As he was speaking the train started.
"I am really extremely grieved, gentlemen," said the guard, "and under any other circumstances I should have been able to have obliged you. But though you cannot stop to fight, there is nothing to prevent your doing so as you go along."
"Perhaps that would not suit that gentleman," said the Colonel in a jeering tone.
"It will suit me quite well," replied Phileas Fogg.
"Well, we are actually in America, I see," thought Passe-partout; "and the guard is a gentleman of the highest standing."
The two adversaries, their seconds, and the guard passed down to the rear of the train. The last car had only about a dozen passengers in it, and the conductor asked them if they would mind moving, as the two gentlemen had a little affair of honour to settle.
The passengers were very glad to oblige the gentlemen, and they retired accordingly.
The car, about fifty feet long, was very suitable for the purpose. The combatants could advance towards one another between the seats, and fire at their leisure. Never had there been a duel more easy to arrange. Mr. Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each carrying a six-barrelled revolver, entered the car. Their seconds, having locked them in, withdrew to the platform. The duellists were to begin to fire at the first whistle of the engine, then, after a lapse of two minutes, what remained of the two gentlemen would be taken from the car.
Nothing could be easier. It was even so simple, that Fix and
Passe-partout could hear their hearts beating as they listened.
Everyone was on the qui vive for the first whistle, when suddenly savage cries resounded, accompanied by shots, which certainly did not come from the duellists. On the contrary, the reports rose all along the train; cries of terror were heard inside the cars.