three minutes past five
My sleep was curiously broken and unrestful , and full of that undefined cold apprehension which sometimes attacks one without any apparent reason during an afternoon nap . I awoke at last to hear the old Abbey clock striking five , and then I nearly jumped out of my seat , for I recollected my promise to the unknown old lady in Monmouth Street to visit her again that day at that very hour . I hurried through the hall to the coat room , and , seizing my hat , rushed out and just caught a tram which was gliding past in the direction of the upper town where Monmouth Street stretched its length along the slope of the hill . It was only three minutes past five when the gaily lighted tram deposited me at the end of my old lady 's street , and I set off for Number 190 , which was at the other extremity of the long , badly lighted thoroughfare , looking , with its interminable rows of oblong windows , like an odd corner of the eighteenth century which had been left behind in the march of time . I found the house practically as I had left it ; there was no fog that evening , and I had a better opportunity of observing its general appearance in the yellow flare of the old-fashioned gas lamp opposite . The house on one side of it was to be let , with a large staring board announcing that fact fixed to the railings ; the house on the other side was a dingy looking place with lace curtains shrouding the dining-room windows and a notice outside concerning `` Apartments . '' I drew out the latch-key , blew in it to cleanse it from any dust , then , with very little difficulty , opened the door and entered Number 190 .