|
CHAPTER 34
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 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!
|