Jean wanted that picture so much that when it was his turn instead of emptying half a bucket into the barrel, he emptied a full bucket and Donald gasped, “Sir, that’s…that’s more than you weigh!”

Jean nodded and said “You want to become the strongest man who ever lived, a title I currently hold. I want you to beat me, monsieur, to show the world that being strong is something not to be ashamed of, it is a true and noble cause” and as he placed his hands on the bar he added “Monsieur, please forgive me!” and with that he took a deep breath and started to straighten his legs.

“Whatever for?” Donald asked, but soon found the answer as Jean face grimaced like never but slowly and surely the bar lifted from the ground. As the bar continued to rise, Jean’s face became a picture of agony and Donald started to get scared and yelled “Sir, I concede” but it was too late. Jean’s heart was pounding like a drum; his breathing was deep and laboured and his cock was starting to get hard again and bulging against his trousers. As he stood upright, his arms straight as anything, he passed the point of no return and as he dropped the weight, he let out a mighty scream, ripped off his trousers and came with such force that he staggered backwards into Donald’s arms. As he orgasmed, he moaned “Am I forgiven?”

“Absolutely, sir” replied the stunned Scotsman.

As Jean concluded his story, he looked his master deep in the eyes and said, “Monsieur, that was the day that I knew I had to push myself and become a big, strong man. You are one of the biggest, strongest men I have ever encountered, your feat of strength with the reins proved that” and with that Jean seemed to become very nervous and asked “Can…May…Could…?”

“You wish to be my lover?” asked Phileas

Jean's eyes practically leapt out of his sockets and as he exclaimed “Mais, oui!” he kissed his master passionately on the lips and as he broke off his master smiled, “And I will be your lover as well, Jean! When we are private on this journey we shall spend the time as lovers, but when we are not private we shall be gentleman and manservant, agreed?”

“Oui, monsieur” replied Jean, jumping to attention and seeking his master’s permission, which was granted, he bounded out of the compartment they were travelling in and made his way to the back to the train where as the sun was starting to set over the French Alps, he sang the song that he had sung last at the house where he had called home for a mere nine hours but realising that home was by his master’s and now, lover’s side.

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Chapter Thirteen

“Brindisi” announced Phileas as they disembarked from the train and checking his pocket watch against the station clock added “and right on schedule as well”. As he closed his pocket watch, he twirled his cane and walked into the sunshine outside the station. It was now October 4th, day three of his journey and he was making good progress, the next stage of the journey was catching a boat to Suez in Egypt which would connect to another boat sailing to Bombay in British India, but that boat didn’t leave until the evening and so he asked his manservant and now lover, how to spend an afternoon in a town he had never been in before.

“There is only one thing to do in Italy” he replied and with that sought permission to take him to a restaurant he frequented when the circus was in the town for a week back when he was just a young lad. Even though it was a while since he had been in the town, the restaurant was still in business but under different ownership, but as soon as Jean opened the door for his master, the sounds and smells took him right back. Even his master was impressed by the ambience. There was a violin trio entertaining the diners by the door, the restaurant was clean and tidy and as the waiter took their order, with Jean showing off his Italian with aplomb, Phileas wondered if it could be possible to transfer this restaurant to the Reform Club as he felt sure that his fellow members would approve. Fifteen minutes later, two steaming piles of spaghetti were brought to the table and with it a collection of four bowls each of which was a different colour. As Phileas looked at the bowls, his manservant explained what they were.

“The red bowl” he said, spooning some on to his plate, “is tomato sauce with a hint of olive oil, the green one is pesto, made from the freshly chopped leaves of the basil plant, the creamy one with bits of pink is carbornara, a sauce made with cream, cheese and ham and the one with the meatballs in it is bolognaise” and with that he twirled the pasta in the collection of sauces on his plate and was eating like a born Italian. Phileas, decided to have some of the carbornara on his pasta and following his manservant’s instructions was just about to take a bite when an almighty shriek stopped everyone in their paths. Turning to the sound of the shriek, Phileas frowned as a burly sailor was remonstrating with a lady in a very loud and brash manner.

