- 10 -

Meanwhile, back at the townhouse, Phileas and Rebecca tried to get through the evening. They ate a light dinner, each going through the motions more for the other's sake than for hunger. Afterwards, they tried to play cards, but neither could concentrate so they quit. Phileas paced about the drawing room, remembering things he should have told Verne and predicting disaster. Rebecca put up with it for a while, but finally had enough.

"Nonsense," she interrupted sharply when he said for the fourth - or was it fifth? - time that the imposture was sure to be discovered. "London society doesn't move in our world, Phileas. They've never heard of Count Gregory or the League of Darkness and it would never occur to anyone that it is not you in your body."

She'd hoped to reassure him, but now he came and sat next to her and took her hands. Looking intently into her eyes, he asked, "Rebecca, do you see me in here?"

Rebecca stared steadily back at him. Although it was Jules' face, she could see Phileas in his eyes. Because she knew him so well, she could also see the concern and, yes, the fear that he was keeping in check.

"Yes, Phileas, I do." She put a hand to his cheek. "You are still you, not matter what body you're in."

He closed his eyes and leaned against her palm for a moment. "Sometimes," he murmured, "I have not been sure who I was while I was in my own body. Now…" He sighed, then stood suddenly and strode to the window. "Have you thought," he said, "about what will happen if we cannot find the machine? If we can't…" He stopped for a moment, head bowed. Rebecca could feel the tension in him from across the room. He took a deep breath and raised his head again to stare out at the darkness. "If we can't switch back, some sort of arrangements must be made. Perhaps go we'll back to Shillingworth Magna for a while…"

"We'll find the machine," she said as positively as she could, going to his side. "We'll get you both back in your proper bodies and…"

"But if we don't," he interrupted. He swung around and began to pace again. Rebecca found it disconcerting to watch Jules' body move with the tight control Phileas used to manage strong emotions. "Verne is a young man of tremendous promise and talent. He must be free to live his life, not be forced to live as Phileas Fogg. God knows, one of us is enough."

"And what of you?" she asked quietly. He looked almost surprised at the question, as if his own fate had not much bothered him.

"I'll cope, Rebecca. I always have." He summoned a slight smile. "It might be interesting to be anonymous, have no particular responsibilities. Perhaps I'll travel the Continent, or go back to America…" His voice trailed off, then he visibly gathered himself. "No - what matters is seeing that Verne - and you - are taken care of. I…"

He broke off as Passepartout burst into the room and quickly delivered an envelope to Rebecca. Recognizing Chatsworth's handwriting, she tore it open.

"They have a lead!" she exclaimed excitedly. "A report from Scotland!" She paused for a moment to read. "It looks very promising - large group of people, lots of equipment… It may be just what we're looking for!"

She was so happy she hugged Phileas enthusiastically. Jules, entering the drawing room, saw them and stiffened, automatically stepping back and starting to close the door. How often had he wished for her to hold him like that? After the evening he had just endured, to come back and see Rebecca in 'his' arms was too much. As he hesitated, Passepartout looked up.

"Ah, Master - Jules! You are home" he cried, still stumbling slightly over the name. "We are having good news! I am just bringing to Miss Rebecca a letter from Mr. Chatsworth. Come in, come in!"

He flung the door open and ushered Jules in before he could protest. The Foggs separated at his entrance, both speaking at the same time.

"We've had word from headquarters." Rebecca waved the paper at him. "You look exhausted," she added. "How did it go?"

"What have you been doing with my body? You look awful," said Phileas more directly. "Sit down. Passepartout, get him a drink."

Jules allowed himself to be seated on the couch and a drink pressed into his hand. He took a sip and sighed. It was good to be back among his friends, away from all the strangers. Everyone else sat down and looked at him expectantly.

"I don't think anyone guessed that I wasn't you," he started, looking at Phileas. "Not being able to speak was a big advantage." He went on to describe the evening as best he could. Phileas questioned him on several points, then sat back a satisfied air.

"Well done, Verne," he said simply, and Jules suddenly felt better than he had in hours.

"What's in the letter from Chatsworth?" he asked.

Rebecca handed it to him. The report from the field had been brief, but was enough to convince the head of the Secret Service that Count Gregory had moved operations to a remote mansion in Scotland. Chatsworth instructed her to reply with a list of any assistance they wanted.

The quartet then sat down and made their plans. They would leave at first light in the Aurora. When they had compiled their list of requirements Passepartout dispatched one of the grooms to Headquarters with it. The boy soon returned with a message that all would be delivered in time for their departure. Chatsworth would also send notice to the field agent in Scotland to give them every assistance upon their arrival.

There was a brief awkwardness as they went to bed - Verne automatically headed for his room but Fogg stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"You'll sleep here tonight," he said firmly, nodding towards the master bedroom.

"I can't take your bed," Jules protested. "I'll be fine…"

Fogg interrupted him. "It will be too confusing for any of the other staff to find us in each other's rooms. Besides," he added lightly, "this will allow me to see if I've been a good host to you or not."

"Well, I suppose this will be my only chance to play lord of the manor," Verne strove to match his tone. The two men smiled at each other and went to bed.