Phileas Fogg had correctly guessed that his sudden departure from London would cause a huge stir in the West End.
News of the wager spread quickly through the Reform Club, where it became the favorite subject of conversation.
Before long, newspapers all over England were talking about it.
People argued about Fogg’s plan to travel around the world in eighty days as passionately as if they were debating a major political dispute.
Some people believed Fogg could do it.
Most did not.
“Impossible,” they said.
“At best, it can be done only on paper.”
“The transportation available today simply isn’t fast enough.”
The Times, Standard, Morning Post, Daily News, and more than twenty other respected newspapers mocked Fogg’s plan as pure madness.
Only the Daily Telegraph offered him cautious support.
Most people thought Fogg was crazy.
They even criticized his friends at the Reform Club for accepting a wager that, in their opinion, proved the man had lost his senses.
Newspapers published long and passionate articles about the journey.
Geography was a favorite subject in England, and readers from every social class eagerly followed the story.
At first, a few bold people, especially women, openly supported Fogg.
His popularity increased even more when the Illustrated London News published his portrait, copied from a photograph kept at the Reform Club.
Some readers of the Daily Telegraph even dared to say:
“Why not? Stranger things have happened.”
Then, on October 7, a long article appeared in the bulletin of the Royal Geographical Society.
It examined Fogg’s plan from every possible angle.
Its conclusion was simple.
The journey was completely unrealistic.
“Everything is against him,” the article argued.
“There are obstacles created by both nature and human beings.”
“For Fogg to succeed, every train and every ship would have to leave and arrive at exactly the right time.”
“In Europe, where the distances are relatively short, he might be able to depend on the railway schedules.”
“But can he really expect to cross India in only three days?”
“And what about the United States? Can he really cross it in seven days?”
“There could be mechanical failures.”
“Trains could derail.”
“There could be collisions.”
“Bad weather could cause delays.”
“Snow could block the tracks.”
“How can Fogg possibly avoid all these problems?”
“And what happens when he travels by steamship during the winter?”
“Will he not be completely at the mercy of storms, winds, and fog?”
“Even the fastest ocean steamers are sometimes two or three days late.”
“One serious delay would destroy his entire schedule.”
“If Fogg missed a single ship, even by one hour, he would have to wait for the next one.”
“That one delay would be enough to make his entire attempt fail.”
The article caused a sensation.
Newspapers across the country reprinted it, and Fogg’s supporters became much less confident.
Everyone knew that England was a nation of bettors.
Betting was not considered merely a form of gambling.
For many Englishmen, it was almost part of their character.
Soon, not only members of the Reform Club but people all over the country were placing large bets on whether Fogg would succeed.
The betting houses treated him like a racehorse.
Soon, something even stranger happened.
Bonds were issued based on Phileas Fogg’s chances.
They appeared on the stock exchange.
People called them “Phileas Fogg bonds.”
They were initially sold at their normal value, and then at higher prices as people became interested.
Business was booming.
But five days after the Geographical Society’s article appeared, everything changed.
Demand began to collapse.
“Phileas Fogg is falling,” the traders said.
At first, the bonds were offered in groups of five.
Then ten.
Then twenty.
Soon, nobody wanted to buy fewer than fifty.
Before long, sellers were offering a hundred at a time.
Almost everyone had given up on Fogg.
Only Lord Albemarle remained openly on his side.
Lord Albemarle was an elderly nobleman who was paralyzed and confined to a chair.
He himself would have loved to travel around the world, even if the journey took ten years.
He had therefore wagered five thousand pounds on Fogg.
When people told him that Fogg’s journey was both foolish and pointless, the old lord simply replied:
“If it can be done, then an Englishman ought to be the first to do it.”
But even Fogg’s supporters were disappearing.
More and more people were betting against him.
The odds had reached one hundred and fifty to one, then two hundred to one.
Then, one week after Fogg’s departure, something happened that destroyed whatever support he had left.
At nine o’clock one evening, the police commissioner was sitting in his office when a telegram was placed in his hands.
It had been sent from Suez to London.
“Commissioner Rowan, Scotland Yard.”
“I have found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg.”
“Send an arrest warrant to Bombay immediately.”
“Fix, Detective.”
The effect was immediate.
Phileas Fogg was no longer seen as a mysterious gentleman attempting an extraordinary journey.
Now, in the eyes of the public, he was a bank robber.
His photograph, hanging among the portraits of the Reform Club’s members, was examined carefully.
Every feature matched the description of the man wanted by the police.
People suddenly remembered all the strange things about Fogg.
His secretive lifestyle.
His solitary habits.
His sudden departure from London.
And now, everything seemed to make sense.
They began to believe that Fogg had never intended to complete a genuine journey around the world.
The wager was merely a clever excuse.
His real purpose, they thought, was to escape the police and disappear before the detectives could catch him.