Two men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd
of natives and strangers who were sojourning at this once straggling village--
now, thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing town. One was
the British consul at Suez, who, despite the prophecies of the
English Government, and the unfavourable predictions of Stephenson,
was in the habit of seeing, from his office window, English ships
daily passing to and fro on the great canal, by which the old roundabout
route from England to India by the Cape of Good Hope was abridged
by at least a half. The other was a small, slight-built personage,
with a nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes peering out
from under eyebrows which he was incessantly twitching.
He was just now manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience,
nervously pacing up and down, and unable to stand still for a moment.
This was Fix, one of the detectives who had been dispatched from England
in search of the bank robber; it was his task to narrowly watch every
passenger who arrived at Suez, and to follow up all who seemed to
be suspicious characters, or bore a resemblance to the description
of the criminal, which he had received two days before from the
police headquarters at London. The detective was evidently inspired
by the hope of obtaining the splendid reward which would be the prize
of success, and awaited with a feverish impatience, easy to understand,
the arrival of the steamer Mongolia.

"So you say, consul," asked he for the twentieth time, "that this steamer
is never behind time?"

"No, Mr. Fix," replied the consul. "She was bespoken yesterday at Port Said,
and the rest of the way is of no account to such a craft. I repeat that
the Mongolia has been in advance of the time required by the company's
regulations, and gained the prize awarded for excess of speed."