No More Learning

The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas Fogg's
departure from London, and the Henrietta had not yet been seriously
delayed. Half of the voyage was almost accomplished, and the worst
localities had been passed. In summer, success would have been
well-nigh certain. In winter, they were at the mercy of the bad
season. Passepartout said nothing; but he cherished hope in secret,
and comforted himself with the reflection that, if the wind failed
them, they might still count on the steam.

On this day the engineer came on deck, went up to Mr. Fogg, and began
to speak earnestly with him. Without knowing why it was a
presentiment, perhaps Passepartout became vaguely uneasy. He would
have given one of his ears to hear with the other what the engineer was
saying. He finally managed to catch a few words, and was sure he heard
his master say, "You are certain of what you tell me? "

"Certain, sir," replied the engineer. "You must remember that, since
we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces, and, though
we had coal enough to go on short steam from New York to Bordeaux, we
haven't enough to go with all steam from New York to Liverpool. " "I
will consider," replied Mr. Fogg.

Passepartout understood it all; he was seized with mortal anxiety. The
coal was giving out! "Ah, if my master can get over that," muttered
he, "he'll be a famous man! " He could not help imparting to Fix what
he had overheard.

"Then you believe that we really are going to Liverpool? "

"Of course. "

"Ass! " replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders and turning on
his heel.

Passepartout was on the point of vigorously resenting the epithet, the
reason of which he could not for the life of him comprehend; but he
reflected that the unfortunate Fix was probably very much disappointed
and humiliated in his self-esteem, after having so awkwardly followed a
false scent around the world, and refrained.

And now what course would Phileas Fogg adopt? It was difficult to
imagine. Nevertheless he seemed to have decided upon one, for that
evening he sent for the engineer, and said to him, "Feed all the fires
until the coal is exhausted. "

A few moments after, the funnel of the Henrietta vomited forth torrents
of smoke. The vessel continued to proceed with all steam on; but on
the 18th, the engineer, as he had predicted, announced that the coal
would give out in the course of the day.

"Do not let the fires go down," replied Mr. Fogg. "Keep them up to the
last. Let the valves be filled. "

Towards noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained their position, called
Passepartout, and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy. It was as if
the honest fellow had been commanded to unchain a tiger. He went to
the poop, saying to himself, "He will be like a madman! "

In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on the
poop-deck. The bomb was Captain Speedy. It was clear that he was on
the point of bursting. "Where are we? " were the first words his anger
permitted him to utter. Had the poor man been an apoplectic, he could
never have recovered from his paroxysm of wrath.

"Where are we? " he repeated, with purple face.

"Seven hundred and seven miles from Liverpool," replied Mr. Fogg, with
imperturbable calmness.

"Pirate! " cried Captain Speedy.

"I have sent for you, sir--"

"Pickaroon! "

"--sir," continued Mr. Fogg, "to ask you to sell me your vessel. "

"No! By all the devils, no! "

"But I shall be obliged to burn her. "

"Burn the Henrietta! "

"Yes; at least the upper part of her. The coal has given out. "

"Burn my vessel! " cried Captain Speedy, who could scarcely pronounce
the words. "A vessel worth fifty thousand dollars! "

"Here are sixty thousand," replied Phileas Fogg, handing the captain a
roll of bank-bills. This had a prodigious effect on Andrew Speedy. An
American can scarcely remain unmoved at the sight of sixty thousand
dollars. The captain forgot in an instant his anger, his imprisonment,
and all his grudges against his passenger. The Henrietta was twenty
years old; it was a great bargain. The bomb would not go off after
all. Mr. Fogg had taken away the match.

"And I shall still have the iron hull," said the captain in a softer
tone.

"The iron hull and the engine. Is it agreed? "

"Agreed. "

And Andrew Speedy, seizing the banknotes, counted them and consigned
them to his pocket.

During this colloquy, Passepartout was as white as a sheet, and Fix
seemed on the point of having an apoplectic fit. Nearly twenty
thousand pounds had been expended, and Fogg left the hull and engine to
the captain, that is, near the whole value of the craft! It was true,
however, that fifty-five thousand pounds had been stolen from the Bank.