The lady, much shorter than the sailor, was clearly most distressed about something whilst the sailor, holding a bunch of flowers in his hand was sniffing them and enjoying their scent. Phileas asked his manservant to tell him what was happening and the manservant listened to the tirade from the lady and replied “He’s not willing to pay the twenty-five lire for those flowers” and as if to prove the point, the sailor tore the flowers apart leaving the lady crying in desperation. As the petals fell to the ground, Phileas calmly stood up and with his hat under one arm and his cane under the other said “Jean, please translate” and with that walked over to the sailor and set out his stall with a reassuring hand on the lady’s shoulder.

“Sir” he began, even though he was facing the sailor’s chin, “I am a visitor to your town and had been led to believe that this restaurant was the best in this town, however I request that you leave this young lady alone so that I may have my meal in peace. Now, give her the twenty-five lire, and allow me to continue my meal!”

The sailor looked at him in disbelief and replied in such a way that Jean couldn’t help but blush and translated the reply as “Get lost, monsieur, in a far cruder manner than that!”

“Then tell this gentleman” continued Phileas, “and I use the term loosely, that if he is not willing to agree to my request, maybe it might be an idea for us to continue this discussion outside?” and as Jean translated he gasped. Yes, his master was strong, but not even he could tackle a man that had to weigh a good seventy-five pounds heavier than his master, surely.

The sailor cracked his knuckles and as he opened the door called out “Marco, Leonardo” and two equally burly men stood up and the three of them followed him outside. As Phileas did the same, Jean pleaded with him saying “But the boat, monsieur!” but was reassured by a simple “Don’t worry, this won’t take long” and with that his master handed him his hat and walked into the open air. By now the three men had taken off their jackets and stood ready to deliver Phileas the hiding of a lifetime, but Phileas just simply nodded his head and asked “Queensbury rules?”

His answer came in the form of a punch from the lead sailor that caught Phileas off guard and as he reeled from the impact he collided with the man called Marco who roared and was about to hit him over the head when Phileas turned with a speed that belied the fact he was wearing his every day clothes and with power that made Jean gasp, thwacked Marco in the stomach with his cane. As Marco collapsed in a heap groaning in agony, Leonardo made a desperate leap for Phileas who, demonstrating skills that made Jean envious in the extreme, leapt away as if he were a frog and clonked him on the head for good measure causing a large bump to appear on the attacker’s head.

“Come on, then” demanded Phileas as the lead attacker did so, however a good thwack to the knee with his cane saw him howl in agony and as he collapsed over Marco, knocking himself out in the process, Phileas said “Behave yourself, sir!” before turning his attention to the man who had attacked him first only to find him too now unconscious. As he dusted his jacket down he said “And get your mothers to teach you some manners, I mean, really!”

He was soon mobbed by the flower seller and his manservant who presented him with his hat and whispered “Monsieur, I…” to which he replied as he replaced his hat, “I’ll tell you about the day that a karate master came to the Reform Club and gave us a talk about the martial art, very useful it was too!” before he turned to the flower seller and bowed politely and said “Jean, would you be so kind as to give this lady a fifty lire note with my compliments”. As Jean opened the bag and pulled out the note, translating his master’s desire, he felt a lump in his throat. This man was more than just his employer, and more than just his lover, he was a true gentleman and one he was honoured to serve. As he handed the money over, his master asked to him to translate his desire that the lady come with them to the harbour and take tea with them before the ship sailed for Suez. As the lady accepted with sheer delight, the three of them walked towards the harbour unaware that the battle between the Englishman and the roughest elements of the Italian navy had been spied upon and as they walked away the battlefield was being scoured over by Inspector Fix.

“Mmm” he said, rubbing his chin, “this Mr. Fogg is a very dangerous man, Drummond. We shall have to be very careful indeed!”

“Are you sure, sir?” replied the constable, “I think he was quite honourable defending that flower seller like that!”

“Ah” smiled the inspector, turning to his colleague, “that is the mark of a true criminal mastermind. This has all been a show” he continued, gesturing to the pile of bodies in front of him, “an act to try and throw people off the trail!”

