The five friends looked at each other. One could almost hear their hearts beating, for it must be confessed that even for such seasoned players the stakes were pretty high, but they did not wish their anxiety to be remarked, and on Fallentin's suggestion they sat down to whist. "I would not give up my four thousand pounds," said Stuart as he sat down, "if anyone were to offer me three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine." The clock pointed to eighteen minutes to nine. The players took up their cards, but kept looking at the clock. No matter how safe they felt, the minutes had never appeared so long. "8.43," said Flanagan, as he cut the pack Ralph passed to him. At that moment the silence was profound, but the cries of the crowd outside soon rose again. The clock beat out the seconds with mathematical regularity, and each of the players checked every tick of the pendulum. "8.44," said Sullivan, in a voice which betrayed his nervousness. One minute more and they would have won their bet. They laid down their cards and counted the seconds. At the fortieth second no news; at the fiftieth still nothing. At the fifty-fifth second a loud roar was heard from the street mingled with cheers and oaths. All the players rose simultaneously. At the fifty-seventh second the door of the room was thrust open, and before the pendulum had marked the minute Phileas Fogg advanced into the room, followed to the door by an excited crowd who had forced their way in, and he said in his usual calm tone, "Here I am, gentlemen." CHAPTER XXXVII. Showing how Phileas Fogg gained only Happiness by his Tour round the World. Yes, it was Phileas Fogg in person. Our readers will recollect that at five minutes after eight that evening--about twenty-five hours after our travellers' arrival in London--Passe-partout had been requested to arrange about a certain marriage with the Rev. Samuel Wilson. Passe-partout had gone on his mission rejoicing, but the clergyman was not at home. He naturally waited, but he was kept at least twenty minutes. It was 8.35 when he left the clergyman's house, but what a state he was in! His hair was disordered, he ran home without his hat, overturning the passers-by as he went rushing along the pathway. In three minutes he was back in Saville Row, and he rushed breathlessly into Mr. Fogg's room. He was unable to speak. "What is the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg. "Oh, sir--the marriage--impossible." "Impossible?" "Impossible for to-morrow." "Why so?" "Because to-morrow is--Sunday." "It is Monday," said Mr. Fogg. "No, to-day is Saturday." "Saturday? impossible." "It is, it is!" exclaimed Passe-partout. "You have made a mistake of one day. We arrived twenty-four hours before our time, but we have only ten minutes left now." As he spoke Passe-partout fairly dragged his master out of his chair.