When Andrew Speedy had pocketed the money, Mr. Fogg said to him, "Don't
let this astonish you, sir. You must know that I shall lose twenty
thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by a quarter before nine on
the evening of the 21st of December. I missed the steamer at New York,
and as you refused to take me to Liverpool--"

"And I did well! " cried Andrew Speedy; "for I have gained at least
forty thousand dollars by it! " He added, more sedately, "Do you know
one thing, Captain--"

"Fogg. "

"Captain Fogg, you've got something of the Yankee about you. "

And, having paid his passenger what he considered a high compliment, he
was going away, when Mr. Fogg said, "The vessel now belongs to me? "

"Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts--all the wood, that
is. "

"Very well. Have the interior seats, bunks, and frames pulled down,
and burn them. "

It was necessary to have dry wood to keep the steam up to the adequate
pressure, and on that day the poop, cabins, bunks, and the spare deck
were sacrificed. On the next day, the 19th of December, the masts,
rafts, and spars were burned; the crew worked lustily, keeping up the
fires. Passepartout hewed, cut, and sawed away with all his might.
There was a perfect rage for demolition.

The railings, fittings, the greater part of the deck, and top sides
disappeared on the 20th, and the Henrietta was now only a flat hulk.
But on this day they sighted the Irish coast and Fastnet Light. By ten
in the evening they were passing Queenstown. Phileas Fogg had only
twenty-four hours more in which to get to London; that length of time
was necessary to reach Liverpool, with all steam on. And the steam was
about to give out altogether!

"Sir," said Captain Speedy, who was now deeply interested in Mr. Fogg's
project, "I really commiserate you. Everything is against you. We are
only opposite Queenstown. "

"Ah," said Mr. Fogg, "is that place where we see the lights Queenstown? "

"Yes. "

"Can we enter the harbour? "

"Not under three hours. Only at high tide. "

"Stay," replied Mr. Fogg calmly, without betraying in his features that
by a supreme inspiration he was about to attempt once more to conquer
ill-fortune.

Queenstown is the Irish port at which the trans-Atlantic steamers stop
to put off the mails. These mails are carried to Dublin by express
trains always held in readiness to start; from Dublin they are sent on
to Liverpool by the most rapid boats, and thus gain twelve hours on the
Atlantic steamers.

Phileas Fogg counted on gaining twelve hours in the same way. Instead
of arriving at Liverpool the next evening by the Henrietta, he would be
there by noon, and would therefore have time to reach London before a
quarter before nine in the evening.

The Henrietta entered Queenstown Harbour at one o'clock in the morning,
it then being high tide; and Phileas Fogg, after being grasped heartily
by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that gentleman on the levelled hulk
of his craft, which was still worth half what he had sold it for.

The party went on shore at once. Fix was greatly tempted to arrest Mr.
Fogg on the spot; but he did not. Why? What struggle was going on
within him? Had he changed his mind about "his man"? Did he
understand that he had made a grave mistake? He did not, however,
abandon Mr. Fogg. They all got upon the train, which was just ready to
start, at half-past one; at dawn of day they were in Dublin; and they
lost no time in embarking on a steamer which, disdaining to rise upon
the waves, invariably cut through them.

Phileas Fogg at last disembarked on the Liverpool quay, at twenty
minutes before twelve, 21st December. He was only six hours distant
from London.

But at this moment Fix came up, put his hand upon Mr. Fogg's shoulder,
and, showing his warrant, said, "You are really Phileas Fogg? "

"I am. "

"I arrest you in the Queen's name! "




Chapter XXXIV

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AT LAST 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.

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.

As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty, whether
Mr. Fogg were 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.

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.

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! "

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.

"Well hit! " cried Passepartout, "Parbleu! that's what you might call a
good application of English fists! "

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.

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.

There were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway
arrangements did not permit 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.

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.

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




Chapter XXXV

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO
PASSEPARTOUT TWICE


The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next day, if
they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home. His doors and
windows were still closed, no appearance of change was visible.

After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions to
purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his domicile.

He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined! And by
the blundering of the detective! After having steadily traversed that
long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles, braved many dangers, and
still found time to do some good on his way, to fail near the goal by a
sudden event which he could not have foreseen, and against which he was
unarmed; it was terrible! But a few pounds were left of the large sum
he had carried with him. There only remained of his fortune the twenty
thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and this amount he owed to his
friends of the Reform Club. So great had been the expense of his tour
that, even had he won, it would not have enriched him; and it is
probable that he had not sought to enrich himself, being a man who
rather laid wagers for honour's sake than for the stake proposed. But
this wager totally ruined him.

Mr. Fogg's course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what
remained for him to do.

A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who was
overwhelmed with grief at her protector's misfortune. From the words
which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was meditating some serious
project.

Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort to
the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch
upon his master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so
doing.

First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had
extinguished the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days.
He had found in the letter-box a bill from the gas company, and he
thought it more than time to put a stop to this expense, which he had
been doomed to bear.

