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IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AT LAST REACHES LONDON
Phileas Fogg was in prison. He had been shut up in the Custom
House, and he was to he transferred to London the next day.
Passepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have fallen
upon Fix had he not been held back by some policemen. Aouda was
thunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which she could not
understand. Passepartout explained to her how it was that the
honest and courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber. The young
woman's heart revolted against so heinous a charge, and when she
saw that she could attempt to do nothing to save her protector,
she wept bitterly.
As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty,
whether Mr. Fogg were guilty or not.
The thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause
of this new misfortune! Had he not concealed Fix's errand from
his master? When Fix revealed his true character and purpose,
why had he not told Mr. Fogg? If the latter had been warned, he
would no doubt have given Fix proof of his innocence, and satisfied
him of his mistake; at least, Fix would not have continued his
journey at the expense and on the heels of his master, only to
arrest him the moment he set foot on English soil. Passepartout
wept till he was blind, and felt like blowing his brains out.
Aouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico
of the Custom House. Neither wished to leave the place; both were
anxious to see Mr. Fogg again.
That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when
he was about to attain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having
arrived at Liverpool at twenty minutes before twelve on the 21st
of December, he had till a quarter before nine that evening to
reach the Reform Club, that is, nine hours and a quarter; the
journey from Liverpool to London was six hours.
If anyone, at this moment, had entered the Custom House, he
would have found Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without
apparent anger, upon a wooden bench. He was not, it is true, resigned;
but this last blow failed to force him into an outward betrayal
of any emotion. Was he being devoured by one of those secret rages,
all the more terrible because contained, and which only burst
forth, with an irresistible force, at the last moment? No one
could tell. There he sat, calmly waiting--for what? Did he still
cherish hope? Did he still believe, now that the door of this
prison was closed upon him, that he would succeed?
However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch
upon the table, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word escaped
his lips, but his look was singularly set and stern. The situation,
in any event, was a terrible one, and might be thus stated: if
Phileas Fogg was honest he was ruined; if he was a knave, he was
caught.
Did escape occur to him? Did he examine to see if there were
any practicable outlet from his prison? Did he think of escaping
from it? Possibly; for once he walked slowly around the room.
But the door was locked, and the window heavily barred with iron
rods. He sat down again, and drew his journal from his pocket.
On the line where these words were written, "21st December,
Saturday, Liverpool," he added, "80th day, 11.40 a.m.,"
and waited.
The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his
watch was two hours too fast.
Two hours! Admitting that he was at this moment taking an express
train, he could reach London and the Reform Club by a quarter
before nine, p.m. His forehead slightly wrinkled.
At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise
outside, then a hasty opening of doors. Passepartout's voice was
audible, and immediately after that of Fix. Phileas Fogg's eyes
brightened for an instant.
The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix,
who hurried towards him.
Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could
not speak. "Sir," he stammered, "sir--forgive me--most--
unfortunate resemblance-- robber arrested three days ago--you
are free!"
Phileas Fogg was free! He walked to the detective, looked him
steadily in the face, and with the only rapid motion he had ever
made in his life, or which he ever would make, drew back his arms,
and with the precision of a machine knocked Fix down.
"Well hit!" cried Passepartout, "Parbleu! that's
what you might call a good application of English fists!"
Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word.
He had only received his deserts. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout
left the Custom House without delay, got into a cab, and in a
few moments descended at the station.
Phileas Fogg asked if there was an express train about to leave
for London. It was forty minutes past two. The express train had
left thirty-five minutes before. Phileas Fogg then ordered a special
train.
There were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway
arrangements did not permit the special train to leave until three
o'clock.
At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by
the offer of a generous reward, at last set out towards London
with Aouda and his faithful servant.
It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half;
and this would have been easy on a clear road throughout. But
there were forced delays, and when Mr. Fogg stepped from the train
at the terminus, all the clocks in London were striking ten minutes
before nine."
Having made the tour of the world, he was behind-hand five
minutes. He had lost the wager!
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