"Ho, ho!" thought Passe-partout, "this does not look well for the Reform Club;" and with a merry smile he accosted the detective without appearing to have noticed his vexation. Fix had indeed good reasons for feeling annoyed. The warrant had not arrived. No doubt it was on its way, but it was quite impossible it could reach Hong Kong for several days, and as this was the last British territory at which Mr. Fogg would touch, he would escape if he could not be detained somehow. "Well, Mr. Fix," said Passe-partout, "have you decided to come to America with us?" "Yes," replied Fix, between his clenched teeth. "Come along, then," said Passe-partout, laughing loudly; "I knew you could not leave us. Come and engage your berth." So they went to the office, and took four places. But the clerk informed them that the _Carnatic_, having had her repairs completed, would sail that evening at eight o'clock, and not next morning, as previously announced. "Very good," said Passe-partout, "that will suit my master exactly. I will go and tell him." And now Fix determined to make a bold move. He would tell Passe-partout everything. This was perhaps the only way by which he could keep Phileas Fogg at Hong Kong. As they quitted the office. Fix offered his companion some refreshment, which Passe-partout accepted. They saw a tavern close by, which they entered, and reached a large well-decorated room, at the end of which was a large camp-bedstead furnished with cushions. On this lay a number of men asleep. About thirty people were seated at small tables drinking beer, porter, brandy, or other liquors; and the majority of drinkers were smoking long pipes of red clay filled with little balls of opium steeped in rose-water. From time to time a smoker would subside under the table, and the waiters would carry him and place him on the bed at the end of the room. There were about twenty of these stupefied smokers altogether. Fix and Passe-partout perceived that they had entered a smoking-house, patronised by those wretched idiots devoted to one of the most injurious vices of humanity--the smoking of opium, which the English merchants sell every year to the value of one million four hundred thousand pounds. The Chinese Government has vainly endeavoured by stringent laws to remedy the evil, but in vain. The habit has descended from the rich to the poorest classes, and now opium is smoked everywhere at all times by men and women, and those accustomed to it cannot do without it A great smoker can consume eight pipes a day, but he dies in five years.