“Oh” exclaimed Drummond, “I get it” and as he looked at the pile he tutted, “Grievous Bodily Harm, sir?”

"Actual Bodily Harm” came the reply and with that he took a notepad from his pocket and wrote down a note which he then handed to Drummond and said “Take this immediately to the consul’s office and then meet at the harbour by sunset!”

The constable saluted and ran as fast as he could to the consul’s office where he handed the note to the telegraph operator and asked that the message it contained be sent to London as soon as possible. When the dispatch arrived in London and was handed to Commissioner Rowan it set into action a chain of events that was to shock the capital. What did the note say you may ask?

“I have found the bank robber Phileas Fogg. He is heading to Suez, Egypt. Send out an arrest warrant without delay. Additional charges, three counts of actual bodily harm. Fix”

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Chapter Fourteen

Phileas was a firm believer in the adage that “London is home to the betting industry, whether people are betting on horses or companies” and on the morning of October 3rd, this was proven to the world in spades. That morning at the ceremony to mark the opening of the London Stock Exchange, the chairman was there in person. This was a very rare event and when he made a speech, the reason why became clear.

“Gentlemen of the stock exchange” he announced to the gathered traders, “yesterday evening Mr. Phileas Fogg started his attempt to travel around the world in eighty days. Today, I am proud to announce the launch of a new bond that shall be traded on this exchange, the Phileas Fogg bond, will be will traded in the same matter as the gilt edged stock that we currently trade. The opening price will be one hundred and twenty pennies and will represent a fifty per cent chance that Mr. Fogg will complete his journey in time. Gentlemen, I give you the Phileas Fogg bond” and with that he rang the opening bell on the exchange and as with all new issues, the bonds quickly generated a premium.

The stock market was not the only organisation who expressed comment on Phileas’s trip. The newspapers of Fleet Street, having been caught on the hop by the Telegraph’s exclusive edition the previous evening, all threw everything their foreign correspondents could muster at the reporting and by October 5th, had drawn their conclusions. The Times, The Standard, The Morning Post, and The Daily News along with twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr. Fogg’s project as madness with only the Daily Telegraph, the newspaper that had published the article that had led to his adventure supporting Phileas with as much muster as it could. Even questions were asked in Parliament about it, with the Empire Office being asked if passports could be ditched with to help Phileas on his journey and one Irish member asking “Mr. Speaker, may I ask the Secretary of State for Health whether he, like me, believes that this Englishman travelling around the world is a lunatic and whether his friends at the Reform Club should even have accepted a wager from such a person?”, a question that was instantly booed down by the Liberal members despite Mr. Speaker calling for order in the House.

Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the question, for geography is one of the pet subjects of the English; and the columns devoted to Phileas Fogg’s venture were eagerly devoured by all classes of readers. At first some rash individuals, principally of the gentler sex, espoused his cause, which became still more popular when the Illustrated London News came out with his portrait, copied from a photograph in the Reform Club. At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the bulletin of the Royal Geographical Society, which treated the question from every point of view, and demonstrated the utter folly of the enterprise, after all their membership had travelled the world several times over and if they stated that something was impossible, then it had to be. The preface of the article read as thus: “Everything is against him. Every obstacle imposed alike by man and by nature. A miraculous agreement of the times of departure and arrival, which was impossible, was absolutely necessary to his success. He might, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of trains at the designated hours, in Europe, where the distances were relatively moderate; but when he calculated upon crossing India in three days, and the United States in seven, could he rely beyond misgiving upon accomplishing his task? There were accidents to machinery, the liability of trains to run off the line, collisions, bad weather, the blocking up by snow—were not all these against Phileas Fogg? Would he not find himself, when travelling by steamer in winter, at the mercy of the winds and fogs? Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers to be two or three days behind time? But a single delay would suffice to fatally break the chain of communication; should Phileas Fogg once miss, even by an hour; a steamer, he would have to wait for the next, and that would irrevocably render his attempt vain!” and as quickly as the article was published in the press, the clamour for information from the Telegraph grew.

