Phileas Fogg’s Name Rises Again on the Exchange

It is time to relate what a change took place in English public opinion when it transpired that the real bankrobber, a certain James Strand, had been arrested, on the 17th day of December, at Edinburgh. Three days before, Phileas Fogg had been a criminal, who was being desperately followed up by the police; now he was an honourable gentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric journey round the world.

It is time to describe how English public opinion changed when the real bank robber was arrested. His name was James Strand, and he was arrested in Edinburgh on December 17. Three days earlier, Phileas Fogg had been a criminal, desperately pursued by the police. Now he was an honorable gentleman, pursuing his eccentric journey around the world with mathematical precision.

The papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those who had laid bets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if by magic; the “Phileas Fogg bonds” again became negotiable, and many new wagers were made. Phileas Fogg’s name was once more at a premium on ’Change.

The newspapers resumed their discussion of the wager. All who had bet for or against Phileas Fogg regained interest, as if by magic. The “Phileas Fogg bonds” could be traded again, and many new bets were made. Phileas Fogg’s name was once more in high demand on the stock exchange.

His five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a state of feverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had forgotten, reappear before their eyes! Where was he at this moment? The 17th of December, the day of James Strand’s arrest, was the seventy-sixth since Phileas Fogg’s departure, and no news of him had been received. Was he dead? Had he abandoned the effort, or was he continuing his journey along the route agreed upon? And would he appear on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine in the evening, on the threshold of the Reform Club saloon?

His five friends at the Reform Club spent those three days in feverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had forgotten, appear before them again? Where was he now? December 17, the day James Strand was arrested, was the seventy-sixth day since Phileas Fogg had left. No news of him had arrived. Was he dead? Had he given up, or was he still following the agreed route? Would he appear at the entrance to the Reform Club lounge at a quarter to nine on Saturday evening, December 21?

The anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed, cannot be described. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of Phileas Fogg. Messengers were dispatched to the house in Saville Row morning and evening. No news. The police were ignorant what had become of the detective, Fix, who had so unfortunately followed up a false scent. Bets increased, nevertheless, in number and value. Phileas Fogg, like a racehorse, was drawing near his last turning-point. The bonds were quoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but at twenty, at ten, and at five; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in his favour.

For three days, London society was anxious beyond description. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of Phileas Fogg. Messengers were sent to the house in Saville Row every morning and evening. There was no news. The police did not know what had become of the detective, Fix. He had so unfortunately followed a false lead. Nevertheless, bets grew in number and value. Like a racehorse, Phileas Fogg was approaching his final turning point. The bonds were no longer quoted at a hundred below par, but at twenty, then ten, then five. Even the paralyzed old Lord Albemarle bet in his favor.

A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring streets on Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers permanently established around the Reform Club. Circulation was impeded, and everywhere disputes, discussions, and financial transactions were going on. The police had great difficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as the hour when Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement rose to its highest pitch.

A large crowd had gathered in Pall Mall and the nearby streets on Saturday evening. It looked as if a multitude of brokers had set up permanently around the Reform Club. Traffic was blocked, and people were arguing, discussing, and making financial deals everywhere. The police had great difficulty holding back the crowd. As the time when Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement reached its peak.

The five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon of the club. John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers, Andrew Stuart, the engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the director of the Bank of England, and Thomas Flanagan, the brewer, one and all waited anxiously.

Phileas Fogg’s five opponents had gathered in the club’s main lounge. They were the bankers John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, Andrew Stuart the engineer, Gauthier Ralph the director of the Bank of England, and Thomas Flanagan the brewer. All five waited anxiously.

When the clock indicated twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart got up, saying, “Gentlemen, in twenty minutes the time agreed upon between Mr. Fogg and ourselves will have expired.”

At twenty past eight, Andrew Stuart got up. “Gentlemen,” he said, “the time Mr. Fogg and we agreed on will be up in twenty minutes.”

“What time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?” asked Thomas Flanagan.

“What time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?” asked Thomas Flanagan.

“At twenty-three minutes past seven,” replied Gauthier Ralph; “and the next does not arrive till ten minutes after twelve.”

“At 7:23,” replied Gauthier Ralph, “and the next one doesn't arrive until 12:10.”

“Well, gentlemen,” resumed Andrew Stuart, “if Phileas Fogg had come in the 7:23 train, he would have got here by this time. We can, therefore, regard the bet as won.”

“Well, gentlemen,” Andrew Stuart continued, “if Phileas Fogg had taken the 7:23 train, he would be here by now. So we can consider the bet won.”

“Wait; don’t let us be too hasty,” replied Samuel Fallentin. “You know that Mr. Fogg is very eccentric. His punctuality is well known; he never arrives too soon, or too late; and I should not be surprised if he appeared before us at the last minute.”

