A few times she had mentioned that her Father, as well as a couple of friends, had begun to ask questions about where she was always disappearing to. By this time her visiting my country home included more times when she was off duty, than when she was on. I believed that we took a major step when I had given her a key. She looked at me differently after that and I’ve never regretted it. After making her way to my office, she’d slowly walk around to where I was sitting and pull my chair out, swiveling it so I was facing her as she slowly straddled my legs, kneeling across my lap. It always made me think of a large jungle cat stalking its prey. Sometimes, as she sat on my lap, Ashley teased me by quietly asking, “Do you want kiss me, Jon?” or “Do you like the way I did my hair today?” Other times she would play with a button on her shirt until it came undone and then move down to the next one in line, all while watching my every move to gauge my reaction. Usually she was able to feel. ’ Passepartout scanned the list, but his master’s name was not upon it. All at once an idea struck him. ‘Ah! Am I on the Carnatic?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘On the way to Yokohama?’ ‘Certainly.’ Passepartout had for an instant feared that he was on the wrong boat, but, though he was really on the Carnatic, his master was not there. He fell thunderstruck on a seat. He saw it all now. He remembered that the time of sailing had been changed, that he should have informed his master of that fact, and that he had not done so. It was his fault, then, that Mr. Fogg and Aouda had missed the steamer. Yes, but it was still more the fault of the traitor who, in order to separate him from his master, and detain the latter at Hong Kong, had inveigled him into getting drunk! He now saw the detective’s trick, and at this moment Mr. Fogg was certainly ruined, his bet was lost, and he himself perhaps arrested and imprisoned! And what of Aouda? At this thought Passepartout tore his hair. Ah, if Fix ever came.
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