The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep? Aouda did
not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched all night, like a
faithful dog, at his master's door.

Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda's
breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired Aouda
to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed
all day in putting his affairs to rights. In the evening he would ask
permission to have a few moment's conversation with the young lady.

Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey
them. He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring
his mind to leave him. His heart was full, and his conscience tortured
by remorse; for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of being the
cause of the irretrievable disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg,
and had betrayed Fix's projects to him, his master would certainly not
have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then--

Passepartout could hold in no longer.

"My master! Mr. Fogg! " he cried, "why do you not curse me? It was my
fault that--"

"I blame no one," returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness. "Go! "

Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he
delivered his master's message.

"Madam," he added, "I can do nothing myself--nothing! I have no
influence over my master; but you, perhaps--"

"What influence could I have? " replied Aouda. "Mr. Fogg is influenced
by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude to him is
overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend, he must not be
left alone an instant! You say he is going to speak with me this
evening? "

"Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in
England. "

"We shall see," replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.

Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if
uninhabited, and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived in
that house, did not set out for his club when Westminster clock struck
half-past eleven.

Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no longer
expected him there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on
the evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before
nine), he had lost his wager. It was not even necessary that he should
go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists
already had his cheque in their hands, and they had only to fill it out
and send it to the Barings to have the amount transferred to their
credit.

Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he remained at
home. He shut himself up in his room, and busied himself putting his
affairs in order. Passepartout continually ascended and descended the
stairs. The hours were long for him. He listened at his master's door,
and looked through the keyhole, as if he had a perfect right so to do,
and as if he feared that something terrible might happen at any moment.
Sometimes he thought of Fix, but no longer in anger. Fix, like all the
world, had been mistaken in Phileas Fogg, and had only done his duty in
tracking and arresting him; while he, Passepartout. . . . This thought
haunted him, and he never ceased cursing his miserable folly.

Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at Aouda's
door, went into her room, seated himself, without speaking, in a
corner, and looked ruefully at the young woman. Aouda was still pensive.

About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if Aouda
would receive him, and in a few moments he found himself alone with her.

Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace, opposite
Aouda. No emotion was visible on his face. Fogg returned was exactly
the Fogg who had gone away; there was the same calm, the same
impassibility.

He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on
Aouda, "Madam," said he, "will you pardon me for bringing you to
England? "

"I, Mr. Fogg! " replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart.

"Please let me finish," returned Mr. Fogg. "When I decided to bring
you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you, I was rich,
and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at your disposal; then
your existence would have been free and happy. But now I am ruined. "

"I know it, Mr. Fogg," replied Aouda; "and I ask you in my turn, will
you forgive me for having followed you, and--who knows? --for having,
perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to your ruin? "

"Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could only be
assured by bringing you to such a distance that your persecutors could
not take you. "

"So, Mr. Fogg," resumed Aouda, "not content with rescuing me from a
terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort in a
foreign land? "

"Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me. Still, I beg to
place the little I have left at your service. "

"But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg? "

"As for me, madam," replied the gentleman, coldly, "I have need of
nothing. "

"But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you? "

"As I am in the habit of doing. "

"At least," said Aouda, "want should not overtake a man like you. Your
friends--"

"I have no friends, madam. "

"Your relatives--"

"I have no longer any relatives. "

"I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no heart
to which to confide your griefs. They say, though, that misery itself,
shared by two sympathetic souls, may be borne with patience. "

"They say so, madam. "

"Mr. Fogg," said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, "do you wish at
once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for your wife? "

Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted light in
his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked into his
face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft
glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save him to whom she
owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated him. He shut his eyes
for an instant, as if to avoid her look. When he opened them again, "I
love you! " he said, simply. "Yes, by all that is holiest, I love you,
and I am entirely yours! "

"Ah! " cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.

Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately. Mr. Fogg still
held Aouda's hand in his own; Passepartout understood, and his big,
round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its zenith.

Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend Samuel
Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening.

Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said, "Never too late. "

It was five minutes past eight.

"Will it be for to-morrow, Monday? "

"For to-morrow, Monday," said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.

"Yes; for to-morrow, Monday," she replied.

Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.




Chapter XXXVI

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG'S NAME IS ONCE MORE AT A PREMIUM ON 'CHANGE


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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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. "

"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. "

"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. "

"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. "

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

"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. "

"Observe, too," added John Sullivan, "that we have received no
intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic 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. "

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

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

"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.

"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. "

The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.

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!

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

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

One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart and his
partners suspended their game.