five o'clock
He stood before the fire-place in his rooms in Charles Street , with an extinguished cigar between his teeth , his face paler than usual , and a look of uncertainty on his features that was oddly out of keeping with his usual mood . He wore an ancient shooting coat , and his feet were trust into a pair of dingy leather slippers ; his hands were in his pockets , and he was staring vacantly at the clock . On the oak writing-table that filled the middle of the room lay an open telegram . It was dated from Washington , and conveyed the simple information that Senator Caleb Jenkins had died at five o'clock that morning . It was signed by an abbreviation that meant nothing except to John himself . The name of the senator was itself fictitious , and stood for another which John knew . The table was covered with Government reports , for when the message came John was busy studying a financial point of importance to him .