Public opinion in England changed completely when the real bank robber, a man named James Strand, was arrested in Edinburgh on December 17.
Only three days earlier, Phileas Fogg had been regarded as a criminal, with the police desperately searching for him. Now, he was once again seen as an honorable gentleman calmly continuing his extraordinary journey around the world.
The newspapers immediately started talking about the wager again.
People who had bet for or against Fogg became interested once more. The so-called “Phileas Fogg bonds” began to rise in value, and new bets were placed every hour.
Fogg’s name was once again highly valued on the London Stock Exchange.
His five friends at the Reform Club spent those three days in unbearable suspense.
“Will Fogg really come back?” they wondered.
“Where is he now?”
“Is he still traveling?”
“Could he have died somewhere along the way?”
“Or has he given up?”
December 17 was already the seventy-sixth day since Fogg had left London, and there had still been no word from him.
Everyone was waiting for Saturday, December 21, when Fogg was supposed to walk through the doors of the Reform Club at exactly 8:45 in the evening.
London society was consumed by anxiety.
Telegrams were sent to America and Asia asking for news of Fogg.
Messengers went to Saville Row every morning and evening.
There was still no news.
The police themselves had no idea where Detective Fix had gone after following the wrong trail.
Yet the betting continued.
More and more people were betting on Fogg, and the value of the wagers kept changing. His “bonds,” which had once been almost worthless, had risen to twenty, then ten, and finally five below their original value.
Even the elderly and nearly helpless Lord Albemarle was now betting in Fogg’s favor.
By Saturday evening, a huge crowd had gathered around Pall Mall and the streets near the Reform Club.
The area looked almost like a permanent meeting place for stockbrokers.
The streets were so crowded that traffic could hardly move.
People argued, discussed the wager, and placed financial bets everywhere.
The police struggled to control the crowd.
As 8:45 drew closer, the excitement became almost unbearable.
Inside the great saloon of the Reform Club, Fogg’s five opponents were waiting together.
John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, both bankers.
Andrew Stuart, an engineer.
Gauthier Ralph, director of the Bank of England.
And Thomas Flanagan, a brewer.
All five men were watching the clock.
At twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart suddenly stood up.
“Gentlemen, we have only twenty minutes left before the time agreed upon with Mr. Fogg expires.”
Thomas Flanagan looked toward Gauthier Ralph.
“When did the last train from Liverpool arrive?”
“At 7:23,” Ralph replied.
“And when is the next one?”
“Not until ten minutes past midnight.”
Andrew Stuart nodded.
“If Fogg had arrived on the 7:23 train, he would already be here.”
He looked around the room.
“So we can consider the wager won.”
“Not so fast,” Samuel Fallentin said.
“You know how eccentric Mr. Fogg is. His punctuality is famous. He never arrives early, and he never arrives late. I would not be surprised if he walked through that door at the very last moment.”
Andrew Stuart gave a nervous laugh.
“If I actually saw him now, I doubt I would believe my own eyes.”
Thomas Flanagan shook his head.
“The whole journey was a foolish idea from the beginning. Fogg may be extremely punctual, but he could never control all the delays along the way. A delay of only two or three days would have been enough to destroy his entire plan.”
John Sullivan added,
“And we have received absolutely no message from him, even though telegraph lines run along almost the entire route.”
“He has lost,” Andrew Stuart said firmly.
“In fact, he has lost a hundred times over.”
He leaned forward.
“Remember the China. It was the only ship from New York that could have brought him here in time. It arrived yesterday. I saw the passenger list myself. Phileas Fogg’s name was not on it.”
Andrew Stuart smiled confidently.
“Even if we assume fortune has helped him every step of the way, he could hardly have reached America yet. I expect him to be at least twenty days late.”
He paused.
“And Lord Albemarle will lose a very comfortable five thousand pounds.”
“It is obvious,” Gauthier Ralph said.
“We only need to present Mr. Fogg’s cheque at Barings tomorrow.”
Just then, the club clock showed twenty minutes to nine.
“Only five minutes more,” Andrew Stuart said.
The five men exchanged nervous looks.
They were becoming increasingly anxious, but none of them wanted to admit it.
Samuel Fallentin suggested that they play another round of cards to pass the time.
The others agreed.
“I wouldn’t give up my four thousand pounds for three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine,” Andrew Stuart said as he sat down.
The clock showed eighteen minutes to nine.
They picked up their cards.
But none of them could stop looking at the clock.
They had never known a few minutes to feel so long.
“Seventeen minutes to nine,” Thomas Flanagan announced as he cut the cards Ralph had handed him.
Silence followed.
The great saloon was completely still.
Outside, however, the noise of the crowd could be heard through the doors.
Every now and then, someone shouted.
The clock’s pendulum continued to swing.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Each man listened carefully, counting every second.
“Sixteen minutes to nine,” John Sullivan said.
His voice revealed how nervous he had become.
Only one more minute remained before the wager would be decided.
The five men stopped playing.
They put down their cards and stared at the clock.
Forty seconds passed.
Nothing happened.
Fifty seconds.
Still nothing.
Fifty-five seconds.
Suddenly, a tremendous shout came from the street.
Applause erupted.
People began cheering and shouting.
Others could be heard angrily protesting.
The five men jumped to their feet.
At the fifty-seventh second, the door of the saloon suddenly opened.
Before the sixtieth second had passed, Phileas Fogg stepped into the room.
Behind him came an excited crowd that had forced its way through the doors of the Reform Club.
Fogg remained completely calm.
He looked at the five stunned men and said quietly,
“Here I am, gentlemen!”