The result of this article was to send the Fogg bonds into freefall and by the close of trade on October 8th, the bonds were now valued at just twenty four pennies, representing a ten per cent of success, at which price there was only one person buying them and that person was the noble Lord Albemarle who declared when pressed by the media “If the thing is feasible, the first to do it ought to be an Englishman!” echoing the sentiments of Inspector Fix when he first read the article reporting the journey, but unlike the Inspector, His Lordship was firm in his belief, so when the telegraph that the Inspector sent was reported, the bottom fell out of the market and on the close of trade on October 9th, the bonds were valued at tuppence, suggesting that Phileas only had a one per cent of completing the journey within the time. This collapse in the bond price was reflected at the bookmaking agencies as well with one bookmaker declaring “If Phileas completes the journey on time, I will give all new customers a staggering two and a half thousand to one”, an offer that was taken up by a person on holiday from Liverpool who wagered ten pounds, half his annual salary, on Phileas succeeding. As he was jeered by the people gathered, he kissed the paper and placed it in his wallet whispering “You can do it, Phileas, I know you can!”

And the reaction to this telegram from the media? Absolute disdain. The polished gentleman disappeared to give place to the bank robber. His photograph, which was hung with those of the rest of the members at the Reform Club, was minutely examined, and it betrayed, feature by feature, the description of the robber which had been provided to the police. The mysterious habits of Phileas Fogg were recalled; his solitary ways, his sudden departure; and it seemed clear that, in undertaking a tour around the world on the pretext of a wager, he had had no other end in view than to elude the detectives, and throw them off his track.

All the while, Phileas and Jean crossed the Mediterranean Sea heading for Suez, not realising that on board were three men all of whom were determined to stop him in his tracks.

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Chapter Fifteen

Having seen to his master’s needs for the morning, both as a manservant and as a lover, Jean was taking in the air on deck and as he did, he caught sight of the Suez Canal. As the ship entered the Canal, he stood to attention and saluted which earnt a chuckle from his master as he came onto the deck as well.

“A worthy tribute to your countryman, eh?”

“Oui, monsieur” replied Jean, still holding the salute.

“You know” smiled Phileas, “Monsieur Lesseps really did revolutionise travel with this canal of his. Just think, Jean, if I had wanted to do this trip just three years ago it would have been impossible. It would have taken me four weeks to travel to Suez whereas now it only takes a week or so. He’s saved me some six thousand miles!”

As the ship carried on down the canal, Jean gazed over the side in absolute wonder. He was in Egypt, in the continent of Africa, a country and a continent he had never been to before. People were walking camels alongside the banks of the canal, he waved to children in the villages along the canal and was having a wonderful time of it. However, if he knew what was happening in the hold of the ship he would not have been quite so happy.

“Sabotage is the most exhausting work in the world” declared Timothy as he took a rest. He’d been up since the crack of dawn that morning, spending his time hiding in a spare cabin, and was working on a plan that would ensure Phileas’s failure. He was sawing through the anchor chain that would prevent the ship leaving for Bombay for a good day or two, thus ruining Phileas’s journey. As he resumed his task, he grunted with effort and eventually succeeded as the chain broke with a crack.

“AT LAST!” he exclaimed and exhausted from the effort, slumped onto the results of his labour and as he did he wondered “Is Phileas really worth it?”. As in answer to his question, he remembered the commitment of Mr. Sullivan to pay him five thousand pounds if Phileas failed in his task and as he did, avarice fueled his body. Avarice that took the exhausted saboteur beyond exhaustion and over the sound of the ship’s horn he bellowed “PHILEAS FOGG! I’ll get you Fogg if it is the last thing I do” at which point, his body screaming for rest, gave up on him and he staggered away from the scene of his success with the intention of going to sleep. Sadly, for Timothy, his mind had also switched off and he walked straight into a beam and knocked himself out leaving the sabotage undetected.

