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 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 bends' 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 despatched 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 Mail 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, gentlemen,' 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 behindhand, 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 tomorrow.'
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. They left their cards, and counted the seconds.
At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.
At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed by applause, hurrahs, and some fierce growls.
The players rose 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！'
12月17日，在爱丁堡捕获了一个名叫杰姆·斯特朗的人。他才是那个真正盗窃英国国家银行五万五千英镑的小偷。现在我们应该来谈一谈这件事在英国社会上所引起的思想波动。
三天以前，斐利亚·福克是一个被警察当局拼命追捕的盗犯；现在，他却被肯定是一位正人君子了，他一丝不苟地作了一次举世少见的环绕地球一周的旅行。
关于窃贼被捕的这件事，报纸上议论纷纷！过去那些以福克旅行的成败来打赌的人，本来早把这事丢到九霄云外了，可是现在就象着了魔似的又重新干起来了。所有的赌契又有效了。所有的契约都复活了。应当指出：这种赌博比开始的时候更加疯狂了。斐利亚·福克的名字在股票市场上又变成了热门货。
改良俱乐部那五位福克先生的同僚，这三天以来日子过得相当苦闷。这位已经被他们忘记了的福克先生，现在又在他们脑子里出现了！现在他在哪儿呢？到12月17号——杰姆·斯特朗被捕的那天——为止，斐利亚·福克离开伦敦已经七十六天了。但是杳无音信！他已经死了吗？他是已经认输了呢，还是正按着他的路线在继续旅行呢？他会不会在12月21号星期六晚上八点四十五分，象一尊“准确之神”出现在改良俱乐部大厅的门口呢？
要想描写所有这些英国人在这三天里的忧虑心情，那简直是不可能的。为了打听斐利亚·福克的下落，发了许多电报到美洲和亚洲；从早到晚，都有人守望着赛微乐街福克先生的住宅……但是一点消息也没有。警察厅也不知道那位白白盯着一个假小偷的费克斯到了哪儿了。但是，福克虽然渺无音讯，这并不妨碍人们重新拿他的成败来打赌。而打赌的范围却正在日益扩大，斐利亚·福克就象是一匹跑马场上的快马，他已经接近了终点。“福克股票”的牌价已经不再是一百比一，它上涨到了二十比一，十比一，五比一了。半身不遂的阿尔拜马尔老爵士甚至以一比一的高价收买这种股票。
就在21号，星期六晚上，宝马尔大街和附近的几条大街上都挤满了人。看来，那密密麻麻的一大群股票经纪人就好象在改良俱乐部附近生了根似的。交通被阻塞了。到处在争论，和喊叫着“斐利亚·福克股票”的牌价，这和买卖其他英国股票毫无两样。警察当局简直无法维持公众秩序。越是接近斐利亚·福克预定回到俱乐部的时间，人们的情绪就越加兴奋和激动。
这一天晚上，福克先生的五位会友从早晨九点钟就在改良俱乐部大厅里聚齐了。两位银行家约翰·苏里万和撒木耳·法郎丹，工程师安得露·斯图阿特，英国国家银行董事高杰·弱夫，啤酒商多玛斯·弗拉纳刚一个个都是满心焦虑地坐在那儿等着。
当大厅里的钟指着八点二十五分的时候，安得露·斯图阿特站了起来，说：
“先生们，再过二十分钟，福克先生和我们约定的期限就算满了。”
“从利物浦开来的最后一班车是几点钟到？”多玛斯·弗拉纳刚问。
“七点二十三分，”高杰·弱夫回答说，“下一班车要到半夜十二点零十分才能到。”
“好了，先生们，”安得露·斯图阿特说，“如果斐利亚·福克是搭七点二十三分那班车到的，那他早该来到俱乐部了。我们现在可以说他是输定了。”
“慢来，慢来，别这么早就下结论，”撒木耳·法郎丹说，“要知道，咱们这位会友是个极其古怪的人。他做什么都是稳而又准，这是尽人皆知的。他不论到哪里总是既不太早，也不太晚。他今天即使在最后一分钟走进这个大厅，我也不会觉得奇怪。”
“可是，我啊，”一向是神经过敏的安得露·斯图阿特说，“我不信，不过我倒要看个究竟。”
“说老实话，”多玛斯·弗拉纳刚说，“斐利亚·福克的计划也显得他太不自量了。不论他多么精明，他也没法防止那些不可避免的耽搁。只要误个两三天，他这趟旅行就必定垮了。”
“此外，我还提醒你们注意一个问题，”约翰·苏里万接着说，“虽然在我们这位会友旅行的这条路上，到处都有电报局，可是我们没有得到一点关于他的消息。”
“他输了，先生们，”安得露·斯图阿特说，“他是百分之百地输定了！再说，你们都知道，斐利亚·福克要想从纽约按时赶到利物浦，他只有搭中国号这条邮船。可是这条船昨天就到了。喏，这是《航运报》上公布的旅客名单，上面就是没有斐利亚·福克的名字。就算我们这位会友运气非常好，他现在顶多也不过是刚到美洲！照我估计，他至少要比预定的时间迟到二十天，那个阿尔拜马尔老爵士也少不了要赔上他那五千英镑！”
“那还用说，”高杰·弱夫回答说，“我们就等着明天拿着福克先生的支票到巴林兄弟银行去取款了！”
这时，大厅里的钟已经指着八点四十分了。
“还有五分钟。”安得露·斯图阿特说。
这五位先生你看看我，我看看你，可以想象他们的心脏跳动的次数一定会有些增加；不管怎样，哪怕就是赌场老手，也会如此，因为这场输赢毕竟是非同小可！但是这些绅士们并没有形现于色，大家在撒木耳·法朗丹的建议下，在一张牌桌上坐了下来。
安得露·斯图阿特一边坐下来，一边说：
“即使出三千九百九十九，我也不愿出让我那一份四千英镑的赌份！”这时大钟指着八点四十二分。绅士们一起都拿起了牌，可是他们的眼睛却老是盯在钟上。虽然他们认为十之八九是赢了，但是他们却觉得几分钟从来就没有显得这么长！
“八点四十三分了，”多玛斯·弗拉纳刚说着，一面倒了一下高杰·弱夫洗过的牌。
接着就是一片沉寂。俱乐部的大厅里静悄悄的，一点声音也没有。然而，外面却是人声鼎沸，有时还夹杂着刺耳的喊声。时钟照常不快不慢地一秒一秒地嘀嗒嘀嗒地响着。他们每一个人都能数得出震动着他们耳鼓的每一秒的嘀嗒声。
“八点四十四分了！”约翰·苏里万说，在他的声音里使人感觉到带着一种难以抑止的激动。再过一分钟就要赢了。安得露·斯图阿特和他的伙伴们牌也不打了。他们都把牌甩到桌上，他们一秒一秒地数着钟声！
第四十秒平安无事地过去了。到了第五十秒钟依然是平安无事！到了第五十五秒钟的时候，只听见外面人声雷动，掌声、欢呼声，还夹杂着咒骂声，这片乱哄哄的声音越来越大，此起彼伏，接连不断。五位绅士都站起来了。
到了第五十七秒的时候，大厅的门开了，钟摆还没有来得及响第六十下，一群狂热的群众簇拥着斐利亚·福克冲进了大厅。斐利亚·福克用他那种沉静的声音说：
“先生们，我回来了。”