eleven o'clock
He returned to the station , and was whirled on through the flat , green country to the charming Sussex village of Pevensey , with its ruined old castle and rambling street , and the blue line of the Channel flashing in the distance . His journey did not end here , and he was impatient to continue it . He procured a horse and trap at the Railway Arms , gleaned careful instructions from the landlord , and drove back a few miles along the hedge-lined roads , while the sea faded behind him . It was eleven o'clock when he reached the retired little hamlet of Dunwold . He put up his vehicle at a quaint old inn , and refreshed himself with a simple lunch . Then he sought the vicarage , hard by the ancient church with its Norman tower , and , on inquiring for Mr. Chalfont , he was shown into a sunny library full of books and Chippendale furniture , with flowers on the deep window-seats and a litter of papers on the carved oak writing-desk . The vicar entered shortly -- an elderly gentleman of benevolent aspect and snowy beard , but sturdy and lithe-limbed for his years , clearly one of those persons who seemed predestined for the placidity of clerical life .