As Jean watched the men on the ship going about their duties, he wondered if he could ever be a sailor. He knew that he was much shorter than the men on board, but he was strong enough and just as muscled. Indeed, as he wandered around on the deck, he could help but wonder what some of them would do to him if he used his skills as a hypnotist and made them ram him until he begged for mercy, but no, that wouldn’t be proper. He wanted people to experience his strength because they wanted to, not because he wanted to, but he had to admit, they did look remarkably strong and beefy.

As the ship came into the docks at Suez, the captain gave the command of “Lower the anchor” and as it did, Timothy’s treachery was revealed as the anchor snapped and dropped to the bottom of the canal sending the crew into a state of panic. As one of them ran through the cabins updating the passengers, Timothy chuckled and had a grape to celebrate which got lodged in his throat and caused him to cough harshly for a moment confirming the concept of karma that was all the talk in London. As Jean got word of the treachery, he rushed to his master’s quarters where Phileas was now changing from his ship clothes to his everyday clothes.

“There’s been an accident, monsieur!”

“There, There, Jean” he said, calmly adjusting his cravat, “there’s no need to worry. Could you hand me my jacket please?”

“I am not sure!” he replied, handing his master’s jacket, “all I know is that the sailors are sure that we are stuck here for the next day at least!”

“Of course it is!” replied Phileas putting on the jacket, “it leaves here at ten o’clock tomorrow morning!”

Just then there was a knock at the door and the purser popped his head through the door and said “Mr. Fogg, I have a message for you from the Captain. He reports that the anchor has broken and that we will be stuck here until the day after tomorrow!” and with that he bowed and closed the door.

“Well” said Phileas putting on his hat, “we’d best speak to the captain then!”

The captain confirmed the anchor problem and then listed all the other problems that the ship was encountering, all the while Jean leaping around as if he needed to go to the toilet.

“But, Captain” declared Jean, “we cannot stay in dock a minute longer than necessary!”

“Forgive my manservant” smiled Phileas to the captain, “he’s rather eager to get back to London” and with that nodded politely, leaving the captain to his repairs and headed off to the consulate in Suez itself. As it happens, the consulate was already hosting a delegation from Great Britain, a delegation that was not having a good day of it as Inspector Fix slammed his fist onto the consul’s desk and glared at him intently.

“This is Mr. Phileas Fogg” he sighed, showing the consul the newspaper that he had bought in London a week ago, “and he is the main suspect in the robbery of the Bank of England that saw fifty-five thousand pounds stolen. Need I remind you that we don’t often have such windfalls. Burglars are getting to be so contemptible nowadays! A fellow gets hung for a handful of shillings. Therefore, I need to have your complete co-operation. Co-operation which consul, with the greatest respect, is sorely lacking!”

“Oh, I completely understand” replied the consul, “but there is nothing I can do, Inspector!”

“You have to” demanded the Inspector, “it’s not my fault that the warrant hasn’t arrived from London yet!”

As the two men glared at each other, Constable Drummond pulled the Inspector to one side and whispered “Sir, can we finish this after lunch?”

“NO WE CANNOT!” roared the Inspector causing the Constable to hold his hands over his ears.

“Please control yourself, Inspector” said the consul, waving a fan to keep himself cool, “Getting angry in this climate is a never a wise move” and with that poured himself a drink and asked “Could you explain why a man would walk into the Bank of England, not even attempt to wear a disguise of some kind, rob the bank and then announce that he’s off on a journey around the world? Is it possible that you have the wrong man?”

The Inspector was about to lose his cool again when his colleague pulled on his sleeve. As the Inspector turned to remonstrate with his constable, he gasped as there coming into the consulate was his quarry. Seeking somewhere to hide he dragged the Constable behind a large vase containing a palm tree and peered over the top as Phileas and Jean were admitted into the consul’s office. Phileas smiled politely and handed over 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,

“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 Jean 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. However, before he could hand it back, the door opened and an elderly man asked “Forgive the intrusion, gentlemen, but am I speaking to Consul Bartholomew Bottomley?”

