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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
!
"
