Don't you, Mr.Fix ?" "I?
I don't believe a word of it." "You're a sly dog!" said Passepartout, winking at him.
This expression rather disturbed Fix, without his knowing why.

Had the Frenchman guessed his real purpose?
He knew not what to think.

But how could Passepartout have discovered that he was a detective?
Yet, in speaking as he did, the man evidently meant more than he expressed.
Passepartout went still further the next day; he could not hold his tongue.
"Mr.Fix," said he, in a bantering tone, "shall we be so unfortunate as to lose you when we get to Hong Kong ?" "Why," responded Fix, a little embarrassed, "I don't know; perhaps--" "Ah, if you would only go on with us! An agent of the Peninsular Company, you know, can't stop on the way! You were only going to Bombay, and here you are in China.

America is not far off, and from America to Europe is only a step." Fix looked intently at his companion, whose countenance was as serene as possible, and laughed with him.

But Passepartout persisted in chaffing him by asking him if he made much by his present occupation.
"Yes, and no," returned Fix; "there is good and bad luck in such things.