“You are, my good sir” came the reply

As the gentleman came in, the consul, Phileas, Jean, Fix and Drummond all gasped in amazement. The gentleman was carrying a massive jug that had to be made entirely of the finest gold and as he placed it on the table in front of the consul he said “I know that you are an admirer of antiques, sir, therefore wish to ask that you would consider purchasing this fine item!”

As everyone examined the jug with Phileas commenting that it had to be at least a thousand years old, maybe even older, the gentleman grabbed Phileas’s passport out of the consul’s hands causing him to knock the jug over. As it smashed onto the floor, revealing itself to be a fake, Phileas instantly used his cane like a fencing sword in order to trip the man up. But he escaped leaping backwards with such skill that even Jean was dumbstruck for a moment before being brought back to reality by a command of “Jean, after him!” and with that the manservant gave chase. The Inspector and Constable also gave chase via a back door but sadly for the Inspector he tripped and as he fell flat on his face, the Constable took up the pursuit with a “Don’t worry, Inspector, I’ll catch him” and with that ran right over the Inspector’s back.

As Jean reached the outside of the building, he saw the thief ride off into the distance on a camel and expressed his regrets to his master as he arrived a few seconds later. Looking around, Phileas smiled and leapt onto a camel sleeping nearby next to its owner who was also having a doze. Geeing it, as he would a horse, he ordered Jean to pay the man and set off in pursuit. As Jean showered the owner with as many Egyptian pounds as he could hold, he leapt onto another camel and added “And here’s payment for mine as well” before following his master. As they both disappeared into the distance, Constable Drummond waved them off, much to the annoyance of the Inspector who clonked him on the head to try and knock some sense into him and then followed the trail of dust with the Constable following behind.

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Chapter Sixteen

For the next half hour, a strange procession made its way across the Egyptian deserts. The thief, who by now had removed his disguise and as he threw it down an abandoned well chuckled “Well, Phileas, let’s see you go around the world without a passport!” and geed his camel, followed by Phileas and Jean followed by the Inspector and the Constable who on more than one occasion during the chase presumptuously overtook the Inspector and got a severe reprimand for “overtaking a ranking officer” but after a while his body couldn’t cope and for the rest of the trek the Inspector had to drag the Constable through the sands with the Inspector grumbling “Come on, Drummond, pull your own weight for once!”

As Phileas and Jean caught up with the thief’s camel, now resting outside an abandoned temple, Phileas chuckled to himself and as he dismounted said “That will teach him” and imparted the information that when a camel gets tired no amount of geeing will make it go anywhere. As the two men started to investigate the temple, Jean admitted to his master that he was scared.

“What, a big, strong, muscular man like you?” his master chuckled, and squeezed Jean’s arm before taking in the sight saying “You know, this blackguard really has an eye for history. If I’m right, this temple looks Roman, yes, I’m sure of it, Roman, around the time of Cleopatra I would imagine and then after the death of the Queen of Queens was probably used by some Egyptian sect or cult” and with that he wandered off breathing “Fascinating, absolutely fascinating!” leaving the poor manservant all alone. Jean was now quaking in his shoes. Yes, he was strong, yes, he could wrestle anyone under the table, but the statues were giving him the willies and every so often he felt sure that he was being watched by someone or something.

As he turned a corner, he froze in horror. There, on the ground in front of him was a monstrous shape. It had to be at least nine feet tall, looked more powerful than the famed Hercules and was presumably aiming to kill Jean there and then. Screaming in terror, the manservant leapt onto a nearby column and then realised that the shape was just his shadow caused by the now setting sun. As he clambered down, he mentally slapped himself across the face and grunted “There are no such things as ghosts!”

“WHO HAS DARED TO DEFILE THE TEMPLE OF THE GODS?”

Every fibre of his being was screaming “Don’t turn around” but that is precisely what Jean did and as he did, he could feel his heart pounding faster than it had ever done before, faster than when bashing through a door at a house fire to save a child’s life, faster than when he pushed himself to his limits to preserve the honour of Hercule. As he turned it was almost as if his heart stopped beating as there in front of him was…

“A GHOST!” screamed Jean and immediately prostrated himself on the ground

The spirit was hovering just a few inches above a statues head that was on the ground in front of him, with one eye clearly visible although the rest of it was just see through. As it did Jean was now cowering in terror, and the ghost seemed to be enjoying his latest victim.

