第三十四章 斐利亚·福克终于抵达伦敦
斐利亚·福克被关进了监狱。他被关在海关大楼里，准备明天押送伦敦。
路路通看到主人被捕，要不是被几个警察拦住，早就扑向费克斯了。艾娥达被这突如其来的变故吓呆了，完全不明白是怎么回事。路路通向她解释，正直勇敢的福克先生为什么会被当作盗贼抓起来。年轻姑娘的心对这种骇人听闻的指控感到愤怒，当她发现自己无法采取任何行动来拯救保护人时，不禁痛哭失声。
至于费克斯，他逮捕福克先生是因为职责所在，无论福克先生有罪与否。
这时路路通突然想到，原来这一切的不幸都是他造成的！他当初不该向主人隐瞒费克斯的任务真相！当费克斯暴露真实身份和目的时，他为什么没有告诉福克先生呢？如果福克先生事先得到警告，他无疑会拿出证据向费克斯证明自己的清白，让费克斯认识到自己的错误；至少费克斯就不会继续跟在主人后面耗费金钱，只为了在他踏上英国土地的那一刻立刻逮捕他。路路通哭得泪眼模糊，恨不得一头撞死。
尽管天气寒冷，艾娥达和路路通仍留在海关大楼的门廊下。两人都不愿离开这个地方，都迫切地想再次见到福克先生。
这位绅士确实是完了，而且偏偏在他即将达成目标的那一刻。这次逮捕是致命的。他在12月21日十二点二十分前到达利物浦，按规定他必须在当晚八点四十五分之前抵达改良俱乐部，也就是说还有九小时十五分钟的时间；而从利物浦到伦敦的行程需要六小时。
如果此刻有人走进海关大楼，会看到福克先生一动不动地坐在一张木凳上，神情平静，毫无怒意。他并非真的认命了，但这次最后的打击也没能让他流露出任何情绪波动。他是否正被某种隐秘的怒火吞噬着？那种怒火越是压抑就越可怕，只会在最后一刻以不可抗拒的力量爆发出来？谁也不知道。他就那样坐着，平静地等待着——等待什么？他是否还抱有希望？即便监狱的大门已经在他身后关上，他是否仍然相信自己会成功？
无论如何，福克先生小心地把怀表放在桌上，观察着指针的移动。他一句话也不说，但目光异常坚定而严峻。无论如何，形势是可怕的，可以这样概括：如果斐利亚·福克是诚实的，他就完了；如果他是骗子，他就被抓住了。
他是否想过逃跑？是否检查过牢房是否有可行的出口？是否考虑过越狱？也许吧，因为他曾经在房间里慢慢地踱了一圈。但门锁着，窗户上还装着粗重的铁栅栏。他又坐了下来，从口袋里掏出日记本。在写着"12月21日，星期六，利物浦"的那一行底下，他加上"第八十天，上午11点40分"，然后等待着。
海关大楼的钟敲响了一点。福克先生发现他的表快了两小时。
两小时！就算此刻他能坐上特快列车，他也能在晚上八点四十五分前抵达伦敦和改良俱乐部。他的额头微微皱起。
两点三十三分，他听到外面传来奇异的声响，接着是匆忙的开门声。能听到路路通的声音，紧接着是费克斯的声音。斐利亚·福克的眼睛瞬间明亮起来。
门被推开，他看见路路通、艾娥达和费克斯匆匆向他走来。
费克斯气喘吁吁，头发凌乱，说不出话来。"先生，"他结结巴巴地说，"先生——请原谅我——最——不幸的误会——那个盗贼三天前就被抓了——您自由了！"
斐利亚·福克自由了！他走到侦探面前，直视着他的脸，用生平最快也是唯一一次这样迅速的动作，像机器一样精准地收回手臂，一拳把费克斯打倒在地。
"打得好！"路路通喊道，"当然！这才叫真正的英国式拳头！"
费克斯倒在地上，一句话也没说。他不过罪有应得。福克先生、艾娥达和路路通毫不耽搁地离开了海关大楼，叫了一辆马车，几分钟后就到了车站。
斐利亚·福克问是否有开往伦敦的特快列车。现在是两点四十分。特快列车已经开走了三十五分钟。斐利亚·福克于是要求加开专列。
现场有几辆快车头可用，但铁路方面不允许专列在三点钟之前出发。
到了三点钟，斐利亚·福克以优厚酬金激励了司机，终于带着艾娥达和他的忠实仆人向伦敦进发。
这段路程必须在五个半小时内完成；如果一路畅通，本是可以轻松做到的。但途中还是被迫耽搁了，当福克先生走出终点站时，伦敦所有的时钟都指向八点五十分。[1]
他环游了世界，却迟到了五分钟。他打赌输了！
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.[1]
Having made the tour of the world, he was behind-hand five minutes. He
had lost the wager!
[1] A somewhat remarkable eccentricity on the part of the London
clocks!—TRANSLATOR.
