eleven o'clock
It was about eleven o'clock . Sir Adam , gaunt and grey , and clad in a cashmere dressing-jacket , was extended upon all the chairs which the little cell-like room contained , close by the open window . He had a very thick cigarette between his lips , and a half-emptied glass of brandy and soda stood on the corner of a table at his elbow . He had not failed to drink one brandy and soda every morning at eleven o'clock for at least a quarter of a century . His keen old eyes turned sharply to Brook as the latter entered , and a smile lighted up his furrowed face , but instantly disappeared again ; for the young man 's features betrayed something of what he had gone through during the last hour . `` Anything wrong , boy ? '' asked Sir Adam quickly .