“I AM THE KEEPER OF THE TEMPLE” announced the spirit, “CURSED BY THE GREAT PHAROAH TO WANDER THIS TEMPLE UNTIL THE END OF DAYS. YOU HAVE BROKEN MY SLEEP AND FOR THAT YOU MUST PAY!”

Jean simply remained on the floor, unable to speak nothing but gibberish.

“YOU CALL YOURSELF A MAN?” questioned the spirit, “A MAN WHO HAS LIFTED MORE THAN ANY MAN ALIVE BAR THE GREAT HERCULES. HAH! PERHAPS YOU NEED A LITTLE MOTIVATION” and with that something floated in front of the spirit that as Jean sneaked a glance he gasped “The passport!”

“YES” replied the spirit, “THIS WAS TAKEN FROM THE LAST MAN TO DEFILE THIS TEMPLE NOW HE IS MY ETERNAL PLAYTHING. YOU HAVE A CHANCE TO REDEEM YOURSELF, YOU WORTHLESS MAN. TAKE IT, OR BE CONDEMMED AS A MOUSE FOREVER!” and with that the spirit laughed wickedly and started to advance on the poor manservant.

Jean’s heart and head were in conflict like never before. His head was screaming “Get out of here, mon amis, before you become as him” whereas his heart, still hammering like a drum was shouting “Your master’s passport, he cannot complete his journey without it!” and as a result the manservant stayed where he was, cowering in terror as the spirit approached. Just as the spirit was within touching distance, Jean screamed “FORGIVE ME!” and curled up into a ball.

“Guten Tag!”

The spirit suddenly turned and was shocked to see a gentleman at the other end of the temple holding a lamp.

“Good day”

The spirit turned again and there at the other end was an almost identical person.

“May we help you?” both men said in unison with a German accent.

As the gentlemen approached, the spirit started to fade and as it did, a foot appeared from the ether. As the sheet covering the spirit fell down, having snagged on a piece of stone, Jean looked up and was suddenly filled with all the strength and courage of Hercules as he jumped up and rugby tackled the person uncovered to the ground. During the tussle between the stranger and the manservant, his master’s passport fell to the ground and as one of the German people picked it up and asked “Is this yours?”, Jean grunted “It is my master’s” and with that delivered the most powerful uppercut he had ever delivered in his life to the stranger who sailed a good twenty feet from the impact. As he shook his hand to get some feeling back into, a familiar voice filled the air.

“Ah, you’ve found my passport, marvellous!”

Jean’s heart filled with glee and as he took the passport from the gentleman he replied “Monsieur, yours I believe!”

As Phileas pocketed the document, the Germans spoke.

“Do forgive us asking” said one, “but may we ask why you are here?”

“We were in another part of the temple” continued the other, “when we heard voices and came to investigate!”

As Phileas looked at the two men, both dressed in dust coloured jackets and trousers, with a blue waistcoat, white shirts and yellow bow ties, a glimmer of recognition played across his face.

“It’s not?” he asked, “Professors Frick and Frack of Hamburg University?”

“Ja!” the two men replied in unison

“Oh, Professors” Phileas declared as he ran up to them and shook them both by the hand, “To meet you in person at last” and as he did he rattled off an explanation so quickly that Jean only caught parts of it but the parts he heard made perfect sense for such a gentleman as his master. At some time in the past they attended the Reform Club to give a talk on the ancient history of Egypt, however his master was at another engagement. Like any good Englishman he wrote a letter of apology that was handed to the professors that was so full of insight and knowledge that the professors and Phileas were now pen pals, and now, thanks to nothing more than fate, the friends had been reunited in person.

“Please” said Professor Frick, “come back to our camp and share some wine with us!”

“And astound us with your knowledge” chuckled Professor Frack

“It would be rude not to” replied Phileas and with that the two professors who looked so identical to Jean that they could have been twins, led the way.

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