Phileas Fogg Finally 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.

Phileas Fogg was in prison. He was being held in the Custom House and 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.

When Passepartout saw his master arrested, he would have attacked Fix if some policemen had not held him back. Aouda was stunned by the sudden arrest, which she could not understand. Passepartout explained how the honest and courageous Fogg had come to be arrested as a robber. The young woman was outraged by such a terrible accusation. When she saw that she could 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.

Fix had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty, whether Mr. Fogg was 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.

Then Passepartout realized that he was the cause of this new misfortune! Hadn’t he hidden Fix’s mission from his master? When Fix revealed who he really was and what he intended, why hadn’t Passepartout told Mr. Fogg? If Mr. Fogg had been warned, he would no doubt have proved his innocence to Fix and convinced him of his mistake. At least, Fix would not have continued the journey at Mr. Fogg’s expense, following close behind him. Nor would Fix have arrested him the moment he set foot on English soil. Passepartout wept until he could no longer see, and he 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.

Despite the cold, Aouda and he stayed under the Custom House portico. Neither wanted to leave. Both were eager 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.

The gentleman was truly ruined, just as he was about to achieve his goal. The arrest was fatal to his plans. He had arrived in Liverpool at 11:40 on December 21. He had until 8:45 that evening to reach the Reform Club, giving him nine hours and fifteen minutes. The journey from Liverpool to London took 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?

If anyone had entered the Custom House at that moment, they would have found Mr. Fogg sitting on a wooden bench. He was motionless, calm, and showed no sign of anger. He had not accepted his fate, but even this latest blow failed to make him show any emotion. Was he consumed by a hidden rage, all the more terrible because he held it in? Would it burst out with irresistible force at the last moment? No one could tell. There he sat, calmly waiting. But for what? Did he still have hope? Now that the door of this prison had closed behind him, did he still believe 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.

Whatever the case, Mr. Fogg carefully placed his watch on the table and watched its hands move. He said nothing, but his expression was unusually fixed and stern. In any case, the situation was terrible. It came down to this: if Phileas Fogg was honest, he was ruined. If he was a crook, 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.

Did he consider escape? Did he look for a possible way out of his prison? Did he think of escaping? Perhaps, because he walked slowly around the room once. But the door was locked, and the window was heavily barred with iron rods. He sat down again and took his journal from his pocket. On the line that read “21st December, Saturday, Liverpool,” he added “80th day, 11.40 a.m.” Then he waited.

The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his watch was two hours too fast.

The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg noticed that his watch was two hours 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.

Two hours! If he took an express train right now, he could reach London and the Reform Club by 8:45 p.m. His forehead creased slightly.

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.

At 2:33, he heard a strange noise outside, followed by doors opening quickly. He heard Passepartout’s voice, and then Fix’s. Phileas Fogg’s eyes brightened for a moment.

The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix, who hurried towards him.

The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix hurrying toward 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!”

Fix was out of breath, and his hair was a mess. He could not speak. “Sir,” he stammered, “sir, forgive me. A most unfortunate resemblance. The robber was 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.

Phileas Fogg was free! He walked up to the detective and looked him steadily in the face. Then he drew back his arms and knocked Fix down with the precision of a machine. It was the only quick movement he had ever made or would ever make in his life.

“Well hit!” cried Passepartout, “Parbleu! that’s what you might call a good application of English fists!”

“Good hit!” cried Passepartout. “By God, that’s what you call putting English fists to good use!”

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.

Fix found himself on the floor, but he did not say a word. He had only gotten what he deserved. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout left the Custom House immediately and got into a cab. A few moments later, they got out 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.

Phileas Fogg asked if an express train was about to leave for London. It was 2:40. The express train had left thirty-five minutes earlier. 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.

Several fast locomotives were available, but the railway schedule did not allow 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.

At that hour, Phileas Fogg offered the engineer a generous reward to encourage him. At last, Fogg set off for 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.¹

The journey had to be made in five and a half hours. That would have been easy if the route had been clear all the way. But there were unavoidable delays. When Mr. Fogg stepped off the train at the last station, all the clocks in London were striking ten minutes before nine.¹

Having made the tour of the world, he was behind-hand five minutes. He had lost the wager!

After traveling around the world, he was five minutes late. He had lost the bet!