A massive change had recently swept across London. On December 17th, the police had finally caught the real bank robber in Edinburgh. Instantly, Phileas Fogg’s reputation was completely restored. He was no longer a wanted criminal running from the law. Instead, he was once again respected as an honorable gentleman trying to complete an amazing journey around the world.
Immediately, the public’s interest in the great bet returned like magic. People began placing new bets, and Fogg's name was the most popular topic of conversation in the entire city.
Meanwhile, the five members of the Reform Club spent the final three days in a state of terrible suspense. They had not received any telegrams or news about Fogg for many weeks. Was he dead? Had he quit? Or would he actually walk through the doors on Saturday, December 21st, before 8:45 in the evening?
On that Saturday night, a massive crowd gathered outside the Reform Club. The streets were completely blocked by people discussing the bet and trading money. The police struggled to hold back the excited crowds. As the final hour approached, the anxiety in the city reached its highest peak.
Inside the club's quiet saloon, Fogg's five friends sat together. At twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart stood up.
"Gentlemen," he said nervously. "In exactly twenty minutes, our deadline will completely expire."
One of the bankers asked what time the last train from Liverpool had arrived. When he learned it had arrived at 7:23, he smiled.
"Well then," Stuart said. "If Fogg had been on that train, he would already be here. We can safely assume the bet is ours."
"Wait, do not be too fast," another man warned. "You know Fogg’s famous punctuality. He never arrives too early, and he never arrives too late. I would not be surprised if he appeared right before the clock strikes the final minute."
"If he walked in right now, I would not believe my own eyes," Stuart replied.
"The fact is," a third man added, "Mr. Fogg’s project was always completely absurd. No matter how perfectly organized he was, he could not prevent natural delays. A single missed ship or a bad storm would easily destroy his entire schedule."
Stuart pointed out that the China, the only fast steamship that could have brought Fogg to England in time, had arrived the day before. Fogg’s name was definitely not on the passenger list. Stuart was absolutely certain that Fogg had failed.
At twenty minutes to nine, the men tried to play a game of cards to pass the time. However, the tension in the room was far too thick. They could not keep their eyes off the large clock on the wall. The minutes had never felt so painfully long.
"Seventeen minutes to nine," one man said, cutting the deck of cards.
The room was completely silent, except for the heavy ticking of the clock and the distant shouts of the crowd outside. Every man quietly began to calculate the final seconds in his head.
"Sixteen minutes to nine!"
The men stopped playing cards altogether. Only one minute remained. They stood up and stared at the clock, counting the final seconds.
Forty seconds. Nothing happened.
Fifty seconds. Still nothing.
Suddenly, at the fifty-fifth second, a deafening roar exploded from the street outside. They heard wild cheering, clapping, and loud shouting.
The five men jumped.
At the fifty-seventh second, the heavy doors of the saloon swung wide open. Before the clock could strike the sixtieth second, Phileas Fogg calmly walked into the room, followed by an excited crowd.
With his usual quiet voice, he looked at his friends and said, "Here I am, gentlemen."