He rose at thirteen minutes to one, and walked towards the large hall, a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly framed paintings. A porter handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut with a skill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate operation. The reading of this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, while the Standard, his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour. Dinner passed as breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg reappeared in the reading-room and sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six. Half an hour later several members of the Reform Club came in and drew up to the fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning. They were Mr. Fogg's usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England--all rich and highly respectable persons, even in a club which comprises the princes of English trade and finance. "Well, Ralph," said Thomas Flanagan, "what about that robbery?" "Oh," replied Stuart, "the Bank will lose the money." "On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands on the robber. Skillful detectives have been sent to all the principal ports of America and the Continent, and he'll be a clever fellow if he slips through their fingers." "But have you got the robber's description?" asked Stuart. "In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph, positively. "What! A fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no robber?" "No." "Perhaps he's a manufacturer, then." "The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman."