"Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg,"
said Ralph, politely. "We will trust your word, as
a gentleman of honour."

"You do not forget when you are due in London
again?" asked Stuart.

"In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of Decem-
ber, 1872, at a quarter before nine p.m. Good-bye,
gentlemen."

Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in
a first-class carriage at twenty minutes before nine;
five minutes later the whistle screamed, and the train
slowly glided out of the station.

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was
falling. Phileas Fogg, snugly ensconced in his cor-
ner, did not open his lips. Passepartout, not yet
recovered from his stupefaction, clung mechanically
to the carpet-bag, with its enormous treasure.

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham,
Passepartout suddenly uttered a cry of despair.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"Alas! In my hurry--I--forgot----"

"What?"

"To turn off the gas in my room!"

"Very well, young man," returned Mr. Fogg,
coolly; "it will burn'-at your expense."

-27-