The Guide had been most particular about punctuality. Neither early arrival nor lateness would be tolerated. Erica greeted him with a smile and showed him into a room that had been set aside for office work. On the desk was a pile of paper work, beside it on a tray was a steaming cup of coffee, a small jug of milk and some sugar. "I thought you'd like something," said Erica. "Do let me know if there's anything else you need."George coughed and nodded. He was a little confused. Erica was wearing a light summer dress with a floral pattern. After the more severely tailored clothes that he had been used to seeing her in, it seemed uncharacteristically, almost perversely, feminine. Her hair was tied back from her face with a scarf and she looked as fresh as the summer's day itself, not wearing a touch of make-up. Beautiful was the word that sprang to George's mind, although she hardly had the look of a dominatrix. She smiled as she left him and George started on the forms, wondering if he. Fogg. He caught a glimpse of that mysterious gentleman once or twice, but Mr. Fogg usually confined himself to the cabin, where he kept Aouda company, or according to his inveterate habit, took a hand at whist. Passepartout began very seriously to conjecture what strange chance kept Fix still on the route that his master was pursuing. It was really worth considering why this certainly very amiable and complacent person, whom he had first met at Suez, had then encountered on board the Mongolia, who disembarked at Bombay, which he announced as his destination, and now turned up so unexpectedly on the Rangoon, was following Mr. Fogg’s tracks step by step. What was Fix’s object? Passepartout was ready to wager his Indian shoes—which he religiously preserved—that Fix would also leave Hong Kong at the same time with them, and probably on the same steamer. Passepartout might have cudgelled his brain for a century without hitting upon the real object which the detective had in view. He.
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