“Wait, let’s not be too hasty,” replied Samuel Fallentin. “You know Mr. Fogg is very eccentric. His punctuality is well known. He never arrives early or late, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he appeared before us at the last minute.”

“Why,” said Andrew Stuart nervously, “if I should see him, I should not believe it was he.”

“Why,” said Andrew Stuart nervously, “if I saw him, I wouldn’t believe it was him.”

“The fact is,” resumed Thomas Flanagan, “Mr. Fogg’s project was absurdly foolish. Whatever his punctuality, he could not prevent the delays which were certain to occur; and a delay of only two or three days would be fatal to his tour.”

“The fact is,” Thomas Flanagan continued, “Mr. Fogg’s plan was absurdly foolish. No matter how punctual he was, he could not prevent the delays that were certain to occur. And a delay of only two or three days would ruin his trip.”

“Observe, too,” added John Sullivan, “that we have received no intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all along his route.”

“Notice, too,” added John Sullivan, “that we have received no word from him, though there are telegraph lines all along his route.”

“He has lost, gentleman,” said Andrew Stuart, “he has a hundred times lost! You know, besides, that the ‘China’—the only steamer he could have taken from New York to get here in time arrived yesterday. I have seen a list of the passengers, and the name of Phileas Fogg is not among them. Even if we admit that fortune has favoured him, he can scarcely have reached America. I think he will be at least twenty days behind-hand, and that Lord Albemarle will lose a cool five thousand.”

“He has lost, gentlemen,” said Andrew Stuart. “He has lost a hundred times over! Besides, the ‘China’ arrived yesterday. It was the only steamer he could have taken from New York to get here in time. I have seen the passenger list, and Phileas Fogg’s name is not on it. Even if we allow that luck has favored him, he can hardly have reached America. I think he will be at least twenty days late, and Lord Albemarle will lose a cool five thousand.”

“It is clear,” replied Gauthier Ralph; “and we have nothing to do but to present Mr. Fogg’s cheque at Barings to-morrow.”

“That’s clear,” replied Gauthier Ralph, “and all we have to do is present Mr. Fogg’s check at Barings tomorrow.”

At this moment, the hands of the club clock pointed to twenty minutes to nine.

At that moment, the club clock showed 8:40.

“Five minutes more,” said Andrew Stuart.

“Five minutes more,” said Andrew Stuart.

The five gentlemen looked at each other. Their anxiety was becoming intense; but, not wishing to betray it, they readily assented to Mr. Fallentin’s proposal of a rubber.

The five gentlemen looked at each other. They were growing intensely anxious, but they did not want to show it. So they readily agreed to Mr. Fallentin’s suggestion of a game of cards.

“I wouldn’t give up my four thousand of the bet,” said Andrew Stuart, as he took his seat, “for three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine.”

“I wouldn’t give up my four thousand in the bet for three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine,” said Andrew Stuart as he sat down.

The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.

The clock showed 8:42.

The players took up their cards, but could not keep their eyes off the clock. Certainly, however secure they felt, minutes had never seemed so long to them!

The players picked up their cards, but they could not keep their eyes off the clock. No matter how confident they felt, the minutes had surely never seemed so long!

“Seventeen minutes to nine,” said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the cards which Ralph handed to him.

“Seventeen minutes until nine,” said Thomas Flanagan as he cut the cards Ralph handed him.

Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was perfectly quiet; but the murmurs of the crowd outside were heard, with now and then a shrill cry. The pendulum beat the seconds, which each player eagerly counted, as he listened, with mathematical regularity.

Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was perfectly quiet, but the crowd outside could be heard murmuring. Now and then, a shrill cry rang out. The pendulum ticked off the seconds with mathematical regularity, and each player listened and eagerly counted them.

“Sixteen minutes to nine!” said John Sullivan, in a voice which betrayed his emotion.

“Sixteen minutes to nine!” said John Sullivan, his voice betraying his emotion.

One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart and his partners suspended their game. They left their cards, and counted the seconds.

One more minute, and the bet would be won. Andrew Stuart and his partners stopped playing. They put down their cards and counted the seconds.

At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.

At forty seconds, nothing. At fifty seconds, still nothing.

At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed by applause, hurrahs, and some fierce growls.

At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry came from the street, followed by applause, cheers, and some fierce growls.

The players rose from their seats.

The players stood up from their seats.

At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened; and the pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second when Phileas Fogg appeared, followed by an excited crowd who had forced their way through the club doors, and in his calm voice, said, “Here I am, gentlemen!”

At the fifty-seventh second, the door to the lounge opened. Before the pendulum marked the sixtieth second, Phileas Fogg appeared. An excited crowd followed him, having forced their way through the club doors. In his calm voice, he said, “Here I am, gentlemen!”