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hileas
Fogg was in prison. He had been shut up in the Custom House, and he
was to be 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! |