The train left Bombay perfectly on time. Passepartout sat with his master and a British military officer named Sir Francis Cromarty. They had played cards together on the ship.
As the train rolled past deep green forests, cotton fields, and wild jungles, Passepartout watched with wide eyes. Finally, the Frenchman understood that his master was totally serious about this journey. His old spirit of adventure returned. Suddenly, he was the one worrying about unexpected delays. He angrily blamed the train driver for not going fast enough.
The next morning, at exactly eight o'clock, the train suddenly stopped in the middle of a forest. The train conductor walked past the windows, shouting, "All passengers must get out here!"
Sir Francis stepped out of the train, followed calmly by Phileas Fogg and a panicked Passepartout.
"Where are we?" Sir Francis asked the conductor.
"At the village of Kholby."
"Why did we stop?"
"The railway is not finished yet," the conductor replied simply. "There are still fifty miles of track missing between here and the next city."
"What! The newspapers clearly announced that the entire line was completely open!" Sir Francis shouted, growing furious.
"The newspapers were mistaken," the conductor said. "You will have to find your own transportation for the next fifty miles."
Sir Francis was extremely angry. Passepartout wanted to punch the conductor. He did not even dare to look at his master.
"Sir Francis," Mr. Fogg said quietly, "we will simply look for another way to travel."
"But Mr. Fogg, this is a terrible delay for your bet!"
"No. I always expected some kind of obstacle. I gained two extra days during the sea voyage. I can use them now."
Most of the passengers already knew about the missing tracks, and they quickly rented all the local horses and carts. After searching the entire village, Fogg and his friends found absolutely nothing.
"I will walk," said Phileas Fogg.
"Sir," Passepartout interrupted quickly, "I think I have found a solution. An Indian man living nearby owns an elephant!"
They walked to a small wooden hut. Inside a high fence stood a massive, half-tamed elephant named Kiouni. Elephants were very rare and expensive in this part of India. Fogg asked the owner if he could rent the animal.
The owner immediately refused. Fogg offered ten pounds per hour. Refused. Twenty pounds? Refused. Forty pounds per hour? Still refused. Passepartout jumped nervously at every new offer, but the Indian man shook his head.
Fogg did not panic. He calmly offered to buy the elephant entirely for one thousand pounds.
Sir Francis pulled Fogg aside. "Please think about this," he whispered. "That is an insane amount of money."
"I have a bet of twenty thousand pounds at risk," Fogg replied calmly. "I need this elephant, and I will pay twenty times its true value if I must."
Fogg returned to the owner. He offered twelve hundred pounds. Then fifteen hundred. Eighteen hundred.
Passepartout’s face turned pale.
"Two thousand pounds," Fogg offered evenly.
At two thousand pounds, the Indian man finally agreed.
"Good heavens!" Passepartout cried. "What a price for an elephant!"
Fogg calmly pulled a thick roll of banknotes from his travel bag and paid the man. Then, he hired a smart young local guide to drive the animal. Fogg offered a seat to Sir Francis, which the officer gladly accepted.
They bought some food, strapped comfortable wooden seats to the elephant's sides, and climbed up. With the guide sitting on the animal's neck, the massive beast marched slowly into the dense, wild jungle.