Jules Verne - Around the World in Eighty Days

He observed also in his room a notice fastened above the clock. It was the programme for the daily service. It comprised—from eight o’clock in the morning, the regular hour at which Phileas Fogg rose, until half-past eleven, the hour at which he left his house to breakfast at the Reform Club—all the details of the service, the tea and toast at twenty-three minutes after eight, the shaving-water at thirty-seven minutes after nine, the toilet at twenty minutes before ten, etc. Then from half-past eleven in the morning until midnight, the hour at which the methodical gentleman retired—everything was noted down, foreseen, and regulated. Passepartout took a pleasure in contemplating this programme, and impressing upon his mind its various directions.

As to the gentleman’s wardrobe, it was in very good taste, and wonderfully complete. Each pair of pantaloons, coat or vest, bore a regular number, which was also entered upon a register, indicating the date at which, according to the season, these garments were to be worn in their turn. The same rule applied to his shoes.

In short, in this house in Saville Row—which, in the time of the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, must have been the temple of disorder—its comfortable furniture indicated a delightful ease. There was no study, there were no books, which would have been of no use to Mr Fogg, since the Reform Club placed at his disposal two libraries, the one devoted to literature, the other to law and politics. In his bed-chamber there was a medium-sized safe, whose construction protected it from fire as well as from burglars. There were no weapons in the house, neither for the chase, nor for war. Everything there denoted the most peaceful habits.

After having minutely examined the dwelling, Passepartout rubbed his hands, his broad face brightened, and he repeated cheerfully: “This suits me! This is the place for me! Mr Fogg and I will understand each other perfectly. A home-body, and so methodical! A genuine automaton! Well, I am not sorry to serve an automaton!”

In which a conversation takes place which may cost Phileas Fogg dearly

Phileas Fogg had left his house in Saville Row at half-past eleven, and after putting his right foot before his left foot five hundred and seventy-five times, and his left foot before his right foot five hundred and seventy-six times, he arrived at the Reform Club, a spacious and lofty building in Pall Mall, which cost not less than three millions to build.

Phileas Fogg repaired immediately to the dining-room, whose nine windows opened upon a fine garden with trees already gilded by autumn. There, he took his seat at his regular table where the plate was awaiting him. His breakfast consisted of a side-dish, a boiled fish with Reading sauce of first quality, a scarlet slice of roast beef garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a bit of Chester cheese, the whole washed down with a few cups of that excellent tea, specially gathered for the stores of the Reform Club.

At forty-seven minutes past noon, this gentleman rose and turned his steps towards the large hall, a sumptuous apartment, adorned with paintings in elegant frames. There, a servant handed him The Times uncut, the tiresome cutting of which he managed with a steadiness of hand which denoted great practice in this difficult operation. The reading of this journal occupied Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, and that of the Standard, which succeeded it, lasted until dinner. This repast passed off in the same way as the breakfast, with the addition of “Royal British Sauce.”

At twenty minutes before six, the gentleman reappeared in the large hall, and was absorbed in the reading of the Morning Chronicle.

Half an hour later, various members of the Reform Club entered and came near the fireplace, in which a coal fire was burning. They were the usual partners of Phileas Fogg; like himself, passionate players of whist—the engineer, Andrew Stuart; the bankers, John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin; the brewer, Thomas Flanagan; Gauthier Ralph, one of the directors of the Bank of England—rich and respected personages, even in this Club, counting among his members the élite of trade and finance.

“Well, Ralph,” asked Thomas Flanagan, “how about that robbery?”

“Why,” replied Andrew Stuart, “the bank will lose the money.”

“I hope, on the contrary,” said Gauthier Ralph, “that we will put our hands on the robber. Detectives, very skilful fellows, have been sent to America and the Continent, to all the principal ports of embarkation and debarkation, and it will be difficult for this fellow to escape.”

“But you have the description of the robber?” asked Andrew Stuart.

“In the first place, he is not a robber,” replied Gauthier Ralph seriously.

“How is he not a robber, this fellow who has abstracted fifty-five thousand pounds in bank-notes?”

“No,” replied Gauthier Ralph.

“Is he, then, a manufacturer?” said John Sullivan.

“The Morning Chronicle assures us that he is a gentleman.”

The party that made this reply was no other than Phileas Fogg, whose head then emerged from the mass of papers heaped around him. At the same time, he greeted his colleagues, who returned his salutation. The matter under discussion, and which the various journals of the United Kingdom were discussing ardently, had occurred three days before, on the 29th of September. A package of bank-notes, making the enormous sum of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been taken from the counter of the principal cashier of the Bank of England. The Under-Governor, Gauthier Ralph, only replied to anyone who was astonished that such a robbery could have been so easily accomplished, that at this very moment the cashier was occupied with registering a receipt of three shillings and sixpence, and that he could not have his eyes everywhere.

But it is proper to be remarked here—which makes the robbery less mysterious—that this admirable establishment, the Bank of England, seems to care very much for the dignity of the public. There are neither guards nor gratings; gold, silver, and bank-notes being freely exposed, and, so to speak, at the mercy of the first comer. They would not suspect the honour of anyone passing by. One of the best observers of English customs relates the following: He had the curiosity to examine closely, in one of the rooms of the bank, where he was one day, an ingot of gold, weighing seven to eight pounds, which was lying exposed on the cashier’s table; he picked up this ingot, examined it, passed it to his neighbour, and he to another, so that the ingot, passing from hand to hand, went as far as the end of a dark entry, and did not return to its place for half an hour, and the cashier had not once raised his head.

But on the twenty-ninth of September, matters did not turn out quite in this way. The package of bank-notes did not return, and when the magnificent clock, hung above the “drawing office” announced at five o’clock the closing of the office, the Bank of England had only to pass fifty-five thousand pounds to the account of profit and loss.

The robbery being duly known, agents, detectives, selected from the most skilful, were sent to the principal ports—Liverpool, Glasgow, Havre, Suez, Brindisi, New York, etc., with the promise, in case of success, of a reward of two thousand pounds and five per cent of the amount recovered. Whilst waiting for the information which the investigation, commenced immediately, ought to furnish, the detectives were charged with watching carefully all arriving and departing travellers.

As the Morning Chronicle said, there was good reason for supposing that the robber was not a member of any of the robber bands of England. During this day, the twenty-ninth of September, a well-dressed gentleman, of good manners, of a distinguished air, had been noticed going in and out of the paying room, the scene of the robbery. The investigation allowed a pretty accurate description of the gentleman to be made out, which was at once sent to all the detectives of the United Kingdom and of the Continent. Some hopeful minds, and Gauthier Ralph was one of the number, believed that they had good reason to expect that the robber would not escape.