quarter after
eight
At the end of the garden a door , painted dark green , led into a narrow lane between high walls , where , if two persons met , one had to turn sideways to let the other pass . The entrance to this lane was cut in two by a wooden post about the height of your hip , and just beyond this , in the high road , George was waiting for us with the dog-cart . We had picked the usual time -- the dinner-hour . It had just turned dark , and the church-clock , two streets away , was chiming the quarter after eight , when Peter and I let ourselves in by the green door I spoke of and felt along the wall for the gardener 's ladder that we knew was hanging there . A simpler job there never was . The bedroom window we had marked on the first-floor stood right open to the night air ; and inside there was the light of a candle or two flickering , just as a careless maid will leave them after her mistress has gone down to dinner . To be sure there was a chance of her coming back to put them out ; but we could hear her voice going in the servants ' hall as we lifted the ladder and rested it against the sill .