a thousand years or more now is entirely wrong. I do not

At half-past eight the door opened, the policeman appeared, and, requesting them to follow him, led the way to an adjoining hall. It was evidently a court-room, and a crowd of Europeans and natives already occupied the rear of the apartment.

Mr Fogg and his two companions took their places on a bench opposite the desks of the magistrate and his clerk. Immediately after, Judge Obadiah, a fat, round man, followed by the clerk, entered. He proceeded to take down a wig which was hanging on a nail, and put it hurriedly on his head.

`The first case,' said he; then, putting his hand to his head, he exclaimed, `Heh! This is not my wig!'

`No, your worship,' returned the clerk, `it is mine.'

`My dear Mr Oysterpuff, how can a judge give a wise sentence in a clerk's wig?'

Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of the big clock over the judge seemed to go round with terrible rapidity.

`The first case,' repeated Judge Obadiah.

`Phileas Fogg?' demanded Oysterpuff.