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Page 36
"The first case," said he. Then, putting his hand to his
head, he exclaimed, "Heh! This is not my wig!"
"No, your worship," returned the clerk, "it is mine."
"My dear Mr. Oysterpuff, how can a judge give a wise sentence
in a clerk's wig?"
The wigs were exchanged.
Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of the big clock
over the judge seemed to go around with terrible rapidity.
"The first case," repeated Judge Obadiah.
"Phileas Fogg?" demanded Oysterpuff.
"I am here," replied Mr. Fogg.
"Passepartout?"
"Present," responded Passepartout.
"Good," said the judge. "You have been looked for, prisoners,
for two days on the trains from Bombay."
"But of what are we accused?" asked Passepartout, impatiently.
"You are about to be informed."
"I am an English subject, sir," said Mr. Fogg, "and I have the right--"
"Have you been ill-treated?"
"Not at all."
"Very well; let the complainants come in."
A door was swung open by order of the judge, and three Indian priests entered.
"That's it," muttered Passepartout; "these are the rogues
who were going to burn our young lady."
The priests took their places in front of the judge, and the clerk
proceeded to read in a loud voice a complaint of sacrilege against
Phileas Fogg and his servant, who were accused of having violated
a place held consecrated by the Brahmin religion.
"You hear the charge?" asked the judge.
"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, "and I admit it."
"You admit it?"
"I admit it, and I wish to hear these priests admit, in their turn,
what they were going to do at the pagoda of Pillaji."
The priests looked at each other; they did not seem to understand
what was said.
"Yes," cried Passepartout, warmly; "at the pagoda of Pillaji,
where they were on the point of burning their victim."
The judge stared with astonishment, and the priests were stupefied.
"What victim?" said Judge Obadiah. "Burn whom? In Bombay itself?"
"Bombay?" cried Passepartout.
"Certainly. We are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of the pagoda
of Malabar Hill, at Bombay."
"And as a proof," added the clerk, "here are the desecrator's very shoes,
which he left behind him."
Whereupon he placed a pair of shoes on his desk.
"My shoes!" cried Passepartout, in his surprise permitting
this imprudent exclamation to escape him.
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